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The windows were open, and the cool breeze made for a refreshing change. The tropical climate here on Vylbrand had always been near and dear to his heart: consistent warmth tempered by the near-constant presence of coastline. Nowhere else in the realm, he’d found, was quite like here. Nowhere else was quite like Limsa Lominsa.
The room he’d rented in the Mizzenmast was, more or less, in complete and utter disarray. Shreds of parchment and shards of glass littered the floor; the broken segments of a wooden chair had been scattered across the chamber; the lock on the door had been broken, the frame compromised, and the padlock which now secured it from the inside was ridiculously large. The windows were open because there was little point in shutting them, given the broken panes.
Had anyone from Aldenard born witness to this chaos, they would have described it as the aftermath of a hurricane and blamed it on the brutish and belligerent nature of pirates. Said “pirates,†on the other hand, would have recognized it for what it was: an ongoing intervention.
There was not one bottle in the room. Not one mug or tumbler or flask. The reek was that of sweat… natural perspiration… as opposed to alcoholic.
On the sole remaining chair, a few mere fulms from the lone bed, sat a single midlander dressed in brown leathers. His arms rested on the back of the chair and his chin on his arms. The drumming of his fingers against the wood accompanied the occasional gust of wind and the rare shifting of sheets from the cot. Beneath those sheets, back turned to the chair, was another Hyuran man… little more than a lad who’d but recently come of age.
The man in the bed was dressed in Edelweiss greens, and he resembled the man on the chair. Younger, to be certain… rounder in the fence, gentler… leaner, less bulk… but that was where the differences ended and the similarities began. Same skin tone. Same dark brown hair, bordering on black. Same curve to the ears. Same dark green eyes.
From out the window could be heard many, many voices. Agitated… loud… hostile. There came the noise rioting on the decks of Limsa, and that did not bode well. Not at all.
“Thom,†murmured the man on the chair, “what in the ruttin’ hells happened t’you?â€
“...you did.â€
“We’re goin’ back now, Thom. The both of us.â€
The rake’s teeth caught in the dirt as it came back down. The lad… no, not a lad, a grown man now, Osric could see that despite the rags and the grime… the man went still, both hands firm on the haft of the implement. Thom’s gaze swept back and forth across the scene before them both, but the reason for such caution eluded his older brother. They were alone, as they both knew all too well. The eldest Melkire had made certain of that when he’d first approached this plot of land. “My brother and I need some time,†he’d said, and the low rumble in his voice had served to drive the others off towards the ramshackle housing.
Towards Garlean steel.
He spared those accommodations a single glance as he waited on Thom… and, in turning back, was barely in time to catch a glimpse of the rake flying through the air towards him, clods of dirt still clinging to the tines. Osric dropped on instinct, allowing his legs to give out from under him, but Thomys must have anticipated that because this particular steel caught him across the temple and drew blood. The man collapsed as his brother advanced on him.
“Arse. Ruttin’ self-righteous git. Who in the seven hells asked you, eh? WHO IN THE GODS’ NAMES ASKED YOU?!â€
Osric drew a wrist across his forehead and pushed himself up and onto one knee. He could smell his brother even from here; the younger man reeked of ale and rum and whiskey and Twelve knew what else. Now that he knew to look, he could make out the red in the lad’s eyes, the bloodshot look that spoke to exhaustion, intoxication, and more.
“Thom, y’--â€
“Don’t you call me that. Don’t you dare call me that.â€
“How’s about idiot, then?!†Bellowing felt good. Looking up at Thomys didn’t, so he hauled his arse upright and back onto his feet. “Reckless little shite?! Grandstandin’ fool! The hells are you even doin’ here?!â€
“Makin’ m’own way, Ossy.†More a matter of ilms between them, then, rather than fulms. “Fendin’ for m’self. Choosin’ my own path.â€
“With Slaeglac.†It was a statement, not a question. “The man’s committed to this lunacy o’ dealin’ with the Empire, ‘n’ gougin’ Limsa--â€
“--ain’t about that--â€
“--then what the hells is this about, Thom, ‘cause I’ll be damned if I can tell--â€
Hands against his chest, shoving hard. Once, twice, three times, in cadence with a voice that barked, “YOU!â€
Osric staggered back a few steps, caught off guard… not so much by the physicality as by the accusation. To have it out in the open like this, the talk they’d never had, the conversation that was only now--
“Always you,†growled Thomys, and the younger brother did not stop. Again, he shoved Osric. “Never me.†Again. “It’s always... been… about… YOU--â€
Thomys never stood a chance. Larger, stronger hands clamped down upon his wrists and pulled, dashing him to the dirt. A foot caught him in the side as he fell and sent him rolling only to end up sprawled face-down.
