Hydaelyn Role-Players
No Good Deed【Complete】 - Printable Version

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RE: No Good Deed【Closed】 - Nero - 08-29-2014

The feeling when he practised thaumaturgy could hardly be described. Ecstatic seemed woefully inadequate. Manipulating the aether itself was a fairly pleasurable feeling, but what brought the smuggler such inordinate joy was just seeing the results of his power. Immense satisfaction had welled up inside Nero when he saw the Brass Blade spin off the cliff, the leg dancing in the air like a firework. The hood had been pulled off by the Miqo'te's arrows, and even as his face was somewhat hidden by his fiery orange forelocks, the expression on Nero's face could only be called one of pure exultation.

One of the Midlanders, the one Nero had punched in the throat, began to struggle to get up. The bandit coughed heavily, clutching at his chest in an effort to recover his breath. Nero, bemused by the reaction, slowly sauntered over and placed his foot against the bandit's back, forcing the Midlander back to the ground. Nero moved his foot to the Midlander's neck and raised it before slamming down his jackboots hard, a sickening crack resounding from the point of impact as the bandit's flailing suddenly ceased.

It'd been a long time since Nero had personally been involved in a fight. In Limsa Lominsa, Garalt and Daegsatz were usually more than enough to quell any chance of a brawl breaking out; the quiet Highlander had a glare of death permanently affixed to his face and the Roegadyn was, well, a Roegadyn. With a battle axe. Suffice to say that that was enough to cow most would-be opponents into submission.

But even a little spat involving unskilled bandits like this provided a sense of freedom, the sense that Nero could control his own destiny, that he had the power to destroy those who opposed him. That was a tyrannical line of thinking, perhaps, but one that never stopped being immensely fulfilling to him.

The smuggler strode lazily to the crates and prepared to check their contents, and it was only when he glanced around to see if anyone else was watching did he notice the paladin at the top of the scaffolding. Nero passed her a salute with his hand as he slipped the silver sceptre into the folds of his robe.

"So I take it everything went well then," he said, wearing his trademark smirk.

RE: No Good Deed【Closed】 - Roen - 08-29-2014

“You are naive.”

Those were the words Nero had said to her, that first day when they had met. “Your idealism will hamper you.” He had met her eyes squarely. “Sooner or later, you will be forced into a position where you must discard justice. Where you must discard righteousness. Justice is an idea. It works in a world of ideas…but not in our world.”

"Your world, Mister Lazarov. I hope to see more light in mine." Roen had refused to accept his broken principles.

“I commit injustice. I commit my evils, I break the law, for the sake of correcting that which the law itself cannot repair.” His icy-blue gaze had been sharp, gleaming with ambition. She remembered it well. “You speak of giving Ul’dah hope. I would be one of those who grant it hope. But I will do so my way.”

Even back then, Roen had seen the ruthlessness in his eyes, the darkness that lay beneath the surface. And yet…

She believed there was something more. She refused to believe that she saw only what she wanted to see.

“Should the Twelve deem it so, I will take all of that city’s evils and mirror them," Nero had spat back at her. "I will become what that city had always intended for me to be.” Nero clenched his fists, so driven was he in his conviction. Then he turned to her, his intensity seemingly dissolving, if just for a moment.

“But I need not be alone in this dream, Miss…Roen.” He said quietly as he extended his gloved hand to her.

“I will accept your aid, and I will grant you mine. Though we may not agree on the how...we can at least agree on what must be done.”

Two breaths passed between them, before the paladin took his hand. “I will help you achieve this dream, for the Jewel's sake," she had said to him, and she looked straight into his eyes. "But I will not help you spill blood.”

“And I would not have you do such,” Nero replied sternly with a nod. He released her hand after that long moment.

It was just before he departed that he shared one more thing. “I may not believe in your justice, Roen…but I would not begrudge seeing it as the victor.”

Roen had believed him then. She had also believed in herself, that she was right about the man beneath the mask. The smuggler was ambitious--perhaps even consumed by his need to achieve the ends he sought at all cost. And the only way he knew how to reach those goals was through violence. But she believed that there was a side to him that hoped for another way--a side that wanted another way.

“...What if I prove you wrong?”

The paladin felt the blood drain from her face as she stared at the lifeless body on the ground. The man was a bandit--that much Roen could gather from his armor and the sword that lay near him--but he had been incapacitated. He was helpless when Nero slammed him back to the ground and snapped the back of his neck. The smuggler had done it without any hesitation. His demeanor, his expression--they exuded arrogance, with even a touch of disdain. Roen stared at the pirate, appalled, as if seeing him for the first time.

"So I take it everything went well then," Nero even gave her his usual smirk when he saw her.

No words would come from her lips, at least not readily. Roen shook her head slightly as her eyes roamed over the rest of the bodies near the entrance to the mine. Another man lay twitching nearby--a Roegadyn, his armor also showing scorch marks. Purple electricity sparked sporadically from his chainmail, sending the man into short bouts of convulsions. She also spotted a motionless Miqo’te some distance away, shards of glassy ice protruding from her feline, armored form. The third body lay near where Roen stood, lifeless; a crimson pool of blood quickly grew from where his neck had been cut.

Roen's nostrils flared as she finally glanced back to the cliff where she had seen the Brass Blade fall to his death after being burnt by a fireball. “I will not help you spill blood.” Her own words echoed again from her memory.

Roen shot Nero a dark look, words of righteous anger burning on the tip of her tongue. But a passing call from down below cut through her heated thoughts. Roen went quickly to the edge; miners were milling about down below, drawn by the sound of the fireball's detonation. It was only a matter of time. Wrinkling her nose with obvious displeasure, Roen went to the smuggler and the collection of boxes there.

“I had taken care of the other two Brass Blades, but the third that you burnt and sent over the cliff is drawing more attention than any other ever could,” the paladin said in a biting tone. “And these bodies…” Her eyes flitted about the scene of violence. “Once they are discovered, more Brass Blades, or even the Immortal Flames will be called upon.” She gestured to the pile of boxes he was standing over with a flick of her head. “Are those the supplies for the refugees?”

The paladin shot him a glare that would brook no argument. “Because we need to go. Now.”

RE: No Good Deed【Closed】 - Nero - 08-29-2014

Nero rolled her eyes at Roen's reaction. He could tell from the way her face twitched and threatened to scrunch into a scowl that she was repressing a harsh rebuke, and that annoyed him far more than it should have. It took some effort for him to quell his own sour remarks about her naievete. 

What did she think? That this would be easy? That they could have gone through with their plan by simply kissing babies and shaking hands? It was not long ago that the paladin had fervently argued in favour of the inherent goodness she saw in Nero. He hadn't the courage to point it out to her then, but it seems now he did not need to: at that time, she had seen only what she wanted to see. She had pleaded so desperately for him, her idealism shining like a beacon. No amount of pleasure was lost when Nero saw that idealism shimmer and dim ever so slightly, even as she glared at him.

"When next you see your compatriots in the Sultansworn, Miss Deneith, ask them this: what do you do when there is an evil you cannot defeat through just means? Shall you commit evil to destroy evil? Or would you remain steadfast and righteous, even if that meant surrendering to evil?"

The corner of Nero's lip curled. Even as dire as their situation was, he wanted to be smug. He wanted to sneer at her. He felt some measure of pride in proving Roen wrong; it was petty and it was childish, but it still felt immensely satisfying. The words were on the very tip of his tongue, yet he knew he could not let them escape.

Welcome to my world.

The echoes of activity from beneath the scaffolding broke the smuggler from his arrogant reverie. He merely grinned. "Whoops," was his painfully meager reaction. "Guess they didn't like the fireworks. Have they never seen a leg be a routine? You'd think there'd be some more cultural taste around here..." Nero drew the hood over his head. The ones who had seen his face--the Brass Blade and the bandits--were dead, but the less risks taken at this point, the better.

"But yes, it's time to go." A quick jaunt to the crates and a swift prying of the top revealed that they were indeed what Nero was looking for; sacks of potatoes, leathers, clothing, and so on. The smuggler smiled. "Finally, some luck," he exclaimed. "I suppose I could have been a bit more subtle about the whole 'blasting people to Dalamud' part of the plan, but we haven't invented silent fireballs yet. Work in progress." The jokes never ceased coming out of his mouth. He couldn't help but find the whole situation endlessly amusing, and incredibly thrilling. Nero hadn't been in an adventure like this in a while. Too much time had been spent haggling with merchants and crooks or simply sailing the waves on the Forte, which was all well and good, but it had a hard time beating the adrenaline and excitement of something like this.

He turned his head to the paladin. "Bring the cart around. We should probably move before the party starts near us." Nero grunted as he began to lift the first crate.

RE: No Good Deed【Closed】 - Roen - 08-29-2014

It took all she had to hold her tongue. Roen spun around from the scene and strode quickly back down the scaffolding. It was not so much the deaths of the bandits that bothered her; if violence did break out, the paladin knew there was a chance for lives being lost. Bandits rarely relinquished what they saw as theirs, and most were perfectly willing to run anyone through who stood in their way. She herself had fought, and in rare cases killed, thieves and bandits who did not accept her call for surrender. So killing in self-defense--or in the heat of battle--was not something she would condemn anyone for. If Nero had no choice but to attack the Brass Blades, then she would have accepted that decision.

But when she heard him joking--joking--about blowing people’s legs off, Roen could not help but doubt that killing was his last resort. She had seen the pirate snap a helpless man’s neck from behind. She would never call that self defense. It was pure brutality. Did she know this man at all? Did she agree to ally herself with a gleeful killer?

