Compared to the cold beauty of the upper levels - areas where the young Lalafell had spent most of his time when out and about in Ishgard - the was something depressingly familiar about the area known locally as the Brume. The squalid conditions, the dirtied and battered populace trying to do all they could to scrape enough gil together to feed themselves and their families, it brought to mind unpleasant memories. The conditions of the Ala Mhigans left to rot in the Thanalanian sun just outside the walls of Ul'dah, the standard of living for his kinsmen - the Doman refugees - in Revenant's Toll even as they aided to build it up into something passing decent. It was a sight young Chachan had seen many a time and had yet to grow any sort of tolerance to - and one he hoped he never would.
He made a point to help provide food and water to the refugees outside Ul'dah, it was how he first met Roen, and helped out where he could at the Toll when he was visiting family. Seeing yet another place were people lived in dark squalor tugged at the Lalafell's heartstrings. He wanted to do something, anything, to try and help these poor people. And yet he was only here temporarily, and only brought enough supplies for his training trip with Virara and Memeli. While he hoped that he might be making things a bit better at the forge - given the conditions V'aleera had presented to him - it seemed like barely a drop in the barrel that was the Ishgardians' problems... and he worried even more that his lack of familiarity with building materials might just make things worse.
The depression wrought by all these thoughts seeped into his bones almost as much as relentless nipping of the chilly Coerthan air, and the boy pulled the edges of his heavy coat about him and hastened his steps. Dressed up as he was, with his long ears distending the sides of his hood, he might be mistaken at a glance for the child of some Ishgardian noble, having made a wrong turn and separated from their parents. A possible mark for those desperate enough to assault or even ransom off a child for a chance at a fistful of coin. Such thoughts clearly didn't cross the Lalafell's mind, his steps hurried by the cold and a desire to not keep V'aleera waiting, but it certainly seemed to cross those of some of the scraggly residents of the Brume. A few even parted from the shadows to give quiet chase before they caught sight of the Dragoon he was meeting up with; they weren't quite that desperate.
"M-Ms. V'aleera!" little Chachan called, a plume of white rising up to dissipate overhead along with the echoing of his voice off the tattered motley of wood and stone. While the call was initially relatively cheery, the overbearing gloom of the place made the follow-up anything but. "S-sorry if'n I'm late... it's like a maze down 'ere. A... very depressin' maze..."
He made a point to help provide food and water to the refugees outside Ul'dah, it was how he first met Roen, and helped out where he could at the Toll when he was visiting family. Seeing yet another place were people lived in dark squalor tugged at the Lalafell's heartstrings. He wanted to do something, anything, to try and help these poor people. And yet he was only here temporarily, and only brought enough supplies for his training trip with Virara and Memeli. While he hoped that he might be making things a bit better at the forge - given the conditions V'aleera had presented to him - it seemed like barely a drop in the barrel that was the Ishgardians' problems... and he worried even more that his lack of familiarity with building materials might just make things worse.
The depression wrought by all these thoughts seeped into his bones almost as much as relentless nipping of the chilly Coerthan air, and the boy pulled the edges of his heavy coat about him and hastened his steps. Dressed up as he was, with his long ears distending the sides of his hood, he might be mistaken at a glance for the child of some Ishgardian noble, having made a wrong turn and separated from their parents. A possible mark for those desperate enough to assault or even ransom off a child for a chance at a fistful of coin. Such thoughts clearly didn't cross the Lalafell's mind, his steps hurried by the cold and a desire to not keep V'aleera waiting, but it certainly seemed to cross those of some of the scraggly residents of the Brume. A few even parted from the shadows to give quiet chase before they caught sight of the Dragoon he was meeting up with; they weren't quite that desperate.
"M-Ms. V'aleera!" little Chachan called, a plume of white rising up to dissipate overhead along with the echoing of his voice off the tattered motley of wood and stone. While the call was initially relatively cheery, the overbearing gloom of the place made the follow-up anything but. "S-sorry if'n I'm late... it's like a maze down 'ere. A... very depressin' maze..."
~