The Gospel According to Hawik

It had been a medium heat kind of day when Hawik first stepped out of his hovel that morning. Armed with nothing more than his crook, a healthy portion of cornbread, and a container filled with smooth butter, he had bid farewell to his family and marched out of the door filled with optimism and purpose. Both of these things, along with the butter, had melted quite rapidly as the sun rose high over the sands of the sagolii desert and Hawik was now beginning to question his life choices, despite the nobility of his quest.

After what seemed like an eternity (it had, in fact, been no more than 40 minutes), Hawik spotted a fine tree upon the horizon and decided that this would be the spot. With renewed vigour in his step and a quick snack in his belly, he adjusted his hat and marched onwards.

Now, it is important to note at this juncture that Hawik was a devout lalafell with a big heart and an even bigger mouth. Generally this mouth was either being stuffed full of the aforementioned cornbread, or being implemented in spreading the good word, in much the same way as he spread butter... generously and in a rather slapdash manner that his mother would no doubt complain about when it came time for her to clean up the mess he'd left behind. Tired of not being taken seriously by his fellow adventurers, Hawik had set off that morning in search of *answers*. He wasn't quite sure what the question was just yet but he was very much certain that he would figure that out once he got to where he was going. Not that he had any idea where that was right now but he was a man of purpose, and surely that had to count for something.

By the time Hawik reached the tree, he was dripping in molten butter, caked in desert, and looking a lot like something a Sandworm had coughed up. He had insisted on packing his own lunch (much to his mother's dismay) and realised his error as he eyed up the congealed mess that had formed in his satchel and the loose lid that had allowed such an abomination to be born. Sadness filled his soul as he eyed the last edible piece of cornbread, then watched it tumble from his bag and roll across the ground before landing at the feet of a rather unsociable looking Peiste. Hawik sighed and sank down beneath the canopy of branches, at least he was sheltered from the glaring rays of the sun now, he only wished he'd thought to pack water. He sighed again, Mother would have packed water.

But this was no time to wallow in his own misfortune. No, this was a time for resolve. Hawik knelt beneath the towering tree and made an executive decision to scream at the Gods about it instead.

"Why, Almighty Corn God, why hast thou forsaken me? Robbed of my tasty snacks and smoothest of butter, how shall I survive in the vast unknown?? Why, Gods, WHY?"

In all his melodramatic tomfoolery, Hawik had neglected to notice the settlement beyond the great tree, and the two figures guarding the entrance looked at one another, both confused and mildly amused by this strange crumbly looking figure, and shrugged. They had both seen *things* in their time but this was something quite unusual even by their standards. Having determined this creature was no threat, they returned to their usual habit of staring into space wishing for an early death until lunchtime.

Lunchtime came and went, but Hawik was aware of neither. Having taken his frustration out on the Gods, he was overcome by heat and exhaustion and had dozed off quite dramatically, face down on the ground with his tiny bottom raised up towards those same Gods as if in defiance of their shenanigans. The sun, willfully ignorant of Hawik's plight, rose high in the sky and over the threshold that kept the lalafell's buttered skin from baking. If one had leaned in close, one may even have heard a faint sizzling as his greasy coating evaporated in the heat, turning his once pasty flesh to a glorious golden brown with an aroma not unlike that of a popoto left in the oven for just that little bit too long.

Being an avid fan of baked popotos (particularly when topped with fresh millicorn and lashings of smooth butter), a very famished and somewhat confuddled Hawik was roused by his own scent. Briskly sweeping the now crispy sand batter from his arms and face, he sat up, rubbed sand batter in his eyes and blinked. Darkness had fallen and the air was filled with the low hum of.... something undoubtedly unpleasant. Hawik blinked again. Through sticky tears, he attempted to focus on his surroundings but his puffy eyes were having none of it. Something squeaked and as he turned his head sharply towards the sound, his vision was suddenly greeted by a bright golden glow. "Holy Corn" Hawik exclaimed to himself and quickly grabbed his belongings before scrambling towards what he could only assume was 'the light'. He hadn't expected to die today, in all honesty, but if the Gods were summoning him, far be it from him to question their authority. Besides which, Hawik was hungry and he'd heard good things about the buffets up there.

As he stumbled towards what he thought to be a good dinner, it occurred to Hawik that he should perhaps leave a note. Mother was wont to fluster if she weren't kept informed of his comings and goings, and he was quite certain that dying counted as a going. Butter be damned though, he'd forgotten his notebook too. He reached down with his podgy fist and scrawled into the sand "HAWIK WOZ ERE" before taking one final step into the Golden God's embrace.

The Golden God's embrace was a lot pricklier than expected and Hawik instinctively leapt back and looked up; his vision only mildly clearer but improved enough for him to make out what could only be described as a butter-eating grin spread across the face of what appeared to be some kind of monumental sized corn cob. Hawik's ears had, up until now, been buttered shut but, as the congealed mess vacated his canals a strange tune began to filter through, closely followed by the sound of chatter, and coins clinking in pockets and on counter tops.

