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What You Are In The Dark【Complete】 - Printable Version

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RE: What You Are In The Dark【Closed】 - Roen - 04-09-2015

Armored boots splashed through shallow puddles, the tall arched stoneway carrying the sound of lone footsteps further into the hollow winding tunnels.

"I asked you once, Mister North. Forgiveness or compromise. You said forgiveness is unconditional."

Torchlight flickered and glistened off old grey walls aged with years of neglect and darkness, and shadows cast a ghostly pall upon the fingers of mildew that clasped onto the cracks of the stones. Rats scurried into their holes, away from the sole armored figure running through the waterways beneath the earth.

"I...chose to forgive. But it is not a decision everyone agrees with."

Roen's mind whirled with too many thoughts. It had been days since Coatleque's visit, and since then she had been given water, food, and a cot to lay upon. Sleep had finally come, and she had been left undisturbed; no longer did the heavy irons bind her immobile to the stony floor for days on end. She barely recalled the conversation that she and the Sworn shared, and the preceding days of exhaustion and delirium had blurred into one another in her memory.

“I apologize, Miss Deneith, but that death is not yours to forgive.”

Her legs felt steady enough to carry her once more, although the crimson chainmail hung loose from her thin shoulders. The paladin did not care. She was finally free of that cursed cell and equipped with one of the off-duty Brass Blade’s armor and sword. She raced down the ancient tunnels beneath Thanalan, even though she found her weakened body stumbling, demanding her to stop for breaths more often than not.

“If Miss prefers, consider not what you believe you must do, but instead what you must not do.”

Mister North had delivered to her guards plates of thick tender eft steaks. The valet had even made them choose which plate to give to her while hoarding the rest for the watch. Clever, that. Removing himself from possible blame, Roen thought to herself. While he set out the steak for her, he bemoaned the fact that he should have spiced it as well as he did the nopales dumplings. Such an addition would have perfected the flavor, he said.

That was when Roen regained that breath of hope that had been robbed from her for too many suns. Even while they stripped her and chained her to the floor, the guards had not searched her cell. They had not discovered the small vial she had hidden beneath the cot, nor removed the hairpin buried under her ponytail. So when Mister North was allowed to deliver her the complete meal as he had promised many suns ago, she was prepared.

Roen added the sleep ward potion to the steak after the butler left, and ate the whole thing. She cared not for the strange aftertaste that the potion left behind. The piece of meat was a welcomed addition to bolster her strength for what was to come, and she suspected it counteracted whatever spice he had added to the rest of the eft steaks.

“My life...what is a measure of a life’s worth?”

When the paladin drew the hairpin shaped lock pick from her ponytail and opened the cell door, she was relieved to find the rest of the guards sound asleep outside next to their empty plates.

“To turn away from my path would mean rendering all of the sacrifices thus far meaningless...and I cannot do that. Those deaths...they had to have meant something.”

She knew she should have turned right when she turned left. Fresh air led to freedom and Western Thanalan, as she was told by the valet.

But she took the other turn instead -- the one that led toward the Goblet. She tried to recall the turns she had taken, albeit blinded with a hood over her head, when she was first brought down to the Black Cells.

"Conflict in this world is not brought about by evil people, but by good people who believe they are doing evil things for the right reasons."

A few memories refused to leave her from her days of starvation and fragmented thoughts. Trying to keep things in focus then felt like treading water while chained by heavy links of fatigue, thirst, and hunger. But there remained a few thoughts, and they were painfully sharp and fixed like a nail hammered into her head.

"I won't cut where it ain't needed. And I won't be the one makin' most o' the cuts, anyroad."

Perhaps it was the effects of the sleep ward that sharpened her senses. Her heart was pounding like a wild animal caught, and her eyes darted constantly left and right to spot any stray movements of shadows. Was it this heightened anxiety that lent even more focus to the goals that had coalesced in her mind during those fevered dreams?

"Nero wants to cut deep t'make things better. I'm content t'just cut out the bullet."

All that she had endured in the past cycle, Roen could trace to one man. Of all the Monetarists nobles that she and Nero had opposed, only one face emerged as the most manipulative of them all. Aside from the members of the Syndicate, who else could she target? Who else could she affect? In the chaotic churning of agitated thoughts, Roen’s mind settled on one thing and one thing only. The only thing she could do, when all the other goals had failed.

"There's one man that needs puttin' out."

It was in such a state that she somehow spotted the small side tunnel hidden amongst the stones. She ascended the steps to find herself behind the wooden door.

"The man is entirely too competent at stirrin' up suffering. It needs to end."

When she crossed the threshold, she found herself surrounded by deep maple walls decorated with rich paintings and plush rugs beneath her feet.

“You're on the edge of a knife. Don't fall."

She was in Taeros' manse.

RE: What You Are In The Dark【Closed】 - Roen - 04-09-2015

“Is it even remotely possible you could be the slightest bit wrong about me?"

Gideon was there, with Jameson Taeros in his study.

Roen had entered with a scimitar in hand, the small round shield of the Brass Blades buckled onto her arm. She did not notice the aching fatigue to her limbs nor her breaths that came short and quick. Her senses were almost spinning with the thoughts of failed plans and hopes. Her heart was pounding and her mind throbbed with a need to do something. Anything.

All those deaths could not have been for nothing. All the suffering…all that had happened…

Anden Anduron.

Crimson Mountain.

Natalie.

Crofte.

It had to end.

“I would not expect you to follow, especially if I decide the snows of Ishgard are more to my--” Taeros was seated behind his desk, fingers laced upon his lap, speaking evenly to his valet when he spotted her at the door. He raised his brows at the woman in the Brass Blade armor. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

Gideon turned with his gaze upon her as well. “Sir is not to be disturbed without prior appointment or myself as an intermediary, Miss.” His tone was sharp and crisp.

Roen knew she had only seconds to act while she still had the advantage. Both the men’s attention went to her drawn weapon, and even as she took quick steps across the room, she spotted Gideon drawing his thin book from his jacket in a smooth languid motion. She did not want to, but she had to incapacitate the butler. Anything else would implicate him or put her at a disadvantage.

“Milord, the prisoner has escaped!” She knew her lie would not be believed, both men would recognize her voice soon enough. But it bought her enough time to close the distance between herself and the valet. With a hidden grimace, she bashed Gideon on the head with her shield. She forced her expression to remain neutral as she saw his head slam from her fist to the desk, sending a tea tray there flying. The paladin could not afford another glance to the man -- her friend -- as he lay motionless on the floor.

“Now see here…” Jameson started even as his hands unclasped from his lap and slipped beneath the desk. Roen knew not if he was reaching for something, but she could not take any chances. She summoned aether into a blinding flash of light as she darted around the desk.

“Do not move, lest you lose a hand," she ordered. "Or something more vital.” She held the blade at ready.

“At ease, friend,” the noble said calmly as he slowly brought his hands up into plain view. She could see that he did not remain blinded for long, as he slowly stood from his seat. He frowned. “Roen.”

The paladin took another step forward, setting the edge of her blade against his neck before the noble regained his full bearings.

Taeros did not seem fazed. He glanced to his unconscious valet. “Gideon treated you with utmost respect. That was unworthy.” His disappointment was clear in his bent brows. “He is no threat to you.”

"He is another one of yours. At least he will come to no further harm if he remains unconscious." Roen forcibly kept the guilt from her tone and refused to look to where the butler still laid. She prayed that he was not hurt badly.

"He should come to no further harm regardless."

Roen narrowed her eyes on the noble. "You, on the other hand."

Jameson only smiled. "The end for me?" he asked softly.

The paladin flexed her fingers slightly around the hilt of her scimitar. There was hesitation that coiled her wearied muscles. "Why not? You have caused so much sorrow." She hated the emotion that was already rising in her voice.

"Many. Yes. I am rarely who people want me to be.”

"There is a reason why so many believe the world would be a better place if you were no more." Her arm shook slightly from the weight of the armor and the sword. Or was it her doubts that made her tremble? "Would this not be a better place, if today was your last?"

“One life to save many. That is so very Lazarov of you,” Taeros said with a sneer.

"I am…nothing like him." The anger in her retort could not be muted.

He tilted his head. “I am very willing to die," he said softly, "but I would ask for a few questions to be answered first." He inclined his head deferentially. "If I may go screaming into the hells with due knowledge.”

Roen clenched her fist tight to steady her grip. She nodded once.

"These recent murders. You truly know nothing of them?"

Roen blinked behind the fly-mask. "The nobles...?" She shook her head. "I knew of no such plans for assassination." Even in her denial, she felt a sudden chill in her spine as she looked to the length of her own blade that ended at the man’s throat. What was she considering now if it was not assassination?

Jameson nodded. "Then perhaps Lazarov's aim will be met regardless. I have come upon some recent information which leads me to believe the Syndicate's demise may very well be accomplished from within."

“What…?”

The noble’s eyes flickered to the blade, just a moment, and then back to the paladin. "One of the councilmembers, if not more than one, is beginning the necessary steps forward toward an ultimately bloody endgame, now that the Sultanate has taken some notable defeats." He curled a thin smile. "I was just discussing with Mr. North our relocation options. Ishgard is cold, but dragons are safer than my friends these days, it seems. The removal of certain key Monetarists only lent my enemies more ammunition."

The paladin stared at him. "...You think yourself a target then. From the Monetarists reorganizing from within?"

"Trimming the fat, so to speak. Congratulations, Roen. All your efforts have paid off. The scales have been tipped, and not in my favor. I do not intend to be here for the end result." His smile broadened suddenly. "Nor, it seems, do you intend for me to be."

Roen gritted her teeth. "I never wanted your death. Despite all that you have done. I thought targeting you would cause a disadvantage for the rest of the Monetarists. Along with the rest, I wanted you and your kind to face justice.”

Taeros shrugged. "I was paranoid. I admit to as much. Lazarov's threat blinded me to the actual enemy, and it was not at my gates, but within. Too many secrets have spilled out of this wound. I must concede the game."

“Justice is all I wanted from the start. But laying in that cell for suns, delirious, I began to see that you must have something personal against me."

The nobled blinked, surprised. "Against you?"

"Why else disgrace three Sultansworns? I was freshly sworn in. Is it because I am a Garlean like you? You had me placed under Anduron. Do you know what kind of man he is?!"

Taeros seemed to bristle a little. "My treatment of you was ill becoming of me, I will grant, and I had hoped to make amends of it with my more recent gentle care and your eventual freedom. But..." He frowned, and his words turned sharper. "I have actually been protecting you. Did I not relinquish the evidence of your heritage to Natalie? As to Anduron..." he sighed. "Yes. Another misstep amidst so many. He owed me a favor. I thought you were shielded. I did not know Anden for the creature he was. I have him far away now, where he can harm very few."

“No more lies!" Roen snarled, as she gripped again her sword, the edge of her blade turning just slightly against his neck. "Every word out of your lips is a lie, that is how you play the game is it not? You yourself sit here in your gilded throne of wealth posing as an Ul'dahn noble, and yet you worked to condemn me for the Imperial heritage that you and I both share."

The smile on the noble was unsettling. “Is that what you think?”

"What else should I think?"

“Words will not sway your mind, but...they say a picture is worth a thousand. Might I stay my death a moment longer to show you something I have in my possession? It will require me to unlock a strong box I keep beneath my desk. If I may?"

Roen swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. She nodded, and took a single step back to allow him room.

He glanced at the sword still hovering near him. "You needn't shave me with that. You are armed and armored, and I am not. Just plunge your blade through my back if you find my movements offensive."