“I fed you,†seethed the eldest Melkire. “Clothed you. Sheltered you--!â€
“And who bloody well asked you to, eh?!†Hands and knees, that one. Looked a little disoriented. “Who--â€
Osric seized his little brother by the shirt and hoisted him upright, held him aloft….
“DA DID! DA, WHEN THE RUTTIN’ ARSE DECIDED T’UP ‘N’ HANG HIMSELF, HE LEFT MA ‘N’ I T’CARE FOR ALL O’ YOU!â€
Thom stared at him in shock… and then something struck Osric just below the arm, something round and hard -- pommel -- just as the lad’s other hand shot up, fistful of steel, and slashed his own shirt open. Thom kicked as he fell, and his foot struck Osric’s leg, knocking the both of them to the ground. Youth had surprise on its side, and so it was that Dirk Problemsolver found himself on his back with the edge of a knife at his throat.
“Forgave Ma,†came a harsh whisper as Thomys straddled him. “She took sufferin’ onto herself t’care for us, t’put bread ‘n’ lox on the table. Who in the seven hells would fault her for resortin’ to the oldest profession? But you.â€
Blood began trickling down the blade, and Thom leaned down, leaned in close to look into his brother’s eyes.
“Murderer. Don’t you ever judge me again, Dirk. You fed me blood. Moon after moon. For ages.†A grin. “You ain’t half the man Da was. In your own eyes… that’d make you worse’n scum, wouldn’t it?â€
Osric spat in Thom’s face.
Thom blinked.
A fist caught him in the side.
Fueled as it was by Vitala, the second chakra of shadow, the aether-driven strike drove Thomys off him and back onto the dirt some half-dozen fulms or so to one side. The pressure on Osric’s throat disappeared, and he gasped for breath as he rolled onto his knees and panted. He snuck a look at his brother. Groaning… but not moving. That was good. The grizzled veteran wasted no time; he rose to his feet, shambled over, and dropped to the earth, elbow first. He caught Thomys across one temple… and the groaning stopped.
“Amateur,†Osric muttered.
Here, now, the Mizzenmast. Thomys in bed, recovering from addiction. Osric on the chair, recovering from guilt. The window, open, as the crowds below clamored for the Admiral to mend the Wound. Here, now… a different wound that needed mending.
“You blame Dirk.â€
Thomys didn’t so much as move, but something in the atmosphere communicated his acknowledgement of the point. The lad still refused to look at the man on the chair. He spoke anyroad, after a few moments.
“Dirk didn’t jus’ steal m’childhood the way Da did yours. Dirk stole my past, present, ‘n’ future.â€
“...go on.â€
More silence, at first. The lad shifted somewhat beneath the sheets before continuing.
“Dirk broke the code. Over ‘n’ over. No hero, him. He took contract after contract. Wasn’t jus’ thievery, either. Muscling. Wetwork. Grew up in his shadow, I did. Still livin’ in it.â€
“You could’ve left for Gridania with the others, Thom--â€
“To live with them bigoted bastards? Suffer that pile o’ shite? I’ve heard the stories. I’ve read Dani’s letters. So no. ‘sides. I wasn’t takin’ any more o’ your blood money. Not after I found out.â€
Silence again, this time from the older of the two. This seemed to embolden Thomys, and he went on.
“I know that y’blame Da for leavin’ us, after… Tabitha?â€
“Tabitha.â€
“Not one o’ you ever talk about her…. I couldn’t anymore, y’know? I couldn’t take it. Everywhere I went. ‘Little Dirk’. ‘Melkire’s brother’. So I set out t’prove ‘em all wrong. T’make up for what you did. To them… and t’me.â€
“So Slaeglac….â€
“Didn’t care. Not a one of ‘em care. I was finally m’own person, free t’live m’own life… ‘til y’cocked that up, too. Because it’s always about you, Ossy.â€
There was far too much venom in that familiar nickname for him to be altogether comfortable with, so Osric stood up
“Stay here. Baderon has men on the door, ‘n’ you’re too far up ‘n’ on the wrong side t’climb out the window in your condition. Sober up. Don’t touch so much as a drop. I’ve spread the word. The pubs ‘n’ taverns are goin’ to turn you away. All of ‘em. So will the captains… and the ferrymen… and any other ride off Vylbrand. From the drydocks to the coast o’ the sun, they’ll know.â€
“...go drown in the Deep.â€
Osric paused, halfway out the window as he was. He glanced back towards the bed.
