Roen

“Show me the body.” Warren Castille. The Highlander that she had met so many moons ago at the Quicksand; the free paladin standing next to Crofte by that thick pillar. That man was now standing in front of them with his shield and sword blazing. His sword's tip still dripped freshly drawn blood; the man had decapitated Taeros’ personal guard moments earlier in the fight. Melkire, that troublesome Flame sergeant had brought Castille, along with a spear wielding miqo’te and a knife throwing Midlander, into the tunnels below the ground to stage a rescue for Roen Deneith. Making himself look like Lazarov in appearance and clothing was clever, Brynn thought. And it had lured out Taeros like a bee to honey. And now that the armored form of Taeros lay motionless on the ground, wisps of smoke rising from within the full suit of plate-mail armor he wore, the vultures were already beginning to gather to pick at the fallen lion. “Ye don’ get tae demand shite, paladin,” Brynn retorted. She was already withdrawing another arrow from her quiver. She had seen the viciousness Castille was capable of in battle and was not going to let him get within five sword lengths of her. She held the bow steady and nocked the arrow, its point aimed at the man’s head. “Show me the body before I rush you down.” Warren motioned towards her leg that had been cut. “I’ve already killed enough of you. Don’t make this hard.” Brynnalia said nothing as she squinted one eye slightly, adjusting her aim for the dimness of the tunnels. She kept her gaze on the target even as she shifted her weight to that injured leg to test its strength. Gideon had been quick enough to come to her side when the Midlander had cut her; his healing touch in mid battle had been surprisingly efficient and skilled. There remained some soreness, but the bleeding had stopped and she could feel the muscle fibers supporting her weight just well enough. She was confident that she could maneuver to dodge the paladin should it come to that. Her fingers pulled on the bowstring just another ilm more, ready to release… “....Please.” If the paladin’s quiet plea didn’t make her pause, then it was the hand upon her shoulder. Crofte stood next to her, and when the bard met her gaze, the Sworn shook her head. Brynnalia scowled but lowered her bow and allowed Castille to walk past. “Your ruse has won,” Crofte spat out towards the man, her words tinged with both fatigue and bitterness. The Sworn then called to Gideon, who was standing just a few yalms away, attending to another fallen figure--the cloaked thaumaturge who had chased after the lancer. He was not moving. “Mister North?" Crofte continued. "We should see to the sergeant, then be gone from this place.” “WHAT?” Brynnalia turned to Crofte, incredulous. The valet too had a look of utter surprise. But while Gideon bowed with resignation at the order, Brynn continued to shake her head. “Did ye miss the part where they just tried tae kill yer lover?” She glanced at the unmoving armor, one that Castille was now impecting, finding the contents empty. “Gideon, ye don’t have tae do that,” Brynn called out after him. “I know,” he said quietly, meeting her gaze only for a moment. “The combat is concluded, Mistress.” He turned and made his way down the tunnel to where Melkire was still sitting on the ground, propped up against the wall. Warren brushed past Brynnalia to follow quickly after the valet, clearly suspicious. Brynn watched Gideon go, her jaw set. Her fingers twitched over feathers of the arrow still half-nocked. Her muscles coiled with anticipation, her eyes gaging the distance between herself and the sergeant and paladin, in case she needed shoot at either of them should they take any action against North. “Where is she? Where is Roen?!” An angry call cut through the misty air of the tunnels. It was the lancer, trotting back up towards them from the deeper depths. The bard growled under her breath, turning the aim of the bow toward the miqo’te instead. She could not keep her eyes on Gideon. “The girl ye lookin’ fer no longer here, kitty cat.” Her own answer was an annoyed sneer. “I can see that!” The miqo’te hissed. “Now you can tell me where she is, and remove an enemy from your worries, or you can keep silent and expect to see me again!” The lancer lowered her head, glaring at her through those goggles. “I will not stop until I find her, you Highland whore.” Brynn’s eyes narrowed. “She escaped, that troublesome thing. And as fugitives tend to do, she went into hiding. We have no idea where she went.” She held her bow steady, arrow still nocked. The miqo’te lancer responded with a ready stance of her own, quickly turning the spear in her grasp into an over-arm hold. It was a stand still between them, with both bow and lance at ready. That was when Warren emerged again, with Melkire in tow. “We are leaving.” Brynnalia heard Crofte’s footsteps behind her as she stepped to the side of the tunnel, the Sworn seemingly allowing them to pass. The bard too stepped to the side, although never lowering her bow. The paladin and the Flame passed. Then the lancer strode past them, but continued to keep her eyes upon Brynn. Finally it was the Midlander with the knives, one that had cut her earlier. Callae gave her a passing glare, but no words were exchanged between them. It was only after their footsteps were no longer audible that Brynn finally lowered her bow. Gideon came to stand next to her, and she gave him a quick once-over to make certain no harm had come his way. He only gave her his usual placid expression and a nod in response. Brynnalia turned to see that Crofte had once more come to stand next to the fallen armor. Her head hung low and her shoulders were weighed with weariness. When Brynn came to join her by her side, she too could see for herself that the armor was empty, save some scorch marks within. The bard sniffed the air. “I smell a burnt man, but see none.” She glanced to the Sworn. “Where in hells is the body?” Crofte’s voice did not waver nor did she sound mournful when she answered. “I don’t know. But I aim to find out.” “I will attend milord.” Gideon bowed then began to approach the armor on the watery ground. Brynnalia slid the arrow back into the quiver, just staring at the mess of bodies, blood, and armor that littered the tunnels. She shook her head. “I’ll…get a cleanup crew down here,” she said to no one in particular as she reached for that pearl in her ear. She watched as Crofte strode by, steps now with heavy purpose. “I will find him,” the Sworn said, her voice sharp like a steel blade. “And if not him, then her.” Callae paused, her finger hovering by the pearl. “Her?” Crofte’s green eyes flicked to the bard. There was no mercy in them now. “Banurein.”