Taeros lowered his hands, and it was only then that the paladin spotted the blade that slipped immediately into his palm...but he casually tossed it onto the desk as he lowered himself to one knee, drawing out a key from a chain around his neck.

"We share Garlean roots. That is true. But moreover..." He unlocked the strong box. "I was allowed passage to Ul'dah because of my roots. I was very good at blending in with the rest of the Eorzeans. Once I arrived, the Empire found many uses for me. But after the Calamity, I had a singular task assigned to me by a woman named Raelisanne Banurein. It was to find you and return you to your father, Dorien nan Luraes."

Roen found herself frozen and rooted where she stood.

The noble removed a locket from the strong box and opened it carefully and slid it across the desk toward her. When it nearly slid off the edge, Roen lowered her blade instinctively to catch it. Taeros only waited patiently as she studied the rendering within, a red-haired woman with deep blue eyes.

The paladin stared intently at the face she knew all too well from her childhood. "What…is this."

"That is the locket Melia Luraes gifted to me the day she agreed to wed your father. She hoped I would remember her kindly. I have.” His tone softened. "I loved her. If you can believe it. But I was not worthy of her returned affections."

Roen could not tear her eyes away from the locket and the picture within. "You…you knew my mother...?"

"You remain a quandry, I will grant.” Jameson sighed. “I cannot return you to your father. In truth I despise the man, and not for his more obvious crimes. And yet you continually ally yourself with my enemies. It would be one thing to forgive if you merely remained on the side of the law and sought to bring me in for justice. No doubt I have wronged many of the people of Ul'dah in some fashion. Although…I have come to love them too, in a way. I am unwilling to return to Garlemald."

The paladin could only stand in shocked silence, her eyes darting from the locket to the man standing before her. The man she thought she knew everything about.

“But no.” Jameson sighed, his gaze boring into her. “It had to be Lazarov. Of all people.”

Roen’s eyes were wide beneath the mask and her words came slowly. “I...do not...believe..."

“Yes, you do.” He seemed almost disdainful of her as he glared back at her.

The paladin’s sword only hung limp by the leather loop from her wrist, she had released it without knowing, the locket still in her palm. She did nothing as Taeros rounded the desk to kneel by his valet who was now stirring on the ground.

“My...humblest apologies, sir…” Roen heard Gideon murmur.

Roen shoved the locket in her belt pouch as she too walked around the desk. Gideon had a line of blood trickling from his hairline and shards of shattered porcelain littering his dark hair.

“No offense at all, Mr. North," Taeros said calmly. "I do not believe you will be assaulted any further.” Jameson’s tone was surprisingly gentle and reassuring as he removed the valet’s handkerchief and placed it on the wound. “Be at ease, and do hold that there."

Gideon kept the cloth held while his other hand fumbled for a little silver booklet he had drawn out earlier. “Yes. I will...my book, I can...repair myself, adequately.”

Roen approached both of them hesitantly and somewhat awkwardly. "I can...I should heal him. I am the one that..." She was fumbling herself for words, she could not recall any of the rage or the certainty that drove her to come here in the first place.

"No arcana at this moment, Mr. North, please,” Taeros chided. He then shook his head the looked at the paladin disapprovingly. “You struck a servant, woman.” As though the act were beneath the basest villain.

Gideon looked up to her as well, speaking with mustered politeness, his words somewhat muddled. “Miss's...deliberate non-lethality is...well-noted, and appreciated.”

The words only made her grimace. She was glad for the mask for it hid her deep guilt, even as she knelt next to the butler. She gave the noble one more single wary glance before she removed one gauntlet, laying her bare hand on Gideon’s temple. “Hold still, please.”

“Could I perhaps find a chair for anyone…?” Gideon mumbled.

“No, Mr. North, please remain still for the nonce.” Jameson laid a firm hand on the valet. He shot the paladin a frown even as she closed her eyes to summon the aether for a cure spell. “He did not present a threat to you," James said, continuing to chide her. Few things apparently made him as irked as having an injured manservant. "It was absurd and emotionally triggered.”

Roen inhaled sharply when the healing was done, her eyes opening to assess the mended wound. She gently took the handkerchief from his hand and lightly dabbed the bloodstains from Gideon’s cheeks. “My apologies,” she murmured.

“My humblest thanks, Miss.” Gideon nodded. His eyes then went to the shattered porcelain about them and frowned in dismay.

“And there we go," Jameson murmured. "Friends anon.”

The paladin stiffened, dropping her hand as soon as she heard those words, setting the handkerchief upon the butler’s lap. She rose abruptly, only to find herself swaying slightly at the effort. She hid it quickly enough, but her hand went to the hilt of the sword just in case. The fire within was gone. The pounding of her heart had ceased. Her body ached once more and her mind and muscles screamed with exhaustion. The sleep ward was fading from her system, as was her bloodlust. She turned for the door.

“Roen,” Taeros called out after her. “That is my locket.”

The paladin stopped just by the doorway, fishing the locket from her pouch and laying it on the nearby mantle. She did not turn back to the men behind her.

“Also, I would advise against returning to the city,” Jameson said calmly. “You are still wanted for crimes against the city-state.”

Roen did not answer him as she exited.

RE: What You Are In The Dark【Closed】 - Warren Castille - 04-10-2015

They say a man can be most at peace with a fishing rod in his hand. The quiet challenge of man versus nature, cunning versus instinct - a baited line goes taut and it becomes a battle of wills. If you fish for amusement, merely besting your indigenous foe is enough. If you fish for survival, the difference in success can be life or death.

Warren Castille was never much of a fisherman.

He'd existed on the periphery, as he was wont to do - He would never be so bold as to say he was hiding in plain sight, but he was aware of his position in the public eye. Moreso recently, given his status at the Grindstone. Warren was a public fixture, as much as any Sultansworn or timely Brass Blade. Warren was a figure you would trust, someone who did the Right Thing. Even in the face of tricky questioning - Have you heard this name? Did you see someone matching this description? Do you know which lights in a particular manse turn off, and when? - eyes would shift but words could tumble out.

Secrets are safest with the trusted, after all.

He wasn't able to uncover the gritty details, the true nuts and bolts behind whatever blood feud had been the catalyst for his own involvement. It was a gut feeling, the sort of thing that had kept him alive and returning home to his wife - because she was his wife now - and had served him for the years leading up to that. Instincts that he had come to embrace, instincts that had pushed him across boundaries he felt he could never truly return from. Instincts had reunited him with his whole, and in spite of the fact that the man who'd requested his help had once tried to use a terrorist attack as a distraction for assassination, his instincts told him that this was a worthy endeavor.

Warren had spent the days between Osric asking him to be present digging. It had been moons since he and Howl had watched her slink away with him and it seemed like an eon since the rumors had started spreading. He kept his distance, as Warren always did, but he also continued listening. There wasn't a question in his mind what was transpiring, and the details - the big picture - weren't as important as the minutiae involved. It was a truth that Warren held to his heart since he first picked up a sword and shield. It was never about a greater good, or doing the best for the realm. He'd begun learning a lifetime ago for the sake of a girl, and it had always been about the smallfolk. He was one of them, and he was in a position to see through their survival and help them thrive.

There was a phantom noose hanging around the throats of Ul'dah. The particular gallow it hung from wasn't important; Only the rope that threatened to draw taut like so many fishing lines in the past was on his mind as he double and triple checked the buckles and straps protecting him. Whispers on the wind alluded to some larger plan, some grander threat, but that was a phantom for him now. Warren wouldn't be distracted by what-ifs and rumors.

There was enough evidence, both gathered and observed personally, for him to know that he was doing the Right Thing. He knew it was entirely possible that his actions would pave the way for something worse to march through uncontested in the hole they intended to create. If that was the case, Warren would do what he was counted on and relied upon to do.

Judgment.

RE: What You Are In The Dark【Closed】 - Nero - 04-10-2015

"A wonderful device, is it not? I think we can call this 'evening the odds'." Nero lightly kicked the sheet of carefully manufactured metal plates he was standing next to. Bright lanterns blazed to illuminate the inside of the ramshackle building. The windows and doors had all been carefully and thoroughly boarded in order to prevent any light from escaping. "Of course, it's not going to be as big as the final product was originally intended, but it should be a fun little thing to use anyway."

The Highlander made no response, sticking a tongue out of the side of his mouth as he pored through a thin leather-bound volume. As the pair spoke, members of Scythe's gang carried parts and pieces from a tunnel that had been dug beneath the building. The tunnel didn't extend very far--it reached to just outside the walls and was flimsily hidden by shrubbery--but it was enough to avoid the gates and it more or less avoided most road traffic. Of course, even that small, cramped tunnel had taken several months of nonstop work, and more than once its construction had risked detection, but so far it seems that the gang's efforts had been worth building such a route.

Nero frowned as he leaned against the wall, folding his arms. "I even labelled the parts for you. Getting the pieces into Thanalan wasn't easy, you know." The Hyur snorted. Of course, given that he no longer had the Forte, leaving Thanalan undetected would be far more difficult than entering.

Suffice to say, he was more or less committed to this course of action now.

Scythe made no attempt to respond as he carefully traced a meaty index finger through the ink of the paper, his gaze having taken on a quality of sharpness that most would consider uncharacteristic of a brute of his size and girth. It was only after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence that he spoke. "And this will work?" he growled.

Nero shrugged. "I'd certainly be disappointed in a certain genius Elezen if it didn't. He had all of that raw material and wanted his precious reactor to have some practical application. Though, if nothing else, you can use the plates as shields. Maybe whack some people over the head with them."

The pirate received an unamused glare for his efforts.

Another shrug. "Just be glad I'm not charging you for this. I'm giving you all of this out of the goodness of my heart, you know." The familiar smirk flashed itself across his face, a twinkle in his eye. "Call it a sentimental gift for old times' sake."

"The sooner I am rid of you, pirate, the better," the Highlander pressed his lips together disdainfully.

"After everything we've been through?" The Midlander put on a wounded expression that came across as grotesquely demure and wholly inappropriate for a man of his age.

"Enough," Scythe snarled, folding the leather-bound pamphlet into his robed sleeve. "As long as this device works, then I've no more need for you or your coin." Nero merely grinned for several minutes before unfolding and refolding his arms, his countenance taking on a considerably more serious expression.

"The device will work, I guarantee you. I wouldn't have bothered getting the parts into the city if there was a chance it wouldn't. And have no worry, after this little escapade I've no more coin to spend anyway, not that I'd give much more to you if I had." True, this endeavour had cost him practically everything. Though his savings would lend him a modest living--at least for a decade or so, if he maintained some measure of frugality--all of his funding was truly required in order for this to work. Nero was certain that someone had noticed him liquidating all of his assets, though by the time they connected the dots, it'd likely be too late.

It was absolutely an all-or-nothing gamble.

Nero lightly tapped the sheets of metal with his foot. "Just be aware that once you've started the reactors, you won't be able to turn it off. A little bit of a design flaw. It'll keep chugging until it explodes or runs out of fuel. The run time will be about seven or eight bells of continuous operation.

"What about magic?" Scythe grunted. Nero shrugged.

"Gilding it would have taken money I don't have, but it should be reasonably durable. It's not as flimsy as your average reaper. Then again, you boys have guns for a reason." Another shrug. "Anyone starts trying to cast aether at it, just kill them." The pirate brushed a hand through his hair. "In any case, try not to waste this, hmm? I'll be very disappointed if I can't see the fireworks from Vylbrand."

