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[Hider=X'gihl's Morning (Optional read)][i]Morning came, as it is wont to do, upon Aldenard’s lands, and Vylbrand too. All of Eorzea seemed to stir and stretch at its own pace, each living creature falling into its own routine to run their race. [/i]

X’gihl’s eyelid quivered as the ocular beneath darted back and forth, his dreams came and went either chaotically or peacefully. One moment he was enjoying company in a pub, the next came a crashing wave on the sea as The Gallant charged through tide and terror with a storm roiling above it. It swung back and forth that way; flashes of faces, X’gihl’s old mates, became lightning-seared skies and Garlean ships. A drink he couldn’t taste, cannon fire he couldn’t feel. Imagined laughter rippled into violent screams. [color=aba000][i]Deep breath.[/i][/color]

The eyelid opened, showing to the inn’s walls a brightly-colored green eye. X’gihl huffed air through a parched mouth. He was soaked with sweat. He turned from the wall to the rest of the room to see a barely bright light making it inside through the window shutters. The privateer hoped it wasn’t much later than five morning bells. Raising from the bed and pouring a cup of water were laborious tasks at the moment, but he managed them. Cool moisture relaxed the issue, but didn’t take away the ache in his side from sleeping as stubbornly as he had.

[color=aba000][i]Today’s going to be a fine day,[/i][/color] thought the privateer with false assurance. Nightmares and sweats didn’t make for a good start to a day when he had to meet new people, much less ones that could affect his future employment. It would be alright though, it had to be. Drinks were on someone else’s tab, so he could save his money and get a proper buzz. Drunk? No, not X’gihl. He rarely got drunk anymore. The drink would take an edge off, though. A little relaxation and he could make a proper first impression. 

Clothes lay on the dresser in front of a mirror, freshly cleaned by the Quicksand’s staff as he’d requested yesterday. Nothing special, just his usual attire, but the freshly cleaned fabric would make for a better appearance. To the side of them sat his usual horas and a fake eye with a radically different color from the real one it usually accompanied. X’gihl took another drink of water before he popped the fake eye into his empty right socket and put on his eyepatch. He faced the mirror, scoffing at the Miqo’te in it. [color=aba000]”You look like trash, mate. Gotta work on that.”[/color] The reflection showed agreement with a nod.

The privateer went into a series of stretches and exercises, part of X’gihl’s morning routine for the past several years. He performed repetition after repetition of push-ups and sit ups, butterfly kicks and squats to prepare for what came after. The body followed easily as the weight of sleep gradually lessened on his shoulders and back. A breath with each push, exhale with each pull, till the sweat had a different meaning to it. No longer was it from tossing and turning in a bed as he slept fitfully. He’d earned this.

X’gihl rose from the workout and picked up his horas by their handles before standing in front of the room’s desk, back facing the window, the door in front of him. A room in the Quicksand was a luxurious thing; spacious, well-furnished, and the staff was usually very sweet. The space is what he appreciated most, and he would be taking advantage of it with the next set of actions. Dropping his center of gravity and coming up on the balls of his feet with arms raised before him, fists clenched tightly against the horas, X’gihl didn’t need to think about the motions to follow. He had practiced them nearly every morning for the past several years now. 

A turn of the hip, forward with the right side abdomen, lashing out in a jab with his right arm. Perhaps “lashing” was the wrong word, but “throw” didn’t quite fit it either. X’gihl didn’t throw a jab, he reached it out quickly and intentionally. If something lay between him and what he was reaching for, it (or he or she, for that matter) would find regret in doing so. Stepping forward with his left, X’gihl brought his hip and torso to follow it as well as he reached with the left arm now.

It flowed from there. Punch led to punch, which led to kicks, into a dance of footsteps that kept him quick and on his toes. X’gihl spun on his heel and repeated the movements as he slowly worked his way across the room again with the kata prepping his muscles for the day’s later work. Sweat left a proper gleam on his skin as he worked through the series of actions once, twice, thrice more. His mind began to relax as he let his body do what it knew based on the memory imprinted upon it by the repetition of each move.