By the time the paladin reached the stables to rent a chocobo, some of her rage had given way to forced scrutiny in an attempt to reassess her anger. From the beginning, the smuggler had warned her, confessed to her, that he was a criminal, that killing was not something he would shy away from.

So why was she so shocked? Why was she so disappointed when he acted just as he said he would?

Was it Nero’s fault that she made the mistake of believing him to be a better man? Why should Roen be surprised that a pirate killed? Pirates' lives were rife with stories of violent raids, murders, and thievery--all known (and oft beloved) by even the youngest children of Limsa Lominsa. And today, Nero showed that he was no different. Why did that bother her so? Was this burning resentment aimed at him, or at herself for being so wrong?

The paladin mounted the wagon hitch to the chocobo’s harness, her fingers making quick work of the buckles and the bindings. As she hopped into the seat to spur on the bird, she could see some of the miners starting to point; they had spotted the body at the bottom of the scaffolds. She saw one of them hurrying off toward the large building, likely to seek out the other two Brass Blades. With a cluck of her tongue, Roen hastened the chocobo, ascending the hill leading up to the mines.

If they were to have any hope in getting the supplies out of the mines without trouble, things had to move quickly. Even as her stomach twisted with apprehension, Roen thrust the doubts aside for what had to be done. They needed to get the supplies to the refugees first, else all this trouble would have been for naught. Only then, could she look at Nero once more; only then, once her mind was clear of it, could she judge whether or not this alliance was something she could stomach.

Only yesterday was she convinced of the man’s good heart. That was when she told herself she would set all things vexing about him aside--because they shared the same dream. Only now...

Now she was starting to see that his dream, and perhaps his reality, was not merely filled with blood and violence. His life was not mere happenstance; Nero Lazarov was a willing, or perhaps even eager participant in the shaping of it.

As the wagon pulled up to the mouth of the cave, the paladin regarded the smuggler with much of her outrage having subsided. The look she gave him was somber, even though she tried to hide the doubt that threatened to shake her resolve.

Without a word, Roen hopped off the wagon, hurrying toward the boxes. This was not the time for the deliberation of misgivings. She only gave Nero a passing glance before beginning the task of lifting the crates onto the wagon.

RE: No Good Deed【Closed】 - Roen - 08-31-2014

The ride from the Nanawa Mines to the refugee camps at Lost Hope was quiet and uneventful. Both the paladin and the smuggler did their best to keep a low profile as they left; Roen saw in the distance a crowd starting to gather near the dead Brass Blade. Roen did not see neither Louvel nor Raffe, but she knew it was inevitable that they would be called to the scene.

With such clear evidence of violence at the entrance of the mines, even if it pointed to an armed assault involving blades and thaumaturgy, would they think to suspect her involvement?

Only time would tell. Roen knew there were risks when she had gotten involved in this--in all of this.

Nero had remained silent as well. He was busy checking on some crates loaded behind them, while she steered the chocobo up front. As the smuggler was hidden within the canvas of the wagon, as far as any onlookers were concerned, Roen had come and gone by herself.

When they entered the refugee camps, none cared about their arrival. The sick and the poor could not see beyond their own suffering, their gaze downcast, their spirits nigh broken. Roen and Nero guided the wagon to the caves towards the back, where the smuggler could finally slip out unseen. It was only after they had unloaded the supplies that Nero broke the heavy silence between them.

"Alright. Go for it. Lecture away. I'm a brutal monster who kills out of fun, blah blah." He waved into the air vaguely as he sauntered over to the crates to inspect them. "I can see the look on your face. You look like I just kicked your mother."

Roen felt her smoldering resentment flare back to life at his blatant nonchalance. “Are you? Someone who kills out of fun?”

"Killing is an inexorable part of the life I lead.” The smuggler shrugged. “I can either choose to hate myself for it, or I can choose to accept its presence and take some manner of relief in the act." He paused in his task to shoot her a glance. "I don't necessarily relish it, but that doesn't mean I can't find some satisfaction in the adrenaline rush from a fight."

"So that is what you are doing.” Roen tried her best to hide the contempt in her voice. "When you joke about limbs flying off." She felt that indignation starting to build again, even though earlier she had resolved to set her disappointment aside. "I do not condemn you for killing. The bandits had their weapons drawn. I saw that. But..."

"But what? I dashed your expectations? Even though I told you I would murder and steal, that somehow surprised you?" Nero snorted derisively. "You stuck your head in the mouth of a drake and didn't expect it to bite. Quite frankly, you're a ridiculous woman, Roen Deneith."

Her eyes narrowed. Aye. Ridiculous for thinking you were someone else. I know differently now. Roen wanted to say it aloud. It would have been easier to just dismiss him for what he was. A killer. But…

There was a part of her that still did not want to believe it. "And you are cruel and brutal, with a mean streak in you that enjoys the power you wield.” She retorted. "Do you not think that those you hate so much feel exactly the same thing when they wield their power over those you claim to protect?"

"Yes, because kicking in the ribs of a defenseless beggar is a perfect analogy for killing armed and armored thugs who murder and steal.” Nero Lazarov rolled his eyes. “Thoroughly trapped by your logic, I am." His tone was acidic and mocking, and did not relent in his disdain. "The bandit saw my face, and I would rather he didn't. I suppose you suggest we take the injured bastard with us? Tie him up with rope we don't have? Make him stand trial? Or, I could end his suffering quickly and painlessly and remove a problem. It is unfortunate that he had to die, perhaps, but it is what it is."

His argument was brutal yet logical. But she did not want to relinquish that. "Is there to be no trial at all? Throughout what we do here? Does death await everyone?”

There was coldness in Nero’s narrowed eyes, even if his lips still entertained his ever-present smirk. "Well, yes, actually, unless you're friends with a Primal or know of someone who's discovered immortality. The joke, Roen, is that we all have the same punchline. We're all headed to the same destination. Some of us just take longer to get there than others." He sighed, with a shake of his head, his cheery mask failing. "Is there a point to this indignant tirade of yours? There are hungry refugees. Some of them can't even leave their tents. We should distribute these while we can."

Her brow twitched, despite her forced calm. "You told me you would not begrudge justice, if it prevailed. But I wonder if you truly meant that."

Nero clapped his hands as he rifled through the crates. "So it is a trial you wanted! Why did you even bother listening to me then, if all you were going to do was complain about us breaking the law? I found your idealism endearing before, if a bit tiresome, but now you're just going in circles."

Roen stepped towards the crates, needing to do something other than to dig her nails into her palm. He was not listening to her. He just wanted to shove her ideals aside. "And I thought your goal, your desire to help Ul'dah to be worth whatever we may face." She began to roughly pry one open, perhaps more forcibly than needed. "But if we start to enjoy the violence, it would bring more bloodshed and sorrow than good."

"I kill some bandits, and now you have doubts? What would you rather I do? Hug them and hope it works out?"

"I was never foolish enough to think there would be no violence."

"Except, from this little episode you're giving me, you apparently did."

"No." She said the word firmly, her eyes narrowing on him. "The dead bandits... if that had to happen, then it had to happen. What surprised me was your absolute glee in it."

"It had been a while since I'd been in a fight.” The smuggler shrugged. “I enjoyed the adrenaline. I did not torture those bandits. I did not take delight in their cruelty. I ended them as swiftly and as practically as I could. The fact that I may have taken some joy in exercising my power really does not matter." He placed his palms flat on the top of the crate, regarding her with a mocking arch of his brow. “You would rather I hate myself, then? You would rather I offer a prayer to the Twelve, asking for forgiveness as I take their lives?"

"Stop...twisting my words!” Roen shot back. “You are just turning them into something foolish to mock me!"

The pirate’s tone grew more derisive and vitriolic. "Maybe I should have let them live? And when a broken caravan is set upon by them and their fellows, the mother taken screaming into the night, the child's legs broken, the father murdered, I should have said 'At least I didn't kill them'...? Perhaps I should have said, 'But it will correct itself, for justice exists!' Perhaps I should have said 'They may be exploitative and evil and ruthless, but I should be glad that I am doing nothing to stop them!'"

He glared at her, his voice dripping with contempt. "No, Miss Deneith, your world view is not skewed at all. Certainly not."

Hypocrite, she wanted to call him--he who saw nothing but darkness and cruelty in the world. A rush of names, arguments, and protests flooded her mind then, but Roen held her tongue. It was all she could do to stay her hand and not slap the smug smirk off his face. The gulf between their ideals was never more clear to her than now. They were arguing across a chasm and neither wanted to meet in the middle.

"Why did you even ask me?" Roen asked finally, her expression turning weary. "Am I just here... for you to feel better about your plans? That really, nothing else works? Because you can see how foolish I have become in this." She looked to him with indignant eyes. "Am I just a gauge you? To justify things that you do? Since nothing I believe or I hope to accomplish even belongs in this world?"

Nero answered with a cool glare of his own. "I am not the one you should be asking that question of, Roen. And perhaps I shall ask you a question of my own." He crossed his arms. "What of me? Am I simply here for you to feed your ego? To be the evil soul turned back to the light by the shining faith of Roen Deneith, the former Sultansworn?" His eyes narrowed. "Did you really want to 'save' me, or did you just want me to be grateful to you?"

She felt her face getting hotter by the moment. And Nero would not stop. "Did you really believe in what I believed in, or do you simply seek Ul'dah's betterment because you felt that such a righteous and noble vision justified your existence?"

