Author's note: This story will unfold across a total of five chapters. I've plotted out the course of this tale thoroughly from start to finish, and I hope to provide my readers with a tale that is satisfying and entertaining. I also intend to provide my readers with a tale that is finished. Abandoned stories are one of the greatest disappointments an author can inflict upon a reader. I don't like disappointments, and I'm certain that you feel the same way. I hope to have the final chapter of this story posted just before Halloween comes around. You'll see why!
Please leave me some criticism if you have time. I'd love to hear good advice on how to make this and future stories more entertaining for my readers. Point out your own works for me to read, too!
I edit and proofread the things I write many times over, in computer as well as hardcopy formats, but I can still miss an error or use a word inappropriately. (Man, is that ever an understatement.) I'm not a professional writer, nor am I highly skilled in that art.
This story contains descriptions of violent conflict and injuries caused by combat. It also deals with occult themes. Strong language is used once in the story. Please respect the rating that this story was assigned, and do not read it if you are below the suggested reading age, or if you feel you may be offended by the story's content.
Freya Crescent, Burmecia, Burmecians, Final Fantasy, and all related subjects created by Squaresoft are the sole intellectual property of that company.
Drowning Your Sorrows
Chapter One: Negotiations in Dali
"A Hound of Tindalos?" Freya Crescent inquired. "I am not familiar with such a creature."
Freya raised her teacup to the tip of her muzzle and lapped discreetly at the steaming liquid it contained. Like all Burmecians who took tea, Freya enjoyed Black Dragon, a rare variety of leaf that grew only in the foothills of the Arebs Mountains. The lightly fermented tea leaves produced a subtle and complex beverage that was irresistible to the Burmecian palate. Freya's sensitive tongue also detected the presence of something foreign in the drink; a peppery hint of black currant. Her nostrils dilated and her sinuses tingled as the steam from the spiced tea caressed the pad of her nose. Freya was certain that her host, the Mayor of Dali, must have added a small pinch of the dried fruits to the tea as it brewed in the pot, for Black Dragon was never crated in any variety but pure leaf. While even the most liberal of connoisseurs would consider it a bold move to add currants to such a fine tea, the taste had been complemented by the blending.
The Mayor exhibits good taste, Freya thought, as well as a sense for what a Burmecian guest might enjoy. Perhaps living in Dali breeds more sophistication than I anticipated. It seems like only a small agrarian community, but there may be more to this place than windmills, grain and pumpkins.
Freya raised her muzzle and licked a dew of tea droplets from her lower lip.She returned her cup to the saucer that was resting on her thigh. Clutched between the clawed tips of her long and spidery fingers, the cup and saucer looked ridiculously small. She perked her ears forward in a pleasant expression and addressed the Mayor, who was patiently waiting for her to speak. "Can you tell me something of the Hound's traits?" she asked.
"Give me just a moment," the Mayor said, "and I'll find you a picture of the beast. You'll see that the only traits it exhibits are those suited for spreading fear and death." The Mayor turned aside to glance at a stack of three heavy books that were piled on one corner of his wooden desk. After a moment's consideration, he reached forward and hooked a finger into the slack binding of the book in the middle of the pile. With a tug, he pulled it from the stack and dropped it onto the center of his desk. Freya cocked her head to one side as she heard the clap and flutter of the book being opened and having its pages being turned at a rapid pace. The sound of paper being fanned always made the fine hairs inside of her ears feel itchy. Seeking distraction, Freya let her gaze wander around the room as she waited for the Mayor to finish with his search.
A pot-bellied stove made of iron squatted in one corner of the room, standing perilously close to a stack of many books that were similar in appearance to the one the Mayor was flipping through. Freya's nose told her that the stove had recently been painted with blacking, and that a fire had not been lit inside of it for many months. Her ears told her that some type of insect with a hard carapace was busily eating away at the bindings of the books resting on the floor. Probably beetles, she thought. Likely carried inside within a load of firewood.
