CLASSIFICATION: Spoken SUB-CLASS: Races of Man LOCATIONS: Eorzea, Ilsabard, Meracydia POPULATION:
Limsa: S- 20% | K- <10%
Ul’dah: S- 10% | K- <10%
Gridania: S- <10% | K- 10%
Ishgard: S- <10% | K- <10%
Ala Mhigo: S- 10% | K- <10%
Sharlayan: Census Results Unavailable
Encyclopedia Eorzea – The Miqo’te:“A race distinguished by their large, feline ears and supple tail. For reasons that are not entirely clear, female Miqo’te vastly outnumber males, a phenomenon unique among Eorzea’s races.”
Encyclopedia Eorzea – Miqo’te History:“The Miqo’te are descendants of a hunting people that crossed over the frozen seas to Eorzea in search of prey during the Age of Endless Frost, when famine gripped the land. Cleaving to their old way of life, they have largely accepted their status as one of Eorzea’s less populous races. Fiercely territorial and proud of their traditions, it could be said that Miqo’te are unsuited to life in the city-states. Nevertheless, as natural-born hunters given to a nomadic lifestyle, many Miqo’te have achieved great success as adventurers.”
Lodestone:“Though their presence in Eorzea is lesser than that of the other races, the Miqo’te are easily distinguished by their large, projecting ears and restless, feline tails. The ancestors of this line first made their way to the realm during the Age of Endless Frost in the Fifth Umbral Era, traversing frozen seas in pursuit of the wildlife upon which they subsisted. Instinctual territoriality causes many among them to lead solitary lifestyles. Males in particular are said to shy from contact with others.”
1.0 Lodestone:“The ancestors of the Miqo’te made their way to Eorzea during the Age of Endless Frost, traversing the frozen seas in pursuit of the wildlife upon which they subsisted. Adaptation to a hunting lifestyle has fashioned them with a keen sense of smell, powerful legs, and a tail which provides them with exceptional balance. Miqo’te are known to be very territorial, and many individuals tend to lead solitary lifestyles, particularly males. The few Miqo’te who have made the transition to life in Eorzean society are predominantly female.”
Encyclopedia Eorzea – Miqo’te Tongue: “Despite their inherently solitary nature, the Miqo’te adopted the common tongue early on, born of a need to barter with other races to procure materials with which to craft their hunting tools and weapons. Remnants of the old tongue can be observed in the distinctive Miqo’te ‘huntspeak’ – a system of tongue-clicks and whistles used to communicate with companions while in pursuit of quarry.”
Encyclopedia Eorzea – Miqo’te Identity:“A common trait among all Miqo’te is their fierce pride for their heritage as hunters. Seeing themselves as part of the natural world itself, they prize above all the freedom of the hunt, and do not shun death when old age and infirmity sap them of the physical talents needed to pursue their quarry to their satisfaction. To the free-willed Miqo’te, other races’ way of life – their wont to flock together with their own kind, to overrun nature to build cities, to seek safety and stability in laws and alliances – must seem quite curious indeed.”
Loupard:“As I’m sure you’ve gathered from the tail an’ ears, Q’yantaa’s a Miqo’te, and huntin’s in their blood. Could be this plan might actually work…”
Encyclopedia Eorzea – Miqo’te Dress:“The agile Miqo’te value freedom of movement above all else, shunning unwieldy armor that might restrict their range of motion. Miqo’te legwear is invariably perforated with a hole through which the tail dangles free, allowing them to maintain their unerring sense of balance.”
Archer Lodestone:“Together with the longbow sentries of the Elezen military, the shortbow hunters among the Miqo’te are widely regarded as most skilled with the bow.”
Encyclopedia Eorzea II – Shortbow: “Though lacking in range, the shortbow is well suited for hunting within a forest’s tangle of roots and boughs. It has long been prized by Miqo’te tribes for its speed and versatility, allowing for precision whether it be while in pursuit of fleeing quarry, or perched atop unstable limbs waiting for a target.”
Alchemist Lodestone:“The craft’s establishment as a tradition in Eorzea dates only to recent history. It was born primarily of ancient techniques and knowledge brought from the Near East, but has come to contain elements of Lalafellin herbalism and Miqo’te occultism as well.”
