You say Limsa-Lominsa lacks bloodthirsty, murderous fortune-seekers?

What do you call us?

We are the sea, and the storm. Behold the blood on our hands. The seas run red with it, the red of the Maelstrom. We've corralled our criminals, cast off the unwanted, yet found a place for the weak, and they've beaten their swords into plowshares because they lack the fortitude to face Eorzea's dangers, yet that remain useful. The true reavers and marauders yet reave, yet maraud. What does it matter if the deck of a ship is not beneath our feet as we claim our fortune by strength of arms and wit? We are among you, we call you friends. Our enemies? They dread us. We fill their hearts with terror. Never doubt our capacity for violence. Eorzea demands it of us, lest we, too, be brought to heel by crueler powers.