A cupboard of massive proportions had been placed against the outside wall of the room a few paces to the right of the stove. A gnarled wooden ladder leaned against the broad front of the cupboard, offering access to a high shelf that seemed to be filled with old ledgers. Below the shelf were two paneled doors wide enough to easily admit passage to a large man, if such a man were of an odd enough temperament to want to step inside of a cupboard. A faint air of alcoholic spirits hung about the cupboard, cool and glassy, perceivable only to the sensitive upper passages of Freya's sinuses. After a moment of concentration, she also recognized the warmer scents of cork, lead and wax. I believe that the entire bottom half of that cupboard is filled with nothing but wine and liquor, she thought with amusement. Could the Mayor of Dali be a lush?
In the center of the room, a cylindrical depression had been carved out of the floor and lined with tiles cut from a type of fine-grained tan stone that Freya was not familiar with. Inside of the depression, a crescent-shaped bench had been constructed from a pale, knotty wood. Silk pillows dyed the color of fresh salmon lined the bench, creating an inviting space that looked comfortable. As Freya focused her senses on the bench, she smelled skin oil and human sweat mingled with scents from the cloth shells of the pillows and the buckwheat that they were stuffed with. It smells almost as if somebody sleeps on that bench regularly, she mused. The body scent is similar to that of the Mayor, but it has subtle differences. Perhaps it is from a member of his family?
An arched doorway stood behind the chair that Freya had been provided with. Her ears could detect the muffled grinding of millstones and the rasping echo of grain being crushed and fed through metal chutes, but the tight fit of hefty wooden door that sealed the portal and the distance of the activities concealed behind it kept her from being able to perceive any scents.
Losing interest in the features of the Mayor's home, Freya turned her attention to the Mayor himself. He was a human male whom Freya judged to be over forty years of age. Although his back was turned towards her, Freya could see deep creases on the sides of his face as his head moved to follow the flipping pages of the book he was scanning. The wrinkles ran from the corners of his eyes all the way down to the angle of his heavy jaw. Freya guessed that the folds of skin were the result of a healthy appetite, rather than the product of age or worry. The man was fair in complexion, and Freya noted that his skin had suffered far less exposure to the elements than the hides of the villagers she had seen working about town.
From her seat, Freya could see the corners of the Mayor's bristling moustache twitching as he muttered something silently to himself. The wiry gray hair atop his head hid his ears, and the thick growth reminded Freya of the coarse winter coat of a predatory beast. The Mayor's clothes seemed to have been carefully tailored, for they fit his sturdy frame well. His shirt and trousers were cut from tan broadcloth, and the buttons were carved from amber. Over his shirt, the Mayor wore a green velvet vest that was embroidered with colorful gilded threads. The nap of the vest showed signs of having been carefully brushed. Freya's nose detected the scents of burnt tobacco and charred briar root on his person, and she judged that one of the pockets of his vest probably contained a pipe.
The sound of the Mayor's page-turning increased in intensity before coming to a sudden stop. As Freya leaned in her chair and watched, the Mayor clapped a hand to his forehead and pushed his book aside. Reaching over the discarded book, he picked up a second tome and rested it against his chest. He ran the tips of his fingers across the edge of the book, and then he cracked the volume open to a page near its center.
"Sorry!" he said, turning to face Freya. "I was looking in the wrong place. The illustration I was hunting for is in Baalor's Cult of the Undying Wyrm, not in Verrin's Sign of Evil. Silly me! I even marked the page this morning. Here it is, the Hound of Tindalos!"