Kiht and I were goofing off last night after a pretty intense RP scene... So we snuck into Nero's house! All armored up and ready for some action... what should we do? DUH! His bed was very bouncy and soft. Clearly we appreciated it more than he ever would. Then we took a nap since all that was HARD work!

I've had some intense RP in the last couple of days. The ones that had me reaching for the tissue box. Thanks to Kiht, Osric, and Nero. The scene a few days ago and... oh my goodness today. TODAY. *stares* I had to take a break after. Just... thanks. You guys are awesome.

It's that number in the upper right of your post. In the case of the quoted post here, it's that #15. In the case of mine, it's the #16. After going to bed I realized my wording was probably incorrect. I meant I can't narrow down one specific post to put on display. I'm a bit of a blabbermouth. I'd say either do the one you are least pleased with ("I want to fix it up some more") or most pleased with ("I think it's good, but can it be better?"), that would be my suggestion.

AAAAH!!! Procrastination is my THING. Daredevil on Netflix. SO. ENTERTAINING. YESSS. Banshee also has been a huge source of distraction for me since I just discovered it in the last few months. Finishing up the third season. Also catching up with Outlander. It makes me swoon a little with romance. I've also been convinced lately to give the old series Angel a try again, the last two seasons at least, since I gave up on it after first two. Probably more procrastination will follow...

AHAHAHA! Roen suddenly looks VA VA VOOM! :love: AND SIHAAAA ADORBS~

AAAH! These are GREAT!! :thumbsup:

I think being able to give someone positive feedback through repping them is a GOOD thing. It promotes positivity. I don't know the answer to the situation that Verad honestly put forth though, that snark and negativity are also rewarded here. But to remove the repping system, isn't that like "let's get rid of the bad, yeah we lose the good but oh well" kind of an answer? I do like Nailah's idea though. Maybe just not be able to see people's rep count below their avatar on a post? Honestly, when I read someone's post, I don't pay attention to that at all. It isn't their rep that lends validity to what they said, it is what they said that counts. But hearing from others, perhaps that is an uncommon practice rather than a common one. Not seeing the green number beneath the poster's avatar wouldn't affect me one bit. But, I will admit this. The thing that brightens my day here on the RPC, is to get a rep from someone for a story post that I wrote. It is a wonderful form of positive feedback that I cherish. So I hope repping system as a whole does not go away. I also too love repping people for either their eloquence, succinct honesty, or just because their post made me laugh.

-raises hand- I can get in line behind the rest, no rush! But I've always wanted to meet your character (one of them) IC! IG. But whenever! Let everyone else have their chance first though.

