La Noscea wasn't particularly noted for trees. The land was rocky and sandy; the most arable areas of the island were given to cultivation and agriculture, too precious to be left for the wilds, and there were no looming elementals to lord over either the inhabitants or the flora. The civilized inhabitants of the island, for whom "civilized" was still tenuously defined at times, likely would not have tolerated such a mystical presence telling them what to do, not after having fought armies, kobolds, sahagin and the like; an elemental trying to settle in the few wooded areas of the region would likely have been chased off by cannons and fiercely grim arcanists alike pouring spite, magic and firepower upon it.
The relatively few species of trees that did flourish on the island, though, were hardy, persistent things, growing thick and solid in their copses, tough like the Roegadyn who had made La Noscea their home. It took a strong axe and a tough swing to fell them, two things that were unusually common in the region, and which were possessed as well by a particular member of the race who now worked them in a thicket of oak trees near the collection of windmills, called the Grey Fleet, in the island's lower region.
The thunk of each axe blow into the trunk echoed through the area, audible enough to be heard from the windmills for certain, and possibly enough for the kobolds in the nearby hills, but if the furry beastmen heard it, they lacked either courage or curiosity enough to do anything about it. Perhaps it was also self preservation, for the hand and form swinging the axe were anything but scrawny.
The echoing strikes became a rhythm, and if one were close enough, one could hear a gruff voice chanting between blows, using them to set a tempo:
"Where, where..." *thunk* "...are you tonight?" *thunk* "Where have you gone..." *thunk* "...to leave me alone?" *thunk* "When you come back, dear..." *thunk* "...you'll see what you're missin'..." *thunk* "I hope you like kissin'..." *thunk* " 'Cause you'll be my own" *thunk*
He set the friction-warmed head of the axe in the soil, next to the half-severed tree, and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. The weather was not particularly warm, for the season; seawinds rising above the cliff cooled him off as efficiently as they drove the blades of the fleet of windmills in the near distance. Still, the red and white tunic he wore, which was all the rage in Limsa this cycle, was stained under his arms and upon his chest with sweat, leaving it translucent in spots, showing his ash-dark skin through the fabric. He leaned on the axe-handle, supporting his left arm on it, and reached for something in the pocket of his dun-colored trousers - a smooth-worn wooden pipe.
He set the mouthpiece between his teeth, and fished around in his other pocket; there was a wrapped fire shard in there, somewhere. He looked at the tree, and the deep cuts that were quite close to taking it down. "Oh, don't you worry. I'll have you down and in these arms soon enough."
A faint sound caught his ears, as if it were a reply - the distant crunch of leaves and a scuffling in the sandy path - and at a sudden, his hand had seized upon the axe handle again, eyes narrowed and hunting for the source.
The source, apparently, came from about 50 yalms away: another burly Roegadyn male had apparently ambled off the road enough to come within visible contact. The woodsman made an effort to relax, still keeping his hand on the axe, and peered closely at the newcomer, eye rapidly taking in details: the sea-green skin of a Sea Wolf... tattered straw hat... blue harness, leaving the chest open, sunlight glinting off the buckles... axe strapped to his back... and a hint of some printed fabric, coeurlskin maybe, under the outfit top. The approaching form was tall, but not AS tall as the viewer. The pipe shifted from one side of his mouth to the other as the mind chewed on the details.
The newcomer apparently had spotted him, though, and was nearly trotting up the path, waving, something like a belly laugh coming from him, followed by a greeting. "Haw haw, 'ey there! Givin' that tree a good drubbin', ey?"
The pipe shifted up and down as it was chewed on. "Yeah, what of it?"
The other set his hand on his straw hat, defying the breeze, and continued a slow trot up the path. "Aw, nothing, 'cept I betcha I could get those trees down for ya, all fast like, fer a little working consideration. I got the best hands and axe fer chopping, and for an honest bit of gil, ye can get yer work done by one of the slayers o' Chitin himself! Whadda ya think?"
A massive, dark hand took the pipe from the mouth. "Chitin? Who the... wait, who're you?" The ash-colored Hellsgarde took a loose grip on his axe, and plodded a few solid steps towards the Sea Wolf.
