#xaela kharlu

[paintedscales]

017. Kharlu

Five years have come and gone, and in that time, Nomin has trained diligently and with everything she has to appeal to the Jhungid. Spite and obsession drive her ever forward. A mask has been formed to present a false smile in the face of her captors, but the body and mind have undergone tempering. And it seems another factor may very well be at play.

--

As a general aside, I don't actually really touch upon the Kharlu too much in this. It's more a meeting upon the battlefield. Their flavor text is literally the same as the Jhungid's, which pretty much lends itself to Nomin not exactly learning nor experiencing anything different with the Kharlu that she does with the Jhungid.

I more focus on Nomin's grown obsession over the last five years.

Word Count: 3,332

Steppe by Steppe Chapter List

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“Hear… Feel… Think…”

Images of a being clad in black flooded Nomin’s mind. Was she awake? Was she asleep? There was no telling. All she knew is that the being before her must be defeated -- someway, somehow.

Power surged through her body as she conjured up magicks she never knew she had and struck down the visage with seven summoned swords, blue and crystalline in nature. The power that coursed through Nomin in this moment conjured forth a beam of holy light magic, a beacon in this void, further smiting the visage.

Though one part of this felt confusing, another part made it feel as if it were what Nomin was meant to do.

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“That the best you got, Jamugha!?” Nomin shouted at another Xaela. The other young man -- Jamugha -- easily towered over Nomin, though he seemed careful in the thrusts of his spear at her.

After five summers of near relentless training and on top of the battles with the Kharlu the Jhungid had annually, Nomin had soared above the other teens in her hand-to-hand, her spearman work, and archery. It was a damn sight for any of the Xaela of the Jhungid, who only seemed capable of mastering one or two things at a time.

In those years, the steppe had undergone the routine change of khagans. Tumur Kutlugh of the Himaa, Maa of the Dotharl again, Dologadai of the Buduga, Khogaghchin of the Gesi, and finally Magnai of the Oronir.

Nomin always had it in the back of her mind: “I am going to free the others.” Her driving force that pushed her forward, and a promise to herself that she was going to see through even if it killed her. There were still embers in her heart that burned, waiting for the moment to shine brightly. After all, the memory of Esenaij’s body lying lifeless in the grass where they trained played over and over in her mind, reminding her why she set her goal so long as she remained with the Jhungid.

Jamugha gripped his spear and charged Nomin, ready to strike. The height discrepancy between the two of them, however, made it difficult to land a hit as Nomin ducked under his thrust and danced underneath him to use her body to make him fall on his stomach as he tripped over her.

Nomin held her training spear so that its padded end was pointed at the boy who had tumbled to the ground.

“Nomin of the Broken Scale has triumphed,” the overseer of the match announced. They were none other than Taragai, the Jhungid who oversaw hand-to-hand combat training among the tribespeople. Normally, he had overseen some of the older tribespeople’s sessions, not those barely out of their child summers. He looked at Jamugha with a slight shake of his head before he looked at Nomin. Nodding to her, he addressed the rest of the onlookers that were sitting around to watch the match.

“Training is done for the day. Take time to rest up. I look forward to seeing if any of you can best the Broken Scale in combat against the Kharlu in the morning. Her promise seems to guarantee a number of Kharlu laying at our feet come the end of the morrow’s battle,” Taragai said, taking his leave of the training site. The former Tumet only watched as he left, her brow furrowing somewhat.

In the time that she had been there, Nomin had grown to hate all of them. And she had forced herself to learn how to hate them with a smile on her face.

Nomin hated the khatun, Silun Gorgeli. She hated Terbish. She hated Harghasun. She hated Taragai. She hated any of the Jhungid who believed themselves superior to those who were not original tribe members. She hated any of the Jhungid who debased her and called her 'Broken Scale.' Who merely saw her as a weapon at their disposal. A number. A warrior that they made.

Jamugha, on the other hand, had balled a hand into a fist and punched the ground before he stood back up. While he towered over Nomin and looked displeased, he huffed and swallowed whatever pride he had. Despite his set jaw, he finally spoke: “... the way you move is impressive. What I have learned, I will make use of next time… and what I have not, I hope I can later study further.”

Nomin nodded up at Jamugha with a slight grin to offset and distract herself from her thoughts. She had wiped the scowl of disdain off her face -- something she had learned well to do when it came to interacting with others within the orda -- or what was essentially a small town’s worth of ger.

“Next time, just keep our heights in mind. Aim your attacks at a mid or high point, and I can easily slip underneath your swings. You have good reach on those arms of yours, just gotta pick your timing and swings,” Nomin pointed out. “You’re also a lot taller than me. You could easily use that to your advantage to keep yourself out of my reach. And… lastly, go for my legs. We’re training for war. Anything goes.”

Walking past Jamugha, Nomin lightly tapped her fist to his arm as a friendly gesture before she went to go ahead and put her training spear away on one of the nearby racks.

As it stood, Jamugha was like her -- a member of a tribe that had been forcibly taken and made to train in order to fight the Kharlu. He was taken from his family and had been part of a smaller tribe called the Shonkhor. Nomin knew little of them, but according to Jamugha, they had hawks that would help them hunt, but that their art might as well have died when the Jhungid massacred those who did not comply, and only had a handful of their tribespeople left within the coastal tribe's custody.

He was just one example of how Nomin had made some friends among the Jhungid who were not of Sagahl origin, and more importantly to her, were not pure-blooded Jhungid. They were important to her in the way a key was important to open a lock.

This was only part of what Nomin was focusing on when she roamed the Jhungid Orda. She had behaved well enough over the last handful of summers since being in their custody that she no longer had people constantly watching her to make sure she acted within the Jhungid’s wants and desires. She noted the other people that seemed to have their own form of authority, and had made mental notes more than physical notes.

Nomin had to… she simply had to in order to understand the hierarchy and who answered to who. Who had what role, who oversaw what, who Nomin had to keep in mind above others.

Targets. They were all targets of one kind or another.

Under the command of Terbish, there were three others who answered to her.

Alagh Yid, a woman who had a family within the orda and lived in one of the larger ger; apparently she had taken a former member of Olkund as her husband -- though Nomin was not sure if this was out of love, or the desire to birth children of unnatural stature among the Jhungid. Surely there would have been some kind of benefit to the Jhungid with children like that. That was Nomin’s reasoning in her head, but it was possible she was far from the truth of the matter.

Battsetseg, one of the heads who oversaw the farms and animal production of the orda before making sure everything was ready to take to Reunion for trade. She often left with a van of her own for long periods of time to make trade at the neutral marketplace where combat was left at the gates: Reunion. One of the lesser threats when it came to most of the higher ups, but a threat nonetheless.

