Ul'dah was a city of faces, Hroch quickly discovered. It came as little surprise for even before they left their home for the city of gold their peers were not shy about drowning them with warnings. Had they heeded every single one they would have found themselves never leaving their rooms for fear of being snatched off the streets, robbed, and murdered in no specific order. Ul'dah was beautiful and that beauty came at a price.
Aylard understood it better than their allies knew and when they walked the city streets to seek out one contact or another, his steps were careful and his gaze was sharp. They were foreigners after all, foreigners seeking aid in a city ruled by faces brittle and false. It were the friendly ones he shied away from, men and women who smiled too much for petty things. "Honest men never smile that much," he told his son. "Though the city may be wealthy, its people are starved of honesty." It was said that the markets sold anything anyone could ever desire, and there was no telling who would be willing to sell out a pair of out of place Ala Mhigans.
There was some advice they picked from the pile they'd been given. They kept separate rooms at the Quicksand just to side with caution, and when business did not require it, Hroch and his father often kept themselves occupied apart from one another. In truth, Hroch was grateful for having time to himself. The last few of their meetings were stressful affairs, and while to any onlooker he may have looked to be a brute of a young man, the company of strangers in a city of strangers did terrible things to his nerves.
Never mind that their meetings thus far had him headbutted roughly right in the face, yelled at (by the same man!), insulted, and promised for a time to a silent, hulking Roegadyn man. Only Wolfsong asked for nothing save information of his family, and it was father who knew anything about that.
Then there was, of course, Daena.
As was often the case than not lately, Hroch found his father's room to be empty when he woke. The faint smell of tea and a mostly empty mug resting on the bedside table affirmed that the older man hadn't gone too long ago at least, most likely to solidify the last of the details of their mission. Might miss supper again, he thought as he straightened out the bed sheets and made his exit.
Left to his own devices, Hroch took to cautiously exploring parts of the city, rarely daring to go too far beyond earshot of the Quicksand just in case his father ever had need of him. It was during these brief walks that he came to better understand his father's warnings. One trip into the thickest parts of the nearby markets on a particularly busy day put him at the mercy of many of the city's less subtle thieves, all of whom hardly bothered to hide their intentions while far more hands than should ever rightly find themselves on his posterior did just that. One would be pickpocket even had the gall to complain as he slunk back amongst the crowds, shouting something about "useless shirtless men" and their lack of pockets and coin purses.
Hroch had shouted back that technically he was wearing a shirt ("It's traditional!"), even if it left the vast majority of his torso bared. The sudden stares of the crowd sent him scampering back to the less hectic main streets nearer the Ruby Road Exchange, safe and whole save for a new bruise on his pride. He didn't get what he meant to get while he was there: a gift for the firey-haired girl with whom he would become comrade in arms, the breathtaking Daena Ghurn.
Even thinking of her made his heart ache in ways he didn't quite understand. For all his nineteen years he had seen his fair share of lovely lasses, yet none had caught his eye as much as she. Her father was a fierce bear of a man who may as well have had molten iron for blood. It was he that knocked him flat on his rear with just a headbutt, he who snarled warnings about advances towards his daughter. She was just as fierce and headstrong as Old Man Ruva, however, rarely cowing away from him even at his loudest. Proud and strong and perfect.
Aylard picked up on it immediately. "Best keep your focus, boy," he'd said as they walked back to Ul'dah. Â "If she be a distraction to you..."
"I know, I know." Hroch couldn't help but grin then. "But maybe it's for lasses like that that we ought be gettin' home back, y'know? I mean, for everyone, really, but.... especially for beautiful, firey lasses."
His father didn't have to look at him for Hroch to hear the grin that lightened his tone. His head nodded once and he rumbled, "Aye. Especially for the beautiful, firey lasses." Though Hroch didn't know it at the time, there was a woman just the same and dear to his old man's heart that drove him to seek out the last of the Wolfsongs. Aylard Greyarm simply understood.
Hroch took a deep breath as he wound down the final steps into the Quicksand and then out into the sunny streets. There was no way he would be approaching the market again, especially not after word that there were people actively searching for them. Far, far too many empty smiling faces, never mind the wandering hands. His footsteps veered towards the nearby gate out of the city and he clapped his hands together in determination. The time was drawing nearer and nearer still and while his father was out rousing allies and making plans, it was up to him to be prepared for action.Â
"We'll bleed for the cause," Old Ruva had said the last time they had met, the last time he had seen Daena.