Scythe grunted and gestured to a group of idle men nearby. "My associate assures me that assembly should be relatively easy so long as you're careful. Oh, but you won't be able to fit it out the door, so when your little revolution is ready, you'll probably have to simply bust down the wall."

Nero received no response from the Highlander who was now thoroughly absorbed with the thin leather volume. With a smirk, he pulled his hood over his face and ducked into the tunnel to leave.

He'd thought his involvement in this was done, but it seemed he was wrong about himself. A rare occurrence, perhaps, Roen was right about one thing: he couldn't have left it as it was. It required some resolution, some ending. If Scythe was successful, then Nero would be vindicated in his beliefs, and if Scythe failed, then Nero would also be vindicated in his beliefs. So long as he himself didn't get captured or killed, this would be worth it.

Women and children, women and children. The phrase was enough to give him a rousing headache. Nero pinched his temple between his thumb and index finger as he sidled along the narrow tunnel. No, at this point he didn't particularly care about women and children. It wasn't as if his conscience had fully left him--probably--but this had ceased being about lives long ago, though Nero's past self failed to recognise it. This was a war of ideals, and it was a message, too. It was a message about inaction, a message about crossing lines, a message about morals, a message about change.

It was a message, that everything had a breaking point.

Nero pulled out a chronometer from within the folds of his tattered robe. Soon, all of the principle actors would be where they needed to be.

It was just about time for the curtain to rise on the finale.

RE: What You Are In The Dark【Closed】 - Roen - 04-13-2015

“Are ye sure?”

Brynnalia bolted to a seat from her lazy recline, the heels of her leather boots stomping hard on the wooden floor as her index finger pressed hard on the pearl in her ear. She could not believe what she just heard.

A group was heading down the tunnels from below the Hammers, towards the Black Cells. That news itself was a bit of a surprise considering the most likely prisoner of interest in those cells had escaped but a day ago. Brynnalia had expected cold rage from Taeros with the delivery of the news, but instead she found an odd quietude about him since. Where she may have assumed to see murderous ruthlessness, she now only saw a shadow of weariness about him that was uncharacteristic of the Monetarist noble.

Then the very next day, she had to deliver another ill tiding to her employer: a third Monetarist noble was found murdered. This news came from Vesper Bay, where the head of the House Mumuqaru had been found with his throat slit open. He had been on a carriage that was to take him to the next ship bound for Limsa Lominsa. No one could say exactly when the Lalafellin noble had been killed, only that it was on the way to Vesper Bay. They had not discovered his body until the carriage had reached its destination however.

Of course, upon his person was yet another letter, one that detailed a conspiracy between Mumuqaru, Quillburn, and Rezhenne. The setup was almost predictable now, but even so, it did not bode well for her employer. The fact that it was the third Monetarist noble killed, and one within Taeros’ circle…

Jameson Taeros did not take well to that news either. But this time, as expected, he took it with his usual air of detachment. Brynn could still see his displeasure in those pale amber eyes however.

Brynnalia knew that Taeros was affected more by his conflict with Lazarov than he would ever show. She had learned some details of his recent financial debts which made her worry about her own employment. The increased number of guards he had hired and the losses he had suffered in terms of reputation and material goods, slowly but surely drained the Monetarist's resources. All because of Lazarov and that Deneith girl.

With at least the latter in custody, and Crofte and Grimsong's recent partnership, Brynnalia thought for certain that they had some viable leads to track down the revolutionary pirate. But their recent trip to Mor Dhona proved fruitless yet once again, as they only found another middle man to the smuggler with no direct contact. All they discovered was an abandoned cove where the pirate used to store Garlean metal and ceruleum cores. But nothing remained by the time they had reached the place, and nothing led to Lazarov. Crofte and she had returned to Ul'dah empty handed.

Perhaps this news may change things, she thought to herself as she hurried through the manse toward the noble’s office and private chamber. When she entered, she saw Taeros flipping through papers at his desk, and his valet at his side. The heavily armored guard that had recently become Taeros’ ever present shadow also stood by the door, and there was a fourth figure--a cloaked man with a scepter hanging by his side near the hearth. She glanced to all of them as she collected her breath.

“I have some news.” Her urgent tone drew the attention of all those within. “A group is headed down the waterways toward the Black Cells.” When Taeros arched a single brow, she continued. “And one of them, matches the description of Nero Lazarov.”

That brought Jameson’s full attention as he set the parchment in his hand down. The armored figure turned toward her with a metallic creak as well. “Are you certain?” the noble asked sharply.

Brynnalia nodded. “He matches the description given to the guards, and given the fact that the person kept there until yesterday was supposedly of interest to the pirate…” She shrugged. “It might be him.” She fished out another pearl from her pouch and plugged it into her other ear. "I'll notify Crofte."

There was a determined set to the noble's jaw as the Taeros rose from his seat. "Mr. North, help me get into my armor."

RE: What You Are In The Dark【Closed】 - Leggerless - 04-13-2015

Lynx looked down at the note that C'kayah had written on the job board, reading it quietly to herself.

...We're working with Osric and Kiht to draw Taeros out and attack him.

To do this, we need the location of the Black Pit, a Monetarist prison in Western Thanalan...

Must be another opportunity to make some gil to pay for her funds, right? Being an informer does not bring steady pay. Some days you can make a few hundred thousand gil and other days a paltry sum of less than a hundred. She would need to get gil whenever she could, and this job... this was an opportunity to do what she was good at.

Her real performance in the grand scheme of fate and destiny--if she were willing to call it that--soon developed with a woman named Stormchild. Red hair, a pair of pince-nez, and red clothing adorned her figure, as well as a feisty appetite for alcoholic beverages--specifically of the rum and brandy variety. Lynx had considered her a quaint little bird that has found its way into a cage. The best way to meet with someone such as herself? Why, bring her guest down to a bar and have a few drinks, of course! Be a gracious host and perhaps receive a gracious guest in turn, she thought.

Their pleasant exchange mutually benefited one another. She got the location of the Black Cells, an underground network of tunnels and cells a small distance north of the Hammers in Western Thanalan and a description of what type of guards would be there, while Stormchild got her fair share of free drinks.

A few suns later she made an attempt to convene L'kenthi, C'kayah, Osric, and Kiht all back to the estate. The first two were unable to make the meeting, which left Lynx alone with Osric and Kiht to deliver the information and allow them to formulate their plan. For Osric, a small glass of pineapple juice mixed with rum sated his thirst. For Kiht, no drink was required. She gave the information, with a little bit of embellishment and pizzazz much to Osric's frustration, and talked with her two guests. She told them about the Brass Blades and mercenaries that were expected to be guarding the cells down there, as well as a warning that the guard information may not be accurate due to some developments in Ul'dah. Osric and Kiht were free to do as they pleased now knowing where their friend was held.

What she didn't know, however, was why these two were so keen on reaching this place. Some extrapolation on Lynx's side would assume it's someone of high value who's being purposefully kept alive... yet she did not have a name for a face. She pressed Osric and Kiht for this information, yet received no quarter or even the slightest hint of an answer to her questions. One last look through her options on how to know that which she must know were slim, and she decided on something a villain would not normally consider.

Helping out the heroes of the tale for no extra cost.

If anything were to get the attention of Kiht and Osric, it would be that. Osric, though reluctant in his decision, allowed her the chance to help save whoever was inside of these cells and more openly talked about their plan to save the captive. It was agreed upon to be a group of four to five people in the rescue party: Lynx, Osric, Kiht, and one--possibly two--others of Ala Mhigan descent. She was to directly assist Kiht, while Osric and the others provided the proper distractions.

After Osric and Kiht left the estate, Lynx was stopped by Lani, a white-haired female Miqo'te; a woman she would consider her direct boss. She gave a few warnings about Osric and his past, to which Lynx had dismissed given the current situation.

"Osric? It isn't him that I'm afraid of... it's the Miqo'te woman that was with him. I know nothing about her, yet she was able to peel away a layer of my personality within two bells." She pauses for a moment before speaking again to consider her implications. "...Thank you for the warning though. I'll be more careful around him." With this, she headed up the stairs and back to her room, to her books, and to her maps.

It was true, afterall, that Lynx knew nothing about Kiht. A fear of that which you know nothing about passed through her mind when she pondered about the Miqo'te, but it was nothing to be concerned about now. There were more pressing matters at hand.


Many suns later in the present, outside the Gate of the Sultana where the group was meeting, she found Warren covered in armor from head to toe standing next to Osric, his face and body covered by the black robe he wore. She paused a moment, looking at the robed man with a raised eyebrow.

Wait a minute, who was this again? She thought to herself briefly, before hearing his voice as confirmation. Nevermind, that is Osric. She chuckles a bit to herself as the group of three wait in the rain for their next companion Kiht, who arrived soon after Lynx with a spear, leather armour, and a mask covering most of her face.
 
Right, right… a quick, tactical analysis. She tried to ponder through the rest of her thoughts without bringing too much attention to herself. As she pondered, the fireteam made their way towards the North Hammer, where the Black Cell is located.

Her thoughts coincided with whom she looked at, assessing each person’s skills at a glance. She looked first at the front of the group.

Mhm… Warren. Plate armour, brandishing a sword and shield. He’ll be useful for any encounters against arrows, so long as he doesn’t receive a hit in the cracks of his armour. At the very least, he will provide a counter towards any heavily armoured personnel.

A glance to her left followed after Warren’s quick assessment.

Kiht. An elusive Miqo’te to be sure, yet her combat capabilities are likely with that spear of hers. I’ll expect her to break through the line while Warren attempts to keep the more dangerous enemies on him.

From Kiht, she turned her head over towards Osric. A slight smirk showed on her face as she looked his way.

And Osric! Equipped with two dagger-sized blades, he’s going to be the person—besides myself—the most capable of slipping past the enemy vanguard. His sergeant status will likely set him as the ad hoc leader of this group. If he has knives he can throw, he can improve his function within the unit.

She looked down at herself, patting down her coat and touching the hilts of both of her blades.

Let’s see here… lockpicks, a few bandages, throwing knives, and a small logbook. Doubt our enemies will sit for a story this time though. And both of my blades look to be in good condition... Hm. It seems like I’ll have to act the part of an archer for a time, though with knives instead of arrows.

She looked across the other three in the group once more before taking out a pair of goggles and putting them over her eyes.

Warren in front, Kiht and Osric behind him, and myself as the rear guard... I’d imagine they’ll consider the same kind of formation as well.


The group set foot at the entrance to the Black Cell. Osric removed his robe to show a person quite unlike the man she remembered seeing at the Tylwyth Narah estate. She stayed quiet about this, trusting the man to have a plan behind the appearance similar to a very certain pirate her organization has been investigating. One could even say he perfectly resembled Lazarov in height, stature, skin color, and hair color! Though… his eyes. If someone took a second glance, they may see through his carefully made disguise.

Within moments after they made their way inside, shouting is heard at the other end of the tunnel. Thuds and crashes, chainmail bashing against the stone, and the splashing of water echoed down the path.

“They’ll hire anyone these days, won’t they…?” Warren said.

“Recruitment standards are lacking, that’s for certain. You think I boasted and poised and postured and called out his name enough times? I’d like to drop this atrocious accent as soon as possible.” A bit of disgust marked his words as Osric spoke.

More footsteps were approaching from the other end of the tunnels. Three? Four? Lynx questioned the number, but didn’t assume that a large number could quickly traverse the tunnels with ease. The light touch of their steps on the ground could assume they were trying to be sneaky, and then—silence.