A hard slap across his cheek turned the smuggler’s head. Roen blinked, staring eyes wide at her hand that stung with the blow delivered. Her fingers trembled, her stomach roiled.

"And the cat reveals her claws. Took you long enough." That smirk returned. It always did.

"You do not know me." Roen seethed. She was shaking. "Do not presume to know anything about me."

"Funny," Nero said wryly. "I was about to say the exact same thing."

The paladin lowered her gaze, turning again towards the crates. She had to busy her hands with something, anything. Her movements were rushed, almost distraught as she began to set aside blankets and food. She cursed that his words had pierced her so.

"You are fortunate,” the smuggler said quietly, his tone turning bittersweet. “Fortunate enough be stuck in the twilight. You can still choose to go back to your righteousness, your justice. Rejoin the Sultansworn. Hunt down those who would threaten the status quo. Know that for every action you take, you further the Monetarist's hold in Ul'dah, for the Sultana holds no power."

"Or you can prove me wrong.” Nero said after a pause, his voice no longer dripping with venom. “Change Ul'dah from within. Change Ul'dah with the law on your side. Rub my face in the fact that I had drowned myself in darkness for no reason."

Roen stared at her hands as she closed her fingers, her knuckles paling with the firm grip. "I will prove you wrong." Her voice was hoarse.

"And I look forward to the day you do." His voice held a hint of regret. His glance diverted towards the refugee camp, toward the malnourished, sickly, shivering with the cold, their eyes dull and flat without hope for the future. "I took pleasure in the fact that I slew the bandits, yes. I knew that because if I did, some refugees would be spared. A merchant might return to the city with his goods intact. I knew, when I took their lives, that removing evil did not mean the same as creating good…but it did mean creating the opportunity for goodness to flourish."

The smuggler turned his gaze back to her. "I knew that when I destroyed that Brass Blade, that perhaps some poor souls might be able to eat tonight because of these supplies. That they may no longer fear the night's chill with these clothes." He exhaled. "What I took joy in was not taking their lives, but in knowing why I took their lives."

Those words could have set her doubts aside, had they been offered earlier. But now, Roen found herself just trying to calm her temper. His words, belittling or not...some of them had struck home.

"Why do you fight, Roen? What do you consider worth killing for? At what point will you commit evil to destroy it? Or will you spend your whole life in the twilight, surrendering to injustice after injustice, paralyzed by the power you wield to change things?"

"I do not believe that. I do not believe I have to compromise justice to fight injustice." Her words rang hollow to her own ears. Her belief had not wavered, but the fire that burned in those same words before had dimmed, perhaps with reluctance. She was realizing that despite how many times she said it, he was not hearing her at all. He did not want to.

"As you said. You will do things your way." She let out a long sigh, but held his gaze. "And I will do things my way."

The look Nero gave her held naught but sorrow. "And there it is. I pity the events you will have to endure, Miss Deneith. I will not relish the day you understand why I act the way I do."

He paused, before he added quietly, "Mayhaps you shall be stronger than I, when that day comes."

RE: No Good Deed【Closed】 - Nero - 08-31-2014

(( The previous post and the following posts are an edited recap of an in-game session. ))

His cheek still stung with the memory of her slap, but Nero could not help but take some satisfaction in it, even as the side of his face began to redden. She had struck him because some part of her knew he was right. It was an arrogant thought, egotistical, perhaps even narcissistic, but he could see his piercing barbs wearing down her idealism, her naive world view.

Yet within some part of him, there was some tiny regret. The smuggler was testing her. Roen had gone through some experiences she had only given hints or summaries to, but she was still sheltered in many ways. The smallest, most insignificant fragment of his conscience did not wish to see her idealism broken.

But it was far too late for that now.

Nero turned his attention back to unloading and inspecting the crates, moving to the other side to avoid the paladin's gaze. Some of the refugees could hear their argument echo in the caves, and the Hyur sheepishly distributed some supplies to them before shooing them off.

"I hope that day never comes, Mister Lazarov. For Ul'dah's sake." Roen's voice came from the other side of the crate pile. From the corner of his eye, he saw her glance at the refugees. After a long silence, she finally spoke. "We both want the same thing."

"Do we?" Nero said, his voice melancholic and doubtful. "Have you even thought about what it is you want? Do you even know?"

"I, too, want to end the suffering of the poor." The cavern rumbled a bit as the crate lids were peeled off and the contents shuffled. Nero couldn't see her face--he was avoiding looking at it--but he could guess at her expression. "I am not blind to the corruption of the Monetarists. I wish for their hold on the Jewel to end...but I do not wish for a bloody war to achieve such goals."

Nero's bitter smile returned. Hopelessly naive, the thought rang in his head. He stood up from his crouching position, occasionally casting a sideways glance at the paladin as the two of them worked.

"I do not wish for the bodies of my enemies to litter the streets, or for their blood to run over the stones." Roen shook her head. "I do not mean to keep the status quo. I know the status quo is warped. Twisted. Unbalanced. Else I'd have never agreed to this." She gestured between herself and the smuggler. "But I knew not how or where to begin. I had hoped you had the answers that I did not."

She turned her face to search his ice-coloured eyes. "Perhaps you still do. In some way."

Nero could not help but snort derisively. She wanted to correct Ul'dah and had absolutely no plan whatsoever. And when some parts of his plan contained elements that she didn't like, she complained. Typical.

"And so your plan is to stumble about aimlessly in the dark, hoping that your goal will come to fruition by itself." Nero roughly brushed past her to reach the other crates. "Hoping that the story books weren't lies, hoping beyond hope that no one will need to sacrifice." He turned his head to glare at her. His words from yesterday had ached to be said, and now they received their chance.

"You are nothing but arrogant, Miss Deneith. You sit from your pedestal of righteousness and indignation and simply watch the suffering. You convince yourself that you are helping, that you are 'changing' things, that you are making things better. You watch filth like me stain our hands with blood and destroy lives, and you turn your nose away in disdain. 'I am not like that', you say to yourself. 'I am changing things. I am doing things the right way.' And so the people continue to suffer, to live in squalor, to be chewed up and spat out by the city that despises them...and you just watch, chained by your own delusions." As Nero spoke, his words became more inflammatory, his tone smoldering with repressed anger. 

He turned to face her. "What would you have them do? Raise their hands to the skies and pray for salvation from the Twelve? Have them watch their families starve and freeze in the night, their faith in the system so justly rewarded? What would you have them do, Roen Deneith?"

Roen slammed her hands on the box. "Stop that," she said, her voice hoarse. "Stop that!" The hoarse demand had turned into a growl. "I...I do not know! I did not have a plan! That is why I sought you out!" Her voice grew more infuriated.

"All I have known is the Order! I am trying to find a new way. A better way! You were my hope in finding it!" 

What was she talking about, this simpering girl? She saw him as some kind of guardian angel, that he would provide magical answers to the problems she wished to solve? How foolish could she possibly be? Nero did his utmost to keep his lip from curling into a scowl. Her naivete--no, it was beyond naivete, it was now borderline stupidity--was incredible.

He did not look at her face, but he could hear the paladin's voice calm at least somewhat. "No, I never expected gratitude from you," the bitter voice said. "I thought one day, I would be expressing them to you, for helping me find a solution that I had no way of finding on my own!"

"But now..." Roen fumed. "Now I am not so sure of that at all. Now I think that all you seek is to prove yourself right, and everyone else wrong."

"Where I thought I saw hope...that you too wanted to belong in that world you would help create, I was imagining things." The bitterness in her tone deepened.

Nero looked away. "Yes, you were imagining things. I have no hope of that. I do not belong in the new world I seek to create. My very existence is contradictory to everything that world stands for. Honesty, peace, justice, virtue, kindness, generosity...hope." He sighed, rubbing his temple. "No one knows me better than myself. And I know for a fact, I know within my bones and my blood and in the depths of my soul...that there is no place for me there."

He turned his head--his glare sharpened like a spear point, and burned like a wildfire. The smuggler's voice became steely, hard, and relentless. "I will commit as much evil as I have to. I will kill whoever I must. I will destroy everything, if I have to. In a twisted inferno, I will reduce everything to ash."

"And if I am so wrong, if I am nothing more than the same evil I wish to destroy," he flicked a challenging finger at the sword at Roen's side. "Then do me a favour...and take my life now."

His gaze intensified. "I will not hesitate. I will not waver. With fire and smoke and steel and a shower of blood, I will correct that which is remorselessly broken."

The paladin paused, blinking at him. Her stare was one of disbelief.

Nero continued. "And when the dust clears, when the flames have burned out and died, when the bodies have been buried and when I have paid for every single sin with every single ilm of my life...the future will belong to you, and to the people like you. The people who believe in honesty. Who believe in justice. Who believe in virtue. Who believe that life in Ul'dah is not about who devours whom, but that it is about living, together, in peace and cooperation. You and your people will construct the brightest possible future."

Roen searched his eyes; the doubt regarding his words had evaporated. She had seen it first hand, the exacting nature with which he pursued his goals.

Nero's eyes lost their sheen, that sparkle of ambition. They were dull and flat. "To enact extreme change, one must take extreme action, and the only ones who should take lives are those who are prepared to give their own." His mind was blank; no thoughts ran in the smuggler's head. His mouth moved on their own, as if he were reciting lines from a script.