Being that most of the combat scenarios I have been involved in have all been freeform, I will add my two cents. The most recent scene, it was as Osric said. Who ever typed first in their action, went first. Then they would wait until the person they were facing typed back. We all typed in our action in that "round" and would wait until most contributed with their post before entering our next post. I say most because you and the person you are facing off can exchange off a few things at a different speed than the rest depending on context (dialogue for example). This is usually the norm for me, but sometimes we would actually designate a specific order and wait for that person to post before moving on. The latter was necessary if a particular player or two were slower in typing just to make it fair. I always assume that one person can defend against multiple. Or they can't, depending on their skills. It is freeform though so it is left up to the player. Realistically if you are outnumbered, you are at a disadvantage, and I have yet to see those I've played with not take this into account. When it is NPC vs PCs, and I am DMing the NPCs, as a DM I decide how skilled the NPCs are. Some are more formidable than others to be sure. I haven't had problems with overpowered characters, most of the scenes I am involved in are not very overpowered (but not too mundane either, as Osric described). Player character that faces off with each other, they must MUST have some trust in each other entering the scene. Allowing themselves to inflict but ALSO take damage, adjusting for the situations, the armor, the defense, the strategy, the environment, it all affects the fight! I think every scene I've done freeform combat with, ALL the players knew it was for a story, not "I wanna see who is more powerful." I never do combat scenes for the latter anyways. It is whatever the character would do. RP has to be fluid. But! A group can come in with a preformed plan. For example, in the last scene, two people were supposed to sneak through the defense to go rescue someone. They weren't supposed to stay in the fight. Due to the dynamics of what happened, only one person got through but it worked out fine for the story. I let the players decide. Although if I was DMing NPCs sometimes I will engineer friendly fire if the circumstances seems appropriate. (careless or haphazard firing... OR an explosive in the wrong place combined with a clumsy civilian NPC!) Definitely, when it comes to combat RP amongst people who don't know each other or there is no established trust. Then I would use dice. But for all of the combat scenes I've been in for any story I was involved in in depth, I trusted the players to carry it out freeform. My suggestion for freeform combat that involved multiple players? That they quickly set OOC parameters on what is off limits (death, amputation and such) or they already loosely set a predetermined result.

I've used Flash in IC situations, only as a bright flash of manifested aether meant to blind/distract for a few seconds. I don't use the enmity effect of Flash at all IC.

I'd like to join in for the Dubious Delegation if there is room! But others should have priority since they had been part of this story so far.

Personal Profile Character Name: Brynnalia Callae Gender: Female Race: Highlander Domestic Profile Civil Status: Single Place of Residence: Ul'dah Occupation: Usually gets paid to get information, also can work as a dancer, bard, chocobo trainer, and was once an ex-Ala Mhigan Resistance member Free Company: Independent IC. (NPC FC OOCly) Social Profile On first impression, Brynnalia comes off as an easy-going and flirtatious Highlander, with penchant for dangling and jingling jewelry, mostly bracelets and anklets. She uses them to their full effect when she dances or performs. She also has hedonistic tendencies and loves to enjoy aged wine, fine comforts, and beautiful men. She is currently working for the Monetarists in Ul'dah. Meta Profile Beneath the surface, she is a woman who puts her own interests above all else. She can be ruthless and treacherous when needed for her own survival.