“I’ll come back for you when this is over.â€
The figure curled up even more, resembling a fetus now more than ever. The sight of it struck the eldest Melkire to the heart. But... there was no response, and so Osric left.
The room he’d rented in the Mizzenmast was, more or less, in complete and utter disarray. Shreds of parchment and shards of glass littered the floor; the broken segments of a wooden chair had been scattered across the chamber; the lock on the door had been broken, the frame compromised, and the padlock which now secured it from the inside was ridiculously large. The windows were open because there was little point in shutting them, given the broken panes.
Had anyone from Aldenard born witness to this chaos, they would have described it as the aftermath of a hurricane and blamed it on the brutish and belligerent nature of pirates. Said “pirates,†on the other hand, would have recognized it for what it was: an ongoing intervention.
There was not one bottle in the room. Not one mug or tumbler or flask. The reek was that of sweat… natural perspiration… as opposed to alcoholic.
On the sole remaining chair, a few mere fulms from the lone bed, sat a single midlander dressed in brown leathers. His arms rested on the back of the chair and his chin on his arms. The drumming of his fingers against the wood accompanied the occasional gust of wind and the rare shifting of sheets from the cot. Beneath those sheets, back turned to the chair, was another Hyuran man… little more than a lad who’d but recently come of age.
The man in the bed was dressed in Edelweiss greens, and he resembled the man on the chair. Younger, to be certain… rounder in the fence, gentler… leaner, less bulk… but that was where the differences ended and the similarities began. Same skin tone. Same dark brown hair, bordering on black. Same curve to the ears. Same dark green eyes.
From out the window could be heard many, many voices. Agitated… loud… hostile. There came the noise rioting on the decks of Limsa, and that did not bode well. Not at all.
“Thom,†murmured the man on the chair, “what in the ruttin’ hells happened t’you?â€
“...you did.â€
“We’re goin’ back now, Thom. The both of us.â€
The rake’s teeth caught in the dirt as it came back down. The lad… no, not a lad, a grown man now, Osric could see that despite the rags and the grime… the man went still, both hands firm on the haft of the implement. Thom’s gaze swept back and forth across the scene before them both, but the reason for such caution eluded his older brother. They were alone, as they both knew all too well. The eldest Melkire had made certain of that when he’d first approached this plot of land. “My brother and I need some time,†he’d said, and the low rumble in his voice had served to drive the others off towards the ramshackle housing.
Towards Garlean steel.
He spared those accommodations a single glance as he waited on Thom… and, in turning back, was barely in time to catch a glimpse of the rake flying through the air towards him, clods of dirt still clinging to the tines. Osric dropped on instinct, allowing his legs to give out from under him, but Thomys must have anticipated that because this particular steel caught him across the temple and drew blood. The man collapsed as his brother advanced on him.
“Arse. Ruttin’ self-righteous git. Who in the seven hells asked you, eh? WHO IN THE GODS’ NAMES ASKED YOU?!â€
Osric drew a wrist across his forehead and pushed himself up and onto one knee. He could smell his brother even from here; the younger man reeked of ale and rum and whiskey and Twelve knew what else. Now that he knew to look, he could make out the red in the lad’s eyes, the bloodshot look that spoke to exhaustion, intoxication, and more.
“Thom, y’--â€
“Don’t you call me that. Don’t you dare call me that.â€
“How’s about idiot, then?!†Bellowing felt good. Looking up at Thomys didn’t, so he hauled his arse upright and back onto his feet. “Reckless little shite?! Grandstandin’ fool! The hells are you even doin’ here?!â€
“Makin’ m’own way, Ossy.†More a matter of ilms between them, then, rather than fulms. “Fendin’ for m’self. Choosin’ my own path.â€
“With Slaeglac.†It was a statement, not a question. “The man’s committed to this lunacy o’ dealin’ with the Empire, ‘n’ gougin’ Limsa--â€
“--ain’t about that--â€
“--then what the hells is this about, Thom, ‘cause I’ll be damned if I can tell--â€
Hands against his chest, shoving hard. Once, twice, three times, in cadence with a voice that barked, “YOU!â€
Osric staggered back a few steps, caught off guard… not so much by the physicality as by the accusation. To have it out in the open like this, the talk they’d never had, the conversation that was only now--
“Always you,†growled Thomys, and the younger brother did not stop. Again, he shoved Osric. “Never me.†Again. “It’s always... been… about… YOU--â€
Thomys never stood a chance. Larger, stronger hands clamped down upon his wrists and pulled, dashing him to the dirt. A foot caught him in the side as he fell and sent him rolling only to end up sprawled face-down.
