"Five hundred gil? Are you daft? I wouldn't pay that much for a round of drinks, let alone...How many did I have?"

"Six. They're ninety gil each."

"Bah!" Faris tossed his violet hair to the side and put his hands decisively on his hips. "Over-priced, I say! And anyway, do you know who saved you three days ago? That's right! Me! I'd think to get at least get a few free drinks out of it!"

"You?" The bartender's bushy eyebrows furrowed. "I thought it was that white knight."

"The Warrior of Light? I'd throw myself to the depths before I said anything against him, but he wasn't the only one, you know!"

The bartender glanced from Faris' rumpled tunic to his tangled hair. "There was that pink-haired woman too, right?"

"Her?! That murdering, foul-hearted fiend? She was killing people, not saving them! What drunken drabble did you hear this from, anyway?"

The man gave an apathetic shrug. "You hear a lot of things running a bar. And that'll be five hundred and forty gil." 

Faris growled in frustration and turned decisively away from the man. "Fine, fine. See if I save you sorry louts next time." The bartender refused an answer, and Faris scowled. He leaned back against the counter and moodily sipped the last of his beer. 

In all honesty, Faris couldn't completely blame the bartender for not recognizing him. Not only had the direct attack been witnessed only by a handful of survivors, but he'd been dressed almost completely differently at the time -- first in heavy dragon armor and then in the white robes of a summoner. It was the price he paid for the power of the crystals -- the hero was always a noble-clad warrior shining with legendary weapons and an unearthly virtue. That hero looked very different from Faris himself in his drab tunic and plain bandanna.

For once, Faris wished the townspeople would recognize him and shower him in gifts. The five hundred gil for the drinks was five hundred gil he didn't have. But that was always the way of it, wasn't it? The warrior was rarely tarnished by the pirate, and the pirate was never rewarded by the warrior. 

Faris scanned the bar's other patrons for a distraction. Some men drowned themselves in heavy mugs of amber ale. Others stared, hollow-eyed, at the bar's slick oaken walls. This district had managed to avoid the attack, but not a single man in the city had slipped by unaffected. Loved ones died, jobs were lost, and cities were ruined, but one constant always remained through it all -- no matter the damages, bars like this would never close.

Through the window on the outer reaches of the bar, a woman caught his eye. All around him, the people here were dressed in their strange jackets, t-shirts, and blue pants, but this woman stuck out from them like a knife. She was clad in black metal, all harsh edges, sharp points, and elaborate curves. From behind, he caught a flash of teal hair tied messily at the back of her head. Resting against her table was a jutting, violent spear. 

Faris glanced in the barkeeper's direction and, once he was distracted by another customer, slipped towards the door. Faris doubted he was strictly allowed to leave without paying, but the woman was still on the property, and he didn't plan on going far. At least, not just yet.

"That's a wicked spear you're using." Faris came around the table to face her. Even seated, she was an amazon of a woman with a sturdy frame and a jagged scar above her right eye. Her armor cut off below her breast, and she had something of a savage beauty with her cinched waist and bare stomach. Faris' eyes lingered for a second longer than they should have before returning to her face. "I use one myself when it comes to a fight. A dragoon, they call me. At least, when the mood strikes." Faris didn't wait for an invitation before slouching into the opposite bar-stool, or what passed for a bar-stool in this part of town. He crossed his arms and tossed a bit of stray hair over his shoulder.

"I'm Faris. Captain Faris Scherwiz, if a name be important to you. I haven't seen someone like you in this town since the gates of hell opened over it." He laughed a little as though sharing a joke she couldn't understand. "You're not from around here, I take it? Most of these spineless currs act like they've never even seen a blade." He glanced once more at the vicious pole-arm leaning innocently against the table. "If that thing hasn't killed a man, then I'm not fit to call myself a pirate."

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The woman sipped at her amber draft before setting it down in front of her. Faris didn't quite know what had possessed him to talk to this fierce, intimidating woman. In all honesty, she looked like she could have run him straight through with that spear of hers, and like she would do it too, if he made even the slightest wrong move in her presence. Still, Faris was six beers into a night he didn't wish to remember, and he'd never understood his own impulses anyway. Maybe it was the familiarity of her dress or maybe he was in the mood for a fight, but something called him to talk to her, and Faris had never been one to ignore his basest instincts.

"A fellow dragoon then?" the woman said, and Faris found himself humming in agreement. He didn't know why, really, because he was a dragoon only as much as he was a ninja, a red mage, or a summoner, but it felt right. Besides, what else was he supposed to say? 'Not really, but what do you know about crystals? This might take another hour and a half to explain?'

