Uncanny: The Story of Bale and Laina [Closed]

[Bale Andros]

>> The Fighter

 

Roars of excitement thundered across the damp, ill-lit cellar as the pit-fight reached its apex. The spectators were perched on the edge of their seats. They waved and clapped and screamed, cheering their favored champion on. All bets were in. The bloodied end drew closer with each passing breath, with every punch thrown. Electricity filled the air, pulsing from spectator to fighter.

 

Inside the ring, the fighters met head on, fists flashing. Clouds of sand kicked up as they clashed. Ork, a particularly large, fiery-haired Roegadyn, had dominated the fight from the sound of the bell. He continuously battered his Hyur opponent up and down the ring with arms the size of tree trunks. Surprisingly enough, the broad-shouldered, hardened Hyur endured the brutal punishment, landing blows of his own where he could. Still, none of his attacks had shaken the hulk of a fighter that was Ork. By all evidence, the Hyur was outmatched by his adversary. He stood little chance. Only his name and his young but success-ridden legacy in the pits played in his favor.

 

Again the Roegadyn came at him. The Hyur ducked under the giantâs fists, swung and crushed a fist in Orkâs gut. He drew back but cursed himself even as he pulled away. Before he could follow up on his momentum, the Roegadyn snaked thick fingers around his throat, hauled him up effortlessly, and threw him. As the Hyur landed hard, Ork brought his feet crashing down. It met the earth as his opponent rolled away. With a curse, the Hyur punched the ground in frustration and pushed himself up. The evening was marred with foolish, novice mistakes.

 

âYouâre good, big guy!â said the man, grinning through bloodied teeth.

 

âAnd you disappoint, Bale Andros!â muttered Ork.

 

âHey! Hey! Iâm just giving you a chance, bub!â

 

Laughter erupted in the crowd, a sound that rejuvenated Baleâs spirits. Ork growled.

 

Bale Andros spat blood and dropped in a combat ready stance, fists up. His grin widened as he said, âDidnât you hear? The odds are 10 to 1 in my favor! Iâm gonna make a fortune!â

 

Ork had heard enough. With a roar, he charged at Bale, slamming his rock-hard shoulder into him. The Hyur gasped as the air was ripped from his lungs but he managed to hold on. Again and again, Bale hammered his elbow to the giantâs neck, screaming, âWhy. Wonât. You. Go. DOWN!?â Despite the gruesome power of Baleâs attacks, the Roegadyn shoved his opponent away. Again the fighters separated.

 

âDamnit!â hissed Bale, visibly exhausted.

 

âHad enough, boy?â

 

âMeh,â Bale shrugged, âIâm not done.â

 

âYet!â Ork roared. He launched in the air, both fists high overhead. Bale dodged the attack by the breadth of a hair and spun on his heels. Fists flashed and connected. The hulking fist fighter staggered out of balance. This time, Bale followed on his momentum, hammering blow after blow into the Roegadynâs throat. Ork was powerless, unable to defend himself. He could only try to retain his footing. Bale jumped, elbow cocked. He delivered one powerful blow into the giantâs face.

 

Bale slid away, ending his onslaught. He waited as if time stood still. He could feel his heart throbbing. He could feel his every breath. To his horror, Ork did not collapse. Instead, the Roegadyn pit fighter bellowed his rage and charged.

 

âAll or nothing,â hissed Bale as he launched forward for a counter-charge.

 

Bale feinted, once, twice, and sidestepped a giant fist. In the motion, Bale twisted and rammed a bone-crushing elbow home. Orkâs nose shattered.

 

The hulking fist fighter took one step forward, then another, and turned to face Bale. Blood was gushing from his broken nose, down his face onto his bare chest. The Hyurâs heart sank. He knew it was over. Heâd given all he had. Their eyes met. Bale brought his fist up, despair swarming him. Suddenly, Orkâs eyes rolled to the back of his head and he collapsed backwards. The weight of his limp body kicked up a thick cloud of dust up into the cellar air.

 

Relief hit him harder than any of Orkâs blows. Bale stumbled towards the fallen fighter, fighting to stay up. âDonât feel bad, big guy. The nose couldnât get any flatter,â he said with a grin.

 

He stood over his unconscious opponent for a moment longer before turning his attention to the hysterical spectators. He threw his arms up and gave a victory roar. As the adrenaline wore off, though, the world began to sway before him, as if he were standing on a boat. His legs threatened to give in beneath him.

 

âYou did it, lad!â cheered the innkeeper and the tournamentâs shady organizer as he slapped Baleâs back.