"Ye don't know the great Trachtoum when ye see him? One o' the heroes of the land, that's me, scourge of primals, personally chopped off one of Chitin's toes with the rest of the Company of Heroes!" The green figure continued taking large, but casual, steps forward. "But even a hero's got to eat, and I've done cleared out most of the kobolds and dangerous beasts around here, so I'm needing a quick bit of work for a meal and a drink to make it back to Limsa for a more proper welcome. What do ye say I chop these down for ye, and ye put some gil in my hands for the trouble, and to tell everybody how ye met one of the Eorzea's heroes?"
The taller male also continued striding forward, stopping but a pair of yalms away; he rested the axe head on the ground, and supported his hand on its handle. "Trachtoum." The word came out as if it were a declaration of intent. "Yeah, actually, I heard of you. I'm thinkin' I don't need any heroes around here, so maybe you oughta take that Titan-sized flapper of yours and bugger off."
Trachtoum stopped, face looking as if something had bitten his arse, for a moment, which brought his chocobo tattoo into stark relief. "What? Friend, ye don't know what yer talking about! Don't ye want to hear it said 'round the taverns how you got to know a real Company Hero and shared yer brew with him?"
"I'm thinkin' it's you that ought to consider whether he wants to get to know me." The Hellsgarde peered at Trachtoum through black and purple-tinged bangs. "I ain't really the kinda guy a hero like you wants to Titan up with."
The Sea Wolf spread his hands. "Aw, everybody ought to know a guy like me! Why, just last week, I beat the Warrior of Light in a rock-breaking contest! I think that I can do to those trees here..."
The deep voice came down like a portcullis. "Shut it, you git, before I give you a little kiss on that pretty bird you've got on your cheek." The taller Roegadyn stood straight, bringing himself to his full height, glaring at Trachtoum, knuckles cracking.
"Now, ye wait just a..."
Another echo could be heard in the valley but a moment later: it was a solid, but dull sound, something not unlike a brick impacting a ripe melon. The taller male had charged the two steps between them, with a speed belying his size, and had driven a hammering punch right upon, and nearly through, Trachtoum's cheek tattoo; if the little chocobo there had not finished hatching before, its egg was surely broken now, and the greenskinned male was sent to the ground, stirring up sand and dirt as if, indeed, he had been himself a falling tree. Dust rose around Trachtoum's body, and the Hellsgarde's feet, as both skidded to a halt.
The burly victor broke the sudden silence. "Titan, you idiot! It's Titan! I heard o' you hangin' about the Fleet before, I but woulda never thought you'd be stupid enough to keep stayin' around!" He stood over the fallen figure, rubbing knuckles.
The grounded one moaned, flexed his fingers, and opened his eyes; his words were slurred by the sore jaw. "Wait, don't hurt me no more, I'm goin', I'm goin' I swear..." A green hand slipped inside the harness, fingers working at something inside it.
A massive, black leather boot came down on those fingers, hard and fast. There was another crack. A small black sphere, with a fuse, rolled from Trachtoum's chest, as well as a handful of playing cards, decorated with heads and faces of monsters and legendary heroes, which spilled out from the Sea Wolf's harness and into the dirt.
The ashen-skinned male leaned forward onto his foot, and ground the bootheel into his victim, eliciting a trio of whimpers and several groans. "Now, lemme introduce my self!" the phrase was punctuated by another painful stomp upon the felled Trachtoum. "You can call me Obsidian Obelisk, and you're gonna remember it..." The bootheel ground down, smudging dirt into the bruised green skin. "...because I'm gonna pound it into ya! Listen up, trash. When I catch heroes like you, I always gotta clean my boots after puttin' a steel toe up some arseholes!" The last word triggered another resounding stomp, this time to the downed man's gut.
Trachtoum groaned and coughed, wetly, and his assailant stepped a pace away, and kneeled, picking up the little sphere, and a few of the cards. "A firesand bomb. You really are a dirty little qiqirn's son, aintcha, hero?" Obelisk stuffed the ball into his pocket, and peered at the cards, turning them in his hand. "Triad cards? Aw, how cute." He flipped them in turn. "Behemoth, which you ain't. And there's your little buddy Chitin, and a sweet little moogle. I bet your mama would be so proud o' you right now, boy, just a-twitchin' her whiskers."