Tole-Buqa, a man who was in charge of the stables within the orda; he made claims that he was only second to the Noykin in being able to break any horse to prepare them for war. It was a claim that made Nomin scoff to herself every time she passed by the stables, filled with horses, reindeer, and camels from other tribes that no longer existed, or were stolen from.

Under the command of Harghasun, there were five.

Bolormaa was more or less Harghasun’s right hand -- not only was she highly skilled in the arts of war, but she was also his betrothed. There were times she had come out to the training fields, scars upon her body that told tales of the conflicts she had seen. Nomin considered her threat level rather high after seeing her in combat within the last summer.

Khadagan was ruthless in her aim with a bow on horseback; she had a name among the orda: Bürged Nüd, or The Eagle’s Eye. She personally trained pure-blood Jhungid archers, who then in turn were made to train those brought in from other tribes and assimilated their marksmanship. There was a day that Nomin remembered where Khadagan seemed to have taken an interest in her, though it seemed to have been a brief pause when a contest of marksmanship had taken place one winter.

Khojin, who was actually relatively pleasant to speak with when she was not training with her spear; she left more of a positive impression on Nomin, though not enough to dispel her hatred of those in command within the orda. Khojin was a bit of a younger member who had taken the place of one of their parents that had been trusted by Harghasun prior when she came of age. Nomin sometimes wondered if they could have been friends should things have been different.

Xorxoi, a spearfisher more than anything when he had the chance, though just as well… for he was also one of the best spearmen among the Jhungid. Nomin had observed him as being a little more laid back with more of an intention to fish rather than war with the Kharlu. She had wondered if this was because he was of another tribe, but she found no information either way when she snooped.

Khongkhortai, a man who fancied himself more of a chef than a fighter, though a good enough fighter to put most of the cocky newcomers in their place if they dared to provoke him. To Nomin, he was nice enough after her rising through the ranks in her training. Again, however, not nice enough to dispel her hatred of the Jhungid.

Under the command of Taragai, there were also five.

Sorkhaghtani, one who often sharpened bones into knives that they would throw in combat. They had forsook the bow and sling in favor of this combat style they curated among the Jhungid. It was not often that Nomin ever crossed paths with Sorkhaghtani, which was worrying in and of itself as far as threat level and determining it was. The most the former Tumet had seen and learned was from those who adopted their fighting style.

Ganzorig, a woman who often oversaw training sessions with the children and often showed them proper ways of wielding their weaponry. She was a babysitter more than anything -- and Nomin had met her when she was first brought into the Jhungid Orda along with her other Sagahli peers. On the bright side, Ganzorig seemed to have a good handle on teaching children as well as being gentle when she felt it necessary, and firm when needed.

Oyuun, a woman who originally herded sheep, though often fought relentlessly on horseback against the Kharlu earning her place at Taragai’s side. As Nomin heard it from others, Oyuun had leapt from her horse's back to claw and attack the Kharlu warrior that had Taragai pinned for the kill. An act of selflessness and tribal familial bond that could not go overlooked.

Zhims, a man who could easily go toe to toe with Taragai if he so chose, though often rejected a role that saw him as anything other than an enforcer when not embroiled in combat with the Kharlu. Nomin had noted his patrols at night when she was feeling bold enough to travel under the night's shroud. She had memories of him enacting punishment upon those that dared try to escape. Or worse, see them executed because they may as well have been better off dead if they were not going to act under the wants of the Jhungid leadership.

Toragana was Taragai’s sister, and seemed more or less to have been a no-nonsense kind of individual when it came to patrolling the perimeter to ensure that the tribespeople were doing what they were meant to have been doing. Both she and Zhims had often reconvened with one another during their patrols in order to give each other reports before continuing their jobs. From what Nomin had overheard, though, it seemed Toragana had some sense of resentment for her sister. A valuable nugget of information.

It was important to learn what one could on the chain of command within the Jhungid. That was something that Nomin picked up on, and something she pursued from the moment she had come away from being angry all the time, to being angry only a fraction of the time.

She was obsessed. Obsessed out of necessity. Out of anger. Out of lust for revenge.

Once she could actually take a step back and make better plans without being caught and reprimanded, Nomin had started her act in earnest. Slowly comply and do as she was told. Engage in her training. Hone her skills. Hone her body. Put on a pleasant or thankful demeanor. Lower their guard.

It had to all culminate to something. Surely it did.

Everyone was a little more hard on each other in the higher ranks, and harder still to those that were battle fodder or actual warriors that were to fight. After all, now that news that the Naadam had passed reached them, it was time to prepare themselves to fight the Kharlu in the coming new moon. Nomin had been no stranger to the intense training, though this year was the first year that she was to do battle with the Kharlu at the Jhungid’s side. Her battle prowess had only been improved upon and had made her stand out perhaps more than she initially wanted to in the beginning.

With training done, however, Nomin got herself sitting with her back against the ger that she often slept in and shared with Checheyigen and Chotan. Khulan had since been relocated to a different ger that housed some of the other displaced boys that were gathered from other tribes if they did not have their families taken in with them. It was upsetting at first, but the Saghali teens had often stayed with one another when they could.

“Everyone’s talking about the battle tomorrow. Are you nervous, Nomin?” Chotan asked, taking her seat next to Nomin. She had since moved on from talking with a slow and steady tone that she had when they first met. While she still liked collecting flowers and making hairpins with them, she had stopped doing it as much since the Jhungid were more interested in making her a fighter. Though Chotan showed little improvement in any area aside from archery.

“No… well, I don’t know…” Nomin admitted, rubbing the back of her neck. Her fingers ran over the loose scales that were starting to go to make way for the newer ones growing in. She was going to have to keep that one in mind -- Nomin had made it a habit to keep all of her shed scales once they stopped being soft.

“I’m probably going to do something stupid…” Nomin went on to say, lowering her hand to the grass beneath her.

Settling her gaze on the ground below, she frowned. “When I do, you’ll know it. I want you to take Che and Khulan and run when it happens. If you can find Turakina and the other Sagahl… urge them to run with you. If they don’t… then just run.”

“What… what are you going to do?” Chotan looked at Nomin with both surprise and worry wrought within her expression. She leaned closer to the other auri teen, trying to get a look at her face so that she could get a better read on her emotions.

“Like I said… something stupid.”

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Jhungid, Kharlu… both tribes were embroiled in their hatred for one another. Both of them, when looked at objectively, were not so different. They hated one another, and they employed the same techniques so that they could battle, seriously injure, or kill one another.

