Roen

“Dead?” Idristan Tournes’ reaction to the news was not one of shock or dismay. The arch of the Elezen’s brows did betray his surprise, but his tone remained even, as though he had heard this sort of news more times than he could count. It was the grim reality of the Dragonsong War. With a pointed glance and flick of his head, the knight captain dismissed the other sellswords that were lingering about the room--presumably the new recruits by the look on their not-quite weather-worn faces--then crossed his arms and turned to the paladin expectantly. Roen nodded. “Aye. It seems they attacked an Au Ra in an attempt to retrieve his tail as proof of slaying a dragon.” She paused, studying the temple knight carefully. He had seen their ‘bounty’ in the past, whereas she had not. She wondered if this had been a recurring ruse. “The Au Ra defended himself and his ward, and Blacke and Fenco suffered mortal wounds in the confrontation. I came upon them after the deed was done and they had already perished.” The Elezen’s features creased into a look of muted vexation, the lines of his face accentuated by the crackling fire in the hearth next to him. “I see.” He too appeared to be searching through his memories for Blacke and Fenco’s past successes, but seemingly drew a blank, and said nothing more with regard to that. He pressed on with the questioning. “You were not there to witness this in person? How do you know this is the truth of what happened?” “I do not,” the paladin answered truthfully. “But the Au Ra is traveling with a woman that I knew before I came here. I believe her account of him to be truthful. She does not believe this Xaela to be a heartless butcher. Rash and callous perhaps, but she felt his actions were justified.” Ser Tournes pinched the bridge of his nose and frowned. “As sloppy and rapacious as the two were, Blacke and Fenco were still under my command. I am responsible for their lives while they perform the duties that I’ve assigned them.” He let out a long exhale through his nose. “Now all I have are unreliable testimonies by witnesses who have all the reason in the world to askew the events in their favor.” Roen’s lip twitched. She could not necessarily refute the temple knight’s account of things. She was not there. She had taken Edda’s opinion of the Xaela at face value, trusting in the woman’s judgement. That did irk her a little, for it was something that the paladin forbade herself to do now--take others at their word so readily. “What do you think of him, Deneith?” Idristan’s eyes narrowed upon her. “Do you think him innocent? Should I simply let him go on the assumption that it was self defense? And that Blacke and Fenco met their end as a repayment of their own greed and zeal?” “But they were still our own, ser!” Bellows protested. The Midlander had been listening by the doorway, but now he was approaching the two by the hearth. “Their deaths shouldn’t be for nothin’, at least without being sure that they deserved it.” “I think the Xaela spoke the truth when he recounted the events,” Roen answered earnestly after some deliberation. Under the knight captain’s scrutiny, the paladin had managed to clear her thoughts and evaluate the situation objectively as she did not have the opportunity to before. “I believe he felt that the two threatened his life and he defended himself and my friend.” She knitted her brows as she met the Elezen squarely in the eyes. “He could have simply subdued them without ending their lives, aye… but I believe his own philosophies did not allow it. It may be the fault of his foreign culture, actually.” Idristan was still watching her intently. “Self defense or not, the Au Ra still killed two mercenaries. And he is now in Ishgard territory. I need to know he does not pose a threat to the next person he comes across that may mistake him for something else. We are here to protect the lives of Ishgardians from all threat, Dravanians or otherwise.” He bowed his head slightly, to level his gaze upon the paladin. “I need proof that there will be no further corpses that trails after this man.” Roen blinked then shook her head. “I do not understand what you are asking, Ser Tournes.” “Go and arrest him. Tell him he is to be held for questioning.” When Roen parted her lips to protest, the Elezen held up a hand to stop her. “I merely want to see his reaction. If he responds to such a request with violence, then I cannot foresee that any other civil discourse will end up peacefully as he travels through our lands. If he answers every conflict with a swing of a blade, then I cannot let him simply walk free.” The paladin narrowed her eyes. “So this is a test?” Idristan nodded. “It is. We are short on manpower, and I cannot expend the time nor people needed to investigate every deaths unaccounted for. I only intend to bring charges before the Supreme Sacred Tribunal if it is dire enough that it threatens anything within the Holy See's auspice. But I need to be certain this Au Ra will abide by the laws of the land that he walks upon.” The Elezen gave a pointed look to Bellows. “And to be certain that my men will not have to worry about the likes of him in the days to come.” Roen frowned. While she understood the temple knight’s dilemma, deceptions never sat well with her. Idristan seemed to read this on her expression and fixed his gaze on hers. “I am allowing this test because you believe his story. If he surrenders himself, then he will be free to go as he pleases. If he brandishes his sword and resists the law of the land, then he will be cut down.” The Elezen ignored Bellows’ self-satisfied snort. He continued to hold her gaze. “Should he turn out to be a violent malefactor, I expect you to draw your sword first.” The knight captain straightened and looked to her expectantly. “Go. See if he lives or dies.”

Roen was thankful that the day’s journey through Coerthas was an uneventful one. Her mind had wandered throughout the journey, especially after listening to the short exchange between Edda and Khadai regarding the purpose of violence. "If the circumstance has deteriorated to the point of engaging in battle, then to fight and not kill is futile, for violence means all previous discourse has failed. At that point, permanent victory over your foe is the only thing that matters." What surprised her most was that the words came from a man who she suspected to have no reluctance in taking a life. She realized that for him, resorting to bloodshed was a point of no return. When all previous discourse has failed... And yet the paladin still regretted her own act of violence, even when she fully believed no other choice had been left. And that she would come to discover later than she had killed a man who still had hope in his heart… “Deneith!” came the echoing call from the walls of Camp Dragonhead, and suddenly Roen found herself grateful to be broken out of her dark reverie. She quickly sniffed and straightened, shaking her head to dismiss the cobwebs of lingering melancholy. The paladin held up a hand to answer the call of the guard on watch, who then whistled down to someone else behind him and relayed a message she could not quite make out from her approach. But soon Heibert Bellows and Stray Oak came trotting out of the gate. They nodded to Roen first then glanced to the two people behind her, their reaction to the tall Xaela obvious on their startled expressions. Both the mercenaries placed their hand on the hilt of the sword, but had enough sense not to draw them. “You’ve been gone awhile,” Stray Oak said, at least managing a half smile. “We--I mean Ser Tournes--was worried about ya.” The Roegadyn shrugged and glanced back towards the Midlander sellsword that stood slightly behind him. “Though now that yer back, Bellows owes me fifty gil. He thought fer sure the night swallowed ya up whole.” Bellows flicked his chin her way, sucking on his teeth. “Where is Fenco and Blacke?” Roen did her best to keep her expression neutral. “I need to report to Ser Tournes about that. Where is he?” The Hellsguard thumbed back toward the gate. “He is looking over a few more new recruits.” His attention darted between Roen and the two travelers behind her, but it was Bellows that walked past the paladin toward Edda and Khadai. “And what did you drag in from the cold?” Heibert made no secret about studying the tall warrior, his eyes narrowing into slits. “Ya found yerself a Xaela eh?” A sigh of relief manifested itself into a white puff of breath as paladin half turned towards Bellows and her two companions. At least she did not have to convince these two that she had not brought a Dravanian to their doorstep. “Aye. The woman is my friend, Miss Eglantine of Vylbrand. And the Au Ra… I just met him on the road. They are traveling together.” The paladin gave both the woman and the Xaela a pointed look, as if to beseech them to keep their silence for now. “Is that blood?” The Midlander sellsword pointed at Khadai’s tunic. His other hand remained ever still on the hilt of the blade. Roen grimaced. “It is. They ran into some trouble on the road.” She turned toward the gate. “You can listen in as I make my report to Ser Tournes.” Bellows gave her a long look as he prodded something out of his upper incisors with his tongue, deliberately holding his silence. “Alright,” he finally said, flicking a look to the Hellsguard. “Stay with ‘em eh, Oak? Show ‘em yer hospitality of the grand ol’ Dragonhead while I go with Deneith here.” He glanced over his shoulder first to the Midlander woman then the Au Ra. “Make sure he don’ run into any more trouble within the walls.” The paladin gave Edda a small nod in a subtle attempt at reassurance. Then she headed into the gates with Bellows, the Midlander sellsword shooting one more look of disapproval at the Xaela as he did so.

It looks lovely! I will definitely keep it in mind should I be looking for such a setting for RP. Thanks!

“Aye ser, that blizzard was somethin’ else. I couldn’t see Fenco standin’ within an ilm o’ my own knees.” “How is it that you and Fenco got lost together if you could not even see each other?” The conversation between Idristan Tournes and Hobard Blacke barely filtered through her senses. Roen sat at the table within Camp Dragonshead, her beef stew untouched and cold in front of her, a thick hunk of crumbling bread equally ignored beside it. She could feel Bellows studying her from the corner of his eyes, but the paladin did not care. She said nothing as Stray Oak’s hand hovered for a moment over her uneaten bread, before it was snatched up and away by the Roegadyn. She just stared absently at her once-steaming soup even as the knight-captain continued to inquire about the botched caravan escort in Coerthas Western Highlands many suns ago. “He’s exaggerating a bit,” the Lalafell seated across from her piped up in his nasally voice. “We thought we saw some suspicious activity on the road and thought we should investigate. Deneith went ahead with the caravan and we stayed behind.” “And then you were unable to catch up with the caravan until back at Falcon’s Nest?” The Elezen sounded skeptical. Fenco and Blacke exchanged a look and then both shrugged helplessly. The knight let out an exasperated sigh and turned to the paladin. “And you encountered a bandit on the road while they were gone, Deneith?” Roen’s blinked, dragging her attention back to the conversation at hand. She knitted her brows as she tried to work through the murk that was her memories. It had been only a sun since she had returned back to duty, since Ser Tournes had ordered her out of her self sequestration after her receipt of Nero’s parcel. She had not given the caravan incident a second thought, since it had been many suns before, even before Delial and Kage found her. With all that had happened, some lone bandit in the middle of a blizzard was the last thing that was on her mind. “I did, but our encounter was short,” she replied without meeting anyone’s eyes. “I wounded him in the chest and he knocked me out. I woke up shortly after and he was gone.” Idristan Tournes drummed his fingers against the wooden table, clearly not satisfied with the answers he was getting. But he pursued it no longer, instead rising to his feet and taking up his shield that had been set aside. “We have border patrol until the next moon,” he said in a tone that would brook no argument. He ignored a distant groan from Stray Oak. “A thankless job, but it has to be done. We will rotate in shifts, starting with Blacke, Fenco, and Deneith for tonight.” When the rest of the sellswords shuffled out, the knight-captain remained behind, crossing his arms and looming over Roen who still sat unmoving at the table. “I do not know what troubles you left behind, Deneith.” His voice was quiet, its usual severity absent. “Nor will I ask. But Halone’s icy glaciers cannot bury everything.” When the paladin did not answer nor even meet his eyes, the Elezen leaned over and placed something on the table next to her soup. It was two amethyst earrings set in filigrees of silver and gold. It snapped her attention back at him, eyes wide. “Where did you get this?” Idristan shook his head with a surly tug of his lips. “Do not forget the Forgotten Knight shares its doors with the residents of The Brume and the lowborns. The starved and the poor do not care who they steal from. If they can, they will.” His word held no contempt, despite his frown. “The Innkeeper found a youngster trying to make out of your room with a box and all the contents within, these earrings included. I’ve asked him to keep your box in safekeeping considering its contents...” he trailed off. Roen lifted the earrings gently as she brought it before her eyes. It jingled lightly hanging from her fingertips, before she closed her hand around it and rested it against her chest. The Elezen studied her a moment longer, before he reached into his breastplate, pulling out a thin silver chain. He unclasped it and laid it on the table in front of the paladin. “For things we want to keep close to our hearts,” he offered. “The pendant that used to hang from the chain is with a goldsmith to get it repaired. I had commissioned a better chain to go with it; it would be a shame to let this one go to waste.” The paladin stared at the offering and nodded absently. “Gratitude.” Idristan exhaled patiently and turned toward the door. “Perhaps the patrols will be good for you. There be naught but thoughts of how to stay warm and alive through the darkest of nights in Coerthas. When the Goddess rains Her wrath down upon thee, it is easy to forget thine own troubles.”

