Hydaelyn Role-Players

I remember the heat.


I remember the sound of cicadas buzzing in the back of my head. A relentless, percussive step that slowly tore away at the calm I tried to sustain.


I remember my knuckles ached… White and strained. The grip, a vice around the woodcutting axe I held.


I remember the blood. Gods, that blood. It just wouldn’t stop. It covered everything. It stained everything. It changed… Everything.


Most of all… I remember my sister, Ari’s eyes. So blue…So endlessly deep that the oceans themselves would be driven to jealousy. They were wide, a mixture of fear and confusion, as she lifted a hand to try to repair her torn blouse.


It too was marked in that crimson moment.


***


“You have a choice. Laike. One that will bring burden to you one way or another…” Mother motioned Ari to the back room, lifting the blood-soaked clothes from her diminutive form as she spoke. There was a sadness to her voice I had never heard before. She had been angry at me when I was younger… When I dared steal from our neighbor’s orchard. Or… Let loose one of our prize hogs in Ari’s room. She had even been disappointed in me when I had lied to her about my whereabouts on that quiet night with Rose. However, today was different. She was… empty?


“You killed the son of a very important man…”


“He tried to….” I began with a rage I never knew I possessed, but she cut me off.


“It does not matter what he tried to do, Laike.”


The cicadas ate away at the back of my mind as I tried to process those words. How could it not matter? How could it not matter that he tried to… Ari…


“We can go. As a family. We can run.” She lifted a sponge, letting the bulk of the water fall from it before slowly pressing it to Ari’s back.


My sister was sobbing, her shoulders huddled in, arms wrapped around her bare chest. It looked as if she was trying to take up as little space as possible… As if she thought… if she just held on tighter, pulled a bit harder she could disappear all together.


“However…” Mother continued, “You know Ari is not well. Perhaps in time she could grow stronger but… It would be hard on her. Or…” The way she transitioned to the second choice. She didn’t want to dwell, she didn’t want to make a choice any more than I did.


“Or?” I asked hesitantly. The inside of my mouth was bleeding, a metallic undertone seeping from where I bit my inner cheek.


“Or you leave.” Ari gasped. Mother put a hand on her shoulder as she turned her eyes from view, “Ari and I claim no knowledge of why you did what you did. We… have enough friends that we should be okay. However…” There was a long pause, “You couldn’t return. Nor could you tell us where…”


“He tried to rape her!” I screamed, “He… It wasn’t even the first terrible thing he’s done, nor the first woman he...” My cheek seared as the muscles clenched, “Is there no justice for…”


“There is justice!” Mother responded. For the first time she turned towards me. There were no tears. A testament to the strength that had built up after my father had died, after she had already lost my younger brother at birth, “First.. for those who can afford it, and perhaps second... for those who deserve it.” She uttered plainly.


Ari was sobbing as Mother placed a thin blanket over her shoulders. She lifted a tiny hand to wipe her eyes before tugging the blanket tighter to her form.


The heat was maddening, and doubly so the relative silence that followed, “I… need to go, don’t I?” I don’t remember saying those words. But… I’m sure I must have. They were the only ones to say.


Pride. In all the sadness that befell the room, that subtle hint of pride in Mother’s eyes was a beacon lit in a time of suffering, “It’s hard to believe sometimes how quickly you’ve grown.” Is all she was able to get out before that calm broke. A hitch in the voice. A bite of her lip and she turned away, “Here…”


She turned towards a small pot above the pantry I knew well from more devious days of my youth. She kept her extra coin there, “Take it all… It’s not much but…”


“Mother.” The cicadas still buzzed… but I pushed them away, “Give me enough for a ride into the city. The rest…” I watched Ari. How… she must feel. Does she blame herself? Does she…


“Buy some new fabric for Ari… Blues… And greens. She was so proud of that dress, but I’m sure another attempt and it will be even better…” I picked up the axe… both blessed and accursed, “And some red.”


“You know she doesn’t wear red….” Mother responded, the seemingly insignificant conversation something to hold on to in this time of sadness.


“But I do…” I turned towards the door, a slight smile on my lips.


“And I want a new shirt for when I return.”

((Just doing these to flesh out a bit of a backstory of Laike. Feel free to read, comment or ignore. Or even hop in if it seems right.))