When Nomin sat upon the horse she had earned, all she could think about was how she simply hated both tribes at this point. What moronic ideals and morals that the two of them had to kidnap and subjugate tribes to fight their silly wars with one another. For what? A stretch of coastal territory? She saw first hand how the Jhungid treated and broke those they captured into fighting for them… there was no doubt in her mind that the Kharlu were the same.

“Said any prayers?” Jamugha asked as he rode his horse next to Nomin’s. The two of them were further back in the archer lineup. They stared at the backs of the heads of Jhungid and subjugated tribes peoples' heads.

“Praying is pointless. Azim, Nhaama… who cares about the backside of crippled horse?” Nomin asked rhetorically in turn, keeping her eyes forward. “Neither of them stopped the Jhungid from overtaking what they could of your tribe, or of my tribe. And they’re not going to give a single dzo’s dung about the outcome of this battle -- no matter what either side believes.”

“Mm…” Jamugha seemed to muse silently to himself after Nomin spoke.

Cresting the hills opposite of them, Nomin watched as dots of individuals started to appear. She had been trained to recognize their tribal color, and the dotting of them soon became a line of them. A scowl settled on Nomin’s face as her horse shifted beneath her, a small snort coming from his nostrils as he pawed the ground with anticipation.

“Easy, my friend…” Nomin quietly spoke, reaching forward and stroking the dusty colored coat of her steed. “We ride soon enough…”

Her attention rose back up to the growing number of Kharlu warriors. Warriors…'warriors'... Many of them, like Nomin, had been stolen away or absorbed into their ranks. She had only learned this from Kharlu numbers that the Jhungid had managed to steal away at various points in time. Just as the Kharlu had absconded with numbers from the Jhungid.

As far as Nomin had ever been concerned, they were pathetic and despicable.

'Would I have ever thought the same were I never stolen away and made to fight for one of them…' This was a question that sometimes tugged at the back of Nomin’s mind. She felt it old that it would come up now of all times. A time where she steeled her nerves and resolve. Not to fight, but to see her plans through.

'It matters little…' Nomin thought, slowly exhaling through her mouth as she kept a loose hold on her reins. 'I am here now on the field of conflict. Not my conflict. Not my fight. It never was.'

The bellow of the war horns rang out, piercing the air only moments before battle shouts and cries filled the air. As an archer, Nomin remained rooted to her spot as she watched those that fought in the name of the Jhungid run or urge their horses forward into battle. That was her cue, more or less, however, and she withdrew her bow and nocked an arrow with the rest of the archers.

#ffxiv #ffxiv writing #my writing #ffxiv oc #oc: nomin tal kheeriin #oc: jamugha jhungid (shonkhor) #oc: chotan sagahl #au ra ffxiv #au ra xaela #xaela headcanons #xaela jhungid #xaela kharlu #NTK:Chronicles

[afreesworn]

First Snow!

Every time @britishmuffin draws Nabi, I just get this cozy warm feeling. She looks so SOFT!! And her mood is so perfect!!

Nabi is wearing the winter coat from the AU cafe art that Muffin blew me away with two years ago.

THANK YOU SO MUCH Muffin!!

#FFXIV Art #Nabi Kharlu #AU art #Muffin art just makes me melt with softness #I love how she incorporated the pin #the outfit is so cute and perfect for Nabi #First snow expression is chef's kiss #MuffinArt #Xaela #Au Ra #C&F AU #also I want this outfit???

[troll-bridge]

Forgot to post these, but Caraxes got a new spear (courtesy of friend) and drake mount (courtesy of moogles).

#FFXIV #au ra #xaela #dragoon #character #caraxes kharlu #halicarnassus

[mimble-sparklepudding]

FFXIV Swap Poem Thingy

I had the honour of being matched with the very marvellous @paintedscales for the FFXIV Swap. I really enjoyed learning about Nomin and her backstory and it's given me the opportunity to do a lot of background reading on Xaela lore and the history of the Azim Steppe. Definitely worth reading Nomin's Carrd if you want more detail on the events described below.

However I was a bit worried that a poem might not be as exciting as some of the beautiful artwork created by others for this project, so I took the liberty of commissioning a custom character banner for Nomin as a little extra.

Anyway Poetry Time (mostly under the cut as it's quite long).

The Nameless Child.

The nameless child, left by design,

Bound tight with rope to sacred pine,

As tribal customs did dictate,

But was resolved to change her fate,

And once she had her bonds untwined,

She chose to leave her tribe behind,

From that day forth, without regret,

She was no longer a Tumet.

Having swiftly named herself,

Quietly and with practiced stealth,

She made her way across the plains,

To the lone town the Steppe contains,

Where, seeing one so young exiled,

They grudgingly took in the child,

Gave her food and clothes withal,

And raised her as a young Saghal.

The traditions of this peaceful tribe,

Among many other things proscribe,

The killing or the subjugation,

Of beasts with whom they share creation,

And thus, bitter irony indeed,

The adherents of this gentle creed,

Were enslaved, or left for dead,

Their lives destroyed by the Jhungid.

Having beheld her brother slain,

She had to work quite hard to feign,

Any form of acquiescence,

As she grew through her adolescence,

Under the watchful, callous, eyes,

Of custodians who she despised,

So she knew exactly what to do,

When battle dawned with the Kharlu.

As each tribe faced the other’s host,

In battle for the Eastern coast,

She drew the arrow in her bow -

And turned her back upon the foe,

Without pause, without remorse,

She shot her leader from his horse,

Before riding back to burn their yurts,

Administering their just deserts.

Having freed her former tribe,

She knew that she must circumscribe,

Her kinship with them all thenceforth,

To keep them safe, so journeyed North,

And West across the Steppe alone,

In search of tribes as yet unknown,

And, from spending time with each,

She’d learn all that they had to teach.

Whether across a glacier,

Travelling with the Angura,

Or racing upon an Oroq Sled,

She absorbs all that they’ve done and said,

And be it Himaa, Gharl or Mol,

Each colour's blended in her soul,

And every one that she recalls,

Is carried forth in her footfalls.

(For those that are interested in such things I opted for rhyming couplets as the nearest form I could find to traditional Mongolian Epic Poetry (known as tuuli). There are six variations of narrative in these epics, and (extremely loosely) I opted for The Mythicised Epic, where the hero fights to restore order, as the basis for Nomin's tale. The most famous version of this narrative in Mongolian Folklore is the Epic of King Gesar, but there are lots of other ones. Definitely worth learning about if you enjoy cultural history.)

Many thanks to @paintedscales for their patience in waiting for me to pull my finger out and finish this - and also for helping me with the pronunciation of the various Xaela tribes with which Nomin has been associated. Needless to say, until this assistance, I was apparently getting most of them very wrong (aside from the Mol - I could manage that one!)

