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What You Are In The Dark【Complete】

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Roen Roen Find all posts by this user Visit this user's website A Free Sworn Posts:1,230 Joined:Nov 2013 Character:Roen Deneith Server:Balmung Reputation: 306 Timezone:UTC-8 RE: What You Are In The Dark【Closed】 | #16 03-22-2015, 11:10 PM (This post was last modified: 04-06-2015, 01:43 AM by Roen.) "Mister Lazarov. Are you there?" It was a breezy sunny day in Middle La Noscea, only thin wisps of cloud scattered across the clear blue sky. Roen lightly caressed the beak of her chocobo as it nudged her for a treat, the other hand hovering by the linkpearl in her ear. "As always, love. Something on your mind?" Gone was the seemingly perpetually steely demeanor Nero's tone usually held. Just after one sun in Limsa Lominsa, and his mood had improved considerably. Roen playfully fended off her bird’s prodding, her expression and tone light. "That afternoon you promised me. I believe this is that day." She rolled her eyes when there was a pause on the other side. "...Ah, right! I completely--did not forget about that. At all. Where shall we rendezvous?" "Just meet me outside the Tempest Gate?" "As you wish, my dear." The paladin was checking the tightness of the saddle on her mount when the smuggler appeared around the corner of the gate, leaning against the white molded stone of the staircase railing. His arms were crossed and he wore a grin of amusement. “Don’t mind me using the aetheryte.” Roen glanced over her shoulder at the pirate with a cheerful smile. "Well, we will not be traveling via aetheryte today, Mister Lazarov." Her lips broadened into a mischievous grin. "I hope you like riding." Nero wrinkled his nose. "I am sure it's an acquired affinity. The sea suits me more than a chocobo, but far be it from me to protest a lady's activities." He seemed to reluctantly push off the stones to approach the bird, albeit cautiously. His answer only encouraged her more. "Well, as I am never comfortable on the seas, I think turnabout is fair play." The smuggler raised a brow when he spotted a second bird being led out by the gates, Roen giving the stablemaster a nod in thanks. “Dare I ask? No, perhaps not." The paladin approached the second feathery creature, giving him a smile and a rub just under the jaw. "I think she is eager for a good run." She leaned to look past the chocobo to the pirate who was now sporting a look of skepticism. It bordered on anxiety. "I hope you are." She grinned. Nero narrowed his eyes as he too joined her by the second mount. "I think my bird is a fair bit more agitated. Do keep your laughter to a minimum when I am thrown off, yes?" Roen could only grin wider. "I would never." "If they are eager, then let us not keep them waiting, no? Lead on." He hooked one foot onto the stirrup and mounted the bird, testing the length of the reigns. The paladin easily swung her leg over and hopped on her own chocobo, testing the saddle. "As the sea may be your freedom, riding was always mine." She spied a wince on the smuggler’s face as he too shifted in his seat. "I only pray my posterior will survive the journey,” he grumbled. “These animals are a fair bit more uncomfortable than I remember." Roen chuckled, she was getting far more joy out of his predicament, more than she expected! "I am sure your backside will be just fine." "Trust you to consider my backside fine, Miss Deneith.” Nero arched a brow at her. “Have you been staring when I have not been looking?" That trademark smirk returned easily enough. "Not that I mind, but touching will cost you." Roen narrowed her eyes, but the curl of her lips still betrayed lingering amusement. "I think I prefer to look at the backside of your beautiful mount, truth be told." She shrugged as she took up the reins, turning her chocobo around. "More handsome." His mirth did not abate either. "Ah, unfortunate.” He shrugged as he nudged his chocobo to step up next to hers. “But you will be the leader, I am afraid, so it will be your backside to be admired this day. I pray you do not mind much." The paladin rolled her eyes again. "I know not where to go, only that we will be riding, and fast!” Roen glanced ahead to the downhill path before them and the hills and greens that awaited beyond. She breathed in deeply, filling her lungs with crisp coastal air. “That is our journey today. Just...see where the winds take us. And get there before it does." She gave him a sidelong glance and a lopsided grin that held a hint of a challenge. "See if you can keep up?" Nero snorted, a confident grin on his face. "You best beseech Llymlaen for her grace, then." He flicked the reins hard, setting his bird off without warning. "Oh ho!" The paladin laughed as Nero and his mount bolted into a gallop downhill first. “Hya!” She snapped her own reins, chasing after them. ~ Roen opened her eyes to see the same grey stone ceiling that she had been staring at for the last few suns. When her dreams wandered to happier and warmer moments in her life, waking up and realizing her current predicament was just a bit harder, and her cell seemed just a bit darker. But when she woke from a dream where she was reminded of the man she had fallen in love with, and then to remember how wrong the affair of her heart had gone since…it made her solitude almost unbearable. The single guard that sat outside her cell was no company either. One was always posted outside her thick door, and occasionally she heard voices that told her more were beyond the dungeon door down the hall. But she still did not even know where she was. Roen had had no visitors since being removed from her one night stay at the Blades gaol where Ser Crofte had put her; she was moved the next morn by men she did not know, again with a hood over her head. All she remembered was clumsily descending a long flight of stairs. She guessed she was somewhere deep underground, which made the air still and musty, making the guard’s disposition all that much more sour. But she was left alone and in silence mostly, probably by the order of the man who put her here. So when the dungeon door creaked open to break the silence, the anticipation that rose was mixed with apprehension. “Ah, right." The guard snorted. "I was told the little lady was going to have a visitor.” There was a rustle of armor and clanking of sword as if he was standing up from his seat. Then she heard a voice she did not expect. “It would appear so, sir.” Mister’s North’s voice was unmistakable. Roen remained still, but there was a small gasp of relief that she hid behind her hand. She pressed her lips tightly upon each other as she listened. Apparently, the valet had brought a few delectable snacks, a surprise that appeased the guard greatly. “I hope it meets with sirs and his companions’ approval.” Gideon's calm voice echoed off the stones, and Roen could not help but find comfort in it. Only moments later, the aroma of cooked meat and baked bread wafted through her cell door. It made her mouth water. There had been meals brought by, but the guards often took them for themselves, and only spared her gruel that they were given. “You brought plenty,” the guard said with his mouthful. “From milord's accounts, I was unsure as to whether there would be multiple guards or merely a single posted. Fortunately, I strove to be prepared. That should feed all six of you.” Soon she heard the sounds of keys jingling on the keychain, then the lock to her cell door clicked and it swung open. Roen turned to look to Gideon, doing her best to keep her face neutral. The valet’s own expression was as composed as usual, as he entered her cell and laid a wrapped package on her bed and a tray on the table. “I presume, Miss, that you are the guest milord spoke of,” he said with a polite bow, before setting to methodically unwrap his deliveries. “Aye.” She cleared her throat. It has been days since she said a word. “That…that would be me.” She watched him set a bundle of clothing by her bed, and set out covered bowls and dishes on the table. “Milord has kindly provided a change of clothing, to ensure Miss's hygiene and comfort…” Roen frowned at the bundle on her bed. “How kind of him.” There was no warmth to her words. “I don’t mind this part of my job,” the guard chimed in as he came to stand at the entrance of the door, sucking some dip off his fingers as he sneered at her. Gideon turned his attention from setting the table back to the guard, his polite tone never faltering. “I trust I will not have to report to milord that his guest was made to feel uncomfortable during her stay?” It took a moment before the guard seemed to understand what the valet was implying. He answered with an incredulous look. “What? She's a prisoner for cryin' out loud.” “She is, and he was quite specific to ensure that she not be inconvenienced in any way. I trust this has been upheld to the best of your ability?” “I can’t have her hiding things in her clothes!” Gideon tilted his head, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “From the emphasis he placed on it, I cannot imagine the consequences if his intentions were to be misconstrued. Ah, but I am merely thinking aloud. My apologies. I reiterate; her conditions and circumstances have been kept as palatable as possible?” The guard’s face was slowly twisting with barely-suppressed anger. “Fine.” He spat. “If she’s goin’ to be so pampered, I'll make sure I will attend to her next bath to make sure she ain't hidin' shite. I got this duty for many more suns to come, little lady.” “Of course, sir.” Gideon bowed at the waist. “I will be sure to report the details thusly to my lord, and ensure that your name is provided for his.” The guard’s complexion had turned ruddy, his one eyebrow twitching slightly. He spun on his heels and strode out, only pausing to snatch the food that was left on the chair. The dungeon door slammed loudly behind him. “Now then…” Gideon turned as if nothing was amiss and removed the lids of the plates and bowls he had brought. “Miss's additional clothes, and the meal sir requested for her: baked warmwater trout in a garlic butter sauce, an assortment of nopales dumplings, and…” He cleared his throat politely. “Chanterelle saute.” Roen swallowed, to dismiss the lump that suddenly rose in the throat. “Gratitude.” A hoarse whisper was all she could manage. The butler answered with another bow. “At Miss's convenience, I will return further on in the evening, or early tomorrow morning to collect milord's dinnerware.” "I will be here." The paladin sighed, sounding defeated. She kept her eyes on the dish with the white mushrooms floating in a steaming sauce. Comfort is hard to come by, especially in dire circumstances. She plucked one from the saute, just staring at it. Take such moments when able. “Of course, Miss.” Gideon neatly rolled up the linen wrappings and approached the door. “Regarding the dumplings, Miss.” He paused at the entryway, his words spoken with care. “I must apologize in that I may have been overzealous in spicing them appropriately. Miss is encouraged to eat with appropriate caution and attention.” That made the paladin turn back to the butler, her eyes blinking wide. She was met with a calm stare from the valet, before he bowed again. “I see…” she murmured, her attention going to the dish of plump dumplings. “Miss.” His farewell was polite and short as he turned and made his exit. Roen rummaged through the dumplings carefully before the guard returned. Lo and behold, she found three of the six bulging oddly in certain corners. When she carefully pried them open, she found buried within the meat a simple needle, one hairpin-style lockpick, as well as a tiny vial that she recognized as a sleep ward. She hid them in different areas around her cell. It must have been the quiet admonishing lecture that he received, for when the guard returned, all he did was to slam her door shut and lock it. That night, when Roen closed her eyes to sleep, amidst her swirling thoughts of doubt and bleak possibilities now lay the smallest sliver of hope: Escape. Tumblr IC Journal and Inspirations Roen Deneith | Nabi Kharlu | Brynnalia Callae

Roen Roen Find all posts by this user Visit this user's website A Free Sworn Posts:1,230 Joined:Nov 2013 Character:Roen Deneith Server:Balmung Reputation: 306 Timezone:UTC-8 RE: What You Are In The Dark【Closed】 | #17 03-24-2015, 11:59 AM When Gideon returned, Roen was dressed in a commoner’s outfit: a white tunic that fell off her shoulders with a corset that tightened around her waist and a long dark skirt. That was what was deemed appropriate by the Monetarist noble, it seemed. The guard had taken away her old clothes, and although they were dirty and stained with mud and old rain, loose tunic and pants were much preferable to a corset and a dress. It made the paladin fidget as she sat on the edge of the bed. She kept straightening out the nonexistent wrinkle in her skirt. After a polite exchange, the guard excused himself “for a piss” after unlocking her cell. Roen guessed that he didn’t want to leave any opportunities open for another lecture from the butler. “Those dumplings,” she said once the guard left them alone. “Interesting spices.” “I am vindicated to hear so, Miss.” Gideon began to gather the dishes and the utensils, stacking them neatly upon the tray. “I always believed, Miss, it was better to be prepared for a variety of circumstances and tastes. If Miss has saved some leftovers from the meal, I advise she hang onto them for now.” He paused, glancing over his shoulder. “One may never know when they may add the perfect complement to an otherwise-complete meal.” She took that brief moment to give him the smallest of smiles. "Gratitude," she murmured. “Merely doing my job, Miss.” He bowed. “Is there anything further Miss requires of me or my master?” When she met his gaze, their expressions held a new gravity that they had not spoken with before. "I have very few friends left...here. Or in Thanalan.” She paused with a tilt of her head. “I am not even sure where I am.” “Miss is in a subterranean complex below the Hammers. I do not believe the machinery would be audible from this level, however." Roen frowned. She had guessed as much, at least in terms of the depth. "One is named Kiht Jakkya. She probably does not know what happened to me or where I am. But...she may inquire soon.” “Is there an advised course of action for this eventuality?” Gideon asked calmly as he continued to arrange the dishes onto the tray. The paladin bit her lower lip. How much could she say here? And yet, what other opportunity did she have? “Nero has given up. I have told Ser Crofte this. I do not think she believed me. Or she may not care. Your master likely want him see him dead, either way.” “Indeed, Miss.” Roen lowered her head, her voice lowering as if almost ashamed to admit these details. They were partly her own failures too, were they not? “Nero had armed a bandit gang in Ul’dah with Limsan guns. I was looking to stop them when I was caught. If I cannot, he must. He said he would. It is…one of the reasons why I cannot turn him over. I will not turn him over to your master no matter what the circumstance. But Kiht…if she knows what has happened…perhaps she can convince him to do the right thing.” Gideon paused and turned, looking to her calmly. “I reiterate: what is the appropriate course of action if said woman appears at the estate?” That gave paladin pause. She did not quite know. She had asked Shael to contact Kiht if something were to happen to her. Because Kiht was the only other person that Roen was aware of, that knew where Nero could be found. Shaelen possibly knew as well, but Roen never expected the Highlander woman to risk too much. But Kiht…as much as Roen trusted her, would she be able to talk Nero into stopping the bandits when she herself was unable? "Help her speak to who she needs to." Roen sighed. It was vague enough without speaking out loud too many details. "I am not certain that is your master." “I am hardly in a position to bring her to anyone else, Miss.” Gideon arched a brow, obviously confused. The paladin frowned. She was more frustrated at herself than anyone else. She should have thought up a backup plan rather than wallowing in despair over her failures. She was asking him to direct Kiht to Nero, without saying out loud that her friend knew how to find the pirate. She did not know if they were being listened in on, or how much Gideon was risking already. She shook her head, rubbing her forehead. “Ser Crofte. She arrested me. I did not think she would. I was foolish, aye?” “In order to ensure the protection of our ideals and those around us, Miss, we often resort to drastic actions when they seem the only method available.” "Aye. We do." Her voice grew quiet in reflection. "Perhaps I was doing the same but turning a blind eye to things I should not have." She stared at her dress, scowling. "He gave up," she finally blurted out. "After all that. He just...quit." “I see. Should he have done it sooner, Miss?” Roen bit her lower lip as she bowed her head, her forelocks falling heavily before her eyes. "I...I do not know. He had such violent plans. I do not know if I could have stopped him from enacting them. I suppose a part of me should be glad that he did give up before those plans came to fruition. Plans he hid from me." Her voice trembled slightly. "I thought we saw the same end, he and I. And I thought I could steer him toward one path over the other." She shook her head. "I was so wrong." “Perhaps, Miss.” The paladin snorted bitterly and let out a chuckle tinged with sadness. "So no violent plans, but nothing else either. All that work. And nothing. All the deaths, for nothing." Gideon turned from the table, his hands folded neatly in front of him. “I am no judge of men, but I have my doubts that much would have changed had his plans succeeded.” Her lips curled into an angry frown as she glared up at the butler. "So what was I working for then??" Gideon’s composure did not falter. “Presumably for love, Miss.” Roen stared at him for a moment longer, before turning her gaze away shamefully. “To my understanding, that was the sole factor in play. Everything else was eliminated.” Her hands curled into tight fists upon her lap wrinkling her dress, her knuckles turning pale with the strain. "That would make me the biggest fool, Mister North,” she rasped. “That would make Miss a proven woman of singular devotion, Miss.” Roen buried her face in her hands, her shoulders trembling with emotion. She stifled a sob, refusing to show him her humiliation. That was when she felt an embrace of the blanket around her near bare shoulders, as Gideon gently placed the it around her. He tugged it once as he lowered himself to her eye level. “And my equal in that respect,” he said softly. Roen sniffed and peered back up at him with her slightly bloodshot eyes. She forced a small but sad smile. "Gratitude, Mister North.” “Unnecessary, Miss.” Gideon removed his handkerchief from his chest pocket and gently dabbed at her face. He continued, his tone ever composed, but slightly softened. “It is a matter of great pride, Miss, to hold true to one's own ideals and code even against all odds. Regardless of the outcome, it is an admirable thing you have done.” The paladin remained still where she sat, blinking. She could have resembled a child getting her cheeks cleaned, but there was a small part of her that took comfort in the gesture. She straightened, inhaling deeply to compose herself. "I still...have work to do. If...when...I get out of here." Determination furrowed her brows and she looked at him pointedly. "I am not done yet. I still have promises to keep." “Perhaps, Miss.” Gideon shrugged as he withdrew the handkerchief. “It is my perspective...that Nero Lazarov and Jameson Taeros are the same man seen from different perspectives. But it is not my place to impose my views on those of anyone else, and I believe I have made my inaction in his affairs clear.” The butler straightened. “If your companion appears, I will attempt to follow what direction I have been provided. Is there anything further Miss requires?” Roen sighed softly. "Just give her a bit of perspective. As you have given me." She gave him another nod. "...Gratitude." “Very good, Miss.” The butler bowed. “I advise rest. I shall inquire to my lord as to whether books will be issued as supplies.” “Still at it, eh?” The guard’s voice echoed down from the dungeon door as it creaked open. “My business is complete, sir.” Gideon answered as he took up the tray in his hand, exiting the cell. “Does sir have any further request for the next visitation? A particular culinary preference?” “How about some steak? Nice juicy eft.” The guard swung the door to her cell closed, locking it. “No reason the little princess gets to be the only one pampered around here,” he sneered. “I shall prepare it especially, sir.” As Roen heard the valet depart, she pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, as if to linger in the embrace of it. She tried to remember what words of comfort Gideon had imparted upon her, and secretly prayed that Kiht would be able to get through to Nero as well. She had to believe there was still hope for him yet, however slight, that the goodness she saw in him so long ago was not just an illusion. Even if what she felt for him was futile, he still could not wish for everything to burn to the ground. There had to be a part of him that still cared. She had to believe that. Tumblr IC Journal and Inspirations Roen Deneith | Nabi Kharlu | Brynnalia Callae