So he nodded along, at least until the woman asked him her next question. "Though could you be the Crimson Dragoon I heard a couple of people speaking about when I entered town?”

"The Crimson Dragoon...?" Faris echoed, and then laughed loudly. "Really? Is that what they're calling me? Well, if it has to be anything..." Faris laughed again and shook his head. "It sure beats the usual names, doesn't it? Brigand. Fiend. Thief. Aye, I'll take 'Crimson Dragoon' any day." Faris reached for a drink that he no longer had, but when his hand closed on air, he masked the movement by leaning heavily against the table. His head spun with the movement, and he waited for it to steady before chuckling again. "Crimson Dragoon..." he muttered again because he hadn't quite gotten used to it. "What'll they think up next?"

Still, he couldn't say it wasn't satisfying to hear. If he had his own nickname (no matter how ridiculous), that meant people were talking about him. Appreciating him. It wasn't just about that noble Warrior of Light (Faris had never asked his name) or that pink-haired murderous that were getting gossip. Faris traced a finger along the table's edge and grinned widely. What were they saying, he wondered, about this fabled Crimson Dragoon?

The woman confirmed his suspicions -- that she was as foreign as he was -- and Faris nodded slowly. "Aye, I thought so. A lass like you? Well, there aren't many like them, let alone in this yellow kingdom. But I wouldn't call this city so peaceful yet. Not after..." Faris frowned. He'd drunk enough to almost forget the face of that demon. That's why he'd come here -- to forget. Yet even through his drunken stupor, he could still see those fiery red eyes. "Not after Chaos." He spat the name like a curse. The beast had tumbled from the sky on leathery wings, smashing men to bloody puddles of flesh and viscera. Its bellows had come like the shifting of the earth.

'I AM DISCORD!'

Faris shuddered and ran a hand through his hair. "That devil. I'll take it back to the depths it came from. The coward..."

He could still feel the harsh sting of its magic bearing down on the city. He could feel the spark of Carbuncle's power ready to send it all hurtling back in the creature's sneering face. But the monster must have felt it too, because as quickly as the magic had come, it had vanished without a trace. Chaos had been quick to follow.

The woman took another sip of ale before shaking her head. “Where are my manners. If my commander could see me now we would be upset with me for not following proper etiquette.” 

Faris tilted his head at her and grinned. "Manners? There's no need for that here, lass," he said, but she was already on her feet. Faris had to crane his neck just to look up at her. She was a monster of a woman who would have towered over even the proudest of men. Faris had little doubt she would have dwarfed him by a good ten inches.

“Eillien Blaires, Azure Dragoon of the Holy See of Ishgard." The woman said with an informal bow. Faris blinked and then laughed again.

"Azure Dragoon, eh? From 'Ishgard?' Sounds official."

The woman sat down again, and Faris took the chance to crack his neck. Looking up at her was enough to strain his spine. 

"Beastmen? Never heard of it. But if you're talking about monsters, that's a different story." Faris crossed his arms again and watched the street thoughtfully. "Have you heard of the evil mage Exdeath? No one around here has, but I swear, he broke out of the crystals and went about trying to throw the world into a Rift. We stopped him, me and some friends. I still can't believe no one here's heard a word of it. But I'm starting to think that maybe we're in a Rift of our own." Faris clicked his tongue thoughtfully. He hadn't really sat down and spelled it out that way before, but it felt right with the alcohol swimming in his brain. "Aye, that must be it. I must've traveled between worlds again, like with those meteors. It wouldn't surprise me if there was another world out there somewhere. Maybe at the bottom of some whirlpool, and I got sucked in and washed ashore. It wouldn't surprise me at all..."

He was rambling now, he knew. Rambling and not really making sense. But his tongue felt loose and he wanted to talk. Maybe that was why he'd approached this woman. "You're not from around here either. You understand, don't you?" He felt his eyes dull a little as he looked at her. His head swam heavily. "It's like, you wake up somewhere you don't know, can't remember where you were, and now there's all these new places and no one understands a word out of you. No one here's heard of Exdeath or Tycoon or Karnak. A lot of them don't know a thing about crystals either. Just a few things: chocobos, moogles, gil. It must be a whole new world, and we're all stuck in it."

His tongue stopped suddenly. It was heavy -- far too heavy to keep it up like this. Faris swallowed and ran a hand through his hair before adding, "At least, that's what I think."