Roen’s eyes slowly narrowed as she listened to both of them. She had actually heard of these people--these Au Ra--but had never actually seen one of them in person. Heat rose to her cheeks in embarrassment that she had first thought the scaled man to be Dravanian, for apparently the same assumption was made by Blacke and Fenco as well. The thought that she shared anything in common with the two sellswords left a bitter taste in her mouth. But did they deserve this? Her eyes flicked to the spattered array of gore, and then back to Khadai. The paladin glanced past Edda to the collection of limbs and corpses, now having been gathered by the massive warrior. Both Khadai and Edda’s stories--at least when it came to the two mercenaries--were not hard to believe. Had the two sellswords been hunting an innocent race to collect their gil? She had never paid close attention to their offerings whenever they returned with their “proof” of dragon slaying, but if they were eager to attack a man without actually questioning him to ascertain his origins or motives… There were still facts that did not make complete sense, especially from Edda’s recounting of the events. Why did Edda think the Xaela was a cold-blooded killer initially? Were there other episodes of violence before or since their encounter? Was this Khadai prone to cutting to pieces every opponent that posed a threat to the man? Despite the fact that she was wrong about what he was and his intentions, Roen still held onto some measure of suspicion for the man. The brutality in his martial prowess was clear, and despite the fact that he answered her questions forthrightly--albeit not when she asked him but when she asked Edda--there was a severity to his gaze and words that made the paladin suspect that he had no reservations when it came to violence. Whether it was his intrinsic nature or the fact that he was surrounded on all sides by foreigners, Roen suspected that this Khadai would kill and dismember whoever they encountered next if he saw them as a threat. At least Edda believes he is not a cold-blooded killer, she tried to reassure herself. And yet, the two mercenaries met their end quickly enough without any input or intervention from the Hyur. And now the two were planning to head further into Ishgardian lands, where distrust of outsiders lingered like a plague. If she and the mercenaries all mistook the scaled warrior for Dravanian, how many more would do so as the two neared Camp Dragonhead? Roen’s expression darkened as she realized that she could not let them go on their own. She worried about Edda’s fate, traveling with someone who seemed to have penchant for violence. She also wondered how many bodies may be left in the two’s wake should they come across any other eager heretic hunters. Or even both Edda and Khadai ending up as one of the casualties themselves. Where the paladin had no care as to whether this Au Ra lived or died, she wanted to see Edda safe to Camp Dragonhead. But moreover, she had to be certain that Khadai would not pose a danger to everyone he came across. Perhaps in accompanying them, she could determine his true nature. If the Au Ra turned out to be a wanton killer, then at least she would be there to deal with him before he caused any more deaths. But if the Xaela turned out to be as Edda believed him to be... then perhaps the paladin could arrange for a new guide for him. Roen could not imagine that Edda was the best choice for a guide when it came to leading a foreigner through harsh lands filled with unsuspecting dangers. That brought forth another question as to why this arrangement was made in the first place, but the paladin tucked it away for another time. “What will you do?" Edda asked, her face set ever in that polite smile. "Will you come with us? Or will you not come with us?” “I will accompany you both to Camp Dragonhead.” Roen nodded to the woman, even though her words were slowed with a hint of reluctance. “That is where I need to make my report regarding those two.” She gestured vaguely to where the bodies were being buried. She did not elaborate on what the details the reports would entail. “My… apologies,” the paladin called out to the Xaela, although her voice had not softened with the sentiment. She still eyed him warily and her suspicion of him had not abated. “I mistook you for something you were not. But it would behoove you to not answer every threat with immediate violence, especially where you are now headed. Not many have seen or heard of your kind.” Not expecting any similar courtesy to be returned, Roen turned back to Edda without waiting for an answer from the Au Ra. “The road through Coerthas is not safe. You can use another sword by your side if you intend to travel on foot.” There was another pause as the paladin hesitated. There were other reasons why she did not want to part from Edda just yet. There were still questions regarding the welfare of the people she had left behind that a small part of her wanted to inquire of the noblewoman. Roen quickly dismissed those thoughts as well as she turned from the Hyur. “I will retrieve my mount,” was all she muttered as she began to exit the camp.

Roen was not amused. “I am certain that will go over very well when you are brought to trial,” she said wryly. The look she gave the scaled warrior was a withering glare. Such indifference even when surrounded by dead bodies. He does not show even a single hint of remorse. The paladin narrowed her eyes. She had come across such a scene before. The unintended jolt of that memory only served to spark a sense of smoldering resentment. The unlikely hope that this was indeed some misunderstanding was threatening to be shattered as soon as it was conceived. The paladin flicked a glance back to Edda with an exasperated sigh. “So your companion is a murderer.” She paused, leaving the consequences of such actions unsaid. She studied Edda’s face, as if to ascertain the Midlander’s motivation in all this. For all the times they had spoken to each other, Roen still could not say she truly knew Edda. And yet she would have never expected to find the Hyur under these circumstances. “What is he?” The paladin gestured toward the man. She did not bother to address him again; she had a better chance of getting straight answers from Edda. “Is he Dravanian? And… why are you here? Why were those men killed?” Her questions came quickly, like arrows loosed one after another. Where once she had looked upon Edda with warmth and cordiality, now there was an underlying feeling of distrust. What else do I not know about her?

There were too many questions, and the paladin did not know which to ask first. Roen stared at the noblewoman, dumbfounded. Even as she uttered her name, a part of her wondered if this was some kind of a trick of the mind. Perhaps she had dozed off momentarily on Goldwind’s back and this was a figment of her dream. Why else would Edda Eglantine, the daughter to a wealthy Noscean noble house be doing in a camp middle of nowhere surrounded by dismembered bodies? And standing passively next to a possible Dravanian killer, of all things? The possibility of Edda being held hostage by the warrior crossed her mind, but it was quickly dismissed when Roen noted the stern look Edda shot the man. Her hand had also been on his sword arm, as if to cease any actions he would have taken against the paladin. The quick look the two exchanged was not missed; these two unlikely pair were not strangers to each other, this much Roen could discern. But that did not put her mind at ease. “Roen,” Edda stepped forward with a slight smile. “It has been some time. What are you doing here?” The paladin stared incredulously at the woman and her casual inquiry. “I could ask you the same,” she replied warily, her eyes darting between the Midlander and the taller figure behind her. The massive male had not made any moves yet that hinted at aggression, though his bloody sword was still held at ready. Roen was not about to take her attention off of it. She too had not lowered her sword or shield, although she held the latter slightly off to the side when Edda approached. “You are surrounded by bloody corpses.” Roen motioned vaguely towards them with a flick of her head. “I was sent to find them; they work for the same Ishgardian knight that I serve under.” Her gaze turned pointedly back to the scaled warrior, suspicion clearly etched upon her face. “The Dravanian Horde ever encroaches upon Ishgard, so we are hunting dragonkin.” The paladin’s scrutiny lingered on him for a moment longer. A small part of her wanted this to be some mad misunderstanding--especially if these two knew each other, and Edda was somehow a part of whatever had happened here. Roen did not want to imagine the prim and proper noblewoman she had entrusted once upon a time with Gideon North’s fate would have any association with such gruesome violence. Roen narrowed her eyes on the dark swordsman, her tone sharp. “You killed them, did you not?”

The blood was everywhere. And bodies, and their severed limbs. Everywhere. Roen rounded the boulder, jaw clenched, hand tight on the hilt of her blade. Her eyes immediately found the most imposing figure within the camp. He stood tall like a man, but unlike any she had ever seen, he had dark ebony horns protruding from the sides of his face, and equally dark scales that lined his jaw and cheek. His eyes seemed unnaturally green, especially when set against the grey and reddish hue of his complexion. His frame struck a towering silhouette, standing fulms above any she had ever known. She spied the metal pauldron upon his shoulder and noted his battle-ready stance, as well as the blood-streaked greatsword in his hand. It was obvious he posed the greatest threat here. But that was not what made her tense up. Having a moment to spare--given that the warrior remained stock still even with his weapon drawn--Roen quickly scanned the scene at large. She could not help but notice the streaks of crimson that stained the icy ground beneath them, and beyond, the gruesome sight of severed body parts, unmistakably belonging to a Lalafell. The paladin then followed the appalling trail to spot another body, one that she recognized as the Highlander sellsword, laying faced down in a pool of dark blood. All the signs of death seemed to originate from the ominous figure standing at the center of the camp. It was then that Roen also noted that some of his features could resemble that of a dragonkin. The word Dravanian flitted across her mind. “We do not seek trouble,” he said, his voice gruff and low, like gravel sliding down a mountain side. Roen‘s nostrils flared, her eyes widening with disbelief. “Is that what you told them before you cut them down?” The paladin glared up at the figure to try and size him up. Her grip on her sword tightened in expectation for an inevitable conflict. “One does not murder people and avoid trouble.” It was then that the paladin noticed the second figure. Perhaps it was because she had been preoccupied with a potential Dravanian killer. Or maybe it was the grisly scene within the camp of mutilated corpses. But Roen had missed the slight figure of a woman standing behind the one wielding the greatsword. But when she did see her... it made the paladin freeze. The woman’s face, with her pale blonde hair and her green eyes, it was unmistakable. “....Edda…?”