Freya rose from her chair and stepped forward to look at the book that the Mayor was holding. She set her tea down on the edge of his desk and took the leather-bound octavo volume from his hands. A wrinkled leaf of onionskin covered a full-page engraving. Freya turned the crackling sheet over to reveal a picture of a snarling, preternatural beast. Vaguely canine in form, the creature had massive shoulders and stunted hindquarters. A mane of black, wiry fur stood erect along the length of the beast's spine, running all the way down to the tip of its tightly curled tail. Hairless folds of skin hung between the hound's scabrous chest and its disproportionately long forelegs. A heavy, sloping forehead jutted abruptly from a neck as thick as barrel, overhanging a set of jaws lined with twisted yellow fangs. Its eyes were caverns in its skull, empty and dark.
"Tsh! Such an ugly and forsaken creature!" Freya exclaimed. "The Gods have turned their faces from it!" After studying the engraving in silence for a minute, she lifted her muzzle and spoke again. "Can you tell me how large the beast is? There is nothing in this picture by which I can establish a sense of scale."
"A Tindalos can weigh twenty stone and stand seven spans high at the shoulder," The Mayor replied. "A woman who saw the beast pass outside her house last night says that it was taller than the corn in the fields."
"Taller than the corn?" Freya mused. "Is it not nearly harvest time? The corn is high, and that hound must be large indeed."
"It's monstrous. That's for certain," the Mayor said, nodding his head. "And it's decided to show up just as we're about to start off our yearly Pumpkin Festival. We need you to kill this beast, Lady Freya. The monies spent by tourists attending Dali's Pumpkin Festival make the difference between a lean year and a fat one for us. We can't have folks avoiding the Festival because of a monster stalking the fields."
As the Mayor spoke, Freya flipped through the book he had handed her. The scent rising from the musty pages filled her nostrils and left an unpleasant taste in the back of her mouth. Cradling the old book in one broad hand, she reached over to retrieve her teacup. She took a few laps of tea as she skimmed through pages filled with details about the haunts and habits of the Tindalos. She was about to lay the tome back down on the Mayor's desk when a passage caught her eye.
The Hound of Tindalos is found most often in the presence of ancient barrows and tombs. It is thought that Hounds are creatures taken as servants or messengers by undead beings of the more powerful order, such as the Lich or Revenant. DeHalle, in his work with the Bentini Palimpsest, has shown us that the aforementioned document makes reference to the depredations of a Hound upon the populace of Treno during the time of King Bartolio II. Despite having been overwritten with a record of accounts from a monastery during the later period of King Talos, most of the Bentini Palimpsest has been transcribed with success by DeHalle. What has been preserved stands as a grave warning to any who would dare face a Hound or its Master.
"Servant of a lich or revenant?" Freya said, cocking an ear forward inquisitively.
"Ah! I was just about to mention something related to that," the Mayor replied. "You see, one of our villagers went poking around in an old tumulus down by Sparrow's Rock. He turned up a few bits of jewelry, some funerary ornaments, coins and the like. Nothing really valuable, just some hammered silver baubles and a jade carving. The fellow was very excited by his discovery, though, so he hid his loot away and started planning how he could return to do some deeper digging without attracting attention."
"Sparrow's Rock?" Freya said. "That was quite a trip for your villager. Sparrow's Rock is within scent of Treno."
"True," the Mayor nodded. "The man was a chocobo cart driver hauling sorghum syrup from here to Treno. Unreliable fellow. Always had his head among the clouds. It appears that he was trying to augment his wages by moonlighting as a grave robber. Deplorable."
"Chocobo cart?" Freya asked. "I thought that Dali conducted most of its agricultural trade by airship."
"The majority of our produce is shipped by air to Alexandria and Treno," the Mayor replied, "but we still choose to send some things that won't readily perish to Treno by chocobo cart."
"Hmm," Freya said, returning her attention to the book in her hands. "I wonder if a Tindalos still follows its master's orders even after that master has crumbled to dust? I am certain that there can be no lich or revenant still making a home in the tumulus at Sparrow's Rock. If there were, you would have a much greater problem plaguing your village now." Freya paused and flipped a page of the book she was holding back and forth rapidly in frustration. "Faugh! This tome is poorly organized. It would take a scholar to gain anything from it. Tell me, do you think that the beast has come all the way from Sparrow's Rock? Treno is forty-five hundred stadia away, is it not? About four…no, five hundred and twenty of your miles?"