C'kayah Polaali C'kayah Polaali Find all posts by this user Debrouillard Posts:1,095 Joined:Oct 2013 Server:Balmung Reputation: 190 Timezone:UTC-8 RE: What You Are In The Dark【Closed】 | #18 03-24-2015, 06:28 PM "We should have some bon bons sent up", the lean Miqo'te said, leaning back on the padded sofa. "Maybe some skewers." His companion grunted, looking disdainfully at what passed for wine in her cup. The downstairs common room of Famfrit's Jug bustled with pleasantly raucous excitement. Swaggering Blades mingled with the silver bells of dancing girls, while the low roar of conversation provided a deep obbligato to the shrill cry of the dry, whistling wind outside. Up the steep staircase was a network of private booths, screened discretes for the pleasures of lovers and conspirators alike. In one of these C'kayah Polaali lounged with his mate, L'kenthi Rarahn. She crossed one stockinged leg over the other, nibbling doubtfully at a sliver of roast meat speared on a charred wooden skewer while they regarded the Hyur seated across from them. Osric Melkire. Immortal Flame, or ex-Immortal Flame, and too-familiar fixture in both of their lives. He sat grinning at them in the unadorned garb of a mercenary swordsman, the turban wrapping his head providing insufficient disguise. "Taeros", he said, leaning forward. "I need him gone, and for that all I need is a quarter bell with him outside the city walls he likes to hide behind. You stand to profit by way of filling the vacuum. You still hungering for vengeance? This is your chance. I know what she meant to you." Jameson Taeros had been the Monetarist puppetmaster who'd drawn C'kayah's previous mate into his sway. He didn't know whether Taeros had been the cause of Natalie's hatred of him towards the end, but he blamed the man for her senseless death. She had led an illegal raid against a Limsan pirate, Nero Lazarov, and died in the attempt. Another pawn discarded in the course of Taeros' obsession with the pirate. C'kayah's expression hardened as the Hyur continued to speak. "He has Roen. Figure that's because Crofte turned. I've kept the little ones' palms crossed with coin, and she and the snake have been seen together too often." C'kayah cursed. Roen was an old friend, and dear to him. More than that, he owed her. "She's not my main concern, though", Osric continued. "Taeros is too competent. I've been putting pressure on him, but he hasn't cracked. If anything, he's receding into his shell. I need him outside, away from the city. Don't care if he has Blades or 'sworn with him, I've got Gharen and another for that." The Hyur smiled, no warmth in his eyes. "I make him disappear for good? We're all better off for it." L'kenthi pursed her lips, her eyes intent on Osric. She knew the trouble Crofte had made for them. Knew the opportunities that would be provided if Taeros and his pet Sultansworn were removed from the equation. "I could do it", C'kayah said, nodding slowly. "If I could show him Nero, would he come out?" "He'd want a face to face", Osric replied. "That I know. But he's cautious. He'll want Nero within a stronghold of his own making. As for who'd be present? I'm guessing just him and Crofte at most." "So we'll have to get a touch more creative", L'kenthi nodded. "Any using her to draw him out?" Osric shook his head. "A stronghold of his own making", C'kayah said. "Is there such an animal, outside the walls?" "The place they're supposedly holding Roen", Osric replied. "Black something or other. Cell? Pit? Supposedly worse than where he kept Gharen all those moons ago. Brass Blades gaol." "Do you know where it is?" "No", Osric said. "I've a few acquaintances in the Blades, but they've neither rank nor pull enough to be in the know." He frowned. "Roen knew someone, though. Can't recall the name." C'kayah nodded, pursing his lips. "If we knew where, then we could make him think Nero was going to try to break her out. That might bring him out." Osric grinned at the Miqo'te, his eyes blazing with mischievous light. "You remember which of us is taller, C'kayah? Me or Nero? Would your average Blade know?" "Never." C'kayah returned Osric's grin, a wicked pleasure thrilling him. "That's it, then", Osric said with a laugh, leaning back on the cushion. "Cosmetics and a few suns for me to get the voice down. Clothes too, but that I can manage. As far as the location goes, I can ask around, but I'm not certain I'll be getting any results." "I have a few sources I can check with", the Miqo'te replied, swirling the wine in his glass. Osric pushed himself to his feet. "I'll keep you updated, mmm? Anything else you need from me for this?" C'kayah rose, smiling openly at the Hyur. "I think I can take it from here. Give me a little time to dig up the location of this place, and I'll contact you." "Knowing you, it won't even take two suns. Less you're busy, of course." Osric cleared his throat, his lips curving in a smirk as he turned his attention to L'kenthi. She narrowed her eyes. "Two suns it is", he said. The Hyur stood straight, bringing his arm up in a Flame salute, his eyes on the flame-haired woman, before slipping back out of the discrete. C'kayah bowed politely to him as he left. "Menphina guide your steps", he purred. "Oschon yours", Osric replied, and then he was gone. C'kayah smirked at L'kenthi, moving to sit next to her and selecting a skewer. "Honestly", he murmured, "who invokes Oschon these days?"

Coatleque Coatleque Find all posts by this user Damaged Goods Posts:1,822 Joined:May 2014 Character:Florence Fishbane(Crofte) Linkshell:N/A Server:Balmung Reputation: 504 Timezone:UTC-5 RE: What You Are In The Dark【Closed】 | #19 03-25-2015, 03:48 PM (This post was last modified: 03-25-2015, 04:00 PM by Coatleque.) For the first time since she was given the position, Crofte's office door was closed. It was not that she was meeting with someone, that would have been an expected closure. No, she had remained within for most of the morning and now all afternoon. The Squire in the hallway made his speech for the twentieth time to another initiate who was awaiting an audience. "I am sorry, Ser Crofte is not seeing anyone today." Behind the door she was only vaguely aware that someone had once again come seeking her, based on the muffled expletives that seeped around the hinges of the door. Coatleque sat quietly leaning forward over her desk. Her fingers were laced with her thumbs pressed to her lips in thought as she stared at the pearl laying before her. A thin haze had collected from an incense burner at the far corner. "I never wanted this..." For all of the morning she had sat and stewed over her thoughts. It was so much easier to push everything aside when in Jameson's presence, but now her doubts were returning. "He will not come... I am not what holds his heart..." Of all things she had remembered talking excitedly with Roen in the airship lounge so many moons ago. She had encouraged her friend that day to pursue her heart. Neither anticipated where it would eventually lead. " Do you ever think of how little we think of her, to think she could only come to this conclusion because of some man?" Verad's observation held painful truth. Since she knew of Roen everyone around the woman treated her as some naive little girl who was incapable of understanding the world at large. It was time for people to realize she was capable of making her own decisions. And mistakes. "At least I did not say it was for your benefit..." She sighed as she took up the pearl from her desk and rolled it between her fingers. Placing it in her ear she cleared her throat softly before activating it. "Mister Lazarov.", she intoned with as little emotion as possible. Left in silence then her ear strained listfully for any sound from the pearl. "Mister Lazarov. I have a message for you..." After another moment she heard a muffled thump. She hesitated before continuing, unsure if anyone was listening. "Mister Lazarov, this is Ser Crofte. I doubt you remember me." More silence. "We have Roen, Mister Lazarov. Or more specifically, she is the honored guest of Master Taeros. She is not proving amenable to polite conversation lately. Perhaps you could do with some yourself?" Wiki | Directory | Sketchbook

Nero Nero Find all posts by this user Carbide Warrior Posts:910 Joined:Jul 2014 Server:Balmung Reputation: 286 RE: What You Are In The Dark【Closed】 | #20 03-26-2015, 12:32 AM When the pearl blinked, his first reaction was to stare at it. For some reason--he dare not call it sentimentality, lest he end up inadvertently committing suicide with his own disbelieving laughter--he had kept it, and granted it the rather indignant label of "Annoying" in his case of linkpearls, though it was more of an afterthought than a deliberate insult.  How many days or weeks it'd been, Nero couldn't say, but it'd been time enough--time for him to clear his head, to think properly and logically, and most importantly, time for him to regain his composure. Even so, it was evidently not a complete recovery as the expression on his face froze as if struck by rigor mortis when he placed the pearl in his ear and heard a voice that he was not expecting. "Mister Lazarov. I have a message for you..." He dared not blink. He dared not breath. Not necessarily because he was afraid of the voice on the other end of the pearl, but because he was afraid of what he'd say in response. A pause. "Mister Lazarov, this is Ser Crofte. I doubt you remember me." As a matter of fact, he did, not that he'd admit it. Nero's lungs held any air captive within his lungs. His right hand tightly clasped the edge of his rickety seat until his knuckles paled. "We have Roen, Mister Lazarov. Or more specifically, she is the honored guest of Master Taeros. She is not proving amenable to polite conversation lately. Perhaps you could do with some yourself?" A question. And one that didn't sound rhetorical. Crofte said "conversation" which implied that she wanted a dialogue. That gave him time to formulate a proper response. Nero pulled the pearl out of his ear to alleviate some of his anxiety. Should he simply not respond? That'd be one way to prevent a dialogue from happening, and his lack of response would be the only reply they needed. But on the other hand, this was an opportunity to manipulate things in his favour. It wasn't necessarily that he cared about Roen. Those valuable days of clear thinking had lead him to realise that the basis of their relationship was flimsy at best. It was two people seeking companionship in a time of mutual loneliness and desiring affirmation of their respective ideals. For a time, it had proven beneficial, perhaps even symbiotic, but Nero was far too cynical to acknowledge it as anything more than that. The back of his mind registered the amused observation that in all of the time the two had spent being somewhat emotionally dependent on one another, only once had they shared a bed, and it was not even really a bed to begin with. A more surefire sign of the smuggler losing his touch could not exist. In any case, they had clearly mentioned Roen to entertain the farce of an idea of him coming down to Ul'dah to rescue her. It was highly unlikely that they expected any results from this, but the fact that Crofte resorted to this--essentially holding her own friend hostage--meant that the Monetarists had hit a wall in drawing Nero out of hiding. He breathed in deeply, a sentence prepared. That sentence became two sentences. Then a paragraph. Then two paragraphs. Describing the smuggler's face as stony would be a gross understatement as he placed the pearl back in his air and inhaled again. His response would be terse and to the point. There would be very little pausing between statements; Crofte desired a dialogue. And so he will deny her. Nero's mouth broke into a smirk. It was a shadow of his former trademark, but still distinctive enough to almost be called genuine.  "In an indeterminate amount of time, a riot will break out in Pearl Lane. Though my involvement has ceased, the circumstances have forced my former collaborators to the point of zero compromise. They will make demands for improved conditions and the complete reformation of law enforcement. When their demands are inevitably refused, they will engage in armed conflict. Their bloodlust can only be sated by Monetarist nobles giving in to their demands." It was half bluff and half truth. It should be enough to shake up the game board. "As for myself, I am willing to turn myself in to Ul'dahn authorities in exchange for the head of Jameson Taeros." Truth be told, Nero bore no grudge against the man. His conflict with Taeros was strictly professional: they each stood in the way of the goal of the other, and thus one or the other must be eliminated. However, Nero was aware that Taeros and Crofte were intimately involved--assuming that that laughable act at the Starlight Ball wasn't actually an act--and if even the thought of such a compromise made the knight squirm, that'd be enough for him. Obviously, his offer would not even be considered. It was an unambiguous, if indirect refusal of whatever offer they had prepared involving Roen. "If that is not satisfactory, then a complete absolvement of all of my crimes, real or perceived, will buy you information on the inevitable riot. I will help you stop further bloodshed, but you must let me go." That, too, was an obvious farce. Ul'dah didn't even know the meaning of the word "justice", much less "absolvement". Still, it was the principle of the idea, not that said idea would even cross the minds of whoever was in charge. "What will you do when there is an evil you cannot defeat by just means? Will you commit evil to destroy evil? Or will you remain steadfast and righteous, even if that means surrendering to evil?" Just like him to feed his ego by having the last word. With that, Nero plucked the pearl from his ear and flicked it with his thumb like a marble, sending the small sphere still glowing from the magical link spinning off the cliff and into the dark waters below. He adjusted himself on the rickety seat and rapped his knuckles against the steel of the large wagon-sized next to him, grinning rather widely at it. The sea lapped against the rocks of the hidden cove, the wind whistling across the entrance as Nero glanced out to sea. It was only a matter of time for things to get much more interesting.

Coatleque Coatleque Find all posts by this user Damaged Goods Posts:1,822 Joined:May 2014 Character:Florence Fishbane(Crofte) Linkshell:N/A Server:Balmung Reputation: 504 Timezone:UTC-5 RE: What You Are In The Dark【Closed】 | #21 03-26-2015, 04:35 PM She had paused again after her last question to listen and was about to speak once more when the reply came. As the man began to list off his demands in as few words as possible, she leaned forward to grab her quick and begin jotting notes on whatever parchment was in easy reach. There was a brief pause when he demanded Jameson's head, but no outburst of emotion which would signal the touching of a nerve. "What will you do when there is an evil you cannot defeat by just means..." She sat back in her chair while gripping the arm rests. There was another muffled thump over the pearl and she quickly touched her ear once more. "Mister Lazarov?" "Nero? You cannot leave her to him! Nero?!" Her exclamation was accentuated by leaning forward again abruptly. There was no response. Silence, followed by the rushing sound of water, then nothing. Coatleque waited a good while with bated breath before slowly removing the pearl and setting down upon her desk. She exhaled through her nose and ran her hands down her face. "I thought we could still do this without needless bloodshed... ... People are coming after Taeros. Do not be in their way" Sitting in the dim light of a single lantern, her thoughts grew increasingly darker the more she brooded on them. The gall of that man requesting pardon to right his own wrongs, of demanding blood to stem the flow of more blood. She did not overly care that it was Jameson's head in particular the man wanted. She had grown used to her lover's day-to-day business. There was always someone around the corner plotting his demise it seemed to her. She was becoming confident he could handle himself. He survived this long, after all. "Roen knows." she told herself. "She has to talk." And if she didn't, Coatleque told herself, Shaelen would. This was no longer about profit margins, power-plays, or cleansing corruption. This was about prevent wholesale slaughter in Pearl Lane. Rising from her chair she made for the door only to stop and look back at the pearl laying atop her desk. Rushing back to the desk she gripped the edges, knuckles flushing white, and leaned over the linkpearl. "I WILL NOT PLAY THESE GAMES!" she screamed to it before swiping it off the desk into the wall with the back of her hand causing a satisfying crack as they connected. Taking her sword she stormed out of the office, leaving the pieces where they fell. Wiki | Directory | Sketchbook

