To some, a weapon is just that; A weapon. Nothing more than another tool to get the job done, a lifeless chunk of cold steel meant only for battle. But there are those who vehemently assert otherwise. To a seasoned combatant, a weapon is an extension of one’s self and a veritable conduit of purpose. Fighter and blade are one, an inseparable bond that overcomes any trial to achieve victory, even against seemingly insurmountable odds. It is as an artist and his brush, without it...there is nothing.
Dull and empty, like the coinpurse hanging on the hrothgar’s worn leather belt. Escaping Garlemald was no easy feat, leaving him with naught more than the coat on his shoulders and the blade slung across his back. He had come so far, only to be thwarted at the finish line by his unfortunate lack of gil.
“I already told yous, I’ve got no need of any more hired help.” grumbled the ferryman, a stern-faced highlander with a tapestry of scars adorning his rugged countenance. “You want on, pay the toll or be on your soddin’ way.”
Kaladan’s shoulders sagged slightly, and he nodded with a solemn expression. “Right. I’ll let you be about it, then.” He replied, shaking his head as he turned to stride back down the pier. Perhaps there was a relatively dry alley he could spend the night in, and maybe have better luck on the morrow. Before he could take a step, however, the hrothgar felt a hand rest on his shoulder.
“Now...hold on a moment.” The ferryman mused, scratching his grizzled chin with his free hand. “That there antique on your back, that an original?”
The hrothgar blinked, reaching back instinctively to trace a few fingers over the hilt of his gunblade. Stolen from his owners’ home the night he fled the Empire, it had served him true on his long trek across the wild country towards civilization.
“Aye.” He murmured in response. “What about it.”
The ferryman grinned, revealing rows of misshapen, yellowing teeth. Several were capped in gold, though clearly not by an expert hand.
“Well, I happen t’be in a barterin’ mood, man. If yer so willin t’part with that little number, consider yer ferry toll paid in full, aye?” He crooned, stretching out one gnarled hand to offer a shake.
Kaladan slowly turned, looking the man up and down several times before his eyes rested on the outstretched palm. There was nothing for him here, a no-name port barely worth charting on a map. But if he could make it to Limsa Lominsa, maybe...just maybe, he might have a chance. He sighed heavily, slowly reaching out to shake the old sailor’s outstretched hand.
“Deal. But mark my words, old man. I’ll be back for her someday.”
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