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WoV, Book 1, Chapter 4: New body, new problems
🕑 Added 2025-01-06 20:35:02 +0000 UTCChapter 4:
Moving to the side, she didn’t even hesitate before taking off her robe, “I would also entreat you to unpack any clothes in need of cleaning. I’ve asked her to bring your pack to your room, and the clothing you left behind to the temple’s cleaner– nightwear will be provided should you need it.”
“On it.” Neil squeaked, all too glad for the distraction. Never had a backpack been opened and its contents laid out so quickly. Nor had ever ears smoked so profusely. The Ossuary’s arrays could only do so much.
“Thank you, simply put them down in one of the hoppers against the wall,” She breathed out, slowly, meticulously, taking off the rest of her clothes. By the time Neill was done shoving everything in a basket, she all but teleported to his side, wearing nothing but her smallclothes. It was fine, the small break had let him get his shit together.
“Allow me to help you with these clothes of yours.” She said in that kindly tone that forbade dissent with the same inexorable force as a cat in one’s lap.
It was not fine.
Reaching forward, the woman began to get a bit handsy with Neil, “You’ve been on the road for quite some time haven’t you?” Her fingers expertly quickly began to peel off the leather coat that he wore on top of his woolen undershirt. With a hum, she let it fall to the floor next to him, before moving on to said undershirt.
Unlike the first layer, this second one was much more recalcitrant to budge, the sweat and grime from his weeks long travel making it stick to his skin, “You’re very courageous to come all this way dear~. Not many children would be willing to leave their home, even those with your condition,” As she crouched to undo the buttons at his front, something like an electric shock burst through his skull, “Your parents must be very proud of their daughter~!”
Wait, wha–
There was no time to consider any of that, the matron yanking the layers of wool and leaving him naked as the day he was born, “There we are. Now come along, the baths await~.”
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The next few seconds were something of a blur. The slightly overbearing woman guiding him through a small corridor with one hand, her other holding a basket filled with basic toiletries. Before he knew what was going on, Neil was all but dropped into a single person tub standing at hip height. It was filled with cold water, just shy of being warm, that shocked him back to his senses long enough for the elf’s next round of pampering to assault him in the form of her delicate fingers lathering some sort of soap on his back.
(Un)fortunately, he was too busy holding onto his aether with a deathgrip to tell the woman to ease off. His ears were burning and if his focus slipped, so would many more things in short order. He honestly wasn’t sure if the water was warming up because of his flush or because he wasn’t containing his magic as well as he should.
“You can relax child,” She whispered while rinsing off Neil’s back, “There are wards built into the temple's structure, they siphon off excess aether and promote aetheric balance. Something of a necessity to make sure new initiates do not put themselves in danger…”
Her movements and words paused when she suddenly brushed against the patch of scales that protected his neck and also covered much of his shoulder blades, “Oh my, ‘a strange girl’ indeed,” She rubbed at the point where skin met black keratin, giving him a funny ticklish tingling feeling. Before asking hesitantly, “I hope this is not unpleasant?”
Neil’s scrambled thoughts trying to figure out why he was being mistaken for a girl and more importantly why he had scales came to a screeching halt as something clicked. The elf was blind. That explained at least half of it, but not how he’d missed the scales on his neck and shoulders. A little shimmy of the muscles there gave him his answer; they just felt way too fucking natural, like perfectly familiar callouses. “A bit ticklish. Can you check for dust and sand between the scales?”
He’d have to address the woman’s misunderstandings in a bit, both regarding his age and gender, but for now it was fine to just soak in the warm water and let the matronly woman work him over. Realizing that she was genuinely confused instead of playing a bit had a way of gutting any awkwardness.
Also, the steam was doing wonders for his sinuses after all that dust and dry heat!
…Wait.
The water had been tepid at best when he’d gotten in. At least he hadn’t set anything on fire this time?
Taking a better look around, he noticed just where he was. It was a fairly large room, containing only him, the matron and a few other members of the fairer sex. In spite of being tiled with what looked to be marble, It was relatively drab, with only minimal iconography like scales, seashells and flames carved from stones.
He was on the outer parts of the room, where a bunch of other little baths like his were set up. At this time, a little over less than half of them were being used, the rest of the women enjoying a bath being in a large, rectangular pool set in the floor in the middle of the room. The water in it was obviously much hotter than what his tub’s had started as, given it also had steam drifting up.
