Member
FulgrimLives
ezio ac2
Kronshi
Tim the Yeti
Sunny Suzuki
Eviledd1984
Bartimaeus
JewelSerketＮＡＭＥ
J'torha Tia
ＲＡＣＥ
Miqo'te
ＣＬＡＮ
Seekers of the Sun
ＢＩＲＴＨＰＬＡＣＥ
Central Thanalan
ＯＣＣＵＰＡＴＩＯＮ
Traveling Busker
ＳＯＵＬ ＣＲＹＳＴＡＬ
Dancer
ＡＰＰＥＡＲＡＮＣＥ
With tan skin and bright, slitted eyes, J'torha is a pretty classic specimen of the J tribe. He stands only a little over average height for a seeker male at 5'6" with a tail on the shorter end, straight with a slightly tapered tip. His blond hair is long and kept wound in several braids, all tied at the back of his head to keep them up and out of his way while still maintaining some movement and style. His left eye is gold while his right eye is crimson (a trait his tribe considered lucky) and alongside the eye marks characteristic of miqo'te males, he also adorns his face with light yellow paint, though he's been known to change it up in colour and motif depending on the occasion. He has two symmetrical scars, one on each cheek, and on his chin he sports a short goatee.
For clothing, J'torha likes to stand out. His dancer's gear usually scratches that itch, with its airy silhouette and red-and-gold theme to match his eyes, but he's also fond of a far-eastern outfit he managed to procure from a traveling merchant. However, he likes to think that he could make anything look good. Like most miqo'te, he doesn't like anything that restricts his movement.
ＰＥＲＳＯＮＡＬＩＴＹ
Perhaps his greatest virtue and flaw all in one, J'torha isn't known to take things seriously. This has been of great benefit to him in the past, being that he doesn't usually suffer long from heartache or disappointment, and it's nearly impossible to get under his skin. However, his tendency to make light of any situation has blown up in his face once or twice in the past, although he still doesn't seem to have learned his lesson. He's laid-back, playful, and confident, bordering on cocky at times. J'torha is generally happiest when all eyes are on him, even at his own expense.
Like many of his kind, J'torha is drawn to wander, never staying put too long in one place. Perhaps this urge to move came from his nomadic upbringing, but a friend of his might suggest he's only traveling between fair maidens' beds. As a notorious flirt and a fair charmer, even J'torha would have to admit that such a theory isn't entirely baseless.
Beneath the flippant attitude and flirtatious remarks, however, J'torha is a genuinely kind soul, averse to doing harm unless he must. He does harbour an ambition to eventually amass a harem and start a tribe of his own, however, and as such his search for glory can make him short-sighted, sometimes blind to the consequences of his actions.
ＢＩＯＧＲＡＰＨＹ
ＯＴＨＥＲ
ＲＥＡＳＯＮ ＦＯＲ ＥＮＬＩＳＴＭＥＮＴ
J'torha Tia
ＲＡＣＥ
Miqo'te
ＣＬＡＮ
Seekers of the Sun
ＢＩＲＴＨＰＬＡＣＥ
Central Thanalan
ＯＣＣＵＰＡＴＩＯＮ
Traveling Busker
ＳＯＵＬ ＣＲＹＳＴＡＬ
Dancer
ＡＰＰＥＡＲＡＮＣＥ
(he's very pretty)
Commission credit: Kanato/Cait ep22kun.tumblr.com
I forgot to turn the HUD off, shut up
cute n' confused
Commission credit: Kanato/Cait ep22kun.tumblr.com
I forgot to turn the HUD off, shut upcute n' confusedWith tan skin and bright, slitted eyes, J'torha is a pretty classic specimen of the J tribe. He stands only a little over average height for a seeker male at 5'6" with a tail on the shorter end, straight with a slightly tapered tip. His blond hair is long and kept wound in several braids, all tied at the back of his head to keep them up and out of his way while still maintaining some movement and style. His left eye is gold while his right eye is crimson (a trait his tribe considered lucky) and alongside the eye marks characteristic of miqo'te males, he also adorns his face with light yellow paint, though he's been known to change it up in colour and motif depending on the occasion. He has two symmetrical scars, one on each cheek, and on his chin he sports a short goatee.