Potatoes:

I… didn’t realize how expensive a trip to Limsa Lominsa could be. I thought it was kind of me to refuse Mother’s money… It turns out it was just foolish. As I had began to learn, good deeds rarely are rewarded outside of story books and the lies of authority. Luckily, and I use that term loosely, I was able to take an odd job on the oddest of ships set sail. It was there I met Bertold.


He was a large hyur, bald, with a slight underbite. One of his eyes didn’t open completely due to a bit of scar tissue visible on the eyelid, left over from a particularly nasty cut. His jaw was covered in a greying stubble, patchy from various knicks across his skin.


He worked in the galley, rather, what this ship passed off as the galley. It was a small, acrid smelling room with thick, moist air and barrels full of food quite possibly past their prime. There were two other workers. A small, quiet hyur woman named Callista, and a dusky-eyed lalafell named Tumi.


“So yer the soul they sent to us, eh?” Bertold spoke in a deep, slightly monotonous voice. He clicked his tongue, picking up a knife. In his hand, there was a pathetic excuse for a potato. He began slicing away at the skin, humming a small tune to himself as he worked. It too was slightly monotonous, “Well then, pick up a knife an’ a potato will ye?”


I remember… feeling offended. Why in the hells would I ever be able to do something as menial and pointless as peeling a… damned potato when I had just fled from the home I ever had? It was so foolish, “If you don’t mind… I’ve had a rough go of it…” I tried my best to be polite, “And not exactly in the mind to…”


“A rough go of it?” Bertold raised his eyes, glancing over at me, “A rough go, ye say? Ah….” His fingers continued to work the skin off his potato as he fell silent for a pregnant moment. Eventually that monotonous voice began again, “Care to share, I wonder?”


“No.” I spoke bluntly, look up to meet his eyes, “I really, really doubt you’d understand. Just please…”


He laughed.


Anger creeped up my spine, a slight prickling in the back of my neck as I tensed my jaw, “Look… I just want to…”


“Tumi…” Bertold looked over to the dusky-eye lalafell, “Remember tha’ wine stall ye owned in Ul’dah?”


Tumi glanced up. A slight smirk crossed his face before he spat to the side, not caring if it fell near or on the pile of peeled potatoes from their earlier efforts.


“If I be rememberin’ , ye accidentally spilled a glass on tha par-ticly well-dressed woman.” Bertold brought his knife to his cheek, giving one of the patchy spots a small itch, “She be so offended tha’ she ordered her guards destroy the rest of ye reserves, couldn’t afford te keep afloat could ye? Closed down. Home gone. Named ruined, eh?” He paused, “And Callista…”


The woman didn’t look up. Her lips tightened and she moved faster, peeling the potato with the grace of a marauder attempting magic.


“You ‘ad a thing for tha noble, didn’t ye? One with the dimples.” The knife left his face and fell to the table, tip pressed to the warped wood, “Had a thing for you too. His prick, righ?” Bertold huffed a small laugh, “But tha’ kid he left inside ye? Wasn’t good for appearances, now was it?” He looked down at the table, and slowly dragged the knife, leaving a wound, “Cut it right out of ye… Said it was a mercy te let ye live.”


Callista looked away. She didn’t want anyone to see her face. Her hand gripped tightly to the knife, shaking slightly. But, strangely... She did nod.


Bertold looked back to me, “Now, someday soon, ye gonna speak up. An we? We will be commisseratin’ with your woes. Because we aren’ soulless. But…” He lifted the knife, bringing it back to the potato, “If ye be thinkin yerself a martyr? You better damn well stop now. `Cause their be more martyrs on the streets of Limsa Lominsa than stars up in those skies.”


“I…” A slight shame passed over me. I looked towards Callista, trying to find words.


“Don’ feel bad, son. Truth is, you ‘ave had a rough go. See it in your eyes. Jus’ don’ make tha mistake of believin yer the only one. Don’ make the mistake of believin’ that the world will bend to find you an answer to ye worries. Because for you, for all of us? There’s only one answer…”


I looked toward Bertold… And in that moment he seemed the wisest sage… A man I would journey countless nights to find... to seek counsel from. And so I asked, “What… is the answer?”


“Survive.” He said plainly, “An’ right now. This very moment, you know how ye be survivin?”


“How…”

“By peeling… These motherfucking… Potatoes.”