“If they are not back in two bells, go find them. As eager as those two are for their payment, Blacke and Fenco will find ways to get paid for doing the minimal necessary.” Roen frowned as she recalled Ser Tournes’ orders, her mind drifting as she continued down the southwestern road leading away from the Observatorium. Goldwind’s pace had slowed to a steady walk, both the rider and the bird having slowed somewhat through the night’s falling temperatures. Their group had taken to nightly patrols for the past few suns--a duty no one envied--for the Dravanian Horde did not favor sun or stars when it came to roaming the frozen lands. The paladin tugged her cloak tight as she continued to look about, the approaching dawn finally allowing her to set her lantern aside in favor of what her naked eyes could see. Her dark fur-lined armor--a suit of mail Idristan had helped her obtain from an armorsmith in Ishgard--warded her from the cold better than her old plate-mail had, and for that she was silently grateful to the Elezen. But the night did not do any favors to her stiffened limbs and she shifted in her seat to loosen them up again. It had been many suns since the parcel had arrived at her doorstep. For two suns following the delivery, the paladin did not leave her room, nor had she said a word to anyone at all, isolating herself in the dark dingy quarters of the Forgotten Knight. It was on the third morning that Ser Tournes came knocking on her door, quietly but firmly giving her new orders for her next patrol route. There was no question or admonishment for her absence, only the expectation for her to resume her duties. And so Roen did. The paladin realized that nothing had changed but the depth of her regret. The world still remained as it was, a dark violent place, and every part of her heart still ached. But diving back into her duties served as an adequate anesthetic, and trying to carry them out in the dark of night preoccupied her well enough. But much to her chagrin, Roen also come to realize then that Ser Tournes had often grouped her with Blacke and Fenco, a questionable pair of mercenaries. A part of her wondered if she was there to simply keep the other two honest. It did not go unnoticed whenever they would slink off on their own, only to mysteriously return with their bounty--some vague evidence of a dragon kill, usually in the form of piecemeal body parts. The paladin suspected that the two self-proported “dragon hunters” were skirting their duties whenever possible, but she never cared enough to bring it up to Ser Tournes. Roen did notice the slight tug of displeasure on the Elezen knight’s features whenever the two returned from their assigned duties; she guessed he had already discerned their indolent natures. But Blacke and Fenco were still two willing sword arms, and those were oft in short supply; Ishgard always needed bodies to stand against the Dravanian Horde, so the two mercenaries were allowed to stay and continue to make their gil. As Roen approached the southern borders of Coerthas, the hint of dawn had begun to silhouette the mountain peaks beyond. She could see the vague outline of trees in the far distance, as snow gradually began to give way to frosted dirt and dark greenery. She was nearing the outskirts of the North Shroud. Her eyes narrowed and she let out a long-suffering exhale into the cold air. It would be Blacke and Fenco who would seek out any excuse for milder climes during their border patrol. She half expected them to be sitting around a fire, waiting for the arrival of morning. The scowl that was beginning to etch upon her face quickly turned to alarm, however, when she heard a distant yowl echo through the mountains. She knew Fenco's high pitched voice well enough to recognize the Lalafell's cry. Even as she spurred Goldwind onward into a full sprint, Roen heard that cry come to an abrupt end, and the deathly silence that soon fell warned her against charging in to a likely violent scene. The paladin pulled on her reins and guided her mount behind a large boulder, sliding off her bird as quietly as possible. With one tug, her cloak was tossed over the saddle as she took up her shield and unsheathed her blade, flexing her fingers to awaken her muscles. The woods had become hushed once more, and Roen guessed that either Blacke and Fenco had been subdued or they were already dead. I could run and get help. But she already knew she wouldn't go that route yet. Roen approached an outcropping, sheltered by stony crags on all sides but one. It was a suitable and secure place for a camp, and also where she had heard the yell originate. There was only one possible approach, and no nearby higher ground to take a look at who or what was within. But as she carefully advanced toward it, she began to hear a pair of voices--a deep low rumble that was most certainly male, and a quieter, muted one belonging to a female. Not beasts or monsters. The paladin frowned, but the tight grip on her sword did not loosen. Her eyes slowly narrowed. Perhaps these are the heretics Ser Tournes always spoke of. Or they could even bandits this far south. But now was not the time to be selective about choosing what battles to fight. It did not matter if the enemies were monsters or men. If they were the source of the violence, her course was determined. Her blade drawn and shield raised, Roen rounded the boulder.

Oddly enough, I've played more elves than humans throughout my MMO career, so I had fully intended to create an Elezen when I came to FFXIV. But like many others, the proportions kind of threw me off. (although I've since met many beautiful/handsome Elezens so...) And the character I wanted to write for is somewhat of a reincarnation of my D&D human paladin, so I decided to go with a Hyur instead. And the features and poses for a Midlander was a better fit for Roen's youth and naive outlook at the start.

Some RP screenshots! “He is gone, duckling. Gone and vanished and none would know where or why he has gone. I had hoped that he would have sought you out. But… well. I suppose not, hm?” “I left him in your care." “And you made a promise, did you not?” “….I could not keep that promise.” He held out his arm to her. “You need not enjoy it standing so far from me, Roen.” She glanced down at his proffered arm, before stepping up next to him without taking it. “I asked you for this afternoon, because… I wanted us to enjoy each other’s company without unease.” Nero shrugged, withdrawing his arms and folding them across his chest. “Consider your mission accomplished, then.“ "One from the desert hast traveled far into the North, the chill in the air is unkind."

Roen now wears a thin silver chain around her neck that has a pair of amethyst earrings set in elaborate filigrees of silver and gold hanging from it. It would jingling with movement but she keeps it mostly hidden under her armor and shirt. It reminds her of her first love and her greatest regret. She also has a few other things kept tucked away in a box and out of sight; it has two stuffed dolls, a white beret with a feather, sparring gloves, a book, water painting set, a raptorskin ring, and a strange instrument she does not know how to play.