I hope you enjoy my silly poem and the nice Custom Banner!

#ffxiv oc #Nomin Tal Kheeriin #ffxiv au ra #ffxiv xaela #ff14 #ffxiv writing #ffxiv banner #ffxiv wol #ffxiv #azim steppe #the nameless child #final fantasy 14 #ff14 ffxiv #final fantasy xiv

[toweringshadow]

WARRIOR OF LIGHT ( DARK KNIGHT )

► KHALJA KHARLU ► 29 // 9′3″ (282cm) — a xaela au ra raised very austerely as a prize warrior on the azim steppe who knew little but bloody conflict before finding his way to eorzea. now hydaelyn’s chosen and champion of the realm, his role as an object of fear and hatred on the field of battle hasn’t changed but now he plays the part for his own purposes— to heal the land and help the ones he loves as best he can.

a quiet, surprisingly gentle giant in stark contrast to his harsh countenance. careful with his words as he often struggles with them, often to the point of favoring silence

no really, emphasis on gentle. khalja can be kind to a point of almost childlike simplicity, observant and supportive, courteous (if sometimes awkward about it) to the majority of strangers when not bidden to slay or slaughter. given you haven’t already earned his distrust, you could spill soup in this guy’s lap and he’d apologize to you

not w/o a sense of humor but he tends to be funny by accident more than anything

when negotiation is out of the question and he’s called to fight, be it man, beast or primal, the switch flips instantaneously and drastically— death becomes a duty with neither pleasure nor remorse attached and he performs with alarming efficiency

oop okay he’s back to normal, krile be a dear and get the hose again

talented with his hands and an accomplished craftsman in his off hours. sewing, goldsmithing and cooking are khalja’s specialties and they keep his hands and mind mercifully active. ask him to make you a pie sometime

slowly but steadily growing into himself now that he has the room to do it, even as he juggles countless traumas, responsibilities and tragic mistakes. all of that is par for the course when the weight of the world is on your shoulders it seems.

#isola follow #reposting for the fresh app

[sentryandco]

Prompt 16: Deiform

Arasen had always been fascinated by religion. As a child, his belief in Azim and Nhaama was unwavering, and while the history of war between the Dawn Father and the Dusk Mother were glorified by Kharlu and Junghid into justifying their warring way of life, Arasen was far more invested in the story of the love that existed between the two deities.

It was said that even though they waged a fierce battle against each other, the seed of love was still able to bloom and grow on the war-torn field. And it was looking upon the faces of their children that the Father and the Mother returned to the heavens, bequeathing the fate of the land onto the xaela.

For Arasen, their children had forgotten the vow of peace that was struck between their creators, for strife and contest were the way of life in the Steppe. The only thing that still recalled that first promise, were the flowers that bloomed in the oldest ruin upon the land. Its petals still remembered the light and the warmth of the Father and the quiet tranquility and embrace of the Mother. 

So when he was old enough to travel across the seas, and learned of The Twelve, and the kami, and the Primals that answered the prayers of beastial tribes, Arasen wondered if there were as many gods as there were stars in the sky. Did they exist alongside the Dawn Father and the Dusk Mother? And if so, did they also watch their children suffer and struggle from their distant seat in the heavens? Did they answer their prayers?

Learning of the possible destruction that a god could wrought, summoned by the desperate supplications of believers, Arasen had no doubt, some did answer, and violently so.

So then what of the sacrifice that appeased them? What of the lore of the Lost Daughter? If invocations born of anguish and fear could call forth a divine power, could the offering of a pure heart and soul also do the same?

It was due to his own devotion, his obsession with bringing peace to the Steppe, that he had believed the latter could be true. But now, aftering seeing all that had transpired within the bowels of earth more ancient than he could ever imagine, his certainty in the matter was no longer born of need. He had seen with his own eyes what an offer of love and kindness at the cost of one’s own could achieve.

He should be more certain than ever to resume his previous course. All he had witnessed only confirmed the presumed end.

But Arasen was now wholly committed to another path. To prevent the need of such an oblation. The Steppe was full of stories of loss. Smaller tribes giving up their youths in exchange for protection, offering up their precious women as brides for alliance. He had come to know the individuals that were otherwise seen as commodities, and each one of them were far better than he.

As Arasen watched from a distance a taller figure standing at the cliff’s bluff, he wondered idly where the two women were now; his cousin and the Mankhad. Both of whom had every right to demand his end, but instead forgave him for what he did to them. A promise given to the latter had him and his warden traveling to the coast, accompanying her brother.

And here, Arasen discovered yet another star that shone above alongside Dusk Mother. The Shuurga had their own deity that presided over the waves crashing against the jagged rocks below.

Knowing the possible miracles that the Lost Daughter could invoke, what manner of power could a Stormcaller bring to bear?

#ffxivwrite2022 #FFXIVWrite #Prompt: Deiform #Arasen Kharlu #we piggybacked on Arukh's trip home #he didn't mind i'm sure #c&f #Corruption arc

[sea-and-storm]

FFXIV Write 2022 Prompt #8: Tepid (Arukh)

"Elder Unegen," Baidu announced as they had reached the mouth of the Cloister. "Arukh Kharlu answers your summons, if you would kindly receive him."

The winding natural pathways that Arukh had been led through by the Shuurga's khan had been almost claustrophobic at times, but they now opened up wide before his eyes. The cavernous cove boasted a high, craggy ceiling dotted with salt-crusted stalagtites. At their tips gathered heavy droplets of briny moisture borne of the humid sea breeze that blew in from the cove's cliffside opening along its back wall. It gave birth to a ceaseless symphony of dripping as they fell to the seawater lapping at the stone below where it pooled in the Cloister's center.

He assumed the sound might have been meditative to the udgan whose summons he was now answering, but it did little else but grate on Arukh's nerves. Then again, it just as easily could have been the place in which he now stood. Even more likely, it was simply the sight of the elderly woman sitting by the water's edge alighting a long-simmering grudge within him.

Elder Stormcaller Unegen of the Whispering Winds looked up from the seat of stone that she was perched upon at water’s edge at Baidu’s words, though her gray, clouded gaze never quite focused steadily upon them. She looked different from the figure of Arukh’s memory, once proud form withered and worn with the ravages of age and possessed of an undeniable air of frailty at odds with the image of stern strength that he had long associated with her. Though her braided hair had always been gray of color, the hue had shifted now to the stark white of sun-bleached bone and seemed every bit as brittle. 