“Are ye sure?” Brynnalia bolted to a seat from her lazy recline, the heels of her leather boots stomping hard on the wooden floor as her index finger pressed hard on the pearl in her ear. She could not believe what she just heard. A group was heading down the tunnels from below the Hammers, towards the Black Cells. That news itself was a bit of a surprise considering the most likely prisoner of interest in those cells had escaped but a day ago. Brynnalia had expected cold rage from Taeros with the delivery of the news, but instead she found an odd quietude about him since. Where she may have assumed to see murderous ruthlessness, she now only saw a shadow of weariness about him that was uncharacteristic of the Monetarist noble. Then the very next day, she had to deliver another ill tiding to her employer: a third Monetarist noble was found murdered. This news came from Vesper Bay, where the head of the House Mumuqaru had been found with his throat slit open. He had been on a carriage that was to take him to the next ship bound for Limsa Lominsa. No one could say exactly when the Lalafellin noble had been killed, only that it was on the way to Vesper Bay. They had not discovered his body until the carriage had reached its destination however. Of course, upon his person was yet another letter, one that detailed a conspiracy between Mumuqaru, Quillburn, and Rezhenne. The setup was almost predictable now, but even so, it did not bode well for her employer. The fact that it was the third Monetarist noble killed, and one within Taeros’ circle… Jameson Taeros did not take well to that news either. But this time, as expected, he took it with his usual air of detachment. Brynn could still see his displeasure in those pale amber eyes however. Brynnalia knew that Taeros was affected more by his conflict with Lazarov than he would ever show. She had learned some details of his recent financial debts which made her worry about her own employment. The increased number of guards he had hired and the losses he had suffered in terms of reputation and material goods, slowly but surely drained the Monetarist's resources. All because of Lazarov and that Deneith girl. With at least the latter in custody, and Crofte and Grimsong's recent partnership, Brynnalia thought for certain that they had some viable leads to track down the revolutionary pirate. But their recent trip to Mor Dhona proved fruitless yet once again, as they only found another middle man to the smuggler with no direct contact. All they discovered was an abandoned cove where the pirate used to store Garlean metal and ceruleum cores. But nothing remained by the time they had reached the place, and nothing led to Lazarov. Crofte and she had returned to Ul'dah empty handed. Perhaps this news may change things, she thought to herself as she hurried through the manse toward the noble’s office and private chamber. When she entered, she saw Taeros flipping through papers at his desk, and his valet at his side. The heavily armored guard that had recently become Taeros’ ever present shadow also stood by the door, and there was a fourth figure--a cloaked man with a scepter hanging by his side near the hearth. She glanced to all of them as she collected her breath. “I have some news.” Her urgent tone drew the attention of all those within. “A group is headed down the waterways toward the Black Cells.” When Taeros arched a single brow, she continued. “And one of them, matches the description of Nero Lazarov.” That brought Jameson’s full attention as he set the parchment in his hand down. The armored figure turned toward her with a metallic creak as well. “Are you certain?” the noble asked sharply. Brynnalia nodded. “He matches the description given to the guards, and given the fact that the person kept there until yesterday was supposedly of interest to the pirate…” She shrugged. “It might be him.” She fished out another pearl from her pouch and plugged it into her other ear. "I'll notify Crofte." There was a determined set to the noble's jaw as the Taeros rose from his seat. "Mr. North, help me get into my armor."

I would be forever grateful! :bouncy:

I haven't put up some in awhile... "I have killed, yes. Men who have wronged me. Liars and people who believed I was their fool. As have you. But neither of us has ever slaughtered innocents.” "I do not expect it would be difficult to play upon his sympathies. The boy is weak. Once he is found, then I suppose we shall see if Stormchild does indeed have any stake in his life." "So long as you do not intend to follow through on such a threat." "We do what we must." “I cannot return you to your father. In truth I despise the man, and not for his more obvious crimes. And yet you continually ally yourself with my enemies. It would be one thing to forgive if you merely remained on the side of the law and sought to bring me in for justice." “...But no. It had to be Lazarov. Of all people.”

:love::love::love: Thank yoooou!!