"One handful per fulm of hair. Dye washes off after roughly one cycle. Lather in hands, grasp locks, wash gently. Blue would look good.” It was a mistake to step onto the ship. Roen had regretted the decision to follow Nero onto the Second Forte as soon as the anchor was hoisted and the canvas of the main sails went taut with the winds of the Rhotano Sea. The sound of lapping waves soothed her not, and the view of the land growing smaller in the distance weakened her at her knees. And yet she had followed the pirate on board after she came upon him preparing to leave Vesper Bay, as Daegsatz predicted he would when she could not find the smuggler at any of his safe houses.Their business was far from done, their alliances being just over a fortnight old. Especially after he kissed her a few suns ago; she could not just watch him leave. So despite the twist that came to her stomach at the thought, Roen agreed to accompany him as he prepared to return to the Second Forte. She was not about to let her recent ordeal with Crimson Mountain paralyze her with fear, even though she had silently vowed never to be stranded at sea ever again--not following that nightmare. But what was she to do? Let the pirate go? When he offered her his hand, she took it and climbed on board the ferry. The man she saw once she climbed onto the main deck of the Second Forte was no longer the jovial smuggler she had first met; now he was a pirate captain in every sense--a man who barked orders like a Maelstrom boatswain, sending his crew scrambling about the deck. But when the ship was finally well on its way to Limsa Lominsa, Nero seemed to look upon her with some measure of sympathy. He soon led her below the deck and away from the rest of the crew. He seemed to sense the paladin’s nervousness, despite the fact that she was trying her best to control her breathing and dismiss the pounding in her chest. He had given her a vial during the ferry ride for sea sickness, but it did little to quell the fluttering in her stomach. She was not about to show him that. Once they were in his quarters, he offered her a seat that she did not take. Her eyes went from him to the small porthole and the view of the sea. "Why did you seek me out, Roen? For my dashingly handsome looks, perhaps?" The pirate broke the silence with what seemed a jovial attempt to set her at ease. The smirk on his face had also returned. "I just... wanted to clear the air." "What about?" His facetious mask was almost a pleasant and familiar distraction now, within the confining walls of the rocking ship. Roen licked her lips, slightly hesitant. "About… what happened a few suns ago." Her lips twitched. "About you kissing me." That came out more hurried than she had intended. Nero kept the smirk on his face, raising an eyebrow. "And you are back for more, perhaps?" His tone was playful. "Unfortunately for you, we're in the middle of the Rhotano Sea. Running away is less viable of an option this time around." "I know,” the paladin said calmly. If he hoped to bait her, she refused to take it. “I ran. But what was my alternative?" She regarded him carefully, trying to see beyond his air of arrogance. "This is a game to you, aye?" The pirate stepped closer to her. "Dear Roen, you do not give yourself enough credit. You are not simply a game. The fact that I am enjoying myself does not mean it is trivial, no? What answer are you looking to get from me, Roen Deneith?" "I do not know,” she blurted out. “I know you not, but all I have said, all I have committed to, it is because of what I believe about you." Roen inhaled deeply, collecting herself. "But… it does not put me at ease when you..." "You are not at ease when I do this?" The smuggler stepped forward and pressed his lips on her again. It was not nearly as long as their first at Crescent Cove; this kiss was brief and quick. The paladin’s eyes widened, and this time she had a sense to step back. She exhaled and placed her palms against his chest, with a quick tap. "Stop that." Nero’s grin widened. "As you wish." "You have a way of catching me off guard, time and again.” Roen began to feel the heat rise to her cheeks despite the numerous times she told herself she would not be flustered again by this man. “And… I will admit you are good at--at what you do. You probably have had your share of kisses and women. But I.... I want us to work together. Perhaps even be friends. But if you keep doing that..." The smuggler tilted his head slightly. "...Then perhaps we may end up as more than friends?" he teased. Then he gestured, almost impatiently, as if the thought of kissing were a gnat. “It is irrelevant. If we are seen together, Natalie is likely to come over and pull my intestines out through my neck. Which is why I left and in a hurry. Your friends were… very insistent that I stay away from you." The mention of Natalie made her frown instantly. "What she thinks of us should have no bearing on this discussion. Natalie can go jump off a Noscean cliff for all I care. She has meddled in my life long enough." Nero spread his arms theatrically. "Ah, it is heartwarming to see you insist that nothing get between us. I understand." Without waiting for a response, he leaned in and placed his hand near her face, twirling a lock of her hair. "Though, I would be interested in seeing how you look in a ponytail." Roen let out a long exasperated breath. "You are clearly not listening to--" She was forced to pause. "A... a ponytail?" The pirate grinned, nodding. "I think you would look good in one. Have you considered growing out your hair? Perhaps have it coloured like I have." He brushed his own fiery orange forelocks. "An exotic colour. Blue, perhaps?" The paladin found herself absently tucked a lock away, even as he withdrew his hand. "I used to have--" She stopped, giving him a straight face look. "Mister Lazarov," she said his surname in a chiding tone, both words firmly spoken. "You would rather our emotions not cloud the circumstances of our alliance or interfere with our goal. I understand." He inclined his head in what seemed a mockery of deference. "Should there come a time where you must choose between myself and success, I pray you will know which choice I would have you make." Nero still had a smirk on his face and his tone was still light, despite his sober words. The gravity of his sentiment made her pause, and a part of her was glad he was no longer teasing her. This push and pull between them... was this not why she had sought him out? She settled her thoughts and nodded with a knitted brow. "Aye. I know what your choice would be as well. But..." She glanced back up at him, her voice soft. "I also think that you and I... we have had nothing but arguments since we met. Perhaps we should change that." "And what an interesting run it has been, no? I have not had such fun in intellectual sparring since dear paps disappeared. You are resolute in your bright ideals as I am relentless in my tarnished ones. It would make for a good story." Roen regarded him thoughtfully. "Perhaps if we can find a compromise, Ul'dah will benefit all the more for it." She straightened, inhaling deeply. "Once we get to Limsa... give me an afternoon." "Ah, an afternoon where you want me all to yourself, I take it?" The arrogant smirk remained plastered on his face. The paladin narrowed her eyes on him with a hint of amusement. "Something like that." "And to what do I owe the pleasure of an afternoon date with the lovely Miss Deneith, Free Paladin of Ul'dah?” The pirate arched a daring brow at her. “Or is it a surprise?" "You will just have to find out." Her expression eased into a slight smile. Nero answered with a smile of his own, a new twinkle in his eye. "As you wish.” He lightly brushed her cheek as he passed her by. She only wrinkled her nose at the touch but did not draw away. As she watched him exit the Captain’s quarters to make his way back up to the deck, she realized that she had forgotten about the ocean, the ship’s walls closing in, and the swaying of the ground beneath her feet. Her mind was a little bit more at ease. Roen told herself that it was the potion that was beginning to settle her stomach. It certainly could not be anything else. “Blue would look good.” [align=center]~[/align] “Right! No, right, you beast!” That was the first time--if ever--that Roen thought the smuggler actually sounded panicked. Nero had a head start on her as he took off in a full sprint on his chocobo down the hill, but the paladin was starting to close the distance between them as she spurred Goldwind into a gallop. That was when she spotted Nero’s mount suddenly veering off left and the rider’s elbows were raised to his side, clearly demonstrating his struggle to control his bird’s heading. Roen’s grin soon turned into a grimace as Nero and the bird looked to run into a giant boulder, but it was narrowly dodged, the bird skidding around it despite the confusing directions being given by its inexperienced rider. Seeing him still bouncing upright on his saddle, Roen grinned again as she rode past him. “How is your backside?” she called out over her shoulder. “Not nearly as shapely as yours, my dear!” He shouted back, undaunted. She licked her lips in anticipation and lowered herself near the neck of her bird. With a gentle kick to the hindquarter, she and Goldwind took to the next downhill with abandon. “Agh!” The smuggler’s cry this time was indeed panic. “Too fast, too fast! Halt! Stop! Cease thine movement!” With a tightening of her legs and a firm hold on the reins, she brought Goldwind to a skidding stop at the bottom of the hill just overlooking the cliff. She placed her bird well away from the edge, but in between Nero and the precipice to allow for him to come to a safe stop. It was not meant to be. The smuggler was desperately hanging onto his mount’s neck as they came sprinting down the hill. Goldwind gave an alarmed kwark with a flap of his wings, to which Nero’s bird responded with a sharp skid. This sent its unfortunate rider flipping head beneath heels off his mount, with impeccable comedic timing. Roen winced at the landing. Dust rose into the early afternoon Noscean sky. The pirate rubbed his back as he sat up. "Right, well, I told you not to laugh. But by all mean, please do it anyway. I know you want to." He raised his hand to stop her when she dismounted and approached. “No. Do not magnify my shame any more than it already has been, woman! Allow me to sit with some dignity!” The paladin just shook her head with an amused smile, crossing her arms instead. “I believe the bird they gave me was possibly drunk.” Nero grunted as he rose to his feet. “There should be a law against that.” “I think your bird is in heat,” Roen glanced over to the two chocobos, watching Goldwind as he rubbed his head against the other one’s feathery neck. “They seem playful.” Nero placed the back of his hand on his forehead in feigned shock. "Dear Roen, coming on to me so strong, and so soon? Why, we hardly know each other!" He followed her gaze and shrugged. "Well, I suppose the bird tried." He approached his chocobo and scratched it under its chin. "Still think you may be drunk," he muttered to the bird. Roen approached Goldwind and gave him a pat on the neck to send him off to graze. Nero’s bird soon followed. “I think your mount did just fine." She gave a smirk over her shoulder to the smuggler. "Despite the rider." Nero rolled his eyes. "Please forestall your judgment for now. Chocobos are not my favored element." He turned towards the view of the sea and let out a sigh. "This is far more my preference." The paladin inhaled deeply of the sea air. "I cannot say I blame you. The view is wondrous." The pirate glanced at her, a carefree grin on his face. He held out his arm to her. "You need not enjoy it standing so far from me, Roen." She glanced down at his proffered arm, before stepping up next to him without taking it. "I asked you for this afternoon, because… I wanted us to enjoy each other's company without unease." Nero shrugged, withdrawing his arms and folding them across his chest. “Consider your mission accomplished, then." A pregnant pause filled the silence before they broke it at the same time. “Nero, you are much more better at this than I. But--” “Where did you learn to ride?” Roen made a face and glanced away while Nero coughed. “Ah, you first,” he said quickly. "When I was young,” the paladin pressed her lips together to chase away a sheepish smile. “I learned to ride early. It was one of the first things my mother taught me." "Chocobos in Garlemald? Were they perhaps magitek chocobos?" A hint of amusement laced his tone. He lowered himself to the ground, leaning one hand against the soft grass of the cliff. “They were available.” Roen joined him, tucking her legs to her chest as she took a seat. A gentle sea breeze began to waft past them. “Imports of course. My mother held all sorts of fascination with things that were foreign in nature." She looked back out into the oceanic horizon again, her mood growing wistful. "I suppose that bode well for me, since I was not born of the Empire either. She loved many things, Imperial or not." “She sounds like a very compassionate woman." "What little I remember of her. And after she passed, riding was one way I could hold onto some of those memories." "Then for what it's worth, I am glad that at least something exists to grant you good memories of her." Roen glanced down to the ground, her fingers playing idly with a blade of grass. Such relaxed conversations were rare between them, so she was determined to enjoy it. “Racing aside, this is nice. That we can get to know each other little better, away from talks of political upheaval and past tragedies.” When he looked back to her with an equally easy expression, she bit her lower lip. “Let us play a game of sharing a secret.” “Oh?” Nero arched a brow. “Do tell.” The paladin shrugged. “It is something I used to do in my youth to break the ice. Tell me something that you would never want your father to find out. Should you find him on the morrow, is there anything you would be mortified for him to discover?” The smuggler turned away with a grimace. "Well… he'd probably be pretty annoyed that I've… um.." He scratched his head. “He... before I left to study thaumaturgy, he said I should… uh...." his cheeks turned ruddy as he coughed. "...get married." Roen raised both eyebrows. "I wouldn't want to hear his tirade when he found out I've still failed to do that much for him." "Married?” The paladin eyed him oddly. “I… I never thought your pirate stepfather was so... traditional!" Nero shrugged, wringing his fingers together. "I mean, even if not by blood, he was technically my father… he started getting on in years. I think he was married in the past, so… I suppose he wanted the same for me? Or he simply wanted grandkids to boss around. Make a pirate dynasty or something." Roen chuckled quietly behind a curled hand. "And why did you not?" He blew a breath out his nose. "Never found the right woman. I've been with women before, sure, but they were... dalliances. Or crazy." He seemed to consider something for a moment, then added, "Or both." He shrugged. "I'm not terribly interested in tying myself down either. At least not yet. Honestly, could you imagine me a married man, settling down in some cottage somewhere, living out my days in peace? I think Halone would throw her shield at me if she found out." "I honestly cannot. Nay." She was trying her best to look sympathetic rather than amused. The pirate flashed a playful glare at her. "You are enjoying this far too much. Your turn, then. What wouldn't you want your parents to find out?" She bit her lip, her chuckle giving way to a wince. "My mother would be appalled that I am wielding a sword. Or wearing armor. Or trained in the arms." She wrinkled her nose. "She was a loving mother…. but a very noble, proper, and gentle woman." "I suppose she wanted you dressed up in gowns and petticoats, practising your curtsy for noble suitors?" "Had she been alive, I think I would have attended many balls. My life would have been full of courtships and..." she said dryly. “...proposals of marriage." She nodded to the man. "Those formal lessons began early." Nero tilted his head in interest. "Care to demonstrate?" When she canted her head questioningly, he elaborated. "Whatever your noble mother taught you about nobility. Such as the aforementioned curtsy." Roen pursed her lips, hesitating, then she straightened and rose, dusting herself off. "My mother was a good teacher," she said proudly. "I took her lessons to heart." She stepped back from him and drew herself up, lifting her chin, very noble like. Her hand moved smoothly as if floating in water, and she lowered herself ever gracefully into a deep curtsy. “How do you do, Mister Lazarov,” she said with a slight accent. “I am ever pleased to make your acquaintance.” She was rewarded with applause and a smile from the smuggler. "A shame you never did become a proper noblewoman. I would have paid money to see your potential suitors scramble for your hand in marriage." Roen tucked a stray hair behind her ear and sat down again. "I think I prefer the ways of… what do Eorzeans call it, an 'adventurer.' The paths of paladinhood. Much like you, I cannot see myself settled in a house to live out my days." "Heh. Perhaps that will change in our twilight years." “Perhaps,” she mused. “I am in no hurry to get into petticoats. I am never sure why such things are so popular, both north and south of the border!” "It was meant to… exaggerate one's form, I believe," Nero's hazy response was tinged with some awkwardness. "Not that you'd have trouble in that department," he flashed a smirk at the paladin. Roen made a face. This was not the first time he had remarked upon her clothing whenever she was out of her armor. She tugged at her loose tunic absently. "Does my manner of dress really seem that ostentatious to you? I was just going by the advice of Yellow Moon in the Weaver's Guild. She seemed to know what she was talking about." There were doubts leaking into her words. The smuggled grinned. "No… well, perhaps. You present the image of a lady knight. Any deficiency in modesty seems… out of character. If you have any doubts, however, be assured that I do enjoy what I see." His tone was daring even though he glanced away again. "I suppose I am still trying to figure out who I am. No longer a Sworn, learning what it is to be a paladin, an ex-Garlean..." "Why does it matter? Why can you not simply be Roen Deneith, a woman who believes in what is right?" "That is at least one thing I am sure of, my beliefs." Roen smiled, then drew in a breath. “One thing I am not sure about is..." She peered up at him. "What we are. Are we friends?" She was met with a look of genuine surprise from the pirate. He glanced away. "I… don't know." Roen took the opportunity to study him carefully; she was almost expecting the charming rogue to make a return. A part of her was relieved that he did not put that mask back on. "I honestly don't know where I stand with you, Roen." "Let us be honest then." Her voice had softened, even the sound of the waves seemed quieter. "Where do I stand with you, Nero?" "I don't know. I don't..." He sounded as unsure as she had ever heard him. "I've… never known someone like you. Someone who did not expect something in return. Someone who did not want some form of compensation." He glanced back at her, his eyes narrowed slightly. "I don't think I've even decided whether or not I fully believe your selflessness." That, oddly, seemed the gravest truth from him yet. She just regarded him without judgement. "That is for you to decide. I have already asked you the one thing I truly wanted." She glanced back down to her hand, where she began to absently play with the blade of grass again. "I am… not entirely selfless. I do want things. But… I think I often wrestle with what I want, and what I want to see for others." "Then what is it you want from me? I know you want me to be better, but that is something you want me to become. What is it you want from me?" "I… I am… not sure." Her voice had lowered to a whisper. “I am not good at this. This." She gestured between them. "I have never… and you have but..." She was struggling with her words. Why was this so difficult to say? "I know how to protect people and defend their lives and I know what is right and what is wrong. But this. It is… not right or wrong. It is just..." It was then that Nero reached his arm out, pulling her closer to him. "Then let me help you decide… if you will have me." His face was now dangerously close to hers. She could feel his breath upon her cheeks. Roen swallowed, her own breaths coming quick but shallow. Her eyes darted between his, studying the icy blue gaze. She then looked to his nose, following its course to his lips. Before she knew it, she leaned in and placed her lips against his. It was a tentative touch, a light brush. Nero pulled his head back from her momentarily, his eyes blinking in surprise. But then he leaned forward again and returned with another kiss, this one much more aggressive than her own. The motion repeated a few more times, where he would release his hold over her, only to kiss her again with equal parts force and gentleness. It was a dance, an intimate waltz that seemed to simultaneously last forever and yet not long enough. Their sparking passion was far too quickly interrupted by a crackle in Nero's ear. The pirate pulled his head away from hers, though his hand remained upon hers, where they had somehow become entwined together upon the soft grass. "I believe… I may have missed an appointment," he said breathlessly, allowing his lips to meet hers again ever so briefly. It took another breath to register his words, her cheeks bright red. "An... an appointment?" The smuggler kissed her again. "I did not expect our meeting to go on for as long as it did." She smiled warmly, no longer caring about the flush to her face. "Ah, I did not expect... that is..." She tucked a stray lock behind her ear, trying to suppress a smile. Too late for modesty but she tried anyways. "This was not what I had planned." "It is best when it is unexpected," he smirked at her, caressing her face. "Trust me on that.” His hand lingered for a moment longer. "I'd best not keep my clients waiting. Mayhaps we can continue this on the morrow, if it pleases you, my lady Deneith." There was a lingering sense of regret as he slowly released her hand and rose. "It... it would." Roen swallowed as she rose with him. "Aye." He gave her a slight nod, with one last parting kiss on her cheek. "Then we will meet later." The paladin watched him leave, this time taking his chocobo in a slow walk. She cupped her cheeks with her hands to find them burning, but she did not care. Her smile would not abate. She broke out into a light laughter when Goldwind came next to her with a quiet coo, and rubbed his beak against her hair. [align=center]~[/align] “Sewing is hard. One of the buttons may come off.” A droplet of moisture. Then another upon the bronze buttons that stared up at her, its round yellow face made of felt stained with tears. Her thumb trembled as the paladin traced the seams, every last imperfection sewn in with care and determination. Confidence hampered by frustration, dissatisfaction despite the earnest intentions… that was who he was, was it not? This very thing nestled within her hands, staring back up at her… “I thought I wanted you to join my side.” She had told herself that she had been a fool to believe that he wanted to be a better man. That the hope she held for him was naught but her own imagination. His promises were words of convenience, a rope thrown to a drowning person with the intent to lure them in. Their confessed feelings for each other had been birthed out of pure loneliness in a sea of darkness. “But what I wanted was to be able to go to yours.” She had promised no more tears, that she was done with sadness. But as she stared at his last confession to her, gone from her mind were their last conversation at Aleport--angry, indignant words of accusation. All that she could remember was the laughter and the kisses they shared. She missed his caress upon her cheek, his jovial mask, and his snarky retorts. And she missed those rare glimpses of genuine compassion... and even the doubts and the exhaustion that weighed him so. Roen held the doll tightly to her chest as sobs rose, and allowed herself to grieve for the death of the man she had loved.

