'𝕆𝕚! '𝕖𝕝𝕡 𝕒 𝕗𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕒 𝕠𝕦𝕥𝕥𝕒 '𝕖𝕣𝕖?'
✯'Naj. Jus' Naj.' That's the name you're given, by the unfortunately pretty lad standing in front of you, a jumble of nerves that keeps him casting what is very much not a casual look over his shoulder every now and then.
He explains he's looking for his fortune elsewhere. That's it. That's all. Not likely, but he's insistent as all seven hells.
He promises he's more capable than he looks. And he doesn't look like much. Awkward and ungainly. What you might have taken for mange is just scaling though, and noticing the look, he huffs and asserts he's just a halfsie, the aitch lost with his regrettable dockyard accent.
He says it with bared fangs, and tells you those are as real as his scales, and he can prove it if need be.
But he also says that there isn't a weapon under Eorzea's sun he hasn't handled and can't use to some degree.
So what do you say? Help a fellow out of here?
♬ o1 o2