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He crept quietly through the musty tunnels. This particular tunnel under Baelsar's Wall fell into disuse after the Imperials increased patrols around both ends. Rather than risking capture, the Resistance left the supplies to rot. Better for no one to have them rather than the Empire seizes it as tributum, and that's the best-case scenario. The black-haired Miqo'te shuddered at the thought of the more likely outcome.
He came upon the main storeroom. Good. A sign he wasn't lost, at the least. He took a moment to look upon the lost wares. A thick layer of dust already beginning to settle upon the crates, arms, and papers still left strewn about. The torchlight reflected in green eyes as he retrieved a map from his bag. Still so many yalms to go. He dropped his bag and set the torch into a sconce to secure it as he sorted through what wasn't nailed shut.
After a stretch, he retrieved his bag and torch before making his way to the nearby passage to continue through the tunnels. He prayed to Rhalgr his diversion was enough of a delay to avoid a patrol. After some time, he could hear the wind outside. A short while later, he saw the scant traces of sunlight filtering inside. He pulled his lance from his back and crept to the mouth.
He poked his green eyes out ever so slightly outside, though what little sunlight there was still blinded him after being in darkness for so long. Once his vision returned to him, he scanned his surroundings. He was undoubtedly in the shadow of the Wall, but at a surprising distance away. Seeing no signs of a patrol, he broke into a run as he said a silent prayer of thanks to the Destroyer.
It was his first time in the Black Shroud. He'd heard the stories and had been to East End, but had never entered the forest proper. He wasn't sure if it was that he'd easily spent the last bell underground, or if it was simply different air, but he could smell the traces of pollen in the air. It felt invigorating, though his stamina could only last so long. And if he had been pursued, he'd rather face the Imperials head-on.
He hadn't the foggiest idea of where he was going. Glancing towards the setting sun, he'd been moving south. And as the sun sunk deeper into the forest, the darker it became. Of all the things to leave behind, it was flint and tinder. As he cursed, he spotted a glow between the trees. It was much too far from the Wall to be the Imperials. And if it was something unfriendly, he was sure he could sneak away.
As he drew closer to the glow, it was most certainly a camp of some sort, though he wasn't sure what to make of it. He heard little noise, and the trees still obscured his vision. As he crept forward, hand on his lance, he saw a simple campfire with a single person sitting off towards one side. Nearby was a carriage of some sort, the draft chocobos already asleep nearby. If there was a threat, he could handle it. If not, he'd ask for directions.
He relaxed and left his lance where it was and stumbled into the campsite, feigning surprise when the man twisted to see him. "I'm sorry," the Miqo'te began, "I've lost my way and hoped to find a friend."
The man, a Midlander, by all appearances, sighed and reached for a corked bottle. Don't startle me like that. Damn near took you for a bandit."
"But what if I am one?"
"Then you're either very strong or very foolish to be out here by yourself." He finished with a laugh before uncorking the bottle and taking a large gulp. "I didn't think the Miqo'te came this far south."
"Is there a tribe nearby? I hadn't passed one on my way here." He walked forward and took a seat a few yalms away.
"I wouldn't use the word 'tribe,'" he stroked his brown beard, "but the Coeurlclaw are known 'round these parts for their banditry an' poachin'. Always some Wailers lookin' out for them." He took a small swig before looking back at the Miqo'te. "An' I hear the lot of them are quite comely, should you chance to catch one without a mask." Instinctively, the Miqo'te's ears perked. The other man started cackling. "I knew it. You ain't from these parts. Tell you what, I'll share a bottle if you tell me your name." The Miqo'te leered at him. "Certainly not the cheapest stuff. It might loosen me lips. Spill some secrets about the buxom huntresses of the Twelveswood."
"X'yahma." The word "buxom" had scarcely left the Midlander's lips afore the Miqo'te spoke up. It never dawned on him how eager he appeared to hear more about these beauties.
The man snorted as he tossed over a bottle; X'yahma caught it with ease and tore the cork out with his teeth. "You're too easy to read, son. Brendt's the name, an' peddlin's me trade. So, what brings you out here?"
The drink burned as X'yahma swallowed, taking his time to think on his answer. "Power."
Brendt's eyes narrowed. "'Power?' As in, er... power to do good? Like protectin' the weak, an' fightin' for what's right, an' all that?"
X'yahma looked towards the fire, closing his eyes as he soaked in its warmth. "Nevermind protecting the weak. A chain's only as strong as its weakest link, and I..." He took a drink. It was a strange taste he couldn't quite place.
Brendt smiled. "If you've a mind to join me, I'm bound for Ul'dah. Like as not, you'll find someone willin' to harden your steel." He leaned closer. "But the dancin' girls are the real treasure of that city." He snickered as X'yahma turned his attention back to him, his ears perked again. "Aha! You left out the other part of your answer: women!" X'yahma felt his face begin to burn, but he wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or his intentions being so obvious. "Ah, to be young and full of fire again," he said to himself. "So, what do you say? Care to keep me company on the road?"
X'yahma nodded. "What have I got to lose? To new horizons." He held his bottle out.
"To new friends." The two clinked their bottles and drank as much as they could manage.