By The Books 【Closed】

[Nero]

It would be fair to say that in Eorzea, there existed certain stereotypes about certain kinds of spoken.

 

Sea Wolf Roegadyn were famed for their nautical skills, whether it be sailing, fishing, or shipbuilding; if it was a profession that drew its bounty from Hydaelyn's blue waves, it was undoubted by all that Sea Wolves were unrivaled. They were also known as ruthless pirates and marauders, with enough strength to cleave a man in twain should they so choose, and few things more plainly announced a Sea Wolf's arrival into the vicinity than their booming voices and inexplicably incomprehensible Limsan accents, just in case one were foolish enough to believe Limsa Lominsa had anything except pirates and a cultural avoidance of consonants. 

 

So it was that Haerstyrm Ahldstralsyn lived as an exemplar of defiance against such tired stereotypes. This particular Sea Wolf was a full head shorter than most of his fellows (though still a respectable height ahead of the brawniest Highlander) and thoroughly enjoyed his peaceful life of mathematics as an accountant in Mealvaan's Gate, having managed to live to a respectable age with only the occasional bouts of violence. Haerstyrm was soft-spoken and kind, fond of doting on his nieces and trimming his snow-white beard, and managed to get along quite well with the rough crowd that tended to entertain the port city of Limsa Lominsa.

 

However, stereotypes existed for a reason, and it would be a grievous mistake to think that Haerstyrm Ahldstralsyn was incapable of classic Roegadyn rage just because he liked his afternoon tea and was easily startled by loud noises.

 

The Roegadyn was staring at an impossible foe, one that would put all of the primals and the Empire to shame. Its presence was insurmountable, its will immutable, its desires nothing short of utterly destructive. Haerstyrm stared it down in baleful fury, as if his iron willpower alone could render it non-existent.

 

It was a zero.

 

The inky oblong digit was written on Haerstyrm's accounting books, in a place where it should not be. The total tariff earnings of the second week of the Sixth Astral Moon contained one extra zero. Haerstyrm had been an accountant for the Gate for several cycles now. Part of the joy he took in his profession was that he was exceedingly skilled at it: in twenty-one cycles at the Gate, through the Calamity and years of general Limsan chaos, Haerstyrm Ahldstralsyn had never misplaced a single digit in his books.

 

And so he knew that this was not a mistake. Bahamut had not returned to ravage Aldenard, and they were not currently in the middle of a full-scale invasion from the Empire. There was nothing, not even the combined divinity of the Twelve themselves, that could have compelled Haerstyrm to misplace a number in his books.

 

Which meant one thing: someone had gotten something shady through Mealvaan's Gate, under Haerstyrm's watch.

 

Smuggling was a common practice in Limsa Lominsa, and it was quite common for the Gate's customs officers to catch--and fail to catch--all sorts of untaxed contraband. One could not fully stamp out smuggling in Limsa Lominsa, in the same way that one couldn't stop the rain or prevent a tidal wave. It was unrealistic to catch everyone, and Haerstyrm had caught many an errant crate by examining discrepancies in the books of the Gate's other accountants, and Haerstyrm had never suffered from a discrepancy in his own ledger until this very day.

 

Haerstyrm Ahldstralsyn was a gentle, mild-mannered man, and he remained silent (if trembling) as he flipped through his ledger, but the crimson blood rage he felt simmering beneath his mint-green skin practically screamed that someone would die for this transgression.