“Is it even remotely possible you could be the slightest bit wrong about me?" Gideon was there, with Jameson Taeros in his study. Roen had entered with a scimitar in hand, the small round shield of the Brass Blades buckled onto her arm. She did not notice the aching fatigue to her limbs nor her breaths that came short and quick. Her senses were almost spinning with the thoughts of failed plans and hopes. Her heart was pounding and her mind throbbed with a need to do something. Anything. All those deaths could not have been for nothing. All the suffering…all that had happened… Anden Anduron. Crimson Mountain. Natalie. Crofte. It had to end. “I would not expect you to follow, especially if I decide the snows of Ishgard are more to my--” Taeros was seated behind his desk, fingers laced upon his lap, speaking evenly to his valet when he spotted her at the door. He raised his brows at the woman in the Brass Blade armor. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. Gideon turned with his gaze upon her as well. “Sir is not to be disturbed without prior appointment or myself as an intermediary, Miss.” His tone was sharp and crisp. Roen knew she had only seconds to act while she still had the advantage. Both the men’s attention went to her drawn weapon, and even as she took quick steps across the room, she spotted Gideon drawing his thin book from his jacket in a smooth languid motion. She did not want to, but she had to incapacitate the butler. Anything else would implicate him or put her at a disadvantage. “Milord, the prisoner has escaped!” She knew her lie would not be believed, both men would recognize her voice soon enough. But it bought her enough time to close the distance between herself and the valet. With a hidden grimace, she bashed Gideon on the head with her shield. She forced her expression to remain neutral as she saw his head slam from her fist to the desk, sending a tea tray there flying. The paladin could not afford another glance to the man -- her friend -- as he lay motionless on the floor. “Now see here…” Jameson started even as his hands unclasped from his lap and slipped beneath the desk. Roen knew not if he was reaching for something, but she could not take any chances. She summoned aether into a blinding flash of light as she darted around the desk. “Do not move, lest you lose a hand," she ordered. "Or something more vital.” She held the blade at ready. “At ease, friend,” the noble said calmly as he slowly brought his hands up into plain view. She could see that he did not remain blinded for long, as he slowly stood from his seat. He frowned. “Roen.” The paladin took another step forward, setting the edge of her blade against his neck before the noble regained his full bearings. Taeros did not seem fazed. He glanced to his unconscious valet. “Gideon treated you with utmost respect. That was unworthy.” His disappointment was clear in his bent brows. “He is no threat to you.” "He is another one of yours. At least he will come to no further harm if he remains unconscious." Roen forcibly kept the guilt from her tone and refused to look to where the butler still laid. She prayed that he was not hurt badly. "He should come to no further harm regardless." Roen narrowed her eyes on the noble. "You, on the other hand." Jameson only smiled. "The end for me?" he asked softly. The paladin flexed her fingers slightly around the hilt of her scimitar. There was hesitation that coiled her wearied muscles. "Why not? You have caused so much sorrow." She hated the emotion that was already rising in her voice. "Many. Yes. I am rarely who people want me to be.” "There is a reason why so many believe the world would be a better place if you were no more." Her arm shook slightly from the weight of the armor and the sword. Or was it her doubts that made her tremble? "Would this not be a better place, if today was your last?" “One life to save many. That is so very Lazarov of you,” Taeros said with a sneer. "I am…nothing like him." The anger in her retort could not be muted. He tilted his head. “I am very willing to die," he said softly, "but I would ask for a few questions to be answered first." He inclined his head deferentially. "If I may go screaming into the hells with due knowledge.” Roen clenched her fist tight to steady her grip. She nodded once. "These recent murders. You truly know nothing of them?" Roen blinked behind the fly-mask. "The nobles...?" She shook her head. "I knew of no such plans for assassination." Even in her denial, she felt a sudden chill in her spine as she looked to the length of her own blade that ended at the man’s throat. What was she considering now if it was not assassination? Jameson nodded. "Then perhaps Lazarov's aim will be met regardless. I have come upon some recent information which leads me to believe the Syndicate's demise may very well be accomplished from within." “What…?” The noble’s eyes flickered to the blade, just a moment, and then back to the paladin. "One of the councilmembers, if not more than one, is beginning the necessary steps forward toward an ultimately bloody endgame, now that the Sultanate has taken some notable defeats." He curled a thin smile. "I was just discussing with Mr. North our relocation options. Ishgard is cold, but dragons are safer than my friends these days, it seems. The removal of certain key Monetarists only lent my enemies more ammunition." The paladin stared at him. "...You think yourself a target then. From the Monetarists reorganizing from within?" "Trimming the fat, so to speak. Congratulations, Roen. All your efforts have paid off. The scales have been tipped, and not in my favor. I do not intend to be here for the end result." His smile broadened suddenly. "Nor, it seems, do you intend for me to be." Roen gritted her teeth. "I never wanted your death. Despite all that you have done. I thought targeting you would cause a disadvantage for the rest of the Monetarists. Along with the rest, I wanted you and your kind to face justice.” Taeros shrugged. "I was paranoid. I admit to as much. Lazarov's threat blinded me to the actual enemy, and it was not at my gates, but within. Too many secrets have spilled out of this wound. I must concede the game." “Justice is all I wanted from the start. But laying in that cell for suns, delirious, I began to see that you must have something personal against me." The nobled blinked, surprised. "Against you?" "Why else disgrace three Sultansworns? I was freshly sworn in. Is it because I am a Garlean like you? You had me placed under Anduron. Do you know what kind of man he is?!" Taeros seemed to bristle a little. "My treatment of you was ill becoming of me, I will grant, and I had hoped to make amends of it with my more recent gentle care and your eventual freedom. But..." He frowned, and his words turned sharper. "I have actually been protecting you. Did I not relinquish the evidence of your heritage to Natalie? As to Anduron..." he sighed. "Yes. Another misstep amidst so many. He owed me a favor. I thought you