 

Without a sound, Bale toppled, face first in the sand.

[Bale Andros]

>> The Street Mouse

The shadows lining the streets of Ulâdah were growing shorter as the noon sun crested the buildings overhead. The morning commotion had passed, giving way to less chaotic crowds. Merchants still lined the streets, peddling goods of all sorts to passersby, but fewer people braved the marketplace during the hottest hours of the day.

 

Thankfully, the morning had been fruitful for little Laina Surnet. Hidden, crouched between two baskets, the homeless Hyur girl bounced two shiny gils in the palm of her hand. She smiled softly as she traced a finger over the embossed patterns on the coin. She would have enough to buy some bread and maybe a fresh apple too. It had been a long time since she had eaten one. Her mouth watered at the thought of such sweet taste.

 

Sliding the coins back into the folds her tattered clothes, she pushed herself to her feet and left her hiding spot. Like a mouse in cat territory, she made her way into the market, moving into sight carefully, her eyes scanning the people around her for familiar faces. She took care to remember the faces of all those whoâs pockets she picked. On one hand, she knew who were easy marks. On the other, she knew who she had wronged. She would not be caught if she could help it, and certainly not because of her carelessness!

 

Despite the hour, onlookers had gathered to watch a caravan pass by. The heavily armed guard that escorted the caravan made it obvious that whoever rode inside was important. And in Ulâdah, that likely meant a member of the Syndicate. If gossip was to be believed, the Syndicate were the real rulers of Ulâdah.

 

Laina could not care less about the Syndicate, or who it was that held real power in Ulâdah. In fact, she suspected that those little, running, cactus-looking devils from the desert could run the city and everything would be the same. Sheâd be no richer, that much was certain.

 

What mattered to her was that the Syndicateâs presence always garnered a crowd; a crowd ripe for the picking. She licked her lips and pushed her way into the onlookers. Humming a tune from her childhood, she plucked a gil from an unprotected pocket. She bumped into a man, slipping an old, tarnished copper ring from his finger even as she apologized. Pressing through a pair of dandy Elezen, she swiped a hander kerchief and another gil. She smiled innocently at an elderly lady who noticed what she had done, and hurried deeper into the crowd, out of sight.

 

Worried she might have been caught, Laina split away from the crowd and sped across the street ahead of the caravan.

 

âYou there! Girl! Stop!â ordered a guard.

 

Startled by the voice, she darted into a second crowd, lining the opposite side of the street. Whatever that guard wanted, it wasnât good. The old hag had probably reported her.

 

Content with her bounty, she resisted the temptation to see what else she might secret away. Her stomach growled. She blinked down at it and patted it as she scanned the merchant stalls.

 

Red apples, glistening in the sun, beckoned her. She strode towards the stand, proud as day, and gave the merchant her best smile. The man, a portly Roegadyn with dark skin, watched her come. He was an open book, and his uncertainty was obvious. Laina could tell he was torn between pity and disdain for the homeless girl she was. A tinge of annoyance rose in her: she did not want anybodyâs pity. Still, she kept her smile and waved.

 

âHullo, mister!â she greeted meekly.

 

âWhat do you want, child?â he said, and immediately winced at his tone. He coughed and tried again, âHello little girl, forgive old Thumper, the sunâs made me irritable. What can I do for you today?â

 

Laina approached the counter and leaned over it to look at the goods. Loafs of dry bread, wheels of old cheese, some dried meat and a full assortment of fruits and vegetables lined his stand. She could scarcely contain her excitement as she fingered an apple.

 

âWhat can I get for this?â she inquired, offering her four stolen coins.

 

The merchant leaned over and held his large palm out. She placed the gils in his hand. He frowned, incredulous, as he fingered the money. He snatched one between his fingers, bit into it, and finally gave a gruff nod.

 

âI donât know how you got this, little one, but its all good. Just donât try any of that funny business with me,â he warned, thrusting a sausage-sized thumb at his chest.

 

Laina giggled sweetly and shook her head, âMe? Never, mister Thumper!â Her hands felt moist as she stuffed a stolen apple into the folds of her clothes.

 

Old Thumper considered his offer for a moment before finally saying, âTwo loafs of bread, a quarter of cheese and two apples. Howâs that sound?â

 

Laina blinked. Her stomach churned in anticipation of such a feast. As she contemplated his offer, she stuffed a second apple into her shirt, and finally nodded gleefully.

 

âHave at it then, little one.â

 

Old Thumped watched attentively as she gathered her acquired feast into her arms. He gave the girl a warm smile and a stiff nod.

 

Anxious to leave with her glorious spoils, Laina nodded back.

