Faydrel woke, cold and very confused. The cold was more than a chill against the clammy walls of stone and iron. Rigid with concentration, Faydrel laid among the bits of dingy brown straw that clung absently to her blonde tresses and form. It was after a few moments of calming down that Faydrel finally realized that she was currently occupying a prison cell.
 
When had this happened?
 
Carefully, Faydrel curled into a tight ball to ease the tension that was currently spread across her should blades. Slowly she then forced herself to relax, muscle by aching muscle, and joint by joint, as she attempted to analyze her situation. It was obvious from the throbbing from her temples that alcohol had played a part in these events. Either she had drank far too much or not enough, it was hard to judge what was the right amount these days. It wasn’t only her temples that were throbbing, but her entire body felt like a giant sore. Whoever it was that locked her up, they worked her over a bit first.
 
A soft groan escaped Faydrel as she finally picked herself up from the loose straw bedding, but her knees quickly buckled and found herself slumped against the cool stony walls of the cell. “Mmph…ugh…” She muttered incoherently as her eyes came to a close as the room refused to stop moving for her. Which she could not help but think was really rude. Unable to do much more she was forced to take in shallow breaths of air in an attempt of recovery.
 
Flashes of memories crossed before the dark lids of her eyes of the night’s events. There were definite loads of ale and spiced wines that night with visions of The Drowning Wench. Plenty of familiar faces around, but also a man in metal armor, Knight of the Barracuda to be exact.
 
Deep blue eyes opened in a flash and another, louder, groan escaped past her now pouting lips. Her drunken memories had resurfaced in a mesh, but it wasn’t hard to see what had happened. A hazardous wager with an equally drunk crew-mate had led the reckless Faydrel into pick pocketing an off-duty knight.
 
“By the twelve tha’ was stupid…”
 
‘But it's something I’d do…’
 
While Faydrel stayed slumped against the wall there was the familiar noise of metal clanking against stone floors. With each footfall the more she winced in mild annoyance and pain. It was at this that she could not help but wonder as to why all guardsmen, warriors, and knights insisted upon wearing those evil metal greaves.
 
As she now absentmindedly removed bits of dingy straw from her untidy tresses, the sound of clanks had finally come to a stop. Her exhausted gaze drifted over to where the door of the cell was evidently located and found a cliché iron-barred door and an equally cliché guardsman standing there. He was a stocky and over-weight Hyur with a large gray mustache and little hair atop his dome. His armor consisted of the metal greaves and gauntlets. His gut prevented for a full chest-plate. And overall it seemed dim and almost appeared to have rust on the edges.
 
Most likely he was an officer who had long since been removed the front lines and stuck here as a prison guard.
 
“It’s yer lucky day girlie, someone’s come to post tha bail.” A gruff voice called out to her with the following sound of the tumblers of the door’s lock turning open. The iron door then let out a low and whining creak as it swung open with an accompanied deafening clang of iron on gray stone.
 
“Oh lucky me…” Faydrel mumbled as her tanned hand came up and smudged away a bit of dirt from her forehead. She stumbled slightly away from the clammy prison wall and then moved towards the now open doorway before her. Faydrel then began to wonder as to who could have posted her bail as she had just arrived that night. And as if to answer this mental questioning, the stocky guard moved away from the doorway and revealed a familiar face of a male Lalafell.
 
“Laharal…?” Faydrel questioned in mild disbelief. She had sailed with him on the ship that ported Limsa Lominsa and he was a notorious gil monger. Despite his height the man proved to be quite the adversary on the open seas and a real asset when it came to financial issues.
 
The look of disbelief must have been too much for the shorter Lalafell as he gave a hearty laugh and smacked his leg lightly. “Ha ha! Don’t act so shocked!” Laharal joked as the Lalafell pivoted around and began to walk down the darkened hall. After getting over the small amount of astonishment did Faydrel brush pass the guardsman and stumbled after her former crew mate. “Well it’s not often seeing you give up your gil for another.” She quipped back towards the shorter male.
 
“Oh, well the money I used was what I owed you from last night.”Laharal harped back with another chuckle. She could only groan at that as she brushed the last bits of pale straw that clung to her form. “Then I suppose I don’t owe you any thanks, gotcha.” She huffed as they made a small stop at the front desk to pick up her confiscated equipment.
 
“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Fay.”
 
 Faydrel could only smirk a bit at the comment as she rummaged through her pack to check if all of her things were in order. With a small mock solute to the guardsman behind the counter she sauntered beside the Lalafell. The promise of freedom had allowed her to ignore her sore and stiff body and not to mention her still throbbing head. “Show the way o’ charitable one.” She snipped with a bit of sarcasm and followed the short Lalafell out the entrance of the holding area.
 
 Faydrel immediately flinched at the brightness of her surroundings, causing her to bring her tanned hand up over the tops of her eyes. The cries of nearby seagulls were lovely melodies upon her ears and the scent of sea air was just heavenly. There were sounds of nearby commerce of the local adventurers and residents and large buildings of stark white. It was all of the comforts of freedom.

Laharal then walked out ahead of Faydrel before he turned to her with a small jump and wave of his hands. “Allow me to officially welcome you to the grand city of Limsa Lominsa!”

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