Roen Roen Find all posts by this user Visit this user's website A Free Sworn Posts:1,230 Joined:Nov 2013 Character:Roen Deneith Server:Balmung Reputation: 306 Timezone:UTC-8 RE: What You Are In The Dark【Closed】 | #22 03-26-2015, 10:58 PM Days without any glimpse of the sun or the night sky, or without any change in the air to note the shift in temperature...lacking these things it was difficult to tell the passage of time. Even the guard outside her cell left his post often, likely to seek reprieve from the stifling stale air and the press of the thick stone walls. The near-total silence and alienation were starting to gnaw at Roen’s mind as well, but whenever the guard left, she took inventory of the small things that Mister North had left her: the vial that she hid in a crack between the stones that she found under her cot, the needle that she had slid into one end of the mattress, and the hairpin-shaped lock pick that was affixed into the base of her ponytail. But checking and planning for a possible escape when she knew not when it would happen could only occupy her thoughts for so long. Roen's consciousness drifted to the unknown fates and whereabouts of friends, family, and loved ones. Had Gharen turned himself in already? She never did get to answer the letter of good will that he had sent, weeks after their argument. She had thought to speak to Coatleque about his predicament when they met, but that meeting had not gone as planned. She had to have faith that sergeant Melkire could help Gharen, since she at least let him know before all this happened. And what of Nero? There was only a dying ember of hope that he had decided to stop the bandits as he had promised. But dread and doubt threatened to extinguish that flame quickly. Did Shaelen find Kiht as Roen had asked her to? Had Mister North been successful in relaying her message to Kiht? Would Kiht be able to find Nero and convince him? Such questions were quickly dismissed when the heavy dungeon door opened, and many armored footsteps entered. Roen guessed perhaps four guards. Or five. She stood up from her bed in anticipation. It could not be a good sign. “Hello, my dear. I thought I would give you some room to breathe.” Taeros’ voice broke the silence. When the cell door opened, she saw four men in armor, as well as the familiar figure of the noble, his back turned to her. “I trust you’re decent?” he added. The paladin paused, looking at the men warily, but took the opportunity offered to stretch her legs. There was not much room to move about in her small cell. She crossed the threshold, straightening her dress. “Aye. In the clothing you provided.” Taeros turned and gave her a small smile. He motioned for the guards to exit, to which they all paused, their hesitation obvious, before they complied. Roen noted that their armored footsteps stopped just beyond the dungeon door and well within earshot. “You're welcome.” His amber eyes regarded her. “How are you doing?” "How am I expected to be doing?" She narrowed her eyes, but forced her words to calm. "But…comforts have been provided, more than the last cell." “Well you are a prisoner. I do not expect any creature comforts would equal a breath of free air.” Roen crossed her arms, suspicion clear in her gaze. "What do you want." The noble smiled. “I merely wanted to talk. To see where your head was, so to speak.” His tone stayed neutral. “Also, a friend of mine perished just recently, so I just returned from planning his funeral.” “I see.” The paladin regarded him carefully before she took a few more steps away from her cell. Her eyes went to the walls and the door, but even as she studied the surroundings more thoroughly, her legs welcomed the movement. "And why are you telling me this?” “I am simply making conversation, Ms. Deneith.” Jameson shrugged. “An excuse to have you out of your cell. Try not to be so testy.” Roen pressed her lips together for a moment, as if to consider his words. She bowed her head slightly as if in acquiescence. She did not want to return to her cell, not just yet. “Jeulerand was... usually so careful,” Taeros continued, again curling a smile at her that held no warmth. “Alas. His business dealings caught up to him.” When the paladin glanced back at him, she found his amber eyes intently watching her. "Another noble?" A small frown creased her brows at the mention. News of anyone’s death was not something that she welcomed. “Yes. Did you know him? Or of him? Jeulerand Rezhenne.” It was a few moments before the name came to her. She nodded. "Rezhenne. I have heard of that name." It was another breath or two before she remembered how she came to know it. It was from Gideon. He had told her that name, along with two others as names of houses that held significant wealth and connection to Taeros. She quickly pressed her lips together. "I see.” Jameson actually looked troubled at this admission. “Were there notes made as to the movements of his family? His wife and young daughter? Schooling schedules and the like?” Roen blinked again, this time more quickly. "Mother and daughter..." She frowned. "Do you think I keep tabs on families? Of nobles? Why would I want to know the schedules of people's children?" The smile that curled the noble’s lips was almost a sneer. "Well not you, surely. That work would be too dirty for you. You would run me through if you could, but would surely balk at putting your blade through my daughter's heart. Had I a daughter, I mean." The paladin’s expression hardened. "I would rather that you face a fair trial and have proper justice to impart upon you your punishment. Not die at the end of my blade." “Oh. Well.” The noble said dryly. “Kind of you.” He bowed mockingly. "If only could be said the same of your paramour." Roen could only answer him with a silent glare. He must have learned about the Yoyorano family from Coatleque, she thought. And she could not muster any defense of that massacre even to someone like Taeros. She only tightened her hold on her arms as he turned his attention to a particular block of granite that made up the thick walls. "You probably resent Coatleque,” he said softly. “No?” "She did what she felt she had to do." Roen answered hoarsely. "She made her choice." "Yes. As did you.” He lightly traced a finger along the rim of the granite. “And you likely believe yours was the right one, and hers the wrong. And yet before Coatleque and I...ventured forth into this more serious portion of our relation..." He gave the paladin a sidelong glance. “She asked me about children. 'What about children?' was her question. It took me aback. Truly. I had not seen her as the mothering sort.” When Roen just stared back at him, somewhat in disbelief, he continued. “I answered her truthfully. I said that I had no wish to procreate at this point in time, but...somewhere down the line…” He shrugged. “A lord needs heirs. Else all that he has built…what becomes of it?" He let out a long exhale. “No one lives forever. As our poor Lord Rezhenne found out." The paladin carefully studied his expression as he continued, but could not discern anything beyond his serious and calculating facade. “Coatleque laughed then, nervously I imagine, because I had taken what she meant out of context.” Taeros sounded mildly amused at the memory. “She asked me again. 'What about children, James? Have you ever killed children?' No, I told her. I have not ever, nor have I any plans to do so. Do you know why?” He glanced back at Roen. She had not realized how shallow her breathing had become. She shook her head for she had no answer. “Because punishing a child for the sins of his father is a sin unto itself. And I don't mean the sort of sin the septas and priests ramble on about. Sins against this god or that god. No, it is a sin against man. Because that child is being willfully robbed of his, or her, future." The gravity to his voice did not lift. “And yes, I know. Children die every day. That's what they say to try and blunt the sting of atrocities. Children fall, children starve, children are killed in wars.” He turned to face her, his hand leaving the stone wall he had been studying. “But killed in order to prevent wars?” Roen could only stand stalk still, her blood running cold. Hearing Taeros of all people condemn such actions was painful to hear. "No, dear.” Jameson shook his head. “That is neither responsible nor actually proactive." Roen bowed her head, staring at the floor. "I...know this.” Her fingers dug into her arms, wrinkling the fabric of her sleeve. “I would stopped him, if I could have. If I knew ahead of time." "Instead of being in here, you mean,” the noble murmured. "I found out too late--" The paladin paused, looking back at Jameson, puzzled. "I speak of Yoyorano's family." She slowly frowned. "Were there more families?" Taeros took a step closer towards her. “Tell me, will it be only a matter of time before Lord Rezhenne's wife and daughter's corpses turn up? Or is he holding them for some other purpose? A ransom, perhaps. His wife's father is quite wealthy, or so I've heard.” The noble said those words coldly. The paladin dropped her arms to her sides, just staring at him looking horrified. "This...this is not Nero." She shook her head. "He would not do this." She hated in admitting what came next, especially to the man who had opposed them at every turn, but she forced herself to say it. “He has given up.” "Given up." He echoed her, each word sharply spoken. “How has he given up. You just told me you knew of Rezhenne’s name. So he was on some sort of "list." I imagine my name appears there as well.” Roen shook her head. "I knew many names, of Monetarists nobles. Houses. How else could I hope to disrupt things?" She watched the noble began to pace back and forth. “But he gave you those names.” He scowled at her. “Who else was on the list, Roen?!” "He did not give me those names." She stood her ground, staring back at him defiantly. "There is no list! Nero knew of the big names, the wealthy houses. I was the one that was sussing out who was--" In three quick strides, Jameson’s face was ilms from hers. “So help me, if more innocent blood is on Lazarov's hands, then it's on yours as well!” She could feel his breath as he exhaled sharply. “If it was not Lazarov, then who gave you the names?!” Roen clenched her teeth. Taeros could not know it was Gideon. "I do not want any more innocent blood lost!" She raised her voice, letting her indignation rise instead. "I knew of those names! They were Monetarists! Allies of yours and Lolorito’s!" Taeros curled a lip as he leaned away. "Lolorito. Ah yes. Another fine fellow. I have had cause to speak to him a number of times. He had a statue of himself erected in Vesper Bay. His gall is...significant. He gave me some advice once as well, with regard to the killing of children.” He flicked her another cold glance. “He said that he "disliked" having to kill a man for betraying him, because it usually meant having to kill the man's family as well. I was a bit taken aback with his suggestion, and pressed him. "Why," I asked.” Jameson's voice remained neutral, unsympathetic. “He said they served as a distraction.” The paladin stared at him aghast. "A distraction." Jameson smiled thinly at her response. “He said he did not want to be distracted by the prospect of a son growing to adulthood in fifteen years' time and coming for his head. But you see, Milord has it wrong," he said softly with a tilt of his head. “Those are the words of the paranoid. If you do not believe the killings to be just, you should not do them. And if they are just, well, then it is that lesson which you need to impart on the man's surviving family.” His amber eyes bore into her again. "If they do not believe that your cause is just, then you cannot kill for it." Roen took a slight step back, closing her hands into a fist to hide the slight trembling there. He matched her movement, stepping forward. "I have killed, yes. Men who have wronged me. Liars and people who believed I was their fool." He narrowed his eyes. "As have you. But neither of us has ever slaughtered innocents.” He paused. “Have you?” "If you are expecting me to justify Nero's killing of the Yoyorano family, I cannot." The paladin hated the shame that laced her words. "And yet you love him. For all his...adorable little flaws." The noble sneered. “He is the Savior of Ul'dah. Watch as he sails in under the banner of justice and future peace.” "I thought he would save the children! The helpless! The poor!" She spat out those words with anger. “I believed that is what he wanted!" Taeros tilted his head. "Believed?" Roen took another step back. "I told you, he gave up." "Gave up, or merely gave up on you?" The paladin set her jaw, she did not want to show how much those words stung. "Perhaps both." “Or perhaps just one.” He gestured idly. “You said you helped make the list. Where is this list then? If Lazarov is in sudden retirement, and you're in here…who killed Jeulerand?" "I do not know." She said those words with conviction. She knew no other that would kill other nobles and families. “I thought if anything, you were the next target. But that is all." The noble’s face twisted suddenly with anger and with speed that surprised her he grabbed a chair next to her and hurled it against the wall. The metal frame clanged loudly while the oaken back splintered, making Roen flinch. He spun around and took two steps, his face ilms away from hers. “But I was not!” He yelled at her, fury in his eyes. “A friend of mine lies dead, and I do not know where his wife and child are!!” Roen felt the ungiving press of the wall behind her; she had backed away from him without knowing. Her hands were curled into fists, her muscles coiled. Guards or no, she would defend herself if the noble attacked her. But before she could respond, the door to the dungeon slammed open and six guards rushed in, steel bared. "I do not know!" she insisted through gritted teeth even as she eyed them warily. "I am not privy to what happened! Or who is doing this! Or why!" The noble’s amber gaze was cold and dead as he stared at her. He spoke to his guards without even looking at them. “No visitors. No food for three suns. No water for two.” Taeros looked her up and down. “Remove those gifts from Lady Deneith. She will not be needing them. She can wear whatever's underneath. I want her in irons shackled to the floor.” Roen felt herself grow cold, her fists tightening by her side as the noble turned and began to walk out. “And one of you check her every bell on the bell to prod her if she may remember something that may actually save some child’s life,” Taeros said without looking back. When the dungeon door slammed shut, the paladin’s eyes went to the rest of the armored men standing in front of her with blades in hand. And as one they looked at her with ominous grins. Tumblr IC Journal and Inspirations Roen Deneith | Nabi Kharlu | Brynnalia Callae

Roen Roen Find all posts by this user Visit this user's website A Free Sworn Posts:1,230 Joined:Nov 2013 Character:Roen Deneith Server:Balmung Reputation: 306 Timezone:UTC-8 RE: What You Are In The Dark【Closed】 | #23 03-29-2015, 01:12 AM “Quillburn.” The word name that left his lips was leaden, cold, and sour. “Aye. Found dead. In one o’ the finer rooms in the inn.” Brynnalia let out a long sigh before she added, “...in one of the rooms that are under the accounts o’ Lolorito.” They are growing more bold. “How was he found?” Jameson steepled his fingers, his arms elbowed up on his dark polished desk. His eyes were narrowed, and they did not look directly at the Highlander woman standing before him in his office but rather at the fireplace. “Gutted. The blade was found next tae the body.” Callae kept her voice calm, as if not to incite him. “From the streaks on the floor, he didn’t die quick. He had crawled his way at least, from where he was stabbed to just a few fulms from the door.” Her voice turned grim. “But collapsed just before. Died o’ blood loss.” Second dead. And I still have no answers. After two suns, nothing. “Was there anything else found?” Jameson did not move, he was barely breathing. Roen cannot know that Rezhenne had no wife. And only a bastard son from a mistress. Only a few knew of them. How could she protect him still? “The room was searched. There were…” Callae paused, arousing a flick of a glance her way from the noble. She cleared her throat. “Letters, found hidden within his other belongings. It was addressed to Mumuqaru. It mentioned something of a plan hatched between the three houses, Mumuqaru, Quillburn, and Rezhenne.” There was another pause, but she did not wait for him to prompt her. “The plot was against ye.” It must be Lazarov. “Where is the letter?” Taeros’ voice remained calm as ever, as if he was inquiring about the weather rather than a conspiracy against him. Who else could it be? “Ah…” Brynnalia frowned, rubbing the back of her head. “A new Blade was assigned tae the case. An ex-Flame, Haruko Kokojo. She snatched it up on the scene. I was only able tae read it over briefly.” That finally brought a slow frown to the noble’s face. The evidence was weak at best; whoever was framing him did not know the true dynamics of the nobles involved. Quillburns were noted by many to be in his favor. Jameson made no such outward gesture, but the Highlander family had assumed a strong alliance between them a few moons ago, and Taeros did not deny it for the time being. Whereas Rezhenne, an old friend, had hinted at some insult implied between them. The Elezen lord had wisely kept his umbrage to himself, but Taeros had come to learn of it none-the-less. But before he could discern the true source of the rift, the lord had been killed. And now a third house, Mumuqaru, was being implicated in all this. An Ul’dahn family with long ingrained history in the desert, they had also recently been rumored to have expressed displeasure with Jameson. Anyone truly in the know would recognize that Rezhenne would hold himself above the likes of Mumuqaru. The Elezen lord was pompous and arrogant. Quillburns also would not jeopardize their favored position by getting in bed with Mumuqaru or Rezhenne. And yet... The evidence that was found at each of the murdered Monetarist rooms was beginning to indicate that they were all in some conspiracy against him. However untrue, it was damning enough. It has to be Lazarov. Even though this does not seem like him. The pirate’s maneuvers so far had been made of broad strokes: choke off the supply lines, sow seeds of dissent amongst both wealthy and poor by robbing them of supplies and goods, and arm some violent bandit gangs with an agenda. In the months of campaign that the pirate had waged, there had not been an effort to actually implicate him in specific crimes. Lazarov had not shown interest in delivering any individual justice. Creatures do evolve, however. Jameson curled his lip at the thought. Then he found himself pausing. Or was it Roen? Even as the thought rose, the noble was just as quick to dismiss it. The paladin had no heart for such things as assassinations. And yet, she was the one that had arranged for his reputation to be smeared, with the articles in the Lantern, the raids of his warehouses, and he suspected, somehow tugging at the delicate balance of power amongst the noble families. Roen has to be involved in this. His expression grew hard, his fingers lacing into a firm grip upon each other. I will find out all she knows. “Well?” Brynnalia finally broke the heavy silence that had fallen upon the room. She shifted in her stance, her anklets jingling nervously. “What do ye want me tae do?” “Nothing,” Taeros said sharply. For the love I bore… “I will take care of it.” He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. The bard hesitated in turning, as if to consider something. She took a step forward. “Grimsong and I are still workin’ on flushing out Lazarov’s supplier, Stormchild.” She reassured him. “She may be able tae give us a lead tae find him. I am just waitin’ on yer lady tae contact...” Callae trailed off when it was obvious that the he was paying her words no mind. Her green eyes regarded him for a moment longer, before she nodded and turned for the door. “I will report more when I have somethin’,” she said before she exited. The woman spared none of her usual quips and her easy smile was gone from her lips. She too had recognized that the game had changed. Jameson remained seated on his desk as the door closed. He continued to stare at the crackling flames of the hearth. She will break. One way or another. And I will have the truth. Tumblr IC Journal and Inspirations Roen Deneith | Nabi Kharlu | Brynnalia Callae

