Laias Dalamiq

 biography  Far into the North, birthed under the dim red light of a yurt lantern, Laias opened his eyes to the wide, illuminating stares of the Dalamiq tribe. Their principles were intense, and their devotion to their god centered on those actions and resolve. Many of them take their interpretation of the moon as a guide for how they should live. Lucky for the child, then, for he grew up valuing kindness and integrity, understanding that Dalamud was forever watching, even split; that it would always be beside him in comfort and through despair. Laias became a jubilant young man. While their tribe's skirmishes always cause morale to drop and suffer, willpower was always a powerful deterrent.However, these efforts were sometimes met with disdain as the Dalamiq's were often criticized for their ignorant reverie, and Laias never having to be there for the older, more intense conversations of conflict, he was not a reliable source of comfort to his tribes eyes. By their nature, faith must be proven under pressure. Comfort is seen as weakness unless earned through hardship. Dalamud is not just watching -- it's judging resolve in adversity. The women of Dalamiq continued to grind teachings into Laias' mind, though his eyes often wandered to the backs of their warriors.The kindred spirit of their tribe eventually earned the wrath of a shameful Naadam, coming in last to the entire Azim Steppe. Criticism threw itself into the heart of the Dalamiq people after another public fight, and their biting words were cut short as demands for them to be subsumed into another tribe began. Laias sought authority to be there for his people, and opportunity reared its ugly head: He departed from his tribe on an expedition to reinstate their faith in their very god. Off, was he, to Eorzea.

He saw the graves from the tragedy before people confessed to memory. Recalling the calamity had shrunk those who were victims of Laias' questions, their words hiding years of guilt and solemn resentment. Bile rose at the back of his throat when trying to comfort those who had lost someone to the very god he and his tribe prayed for. The stages of grief assaulted him, and the resolve to help the Dalamiq tribe turned into sleepless nights, drowned in vices he could never remember. On one of those outings, Laias had learned of the Carteneau Flats and her ruins. The remnants of Dalamud hid under its blood soil. No crisis of faith could be challenged when the very proof was ripe for his hands. Preparations for the Flats had begun.There were no fond complications of travel as the world-naive man had to advertise himself to expeditions. Many of them refused him outright. Shadier tactics gave way to desperate pleas as weeks turned into months. Eventually, through word of mouth, he had learned of the compromises: the civilized skirmishes that the Grand Alliance allowed within the Borderland Ruins. He strangled the window of opportunity and milked it for all it was worth. Under the guise of a fighter, he would take to the field with a sword and leave with the shards that he could chip away from the red moons' debris. Within the year, he made two successful trips. After his third, he never returned to Carteneau.The sky mirrored the Allagan tiles. No stars shone through the gathering storm of black and red; the sun had fully disappeared behind her entourage. On Laias' third expedition to the Flats, meteors plummeted into the earth, and the screams scored the air. There was no structure to the fighting. The ruins were burning. Dirigibles moved overhead in ungainly panic. People turned into beasts after their cries exhausted them, continuing their savagery onto the next weeping soldier. Monsters dispatched the defenders with appalling ferocity, punching horn-hard nails through throats, savaging with their predatory teeth until their chins were sopped with blood, salivating and growling with bloodlust. Throughout Carteneau, calls from dying Lieutenants beckoned to all who listened: "The Final Days are here! Do not give in to the suffering! Do not give in to misery! Do not react!"By midnight, the irregular staccato of gunfire had ceased to its final chord. No man or woman roamed the Flats, only malformed brutes. Laias was clumsy with fear, which welled up like vomit in him. He hovered outside his hiding spot, standing in blood, his hand poised over the handle of his sword, held back by terror. He battled with himself, utterly unsure of what to do. When he had raised his eyes and looked up in cold horror at the stretch of damaged land. Everything Laias saw seemed slowed. Then, he began to walk. He trekked as if through freezing water. Three miles. One hour until he exits Carteneau. He must not feel. He must not remember -- lest he turn into one of those savages.

Each step took minutes of deliberation. His adrenaline was soaked with blood. Throughout the trek, he forced his mind into complete, submissive control. The cries were muffled by mindful terror, and physical strain had opted to bleed through his palms, where his nails had dug in every time he hid a sob. Mantras turned into prayers, prayers turned into hope for death, and the longing for despair had to be violently removed for the sake of survival. The cycle repeated relentlessly until he saw the unblemished horizon finally bloom past the hillside. Laias flopped with ugly motion, like a sea-thing beached. Similar to the smoke from the Carteneau fires, something had spread over him that night, and it remained: a traumatizing uncertainty, a rancor.In the aftermath of his exhaustion, Laias awoke in Snowcloak, being tended to by the Ishgardian members of the Grand Alliance. He didn't recount anything he saw or did, and voluntarily accepted the bleak assumptions of fellow soldiers as the weeks went on. News of the Final Days had breached -- that terror of said cataclysm was over. That the Warrior of Light and the scions had vanquished the misery put forth. Many cheered. Laias wrapped his hands around his necklace of Dalamud and wept in thought.Since then, he has not returned to the Azim Steppe. Laias finds himself in Mor Dhona, assisting field researchers in their study of Dalamud's debris, watching them scrape and chip away at his faith with a wistful look as he waits for their beck and call.He had learned the truth of what once brought him purpose and hope. There was now a responsibility to return to the Dalamiq tribe, to home, and inform them of what had happened to their sole devotion. But the struggle of faith shook that very core -- Dalamud did not save him. Principle did not save him. If he could not withstand calamity, how could his home? Does he have the right to take away the belief that defines his people?Perhaps, one day, he will allow himself to confront what he has buried. Until then, the Dalamiq will forever pray to the sundered god, filling their souls with a hope that will never betray them. A belief that will never manifest and never devour one another into a throng of suffering like he once saw.

 personality  While luck may have it that Laias did not adopt the fanaticism and all of its adjacent features other Dalamiq usually adorn, the recessive traits have worn themselves on his sleeve. Rigid as he may be when considering the good character of those he meets, there are slivers of the once-gleeful youth he used to parade. Laias is a determined, low-maintenance individual who wants very little direction, yet loathes to admit the need for it in an unknown world.

"i used to pray to a crystal made by man. not divine, not some holy spirit. someone with bloody palms and wrinkled fingertips."

However, lapses in judgment are not uncommon with his social ability. He is still a man of faith for a fallen god, and the pride he has for his people is not subtle. There is an unnatural, languid obsession in his observations of others. While kind, he does not welcome those weak of heart and mind into his life, and those who do flock to his side often are kept at arm's length.