Frandrin Mandrin awoke to the warm rays of the rising sun slipping in through his bedroom windows and heralding in the new day. The elderly lalafel gave a lazy yawn as he sat up and stretched. He still felt tired as he’d not slept well the night before. A powerful storm had rolled across Ul’dah while he’d been sleeping and brought with it a sense of ominous dread that kept his sleep from being truly restful.
Determined to still be about his day, the man rose from his bed and began dressing and preening himself. After a short time he emerged from his room dressed in a fine outfit and feeling refreshed. He ran his hands through his slicked-back, white hair one last time as he made his way down a hall to the main entryway. He began to descend his great stairwell that lead to the front door when his elezen butler entered the house with a grim expression on his features.
Surprised that his manservant was outside at this hour instead of preparing breakfast, the lalafel called out in a conversational tone:
“Caruthers, taking a walk today?”
The elezen looked up at his master and gave a small bow.
“Master Mandrin, I have not been. I have been forced to attend to a most grim discovery. I’ve already sent for the Blades.”
“The Blades?” Frandin replied incredulously. The lalafel immediately strode to the door. “What on Eorzea has happened that requires-“ he trailed off as he stepped outside and was hit by the smell.
From Frandrin’s gilded, locked gate at the edge of his property, a stone footpath made its way directly through his gardens to the front door. From the gate to the door, the path passed beneath three arches wrapped in ivy. Frandrin walked beneath those arches every day to work, but he would not today.
Three, bloated, brutalized bodies swayed limply in the breeze, one hanging by a chain from each arch. Pools of ichor and entrails festered beneath the dead men as rotten eye sockets stared out with unseeing hollows. Countless flies swarmed over the ruined masses of organs and meat that had once been living souls, covering the arches in a seething tide of black as they buzzed about the carrion.
Beyond the gate, Frandrin’s horrified neighbors stared out in morbid curiosity and repulsion. The lalafel could feel their eyes upon him and almost hear their burning questions. He immediately stepped back inside and slammed his door.
He was rattled to say the least. The sight of the ruined bodies was enough to turn any stomach, and the scent had been just as revolting. Frandrin took a deep breath as Caruthers returned, flanked by two of Frandrin’s house guards.
“Care to explain to me how in the hells this happened?” Frandrin’s wild emotions converted themselves into anger as he vented is anxiety at these two men. Both guards glanced at the other before speaking.
“The storm last night kept us inside.” one answered. “We patrolled the halls and when we went outside just a few moments ago, we found the bodies and a note.”
Frandrin grumbled but couldn’t exactly fault his guards for shifting their patrol indoors during a storm. But he was still in a rage and growled.
“Well then get those bodies down and wait for the Blades. I need to think if I care to keep you employed. Get!” Frandrin almost shouted, displaying a large degree of contempt for his guards as the rushed past him to obey, fearing for their jobs. The door slammed shut and Frandrin shook his head.
“Master Mandrin.” Caruthers said slowly, stepping forward and holding out a sheet of wet parchment. “This was found with the bodies.”
Frandrin did not touch the paper but read it as his butler used his gloved hands to hold it open. It read:
‘This isn’t a declaration of war. It’s a death penalty and we are the executioners. The hunter will become the hunted. Sleep well. '
“I want to know, who has the balls to pull something like this off.” Frandrin muttered, his fingers scratching his beard as he finished reading the document. He had plenty of enemies, but this was too barbaric for most of them. His average foes were other crime syndicate and government types whose image would not survive an act such as this. Frandrin could too easily use this disgusting act to bring someone like that down. No, this was the work of someone that had nothing left to lose. Frandirn could think of only a couple enemies that fell into that range but the most likely name stood out in his mind.
“Tray.” Frandrin uttered the name with a low sigh. He was starting to regret destroying the miqo’te so utterly. The red-hair man had been easier to predict and control when he’d had his smuggling empire. Now that the man had almost nothing to his name, both his methods and his aggressiveness had expanded immensely. The man had gone from pacifist to hardened killer almost overnight and this event, if it was related to Tray and that fool woman Haname, just highlighted the depths the duo were now prepared to go to get revenge.
Osric Melkire was a piece in play but it seemed Frandrin was going to have to play both offense and defense now. The Monetarist was loath to admit it, but it’d been a long time since someone had dared go after him this directly and it bothered him. He’d grown too comfortable in a world of rules and fake civility. Primal beasts took a different set of skills he had let grow lax. Thankfully, he had to gil to obtain those who knew how to dispose of such brutes.
“Contact Y’mira and tell her unit is now to act as my personal guards. And I want the word put out. I want the best guarding me. I need to go to my office.”
“Sir, given the situation-“
“These dogs will not frighten me, Caruthers. “Frandrin declared sternly, defiance in his voice. “We are a nation of rules and order. Barbarians like these only understand strength. And I intend to show them their little display of showmanship will be met in kind.”