For clothing, J'torha likes to stand out. His dancer's gear usually scratches that itch, with its airy silhouette and red-and-gold theme to match his eyes, but he's also fond of a far-eastern outfit he managed to procure from a traveling merchant. However, he likes to think that he could make anything look good. Like most miqo'te, he doesn't like anything that restricts his movement.
ＰＥＲＳＯＮＡＬＩＴＹ
Perhaps his greatest virtue and flaw all in one, J'torha isn't known to take things seriously. This has been of great benefit to him in the past, being that he doesn't usually suffer long from heartache or disappointment, and it's nearly impossible to get under his skin. However, his tendency to make light of any situation has blown up in his face once or twice in the past, although he still doesn't seem to have learned his lesson. He's laid-back, playful, and confident, bordering on cocky at times. J'torha is generally happiest when all eyes are on him, even at his own expense.
Like many of his kind, J'torha is drawn to wander, never staying put too long in one place. Perhaps this urge to move came from his nomadic upbringing, but a friend of his might suggest he's only traveling between fair maidens' beds. As a notorious flirt and a fair charmer, even J'torha would have to admit that such a theory isn't entirely baseless.
Beneath the flippant attitude and flirtatious remarks, however, J'torha is a genuinely kind soul, averse to doing harm unless he must. He does harbour an ambition to eventually amass a harem and start a tribe of his own, however, and as such his search for glory can make him short-sighted, sometimes blind to the consequences of his actions.
ＢＩＯＧＲＡＰＨＹ
J’torha was born in Central Thanalan, although growing up on the move made him comfortable calling all of Thanalan his home. His tribe, a nomadic pocket of the J tribe, was always moving, never staying in one place for more than a few days at a time. With a harem of about thirty and a handful of children at any given time, the true backbone of the tribe was their nunh, a strong and diligent male by the name of J’rukoh, who took up the uncommon mantle of leader with ease. J’torha saw how the women of his tribe respected (and even admired) the nunh, and came to idolize the position, if not the man himself. As many young male seekers do, J’torha came to see defeating his nunh and taking up the position himself as the ultimate accomplishment, and being the only tia in the tribe, set his sights on doing just that.
Of course, some are better suited to such endeavours than others, and J’torha always seemed to fall in the latter category. Ever a carefree child, he always had trouble taking things seriously, often showing off or making a game out of everything, getting himself into trouble more often than not. Despite being a fairly skilled hunter, J’torha was still generally outclassed by even his less skilled peers, as he never seemed to put as much effort into catching his quarry as he did into exploring and getting into mischief. His mission to become nunh was no different; in the infinite wisdom of youth, J’torha expected challenging J’rukoh to end as well as most of his other misadventures did, relying more on luck and confidence than raw skill.
His life was happy and calm until his fifteenth summer. J’torha was largely unaware of the conflict on the Carteneau Flats, but J’rukoh could sense an oncoming threat; when the nunh saw Dalamud falter, he wasted no time reacting, ushering his tribe directly south along unfamiliar routes from their position at the time in Northern Thanalan.
The journey south was undoubtedly the most difficult in the tribe’s history, with J’rukoh pushing them harder than they’d ever been pushed before. They moved continuously, stopping only long enough for the bare minimum of sleep and hunting along the way without halting. An adolescent at the time, J’torha was tasked (along with other adolescents) with keeping the tribe’s children occupied as their mothers hunted, to stave off panic and keep their spirits up even as they strained to cope with the backbreaking pace set out by J’rukoh.
Thanks to the nunh’s quick thinking, however, J’torha’s tribe made it as far as Minotaur’s Malm before the chaos of the 7th Umbral Calamity truly took hold. They waited out the carnage holed up in the canyon tunnel, eventually emerging, scared and hungry, to find that a different Thanalan awaited them. Shaken, as all of Eorzea was, by the destruction, the tribe regrouped with the U of Forgotten Springs for a time, doing all they could to repay their standoffish hosts before finally setting out again with the daunting task ahead of them of re-mapping their migratory routes to fit the altered landscape.