"I belong to Ul'dah. Every fibre of my being is devoted to cleansing her in the only way I know how." And again, the fire re-ignited. "I will not suffer interference. I will not allow anyone or anything to stand in my way. I will crush and destroy and maim and obliterate and burn and ravage everything and anything I must..for the opportunity of a better future."

Nero turned to face the paladin. "You call me cruel, and brutal. You think me evil. That is fine. That is nothing less than what I deserve. That is nothing less than what I desire. I will become evil incarnate, if I must." In a swift motion, he flicked the knife from his belt and held the pommel towards Roen. It was an offer, a challenge, a dare...and a plea.

"And if such a thing is unforgivable," he breathed in, his face taking on an expression of peaceful acceptance. "Then end me now."

RE: No Good Deed【Closed】 - Roen - 09-01-2014

Roen stared at the knife. The steel edge of it gleamed, and she could see her warped reflection smeared along its metal shaft.

Cruel. Brutal. Evil. These are the things he desired to become. Nero's gaze had turned hard as he spoke of the extreme lengths that he would go to achieve his goals. The fire that burned in his eyes, it was for Ul’dah, it was for the better future; it held fury for the suffering that pervaded like an epidemic amongst the poor. But when he spoke of his own life--the life that would be consumed and eventually lost in the end--there was nothing but restrained apathy, a scripted acceptance to his fate.

To become evil. To die in a blazing conflagration that destroyed all else in its wake...these were the things that Nero said he wanted. The smuggler has said these words to her more than once now. Just as she had echoed her own beliefs of justice to only see it fall on deaf ears, was she doing the same? Was she refusing to see the end path he was committed to carving for himself?

Was she, as he said, trying to save him whether he wanted it or not? Were taking on such causes her way of validating her existence? The fact that she survived when so many had perished in the madness that was Dalamud?

Nero’s spiteful words were meant to crack her resolve. But Roen could not help but see a glimpse of truth in them. Did she not choose the path of the Order to atone for the sins of her homeland upon the people of Eorzea? She rarely even acknowledged to herself the deeply seated guilt in her heart when it came to her father and his hand in the Calamity, and her own inability to save him.

Was she trying to save Nero now?

Contorted grey eyes stared back at her, mirrored on the metal blade. Sorrow, loss, and suffering, they perverted the heart and mind of the person they infected, much like her own reflection twisted on steel made to cut flesh.

Nero had shown compassion, patience, and generosity to those less unfortunate than he. It was what drew her to his cause in the first place. And it was that very benevolence that then sparked and fed his fury in witnessing their suffering. So how can a man hold both kindness and sorrow alongside such willingness for atrocity? Was deadening his heart his way of reconciling the two opposing forces that must have waged war within him?

Roen could not help but see the similarities drawn between her and the smuggler.

For the pirate, his compassion had stepped aside to allow wrath to dictate his course, his life. However, in the struggle between them there had been no victor yet. There was still a chance. Still hope.

Perhaps this time she could save him. And he would not cause needless deaths.

“Why..?” the paladin rasped, her eyes still fixed on the knife. She made no move to take it. “Why does Ul’dah own you so?” Roen peered back up at the smuggler, searching his eyes. “Why do you desire such horrible things? Why are you driven down this path? Why do you see such a violent end, and nothing else?”

"Does it matter, why?” He lowered his hand along with the blade. His voice had turned cold again, distant. “Why does fire burn? Why does your body draw breath? Why does rain fall from the sky?" He shook his head. "These things know no other way to exist. These things are defined by these actions. Without Ul'dah, I am nothing. Without my belief that I can change it, I am truly broken."

The paladin exhaled. “Fire burns. Rain falls. We breathe. Such thing are ordained by nature. Even hoping for a better future, we are born with these instincts.” She leveled her gaze at him, slowly shaking her head. “To desire to destroy one’s own heart, to throw away their lives to darkness so that others may find peace… that is not a natural thing. That is a conscious choice we make. Perhaps when we see no other choice left to us.”

“Is it not? Is this not the natural order?” Nero arched a brow at her, unconvinced. "You were furious with me because you thought of me as a wanton killer who took joy in suffering. Tell me, where in my actions did you receive that idea? Did I torture my victims? Did I force agony upon them? Did I want them to know the futility of their own deaths? Did I want them to forever recognise life's fleeting mercy?"

Roen bowed her head with a sigh. The bitterness and doubt had ebbed away, leaving only grim resignation. “I thought I saw gleeful satisfaction in you, as you took their lives.” She shook her head. “Now I know it was not malice. Not truly. But you also hold no remorse either.” There was still disappointment in her tone; it still leadened her words. “You are…who you say you are. I see that now.”

The smuggler’s ice-blue gaze narrowed. "Is that not natural, to take joy in vengeance? In the bandits, I saw the ones who beat me, who forced me to fight the bottoms of their boots for a scrap of food. In the Brass Blade, I saw the ones who stood by and did nothing, who watched children knife each other for their amusement."

"I took pleasure in exercising my power, in knowing that with their deaths, mayhaps some like me may find some relief on the morrow." His lips curled in a cruel way. "I found it amusing, that those who would force such desperation and depravity on others would themselves scrabble so desperately for their miserable lives."

The paladin blinked, her eyes widening slightly. "I...I did not know," she murmured, pity leaking into her tone. He had never spoke of his past. She had an inkling of some of the darkness he may have witnessed, he spoke too vividly of the hardships that the refugees faced for her to think otherwise. But he had never spoken of his own past. Until now.

Nero frowned, rejecting her sympathy. "You are still arrogant. You still believe that above all else, you know what is right and wrong. And you think you can impose that on someone without knowing anything about them or their experiences." He crossed his arms. "I take joy in destroying monsters, for if I destroy all of them, then no one will be forced to stain their hands with blood like I have."

"You are right." Roen said quietly. "I know nothing about you. Or what you suffered." Her tone had turned to that of regret and contemplation. "I...I did not know."

Nero looked to her long and hard. "Let me tell you a story, then, Miss Deneith."

RE: No Good Deed【Closed】 - Nero - 09-01-2014

Why was it always with this woman? Why was it always about Ul'dah? Something about Roen and that wretched hive always brought out the worst in him. The subject had come up often; often they were clashing about their ideologies, but such things weren't new to him. What was it about her in particular that made him so vehement in his methods? Whenever she tried to instill some idea about justice in him, gone was his usual smirking pirate routine, the mask he had thought he'd solidly affixed to his face. What was it about her that made him so determined to prove his own ideals, as dark as they were?

Nero took a deep breath, searching his memory. The smuggler never enjoyed talking about his past. The very last thing he wanted was pity or sympathy. The things that he suffered were not unique or special or of note; they were things that others were suffering right this very moment. The only difference between him and those unfortunate souls enduring those hardships right now was that he had endured before them. His past should remain exactly where it had always been: behind him.

Yet now it seemed, to make this maddeningly stubborn paladin understand, he would have to agitate the ghosts.

"This is a story about hope, and bright future. This is the story about someone who believed that they could overcome all odds and reach an opportunity for a better life," Nero began, his arms still folded. "This is the story about a young girl, full of that same hope, that same aspiration for a more prosperous life. This young girl lacked in material goods, but she was not lacking in spirit, or strength of heart."

"Every day, she was confident that an opportunity would come where she could grasp a better future. Our young girl was raised by the prostitutes, but she was not unhappy. They were kind to her, and it was among them that she found many other children. She saw that they were unhappy, and full of sadness and pain. Above all else, the only thing our young girl wanted was for them to believe in the same bright future that she did." 

It was always dangerous for him to be skirting on such memories. He was careful to omit any mention of his involvement, but Nero knew he teetered on the edge; these bitter recollections had a bad habit of setting him off. He kept his voice tight and controlled, his tone somber. Instead of looking at Roen, he looked at the crates behind her, focusing on anything but the woman standing in front of him.

"On some days, she would sweep in front of stores, and occasionally the merchants would see fit to flick a disdainful coin at her. On other days, she would brush boots with a ragged cloth until her hands bled. On good days, the less scrupulous alchemists would test their experimental concoctions on her. The effects were always thoroughly unpleasant, but often they gave enough gil for her to buy food."

"Even with all of this, she never gave up. She never let the city break her. One day, a kind man saw the brightness in her, and that determined luminosity inspired some generosity in him. He gave her many coins--a paltry sum, but to her, he may as well have given her all of the wealth in the world. 'Take that to the other children,' he told her. 'Show them the prosperous future they might achieve, if they but believed in hope as you do.'"

"With boundless joy and happiness she returned to spread her good fortune to all those she cared about. First she race to the prostitutes. Her smile and her beliefs did not waver as she watched the bandits drag them out of the brothel one by one. Her hope did not crack even the slightest as they kicked and screamed, insisting that they had paid their dues. She was not colored by a single inkling of despair as they beat the faces of those who resisted and broke the legs of those who tried to run."

"Undaunted, she ran to the merchants, eager to show them that she could buy some of their wares. Her smile never broke as they threw the street rat out of their stores, as the Brass Blades they had paid to be enforcers snatched some of her gil as they tossed her into an alley. As she ran, they played a common game, testing their marksmanship with rocks. Some of them found their mark, but she did not waver."

"And so, with great joy she found the children, her precious friends, and her hope in their future did not diminish by even a fraction as they stole everything she had, hoping for themselves that they could buy some food for the evening."

"And so she was left in the streets, alone, with naught but bruises and shattered legs and nothing to grasp, nothing to hold but her hope for that better future. She died as she clasped onto that tiny light of opportunity, prosperity, and happiness, and her body was taken to the mass grave behind the city, the one used for the poor and nameless, for the worthless and scorned."

