By Althyk's grace, my employer swore never to give in to his tumultous Roegadyn bloodlust for steel ever again. A Ronin, masterless yet a master himself in the art of war, he chose Limsa to be his place of seclusion.
He toiled day and night to bury his past, exchanging an axe for a leatherworkers awl, smelt the rich aroma of La Nosceans' famous toast and let walnut bread crumble beneath his fingers instead of a Dullahans' skull. Yes, he became a culinarian, an armorer, blacksmith, a successful goldsmith, delved into carpentry, concocted potions at Frondale's Phontistery, worshipped trees and caressed Drybone's rocks, mining, prospecting, triangulating - careful, exact, calculating.
He was healing, became a mastercraftsman and it embraced him. But war is nigh and no one can escape it. Not a brute anymore, I daresay he will choose to gather Karakul's fleece over an enemy hide.
I can see that my master found peace in his crafts and the lure of gil at Hawker's Alley... I doubt he will remain still though when push comes to shove. Byregot's hands will guide his swift axe - careful, exact, calculating ...
Writings of Ivanka the Retainer 30th day of the 2nd Astral Moon
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