Obelisk squeezed the cards in his hand, letting their crumpled remains fall to the dirt, and stepped another pace away, his hand closing on the hilt of his axe.
The fallen male, teeth clenched in pain, was slowly dipping his hand towards a belt pouch. "Please.." He coughed. "Lemme go! I swear, swear..." A groan followed. "...I'll leave!"
Obelisk turned his head, eyes falling on the pouch. A vein pulsed in his forehead. "Oh, hells, no."
Trachtoum began to rise, and the green hand snatched at the pouch, but the ashen-skinned male spun in place, his axe swinging in a flashing, rising arc. The flat of the axe impacted the green forehead with a resounding clang, and the Sea Wolf's eyes rolled, and the rest of him went limp, breathing laboriously, unconscious. The straw hat came to rest several ilms away.
-----------------------------
Orange eyes blinked, fighting a headache. He tried to sit, but a grinding pain in his gut halted him, and he could only look up, into a purple blur. The blur only gradually unfuzzed, showing first a darker blob, then cleared further. Pain, but.. a purple twilight sky. Faint stars... he was alive! He hurt... gods, his chest was sore... head throbbed... but he breathed!
And... vision kept clearing... the blob became something else. It was... a face. A beautiful, lovely face, an angel, just for him, with full lips, wavy hair of black and purple, skin the color of an ashen dusk, such pretty eyes...
"Can you walk?" The voice, too, was melodious, a beacon within the haze of pain and muddy thought.
Trachtoum felt a pair of gentle fingertips touch his forehead, and struggled against the ache in his chest to get the words out.
"I..." He coughed. "I think so... oh, thank you, thank you... I got attacked by a..." Another cough. "Goobbue! Hit me right on the head."
"Can you run?" The voice was still feminine, but it had acquired an edge. Trachtoum peered up, his senses finally clearing to get a strong view of her.
"Can I... what?" he felt a new sensation in his gut. Not pain, but a squirming.
"Can you run?" The face seemed to move a fulm away. "Let me introduce myself, hero. I am Obsidian Glimmer, and I am not here to help you. You met my brother, but, unluckily for you, he's the nice one." She raised her hand in front of his face, and he could see and feel a cold, crackling mist forming around it.
Orange eyes widened.
Moments later, a sound like shattering ice resounded around the Grey Fleet.
The relatively few species of trees that did flourish on the island, though, were hardy, persistent things, growing thick and solid in their copses, tough like the Roegadyn who had made La Noscea their home. It took a strong axe and a tough swing to fell them, two things that were unusually common in the region, and which were possessed as well by a particular member of the race who now worked them in a thicket of oak trees near the collection of windmills, called the Grey Fleet, in the island's lower region.
The thunk of each axe blow into the trunk echoed through the area, audible enough to be heard from the windmills for certain, and possibly enough for the kobolds in the nearby hills, but if the furry beastmen heard it, they lacked either courage or curiosity enough to do anything about it. Perhaps it was also self preservation, for the hand and form swinging the axe were anything but scrawny.
The echoing strikes became a rhythm, and if one were close enough, one could hear a gruff voice chanting between blows, using them to set a tempo:
"Where, where..." *thunk* "...are you tonight?" *thunk* "Where have you gone..." *thunk* "...to leave me alone?" *thunk* "When you come back, dear..." *thunk* "...you'll see what you're missin'..." *thunk* "I hope you like kissin'..." *thunk* " 'Cause you'll be my own" *thunk*
He set the friction-warmed head of the axe in the soil, next to the half-severed tree, and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. The weather was not particularly warm, for the season; seawinds rising above the cliff cooled him off as efficiently as they drove the blades of the fleet of windmills in the near distance. Still, the red and white tunic he wore, which was all the rage in Limsa this cycle, was stained under his arms and upon his chest with sweat, leaving it translucent in spots, showing his ash-dark skin through the fabric. He leaned on the axe-handle, supporting his left arm on it, and reached for something in the pocket of his dun-colored trousers - a smooth-worn wooden pipe.
He set the mouthpiece between his teeth, and fished around in his other pocket; there was a wrapped fire shard in there, somewhere. He looked at the tree, and the deep cuts that were quite close to taking it down. "Oh, don't you worry. I'll have you down and in these arms soon enough."