During his little survey of his surroundings, the matron had still been hard at work. Using what may’ve been a loofah sponge, she’d scrubbed at the base of his backscales and, following their curves, was moving towards his front– “I must say,” Which caused her arm to squish against something– a pair of somethings even, that really shouldn’t have been there, “for a girl your age, you are quite endowed. I suppose your kin must grow faster than mine, the downsides of a long life. My Orilane is still some five years from her growth spurt.”
She did not linger on that area much, giving Neil’s front a quick– but gentle, scrub before moving on once more. This time, he was free of her ministrations for a few blissful seconds, leaving him to try and power through the mud keeping dots from connecting in his brain. He knew that there was something deeply wrong and had a mounting pile of evidence, but he was forcefully kept from actually forming any associations, much less conclusions.
It was nothing short of maddening, and no small amount of disturbing besides. Nothing he could really do about the violation right now though. Only hope it kept eroding away and that he could put something in place to defend himself before it stuck a finger in his brain again and kept him from so much as thinking about it. Was the Ossuary warding it away? He may have to stay here for a while, then.
Before he could twist deeper into his thoughts, something sticky and cold fell on his head, covering both his hair and the horns curving around the top of his skull that he apparently had. A hand quickly joined whatever hair product this was and worked it into his scalp.
The elf’s fingers combed through his locks, pulling ever so slightly at his hair whenever they hit a small snag. Each pass forced him to wonder just how much of a mane he had, as they seemed to go on and on. Eventually, the woman was satisfied and poured some more shampoo on him, this time aiming to take care of the strands of wet hair covering his face.
But just as she brought her hand down, she bumped against one of the horns, sending a small, slightly unpleasant shock down Neil’s spine. It wasn’t painful or anything of the sort, but it was like getting a headphone flicked without any warning.
Not that it did anything for the girly squeak of surprise that left his lips, “Are you okay?” between hearing it, and feeling him jump in her arms, the matron hurriedly asked him, concern clear in her voice, “I wasn’t expecting– I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“It’s alright,” He said with a wince, not needing the intrusive memories to know what had happened, now that he was allowed to feel them he could tell that, “I hear through the horns, so it’s a bit like someone snapping their fingers next to an ear.”
“I see, I shall be more careful then,” The next minute or so was… an experience, to say the least. Not content with simply washing his hair, the elf also lathered his horns– both sets of them, since apparently he had even more of the damn things. One came out of his forehead and curved rather harshly around his head, while the root of the second set was located just about where his ears should have been. His skull was different, too, lumps of bone thoroughly shoring up the pillars sprouting from it. The whole of the skull may be thicker, too, but he couldn’t exactly tell.
Then the elf really got to work with his handlebars and higher thought took a breather for a hot minute. Each touch of smooth fingers on the shampoo-covered keratin sent weird little shivers down his spine and up his tail (how fucking strong was this neural block!?), which wiggled and waggled under his butt. Thankfully, it wasn’t too hard to control– until she took the sponge to his horns though.
It was like getting the most surreal sponge scrub ASMR of his entire life, along with a five star massage straight into his brain. Each slow back and forth of whatever cleaning utensil she was using sent little vibrations through the horn and into his skull, finishing the wine’s job and purging the last dregs of the migraine. Or rather, it removed their source, tearing away the thorny vines choking his thoughts and hurting him into compliance any time he dared so much as prod them.
Needless to say, by the time the first horn was scrubbed to what felt like a glossy sheen, the only way to control his tail was to hug it. He couldn’t do anything about the little mortifying ‘ohhh’ and ‘uuuh’ sounds leaving his throat as his brain was bypassed in a completely different way.
Being put in the hot bath once he was deemed ‘clean enough’ didn’t help matters any either. Calling him a puddle would be overestimating his composure. He was just this side of comatose as the last of the shackles and staples in his mind melted away together with all the stress and fatigue of the day. Of the whole trip, even if his memories couldn’t agree whether it had been an afternoon or weeks. It almost felt like he’d reached enlightenment– or rather she.
No wonder she kept missing bits of people’s sentences, or why her migraine kept spiking, the damn parasite in her skull had been losing its shit every single time someone remarked on the new body. Or she’d done anything that would’ve brought it to her own attention.
Muur’Zagas Himaa, huh?
The end of her bath was a bit of a blur. The elf got her out once she too had finished her bath, helping her to dry off and more or less dropping her in front of a nondescript wooden door that apparently was her room for the night.
Muur all but tumbled in, she could really use some privacy to unpack… everything. She valiantly tried to pretend the excited twitch of her tailtip wasn’t there.
