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Osric Jaile, a.k.a "
Serpentlord", is a male Hyur of Midlander clan, registered in the database on with 14784685 for ID.
Born on 19th Sun of the 1st Umbral Moon under protection of 
Rhalgr, the Destroyer.
Currently is resident of 
Ul'dah, Thanalan on Sargatanas of Aether.
Reached rank of 
Second Serpent Lieutenant in Order of the Twin Adder Grand company.
Last interview was conducted on . This is what adventurer had to say during it:
Life on one's own ain't easy. Grew up as a young thug, trying my best to scrape by, stealing from whoever was unlucky enough to share the same roads as I.
My pitiful existence took a turn however when I found an old sod near my hiding spot. He was hurtin', on the brink of death. Part of me wanted to strip him of all his belongings, but there was something more to this man, I was sure of it! I offered him some fresh water and a swig of moonshine I had brewed the night before, to alleviate his pain, y'know. Then we got to talking. Turned out he was an adventurer. I listened to his tales until sundown. I offered him my makeshift bed, which he gladly accepted, thus leaving me to ponder his words while laying on the dusty stone. The next day he had passed, probably in his sleep...
Very confusing emotions began occupying my mind. I was saddened by the passing of the old man, even though our time together was cruelly short. But something else was troubling me. At that time I did not know what it was: it felt like a thirst coming from deep inside me that no water nor booze could quench. A hunger most obstinate that even the lovely lasses from the neighboring refugee camp could not even hope to satiate. Now I know:
It was wanderlust, the need of adventure, of seeing what no common eye has seen. To make amends for what I took, to help people in the same situation as I was. To live for a reason, and pass away knowing I had done something fantastic.
I looked at the old man's lifeless body while holding back my tears. He made me question my ways, and long for more out of my life. I can't remember how long I stayed by his deathbed, thinking. The sun was almost at its zenith when I finally decided to take a look at his belongings. Inside his old backpack I found a few gils, a map, an empty gourd, a compass, and a pair of old brass knuckles. Looking at these weapons made me smile; I had been in my share of fist fights before. "If only I had these before", I said to myself out loud.
Knuckles at my side, the old man's backsack on my back containing whatever little possession I had, I took off to Ul'dah. I heard there was a guild which trained fighters in the fine art of pugilism. Before hopping in the caravan I took good care to inform the refugee camp's undertaker to find the old man's body and give him a proper burial. I slipped a few gils in his pocket for his trouble.
And on I went...
Warrior with power along the path
A hammerheart his gallantry to last
Rhythm of sirens enemies take heed
For in this war laws are in silent sleep
-T. Holopainen
| Job | Level | Last change |
|---|---|---|
 Alchemist | 25 | |
 Armorer | 27 | |
 Bard | 15 | |
 Black Mage | 16 | |
 Blacksmith | 27 | |
 Botanist | 37 | |
 Carpenter | 26 | |
 Culinarian | 25 | |
 Dragoon | 19 | |
 Fisher | 22 | |
 Goldsmith | 31 | |
 Leatherworker | 25 | |
 Miner | 36 | |
 Monk | 42 | |
 Ninja | 51 | |
 Paladin | 17 | |
 Summoner | 13 | |
 Warrior | 11 | |
 Weaver | 31 | |
 White Mage | 12 | |
| Total: | 508 |
