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[The Sleeping Boar - Crimes Against Nature Part Four]
"Ah Gridania..."
It wasn't the first time the thought had crossed Aya's mind over her past few weeks in the Shroud, but it was rather different this time. The downward leading stairs had the look of those that had once been stone, still just visible in spots not yet dominated by the green moss that grew like a velvet cover over every nook and cranny.Â
She gazed at the short staircase and its crooked contours for a long moment. She shuffled slightly on her feet, glancing at the strappy high heels she'd chosen that morning to wear for her day out. They were "work" shoes in the sense that in her work for Ul'dah's own Otto Vann, she was expected to exemplify the look of his fashionable lines of clothing—though in this case it was little his fault, her taste in footwear running toward the notorious and impractical. Still, the descent gave her sudden pause. She slipped the strap of her purse over her arm, and with a careful hand on her short skirt she began the adventurous trek with a slow and determined care.
She now found herself at the entrance to a rickety old Gridanian tavern dug amongst the roots of an ancient stump whose mighty tree must have once commanded impressive heights. How had this happened?   Something about an escaped madman, the King of Ruin, and Toto-Rak. Kiht, it can be said, never gets herself involved in simple fun. Aya seems to like to follow her: just sauntering right in with stiletto heels and a carefree dress.
She recalled the scene just within Quarry Mill's defensive foundation—it had been a trying one. The respectable seeming Ala Mhigan Captain, Stout he was called, allowed a few adventurers in to see a strange prisoner. A young man, fury in his eyes, sat chained under watchful guard. He had attempted to cause trouble among the refugees: encouraging them to take up arms for the cause of "Young King Theodric". The passion with which he had espoused the cause of the King of Ruin in one hand and Rhalgar the Destroyer n the other was enough to jar anyone as familiar with the War of Ruin as Aya. The look in his eyes, and the conviction in his voice belied simple madness.Â
It had struck her just how much he had seemed a figment of the past. The product of a very specific and curious moment in time. She had shared her concern with Kiht, the Shroud Huntress she had hoped would help her locate him after his dramatic and sudden escape from Quarrymill. "I believe he may be a man from the past. Brought back either as if kept in another world, or as a spirit out from the void." She had scarcely believed her own words at the time, but since that moment she had only become more convinced. There was already a similar case: a mad woman of the woods who had slain Wood Wailers including the son of the man who had once arrested her.  The two pulled through the waves of time were even linked through one common thread: Toto-rak.Â
Wolfedge had claimed it as his prison in the custody of the Wailers. This link had left Aya curious, and with a free afternoon she had decided to investigate. Armed with a few copies of Twin Adder Pin-Up posters she had modeled for the past Spring, the cutest of Monsieur Vann's outfits, and the charming smile she loved to employ, Aya made her way into the city on the hunt for veteran Wood Wailers who may have heard of Wolfedge.Â
Sheprovided herself a convenient cover: asking after an elderly veteran who had assisted in the modeling shoots, as if she were trying to find and thank him. It was an easy excuse, and one she half- wished were true. To begin the search she approached Wailer guards who seemed most eager to assist and especially happy with the signed posters they received in exchange for their help.
Their advice had led her here, where her heels sunk into soft mossy steps of crumbling stone amidst the dank feel of a forest ditch. A small wooden sign was nailed firmly to the remains of the stump above: the faded but still distinguishable drawing of a Sleeping Boar. The descent was slow, and its treacherousness exaggerated in the mind of the blonde who was terrified at the thought of tearing or staining the property of her employer upon the stairs of a decrepit Wailer bar. There was a soft sigh of relief as she at last reached the bottom as she took a moment to straighten her skirt and clothing. At midday, she guessed, business would be slow and the customers more likely to be of the retired than active duty sort.Â
It took more than a firm press to open the old door, swollen with age and moisture, to gain its opening. The air inside was not much better: stale and warm, mixed with the fragrance of old ale and dank musk. Still, she stepped slowly within. The structure and decor were wood, possessing a hint of the old elegance that is the hallmark of Gridanian architecture but buried under decades of benign neglect.  The rotund, bearded Hyur barkeep was busy wiping glasses. Several other men sat at the bar, others scattered about in pairs and small groups at the handful of tables, all either Hyur or Wldwood. The sound of the groaning door was a common one: only the tender looked up taking a welcome pause from his drudgery, but offering an expressionless face that held no hint of curiosity. The sound of heels echoing on the rough bare wood floor was altogether less common, and soon she had caught the attention of a numerous eyes from young to old.Â
She wore a short skirt of white beneath a belted tunic reminiscent of those worn by hunters and archers. The cut was short and trim, creating a mostly continuous line along the contour of her hips. The chest was open, despite the closed collar that created a "window" effect that her figure took full advantage of. Her hair fell in long, wavy, platinum locks over her shoulders, with a cute, if rather silly, hunter's cap upon her head. The Gridanian style does not favor jewelry and beyond her numerous stud earrings she wore none save that of her navel, hidden beneath her tunic, and the intricate woven leather that substituted for bracelets and rings. She clutched her purse in both hands before her, casting a warm if unsure smile about the room.
The conversations had quieted, the still near-silence holding for a long pause before she thought it best to break it: lifting blonde eyebrows and looking as friendly as possible she spoke, "I am Aya Foxheart~" in her bright and Ishgardian accented voice. "I'm looking for someone" she added, unrolling the last of her signed posters. "He helped me when we were workind on this this..." she asked with a purse-lipped smile that bordered between bashful and hopeful.