The insides weren't anything breathtaking. If anything, they were drab with no flourish to see anywhere. Naked brick walls, naked brick ceiling and naked brick floor– though at least in the floor's case there were some mats of who-the-fuck-cared to make it less cold and hard on the yardstompers.
Specifically one at the foot of the wooden bed tucked in the far right corner and one in front of a midsized mirror– or a full length one if you were a lalafell. As much as the thankfully appropriately sized bed called for her embrace, the mirror’s siren song was too overpowering to ignore.
First thing that she noticed was that the elf had wrapped her in simple nightwear, some sort of thin white robe, in the whirlwind that the last stretch of her bath had been. The second… was that she was fucking tiny. No fucking wonder that the matron had seemed like a giant, her scaly ass couldn’t be any taller than meter fifty. Third… well, there was no doubt her crotch was empty, because if there’d been any leftovers she’d be seeing a standing ovation right now.
Small as she was, she was packing a lot of heat. Enough for a bakery oven, with her hips making the robe cling. That wasn’t to say she didn’t have anything up top, but the ample handfuls were very much an afterthought here. There was a temptation to get a clearer look, but her eyes caught on the pitch black scales running down her neck. A couple of steps and she saw her new face for the first time.
The most striking part of it, what jumped out the most at her and couldn’t be missed even if you tried, were the two sets of horns that had gotten molested in the bath– a blush creeped on her face as she thought back on the sounds she’d made back then. With the practice of someone with too good a memory and too poor an impulse control during childhood, she pushed that to the back of her skull. To be thought about never.
Now, the horns. Two on her forehead, tall and proud and gently swept back before shooting back up straight. She knew these horns, they were what she had made in that fucking benchmark program trying to ape Reed’s. The other set? They were just the default set he’d liked the most, he hadn’t felt a huge need to change it for Reed’s stumpy ones. Coming right from his ears, they did a small curl near the base before shooting straight to the front.
This… opened a can of worms Muur would rather sleep on. Instead, she focused on the odd little holes on the horns. They were shallow and towards the tips and definitely not natural…
Closing her eyes, memories of having these holes carefully punched through the horn bubbled to the surface of her mind. Followed by strings, laden with little charms and baubles being threaded through them. She had a few in her pack, but the string needed replacement–
She shook her head harshly, dislodging the memory and making her hair swish pleasantly. It was silky smooth, full of volume and gloss. In that respect, there were no changes whatsoever beyond it being a bit straighter and left to grow past her shoulderblades and well into the small of her back.
The deep onyx color, almost identical to her scales, was another matter. The front was a square hime-cut that ended just barely above her eyes, out of view, but always tickling the skin above her eyebrows. It was a proper one, too, framing her cute face. And most importantly, highlighting her eyes.
They were disturbing in the best way possible. Irises the deep rich blue you only found in lapis, surrounded by a glowing electric blue limbal ring, all swimming in a pitch black sclera. That and the horns were probably the only thing that’d ever let her pull off a half decent glare without magic involved, given how her face would make porcelain dolls sneer with envy.
The body’s memories helpfully chimed up that the spooky eyes were new. Well, the black sclera was, the glowing ring was something every Au Ra had. Something else to lose her mind over later, she would have to hope Cocobuki didn’t pry on her keen interest in protecting her mind.
Putting that at the back of her mind for now, she focused back on her hair. The hime-cut was completed by two lengths of hair. Like curtains on the side of a window, they tucked neatly on the grooves of her lateral horns and framed her face nicely. Parts of them were pure white, splotches so bright they almost shone like snow, creeping up and down the strands like dye on wood fiber. The bottom third of was entirely swallowed by the bleaching, the same going for the rest of her hair in both respects.
‘Because my aetheric balance is totally fucked’ a fleeting memory decided to slap across her train of thought. She’d be a lot more pissed at these intrusive, alien thoughts if they weren’t this helpful. Mind you, she wasn’t happy, but as far as she could tell everything really fucked up had been due to the parasite skewering her brain.
That just meant she dwelled more on the implications before she decided, nope, that went to the same pile of ‘for tomorrow’ as the way she’d gotten yanked here. Instead, she decided to reset her brain in the best way she could. The robe crumpled on the floor and– wow. She’d done good.
On the screen, the character had already been a 10/10 in his eyes. But now that she could see herself in real life? She might just become a fully fledged narcissist! Forget being ‘caked up’, she was carrying the whole damn bakery, and then some! Her tits were… they were nicer than she’d imagined. Perky as could be, perfectly shaped and sized to be a highlight without getting in the way of the showstopper that were her hips. The way her scales curved around them and the sides of her stomach was pretty great too. In fact, most patches of the stuff looked to be placed to artfully draw the eyes to her newfound womanly charms.
