Ficlet: Silence
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finalfantasyxivfanworksTitle: Silenced
Characters: Warrior of Light (Aza Lynel), Original Character
Rating: T
Warnings: None
It was a dry, dusty day near Nhaama’s Retreat, the distance white sands of the desert almost shimmering beneath the glare of the cold morning sun. Aza squinted against it, shielding his eyes as he held his pony’s reins loosely in one hand, letting it bend its neck nuzzle hopefully at the barren soil. The khar zud had well and truly sunk its claws into this region, meaning that the Dotharli raiding parties were out in force and seizing anyone they crossed paths with. With no water to be found in or around Nhaama’s Retreat, the desert tribes were spilling inwards, deeper into the Steppe, to take by force from other tribes which Nature was withholding.
Not that it’d help. The rest of the Steppe had frozen, the grass trapped beneath an impenetrable layer of ice – a starvation of a different kind that the desert tribes were dying from.
“See anything?”
Aza turned away from the white sands, blinking sunspots out of his vision as he focused on Bluebird beside him, “Nothing. Well, no Dotharli at least.”
Bluebird grunted at that, slouching lower in her saddle. She looked almost grey, having recently recovered from an awful illness that had swept through the Iriq-Borlaaq during the onset of Winter. Truth be told, Aza would prefer his sister to rest back home while he made the journey to the One River, but Bluebird had insisted he needed her to look out for him, and once she got an idea into her head…
“Keep an eye out for the Torgud. They blend in with the sand,” Bluebird said, digging her heels into her pony and urging the tired beast onwards. Slowly, they travelled into the desert, the air sharp and cold enough to cut into the lungs with each breath. It cast everything into an odd haze, his misted breaths melding into the white sand sprawled out in uneven dunes. In the far distance, to the east, he could see the shadow of the Dusk Throne, sinking deeper into the desert with each passing year. He used that as his landmark, keeping it to his left as they approached the mountains to the south, towards the mountain pass into Doma.
No words were exchanged as they rode. Noise carried here, and with just the two of them they wouldn’t stand a chance against a raiding party or a patrol from another tribe. It made the journey feel longer than it should, the silence tense as their ponies snorted and huffed through the soft sand, and when they finally reached the mountain pass the sun had risen to its zenith.
“I swear,” Bluebird whispered through chapped lips, her teeth audibly chattering as they started through the pass, “If their river is frozen solid too…”
“Should be warmer,” Aza mumbled, “Least, closer to the sea.”
“We are not travelling all the way to the coast,” Bluebird snapped, wincing when her voice bounced back obnoxiously at them.
Aza waited until everything was silent again before he whispered back, “It’s too dangerous to go all the way to the coast. The Iron Men’ll snatch us.”
Bluebird made a face at that, no doubt remembering the stories Khudus brought back from the Qestir: that the Xaela should avoid travelling to Doma and her territories, lest they be snatched by the ‘Imperials’ squatting there. Anyone suspicious, even if they were nothing more than innocent hunters or traders, were kidnapped and spirited away to never be seen again. It was a big blow to the Iriq, whose livelihood was tied with its trade to the northern Domans, and so they had to… adjust.
“Or shoot us,” Bluebird grumbled, “We’re dealing with those ‘Resistance’ people, after all.”
Aza hummed quietly. They couldn’t trade openly with the villages and farmsteads on the borders of Doma anymore, so this was how they adjusted. Resistance fighters were flush with rice and food for the moment, settled so far out into farmland and rural areas, they weren’t in want for food. What they were in want for were things of a more logistical nature: weapons, armour, arrows and the like.
Initially there had been some sneering superiority over it, but unsurprisingly being an underground resistance movement meant it was difficult to keep up a high-quality, functioning forge with an equally skilled blacksmith and armourer. Whilst the Xaela were viewed as ‘savages’ by their Doman and Imperial neighbours, the Iriq’s craftsmanship was grudgingly deemed acceptable by them. So, food and animal feed for weapons.
“Remember, if we’re stopped let me do the talking,” Aza said, “Your Hingan is awful.”
Bluebird grumbled but didn’t contradict him. Her Hingan really was terrible. They’d be pegged as suspicious foreigners within seconds the moment she opened her big mouth, if they were stopped by an Imperial patrol.
“Okay,” he said, the moment he saw the light at the end of their tunnel, tightening his grip on his reins. Now came the dangerous part, “Here we go. Remember: no talking.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Bluebird sighed, “Let’s get this over with.”
With that, they trotted out of the mountain and into snowy land of Doma, quiet as wraiths and just as cold.