“Kiht, Lynx, from here on out, eyes ‘n’ ears open. Expect anythin’.” Osric says, likely anticipating an encounter. The silence is broken as Warren clangs his sword on his shield, the wardrum of battle echoing throughout the halls.

Lynx sighs to herself as she speaks in a soft, yet annoyed voice. “Well, now we can expect anything.” The others either didn’t respond or dismissed her attempt at a joke.

“They’ll be in touch on pearl at the very least. They knew we were here before we did.” says Warren.

Osric grins, his red shirt and black vest making him an easy target to spot. “Blades, paladins, archers, musketmen… anythin’ ‘n’ everythin’.”

“Indeed, I think we have even awakened ancient spirits by now…” Kiht states, before readying her spear.

“Front and center, Arbiter?” Osric chimed in.

“Makes the most sense.” Warren says, as he steps to the forefront, keeping his shield raised and his eyes open. Lynx almost made a comment about how the enemy knew they were coming, but she stayed her tongue. Pointless questions won’t do much good here.

“Line it up.” Osric states; the group putting themselves in order. Like Lynx predicted, they set themselves into a formation much like the one played out in her mind. “Know what folks use t’bring down gates, Ser Castille?”

Warren smirks before replying. “I’m familiar. Hold tight, watch your corners.” The team interpreted his sentence as a final piece of advice. Osric tightened the grip on his blades, Warren kept his shield tight to maximize his defense, Kiht prepares her stance, and Lynx puts a blade in her right hand and a throwing knife in her left hand.

Osric laughed. “Battering ram.”

RE: What You Are In The Dark【Closed】 - Coatleque - 04-13-2015

Meanwhile . . .

She had not known that Roen escaped. This news hit her even harder than the rumored intruders as Brynnalia Callae explained the situation to her over linkpearl. "What?! Where is she?" Desperate words from an equally desperate woman who had seen her every attempt at bringing the man to justice thwarted or subverted by incompetence. And now she was to believe the man himself was leading some haphazard assault on a secret prison?

"...I have no idea. But ye want tae get Lazarov? This be the perfect chance."
"Fine, fine. I will be there. I only know of the entrance from the manse."
"We gatherin' in the office now."

She was met just outside by a Brass Blade she did not recognize. Most likely a new recruit. He stopped her with a halt before questioning her business. She pulled off her visor and glared. "My business with him is rather private." There was a moment before the blade realized who she was from a description given and quickly backed off. "Un, in there, milady." he stammered.

Muttering to herself about 'bureaucratic inconveniences' in security, she pulled the turban and visor back down over her eyes and pushed her way through the door into the office. Inside she was immediately greeted by what could have amounted to the small army of those assembled. Miss Callae stood to the side of the room while Jameson's latest security asset stood silently by the door per usual. A cloaked figure that Coatleque remembered from days before was also there, though nowhere nearly as dark and mysterious as the last time they met.

An argument was being waged between Brynnalia and the cloaked man, whom appeared to be a thaumaturge of some sort. She was reminding the man of his contractual obligations while he did his best to weasel out of them. Coatleque nodded her approval to the heavily armored figure by the wall before inclining her ear to focus on what was being said beyond the office division. Jameson was there with his valet, and his well-being was of more import than cowards to her at the moment.

"The guards posted underground reported a group, one of whom matches the description. Headin' toward the Black Cells. I can only imagine it be Lazarov." Brynnalia began to relay what little information they had when she realized Coatleque had arrived.

"Heading? They simply let them pass?" The sworn asked rhetorically. Their thoughts were cut short though when Jameson rounded the corner of the division in full-plate armor matching the heavily armored guard by the door. She quirked an eyebrow almost amusingly at the sight of him before stepping forward. "James? What are you doing?" The man lifted his visor.

"They think it's Lazarov."
"Yes, I've heard but..." Her weak objection was only met with a smile.
"Well it seems for once we'll be engaging in intense physicality back-to-back."
"Milord, is that... are you...?"
"Insane? Yes. I have considered that. Do try not to point me out in combat. I require surprise to be on my side."

"Your side? An unnecessary risk!" She stepped forward again as if she could personally stop him or change his mind. He could not see the worry behind her eyes through the mask. "You do not mean to face this man yourself?!"

Jameson's expression turned suddenly serious. "Oh, I do." She opened her mouth once more to object but the familiar look in his eyes silenced her. Her lips pursed as her defiance began to fade before stepping to his side and bowing her head submissively. "I will stand with you."

He directed his attention to the guard by the door then. "You will flank with me. We will take the fight straight to the teeth of Lazarov and remove them, tooth by tooth. Coatleque, I will require you to take whomever is leading their charge. If it's Lazarov, and he is not leading from the rear, let him through to me."

She and the guard nodded almost in unison. "As you will, milord.", Coatleque replied.

"Mr. North, I fear your finery is at risk."
"Sir...?"
"Your clothes. I am afraid you will have to bill me for the bloodstains to come. Apologies in advance."
"... I am sure I will manage, sir."

The raven-haired rogue, meanwhile, regarded them from the side of the room, touching her linkpearl now and again as more information was fed to her from below. A glance was thrown to Gideon momentarily, but he valet merely stared blankly ahead as he awaited further instruction. Perhaps it was his eerie calm or maybe the buzzing in her ear, but the woman began to shift her weight from one foot to another.

"We all understand? No names." Jameson said with stern command to he acknowledgement of all.
Brynnalia inhaled and took up her bow to test the string before looking back up to the others. "I'm goin' tae scout ahead."
"Take the guard out front with you." Jameson ordered.
"Will do." The woman turned on her heals pausing only to glance at Coatleque. "I'll keep in touch with the pearl."

The table at the side of the room was then brushed clear and a map thrown down. Coatleque wandered over from the desk to the table at the side of the room to stand by Jameson as they perused over the map, making notes of where the tunnels turned, intersected, and doubled back. Another map was laid down by the robed man with a slight nod of acknowledgement from the Lord and the two compared.

"Our chance to rid ourselves of this vermin once and for all. A risk worth taking, no?" Jameson pointed to a particular straight away in the map before glancing to her at his side. She returned a sly smile.

"In one fell swoop then? I did not expect him to be so brash." She would not admit that something felt off about all of this. She had spoke to Nero over the linkpearl. He made it clear there was no intention of coming for Roen. Why now would he change his mind?

"Let us also assume he has tricks up his sleeve." Jameson added.
"Of course. Even he could not make it far alone. Though I doubt a rabble of Limsan pirates would make it far past the bar."

The buzz of the linkpearl broke her train of thought as Brynnalia reported in. Coatleque held a hand to her ear listening. "Shall we follow? We have the advantage of knowing these tunnels." Another moment before her hand lowered with a pensive glance to the man beside her. "She counts four targets."

"Good." was all the man would say.
"Best get down here now. Quick." came a whispered hiss over the linkpearl.

Coatleque looked back up to Jameson as the group began to huddle closer to each other. There was a light in his eyes she had not seen for what seemed weeks now. A certain thrill at ending this once and for all that pushed all tiredness aside in the face of what had to be done. He glanced at her one last time before closing the visor of his helmet. "We go."

RE: What You Are In The Dark【Closed】 - Coatleque - 04-13-2015

It did not take long for the group to rendezvous with Brynnalia ahead in the tunnels. Coatleque had taken up the lead with scimitar drawn at the first sight of bodies before. Jameson and his guard flanked each other as discussed while the robed man and Mister North brought up the rear. None of them had the grace or tact of a scout, and if the intruders had not been aware of their approach they certainly were now.

Most of the torches were either taken or extinguished. Brynnalia glanced over her shoulder at the Sworn's arrival and tilted her head towards the tunnel ahead. "I think this needs more light around here." Drawing her bow back she lit and released a single flaming arrow towards the darkness.

Time could have stood still as they watched the arrow fly through its long arc into the tunnel ahead. It seemed to bounce of a solid object and explode to the side in fiery sparks as a voice bellowed "Archers...!" Coatleque took another step forward, sword outstretched in a defensive position. "Lazarov!", she cried in response.

A sickening crunch and gurgling cry came from the front. Still too dim for either side to see what was happening, Brynnalia let fly more flaming arrows to light up the tunnel. Shadowy figures ducked behind the large shape in front with drawn sword flashing in the light. She cursed and looked towards Crofte who had taken another step forward. "Paladins!"

"Incoming charge!" Coatleque yelled as she suddenly side-stepped the shield barrelling down upon them. Her scimitar turned back as she swept it low to catch whoever it was by the shin and trip them as with a giant hook. The move was almost anticipated as the oncoming paladin stopped and dropped to one knee. The flash of a blade from the side caused her to jerk her blade upwards, hilt held high, to parry. Their blades now locked, she pressed towards her opponent to keep them as such.

The sounds of combat now rang through the hallway as figures before and behind moved through the dim light to press their chosen targets. Coatleque held fast, but could not make out Lazarov amidst the shadows that danced between flames. She pushed against the man before her. "Who are you that you are helping this murderer! He will face justice this night!"

There was a cry of pain behind her before the man's blade pressed back against hers in an attempt to regain control. The same deep voice that had warned of the archer before now growled accusingly at her. "You defend the man pulling the strings?! Despite everything he's cost us, cost you?!"

"HEAL ME! HEAL ME!"

The woman did not let up, but her eyes went wide under her mask as she recognized the voice. "You!" she hissed. "You side with this man for your vigilante justcie!?" A shape moved behind Warren but did not escape her sight. Now moved by anger as well she pushed against Warren's blade with all she could manage to force him backwards into the one attempting to pass.

A futile attempt on her part as he outweighed her considerably. The man planted a foot behind and stood his ground. "You back a puppetmaster! You serve one who serves himself! What was his bargain for your part, Crofte? Do you think he's a replacement for John?!"

Never before had he referred to her by last name alone in her presence. To add insult he dared mention that name from her past. That name nobody else but her should remember. The murder within her eyes was hidden only by the Blade's mask over her face. "You are not worthy to speak that name to me!", she nearly spat at him.

Twisting her blade free, she spun quickly to her left, rolling against his shield before stopping behind and lashing out with one leg against his to force him over. His knee met stone once more as his body twisted to keep the shield between her blade and himself. "Oh, so what is it then Florence?! Are you content to throw away what you've worked for to take the path of least resistance?! Are you a Sultansworn, or are you a puppet of the Syndicate?" There was a fire gleaming in his own eyes, an outrage gleaming in the light of burning arrows. "What ARE you in the dark, Florence? A pining housewife? Or a defender of the people?!"

It was then that Coatleque realized their positions were reversed on the field and Lazarov was within striking distance. Warren's words gave her only brief pause. "I am a servant who knows the difference between revenge..." She turned to the pirate to her left. "and JUSTICE!" There was a lunge towards the man as she noticed an immediate opening.

Warren saw his own opening, however, and immediately brought his blade down upon hers in full force. Whether by sheer luck, or fate, the blades met at the crossguard of her scimitar before she could bring it to bear. It fell clattering to the stone as she drew back cradling her wrist in her other hand. Her attention was no longer on the man before her, however, as she saw the armored figure further to her left collapse to a knee.

"NO!", she cried out. All at once she tucked her shoulder and threw herself to the left at the closest figure to her. Suddenly an unexpected obstacle tumbled in front of her and she tripped, toppling forward just as a sharp blow hit her square across her back.