Speaking of those. Muur could say with pride in her chest that her tail was still the same girthy slab of thick, meaty beauty as it had been when she left home. Black all throughout, there was an ever so slight purple tint to the scales that covered the appendage. starting right around the midway point, it very gradually deepened until her tail was a very deep, dark purple at its tip. In contrast, its underside was a light gray that leaned just a bit towards black, and all along the ridge that joined both sides together there existed a series of little spurs.
They looked pretty hard, and to be made from the same material as her horns at first, but some poking and prodding showed her they were relatively soft and flexible. Looking back on her memories, the years of wandering around the world only served to make it longer, without ever losing the golden ratio she’d been born with.
No wonder some of the older kids kept turning to look at it, and her, whenever she walked by! At least until their parents or teachers yelled at them to focus back on their job. In spite of the mess that her life was, and how many times she’d gotten beaten down to an inch of her life, she was practically Nhaama’s gift to the world.
She shook her head, sending her hair swishing every which way but more importantly pushing aside the foreign memories. Even if she hadn’t just dealt with that parasite bleeding poison into her brain, she’d have looked for help in sorting out and shoring up her mind. These flashes were obnoxious and even putting aside how she didn’t exactly relish the idea of not being able to tell apart her memories from these fabrications or whatever the fuck they were? It could very well get her killed if she was lost in memory lane in the middle of a fight.
Whatever was causing the mess said nothing back, leaving her to stew in silence and her own annoyance…
“Hey, brought you your stuff,” The voice of Orilane came from the door with a knock, “If you don't open in thirty seconds, I'm dropping it in.””
Muur would say that never had someone gotten dressed back up so fast, but teenagers would be teenagers across all of existence. Still, she got it done with twenty seconds to spare, opening the door just about enough to grab things and chuck out a, “Thanks.”
Her pack was pushed into her hand, much smaller and lighter than it had been when she’d left it in the changing room, “Mind opening a bit wider? I got a basket with all your clothes.”
Ah, that’d explain it. Muur’s tail snaked out, opening the door wider while she held out her other hand to grab it.
A large, frankly hilariously oversized for the amount of clothes in it, basket was slipped through the gap and into the room, ignoring the hand. As soon as it was through, the door closed from the other side, “Here you go. Breakfast start at the sixth bell, ends on the eight,” The girl said through the wood, “Mom’ll come see if you’re awake at around the seventh bell, if you’re not, she’ll wake you up at the ninth to take you to the meeting right after the end of the morning prayer.”
“Got it!” Muur said as she carted the loads deeper into the room, waiting until the kid walked away to experimentally prod at the foreign memories. She needed to know how good this body’s internal clock was.
As far as she could tell, it had a very solid handle on things like the time of day and figuring out where cardinal directions are… when it could see the sky. Sheeeee was currently underground, so this wouldn’t be of any help.
She was used to sleeping with one… horn? Open though, so she’d most likely be able to hear the first set of knocks.
Good enough.
Now, she needed to get used to her body and could really use some dopamine.
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The muffled sounds of feet shuffling off were what woke up the lizard girl. So much for having a sharp ear– horn, whatever. Especially when her bleary eyes landed on the tray of food left by the door.
Her bed was one of the worst she’d ever had the misfortune to sleep in. But even a rock hard, unpleasantly thin mattress didn't matter in the face of every ounce of stress and worry leaving your body once you managed to secure your survival. Of course, now she was getting a whole ‘nother plateful of stress, piled up high.
A body like she’d made in an online program. A second set of memories that seemed to match up with this world’s history. A vision full of odd symbols before she woke up in the cart.
A registration she put her name into, strange golden glyphs and crystals, waking up somewhere unfamiliar with chocobos. Some details may have changed from media and this may not be Ivalice, but she had a very clear idea what had happened.
God, she hoped this wasn’t a St.Ivalice situation, she was getting enough existential crises as it was. Because, by all signs? She’d been written into reality.
Those memories of another mother? The seamstress? That woman was probably out there. Muur had a whole fucking new family and…
“Muur, why did you and Xorxoi fight?”
“He said it was hot. So I made ice!”
“Muur…”
“It’s not my fault he started swinging when I slipped it in his clothes!”
“Gods, what have you done!?”
“Saved you from these brutes?”