Characters: Warrior of Light (Aza Lynel), Original Character
Rating: T
Warnings: None
It was a dry, dusty day near Nhaama’s Retreat, the distance white sands of the desert almost shimmering beneath the glare of the cold morning sun. Aza squinted against it, shielding his eyes as he held his pony’s reins loosely in one hand, letting it bend its neck nuzzle hopefully at the barren soil. The khar zud had well and truly sunk its claws into this region, meaning that the Dotharli raiding parties were out in force and seizing anyone they crossed paths with. With no water to be found in or around Nhaama’s Retreat, the desert tribes were spilling inwards, deeper into the Steppe, to take by force from other tribes which Nature was withholding.
Not that it’d help. The rest of the Steppe had frozen, the grass trapped beneath an impenetrable layer of ice – a starvation of a different kind that the desert tribes were dying from.
“See anything?”
Aza turned away from the white sands, blinking sunspots out of his vision as he focused on Bluebird beside him, “Nothing. Well, no Dotharli at least.”
Bluebird grunted at that, slouching lower in her saddle. She looked almost grey, having recently recovered from an awful illness that had swept through the Iriq-Borlaaq during the onset of Winter. Truth be told, Aza would prefer his sister to rest back home while he made the journey to the One River, but Bluebird had insisted he needed her to look out for him, and once she got an idea into her head…
“Keep an eye out for the Torgud. They blend in with the sand,” Bluebird said, digging her heels into her pony and urging the tired beast onwards. Slowly, they travelled into the desert, the air sharp and cold enough to cut into the lungs with each breath. It cast everything into an odd haze, his misted breaths melding into the white sand sprawled out in uneven dunes. In the far distance, to the east, he could see the shadow of the Dusk Throne, sinking deeper into the desert with each passing year. He used that as his landmark, keeping it to his left as they approached the mountains to the south, towards the mountain pass into Doma.
No words were exchanged as they rode. Noise carried here, and with just the two of them they wouldn’t stand a chance against a raiding party or a patrol from another tribe. It made the journey feel longer than it should, the silence tense as their ponies snorted and huffed through the soft sand, and when they finally reached the mountain pass the sun had risen to its zenith.
“I swear,” Bluebird whispered through chapped lips, her teeth audibly chattering as they started through the pass, “If their river is frozen solid too…”
“Should be warmer,” Aza mumbled, “Least, closer to the sea.”
“We are not travelling all the way to the coast,” Bluebird snapped, wincing when her voice bounced back obnoxiously at them.
Aza waited until everything was silent again before he whispered back, “It’s too dangerous to go all the way to the coast. The Iron Men’ll snatch us.”
Bluebird made a face at that, no doubt remembering the stories Khudus brought back from the Qestir: that the Xaela should avoid travelling to Doma and her territories, lest they be snatched by the ‘Imperials’ squatting there. Anyone suspicious, even if they were nothing more than innocent hunters or traders, were kidnapped and spirited away to never be seen again. It was a big blow to the Iriq, whose livelihood was tied with its trade to the northern Domans, and so they had to… adjust.
“Or shoot us,” Bluebird grumbled, “We’re dealing with those ‘Resistance’ people, after all.”
Aza hummed quietly. They couldn’t trade openly with the villages and farmsteads on the borders of Doma anymore, so this was how they adjusted. Resistance fighters were flush with rice and food for the moment, settled so far out into farmland and rural areas, they weren’t in want for food. What they were in want for were things of a more logistical nature: weapons, armour, arrows and the like.
Initially there had been some sneering superiority over it, but unsurprisingly being an underground resistance movement meant it was difficult to keep up a high-quality, functioning forge with an equally skilled blacksmith and armourer. Whilst the Xaela were viewed as ‘savages’ by their Doman and Imperial neighbours, the Iriq’s craftsmanship was grudgingly deemed acceptable by them. So, food and animal feed for weapons.
“Remember, if we’re stopped let me do the talking,” Aza said, “Your Hingan is awful.”
Bluebird grumbled but didn’t contradict him. Her Hingan really was terrible. They’d be pegged as suspicious foreigners within seconds the moment she opened her big mouth, if they were stopped by an Imperial patrol.
“Okay,” he said, the moment he saw the light at the end of their tunnel, tightening his grip on his reins. Now came the dangerous part, “Here we go. Remember: no talking.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Bluebird sighed, “Let’s get this over with.”
With that, they trotted out of the mountain and into snowy land of Doma, quiet as wraiths and just as cold.
