Roen

The reason why attached Shakira to Brynnalia so many years ago. But likely this is not such a foreign language for many. Edit: one more! I used this song to write a post for Roen long ago. It's more her style.

Hm. This is easy and hard for me to do, only because for many characters who made me raise my eyebrows and rub my hands in anticipation for the next encounter, those scenes came at their second meeting. The first was brief and almost accidental. But THOSE are not the ones that are being asked for in this thread so... First impressions as they come to mind: Verad Bellveil - We had arranged a chance RP but I had no idea what the set up was going to be. The scene that Roen accidentally walked in on with Verad... was HILARIOUS and it totally confounded her. They began to talk and the scene ended on a sad but a touching note. I remember that scene very well and could not help but look forward to the next time they would accidentally meet again. I walked away from that grinning ear to ear. Natalie Mcbeef - I had no idea who this was. Siha and Roen decided to have lunch at the Quicksand to catch up and this nosy Sultansworn overheard some little thing that was said and walked over to our table, took out a little notepad, and started to grill Roen about it. Trying to protect Siha from suspicion, Roen kind of omitted saying certain things and well... Natalie made her sweat under the collar for it. The rest was history. Brynhilde Wulf - Roen knew nothing about the woman, but from the first moment she laid her eyes on the Highlander, Bryn just exuded this strength and wisdom. Bryn took her aside and gave her some quiet words of advice and at the time with what Roen was facing, Bryn suddenly seemed like this pillar of unwavering fortitude. Roen still kind of thinks of her that way. Chachanji Gegenji - This was another prearranged chance encounter, but the scene that followed in the refugee camps was a delight! Especially when Chachanji forced himself to swallow down that awful tincture to reassure someone else. The day ended with Roen watching the little guy play and frolick with Gran in the stream, and she felt quite at peace with herself. It was a warm scene to play. Edda Eglantine - Nothing extraordinary happened during Roen's first conversation with this noblewoman. And yet for me, their little dance of ingrained courtesies, polite words, and occasional timid prodding into each other's lives, it was a lovely thing to play. Knowing OOC about each other's past, I think we both knew what was not being said ICly but still could see the obvious parallels of the two in their demeanor. Roen still has to get to know this woman better.

Osric is banned for being a bloody plot trouble maker!!! And yet like McNulty you gotta love the sergeant. Grrrr! Banned for 3 days from any scheming!

I shipped this... MONTHS AGO! -blows on nails-

Zhavi. I've always loved Zhavi's writing. There's always so many little details that lend more dimension to that complex character that is Zhi. AND the stories also open up the seedy underside of Limsa Lominsa, a setting that is very underused in my opinion. It also takes gall and gumption to play such a down and dirty character. I admire that. And Kink as a stand alone story (but it also gives detailed insight into the character's tragic past)... was awesome.

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

I agree with all of the posters above. And I too completely understand what you mean about performance anxiety. I have played with RPers where I have paused and said... "MAN. That was a great way of phrasing that" or "Geez this person is good..." and then look at my own post and find it somewhat lacking. But I will tell you this. I have NEVER went the other way and said "Wow that person said -that- twice" or "that was a horrible way of phrasing that" ... like ever! Live RP is fast paced and I think all of us know we are put on the spot to react right away and type out something. Some of us do it better than others. I know I have admired other people's skills and tried to learn something while RPing with them. But I know I am too busy to knit pick at other people's RP -while- I am actually RPing. So just get in the moment and write your heart out! And don't go back and judge yourself! It's the most surest way to get yourself out of the moment! MOST likely people aren't judging you. They are in the moment going along with the scene and trying to decide what they are going to say next with THEIR character. And as other people have said... have fun with it!

OOoooOOOOoooh.... TEMPTING...!!! -fantasizes-

:cry: I couldn't even hold out... one... day... /ashamed And Vali, you are banned for going over the allowed number of bans in this thread in a day. No more banning people for 2 days!

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

Xheja is banned because she deals with shady tinctures and poisons, and is part of Tylwyth Narah! We all know they are up to no good! 3 days of community service in kissing and hugging orphans!

That is adorable...

