“…open the Gate.”

“A vintage sharper than a Cirillo is proof of a bad vineyard.”

— Some bitter scholar, probably.

The reputation of that family grew larger than them, if only just; a son fancying himself an adventurer, off to lands east despite his family. Or to spite his family. Akin to his forebears, he turned his gaze to the truth writ in the constellations.

Much more complicated his story is than I have time to pen down. Beyond his troubled or privileged upbringing — depending on your point of view — he has made a name for himself amongst Eorzea’s brightest and fiercest, and even those beyond mortal realms, namely a minacious sort. Not difficult to believe he caught the attention of many — possessing the Shroud as his stage, his performance was quite a spectacle to behold.

Nowadays, it appears he frequents taverns, flapping his gob with fellow patrons. Lovely, I am certain that life would be, but a story is underway and all of its characters are needed.

I never dropped one of these keys into liquid before, I truly hope there are no vile side effects should he consider drinking from his glass!