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The woman didn't really respond to what Faris had to say. She didn't comment much on his theory, didn't say much of Exdeeath, and barely batted an eye at his talk of other worlds. Instead, she answered with gibberish. She told Faris about "sentient Primals" wreaking havoc and emerging from crystals. She spoke of somewhere called Eorzea and of "Dragon Hordes." Faris snorted a little at the sound of that. He couldn't for the life of him imagine a "horde of dragons," and even so, he wondered what the victims of such a horde would be. Dragon grass? 

"Right, well..." Faris cleared his throat to hide his laughter. "We all want to go home, lass. We all have lives to get back to. I have a ship on the open sea. And you have, ah...Dragon hordes." Again, Faris imagined the sky crowded with wind drakes, all pining for dragon grass and human affection. He couldn't help but grin. "You know, I've seen my fair share of wind drakes. Beautiful beasts, in my opinion. Then there was Syldra..." Faris let the name drop slowly from his tongue. He felt his face fall as he ran a hand through his tangled hair. "She was a sea drake. Loyal. We were close as sisters, I tell you! Would've done anything for me. She did, actually..."

Faris could still hear her exhausted cry. Her dull eyes had sunk slowly into the surf, her wide fins thrashing one last time. Faris shuddered and touched at his forehead. The conversation had veered out of his control, as it so often did after he'd been drinking. Sometimes he wondered why he ever bothered at all.

'I want to forget. Please, gods, take those cries away...'

"Anyway, that's enough of that." Faris tried to straighten. He set his expression back to what he thought was normal and grinned weakly. "So tell me, how's a dragoon like you gotten by in this new world? I'd wager you've managed a lot smoother than m-"

"Hey! What're you doing out here? You owe five hundred gil!"

Faris blinked in surprise and looked over to see that the door of the bar had flung open. The bartender stood in the door-frame, one hand thrown out at him accusingly while the other gestured to someone Faris couldn't see.

"Hey now! I was just talking to the young lass here! There's no need for shouting."

The man glowered at him from beneath a set of heavy black eyebrows. "Five hundred and forty gil," the man repeated. From behind him there came two shadows looming over his shoulders. Guards or maybe just well-meaning patrons called in to help muscle out what was owed. Faris glanced between and then sighed.

"Alright, you caught me, lad. I, ah...I don't have the gil. I'm new to this land you know, and after fighting that damned fiend..."

"You don't have it?" The man's eyes darkened. His two allies pushed forward.

"Aye, well you don't have to make a mess out of it, do you? I told you, I saved all of your sorry heads when the devil flew in, and I'd say that calls for a few free-" Faris saw the blow coming before the man's fist had formed. Even drunk, he managed to nimbly back-step away from the would-be attack a full second before the punch had been thrown.

Faris' eyebrows furrowed. "Son of a-! You'll regret that!" The street traffic had stopped. Passer-bys froze in their step to watch the altercation unfold. The bartender still stood at the door, watching furiously as the two bulkier men flanked Faris. The one to his right moved to swing again. 

"Thankless currs!" Faris threw himself to the side and easily dodged the blow. Even drunk, his steps came faster than any man's had a right to be. Raw instinct had a way of working wonders on an inebriated mind. "If it's a fight you want, I won't be backing down!"

Faris didn't know why he called upon the power of the fire crystal. With the woman still sitting there, even he realized the dragoon class might have served him better. Still, in the heat of the moment and without any time to spare, Faris felt the warm flickering of the fire crystal over all else. Then came the heated light, a blinding flash of white, and Faris felt his tunic tighten to a red body suit. A crimson helm encased his head, wrapped in a loose scarf over his mouth. At his belt came an array of tools, blades, and throwing knives. Faris almost laughed at the near-endless supply of weapons at his command. 

It had been a while since he'd fought as a ninja. 

The three men stared at him in horror. In fact, now that Faris looked around, every single pair of eyes were watching him with that same, dumb fear. There must've been at least two dozen of them eyeing him now, as though they thought he'd bring out his swords and chase them down like a murderer. Faris tried to keep his attention on the two brutes in front of him. "Not so brave now, are you lads?" He grinned through a few stray locks of hair. The men stood stock-still and said nothing. "Well then. If that's how it is, I'll be leaving now. Don't say I never showed any mercy!"

Faris thought about walking away, but with all eyes on him, it sounded like a long walk to gods knew where. Then his eyes flickered to his belt. His hand was around the smoke bomb before he could think. He hurled it straight into the chest of the burliest guard and then turned tail and bolted as the street filled with mist. By the time he'd gone five feet, he could barely see his own outstretched hand. 

Faris laughed loudly as he darted into a narrow side street. Gods, how he loved the fire crystal!