"Poisoned?” Broken Nose kicked the empty bottle off to the side as he peered at the body of the Elezen lord that was slumped in the chair. He sniffed at the noble’s wine-soaked shirt before he straightened, and looked to the medic who was hovering on the other side of the corpse. The Midlander shook his head, rubbing his chin. “It looks that way at the first glance, maybe something in the drink.” He gestured to the mess of spilled spirit over the desk, the body, and the floor. “But Rezhenne’s mouth is free of blood. His eyes are bloodshot, so...my guess is suffocation.” Roegadyn Brass Blade grunted, and began to study the desk that the noble was sitting at, his eyes squinting at stained parchment there. More than half of the letter was still wet and blurred with wine, but he could make out some sentences still. It was made out to Lord Quillburn. ‘I have reconsidered. I do not think Mumuqaru’s plan is sound. If you plan to proceed, I will not take any part on this. But if you decide--’ “His valet found him this morning,” another Blade’s voice brought the Hellsguard’s attention to the door. A quiet groan rumbled in his chest when he spotted the familiar raven-haired Highlander talking to one of the Blade grunts. Her arrival was hardly ever silent, bejeweled with jingling bracelets and anklets. Broken Nose wondered if Callae was so finely decorated before she took employment under Taeros. “Hob!” the Roegadyn barked, which silenced the Midlander Blade immediately. It also brought Brynnalia’s green gaze his way. “Don’tcha have better things to do?” Broken Nose lumbered over toward the entrance to the bedroom, towering over the two hyurs. Hob, whom the Hellsguard knew made daily reports to Taeros’ camp, shrunk in the Roegadyn’s shadow...but the Highlander bard only crossed her arms, smirking up at him. “Broken Nose,” Callae greeted him with a nod. The Roegadyn was familiar enough with the woman and her easy smile to know that her disarming ways were only an act; she was just an extension of Taeros and was not to be trusted. “Hob here was just tellin’ me about what happened tae poor Lord Rezhenne.” She patted the shoulder of the Midlander and gave him a playful wink as he slunk away. The Hellsguard rolled his massive shoulders, his dark eyes narrowing on the woman. “Mayhap this be a Brass Blades investigation. Ya here ta help us in finding the culprit?” Broken Nose already knew she was not here to help, but only to suss out whether this was something that would affect the welfare and business of her employer. He used to not care about such things, but of late, he was finding that such details vexed him. “Ye already know that Taeros and Rezhenne were business partners.” Brynnalia kept her tone light. Her expression stayed that way too. “Monetarist nobles found dead in his own room not be somethin’ any other Monetarists want tae hear.” She passed by the Brass Blade sergeant to approach the body and Broken Nose could already see her eyes scanning the area. He grumbled and strode after her, laying his large hand on the table to bring her attention back to him. She was skimming over the contents of the letter when he cleared his throat, to which she answered with another easy grin. “We’re not sure what killed him yet, nor who wanted to.” He crossed his arms again, a wry expression on his face. “Your employer wouldn’t want ta help us out with a few clues?” To that Callae laughed, tossing her head back. “What are ye implyin’, Nose?” Her smile never wavered. “I s’pose ye can ask him yerself if ye feel so inclined. But I am certain my employer wants tae get t' the bottom o’ this as much as anyone.” She sighed then her tone lowered just slightly, but enough to be noticeable. “I don’ need tae remind ye where yer pay comes from. Ye best be doin’ yer finest job tae make sure we find the right culprits here.” Broken Nose nearly scowled at the implication, but said nothing. She was right. Weren’t all Blades funded by Taeros’ employers, after all? He had somehow started to forget that of late. But with those like Callae about, he told himself to take care in his choice of words and even demeanor. “Well, I’ll get a good pair of eyes on it then. A new recruit just came on board. An ex-Flame.” “Mm,” Callae hummed as she scanned the letter again. “Ex-Flame eh?” She paused, looking back upat him with arched brows. “Wait. She be the one that was also leadin’ the Flames in that street fight a few moons back...aye? The ones with guns?” She slowly tilted her head. “How is that investigation goin’?” This time, Broken Nose could not keep the frown at bay. “Dead ends. We know the bandits are led by someone named Scythe, who is recruitin’ under the pretense for some revolutionary cause.” He paused, looking pointedly at her. “Although the rumor amongst many Blades is that because they suspect some association between this Scythe and that Limsan pirate, suddenly there’s talk of rewards for whoever brings ‘im in. You wouldn’t happen ta know if such rumors were true now, wouldja?” It was Brynnalia’s turn to shrug. “I wouldn’t know anythin’ about it. But…any incentive tae put an end t' bandits within the walls, with guns no less, well that'd nae be a bad thing, mm?” “Not if trying to bait him is done by beatin’ up on more refugees,” the Hellsguard growled. Callae tilted her head, and for a moment, Broken Nose thought that her smile too faded just a little, but it was as fleeting as a passing shadow of a bird in flight. “Ye know our employers. What they want, they get. ‘Sides, don’t tell me ye’ve gone soft, 'Nose.” The Roegadyn let out a loud snort. “Ya don’t enjoy seeing it just as much as me, we both know it.” He knew he had guessed right when that easy smile on the woman’s face faded. Broken Nose had gambled that since the woman was a Highlander, that she held still some loyalty to those of her kin. He shared a lowborn upbringing himself and had some measure of sympathy for the poor, even though he rarely let it be shown in his line of work. He leaned in close and kept his voice low. “I do this job to put food on the table at the end of the day, and so do you, I reckon’. We don’t need ta turn into monsters for it.” Brynnalia met his gaze steadily, the green hue of her eyes turning a darker shade. All amusement was gone from her visage. “And ye and I both know the food on the table be no good if our necks not be intact tae enjoy it. And I intend tae keep mine, and the spread on my table well stocked.” She lightly tapped his chainmail armor on the chest. “We work with and for monsters every sun, 'Nose. Don’t ye forget it.” Broken Nose blinked, taken aback by the woman’s sudden honesty. But soon as he started to regard her differently, perhaps trying to see her in a different light, she straightened and flashed him her playful smirk again. “Now, 'Nose. Be a sweetling and let me know what ye find eh? Or keep yer ears tae the ground on how this…new recruit’s investigation goes. I wouldn’t want it goin’ awry…” Callae was already making her way for the exit, a two-fingered wave sent over her shoulder. “Will do,” the Roegadyn muttered as he watched the woman exit. He turned back to the dead Elezen before him, scowling at the letter. Just what deal was he wanting out of? And did it get him killed?