Nero breathed in, keeping his emotions in check. "And as the next sun rose, another child awoke, full of that same hope, ready to face the challenges of a new day."

How many years had it been? No...it didn't matter. That was not the point. The entire reason he had dug up that recollection was because within him lay the desire to shove the city's cruelty at Roen's face. To yell and shout at her, to berate her. You believe that you can change this city peacefully? That you can change things if you simply try hard enough? Nero knew that she had more substantial plans, but as his mind entered another tirade, he did not care. He bit his lip to prevent any more of his thoughts from flying free.

He glanced at Roen and saw the sparkle of tears run unbidden down the side of her face. When he had concluded his statement, she blinked, and wiped them away. "How do you know such horrors..." It was almost a whisper, full of disbelief.

Nero's expression changed to a melancholy smile. It was knowing, as if he understood what she was feeling, and tinged with the smallest hint of despair. "This is a city that is merciless, and so I will show it no mercy. And for the sake of that brighter future that so many have died believing in...I will not hesitate to do anything."

The smuggler sighed, tapping the boxes. "Hand these out to the rest of the refugees. I will stop by Stonesthrow and make sure they receive their share." With no more words, Nero began to pile several of the crates back into the wagon, along with the rectangular ones they had retrieved before. He rubbed the neck of the chocobo as he clambered onto the wagon.

His grasp on the reins was tight, his knuckles pale as he gripped them with far more force than he should have. "Hya," he called out, lashing the reins, as the wagon began to lumber its way out of the cave.

RE: No Good Deed【Closed】 - Roen - 09-02-2014

Honesty.

That is what Nero Lazarov promised her, after inviting her for lunch at the airship bar. Their exchange at Lost Hope two suns before, had left things awkward and strained between them. Even when she had brought Ser Crofte for a brief meeting with the smuggler a day later, the tension had remained thick. The conversation between the pirate and the Sultansworn was cordial, and somewhat evasive at best, and it ended with a vague understanding where each other stood.

Roen was not even sure where she stood with the pirate anymore. So many angry words were exchanged between them at Lost Hope, and that conversation ended with a very dark glimpse of his past.

But when the paladin joined him at the bar at his request, she found the smuggler wearing his usual smirk, his facetious persona back in place. But then he said the words that she did not expect to hear. “You have questions, and I promise honest answers. Whether you choose to believe them is up to you.” His tone sounded candid, his gaze direct.

Roen stared at the man that sat across the table from her, long and hard. There were too many questions; she was not sure where to begin.

“You were raised here. In Ul’dah. Aye?”

Nero nodded, setting down the steel cup in his hand. "The word 'raised' implies the presence of parental figures, of which there were none. But my first memories are of Ul'dah, yes."

“What happened to them? Your parents?" The paladin canted her head.

"Never knew them. Never cared to find out. Parents were like gil to me: something other people had that I didn't. Would it be that I were born in a more prosperous location in Eorzea, or Garlemald, but we cannot begrudge the circumstances of our birth."

Roen noted that he spoke of Garlemald yet again. The name Nero was common in the Empire. When she had assumed in previous conversations that he was from Garlemald as she had been, he had never corrected her. But from the details that he had shared unwittingly of his past, she had come to suspect otherwise. His home was Ul’dah, the City-State that owned his soul. "...So. You are not of Garlemald."

Nero curled the corner of his lip wryly. "I am loath to sever that connection of kinship between us, but no. I did not have the fortune to be raised in the Empire."

His admission did not come as a surprise, even though a part of her wanted to take umbrage in the fact that he misled her all along, perhaps to gain her confidence. Roen set that annoyance aside."But your name. Did you choose it? Or was it given to you?"

The smuggler shrugged, raising an eyebrow. "What does it matter? What is a name? A name is a label, used for the sake of convenience. You can say that it was given to me, in a manner of speaking."

“But you were given an Imperial name.".

"And why does the presence of an Imperial influence intrigue you so, Miss Deneith?" He cocked his head. "You yourself are not Garlean, unless your hair hides your third eye very well."

Roen leaned back, crossing her arms. "I have ties to the Empire." She reflexively looked around and lowered her voice. Exonerated for not, advertising one’s Imperial past was not a wise thing to do. "I was raised there. But born in Ala Mhigo."

"And yet, your attitude implies that you felt connected to the idea that I was raised in the Empire. But you are here, in Eorzea, serving the Eorzean city states." He seemed amused and curious at the same time, studying her from across the table. "What if I were truly raised in the Empire? What if I desired the subjugation of your cities and peoples? Would you still have felt some manner of kinship if that were the case?"

"If that were the case, you would be behind bars," she said matter-of-factly and without hesitation. "We would not be conversing across a dinner table."

"A pragmatic answer." Nero waved a hand mildly. "Odd, then, how the Eorzeans resist subjugation out of...what? A desire for autonomy, perhaps? Yet for all intents and purposes, the citizens of the Empire seem to enjoy some manner of comfort and respect. Odd how such things are so foreign on the home front, as it were."

"Aye. The Empire enforces Order. They need not worry about Primals and all things made of twisted aether." Roen exhaled, her voice lowering. "Most of my life, I considered it my home, and worth defending."

"And what changed?"

A long silence fell between them before she answered; her mind was hesitant to recall that horrific day, when her life changed forever. “Dalamud fell," she whispered, her expression falling with shame. "I...did not know anyone could be capable of such horrors."

"And so the actions of the Legatus condemned the entire nation in your eyes. Damned all of its citizens to be thought of as nothing more than evil, the soldiers little more than pawns to be slain on the battlefield?"

Roen quickly narrowed her eyes. "Trying to bring order to chaos, to wield the power needed to defeat the mad Primals...I never opposed those things. But to unleash something that would indiscriminately destroy all things in its path..." The paladin shook her head. "I could not condone that." She paused before she uncrossed her arms and leaned forward. "But that does not mean I condemn the entire nation."

Nero was watching her oddly as she spoke, but saying nothing for now.

Roen shook her head. "I was one of those soldiers, Mister Lazarov. I snuck onto the battlefield at Carteneau. I would never see any of them as pawns to be slain." She inhaled; the horrors the Calamity had passed long ago from her mind, but even the faintest ghosts of those memories darkened her mood. “I would not ever support efforts to invade or kill citizens of my homeland. Aye, I still consider it my home. I was raised there. My childhood memories--happy memories--are of the Empire."

The paladin drew a long breath, a new calm settling her thoughts. “But Eorzea... Eorzea is my second home."

"I envy your perspective,” Nero said wryly. “How gratifying it must be…to have not one, but two places in which you feel you can belong." He snorted. "I would have dropped Dalamud as well, if it meant having something like that."

Roen frowned, but saw the joviality draining from his face as he glanced away.

"I am not sure I belong either place now." She offered quietly. “I still cannot talk about my home to most people here. And the Empire may call me a traitor."

“And yet from your words, you are still willing to defend both, despite those odds."

"Aye, I hold loyalty to both." The paladin nodded. She was not sure if it was wise to confess these things, especially to a man she’d only known for such a short time. Roen had never been comfortable discussing her divided loyalties between the Empire and Eorzea. She had never willingly brought it up to those who had been closest to her: her brother who remembered losing their parents to the Garleans, and all her paladin mentors that had fought against and shed Garlean blood. And yet, now she found her confessions came easily to her lips in front of this smuggler. "There are good people on both sides, Mister Lazarov. People worth defending."

“Each side see the other as monsters, or primitives." Roen shook her head. "They are just...people."

"Just people..." Nero offered a bitter grin for her efforts. "I suppose that is the way it must look." He fell to silence again, looking to his cup as he sloshed the liquid within it to and fro.

Roen took up her own glass of sweet water, taking a sip. "Most people are. Most people just want to live their lives in peace. With a bit of happiness."

"Most people..." the smuggler echoed her words softly. "You'll excuse me if I have trouble believing that sentiment."

The paladin could sense his doubt, a hint of smoldering bitterness that he was keeping in check. "You called my view of the world askewed. I say the same for you." Her voice held no accusation or contempt as it would have suns ago. Rather, threads of empathy entwined itself into her words. "You saw what many do not. Or many refuse to see. But I think you also do not see outside of that darkness."

Roen leaned back on her chair again, her finger absently rubbing at the edge of the table. “After I ran away from Carteneau..." she paused, and peered back up at him. "Aye, I ran away." She allowed a moment to let that sink in, her confession echoing in her own ears, before she continued. “I was taken in by a traveling merchant family. They took me in. For five years, no questions asked. Just...kindness offered." Her voice grew soft in recollection, wistful. "Their happiness lay in having made enough gil at the markets to lay meat on the table. Or to have a good harvest of what little crops they planted."

The paladin lifted her gaze back to Nero. "When I say people, I think of them. And many like them."

Nero said nothing in response. He propped his arm against the table and leaned his head on it, staring at the wall to his right.

"When I joined the Order, I did it to protect people like them." Roen's words were softly spoken. She picked up her drink again, eyeing the clear liquid within. "I took their last name, because I saw them as my second family." She paused, her glass held in front of her. “You feel the need to fix Ul’dah for the suffering you have witnessed. I too see that need. But I also see the rest of the people, who only want to lead simple lives in peace. I need to protect them too.”