Using the gnarled driftwood staff resting beside her as a cane, the udgan slowly and unsteadily rose to her feet to greet both her khan and her guest. Behind her, another woman seemingly closer in age to Arukh’s own forty-odd summers quickly stepped forward at her obvious wavering, gently reaching out to take her arm for support.

"Please, Elder," she implored quietly, her brow drawn and voice heavy with obvious concern. "Do take care. You shouldn't push yourself.."

"You worry overmuch, Yesui," the elderly Xaela chided in nary more than an exasperated whisper, but made no move to push her or pull away from her assistance. “I am but old, not ill.. And it would be unforgivably rude of me to ask an honored guest to join me yet not even show such respect as to rise for their arrival.”

With her own sigh, the dark-haired woman at the Elder’s side seemed not wont to argue a point that would clearly fall only upon deaf ears. Only once she was certain that Unegen was steady on her feet did Yesui release her gentle hold upon her and step back, remaining close but allowing the woman her independence with a deferential nod.

If her talk of respect and honor was meant to please Arukh, it had fallen woefully short of its mark. He felt now the telltale flicking of his tail behind him, betraying his steadily mounting irritation. It wasn’t that Unegen’s choice of words itself had offended him, but that she uttered them with the same tepid deference in her tone that all of the Shuurga had entreated him with since his return. It was bad enough coming from Baidu Khan and those old friends and acquaintances whom he had spotted as he made his way through the same. Coming from Unegen, it was nigh unbearable for even the normally cool-headed warrior. 

But as Yesui stepped back and Unegen refocused her attention upon him, he found himself put squarely on the backfoot as the Elder’s thin lips pulled into a smile to regard him.

“Welcome home, Young Arukh,” she greeted, paused, then let out a breathy chuckle with a shake of her head. “Ah, but forgive me. I do suppose you are not young yourself any longer, but a man grown. Still.. you are ever a child of the Shuurga, and the gods smile at your return to Their bosom.”

His lips parted to answer, but no words bubbled up from between them. Instead, his brow and jaw both set in a look of conflicted confusion at having been taken so thoroughly off guard. 

This was not the manner of reception that he had at all envisioned within his mind’s eye. Not from the woman who had come to their home spirit away his sister when he was still but a child himself. Not the woman who had answered his protestations then with condescending placations about how this was a great honor. As if he should be grateful to her for shattering their family into innumerable, irreparable pieces.

His tongue passed over his lips as he bit back a far less gracious, unbecoming answer. Instead, he straightened, his posture rigid with tension as he fouggt to control the sharpness of his words.

“I must speak with you alone,” he answered, pointedly side-stepping her warmth. 

“Elder..” Yesui began from behind her, once more the concern rising to her voice but with greater urgency. 

Arukh wondered if she had picked up on his barely contained temper simmering under his skin. As if he would lay the first hand of harm upon this frail woman, regardless of his own misgivings towards her.. But it was clear that despite Unegen’s words of warmth and welcome, the others yet viewed him as Kharlu now. So he bitterly supposed it was only natural that they worry what capriciousness and cruelties of which he was capable with the Elder at his mercy. 

This time, however, Unegen stopped the other udgan's protests short by raising a wrinkled, gnarled hand.

“Very well,” she answered him with a nod, then glanced back to the other woman behind her. “Yesui, escort Baidu Khan to the storeroom and inform him of which herbs and reagents we’ve need of restocking and how much we should be grateful to receive from the gatherers. We've much work to do ere the next migration and it would be prudent to start now."

With no shortage of reluctance, the other woman left the Elder’s side and started towards them. Her bright blue eyes met Arukh's own as she approached the Khan beside him, fixing him with an appraising stare. He raised no protest to the manner in which she scrutinized him for signs of ill intent. 

“I will not keep the Elder overlong,” he offered by way of reassurance. “I’ve simply a message to relay. Nothing more.”

Whether or not she was satisfied by what she found in his eyes and his words, Yesui’s gaze finally broke from his in silence as she looked instead to Baidu. Without acknowledgement, she guestured for the khan to follow as she departed the Cloister and left them to their talk.

Once they were out of sight and the reverberating echo of their footsteps had faded into silence once more, Unegen lowered herself back into the seat she had just risen from with a groan. It was clear the movement gave her no shortage of grief. Little wonder it was that she scarcely left this cove these days if even something so simple gave her such obvious discomfort.

“Pray pay no heed to Yesui’s protectiveness,” she sighed once she was settled again. “I’ve but recently informed her that I intend for her to succeed me as Elder.. and I suspect that she is intent on delaying the passage of that mantle as long as she can manage it.” She let out a soft huff. “A more skilled healer than Yesui of the Calm Waters I have not met, but.. her confidence could withstand a measure of tempering yet if she is to lead one day.”

“With all due respect, Elder–” Arukh interjected suddenly, having little intent to entertain such conversation of a way of life that clearly no longer welcomed him. “I would relay my message to you and be on my way, if it is all the same to you. Yours is not the only message I come bearing.”

Unegen’s pale brows rose as she regarded the stiff-lipped warrior, but she showed no sign of offense at his impatience. She only offered an understanding, silent nod.

"Very well."

“It was Ghoa that bade me seek you out,” Arukh began, but paused when he saw the faint hint of concern begin to arise upon the elderly Xaela’s face. His head shook softly. “Though our paths did cross once again upon Steppe soil, rest assured that she is hale, whole, and well looked after. The Kharlu do not know of her interlude here and keeping it as such is the reason for my request of privacy for our talk."

He couldn’t help but let his words trail then, if only for a moment, to watch how they were received. At first, the chief emotion that took over Unegen’s countenance was that of surprise, followed quickly by concern. But with Arukh’s reassurance, that too faded away – into a look of peaceful knowing.

“I see..” she murmured, a small smile pulling at her lips as she cast her cloudy eyes back out to the sea beyond the Cloister. “The sea has been unseasonably restless of late, I had noticed, but I had yet to surmise its meaning. Now it becomes clearer.”

Once more Arukh felt the irritation rising up the spine as she spoke of signs and their meanings. Unegen of the Whispering Winds had always been revered and respected amongst the rest of the Shuurga for the keen ear she kept to the gods’ will. However, Arukh had only ever viewed it with bitter, if not sacriligious skepticism. 

“She wishes for me to relay to you that ‘she understands now’,” he continued, having to work to keep his tone measured but unable to keep the tension from sneaking its way in entirely. “She no longer blames you for the decision that you made not to intercede on her behalf when she was Chosen, and.. she feels that she owes you an apology for her doubting of you.”

Clearly, from how he was simply unable to keep from spitting those last words out as if they were bitter upon his tongue, Arukh did not share his sister’s sentiment. 