"Yes. From here, Treno's a journey of twelve hours by airship and just over a week by chocobo. And I've no doubt that the Tindalos has come from Sparrow's Rock. I wish it'd stayed there."
"Might I speak to the villager who disturbed the tumulus?" Freya inquired.
"Ah…well…I'm afraid that can't be arranged," the Mayor replied awkwardly. "That man's no longer among the living. His body was discovered two nights ago. Well, most of his body. It's hard to locate every bit of a fellow when he's spread over more than an acre. Which brings to mind another point I need to cover…"
"Go on," Freya said.
"We've figured out that the Hound is attracted to one of the items that were taken from the tumulus at Sparrow's Rock."
"The beast seeks to retrieve the relics taken from the grave of its master, I assume?" Freya said. "If it has already killed the man who violated its master's tomb, and yet it still returns, the hound must have a motivation beyond simple vengeance."
"You're correct, Lady Freya. We'd hoped that the beast would cease to trouble us after it had dispatched the cart driver, but..."
"But then the Tindalos returned the very next night to dash your hopes," Freya interrupted.
"Right," the Mayor said. "You certainly know your monsters! The hound didn't manage to catch anyone out in the fields last night, since everybody was sheltering after the scare they'd had from finding one of their fellows mutilated and scattered among the cornrows. Hard to get any good work out of people when they're are frightened like that, you know."
"I can imagine," Freya said.
"Anyway, the dead man's wife came rushing into my home just after dawn this morning. She was babbling about having spent the night awake and in terror, with the beast sniffing all around the outside of her house. Of course, it didn't get in. She insisted that I send someone over to her place to take away a little jade statue that her husband had stashed beneath the floorboards of their house. She couldn't be persuaded to touch the thing."
"What does the statue look like?" Freya asked.
"I can't really describe it," the Mayor replied. "It's like a little knot made out of carved faces, all twisted together and perched on something that looks like the trunk of a tree. There's some odd bits swirled in that have the features of animals as well, but it's impossible to remember just how everything's put together. The sculpture isn't easy on the eyes. Doesn't look to be very valuable, either. It's nephrite and not jadeite, and it's only a little bit bigger than a kupo nut still in the husk."
"How strange," Freya said, biting at her lower lip. "Might I be able to see it?"
"Have you decided to kill the beast for us, Lady Freya?" the Mayor asked.
"That depends on whether or not we can negotiate a payment for my services," Freya said. "I will need to be paid ten thousand Gil before I will dispatch the Hound."
"Oh!" the Mayor replied. "I'm afraid that we can't give you such a large sum. We've had to make repairs on our cargo airship recently. Parts from Lindblum are quite expensive. We can only offer you seventy-five hundred Gil."
I set my price high, Freya thought. The Mayor makes protest, as he should, yet he swiftly offers me a sum that is still generously large. There is more wealth hidden here than is apparent. Rare tea, fine liquors, pillows covered in silk. I shall negotiate aggressively.
"Your expenses are not my concern," Freya said. "The amount you offer me is not sufficient to cover the risks I am taking. I can accept no less than ten thousand Gil."
"We cannot pay that much!" the Mayor said. He shook his head emphatically from side to side. "While our community is a prosperous one, it only remains so because I adhere to a strict budget. It costs an incredible amount of money to keep a village such as Dali operating at peak efficiency. To hand you such a hefty sum of money would put our community at risk if a difficulty should later arise with our crops, our animals, or our harvesting machinery. Our draft chocobos might suffer an outbreak of wasting disease, for example. Ergot might attack our next planting of wheat. Vermin could sweep into our storehouses to devour our grain! All of Dali could starve if our crops fail and our money is short!"
