Xochitl Canek

I never know what the Quicksand will suck into my orbit on any given night. Tonight, it was the apprentice of a former arena master that I only ever knew as Waldric, the Training Master at the Iron Arena spoke of the man often. He was a skilled unarmed fighter who only ever took one apprentice, this man, this Lewenhart Steele. Waldric was described as a man of determination, toughness, a reputation that preceded him both in and out of the ring. Meeting his apprentice, this man is … not that.

He couldn’t even so much as look me in the eye, so submissive and docile was he. He spoke of putting his fighting days behind him to become a goldsmith. Not that I take any issue with someone finding a profession better suited to them, but I don’t think his heart was in fighting to begin with. As he said, it was merely for survival. Courage does not live in the unwilling heart, or so the saying goes. Do I believe Lewenhart is a coward? No, but fighting, both in the arena and upon the battlefield, takes a certain level of courage that I’m not sure this man has. A cornered rat can fight for survival, a fox caught in a trap will fight for survival; when we’re sad and desperate and feel we have no other option, we’ll fight for survival. His heart doesn’t long for combat, doesn’t thrive in it.

But so much change in so short a time, between the death of his mentor, the receiving of that mentor’s estate, and this decision to become a goldsmith has paralyzed and overwhelmed him. The only advice I could give him was to take things one day at a time. To focus on one task, one thing: Making a farewell gift for old Waldric, something the man would be proud to have or to wear. A gift that Lewenhart could leave wherever his master was laid to rest. He seemed pleased with that thought.

During our conversation, he mentioned that I must have many followers because I seem so self-assured and strong in my purpose, that I seemed like a leader that people would follow. I told him that if I didn’t lead, then I’d end up going nowhere. My life has moved in the ways it has, because I willed it so. No one was going to do it for me. I had a family to provide for, a search for my sisters to fund, and a world I wanted to see. If I wasn’t going to lead myself to the things I wanted, then who would? He hung his head and wouldn’t hardly look at me, saying that I was awe-inspiring for my conviction. It made me wonder just how rare a trait these were: conviction of purpose, surety of self, confidence in ability, that a man should find them things to admire.

Oxomoco would likely call him a chucklehyuk.

It’s been a few moons since I last considered putting anything to paper. It’s been a busy time. Ever since Oxomoco and I got back home to Tural, it feels like we’ve thrown ourselves into the work of helping our neighbors rebuild. The devastation left in Zoraal Ja’s wake across all the face of Tural has left many villages in disrepair. One such place is the township of Nightcross, which my friends and I have somewhat adopted as our town to help revitalize and renovate.

There’s so much to consider with such an undertaking! From prioritizing which projects take precedence to what crops we’re best able to farm, there are decisions being made here that are so much bigger than just throwing buildings back together. They’re going to have lasting and long-term impact on how prosperous this town becomes and what will become of the people there as a result. It feels like a mountain of responsibility at times, but it makes me glad that I’m in this together with all of my friends.

Garret and Briar have been spearheading the farming initiative, using their knowledge of modern farming, magitek, and technology to enhance the farmland to produce the best yields while keeping the workload manageable for the Townsfolk to deal with. So far, they’ve researched what viable crops there are with the Botanist’s Guild in Gridania, striking a deal with Fufucha to trade new cultivars from Yak T’el for those viable seeds and seedlings that they determine will best produce in the unique environment that the region represents.

The two of them together get so excitable, but their heads end up in the clouds so it’s oftentimes my responsibility to ground them and keep them focused on-task. Still, it’s endearing to watch how much they throw themselves into the work with enthusiasm and zeal. For them, it isn’t drudgery, it’s literally building the future of the town from the ground up and I think they find no small satisfaction in that. After all, how often does such an opportunity to create real and lasting change for an entire town come along?

One of the first friends I ever made in Eorzea, one Kosuke Kiritsugi, has even gotten on-board with what we’re doing out in Nightcross. He’s been applying his considerable mercantile expertise into negotiating various trade deals and trade routes for the town. He’s also been managing all the logistics for the supplies and materials we’ve been gathering from the world over, making sure that everything we bring in is allocated appropriately. It’s honestly a lot of numbers and minutiae that I don’t envy him in the least for.

