Savior of Skysteel
Forename, is it? Well, Forename, allow me to welcome you once more to the Skysteel Manufactory! As I mentioned before, 'tis our charge to develop and manufacture weapons designed for slaying dragon invaders. ...But pray forget about those tired old inventions. The future lies in machinistry─a technology that weds the genius of Master Garlond's magitek with traditional aetherology. Every single one of my latest creations employs the principles of this unique discipline. And in the steady hands of trained machinists, my new inventions are going to alter the very face of warfare! Though I would dearly love to expand upon my revolutionary theories, we should begin by familiarizing you with the tools of the trade, so to speak. Have you time now for a brief lesson...?
Splendid! Now, the first thing you must learn is the proper technique for handling a fire─ Hmmm. Where in the hells is our master of marksmanship? I swear the man is never about when I need him most. How dreadfully embarrassing. Here I've mercilessly piqued your interest, and now I must ask you to call again at a later convenience. Mayhap the next time you visit, our instructor will deign to put in an appearance. Then we can outfit you with the equipment necessary to learn basic marksmanship, and I might explain to you the particulars of the machinist's profession.
I-I'm afraid he's gone for good this time, me lordship! ...Left a letter of resignation on your workbench, and all.
Confound the man! We cannot afford to lose such a pivotal employee at this crucial juncture in our growth! Joye! Prepare mine accoutrements! I shall drag that scoundrel back by the lapels if need be!
B-But, me lordship! We ain't even sure of where to start lookin'...
...You make a salient point, my dear. Hmmm. My prospectometer points to the lands of La Noscea. Ah, yes, I should've realized that he would return to his homeland.
L-La Noscea, me lordship? Are you sure you want to go there? I hear it's a nasty place, where folk'll clout you across the face as soon as look at you.
Aye, well, I must admit to little familiarity with its environs. ...Hark, Joye! The prospectometer chirps again! Of course! Our aspiring machinist! We shall have the worldly Forename here act as our guide! For an explorer who has braved the harshest corners of Eorzea, the wilds of La Noscea must be akin to a garden path! Is that not so?
- (Q: Is that not so?)
- A1: Aye, 'tis but a garden path!
You see, Joye? My prospectometer never steers me awry. You will consent to guide us, then, Forename?
- A2: Er, I wouldn't go that far...
Now, now─no false modesty! Whatever knowledge you have of the place must far exceed ours, no matter your protestations. You will consent to guide us, will you not?
Then 'tis settled! Joye here, in addition to her loyal service to House Haillenarte, is the finest shot in the manufactory. As a novice machinist, I suggest you mark her technique well during our little jaunt to La Noscea. ...Speaking of which, we must needs decide upon a somewhat less vague destination. Ah, I seem to recall our absent instructor mentioning companions from a “Camp Overlook.” Let that be our first port of call!
We must have our master of marksmanship back...
House Haillenarte gave me work as a maid, but his lordship insisted I try me hand at bein' a machinist...
Upper La Noscea
Ugh, what a stench! I think I'm going to be sick...
So, this is Camp Overlook. Indeed, its inhabitants do seem the type to clout a man in the face in place of a “how do you do?” Shall we make some inquiries after our prematurely retired instructor? Let us rendezvous at this spot once we've gathered what intelligence we may.
A bloke late o' Ishgard? Aye, there was a stranger come about, askin' after one of our lads. Told 'im the sorry sod 'e was lookin' for was in the cabin by the lift, restin' up from an axe wound.
...Aye, I've seen 'im, alright. Got 'imself a cold reception, too. Ye can't come apologizin' for a deed a decade old, an' just expect to be forgiven...
Hm? Ye mean that big Roegadyn bastard? Ye'll find 'im pacin' the boards in front o' the infirmary. Some o' the lads seem to know the bloke, but no bugger seems eager to say 'ow...
How fared your interrogations? 'Twould seem our man came here but to visit an old acquaintance. ...In the vicinity of the winch, you say? Let us investigate this infirmary, then!
Were the conditions of your employment not satisfactory? Return with us to the manufactory, and we can discuss more favorable terms!
Leave me be! One more step, an' I'll blow yer yappin' jaw off!
Joye! If you please!
You shite-eatin' bastard! Next time I'll aim for the shaft 'twixt your thighs!
Are you not proud? 'Twas you who taught Joye everything she knows about shooting...and spitting colorful profanity, besides.
Aye, the lass's learned me lessons well. Well enough to be yer new master o' marksmanship, I'd wager.
Do you think so!? Oh, but no, Joye is far too busy with her duties at the manor house. And besides! We have this budding machinist who is simply dying to learn from the great Rostnsthal!
Buffalo shite. Any scrag who's known me would rather I did the dyin'.
Oooh, just look at you─the epitome of a roguish swashbuckler! Why ever did you cease brandishing your weapon in that fashion?
'Cause only pirate scum 'old a firearm like this. An' I ain't gonna teach the machinist way to no 'opeless, sausage-fingered 'venturer what ye dragged in off the street.
Then...you are saying that if our sausage-fingered adventurer shows a glimmer of hope, you will consent to instruct him!? Did you hear that, Forename!? This is your chance to display your aptitude for marksmanship! Here─I took the liberty of packing some extra tools of the trade. Convince our reluctant instructor that you are serious in your intentions!
Ye know, lad, ye strike me as mighty familiar... Could swear ye was around when... Bah, ye know what? Forget it.
Hmph. Ye've the look of a Lominsan 'venturer about ye.
...Not from around these parts, are ye? Fine, Stephanivien. I'll give yer whelp one bloody chance─one lesson to see what <if:she's/'e's> made of.
The fate of the Skysteel Manufactory─nay, the very future of machinistry─is in your sausage-fingered hands! Take up your weapon, and aim for the stars!