“You stupid girl! You killed them! Now they’ll take revenge against our village!”
“They were beating you bloody!”
“Bah! Ignore ‘em lass. Broken worse than willful dogs.”
“My thanks miss…?”
“Mhm…”
“Without your magicks, we’d have been food for the biasts.”
“I noticed.”
“...Not much of a wordsmith are you? I can respect that, I s’pose. Here, it isn’t much. But This pack’ll replace the rag you try to pass off as one.”
Okay, not any friends proper aside from Gankma, even if there was a good smattering of grateful people around the world. Blowing up problems had a way to endear you to the locals. Except when they had stupidity beaten into them.
But still. How the fuck was she supposed to deal with this?
Figuring out what was for breakfast and scarfing it up, her stomach supplied with a low, drawn out growl. It sure sounded a hell of a lot better than choking on her thoughts, so she picked herself out of the tiny little pile of scaly misery she’d become in bed and shuffled over to the food.
Looked like it was some sort of glazed poultry, two pieces of flatbread and some mistery veggies, roasted. They also had a right and proper botijo full of… meltwater, she decided after a taste from the clay cup. Unsurprising, given they used the same elements as her.
Just that hitting her stomach was enough for her hunger to finish engaging. The tray was brought to the desk and its contents were inhaled in record time. Now, the elf matron whose name Muur was pretty sure she’d never caught… fuck she hadn’t introduced herself either–
Anyways, knife ears the elder had said she’d pick her up later to go meet Cocobuki, so nothing to really do other than root around her pack. Maybe there would be something for removing what little remained of the holes punched in her horns?
Grabbing her bag, she quickly laid down everything it contained on the floor, more phantom memories guiding her through the motions of unpacking and organizing everything.
In the end, she had sorted her worldly possessions into four rough categories. The first was everything that counted as ‘adventuring supplies’, items like a small sleeping bag, an equally tiny tent, some sort of metal burner thingy that was fueled by fire crystals, plenty of knives, and some metal pots.
The only reason they took so little space was that they belonged to Gankma. The brute, Nhaama, bless his soul, had given her all of his camping gear once it became clear he couldn’t teach her anything else and he’d sent her off towards Ul’dah… Oh, and she’d used the pots as bludgeoning tools on multiple occasions, and as a shield once. Gankma had done the same a few times, too, so they weren’t… in the greatest shape, no.
The second category was, of course, her clothes. Her wardrobe was… somewhat limited. She had multiple sets of the traveling clothes that she’d managed to cobble together, but very little beyond those. Her travels hadn’t been particularly kind to them either. At this point, they were ratty enough that they offered about as much protection against blade and claws as a single ice cube did against heatstroke in a volcano’s crater.
Thirdly and fourthly, she had a large number of miscellaneous things. But had felt the need to separate them into truly random bits and baubles that she’d gathered. From shiny rocks, a few uncut jewels, Gil of all descriptions and minting, plenty of fire and ice crystals, potions, tinctures and draughts… And more monster pelts, claws and bones than she could shake a stick at, and she had some good sticks meant for building a campfire in that category!
The last category was a random assortment of tools. A few lengths of rope, a few more knives– meant for whittling, carving and other non-cooking related tasks. Her horn-care bag had been sorted in there. Pulling it out, she was forced to fight a pang of foreign nostalgia. It had been a gift from her family for her first hunt, and unlike most of the things in her possession looked the part. It was made from tough, beaten leather. Colorful threads drew a mongolian-looking pattern across the surface of its opening flap.
Undoing the leather stings that kept it closed revealed a few tools. Ones that looked suspiciously like ones that would be used to care for the hooves of horses or cattle which… wasn’t inaccurate. Her horns grew continuously and had to be carefully trimmed, carved and generally cared for so they didn’t split or get infected.
Apparently, their current shape had been just as much genetics as it had been her own work. Well, according to the memories, anyway. For now, though, she just picked up some files and got to work getting the ugly little divots and pockmarks out.
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A knock at the door snapped Muur out of her horncare fugue. Cutting her horns back into something that didn’t offend her senses had turned out to be a relaxing act. With knife in hand and her own reflection staring back in the mirror, time had all but vanished from her world as she trimmed the four keratin spikes, one black sliver at a time.
Thankfully, she was more or less done– she’d just finished up filling down the more unsightly edges her knife had left behind. She could stand to do some ridge detailwork, but that was something to think about later. For now, though? “One moment!”
At least this body’s muscle memory was a good sport about getting everything packed up right quick, leaving her free to open the door.