No home to destroy meant no home needed rebuilding, and as such the J of Thanalan recovered quicker than most after the Calamity, finding new routes across the desert and new hunting grounds to sustain themselves. Life continued on as normal as could be expected in the wake of disaster until J’torha reached his eighteenth summer, when he decided that it was time to make good on the promise he’d made himself as a child and take up what he believed to be his rightful place as nunh. Against the counsel of his sister, mother, tribemates and even the nunh himself, J’torha went through with his plan, to an unfortunate, yet predictable, result.
J’torha was wholly outmatched and soundly beaten; so easily defeated was he that J’rukoh was able to give him two identical scars, one on each cheek, as both a reminder of his folly and a warning not to act so foolishly again. Humiliated, J’torha knew he would never survive challenging J’rukoh a second time. His tribemates advised him to be grateful that he was spared death and move on, but he simply couldn’t bear the thought of remaining a tia forever; likewise, he knew amassing a harem of his own in Thanalan would be hopeless, at least until the fast-traveling news of his defeat passed out of memory. So, once his wounds had healed, J’torha decided to leave his tribe and strike out in search of new territory and enough glory to prove his worth as the nunh of his very own tribe.
Like anything, this again proved a daunting task. In the beginning, J’torha tried a number of ways to make a name for himself, but the slog of performing menial tasks for random townspeople as a freelance adventurer wasn’t exactly the stuff of songs, and was deathly boring to boot. But over the course of one such task, helping a Gridanian woman round up her class of children for a lesson in ritual dance, J’torha found a new calling. Rather than gil, the woman paid J’torha by teaching him the same dance she taught the children, and offhandedly commented that he was a natural at it. It struck a chord within him that nothing before it had touched; despite their penchant for song, his tribe had never practiced much dance, and he found himself falling in love with it.
Opting to take a hiatus from his mission, J’torha temporarily set out to learn every dance he could find, traveling all over the realm in his search. He was particularly captivated by the infamous dancing girls of Ul’dah, but for once, was less concerned with the supple curves of their bodies and more interested in the way they moved. Infatuated with their craft (lowly as some may have seen it) J’torha set out to learn from them; after some bargaining, some flirting, and a little begging, one such clique of dancers finally agreed to take him on, reasoning that in their line of work it was probably prudent to have a man on their side.
It didn’t take long for J’torha to come to love the busking life. Within a few moons he graduated from pseudo-bodyguard, to instrumentalist, and even up to performer in his own right, relishing every moment. The music, the movement, the joyful cheers of onlookers, it all easily eclipsed the meagre gil as reward for his performances - not that the attention of female admirers was anything to scoff at, either.
However, J’torha had never been good at staying in one place. Eventually he was struck with the itch to get moving and parted ways with his Ul’dahn group, setting out on his own again. It wasn’t long before he crossed paths with another, a woman from the Steppes who soon became a dear friend and traveling companion (not that she’d ever admit it out loud). They traveled together for six moons, traversing the realm and teaching each other about their respective cultures, until their paths diverged in Limsa Lominsa, and J’torha was on his own again.
J’torha would contribute the following events to some lingering good luck from his companion; not a day after she left Limsa did J’torha attend a performance by a troupe of foreign dancers, exhibiting styles and techniques that eclipsed his Ul’dahn partners’ skill by far. He threw every gil he could muster into their collection basket and sat at the pier that was their stage until two umbral cycles had passed. He was among a handful of enthusiastic onlookers who stuck around to gush at the performers as they packed up to move on, but as he spoke animatedly to the lead dancer, the troupe’s leader apparently saw something in him; when she asked, almost offhandedly, if he had any interest in learning their craft, J’torha’s “yes” flew out of his mouth before he even understood the question. The leader explained that their method of dance merged beauty and combat, and after he agreed to help the troupe spread their art in the hopes of bringing a measure of comfort to the still-recovering realm, they welcomed the weak-kneed and delighted seeker into their ranks.
