It was rather embarrassing, the truth: Nero hadn't done his research on the sergeant. The smuggler hadn't bothered. The Flame sergeant barely registered as an obstacle, much less as a possible associate, and Nero's knowledge on him was woefully inadequate. The number of people trying to kill or arrest the pirate had been growing steadily, and Nero had far more capable enemies to be wary of. He left his head leaning on the fist, the omnipresent smirk plastered on his face as he considered his option.Â
Nero's other hand thumbed the scroll. He didn't need to read the contents. The Storm was not nearly as eccentric as the Serpents and not as corrupt as the Flames. If the Maelstrom had enough evidence and information to act against him, they would have done so by now, and with extreme prejudice. Still, knowledge was power, and knowing exactly what the perimeters of the game were allowed the smuggler to try to manipulate it that much more.
That brought his attention to the Sergeant's last assumption. Indeed, Nero had agreed to the meeting in an attempt to gauge whether or not Osric would be useful. It was difficult to tell if it was his perception or simply his blinding cynicism, but the man undoubtedly possessed an infuriatingly prevalent sense of virtue that would certainly hinder more than help--especially if their last meeting was anything to go by.
Still, something didn't sit right with the smuggler. The entire reason Osric had pursued this meeting in the first place must have been because the Sergeant had some manner of leverage. Idle threats and justice posturing was little more than faffing about, and the Sergeant knew that. Thus, two possibilities existed: one, he held incriminating evidence and information that would allow him to strongarm Nero into cooperation. The Sergeant had claimed otherwise, but there was no reason to make assumptions based on the contrary. The other possibility was that the Sergeant had access to something that Nero didn't, and might need. This could be anything from information to contacts to being a long lost twice-removed relative of Ishgard's Holy See who was born as a Highlander in some freak interracial affair that would throw the political stability of Coerthas into a boiling pot of chaos and bedlam as a quasi-religious civil war erupts in order to purge undesirable elements from positions of Ishgardian governance.
In his mind, Nero politely asked his thoughts to eliminate that last idea as a possibility. His thoughts obliged.
In any case, it was a good question. Assuming they did ally--and again, Nero searched his mind for anything that outweighed the downsides of such an alliance, and precious little came forth--how would he use Osric? A scapegoat would be useful, but if Nero assumed that the Sergeant had a position of power in reputation, that wouldn't be very effective. Information on the nobility might prove useful, but Nero could practically hear the combined indignant yammering of the Sergeant and Roen even considering felling more nobles, and that din was something he wasn't willing to put up with. Bandits? Osric Melkire did not have the capability of purging the gangs and banditry from Ul'dah, or he would have done so by now. Besides, the instant Nero let slip one hint about Scythe or Scythe's Limsan weapons, it would all go to the hells.
The smuggler spun the issue in his head. Perhaps the problem was with his assumption. From only one conversation, Nero had immediately painted an image as to the Sergeant's demeanor and motivations: the exasperating moral crusader, fighting for the innocent, never willing to kill or maim or blackmail. Always pushing for what was right, while at the same time rigid in his ways and unwilling to change. The Sergeant's comments implied an indignation at being portrayed as such.
"The question is not what I would have you do," Nero spoke finally, his tone thoughtful. His head switched to leaning on his right fist. "The question is, what are you willing to do? I don't suppose you'd be willing to, I don't know, cripple Ul'dah's economy? No, that would harm the innocents. Purge the bandits and corrupt Brass Blades? If you could do that, you'd have done it by now. I suppose I could have you gather information to blackmail the nobility into surrendering their assets to me, but I have the feeling that you'd object to that. What about just outright killing Taeros? But oh, it's about 'sending the message that justice exists', or something. And I already have Roen for that."
The smuggler puffed his cheeks out and blew air from between his lips in a childish "pbbbt" as he spun his left hand in circles in the air before speaking. "Hypothetically, let's say I do agree to this little alliance. Naturally, you want me to tell you all of the intricacies of my plan and who it involves so that if, or rather, when it goes too far for your delicate, delicate sensibilities, you'll have all of the information you need to throw a wrench into the cogs and bring everything I've worked so hard for to a screeching halt. I understand that part perfectly."