A faint sound caught his ears, as if it were a reply - the distant crunch of leaves and a scuffling in the sandy path - and at a sudden, his hand had seized upon the axe handle again, eyes narrowed and hunting for the source.
The source, apparently, came from about 50 yalms away: another burly Roegadyn male had apparently ambled off the road enough to come within visible contact. The woodsman made an effort to relax, still keeping his hand on the axe, and peered closely at the newcomer, eye rapidly taking in details: the sea-green skin of a Sea Wolf... tattered straw hat... blue harness, leaving the chest open, sunlight glinting off the buckles... axe strapped to his back... and a hint of some printed fabric, coeurlskin maybe, under the outfit top. The approaching form was tall, but not AS tall as the viewer. The pipe shifted from one side of his mouth to the other as the mind chewed on the details.
The newcomer apparently had spotted him, though, and was nearly trotting up the path, waving, something like a belly laugh coming from him, followed by a greeting. "Haw haw, 'ey there! Givin' that tree a good drubbin', ey?"
The pipe shifted up and down as it was chewed on. "Yeah, what of it?"
The other set his hand on his straw hat, defying the breeze, and continued a slow trot up the path. "Aw, nothing, 'cept I betcha I could get those trees down for ya, all fast like, fer a little working consideration. I got the best hands and axe fer chopping, and for an honest bit of gil, ye can get yer work done by one of the slayers o' Chitin himself! Whadda ya think?"
A massive, dark hand took the pipe from the mouth. "Chitin? Who the... wait, who're you?" The ash-colored Hellsgarde took a loose grip on his axe, and plodded a few solid steps towards the Sea Wolf.
"Ye don't know the great Trachtoum when ye see him? One o' the heroes of the land, that's me, scourge of primals, personally chopped off one of Chitin's toes with the rest of the Company of Heroes!" The green figure continued taking large, but casual, steps forward. "But even a hero's got to eat, and I've done cleared out most of the kobolds and dangerous beasts around here, so I'm needing a quick bit of work for a meal and a drink to make it back to Limsa for a more proper welcome. What do ye say I chop these down for ye, and ye put some gil in my hands for the trouble, and to tell everybody how ye met one of the Eorzea's heroes?"
The taller male also continued striding forward, stopping but a pair of yalms away; he rested the axe head on the ground, and supported his hand on its handle. "Trachtoum." The word came out as if it were a declaration of intent. "Yeah, actually, I heard of you. I'm thinkin' I don't need any heroes around here, so maybe you oughta take that Titan-sized flapper of yours and bugger off."
Trachtoum stopped, face looking as if something had bitten his arse, for a moment, which brought his chocobo tattoo into stark relief. "What? Friend, ye don't know what yer talking about! Don't ye want to hear it said 'round the taverns how you got to know a real Company Hero and shared yer brew with him?"
"I'm thinkin' it's you that ought to consider whether he wants to get to know me." The Hellsgarde peered at Trachtoum through black and purple-tinged bangs. "I ain't really the kinda guy a hero like you wants to Titan up with."
The Sea Wolf spread his hands. "Aw, everybody ought to know a guy like me! Why, just last week, I beat the Warrior of Light in a rock-breaking contest! I think that I can do to those trees here..."
The deep voice came down like a portcullis. "Shut it, you git, before I give you a little kiss on that pretty bird you've got on your cheek." The taller Roegadyn stood straight, bringing himself to his full height, glaring at Trachtoum, knuckles cracking.
"Now, ye wait just a..."
Another echo could be heard in the valley but a moment later: it was a solid, but dull sound, something not unlike a brick impacting a ripe melon. The taller male had charged the two steps between them, with a speed belying his size, and had driven a hammering punch right upon, and nearly through, Trachtoum's cheek tattoo; if the little chocobo there had not finished hatching before, its egg was surely broken now, and the greenskinned male was sent to the ground, stirring up sand and dirt as if, indeed, he had been himself a falling tree. Dust rose around Trachtoum's body, and the Hellsgarde's feet, as both skidded to a halt.
The burly victor broke the sudden silence. "Titan, you idiot! It's Titan! I heard o' you hangin' about the Fleet before, I but woulda never thought you'd be stupid enough to keep stayin' around!" He stood over the fallen figure, rubbing knuckles.
