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.
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.
![[Image: yEROfKO.png]](http://i.imgur.com/yEROfKO.png)
