Constantine Charneoux
"Libertine"
STATS
Name ; Constantine Charneoux
Age ; Mid 30's
Occupation ; Criminal
Family ; None
LIKES
Silence
Art of Warfare
Psychology and Philosophy
Thin-veiled Cigars
Whiskey
Classical Music
Books
DISLIKES
Cheap Food
"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.
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.
Following that Event, I changed drastically over time. I became cold, distant from my fellow Orphans. Not because I didn't care for them.. it was simply a new focus that I held. Talking was pointless, cheering eachother up was pointless to me. What mattered where results. To see to it that we where fed, that we where clothed, that we had somewhere to sleep. So I found myself seeking audience by a local crime boss. I don't know if he may've seen in my eyes that I was determined, or that I had a killers instinct in me, but I asked for work, and I got it. These where my first steps into Ul'dahs underworld. As an Enforcer and henchmen to a local criminal outfit. At days I'd be instructed and trained by their older, more experienced thugs, and nights I'd set out and clear debts and lifes of those that had missed their payments or refused to do so. And if business was slow, I'd bounce at the doors of their more prominent Whorehouses..or take care of the ladies in the establishments. Ensuring they behaved and had all they required.
It wasn't long until I had made a commendable degree of Gil that I used to feed many of my Orphan friends..help them out of their poverty, and in turn gain their undying loyalty. Up to this day, some of them work for me as informants, as brokers or henchmen. I've to admit..as much sentiment I might have to them, I already had lost any notion of friendship to them at that point. If only because they tended to look at me like a monster. They took my gil with greeting and grateful hands, but still dared to judge me on a moral principle. If it hadn't been for me, they would probably still roam the streets amongst the other Refugees now. But back then, I related to their notions. I felt like a Monster. My fathers words of nobility, honor and pride still stuck deep with me, which is why I found myself often struggling and out right refusing tasks given to me. I had made it a point to only strike at those I deemed 'Vile' or evil in that sense. If you simply struggled in life and sought to make ends meet I may've put the proverbial screw to you, but nothing else.
However; If you exploited the weak, and indulged in violence, I made sure to make a vivid example of you and whoever joined you. It didn't take long until I was granted my first theatralic moniker in the underworld. 'The Undertaker'. I had become somewhat of a spook story amongst thugs and thieves. Where others feared for the boogeyman, criminals looked behind their back for 'The Undertaker'. To me it was all the same. I was a Criminal feisting on the lifes of other Criminals that deserved no better. This went over the course of a year..until, as it had to happen due to my brashness;
I was caught by the 'lawful and righteous' of Ul'dah. Alas; I was imprisoned, to serve a sentence for my 'vile transgression' and endangerement to the locals of Ul'dah.
Prison was another rather...eye opening experience. It was there where I established my truly important connections.. It was also there where I was approached by the men and women that I would call my teachers and master for the following decade.
So, here I was. In the moist, stench-riddled prison of Ul'dah. It was certainly a harsh and shaping experience, but therein valuable beyond all means. Prison forced me to take time and look into myself. To understand myself. To think about my fathers words..about morality, about myself. It was also a learning experience, as the first days in prison where horrible. I functioned well when I was surrounded by others, or in a fight, or drowned in alcohol. I didn't do so well on my own, where my innermost thoughts surfaced. The first few weeks I cried seeing what has become of me. The following weeks I was livid for those that had forced me into this. Spiteful at my Father for having ruined our lifes, Vengeful towards my Uncle who saw his own needs above helping poor little me. Filled with Hatred against the Nobility and upper classes of Ul'dah that wiped their asses with papers that could afford us full meals in winter nights.
It was during those nights of contemplation and seething anger that I was approached by a black clad figure, hooded and overall enigmatic in his presence. He introduced himself with a politness and tone that made me want to spit in his face outright. But alas; I was behind bars, and he was on the opposite side. Whatever he had to say; I'd atleast listen.
What followed was something I didn't expect. The man introduced himself as Vargren Sor'ata. Thaumaturge and follower of the dark arts above all else. He had heard of my exploits in the underworld, and moreso kept his eyes on me over a few weeks. He proposed a deal to me, like many before him have. He sought a viable... successor. He had plenty of students, but, in his words ; "They lacked the conviction and willstrength' to push past moral boundaries and notions of comfort and safety. Indeed, the Thaumaturge was plagued by well fed aristrocrats and their children, with deep pockets and a desire to dabble with the Occult. None of them taking their exploits seriously, none of them understanding what power truly was, or how one obtained it. Vargran hoped that I, would be the anti-thesis to them, as I was hungry, ambitious, and devoid of any true moral notions since the age of 17.
Now..I believe I don't have to explain that this was an offer I would've never refused. A man willing to grant me power and knowledge, and in exchange he wanted nothing else then to have a successor. A man plagued by his knowledge not finding the suitable figures to be taught to. I accepted, and within days, found myself paid out of Prison by a 'mysterious beneficiary'. Later I would find out that it was one of Vargrens students that paid for my Prison sentence.
A few days later I was introduced into 'Nald'Thals Eye'. The Occult ring Vargren led, where I would learn all I would have to learn about Aether, Thaumaturgy and so much more.