 

âThank you, mister Thumper!â she squeaked.

 

âOff with you then!â

 

With a taste of victory, Laina started for her hiding spot. Before she could put much distance between her and the merchant, old Thumper called out after her.

 

She froze, terrified. She would have to abandon her meal if she made a break for it. Her stomach begged her not to. She slowly looked over her shoulder, expecting the Roegadyn to be coming after her.

 

âHere, have an extra apple on the house!â called Thumper from his stand. He lobbed an apple her way.

 

She caught it and grinned. She gave the man a grateful bow.

 

A thud at her feet caught her attention. Looking down, she found one of her stolen apples rolling at her feet. She gulped and shot a glance to Thumper who stared back with a blank face.

 

She yelped a meek, âSorry!â, and with that, she scurried away, goods in hand, to disappear amongst the dispersing crowds.

[Bale Andros]

>> The Coin Purse

 

Bale Andros stepped out into the afternoon sunlight. Stretching his arms out, he allowed the heat to pour over his bare chest and sore muscles. Half his face still throbbed from the pain. Ork had served him quite the beating and shown surprising swiftness behind his immense strength. Baleâs victory, however, had not been so surprising; he was after all the best damned clandestine pit fighter in the city. Still, the Roegadyn had been more than he bargained for. Bale could not help but grin at the thought. In truth, and he would never admit it, Bale wasnât particularly good with his fists. His endurance, earned from years of mining under the desert sun, was his saving grace. He could take more punishment than any of his adversaries. He could endure the beating and land key, decisive blows.

 

âGood fight,â he commented to himself cheerfully as he stretched, enjoying the heat warmth of the sun.

 

Bale just wished heâd bet more money. The matchmaker had lied to him. Most spectators had in fact put their money on Ork, not Bale. Fools, the lot of them, he thought with a shake of his head. I shouldâve bet more than ten gils, damnit. Still, the bulging coin purse at his side would have to suffice.

 

âCouldâve gotten a second one like that,â he grumbled as he checked the pouch to make sure it safely hung to his belt.

 

A group of guards rounded the corner as he stepped away from the tavern beneath which the clandestine fights were held. He dipped his head, passed by them avoiding eye contact, and picked up the pace. The guards were clearly heading for the tavern, and armed as they were, they were not looking for a drink. One of the guards halted and turned to Bale.

 

âYou come from in there, boy?â asked the guard, poking a thumb over his shoulder at the tavern.

 

Bale turned and gave his best, full-teethed smile. He couldnât help but laugh: the guard was a short, baby-faced Hyur with thin, scraggly chin hair. In every way, Bale dwarfed him. He was over twelve inches taller, and twice as large at the shoulders. His biceps alone were as thick as the guardâs body. Sure, Bale was young, maybe younger than the guard, but he did not look the part.

 

âWhat are you laughing at? I asked you a question!â

 

âBoy? I mean, really, sir? I gots more facial hair than you do,â Bale shrugged, still smiling.

 

The guardâs expression darkened, his cheeks infused with glowing red. Bale could hear the leather of the guardâs gloves tightening around his lance. Bale threw his hands up before his chest apologetically.

 

âNo, sir, I donât come from there. I live in the district beyond, Iâm heading out to the mines.â

 

âAt this time of day?â

 

âAye! A man does what he can for his monies.â

 

The guard looked Bale up and down. His eyes settled on the pouch dangling at his side.

 

âDonât seem to be doing all too bad for yourself,â he said, his eyes narrowed.

 

Bale followed the gaze and gulped. His mind raced for a moment before he smiled again and said, âOy, Iâd be doing a whole lot better if that wasnât destined for the smithy! Gots to pay for the repaired gear, yes?â

 

The guards glared silently, struggling to decide whether they believed him or not.

 

Bale broke the silence, âMaybe I can join you boys for a drink after work, ya?â

 

This seemed to jolt one of the guards. He first looked away, then waved his hand at the pit fighter, âCarry on, lad.â

 

Relieved, Bale turned and made for the market place. The real trick would be to bluff himself out of trouble a second time should he bump into these fellows again today. He would have to try and remain inconspicuous. Shouts and the sound of shattering glass exploded from the tavern as Bale rounded a corner.

 

While walking, Bale touched the purse at his side. He had lied to the guards. The money was not destined for the smithy. It would pay the weekly rations for his parents and himself. What with his mother senile and his father having lost the use of his legs in a mining accident some years past, heâd long become the familyâs bread winner. Mining represented his main source of income, but that was not enough. Repairs were often needed. The rest paid the rent and the essentials. Pit fighting allowed him to round off the week and provide more than dried, black bread and hard cheeses. Life wasnât easy in Ulâdah but Bale wasnât one to complain.