cuideag cuideag Find all posts by this user Visit this user's website The Successor Posts:701 Joined:Aug 2013 Character:Delial Grimsong Server:Balming Reputation: 191 Timezone:UTC-6 RE: What You Are In The Dark【Closed】 | #24 03-31-2015, 09:15 PM "I didn't expect ye of all people tae contact me." The evening had only begun and it was already full of surprises. One came in the form of a veritable train of people that had flowed forth from the gates of Revenant's Toll. Word had reached her of a gathering of sorts, some sort of pilgrimage to honor Thaliak, and despite her reservations Delial Grimsong decided she could take a night out of her busy schedule of avoiding being shot to pay her respects. Surely, a blessing from the Scholar would aid her in coming days. Her intuition was sharp and her instincts keen but there were moves to come that required more wisdom than gumption. The other came in the form of Brynnalia Callae. It was difficult to pick out her voice among the throng of others who were chattering around her but there was something about the Highlander that struck her as familiar. There were not too many, Delial had come to think, that carried themselves as Callae did: hers was the confidence and grace of a coeurl, and it was something Delial could recognize as well as appreciate. So she appreciated it from a slight ways behind, half-listening to her chattering with a Roegadyn fellow about spirits. Only when the woman turned to her armed with a smirk did Delial acknowledge her presence. "'Tis what we do, hmm?" She shifted to eye the woman settling in beside her, hardly bothering to lower her voice. The crowd chattered on around them, filling the rise with the Scholar's stone with a dull echoing drone. "Last I heard, were on the same side. T'would be foolish of me to forget that." Not long before, Grimsong had sent Callae a missive. Moons prior they had actually worked together on a mission that proved disastrous. Ul'dahn agents were seen attacking a Limsan warehouse and naturally there was a deal of displeasure exchanged between the two city-states. People died and people were disgraced but Delial Grimsong slipped away from that with nary a scratch. "Stranger things have happened, thanks tae the Spinner. Ye and I." Brynnalia snorted. "So what we workin' on then?" Delial's eye stalked the crowd. She did not mind that it was there, no, and perhaps such a thing was to be expected: people liked revelry and distraction and if it were to be in the honor of one god or another then Delial would be the last one to object. There were so many faces she did not know, however, and in that she felt some measure of annoyance. She had tried her best to lay somewhat low since the incident at the warehouse and she wondered briefly if that had cost her some influence. "Stormchild," she said flatly. "I wonder if you have been keeping your tabs on her?" Callae groaned. It was known that the two had history: both had had their parts in working with the Ala Mhigan Resistance, just as both had seemed to distance themselves from it since an operation at the Nanawa Mines went sour. "Not o' late," she said, turning her attention somewhat back to the ceremony at hand. "She and I ended on... not quite the best terms last we saw each other." Then, she smirked. "She lost a card game." From somewhere beyond Brynnalia came the uncomfortable shifting of armor. "Ye'd never guess who won, though," she offered, sounding quite amused with herself. "My guess would be the twice blessed Duskwight." It was a voice Delial did not immediately place, spoken as low as it was. Resting directly in her blind spot was a suit of armor and a hat. "Then I suspect," Delial continued, "That there would be no loss of good will, then, if I were to suggest she be tracked and found." That caught Callae's attention again, as she glanced back at the woman to her right. "This be over that Lazarov affair?" "She has information that Taeros would very much like, I should think." "Hm. I suppose she does." Brynnalia tilted her head; she and Grimsong had not had what most would call an amicable partnership and the latter had seemed to drop out of the whole affair after it quite literally exploded. "Suddenly taken an interest again, have we?" So, too, did the armor's attention find itself pulled towards Callae and her company to reveal the face of Ser Coatleque Crofte looking as grim as ever. What was once juicy gossip had become something a great deal more: Crofte was in Taeros' hand as well as in his bed and there was little question those days as to where her loyalties and interests lay. Her eyes narrowed and she offered but a simple word. "Indeed." "Priorities change, my sweetlings," said Delial as if to apologize, "As do opportunities. Shaelen Stormchild may be key to ending this whole mess." Brynnalia studied Grimsong with obvious doubt. "Ye don't say. Somethin' must've lit the fire under yer skirts. Ye've been layin' low until now." "Was not Gharen Wolfsong on her trail?" Ser Crofte added. "What happened?" To Brynnalia, Delial offered a shrug. "Should that not be the case...? I am no Askier Mergrey." That the thrice-damned miqo'te would have even be brought on such a mission remained a mystery to her; that he would make a catastrophe of it was, sadly, not. "My business is better left quiet." Then she sighed and nodded to Ser Crofte. An annoyed tick twitched at the corner of her lip. "Too soft, that boy. Too soft. He let her go." "Let her go?" Crofte's scepticism was as hard as her stare. "I highly doubt that. Unless she was innocent, or something more urgent distracted him." Brynnalia on the other hand seemed amused. "Nice. Ye two got that one trained like a hunt dog, eh?" Delial forced a grin to Callae and Crofte both but her words were aimed more for the stoic Sultansworn. "Innocent, my dear? There is little innocent about Stormchild, especially regarding Lazarov. Gharen could not produce that which she was demanding, and when he had his chance to take it, he simply did not." Again she shrugged, and again she edged her voice with annoyance. "He let her go." "Mayhap Resistance sympathies," Brynnalia suggested with a roll of her eyes which quickly turned into a pointed look aimed square for Grimsong. "Somethin' ye probably don't understand." Crofte, perhaps feeling slightly more charitable, clenched her teeth. She and Delial did not have the most amicable relationship, either, and rarely had they seen eye to eye during any of their few meetings prior. Coatleque Crofte was not one who could be won over with the other's moral ambiguity and she made certain that was known. "Honorable if foolish. But what was it that she demanded?" "Blood." "Blood? Whose blood?" Then it was as if a sun was dawning on Brynnalia's face alone. Slowly, she turned to Grimsong, her lips broadening into a strange smile. Delial seemed appropriately annoyed. "Does it matter? Wolfsong is not a murderer. He did not deliver, and that bridge has been burnt." "Aah, I see now," prodded Callae. "Ye are the one who killed her father figure after all." "The point remains," said Delial, "That Stormchild has what Jameson Taeros most certainly wants. We all want this ended, yes?" She looked from Callae to Crofte, looking for the spark of reason to nudge them away from the notion that Brynnalia was too sharp to leave alone. "He didn't deliver you," Brynnalia nodded. Her green eyes remained on Grimsong with an odd curl to her lips. "Not in a box, in any case." That encounter still left a sour taste in her mouth, but she felt no need to elaborate on what had happened. A gunshot wound and a bit of humiliation were not things that Delial wore fondly. "The same woman who kidnapped and tortured..." Incredulous, she licked her lips and tossed her head back with a laugh. To say Wolfsong and Grimsong had a tumultuous history would be putting it very kindly; that they had come to work together was absurd and Delial herself knew it. She nodded and sighed loudly. "Yes, yes. So very soft, as I said." "Both Wolfsong and his sister, too soft to win this game." Callae's brows rose. "But ye and I... not so. Aye? Shaelen used tae be a colleague o' mine, but never close. And she don' fill my coffers now. Taeros does. So, if she got what he wants... we best snare the smuggler." There was a cheering around them. Crofte, seeming to have found the happenings around them to be a little more appealing than the brewing plot, minded what appeared to have been some sort of proposal warily. Delial minded it not: it was not the revelry she had come for, and the more the others went on with ignoring their talks, the better off she was. "So, how we doin' this?" "My connections with her are considerably lacking. Wolfsong would have been it, but I doubt she has any more trust in him." Not after he had taken Grimsong's side rather than spill a murderer's blood. That he could be so naive was something she had yet to wrap her head around but there was little time to waste pondering the man's shortcomings. "Nor... in you, I wonder? No, I expect she thinks poorly of you now." Her cool golden eye studied Brynnalia, as if to search for a reaction she knew her next words would invoke. "I had considered looking into Greyarm's son." "She wants tae do nothin' with me," Brynnalia snorted. "Although... she still has her Resistance connections." She cleared her throat, growing wary of the quiet settling in around them as a performer took to crooning out a song near Thaliak's stone. When she spoke again, her voice was considerably lower. "Ye not be usin' this tae... do what ye used tae do. Are ya, Grimsong?" "It would be convenient, would it not?" There had been two Greyarms both scheming to smuggle a ceruleum bomb back to Ala Mhigo and she had made certain that the elder did not live. It was what she did: the Resistance in all their brashness forgot that men and women bleed the same regardless of their allegiances. Ala Mhigo could not be safe as long as men like Greyarm were allowed to live and plot and murder. The son, a boy called Hroch, either would not or could not step up to take the burden his departed father left him. It did not stop him from being a concern, however. "Sadly," she continued, "That particular line of work does not pay as well as Taeros." Brynnalia did not meet her eye. She was staring straight ahead and her expression, ever eager to wear a sly smirk, remained neutral. "Good. Then Hroch Greyarm might be a good choice tae lure her out. She took a liking tae him." As the conversation steadily slid into darker terms, she gave a glance over her shoulder. Hovering not far behind her was a man in a Flame uniform though he did not seem to be paying particular attention to the cluster of Highlanders. She cleared her throat. "I thought as much." Delial nodded, barely feigning interest in the noise from up ahead. "Though I wonder if that will be enough. Greyarm has nothing but his name as far as I am aware, and a name alone will not keep her operation afloat." "It's not his name she needs. She does just fine with her own reputation. She has... affections fer Hroch. Like a sister. Since Aylard saved her long time ago." Callae made a face as a bard's performance was replaced, instead, by a troupe of moogles. "Like a sister," repeated Delial. Her eye swung towards Crofte, as if she had been expecting her to pipe up about one thing or another. There was little honor in hostages, of course, but mayhap she understood what could be won. "Then I suppose he shall do. Have you leads on him? I understand he has not left Thanalan." Brynnalia exhaled through her nose, her words coming slow and monotonous. "He's still around. I suppose... I can try and find him. Soon as ye poke yer head within malms near Little Ala Mhigo, little Greyarm will make himself scarce." "I doubt this man knows who I am yet." It was Crofte who spoke, earning herself surprised glances from Grimsong and Callae both. Her tone was that of a suggestion rather than a blank statement. "'Tis true enough, Ser Crofte," Delial agreed. "I should think you an unknown to them." "Ye... offerin' tae lure them out then, Crofte?" "I am tired of chasing this pirate to the ends of Eorzea. If he will not answer his linkpearl, then I must resort to other means." It was likely only moons ago that Delial first heard of Nero Lazarov. First he came as a quiet warning, a request from Roen Deneith that then became rumor, vicious and obscene, as spoken by McBeef. All the brightest stars among her contacts had some stake in the mad pirate's game, and not a one seemed pleased about it at all. She had not been the first to warn Deneith against the actions she took and she had no reason to believe that she had been the last. All too taken by love and faith to listen to good, solid counsel. "We do what we must," she said, knowing well that it was Crofte that had Deneith caged, knowing well that she had made her warnings about the Sultansworn. "I suppose we must. Aye." Brynnalia spoke without much enthusiasm and she regarded each of her companions without her usual cheer. "Alright. Let's lure the boy out, then. He can be found in Little Ala Mhigo. Ye yerself have worked with Stormchild before," she said to Ser Crofte. "He may trust ye either way, if he knew it." "I do not expect it would be difficult to play upon his sympathies. The boy is weak. Once he is found, then I suppose we shall see if Stormchild does indeed have any stake in his life." "So long as you do not intend to follow through on such a threat," Crofte said coolly. Callae frowned and glanced between the two. "I suppose she'll have tae believe it to be lured out." She gave a half-hearted applause as the audience around them did; it was a fellow Highlander who had just finished their performance after all. "We do what we must," Delial said again. "The boy need not die. He is not the threat his father was. I doubt Shaelen would be agreeable if she was not made to believe his life was up for bargain." She clearly did not share her companions' reservations about the plot, much less about the boy in question. The time had long since passed that she might have felt sympathetic. "Fine," sighed Brynnalia, looking straight head as if to avoid the others' eyes. "I'll give ye a sketch of what he looks like, Crofte. Ye can find him in Ala Mhigo. Just don't go dressed as a Sworn. Play up on yer Highlander ways, and talk as ye do when we get a few drinks in ye." She ignored Ser Crofte's grumble and continued on. "He'll likely take a likin' tae ye. He, too, has a soft spot fer redheads, much like his father." Delial interjected. "There was a girl, was there not?" "Aye, Daena. Don't come on too strong. He is spoken fer, last I heard, and she be a fiery tempered one, that. She is a bit more careful than he is. I haven't spoken tae her in a while." "'Tis good to know, however, should we need to up the stakes." Crofte did not seem interested in that thought. "And where will you be?" she asked. "I get ye information. Don't be expectin' me tae help ye to apprehend the man. I can have some Blades nearby, I suppose." "I am known there," Delial said matter of factly. She could not help the air of smugness that came with her words: to be feared by so many was almost flattering. It might have been even more flattering were they not cowardly men content to hide in caves. "I can extract what we need after the boy is in our hands." There was yelling, exclamations of words. Brynnalia, wanting to seem like she was playing along, yelled along with them and earned a heavy sigh from Ser Crofte. "What?" she asked, shrugging sheepishly at the Sultansworn. "It's just a story." "I don't suppose this boy will drink with me?" Crofte said thoughtfully. "Ye know, I bet he would..." "Hm. Perhaps we can make this easier than it sounds." Callae sighed, a little bit of the furrow that had settled upon her brow easing away. "If ye can manage it. Then ye can figure out where tae hold him?" Coatleque snorted derisively before she continued. "If I can. If not, best have someone standing by. Either way, he'll be taken the same place Roen is, more than likely. At least she'll have someone to talk to." Delial's eye flitted back to Crofte but it was Brynnalia that spoke first. "Hm. I don't know where these are meself. Never been tae the black cells." She exhaled and narrowed her eyes. "Do people leave that place? I don' want the boy hurt." "I would think that ill advised," Delial added. She did not know Ul'dah as well as she would have liked for all the time she had spent there, and this was the first that she had heard of the black cells. It was not something she needed to admit, however. The last thing she wanted was to be robbed of access to the very hostage she wanted held. Coatleque waved a hand idly. "You make it sound as if I have any control over the matter. Very well. There is a Flame outpost to the south at the Forgotten Spring." "That sounds fine," Brynnalia replied quickly. Her lip twitched and she tapped a fingernail against her hip. Ser Crofte picked up on the response and the implications behind it, as did Delial. The woman had her ties with the Resistance and had worked with both Greyarms when they were at large in Thanalan. "Right. Well, contact Delial or me when ye got him there. And we'll get the word out. Or... well, he can... technically. I think." "Nervous?" Crofte asked. "How unlike you." Brynnalia narrowed her eye at the Sultansworn and gave her a dismissive snort. "It's this silly pilgrimage. It bores me." That she was seeking a distraction was obvious enough, especially when she turned to regard someone that had been shuffling and fidgeting about behind them the entire time: the roegadyn with whom she had been speaking to before. "I think I need a drink." Delial did Callae the courtesy of forgiving her sudden flightiness even if Ser Crofte did not. She did not think she would be overly attached to anyone at all, much less a bumbling son of a failed movement. Sentimental, mayhap. Some ties do not cut easily. She turned her attention back to Crofte instead, offering her a grin. "It will be good working with you again, Ser Crofte. Proper work. Pray let myself or Miss Callae know when you have caught the boy, hmm?" Coatleque gazed towards Delial with what could only have been a weary look. "Yes, and I pray we shall be done with this business swiftly." Delial studied her a moment. It had been moons since this whole business started, indeed, and Crofte had been pushed right into it. Once, Delial sympathized; now, Delial could not be so sure. Wasted breath and wasted time. Bitter thoughts were pushed aside by what she had hoped was a charitable grin and a shallow bow. The celebration continued on as she took her leave, turning away from Ser Crofte and her thoughts, from Brynnalia Callae and her flasks. Scholar grant them wisdom to do what must be done, she thought as she stepped on out the crowd. Scholar save me from the wisdom I am cursed to have ignored.