He said mystery meat.. right?

I was a few responses too late (stupid work) so replaced with new image for Kayah. Hot tofu pot. An acquired taste and kicks a punch. Only the adventurous folk will try it likely. And the taste will stay with you for days (as you crave it again!)

Oh how CUTE! Edit: Sure I will sign up too. Smiling, sad, or crying! All good! There are some pics on Roen's wiki...

For Roen, Delial Grimsong. For Brynnalia, Shaelen Stormchild. Oh wait. Add Delial on Brynn's list too. (strictly frenemies only, not enemies)

“That will be all, Osbert.” Lord Jeulerand Rezhenne dismissed his servant with a wave of his hand, not even looking back as his bedroom door closed quietly behind him. The Elezen set his quill aside next to the bottle of ink, his hand going to the glass of red wine set on the table. Taking an idle sip, he lifted the recently penned letter, holding it next to the candlelight, looking over the document once more. The noble knew that it had to be well worded, lest he draw more displeasure from other Monetarist nobles. He had been trying to regain the favor that he had lost somehow with the faction loyal to Lolorito, if his recent encounter with Taeros in the operetta was any indication. Lightly blowing on the wet ink, Lord Rezhenne smiled. Surely, the promise of new business and increased wealth would get him back into Lolorito’s good graces again. He would not be associated with the likes of Mumuqaru, another house rumored to have also gained some ill-will with Taeros. Setting his drink back on the table, he laid the parchment down carefully, when the flame of the candle flickered once more and the door creaked open quietly behind him. “What is it, Osbert? Did you forget something?” the Elezen asked without turning around. His personal valet had been known to bring him last minute night caps, or fret over the crispness of his sheets before slumber. So when the strangely scented rag suddenly appeared, covering his nose and mouth, the Elezen noble could only desperately claw at the unrelenting grip that had, just as suddenly, constricted around his neck and face. The wooden chair he was sitting in shook violently, the noble’s feet kicking at the table, knocking over the wine glass. The crimson liquid soaked into the parchment and began to blur the inked letters, as the dancing candlelight threw stretched shadows of the struggling noble and his assailant against the far wall. Soon the silhouette of the noble began to slow in his movement, but he kicked out one last time in desperation. It only managed knock over the candle, its flames fizzling out as it was drowned in the spilt wine. Then the room was plunged into darkness. [align=center]~[/align] The gold locket spun in the air, its small but gilded surface catching the late morning sunlight just right to lend it a warm glimmer. Brynnalia Callae was leaning on a cushy divan with her feet propped up on the coffee table. She twisted the thin chain between her fingers, idly watching the jewelry spin this way and that. With a flick of the wrist she swung it up and caught it mid-flight. She pried it open with her thumb and brought it before her eyes. Within was a tiny portrait of an olive-complexioned Highlander with dark raven hair and striking green eyes. It was as if she was staring at herself, except that the woman within the picture was at least ten cycles older than she was now. “As you have endeavored to share elements of your world with me, thus do I attempt to do the same in kind. Unfortunately, the majority of my experience is with gilt and finery attempting to conceal rather less impressive contents. Perhaps with this, you may keep something hidden and close at the same time. I find that helps. Happy Starlight.” That was the note that Gideon North had attached to an unexpected gift--one that he had prepared for her before a certain card game. Brynn wondered what possessed him to get her a gift in the first place. Was it their awkward drinking outing that warmed him to her? Or her flirtatious teases every time they encountered each other? She often enjoyed the challenges that came with rattling men’s composure, and more stoic or staunch their resolve the better. And when it faltered, there was a swell of pride that fed her arrogance and brought her a certain amount of satisfaction--something akin to a hunter that had finally cornered its prey. It was just a game after all, and one that she enjoyed playing quite a lot. And yet…when he gave her the gift, she was taken aback. She had just ambushed him and her old acquaintance, Shaelen, at that card game a few suns past. Both he and the smuggler were livid at the deception, and Brynn knew that her bridges had been burnt--perhaps for good--with Stormchild. But North was someone who she was going to continue to work with for Taeros, so she talked herself into the challenge of gaining his forgiveness even after lying and deceiving him. It was another game, right? She did not want to admit that she did find the rare glimpse of his dry wit endearing as well. So why did the gift unsettle her so? Brynnalia studied the small portrait of the woman within the locket. Her mother was the last person to give her Starlight gift, and that was many cycles ago. Since joining the Resistance, then eventually gaining employment under Taeros, she had successfully kept everyone else at bay, using them for what she needed, whether it be pleasure, distraction, or profit. But never had she received or expected a gift, especially on the charitable holiday. She gave none and expected none in return. She had no use for sentimentality, after all. And yet here she was, wearing the locket close to her heart, with the picture of the person that had meant most to her in world. This doesn’t mean anything, she told herself again. The kiss on Valentione’s Day didn’t mean anything either, Brynn quickly added as a reminder. She was amused, not bothered, that Gideon had received chocolate from some anonymous admirer--although she herself suspected Crofte since no one else knew of his new charge, Wilhelm. Brynnalia teased him about his numerous lovers--obviously he had to have more than one, since he did not know who sent the chocolates-- and then she surprised him with a kiss just because it was something he was not expecting. She smirked even now remembering the ruddy hue that colored the valet’s cheeks and the sudden speechlessness that overtook him. But it was her turn to be surprised when he “returned the favor” only a few suns ago. Brynn had scolded him and dared him to do live a little lest he go to his grave with regrets. That was when he pulled her in for a kiss, one of quiet intensity. Much like the man, it was heated but controlled. When he pulled away, Gideon wore his same usual composed expression again. “Perhaps you were correct. Less regret than I expected,” the valet observed matter-of-factly. Brynnalia grinned as she recalled her retort then, “I didn't know ye as well as I thought. But don' mind being wrong just this once." With a quiet snort of amusement, she tucked the locket back under her tunic, just as a red colored linkpearl chimed quietly. When she plugged it into her ear, the tidings she was given made her scowl immediately. “Jeulerand Rezhenne?” Brynn blinked as she repeated the name. She narrowed her eyes. “Aye, I know of the man. Taeros will want tae know all ye found. Prepare a report. I’ll be right there.” With a displeased grunt, she uncrossed her ankles and pushed herself up from her seat. All previous leisurely musings were dismissed as her thoughts took a darker turn. What had been reported to her by a Brass Blade on the 'pearl did not bode well for Taeros, or his business dealings. And that meant things did not bode well for anyone else around him either.

