A silly! The Exarch plays claw machine
G’raha is expecting the summoning of the Warrior of Light to be… a far more reverent and atmospheric moment than it is. He had researched for years in the Crystal Tower, finally able to piece together an enchantment he knows is capable of summoning one across time, across the barriers between shards. It is a complex and perfectly charted cast upon which rides the hopes and survival of both the Source and the First, and all within it.
So sue him, when a fully naked unconscious hyur falls out of the spell and practically launches a nutkin (he was unaware it was possible to bring a plus one) directly into his face, he may have yelped a little and dropped his staff onto his foot.
Never before is he more glad he forbids the people of the Crystarium have unmonitored access to the Tower. When he finishes jumping around holding his paw like a child, he is still left with (the nutkin is gone, and he never finds it again) a very unclothed man on his floor who is not supposed to be here. This is not the Warrior of Light — last he checked, the Warrior was a Miqo’te, like he, with a constant dastardly smile and near-black fur that rusts in the sunlight and ever-so-slightly mismatched blue-green eyes that glow in the twilight. Last he checked, academically, anyways.
The Hyur groans, shifting imperceptibly. The Crystal Exarch does not panic, though his ears do flatten under his hood. Instead, he very quickly removes a small layer of his cloak and covers the poor man, and prepares to explain what in the name of the Twelve is going on.
-
G’raha tries again about a year later, ever aware of the rapid time dilation but utterly committed to getting it right this time and, unfortunately, completely spent from the first attempt’s burden on his aether. Thancred, luckily, does not hate him, but he does also have his own business nowadays, and so he is not available when the time to try again comes. Hopefully, he can get word out soon, and the Warrior can have him as a traveling companion.
Would that the Exarch could fill that role. And, would that he did not need to come up with it. With renewed determination and twice the aether poured into the spell, G’raha attempts to harry the gates of time and pull to his side a legend.
He misses again. And for his efforts, he gets two of the Warrior of Light’s companions, both, again, without clothes.
He is. Going to have to figure out how to fix that. Perhaps it has to do with aetherological travel and the acknowledgement of one’s possessions as a part of them? How is he to pull over the whole of the person without any pictures of what they happen to be wearing that day…?
The Miqo’te woman wakes first, and immediately hisses when he speaks up, her fur ridges bristling. This bodes well.
-
So we don’t need to — he fails again. And at this point it is getting a little frustrating, but at least this time he has a blanket ready.
The Elezen boy, sitting on the floor with the blanket meticulously and with no small amount of self-consciousness positioned so it covers him in a little tent, listens quietly to what G’raha has to say, his tail curled around his knees.
For a mercy, he listens and considers the Exarch’s tale very carefully. Apparently, isolated as he was from information back in Eorzea, he had no idea the dizzy spells weren’t just from… lack of aether permeating sections of Garlemald. But, at least, the voice of the Call lends credence to his claims. And so he seems to accept it, and introduces himself as Alphinaud Leveilleur, heir of House Leveilleur and Scion of the Seventh Dawn.
G’raha’s tail puffs a bit under his robes. Such historic titles! And such peaceful parley. He goes to offer his hand, but— um. Alphinaud doesn’t move from the floor to shake it, turtling in the blanket tent.
Right! Right. The Exarch startles and runs off to get a pair of trousers.
-
Undeterred, G’raha swears he will try again, and soon, it will not be another year before he finds Ch’ari Tia, he swears it!
…Well. At least the other Elezen girl arrives with her smalls. This does not deter her from cracking her fist against his crystalline ribs, which he’s sure hurts him more than it does her. His ears are ringing from her tirade — not a good time to summon her, she said. The Exarch feels old.
-
The forest.
The forest! Of Lakeland! WITH his clothes, thank the gods, but so far out of range! What if he were assaulted by a sin eater while unconscious?! Or harried by some — some, who knows what! A carnivorous plant?!
The Exarch sprints out the gates of the Crystarium, his old man bones protesting at activity he hasn’t done in literal moons. He gains a few looks from the residents as he passes — most amused, at which he can’t decide if he’s amused back or embarrassed — and finally slows to a halt when he realizes Lyna has stopped the Warrior at the gate, and done away with a stray sin eater (!!) like a sensible guard. Bless Lyna. May Lyna have the bounty of the heavens rain upon her. Wonderful grandchild.
He is out of breath as he approaches, and attempts to gain it back — an effort which he quickly realizes is entirely in vain, as the Warrior of Light finally turns to regard him, suspicious and curious and his eyes flicking to and fro across the Exarch’s form as if he could find some secret solution or an answer hidden within. His clothing is loose and wrinkled — if Alisaie’s scolding was any indication, they must not have had the time to care for it. But, regardless, his fur shines with recent care, and he stands with the height of someone who means to ask questions, not someone out of their depth. One fang pokes through his lips as he examines his abductor.
The Exarch is great at controlling his face. Fantastic at it. Even so, he smiles a touch without truly meaning to, full of relief and suddenly swamped with strong anticipatory jitters at the journey ahead, promising the Warrior that he will answer his questions back in the Ocular.
Ch’ari tilts his head like a puppy, eyes boring into the space where G’raha’s remain concealed. He follows, though — tail swaying, steps quiet, gazing at the purple foliage with silent wonder.
…
Damn his spellcasting making such an exception as this one.
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