Warren Castille passed through the streets of Ul'dah with slightly more than half of a million gil in Syndicate money. Otto had insisted it was only half Syndicate money and Warren knew a portion of it came from the pot that the Grindstone paid, but he was having trouble seeing where the lines were any longer.
Otto Vann had been present at the Grindstone the past several weeks. There was no harm in that, not exactly, but he had made a large amount of commotion by raising the stakes and making the prize money larger and larger, ballooning the purse until it overshadowed the purpose of the tournament. What once was about martial prowess and the thrill of victory became a contest for more money than most of the fighters would earn in a year's time. The turnouts had grown as explosively as the payout and Warren felt a small twinge of disgust at watching those who might not normally risk bodily harm at the chance of getting lucky and being able to provide for their families for the foreseeable future. To a man without the means, the danger was worth it.
Otto was too well connected to not have his fingers in the Monetarists pie - or more accurately, not not have them with their fingers in his. He'd mentioned before his penchant for fashion and while garbed in exotic colors and silks majority of the time, you didn't come across those sorts of tastes without the requisite gil to supply them. Money in Ul'dah had an incestuous bent, and what grew in the city often didn't wander far from it. If Otto Vann was as well off as he purported to be, others would have noticed. He had to either be a part of the circles, or he would have been destroyed by them.
Still, there was no hard line. Otto didn't go on about the usual motions of the monetarists. He didn't push for war, he didn't begrudge the Sultana. Much the opposite; Warren had noticed how often Otto had found himself speaking with or standing near one of the Sworn's finest; The woman heralded as an incorruptible beacon. Coatleque had been brought forth in complicated matters before regarding corruption charges and as far as many in Her Resplendence's service were concerned, she was untouchable. But she wore Otto's clothing sometimes when she intended to be out without her armor.
Warren weighed the alleged evidence in his mind as he carried the sack of large-denomination coins to the Immortal Flames' office on the Strip. It landed with a heavy thud on the countertop and drew the attention of a young hyur woman.
"I'd like to make a donation to the Refugees Relief Funds, please." The woman was of no important rank or decoration, not yet. She seemed to be in the start of her career as she reached for the proper paperwork with some amount of uncertainty.
"Ah, er, yes sir! The Immortal Flames thank you for your generos- Er, I'm sorry. How much were you meaning to donate?"
"Unless they shorted me, five-hundred and fifty thousand gil."
The clipboard bounced off of the floor.
**
Warren returned to the Duskbreak with a pair of bags in his arms and a bottle of fine wine in one hand. A banquet was requested, and for his dear ones a banquet would be provided. If either of them asked he'd say he paid for it out of his Grindstone winnings, but Warren wasn't so proud that he couldn't provide for his own. It seemed to taint his good intentions to skim off of the top, and he'd made firm in his statement that he'd give it up as soon as he received it.
A sumptuous feast was spread out on the dining room table. Still-steaming roasts of dodo, grilled and marinated aldgoat steaks seared on the outside and gleaming red in the center. Piles of creamy whipped popotos and freshly baked dinner rolls and biscuits. Warren took his seat at the head of the table and smiled to himself. He felt he earned this. He'd fought for it, endured hell for it. The sun was shining overhead and in his heart and for once... Just for once, it seemed it would stay that way for a while.
Otto Vann had been present at the Grindstone the past several weeks. There was no harm in that, not exactly, but he had made a large amount of commotion by raising the stakes and making the prize money larger and larger, ballooning the purse until it overshadowed the purpose of the tournament. What once was about martial prowess and the thrill of victory became a contest for more money than most of the fighters would earn in a year's time. The turnouts had grown as explosively as the payout and Warren felt a small twinge of disgust at watching those who might not normally risk bodily harm at the chance of getting lucky and being able to provide for their families for the foreseeable future. To a man without the means, the danger was worth it.
Otto was too well connected to not have his fingers in the Monetarists pie - or more accurately, not not have them with their fingers in his. He'd mentioned before his penchant for fashion and while garbed in exotic colors and silks majority of the time, you didn't come across those sorts of tastes without the requisite gil to supply them. Money in Ul'dah had an incestuous bent, and what grew in the city often didn't wander far from it. If Otto Vann was as well off as he purported to be, others would have noticed. He had to either be a part of the circles, or he would have been destroyed by them.
Still, there was no hard line. Otto didn't go on about the usual motions of the monetarists. He didn't push for war, he didn't begrudge the Sultana. Much the opposite; Warren had noticed how often Otto had found himself speaking with or standing near one of the Sworn's finest; The woman heralded as an incorruptible beacon. Coatleque had been brought forth in complicated matters before regarding corruption charges and as far as many in Her Resplendence's service were concerned, she was untouchable. But she wore Otto's clothing sometimes when she intended to be out without her armor.
Warren weighed the alleged evidence in his mind as he carried the sack of large-denomination coins to the Immortal Flames' office on the Strip. It landed with a heavy thud on the countertop and drew the attention of a young hyur woman.
"I'd like to make a donation to the Refugees Relief Funds, please." The woman was of no important rank or decoration, not yet. She seemed to be in the start of her career as she reached for the proper paperwork with some amount of uncertainty.
"Ah, er, yes sir! The Immortal Flames thank you for your generos- Er, I'm sorry. How much were you meaning to donate?"
"Unless they shorted me, five-hundred and fifty thousand gil."
The clipboard bounced off of the floor.
**
Warren returned to the Duskbreak with a pair of bags in his arms and a bottle of fine wine in one hand. A banquet was requested, and for his dear ones a banquet would be provided. If either of them asked he'd say he paid for it out of his Grindstone winnings, but Warren wasn't so proud that he couldn't provide for his own. It seemed to taint his good intentions to skim off of the top, and he'd made firm in his statement that he'd give it up as soon as he received it.
A sumptuous feast was spread out on the dining room table. Still-steaming roasts of dodo, grilled and marinated aldgoat steaks seared on the outside and gleaming red in the center. Piles of creamy whipped popotos and freshly baked dinner rolls and biscuits. Warren took his seat at the head of the table and smiled to himself. He felt he earned this. He'd fought for it, endured hell for it. The sun was shining overhead and in his heart and for once... Just for once, it seemed it would stay that way for a while.
![[Image: yEROfKO.png]](http://i.imgur.com/yEROfKO.png)
