Thread Closed
The gales came and went. The view wasn't particularly spectacular: there were glimpses of La Noscea to be had here and there on the fringes, and Limsa itself could be seen down below if he'd but draw close enough to the edge, but otherwise all that could be seen from this vantage was ocean.
Think. Think!
He sat towards the back of the relatively small recess in the marble tower, a small rucksack of spare clothes at his side. Not for fear of heights was he this far back, mind, though his shelter was hundreds of fulms up from sea level... but out of respect for the cold. He sat huddled in the grey rags that passed for his cloak, the very same rags that had served to conceal him as he scaled Limsa's beauty. Seven summers... a little more than that, aye, that's when he'd last resorted to this alcove. He'd witnessed the Calamity from this hollow.
Liadan Summerfield... Tiergan 'n' Lurial Vashir... Gallien Vyese... 'n' W'chaza Yheli... damn you to the seventh hell for gettin' me dragged further down into the ruttin' Deep, Tengri.
He shouldn't have cared. It shouldn't have mattered that a man was going to hang. He'd gotten Thomys out, had pulled his own brother from the fire. He should've been long gone. What he was considering wasn't worth the risk. He had two daughters that were depending on him, and Kanaria... it'd break her heart if he were to never return.
But Morris--
"Don't want to die."
"Did they?"
--Dominic swived-by-the-Twelve Morris was another man in the wrong place at the wrong time, by all accounts. Osric himself had once been in a similar position, although his had been of his own making. He'd been shown Mercy. Here, an opportunity to pay that debt forward... and now came Nald 'n' Thal for their due.
He wasn't sure if they had the evidence and the arguments to clear the man. He was certain that they didn't have the time to collect and gather more, especially not after he'd wasted the better part of two nights vandalizing the white towers of Limsa to get the locals asking questions and to get the old deckhands asking them of the Upright Thieves. He might've... been a little more patriotic and a little too... loose... with the insults and slurs that had survived long into the morning bells, but that didn't matter now. What mattered was enough political maneuvering to spare Morris and Striker the gallows, to spare themselves the ire of all of Limsa, and to spare his own gods-cursed self the Justice that he'd eluded for the better part of a decade.
It could be said that he had a talent for that sort of thing.
THINK, DAMN YOU!
Think. Think!
He sat towards the back of the relatively small recess in the marble tower, a small rucksack of spare clothes at his side. Not for fear of heights was he this far back, mind, though his shelter was hundreds of fulms up from sea level... but out of respect for the cold. He sat huddled in the grey rags that passed for his cloak, the very same rags that had served to conceal him as he scaled Limsa's beauty. Seven summers... a little more than that, aye, that's when he'd last resorted to this alcove. He'd witnessed the Calamity from this hollow.
Liadan Summerfield... Tiergan 'n' Lurial Vashir... Gallien Vyese... 'n' W'chaza Yheli... damn you to the seventh hell for gettin' me dragged further down into the ruttin' Deep, Tengri.
He shouldn't have cared. It shouldn't have mattered that a man was going to hang. He'd gotten Thomys out, had pulled his own brother from the fire. He should've been long gone. What he was considering wasn't worth the risk. He had two daughters that were depending on him, and Kanaria... it'd break her heart if he were to never return.
But Morris--
"Don't want to die."
"Did they?"
--Dominic swived-by-the-Twelve Morris was another man in the wrong place at the wrong time, by all accounts. Osric himself had once been in a similar position, although his had been of his own making. He'd been shown Mercy. Here, an opportunity to pay that debt forward... and now came Nald 'n' Thal for their due.
He wasn't sure if they had the evidence and the arguments to clear the man. He was certain that they didn't have the time to collect and gather more, especially not after he'd wasted the better part of two nights vandalizing the white towers of Limsa to get the locals asking questions and to get the old deckhands asking them of the Upright Thieves. He might've... been a little more patriotic and a little too... loose... with the insults and slurs that had survived long into the morning bells, but that didn't matter now. What mattered was enough political maneuvering to spare Morris and Striker the gallows, to spare themselves the ire of all of Limsa, and to spare his own gods-cursed self the Justice that he'd eluded for the better part of a decade.
It could be said that he had a talent for that sort of thing.
THINK, DAMN YOU!
![[Image: 1qVSsTp.png]](http://i.imgur.com/1qVSsTp.png)