RE: No Good Deed【Closed】 - Nero - 09-02-2014

Nero kept the frown from his lips, but they curled slightly nonetheless, even as he kept his gaze focused on the wall. "And why have you not rejoined the Order?"

The paladin fell silent. Perhaps she had realised how one-sided this conversation had become. From the corner of his eye, the smuggler saw a pensive expression cross Roen's face as she fingered her glass absently. "Because...since I arrived in Ul'dah...I saw things I did not expect to see. I learned things that the people outside Ul'dah never knew about. The struggle of power. The struggle of the poor. The corruption that runs unchecked."

A snort managed to keep itself from escaping Nero's nostrils. "Why have you not rejoined the Order?" He echoed his question.

Roen stared at him for a long moment before lowering her gaze. "Because I want to do more," she murmured. "Because the Sworns' hands are tied to the will of the Sultana...and the Sultana has to maintain the balance of power for peace to exist in Ul'dah.

Nero took up his cup again and swirled the liquid in it, his thirst satiated. The smuggler continued to stare at the wall as he spoke, as if he were speaking more to himself than to Roen at this point. "You want to protect the people. Being a member of the Sworns grants you that authority. You may not always be able to punish the wrongdoers, but at the least you have the power to defend the innocent." He did not glance at her from his peripheral vision, but the silence that followed was noticeable.

"Aye," came the response. "But there are other Sworns. And they will continue to do so. But none have sworn to change things. They cannot." Roen shook her head. "I never even imagined that such things would be possible. And I do not know that it is. But... I called you a dreamer once. For this impossible goal. It does not mean one should not try."

Ironic how she was calling him the dreamer when he had spent so much time belittling her foolish ideals. Nero kept his gaze averted. "At least we can agree on that," he muttered, more to himself than to the paladin.

"Some have called me foolish to hold allegiance to both the Empire and Eorzea. But... it is what I feel is right. So I shall." Roen canted her head, noting his evasive expression. "How old were you when you left here?"

Nero sighed, choosing his words carefully. "Old enough," was the vague response. "Old enough to have seen things that are the stuff of nightmares. Old enough to know why I had to leave or be consumed by it. Old enough." His statement ended with a morbid sense of finality.

A long silence followed that was eventually broken by Roen. "The story you told me...you saw that? First hand?"

Nero nearly flinched. Telling that story was foolish, but there was no use in regretting it now. "My place in that story..doesn't matter. All that matters is that it happened," he said evasively. The smuggler held a solid mask of composure over his face, even as his tone was stiff in its neutrality.

Roen's grey eyes searched the face that refused to look at her. Her voice was soft and gentle. She did not want to sound as if she was pitying him, but the sympathy was clear in her tone. "It does matter," she insisted. "It explains...." she paused, as if feeling that that was not the right word. "It helps me understand you." She tilted her head, as if to draw his gaze.

Nero glanced at her from the corner of his eye, not willing to look directly at her, lest she spot the smoldering glare he wore. "And why do you care?" The question was still in the metallic, neutral tone, but held an edge of bitterness. "The only people who have ever cared are people who wanted something in return. I have no reason to believe you are any different."

RE: No Good Deed【Closed】 - Melkire - 09-02-2014

((This post obviously takes place mere hours after the events of this post.))



Mere bells had passed since the commotion.

The east wind was picking up, and the overseers were none too pleased by the ongoing delays that kept them from getting their workers back inside the mines. Not that it mattered: there'd been another incident, and that meant visitors. A canopy had been pitched over the body. Word has been sent to Black Brush Station, and from there relayed to the city, to the headquarters of the Brass Blades.

Not a bit of which explained why a lone figure now sat on his haunches over the corpse, emerald eyes darting back and forth over the dead man in what amounted to a cursory inspection, occasionally glancing over to the dismembered limb lying several fulms away. The figure's arms were strung out over his knees, the tails of his unbuttoned trenchcoat billowing behind him, and his boots crunched on sand as he pivoted to examine the body from a different angle.  Not that it mattered: the cause of death was as obvious now as it had been from first glance. Charred face. Singed hair. Burnt fabric.

Thaumaturgy.

There came the heavy rattling of shifting chainmail, and those emerald eyes glanced back, glanced up, to meet the fly-mask of another highlander dressed in Brass Blade uniform. The figure smirked. "Friend of yours?"

A disgusted shake of the head and downturned lips answered him. "Can't reckon why you middies all seem to think that the big blokes all know each other. We'd best get going, only just managed to convince the shortie in charge to hear you out. Might change his mind if we dally."

The midlander nodded, tugged his gloves back on and zipped them up the back as he rose to his feet and fell in line with the other man, taking three steps for every two just to keep pace with him. "I asked you t'call ahead and ask certain questions, Rand. Did you?"

The highlander snorted. "Aye, Sergeant, I did. Time-sensitive, you said, so I did. Just the usual, was the answer they gave me."

"No odd prints? Unusual markings? Nothing untoward or out o' place?"

"Nah. Usual prints and tracks for the wagons and carts leading in and out. Usual prints for the workers, likewise. Nothing out of the ordinary, Melkire."

Osric frowned as they approached the Lalafell in charge. The Brass Blade lieutenant turned from his attempts to mollify the overseers as they pulled up short. The midlander flashed the little fellow his most winning smile as his companion saluted. The lieutenant returned the gesture, fly-mask still focused squarely on the man in the trenchcoat.

"An inspector from the Flames. How tiresome. If this is another insipid attempt at undermining our lawful and legal authority--"

"--I assure you, ser, it's nothing of the sort. No official inquiry has been made, no allegations levied.”

The lieutenant scoffed. “Then why are you here?”

“Given Nanawa’s recent history," Osric swept a hand out to encompass the mines, "Commander Swift thought it best that y'have our full cooperation in assessing the extent o' damages and, afterward, our testimony that this is an isolated incident, a tragic case in which a man lost his life whilst on duty, a man who performed with honor t'his upmost ability. So he sent me out, ser, with instructions to survey the scene 'n' report back."

This was complete and utter gobshite, of course, as his companion knew all too well. The commander had done nothing of the sort; after the original incident at Nanawa and the resulting pandemonium, Osric had gone to Rand and offered him rather generous sums to pass along any word of Brass Blade activity in the area. The highlander had, of course, followed through, and here they were. It was vital, or so the Flame Sergeant thought, to keep an eye on this gods-damned facility and others like it; too often were they convenient locations for nefarious activities, and that didn't even take into account the numerous goods, supplies, and arms that passed through this mine in particular to Northern Thanalan.

Several long, tense moments followed, during which Osric wondered if he hadn't been altogether wise to interrupt and interject. The little lieutenant glared up at him... then sighed.

"My second and third are up above. Inspect the bodies and ask questions if you'd like, but don't get in the way. As you said, this is a tragic case. No incident worth looking into here; just misfortune. Understood?"

One pair of boots and one pair of sollerets slammed together, and two different fists met two different chests. The Lalafell glanced between them, then returned the salutes before waving them off and turning his back on them in dismissal. Osric and Rand turned on their heels and made their way up the scaffolding leading to the mines proper.  

Shards were the first detail to catch their attention. Shards upon shards of ice were scattered about, each one thin, sharp… clearly aetheric in origin, or else they’d have melted away long ago, leaving nothing but a damp spot of earth for the sun to bake dry. A rough circle of ice sticking out of the ground was odd. What was odder was the lack of ice in the center of that space, in a shape that was approximate of….

“Rand.”

“I see it.” The highlander gave the circle one last glance, then made his way over to another canopy that had been pitched over two more corpses. There, he drew a pair of Brass Blades - a midlander and another Lalafell - off to one side and into a heated discussion more suited to the sands of the coliseum than the perimeter of a crime scene.

Now here was an opportunity, and the sergeant didn’t waste it: into the shade beneath the canopy he slipped, and his hands threw back his coattails as he knelt before his second corpse of the sun. This one reeked more than the last; they were decomposing fast. That was Thanalan for you: you had to move fast if you wanted to reach the scene before the sands swept away what little damning evidence could be had.

The second corpse was that of a midlander. Osric reached out with one gloved hand and gently, slowly slid back the handle sticking out of the throat. A quick once-over of the blade itself told him that there was nothing to be gained by tracing the knife; this was a common piece, purchased for just such a purpose as this. He pushed the blade back in with a scowl, then shuffled over to the third corpse.

Cause of death: asphyxiation, better known as lack of gods-damned air. Or it would've been, if it'd hadn't been for, well... the throat had been crushed, but not with a mere hand strike. For the structure to have caved in this deep... this much damage required weight, and that meant…. Osric’s eyes narrowed as he glanced back at the second corpse. Professional… the third corpse again… yet passionate. Knife to the throat, common steel that would undoubtedly prove impossible to trace? That said professional. Stomping a man to death? That screamed vindictive. He knew; no one better.

Rand sauntered over. “Dead. Bled out before anyone could reach'm. There was a survivor, though. Took a bit of shock therapy, courtesy our perpetrator. He’s in no shape to talk, and likely won’t ever be. Gone simple, him. Even if he hadn’t, they’re not going to let us anywhere near the fellow.”

The Flame rose and stretched, left hand holding his right wrist as he pushed his arms to full extension, first this way, then that. “No need, I’ve seen enough.”

He cracked his neck next, then beckoned Rand back down the scaffolding. One terse farewall to the lieutenant later, and they were on their way back south. That fly-mask kept swiveling back and forth as Rand glanced at Osric, then back out at the road. The sergeant couldn’t help but grin.

“Did you notice?”

