Chapter XLVII: Executive Order

There was no other place in Vana’diel quite like the pirate town of Norg. The staggering dichotomy of the location was perhaps impossible to describe if speaking to a person that had never visited the hidden village, nestled far in the mountainous, volcanic peaks of Kazham, then further concealed by the deadly catacombs of Sea Serpent Grotto. Only by crossing the wild jungles of Yuhtunga and then braving the Sahagin’s lair could you reach Norg by land, and only by accessing the port open only to the pirates and Tenshodo could you find passage by sea. The former was difficult. If you were not an invited guest, the latter was impossible.

These things were perhaps to be expected from a place of such ill repute, but what one would not foresee was the old-fashioned, honest and sincere warm nature of the people inside. They were rough around the edges to be sure, but to their fellow pirates and smugglers, every inhabitant of Norg was family and to be treated as such. Thus when the man known primarily by the honorific “President” stepped back onto solid ground with Ayn behind him, the reaction throughout the hidden village was electric. Zealot could hardly believe the reception.

Therein lay an even deeper layer of the confounding Norg concept. These welcome, warm, open people who massed at the docks to see a native son return home, were also some of the basest, calculating, manipulative, and dangerous criminals in all the west. Any random person walking the shadowed streets of Norg could tell you three different ways to kill a man before they could tell you what day of the week it was. Yet here they were, gushing over the returning Ayn with all the warmth of a family reunited.

Middle-aged women crowded in and inquired about his health and shouted at him to come visit for dinner. Men slapped him on the back as he walked by, asking after Tikinas with sly winks. Some he stopped and nodded to, others he even shook hands with, but by and large the Thief appeared as wholly uncomfortable being universally praised by the people of Norg as he had being completely reviled by his traveling companions of the past few weeks. Men with thick scars smiled with crooked teeth, burly armed sailors laughed heartily at suggestions of what the long-absent Thief had been up to all this time. President laughed and jibed right along with them, and even Argentina had a wry smirk on her full lips as she stood at the side of her captain.

“This is really something,” Greyheart remarked as he stepped off of the Charybdis, the spray of the sea coming in from the shoreline splashing against his red-and-black trousers.

Zealot raised his mass of silver hair away from his face, looking out in the cavernous village and whistled. “I’ve heard about Norg, but I’ve never seen it before. A whole pirate town hidden from the rest of the world.”

“They seem like really nice people,” The Red Mage observed, indicating the small mob scene gathering around Ayn and President.

“You think they’ll help us out?” Zealot inquired of the grey-maned Elvaan.

“Nah man,” he replied, raising his chained hands up for balance as Celtico pushed the both of them forward, “we’re gonna die.”

“No talking!” Tikinas snapped, and the Red Mage lowered his head with a sigh.


Dusk had come and gone in Norg when Ayn was finally able to escape the seemingly endless throng of pirates and criminals who for some reason had nothing better to do than catch up with him and talk about how life was going. For a village built on the concepts of theft and murder, the inhabitants could be irritatingly friendly. After what felt like an eternity of having to endure blatantly exaggerated stories of high seas adventures and a stream of one bawdy joke after another, he was finally able to make his way from the assembled groups of so-called friends and compatriots he barely remembered and find a quiet corner to duck into. Fortunately for him, Norg had no lack of those.

“I thought you’d never get free,” a voice beckoned from behind him.

Ayn didn’t turn around, only shook his bowed head as Tikinas’s hand slipped over his shoulder from the shadows. The ninja seemed a part of the darkness, only her gleaming eyes giving her any more presence than a wraith. Her form-fitting black garb, draped over with a carefully darkened and fitted suit of mail, was untouched by the torchlight flickering from all directions nearby. Ayn knew there was some sort of trick to doing that, but he was always too busy to ask Tikinas exactly how she performed her ninjutsu. As long as she knew how to do it, he supposed, it had worked out for them so far.

“None of them ever stopped to suppose there was a reason I stayed away from here for so long,” he grumbled, “and nothing short of the apocalypse brought me back.” He closed his eyes, trying to turn his thoughts away from being back in Norg. “How’s your friend?” he asked, forcing a change in subject.

Tikinas let her arm drop with a weary sigh as she leaned against the rocky wall behind them. Most of Norg had been carved out of the caverns of Sea Serpent Grotto rather than actually built. “She’s got enough strength now to walk about, but she still doesn’t know where she is or understand how she got here.” The ninja shook her head, peeling back the mask she wore to let a mass of white hair tumble free. “She’s resting again now. Hopefully we can get her some real help now.”

