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Orthrus Kythkel'a

/ɔrθrəs kɪθ ˈkɛɫˈɑ/
The Foolish Mythophile

19 • 168cm • 12/23 • keeper of the moonthe colour of gleaming coals and dying embers,
a beaming smile coupled with glittering, inquisitive eyes tinted like freshly grown sage-
countless worn, leather-bound books, creased and faded.❖A storyteller has to start by collecting stories, for how would they collect enough tales within a single lifetime? Oft would they be aged by the time they begin, cracked and worn by the passage of time. This young miqo'te, however, started early.A daydreamer at heart, he has a soft spot for stories and tales of eld, no matter how wildly exaggerated or small and insignificant they may be. His head is oft lost in the lofty clouds of his imagination.Focused on amassing as many tales of yore as he can, not much is heard about his past and why he took up this obscure, useless hobby. Letters, numbers, equations, arcanima - what information that's fed to him is retained with stunning accuracy.With little to contribute to society in physical ability, his proficiency in the written word and balancing books is enough to land him enough gigs to keep himself fed.Clad in formal clothing unbefitting of someone lacking proper employment, he's an oddball who flits through the many nooks and crannies of Eorzea. Befitting of his chosen life work, he's always toting a notebook for jotting down the latest tales and gossip from local grapevines.Born with fair skin that contrasts greatly with the fiery red of his hair, Orthrus is sometimes mistaken for a Seeker when viewed from behind. Two little metal trinkets dangle from braided hair that frames his face, which is adorned with the characteristic tribal markings of his kind.He's often sighted in taverns; in the muted quiet of the twilight hour, leaning eagerly forward in rapt attention to whomever he'd convinced to share a tale. Either that, or crowded around a campfire in the cooling air of dusk, sharing a meal and hungrily soaking up stories regaled in the dim, flickering firelight.

This is one of the stories he tells."I was not the first."❖A mere recruit I was, fresh and unknowing of the hardships of battle. I'd only recently applied to work under the grand company, hyperaware of my meagre skills but hopeful for a chance to work under a good commander.Instead, I got my idol. He was very scary.I was the fourth recruit in the team. The last. Three pairs of eyes stared me and my scrawny form, still too thin to have filled out the belts and freshly forged epaulets dangling off my form. The other recruits, I could ignore. But our leader was different.His sharp eyes and stern countenance left no room for disobedience, and his presence alone commanded order. As I stood before him for the interview, he scrutinised me with a quiet intensity that made sweat roll down my back."I-I admire your bravery and wit in battle, sir! please let me work under you!"Was what I could only cry out, chest heaving and cheeks flushed from the sudden outburst. My eyes skittered off his face, no longer able to handle direct eye contact. Instead, they were drawn to the scarred hand that clutched by enlistment sheet.It looked so worn and brittle...In my distraction, I almost missed the small lopsided smile he gave at my speech, as if he were unused to displaying such emotions. But it slipped off his face as quickly as it had come.I felt a little sad. A smile suited them much more..."You will not work under me-"
I visibly wilted upon hearing this-"But you will be working with me instead. That is how my squadron members will be."I perked up almost instantly, like a dog presented with a bone.
I couldn't be bothered how embarrassing I must've looked.To be this happy to work under someone I admire?
Surely, behaving like that was reasonable!

I had my doubts when I was applying for his squadron.In the face of such a powerful fighter, I must look like nothing but a scraggly weed.I had little tactical sense, nor physical ability. I could hardly fend off a single coeurl, something he would've been able to do single-handedly by the dozens.Could I really make it?We were examined by sharp hawk eyes throughout our training sessions. Three sessions a day, perpetuated by hour-long breaks and feedback by our leader himself.I didn't expect that he, of all people, would have the time of day for small fry like us. He was a captain and a war hero to boot!Eventually, we were sent on our first mission. I was far from ready, to be honest.A courier mission to the Sagolii Gate... it wasn't too far from the city.I was relieved that it was simple, but I couldn't help but think that this was too little of a task.I was improving at too slow a pace to keep up with my team. Everyone was so skilled, fleet of foot, staunch in stance and proficient in their arms of choice.Too slow. We couldn't go on missions with our leader, left to do simple grunt work even a regular adventurer wouldn't be bothered with.He seemed tireless, returning to us everyday without fail regardless of the new feats that trailed behind him like a glaring banner of praise and awe as he walked through the city.I snuck out of the barracks at night. Tested my mettle against the pesky wildlife that were disturbing the folks working on the outskirts of the city.I'd return, worn to the bone, but glad that I could do at least this much. I hoped that at least he wouldn't be burdened by the small requests to quell such small fry. Small fry that equally small fry such as I, could help with.I did so much back then, and yet still wondered - could I ever stand by his side and prove myself as a worthy squad member?