 

âI really wish Iâd bet more,â he muttered...

 

***

 

Laina slumped against the wall of her hideout and burped. Simpering, her little hands over her full belly, she leaned into her makeshift pillow fashioned from a hay-filled linen sack. After such a feast she was struggling to stay awake. If she slept now, though, she would be up all night; a concept she didnât much care for. While night in the desert was by far the best time of day, it was also ruled by gangs and ruffians. Over the years, she had faced her fair share of trouble with their lot, some only days before, and now vowed to steer clear of them. She would die before becoming some gangâs plaything! Daytime was much safer... albeit boring as hell, she admitted.

 

She rolled to her stomach, stuffed the grass pillow beneath her stomach and chin, and watched as unsuspecting citizens passed under her rooftop hideout. There were so many people in Ulâdah. Even more now that the parades were mere days away. She couldnât wait, either. Parades meant crowds; lovely, chaotic crowds.

 

To pass the time, she made up stories for those passing below her. Where were they going? Where were they born? What were their goals? Where had they gotten those scars? Why was that woman so sad? Sometimes she saw children tagging along with their parents. She watched and daydreamed as they passed in and out of sight, in and out of her life. She sighed. She rarely contemplated what life might have been if she had known her parents, if she had a family, if she had someone at all, but when she saw children with their parents, it touched her.

 

Laina observed the passersby for a while longer, fighting sleep. She was about to give in when her blurred vision locked on a muscular, shirtless Hyur-clearly a fighter-and, more importantly, on the bulging pouch hanging from his belt. The clinking sound of coins sang in her ears. At that moment, all thoughts of sleep were gone.

 

With her tongue poking out the side of a mouth like a child mooning over candy, she considered her potential target. The man was tall, rugged, big and definitely strong. There were bruises on his upper chest and his thick arms, and there was dried blood around his split lips. Shoulder-length brown hair, streaked with lighter, golden strands, tied back in a ponytail, framed his strong-featured face. The days old stubble gave him an unkempt, rough look. He looked every part the ruffian, but something about him seemed different. He was exhausted. Laina couldnât help but grin. An easy mark if I ever saw one, she thought.

 

Suddenly enthusiastic and alert, she kicked her legs over the edge and hopped down to a small overhang. From there, she nimbly climbed down to a window silt, then another before she dropped into the street. Dusting her hands, she looked around for the man. She spotted him some ways ahead. He was rubbing his neck and motioning frantically, clearly flustered. She couldnât hear his words, but he seemed to be apologizing to a Lalafell that, she suspected, he had unwittingly trampled. The tiny doll-like creature did not look offended one bit though, and was grinning up at the man. The Lalafell said something, and pointed to his head. Laina noticed that he was wearing a copper helmet. It was partially dented, but otherwise, he seemed no worse for the wear, if a little dusty. As she crept closer, she could hear him speak.

 

âNo worries, friend!â said the Lalafell, standing with his fists to his hips and his chest puffed out proudly, âWith Jangoâs fine helmets, you donât have to worry about being stepped on by the tall folk!â

 

The Hyur man was blank faced, still trying to mouth an apology. He blinked once, scratched his head and said, âJango, huh?â

 

Meanwhile, Laina edged ever closer, using passersby as cover, trying to maintain an innocent, uninterested look. It wasnât easy. She swallowed the urge to giggle at the Lalafell merchantâs amusing peddling.

 

âIndeed, mister! Jangoâs the name! Look at that face of yours! All bruised up and bloodied! You should buy a helmet and protect that nogginâ. How about it, mister...?â

 

Looking abashed, the Hyur man frowned and looked to his coin purse. âCall me Bale. So er... how much?â

 

âHow much you got?â asked Jango, shrugging.

 

Bale fingered his pouch for a moment before answering, â291 gil... but...â

 

âOh no! No no no. Thatâs no good. Iâd be out of a house if I accepted that price. No no no!â

 

âWell, its all I got,â answered the Hyur. He was looking relieved, if somewhat bewildered. He crossed his arms, regaining some of his composure.

 

This was her opening. Laina closed in on Bale swiftly, keeping in his shadow so that the Lalafell would not spot her.

 

âMaybe next time,â said Jango gleefully.

 

âWell, again, Iâm sorry about that,â apologized Bale, âAt least accept this for the trouble.â

 

Laina wrapped her hand around the pouch, felt the weight of coins and... a large hand closed around herâs.