were shielded. I did not know Anden for the creature he was. I have him far away now, where he can harm very few." “No more lies!" Roen snarled, as she gripped again her sword, the edge of her blade turning just slightly against his neck. "Every word out of your lips is a lie, that is how you play the game is it not? You yourself sit here in your gilded throne of wealth posing as an Ul'dahn noble, and yet you worked to condemn me for the Imperial heritage that you and I both share." The smile on the noble was unsettling. “Is that what you think?” "What else should I think?" “Words will not sway your mind, but...they say a picture is worth a thousand. Might I stay my death a moment longer to show you something I have in my possession? It will require me to unlock a strong box I keep beneath my desk. If I may?" Roen swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. She nodded, and took a single step back to allow him room. He glanced at the sword still hovering near him. "You needn't shave me with that. You are armed and armored, and I am not. Just plunge your blade through my back if you find my movements offensive." Taeros lowered his hands, and it was only then that the paladin spotted the blade that slipped immediately into his palm...but he casually tossed it onto the desk as he lowered himself to one knee, drawing out a key from a chain around his neck. "We share Garlean roots. That is true. But moreover..." He unlocked the strong box. "I was allowed passage to Ul'dah because of my roots. I was very good at blending in with the rest of the Eorzeans. Once I arrived, the Empire found many uses for me. But after the Calamity, I had a singular task assigned to me by a woman named Raelisanne Banurein. It was to find you and return you to your father, Dorien nan Luraes." Roen found herself frozen and rooted where she stood. The noble removed a locket from the strong box and opened it carefully and slid it across the desk toward her. When it nearly slid off the edge, Roen lowered her blade instinctively to catch it. Taeros only waited patiently as she studied the rendering within, a red-haired woman with deep blue eyes. The paladin stared intently at the face she knew all too well from her childhood. "What…is this." "That is the locket Melia Luraes gifted to me the day she agreed to wed your father. She hoped I would remember her kindly. I have.” His tone softened. "I loved her. If you can believe it. But I was not worthy of her returned affections." Roen could not tear her eyes away from the locket and the picture within. "You…you knew my mother...?" "You remain a quandry, I will grant.” Jameson sighed. “I cannot return you to your father. In truth I despise the man, and not for his more obvious crimes. And yet you continually ally yourself with my enemies. It would be one thing to forgive if you merely remained on the side of the law and sought to bring me in for justice. No doubt I have wronged many of the people of Ul'dah in some fashion. Although…I have come to love them too, in a way. I am unwilling to return to Garlemald." The paladin could only stand in shocked silence, her eyes darting from the locket to the man standing before her. The man she thought she knew everything about. “But no.” Jameson sighed, his gaze boring into her. “It had to be Lazarov. Of all people.” Roen’s eyes were wide beneath the mask and her words came slowly. “I...do not...believe..." “Yes, you do.” He seemed almost disdainful of her as he glared back at her. The paladin’s sword only hung limp by the leather loop from her wrist, she had released it without knowing, the locket still in her palm. She did nothing as Taeros rounded the desk to kneel by his valet who was now stirring on the ground. “My...humblest apologies, sir…” Roen heard Gideon murmur. Roen shoved the locket in her belt pouch as she too walked around the desk. Gideon had a line of blood trickling from his hairline and shards of shattered porcelain littering his dark hair. “No offense at all, Mr. North," Taeros said calmly. "I do not believe you will be assaulted any further.” Jameson’s tone was surprisingly gentle and reassuring as he removed the valet’s handkerchief and placed it on the wound. “Be at ease, and do hold that there." Gideon kept the cloth held while his other hand fumbled for a little silver booklet he had drawn out earlier. “Yes. I will...my book, I can...repair myself, adequately.” Roen approached both of them hesitantly and somewhat awkwardly. "I can...I should heal him. I am the one that..." She was fumbling herself for words, she could not recall any of the rage or the certainty that drove her to come here in the first place. "No arcana at this moment, Mr. North, please,” Taeros chided. He then shook his head the looked at the paladin disapprovingly. “You struck a servant, woman.” As though the act were beneath the basest villain. Gideon looked up to her as well, speaking with mustered politeness, his words somewhat muddled. “Miss's...deliberate non-lethality is...well-noted, and appreciated.” The words only made her grimace. She was glad for the mask for it hid her deep guilt, even as she knelt next to the butler. She gave the noble one more single wary glance before she removed one gauntlet, laying her bare hand on Gideon’s temple. “Hold still, please.” “Could I perhaps find a chair for anyone…?” Gideon mumbled. “No, Mr. North, please remain still for the nonce.” Jameson laid a firm hand on the valet. He shot the paladin a frown even as she closed her eyes to summon the aether for a cure spell. “He did not present a threat to you," James said, continuing to chide her. Few things apparently made him as irked as having an injured manservant. "It was absurd and emotionally triggered.” Roen inhaled sharply when the healing was done, her eyes opening to assess the mended wound. She gently took the handkerchief from his hand and lightly dabbed the bloodstains from Gideon’s cheeks. “My apologies,” she murmured. “My humblest thanks, Miss.” Gideon nodded. His eyes then went to the shattered porcelain about them and frowned in dismay. “And there we go," Jameson murmured. "Friends anon.” The paladin stiffened, dropping her hand as soon as she heard those words, setting the handkerchief upon the butler’s lap. She rose abruptly, only to find herself swaying slightly at the effort. She hid it quickly enough, but her hand went to the hilt of the sword just in case. The fire within was gone. The pounding of her heart had ceased. Her body ached once more and her mind and muscles screamed with exhaustion. The sleep ward was fading from her system, as was her bloodlust. She turned for the door. “Roen,” Taeros called out after her. “That is my locket.” The paladin stopped just by the doorway, fishing the locket from her pouch and laying it on the nearby mantle. She did not turn back to the men behind her. “Also, I would advise against returning to the city,” Jameson said calmly. “You are still wanted for crimes against the city-state.” Roen did not answer him as she exited.