Roen clenched her fist tight then opened it again, trying to loosen the stiffness there. Conjury had mended the broken bones of her hand, but the soreness still remained. She laid down on the thin mattress that passed for a bed, staring up at the stone ceiling above. It was taller than the Sworn gaols, but it felt oppressive all the same. Her thoughts wanted to dwell on too many dark things all at once, that the paladin had to forcibly turn her thoughts to something that would get her mind off of the thick stone walls that wanted to suffocate her senses. I wonder if Esmond Dirk survived, Roen absently wondered. She had heard his voice, along with those of Morn and Tash, when Crofte led her out of Taeros’ office. Their conversational tone sounded cordial, although the paladin heard Tash trying to lead Dirk out of the building. Esmond did not seem to care for Roen’s predicament either way, but she warned him anyway. “They mean to kill you,” she said as she was led past them. Even under the dark hood that was pulled over her head, the paladin still could tell that Dirk heard her. As she was led out by the Sworn, Roen could hear blades being drawn and a crack of splintering wood as if it was cleaved with a giant axe. He is probably dead. Roen shook her head. He was the only other person that knew where she was other than the three that Taeros had ordered to bring her in. No one else knows that I am here. Roen felt a sudden tightening in her chest with that thought, and it threatened to rob her of her breath. This would not be like her time in the Sultansworn gaol. Even though she had spent countless suns in the dark windowless cell, she had hope then that justice would prevail. The paladin knew that she had friends, allies, and family that were working to exonerate her. Coatleque, Natalie, and Kage, they were all working to prove her innocence. Mister Bellveil had visited her to bring her some cheer, and Askier had even snuck in an explosive in a well-intended but poorly thought out plan of freeing her. Hornet came despite her revulsion to dungeons, bringing news of Gharen’s well-being. Osric had given her words of wisdom to lend her courage, and Kiht had even saved her life. Even Delial had helped her then, smuggling out the bomb that Askier had brought in. Memories of all those she used to call friends and family brought an unexpected pang that pierced her mask of composure. Roen pressed her lips tight to dismiss the trembling she felt there, laying her mended arm across her eyes to lend steady pressure lest they threaten to spill tears. This is no time for despair, she told herself. It was always something that she told herself, time and again when darkness loomed over her. But now, for the first time, she truly felt alone in her trials. Her emotions felt raw, shredded, and finding herself trapped alone with her thoughts, she could not deny that both love and trust had failed her miserably. How could I have been so wrong…? The rattle of the prison door brought her attention to the fore as she bolted to a seat. She heard quiet voices that echoed down the stonework before armored footsteps approached the thick door of her cell. "... Did you sleep at all?" Coatleque’s voice came from the other side. Roen remembered the same question that the Sworn used ask her many moons ago, when Coatleque was the paladin’s gaoler during her time being charged as a Garlean traitor. Back then, the Sworn’s visitations were a source of comfort--a small glimpse of warm candlelight in the pit of darkness. Now…now she was the latest person who betrayed her trust. “Why do you even ask?” Roen replied coldly. There was a pause, a slow measured breath being taken before Ser Crofte spoke again. "We both knew it would come to this eventually." "How unfortunate for me that you realized it before I did." Coatleque let out an incredulous chuckle. "You are harboring an enemy of the city-state. Someone who wants to kill for the mere sake of killing...and on top of that you made threats against Taeros right in front of me." "He does not want to kill for the-" Words to defend Nero came out tumbling quickly enough, like a reflex. But Roen bit her lip, stopping herself. Was there a point to it anymore? Nero once had non-violent intentions, but that had changed. "Believe as you will, Coatleque. I thought he would end the suffering here." "Two evils do not make good, Roen. I had thought you meant to stop him, else I may have acted even sooner. But now..." "I thought I could. I thought we could still do this without needless bloodshed." Her own words