Constantine Charneoux

CONSTANTINE CHARNEOUX
"Libertine"

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STATS

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Name ; Constantine Charneoux
Age ; Mid 30's
Occupation ; Criminal
Family ; None

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LIKES

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Silence
Art of Warfare
Psychology and Philosophy
Thin-veiled Cigars
Whiskey
Classical Music
Books

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DISLIKES

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Cheap Food

Prologue; How our youth defines us

(The following is written in the form of Journal entries)

"Imagine the following ; Your name is Lucien, born to a family of Garleans in high standing. You spend your days almost carefree. Your Mother, a migrant from off-shore, is, in your eyes, the most beautiful women you have ever laid eyes upon, your Father the distant embodient of strength and nobility you aspire towards. You're no older then... 8, perhaps 9 years old, and already your father grooms you to take his spot some day. To become his right hand man, his cherished son. He doesn't rely much on your brothers or sisters, as he knows they're not..you. You're privilegued, through and through, and you enjoy it. You notice it ofcourse, but you're more of the responsible type. When you see your sisters and brothers in a bad mood, you help them up or cheer them up. When your father wants your attention, you give it to him. Even to the refugees, to whom you owe nothing, and everyone else averts their eyes from, you bring lunch at times, or other things.

So far, so good. Now Imagine..that this rather safe, almost silver spoon life is about to end for you, within less then 24 hours. Why you ask? Because your father gambled, and this time, too high. He lost, found himself discovered in his political ploy, and now 'everyone' would pay the price. For the first time in your life, you see dread in your fathers eyes as he comes home to your estate, running, his own cousin in town as he screams your mothers name and that of your breathren. "Gather everyone, NOW" Is all you hear.

You ofcourse are scared out of your wits aswell. There's something that connects children deeply to their parents feelings..If they feel sad, the children feel it. If they feel afraid, the children do. Your father is a pale statue by now. You're trembling just as much. Your own mother screams at your Father, crying, upset to the bone. You've never seen any of them this way. You can hear the doors at the lower levels of the Estate being blown in, the walls shaking. Your Uncle grabs you by your wrist, your mother grasps your sisters and brothers and you Run. Ofcourse, you yell that you want to be with your mother, but your Uncle pays no attention to your pleas. He yanks you along, because that is what he promised your father. A vow he has to hold with gritting teeth. This wasn't his fight, and he didn't want to do this. Altruism some call it, 'sticking to your word' do others. Whatever it was, you find yourself hauled away to the distant screams of your mother and father.. Shipped off, to the shores of Eorzea.

Your Uncle exchanges no kind words with you. Here you are, a terrified young boy who's whole world is falling apart, and your uncle is this grim statue with not a single glance aimed to you. Not a single soft word spoken. Not even a modicum of attention granted to you. You feel there's something horribly wrong about all of this.. and even though you want to trust this man, because he is family, and your only hold.. you feel that there's no safety anymore..nothing to shield you. You make your way over to him in the shadows of the shipdeck, cuddle to his side and try to blend out what you heard, what you saw. And your Uncle, reluctantly, wraps his arm around you.

A few days later, the travel is over. You arrive in the city state of Ul'dah. Traveling in a carriage, your Uncle narrows his eyes as he tell you the following..life defining words;

"Listen up, Lucien. I did this because I promised your father I would ensure you would reach Eorzea safely. And so I did. The way I see it..my debt is paid, as 'your father' would say ..In the name of the Wolf, your Father is one moron, you know that? He destroyed the dynasty of your family and their heritage because he couldn't play ball. Oh well..my debt is paid one way or another. Do yourself a favor. Don't tell anyone you're Garlean unless you want to die. Now Get off my damn Cart."

You're shocked, you want to cry, but all you manage before feeling the tall Hyurs boot at your chest is a scowl at your fathers name taken in vein and a following mixture of pained grunts as you hit the floor near a sidestreet. You're also confused.. how could this man you called Uncle, this man you consider 'family', do something like this to you?

..The carriage takes off, and you realize..that very moment.

...That the life you once led was over. You're on your own. And nothing, and no one, will help you.