Coatleque Coatleque Find all posts by this user Damaged Goods Posts:1,822 Joined:May 2014 Character:Florence Fishbane(Crofte) Linkshell:N/A Server:Balmung Reputation: 504 Timezone:UTC-5 RE: What You Are In The Dark【Closed】 | #25 04-01-2015, 03:58 PM (This post was last modified: 04-01-2015, 04:11 PM by Coatleque.) "I will not become a monster to hunt a monster..." Stress. That is what it was. Yes, her nerves were merely on edge. After watching Delial take her 'gift' followed by Jameson's latest outburst, Coatleque was finding it harder to focus on her mundane daily work. She merely needed to distract herself. Yes, everything would settle down again in a few days. The last few onzes of cinnamon whiskey in her drawer were becoming more alluring every day now. That is not an option, she told herself. Bad things happened whenever she drank. It was time to find a new vice that would be much less damaging to people around her. Where else better to find such a thing than the new Manderville Gold Saucer? Three hours and ten-thousand gil later, she found herself sitting on one of the couches of the top-level adjacent from the bar. A well-endowed golden statue facing (thankfully) away from her. She sighed and laid out her last three tickets upon her lap to go over her numbers once more. "Blasted luck.", she muttered to herself as she angrily tore one of the tickets into cheap confetti. This was doing nothing to help her nerves. She glanced towards the bar area before throwing the pieces behind the couch - quite sure she had just gotten away with what amounted to murder when nobody was looking. So engrossed was she in calculating her final odds that she was unaware of the woman who sat next to her just then. "Sometimes the Lady Luck is with ya, and other times she steals the very shirt off your back." Coatleque only barely heard her as she snorted. "I am finding that out more than I'd li..." Her words trailed off as she was sure that voice was familiar. Turning her head slowly she did not expect to see Shaelen herself sitting beside her. It appeared that Delial's little 'gift' had worked. What she could not tell was if this meeting was mere chance, or had she been watched this whole time. "Of all the times and all the places." she offered. The smuggler sat reclined next to the Paladin in a relaxed manner, seemingly at ease. "Well", she began before sucking on her teeth, "No time like the present I always say. Time is gil and all." "Yes, and lately we have so precious little of both." Coatleque replied with a sigh at her last two cards. She looked up and panned her gaze around the room, nervously looking for nearby security. She was unarmed, unarmored, and unprepared for this particular meeting. If Shaelen was feeling anything similar she did not show it, choosing to stare through tinted lenses at the obnoxious statue before them. "So... I got an interesting package." "Quite." "So you know about it then." The memory was still too fresh in Coatleque's mind. She had lured the boy, Hroch, out as planned. Spiked his skin with a common sleeping aid sold by the city alchemists (though in a more potent dosage), and he was delivered to a Flame's outpost along the southern road out of Ul'dah. It was in the cold, sandstone room that she stood by and allowed Delial Grimsong to remove two of the boy's fingers while unconscious. Something she was not proud of. "I know who sent it. That is more than enough.", she replied with as little emotion as she could feign. "And now you are my... liaison? To keep Hroch alive? Is that how ya do business these days?" Shaelen shot an accusing glance towards the Paladin, though her eyes were hidden behind her shades. Coatleque narrowed her own eyes and returned an annoyed look. She never wanted to hurt the boy. She wanted to send quite a different message - perhaps a different item of worth or a strip of torn clothing. As she stood in the cell, her own blade ready to draw against Delial in his defense, there was no argument she could make - Hroch had nothing. She had no other message to send except Delial's. At the time she could only mutter a curse to Nero Lazarov for yet another life ruined in his mad pursuit for blood. Since then she had time to reflect on her own inaction. Coatleque had resolved to pay Hroch back in some way. Whether by gil, material goods, or favors, she would set right the part she played in his maiming. Her voice grew slower, more serious. "It is not" she intoned, each word carrying a weight of its own. "My hand has been forced, now that a certain pirate at large has admitted to a rebellion in progress." Coatleque knew it was not an excuse, nor could she hope to explain everything to the woman next to her. This was the price she would have to pay for working with the Snake. "So THAT is the reason that the kinslayer gave you? To hunt down that boy? To relieve him of his fingers?" At least she is focused, Crofte thought. "And here I thought you would be thankful it wasn't the entire hand.", Coatleque responded calmly. There was no mirth or mockery to the comment. Shaelen could only stare at her open mouthed for a moment before snorting bitterly. "She threatened a finger each sun, then the head. As she took from the father, so will she from the son. THAT is the kind of woman you are dealing with. I was going to give Nero to Wolfsong. All HE had to do was let me kill her. AS he SAID he would. What a bunch of lyin' shite that was." Coatleque shook her head in disgust. "Yet another demand of blood for blood." How weary she was of death. For a brief moment she recalled the same look in Jameson's eyes. "'She won't meet death at my hands, but I won' be standin' in th'way o' others comin' fer her' he said. WHAT LOAD OF SHITE. Look, I don't CARE about this political feud. You can HAVE Lazarov. He is a customer. I don't snitch on customers, but blood is more important. I was going to give Wolfsong what he wanted for that snake!" The Paladin's gaze turned back towards Shealen at that. Finally, someone else was beginning to crack for once. Her expression did not fall from its former seriousness. "Then give me what I want for her." "Not when that snake still has him. You think I'd trust yet ANOTHER deal where she is involved?" An eyebrow was quirked just then as Coatleque realized the extent of the message delivered. She doesn't know where Hroch is. The barest hint a smile crept over her face as the scales were finally tipping in her favor. "She does not have him.", the Paladin replied matter-of-factly. "Where is he then?" the smuggler inquired as she now stared intently at Coatleque. The Sworn's image reflected clearly off the woman's shades. "Safer than in her hands." she noted with some confidence. Shaelen's attention was now fixated. "I need to know he's going to walk free. With nothing else missing on him. I need to see it. Then you get what I know." The Paladin offered a slight shrug as if bored. "I can take you to him, but if she catches wind she will know I've double-crossed her. Tell me, just how badly do you want Grimsong?" The smuggler crossed her legs and began to drum her fingers over her boots. "You have... no... idea. I am still going to kill her. Especially after this. I am going to relish it. Ya know what she did right? In Ala Mhigo?" "I know enough. The woman has been only trouble in all my dealings with her. I have yet to hear a good opinion from anyone else either." "Ya know why we call her kinslayer? She don't care shite about Lazarov. This is just a bloody excuse to hunt down more Resistance members. The deluded woman still considers everyone that stood up against Garlemald traitors. The fact that she is being PAID to do it in the name of hunting down some pirate is just icing on the cake. I can't trust Wolfsong. The man's not seeing straight. Ya think his sister has a bleeding heart for the wrong person, it runs in the family lady. Wolfsong got a thing for the snake. The same woman that TORTURED him and killed his parents. HOW twisted is that? But you are a 'Sworn." It was Coatleque's turn to sit back against the couch now. Her arms crossed as she listened to the smuggler. "I am, which is why Hroch's head is still intact. And I cannot try to understand it. Miss Stormchild, I am not being paid. I have a duty to prevent the slaughter of our citizens which Nero is working hard to bring about. You help me, and I will do what I can to deliver her to you for whatever justice is warranted." Shaelen's gaze lowered as her stormy eyes looked the Paladin over. "I guess I'll take my chance on your honor." she said with a frown. "If one more harm comes to that boy, or this turns out to be another double-cross... then I'll help Lazarov burn this cursed place to the ground myself." She shook her head. "I don't care about any of this, but I've had enough people protecting and lying for snakes like her." "I assure you, he was never to be more than leverage." Coatleque interjected with more than a little distaste. "Miss Grimsong took things further." "Swear." Shaelen suddenly demanded. "Give me your word. I want to see him freed. If you show me that, you get what I know." Of all the demands anyone could make, this was the one Coatleque hated the most. She had made many oaths in her career, and none had ever been carried out as intended. As a Paladin, a Sultansworn, an Oath was binding even to death. And she would have no control over what others may do to subvert it. Her teeth clenched and eyes narrowed before she straightened herself. If this is what was required of her to save others, then so be it. "Miss Stormchild, I swear by my Oath as a Paladin, I shall na'er let her touch him again. Help me stop Nero's bloodbath and he will go free." The contract having been struck, Shaelen frowned and shook her head once or twice before looking away. Yet it was enough, it seemed. "FINE. Fuck it all. You want to find a Lalafell. A plainsfolk named Qujon Zamajon. He owns a small boarding house in Revenant's Toll. He has a direct line to the pirate. He is the one that acted as a middle man between us; paid me in his stead." "And how can I be assured he will talk?" There was a loud snort. "Take a finger or two.", Shaelen replied curtly. "We got our professional code, lady. But he, like me, ain't gonna bleed for no political cause." "Understood", Coatleque said dryly. "And how would you like your repayment delivered?" Shaelen tongued the inside of her cheek, a strange grin appearing on one corner. "My repayment." The words carried a sort of excitement behind them as if it could not come soon enough. "I want what Wolfsong couldn't give me. A time and place the snake will be by herself, and no interference." "She will certainly want to know the results of our little chat. I think I can draw her out of the city. I am no murderer, Miss Stormchild. All I will do is give you this chance to see justice delivered. What you do is on you." The smuggler fished a small metallic looking linkpearl from her pocket and placed it on the cushion between them. "That's all I am looking for. Her blood is on no one else's hands but mine. You can contact me with this." Coatleque sat quietly for a moment before taking up the linkpearl and discretely placing it into her gil purse. For the first time in moons she felt a small weight lifted. Not great, but she could say was receiving the better end of this trade. And a vile woman may finally earn her due. She took a slow, deep breath. "Your friend is being held at the Flames outpost south of Ul'dah. Put them in contact with me when you arrive. I will order his release into your custody." Shaelen inhaled sharply through her nose before nodding. "Alright." "Best be sure you are not followed, else the snake become wary." "I am trusting this is not a trap, Sworn." Coatleque snorted. "Do not insult my honor." "I know how to lose a tail. Don't insult my skills." "Point Taken. I wish you luck then. I shall contact you as soon as I can." Shaelen rose and replaced her glasses. "And when he gets freed, I'll take your point too. Pleasure doing business." "As always." Coatleque replied as the woman left. She sat back against the couch and closed her eyes for a long while, breathing slowly. Too much. This is all too much. Then her thoughts turned to Jameson and how tired he looked when she last saw him. A twinge of both pain and sorrow flashed through her breast before turning to anger once more at his last outburst. "If you cannot trust my love... I know not what else I can do." Words she had spoken through tears and gnashed teeth. Her hands slid slowly down her face as she eyed the bar. Standing then, she moved to one of the empty stools and signaled to the bartender for something strong and twice the size. The smell of smoke hanging in the air wafted past her nose, and she was then acutely aware of another body behind her. "Lady Crofte," a man's voice said at almost a whisper. "I have a message for you. Lord Taeros has requested your presence." He slid a sealed letter along her side which she took with an annoyed sigh. "Has my Lord seen fit to have me watched where 'er I go now? How long were you following me?" He said nothing of course, but merely tipped his hat before disappearing back into the crowds. She sighed and broke the seal to read what amounted to something of an apology and dinner reservation. "Well... I suppose third chances are in order." Wiki | Directory | Sketchbook