J’torha studied his troupe’s deadly art of dance more fervently than any other undertaking of his life, working each day until his fingers bloodied his chakrams and his legs melted beneath him, all the while hungry for more. Several moons into his training, his leader and troupemates deemed him ready to fully adopt the true art of the Dancer, and gave him what is now his most treasured possession: his soul stone.
Imbued with the wisdom and skill of generations past, J’torha became a force to be reckoned with. His body seemed to know what to do without his mind ever sparing it a thought, and his performances could embolden his partners like no other skill he’d ever seen. Soon enough, the troupe leader decided that there was no more they could teach him, and bid him strike out and hone his newfound power with all of Eorzea for his stage. Swearing to uphold the troupe’s mission, J’torha agreed, and has been traversing the realm with newfound vigor, light of foot and bold of heart, ever since.
Of course, some are better suited to such endeavours than others, and J’torha always seemed to fall in the latter category. Ever a carefree child, he always had trouble taking things seriously, often showing off or making a game out of everything, getting himself into trouble more often than not. Despite being a fairly skilled hunter, J’torha was still generally outclassed by even his less skilled peers, as he never seemed to put as much effort into catching his quarry as he did into exploring and getting into mischief. His mission to become nunh was no different; in the infinite wisdom of youth, J’torha expected challenging J’rukoh to end as well as most of his other misadventures did, relying more on luck and confidence than raw skill.
His life was happy and calm until his fifteenth summer. J’torha was largely unaware of the conflict on the Carteneau Flats, but J’rukoh could sense an oncoming threat; when the nunh saw Dalamud falter, he wasted no time reacting, ushering his tribe directly south along unfamiliar routes from their position at the time in Northern Thanalan.
The journey south was undoubtedly the most difficult in the tribe’s history, with J’rukoh pushing them harder than they’d ever been pushed before. They moved continuously, stopping only long enough for the bare minimum of sleep and hunting along the way without halting. An adolescent at the time, J’torha was tasked (along with other adolescents) with keeping the tribe’s children occupied as their mothers hunted, to stave off panic and keep their spirits up even as they strained to cope with the backbreaking pace set out by J’rukoh.
Thanks to the nunh’s quick thinking, however, J’torha’s tribe made it as far as Minotaur’s Malm before the chaos of the 7th Umbral Calamity truly took hold. They waited out the carnage holed up in the canyon tunnel, eventually emerging, scared and hungry, to find that a different Thanalan awaited them. Shaken, as all of Eorzea was, by the destruction, the tribe regrouped with the U of Forgotten Springs for a time, doing all they could to repay their standoffish hosts before finally setting out again with the daunting task ahead of them of re-mapping their migratory routes to fit the altered landscape.
No home to destroy meant no home needed rebuilding, and as such the J of Thanalan recovered quicker than most after the Calamity, finding new routes across the desert and new hunting grounds to sustain themselves. Life continued on as normal as could be expected in the wake of disaster until J’torha reached his eighteenth summer, when he decided that it was time to make good on the promise he’d made himself as a child and take up what he believed to be his rightful place as nunh. Against the counsel of his sister, mother, tribemates and even the nunh himself, J’torha went through with his plan, to an unfortunate, yet predictable, result.
J’torha was wholly outmatched and soundly beaten; so easily defeated was he that J’rukoh was able to give him two identical scars, one on each cheek, as both a reminder of his folly and a warning not to act so foolishly again. Humiliated, J’torha knew he would never survive challenging J’rukoh a second time. His tribemates advised him to be grateful that he was spared death and move on, but he simply couldn’t bear the thought of remaining a tia forever; likewise, he knew amassing a harem of his own in Thanalan would be hopeless, at least until the fast-traveling news of his defeat passed out of memory. So, once his wounds had healed, J’torha decided to leave his tribe and strike out in search of new territory and enough glory to prove his worth as the nunh of his very own tribe.