Armored boots splashed through shallow puddles, the tall arched stoneway carrying the sound of lone footsteps further into the hollow winding tunnels. "I asked you once, Mister North. Forgiveness or compromise. You said forgiveness is unconditional." Torchlight flickered and glistened off old grey walls aged with years of neglect and darkness, and shadows cast a ghostly pall upon the fingers of mildew that clasped onto the cracks of the stones. Rats scurried into their holes, away from the sole armored figure running through the waterways beneath the earth. "I...chose to forgive. But it is not a decision everyone agrees with." Roen's mind whirled with too many thoughts. It had been days since Coatleque's visit, and since then she had been given water, food, and a cot to lay upon. Sleep had finally come, and she had been left undisturbed; no longer did the heavy irons bind her immobile to the stony floor for days on end. She barely recalled the conversation that she and the Sworn shared, and the preceding days of exhaustion and delirium had blurred into one another in her memory. “I apologize, Miss Deneith, but that death is not yours to forgive.” Her legs felt steady enough to carry her once more, although the crimson chainmail hung loose from her thin shoulders. The paladin did not care. She was finally free of that cursed cell and equipped with one of the off-duty Brass Blade’s armor and sword. She raced down the ancient tunnels beneath Thanalan, even though she found her weakened body stumbling, demanding her to stop for breaths more often than not. “If Miss prefers, consider not what you believe you must do, but instead what you must not do.” Mister North had delivered to her guards plates of thick tender eft steaks. The valet had even made them choose which plate to give to her while hoarding the rest for the watch. Clever, that. Removing himself from possible blame, Roen thought to herself. While he set out the steak for her, he bemoaned the fact that he should have spiced it as well as he did the nopales dumplings. Such an addition would have perfected the flavor, he said. That was when Roen regained that breath of hope that had been robbed from her for too many suns. Even while they stripped her and chained her to the floor, the guards had not searched her cell. They had not discovered the small vial she had hidden beneath the cot, nor removed the hairpin buried under her ponytail. So when Mister North was allowed to deliver her the complete meal as he had promised many suns ago, she was prepared. Roen added the sleep ward potion to the steak after the butler left, and ate the whole thing. She cared not for the strange aftertaste that the potion left behind. The piece of meat was a welcomed addition to bolster her strength for what was to come, and she suspected it counteracted whatever spice he had added to the rest of the eft steaks. “My life...what is a measure of a life’s worth?” When the paladin drew the hairpin shaped lock pick from her ponytail and opened the cell door, she was relieved to find the rest of the guards sound asleep outside next to their empty plates. “To turn away from my path would mean rendering all of the sacrifices thus far meaningless...and I cannot do that. Those deaths...they had to have meant something.” She knew she should have turned right when she turned left. Fresh air led to freedom and Western Thanalan, as she was told by the valet. But she took the other turn instead -- the one that led toward the Goblet. She tried to recall the turns she had taken, albeit blinded with a hood over her head, when she was first brought down to the Black Cells. "Conflict in this world is not brought about by evil people, but by good people who believe they are doing evil things for the right reasons." A few memories refused to leave her from her days of starvation and fragmented thoughts. Trying to keep things in focus then felt like treading water while chained by heavy links of fatigue, thirst, and hunger. But there remained a few thoughts, and they were painfully sharp and fixed like a nail hammered into her head. "I won't cut where it ain't needed. And I won't be the one makin' most o' the cuts, anyroad." Perhaps it was the effects of the sleep ward that sharpened her senses. Her heart was pounding like a wild animal caught, and her eyes darted constantly left and right to spot any stray movements of shadows. Was it this heightened anxiety that lent even more focus to the goals that had coalesced in her mind during those fevered dreams? "Nero wants to cut deep t'make things better. I'm content t'just cut out the bullet." All that she had endured in the past cycle, Roen could trace to one man. Of all the Monetarists nobles that she and Nero had opposed, only one face emerged as the most manipulative of them all. Aside from the members of the Syndicate, who else could she target? Who else could she affect? In the chaotic churning of agitated thoughts, Roen’s mind settled on one thing and one thing only. The only thing she could do, when all the other goals had failed. "There's one man that needs puttin' out." It was in such a state that she somehow spotted the small side tunnel hidden amongst the stones. She ascended the steps to find herself behind the wooden door. "The man is entirely too competent at stirrin' up suffering. It needs to end." When she crossed the threshold, she found herself surrounded by deep maple walls decorated with rich paintings and plush rugs beneath her feet. “You're on the edge of a knife. Don't fall." She was in Taeros' manse.