Since she had started coming to her senses regularly aboard the Charybdis, Pinkfae had exhibited no memory of how she came to be in Movalpolas, or what had happened to her to put her in such a state. Frequently she became confused and tired, and still slept whole days away. Tikinas worried about her fellow Mithra constantly, and in light of recent events, Ayn could hardly blame her. Somewhere inside of him, he was relieved to find that whatever happened back in Bastok had not spread to Norg, but he told himself it was simply because it was good to know he still had a safe place to lay low until it all blew over.

His hand shot up as soon as he heard the whistle in the air, but a second too late to stop the knife heading towards him. It shot straight over his shoulder and embedded itself in the wall with a resounding “thunk.” Unconsciously, Ayn ground his teeth together in consternation. In between the time it had taken Ayn to raise his arm and the knife to hit the wall, Tikinas had drawn her twin kunai blades, but rolled her eyes as she relaxed her stance, knowing all too well what was going on.

“Still too slow, lad,” laughed a resonant voice nearby, and the familiar lined face of President came stepping into view, the lusty Argentina behind him. Garbed in his plainly well-made black-and-gold coat, the sleeves pouring over the backs of his scarred and weathered hands, he came forward with a smile. His eyes were bright and sharp, and his salt-and-pepper hair was mostly covered by the simple cap he wore. Unlike Argentina, only President’s fine coat gave any indication of station or rank, the rest of his garb was summarily plain. For her part, the red-headed first mate looked like she had stepped straight out of a storybook fantasy of high seas marauders.

Ayn took a hold of his mentor’s hand as it was extended, clasping it in a firm embrace which was immediately pulled into a rough hug by the older man. “Ye’ll catch it someday, Ayn,” President encouraged, releasing the Thief as he pulled his knife from the wall, replacing it beneath his coat. For close to ten years now he’d been saying that, but it seemed in the span of that decade President’s skills had improved right alongside Ayn’s, and he’d never been able to pass that last particular test. “So how’s it feel t’be back home?”

“Nauseating,” Ayn replied sourly, folding his arms. “And it’s noisier here than I remember.” The faint sound of echoing footfalls in the distance put truth to his complaint. Normally Norg by night rivaled mortuaries for tranquility.

“Aye, near every pirate on the seas has put down anchor here since this whole business with the demons started on the mainland.” The link between the pirates of Norg and the Tenshodo rubbed his chin as a worried look creased his brow. “All of ‘em had their routes disrupted by th’ attack ‘n fled for what seemed safest. Just about every sea dog and buccaneer for a thousand leagues an’ their crews are holed up here now. Ain’t been a disruption o’ business this catastrophic since the Crystal War, lad, and by th’ looks of things, it ain’t aiming t’ get any better.”

Ayn moved his shoulders uncomfortably, and Tikinas placed her hands over him again. President smiled warmly at the sight of them together. “Things will get better though,” the ninja asked, “right?”

President opened his mouth to respond, but instead cast a sidelong look at Argentina. The tall woman shared a grimace with him, and then the two looked back at the duo in front of them.

“You’d better come with us,” Argentina said.

“HE wants to see you.”

Ayn felt a knot forming in his stomach. It was going to get a lot harder to be a thief before the day was out.


The interior most chamber in Norg was also its most impressive. Tapestries depicting battles so ancient that they were no longer in written recorded history flowed down off of walls made of finely hewn oak, one of the few places in Norg where an actual man-made structure existed. Behind the large wooden desk in the middle of the room, most of which was covered by a thick and luxurious carpet sewn a hundred years past and which had once rested in Chateau d’Oraguille, the banner of Norg hung from the ceiling, a pronouncement to all who entered. Here and there chests lined the walls, some empty and dusty, others brimming with coin and gems. Paintings Ayn could not quite decipher were hung with care from the wall, filled with images of everything from the Goddess Altana to shadowy and confusing paintings that emanated a sense of dread. A Samurai’s kabuto sat atop the desk, empty eye holes staring out into nothing. The one thing every item in the room from the silver candlesticks to the standing suit of armor had in common was that they had all at one point belonged to someone else, and that their original owner had not willingly parted with them.