Aylard only nodded, giving his son the barest of glances. "Aye, ol' friend. Our blood will nuture the soil of Ala Mhigo."
Aylard understood it better than their allies knew and when they walked the city streets to seek out one contact or another, his steps were careful and his gaze was sharp. They were foreigners after all, foreigners seeking aid in a city ruled by faces brittle and false. It were the friendly ones he shied away from, men and women who smiled too much for petty things. "Honest men never smile that much," he told his son. "Though the city may be wealthy, its people are starved of honesty." It was said that the markets sold anything anyone could ever desire, and there was no telling who would be willing to sell out a pair of out of place Ala Mhigans.
There was some advice they picked from the pile they'd been given. They kept separate rooms at the Quicksand just to side with caution, and when business did not require it, Hroch and his father often kept themselves occupied apart from one another. In truth, Hroch was grateful for having time to himself. The last few of their meetings were stressful affairs, and while to any onlooker he may have looked to be a brute of a young man, the company of strangers in a city of strangers did terrible things to his nerves.
Never mind that their meetings thus far had him headbutted roughly right in the face, yelled at (by the same man!), insulted, and promised for a time to a silent, hulking Roegadyn man. Only Wolfsong asked for nothing save information of his family, and it was father who knew anything about that.
Then there was, of course, Daena.
As was often the case than not lately, Hroch found his father's room to be empty when he woke. The faint smell of tea and a mostly empty mug resting on the bedside table affirmed that the older man hadn't gone too long ago at least, most likely to solidify the last of the details of their mission. Might miss supper again, he thought as he straightened out the bed sheets and made his exit.
Left to his own devices, Hroch took to cautiously exploring parts of the city, rarely daring to go too far beyond earshot of the Quicksand just in case his father ever had need of him. It was during these brief walks that he came to better understand his father's warnings. One trip into the thickest parts of the nearby markets on a particularly busy day put him at the mercy of many of the city's less subtle thieves, all of whom hardly bothered to hide their intentions while far more hands than should ever rightly find themselves on his posterior did just that. One would be pickpocket even had the gall to complain as he slunk back amongst the crowds, shouting something about "useless shirtless men" and their lack of pockets and coin purses.
Hroch had shouted back that technically he was wearing a shirt ("It's traditional!"), even if it left the vast majority of his torso bared. The sudden stares of the crowd sent him scampering back to the less hectic main streets nearer the Ruby Road Exchange, safe and whole save for a new bruise on his pride. He didn't get what he meant to get while he was there: a gift for the firey-haired girl with whom he would become comrade in arms, the breathtaking Daena Ghurn.
Even thinking of her made his heart ache in ways he didn't quite understand. For all his nineteen years he had seen his fair share of lovely lasses, yet none had caught his eye as much as she. Her father was a fierce bear of a man who may as well have had molten iron for blood. It was he that knocked him flat on his rear with just a headbutt, he who snarled warnings about advances towards his daughter. She was just as fierce and headstrong as Old Man Ruva, however, rarely cowing away from him even at his loudest. Proud and strong and perfect.
Aylard picked up on it immediately. "Best keep your focus, boy," he'd said as they walked back to Ul'dah. Â "If she be a distraction to you..."
"I know, I know." Hroch couldn't help but grin then. "But maybe it's for lasses like that that we ought be gettin' home back, y'know? I mean, for everyone, really, but.... especially for beautiful, firey lasses."
His father didn't have to look at him for Hroch to hear the grin that lightened his tone. His head nodded once and he rumbled, "Aye. Especially for the beautiful, firey lasses." Though Hroch didn't know it at the time, there was a woman just the same and dear to his old man's heart that drove him to seek out the last of the Wolfsongs. Aylard Greyarm simply understood.
Hroch took a deep breath as he wound down the final steps into the Quicksand and then out into the sunny streets. There was no way he would be approaching the market again, especially not after word that there were people actively searching for them. Far, far too many empty smiling faces, never mind the wandering hands. His footsteps veered towards the nearby gate out of the city and he clapped his hands together in determination. The time was drawing nearer and nearer still and while his father was out rousing allies and making plans, it was up to him to be prepared for action.Â
"We'll bleed for the cause," Old Ruva had said the last time they had met, the last time he had seen Daena.
Aylard only nodded, giving his son the barest of glances. "Aye, ol' friend. Our blood will nuture the soil of Ala Mhigo."
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