sounded foolish now even to her own ears. The extent she had been lied to, the futile hopes she had placed in the Nero, and the memory of his bitter angry words…she did not want to dwell on them any longer. "But it does not matter anymore." "I wanted to believe you. But then you said people were coming after Ja...after Taeros. What am I to do with that?" She thinks that I am plotting Taeros’ death...Roen realized. She herself had a pause of hesitation when Osric had confided in her that he was sharpening his blade specifically for the noble. But in doing nothing, in trusting in the sergeant to do the right thing in the end, was she then his accomplice in this as well? "I said that for your sake," Roen growled. "Because I believe you would stand between him and a blade. Do you think he does not have enemies?" "I know he does." There was a pause to the Sworn’s words, as if hesitating. “Or at least he makes them easily. I do not pry." "Because if you did, you would have to put him in here too." Coatleque spoke slowly and questioningly as if she did not believe herself either. "...No, he...does care about Ul'dah. In his own way..." She cleared her throat. “And besides...Lazarov is the bigger threat to the city right now. I cannot divide my attention like that." Roen shook her head. "You have your priorities then,” she said grimly. "I thought I had mine. Nero...he cared about Ul'dah too. In his own way. And now I am in here for it." The paladin paused, her voice lowering to a whisper. "I know...what he has done. I wished I could have stopped it.” "As do I,” Crofte’s voice lowered to match her own, her tone laced with regret. Then there was a sharp intake of breath when she continued. "You are not to want for anything while here at least. If you need bedding, clothes, something to read, let the guard know. By Jameson's order." When Roen did not answer, the Sworn continued. "We have your linkpearls as well." Roen’s eyes narrowed, her fingers curling slowly upon her lap into fists. "He will not answer." There was a slight creak to the thick wooden door as if the Sworn was leaning against it. "You do not know that,” she murmured. "If there is a message you wish to be delivered..." "Nay. I do know." She struggled to keep her voice steady. "You can say that I still do not believe in impossible trades. He should not either." She paused, her voice growing softer. "Tell him...there is always another side. Tell him that. He may hear. I do not know. ...But he will not answer." "He does not have to answer, so long as he hears. And if he does not respond, he will also receive the lock of hair you gave me last evening." The paladin brought her hand to cover her eyes, even though the Sworn could not see her through the thick doors. But she wanted to deny her sudden sadness all the same. She wrinkled her nose into a frown and hardened her voice. "He will not come, Coatleque. I know him. I am not the bargaining chip that will draw him out." There was a long pause from the door. "Roen...does he feel nothing for you?" Roen bowed her head, trying desperately to swallow down the constriction in her throat. "I am not what holds his heart. I do not know that anything does...any more." "I am sorry. For whatever that is worth. I did not know." The paladin sucked in a sharp breath, straightening in her seat. “And I do not want him to come. Not into Taeros’ hands.” "It is not into his hands, it is into Ul'dah's hands." The Sworn snapped back, her voice also adapting a hint of steel. "So you say," Roen nearly spat out those words. "He must answer for crimes already committed, regardless if he has given up his madness." "Perhaps so." There was a grim curl to her lips. "But I will not turn him over to you. Nor the man you sleep with." “Then the blood he has shed is on your hands in equal portion." Roen could hear the deep scowl in the woman’s voice. "Will you play the part of my executioner as well?" "Even if I say no, you've no reason to believe me anymore." "Nay. I do not.” "At least I did not say it was for your benefit, as Natalie did." Roen could only answer that with a bitter chuckle. "I do not believe anyone has benefited here,” Ser Crofte said as she pushed off the cell door. "If you have anything else to say, it seems my time is done for now." The paladin said nothing else. She could only stare at her hands in tightly balled fists upon her lap as Crofte's armored footsteps grew distant, ending with the heavy slam of steel door. It was only then that Roen bowed her head, and buried her face in her hands and let her hidden tears fall.