Can you just write up a wiki for Brynn please? (creating a brand new wiki for alts is haaaaaaaard)

"What did he do to you?" Roen angrily poked at the coals, sending a flurry of embers and ash scattering to the winds. She replaced the metal grid above the brazier without care, the iron hinges clanking in protest at the harsh treatment. The paladin spun away from the cylindrical grill, a sharp glance given into the blizzard that had begun to whirl about the campsite. Delial Grimsong and Kage Kiryuu had long gone, but their footsteps were still visible in the snow from where they had left her; their words had left their own impression upon the paladin. Roen did not know how they found her. The paladin had volunteered to watch the campsite just south of Greytail Falls, knowing it would give her the solitude she wanted. The group she worked with under Ser Tournes left her alone for the most part, though Bellows had been asking more questions of her lately. She did not care to talk about herself, nor did she even want to get to know any of the other mercenaries she was working with. Despite being afforded a room at the Forgotten Knight, Roen rarely stayed there for long, only returning to make certain the kitten was being fed and taken care of. She had to yet to even give the fat little thing a name. The paladin sat back down on the stool next to the fire, running her hands through her frost licked hair. She mulled over the words that were exchanged between herself, Kage, and Delial, thoughts awhirl like the chaotic spin of snowflakes tossed by the Coerthas winds. They were not a welcomed sight when they approached: the tall dark Highlander and the smallest of the Lalafell that Roen would ever know. The former rarely came bearing good news, and the latter… The latter the paladin had not seen in over a cycle. When I last saw Kage, Natalie had been alive, Roen thought with a shake of her head. At first Roen had just frozen in place, staring at them in shock. She had never expected to find those two--in Coerthas, of all places--or together, for that matter. But together they had come, in search of her, and bearing ill tidings about Gharen, her brother. “He is gone, duckling.” Delial relayed the news. Kage remained somewhat timid; the Lalafell was just watching her while the Highlander spoke in her usual gruff tone. “Gone and vanished and none would know where or why he has gone. I had hoped that he would have sought you out. But… well. I suppose not, hm?” Roen winced. Last time she and Delial had spoken was about Gharen; Delial had beseeched her to seek him out, for he had habitually begun to fall into dark moods as the siblings had grown further apart. Roen had promised Delial that she would speak to him after her ordeal with Nero was done. But that was back when she thought that she would simply find the smuggler and bring him back to Ul’dah to face justice for his crimes. Such was not to be. “I left him in your care,” the paladin accused the Highlander. “And you made a promise, did you not?” The Highlander retorted back. “....I could not keep that promise.” The paladin fought the sudden constriction in her throat. Delial crossed her arms with a displeased look on her face. “The Sergeant relayed your message to me that you were fine. But honestly, I was quite unsure if he believed it himself. Drifting about Coerthas after a spat with your love, fighting dragons if what I have heard is true. Now, I have a mind for violence now and again, but even I must wonder if that might qualify as being 'fine'." Roen instantly shot her a glare. "Is that why you are here? To pass judgement on what I choose to do? Is that not what you do? You had plenty to say when I was trying to change Ul'dah. You had plenty to say when I awaited judgement for being a spy. Matter of fact, you had plenty to say when we first met, but that was the only time you whispered honey in my ear." The paladin found her ire rising quickly, vitriol spilling from her tongue. “Even after all that you have done, I asked you to look after him. And now that he is gone, you come here to pass judgement on me? You are not welcomed here. Do not stand there and speak of things you know nothing of.” There was a smoldering frown on Delial’s face that barely changed when she barked out a laugh. "Plenty to say, mayhap, to a girl with not the wit to heed me when it mattered. Let it not be said that I, at least, have fled my obligations. I would not be here were it not for him." Kage raised his hands, interrupting both the women. "I-I'm not here to judge! But Roen! Dragons! I had to fight them helping Melkire and it's... well..." The look he gave her was one of deep concern. "You don’t look fine to me, Roen. Somethin’s happened over the cycle since I’ve seen you. But..." The Lalafell's voice softened. "I'm still happy to see you after all this time. I wish I was able to support you before." His words of sympathy only made Roen harden further. She was determined not to be moved. The paladin turned from him to scowl at Delial. “What do you want from me?” "Eyes and ears, of course.” Delial shrugged, as if exasperated. “Yourself, your Huntress friend ... These are the people he was meant to see before he vanished. I have found little and less of him, much less you. But even Ser Crofte had reason to think there may be something foul stemming from nearby Ishgard." She paused, her expression darkening. "Banurein. And if Banurein is indeed afoot, then I imagine this disappearance is indeed not a matter of choice." That name should have moved her. Banurein was the woman Roen had only heard about, the woman that plagued her brother’s nightmares, and the same woman who was the very reason that Roen began to investigate Taeros in the first place. It was that investigation that led her to follow the smuggler that was suspected to work for the Monetarist... Roen did not want to think on those memories. She had come to Coerthas looking to bury them and to find a new path, and yet she was constantly being reminded of what had passed before and what she had left behind. The two standing before her and even the political state of Ishgard itself were just yet another reminder of what she wanted to forget. She was tired of questioning the choices she had made, of what could have been. She did not want anything to do with Banurein. Nor Delial. Nor Kage. Nor anyone. “I will ask Kiht to aid you,” she offered coldly after a pause. A long white breath was released through the Highlander’s nose as she studied the paladin. “And what of you?” Roen no longer looked to either of them. She only stared at the flames. "I will keep my eyes and ears open." She heard her own voice, and it was without emotion. A part of her wondered if she was relieved or shocked. This was her brother’s fate they were speaking of. And yet, the paladin took comfort in the cold numbness that quelled any stirring within. “I am no tracker." "I suppose not, but that is not the whole of what I ask.” Delial glanced down at the Lalafell. “Mayhap Kage might be better in your company than mine. I am a tiresome creature, I know." Another scowl twisted the paladin’s face instantly. "Setting a sitter on me? Still worried, aye? Worried about the fate of poor Roen Deneith. When will she end up in trouble yet again?" Her voice had taken a cynical turn. "I do not need anyone to stay with me, travel with me, or watch over me." She shot a glare to both of them. "I do not need you." "Spare us," Delial sighed. "Ever a poor liar, duckling, but it matters not. We will need you." Kage looked taken back. "You may not need anyone Roen, but you are needed by your friends." Roen turned away from them both, a deep frown etching her face. "I... I have nothing to give you. Understand?" She looked over her shoulder to them both, without meeting their eyes. "I have nothing to give. I am tired of caring. Of trying." It was a lie, but it was one she becoming more comfortable with. "I don't want you to force yourself to give anything.” Kage blurted out, his voice shaking with disbelief. “I don't expect you to give me anything." “Then leave." Roen sharpened her words even as she kept her back to them. "I will send a missive when I hear anything about Gharen." The paladin heard the defeat in Kage’s voice. "I'll leave Roen... but I'll be at the Forgotten Knight if'n you ever need me, you need but ask and I will come." From the corner of her eyes, she could see the Lalafell trudging away. But Delial remained where she stood for a moment longer, unmoved by her words. "What did he do to you?" Roen could not answer. She did not want to answer. For her to even ponder a response would open up the wounds that had frozen closed since her arrival. They were no longer raw--they were just numb. She had deadened them with a resolve to kill monsters, and she had buried the sadness with resentment instead. It was easy to blame the smuggler for her broken heart and for her shattered ideals. She had been a fool to believe in the man, and the condemnation she held for him as well as her own naivete withered away what emotions that would only bring despair. The paladin clenched her fist tight by her side. She did not want to care, nor did she want to feel any stirrings of sorrow. So she refused to. “Leave,” Roen said once more without turning around. And so Delial left. Their footprints were no longer visible upon the snow as Roen absently stared out into the blizzard. The bitter chill bothered her no longer, nor the howling winds that constantly wailed in the distance. They were becoming familiar companions to her solitude. Roen sat there for a long time, trying to convince herself it was better this way.