“I fed you,†seethed the eldest Melkire. “Clothed you. Sheltered you--!â€
“And who bloody well asked you to, eh?!†Hands and knees, that one. Looked a little disoriented. “Who--â€
Osric seized his little brother by the shirt and hoisted him upright, held him aloft….
“DA DID! DA, WHEN THE RUTTIN’ ARSE DECIDED T’UP ‘N’ HANG HIMSELF, HE LEFT MA ‘N’ I T’CARE FOR ALL O’ YOU!â€
Thom stared at him in shock… and then something struck Osric just below the arm, something round and hard -- pommel -- just as the lad’s other hand shot up, fistful of steel, and slashed his own shirt open. Thom kicked as he fell, and his foot struck Osric’s leg, knocking the both of them to the ground. Youth had surprise on its side, and so it was that Dirk Problemsolver found himself on his back with the edge of a knife at his throat.
“Forgave Ma,†came a harsh whisper as Thomys straddled him. “She took sufferin’ onto herself t’care for us, t’put bread ‘n’ lox on the table. Who in the seven hells would fault her for resortin’ to the oldest profession? But you.â€
Blood began trickling down the blade, and Thom leaned down, leaned in close to look into his brother’s eyes.
“Murderer. Don’t you ever judge me again, Dirk. You fed me blood. Moon after moon. For ages.†A grin. “You ain’t half the man Da was. In your own eyes… that’d make you worse’n scum, wouldn’t it?â€
Osric spat in Thom’s face.
Thom blinked.
A fist caught him in the side.
Fueled as it was by Vitala, the second chakra of shadow, the aether-driven strike drove Thomys off him and back onto the dirt some half-dozen fulms or so to one side. The pressure on Osric’s throat disappeared, and he gasped for breath as he rolled onto his knees and panted. He snuck a look at his brother. Groaning… but not moving. That was good. The grizzled veteran wasted no time; he rose to his feet, shambled over, and dropped to the earth, elbow first. He caught Thomys across one temple… and the groaning stopped.
“Amateur,†Osric muttered.
Here, now, the Mizzenmast. Thomys in bed, recovering from addiction. Osric on the chair, recovering from guilt. The window, open, as the crowds below clamored for the Admiral to mend the Wound. Here, now… a different wound that needed mending.
“You blame Dirk.â€
Thomys didn’t so much as move, but something in the atmosphere communicated his acknowledgement of the point. The lad still refused to look at the man on the chair. He spoke anyroad, after a few moments.
“Dirk didn’t jus’ steal m’childhood the way Da did yours. Dirk stole my past, present, ‘n’ future.â€
“...go on.â€
More silence, at first. The lad shifted somewhat beneath the sheets before continuing.
“Dirk broke the code. Over ‘n’ over. No hero, him. He took contract after contract. Wasn’t jus’ thievery, either. Muscling. Wetwork. Grew up in his shadow, I did. Still livin’ in it.â€
“You could’ve left for Gridania with the others, Thom--â€
“To live with them bigoted bastards? Suffer that pile o’ shite? I’ve heard the stories. I’ve read Dani’s letters. So no. ‘sides. I wasn’t takin’ any more o’ your blood money. Not after I found out.â€
Silence again, this time from the older of the two. This seemed to embolden Thomys, and he went on.
“I know that y’blame Da for leavin’ us, after… Tabitha?â€
“Tabitha.â€
“Not one o’ you ever talk about her…. I couldn’t anymore, y’know? I couldn’t take it. Everywhere I went. ‘Little Dirk’. ‘Melkire’s brother’. So I set out t’prove ‘em all wrong. T’make up for what you did. To them… and t’me.â€
“So Slaeglac….â€
“Didn’t care. Not a one of ‘em care. I was finally m’own person, free t’live m’own life… ‘til y’cocked that up, too. Because it’s always about you, Ossy.â€
There was far too much venom in that familiar nickname for him to be altogether comfortable with, so Osric stood up
“Stay here. Baderon has men on the door, ‘n’ you’re too far up ‘n’ on the wrong side t’climb out the window in your condition. Sober up. Don’t touch so much as a drop. I’ve spread the word. The pubs ‘n’ taverns are goin’ to turn you away. All of ‘em. So will the captains… and the ferrymen… and any other ride off Vylbrand. From the drydocks to the coast o’ the sun, they’ll know.â€
“...go drown in the Deep.â€
Osric paused, halfway out the window as he was. He glanced back towards the bed.
“I’ll come back for you when this is over.â€
The figure curled up even more, resembling a fetus now more than ever. The sight of it struck the eldest Melkire to the heart. But... there was no response, and so Osric left.
![[Image: 1qVSsTp.png]](http://i.imgur.com/1qVSsTp.png)