Coatleque Coatleque Find all posts by this user Damaged Goods Posts:1,822 Joined:May 2014 Character:Florence Fishbane(Crofte) Linkshell:N/A Server:Balmung Reputation: 504 Timezone:UTC-5 RE: What You Are In The Dark【Closed】 | #26 04-04-2015, 06:44 PM (This post was last modified: 04-06-2015, 10:47 PM by Coatleque.) "I was afraid..." "Of what, precisely?" "That you were as hard-hearted as I was told." Coatleque stepped out of the lift with a wary sigh. Glancing back to it just briefly, she did not trust it since that day she had been stuck with Miss Primrose half-way. Surveying the lounge then, she noted it was at its usual emptiness which seemed to put her at ease. So few were the evenings she and hers could spend in quiet respite. She crossed the room with slow but deliberate steps to find Jameson sitting quietly at his usual table. His latest 'adornment' stood stoically silent off to the side with arms crossed. Coatleque only peered at the armored sentinel as she approached the table and Jameson rose with a smile. He quickly rounded the table to her. "There is a familiar dress, no?" he said as he bussed her on the cheek. She had chosen to wear her pink dress this evening - one that Master Vann had supplied her half in jest so she could match his trademark color if she so desired. It had left such an impression on Taeros that she decided it would fit such an occasion as tonight. While she bristled at his touch she did not recoil or shy away from it. A hastily scrawled (in her opinion) letter was not a fitting apology after all. His acknowledgement of her choice of garb was a good start, however, and she managed a smile. "It has been some time since I wore it, yes." "You're late" Jameson murmured, though not too harshly. "How are you feeling? "I am." She replied as her head dipped. "Forgive my tardiness. I was delayed in the street." "Duty called, did it?" He moved around to pull her chair from the table to which she promptly took her seat. Her eyes did not leave him for a moment and his casual, business-like tone served only to call forefront the reason for this invitation. "More like a passing stranger. And is that genuine concern for my well-being? I am finding it hard to tell lately." Her expression remained neutral throughout. Jameson rounded the table once more to his own chair to sit. A bottle of wine had already been waiting with two glasses off to the side. He set right to the task of uncorking it and pouring for them both. "I suppose an apology is in order. I lost my temper." he said as he slid a glass across the table to her. "Consider this my way of saying I am sorry. Truly. Matters have... pressed me of late. I oft feel beset." Coatleque reached forward hesitantly to take her glass. She remained quiet for a good while just staring at the red liquid before finally taking a sip. She tossed another glance to the armed escort and sighed. "Yet you listen to none of my advice." She looked up to him then, studying his eyes from across the table. Measuring the lines in their corners, the weary circles below that were not present even a moon ago. "None? Now you're just being dramatic." He took his own sip and tilted his head. Holding aloft the glass for a moment he looked to be considering the vintage. "I listen to all of your advice. I heed some of it." Coatleque scoffed. "Far be it from me to care about the man I bed down with." Her eyes rolled off to the side as she glared at the silent guard once more. The armored man did not move or even acknowledge her presence. Perhaps it was that second ideal which irked her even more. Jameson's voice lowered to a murmur. "You should care more that I have friends spilling blood in the street, with no seeming end to the mayhem. Our beloved Sultana does nothing but hide away in her manse. The Brass Blades are less-than useless. The Flames..." His face twisted between disgust and annoyance. "The Flames seem to think I am the cause of Ul'dah's troubles. At least one does. If not more." Her attention turned back to him with a tilt of her head. "One?" The question was waved off dismissively. "I have little and less time for fools." he continued. "But if they concentrated more on ending murder sprees and less on ending graft and corruption, we would all sleep better." Coalteque took a slow breath before another sip of wine. She pursed her lips as the glass was replaced on the table, her mood not improving much. "Of that we agree." A shadow seemed to fall across the table as tempers on both sides of the table slowly simmered. It was Jameson who finally inclined his head and spoke up, rather pointedly. "You seem to want something. Tell me what it is, and it is yours." She peered at him, caught quite off-guard from the sudden demand. "I have been lax in my gift-giving of late.", he added. "But I believe I shall see a windfall very soon. So ask and it is yours." "What I want?" She asked softly. "Yes." The question had more merit than he perhaps thought, and she found it hard to look him in the eyes. Her gaze wandered to the side and out towards the landing as the next airship began to depart. The last glow of the sunset casting orange streaks across the clouds of the night sky beyond. "You have given me all I could ever want...", she began. "I merely wish to meet with your approval." The answer was obviously not one he expected. Not here and now, at least. He gave her a bland and unbelieving look but offered no objection. "So... this..." He said even as he gestured all around. To the food, her dress, the extravagance of the lounge that surrounded them. "... is all you could want." The words fell not as a question but of an unimpressed observation. She turned to face him then with a small shake of her head. "... there is more to our lives than the material, is there not?" Her voice had an almost imploring tone to it, but such emotion was lost beneath the creaking of armor as Jameson's man turned to face a crowed which had gathered by the ticket booth. "Of course. You did not attain your personal goals simply for love of coin. But whenever I praise you, you are quick to demur." "I did what I must to survive. You know that.", she rebuked him quickly. "Yes." He began with a shrug and slowly narrowing eyes. "But we've known that. I would prefer if you simply forgot that and forged ahead." "I do not have this... this will that drives you. But to stand..." her voice began to trail off as if to a daydream. "To stand with one who does, that is my place." Jameson leaned forward then. "Is it? Is that your place?" His voice had taken on a familiar hiss of annoyance, anger even. "If I wanted a--" "As opposed to.. to.. to what?" she interrupted. "You wish that I run off and conquer Eorzea with you? Is that it?!" He leaned back again but his displeasure was clear to her. She might have been concerned if not for the gathered crowed behind them. Few others knew his temper now as she did. Still, the weariness behind her own words was evident. Jameson looked past her to the gathering. "This used to be a fine secret. Less so these days it seems." The attempted change of topic did not escape her and her head shook slowly. "I will never be more than your paramour, will I?" she asked with a twinge of sadness. "I asked you once, out of curiosity," He continued, apparently ignoring her concerns, "how you attained your current position. You seemed... stumped, to put it lightly." Coatleque crossed her arms and huffed. "Stumped, or amazed." she replied curtly. "I'm not certain you aspire to more than... a mere guard's commander. Or a paramour." The distaste behind his own words brought forth a stare. She chewed the inside of her lip. "Now you mock me?" "At one time," he murmured, "I thought we were alike. It seems less so." He fiddled with his napkin as the waiter arrived to take their orders. Salmon and fresh greens for him, steak and bitter herbs for her. As the waiter walked off the sudden and feigned politeness of the two turned back to shared anger as they stared each other down from across the table. She had never openly defied him in such a manner. "After all I have done to prove myself to you?" She nearly spat at him. "Do not mistake loyalty for drive. Or purpose. I hold you to a higher law than the common filth we both rose from. I expect greatness." The last jab was all she could bear for the night. Her brows furrowed in anger and her jaw clenched. "Then perhaps I should apologize for delivering mediocrity into your cells!" Her arms had been crossed just then as her displeasure was evident. "Now there is some fire!" Jameson exclaimed suddenly. "You so rarely show it these days. It is as though a black cloud hangs over your head and follows in your wake. Yet rare do I see it spark to lightning." The woman had no reply as she swirled her glass. He watched her with his amber gaze, his eyes flashing as a Brass Blade captain approached the table to address him. But tonight he would have no distractions from her. After it was clear the newcomer was to be ignored, the Blade captain instead moved aside to address the armed guard. A scroll was passed between the two before the Blade turned to leave. "... Where is Roen.", Coatleque said flatly. It was more of a demand than a question. "Is that your truest desire? My gift? An answer to your question?" His feint did little to subside her anger. "I have answered your little question already. What you do with it is up to your interpretation." "You are still cross with me. This will not do. Roen has of late earned my displeasure and is...not comfortable. But she remains as healthy as any might in her circumstances. She has been placed in some of the lower cells. I have denied her visitation." "Will it not do? Will it not? For a moment there I thought you preferred seeing me riled up. That I had some fire which appea..." her complaint halted as Jameson continued. She sat back in her chair then and her anger seemed to subside. Only slightly. "I will of course allow you visitation. If that is your desire." The woman only sighed. "Does she plague you so?" He asked softly, his voice lowering then. "The guilt?" "She does not. But you do, lately.", Coatleque admitted. "And guilt? She has abetted a murderer." Jameson shrugged. "But you were close. You have a moral compass. I would not lay abed with a cretin of low morality." Coatleque shook her head. "I feel no guilt at her being kept away. I wish I had used other methods than betrayal, but that is mine own guilt." "Very well." "I have a lead now, a name to follow-up on in Revenant's Toll. I should like to see her before I leave. And to be sure you will remain safe whilst I am gone." "She is convinced Lazarov has given up his dreams of conquest and... 'city rehabilitation.'", he remarked before furrowing his brows. "When are you leaving?" Coatleque inclined her head to the side curiously. "Did I not tell you the same before? I spoke with him. He sounded quite... mad, if his voice was any indication. And that would depend on how soon we want this pirate locked away." "You should not go alone." he said with a scowl. "Oh?", she snorted. "Is that genuine concern once more?" Jameson made a face at that. "Really, this drama is beneath you. Stop, for both our sakes." All at once she felt like a spoiled little girl who was being ornery for not getting her way. She stared back at him incredulously as if she should say something, fight against him. Then her head bowed. Closing her eyes and taking one long, slow breath she murmured an apology. "I am sorry." He nodded. "You are not the only one feeling the effects lately." "Apology accepted. I hope you will accept mine." It was her turn to nod then. Jameson opened his mouth as if to say more, but was interrupted just then as the waiter arrived with their food. A plate was set before each of them and the servant waited for brief approval before withdrawing to the kitchens again. Once the man was out of earshot, Coatleque turned her attention to the armored Sentinel who stood quietly by Jameson's side. "What was that business a moment ago?" The figure turned slightly to look in her direction. Jameson glanced to him as well, then back to her. "I'm afraid Feres is not very talkative." The guard then turned to his Lord. "So I have seen. Whatever it is, if it is important..." She waved her hand dismissively before taking up her utensils to begin eating. "Was it?" Jameson asked him pointedly. To that a hand reached out to pass along the scroll which Jameson received and promptly opened. He read it over then murmured half to himself. "The first good news I've received all day." Looking up with a smile he quickly added, "Next to your accepting my apology, of course." She stopped eating for a moment at that admission. "Out with it then." Her eyes half closed. "Unless of course I am failing to gain your trust once more..." "You're doing it again, dear..." Jameson replied almost in warning. To that she held her peace and focused on her meal. "A friend of mine. His... 'son' was safely seen away. We were concerned for the boy's well-being." "Well, that is good news." she noted. "Yes. Algincourt. Do you know them?" The name forced her to take pause as she recalled a conversation she overheard from the back of his office some weeks ago. "I... may have seen the name before. Nobody I know of course." "Ah. Well, my concern was... ill-founded, it seems. All is well. Would that I could say the same for others. One bit of news that should bring me cheer is actually disconcerting." "James...", she interrupted his thought. "Tell me you are being careful. And not just with..." She gestured to the armed man off to the side. "Squeaky over there. This is becoming serious." "I am always careful." He replied with a smile before turning his attention to the guard. "Do you hear that? My paramour thinks your armor could use some management. See that is taken care of before first light." The guard nodded silently in reply, excepting a few more creaks from the grinding of metal plates against one another. "Perhaps." Coatleque agreed halfheartedly. "It reminds me of that relic you had at the back of your room." She had often glimpsed the suit of armor standing silently in the rear of his office, but till now had not brought it up. A used-looking and gaudy mockery of a statue that never quite fit the decor of the room. She was almost glad it had been moved. Jameson was quiet. He blinked once, and may have even been caught off guard at her words. For a moment he looked angry even, then less. Coatleque noticed the change of his demeanor and tilted her head with an amused expression at having taken the upper hand for once, before taking up her glass to drink again. "It is." he said quietly, and at length. "It was... a part of the arrangement. It is some of the finest plate in Ul'dah. I certainly don't use it as much, if at all. It would seem a shame to waste." "Aaah, finer than mine? Hmm?" She was almost taunting him now, and enjoying it. He toyed with the food in front of him. "In some ways, yes. Yours allows greater range of movement, but that suit has a few surprises of its own." She rolled her eyes as her playful tone had been missed entirely. "Yes... I was well versed by Vandol Morn on the many surprises to be had while in armor." That raised an eyebrow. "Should I assume half of those suggestions were vulgar?" She smirked. "Only half? You appraise him much too low." He laughed. Seeing him relax then put her at more ease. He needed this, in her estimation, and now she felt all the more foolish for having darkened the mood with her own selfish tantrum. "No, truly, I think I have appraised him quite on-the-mark." He continued. "At least in most respects. The girl he travels with, did they seem... close?" Coatleque set her utensils down then. "In some ways, yes. T'was not my place to pry." She glanced at his barely touched portion. "You are... not hungry tonight?" He shrugged. "It may not be your... 'place'... but information is power. You should know if a man is willing to die for the woman he lays with. At least I assume he lays with her. Unless he is a cuckold." Whether it was his intention or not, the notion of dying for loved ones stood out more in her mind than anything else he had said so far. She found herself blushing at him for lack of any other response to the rest of his statement. Meanwhile he slowly began to eat finally, more over her concern than actual hunger. "Love need not always be so... fatalistic." she said at length. "Though in my experience..." Her words trailed off just then, not wanting to relive her own experiences just now. "I am not speaking of love, I am speaking of loyalty." He said, breaking her train of thought. "What if I wish to buy one mercenary and not the other? They were quick enough to jump and put an end to... unfortunate Dirk." He made a face then. "I simply want to know your impression of them." Coatleque cleared her throat at the remembrance. "Yes, Dirk... well. It is in my experience that those two are inseparable. They are a pair and refuse to work apart. Or with others, in most cases, as you may remember when they dragged me to you." As she spoke the Brass Blade Captain returned and beckoned to the armored guard, who left Jameson's side to see what news was to be delivered now. Her gaze followed the man as he walked past. Jameson smirked at her. "I do recall they were... let's call them rough-and-tumble." She turned back to him. "In either case, I will not run off to Mor Dhona alone." There was a pleased nod in return. "Ah. Who will you have in your company?" "I will assume Miss Callae would be interested. And Ser Tarry. That should be enough to handle one merchant. Alas, I believe Madam Grimsong will be quite busy at the time." Jameson pursed his lips. "Should be. Always be wary of guards. Especially these days. Though I trust Brynnalia has tricks aplenty up her sleeves." His brow furrowed in thought. "Busy? doing what?" She could only smirk at his reaction. "Planting flowers for all I know. Her business is not mine, and I am better off for that." He did not reply but his expression was one of agreement. He leaned back and pushed his plate forward signalling that he was finished, the plate still half-full at the time. "But before that... Miss Denieth. We should speak to her together about this list." Jameson canted his head. "Do you think she would be more or less receptive in your presence? She does feel you betrayed her." "She knows I was going to use the linkpearl.. She should know the results. And... I would at least like to see her." The concern was genuine. Thoughts of Roen had been plaguing her lately. Despite all that had happened, she never wished ill on her friend. And she did promise to check on her when able. "The Blades told me she was moved, but nobody would say where." Jameson shrugged. "That was purposeful, but if it would... help you alleviate this misconception that I do not trust you, then by all means. I care little for her umbrage if the sight of you causes her to bristle." She noded once. "That is acceptable. She deserves to know her love's response. And I would have what she knows for your safety as well." "Very well. Tell me when." "As soon as possible, for I should not delay my pursuit either." He thought for a moment before continuing. "I could arrange it this very eve. Though..." He glanced at her finery. "I am not quite dressed for dungeon delving, and neither are you." A few expletives were uttered from behind where the two sat which elicited a sigh from each. Jameson's armed guard soon returned and held out yet another scroll which he took and promptly looked over. "Apologies, Coatleque." He said at length. This bit of news was not as good. "... What is it? James?" There was a long, drawn out sigh followed by a forced smile from across the table. "Do not discount me... let me help.", she offered with genuine concern. "We live in a city of scales, love. One hand brings good tidings, the next... Do you have a change of clothes nearby?" She frowned but nodded. "As you say then. Yes, of course. We are not far from the inn." "I warn you," he murmured, "The black cells are ... black for a reason." "... Are you telling me to come armed, or in rags?" There was a short chuckle. "Armed if you wish. But what I meant was, do not dress in finery. Your silks will be in jeopardy." Coatleque drained the rest of her glass as Jameson settled the bill with a handsome tip. He rounded the table to pull out her chair, then offering his arm. She managed her first true smile of the night before standing and taking it. "Shall we?" he asked. "See?", she said softly "You do know what I desire at times." Jameson looked about to say something more but held his peace before leading her off to the inn. Wiki | Directory | Sketchbook

Coatleque Coatleque Find all posts by this user Damaged Goods Posts:1,822 Joined:May 2014 Character:Florence Fishbane(Crofte) Linkshell:N/A Server:Balmung Reputation: 504 Timezone:UTC-5 RE: What You Are In The Dark【Closed】 | #27 04-06-2015, 10:35 PM (This post was last modified: 04-06-2015, 10:51 PM by Coatleque.) There was the cold and ruthless businessman that most of Ul'dah had heard of. At times there was the confident and caring man that Coatleque had found. This man did not surface much and even she would sometimes struggle to see him under the mask. Yet it was this man who now led her through the Sapphire exchange to the Hourglass Inn. The pair went on unmolested for the most part. There was the occasional turn of a head and personal confirmation that sight was not deceived. She had learned to turn a deaf ear to such murmurings though. Soon they reached her room. Jameson followed her inside. A rare event in its own right. His guard followed and took up the usual position by the door. It was certainly no estate, and was clear that she hadn't been spending much time within lately. Why should she spend her nights here, after all, when his estate was welcoming and so much more grand. It almost brought the pain of embarrassment to even suffer him here. She gestured to the chair by the corner before disappearing behind the privacy screen by the bed. A storage trunk situated at the foot of the bed itself was opened to reveal multiple changes of clothing of a more practical nature. He did not sit, of course, but wandered the room slowly straitening the odd this or that. A few moments later and she re-emerged wearing a simple doublet and jackboots. "This should suffice." "Yes. Nothing trailing in your wake is the best thought." He replied. She finished the ensemble with a short iron spatha easily concealed along the side of one of her boots. His approval was evident, however. She straightened herself, pulling her hair back just then. "I am ready." Jameson opened the door for her which prompted another smile. "A brief stop at my offices. From there it isn't far." A scant moment later the three were gathered out in the bar once more and ready to leave. That is before a piercing baritone nearly screamed from across the room. "LAAAAAAARD TAEROS!" They paused simultaneously and slowly turned with shared horror to find Lord Mandercrown staggering across the bar towards them. Two people could not have had a more synchronized reaction. Jameson clenched his teeth in visible pain while Coatleque groaned audibly. Jameson's sentinel moved to intercept the drunken Lord with a quick step. "Hay! How's ya! Whoa ho ho! Lock at YOU!" The man began to holler at the pair even from only three fulms away. She found her grip on Jameson's arm tightening out of mixed fear and annoyance before forcing restraint. Sensing her Lord's own tenseness, she decided to step up to the initiative. "Why... Lord Mandercrown. Such a... 'pleasant' surprise. You seem to have lost your pants again." The man was, sure enough, naked from the waist down once again. This seemed to be a repeating pattern whenever the man was in public. Coatleque found herself scanning the bar for the Lady Mandercrown's maidservant (whom the Lord always kept close by). She would no doubt appear any moment to lead him away again. Jameson stepped up as well then with a forced smile. "Lord Mandercrown. What a pleasant surprise." He echoed her sentiments. "My lord, where are your pants?" The man looked himself up and down before bursting out laughing. "Uhhh... I seem to have LEFT them somewhere!" The four of them all stood there now as the clearly drunk man laughed himself till he could no longer breathe. Coatleque only drew closer to Jameson while he in turn sighed disgustedly. Finally the man composed himself long enough to form his next thought. "So about that LOAN, my lord?" There was a brief pause to which she looked up at Jameson expecting him to tell the fool off. It was clear to her that more coin would only be wasted on even more drink, and Jameson would never see a return on such a deal. It was not her business, however, so she bit her lip. "Business at another time. Perhaps when you are less... inebriated." "But then it ain't FUN!" The man burst out laughing again, pleased with his own antics. "If it were fun, it would not be business, my lord." Coatleque found herself speaking up to Jameson's defense just then. "Well, excepting our business." she added as her grip tightened again. There was a deep breath from the man at her side. "Find your pants first. Then come find me. We will talk." But his words were wasted as Mandercrown had suddenly found another interest for the time being. "Oh, cutie patootie...!" He blurted out as he absently tried to meander around the guard to reach her. Thankfully the sentinel, Feres, stepped to the side as well and remained in the man's way. "That is not her name, milord." Jameson interjected. Mandercrown snorted. "Sorry. Rayanne, is it? The North girl?" "North girl?..." She inquired, suddenly confused and looking up to the man she was practically clinging to. "No." Jameson said coldly. "Well fuck, all these redheads look the same to me. Rowan? Wait no, her hair's pink..." "... my hair is not 'pink'..." Coatleque began to protest "Naaaah, I meant ROWAN's hair is pink." Once again the man burst out laughing. "Auburn." she corrected him. "This is Ser Coatleque Crofte. My paramour." Jameson said rather tersely before turning to her. "Shall we go?" She gave Lord Mandercrown one more annoyed glance before nodding her agreement. "Please..." "Pants, milord." With that Jameson began walking off rather determined. Coatleque found herself taking double steps just to keep up with him. She released his arm for the nonze and they continued side-by-side. "Is that man ever sober?" She eventually spoke up. "That that man would actually hold a lordship is an insult to lords." "Judging by what he asked, I doubt he shall hold it for long." she offered. It was clear her attempt to lighten the mood was doomed and so they continued on. The streets were mostly empty save for a passing porter or merchant. Attempts at greetings were met with silence from the Lord. The rest of their walk reminded her eerily of another night the same trek was made. Luckily they reached his estate before things could become progressively awkward, and a slight renewal of their purpose came to head. She followed Jameson up to his office and stood to the side upon entering. Suddenly she felt very much like another guard from her trappings. There was no fire lit yet and it appeared the Valet did not expect his return yet at this hour. Jameson stopped after a step and turned to his guard. "Unchain prisoner Deneith.", he murmured. "See that she has a fresh change of clothes. I do not want her looking unsightly for my beloved." There was a quick salute before the man left the room. Jameson walked around the divide to the second half. Coatleque followed slowly. "... Unsightly?" She asked in her typical inquisitive tone. "Pardon my mood." He replied. "Usually it amuses me." She nodded and stopped just after the divide to lean against the wall. "This night has been one of many moods." she said at length. He frowned, but his back was to her now. "It has." The man began to strip off his doublet to exchange with something more suited for work on the hanger nearby. She watched from a distance, half admiring and half examining for any new scars she should know about. He stopped after taking the shirt down. "He should not have been born to his power. His wealth. I see that walking, stinking, drinking, laughing bag of suet, and I think... that is my coin. He is stealing it. By happenstance of birth." "You needn't give him any more." Coatleque pushed off the wall then and turned to face him. He did not look back just yet but her words gave him sudden pause. "He--" There was a long silence. Jameson stood not willing, or perhaps not able to look back at her. His voice lowered and his muscles tensed visibly in the dim light. "He is loaning it to me." "... w-what?" she stammered before daring to step closer. "It was... a month ago? A mere... safe cache. The obese fool throws coin around as if it means nothing. Why should I not play his little game? I don't need to lick his boots. He is more than ready, willing, to loan me whatever I need just to invite him into my circle." His words did nothing to convince her of any better. She could see the strain on him from just admitting such a thing. At his station, this was tantamount to begging once more. To require aid from another. Her hands balled into fists before she forced them to relax. "But it is not needed, aye?" She offered as both encouragement and for her own curiosity. "Tell me you are not depending on that fop..." Jameson took a breath. "Today's news means I may have to suffer him longer." His lip curled then and she could see his anger coming back to the surface. "I still have many other options. But you wanted truths from me today. I just gave you one." He finally turned to sneer at her. "How does it taste?" The curl to his lip nearly bared his teeth as his amber eyes flashed in anger. All at once the she saw the predator rising again and it caused her to recoil. "Far from droll." she said softly, reassuringly. He sighed at that, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Yes. Indeed." A small smile returning. "I came from nothing and built much. I can do so again. If needed." He said softly, his voice lowering more just then. "It still may not be so dire." Coatleque stepped closer still almost venturing to reach out to him. "You... you should have told me sooner. Perhaps I... I don't know... I said I would stand by you, and I have held to that." She wanted to offer more. To help prevent further deterioration of his assets if she could. But what could she even offer? She was no financier. "I am not yet through." He turned to face her finally, his smile broadening some. "But if one day you turn a corner and see me paying the fool an actual compliment, run the other way and never looked back." He ended with a smirk. "I shall keep that in mind..." she replied flatly. He watched her for a moment, silently judging her reaction to all of this news. The concern behind her eyes could not be feigned, however, though if it was concern over him or the coin he may not have been able to tell. In her heart she cared little for his wealth so much as it pained her to see him brought low like this. Contented, he finished changing into a smock of his own. He bussed her on the cheek before leading her towards the exit then, saying "Let us see what spirits we find Roen in." He could not hide his growing anger, though, and she wondered to whom it was directed this night. Her questions, or his admissions. Wiki | Directory | Sketchbook