Nero bit his lip in thought before nonchalantly shaking his head. "Nope. Can't think of anything. Of course, I have in my head this image of you as the virtuous and noble soldier whose first duty is to his conscience and who has a line he will never cross, and that admittedly rigid assumption has your prospective uses to me limited to say the least. You know, typically the first step in preparing for a business deal is preparing an offer in which the other party will be interested in. You would not make a very good entrepreneur, if this meeting is any indication."
Would it be easier to make alliances if he weren't so caustic? Very likely. Roen had questioned him on it previously: Nero showed so very little of himself to anyone. The wall he had built around himself was covered in cold steel and piercing barbs. His thoughts, his motivations, his limits...all of these things were hidden.
Sharp focus was brought to his first meeting with Osric Melkire. After the Sergeant had left the dock, Nero had been left wondering when he had grown so jaded, so extreme. It was a simple matter of manipulation. Say some pretty words, enough to get the Sergeant on his side, then lead him off on some chase, use him until his value had been exhausted, then throw him away.
What, then, made it so difficult? Such manipulations were so very easy before.
After Daegsatz' death, however, Nero noticed himself growing more vehement, more rigid. He did not just want to change Ul'dah, he wanted everyone to admit that they were wrong and that he was right. He wanted to rub the city's face in it. He wanted to dirty the pretty armor of the Sultansworn, cut off the hands of the thieving Brass Blades, put out the eyes of the lecherous bandits, and break the knees of the bellicose Immortal Flames. It was...childish, and egotistical, and it was starting to become a problem.
Nero sighed briefly, taking his head off of his fist. His mental problems would be taken care of later. For now, he should focus on swaying the Sergeant to his side. "What I want is to change the balance of power, so that people in that wretched hive have a chance. An opportunity for something better. A place where their children can grow without hardship. Change is never easy, and a brighter future will not come without blood." Nero leaned forward, pointing a finger at the Sergeant. "I'll ask again, and I think this question is just as important, if not more important to yourself as it is to me: what are you willing to do, to see that change?"
A fiery corner in the smuggler's mind raged at the question, even as it left Nero's lips. Melkire will not help you. He cares for nothing but the 'right' way, so that when he views his failure, he can tell himself that he did everything he could. He will oppose you. He is content to let the Jewel waste away in corruption and filth for the sake of his conscience.
Do not trust him. Do not work with him. He will be your end, as he was the end for so many others.
Nero focused a hard stare slightly to the left of the Sergeant's head in an attempt to suppress his doubts.
Yet they were growing louder.
Nero's other hand thumbed the scroll. He didn't need to read the contents. The Storm was not nearly as eccentric as the Serpents and not as corrupt as the Flames. If the Maelstrom had enough evidence and information to act against him, they would have done so by now, and with extreme prejudice. Still, knowledge was power, and knowing exactly what the perimeters of the game were allowed the smuggler to try to manipulate it that much more.
That brought his attention to the Sergeant's last assumption. Indeed, Nero had agreed to the meeting in an attempt to gauge whether or not Osric would be useful. It was difficult to tell if it was his perception or simply his blinding cynicism, but the man undoubtedly possessed an infuriatingly prevalent sense of virtue that would certainly hinder more than help--especially if their last meeting was anything to go by.
Still, something didn't sit right with the smuggler. The entire reason Osric had pursued this meeting in the first place must have been because the Sergeant had some manner of leverage. Idle threats and justice posturing was little more than faffing about, and the Sergeant knew that. Thus, two possibilities existed: one, he held incriminating evidence and information that would allow him to strongarm Nero into cooperation. The Sergeant had claimed otherwise, but there was no reason to make assumptions based on the contrary. The other possibility was that the Sergeant had access to something that Nero didn't, and might need. This could be anything from information to contacts to being a long lost twice-removed relative of Ishgard's Holy See who was born as a Highlander in some freak interracial affair that would throw the political stability of Coerthas into a boiling pot of chaos and bedlam as a quasi-religious civil war erupts in order to purge undesirable elements from positions of Ishgardian governance.
In his mind, Nero politely asked his thoughts to eliminate that last idea as a possibility. His thoughts obliged.