I actually see you running about a lot, more so than anyone else here on the RPC. I'm just always busy when I do see you run past so I've never gotten a chance to say hi HA...! Well, if I am actually "running" around I am probably OOC and doing turn-ins or holiday things... Roen is not supposed to be running around... >___> (But I must do PVE things and get vanity things... :> ) But once the current story arc is finished, hopefully that will change. (I am always incredibly flattered though when people say hi out of the blue...)

Thanks, Warren! I think if anything, this thread allowed some people to make some connections with each other, or at least increased their awareness that there are people out there that wants to RP with them! I have made note of everyone who mentioned me (thank you... I didn't even know who some of you were or that you even knew of my character... so flattered!) and I will try and find you all eventually as Roen's story allows!

The backwards helm was yanked off of Roen's head, the sudden influx of light so bright it made her squint. Her disheveled forelocks hung loose over her eyes, her breaths coming quick behind the gag. She knew she had traveled more than a few malms since the teleportation to Ul’dah’s aetheryte crystal; she had felt the warm touch of the city-state’s cobblestones beneath her bare feet as she was dragged through the street as quickly as possible. Following that, her feet traveled dirt roads. Now she stood upon a woolen rug, and indoors; she knew that even as her vision began to clear. “Hello, Roen. It’s been a while.” Jameson Taeros sat in a reclined pose behind a dark polished desk, his pressed white shirt a stark contrast from her own rain-soaked and mud-stained tunic. He gestured to the mercenaries with two fingers. “Please, remove her gag. We are civilized here. And she knows she is a wanted woman in Ul’dah. This should not come as an undue surprise.” Roen followed the noble’s gaze to the armored Sworn standing next to her in silence. “You did well.” Jameson curled a smile. “I did what was necessary for Ul’dah.” Coatleque kept her tone neutral. “Of course,” Jameson said, gesturing vaguely. “It does pain me that I had to resort to this.” “And yet another Sultansworn wrapped around your finger,” Roen said in a hoarse voice once the gag was removed. “How do you do it?” The noble shrugged. “Roen, we saw one another at the gala, remember? Coatleque was my date.” His amber gaze strayed back to the Sworn. “We are still…an item.” It was a matter-of-fact statement, one that held little warmth, if any. “I was hoping in my most pristine of dreams, that we, the four of us, could find some common ground. To stop the killing. That is what this is all about.” “The four of us?” “You, me, Coatleque, and Lazarov, of course.” Roen narrowed her eyes. “We have nothing to talk about.” “Not fer nothin’, boss,” Morn cleared his throat. “But what this is about is gil. So if me an’ Tash can get our pay, we’ll be the fuck outta yer hair.” Jameson flicked the two mercenaries a patient look. “Vandol. Holbrook. Your pay will be arranged. You have my commendations.” He waved to the door. “If you would like to extend your current contract, please step outside and guard the door. Ensure that no one enters.” There was a pause between the two mercenaries that flanked her sides, and Roen saw a slight stiffening of the male Highlander’s frame. Morn and Tash exchanged looks, then grumbled as they turned. “Yeah, we’ll be right the fuck outside,” the male said. “He’s been good for it so far,” the paladin heard the woman murmur as they closed the door behind her. Taeros let out a long sigh as he rose from his desk, approaching a wine-filled decanter and glasses on a side table. “Coatleque, please make Roen more comfortable,” he said without turning. The Sworn stepped up behind her with a blade, but seemed to hesitate a moment before cutting her binds loose. Roen rubbed at her raw wrists as Jameson walked up to her, two glasses of wine in hand. He handed one to Ser Crofte, and offered her the other. “It’s sad that it takes this to bring you here to me. Really.” He sighed when the paladin made no move to take the offering. “Am I not civilized? Truly?” He lifted the glass to his own lips, taking a languid sip of it as his pale eyes studied both the paladin and the Sworn in turn. “I want you to know that this hurts Coatleque more than she will ever admit.” When Roen did not answer him, he continued. “Not that you’ve ever cared about anyone other than yourself, Roen. That and whatever you hold for honor. Piety.” There was a hint of mocking pity in his tone. “As long as you are at the center.” She shot him a glare. “This is not about me. This was never about me.” “You see people who oppose your views as traitors.” Taeros dismissed her