Coatleque Coatleque Find all posts by this user Damaged Goods Posts:1,822 Joined:May 2014 Character:Florence Fishbane(Crofte) Linkshell:N/A Server:Balmung Reputation: 504 Timezone:UTC-5 RE: What You Are In The Dark【Closed】 | #28 04-07-2015, 11:37 PM "Show too much compassion, and your enemies will become as dear as your family..." There was no more conversation as the pair made their way through Jameson's estate. For as much time as she had spent there in recent days, there were still rooms she had never ventured to. Dark hallways that seemed to be forgotten by even the owner. More unexpected were the false walls that led to narrow stone passageways descending ever further under the Goblet. Jameson led her onward with torch held out before them. Perhaps half-way (it was hard to pin-point where she was when traveling fulms below the surface and surrounded by stone) they met his guard once more. "Is she conscious?" The question was met with a nod but no more. Coatleque began to wonder if there was indeed someone within the armor at all. "Follow." Jameson commanded to his man before the three of them continued. Eventually the tunnels opened up into a larger stonework room of holding cells (few occupied, mostly empty) and smaller passages to private oubliettes. The occasional Blade stationed here and there would cast them bored and weary looks as they passed by. An angry leer or two gave Coatleque cause to stay as close to Jameson as she could. It was evident she was here with him to any that would object. It was to one of the side passages that Jameson led her. Through another narrow corridor and past a thick wooden door with massive iron hinges. Beyond was a small holding area just before a private cell. Four of his personal guard stood along the walls on either side, one of them looking directly at her as they passed. An off-duty Brass Blade she had the displeasure of dealing with before. Nervously she kept her gaze forward. In the small alcove outside the cell was a chair up against the wall. Jameson deftly plucked it and set it out from the wall for the prisoner to sit. He then took up a position beside the cell door facing the corner of the wall. "Roen. I have brought an... old friend." Coatleque stood motionless at the end of the narrow hall as a figure appeared in the opened cell door. Even concealed in shadows, she could see the figure sway back and forth out of balance. She leaned against the wall and rubbed at her eyes in an attempt to dismiss the bleariness of her own sight. At Jameson's voice her hands dropped and she turned to the opening, willing herself to finally stand in defiance. Coatleque cast a glance at the man in the corner before stepping a step forward. "Roen?" "Help the girl." Immediately the heavily armored guard, Feres, clanked forward and grabbed the woman by the arm. Coatleque jumped back a step in shock at the sudden movement and treatment as Roen was half pulled out of the cell and roughly delivered to the chair. Her heavy, bloodshot eyes almost refused to stay open and refused to even take in the surroundings. Dark circles had formed after days of sleep deprivation. Her hair disheveled and knotted. She swayed side to side in a circular motion, barely able to keep balanced. "Coatleque would like to speak to you." Jameson added at length. All at once her restraint fled and Coatleque rushed to the woman's side! She knelt beside Roen, pawing and prodding at her, testing for pain or bruises. Jameson's eyes were narrowly trained on the wall as if inspecting the mortar was suddenly paramount. "Roen? Roen! By the Twelve, James, what have you done!?" She cried out in desperation at the state of her friend, still half pawing at her yet trying her best to keep the girl steadied and upright in the chair. The woman was unresponsive at first till her mind slowly began to register that this was no dream. She almost recognized the woman at her side before Jameson glanced over and interjected. "It's not as bad as it seems. check her for bruises. You will find few." He murmured. "We have, however, deprived her of sleep. Every hour on the bell." Coatleque did not need nor care for his approval by then. Content the woman was not in immediate pain she did her best to steady her swaying again, softly patting her cheek to try and focus the girl's concentration. "Roen?" Roen blinked slowly, finally able to focus. She swallowed, or at least tried to. Damp dungeon air was a poor substitute for water, and even that moisture did nothing to alleviate the sand in her throat. "Ser Crofte..." she rasped through chapped and cracked lips. "What do I owe... this pleasure..." Despite her condition she wore an oddly defiant grin though her eyes lacked her clarity of mind. Coatleque turned back to Jameson. "For how long? James? HOW LONG!?" She no longer cared for words. The woman's health was failing rapidly now and she feared how much more she could take at this point. "As long as it takes." he replied sharply. He needed say nothing further for her to know the seriousness of the threat. Coatleque turned her attention back to Roen for the moment. She had little time and did not want to tax Roen beyond what she could bear. "Roen? Roen, listen to me... Nero is planning a bloodbath in the streets. He is not coming, and intends to let it play out. You cannot sit by and allow this!" "I know nothing..." she replied. Her expression was almost that of delirium, twisting between focused clarity and an absent dream-like state. "But they do not believe--" She blinked slowly, her eyes resisting the movement as they re-opened. "... Roen, the Blades are going to slaughter them all. You know this!" She spoke slowly, deliberately. She needed the woman to know the gravity of the situation in the city. Jameson also peered at her now from the corner, searchingly. "Ah. Right. Nero." Her words came slowly. "He thought he could do it... non-lethal..." A bitter chuckle escaped her lips as she thought back to whatever words had been traded. "Non-lethal. Moons ago!" The woman swayed as Coatleque once again gripped her shoulder to hold her against the chair. She blinked and her grin suddenly vanished, a sobriety overtaking her expression. "Then he changed his mind!" "Why?" Jameson snapped suddenly. "That makes no sense." His teeth barring now. "He was winning!" Coatleque nodded in agreement but did not look away from Roen. She met the girls gaze, her own emerald eyes flashing in the torchlight, in an effort to draw her back. "I spoke to him. Do you understand? I used the linkpearl, Roen." The girl's head swiveled to Jameson in an almost nodding fashion. She chuckled bitterly again, almost deliriously. "Because you had Daegs--" Her words were cut off at Crofte's admission. Her head rolling back to the front. Her own eyes flashed a temporary sanity "He answered did he..." She stared at the Sworn across from her in a long silence that ended when her shoulders began to shake and her head dipped. Her disheveled locks fell before her eyes. She may have even cried were her body not holding back every ounce of water available. "I did not have him killed!" Jameson snapped once more in a way that belied his weariness of the same accusation being levied. "That dumb bitch Natalie went off script." Coatleque shook her head and focused on keeping Roen's attention a little more yet. "He is not coming. He will let this city tear itself apart... please, Roen... if you know anything...?" "I tried to find them. Him. Scythe." Roen muttered under her breath. "Guns. Guns sold to them so they can make a statement... You remember, do you not? That Elezen...? He died." The Sworn nodded once. "Scythe? He is the one in charge now?" She threw a glance to Jameson as if questioning if he was getting all of this. The man returned his own glance between Deneith and Crofte but remained silent. Roen's voice cracked as she began to speak again, prompting the Sworn to survey the room for any source of water to supply even temporary relief for her friend. "I tried to find him. His gang. To stop them." She slowly shook her head again, almost losing balance. "He said he would stop them but..." Her shoulders began to shake again from what could be a laugh or a sob. "That was another life, I suppose..." Coatleque stared at her friend with horror behind her own eyes. A tear rolled down her cheek before the shell of her friend and she leaned forward to embrace her against the chair. "Roen... I'm sorry. I am so sorry." Jameson looked away with a scowl just then, and Roen did not react either. Her frame was slimmer than Coatleque remembered, obviously from lack of food as well. The woman seemed in a daze at first, but then frowned as focus began to return. The Sworn pulled back again, wiping the side of her face and focused on Roen once more. "Roen, listen to me. I am going to stop him. I have a name of someone who will lead me there. But we need to know who his assassin is. If not him, then his targets. He is out of control now..." Roen maintained her frown as she stared off at the distant granite. "His assassin... He would... He would not hire one. It was not... it was not on his list." she murmured. "He had a list." The woman swayed in her seat once more as Crofte's hand moved to steady her. "Assassins. It was not on his list. Non-lethal." The odd curl to her lips returned. "He wrote that down. Non-lethal." Her shoulders heaved and began to shake once more. "Can you believe...?" Her voice trailed off as her focus was lost. The smile quickly fading to delirium once more. "Why? Why would he? After so much?" Jameson had turned and moved closer to them, no longer content to wander the cell. His anger was apparent. He stared Roen down, or as much as he could to someone in her state. "That makes no sense." Roen looked up at the man through a squint and even Coatleque's attention snapped back to him. "James... she cannot go on like this." The Sworn stood then went to him, grabbing at his hand with an almost frantic voice. "She needs food, sleep, water... please... you asked what I wanted most... I cannot abide by this!" He ignored her. His amber gaze locked on Roen. "The list." Roen continued slowly as if explaining to a child. "It was made many moons ago. Mayhap a year?" She attempted to grin, but the pain in her parched lips stopped her. "So many changes since. So many lies." It was then that Coatleque understood her ramblings. She slowly looked back from Jameson to Roen. "It... is not a list of names." "What is on the list?" Jameson put forth the question to Roen as if it had not yet been asked directly. "Do you not see?" Coatleque broke in suddenly. "It was his plan... the fool wrote down his entire plan...!?" Roen's voice trailed off once more, he expression saddening, but no tears would come forth. She licked her cracked lips in vain. "He was going to take the wealth... without gil then... what is your power...? He even had Blades and Sworns on that list. Circled. I guess... I guess that was me." Jameson's hands began to clench. His brow furrowed and he may have lashed out to strike the woman had Coatleque not held his arm with both hands just then. She squeezed lightly to try and calm the man with a reassuring voice. "James." "Then who--" he stopped himself. Whether her touch or her voice she could feel him relax just slightly. Roen continued to murmur, still in her delirious state. Her eyes drifted to Coatleque before her brows furrowed. "I was in the plan... I guess..." Jameson cut her off just then, either having what he desired or no longer content to wait. "Feed her. Clothe her. No more restrictions, save for no guests. And make sure North knows!" The armored sentinel bowed in acknowledgement before heading off down the hallway once more. The Sworn's relief was obvious. He looked directly at Coatleque and their eyes met. "I said I would give you what you wished. And here it is." With that, the man turned on his heel and strode out of the cell with purpose in each step. The remaining four guards made no motion or acknowledgement. Roen swayed once more in her seat and Coatleque rushed back to her side to help steady the woman. Roen blinked, her eyes even heavier than before as her body fought against what her mind knew would happen should she close them for long. The Sworn leaned towards Roen then and whispered to her. "I will stop him... for both our sakes, I swear it. I never wanted this." The woman's head rolled forward, her grey eyes glassy. She may have even nodded if her head would have lifted on command. "I never wanted..." her voice cracked. She closed her eyes as consciousness began to drift again. "Let me help you, to the bed. Roen, you need to rest." Coatleque offered. Roen's head only rolled forward once more. "Sleep..." she murmured before letting out a slight gasp as if she did not believe it herself. No effort came forth from the smaller woman to stand, so Coatleque took the initiative to lift her to her feet. Holding her with one arm about the shoulders she led Roen back into her cell right to the bed and helped her to lie down. Once situated she pulled the blankets around the woman whom drifted almost immediately to sleep. A welcome feeling after days of laying on the stone floor. Coatleque examined her wrist and ankles, noting the marks from the manacles. She stayed a while longer to ensure the woman was asleep before whispering. "Sleep, Roen... it will be over soon." Her concern was real, even if Roen could not know it in her state. Coatleque wiped the tears from her own eyes before taking a breath for composure and standing. "... for both our sakes." It was nearly half a bell later when she returned to Jameson's chamber. She closed the door quietly behind her and turned to find him standing at his desk staring down at a locket in his hand. At the sound of her entering he quickly closed it and glanced back up. Coatleque slowly walked up behind him. "... who is she?" she asked in slow and curious tone. There was no hint of jealousy in the question. She had seen this locket before resting upon his desk. She even ventured to look within one night while he was away, to examine the coppery-haired woman with the mournful blue eyes within. Jameson did not answer her immediately, nor turn to face her. He did almost smile at her presence though. "But I thought you did not care for the traitor." "Just because I know she must meet justice does not mean she has stopped being my friend." He nodded. "That is why I brought you to her." A sigh followed. "More things are making sense now. And less." "James... why so long? In that state... you need not become a monster to hunt one." She ventured the question with mixed anger and fear at what his reaction may be. He took a deep breath of his own. "Her... stubbornness irked me. But I did not harm her. She will bear no scars from this." "Not physically." He gave her a certain look. "We all bear those." Coatleque shook her head once before lowering her gaze. "Thank you for heeding my demand." "You should have asked for money." he smirked. She blurted out a bitter chuckle. "I have you, though." she offered. "Yes", he said softly while staring forward at the wall. He glanced downward once more and opened the locket. Her eyes followed as well, standing next to him now as she was. "The first woman I ever loved, in truth." he murmured. "A good woman. She... was kind. I was a fool, of course." Her head inclined to the side to rest upon his shoulder. "What happened to her?" A shake of his head. "It does not matter. She is long gone. Dead." "Then I am sorry." There was a shared silence of mournful regret. The same conversation recalling to her mind as she recounted a similar story to him not too long ago. "I promised to guard her memory," he continued, "And all else that remained. And I have... mostly failed in that." Coatleque drew back and looked at him, not expecting such an admission. There was a strained laugh, an odd bit of emotion behind it. "But how many promises do we keep? The ones we made as boys?" His voice lowered to a whisper. "So few." She leaned back towards him, looking down to the locket once more before he closed it. Pressed against him she felt a heaved sigh. "A different list than I expected. You got out of her what I could not. I thank you." "She knows nothing else", she whispered. "It does not explain who is killing all the..." his lips pressed together just then. "No, but I will find out." "If I free her..." he continued, "Will she go flying back to him?" Coatleque looked up at him with a hard stare, taking in the question itself before considering her answer. "Doubtful. Nero has abandoned her." she confessed with no small regret. The notion stung her almost as much as it would Roen. "Whatever madness has taken him, he would sooner see her dead with the rest of the city, I believe. This 'Qujon Zamajon' will either talk, or meet a worse fate than that boy Grimsong maimed." "I will consider it." He heaved another heavy breath at the absurdity of it all. "His love knows no bounds, clearly." There was a disbelieving shake of his head. "If you will excuse me... I have some sleep to try and catch." He pulled away from her, heading towards the back of the room. "Shall I stay with you?" she asked. Her voice more concerned than suggestive. There was a brief temptation before something hardened within him. "No," he whispered. "Go resolve what you need to. And I will do... what I must." "As you wish, my love. Take what rest you can, and dream of me." "I will consider freeing her." "... thank you.", she whispered. He glanced once more at her with what could only be regret before disappearing behind the room division. She lingered for a moment to be sure his mind was indeed made up before turning for the door. She stopped just there, taking notice of the heavily armored guard standing silently to the side. Stepping up to him, she peered with narrowed eyes and a determined glare right at the man's eye-slit. "Nobody sees him tonight. Understood? Not even me." Her command carried an odd weight to it that she had never used before with his servants. The figure regarded her in puzzled silence before nodding. She hummed to herself before taking her leave. Wiki | Directory | Sketchbook