With every breath of air, every move of a muscle, X’gihl found comfort. He took in the gravity of it, the weight that he felt work against his body with each act, the push of his will and the pull of everything that tried to hold it back. It was reality, and that understanding slowly banished his nightmares and let him accept that he was awake. The world around him was not one of a ship out to sea under storm and assault. It was not one in which he still sat alongside good friends and shared stories. Not yet, at least.

X’gihl’s body turned with a raised forearm to block an invisible strike from an imaginary opponent. He responded with a couple jabs and a sweep of the leg, letting him snake in closer and deliver a hook to the foe’s jaw. As with the jabs, he didn’t “throw”, but he swung his body to accommodate the rotation of the hook, to make it stronger and cleaner. Whatever it was he was aiming for was on the opposite side of that jaw, and X’gihl wanted it with every fiber of his being. Each punch was an act of intention, of reason, of will. What he longed for moved constantly, and his need to reach for this object was second nature. It was intrinsic in every flown fist. Even a block, of which the most ideal were strikes of their own, held this true.

It continued on like that, practicing blocks, punches, kicking at the enemy’s legs when in close quarters and only when there was an opening for it. X’gihl didn’t feel the surge he would have in actual combat. He stayed just himself, no electricity, no urges to move quicker or harder. He stayed stout, however, blocked a few strikes from the right before delivering a few himself in reprisal. He dispatched the imaginary enemies and just worked through the motions, quickly, firmly, he spun on his heel and did it again. Working the movements, working the body, running through his kata heatedly.

Where freedom of will found root, so too did that which seemed to linger in the back of his mind. The kata itself only helped to an extent, and X’gihl could feel the crest coming, but he didn’t quite realize when he had begun to descend on the other side. A flash of memory, a sound all too real in the instant rippled through him. Cannon fire and screams brought pain that manifested itself suddenly. The privateer stopped dead at the end of a jab. Skin chilled as the world burned brightly around him. Then it was gone and replaced by grief-fueled anger. X’gihl stopped the rhythmic breathing as he tried to continue with the routine. 

Focus had left him, replaced with a sense of emptiness. Sorrow’s rage began to climb into its place. He stopped using his eye, stopped feeling the sweat on his skin. X’gihl stepped forward for the second punch in the sequence. He didn’t feel it. Breath didn’t feel so vital, diaphragm didn’t push him to breathe. X’gihl turned out of sequence, lashed out with a kick, spun into a shoulder tackle and two more punches.

“Navigator save us all!” Screamed Captain Blynanka. She hadn’t.

“Lads we know not who came fer us.” Said a somber Captain Blynanka, tricorne over his breast. He had known. 

“It be time to give her a proper pyre.” Aye, Captain. “Commit her to sea…” Aye, Captain. 

Punch, punch, kick, sweep the leg. The movements found momentum, X’gihl found strength. Punch, punch, kick, sweep the leg. Faces so friendly, so foreign in decay.  Fire burning bright, wood burning down. Punch, punch, kick, sweep the-

[I]CRACK[/I]! The Quicksand’s bed leaned toward the corner that X’gihl had just removed the leg from. Between low-voiced sailor-bred curses and a struggle to remain composed against the pain, the privateer practically danced in a manic fashion as he spun about listening for sounds beyond the walls to react to the loud wood-breaking. Nothing, so far. X’gihl grunted and limped his way to the dinner set to take a seat, grabbing his flask along the way. His manners were assuaged as he drained the alcohol from it before looking at his leg and deeming the result to be a large bruise, nothing terrible.

The door to the room opened, revealing one of the staffing ladies, who gasped at the bed’s state and looked to the room’s inhabitant, still only in his knickers. X’gihl stared at her with a wide-eyed, fearful, and very bashful smile. [color=aba000]”I can pay for that.”[/color] [/hider]

A light purse made for a slightly bitter X'gihl Tia. After his accident earlier that morning, paying to repair it had taken a fair amount of his personal coin and his savings. He quietly believed that perhaps the staff lady had intentionally upped the bill for the damage, or perhaps she just knew she'd caught him vulnerable. Caught in his underwear, hardly able to walk, and having clearly just broken inn property were just a few of the problems. Either way, he felt the fool that morning. 