“Hello my dear,” It had to be nine AM, because the person standing in the doorway was the matronly elf, “Have you slept well? How was the breakfast, if I may ask?”
“Just what I needed, on both counts. I slept through the carriage ride to Ul’dah, which turned out to be a terrible idea when we passed by a bunch of corrupted crystals, so getting some real rest did me a whole world of good.” Muur replied with a smile that she did her best to project into her voice. She wasn’t lying, either, as much stress as she’d had before and after hitting the sack? The sleep itself had been great from sheer exhaustion if nothing else. Between that, finding new uses for her tail before bed, a good meal and fixing up her horns she was feeling quite good.
Not that the two existential crises in the back of her skull had gone away, but you don’t live for years with a stress disorder bad enough to get a free case of chronic migraines with the purchase without learning how to cope.
“I even had time to sharpen and polish my horns!” She cheered as she stepped out, but didn’t add more. On one hand, she wanted to show them off to the one person here who could evaluate the before and after. On the other hand, asking someone to touch her horns felt awkward as fuck. Pretty much the same as inviting someone to touch your hair after you tried a new type of shampoo, which, yeah.
“Is that so? They did feel a bit odd to the touch,” The elezen commented with a smile, “I am glad to know you’ve fixed them up… I– I don’t suppose you’d let me see for myself?” It was kinda funny to see her woman her age, and size, look downright embarrassed by asking that sort of question. Truly, Eorzea was full of wonders. “No, nevermind. Forget I asked. We shouldn’t leave Cocobuki waiting.”
“It won’t take twenty seconds. Here, let me, I don’t want you to get pricked by the points.” Muur replied, taking the massive elf’s hands into her own. Fuck propiety, this was the first friend she’d made at the Ossuary, “I had to go a bit hard with the file there to get them smooth.”
The woman let out a surprised “Ara?” at the sudden touch. For a moment, it felt like she was going to jerk her arm out of Muur’s grip, but it instead twitched once before letting itself be guided by the smaller hands that held it.
Much like during the bath, her touch was feather light as she caressed the horns. Her fingers never lingered on any one spot for long, all but gliding across their surface and feeling just how different they were from before, “You’ve been quite thorough. I can’t feel any of the irregularities from yesterday… It wasn’t painful I hope?” She asked, before gasping, “Ara? You’ve even gotten rid of the hole at the tip?”
“It’s fine, it’s fine. There’s nothing alive inside of Au Ra horns.” Muur reassured, for all that she didn’t have the faintest fucking clue how they managed to twist like that, much less how the hearing worked. Something something aether, probably. “And yeah. Some of it was battle damage, some was leftovers from when I had a whole phase about horn decorations.”
She may go find some nice rings and ribbons to put on them, but punching holes and threading shit in was a big fat ‘no thanks’.
“Horn decoration?” The older woman asked quizzically, “How strange– though, thinking on it, I suppose it is no different than earnings…” She teased the little point where a hole had been some more, before letting out a sigh, “A shame I could not see it. I am certain it is quite a sight.”
Straightening up, she rose back to her full, towering height, “But enough of this. The Void Hunter awaits us in his study, we shouldn't make him wait more than necessary, no?”
“Yep, let’s– fuck, the staff!”
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The path to Cocobezi was long and sinuous, the pair of them walking along a winding route that felt less like going from point A to B, and more like descending into the depths of a long lost dungeon. The only thing that dispelled such a notion were the many people that Muur passed by. Then again, the fact they all wore black robes with their hoods up did bring to mind images of a spooky cult. Well, they were religious and venerated the god of the dead, so close enough for government work.
Eventually, the matron stopped in front of a large double door and knocked. Which, unsurprisingly, had yet another resonance box built into it. These people loved their thunderous knocking at the gate.
A muffled “Enter.” came from the other side and, with a twist of the doorknob, Muur was ushered in. Gone was the spartan simplicity of the rest of the underground complex, replaced by near excessive wealth. Not an inch of the wall was visible. Whatever material it was made of was smothered by innumerable tapestries, each made with a more priceless fabric than the last, a glimpse of lapis lazuli blue told her all she needed to know about the worth of the dyes.
Yet, in spite of their beauty and worth, the study’s masters didn’t seem to think much of them. Various cabinets and shelves made from richly coloured woods, laden with books, tokens, jewelry and odd artifacts obscured large portions of the wall covers.
Without saying a word, the elf gave Muur a small push. Urging her to take a step inside. It gave her just as good an excuse as any to look at the floor, which was made from slabs of pure obsidian– ones just thin enough that she could see some kind of pattern underneath when looking at it from the right angle.