Even little Yumari Takeyari has thrown in her lot, taking on any and all jobs, big or small, even when it’s been difficult manual labor. Despite her own troubles, she still sees the beleaguered people of Nightcross and does her best for them. There’s something to be admired in her tenacity. While I might still consider her emotionally immature — or perhaps emotionally cloistered given her upbringing — she has still grown as a person compared to the wayward waif I first encountered in Limsa Lominsa. I think her tutelage beneath Miya Renhala has really helped her to blossom, so I’m grateful to Garret to arranging their introduction.

Another surprise has been the infrequent but notable involvement of Zerey. The Doman samurai isn’t particularly close to any of us, but he’s still shown up on occasion wanting to help, so of course we let him. The man seems to want for something to do, something to expend a restless sort of energy on. I feel like he’s involved in something where he feels helpless or powerless to enact real change, so the opportunities in Nightcross give him an outlet that allows him to do so. It seems to help him, so that’s all to the good if both the town and the man benefit from the exchange.

Let’s see… What else has there been? Ah, yes… things with Exulansis Kuebiko seem to be going well. Every time I see her, there’s been more progress made on her search for her past. While I wish I could do more to help her, she and her paramour seem to have things well in-hand. I simply try to welcome her and provide her with an evening’s distraction whenever she comes up for air from her delving.

Aside from that, it’s been the usual unremarkable encounters in the Quicksand and elsewhere; nameless and equally meaningless faces that I’m destined to never see more than once. At least until they prove otherwise. After all, most of the people I’ve written about here were all once people I met in the Quicksand and all of them I care about as my friends. They’ve made lasting change in my life, as I hope I have done in theirs. I can hear Oxomoco snorting derisively in the background, because nothing and no one changes Oxomoco but Oxomoco. I know that isn’t true, there’s been at least one person who has made lasting change in my sister, but it’s never fair to mention Birta. That’s one scar that will forever sting, so it’s unkind to rub salt in the wound.

Vidraal’s Fangs, this got more long-winded than I thought it would, so I should likely end this here. Hopefully, I’ll be able to do this with more regularity than every few moons. It’s kind of nice to take a moment to untangle the ball of multi-colored yarn that is my thoughts.

Until paper and pen meet again…

Shake It Off
Soulfire Saga

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. The warrioress made her way through the snow, breaking through the frozen snowdrifts; armored feet punctured through the ice-like surface down into the fluffier stuff beneath, sinking up to her knees. The tigress’ face broke into a grimace as she bent forward into the bracing Coerthas wind, ears flat against her hair as she squinted through the snow flurries. Her snow-white mane and her tail rippled away from her body like pennants at an Ishgardian tournament, but she would not be deterred. Digging in with the balls of her feet, she slow-motion lunged through the drifts. 

Nobody told me that Coerthas could be this wretched. She thought to herself rebelliously as she continued to slog her way through the freezing environment. Gripping her magitek axe – a gift from her friend, Dorran Kaide – she gave brief thought to simply hacking her way through the thick snow. At the tertiary thought, the Allagan runes inscribed into the metal flared to life and blue-white flame erupted along the axe’s edges.

Arching a brow, Xochitl lowered the head of the axe into the snow. As expected it hissed and spat as ice returned to liquid then turned to boiling beneath the heat of the axe’s magitek flame – but the flames themselves didn’t sputter or go out from the touch of the snow. It just continued to burn blue-white hot and melt the snow around it.  The xbr’aal blinked at that. The flames won’t go out unless you command them to. Dorran had told her, but she hadn’t expected this level of control over them. Her silver eyes went to the flames as they continued to boil away the snow ahead of her. Hotter.

The white parts of the flame completely disappeared as the blue flames took over. The snow practically evaporated beneath the touch of the superheated metal and still the haft and the axehead were cool to the touch. The warrioress loft her brows, Dorran’s work really was impressive! Taking the axe in both hands, she swung it around herself in a wide arc and with a fog of snow instantly turned to steam, hissing the whole way as the snow melted several ilms down the xbr’aal’s shins as she swathed a circle of clearance around herself. A smirk curved across her feline features.

As the steam cleared off, however, Xochitl found herself face-to-beak with an archaeornis as it bellowed its rage at having its nap disturbed by the intruder. Wasting not a single breath, the fighter dove to one-side, rolling through the snow to come up on her feet a few fulms away. The archaeornis dove at the spot where she’d been, taking up a beakful of snow as it chomped and crushed the melted mush. 