Originally intending to take the day off from his leves and just stay in town, X'gihl instead went out and worked his tail off to try to recoup from the mugging, sorry, “repairs". Leve after leve taken and dealt with, X'gihl could now return to Ul'dah and seat himself at the Quicksand with a comfortable drink just in time to catch the appointed hour for “The Blessed Twelve’s" ad. One good stroke of luck in a day of crap. A waitress took his order, he asked for a mug of ale and a mead to fill his hip flask, and made sure to mention it was on that “Lyveva's" tab. With that taken care of, he shimmied low in his seat, leg across knee, arms crossed, ears flicking in one direction after another to catch any useful tidbits.

He had no exact idea how the meeting would go down. How he would have joined any others looking to take part. The only choice he had now was to be attentive and try not to miss his shot.

“So I said, ‘yer mum's a namazu an'-.” Definitely not interesting. But what the hell's a namazu?

“If he didn’t wanna take the tentacle, he shoulda-.” Right, not that one. Anything but that one.

“-what happens if we mix the drought with sleepweed?” “Based on their properties, it might make a noxious gas or-". Mmk, maybe change tables. He didn’t want to be near those alchemists at the wrong time. 

The waitress returned with his drink and a full flask, both of which X'gihl took greatly before standing to move to a different table. Bad timing, or perhaps another rare stroke of good luck, happened at that time. X'gihl paused mid-step and mid-swig when a clatter at Momodi's bar gathered people's attention. A blond Hyur stood atop the bar, and greeted the patrons as though they were all here at the time exactly for the same reason he himself had been. X'gihl stood uncomfortably among the others in the room, drink still to his lips as she continued.

It seemed she was pouring her heart out to the people in the bar. X'gihl himself wasn’t unmoved. The woman seemed young to be a leader, and from the sound of it the company wasn’t in a good situation. Perhaps the role couldn’t have passed to anyone else, perhaps if the Carteneau Flats hadn’t happened…he wouldn’t have been in his situation either. He noted she stopped on a person's name, perhaps the previous leader's, but he noticed a bad memory in her facial features. He quietly admonished himself for thinking lightly of it. [Color=aba000][I]Yeah, I know that feeling too.[/i]

[I]You won’t find fame or glory here.[/i]

[I]When did I ever want either of those?[/i][/color]

The woman, Lyveva, finished her speech asking for help instead of offering it. The way it ended, X'gihl's instincts told him to be wary. The people who stayed or volunteered would be in the know. But nothing would stop him from cutting and running. She wasn’t the first pretty lady he saw since the Calamity to ask for help only to try stealing or murdering the person who offered it. In the pit of his stomach, X'gihl felt his nerves come over him. 

No, it wouldn’t be like that. What could they take from him, but his body? What could he offer besides labor? He was dirt poor, worked for every gil. Maybe he could play along, see what was going on and get out if it went sour. If it was something dark and ritualistic, he'd fight tooth and nail. If he was just being unnecessarily suspicious…[color=aba000][i]damn.[/i][/color]

X'gihl drank deeply from his mug and finished with a loud breath. The company would front the tab here. All he had to do with stay or leave. That choice was getting easier by the second. He raised his empty mug and called out from amidst the patrons. [color=aba000]“Here here, to the good lady Lyveva! Leader of the Blessed Twelve and shaker of wills. Where's the line for me to sign my life away?”[/color] His voice may have sounded a little sarcastic, but he tried to sound as sincere as he could when saying something like that. It just didn’t come easy. Maybe if he…

[Color=aba000]”Come hells or high waters, I'll venture through them. So long as I don’t go alone. Till sea swallows all!”[/color] Perhaps that was him getting carried away on the buzz that was slowly beginning to take over, but it felt kinda right at the time. Cheers to the Twelve, this was going to be an adventure.