He spoke those words like an actor reading a part in a play, Freya thought. He probably speaks them to everyone he negotiates with. I will not accept his scripted appeal to my sympathies. I will keep pushing for a higher fee. "Ten thousand Gil." Freya said.
"You're asking for money that we can't spare!" the Mayor protested. "New paving stones for our market square have been ordered, from your homeland of Burmecia I might add, and they'll be costing us a great deal. They must be shipped by land! We're favoring your people with our patronage of the quarries in the Daines-Horse Basin!"
Clever. He is now making a subtle appeal to my pride as a Burmecian. That tactic will not work. "I am certain that my people are grateful for that purchase," Freya said, "but I require ten thousand Gil."
"If you could wait for a few weeks," the Mayor said, "until just after the Pumpkin Festival is over, we could pay you an even eight thousand. We're sure to bring in a great amount of revenue from the Festival."
"I would like to spend some time here in Dali," Freya replied, "resting and repairing my kit. But I do not want to be here for weeks. I have my own affairs to attend to, on my own schedule, and they cannot be put off for so long."
"Eight thousand Gil, after the Festival," the Mayor said. "We'll make your stay here as pleasant as possible for you. Think about it! You can enjoy the Festival as a guest of honor. There will be---"
"Hmf!" Freya snorted. "There will hardly be a Festival, if you refuse my offer. I imagine that the presence of a Hound of Tindalos would effectively stifle all of Dali's festivities! You will pay me ten thousand Gil if you want me to dispatch the beast."
"That is impossible!"
Freya set the Mayor's book gently down on the edge of his desk. She picked up her teacup and took a few laps at the liquid left inside of it. The tea had grown tepid during the time she'd been negotiating with the Mayor, but Freya still wanted to get her fill of the exotic blend. Luxurious pleasures were a rarity for a warrior who was constantly on the move from kingdom to village to city, and Freya had learned to accept such pleasures whenever they presented themselves. She focused her attention on enjoying what remained of her drink, taking care to keep her ears level and expressionless so that the Mayor would gain no insight into her thoughts. Freya drained her cup completely, even choosing to sample some of the dark twists of leaves that remained adhered to the bottom of the vessel. She pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth to try and draw every modicum of flavor from her last mouthful of liquid and leaves. After a deliberate pause, Freya set her teacup back down on its saucer.
Raising her muzzle, Freya let her bright green eyes meet the muddy brown eyes of the Mayor. She held his gaze unwaveringly as she spoke with polite force. "Thank you for preparing me such delightful tea," she said. "I regret that we could not come to terms. If you should change your mind about the price you are willing to pay for my assistance in the matter of the Hound, you can send a messenger to the public house on the Mill Square. I shall be lodging there for a few days."
Freya stepped across the room. This is when the man shall break, she thought. Her hand was on the cold crystal knob of the door leading to the street outside when the Mayor spoke.
"Eighty-five hundred!" he said.
"Nine thousand," Freya replied. "Paid to me when the kill is confirmed. I would also like for my kit to be cleaned and repaired once before nightfall, and again after I dispatch the beast. Additionally, I shall need transportation to my next destination after my work here is finished."
"I can give you eighty-five hundred Gil," the Mayor said. "I'll have your kit taken care of as you request. I shall also see that you receive free room and board at the public house while you stay here in Dali."
"And the issue of my transportation?"
"Transportation will be given to you, from Dali to wherever you wish to go," the Mayor said. "There will be many shipments of produce leaving here over the next few weeks, along with much traffic associated with the Pumpkin Festival. There's no place on the Continent that's beyond our reach."
"Very good!" Freya said. "I will also require some miscellaneous supplies for use in dispatching the Hound, and I ask that they be give to me without question."
"Why, I'll have you provided with whatever supplies you need!" the Mayor replied. After a pause, he added, "Just so long as your requests are reasonable ones."
"Then I accept your offer," Freya said. "Let us finalize the details."