She fell to the stone floor, coughing and gasping for air even through a pained groan. Her vision blurred as the battle raged around her. One arm reached forward and pushed as she tried to lift herself in vain. Instinct began to take control as her left hand reached to her boot and withdrew a long iron spatha. As the stonework came back into focus again her hand reached forward and dug the blade between the cracks in the ground as a lever to pull herself up with.

"MELKIRE! WHERE is LAZAROV!?"

She rose to one knee and jerked the blade from where it was wedged with her sword arm. Her vision cleared just in time to see Warren barrelling down upon her once again. "You defend he who would defile the Sultanate! What kind of 'Sworn are you!?" She could not defend but only scramble backwards, finally rising to her feet though clearly in pain.

She fell back against the wall, her eyes locked on Warren's just as a gunshot rang out through the tunnels.

*BLAM*

She felt nothing but pain as her back met the stone wall. The sword slipped from her hand and clattered to the stones.

*BLAM*

She slid against the far wall as her gaze fell upon Osric Melkire, and the smoke rising from his direction.

"...no.", she stammered.

RE: What You Are In The Dark【Closed】 - Melkire - 04-14-2015

A flaming arrow shot through the air and down the tunnel towards them, only to ricochet off the highlander’s shield and go sailing further into the darkness.

The man in the red shirt and the black vest broke formation; he’d been right behind Castille, keeping pace, crabbing along in the Ala Mhigan’s wake, his eyes scanning the shadows for potential ambush. That alone was why he noticed the sellsword they’d just passed, in the brief moments of illumination before the flaming arrow fell and was doused in the water that covered most of the tunnel floor. He threw the knife in his right hand at the hired blade, mere distraction, as more flaming arrows flew overhead. Not all of them landed in the water - one, in fact, skidded off the swordsman’s gauntlet, along with the knife - and so the midlander had plenty of light to work with when he drew back his right fist with a sadistic grin and struck the other man in the gut.

“You bitch,” the sellsword grunted... and then the man in red and black drew the knife held reverse-grip in his left hand across the sellsword’s throat, before immediately dropping to his right, the mercenary’s last desperate swing barely missing him.

The midlander pushed himself back up and onto his feet as the corpse-to-be let out a death rattle and collapsed behind him with a splash. At a glance… there, Castille, rooted as firmly to the center of the passageway as an Arbiter to his Rock. To his right, another swordsman. More beyond… but there was room for clearance. A breach.

“HUNTRESS,” he bellowed, “LET’S GET GOING!”

Her ears were twitching this way and that; she and the other hadn’t advanced yet. He took the lead, staying low, their footsteps echoing faintly as the clash of steel rang out loud and clear amidst blood curling screams, punctuated every so often by the occasional twinge and whistle of an arrow being let loose. His heart hammered in his chest.

“Passing left!”

The swordsman facing Warren pressed against him, desperate to drive the large man back and block the breach… but the highlander hunkered down and braced himself, his mass and weight holding her at bay. The man in red and black was the first to slip behind and past him, his eyes scanning the assembled as he drew another knife from inside his vest.

Pointless. He grimaced. Archer, armor, armor, more behind. The armor on the left, gilded. Left and right both with battle axe in hand.

The thief cowered in fear.
The assassin knew better than to try.
The soldier assessed the odds and came up short.

Through the chaotic din came a hiss that shattered that instant like a sledgehammer to glass. “There. Lazarov.”

The monk chuckled as he dropped his knives, left his steel behind as the armored sentinels surged forward, the one on the left thrusting with precision, the one on the right with axe held high. He drew his right fist back as his stance shifted, his elbow drawn up past his shoulder…

Earth is the element within which it is steeped, and from it, one may attain its strength, resilience and endurance.

…and he struck down through the water and drove his fist into the stone. A sudden eruption of scalding water, hissing steam, and shards of rock greeted his assailants, and he slipped away to his right just as one axe head tore at his left sleeve and the other descended. Sparks flew as steel assaulted stone. A mere moment sooner and he’d have been pinned and crowned. No time for idle thought. He tapped at the linkpearl held in his ear, the one that belonged to Kiht, and whispered, “go.” He turned and his eyes widened as his exit from the spray brought him up alongside the swordsman from earlier… the swordsman with long flaming hair.

Crofte.

He turned again and found himself facing armor. Plain. Not gilded. He didn’t think; he didn’t have time for it. He drew the brass knuckledusters from the tassles riding on his belt and struck out once, twice, three times. The sentinel deftly caught one blow on the haft of the axe, but the second and third struck steel plate and drove the combatant back a step. The axe went high again…

"I am a servant who knows the difference between revenge… and JUSTICE!”

Crofte to his right and somewhat behind. The sentinel in front. So he smirked and broke left, trusting in the man he’d brought with him to have his back, to fulfill the purpose for which he’d been brought. He pushed off with his right foot, then planted his left and fell into a runner’s crouch… there. The man in the gilded plate.

A burst. It’s a burst. From everywhere, all at once.

He pushed off, low to the ground and impossibly fast as he crashed into the armored man’s legs. He rebounded, left shoulder sore as he rolled away, prepared for the suit to come crashing down on him, but the other man grunted and fell to one knee as part of his armor gave way. Their eyes met, emerald and amber. The amber blinked.

“Melkire…?!” The armored man snarled, and his next few words echoed throughout the tunnel. “This is NOT Lazarov!”

Splashing from his right. Osric spat at Jameson’s faceplate as he dropped his knuckles, fell back into a crouch, his hands falling to his boots and drawing the pair of misericordes he’d commissioned from Lon’qu Jin not a moon past. He turned to face the oncoming mass and rolled to his right, the blades clashing against the sentinel’s left greave. He winced as the impact sprained his left wrist and knocked him bodily aside as he tumbled, his grip on the blade’s hilt lost, scattering it from his hand. He moved to push himself upright, but someone or something tripped over him. He went sprawling, a dull ache tearing at his left side.

”Endure.”

He sucked in a breath and reached deep for that reservoir of light, the well of aetheric energy known to a few as the Sacral. Shot by shot, glass by glass, tumbler by tumbler, bucket by bucket, he fed that sweetness to his wounded side.

“MELKIRE! WHERE is LAZAROV?!”

He laughed. He couldn’t help it. He needed to laugh. Needed to live, even in these final moments. The ruse had clearly succeeded. He’d grown his hair out, like Nero’s. Dyed it, like Nero’s. Shaved his face clean, like Nero. Found himself a red shirt and black vest, along with some leather boots and gloves… like Nero’s.

Osric Melkire pushed himself wearily to his feet and drew his last two knives from their scabbards. In front of him stood the man in gilded plate, his own weapon held at the ready. Stout. Resolute. Fiercely determined to survive, just as the sergeant himself was. He smirked.

“That you, Jameson? Or are you the double?”

No response, other than another swing of the axe, the motion abrupt, as if fueled by anger. Instinct took over; Osric stepped in, as close as he could, his knives rising in a cross-guard to catch the haft of the axe. Their eyes met again, their faces close, the Royalist’s breath fogging the Monetarist's faceplate.

“You have been a thorn in my side for far too long,” whispered Taeros… and then he pressed down on the man with all of his not-inconsiderable weight.

Osric’s knees buckled for moment. He dropped the left knife and caught the haft in his fist as that weight bore him down to one knee. Mistake. Same as with Armstrong. Dead. Don’t ever get in this close. Mistake. Dead. Dead. Those were the panicked thoughts that went scurrying across the surface of his mind… below that, however… below that….

Perfect.

His lips quivered. “Jameson, I’ve a question for you--“

The man reversed his axe and sent the haft straight down into Osric’s upright knee.

Blinding white agony. He cried out. He collapsed, his leg giving way. Down on both knees. Sharp. Sudden flame. Up his leg, side, and back. Aching. The knee. How had he known about the knee? He had….

Wrong knee.

Melkire’s vision came swimming back to him. Jameson, standing over him, axe rising for a follow-through. Standing entirely too close, no longer bearing down. Osric dropped his remaining knife, and his right hand climbed up over his back to his shoulder blades. He grasped, gripped, and pulled at something there… and his shirt tore open, all the way down his spine, as he snapped his wrist out and brought his arm down and around, a bright gleam of silver in his hand, a sword of light…

No.

A gunblade.

Jin’li’s gunblade.

With an inward twist of the wrist, he punched up and out and drove the weapon into the waist joint of Jameson’s armor. The blade caught there, pinned by pressure, unable to pierce through whatever quality plate Taeros was wearing… but that didn’t matter. What mattered was what came next, and what came next warmed Melkire’s murderous little heart. He smiled that shite-eating grin for which he was so well known.

“What do we do with a drunken sailor?”

The axe came down.

He pulled the trigger.

BLAM.

Red. White hot. Red again. He screamed. He cried. He couldn’t see. He could smell blood. Shoulder. Axe head in his right shoulder. The bastard was trying to take his arm.

As if I’ll let you.

Osric’s left fist clenched tighter, clenched down on the haft as he twisted his grip, pushed upward, pulled in, screamed again. He couldn’t. Hurt. It hurt. Dying. He was dying. He was going to die.

”Come home to me.”

A small rumble. A chuckle. Cackling. Full blown laughter. Absurd. This was absurd. Why not? All this effort, wasted, and why? Why was he still suffering, when it was so easy to end it all?

All I have t’do is pull a trigger, eh?

So he did.

BLAM.

Clattering and clinking of mail. The pressure on the haft was suddenly gone, and several moon’s worth of training under Worthy Jetsam took over as he bellowed and pushed and wrenched the blade from his shoulder. The axe fell to the floor and his left hand clutched at cobblestones as he dragged himself back, farther down the tunnel, away from… from….

He looked up, and through the tears and the blood he could see Taeros stumbling back, one hand held at his midsection, something blue trickling down his leg.

Jameson was staring at him in fear.

The words dripped from his lips, then danced together, one eerily melodic tune cutting through the sudden silence.

“Weigh, heigh, and up she rises~…”

“No…”

“Weigh, heigh, and up she rises~…”

“James!”

The pirate in him smiled. "Weigh, heigh, and up she rises, early in the mornin'~."

“Gideon--“ Taeros choked, blood… odd blood… seeping from his wounds.

Osric’s head was swimming. Odd. Why was everything so odd? He was wounded, yes, but… numb? Why was he…? No. Not now. He still had something… something left to… to say.

“This,” he hissed, “this snake… ruttin’ hells!”

He cried out. Shoulder. His shoulder. Ignore it. Endure. Drank. He drank from the reservoir.

“…deserves no gods-damned LOYALTY!”

Something else was leaking from the bullet holes hidden beneath Jameson’s fingers. Something blue, and glowing like the sea beneath the moon. The fop glanced down. “No.”

The sergeant squinted. Was that…? Ceruleum, had to be. Why…? Swimming again. Vision blurring. Why did Jameson sound…?

“Don’t… worry,” Osric forced out. “Grimsong’ll… send you… Lazarov soo--“

Acidic. The taste in his mouth…

Ah, shite, I’ve been poisoned.

The cobblestones rushed upward, Thal descended from on high, and someone draped the night sky over his eyes. There were no stars to greet him.

Oblivion.

RE: What You Are In The Dark【Closed】 - Knight Kat - 04-17-2015

One objective.

Kiht Jakkya had only one objective: Rescue Roen Deneith.

None of it made sense to her. She had no real idea why these people were fighting. They were all of the same nation. Monetarist, Royalist, Sultansworn, Immortal Flame; what did it matter? Kiht could not understand.