“That’s one fat kitten.” Stray Oak poked one thick finger at the white round ball of fur, and the feline rolled onto its side. It was so fat its small stubby feet were dangling from its full belly. The kitten mewled quietly as it pawed at his finger, and the mercenary could swear it smiled. “What’s he eatin’ anyways?” Heibert asked. The Midlander sellsword was leaning against the bar of the Forgotten Knight, one crooked elbow propped up next to the ledger that was open on the counter. He had a few hunting bills laid out and was waiting on the old man Ardolain to appear. The small common room was pretty vacant for the early afternoon, of both patrons and chairs. “There be plenty of table scraps, even in a dump like this.” The Hellsguard remained squatting over the small calico kitten, rolling the little creature back and forth like a miniature log. He was rewarded with happy purrs. The Roegadyn grinned for an instant, then coughed and furrowed his brow instead. “You mean to tell me that the little fat runt can beat a hungry rodent to a piece of breadcrumb?” The Midlander cocked a skeptical brow. Oak eyed the kitten that was still rolling around on its back. “Maybe the little thing is quick. Uh… despite its uh... “ “Girth?” Heibert snorted. “The fact that its belly almost prevents its feet from touching the ground? Or that it shouldn’t be possible for them four little paws to carry it anywhere considerin’ the mass-to-limb ratio? That thing arrived mere fortnight ago and already it’s grown twice in size. All in width.” Oak gave the Hyur a wry look, letting the kitten gnaw at the end of his callused finger. “How else ya goin’ ta explain it? It’s not like The Brume has food to spare. And the captain don’t allow for pets on the road.” Heibert crossed one foot over the other in a lounging pose, his eyes going to the stairs leading up to the entrance. The old Elezen had yet to make an appearance. “I bet the ol’ man Ardolain sneaks it table scraps while we’re gone. Or Deneith is actually feeding the thing. Who knows with that strange woman?” “What’s so strange about feeding yer pet?” “She keeps to herself, don’t talk much, and never gave me more than two words in response to anything.” The Midlander shrugged. “The woman’s like stone. Not a smile or even barely a glance. But she gets gifts like it’s Starlight. First that shield outta nowhere, then this kitten. Something’s off about her.” It was Oak’s turn to snort. “There’s not a conspiracy behind everything, Bellows.” The broad shoulders of the Hellsguard rose and fell in an idle shrug. “Sides, captain seems ta think she’s worth somethin’, lettin’ her keep the cat here and all. Even asked for the innkeeper ta keep an eye on ‘im while we’re on the road.” “Yeah, notice that? Outta all of us, the captain took her to the near riot.” The Hyur sucked at his teeth, his lips curling downward in annoyance. “As if you’d rather gone ta face an angry mob rather than hunt down some marks eh?” The Roegadyn jutted his chin towards the bar. “You’re here just like me, ta make some gil from fancy nobles who don’t want ta get their delicate petticoats bloody. I ain’t lookin’ ta figure out the whys and the hows as long as I get paid. ‘Sides, what you care about Ishgard politics anyroad?” “I don’t.” Heibert rolled his eyes. “But I need to know who I’m fightin’ with. I need to be able to trust that someone’s watching my back.” The Roegadyn let out a loud wheezy exhale and plucked his fingers from the kitten’s grasp to wag it at the Midlander. “I’ve seen Deneith heal wounded soldiers. She’s one of them paladins, and they be good ta have at yer side in a clutch.” “Did you not notice the Ul’dah banner on her bird? You heard the rumors coming from the Jewel. What if she’s mixed up in alla that?” Stray Oak cocked his head and plopped unceremoniously onto his rump, taking a seat on the wooden floor next to a table. He crossed his arms and gave Heibert a long straight faced stare. “You’ve been thinkin’ on this I reckon.” “I just notice things that you don’t, Oak.” The Midlander shrugged. “Did you ever see Deneith use that shield that got delivered? It sits by her pack but she never carries it out onto the field. I wager if I were to steal it away, she’d notice though. It’s got sentimental value. Just like that cat she’s allergic to.” The Roegadyn scratched his head. “How you know that?” “Because she sneezes and rubs at her nose whenever she’s around it, but she keeps ‘im anyway, even letting it onto her bed while she sleeps.” Heibert tapped his temple with a finger. “I notice these things, you big oaf. So whoever sent it must mean somebody. There’s a mystery there and I mean ta solve it.” “You don’t watch me while I sleep do ya?” Stray Oak gave him the crazy eye. That gave a pause to the Hyur’s speculations for a moment as his cheeks grew a ruddy complexion. He gave a long narrow-eyed stare back at the Roegadyn, and did not deign to even formulate a response. He shook his head as if to dismiss his annoyance before starting again. “I am tellin’ ya, Oak. She’s hiding something or--” He stopped abruptly, both brows raised. It was the perplexed look on the Midlander’s face that also made Oak pause. “What?” “Well, I’ll be.” Heibert chuckled. “I guess you’re right. First time for everything.” Stray Oak followed the sellsword’s gaze and turned back toward where he had left the kitten on the tavern floor. There he saw the feline ball of fur now with a small mouse in its grasp and a piece of cheese in his mouth. The kitten looked to be playing with the creature more than anything else, despite the rodent’s desperate squirming to try and get out of the clawed grasp. The Roegadyn stared at it a bit longer in disbelief, watching the cat play with the mouse as it was playing with his finger earlier. “Huh.” He grunted, then a slow grin spread across his face. “See, I told you--” The doors to the Forgotten Knight swung open with some urgency, enough to draw the gaze of both the mercenaries towards the stairs. Idristan Tournes stood at the entrance, his long face etched with grim intent. His eyes scanned the room quickly before they narrowed in on the two sellswords. “Where is Blacke, Deneith, and Fenco?” Tournes barked. “Still north of Falcon’s Nest, ser.” Stray Oak lumbered back to his feet, straightening in attention. “They were looking to the last of the caravans from The Convictory.” “There was a heavy blizzard coming in so they might be delayed,” Heibert chimed in, gathering his hunt bills on the counter and stuffing it back into his pocket. The knight-captain regarded the cat on the floor for a moment before turning sharply on his heel. “They’ve not checked in for bells. Let us go make certain they have not found unwanted trouble.” The Elezen exited the inn without looking back. Stray Oak began to follow Heibert towards the stairs but paused halfway and turned back to the table he was squatting next to. He reached into his belt pouch and withdrew a small piece of dried meat and set it on the ground next to the calico kitten, who immediately tossed the mouse aside and pounced on the morsel. The Roegadyn grinned and scratched the happy feline behind the ear until a bellowing call from the Midlander made him bolt up and hurry out of the tavern.

Welcome to both of you! Yay more quality people for mods! :thumbsup:

Suuuuriiiii~ Welcome back!