“So, then.. I take it that you revealed yourself to her? Who you were to her, in truth?” Unegen spoke up suddenly, but surprisingly.. there was no judgment there in her voice. Only curiosity. Once again, she had caught him off-guard.

“..Yes,” he answered, but not without the tone of a person suspicious that they were about to step into an awaiting trap. “She knows now that we are blood.” A pause, then he continued with perhaps a touch more venom underlying his words than even he had meant. “And she knows now of the rest of her true family.”

He had been expecting the words to meet Unegen’s disapproval.. He had been hoping for it, in truth. Though he did not wish to inflict any physical harm upon the woman in front of him, there was still a part of himself deep down that wished to cut her in the same way as she had cut them so many years ago. By stealing back the sister that had been taken from him.

So when the Elder’s expression turned to relief rather than rancor, Arukh was not rightly sure how to feel about it. Disappointed? Angry? He settled instead upon bewilderment, and she smiled knowingly when she saw how plainly it marked his scarred features. 

“You are surprised that it brings me peace to hear this?” she asked with a soft cant of her head. "But I suppose your surprise should neither surprise me. It is clear that while Ghoa has extended her forgiveness, your heart still harbors much resentment when you look upon me.”

There it was, the open acknowledgement of his anger and discomfort. And now that Unegen herself had opened that door, Arukh made no move to slam it back shut again. Rather, he gladly stepped right through its threshold.

“I considered not relaying the message at all,” he admitted in a huff, eyes narrowing upon her. “Ghoa owes you no apology. By my figuring, you are the one who ought be apologizing. To her. To our parents. To the other families from whom you’ve stolen loved ones.”

There was a long pause after the heavy accusations fell from his lips while Unegen’s gaze drifted off, her mind clearly turning with thought on how to answer him. Was she going to once again patronize him with her talk of the gods’ will as she had when he was a child? Chide him for his own sacreligious selfishness? Make excuses to justify what she had done?

“You speak a truth that has weighed heavily upon my heart now for years,” she sighed. Once again, the Elder Stormcaller had defied his expectations in the most unexpected of ways with the admission. “But lest you think I say so simply to pander to you without sincerity, I ask that you permit me to tell a tale from our clan’s long history.”

#ffxivwrite2022 #arukh mankhad #unegen mankhad #baidu mankhad #yesui mankhad #hhhhh i'm not super happy with this one #couldn't quite find the right stride with it #but decided to say fk it and post it anyway #especially since i needed to finish churning it out for future drabble purposes anyhoo #oh well #hecc u perfectionism

[eul-art]

Well, it’s time to be submitted by Kharlu tribe !  This is my first banner commission (Qalli, it’s my boyfriend, it’s not really a commission xD) and I’m so proud of me with this banner, she’s so cool with details. The central symbol is choose by Kharlu members, whith the color. I worked after with their requests to create that ^^

Waves and seagull feather for link with sea, arrowhead and bones for warrior aspect, a mala and prayer fabric (like mongolian altar) for religious faith. In my mind, Kharlu (Like Jhungid obviously) are like sea : a lot of water drop (subject tribes) who are gather in a fearsome wave. 

#kharlu #xaela #FFXIV #ffxiv au ra #ffxiv art #ffxiv rp #ffxiv xaela #banner

[goatrocket-moved]

ᴅʀᴀɢᴏɴsᴏɴɢ ᴅɪᴠᴇ 

#ffxiv #ff14 #au ra xaela #dragoon #warrior of light #sarnai zaya #sarnai kharlu #i managed to get drg lb3 in gpose and its so good

[garachocobo]

(read: the Jhungid)

I saw this on break at work and it felt. too perfect to ignore. i could see the kharlu and jhungid being convinced to change their annual fight to a game of some sort, but they just get angrier and angrier over the course of the game and end up beating each other senseless anyway

#ffxiv #my art #xaela #au ra #ff14 #final fantasy 14 #this is so stupid omg #arslang #arslang kharlu

[suvdi]

Suvdi (mostly) had fun at Fight Club tonight!

#suvdi kharlu #xaela #ffxiv xaela #balmung

[afreesworn]

"I know there are shadows now, where I never saw them before. The dark corners. But... it also lights other things so much more brightly. Things, moments, become more precious."

A Year Ago...

Ruen ( @r2ruen ) gave me this adorable dooble of these two in one of their (her? Anchor doesn’t look all that pleased) more playful moments. I still love it so much.

#Jubi #Nabi Kharlu #Anchor Saltborn #I think I shared this drawing with an answer to an ask #but never shared the art for its own sake #should dig through inventory to share more Ruen art #Cigarettes and Fireflies #FFXIV Art #Xaela #Hyur #Midlander #Au Ra

[troll-bridge]

BREAKING NEWS: Caraxes finally purchases a shirt/jacket because Ishgard is too damn cold for lizards.

#at least until he gets to the steppe #then he'll probably be shirtless again lol #FFXIV #Au Ra #Xaela #Halicarnassus #Caraxes Kharlu #character

[izakaya-jinh]

BEYOND NHAAMA: THE FROZEN NORTH

Too cold and inhospitable to draw the attention of most, the northern lands of Othard are a largely forgotten and timeless place. Sparsely inhabited, primarily by relatives of the Xaela, these lands are the domain of rugged hunters and gatherers who subsist on what little nature has to offer.

Let us embark on a journey of the mind through this frigid realm.

Map Source: TheWorstAvatarEver; reddit

The journey begins at the northern edge of Doman claims. Here, we are greeted by the sparkling blue vastness of the Bay of Yanxia, so great an expanse that to many, it is a sea in and of itself. Along the southern shores of these cold yet bountiful waters lie the coastal fishing villages of northern Doma and naval fortresses constructed by Yanxian warlords in the ancient past. The largest of these fortresses guards a bustling port that serves trade between northern Yanxia and the Hingan isle of Koshu.

As we trace a path northward along the bay’s coastline, we come to its western shores, home to the Xaela tribes of the Jhungid, Kharlu, Haragin, and Mankhad. Each year, an annual battle between the Jhungid and Kharlu tribes dyes these shores red with blood and the victor seizes control of a large swath of valuable coastland. While these two great tribes spend much of the year preparing for battle by conquering smaller tribes, their Haragin and Mankhad cousins are known for finer skills. Passed down through generations are the shipbuilding and navigation skills of the Haragin, whose ancestors once sailed across the eastern ocean. As for the Mankhad, their exceptional skill with pipes and poisoned blow-darts has long protected them from larger tribes and other threats. Sharing the southern edge of the western coastline and guarding against the territorial ambitions of the Xaela tribes are Doma’s northernmost frontier outposts, whose defenders have long ensured the bay’s southern shores remain under Doman control.