“Notice what?”

“Those were bandits.”

The Brass Blade sneered. “That’s not unusual. You know that, I know that. For everything in Thanalan, there’s a price. Everyone knows that. ”

Chief Flame Sergeant Osric Melkire stopped walking and turned to look up at the highlander as the big man kept walking. “Those were bandits bribing a Brass Blade. Or somethin' t'do with coin, anyroad.”

“Mhm.”

“…Rand, where were the Stone Torches?”

His companion opened his mouth… and then shut it again without a word. He came to a stop, and turned a deep frown on the Flame.

The Stone Torches were not well-known among the general populace, and for good reason. That branch of service saw to securing the natural resources of Thanalan on which Ul’dah was so dependent for trade. Duty always called, and theirs was always to guard the various mines and quarries that supplied those resources, those commodities… yet there had been not a one in attendance at Nanawa this sun.

Rand snarled. “That’s gods-damned peculiar, aye, but I don’t see why--”

“--there were no goods, Rand. Where there are bandits and Blades and bribes, there are goods.”

The highlander snapped his mouth shut yet again, teeth clacking against one another. He harrumphed and started walking towards the Jewel again. “Wagon, eh?”

Osric fell in beside him. “Or a cart.”

“So where to?”

“Black Brush Station. Someone will have seen something.”

“Well, good luck with that.” The Blade eyed him one last time, held out a hand, and beckoned.

“…I already paid you.”

“Aye, you did. Paid me to keep you informed. Now you’re paying me to keep my silence.”

Osric rolled his eyes, dug inside his coat for a small coinpurse, and tossed it over.

Business as usual.

RE: No Good Deed【Closed】 - Melkire - 09-04-2014

"This is obstruction of justice," the inspector stated.

"I have no idea--"

"--what you're talking about," snarled the two Brass Blades together.

Black Brush Station wasn't particularly busy. It was a late afternoon that saw the sun rapidly descending from its zenith. Traffic was dying down, merchants were closing up shop, folks were turning in, and the local authorities had a collective stick up their asses.

Osric sighed. He knew stonewalling when he saw it; either his luck had gone rock bottom or the Twelve had a sense of humor, because the men stationed here were more belligerent and obstinate than usual. Approaching the officer in charge had made for an... interesting... conversation. Or lack thereof, as the case had been.

"There been any commotion here lately?"

"No."

"Less grift t'go around?"

"No."

"May I speak with the--"

"No."

So he'd bided his time, clambered up a series of crates and barrels to seat himself atop a low retaining wall and waited. His eyes scanned the station, the stalls, the aetheryte, the men, the women, the gear, the goods... everything. He waited. The cook eventually sent a scullion over with a plate for the evening meal. He politely declined. He waited. He slept.

Bells upon bells upon bells. He waited an entire sun. Morning came and went, as did midday. He waited. Then, having seen what he'd needed to see, spotted what he'd been hoping to spot, he slid down off the wall, brushed himself off, and walked over to one Brass Blade in particular... which was how he'd found himself speaking with two of them.

"Gentlemen," he said, "it works like this. Since I arrived and stood vigil, you've spent the evening, morning, and midday meals together, out of sight, out of mind, abandoning your usual circles. On that basis alone, you've aroused my suspicion. The fact that you're both nursing various injuries - a broken hand, a split lip, a welt - hasn't helped your case, either. Given your apparent lack of cooperation, I'll have no choice but t'file for a warrant. As I am an official inspector--"

Liar.

Shut up, I'm selling it.

"--there's no question that I will get what I want... and here's the clincher, gentlemen: whether or not I'm right, in the end, your superiors will see you suffer for causin' trouble and bringin' attention to their work here."

He glanced between the midlander and the highlander with a raised eyebrow, as if to ask, "do you really want that?" The former's scowl deepened, but the latter... the latter bit into his lower lip, his face contorting in concentration, in thought. Osric smiled up at him from where he sat on his haunches.

"Oooooorrrrrrr," he drawled, "y'can tell me what y'know, I don't file for a gods-damned thing, and we all go about our lives. No report, no harassment."

The two traded a look from behind their fly-masks, then eyed him carefully.

"Aye, there was a wagon here," spat the one who'd introduced himself as Raffe. "Confiscated a few suns back from some smugglin' pissant who ain't worth his weight in tuco piss."

The one named Louvel snorted. "Some bitch what used tae run with us--"

"--thought she'd buy us off, didn't she? Bribe us to look the other way, while she made off with it."

The sergeant smirked. "So y'tried squeezin' her for more, and she beat you both down."

Raffe grimaced. "Didn't say that."

"Didn't have to."

Louvel cradled his wrist as he spat to the side. "Ruttin' coeurl thinking she owns the sand she walks on. Redheads... ain't worth the trouble. Ya'd think havin' all that red sheared off would've learned her."

His companion snorted. "Women... ya alright, inspector? Ya lookin' pale there."

The "inspector" was anything but "alright". The color had drained from his face, a sickening knot had formed in the depth of his gut, and a dread chill had fallen over him. He had to force his next few words past the wooden block that had somehow lodged itself in his throat. "The name," he rasped. "The woman's name."

The highlander glanced askance at him, eyes narrowing into a squint. "Deneith. Roen Deneith."

Shite. Shite, shite, shite, shite, SHITE.

He shot to his feet, turned his back on the two Blades, turned a deaf ear on their feigned concern, and walked away. Out the gates.  Across the tracks. Down the path. When the trance finally broke, he found himself passing the Coffer & Coffin.

You're not ready for this. Light, you're not ready for this.

RE: No Good Deed【Closed】 - Roen - 09-04-2014

Honesty.

That is what the pirate promised. But thus far he had answered most of her questions vaguely, and had actually turned the questions back onto her. Roen had not realized immediately that she was revealing more about herself rather than finding out anything about Nero, even though the purpose of this luncheon had been for the latter.

But Roen held no misgivings for it; a part of her was surprisingly relieved to share some of the details from her past. She also hoped that in sharing something about herself, it would ease his guarded nature somewhat, and perhaps encourage him to open up a little. It was obvious now that sharing anything about his past came with great difficulty for the man.

There was a tinge of resentment in his controlled voice and a stiffness to his posture as he avoided her gaze. But where she may have been affronted by his veiled temper and bitterness suns ago, Roen felt a measure of patience about her this day--a sort of serenity--being afforded the smallest of glimpse into the hardships that Nero had suffered early in his life. Having recently discovered a brother who suffered similarly, she knew how it could twist the core of a person. And just like Gharen, Nero did not seem to have encountered much kindness in his life either.

“Stuck in twilight…” the pirate sneered, though his voice was quiet. "You are in the position where you can court the ideals of justice and fairness...and yet you still choose to associate with someone like myself. You still choose to condemn what I feel must be done."

Roen listened, now trying to glean the truths of the man’s intentions and thoughts as he spoke, rather than trying to formulate a defense, a rebuttal against his accusations.

"You feel that you are above the idea of partaking in the darkness, and yet you refuse to fully rejoin the light," Nero continued, his tone distant and cold. “You are stuck between your old life in the Sultansworn and the goals you seek to achieve. You are unwilling to let go of either of them. You do not want to accept that achieving your goals will require sacrificing your virtue. And you do not want to return to a life of law and order because you know you cannot change things."

Roen nodded just slightly, in acquiescence. Her voice remained quiet. "If twilight is my path, I will walk it best I can. I can still see the remnants of the day, and prepare for the night." She glanced back to her drink, her finger resting absently next to it. “You are right, perhaps I do not want to let go of either."

The paladin drew a breath, leaning in as she tried to draw his gaze yet again. "Perhaps I believe somehow, I can change things, without falling to complete darkness. But my eyes have been opened to the fact that night always comes after the sun sets." She gave him a small smile. “And yet so does the sun rise again, giving us hope anew. I owe allegiance to two lands who would fight each other to the death if given the chance. I hope for their peace. Some may call me foolish. Or even a dreamer."

When Nero said nothing in return, only regarding her from the corner of his eyes, Roen continued, emboldened. “You are here, talking to me. Because you do need me. After you have burnt everything to ash, you rely on the goodness of people to rebuild. Even if you hold no hope for yourself, you have to have others with hope, to see your dream come to life." She nodded, peering at him intently as she canted her head. “I can help you in that.”

"Perhaps it was fate that we be brought together," Nero mused after a long silence.

Roen exhaled, a sense of relief washing over. Perhaps he and she can start anew. She now somewhat understood where his rage came from, and despite his barbed and often cruel remarks, his actions were driven by altruistic motives.

"Appropriate,” the pirate said to himself as he pulled the linkpearl out of his ear and placed it on the table. He turned to face her after what felt like years. "An alliance between us…will not work."

Roen stiffened, her eyes widening with disbelief as his words echoed off the stone ceiling above.

"I have no use for those who cannot make the hard choices." The pirate said in a distant tone. "Protect the people. Provide for them. Guard them from the wolves at the gates." He rose from his seat, leaving a stack of gil on the table.

The paladin sat stalk still, confusion turning her limbs and tongue leaden. She could not formulate a response. Her brows slowly furrowed into a frown.

"As for me..." The smirking pirate facade returned. "Well, I suppose I'll have to find a way to get Satz out of prison. He's probably queasy as all hells right now. Poor bastard." His expression did not waver. "I hope the view here in the twilight lets you see the fireworks. I can assure you they'll look nice.”

