Wasted. Filthy. Desolate. Muttering feebily to himself. A shell of his former glory. Desperately clinging to that 1 gil he found in the gutters behind the famed burlesque house in the red-light district of Bastok. A Hume with dreams loftier than even the greatest of great swords. Yes...yes...he was going to become someone again. Starting with this 1 gil, he would claw his way to the top -- friends and foes be damned if they got in his way. He didn't need anyone. He only needed an opportunity. Yes, he was going to become a legend. The harrowing tale of Tiberius would criss-cross the lands of Vana'diel once again. Yes..yes...YES~~!
*gets hit by a carriage, 1 gil violently knocked out of hand*
Travelling Busker: "Hey mac, watch where I'm goin', willya?! Lousy wanna-be adventurers, all of 'em..." *spit*
...And then the sorrow. As he lay here tasting Gustaberg soil, the squeaky wheels of his tormentor's ride seemingly mocking his position as they faded off into the distance...his dreams ebbing into darkness...he finds that precious 1 gil again. All is not for naught. Not yet, not yet. There is still hope. There is still a dream left to be fulfilled. And there's a wretched busker in an iron carriage to be maimed brutally...once he attained his dreams. And once..he got his level back up. >_0