A warm, and much less corny, limb reached out towards him clutching a damp cloth. "Mother?" Hawik bleated questioningly. "Oh no, deary, the only Mamas here are the ones you pay for" said a young woman's voice with a hearty chuckle in its tone. She swiped at Hawik with the cloth, clearing the remnants of his failings from his crumpled flesh and leaving him with a sense of renewal. Once again, Hawik rubbed at his eyes and blinked, and as he opened them was overwhelmed by the most glorious sight. Everywhere he looked people stood laughing and cheering, their clothes of the finest fabrics, their pockets lined with gold. The woman who had just cleansed his very soul with her pampering was an absolute vision, despite her rather unusual choice of wardrobe. He was quite certain those ears atop her head weren't real but his head was still muggy and he knew better than to question people about their personal attributes, so he simply thanked her and asked if she could possibly tell him what the corn was going on.

Hawik's jaw dropped as she explained to him that this was where people came to play, and to win. Many had come to seek their fortune in the arms of the Gold Saucer, some found it, some still roamed its vast halls in search of it, some had even taken that search to their grave. His eyes grew wide as she led him to a counter, handed him a voucher and blew him a kiss before vanishing into the seemingly endless crowd. In a total daze, he handed the voucher to the man before him and grew wildly excited as a pile of coins were deposited in his outstretched hand. Hawik had never seen such fortune before and was gripped by a newfound joy. The Gods had indeed heard his prayer. I mean, he expected they would, he'd hardly been quiet about it. But, this, this was a most unexpected retort.

For three days and three nights, the small but mightily hungry lalafell wandered the realms of the Gold Saucer. Stuffing his pockets with these strange coins, listening to strangers converse about tips and trickery, and how they wish they hadn't had that last glass of frozen spirits because they were now feeling rather peaky. He doused himself in the adrenalin that came from racing chocobos, bathed in the dopamine that rose from every win, and soaked in the glory of having more cash than you could possibly fit in your pockets. And on the fourth day, Hawik passed out.

Hawik awoke in his own bed, his mother standing over him with her arms crossed very firmly over her bosom, and a cup of Ishgardian tea on his bedside table. It must be serious if she'd pulled the Ishgardian out. It required Yak milk and all of Mother's Yak milk was generally reserved for crafting her infamous fermented butter. He supposed that him dying probably warranted a decent cup of tea though and sat up wondering how he even came to be back here. He was quite certain that dead meant dead, but he was also a White Mage and prone to resurrecting fallen comrades even when they'd signed a DNR. Perhaps this was his punishment. Doomed to a life of not dying. Whatever would he do for the next 5 calamities? He sipped at his tea. Mother tapped her foot.

For the next 5 hours (it was actually about 20 minutes) Hawik sat and listened semi-intently as his Mother chastised him for his recklessness and causing her *the concern*. She had apparently grown worried when he didn't return home for dinner and sent out the neighbour to track him down. Said neighbour had found Hawik's note in the sand and been pondering what it all meant when a rather unsteady chocobo carriage had bumped past, thrown Hawik's prone figure over the side and left him laying in the dirt like a rather badly packed sack of popotos. A note had been pinned to Hawik's hat with what appeared to be a lipstick mark and a monograph of a golden figure akin to the one Hawik had been visited by on that very spot. It said, very simply, and in carelessy smudged lettering "STAY GOLDEN".

"Well, butter me sideways with a corn cob!" Hawik exclaimed, leaping out of bed, coins tumbling from his overstuffed pockets and rolling around his Mother's feet. The look on her face suggested he should perhaps have chosen better language to express his excitement but the last 3 days had just come back to him in full force and etiquette had clearly left the building on impact. Before she could start her reprimands, Hawik began to describe his recent experiences with much aplomb, gesticulating and dancing around as the words spilled from his tea soaked lips. Three days he'd been gone he declared, whilst his mother insisted that it had been a mere 24 hours between him leaving the house and being returned unto the dirt from whence he came. But Hawik would have none of it. The Great Corn Gods had spoken, they had summoned him to their chambers, blessed him with the kind of wealth no butter could buy, and then sent him home to spread the good word. And spread the good word he would. STAY GOLDEN they'd said. He stared at the napkin still pinned to his hat, their words immortalised on the finest of linen paper and sealed with a buttery kiss. "Mother," he said, his chest swelling with both pride and cornheadedness, "I am off to spread tha good werd. I am off to tell all about how the Almighty Corn Gods came to me, wrapped me in their golden glow, and delivered me unto abundance!"

And with that, the great Prophet Hawik turned on his heel and marched out the door (once again, forgetting to pack water). He soon became known throughout the land for his enthusiatic sermons preaching the glory of corn, and the necessity of butter in all walks of life. From Gridania to The First, Hawik spread the word of the Almighty Corn Gods, blessing everyone who heard it with an abundance of smooth butter so that they may glide through life, unhindered by chafing.

This continued for many moons until one day, Hawik simply vanished. Some say the golden gods once again welcomed him into their warm embrace, others insist you can still hear him shouting "CORN" in the halls of the Gold Saucer at just the right time of night, a few suggest that he simply got lost again and will probably turn up when he's hungry. But still they wait. His friends eagerly await his homecoming, knowing that when the great Hawik is at last returned unto them, they shall be rescued and drawn once again into the arms of their half-crazed, mostly-baked, forever golden, Prophet of the Corn.