Lowering the axe in her left hand to her customary grip that everyone found so unorthodox, she took hold of it at the haft only a fulm beneath the base of the axehead. The Training Master had taught her thus, because people always expected a two-handed grip with great-axe wielders. Not only was it a show of strength that Xochitl could hold the weapon one-handed, but use it effectively. Not that it mattered to a Dravanian. The archeaeornis shifted, turning her way as it mantled its wings, letting out an ear-piercing shriek. 

The xbr’aal grimaced at the sound, but she’d heard worse from vidraal in her time. As the thing mantled its wings, tilting its head skyward to make its raucous noise the tigress lunged forward. With her one-handed grip on her axe, she braced the haft against her forearm so that the weapon moved with the power from her bicep to her shoulder as she ripped the blade of the axe straight up the beast’s throat in an upward slash that split its scaly hide, but not deep enough to fell the beast. Certainly enough to get its attention.

Swinging its right wing at the xbr’aal, Xochitl felt the claw at its wingtip clang against the metal of her pauldron.  Remind me to thank Dorran for the new armor… she said to herself as she skid through the snow a few ilms at the impact. Bracing one knee in the snow to slow her motion to a stop, she dug her foot in to once more lunge with the superheated axe swinging it in a deadly arc at the creature’s wing joint. There was the sizzle of hot metal meeting flesh as the scales all but shattered beneath the volcanic heat of the magitek empowered flame. In the next moment, the creature’s entire wing fell to the ground, twitching but not bleeding because the axe was so hot it cauterized the wound in its passing.

Yet, that left the xbr’aal open to attack and the archaeornis took full advantage of that with instinctual fury.  The creature’s wickedly sharp beak slammed into the tigress’ side, punching right through the light armor, fur, and muscle beneath –  Xochitl grimaced in anticipation of the blow landing. Should’ve brought a shield…

As the thought crossed her mind a brilliant shield made of hexagonal segments flared to life around her, the archaeornis’ beak slamming into it with the blow that would have done the xbr’aal serious harm. She only had a moment to marvel at the effect, though, before the archaeornis reared its head back for another blow. 

“Not today…” Xochitl said, using her grip on her axe to “punch” the Dravanian’s jaw with all her might. With the power of the heated magitek axe at her beck and call, the blow struck home and sliced through scale, flesh, and bone with all the ease of a hot knife through butter. The bird-like avian’s head fell to the snow, its body following soon after. Not a drop of blood was spilled, eerily enough. The axe was as clean as it was effective.

Standing over the dead body of her foe, Xochitl took the axe in both hands, looking down to admire the craftsmanship. The Allagan runes across the metal all glowed with the same blue-white light, each one slowly flickering out as the battle high left the tigress until the flames themselves extinguished at a final thought from her. 

A smile once again adorned the tigress’ features. “Ka’ak pixan…” She murmured in Turali. The name she’d given the weapon at last:  Soulfire.

I’ve been spending time in Ul’dah as my sister, Oxomoco Canek, was tending to some business with the Arrzaneth Ossuary. Long business, she’s been trapped in there for days or off on offical — but private — missions for them leaving me with little to do besides idle in the Quicksand. I’ve been doing the occasional small, odd-job for Momodi, that diminutive tyrant can be quite a taskmaster when she puts her mind to it. She has a never-ending flow of menial tasks all across the entire city-state of Thanalan.

During one of my breaks from the endless mole-bashing and wasp-eradicating and cactuar-dodging I happened to meet a curious Raen merchant by name of Kosuke Kiritsugi, who claimed to be an antiquities dealer. The gunblade on his back told a different story, but it’s not one I’ve pressed him for just yet. There are quite a few loose ends to his story, but the long and short of it was that he was a refugee from the East during the Garlean occupation that wound up in Ul’dah. He carved a name out for himself and built himself a tidy little mercantile empire. There are, of course, intrigues to that no doubt, but that’s the gist of his story that I’ve learned so far.

In the course of our conversations, he asked me if I would train him in martial combat, starting with Boxing at first so that I might assess his strength, agility, and endurance. Having nothing better to do, I agreed, so one night we went out to the beach in the Mist not far from his Free Company Estate and had us around of fisticuffs. I won, of course, but Kosuke lived up to everything he claimed. He was fast, even faster than me if I couldn’t read his tells like a book, he would have gotten more than a lucky shot to my nose and a glancing blow to my jaw. Against anyone not as well-trained or experienced as me, I have no doubt he could have won. Still, Kosuke didn’t walk away from that fight unscathed, no matter how fast he was. I knocked the wind out of him more than once and gave him a bell-ringing to his horn that he won’t soon forget. Bloodied my knuckles hitting all that scale, but it was a fair tactic. The gain was worth the loss.