The complicated, little, secret civil war had been going on for a long time. Kiht had no stake in it. No stake aside from her friends. She didn't want to choose a side. She didn't want to fight for any Ul'dahn cause. However, she was not so naive that she thought she could remain neutral. Osric was there to kill a man, and Kiht was prepared to fight any of his enemies who got in her way. She was on the side of a man who was certainly not a hero.

The notion never gave her pause though. Ironically, Osric and Kiht always seemed to end up on the same side. She could not understand why. She always had her own objective different from his, yet they had always ended up fighting the same foes in some way. Coincidence? Kiht wondered, but she had no answers.


"Incoming charge!" A strong female voice, Crofte's voice, shouted as the male Highlander Paladin ran in.

Kiht's attention was snapped back to the present. She had to focus. Even in the dark of the tunnel, her Keeper eyes clearly saw the cluster of foes blocking her way to Black Cell. The only way past them was through them – she readied her spear.

Already, someone was shooting fire arrows in at the group. Kiht kept having to wince and blink at the annoying light.

"HUNTRESS! LET'S GET GOING!" Osric shouted to her.

She was on Osric's heels in an instant; staying with him as he moved into the fray, but keeping her spear away from him in case the scrappy fighter had to maneuver back. Both of the armored soldiers closed on Osric, but his Highlander ally was occupied with Crofte. Leggerless was busy trying to not be shot by arrows, so there was no one to help Osric.

Kiht turned her spear on the armored soldier closest to her. She wasn't going to let them gang up on Osric. Just as she began to move in with her spear, water and rocks blasted up from the tunnel floor. It gave Kiht pause, but it had a worse effect on the soldiers. They gave Osric space for a split second...

“Go” Osric said over her linkpearl. It was her chance.

Suddenly, Kiht disengaged from her attack. She bolted between the two armored soldiers. She knew it would not be quite that easy. It was a tunnel, and there was little room to move. However, years of running through dense forest while in pursuit of prey, or while being pursued by horrifying beasts, had made her skilled with agility.

Something hard struck her legs – the bastard soldier in armor used his axe handle to trip her. However, she staggered then ducked into a swift roll; breaking her momentum and regaining her balance as she came to her feet. She continued to run. Her charge to Black Cell would be unrelenting.

Archer.

Kiht suddenly remembered the archer. “Shite!” She cursed. It was a mistake to run with her back to an archer. She knew that all too well. The tunnel gave her no cover, and hardly any room at her flanks. She began to hop and turn to her right and left. She moved in as much of a haphazard pattern as she could to try and avoid any possible shots from the archer.

Unfortunately, any archer worthy of the title would not miss much in that kind of situation. But Kiht had to get to Roen. Nothing else mattered. She had to keep running. Her “sister” was captive.

A stinging pain shot from her shoulder, and surged through her body. Kiht had been struck by the archer – an arrow piercing into her right shoulder blade. She staggered to a halt, and let out a loud, abrupt growl of protest.

However, the injury was a fortune hidden under a misfortune. She had to turn around. The archer could have been preparing another shot, so she swiftly twisted to look behind herself. That was when she saw him – a cloaked man with a single blade. He had pursued her without her noticing. It was quite the feat considering few people were capable of sneaking up on the Huntress.

She took her spear in her left hand, and held it center-haft. Her ears pinned back on her head as she let out a low growl at the man.

“.................................shit.” The cloaked man said quietly.

Kiht narrowed her eyes at him. She was not going to make the first move yet. He could be used as cover from the archer, and he seemed reluctant to face her directly.

“Ah---. Y--you'd b-best run... y-you're w-wounded...!” The man stammered out at her.

Kiht shook her head. “So you can stab me in the back?! I think not!” She said in a harsh tone, but continued to wait. She tightened her grasp on her spear.

The cloaked man suddenly looked resigned, but he started to move in confidently. He approached directly like a rookie fighter. Kiht was forced to use her spear with one hand. A skilled assassin would have taken better advantage of that.

He swiftly batted aside the tip of her spear with his blade, but Kiht hopped back; bringing her spear back into point towards the man's body. In one swift motion, before her body even finished landing from the hop, she thrust her spear forward into his torso. The unfortunate assassin was skewered straight through the midsection. The spear point poked out his back as blood poured from his wound.

Kiht stood still for a moment as her spear remained impaled in the man, and she wondered if he had truly been a threat... Oh well, he should not have moved towards her with a deadly weapon. She abruptly yanked the spear from his body.

"Hgghhkk..." He let out as he fell to the ground.
She quickly turned then began running down the tunnel. The man was left bleeding on the ground. "H---healer....?" Were his final words.

Kiht continued down the tunnel swiftly and quietly. She grit her teeth through the pain caused by the arrow in her shoulder. She scanned for any signs of cells. Roen was her only objective.

It wasn't long before she found a thick reinforced wooden door to her right. There was a small window in the upper half, and a torch light that flickered from within the thick door. She studied the thing, and sniffed the air, but all she could smell was the musk of the tunnel. She began to slowly push the door open. It was unlocked.

The heavy door creaked open, and within was a cell with thick granite stones on all sides. Another set of doors was ahead. It was ajar. She swiftly moved to it then used her left shoulder to push her way through the door. She quickly glanced about as she moved through the doorway.

Beyond the second set of doors was what looked to be a cell, a cot, manacles chained to the ground and a small table. But, no occupant was within it. Kiht surveyed the cell frantically. She sniffed the air to find any familiar scent. She then paused for a split second; the cell was full of the scent that Kiht knew far too well. Roen had been there for many suns.

She frantically began to study every object in a hurried investigation. She let out a quiet whimper as the pain in her shoulder flared to match the intensity of the pain in her heart. Roen was captive, but not there. Where was Roen then? Was Kiht in the wrong place? The thoughts flooded her mind.

Nothing. There were no clues. The trail was cold. Not even the best trackers would have found anything to go on. Roen was gone without a trace.

Kiht made her way to exit the cell; stepping just outside the door. She quivered in almost uncontrollable frustration. "Roooooeeen!" She called out into the tunnel. However, Kiht's desperate call echoed forlornly down the winding tunnels with no answer.

Kiht's ears lowered along with her head. Once again, she was not able to find Roen when she needed Kiht the most. An arrow stuck out from her shoulder, her mission failed, her honor crushed, her characteristic Moon-keeper notions of sentimentality left unsatisfied... She slowly raised her head as she grew an intense scowl. Tears began to well in her eyes.

UNACCEPTABLE.

Someone had to pay. The people who might know where Roen was were still fighting her allies in the tunnel. One of them might have had an answer. If not, someone had to die.

*BLAM!*

A loud sound from the tunnel she came from broke Kiht from her state. Her head jerked to gaze down the tunnel. “What the Hells was that?”

*BLAM!*

A firearm...

RE: What You Are In The Dark【Closed】 - Coatleque - 04-20-2015

Pain is what she had remembered first. Not cutting or searing, but a throbbing from within her midsection that permeated her whole body. Had she not been armored, Warren's blow would have easily broken her back and cut short another life this night. Stumbling backwards, her body met the stone wall of the tunnel and her vision flashed white.

Then the gunshots. Two of them, to her left. The sound of a gunblade clattering to the stone below. There was the figure of Osric Melkire laughing, crying, singing, bleeding out on the floor. An armored figure stepping backwards from him. She realized then the trick that had been played on them all.

"Weigh, heigh, and up she rises~..."

"No..." Jameson staggered backwards, moving up the hallway. Blood seeped from the blackened holes in the middle of his armor. "Gideon---" he choked. Time slowed as she watched him stumble. The blade slipped from her hand as she lurched forward towards him.

"Weigh, heigh, and up she rises~..."

"James!", she cried futily. No aid came however. The sounds of combat continued behind her as Warren struggled with Jameson's guard. From within his armor something else began to pour out. A viscous blue and luminescent liquid that resembled the sea beneath the moon's light. He looked down and grimaced beneath the visor. "No."

"Weigh, heigh, and up she rises, early in the mornin'~"

She nearly tripped in trying to reach him. His voice stopped her in her tracks though as the helmet looked squarely at the Flame Sergeant back down the tunnel. "You FOOL, do you know what you--" Amidst the hate there was fear in his words, though only Coatleque could feel it. More of the blue liquid dripped from the wounds now, far more it than blood. A strange glow began to seep from the very cracks and joints of the armored plates he wore.

She saw the gleam of his eyes though the visor's slit one last time, felt the fear behind them. The the resignation to his fate. "Banurein," he whispered to her. There was a final look of warning before he implored her to "Run!" The armor began to shake.

"N-no...," she whispered even while taking her own staggered step backwards. Would that he could see the fear behind her own visor. There was nothing else she could have done, and the will to live overtook both fear and sadness. She knew he would have saved her even if he could not save himself. So she ran, turning about and flailing her arms at the forgotten paladin approaching her from behind.

"Run!" She cried, "RUN! Get back!" The man uttered his own curses, sheathing his blade and turning to hoist the downed Flame and carry him to safety. As they neared the next two figures, Coatleque reached out and forcefully pulled the one off of the other; She was not even sure who it was.

The armor itself shook, flashed, hissed...
A bright flare.
Then silence.

She stopped and released the woman she had been half-dragging with her to look back just as the suit of armor toppled face first to the ground. "James?!" She called out. Not waiting for an answer she left the others where they were and raced back to the other end of the tunnel.

There as no movement. No sound or sign of life within. She collapsed immediately next to it and rolled the armor over to its backside. Surprisingly light for what she expected. And also empty. She stared in a mixture of horror, shock, and loss, as she examined and prodded the armor for any signs, any traces of what had happened.

There was heat. The smell of burnt hair and singed flesh, but no ash left behind. She began to mumble his name to herself repeatedly. "James, James, what did you do? Don't do this to me..." Even in this state, though, she could tell he was simply gone. Not dead yet not present. It was perhaps this realization that kept her from breaking down right there. Her head slowly turned to see others backing slowly up the tunnel towards her.

She turned back to the armor to examine it one last time. Within one of the gloves she found a locket, familiar yet now charred and slightly melted. The picture within burned to nothing. She gazed at it before scraping some of the blackness away with a nail, then quickly pocketed it. Rising slowly she joined Brynnalia at her side to meet the imposing figure now closing on them with drawn blade.

RE: What You Are In The Dark【Closed】 - Roen - 04-26-2015

“Show me the body.”

Warren Castille. The Highlander that she had met so many moons ago at the Quicksand; the free paladin standing next to Crofte by that thick pillar. That man was now standing in front of them with his shield and sword blazing. His sword's tip still dripped freshly drawn blood; the man had decapitated Taeros’ personal guard moments earlier in the fight.

Melkire, that troublesome Flame sergeant had brought Castille, along with a spear wielding miqo’te and a knife throwing Midlander, into the tunnels below the ground to stage a rescue for Roen Deneith. Making himself look like Lazarov in appearance and clothing was clever, Brynn thought. And it had lured out Taeros like a bee to honey.

And now that the armored form of Taeros lay motionless on the ground, wisps of smoke rising from within the full suit of plate-mail armor he wore, the vultures were already beginning to gather to pick at the fallen lion.

“Ye don’ get tae demand shite, paladin,” Brynn retorted. She was already withdrawing another arrow from her quiver. She had seen the viciousness Castille was capable of in battle and was not going to let him get within five sword lengths of her. She held the bow steady and nocked the arrow, its point aimed at the man’s head.