Fancy as that was, it hadn’t been enough for these people. Five large rugs were laid across the ground, no less dazzling than the tapestries lining the walls. The largest led all the way to the other end of the room, while the others were placed on either side of it at regular intervals, forming paths that split away.
Posted at the end of each was an imposing desk of black marble, specks of gold delicately inlaid into their surface mimicking the natural veins this mineral wealth had come from. At this time, none of the five desks were being used, with one exception.
Behind the second one starting from the left, was a lalafell. Seeing the tiny man working at a desk he could probably live out of would’ve been an amusing sight… if it wasn’t for the oppressive stillness blanketing the whole of the room. The only movement and sound was the scratch of a quill on vellum.
Not quite what she’d thought a ‘Void Hunter’ would look like, but no sense in being a pest. She simply walked up to his desk in silence and waited. His outfit was a bit different from the other thaumaturges and priests’. The robes were the same black, yes, but the cowl pulled over his head was a deep crimson.
Finishing his chicken scratches, he slid the parchment and quill to the side, “Greetings young one,” clasping his hands together, his face was completely hidden in the darkness of his hood as he fixed Muur with his gaze, “Muur’Zagas Himaa, if I am not mistaken? You have made the claim of knowing one of our order, priest Bankma, a man whose arms were as mighty and feared as his magicks. I would have you to repeat his words, that I might assert the veracity of your claims.”
“Very well.” The lizard woman said, bracing herself behind her poker face. Not because she couldn’t recall it, the fabricated memories had it crystal clear. It was just that the contents were, well. “I shall recite it verbatim.”
Sorry lass. But this is all I can do fer ye. I taught ye all that I could, and I failed to teach ye what ye needed most. This… is it fer me, I can’t help ye no more. But… there’s someone that can help, my best lad. Take this medallion, it’ll get yer leg in the door– might have to be literal about it too! Ask for Cocobuki Lolobuki, that daft, miniature bastard’ll have ye masterin’ what I couldn’t let ye in a bell and a half! And if he tries to say no– set the bastard wearin’ his skin on fire fer me, would ya? Not a chance he’d be that much of a sad ponce, even after all these years!
His eyes were invisible to Muur’s own. But she could feel them narrow at her, a silent, judgemental silence growing between the two of them as the pint sized wizard no doubt weighed her words.
It was nothing short of suffocating and if this wasn’t a different body? By now her brain would be a mess of pinched veins and pain. As it was, she just about managed to bear it with a straight face.
“I can find no falsehoods in your statement. Shocking as it is to hear them, he would speak such words in such a situation…,” Lowering his hood, he allowed Muur to take a good look at his face while he retrieved his writing implements. He looked young– but then again, going by her fabricated memories, very few lalafell looked their actual age. He had tattoos, too, two curved lines that began at his cheeks and ended on the bridge of his nose, “Before aught else is spoken between us,” He began, not looking at her as he added a few lines on the page in front of him, “You have my, and my brothers, deepest of thanks for returning his token to us. I can only imagine how arduous your travels were, especially in light of your incomplete mastery of the Arcane…”
“And for not necessitating the preparation of a pyre and live execution,” He added in the same breath, seemingly not giving an iota of a damn at how his words could be perceived, “Dealing with bandits and murderers is ever a chore.”
Muur blinked owlishly, head titling a fraction as she considered that and came to a solid practical, “Rather excessive to draw out the suffering to such an extent, in my humble opinion, but I suppose sometimes an example ought to be made. Else fools would keep on battering at the doors and accosting the clergy wherever they may be found.”
“Well, there is a good reason this tradition has long been discontinued,” He declared smoothly as he crossed his Ts and dotted his Is, “If I’m not completely mistaken, he was one of the very last to be given such a medallion. He left a mere three months before the clergy was no longer afforded such peace of mind… Then again, said clergy was no longer allowed to depart Eorzea, so who can say what use it would have truly been? But moving from this topic. Upon hearing his words, I can only guess that he was your teacher, yes? How did you come to meet?”
“How else? He appeared as though a bolt from the blue and embedded his foot and the fireball it carried into a legionnaire’s head. I had made the mistake of traveling through Corvo, with the results one would expect.” Muur said with a fond chuckle that was partly the fabricated memories, partly her own amusement as she reviewed them.