Meanwhile, along the bay’s eastern edge lies the Ryakgyr Peninsula, a frigid stretch of land that is often so cold that even drifting ice floes may reach its northern shores intact. Here, small clans of hunters roam the wilderness in pursuit of prey that will provide them with food, furs, and fuel. The strongest clans have long established themselves on the southern tip of the peninsula, where the cooler waters of the Bay of Yanxia meet the warm currents of the Ruby Tide. In summer, the monsoon rains bring warmth and wetness to the edge of Ryakgyr, while in winter the climate remains cold and dry. At the coldest time of year, temperatures in the peninsula’s south hover just barely above freezing, and in the north the chill is so deep that to go out unprepared is to invite death.

The chill of the frozen north is not unique to Ryakgyr, and as we venture west we reach the sheer and frosted coastal cliffs of the Arras. Here, the temperatures are so cold in winter that even the northern sea called the Blindfrost freezes over. This seasonal freezing deters trade, and attempts to construct a major port along the Arras have been met only with frustration. Throughout the year, the northern sea and its shores are hammered by violent gales while drifting ice chokes the waters. Still, nature provides for those who persist. Should one seek to eke out a living here, they will discover the life-giving bounty of the gentle giants of the sea—megaptera.

Imagine the great primal Bismarck, but smaller and with a shade of skin like that of the inky ocean depths. Yet despite its smaller size, a megaptera’s monstrous mass still dwarfs even the largest gyuki. A single specimen provides meat and blubber for an entire village, perhaps more, yet the catch is not without its perils. Drifting ice floes and the sheer power of these beasts have been the end of many fishing boats. One cannot make the catch alone; it requires the efforts of many. Here, the villages have invented a technique in which several boats encircle a beast and drive it into the shallows, where large nets are wielded by another waiting group. Caught in the nets, it struggles, exhausting its energy and becoming an easier kill for the harpoon-wielding villagers. The slain beast is then quickly brought ashore, where every part of the creature is taken and used to ensure the survival of the villagers. Here in the north, nothing is wasted. Indeed, if anything remains in excess, it is traded across the Bay of Yanxia to the Domans in the south.

Tracing our path along the rugged northern coast, we eventually come to the eastern foot of the Tail Mountains. From their lower reaches, one can look south and see the northern edge of the Azim Steppe’s sweeping grassland, while to the north, the powerful waves of the Blindfrost crash against the rocky shore. Capped by snow and the glacial remains of the Age of Endless Frost, the Tail Mountains are also the source of numerous streams that gather in the grasslands of the Steppe and flow into Yanxia as the mighty current of the One River that has enriched the central plains for thousands of years.

As we thread our way through the mountains, we cross into the tundra of the Dalvalan Grath. A land of blinding white known to most as a frozen wasteland, few dare to brave its wilderness. Yet in the past, a tribe of Auri hunters left the bountiful plains of the Azim Steppe to dwell in this unforgiving place, and even now their descendants continue to survive here. Birds, deer, and small animals survive off the bushes and shrubs that emerge from the blanket of snow that covers the land, while larger predators like tigers, wolves, and bears ensure they never grow too plentiful.

The Auri hunters who live here avoid direct confrontation with other predators for the most part, devoting their efforts to trapping small prey and gathering edible vegetation instead. Those who do pursue larger prey are considered foolhardy, yet respected if successful, as their more substantial kills provide larger bones and precious furs that can be used to make tools, weapons, and clothing. It remains unclear why the ancestors of these Au Ra chose such a cold and lonely place to make their home, and even more mysterious is why their descendants still choose to remain.

At the western edge of the Dalvalan Grath, a channel of water separates the Othardian mainland from the island known as the Unpromised. Once the site of the mighty conqueror Chaghagan Khan’s naval stronghold, this isle has been the staging point for Xaela invasions into northern Ilsabard in centuries past. Of these, the final conquest led by Chaghagan Khan is most notorious both for its success and its aftermath. After a savage campaign that reaped untold riches for the Xaela, the invaders returned to the island to celebrate their success and divide their spoils. Blinded by greed, Chaghagan Khan sought to withhold the promised spoils from those who had brought him victory. In the ensuing bloodbath that upended the victory celebrations, the Khan was slain, a deserved end for betraying the trust of his generals.

Since the death of Chaghagan Khan, his once mighty stronghold has been largely abandoned and fallen into disrepair. Few inhabitants remain on the island, save for some fishermen and a small trading post. Moreover, the might of Garlemald in recent times has protected northern Ilsabard from invasion, and the few attempts by the Xaela to assemble another raiding force have ended in petty disputes.

Our journey ends with a voyage south from the Unpromised to the southwestern tip of the Dalvalan Grath, where we finally look upon the Knowing Sea. A sea once known as the edge of the world to those dwelling along its shores, here the cold air of the Blindfrost collides with fierce gales from the Burn to create powerful storms that endlessly roil the sea. From the Othardian coast that encircles the eastern part of this inland sea, we can look west across the waters and imagine the rugged coast of Ilsabard. In fact, at the very northern edge of the sea, where its tempestuous waters meet the even colder northern ocean, a narrow strait marks the boundary between Othard and Ilsabard. On a rare day of clear weather, if we stand at the edge of the strait with a spyglass, we may even see another peering back from across the water.

And so our travels end. Countless miles we have traveled, from the plentiful shores of the Bay of Yanxia to the stormy tempests of the Knowing Sea. Along this journey we have seen warring tribes, fishermen, whalers, and hunters. We have visited Ryakgyr, where cool waters meet the warm currents of the Ruby Tide. We have danced along the sheer and frosty cliffs of the Arras coast and seen the glacial streams of the Tail Mountains. Clad in heavy furs, we trekked across the vast tundra of the Dalvalan Grath and crossed the western channel to see the ruins of the Unpromised.

Yet though we have seen much, questions still remain. What brought the Au Ra to the northern tundra? Was this realm once a place of plenty before the Age of Endless Frost? Where did the riches of the mighty Xaela raiders go? These and more, perhaps we will one day answer.

#scholarly scribblings

[sentryandco]

#1: Crux

For as long as he could remember, Arasen knew he was destined for something important. He had prepared himself for it. He had prayed to the gods that when the time came, he would be worthy of the path that would reveal itself to him.