In the middle of the room was its owner, the brain behind the nerve center of Norg. His one good eye peered out as President entered, followed by Argentina, and then Ayn and Tikinas. His arms were folded in a stance that suggested he had a knife in each white-gloved hand waiting to be delivered. All of what he wore was either black or white, even the thick mane of hair tied back behind his head. Only the red leather patch covering his vacant socket varied in color. The old Elvaan man did not look aged so much as he did weathered, like a rock which had faced he elements for years without number. His voice, a harsh rasp of gravel on glass, played perfectly into the image.

“Welcome back,” the Elvaan greeted with a nod, not unfolding his arms.

“Gilgamesh,” President said with an incline of his head to the man who was in all respects a business partner, “we received your summons, and here we are.” He shifted his glance meaningfully back towards Ayn and Tikinas. “All of us.”

“So ye’re finally back,” he said in a snarl, the smile on his face more closely resembling a wolf baring its teeth than any sort of reflection of joy. “I was beginnin’ t’ think ye’d been tossed in some dungeon somewhere, what with how little ye send word.”

“I’ve been keeping myself busy,” Ayn replied with practiced avoidance. Fortunately that kind of attitude was rarely questioned in Norg. “Now seemed like the time to come home, Gilgamesh.”

“Aye, that it is,” Gilgamesh replied. The undisputed leader of all the pirates in western waters, the old man commanded the wealth and power of empires, and ran it all from a village that could fit inside the central square of Bastok Markets. “I won’t lie t’ ye, Ayn, th’ situation is grim. There’s foul magic runnin’ amok, and it’s only location that’s saved us thus far, an’ we know it won’t last.”

“Gilgamesh has opened Norg to any refugee that can be found,” Argentina said, stepping forward to the pirate’s side as he craned his neck slightly to look her in the eye. “The news we get from the mainland is increasingly bad. Whole villages have been wiped out, and the ones that are enslaved wish they had been. Jeuno, San d’Oria, and Bastok have all gone dark, and we fear the worst. Only Windurst is still standing, but everything we hear from our agents that make it back to us from there tells us that won’t be the case for long.”

“So it’s time to pack up and move east?” Ayn wondered, looking about the room.

President shook his head. “Maybe if this were a normal war of men, I’d be like t’ agree with ye, but this concerns everyone on Vana’diel that walks in Altana’s light.”

“Walking in the light isn’t part of what we do.”

President shared a look with Gilgamesh and Argentina, and then the two looked back at Ayn. Tikinas unconsciously took a guarding step closer to him as two and a half sets of eyes fell upon them.

“Bein’ perfectly frank, lad,” Gilgamesh said, President and Argentina both beside him now, “I’ve been doin’ a lot of readin’ up on what’s goin’ on, ‘n it don’t look good for us. Sittin’ here across th’ sea won’t keep us safe for long, and headin’ east’ll just delay th’ inevitable. Dynamis has come t’ Vana’diel, Ayn, an’ it won’t stop until all who live ‘n breath are consumed by an ever-lasting nightmare. Their first strike hit us hard, bloodied us up, but we ain’t sunk yet. We’re mobilizin’ here as best we can, tryin’ t’ be smart about it.”

“As it stands now, Ayn,” President said grimly, “we’re the resistance.” He rubbed a thick finger across his chin, assessing the increasingly wary look in the eyes of his apprentice. “An’ we’d like t’ know that we can count on ye t’ help us out.”

Just like that, the trap closed shut around him. He should’ve known, he thought to himself, you don’t go in to a nest of vipers without one of them trying to bite you. Now the three most venomous snakes in the pit were coiled around him, and as President, Argentina, and Gilgamesh stared at him, he could feel their fangs sinking in. He didn’t care what the situation with the world was. They were trying to drag him back into the life he had railed against since the day he left Norg. He meant to be his own man, not some tool to be used by the Tenshodo or anyone else. Once someone like Gilgamesh, or even President, he admitted to himself, was in control of your fate, your life would never be your own again.

“You’ve got a lot of people here now,” he said, shifting his weight towards the door as Tikinas slid imperceptibly closer to him, her fingers twitching. “I don’t think one more is going to make a difference at this point.”

“Ayn, I know how you feel about this business, an’ I respect it,” President said solemnly, “but this is no damn time t’ be actin’ like a stubborn mule. Everyone here is doin’ their part, and if you’re gonna stay here, you’re gonna pitch in, too.”

“Saving the world isn’t any of my business,” the thief said flatly, putting up a hand as he turned away. “You’ve got the wrong man.”