Like anything, this again proved a daunting task. In the beginning, J’torha tried a number of ways to make a name for himself, but the slog of performing menial tasks for random townspeople as a freelance adventurer wasn’t exactly the stuff of songs, and was deathly boring to boot. But over the course of one such task, helping a Gridanian woman round up her class of children for a lesson in ritual dance, J’torha found a new calling. Rather than gil, the woman paid J’torha by teaching him the same dance she taught the children, and offhandedly commented that he was a natural at it. It struck a chord within him that nothing before it had touched; despite their penchant for song, his tribe had never practiced much dance, and he found himself falling in love with it.
Opting to take a hiatus from his mission, J’torha temporarily set out to learn every dance he could find, traveling all over the realm in his search. He was particularly captivated by the infamous dancing girls of Ul’dah, but for once, was less concerned with the supple curves of their bodies and more interested in the way they moved. Infatuated with their craft (lowly as some may have seen it) J’torha set out to learn from them; after some bargaining, some flirting, and a little begging, one such clique of dancers finally agreed to take him on, reasoning that in their line of work it was probably prudent to have a man on their side.
It didn’t take long for J’torha to come to love the busking life. Within a few moons he graduated from pseudo-bodyguard, to instrumentalist, and even up to performer in his own right, relishing every moment. The music, the movement, the joyful cheers of onlookers, it all easily eclipsed the meagre gil as reward for his performances - not that the attention of female admirers was anything to scoff at, either.
However, J’torha had never been good at staying in one place. Eventually he was struck with the itch to get moving and parted ways with his Ul’dahn group, setting out on his own again. It wasn’t long before he crossed paths with another, a woman from the Steppes who soon became a dear friend and traveling companion (not that she’d ever admit it out loud). They traveled together for six moons, traversing the realm and teaching each other about their respective cultures, until their paths diverged in Limsa Lominsa, and J’torha was on his own again.
J’torha would contribute the following events to some lingering good luck from his companion; not a day after she left Limsa did J’torha attend a performance by a troupe of foreign dancers, exhibiting styles and techniques that eclipsed his Ul’dahn partners’ skill by far. He threw every gil he could muster into their collection basket and sat at the pier that was their stage until two umbral cycles had passed. He was among a handful of enthusiastic onlookers who stuck around to gush at the performers as they packed up to move on, but as he spoke animatedly to the lead dancer, the troupe’s leader apparently saw something in him; when she asked, almost offhandedly, if he had any interest in learning their craft, J’torha’s “yes” flew out of his mouth before he even understood the question. The leader explained that their method of dance merged beauty and combat, and after he agreed to help the troupe spread their art in the hopes of bringing a measure of comfort to the still-recovering realm, they welcomed the weak-kneed and delighted seeker into their ranks.
J’torha studied his troupe’s deadly art of dance more fervently than any other undertaking of his life, working each day until his fingers bloodied his chakrams and his legs melted beneath him, all the while hungry for more. Several moons into his training, his leader and troupemates deemed him ready to fully adopt the true art of the Dancer, and gave him what is now his most treasured possession: his soul stone.
Imbued with the wisdom and skill of generations past, J’torha became a force to be reckoned with. His body seemed to know what to do without his mind ever sparing it a thought, and his performances could embolden his partners like no other skill he’d ever seen. Soon enough, the troupe leader decided that there was no more they could teach him, and bid him strike out and hone his newfound power with all of Eorzea for his stage. Swearing to uphold the troupe’s mission, J’torha agreed, and has been traversing the realm with newfound vigor, light of foot and bold of heart, ever since.
ＯＴＨＥＲ
- His favourite food is Shakshouka, a spicy foreign dish introduced to him by a dear friend from the steppes. He likes to eat it with flatbread. He’s fond of spicy dishes in general, but this one most of all because of the nostalgia it brings up.
- Growing up, J’torha’s tribe was always on the move, though they always stopped, without exception, for meals. Rather than spacing out their meals, his tribe ate two meals each day; a small one in the afternoon when it was too hot to travel, and a large one in the evening. As a result, meal times are sacred to J’torha, and he’s accustomed to fasting and then eating a lot of food at once.
- J’torha loves children, and is very good with them. His older sister J’delika claims this is because he’s an overgrown child himself.
