16th Sun of the First Astral Moon
Transcribed by King Ismene
“They recalled me to Sharlayan just. To have. Me make. Furniture." You emphasized each word with a punch, brutalizing some poor device made for that purpose. "I had to call off of my job, rush my current assignments, cancel plans with family and friends— just to tan hides for some Sharlayan researcher with a sore ass. The sheer audacity would be commendable if I wasn't thinking about the dozen ways I could dress them and tan their hides. I have connections in Eorzea, which is why they've me on a leash there, and yet they pull me away on a whim for something that erroneous?" You let out a frustrated cry, followed by a particularly violent assault on your target. "I'm not looking forward to my weekly Ishgard trip, especially not the travel to get there. I'm sick of trying to make to make it work... Both the travel and, well, working there." You lowered your fists and rested your forehead against the device. "I'm... It's... Not somewhere I belong. I was hoping I could be someone who did belong, but I think it might just be impossible. Just another tiger that can't change its stripes. Godsdamnit."
— Fyrne