A number of the patrons crowded closer, their voices rising to her aid. Old and a few young, most obviously Wailers in their manner or appearance. For some time she held court, offering her bright cheer upon the conversation despite her apparent disappointment at not being able to identify the retired Wailer she had hoped to find. The early afternoon rolled by, the numbers thinned as one cause or another pulled the fellows away.Â
At last she maneuvered herself to a table with an elderly Elezen, proudly displaying a Wood Wailer patch upon the jacket he wore despite the heat.Â
"Aya was it?" he smiled with a tired warmth. His fingers clutching a pint of warm ale, hardly the first since she had come by. She nodded, smiling softly. "It is. And I heard that your name is Trillent?" she asked, pronouncing his name in the usual Ishgardian manner.Â
"Trillent" he politely but firmly corrected.Â
"I heard that you served for sixty years?"
He nodded, pulling his lips somewhat tightly at the touchy subject. "Sixty Six. I'd be servin' still if it weren't for that wretch of a captain!" He slammed his mug onto the table to emphasize the point. She jumped at the sudden thud of sound, and he turned a look of intoxicated contrition her way, "Sorry, sorry missum. That just gets me every durned time."
She reached her hand toward his, gently covering it as he rest it on a table. "Its okay..." she tried to comfort him softly, "You must have so many stories..."
He looked for a moment upon her hand and then nodded with satisfaction. "Enough to fill a small book. But I'm not sure a lass like you would find them too interestin'..."
She smiled warmly, and encouraged him. She heard of his bravery before a force of Garleans. How his platoon had held its line against a rain of gunpowder death. How he had once confronted a Morbol in quite unexpected circumstances, and lived to tell the tale. How he had helped build Camp Tranquil and rebuild Gridania after the Calamity. He steadily slipped deeper and deeper into the pint as he went. At last it was finished and he set it down with disappointment.
He let out a deeply aged sigh, "I suppose I should be getting 'ome before my grandson starts-a-worryin' 'bout me."Â
Aya clasped at his arm, "Oh not so soon!" she exclaimed plaintively, expressing an almost suspicious interest in the old man's stories. She waved to the barkeeper, who looked at her curiously as he approached the table.Â
"Another for the Monsieur," she requested with a bright hopeful smile of which there was no return by the stoic barkeep.
The old Wailer smiled happily, if a little perplexed. She glanced over her shoulder toward the barkeep as he poured a fresh pint. He seemed the suspicious sort. The old man would not be here for long, and by now she had earned his trust. It was time to press her hopeful question.
The keeper served the beer, and as he retired Aya leaned a little closer. She whispered in almost conspiratorial tones, "Have you ever heard of a man named Wolfedge?"
The old Wailer lifted bushy eyebrows, his eyes glassy and blank. "Hmmm... not sure I know that name..."
She repeated it quietly, "Hamond Wolfedge. He is all the talk down in Quarrymill..." The old man sunk into thought. The long moment polled longer. Had all of her effort gone to waste?Â
"...oh.... Oh! Wolfedge!" His eyes suddenly perked up with an energy she had not seen so far, and he answered her with a sudden stroke of recall in a voice all too boisterous for her preference.
"Yes, yes. That was quite the event! Who could have imagined an Aler Mhigan agent in the Shroud! Not like this was the Autumnnwwar... Yes it was most strange. I remember now, 'e was trying to recruit..." his voice lowered, "Duskies... to 'is cause against Gridania. We couldn't have that of course. So we put a stop to it, and arrested 'im."
Her eyes grew wider at the realization that her most wild theory had been correct. "You arrested him?" she asked in a voice that was almost a stammer at the shock of having actually met a ghost of the past.
He took a deep drought of his ale, grinning merrily. "That... that I did! As a noble, brave, Wood Wailer ought! Strapping fellow. Like so many Aler Mhighans, theys the big ones. All that... fighten' with the hands... I don't deg it." He let out a yawn, the excitement clearly passing.
She watched from beside him with eyes grown wider, hesitating for a moment before she could ask him more, "What happened to him...?"
He lowered and then lifted his head again, brow furrowed and perplexed. "Who?" he asked as Aya blinked, dumbfounded herself. As she opened her mouth to remind him he suddenly stirred, "Oh. right! Toto-Rak. The poor Aler Mhigan bastard." He grinned a bit as he managed another drink before taking on a satirical air, "Pending investigation", he blurted out a laugh. "Got what 'e deserved 'e did." He uttered as if a curse, lowering his head back toward the table. Â
She leaned closer to him trying to keep him roused, "What happened to him...? He was killed?"
"Ayup..." he muttered. "All of 'em bastards. All got what they deser..." he took in a deep snore-lke breath through his nose.Â
"They killed them...? In Toto-rak?" she asked with something approaching horror on her features.
"We closed its alls off. Nevers sees the sigtts again... weredn't the jailersssss... nop. No..." he slurred wearily. They werez bad.... trufth. But.... werezn't them." The old man let out a loud snore that filled the tavern.
Aya leaned back against her chair and barely stifled a sigh. She covered her eyes with her hand and took slow steady breaths.
A few moments passed and she rose with a fresh smile, leaving plenty of coin from her purse on the table to cover the old Wailer's tab. She smiled and waved on her way out, ascending the stairs much more quickly than she had traversed them on the way down, leaving behind an old man, and a signed poster of hers already hung upon the tavern wall.
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