"If you'll take your seat again for just a few minutes," the Mayor said, "I'll write up a contract good for the terms we've agreed upon."
"Thank you," Freya said as she stepped back from the Mayor's desk. She brushed her tail gently aside with the back of a hand as she settled herself into her chair. "After the contract is signed, I will want to be taken to the area in which the Tindalos was last seen, so that I might scout the lay of the land for advantage before night comes on."
"Give me a few minutes and I'll ring for my boy to take you straight to the wheat fields," the Mayor said. As he spoke, Freya's ears could hear the rhythmic scratching of a chocobo quill passing rapidly across the surface of a sheet of foolscap. His voice lapsed into silence as he continued to write. Occasionally, a soft chime would ring out as the chocobo quill was dipped into a glass inkwell and tapped against its rim. After a few minutes of writing, the Mayor reached for a blotter and rocked it over the page that he had been working on. Taking out a fresh sheet of paper, he paused with his quill held in the air. "Would you like to tell me what supplies you'll be needing," he asked, "so that I can have them sent to you at the public house?"
"Yes," Freya said. "Your windmills use ironwood for the stiff structural members in their sails, do they not?"
"They certainly do!" the Mayor said. "We use only the best wood for our windmills! That ironwood comes straight from the slopes of Observatory Mountain. But why do you ask?"
"I need three lengths of ironwood," Freya replied. "Make each length four spans long. Have them turned straight and round on a lathe to a diameter slightly thicker than that of the major bone in your upper leg."
The mayor wrote down Freya's request, his lips moving silently as the tip of his chocobo quill danced across the paper in front of him. "That's an odd request," the Mayor said, "but it's one that's easily filled! I'll have our woodwright informed of it immediately. Now, what else will you need?"
"A sharp knife with a thick blade, about three fingers long." Freya said. "That will be all."
"Oh, it shall be done!" the Mayor chortled. "My, you have such simple needs. I feared you'd ask for some exotic spell casting component or rare healing draught."
"I shall not need healing," Freya replied, "and what magic I know will work without a physical component."
"Very good, then!" the Mayor said. He slid the sheet of paper bearing the contract he had written towards the edge of his desk and he held out his chocobo quill for Freya to take. Freya stood and reached for the quill without looking. Her eyes were already scanning the words on the document before her. She read it through twice before she inked the quill and signed her name beside that of the Mayor.
"Thank you!" he said, glancing at the contract to make certain that Freya's signature was proper. Satisfied, he picked up a small crystal bell that had been sitting next to his inkstand. "I'll just ring for my boy now," he explained. The Mayor gave the little bell a single sharp shake, and a startlingly rich chime came resonating outwards from it. The sound grew in waves until it peaked, at which point it seemed to flow out of the room like water.
"As soon as he gets here," the Mayor said, "I'll instruct my boy to take you out to where the Tindalos was seen. Your wooden shafts should be waiting for you at the public house when you return. I'll have a man bring that jade statue out to you in the field tonight, just before dusk. I've no doubt that the Hound will come straight for it, sure as a sick wolf will come for a staked lamb. You can use it as bait. It'll make things easy for you!"
"Whether it be easy or not, I shall complete the task before me," Freya said. Her face had taken on a wistful expression. A shiver coursed through Freya's body from the tip of her tail to the crown of her head.
A Burmecian bell! It gives me a chill to hear one rung so far away from my homeland. Its presence here can only be an omen, but whether it be an augur of success or of failure, I cannot guess. May Danos guide my hand and may Sabrael guide my heart. Oh Gods of my homeland, bring me victory this night!
Freya noticed that the Mayor was extending a hand towards her. She wrapped his hand within her own, firmly, and shook it. For a moment, Freya felt as if she had just awakened from a fugue. The Mayor withdrew his hand from hers. He turned away and busied himself with something involving the papers on his desk.
Freya waited in silence for the Mayor's servant to come and guide her to the fields.