Now, You're probably wondering why I want you to get into that mindset, and to have you imagine all those things. Well, you hold this particular diary in your hand, so I presume that I am either dead, or you don't cherish your life very much. Whichever it is; This is the Chapter of many to come..to hold testimony to my acts in my life, why I lived the way I lived, how some of the tales you may know have been spun around me...and most importantly;

Why I so deeply hate and love all of Hyurkind at the same time.

Chapter I; The Streets of Ul'dah

or; How there's nothing more sincere then Hunger

So then..Here I was. Eight years old, abandoned, lost, and confused. No parents to call my own anymore, no brothers or sisters to rely on. I was negatively overwhelmed back then. I remember walking through the streets of Ul'dah, pleading for someone to listen or help. The generic response was ignorance, feigned ignorance, or straightout dismissal. Granted. I seemed like a beggar, an Orphan childe pestering nobles. Still, It didn't take much for me to realize that I couldn't rely on a 'noble' heart helping me. The initial four months where the hardest. Sleeping on haystacks when chocobo trainers didn't look, stealing food from the bazaar just to be caught in a sidestreet and beat to a pulp by the very merchant you stole from. If it wasn't for my 'foster' family, that being the other orphans that helped and supported eachother, I would've found myself dead within the first weeks. As terrible as things where, we atleast had eachother to rely upon. However, even that was not enough once, during a certain winter.. the amount of beggars and refugees had grown considerable. It was a free for all, everyone for himself struggle to gain a bit of food here and there..and whatever we had, we sometimes shared, but most times kept to ourselves.

It didn't take long until the Criminals of Ul'dahs underbelly took notice of us. Young, needy boys and girls looking for ways to survive, willing to do 'anything' for shelter and a bit of food. Soon, we saw ourselves employed as the ears and eyes of these criminals. For a lumb of bread and a few berries we'd stake out the streets and keep our ears to the ground, try to find out what they wanted us to find out. Mind you' a lumb of bread spread amongst four or five orphans atleast. If we didn't, well. I'll let your imagination fill the blanks of what criminals are capable of doing to young children for 'fun' or 'discipline'.

This routine kept going over the years.. ofcourse, the rewards grew with our tasks, but never where we given enough to have any illusions of leaving the lower city. Ofcourse.. we all dreamt, and hoped for a better life. But most of us knew that these where just hopes. It seemed we where destined to suffer this existence, with no way out. That was ofcourse

I believe that the turning point back then for me was a fateful, single winter night. one of the Orphans that I consider my closest friend, and I set out to steal a bit more bread and apples for our little group as we hadn't seen work for two weeks, and therein where more then starved. Hunger once more forced our hands, and we set out to the bazaar. We ran to the next best cart and stole a handful of apples, two lumbs of bread and made haste.

..Much to our dismay however, the Merchant was faster, and caught us.

Now, before I continue..I'd like you all to remember one thing before you judge; Unless you have ever been in those shoes, don't presume to understand the nature of someone in the peculiar predicament that I and my friend found myself in. Either way;..

..There we where, cornered in a sidestreet, clinging onto those apples and those lumbs of bread. Usually we knew better then to refuse adults..but, this peculiar night, we just couldn't fathom letting go of our food. We needed it. And so we refused to give it back. The Merchant in question lost his faculties at that point. I still remember how it felt clutching the bread, while that boot smashed into my back over and over, with the merchants venom laced voice screaming for us to let go of it, and how much of a pest we where to Ul'dahs society.

The problem was; this was normal. it became abnormal for me when he grabbed a nearby pipe and decided to really get into beating my friend. Hearing his voice crack and his screams echo in my head made something click inside of me. Akin to a realization. If he wouldn't stop, my friend would die. It seemed that was all I need. that, and seeing him press his boot into the lumb of bread my friend was still clutching with his hand..and therein hearing the bones in his palm crack and grind. With whatever strength I could muster, I got up.. grasped a pipe of my own and rammed it into the mans leg. I believe that part in shock, part in pain, he let go of his own metal pipe and collapsed, screaming and cursing me with every vile word we knew and a few we didn't know. But I didn't care. Not anymore. I took the pipe he dropped, and began to beat on his skull. I told my friend that I didn't remember what happened, but I did. I had beaten on his skull so often that, what was left, was a mangled mass of flesh,bone,and skin.. my hands trembled in over exhaustion.

And perhaps for the first time in several years, I felt free.

I felt liberated.