“Show me the body before I rush you down.” Warren motioned towards her leg that had been cut. “I’ve already killed enough of you. Don’t make this hard.”

Brynnalia said nothing as she squinted one eye slightly, adjusting her aim for the dimness of the tunnels. She kept her gaze on the target even as she shifted her weight to that injured leg to test its strength. Gideon had been quick enough to come to her side when the Midlander had cut her; his healing touch in mid battle had been surprisingly efficient and skilled. There remained some soreness, but the bleeding had stopped and she could feel the muscle fibers supporting her weight just well enough. She was confident that she could maneuver to dodge the paladin should it come to that. Her fingers pulled on the bowstring just another ilm more, ready to release…

“....Please.”

If the paladin’s quiet plea didn’t make her pause, then it was the hand upon her shoulder. Crofte stood next to her, and when the bard met her gaze, the Sworn shook her head. Brynnalia scowled but lowered her bow and allowed Castille to walk past.

“Your ruse has won,” Crofte spat out towards the man, her words tinged with both fatigue and bitterness. The Sworn then called to Gideon, who was standing just a few yalms away, attending to another fallen figure--the cloaked thaumaturge who had chased after the lancer. He was not moving. “Mister North?" Crofte continued. "We should see to the sergeant, then be gone from this place.”

“WHAT?” Brynnalia turned to Crofte, incredulous. The valet too had a look of utter surprise. But while Gideon bowed with resignation at the order, Brynn continued to shake her head. “Did ye miss the part where they just tried tae kill yer lover?” She glanced at the unmoving armor, one that Castille was now impecting, finding the contents empty. “Gideon, ye don’t have tae do that,” Brynn called out after him.

“I know,” he said quietly, meeting her gaze only for a moment. “The combat is concluded, Mistress.” He turned and made his way down the tunnel to where Melkire was still sitting on the ground, propped up against the wall. Warren brushed past Brynnalia to follow quickly after the valet, clearly suspicious.

Brynn watched Gideon go, her jaw set. Her fingers twitched over feathers of the arrow still half-nocked. Her muscles coiled with anticipation, her eyes gaging the distance between herself and the sergeant and paladin, in case she needed shoot at either of them should they take any action against North.

“Where is she? Where is Roen?!” An angry call cut through the misty air of the tunnels. It was the lancer, trotting back up towards them from the deeper depths.

The bard growled under her breath, turning the aim of the bow toward the miqo’te instead. She could not keep her eyes on Gideon. “The girl ye lookin’ fer no longer here, kitty cat.” Her own answer was an annoyed sneer.

“I can see that!” The miqo’te hissed. “Now you can tell me where she is, and remove an enemy from your worries, or you can keep silent and expect to see me again!” The lancer lowered her head, glaring at her through those goggles. “I will not stop until I find her, you Highland whore.”

Brynn’s eyes narrowed. “She escaped, that troublesome thing. And as fugitives tend to do, she went into hiding. We have no idea where she went.” She held her bow steady, arrow still nocked.

The miqo’te lancer responded with a ready stance of her own, quickly turning the spear in her grasp into an over-arm hold. It was a stand still between them, with both bow and lance at ready. That was when Warren emerged again, with Melkire in tow. “We are leaving.”

Brynnalia heard Crofte’s footsteps behind her as she stepped to the side of the tunnel, the Sworn seemingly allowing them to pass. The bard too stepped to the side, although never lowering her bow. The paladin and the Flame passed. Then the lancer strode past them, but continued to keep her eyes upon Brynn. Finally it was the Midlander with the knives, one that had cut her earlier. Callae gave her a passing glare, but no words were exchanged between them.

It was only after their footsteps were no longer audible that Brynn finally lowered her bow. Gideon came to stand next to her, and she gave him a quick once-over to make certain no harm had come his way. He only gave her his usual placid expression and a nod in response.

Brynnalia turned to see that Crofte had once more come to stand next to the fallen armor. Her head hung low and her shoulders were weighed with weariness. When Brynn came to join her by her side, she too could see for herself that the armor was empty, save some scorch marks within. The bard sniffed the air. “I smell a burnt man, but see none.” She glanced to the Sworn. “Where in hells is the body?”

Crofte’s voice did not waver nor did she sound mournful when she answered. “I don’t know. But I aim to find out.”

“I will attend milord.” Gideon bowed then began to approach the armor on the watery ground.

Brynnalia slid the arrow back into the quiver, just staring at the mess of bodies, blood, and armor that littered the tunnels. She shook her head. “I’ll…get a cleanup crew down here,” she said to no one in particular as she reached for that pearl in her ear. She watched as Crofte strode by, steps now with heavy purpose.

“I will find him,” the Sworn said, her voice sharp like a steel blade. “And if not him, then her.”

Callae paused, her finger hovering by the pearl. “Her?”

Crofte’s green eyes flicked to the bard. There was no mercy in them now.

“Banurein.”

RE: What You Are In The Dark【Closed】 - Melkire - 04-27-2015

The letters were everywhere. They seemingly went out to every residence, every box, every drop point to have ever been known as associated in some way with one Sebastian Redgrave. Each letter was accompanied by a small, blue marble of a linkpearl, and each letter was written by the same hand, in the same script, with the same ink, on the same vellum.

Each letter read as followed.


You asked for an audition. I delivered the requested performance. The man has been swept off the board. Whether you are still invested in the end-game or not, you owe me the chance to give the little ones, those who are now as you once were, a moment's shelter from the coming storm.

How often did you pray in those suns, only to be disappointed? How often did you curse the gods, if there were, in fact, any to be cursed? Do not lie to yourself, Nero.

Had there been a helping hand, would you have taken it?

Let me be that helping hand now, for them.

RE: What You Are In The Dark【Closed】 - Coatleque - 04-27-2015

A letter... Wrote:To One Who Swims, and Swims Well,

As much as you may hate and despise me now, there is
yet a city and its peoples to save. We must have words.
Our Sultana would demand no less.

Sincerely,
Melkire
Papers. Ledgers, contracts, bills of sale and lading for trades made. She had been pouring through everything in Jameson's office for the past two days since the incident in the tunnels. Searching for anything that would connect him to Banurien. Some sign of where he had gone - or where she would be keeping him rather.

Putting pen to paper once more off to the side she jotted a few additional notes. Names, places. A possible connection no matter how small. Two contacts in Gridania she had heard mention of before during her time at the manse. Turning back to the ledger in front of her she barely heard the door open as Mister North entered carrying a silver tray.

Crossing the room quietly he set the tray upon the desk in the same place he had always set it, pushing aside whatever documents previously occupied the space. There was tea, a mint, some dry looking biscuits, and additional ink. She looked up and offered a meager smile to the man. "Mister North. I am surprised to see you still here."

"Indeed, Miss?"

She was not, in truth, surprised at all to see him. His exquisite sense of propriety amazed her on an almost daily basis. While most of the rest of the estate was already emptying he had remained behind to see that she and any other guests were well attended to and for a brief moment she worried there may be more to it than the will to serve. She gestured to one stack of papers set aside from the rest. "It appears this manse is to be sold, and soon. Have you nowhere else to go?"

The man did look up then with a raised eyebrow. Probably the most emotion she had seen from him in the past few days. "My. Change is indeed in the wind, Miss. But there are places I can remain for the moment, as I decide on my next course of action. However, I shall remain here as long as I am yet needed." With a bow he began to move about the room to dust the furniture as if nothing had changed.

Shaking her head once, her gaze lowered back to the work in front of her. A few more notes were taken in silence as the butler continued his own business about the room. Glancing at the platter resting nearby she dared to speak up if only for her own conscience. "You have served Lord Taeros quit admirably. I daresay he may have trusted you as much as he did me."

"Miss is most gracious to say so."

The scratching of her quill on the parchment stopped as she considered her own words. She lifted the pen and tilted it to her other hand to play with the feather idly between her fingertips. "Did he... say anything to you? Anything I should know?" She did not dare look up.

"Regarding, Miss?"

"Oh, anything really. Where he was going, what he had planned? All I've found are financial records and names of dead business partners." Jameson was, if nothing else, very exact in his record keeping. Legitimate transactions were kept succinct, clean. And the illegitimate affairs (if they existed) had no trace to be found. She looked up from the documents in time to catch Gideon's gaze.

"He informed me of my dismissal shortly before the incident transpired, Miss. He also informed me he would be going somewhere a man of my talents would not be needed, to use his words."

Her gaze lowered once more as she read through lists of numbers and names again. "That does not make sense... from what I've gathered he was transferring funds to the north."

"He had mentioned Ishgard prior, but not with any conclusive decision. It seems he was examining his options. I do not know what he settled on, if anything."

"I see." The man glanced once to the map hanging behind her before retuning to his dusting. Coatleque pored vainly over the numbers in front of her again until they began to blur within her sight. "Stubborn bastard, where did you go?" She muttered to herself out loud.

"Miss?"

She glanced up to him with her own lost expression before realizing she was overheard. The unintended slight was waved away with a hand and a sigh. "He mentioned a name in the tunnels..." she continued. "Did you happen to overhear amidst the chaos?"

"Indeed so, Miss. Being withdrawn from the fray, I observed as much as possible. However... I am afraid it was unfamiliar to me, Miss."

She replied with only a defeated nod before returning the quill to the inkwell. "I had hoped I could find some connection, but... nothing."

"Banurein, Miss?"
She nodded. "I have heard this name before."
"I... believe I have as well, somehow, but..."
She tilted her head. "Miss Deneith knows this name as well. Though I doubt I shall... ever see her again."

There was a moment of wistful silence shared between the two before he spoke up again, still carrying out his duties from the side of the room. "This figure is a common thread between the three of you, Miss?"

"It was not until now."

She watched him for a moment longer and as she did a lingering feeling of regret began to surface. Since the first night she had spent with Jameson back in Limsa and nearly every night since, Mister North had attended to her in some way or another. He had served her lord faithfully over these past moons when even she herself had not been entirely transparent with her loyalties. Now, due in some part to her failings, he would be without while she still had the Order to return to.

A lump rose in her throat. "Might I confide in thee something I have kept secret these past moons?"
"As you please, Miss." He turned and bowed to her waiting patiently. His expression placid.

"Our... affair as it were, was never born out of any desire or romantic interest on my part. Ashamed as I am to admit it, my original intent was nothing more than deception. I wished to spy on Lord Taeros as closely as I could. I would not hold it against you to look at me in any lesser light because of my actions, however I ask you to believe when I say I did come to love him, truly, before the end."

She paused expectantly, awaiting his reaction. His consternation, anger, some sort of emotion befitting her admission. None came. He merely bowed once more. "I see, Miss."

Her guilt subsided a bit, but it was not quite enough. And so she continued. "Still, the intent was born out of desire to seek this woman, Banurein. While I had only wished to help my friend... I now have vested interest in finding her. I musts..." There was another pause as her hand rose to her cheek for composure. "I must know if he yet lives. And she can lead me to him."

"You believe Taeros's final words were outlining this express purpose, Miss?"

"What I know is the fear I saw in his eyes. And that whatever happened to him... his remains were not present in those tunnels." She sighed and lowered her head then, closing her eyes to collect her thoughts. Gideon paused only momentarily in thought before returning to his dusting once again. There was another long silence between them before she could speak again.

"The bill of sale is legal, Mister North. This estate must be vacated by the end of the next week."

If the man was affected at all by this news, he did not show it. "Very good, Miss."

