Weight and Worth
The coin pouch made a distinct sound when it hit the table — dense, full, a quiet thud of affirmation.
Finn hadn’t expected the Satasha job to pay so well. It was just pirates, after all. A simple recovery task, a single trap, a clean finish. But the reward was more than fair. Much more than the odd tasks and courier work he used to take near Gridania — work that demanded hours of legwork and no real challenge.
This, by comparison, had taken less time, offered more room for skill, and even felt… satisfying.
It wasn’t just about the gil.
It was the rhythm of the work.
Simple input. Direct output.
He liked it, he wanted to participate in more.
But there was a catch — and it came, predictably, in the form of the fine print.
The guild required formal registration to take more contracts. And that meant embracing their doctrine. Their weapon of choice.
The axe.
He’d tested one before — the weight was undeniable. The opposite of his knives. Unsubtle. Loud. Heavy. The kind of weapon that demanded attention. And most postings weren’t looking for someone lurking in the background — they wanted someone who could take a hit, lead the charge, hold a front line.
It didn’t suit him. Not naturally.
And yet… something about the challenge stuck in his mind.
That evening, Finn found himself by the Limsa Lominsa harbour, seated near a rust-streaked bollard as the tide pulled gently at the docks. The air was briny, filled with the scent of salt, rope, and damp wood.
He watched the shipyard workers — seasoned hands with sun-worn faces — moving crates heavier than themselves without straining. They didn’t lift. They shifted. Using levers, chains, and pulleys, they worked with gravity, not against it. They timed their movements with mechanical rhythm, redirecting force through angles and arcs.
The strength wasn’t in them. It was in the system.
And that was when Finn saw it.
The chains that wrapped around the crates weren’t unlike the chains used in certain axe techniques. Weighted, tensioned, redirected. A weapon didn’t need to be elegant — it just needed to be used wisely.
He stood and watched a full crate lifted onto a cargo sledge with three simple actions — chain tension, pivot point, momentum.
He narrowed his eyes.
Maybe this could work.
The Recalibration
The next day, Finn returned to the Marauders’ training hall and requested an axe.
The guild quartermaster gave him a skeptical look — the same way someone might look at a chocobo trying to climb a tree — but handed it over anyway.
It was heavier than he remembered. Cruder. But he didn’t hold it like a weapon yet. He held it like a question.
Finn found a corner and began working in silence.
He didn’t swing wildly. He measured. He balanced. He used his footing like he had with the lance, bracing his core to pivot around the axe’s mass instead of overpowering it. He focused on how the weight carried itself — where it wanted to go, where it resisted. He let it fall and guided it, mimicking the way pulleys redirected tension, letting force curve instead of crash.
He remembered the workers with their chains and levers, and he mimicked the flow. If he couldn’t rely on size, he would rely on timing. On angles. On gravity.
Hours passed. His arms were sore, his back stiff, his legs burned from balancing and adjusting his stance a thousand times.
But toward the end of the session, something clicked.
A swing landed with solid weight. Not clumsy. Not brute. Purposeful.
It wasn’t ready yet.
But it could be.
He stared at the axe in his hands.
“This might actually work.”
New Work, New Weapon
That evening, the job board in the guild hall had a new posting:
Location: Copperbell Mines
Region: Western Thanalan
Objective: Eliminate hostile creatures interfering with excavation work.
Notes: Miners report aggressive behavior from deep within the shafts. Threat level moderate.
Reward: Competitive. Includes combat hazard stipend.
Finn read it twice.
It wasn’t pirates this time. It was monsters. Deep underground. Tunnels. Shadows. Confined space. Axe work.
A real test.
He folded the posting and slipped it into his coat.
Tomorrow, he’d take the ferry west.
He wasn’t ready yet.
But that’s why he was going.
Finn Verci 