“Aaaah, Garleans,” That was an impressive amount of venom packed into a single word, “I fully understand. He saw you struggle with your natural imbalance– yes, your condition is as clear as day to my gaze, and offered to take you on as an apprentice until he could no longer. Is this correct?”
“Quite. I owe to his guidance for having made it so far. Without this staff and his lessons, all transport other than my very own legs would have been barred to me. Few mounts and vehicles much appreciate elemental aether constantly leeching out from a passenger.” Muur explained with a bob of her head. According to her fabricated memories, it had worsened with time. At first only when she casted, then when she was startled or her temper ran hot, then by the time she was in Eorzea? A constant, unstoppable trickle of elemental power.
“You’ll be glad to know that, while not specifically designed for your condition, numerous wards and enchantments are woven into the very structure of the Ossuary with the only goal of ensuring such leakage and imbalance are stamped out,” The look in his eyes as he spoke was a bit difficult to place, “They should, at the very least, make the days spent within our halls more tolerable.”
“Thank you.” Muur replied with a fractional slump of relief, reading the implications there just fine. Whether she would get an apprenticeship from the man was still in question, but at least they would take her in.
“Are your eyes related to your condition?” He asked right as she did, like a sudden and unexpected bullet aimed at her, “I apologies if the question is stupid, but I’ve never seen a single individual with black sclera that was healthy of body.”
“While a blessed few of the Xaela tribes are born with them as a mark of favor from the Dusk Mother, I was not one of them. Nor have I ever heard of any gaining them later in life. So I can only assume it is the doing of my condition, yes.” The lizard woman explained, shaking her head minutely, “I cannot say exactly when I gained them other than somewhere between yesterday and a bit over a week ago.”
“That… I will not lie in this matter. It is altogether concerning,” Closing his eyes, he rubbed at his chin, “I can only hope that it is merely the imbalance in your soul causing some long dormant trait of your bloodline to resurface, and not something far graver, or sinister. But, enough of this!”
Clapping his hands, he looked Muur in the eyes, an incredibly serious look in his, “If you are to learn as your teacher wished, there are important aspects of our order that you must know…”
“We are not the Conjurer Guild, nor the Arcanist’s, and most certainly not the Sharlayans!” A second midget jumped out from behind one of the desks, wearing the same outfit as the one in front of her, “We do not heal, we do not study the great secrets of the aether. Our order, that of the Thaumaturges, is concerned with one thing, and one thing only…”
“DESTRUCTION!” A third slid into view, from behind another of the desks,“Indeed, thaumaturgy is a primal art. It is neither peaceful nor ordered! To wield it is to wield something that few can lay claim towards!”
“RUINATION!” And now there were four, “The power to lay waste upon your foes! To terrorize the wicked with nothing more than the mere MENTION of your name!”
“Such things, you will have to keep in mind, should you desire tutelage in the ancient arts of the First Mages, creators of ancient Belah’Dia!” This time the voice was coming from the central desk– and whoever was behind them wasn’t leaving his hiding spot, “Such secrets, passed down through generations and entrusted to the Order of Nald’tal shall be yours if you so wish! BUT! Know this! If you are to learn them, you will be asked to uphold certain virtues!”
“Kindness!”
“Shrewdness!
“Balance!”
“Mercy!”
As each of the lalafell shouted their virtue, they began casting a spell. The wide-eyed Au’Ra could taste the power in the air. The one she’d been talking to was calling upon flames hot enough to turn a fully grown man to ash in an eyeblink. A large rime of ice was surrounding the first to appear, his now frozen desk groaning in pain. The second to reveal himself was surrounding himself in a miniature thunderstorm, lightning dancing around and across him. The third didn’t seem to be doing anything at first, but when the light began to dim and twist, Muur figured out what his role was.
“And yet, the most important one is–!” The final lalafel finally jumped on his desk, and all the others fired their spells at him. He scoffed and smirked as all four sorceries streaked towards him. Reaching behind him, he pulled out a large staff of wood and bones, purple flames engulfing it as he twirled it in the air, forcing the spells to change colors and alter their course to orbit around him, “PRESENTATION!”
With a rush of aether, all four spells detonated into a dazzling array of fractal patterns that fed on each other until nothing remained.
Muur, without much in the way of conscious thought, clapped. Her staff shifted over to her massive tail to free up her hands. She huffed out a laugh, lips quirking up, “I’d ask why balance instead of temperance, but I can see that Gankma was very much not the exception among thaumaturges.”
“What? No balance is–” The one that had spoken it paused, narrowing his eyes as if reviewing something, “Wait… curses! It is better!”