"If you have need of further employment..." she offered, "I know of a young lady from La Noscea. Perhaps she may be in need of a valet."

"Thank you, Miss, but my further engagement is of comparatively low priority to Miss's other affairs." His words came gently yet reassuringly. "I advise focusing only on that which requires your attention, lest Miss tire and stress herself even more than the circumstances already demand."

She looked back up to him with an understanding smile. "As ever, you are too kind Mister North. I would be remiss to think of you wandering the city looking for a place to spend the night. I, at the least, have the barracks to return to."

He chuckled slightly but did not turn from his task. "I have never lived what could be called a frivolous lifestyle, Miss, and room and board were provided gratis. I will be able to subsist on my savings from employment at the manse for quite some time."

Coatleque nodded slowly. "Then I need not worry. If you have need of anything, simply ask. It is all I could do for faithful service to my... my beloved." She rose then from the desk and gathered the papers she had been taking notes upon, rolling them up and placing them into her gil purse. She adjusted her beret as she turned to face him.

"Does Miss require anything further today?"

She stepped forward around the side of the desk and deposited her silver key which Jameson had given her. She had been hesitant to use it up until now, preferring not to steal what she needed from the man she loved. With him gone she no longer held back. There was no further use for it save a memory she was not intent on keeping. She had other things she would much rather remember him by rather than misplaced trust. "Nothing further, Mister North. I have collected what little I had here into a trunk. I will send someone for it within three days."

"Miss is leaving immediately?" He sounded mildly surprised at that.
"There is nothing else for me here. I am sure you understand."

He paused, just long enough to be noticeable. A very uncharacteristic display of emotion on his part.
"Very good, Miss. I shall prepare the manse for its future occupants' inspection."
"As you will. I wish you luck wherever the Spinner places you."
"To you as well, Miss."

Gideon cleared his throat, clearly finding this parting to be awkward.
"Then, Until we meet again, I suppose."

She tilted her head with as caring and genuine a smile she could muster before quietly letting herself out of the office.

RE: What You Are In The Dark【Closed】 - Coatleque - 04-29-2015

From the Goblet she made her way to the Grindstone. It had been almost two days since she had even dared leave the estate - pressed for time as she was to find any evidence she could before it was whisked away out from under her. Confrontation would be inevitable and she would not be the one to shy away from it. Not now. She knew who would be present tonight, as he always was, and she intended to prove her own resolve was equal to his.

What she did not know was that Osric Melkire was also there. And he was not alone. Quietly and angrily she stood off to the side of the tourney with crossed arms as the Sergeant spoke loudly and purposefully enough for her to hear. Drinks at the Coffer & Coffin. She had played this game long enough to know his intent and while the woman had no interest in drinking with the man who shot her most recent lover, she could not ignore the need emphasized in his letter.

Hesitantly she stepped into the bar. One step, two steps. Her eyes scanned the room slowly until spying the man off to the side. He was sitting at a table in the corner being attended to by a silver haired woman with purple eyes. Neither of them noticed her entrance just yet. The woman smiled at her ward and laughed lightly. "I hope it's more than me being your maid service."

Coatleque moved past them and straight to the bar. Her strides where long and pronounced by her heels upon the wooden floor. Smiling politely for the owner she requested a full bottle of his finest rum from the top shelf before sliding an appropriate sum across the counter from her purse. Her head turned to the side as she awaited the barkeep's return.

She had noticed the man's gaze followed her from the door to the bar. His attention pulled away just then only to address the woman next to him with a shake of his head. "It's you always bein' here for me." The other woman reached over and began to rub between his shoulders, her own eyes flicking to the bar momentarily. The Paladin then recognized the hues of her eyes and turned back to the bar. "You can stay..." the man continued. "Ain't like I won't be repeatin' this t'you later anyroad." His voice had purposefully raised just enough to reach the bar.

Having received her bottle the paladin turned and walked to the corner table to join the others in time to break into their conversation. "Either way... if it's going to make her..." The woman's eyes lifted to Coatleque as she approached. "As I was saying, if you don't feel comfortable speaking with me around, I can head outside for a few..."

Osric exhaled slowly before raising his mug to his lips. He sipped. "That's up t'her." Coatleque did not wait for greetings or permission. She simply sat herself at the table and set the bottle before her.

"Thirsty, Sergeant?" She asked before sliding the rum across the table towards him. "Consider it a gift." She had nothing more to say to the man at that point. Her stern expression did not hide the fact she did not care for this meeting, but even she knew that a truce was necessary for the greater good. What better a peace offering for a soldier than booze? He glanced at the bottle, his mug held firm in his left hand while his right arm hung limply at his side.

It was soon apparent that he also had no desire for pleasantries. "You have questions, I have answers. Ask. Then we'll do this the other way 'round, if y'care to." She peered at him for a moment unsure of how to proceed tactfully. Many thoughts raced through her mind, including the question of what he wanted engraved on his headstone. Her fingers laced together upon her lap and her posture became rigid. One eyebrow quirked, but not other display of emotion was evident.

"Alright..." she began, "What in the Twelve's names were you thinking?!"

Osric snorted and took enough time to sip from his mug again before choosing to answer. "What needed doin'."

"Marching a small army through a secret Monetarist prison to carry out your vigilante justice without writ or warrant?! I hardly call that something that 'needed doing.'" She protested with her own condescending tone, distaste clearly present on her tongue. The other woman remained silent, composed. Her lavender eyes darted from one to the other as they spoke.

Osric slammed his mug back down to the table then, rattling the very wood and jostling the bottle that was set before him. "AND WHAT OF HIS FEUD WITH LAZAROV?", he bellowed. "WHAT OF EVERY GODS DAMNED SOUL THAT'S SUFFERED, PERISHED, OR OTHERWISE IN A PERSONAL DISPUTE BACKED BY THE SULTANSWORN WARMIN' HIS RUTTIN' BED?!" Her eyes narrowed and a small curl came to her lips at the slight, but she did not flinch at the loud slamming of the mug. Nor did she recoil from the man's voice that screamed at her across the table, merely 2 fulms from her face. The other woman jumped, however. He breathed slowly, in and out, before giving a "Tch" and looking away in his own disgust.

Speaking up in her own defense, her voice remained calm even as it was forced through her teeth. "What do you THINK I have been DOING this whole time? I have been USING Jameson's resources to track the man down." She said rather pointedly.

Osric barked a laugh. The differences between their methods could not have been more night and day than this moment. "Let's get this straight, shall we?" He muttered, his voice lowering enough to only carry to those seated around him.

"Please."

"I cut a deal with the pirate. Jameson for what Nero knows o' the mess in Pearl, what with him traffickin' weapons in. And while I was at it, I set Delial's fangs pointed Nero's way. Meanwhile, y'sat in the lap o' luxury and bided your time and... what? Where's Roen? Where's Nero? Do YOU know anythin' o' Pearl?" His icy glare would have cut through were he not genuinely interested in her answer. Of finding out anything he could on what Nero was planning for the city, the gangs.

She listened intently though only her eyes would tell. Slowly turning from anger to sorrow her head shook slowly. "You are all so quick to shed blood for blood." She began. "You sicken me. Yes, I know about the bandits, the guns. A man named Scythe is leading them. Nero was supposed to call them off but has gone quite mad it seems." She sighed. This was a repeating pattern she was so weary of addressing. "When does it stop, Sergeant? Who's blood is too precious to spill?" Her emerald eyes shot to the woman beside him, but she wisely held her tongue rather than suggest what she thought.

There was a long pause. Osric leaned back with a sigh and pulled his mug from the table to sip its contents. The paladin's head shook slowly once more, her expression even more worrisome. "Your silence speaks volumes." She said at length. "Do you think I enjoyed bringing Roen in?" The other woman now peered over the rim of her own cup to Coatleque.

"... far as I'm concerned," Osric started, "the bloodshed ought t'end with Taeros. And my 'silence' is a collection o' thoughts longer than you'd ever care t'know." He was right in that. "Shite, Crofte, did you?"

"I can never make right how I've wronged her, but it was necessary." She stood by her own actions. "She was abetting a murderer."

It was funny how such a crime was damning to some but barely a hand-wave for others. "Remind me who goaded and sicced Natalie this way n' that, eh?" Osric leaned closer to her as if to emphasize the conviction. "Od'hilkas was there, Crofte. And it goes back farther. You weren't around for Epinoch."

"Mcbeef was a weak-willed fool. You know that as well as I." A lie. Or at least a fallacy. Natalie Mcbeef was one of the most strong willed Sultansworn that Coatleque ever knew. But she placed swift action over calculated planning.

"One weak-willed fool in a line o' many, and you're the latest, if you've no mind t'pull head from arse and think for a gods-damned moment. Where's Roen's pearl t'Nero? I know she had one."

Her head turned away from the man to look down at the empty table before her. Unclear if he was genuinely concerned for her own well-being, or simply convinced that she was nothing more than a tool at this point. "You speak of past events and names as if I do not know the evils that have been manifest by Jameson's hands." She exhaled slowly. "But what you fail to differentiate is the greater threat. Nero divided our attention, and thus gained more time than he needed. The pearl is destroyed. I used it. Nero returned my call to him, then destroyed his." Her voice wavered. "And whether you kill him or not, Sergeant... you may have delivered the man into an even greater evil."

A sigh was heaved from across the table. Osric stared darkly into his own mug as his own thoughts swirled. The mug reached the table without the anger it bore before and he rose, stepping over to her. His left arm crossed to his right. "What did he tell you? And what happened? The tunnel didn't collapse. I saw the armor, but..."

"Nero told me... that he no longer cared if the city lived or died. He has no intents on stopping the coming slaughter. And James... only said one last word to me. 'Banurein'. I do not know this woman save for mention by Roen, but I knew the fear in his eyes before..." her voice trailed off.

"Raelisanne." he hissed quietly. The woman across the table blinked and looked up. "You mean the one... sh-she supposed looks like me." Her own voice trembled slightly as if she did not want to believe it.

"If it weren't for this pissin' feud 'tween Taeros 'n Lazarov, I might've found her already." The Sergeant turned to Coatleque. "I was on her trail when this shite started."

"Well... now we both have reason to find her." she said rather clipped. "Scythe," she continued, "is the larger threat, Sergeant." She eyed the man now standing beside her. There was no immediate answer except that he turned and raised both wrists to her, the right laying over-top the left. She blinked at his submissive gesture and even considered taking him in. "Once I asked," he said, "This time, I'm offerin'. But you know better." A smirk crossed his face. The same shite-eating grin she had seen him wear whenever he was sure the odds were in his favor. "As y'say, Scythe is still out there."

Coatleque stared at his hands. The woman across the table looked worried herself as her lower lip pulled in and under her teeth. The paladin took a long, slow breath before standing. "For the Sultana." She turned to leave. She could not stay any longer in his presence. The man blinked and winced slightly before turning and taking his seat again.

She stopped after a step and looked back. "There is one other thing, though."
"Crofte, I've a whole load o' shite t'sit down and walk y'through. One more thing won't make much of a difference."
"This may."

Osric swallowed as his right arm fell limp at his side and he wiped his eyes with his left sleeve. "You mentioned Delial," she said in warning. "I would not expect to see her again. Enjoy the rum."

The Flame squinted and watched her as she walked away. "Aye, loads t'discuss and you're off? Figures. Go. do your gods-damned job this time."

She stopped just at the door but did not look back. Her hands clenched tightly at her sides.
"That was too far.", she replied coldly.
"You know nothin'."