I’ll just have to tell Oxomoco that my hurts were gained from hunting cactuar and moles. She’ll ravage the countryside incinerating them for a day or two, but hey, that makes for less work for all the Little Adventurers. Maybe Momodi will let them cut their teeth on something a bit more substantial!

Somewhere along the way I also met a fellow xbr’aal named Wuk Jola. She seems a sweet-hearted albeit innocently naive soul whose friend circle insist on infantilizing her rather than teaching her to be self-reliant. They baby her, pat her head, call her “precious” — like she was nothing more than a child. It was disgusting to watch, seeing a grown woman being so diminished. Wuk Jola isn’t simple, nor is she stupid. She’s a bit lacking in worldliness, but aren’t we all who are here from Tural? Still, I’m not close enough to Wuk Jola to voice my opinions. Perhaps she likes how her friends treat her. Prefers it, even. She seems happy enough with them. I think she might even be romantically involved with one or more of them. Not my business.

I was later approached by a friend of Wuk Jola, some brown-furred Bozjan whose name I don’t deign to recall. (Zlata Aakilina) who had overheard my opinions of Wuk Jola’s predicament as I related them to Kosuke. The woman chose to confront me in a brusque and curt fashion, demanding answers from me without even so much as introducing herself, but making it clear that she’d eavesdropped on my conversation with Kosuke, unabashedly. She then proceeded to insult me, make broad-stroke assumptions about me, insinuate I was a coward for not sharing my opinions with her when I didn’t know who she was or what her interest in Wuk Jola’s friendships even was. She tried to lord it over me like she was some how better because she apologized, even as she continued to insult and berate me for being offended by her horrid approach. I am patient with many things, but unwarranted rudeness isn’t one of them. I owed her nothing and I gave her nothing, save a tongue-lashing for her ill-mannered ways. She eventually took herself off, which was more than fine by me. I have no time nor space in my life for people that can’t treat me with at least basic, common courtesy. Oxomoco would’ve done something foul to her, no doubt, so perhaps it was best that Xomo’s been busy with the Ossuary.

One morning before I took to my rest, I met an airship captain, one Cevoh’a Khodma, who seemed a jolly and adventuresome type to hear him talk. I spoke briefly with an elezen woman who claimed to know him little, but the two of them bandied back and forth almost flirtatiously in their praise of one another. When I pointed out their shared interest in one another, they both protested and laughed it off, claiming neither time nor wherewithal. Hm, we shall see.

Still, the good Captain and Kosuke were the highlights of my encounters thusfar. I think Oxomoco would be infuriated by Kosuke, but I think she’d enjoy the Captain’s company. I’ll have to introduce her to them sometime.

For now, it’s time for me to do more busy-work with Momodi. I hope Oxomoco finishes her business soon, I miss her already. There’s still much and more of Eorzea and the world beyond Tural to see.

Shh-shh…Shhh…  The soft rush of the sea lapped around the xbr’aal’s feet as she stood in the ever-changing sand beneath her feet. With each rush of the tide, she drew in a deep breath as she stretched her arms overhead. Warm Turali air was scented with the salty brine of the ocean and the redolent bouquet of a thousand different kinds of local flora; from strings of brightly-colored heliconia, to soft, white dipladenia, and many, many others. The wind carried with it the dry, dusty remnants of none-too-distant Xak Tural though she herself had never been to see it. 

Turning her back to the sea, the tigrine woman tilted her chin up to look at the sun-dappled heights of the city that was her home: Tuliyollal. Everything that ever was and could be considered “home” to her was here, as mired in her being as her feet were within the sand. Yet, she knew in her heart of hearts that everything, in fact, was not here. One very key thing was missing: her sister.  Like the sand beneath her feet, Oxomoco had been washed away from her life, carried into parts unknown. While they had written to one another frequently it was not the same as having her sister by her side.

Xochitl turned her head, looking back over her shoulder at the broad expanse of the horizon in the distance. If there was one thing that her life had taught her thus far it was that the things in life worth having are worth pursuing. If Oxomoco was the missing element of her life, she would simply have to go find Oxomoco.

“Are you ready to go, Xochi?” The tall shetona that was her patron asked from a few feet away, seemingly loathe to intrude upon the xbr’aal’s reveries. “Shall we get some tacos before we go?”

She smiled. “Tacos would be great.” A last taste of home before she went into the Wide Unknown.