Balthier sighed and rested against one of the pillars in the Golmore Jungle, his rifle leaning against his thigh, ready to be lifted and shot at some of the nasties that he knew were lurking nearby.
"Some day...Thought I'd find treasure, maybe some excitemeent, and instead I find more trouble than I really should be dealing with..." he said, touching a wound on his arm that he had recieved from a malboro earlier. The wound was infected, and hurt bad. Balthier knew that he was poison, but the fact that he had no antidotes in his pouch or the energy to use a purification spell made him realize that he really was in deep trouble.
"Danmed plants." he muttered, attempting to sit up straighter. The sounds of rustling made his eyes shift in the direction of the noise, and his uninjured arm to reach for his gun.
"I'll be damned if I'm being turned into food..." Balthier hefted the gun and pointed it in a one armed aim in the general direction of the noise.
"If I'm dying today, I'm taking you to hell with me..." Balthier pulled the trigger as two hellhounds bounded around the corner, the ammunition lodging itself into one of the monsters' heads, the hit creature tripping over its front feet and sliding to a halt, dead. The other jumped, and knocked Balthier against the pillar, his gun flying from his hands. Balthier's eyes widened.
"Damn..." The creature opened its mouth...
An arrow passed through the hound's head and came to a rest in a tree nearby, dripping in blood. the hound fell over with a heavy and dull thud.
"Huh...I guess...I guess the fates do smile on me..." Balthier turned to look in the direction of his savior, only to find a tall, tanned, scantly clad Viera standing at the corner, her bowstring still vibrating from the shot. The clother was simply black cloth with a few armored parts on the chest and shoulders, as well as a decorative headband over her hair, which was tied back into a very long tail. Balthier frowned.
"Or they don't..." he whispered, as he closed his eyes and lost conciousness.
Balthier felt warm, comfortable. Was death supposed to feel this good? Balthier opened his eyes.
"The fates definatly don't smile on me..." The Viera from before was sitting over him, her head tilted to the side.
"You are awake." she said, pushing herself to her feet and walking away from him. Balthier blinked a few times and turned his head. He was in a small tent, by the looks of it. A magicite lamp was hanging inside a glass container hanging down into the tent from the top. The rest of the tent was outfitted with a small cot next to him, two sacks in the corner, and a bundle of clothes that looked oddly familiar...
"You had a fever, so I had to undress you. You are lucky to be alive." The Viera was sitting in a corner, legs crossed, her bow leaning against her.
"So I see. What's a Viera like you doing outside your village? Wood-warder, I say?" The Viera shook her head.
"No. Outcast. I left of my own accord. I no longer wanted to live in my village." she said, her pink-red eyes staring back at Balthier.
"I see. But why did you help me? Viera are rather cold when it comes to Humes, if I'm not mistaken." Balthier said, sitting up, using the blankets he had covering him to cover the places below his waist.
"It was instinct. Something told me to help you, and I did. What more need I say?" Balthier shrugged.
"That I'm the leading man, and I shouldn't need to be dying just yet?" The Viera smiled a little.
"Fran."
"I'm sorry?" Fran placed a hand on her chest.
"Me. My name is Fran."
"Ah. You can call me Balthier, if you wish. Or you can just call me Hume, if you wish that."