Behind him, the air had filled with shouting, scrambling footsteps, and roaring curses, but they'd never catch Faris as he dodged down narrow paths and vaulted every obstacle in his path. Like a monster in the mist, the street had been swallowed by fog, and Faris had vanished within it.

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Faris had never been one to stay inside the bounds of the law.

That came from growing up on a pirate ship, he supposed, or maybe it was a natural inclination -- a trait as bred into him as his impulsive disposition or his purple hair. It came more naturally to him than breathing. Why pay for something when you could steal it? Why ride in a ship when you could hijack it? Even when Faris had been given wealth, fame, and a royal title, that hadn't been enough for him. It wasn't the money he was after -- not really.

No, for Faris, it had always been about that rush of adrenaline. 

Faris laughed as he emerged from the cloud of smoke. The bystanders jolted in shock, staring at the red-clad phantom which had hurtled from the mist, but Faris paid them no mind. He just laughed and slowed to a stop, brushing his free hair behind his scarf and helm. The ninja class had never felt completely right to him. It wasn't that he didn't like it -- Who wouldn't love hurling knives at their enemies? -- but the outfit wasn't right. The leotard hugged his body too tightly. The belt cinched too closely to his waist. For not the first time, Faris wished he'd been given the same full-body suit as Bartz or Galuf, but he supposed that when the crystal gave him unimaginable power, he couldn't exactly complain about the aesthetic.

At least it wasn't the dancer class.

With so much distance gained and with so many confused pursuers left in his wake, Faris didn't mind slowing as he started down the narrow street. He listened to the click of his boots as he walked. The city was silent -- calm -- but something was wrong. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. 

Faris looked behind him, he looked in front of him, but his alleyway was clear. Slowly, he brought his hand to one of his many throwing knives.

There was a click on the rooftops. Faris spun around just in time to see a black shadow descending on him from the sky. He brought up his knife and prepared to launch it at the attacker...

Only the attacker didn't attack. Instead, it landed beside him with a solid click and turned to face him. Faris caught a flash of curving black armor and a knot of teal hair. He lowered his knives. "Eillien?" 

“Well you are a spitfire to say the least. Have not had a good bar fight like that since a night I managed to get a Roe drunk.”

Faris stared at her. "How did you-?" He glanced from her grieves to her breastplate to her holstered spear. "A dragoon..." he muttered, and then laughed. "You caught up with me? Why, I'd almost say you've got the power of the crystals with you!" He shook his head, but his grin was fading fast. "A spitfire, eh? That's why you caught me, I'm guessing? I'm exciting, is that it?" 

His stomach churned with something slow and dark. He wished he had another drink. "I'm not that exciting, really." He thought back on the bar. On the assault. That bar had stayed open despite the monster's attack. It was giving people what they needed most in a time of tragedy. And what was Faris doing? Drinking and stealing. Like usual.

"This town doesn't need someone like me in it. Not anymore." He scuffed his boot at the street. Not a few miles away, there wasn't any street left to stand on. Just rubble, ash, and burnt wood. "I'm not so great at building anything. Just fighting, stealing, sailing..." He could almost feel the wind on his face, the taste of salt on his tongue, and he longed for it. "That knight said he'd be going after the beast. Chaos -- that was the devil's name." 

Chaos, the god of Discord -- or at least, that's what he'd heard. 

"Have you heard anything of it? The monster? Chaos?" Faris had to crane his neck to look at the woman in front of him. She towered over him by half a foot. "A giant, yellow thing? Horns on its head? Wings like a bat?" Faris paused. "No, you wouldn't have lived to tell about it, and if the coward had shown his face, we'd all have heard about it." 

Faris let out a long, tired sigh. He let the crystals wash over him again. The light swept over leotard, scarf, and helm until his blue tunic and bandanna replaced them. He didn't have need for weapons anymore.

"I'll find it myself if I have to. I made a promise to that knight. Another Warrior of Light, can you believe it? And here I didn't think that was possible..."

That knight -- the Warrior of Light he'd never met -- Faris hadn't gotten the chance to ask his name. Maybe they'd find each other again someday, and when they did, Faris wouldn't let himself get left behind so easily. 

"I'm going. Now. Before I get distracted again." Before another bar called his name. Before he let himself drown his troubles in beer and whiskey. Faris gave Eillien a solid look and nodded his respect. "It was good meeting a fierce woman like yourself. Thanks for reminding me..." Faris shook his head.

"Stay safe, I guess. And, uh. Sorry for the bar fight, lass. I had a few too many, I think."

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