- J’torha holds his friends close, but isn’t too troubled by goodbyes. In the back of his mind, he’s confident that his and his friends’ paths will cross again.
- He’s super good at making flower garlands.
- Alongside his skill in dance, J’torha harbours love and skill in all things musical, including a great singing voice. His tribe did a lot of singing, but not much dancing to speak of. He knows songs from all over Eorzea.
- He's a very social guy, and has friends all over Eorzea (as well as a number of enemies in the forms of spurned lovers and the angry spouses of said lovers)
- Colour code CB3011
ＲＥＡＳＯＮ ＦＯＲ ＥＮＬＩＳＴＭＥＮＴ
Laughter and cheers echoed through the cool night air outside of Ul’dah proper, bouncing off the hulking city walls as a merry group of strangers took refuge from the crowds. J’torha was still a little lightheaded from the skin of wine being passed around, but that didn’t stop him from showing off.
“This time for sure,” he declared, to the great entertainment of the three taffeta-clad ladies at the top of the steps.
“Fifth time’s the charm,” drawled the lone midlander of the group, backed by the giggling of the two seeker girls who accompanied her. J’torha couldn’t remember if they were twins or just friends who looked really similar, but he wasn’t too worried about it either way.
“Five tries, those were your words,” J’torha called up, doing a few stretches mostly for show. “And then your five gil are mine.”
The midlander scoffed, but looked on in interest just the same, tossing her gil up and down in what J’torha could only assume was rapt anticipation. Thankful for the wine that dulled the throbbing in his shin and elbow from his previous attempts, he took a few quick breaths; on the third he jumped, propelling himself backwards over the bottom flight of steps. Bringing his knees up to carry his momentum, he caught his first touch on his hands on the middle step, bending at the elbow and kicking up his legs to bounce back up again. This time he actually managed to bring his feet down in time and landed the handspring at the bottom landing, skipping backward on the sandy stone to catch his balance but managing to stay upright.
He held his position with knees bent and arms out for a moment to let the world stop spinning before straightening up, tail curling with pride. When he was sure his company had seen the spectacle, he jumped up to pump his fists in the air with a triumphant, “Ha!”
The ladies at the top broke into applause, laughing and cheering all at once at the man’s antics.
“Incredible!” called the seeker girl with the red earrings, hopping in place.
“And you’re in one piece!” her sister (possibly her friend) added, in a tone that J’torha chose to interpret as amazement rather than smugness.
J’torha gave the women a theatrical, exaggerated bow from the bottom of the steps, and only barely straightened up in time to catch the glimmer of gil flying down towards him. He managed to catch four of the pieces, scrambling hither and yon as the midlander girl made no effort to make it easy for him, but when he reached too far for the fifth he stumbled, tumbling into a cackling heap on his rump.
Musical laughter cascaded down the steps to meet him, and J’torha let himself fall back, sprawled wide on the warm sand as laughter quaked in his own chest. His chuckles eventually faded to long, worn-out breaths as he stared up at the glimmering Ul’dahn night sky, a wide - if not still just a touch inebriated - smile still splitting his face.
“Just like a man to fall asleep in the middle of the fun,” the midlander girl teased, probably sore at losing her gil to such an extraordinary performance.
J’torha raised one arm as far as the elbow and lazily waved the thought away. “If this is how hard you drive your men, then they deserve the rest,” he called back, chuckling at his own joke as he let his hand fall. After another long look at the sky, though, he did pull himself to his feet, a heaviness of the limbs creeping in to replace the giddiness of drink.
He was upright just in time to see another few figures step through the Gate of the Sultana and saunter up to the ladies he was treating. “If the kitten down there can't keep up with you, then I'm sure you'll be more than satisfied with me.”
J’torha’s ears perked up to listen better, and the midlander girl gave the newcomer the sort of half-hearted chuckle that only comes out (as he knew from experience) when a woman wants to end a conversation. “I’m happy here, thank you,” she told him curtly.
“Come on, gorgeous,” the stranger drawled, stepping closer. “I can pay, if that’s what you’re after…”
J’torha started up the steps, tail twitching with irritation. Meanwhile, the midlander girl was having none of it, tossing her hair and turning away. “You can’t afford me.”
