Warren could only guess at how deep the hole in front of him went. At the surface, it was just harmless racing between friends and competitors; A couple of fellows had chocobos and it was more exciting than racing marmots. Just below the surface was a friendly exchange of gil in the form of some meaningless bets, the wages of a few hours or the day doubling, or tripling, or vanishing outright. Nothing in the way of taxes or permits, no official decree of when or where, and no reason for the stalwarts of making sure the Jewel took its cut needing to know about it. Deeper down, reason enough to want to kill one another, and the means to cover it up. The bottom was a long way down, and Warren was standing on the precipice.
There didn't seem to be much he could do until another night of racing rolled around, and he didn't know how long that would be. Trying to track down where these birds might be kept was too many trails to wander down, considering the influx of available mounts in recent years. The actual breeding only happened - officially, anyway - in places Ishgard decided, but then again you were only supposed to find racing birds out at the Saucer. The Goblet was chock-full of personal stables for the myriad adventurers who managed into owning a chocobo, and Warren's own stables held more than its share of curious and questionable creatures.
He was stuck.
He didn't want to stick his head around at the Bazaar too often. He might be able to get away with a rough disguise to look less conspicuous but Thanalan had more than a few ways for the smallfolk to pass their time, and some were more interested in fighting than racing. There was no guarantee his presence would go unnoticed, a thought which gave him no small amount of frustration. He also tried to push the possibility of similar things happening under his nose at his own venue far, far from his mind.
Again and again he turned what he knew over in his mind, hoping to catch something he'd missed. Each time just further solidified what he was most pressed about, though; There wasn't enough information to suss anything out without compromising his reasons to investigate in the first place, and his only connection was the bird, however tentative that would turn out to be.
There didn't seem to be much he could do until another night of racing rolled around, and he didn't know how long that would be. Trying to track down where these birds might be kept was too many trails to wander down, considering the influx of available mounts in recent years. The actual breeding only happened - officially, anyway - in places Ishgard decided, but then again you were only supposed to find racing birds out at the Saucer. The Goblet was chock-full of personal stables for the myriad adventurers who managed into owning a chocobo, and Warren's own stables held more than its share of curious and questionable creatures.
He was stuck.
He didn't want to stick his head around at the Bazaar too often. He might be able to get away with a rough disguise to look less conspicuous but Thanalan had more than a few ways for the smallfolk to pass their time, and some were more interested in fighting than racing. There was no guarantee his presence would go unnoticed, a thought which gave him no small amount of frustration. He also tried to push the possibility of similar things happening under his nose at his own venue far, far from his mind.
Again and again he turned what he knew over in his mind, hoping to catch something he'd missed. Each time just further solidified what he was most pressed about, though; There wasn't enough information to suss anything out without compromising his reasons to investigate in the first place, and his only connection was the bird, however tentative that would turn out to be.
![[Image: yEROfKO.png]](http://i.imgur.com/yEROfKO.png)
