They had locked him away in a cage almost too small for him, squirreled away into a corner where he wouldn't be a bother. He had dealt with it all before. They didn't know if he truly was a baby behemoth or just some piglet twisted by the touch of the Void. All they knew was that he a problem - a troublemaker - and they wanted him gone. Preferably for a profit, always for a profit.
That's how most of his young life had been - being handed off from swindler to swindled, changing hands through the twisted road of a silvered tongue. Bumped and jostled, paraded and purchased. What few moments he had free from his confinement were used to stretch his legs, and doing so oft led to his return to his too-small prison. And, if possible, a return to the latest snake oil-seller what sold him.
He had traveled many malms in this manner. Moved from market to market as the locals grew wise to how much of a "troublemaker" he was, and thus made him a harder sell. So many suns had come and gone in this way that, even if he could have kept tabs somehow, he would have lost track. All he knew as a blur of bipedal forms, interspersed with a few crisp definitions of someone's face twisted in anger and horror.
He was never happy with it, but he had long since grown accustomed to it. Get somewhere, get handed off, stretch his legs, get crammed back into his cage. There was a methodical sameness he had grown used to, albeit unwillingly. Most of his days would be spent flopped dejectedly on the cold floor of his cage, perking up only when he was brought to the fore. After all, it was his only chance to escape his prison, if only for a little while.
What a surprise, then, when - in the markets of Ul'dah, amongst the bustling of the Jewel - that the baby behemoth would find freedom. A home. A name. A purpose. All in the shape of a green-haired boy with glittering violet eyes.
Gran opened a lazy eye, giving a sideways glance to the Lalafell who sat happily on the river rock beside him. Both were still damp from their wrestling in the water, out of breath from their play. It had happened as a kind of accident before, but now it had become a common occurrence for them - an enjoyable ritual to help them cool down after an afternoon run.
"C'mon, Gran!" Chachanji chimed, hopping to his feet and squeezing some of the more stubborn water from his tunic. "Time ta go home 'n eat!"
The baby behemoth clambered to his feet as the Lalafell sprinted across the water, pausing only to beckon to the purple porker to follow once on the other side. Calling him to give chase, to go with him, to be with him. And, as he bounded his way after his master with his tail whipping about, Gran noted - as he had found himself thinking many times since that fateful day...
That this wasn't so bad at all.