Sounds really cool, Bryn! Looking forward to seeing how it plays out! (especially if you need some ex-Resistance members to back you up...)

Can I get the Acolyte's chest? (I know I asked for BRD first but I also forgot about Rae... she needs outfit more than Brynn does... >__< ) And boots if KitKat is throwing in a second piece... >__> (also let me know if you need mats...!)

Here's a hug for you, Jara!

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

I will share my own experience, take it for what it's worth! PMs have been my friend. That has been my mainstay of making connections. My character being rather quiet spoken and definitely not a social butterfly, when I came to discover the RPC, I scouted out posters here, read their wikis, and started to send out PMs with "Hey, I read your profile and your character sounds fascinating! I am kind of new around here, would you want to arrange a chance meeting RP with me?" Everyone I've sent a PM to replied nicely (people are very friendly around here I've found), and dialogue got started about what each character was about and BAM chance encounter scheduled. Guaranteed RP! Although I should also mention a few of those didn't pan out when it was left to "find me whenever!" Because finding people who are not on your friend's list is painstaking in this game. :dodgy: But in my early days, I did also hang around Quicksand and emoted, reading a book, ordering a drink, or even sitting outside on a bench or what have you. But what I was MOSTLY doing was reading other people's emotes and conversations to see who I wanted to interact with or who may have a hook I can use. I did spill a drink on someone once, or accidentally bumped into them dropping the said book, and a conversation was started. Rarely did someone approach me though while I was emoting by my lonesome. I was emoting mostly to make others know I was there, so that when *I* approached *them* I had been there ICly for awhile. I also went to watch the Grindstone events and met Roen's first and oldest friend there by complete random encounter. I also wrote on the IC forum about what was going on with my character after her first real story arc got started. I do believe that getting IC posts out there kind of puts out a resume if you will, for other RPers who like to write and read such things. It attracts like minded people. I have sent out my share of "I LOVED your post" PMs and those opened up some dialogue for new RP opportunities as well. So that's how I've made my connections so far. And I still bug people all the time, through tells or PM if they want to RP with me. I rarely get random walk ups since I am not hanging around the tavern these days... although I will not turn away any if it happens! Once I was crafting in obvious non-RP gear when Brynhilde just walked up to Roen and stared her down. I immediately stood up and started to RP. Right there, in that skimpy crafting clothes that Roen would never wear. >___> I was also stopped for a chat when I was visiting my retainer. Twice. Closed window and started to RP! So be proactive would be my advice. I don't really know what the solution is for people who were outright flatly ignored, that has yet to happen to me and this was when I was totally new around here and knew no one. Or maybe if I did emote and it was ignored, I just brushed it off as they didn't read it or they were busy, or afk and I moved on. So not really anything *new* in terms of advice but that's what I can share. I do hope new folks AND old RPers like do not get discouraged from keep trying and being proactive.

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