The Glittering City of Ul’dah
Some weeks after the Liberation of Gyr Abania
Hamon Holyfist, famed pugilist and guildmaster sat at a table in a bakery with a cup of coffee in the Ul’dahn style, as he frequently did. His attention was not on that cup of dark and strong coffee, but instead on his friend and contemporary Orill of the Five Blows, who was also Del the Baker and who greatly preferred the latter to the former.
“So he’s off again?” Hamon asked, a smile on his wizened features. He looked much better after the business with the Alarcan had concluded, and suddenly had found a great deal more time to sit and drink coffee and eat the occasional croissant in the Isghardian style - which had become much, much better as direct trade with Isghard reopened.
Which is not to say they were not good before. They were. Now, they were better.
Del the Baker leaned against the counter in an uncharacteristic moment of idleness, his brow furrowed and his arms crossed. His wares were all but spent as there were few that were made, and those few were reserved for a small group of people which Hamon was not a member. Del did enjoy his company, however, and let him in anyway.
“Just so,” the baker replied as he looked to the door, which did not open. “He’s gone treasure hunting with his Scion friends, some rumor of Theodoric’s hoard that was hidden before we stormed the gates all those years ago.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t demand to go with him,” the elderly guildmaster cackled as he leaned back in his chair. “As you have so man other times. I’ve never seen a father so dedicated.”
Del did not respond right away as he looked at his bare feet on the floor, then to the door again,which still did not open. After a long moment that saw him wrestle with something inside - a chakra, the throat perhaps - he made the admission that Hamon did not expect.
“Ortulf,” he said with a note of paternal pride, “Does not need me with him. I have faith he will be fine.”
Hamon Holyfist, esteemed pugilist did indeed not expect this admission, and looked taken aback.
“Is he now?” he said with unfeigned surprise. “I didn’t expect to hear that from you in all the years I’ve known you!”
“He has done what I couldn’t,” Del said, looking at the door which still did not open. “He liberated Ala Mhigo. He liberated Doma. He united disparate clans of warriors who were content to kill one another a world away. I am forever proud of him.”
Hamon made a face that suggested deep thought as he sipped at his coffee in the Ul’dahn style.
“So you’re retired from the life of adventure?” he asked, a note of something in his voice that suggested a predator stalking prey in the long grasses. “Content to bake forevermore?”
“Perhaps,” the baker replied, his arms uncrossing to push him off the counter and upright, “But I feel that I will have other things to focus on aside this business.” He looked to the door, which did not open.
“An exhibition, perhaps?” Hamon asked, his eyes glittering. “Two champions of the fist to face each other on the sands?”
“Perhaps,” Orill of the Five Blows repeated as he crossed his arms again in another uncharacteristic moment of anxiety. “It would be...nice.” He looked to the door. The bell rang as it opened.
“But not as nice as this,” Del said, and beneath a greying beard there was a smile.