As she tried to walk away, the man - either a tall midlander or a short highlander, from this distance J’torha couldn’t tell which - followed her, catching up to her in two long strides and reaching out to roughly grab her by the arm. “Listen you little—”
SHING!
The chakram flew before J’torha even realized he’d drawn it, flying true to its mark and colliding with the stranger’s wrist all the way from a flight and a half of stairs below. The man cried out and stumbled back, clutching his bleeding wrist as the chakram returned to J’torha’s outstretched hand. He bounded up the last few steps to the woman’s side, ears flattening menacingly. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I-I—”
“Get going before I give you a matching set!” J’torha threatened, gesturing with his chakram to the man’s injured wrist.
The man and his companions, miners by the look of them, didn’t need to be told twice; the injured one scrambled to his feet and away, grumbling something angry and unintelligible under his breath while his two companions in tow carried on about how a woman wasn’t worth a fight in this heat.
J’torha glared at their backs until they’d faded back into the crowd inside the gate, then turned back around to find the seeker girls fussing over the midlander’s arm as the woman herself tried to quell their concerns.
“Are you alright?” J’torha asked.
The midlander rolled her eyes. “Please,” she sighed, “how fragile do you think I am?”
J’torha’s smile returned at the reassurance and he visibly relaxed, though the midlander’s friends seemed worried. She paid them no mind, however, instead placing a hand on her hip and looking J’torha up and down. “But… thank you, adventurer.”
J’torha’s brow furrowed, and he shook his head, uncharacteristically humble. “Oh, I’m not an adventurer,” he clarified.
The midlander raised an eyebrow, giving J’torha another long look before shrugging. “Maybe you should be.”
Eyebrows shooting up, J’torha had no time to reply before the midlander and her two friends took their leave back into the city proper, responding to J’torha’s plea for their names with only a chorus of giggles before they, too, melded into the crowd. J’torha followed them as far as the arch of the gate, watching the sway of their hips as they left, until he was alone again.
Staring wistfully after where the trio had disappeared, he leaned against the cool stone of the gate, only to hear the crinkle of dry parchment under his shoulder. When he looked to see what he’d touched, J’torha found a leaflet haphazardly pasted to the wall, advertising a free company called “The Blessed Twelve” to adventurers young and old. He examined the poster for a moment, glancing between it and the spot where the trio had gone. The gears in his head started spinning.
Maybe...
“This time for sure,” he declared, to the great entertainment of the three taffeta-clad ladies at the top of the steps.
“Fifth time’s the charm,” drawled the lone midlander of the group, backed by the giggling of the two seeker girls who accompanied her. J’torha couldn’t remember if they were twins or just friends who looked really similar, but he wasn’t too worried about it either way.
“Five tries, those were your words,” J’torha called up, doing a few stretches mostly for show. “And then your five gil are mine.”
The midlander scoffed, but looked on in interest just the same, tossing her gil up and down in what J’torha could only assume was rapt anticipation. Thankful for the wine that dulled the throbbing in his shin and elbow from his previous attempts, he took a few quick breaths; on the third he jumped, propelling himself backwards over the bottom flight of steps. Bringing his knees up to carry his momentum, he caught his first touch on his hands on the middle step, bending at the elbow and kicking up his legs to bounce back up again. This time he actually managed to bring his feet down in time and landed the handspring at the bottom landing, skipping backward on the sandy stone to catch his balance but managing to stay upright.
He held his position with knees bent and arms out for a moment to let the world stop spinning before straightening up, tail curling with pride. When he was sure his company had seen the spectacle, he jumped up to pump his fists in the air with a triumphant, “Ha!”
The ladies at the top broke into applause, laughing and cheering all at once at the man’s antics.
“Incredible!” called the seeker girl with the red earrings, hopping in place.
“And you’re in one piece!” her sister (possibly her friend) added, in a tone that J’torha chose to interpret as amazement rather than smugness.