Alvak’s Spyglass – Much Ado About Aether:“According to ancient Miqo’te mystics, aetheric energy permeates all creation even as it exists in its own distinct dimension, parted from the physical plane. If Eorzea might be compared to a colossal creature, aether would be the lifeblood that courses through its veins, supplying it with sustenance.”
Fat Cat Minion:“Despite convincing research by top academics from around the realm and beyond, most Miqo’te scholars refuse to believe that there may be some ancestral connection between their race and cats (fat or not).”
Wind-up Mithra:“A stack of dusty tomes and a healthy imagination served as inspiration for this automaton designed to depict the Mithra─supposed ancestor of the Miqo’te. She wears a traditional scorpion harness rendered in painstaking—and pointless—detail by her Sharlayan creator.”
2018 Fan Fest GE Interview w/ Koji Fox: GE:“Where is Miqo’te lore at these days? There were lots of hints that Meracydia might have been involved, and those references were pruned away and now it’s all about Ilsabard. What’s the truth?”
Koji:“First off, you have so many eras. You talk about them coming over the land bridge, but then that’s very recent. In general, people are migrating everywhere. Think about it in terms of Earth. Where were people, and how did they move, over a thousand years? Now multiply that by six eras! Shit happens here, in Eorzea, a Calamity, it gets too hot, it gets too cold; people move away to a place that’s better. They break off there, and come back.
So the Fifth Umbral comes and ice starts appearing and disappearing all over, and you can get to and from different places that you couldn’t before, sometimes; even the southern islands where the Lalafell are from. The Miqo’te are coming back from Ilsabard and they’re coming back from Meracydia, but they got there in different time periods. They converge on places that are rich in the aether, because that’s what it’s all about. Places that have more aether are going to be more lush, be better for growing crops and surviving, and there’s going to be animals.
And we explain that; everybody ends up converging in Eorzea because that’s where the best aether is and that’s where you’re going to have the best hunting. The Miqo’te especially being hunters are going to follow where the best animals are and that’s where it’s all rich. You go beyond that and things start losing that. There’s still aether everywhere in the world, but it’s the rich places where people converge. It’s like the Mesopotamian thing where you have the two rivers there, the rest is desert, people are going to come back here, even if they get shut out by a flood, they’ll come back at some time.”
Aloe:“A thick spiny-leaved cactus indigenous to the southern continent of Meracydia. The Miqo’te are known to treat severe burns with the cool gel-like substance found inside the leaves.”
Sesame Seeds:“A tiny seed rich in aromatic oil, sesame is native to Meracydia, and thought to have first been brought to Eorzea by migrating Miqo’te.”
PREFERRED DIET
Tuna Miq’abob: “A traditional Seeker of the Sun dish consisting of light, flaky tuna and ripe peppers on a stick, roasted to perfection.”
Forest Miq’abob: “A traditional Seeker of the Sun dish consisting of freshly picked mushrooms on a stick, roasted to perfection.”
Meat Miq’abob: “A traditional Keeper of the Moon dish consisting of tender dodo meat and ripe ruby tomatoes on a stick, roasted to perfection.”
Salmon Meuniere: “A traditional Keeper of the Moon dish consisting of a thick fillet of salmon breaded with flour and friend in rich butter and savory spices.”
Thunderbolt Sculpin: “A rare freshwater fish decorated with a thunderbolt-like pattern down its back. The Keepers of the Moon who inhabit the Black Shroud will eat one of these before a big hunt, claiming that it grants them speed and strength.”
The first in my new series of racial lore posts. More will be coming soon, so please look forward to it! You can find more lore on the Keepers of the Moon, the Seekers of the Sun, Tribal Lore, Poacher Gangs, Miqo’te Saints, Miqo’te Purring, and even some strong words about a certain fanon misconception I’m tired of seeing in the Read More below! Hope this helps!
Something
was touching her. Rrisya was sleeping, warmed through by the morning
light, and something
was touching her.
Any
trained warrior of the Otombe would have gotten up to see what it
was. Rrisya kept her eyes shut and sighed into her pillow as four
impossibly tiny paws dug painfully into her leg, moving up her back. Cat,
you have an acre of pillow…
“Mrp.”
Well, at least it wasn’t the frantic ekekekek
of the cat spotting a bird, squirrel, or delicious-looking lizard. No, it was just the sound of a cat seeking warmth.