words with a wave. “I believe that was the term that was thrown around regarding poor Natalie. In your view, she must have been brainwashed somehow.” His voice dipped. “I adored Natalie. She was a blunt instrument, but she was guileless. Unselfish. Whatever her other faults.” “I do not know how you did it.” Roen shook her head, finally taking the moment to look at the man standing before her. “You, the one who had us all removed from the Sultansworn Order. You somehow convinced her to blackmail my brother into surrendering and execute another man without a trial.” She bowed her head, scowling. “And now you have another Sultansworn to take her place.” “Whatever you judge Natalie to have been, whatever you judge Coatleque…they are nothing compared to the bed of vipers you have decided to lay yourself in.” There was a small curl to the noble’s lips. “So please do not be so quick to judge.” “The snake calling out the viper,” Roen hissed. “I suppose one knows his own kind.” “I brought you here to broker a peace. Not to see you in chains. Why do you think I ordered your face covered?” “You are wishing to bargain…?” the paladin asked with obvious disbelief. She was about to continue when a quick knock interrupted them, followed by the mercenary woman poking her head in. “Uh… boss? Some guy is here. Esmond Dirk? I told ‘im to fuck off but he insisted.” Jameson frowned, his earlier smile fading. “See him in.” Roen remained silent as another Midlander entered, and both he and Taeros retreated to the back room without another word. Their voices were hushed in their exchange, leaving the paladin and the Sultansworn alone in the main room. “I trusted you,” Roen broke the silence, glancing sharply at the armored Sworn who had yet to say anything to her. “You did,” Coatleque responded cooly. “You cannot even meet my eyes.” Roen stared at the woman a moment longer. “I suppose you made your choice.” Coatleque looked off at the map hanging on the wall. “Nero made my choice. Do not make this harder than it must be.” Jameson entered the room again, setting his wine glass on the desk and pouring himself a refill. “Roen, if you must insist on playing the victim, I cannot stop you. Be my guest in that. I do what I do, Coatleque does what she does, for the good of the people of Ul’dah.” He lifted the glass again, although it paused, hovering before his lips. “Can you say the same about Lazarov?” Taking another sip, the noble closed the distance between them. “I understand your…view of his intents may be skewed. But.” He leaned closer, training his gaze upon her. “You cannot deny he is the most dangerous creature our city has seen since Dalamud burst like an egg.” Roen leaned away, glaring back at him. “You, along with the rest of the Monetarists, you live on the backs and drink the blood of the poor. You grow richer as they wither. You consider Nero more dangerous because he wants to do something against people like you. I suppose a sharp dagger looks more like a threat than a festering disease slowly rotting the core.” The noble’s shoulders rose and fell with a heavy sigh. “Festering diseases now.” He flicked a lazy glance at the Ser Crofte. “Love, if your sweet conscience was burdened by this so-called betrayal…” He lifted his hands. “Witness what truly happens when a mind is coerced and poisoned.” "My feelings are irrelevant,” Coatleque said flatly, her gaze still fixated on the distant wall. “My duty takes precedence." Taeros narrowed his eyes on Roen, a look of anger flashing. “A disease I am. Yes. To him. Lazarov wants me dead.” He lifted her chin with the rim of his glass. “You do as well, perhaps?” He paused as if to look for a reaction, searching her eyes. “All because of the first mate, yes? Daegsatz.” Roen stiffened, a part of her insides burned at the mention of the Sea Wolf’s name, but she refused to take the bait. The noble leaned back with an exhale. "That was a bit of bad work. Natalie...took things a bit too far. It was not my intent, I assure you." He rubbed his fingers distastefully. "But what happened happened.” "You will forgive me if I have a hard time believing that," Roen replied coldly. "And there are many who want you dead." “I am shocked you think you know of "many" who want me dead. I don't suppose you are willing to supply names,” the noble said, sounding almost amused. Then he sighed. "It doesn't matter, Roen. You are not the only person willing to break rules for something one truly believes in. This is not about honor. This is not about laws. This is a war for higher values.” "Higher values.” Roen said incredulously. “Is it not about self-preservation? That is what you called higher values?" Jameson tilted his head, that patient look never leaving his face. "This is for the future.” He looked to Coatleque, drawing her attention. “Our