He tapped his fingers twice on the table. “Thank you for humouring my little lunch date. It was…interesting." With a parting ironic smile, he nodded her way once then left, leaving Roen stunned in silence.

RE: No Good Deed【Closed】 - Nero - 09-05-2014

The late afternoon glow of the Thanalan sun cast a warm hue over the docks at Crescent Cove. The docks were not overly busy, but there was some small manner of bustle as Nero and two other men, two Highlanders, prepared a ferry. The smuggler was dressed for combat; a night blue tabard hung over a shirt of chainmail, the leather boots had been replaced with steel sabatons, and a simple yet elegant sword was strapped to his side. The two Highlanders were similarly armed and armored with battle axes and chain hauberks.

“You need to take command,” the taller Highlander said, even as he prepared the ferry to take off. Garalt Lyons was typically a very quiet man who did little more than follow orders or nod his silent approval. Now was one of those rare times where he made his opinions known. Nero shook his head, pointing at the ship anchored in the horizon. “You, too, need to be prepared, Garalt. I am trying to do everything I can to get Satz out. I know you can lead the crew. Vail trusted you. I do too.”

“It’s not about whether or not the crew trusts me,” Garalt said gruffly. “It’s about whether they trust you. Daeg and I know better, but your constant shore visits are making them anxious. Not having the captain is trouble enough, even if Daeg is in command. Not having either of you on board is causing some concerns. Now you are participating directly in a raid? They don’t like it.”

Nero raised an eyebrow, grinning. “Tell them to look at the bright side. If the ship’s not being captained by a Lazarov, they can’t vanish at sea. Besides,” he patted the sword at his side. “I think a good old fashioned raid will be good for my health. Haven’t been in a decent fight in a while.” The smuggler briefly recalled Nanawa Mines, and the subsequent argument with a certain paladin.

Garalt narrowed his eyes at the jest, but said nothing.

Nero shrugged. “This is just a routine raid. We’ll try to keep the enemy crew alive. They’re just bystanders; if they let us have the cargo, they can live. Once we’ve let them reach their lifeboats, we’ll send the ship to Llymlaen’s depths.” The smuggler vaguely registered footsteps approaching behind him, but ignored them. “There’s no need to be easy on this, Garalt. You’ll be fine in command of the ship.”

Someone cleared their throat behind him, and a familiar voice spoke. “Mister Lazarov."

]Nero turned, glancing at a slender, feminine face and neatly arranged auburn hair. Roen’s appearance wasn’t unexpected, but at this juncture it was somewhat annoying. “Can you talk while we sail?” He gestured to the ferry. “I’m in something of a hurry right now.”

The second Highlander leaned towards Garalt. “Spat with the missus, then?” the man said gruffly in a crude attempt at subtlety. The comment rang as loud as a gong. To his credit, Garalt didn’t dignify the comment with a response.

Roen paused, her lips parting briefly as she wrinkled her nose. “You are leaving now?”

Nero rolled his eyes in response. “”No, I’m leaving six months from now. Is this urgent?” In exasperation, he threw up his hands. Any more delays would mean the Second Forte would miss her mark. “You know what, nevermind.” The smuggler gestured at Garalt. “I’m leaving you in command. You know what to do.”

Though the Highlander clearly wanted to protest, Garalt nonetheless nodded wordlessly as Nero undid the rope tying the ferry to the dock. The two Highlanders took up the oars to hasten their departure.

The Hyur turned back to face Roen, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “Consider yourself in possession of my attention.”

RE: No Good Deed【Closed】 - Roen - 09-05-2014

Roen was not sure why she came.

She had stewed, sitting alone at the airship landing bar, after Nero had unceremoniously dissolved their alliance. A part of her thought maybe this was for the best. Since the day they had first met, their course had been nothing but turbulent. Never had she felt such a swing of emotions--from annoyance, to relief, to rage, to empathy--and seemingly back again. The smuggler had a way of setting her nerves on edge, and Roen had to constantly remind herself to keep the end goal in focus. To serve the greater good.

Except now, Nero no longer thought her useful to his cause. Their difference in ideology had been too great. Her resistance to ‘make hard choices’ was more of a hinderance than he deemed worth the trouble.

The paladin had hoped that if she tugged the opposite way from his ruthlessness and willingness for violence, if she could anchor his ambitions just a little, that their course could stay out of the darker, more troubled waters. But in her efforts to try and make him understand her views, he had come to see her as nothing but a liability, and eagerly cut himself free.

But as Roen pondered on Nero’s possible future, the path he was headed down, she felt a sadness rise in her that robbed her breath. Her hope for him still remained deep down, that he choose the path of compassion and light, rather than descending into darkness. She wanted to see this through, for that reason as well. But it was clear he wanted nothing of her interference.

Roen had also believed that through him, she would find her own path. Not having returned to the Sultanate, she herself was wandering lost, searching for a new destination. She thought that helping the poor, reforming the Blades, and working against the corruption of the Monetarists, that that was her new path. And that she had found someone also walking that same path. And his fervent need to fix Ul’dah...it lit a fire in her as well, one that could not be extinguished now, alliance or no.

Roen refused to let herself become adrift again, wondering what path to take. Through his words and his eyes, she had become more intimate with the sufferings of the poor. It was not something she would ever be able to ever forget now. With or without him, she would continue on this path.

Perhaps that is why I came, she told herself as she regarded the smuggler’s cold demeanor. To just tell him that.

“Is there something you need, or am I free to carry on with my business?" Nero said coldly, his arms crossed in front of him.

His icy demeanor made her stumble over her words at first. "Yes. You are free to carry on. I was just here to--" she paused, drawing out an envelope from her satchel. She stepped forward and shoved it towards him. “Here. You wanted this.”

Nero glanced at it curiously but did not take it. "The list, I assume? I am surprised you remembered."

"Do with it what you will." Roen held it out a moment longer, her eyes fixed on it. When he did not accept, she glanced at him. "Do you not want it?"

"No longer needed. The only reason I suggested a swapped forgery was to appease you. That's no longer a concern. Kejin Zinjin has some family in Costa del Sol. A direct application of force will make him turn. Although..." He flicked the envelope from her hand, shoving it into his belt. "This might come in handy later, so for what it's worth, thanks." His indifference did not waver. "Was that all?"

"No. That is not all." Roen narrowed her eyes, her voice growing steely. "You are not the only one that want this. But you shove whoever else away that does not fit into your plan. Fine. I was on this course before I met you. I will stay on it with or without your help."

Nero waved idly, glancing at the ship that began to depart the horizon. "I wish you luck, then. Say hello to Ser Crofte for me, if you see her."

Roen glanced to the waters to try and quell her frown. He did not care. Not one onz. Did she expect anything else? "My apologies if my ideals were so inconvenient to you.” She kept her voice even. “I will do what I can to get your first mate out of the gaols."

"They weren't as inconvenient to me as they seemed as inconvenient to yourself.” The smuggler shrugged it off. “And while I appreciate the thought, that will take far too long. Worry not about him. Daegsatz is no longer your burden." He returned his attention to the envelope, peeling it open and studying the sheet of parchment within.

Roen frowned, looking down at the wooden planks beneath her feet. Not one onz. She turned to leave, but something held her where she stood. She spun back around.

"What did you expect when you asked me for help?" Roen demanded.

The smuggler passed her an idle glance, his attentions seemingly elsewhere. "I was expecting you to understand. I wasn't expecting you to enjoy it or consider me a saint or any such nonsense, but I was expecting you to understand that what I was doing was absolutely necessary. I have thought through all of the alternatives, all of the less violent solutions, and none have seemed feasible."

"I have known you for only a few suns. How would I have known that?"

Nero did not seem interested in answering her. "You and I are locked on separate paths. Unfortunate, but it happens."

Roen sighed, her voice lowering. "I thought we knew we walked a different path, but in the same direction."

"Perhaps we do, but that never meant we were to walk together."

He may be right, Roen thought to herself. She was not even sure why she was arguing with him, only that she felt the need to with every fiber of her being. "This dream you have, is not an easy one. Nearly impossible one, alone.”

Nero turned to her fully, his usual smirk emerging. "On the contrary, it is far easier than I initially projected. All it required was a different perspective."

"A different perspective." She echoed him, puzzled.

Nero sighed, rubbing his head. "You say we walk in the same direction. Without me, Roen, what is your plan? I wish to know." But before she could even drew a breath to respond, he raised a brow, that infuriating smirk still on his face. "Right, that's what I thought,” he said curtly, turning his attention back to the list.

Roen no longer knew what point she was trying to make. But her words kept coming. "I was investigating Taeros when I met you. I am going to resume that course."

"And? Did you have leads? Contacts? Resources? How were you going to coerce his associates? What would you do if--or rather, when--he disguised or destroyed the evidence and slipped through the fingers of the law?" Nero crossed his arms again. "Even if you did arrest Taeros, what then? Who will you pursue next? Why is he even important to the Monetarists? Now, if this was a quest for vengeance, I would understand, but you claim it to be something more noble than that, which means you are thinking of a larger scope."

Nero did not give her a chance to say even a word in response; he just kept going, his voice edged with disdain. "How will you eliminate the corrupt Brass Blades? How will you eliminate the bandit gangs? How will you redistribute the wealth of the Monetarists? How will you allow the Sultana and Raubahn to secure power?"

Roen stared at him in disbelief. "And you have a plan to do all that?"

Nero smiled. His look was one of absolute certainty, near arrogance in his ice-blue eyes.

"If I did not, I would not be here."