This
would have been rather more pleasant if warmth had been, say, by
Rrisya’s side instead of where Hiss the coeurl kitten had decided
it must be. Namely, directly atop and around her head. She groaned
into his black fur, flinging an arm out in a vain attempt to stop him
from completely
cutting off her air supply, but he seemed determined to turn himself
into a furry hat.
…It
could be worse. At least he was purring and hadn’t started kneading
her ears yet. And he was very cute, and didn’t take up that much space…
From
his mother: “I’m
going to check on the herds; watch your cousin, Sevet!” And
your cousin’s cousin, and your sisters, and your younger brother,
and the chocobos, because one day this will be your responsibility.
From
his cousin Anta: “Did
you see
that girl that came in with the traders? Damn.” You
should be paying attention to her, instead
of
her tall and smiling brother.
From
his sister Senanta:
“Sevet,
are you going to let that go? Did you hear what he said about you?” Never
let an insult go unanswered; your pride should be your greatest
possession.
From
his sister Seyalawo:
“You
really should learn to stand up for yourself, or
people will just walk all over you.” There
is something wrong with you; you’re too easygoing.
From
a traveling trader: “You’re Q’tenbe’s nephew? Never would
have guessed.” You
are nothing like the real men of your tribe.
From
his father: “It’s…good
to see that you and Kerahn are still getting along so well, even
after that fight.” Why
aren’t you at each other’s throats yet?
From
his aunt Temzizi: “Pay attention, Sevet! You especially need to
know how to defend yourself. Now, pick up your spear and let’s try
this again.” Men
of the Puk tribe make their mark in blood. Magic is for women; you
must learn every weapon at your disposal, for
you never know when your challenger will come.
Sevet
thinks, eventually, that he is very tired of listening to what people
aren’t saying. Sure, Kerahn occasionally makes him want to rip his
own fur out, but he always
says what he means. And the chocobos only wark and warble, which has
no hidden meaning at all.
So
he says to Kerahn, on a bright spring day with the sky as clear as
glass: “Hey,
want to just leave?”
She’d
been traveling for a full day when she came upon the ruins.
Even
calling them ruins was too generous. Houses had once stood
here, but now they were marked only by disturbed patches in the
undergrowth. A tree trunk, shattered and splintered, held rotted
fibrous scraps that once might have been the woven hemp cords her
clan used to mark their hunting grounds. When she touched one, it
crumbled to dust. Dalamud’s shattering had left a stone three times
as tall as she was embedded in the ground where a lodge might have
been.
She’d
heard nothing save her own breathing for malms, and now she held her
breath as she reached for the stone. It was native to the Shroud, and
she knew the sigil carved into it. A cousin-family. The Otogandha.
How many years…? It must be decades at least.
In
the silence, something spoke. /Stolen child?/
She
hissed and recoiled, nearly tripping over her own tail as she spun
around. The voice had seemed to come from everywhere at once, coiling
through her ears like smoke. “Who are you?”
Red
mist eeled its way across the ground and stopped, collecting in the
hollow of the tree stump between two massive roots. Squinting at it,
she thought she saw eyes and scales. /I was Otogandha. Me!
I kept them, guarded their hearths and their hunting grounds, and the
masked thorns stole them and broke them, and they have forgotten me./
Her
ears laid back—as it spoke,
it had been elongating into something like a feathered serpent, and
its teeth looked very sharp for something made of
mist and aether—but she refused
to flinch. She could feel the power in it, and it made her fiercely
and suddenly homesick. It’s like when Grandmother calls
to the hunting hawk. That same spirit. This must have been the
Otogandha’s hunt god. “Spirit
of the Otogandha. You know who I am?”
Now
it was a feathered serpent, and stretched out a head the size of her
torso to flick its tongue at her. /You taste of my people,
but so very faint. Ah…Otombe. Daughter of Mbeleke, she who
would roam far in search of fatter prey. Do her daughters still hunt,
blood of my blood?/
Mbeleke
had been her third great-grandmother. She was silent for a moment,
and then nodded slowly. “Not all. Some live in the city now.” The
spirit thrashed at that; she watched its coils, and took note of how
it seemed to struggle to lift itself from the tree. “But enough of
us do—we rremember the old ways.”
Snakes’
eyes couldn’t widen, but it looked somehow hopeful anyway.
/…Remember? Do
you still follow them? My people, they left me here…/
She
reached out, laying her hand on its nose. The aetherial scales
tingled under her palm. “I will not leave you, spirit of the
Otogandha. But we must bargain.” Lay out the terms
clearly when dealing with spirits, her aunt Vayu had always told
her, and always have a plan.