Banquo Viaquo Banquo Viaquo Find all posts by this user Grouch Posts:68 Joined:Aug 2014 Character:Banquo Linkshell:N/A Server:Balmung/Gilgamesh Reputation: 31 RE: What You Are In The Dark【Closed】 | #29 04-08-2015, 03:39 AM (This post was last modified: 04-08-2015, 03:41 AM by Banquo Viaquo.) "Hope yer boss knows this stuff ain't exactly easy to come by." The merchant wrinkled his nose, unevenly bronzed by the midday heat. "Next time I'm puttin' my foot down. Gil in advance, supplies after. Y'hearin' me?" He adjusted his displays almost before he even finished the sentence, his attention no longer on the valet, but on catching the attention of the bazaar's spending passersby. North bowed politely. "Of course, sir. I shall expect receipts delivered to the manse." "Yes. The manse." There was a sneer in the merchant's mutter, but North could hardly begrudge him. Working the Sapphire Avenue Exchange in the hottest part of the day would be enough to wear on even the valet's nerves... not, of course, that he had had the opportunity to find out. The package clinked gently as he set it on the storefront's counter; heavy with gil and bound in a crisp, neat square with weaver's thread. Lost in thought, North paid little attention to the merchant's quick grab for the cash--nor to the Miqo'te who eyed him briefly before sidling up, examining the fieldcrafter's wares. "Now, then..." North exhaled, once more flipping the notepad out from his pocket--briefly scanning through the itinerary. Dark matter, spinning wheel, ornamental hammer all present and accounted for. That left cooking supplies for the evening, high-quality textiles, and of course, the visit to the apothecary... "Excuse me." North paused, eyes flickering, as the turbaned Miqo'te alongside him spoke. Her tone was low, discreet, but casual--by all appearances, she was still examining the fieldcraft seller's wares. "I wish to head north to find a red-haired Paladin. Know anything about that?" North paused, absolutely still for the barest fraction of a second, then cleared his throat politely. "If Miss seeks to file a report with the missing persons department, then I shall provide escort. If you please." He bowed to her, more out of reflex than anything else, then set off at a brisk pace, heading for Pearl Lane. The Miqo'te shot him a sideways glance, but followed him nonetheless. She caught up fairly quickly, as the hum of the busy market street faded behind the walls of the backstreets. She removed the mask wrappings with a slow, deliberate motion, keeping an eye on the valet. "Gideon North?" At her question, North exhaled--though there was nobody around this was still questionable territory. "...Miss makes... bold maneuvers in the open clearing of the bazaar." He turned his gaze on her with another brief bow--more bemused than offended, though. "I am he, Miss. At your service." Almost instantly, however, he turned once more. "But--come. The Sacrarium is more discreet." The Miqo'te smirked, following with a nod. "Well met. Lead on." -- The open air of the Sacrarium was hardly any more secluded than the bazaar, but was in a far more out-of-the-way corner of the city. More than suitable for a sensitive discussion--though, North pondered as he examined the Miqo'te, it remained to be seen exactly how he could assist her. Dark hair, previously obscured by the turban. Lightly armored, lithe, but not coiled to spring. Likely trained, but not paranoid. "I presume Miss is the very individual that our mutual acquaintance spoke of?" A nod. She--or rather, Kiht Jakkya, the ally Miss Deneith had spoke of--appeared to trust him. "I am. I was told about you by a Highlander woman. I was told many things that disturbed me." Her voice was quiet--though North supposed that this could be for the sake of discretion rather than any emotional distress. "I am agog, Miss." The valet laced his fingers over his midsection, listening with polite attentiveness. Kiht perked a brow. "I am told she has been captured, and taken to a place called 'Black Cell'. I was told to find you." The dark-haired Miqo'te sounded concerned, and more than likely still wary. North knew his friend's recommendation, though helpful, would hardly remove all Monetarist traces from his first impressions. "Such is indeed the case, Miss." He studied her expression for a moment, quietly considering her options. "Understand, however, that my position makes it markedly difficult for me to influence such matters." She would not be deterred, however. "Then you know? Does the one you serve have her?" She focused on him, intent on the truth. "Where is this place?" North paused, coughing politely in response. In the brief pause that followed, Kiht inclined her head slightly. He considered his words carefully... then lowered his head, almost in apology. "I do not believe, Miss, that our mutual acquaintance would be best served by a daring escape that may result in general loss of... vitality, all round." Clearly displeased, Kiht's ears lowered, her brow furrowing. Despite the tenseness of the situation, the reflex of it almost made North smile. She spoke plaintively, and honestly. "I am open to suggestions, but I am not sure I can just leave her there." "If I may, Miss..." North grimaced. An unfortunate duty, but he had promised to represent her interests. "She wished that I guide you in a specific direction." He bowed, this time to mask his own distaste. The Miqo'te immediately perked up. "Of course." "..." Though North straightened, he was still clearly hesitating, speaking with the same delicacy one might employ to remove a corpse from Thanalan footpaths. "...Heavens know that I certainly would not find it a... palatable task. Nevertheless, I am bound to tell you in her stead." She nodded, clearly determined. "I know not what she told you of me, but I would go through Hells for her." A very earnest girl. Birds of a feather, it seemed. With Kiht's attention, North took a short breath, continuing with every appearance of calm. "Milady would ask that you, ah... find her errant partner. That man." Nero Lazarov. It remained unspoken, but the acid still dripped from North's tongue; the very thought souring his palate. "The one who she was helping?" "...I believe so, Miss. The... pirate." A nod, with perhaps more familiarity than North's. "I know who you speak of." "She would have it, Miss, that you would... talk sense into him, and make him see his obligations through." He shifted a shoulder, eyes briefly flickering to the stone walls of the Sacrarium. "Frankly, from what I have heard of the man, it seems a fool's errand. I hesitate to bestow it upon you, as you do not seem a fool." If she made any judgments as to the venom in North's tone, she did not show it. "Is that all I can do? What of her? Or does she think he will help her?" Her concern was evident--and, North was pleased to see, she at least shared his incredulity. "I cannot say, Miss. It is what she would ask of you, through myself as intermediary." He paused, remembering the notebook in his pocket. "I have... certain possibilities at hand that may see her freed. But circumstances must be correct for me to act on them." Kiht sighed. "I will do it then..." She paused, meeting his eyes. "I hope to Gods you do. I... I can not stand the thought of her being a captive again." "Again, Miss?" Curious. North tilted his head, politely questioning. "...Has she not told you of her past? Before she joined with him?" Cautious again. Only to be expected. "I do not ask questions, Miss, and sensitive matters are not for me to delve into." North had not come this far without discretion. As he bowed, she seemed somewhat relieved to drop the subject as well. "'Tis not my place to say anydusk..." She gazed around the area. "Is there more I must know?" North hesitated only a moment, then softened. "She is being taken care of, Miss." Another bow. "Milord has explicitly given me order to ensure she is most comfortable, and by virtue of this, I have attempted to ensure that her stay is not excessively unpleasant." The Miqo'te frowned at his words, but responded with sincere enough emotion. "...I hope so..." Her voice was quiet again. "You have my gratitude. I will not hold you up any longer unless you have questions." That brought a smile from North in addition to his reflexive bow. "I do not ask questions, Miss. I will aid you in whatever facility I am able. I hope the future finds you triumphant and your worries relieved." Kiht let out a final sigh, preparing to leave. "If that is how it must be." "And..." North swallowed, seeing Kiht's gaze flicker up at his words. "If this... Nero..." He scowls, the revolutionary's name passing his lips with disgust and cold condemnation. "...will not listen to reason... then that is his flaw, and not a failure of yours." He bowed once more, icy composure instantly assumed and returning his voice to normal. "I bid Miss bear that in mind." With a quick salute, the Miqo'te gave him one last look. "I understand. Menphina guide you." "Very kind of you, Miss." He watched her go. "Safe travels." Five seconds passed, then ten... and he pulled the notebook from his pocket. To the apothecary. [sub]Banquo Winterhaven - Banquo (Balmung) - Gideon North - Five Reflections [/sub] [sub] Skype: wordsmithrefl[/sub]

Melkire Melkire Find all posts by this user Gruff Gutterborn Murder Hobo Posts:2,470 Joined:Mar 2014 Character:Osric Melkire Server:Balmung Reputation: 505 Timezone:UTC+4 RE: What You Are In The Dark【Closed】 | #30 04-08-2015, 03:47 PM An eternity. He spent an infinite eternity staring at the green linkpearl that Endemerrin Rosethorne was holding out to him. His own linkpearl, the master he’d had on him ever since he’d stolen the bag of originals during a long-ago gallivant down Hawker’s Alley, the one that had only left him for a time when he’d been collared. He had lent it out to one Sizha’to Chalahko for safe-keeping during the Epinoch Incident, to keep his linkshell, his network of contacts, uncompromised. It had been returned to him when that threat had passed. This threat would not pass. This threat needed to be dealt with. All those moons ago, he’d woken to the sight of a gentleman in white standing over him. A man he’d been assigned to assist… in an investigation that had ultimately led to the routing of key personnel from the Order, despite his own recommendations otherwise. It had been their demotion and subsequent “transfer” over to the Brass Blades that had opened the floodgates for subsequent suffering, and while he’d never be able to prove that the fop had been in league with the runt – though the thought of Natalie ever so conveniently producing a cure for the blue blood virus out of nowhere, despite beseeching Kanaria’s help mere suns before, and getting reinstated for this was never far from his mind – it was as clear as the heavens to him that Jameson Taeros was a key instrument of corruption in the Monetarist machine that was eating away at the sultanate. Jenlyns Straightblade was too close to see that. That was why, when Melkire and Lazarov had last met, the sergeant hadn’t shied from the audition the pirate wanted from him. That was why he hadn’t shirked his duty: because, to his eyes, there was no one else. No one else cared. The dispute between Lazarov and Taeros had grown into a feud, and that feud - and Lazarov’s plans - threatened far too many, innocent or otherwise. He’d spoken with Grimsong once, on what might have been, what could have been, and what should have been, had there only been someone to act… or, at least, supplant the tragedy that was the Kinslayer’s legacy with something… more. Something that was not... less. While they hadn’t spoken at length, per se… …they’d been exchanging letters ever since. He only hoped she’d live up to her end. Two men. Two deaths. The denizens of Pearl Lane were running out of time… and in the current climate, Pearl Lane was a powder keg in the midst of a ceruleum-drenched city. That keg needed emptying. Careful handling, at the very least. Nero was the only one who knew how. Nero was the only one who could tell them. For that, Osric Melkire would hand Nero Lazarov the keys to the kingdom, just in time for Delial Grimsong to sidle up alongside the smuggler and teach him what a true viper was capable of. As for Taeros, the sergeant had gone ahead and enacted the very plan which he’d so vaguely outlined for Lazarov. He hadn’t dared risk exposure before now, though. He knew better. Plausible deniability. Alibis. For those, he needed someone else to do his dirty work. Dirk Problemsolver could not solve this problem. So he’d gone to the one professional he’d once been gaoled with. He had hired Blizzard Yuko and given him the names of known associates of Jameson Taeros along with the names of other key Monetarists. Blizzard Yuko was an oddity. There were more riddles to his enigma than the unusual name. The miqo’te male had been snubbed on payment by the albino following the failed “assassination attempt” on the sultana. Once Askier Mergrey had broken Melkire and Yuko out, the two fugitives had fled for the hills surrounding Black Brush… and there, Osric had offered to take up the two million gil debt owed to the man. ”Small payments, mind. Increments o’, say, twenty thou’. I pay you? You work for me.” It had started out as an exercise in prevention, paying Yuko to stay out of Thanalan and away from Ul’dah. Small payments made out to the male and delivered at seemingly-random drop points all over Eorzea. He’d kept up with his end of the deal, which had required some creative redistribution of Red Wings’ funds and an… odd apprenticeship or two, but he’d kept the gil flowing for moons. Then Lazarov demanded his price, and the sergeant had known just who to go to. Osric could only hope that the rising body count had Taeros fraying at the ends of his rope, because in three sun’s time, he, Kiht Jakkya and one other, along with some assistance from Tylwyth Narah, would be making for the Black Cells, ostensibly to rescue Roen. Melkire cared only to slit one man’s throat and hopefully not die trying. But first, a message. Psychological warfare, was what folks called it. A mental assault, intended to induce panic. Classic assassin tactic. He inhaled, breaking the eternal moment, and eyed the green linkpearl again. I have help. I have my knives. I have everythin’ Masters Rosethorne and Armstrong ever taught me. And I have that. If I ever needed help, it’s now. If there’s anyone ‘sides the runt who’s ever deserved steel, it’s him. There’ll be pain, but I’ll endure. Survival is a matter of will and desire. For everythin’ else, much as I hate sharpin’, there’s a stacked deck. I can do this. He breathed out then back in, one deep breath that came out in a sigh as he smirked and nodded at Endemerrin. He plucked the pearl from the former Garlean’s fingers, placed it in his ear, held it there, and spoke. "This message is intended for Taeros. I would appreciate if those who can would pass the message along. Dear Jameson, you fop, my condolences. Your friends must have meant the world t'you, as mine do t'me. Hopin' t'see you soon." He almost pulled the little marble to hand back to Rosethorne, but then he paused… and tapped at it again. "Oh, and one last thing--“ Kage. Natalie. Roen. Gharen. Itarliht. Askier. Coatleque. Now Roen again. Himself soon to follow. Sultansworn, paladins, the reformed. Falls from grace. A procession of them. The fault to be laid at one man’s doorstep. And now the gods-damned bastard had compromised the sergeant’s network. “--quit stealin' my shite." He all but ripped the linkpearl from his ear and tossed it underhanded to Merri. The male caught it one-handed, hammer in the other, and nodded. Words were exchanged, but the sergeant was barely paying attention… until, that is, Rosethorne strolled over to his furnace, considered the linkpearl carefully… and then just tossed the little sphere into the flames. Osric’s lips curled upward at the ends. “…you’re jokin’.” He was still smiling that shite-eating grin when, what felt like a handful of moments later, Endemerrin pulled the master linkpearl from the forge with a set of tongs, set it against an anvil, and brought the hammer down. The white-hot marble all but disintegrated.

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