Ishgard. All the paintings and renderings she had seen of the place as a child did not do the majestic architecture justice. Roen stood before the impressive structure that was The Vault of the Holy See, awed by its towering columns topped with golden spires, their pointed peaks reaching for the heavens. She could not help but wonder if such an august presence had a hand in inspiring reverence in those who looked upon it. Prayers to Halone were often heard upon the lips of those she had passed, and seminarians in their black and red cassocks milled about near the entrance to the Saint Reymanaud Cathedral. Roen drank in the details of the place as she followed closely behind Idristan, the knight-captain’s long stride quickened with purpose as he strode through the streets of Ishgard. He had been called back to the city proper in light of the news of a possible insurrection in the making. Despite the paladin’s reluctance to become involved in any matters outside of dealing with bloodthirsty scalekin, the knight had ordered her to accompany him back to the city-state. “You are still a stranger to our land and our ways,” Idristan had said. “And yet you deserve to see for yourself what it is that you and I would lay down our lives to defend.” His tone would brook no argument, but there was a hint of an entreaty behind his gaze. Though he would never admit it, Roen would have guessed that perhaps the Elezen wanted her to understand and accept the scene that she had witnessed at Witchdrop. They had never spoken of it again; Roen had decided that such things were not her affair, that she had not come to Coerthas seeking to change how things were. And yet here she was, accompanying a knight to stop a possible revolution amongst the citizenry of Ishgard. Roen’s lungs tightened with something akin to dread. A few glances were spared her way, her armor and equipment clearly marking her as a stranger, perhaps an adventurer within the city. Others dressed in mishmash of armor were scattered about, but most were merchants or nobles, all dressed in their furred coats and robes. “Be on guard, Deneith,” Idristan drew her attention forth as the streets began to descend into the lower portions of the city. “This is The Brume.” Her commanding officer had mentioned the situation briefly as they had made their trek back to Ishgard, but as Roen looked about this new district, she could not deny how much it reminded her of Pearl Lane. It was the broken underbelly of an otherwise beautiful and magnificent city-state. A stark contrast from the detailed designs of lancet windows and ornately carved finials that decorated the the buildings of worship, The Brume was a collection of unkempt alleys and broken down corners of buildings. Piles of cracked stone and broken beams laid strewn about, and damaged walls and buildings seemed to be barely held together by wooden scaffoldings. An Elezen with dirty bandages wrapped around his head laid on the ground near one of the ruined buildings, his short and ragged breaths visible as short puffs in the frigid air. Two women were bent over him, but they held naught but pity on their faces. Beyond that scene further into a darker pocket of a crumbling house was another man on the ground, also looking sickly. Roen’s eyes did not stay on any one of them for long. There were too many. Children huddled near a small fire while another man was raising both his hands to the sky as if to beseech the gods for aid or warmth. She strode past them all wordlessly and without slowing down, Idristan’s own pace quickening as he neared a gathering ahead. “Ser Marat,” Idristan called out a greeting to a group of knights. They had formed a barrier at the end of the street, the tip of their pointed shields planted into the cobblestone below. Their weapons remained at their sides but every now and then one knight would glance apprehensively to another and they would shift their hands ever so slightly to be closer to the hilt of their swords. One of the knights turned in response to Idristan's call and slid his helm upwards, answering with a sharp nod of his own. “Situation report?” “Ser Tournes, good to see you back.” Ser Marat glanced between the knight and the paladin before turning his gaze to the group of people that had begun to gather closer towards the end of the street. “Unhappy peasants have gathered to show their discontent. There were rumors of this gathering for many suns, and many feared that it may turn violent.” Roen glanced past the temple knights, all armored head to toe in sturdy, well-crafted chainmail, shield and swords at the ready, to the press of people that were milling about. They were dressed in mostly layers of tattered woolen clothing, none of the furred coats were seen here. There were young and old, men and women, Elezen and Hyur alike. Many of them looked gaunt, their cheeks somewhat sunken in, their skin flushed and weather worn from the cold, but regardless of their condition their eyes glimmered with determination, however weak, and a firm sense of indignation at their treatment. “What have they done, exactly?” Roen asked. Ser Marat was quick to frown at her inquiry, but when a glance to Idristan was answered with a nod, he replied in an annoyed nasally tone. “They marched down the street, chanting their demands. They are collecting more people as they proceed.” “Have they threatened anyone? Destroyed property?” Idristan calmly scanned the crowd. Ser Marat shook his head. “They have naught but gathered at one end of the Brume. One of their ringleaders had been shouting something about marching up to the doorstep of the Four Houses and up to the Vault itself. For obvious reasons we cannot permit them to pass much further beyond the Forgotten Knight.” “Do you mean to stop them by force?” Roen narrowed her eyes. “This looks like a peaceful rally.” Ser Marat’s jaw tensed. “One or two stragglers pose no threat. But once a mob gathers, tempers flare and discontent turns into disorder. It is wise to put down such things before it presents a problem. They cannot even see that they are lucky to be alive and housed despite the ongoing war.” He tilted his head at the paladin, a scornful look plain on his face. "Regardless of their feelings, dissidents only weaken the Holy See's efforts against the Dravanians, and in their shortsightedness they may affect the security of Ishgard itself, for every knight that is called to quell their mob is another knight that is not in the field or watching the skies." His hands tightened their grip on the top of his shield. Idristan gave Roen a sidelong glance. “I have seen the scales of Ul’dah that your chocobo bears on his barding.” If he noted her stiffening posture, the knight-captain did not make it known. “I have heard many tales of this place. You too come from a city-state where the impoverished is an undeniable presence and yet there is naught that can be done to alleviate their woes. How does Ul’dah deal with its dissidents that the peace is kept?” Roen’s face hardened, her eyes refusing to meet that of her commanding officer. “Insurgents are not tolerated.” She clamped her mouth shut as if to end it there, but half a breath later she continued. “But if all who suffer believe that there is naught being done about it, that there are none who see their need and their suffering… there will rise another. Someone who is pushed too far, pushed too hard, who has decided that standing by is no longer an option.” Idristan regarded her for a moment longer before nodding. He stepped past the knights forward the crowd, giving Roen just half a glance over his shoulder. “Follow me, Deneith.” “Good people of Brume and citizens of Ishgard,” Idristan called out loudly, his hands held up in front of him. His helm rested atop his head, his eyes scanning the crowd. “You have come far enough, and your message has been heard. Know that your needs are not being ignored nor dismissed.” “And yet what is being done about it?” a woman called out from the crowd. “The nobles sit high and mighty in The Pillars while we’re expected to eat rocks and ice down here! And the rest of you knights are telling us to be grateful about it!” “The four houses are providing all they can for the Dragonsong War.” Idristan gestured toward the paladin. “They are providing funds to hire outsiders to also help in this unending conflict. We are fighting for our very right to exist despite the will of the dragons that would see us burnt and buried. We need all the resources we can spare to ensure our survival.” A scornful laugh barked from the rear of the mob. "'Providing all they can', ser knight says!" It was a low, almost guttural voice. "Them nobles are parading around in silks and petticoats and throwing parties day and night, and they're providing all they can!" Several other shouts in agreement and affirmation rang through the throng of people, and some of the more aggressive dissidents stepped forward closer toward the line of shields. The knights, in response, raised their shields onto their arms and placed hands on their swords. "Stop lying to us!" Another cry from a woman lost somewhere in the crowd, the voice of one who was desperate and full of tears. "How many of us have frozen today?" The same guttural voice shouted. "Do you even know? Do you care at all?" "Please, firewood, blankets, anything!" The crowd had begun to grow in size and volume, and the shouting intensified. Ser Marat's eyes glanced quickly to Idristan, expecting an order to put down the riot. The latter, to his credit, pressed his lips together in an expression of stern restraint, though he too had begun to thumb the pommel of his sword. Roen could feel some of the crowd look her way, some in disapproval, and others with wary curiosity as others shouted and began to push forward towards the knights, though not close enough to be threatened by their blades. “What have you seen out there?” A young man called out to her. He was perhaps sixteen winters old, or maybe younger if he were not so thin. But he had an inquisitive gleam in his eyes, and a rebellious hint to his voice. “All we hear about are what the noble houses want us to know. And what the temple knights report. What do you see out there?” The paladin straightened, clearing her voice. “I have seen many dragon thralls lay waste to caravans and a group of knights. I have come upon burnt or severed bodies littering the mountainside. They want naught but your deaths, and the blood of man split upon the snow. There is no sense or reason. Only violence.” When the crowd had quieted to a low rumble, Roen continued. “Go home to your hearth and your beds. Know that in the time of war, there will be deaths, there will be suffering. Your city has closed its walls to the rest of us for as long as I can remember. But now I stand here before you, because the need has become more dire. The war has only grown more fierce and your losses have only deepened. Ishgard needs help from outsiders because it can no longer provide for its own. So if you were to start a revolution now, to push for a change when you should all be banding together... know that you will not survive.” Her throat tightened as she said the next words. “So choose. Accept what must be and endure... or fight this and die.” The young man who had looked upon her with a flicker of hope now looked crestfallen. With a deep scowl he spun away and disappeared around the corner. The rest of the crowd began to grumble amongst themselves. “We will take it from here,” Ser Marat stepped in front of Roen, as he motioned to the rest of the knights to shepherd the crowd away. There was a nod of acknowledgement he gave to the paladin before he turned toward the peasants, and Roen thought she spied a small satisfied curl to his lips. It made her stomach roil. “Will that be all, Ser Tournes?” she asked curtly to Idristan. “I think our work is finished here,” Idristan nodded. “Good work, Deneith. I think we deserve a bit of…” Roen did not hear the rest of what he had to offer. She spun on her heel and quickly strode away in the opposite direction, eager to put distance between herself and The Brume.