As
the spirit settled its coils in front of her, feathered wings
rustling, she made sure to keep her face blank and her ears set
neutrally. She had a plan. They both wanted the same thing,
after all.
Be
my spear. Be my fury. Protect our people. And when it’s over, melt
like smoke into the treetops.
I
will.
/I
will./
When
she left the ruins, power settling over her shoulders like a cloak,
she carried a chunk of bark like a shield in her arms. She left no
footprints.
Scrape.
Scrape. The air is cold—it’s nearing winter, and she hasn’t
bothered to stoke the fire—but the wood under her hands feels warm.
She swears she can feel it tingling faintly. Whether
it be beastkin or Spoken,
her aunt Sahel has told her,
if you are to hunt in these woods you will need a mask.
It had once been her aunts carving these flat pieces of wood; before
that, her grandmother, and before that,
all the women of the Otombe clan. And now it is in her hands.
She
inhales
slowly, aware of her breath. The
most important part of carving,
her aunt Vayu has told her, is
to pay attention.
To feel the wood under her hands, the weight of her tools, the shape
of the grain. The wood—a fine knotted
piece of ash—will tell her what it wants to be, whether snake or
eagle or snarling coeurl. Her job is only to bring it out. She’s no
shaman; the elementals don’t hear
her. When she wears this mask, they won’t see her, either. She
will be silent, a ghost drifting through the trees like smoke, like
the anguished cries of her people under Gridania’s heel.
All
she hears is the
steady scratch of carving knife on wood, the
sound and sensation of her own heartbeat.
Her mind feels oddly blank. You
are a woman grown and bloodied,
her aunt Ristriss has told her, but
to be a successful hunter of the Otombe you must clear your mind and
listen.
Under her hands, the mask is taking shape; two diamonds for eyeholes,
the snout of a wild boar, knots in the wood becoming the suggestion
of tusks. She exhales. Good.
How
long has she been working? She’s not sure. It’s only when she
lifts her eyes that she realizes the forest has grown light around
her. The mask is nearly finished; though it still needs to be sanded
and polished and if she stares at it too long she’ll likely find a
dozen alterations she’ll want to make, it will suit her purpose.
The proper prayers, the proper dyes, and the woods will never find
her. I
won’t stop you if you wish to be an adventurer,
her mother has told her, but
please promise you’ll protect yourself.
Well.
She’s protecting herself.
The
mask fits. She stands up, testing the weight of it. It
needs a proper strap, but it will do.
When
blood is spilled at the next new moon and a Wailer’s mask falls to
the forest floor, the wood lies still.
His
mother had called him lazy and shiftless; his father and uncle had
shaken their heads and muttered that there must be something wrong
with him if he wasn’t willing to fight for status. A young tia of
the Q tribe shouldn’t be so content to stagnate. But content he’d
been, until the chafe of expectations had grown too much to bear—and
then he’d left. He’d left, Kerahn had followed, and they’d
struck out for the big city.
It
sounds like a fable,
he’d remarked. Two
brothers, off to seek their fortune…
The
only gold they’d found in Limsa Lominsa had been the feathers of a
chocobo. She’d been sickly and half-lame, but her eyes had still
been bright enough for Sevet to take the chance. Kerahn had accused
him of wasting their gil, but the bird—Seris, Q’seris—was all
he’d ever wanted. She
was clever, she was tractable, and she was fast. The registrars at
the Gold Saucer hadn’t believed him at first, muttering something
about conformation and pedigree, but he’d only grinned at them.
And
that had led to this—this,
the heat of the sun on his back, the leather reins wrapped around his
fists, the dust and the wind kicked up by Seris’s feet as she
sprinted. He didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. Seris carried
him forward, swift as an arrow, and the rest of the pack was far
behind. There
was only the finish line.
Closer.
Closer.
There.
He
skidded to a stop, and the watching crowd roared. As Seris pranced
anxiously under him—he was working on acclimating her to loud
noises—he patted her neck. “There, there, good girl.”
“Congratulations,
Master Tia!”
One
day he was really
going to pick up an epithet like Kerahn had. Still, he beamed at the
race announcer. “Didn’t I tell you? She’s the best bird in
Eorzea!”
ffxivswarm 