“We’ll do our part while we’re here in Norg,” Tikinas added, now clearly in front of Ayn, a buffer between him and the other three, “but we made it clear a long time ago that we were done with accepting missions. We have our own problems.”

“I don’t want ye t’ save th’ world,” Gilgamesh said darkly, lowering his brow, “I want ye t’ save Norg.”

Ayn and Tikinas looked at each other sharply, and then back at the pirate king.

“What are you talking about?”

“I told ye before,” he replied to Ayn, “it’s only a matter a’ time before what hit Mindartia and Quon comes here, an’ it might already be too late.”

“Something’s happening in Ifrit’s Cauldron,” Argentina said gravely, her slim fingers dancing across the hilt of her curved blue-and-black blade. “Everyone with a touch of magic in them says it’s unnatural, and it’s getting stronger.”

“We’re doin’ what we can here, Ayn,” President put forward, “but if someone workin’ for th’ other side buries Sea Serpent Grotto in a river of lava, or brings th’ whole blasted island down into th’ sea, that’s the end of all of us, and from everything we’ve seen so far, you’d better believe it’s something they can do.”

“All we’re askin’, lad,” Gilgamesh concluded, “is that ye go up to th’ volcano and see what ye can find. If it’s somethin’ big, ye can run back here ‘n tell us, an’ we’ll take care of it. We just can’t spare the manpower right now without bein’ sure it’s a clear ‘n present threat t’ what we’re doin’ here.”

“Ifrit’s Cauldron is the most dangerous place in the world,” Tikinas objected. “If something went wrong the two of us wouldn’t stand a chance of making it out alive.”

Once again, President and Argentina exchanged a look. Ayn wondered if he and Tikinas would ever reach the point where they had entire conversations in a glance.

“Well ye see,” President half-mumbled, scratching the back of his head as he suddenly turned to examine a painting on the wall far away from eye contact with Ayn, “we weren’t thinkin’ you’d be going alone . . . “

It took Ayn a moment to appreciate the implication. “Oh no,” he said with a voice of indignation, “you can’t be serious.”

Gilgamesh’s single eye seemed intent on drilling a hole through Ayn as Tikinas’s arms drooped helplessly to her side. “You can’t possibly mean,” she started, “it’s just . . . it’s too cruel . . .”

“I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t absolutely necessary,” President replied sincerely.

“I won’t do it,” Ayn rejected, “I won’t. It just isn’t worth it. There’s no way. Absolutely no way.”


“Hooray!” Zealot said, lifting his arms up as the chains on them fell to the ground. “We’re best friends again.”

“Shut up,” Ayn snapped, trying hard to unclench his teeth as he walked past Greyheart and Menphis. Greyheart responded with a smile as he rubbed his sore wrists, Menphis only stared darkly. “You follow me, you don’t ask questions, and if you even look in a direction I don’t tell you to look in, your life ends. Those are the terms of your release. Tiki?”

The ninja wordlessly flashed a kunai into her hand, the gleaming surface reflecting the three faces of the Warrior, Red Mage, and Ranger. She had donned her mask again, two iron-hard eyes the Mithra’s only means of communication. They spoke volumes.

“No worries boss,” Greyheart said, the Elvaan nodding his head in acquiescence. “So where are we – “ he stopped himself as Ayn flashed him a burying look. “Ah, that is to say, lead the way, Master Ayn.”

“Good,” he growled. “Your things are being held outside. Get what you can grab and meet me at the gate up to the jungle. Tikinas will be watching you the whole time. You try to make a break for it, we’ll keep the foot you lead with as a souvenir.”

Menphis said nothing. The young Ranger rarely opened his mouth in the first place, since their untimely arrest at Ayn’s behest he had grown moodier still. Ayn quietly wondered about the wisdom of putting a gun back in his hands. Snatching his deep green cloak from the guard at the door, he slung it over his shoulders and walked out, eyes watching his every move. The thief snorted derisively at him.

“At least he’s moving. You stay here in this cell and I’ll lock you back in. Now get going.”

Zealot and Greyheart both looked at the Hume, then each other, and then immediately broke for the door.

Ayn ran a hand down his face, gazing up into the air for strength. He finally thought he was free of this group of morons, and they get thrust back into his lap.

He took a steadying breath and strode out, moving quickly towards the hidden tunnels leading out of the village and into the jungles above. It was going to be a long, long trip to Ifrit’s Cauldron.