It was as if a large spear point made of stone and ice had been stabbed into the mountain. Roen stared up at its apex from below the ground within the cave that was The Fury’s Gaze. The etched carving of the three spears on the stone--the symbol of Halone--only seemed visible to a pair of keen eyes or to those pilgrims who specifically sought out this place to pay homage to the Goddess of War. Roen too had come to the cavern to look upon the Stone of Halone, although she had no prayers to offer. Being raised in Garlemald, she had never been taught to worship the Twelve, or any other gods. And yet, since her arrival in Eorzea, she had witnessed many good people who drew strength from their faith in their times of need. Was that why she had come to The Fury’s Gaze? For strength? For hope? For answers? The cold silent stone offered none as she was left to stare at the rippling reflection of herself upon the shallow pool of water that collected beneath the pointed massive stalactite. "I don't really believe in the Twelve, if you must know, Halone included.” He had said long ago when she had asked him about his patron deity. Nero was loath to admit to any sort of worship, but of all the Twelve, the patron goddess of Ishgard frequented his lips the most. “I don't revere her. I find the concept of guardian deities laughable.” Roen was not sure why her steps had always led her here when the thoughts of him came. Perhaps it was the dichotomy that Halone represented, for in that, he and Halone were so similar. “But I respect what she represents.” His voice weaved through her thoughts effortlessly. “The idea her existence supposedly propagates. She's the mistress of war and the mover of glaciers. Cold, steady determination for the latter, and explosive, fiery wrath for the former.” The paladin glanced to her right, where she could nearly picture the man; his soot-black hair with orange highlights hanging low over his eyes as he came to stand next to her, crossing his arms the way he always did. He too looked up at the three spears. “If the Twelve really existed, what kind of perspective does the duality of her being bring her, I wonder?” he pondered aloud. He always did seem to enjoy philosophical debates. “Does the blood of war tarnish Her sheets of ice? Does the lethargy of that ice insult the idea of war?” Roen stared at the ghostly image, even as the smuggler offered her his trademark smirk. “Make no mistake, I don't believe in her in the same way that I don't believe in flying basilisks turning airships into stone. But I think she and I would get along well." His ice blue gaze lingered on her a moment longer, before life and light faded from his eyes. His color drained away, as did his buoyant expression. The paladin was frozen in place as she watched his smiling visage turn into an ashen figure of a dead man. “I did not know it until that sun, but he wanted to die.” The memory of Kiht Jakkya’s words seemed to shatter the sheet of ice that held her thoughts hostage. The Keeper had long departed from this place of worship, though the exchange between the huntress and the paladin still echoed in Roen’s mind, much as it had within the cavern walls when they spoke. Her friend was shocked to find her here within the frozen cave of Coerthas, for the Miqo’te had come to pay pilgrimage to Halone for her own reasons. But her worry for the paladin was clearly written on her face, as was a lingering shadow of guilt. Kiht had feared that Roen blamed her for what happened in Aleport, for forcing the paladin into a position where she had to kill someone. Only, Roen knew that choice could only be made by none other than herself. “I know I did what I had to,” the paladin admitted even though regret laced her every word. “You chose a ground to stand on, but you thought it would be different.” Kiht shook her head. “I apologize, Roen, I wish there was a way for it to be what you had envisioned. I felt you deserved it as you had pursued it so willfully. But things are hardly ever so dark and light. Most things are in between.” To that Roen answered only with a hardened look. “There is nothing in between about death, Kiht. What I did to him, it was murder. I killed him. Unarmed. Hurt. Cornered.” The paladin felt a shiver run down her spine with that admittance. “I killed him, Kiht.” “One to save a hundred.” His voice whispered in her ear again. “A hundred to save a thousand.” “He was not giving you much choice.” The huntress scowled. “He threatened after he had done so much wrong. The Hells were you supposed to do? Ignore it? Tell me, how many people did he save with the deaths he caused?” “Those are naught but echoes of the same things that I tell myself, again and again.” Roen shook her head, her voice turning quiet with her confession. “But it absolves me not. It does not set things to rights inside my heart.” “Because no matter what, you had once loved him…?” She had no answers for her friend. It was all Roen could do to don the stoic mask once more. But the guise was becoming easier each time. The paladin could see that Kiht spotted the shift as well, for her friend said no more on it. The Miqo’te exchanged some news about Gharen and Osric, and spoke of others who cared and were looking for her. After a quiet encouragement to reach out to those left behind, the Keeper huntress left Roen, reassured that she would be able to visit the paladin again. Roen turned her eyes once more to the three spears carved into the stone overhead. A relentless warrior with a bronze greatshield, that was how Halone was depicted in most paintings and books. And yet the sharp piercing spears were what represented her. They were weapons made to kill, not protect. She was the Mover of Glaciers and the Mistress of War. She represented determination and wrath. Halone represented two seemingly opposing ideals. Was her own staunch adherence to virtue wholly one sided that she did not allow for any other lesser choices to be made? Did such idealism truly have no place in this world? Was it not her refusal to acknowledge the need for violence to end violence that brought about the tragic conclusion at Aleport? Nero had believed it with all his heart, and Roen had opposed it with every fiber of her being. Yet it gnawed at her still--this idea of a "greater good" achieved through bloodshed. If Nero had even been partially right, she had not--could not--consider it. At least not back then. Back when the man she loved still had a beating heart. Even now, despite the regret that weighed upon her soul, Roen could not deny that she did what had to be done. And yet… What might sparing him his life have wrought? She would never know.

This made me so sad. I am so sorry.

This. I too separate game mechanics from RP because how many hours someone has spent leveling and running dungeons says nothing about what kind of roleplayers they are. I actually know a few players that play this game just to roleplay. Yes they run dungeons or what not to gain certain levels for certain RP things (one of them HAD to have the weaver AF for a certain look for their character), but they also run around with level 10 gladiators to insert them as thug NPCs for a scene or what not. I think though the wariness of the initial OP came from the fact that it was dealing with a stranger who was claiming all sorts of power, which... in my opinion would be hard to believe anyways given the character's age and what not. And for such reasons, I usually avoid conflict with random strangers (I say usually since on rare occasions I have had Roen step into a situation where I knew no one but she had been watching the scene on the side for some time...) and limit confrontations with players I know and trust. But if a low level character approached me and it is a well written RPer? I usually will run with it unless it is WAY far fetched. I did have a friend surprise me (not letting me know OOC) by rolling a new character, a level 15 guy in some tattered robe, who had been RPing a street begger for a couple of weeks (me and others had seen him for days) before he actually approached and tried to kill someone. An assassin in disguise if you will. If I had ignored him based on just his level, that surprise would have been totally ruined.

Two very good people. Welcome! I think RPC is lucky to have you both.

I actually saw a character RPing just that. A fisherman selling fish in Ul'dah. He was advertising in shout. Guthree Jenkins I think? I wanted to hunt him down for random RP but by the time I was free to do so, he had logged. Alas! I wouldn't mind seeing more disgruntled Highlander refugees in Ul'dah especially in Pearl Lane. Or a drunken revelry in the Drowning Wench. Or Yellow Jackets. Or Wood Wailers.

“Why do you want to kill monsters, Deneith?” Idristan Tournes had slowed his mount to fall in stride with hers, as the group of mercenaries and knights rode back towards Dragonhead. The skies had shown them mercy for the last few bells, withholding snowfall as the regiment made its way south from Providence Point. Roen gave the knight-captain a sidelong glance and found his pale green eyes scrutinizing her keenly. She did not meet his gaze for long. “Things are simpler.” When she gave no further explanation, the knight snorted, amused. “You care not for the Ixal to the east nor any other beasts that need thinning. But any mention of dragonkin and you are ready with your sword.” When the paladin continued to look straight ahead, the Wildwood Elezen continued. “You keep to yourself and do not ask for anything other than the essentials. All you seem to want to do is fight and kill scalekin. I suspect you only sleep so you can do it again the next sun.” Roen only shifted slightly in her seat as the Elezen gave her another long look. She did not answer. “Many come to Coerthas for their own reasons, Deneith,” Ser Idristan sighed. “Yours is but one of them.” The paladin furrowed her brow, parting her lips to respond to him... when Goldwind paused, having come beak to tail with the rider in front of them. The entire group had come to a stop on the road, overlooking Witchdrop. The whole of their attention was turned toward a gathering there, so Roen nudged her bird to the edge of the road for a closer look. A group of armored knights made a half moon around a singular robed figure in the center--an Elezen with a long flaxen braid and a book in hand. She stood tall, and her rigid posture held an air of authority. She stood in front of a group of four Hyurs, a couple and their two children. The youngsters huddled around the legs of the woman, while the male wore a pleading expression, gesturing to the three behind him. “Move on, there is nothing to see here.” Idristan’s cutting tone brought everyone else’s attention back to the knight-captain, and the group around the paladin began to lead their mounts back towards Dragonhead. But Roen did not move. Her eyes remained trained on the scene ahead; she found herself leaning forward slightly to catch the words that were being exchanged. “I beseech you, Inquisitor Dumergue.” The midlander male laced his fingers together, his hands shaking with emotion. “These charges are not true. My family is innocent. We have always been loyal to the Holy See!” He was only met with a cold stare from the blonde Elezen, her gaze traveling down the length of her long hawkish nose. “Then place your faith in Halone’s judgement. Prove your innocence and leap forth and entrust your fate to the Fury.” She gestured with the sweep of her hand to the perilous edge of Witchdrop. Roen blinked, her eyes going wide. Without a word she unhooked her feet from the stirrups and slid off her bird. But before she could take another step, Idristan came to stand before her, blocking her view. “Leave this be, Deneith.” His words carried a sharp warning as did his narrowed eyes. “But…” The paladin glanced from the knight to the scene beyond him. She tried to step around him. “Does she mean to… how is throwing himself off the cliff--” “You are an outsider.” Idristan took a step to his side to match hers, still blocking her way. “And I have seen each and every one of your kind react to these proceedings in their own way.” His voice was not raised and likely not audible to those by the cliffside. They were only meant to gain and hold her attention. “This is our way. You have no right to interfere or question.” “My children! Please, Inquisitor. At least spare the children!” The Midlander’s raised voice echoed into the chasms below. “Are they all to jump? To prove their innocence?” Roen found her own voice trembling and not from the cold. “The woman? And the children?” Idristan’s steely voice did not waver, nor did his stern expression. “That is up to the judgement of the Inquisitor. But if you obstruct her work in any way, you would be committing heresy.” When the paladin took another step to the side, the knight-captain grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her roughly against Goldwind. The chocobo bristled and jumped once. “Do you really want to do this Deneith? Leap headlong into matters you do not understand? Impede an inquisition sanctioned by the Holy See, where the only outcome for you is to be branded an outlaw--or even a heretic? You will be exiled at best. At worst, you will find yourself standing by that cliff.” “But the children…” Roen rasped. “Certainly they are innocent…” “There is no such thing as innocence," the paladin heard another remembered voice whisper in her ear. "Only varying degrees of guilt.” She immediately shook her head, as if to push his words out of her mind. “Perhaps if you can speak to the Inquisitor... appeal for mercy…” Roen looked up at the knight, and for a moment she thought she saw sympathy in his eyes. But it was quickly replaced by chilled indifference--practiced and enforced in this ice-cold land--and hammered in place by a heavy scowl. Idristan lowered his head to level his disapproving gaze upon hers. “This is our way of rooting out the drachen fiends, Deneith. If you are to stay on our soil, you must abide by our laws.” His hands released her shoulders and he took a step back. “Ask yourself again why you came here.” Her chest rose and fell with heavy, quickened breaths, white puffs of steam quick to fade into the cold. No longer pinned to the side of her bird, Roen glanced to the cliffside again. The man’s head hung low and he nodded and murmured something to the Hyur woman. The woman was sobbing, shaking her head. Her grip was tight around the shoulders of her children, as she buried their faces against her skirt. The half circle of armored knights had drawn their bows and their lances, holding them at ready, warily watching the accused. With a nod, the man approached the edge of the precipice. Roen stared for another breath, her hands shaking in tight fists by her side. When the man paused at the very edge of the drop and folded his hands over his chest, the paladin forced herself to spin away, grabbing and yanking on the reigns of Goldwind. She strode away from Witchdrop as briskly as possible, straight into the biting teeth of an angry northern wind. Coerthas' howl could not drown the wail of a woman’s heartbroken cry. Roen could only bow her head and quicken her steps to remove herself from its proximity. It would stay with her long after the wind had fled.