In any case, it was a good question. Assuming they did ally--and again, Nero searched his mind for anything that outweighed the downsides of such an alliance, and precious little came forth--how would he use Osric? A scapegoat would be useful, but if Nero assumed that the Sergeant had a position of power in reputation, that wouldn't be very effective. Information on the nobility might prove useful, but Nero could practically hear the combined indignant yammering of the Sergeant and Roen even considering felling more nobles, and that din was something he wasn't willing to put up with. Bandits? Osric Melkire did not have the capability of purging the gangs and banditry from Ul'dah, or he would have done so by now. Besides, the instant Nero let slip one hint about Scythe or Scythe's Limsan weapons, it would all go to the hells.
The smuggler spun the issue in his head. Perhaps the problem was with his assumption. From only one conversation, Nero had immediately painted an image as to the Sergeant's demeanor and motivations: the exasperating moral crusader, fighting for the innocent, never willing to kill or maim or blackmail. Always pushing for what was right, while at the same time rigid in his ways and unwilling to change. The Sergeant's comments implied an indignation at being portrayed as such.
"The question is not what I would have you do," Nero spoke finally, his tone thoughtful. His head switched to leaning on his right fist. "The question is, what are you willing to do? I don't suppose you'd be willing to, I don't know, cripple Ul'dah's economy? No, that would harm the innocents. Purge the bandits and corrupt Brass Blades? If you could do that, you'd have done it by now. I suppose I could have you gather information to blackmail the nobility into surrendering their assets to me, but I have the feeling that you'd object to that. What about just outright killing Taeros? But oh, it's about 'sending the message that justice exists', or something. And I already have Roen for that."
The smuggler puffed his cheeks out and blew air from between his lips in a childish "pbbbt" as he spun his left hand in circles in the air before speaking. "Hypothetically, let's say I do agree to this little alliance. Naturally, you want me to tell you all of the intricacies of my plan and who it involves so that if, or rather, when it goes too far for your delicate, delicate sensibilities, you'll have all of the information you need to throw a wrench into the cogs and bring everything I've worked so hard for to a screeching halt. I understand that part perfectly."
Nero bit his lip in thought before nonchalantly shaking his head. "Nope. Can't think of anything. Of course, I have in my head this image of you as the virtuous and noble soldier whose first duty is to his conscience and who has a line he will never cross, and that admittedly rigid assumption has your prospective uses to me limited to say the least. You know, typically the first step in preparing for a business deal is preparing an offer in which the other party will be interested in. You would not make a very good entrepreneur, if this meeting is any indication."
Would it be easier to make alliances if he weren't so caustic? Very likely. Roen had questioned him on it previously: Nero showed so very little of himself to anyone. The wall he had built around himself was covered in cold steel and piercing barbs. His thoughts, his motivations, his limits...all of these things were hidden.
Sharp focus was brought to his first meeting with Osric Melkire. After the Sergeant had left the dock, Nero had been left wondering when he had grown so jaded, so extreme. It was a simple matter of manipulation. Say some pretty words, enough to get the Sergeant on his side, then lead him off on some chase, use him until his value had been exhausted, then throw him away.
What, then, made it so difficult? Such manipulations were so very easy before.
After Daegsatz' death, however, Nero noticed himself growing more vehement, more rigid. He did not just want to change Ul'dah, he wanted everyone to admit that they were wrong and that he was right. He wanted to rub the city's face in it. He wanted to dirty the pretty armor of the Sultansworn, cut off the hands of the thieving Brass Blades, put out the eyes of the lecherous bandits, and break the knees of the bellicose Immortal Flames. It was...childish, and egotistical, and it was starting to become a problem.
Nero sighed briefly, taking his head off of his fist. His mental problems would be taken care of later. For now, he should focus on swaying the Sergeant to his side. "What I want is to change the balance of power, so that people in that wretched hive have a chance. An opportunity for something better. A place where their children can grow without hardship. Change is never easy, and a brighter future will not come without blood." Nero leaned forward, pointing a finger at the Sergeant. "I'll ask again, and I think this question is just as important, if not more important to yourself as it is to me: what are you willing to do, to see that change?"
A fiery corner in the smuggler's mind raged at the question, even as it left Nero's lips. Melkire will not help you. He cares for nothing but the 'right' way, so that when he views his failure, he can tell himself that he did everything he could. He will oppose you. He is content to let the Jewel waste away in corruption and filth for the sake of his conscience.
Do not trust him. Do not work with him. He will be your end, as he was the end for so many others.
Nero focused a hard stare slightly to the left of the Sergeant's head in an attempt to suppress his doubts.
Yet they were growing louder.