The grounded one moaned, flexed his fingers, and opened his eyes; his words were slurred by the sore jaw. "Wait, don't hurt me no more, I'm goin', I'm goin' I swear..." A green hand slipped inside the harness, fingers working at something inside it.
A massive, black leather boot came down on those fingers, hard and fast. There was another crack. A small black sphere, with a fuse, rolled from Trachtoum's chest, as well as a handful of playing cards, decorated with heads and faces of monsters and legendary heroes, which spilled out from the Sea Wolf's harness and into the dirt.
The ashen-skinned male leaned forward onto his foot, and ground the bootheel into his victim, eliciting a trio of whimpers and several groans. "Now, lemme introduce my self!" the phrase was punctuated by another painful stomp upon the felled Trachtoum. "You can call me Obsidian Obelisk, and you're gonna remember it..." The bootheel ground down, smudging dirt into the bruised green skin. "...because I'm gonna pound it into ya! Listen up, trash. When I catch heroes like you, I always gotta clean my boots after puttin' a steel toe up some arseholes!" The last word triggered another resounding stomp, this time to the downed man's gut.
Trachtoum groaned and coughed, wetly, and his assailant stepped a pace away, and kneeled, picking up the little sphere, and a few of the cards. "A firesand bomb. You really are a dirty little qiqirn's son, aintcha, hero?" Obelisk stuffed the ball into his pocket, and peered at the cards, turning them in his hand. "Triad cards? Aw, how cute." He flipped them in turn. "Behemoth, which you ain't. And there's your little buddy Chitin, and a sweet little moogle. I bet your mama would be so proud o' you right now, boy, just a-twitchin' her whiskers."
Obelisk squeezed the cards in his hand, letting their crumpled remains fall to the dirt, and stepped another pace away, his hand closing on the hilt of his axe.
The fallen male, teeth clenched in pain, was slowly dipping his hand towards a belt pouch. "Please.." He coughed. "Lemme go! I swear, swear..." A groan followed. "...I'll leave!"
Obelisk turned his head, eyes falling on the pouch. A vein pulsed in his forehead. "Oh, hells, no."
Trachtoum began to rise, and the green hand snatched at the pouch, but the ashen-skinned male spun in place, his axe swinging in a flashing, rising arc. The flat of the axe impacted the green forehead with a resounding clang, and the Sea Wolf's eyes rolled, and the rest of him went limp, breathing laboriously, unconscious. The straw hat came to rest several ilms away.
-----------------------------
Orange eyes blinked, fighting a headache. He tried to sit, but a grinding pain in his gut halted him, and he could only look up, into a purple blur. The blur only gradually unfuzzed, showing first a darker blob, then cleared further. Pain, but.. a purple twilight sky. Faint stars... he was alive! He hurt... gods, his chest was sore... head throbbed... but he breathed!
And... vision kept clearing... the blob became something else. It was... a face. A beautiful, lovely face, an angel, just for him, with full lips, wavy hair of black and purple, skin the color of an ashen dusk, such pretty eyes...
"Can you walk?" The voice, too, was melodious, a beacon within the haze of pain and muddy thought.
Trachtoum felt a pair of gentle fingertips touch his forehead, and struggled against the ache in his chest to get the words out.
"I..." He coughed. "I think so... oh, thank you, thank you... I got attacked by a..." Another cough. "Goobbue! Hit me right on the head."
"Can you run?" The voice was still feminine, but it had acquired an edge. Trachtoum peered up, his senses finally clearing to get a strong view of her.
"Can I... what?" he felt a new sensation in his gut. Not pain, but a squirming.
"Can you run?" The face seemed to move a fulm away. "Let me introduce myself, hero. I am Obsidian Glimmer, and I am not here to help you. You met my brother, but, unluckily for you, he's the nice one." She raised her hand in front of his face, and he could see and feel a cold, crackling mist forming around it.
Orange eyes widened.
Moments later, a sound like shattering ice resounded around the Grey Fleet.
"But in the laugh there was another voice. A clearer laugh, an ironic laugh. A laugh which laughs because it chooses not to weep."
![[Image: 3610850.jpg]](http://assets-cloud.enjin.com/users/1266293/pics/original/3610850.jpg)