J’torha gave the women a theatrical, exaggerated bow from the bottom of the steps, and only barely straightened up in time to catch the glimmer of gil flying down towards him. He managed to catch four of the pieces, scrambling hither and yon as the midlander girl made no effort to make it easy for him, but when he reached too far for the fifth he stumbled, tumbling into a cackling heap on his rump.
Musical laughter cascaded down the steps to meet him, and J’torha let himself fall back, sprawled wide on the warm sand as laughter quaked in his own chest. His chuckles eventually faded to long, worn-out breaths as he stared up at the glimmering Ul’dahn night sky, a wide - if not still just a touch inebriated - smile still splitting his face.
“Just like a man to fall asleep in the middle of the fun,” the midlander girl teased, probably sore at losing her gil to such an extraordinary performance.
J’torha raised one arm as far as the elbow and lazily waved the thought away. “If this is how hard you drive your men, then they deserve the rest,” he called back, chuckling at his own joke as he let his hand fall. After another long look at the sky, though, he did pull himself to his feet, a heaviness of the limbs creeping in to replace the giddiness of drink.
He was upright just in time to see another few figures step through the Gate of the Sultana and saunter up to the ladies he was treating. “If the kitten down there can't keep up with you, then I'm sure you'll be more than satisfied with me.”
J’torha’s ears perked up to listen better, and the midlander girl gave the newcomer the sort of half-hearted chuckle that only comes out (as he knew from experience) when a woman wants to end a conversation. “I’m happy here, thank you,” she told him curtly.
“Come on, gorgeous,” the stranger drawled, stepping closer. “I can pay, if that’s what you’re after…”
J’torha started up the steps, tail twitching with irritation. Meanwhile, the midlander girl was having none of it, tossing her hair and turning away. “You can’t afford me.”
As she tried to walk away, the man - either a tall midlander or a short highlander, from this distance J’torha couldn’t tell which - followed her, catching up to her in two long strides and reaching out to roughly grab her by the arm. “Listen you little—”
SHING!
The chakram flew before J’torha even realized he’d drawn it, flying true to its mark and colliding with the stranger’s wrist all the way from a flight and a half of stairs below. The man cried out and stumbled back, clutching his bleeding wrist as the chakram returned to J’torha’s outstretched hand. He bounded up the last few steps to the woman’s side, ears flattening menacingly. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I-I—”
“Get going before I give you a matching set!” J’torha threatened, gesturing with his chakram to the man’s injured wrist.
The man and his companions, miners by the look of them, didn’t need to be told twice; the injured one scrambled to his feet and away, grumbling something angry and unintelligible under his breath while his two companions in tow carried on about how a woman wasn’t worth a fight in this heat.
J’torha glared at their backs until they’d faded back into the crowd inside the gate, then turned back around to find the seeker girls fussing over the midlander’s arm as the woman herself tried to quell their concerns.
“Are you alright?” J’torha asked.
The midlander rolled her eyes. “Please,” she sighed, “how fragile do you think I am?”
J’torha’s smile returned at the reassurance and he visibly relaxed, though the midlander’s friends seemed worried. She paid them no mind, however, instead placing a hand on her hip and looking J’torha up and down. “But… thank you, adventurer.”
J’torha’s brow furrowed, and he shook his head, uncharacteristically humble. “Oh, I’m not an adventurer,” he clarified.
The midlander raised an eyebrow, giving J’torha another long look before shrugging. “Maybe you should be.”
Eyebrows shooting up, J’torha had no time to reply before the midlander and her two friends took their leave back into the city proper, responding to J’torha’s plea for their names with only a chorus of giggles before they, too, melded into the crowd. J’torha followed them as far as the arch of the gate, watching the sway of their hips as they left, until he was alone again.
Staring wistfully after where the trio had disappeared, he leaned against the cool stone of the gate, only to hear the crinkle of dry parchment under his shoulder. When he looked to see what he’d touched, J’torha found a leaflet haphazardly pasted to the wall, advertising a free company called “The Blessed Twelve” to adventurers young and old. He examined the poster for a moment, glancing between it and the spot where the trio had gone. The gears in his head started spinning.
Maybe...