Then when the horrific visions came of the futures that could be, Arasen was nearly undone by the terrors that visited him every time he closed his eyes. But he didn’t bemoan that the gift of Sight was truly just a curse that no longer allowed him to see beyond the suffering that lay ahead. Instead, he persevered, escaping the precipice of insanity from the sleepiness nights and overwhelming despair. He had to learn that compassion and mercy had no place in his life, for if he was to walk the path that would lead to the salvation of all, he couldn’t afford any distractions that could detract him from his goal. He would fulfill his duty by any means necessary, truthfulness and happiness be damned.

And now, within the bowels of the earth beneath the ancient ruins that held powers capable of granting his ultimate wish, it was here that Arasen saw his destiny. This was where his years of torment and nightmares would end, where the prophecy of the Lost Daughter would be finally fulfilled.

Only, there were two paths that await him.

The first choice was the obvious one. It was what he had been working for, his years of machinations finally bearing fruit. The Lost Daughter had been found, and she had been brought to the altar of the ancients, where her blood and soul would give life to the god that slept. He needed only to nudge the tides of battle in favor of the black irises, so that they would take what is rightfully theirs, and awaken the nameless entity that slumbered beneath the mountain.

It should have been an easy decision. All those years he had labored, deceiving everyone, hardening his heart, and damning his soul, what was it for if not for this moment? 

And yet, it had been a journey of solitude. None else had walked this path with him, only the crushing weight of the foreboding knowledge was his companion.

But somewhere along the way, he saw the Lost Daughter for more than just the ends to his means. Nabi was warm and full of life. She was so eager to share her joy but also too generous in her mercy. Even after finding out about his machinations, she forgave him, and even offered him a second chance. But he should have expected that. The sacrifice had to be worthy of the greatness that awaited.

What surprised him, however, was the flawed and unworthy companions his cousin had around her. Arasen had long come to accept that the rest of the world was tainted. It was because of the imperfections, the hubris and greed in people’s hearts, that allowed for so much suffering to exist in the first place. And that was initially what he saw in everyone that Nabi called her friends and family.

Arasen had no hesitation in lying to them, using them, and manipulating them. He was certain a few of them would have to die, even if by his own hands. So then, why was he fighting by their side now?

Stormchild was easy to figure out, but dangerous to scheme around. A cold-hearted killer, whenever she threatened to take his life, Arasen had no doubt she would carry it through. But she held her hand, and risked much, including her own life, for the sake of his cousin. 

Then there was Saltborn. Quick of temper with a sour disposition, the hyur took a disliking to him immediately. Arasen was certain the Confederate had to die, for he was closest to Nabi, and the strongest obstacle in his way. Arasen had even put a blade to his throat, fully intent on killing him.

But in a twist of fate, Saltborn instead saved Arasen from drowning beneath the tumultuous sea, and even forfeited his chances to kill him outright, when more than a few opportunities were laid at his feet. With much reluctance, the hyur spared the Kharlu, even after fully remembering all the pain that the Xaela had caused him. All because of the slim chance that Arasen could now save Nabi from her fate. Arasen knew full well that he would not be here, if it wasn’t for Saltborn.

Then there was Ghoa. She was most like him, with her honeyed tongue and selfish motivations. And initially, whenever she extended a hand of friendship towards him, Arasen thought it much like his own incentive, to keep everyone close and yet at a distance, to watch them and discern their weaknesses. Enthralling her was an absolute necessity. But Arasen soon realized just how easy it turned out to be. Was it because she loved Batuhan that she assumed the best of him as well? Arasen could not deny that Batu’s fondness for the Mankhad may have softened his own disposition towards her. But that did not stop him from using his blood magic to tug on the woman’s thoughts, turning them to his own favor. 

But to his surprise, when faced with a great need, Ghoa offered something of herself, without any manipulation on his part. A schemer caring for the sake of others. That caught him off guard. But moreso, it reminded him that he too had such good intentions, at the very start of his own journey. So when had things gotten so warped?

It was because of all of them that he was even giving this second choice a thought. 

As Arasen stared up at the colossal darkness that loomed before them all, he reminded himself of the pure idea that began his journey. The prophecy had been about salvation and sacrifice. But what he hadn’t realized until now, was that somewhere within it all, was also a thread of hope. Of an impossible dream that could be realized if one was willing to give all they had for the sake of others.

Arasen touched his chest for the rune that was etched there, a tactile reminder of his childhood promise and his bond. Of his original ideals. To choose the second path would be to break the enchantment upon Ghoa. To return to Batu all that Arasen had taken from him. He would be severing his bonds with all of them. A wash of loneliness returned to him, but with it a sense of contentment. He wasn’t following Chanai and Siban’s designs, he wasn’t being driven by visions of death. The path he chose now was for hope, and a future of happiness, not for himself, but for others.

He would prove himself worthy.

#ffxivwrite2020 #prompt 1 #Crux #I had to invoke the image of Shadow of the Colossus #Since the final battle was inspired by that #Arasen Kharlu #Nabi Kharlu #Batuhan Kharlu #Shael Stormchild #Anchor Saltborn #Ghoa Mankhad #C&F #FFxivwrite

[dahniwitchoflight]

All of The Tribes of The Xaela, from FFXIV, sung by me to the tune of Yakko Warner’s “Nations of the World”

Lyrics:

Of the Tribes of the Steppe there’s first the Geneq, the Horo, and Goro, then Mol

Then Bairon, and Bayaqud, Ura, and Malaguld, Remember of course the Kahkol

Now there’s Adarkim, Bolir, the Sun-Children Oronir, Buduga, now the Dazkar

The Towering Olkund, the Dead Drunken Ugund, then Qerel and Tribe Avagnar

And then Dhoro, and Haragin, Secretive Khatayin, recently now Arulaq

The silent tribe Qestir, and Orben, and Uyagir, ever-migrating Dataq

There’s Feminine Borlaaq, and poisonous Mankhad, but sadly the Hotgo are gone

The Tribe of the Tumet, the Oroq and Urumet, Moks, Orl, Kha and Kagon

Jhungid and Gesi, the Songs of the Qalli, Miraculous twins of Himaa

The Malqir plays Kharaqiq, Masculine Iriq, and Cold of the North Angura

The Clay Urns of Gharl and Violent Dotharl, Furious Raging Chaghan,

There's Saghal, then Mierqid, settled-down Dalamiq, 

The Warring Tribe Kharlu, The Skin Painted Torgud 

The River Tribe Ejinn, The Riders of Noykin 

And those are the Tribes of Xaela

*edit* I did it again but I added background music this time and also changed the pronunciation of Xaela from Jhaela to Zaela because apparently a character in FFXIV saying it with the softer ZhJ sound was part of his accent and not how it was meant to be said lol whoops

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bUrq0AXlc3E

#FFXIV #FF14 #Final Fantasy XIV #Xaela #Au Ra #Final Fantasy