future. Roen's future, whether she likes it or not." The Sultansworn nodded. "Yes, of course." "Let us call it what it is.” Roen frowned at them both. “Preservation of your lifestyle. The way things work in Ul'dah. The way Monetarists run things. That is what you want to preserve. Protect. When it is wrong." Taeros studied her in silence for a long moment. “What would you have me do?” he finally asked quietly. "If you had your fondest wish. Right here, right now. What would happen?” "My wish? It is to see the Sultana recognize you and your kind for the poisonous influence that you are for this city--for all of Thanalan. That she dismisses the powers of the Syndicate, uses your vaulted, treasured wealth to supply for the poor outside those walls and within. To reorganize how this city works." “My wealth. The Syndicate's wealth.” Jameson looked less amused. "But not the Sultana's wealth. Surely. Her wealth, that should remain. Of course. Because she was born to it. It is her gods-given right.” "I have no doubt that she would give what she can to help her people." The look the noble gave her, for a moment, was an odd combination of amused and affronted. “Do you truly think that would result in a sudden boon, a bloom of flowers upon the commons? Not even you are fool enough to believe that. The Sultana would shore up her walls, would make certain portions of the city prettier…and the rest, like Pearl Lane, would be shoved away to continue to wallow in despair.” Jameson twirled the wine in his glass again. “Are the Syndicate's "rules" hard to play by at times? Certainly. They reward bold men and women, ones with courage and guile. The ones who fail to keep up…” He trailed off with a shrug. The noble set his glass back down on the desk, his tone changing oddly. “Your family...they are of an unconventional origin as well, are they not?” "You can stay that.” “And yet, with such an "unconventional" bloodline, you still swear, heart and soul, to Her Majesty.” He gestured to the Sworn. “At least Coatleque can say her blood runs true. A desert rose. Neither of us could say that.” Roen frowned at the implication that was being left unsaid. "You proclaim your higher purpose is for Ul'dah. Does it surprise you that I hold the same?" Roen did not answer. Taeros turned, looking a the map that hung on the wall behind his desk. "I do not proclaim a higher purpose to Ul'dah. It is for the people in it. The smallfolk, the ones I struggled with, shoulder-to-shoulder, in my rise." His voice had quieted. "The city could fall to dust. I care not. Ah, but the people..." Roen could not keep the disbelief out of her voice. "You. You care. For the people." Taeros turned with a chuckle. "Well let's be plain, I do not care for all the people. Ul'dah has its share of sores. But that is life. The strong survive. The Sultana just paints a prettier picture than the plain one I just rendered.” “The Sultana has shown willingness to help her people!” Roen protested. “Oh please,” Taeros sneered. “Token gestures. Have you been to Pearl Lane. Where is her kindness there? The places she cannot be bothered to step her dainty foot get none of her aid. As ever." Roen scowled. "You think she can fix that herself? And fund the Immortal Flames? And still continue to rule? And fend off the power struggle with your kind?" "I doubt I could ever convince you otherwise.” Jameson sighed as he stepped closer, peering at her. “Roen, if I were the man you believe me to be, why should I not simply have you killed?” Roen remained still, her jaw set. "Truth? I do not expect to live for much longer under your care." Taeros narrowed his eyes as if insulted. "The better answer might have been that you are more useful as a hostage." He gave the silent Sworn another glance. “This is what I get, Coatleque. Do you think Lazarov is good for her? Be honest, love.” "I do not,” Ser Crofte responded curtly. Jameson smiled back at her. “You see? Sultansworn and Syndicate. Literally and figuratively in the same bed. And the both of us concerned for your welfare.” "My welfare," Roen let out a bitter snort. "I really doubt I am here because of your concern for my welfare." "Irrelevant,” Coatleque spoke again, her words clipped. “She knows where Lazarov is. He must be brought to justice. Did Vandol give you her linkpearls?" "No, I shall have to retrieve those.” Jameson still wore a frown as he took a long sip from his glass. “We will draw out Lazarov in time. I am not fool enough to believe he would rush in. Especially if I reveal how much Roen and I have in common." He swirled his wine. "She and I, we actually do share an origin. Of a sort." “You and I share nothing in common." Roen almost spat the words. Jameson raised his eyes from that glass to the paladin. "We do," he insisted softly. "The fact that we were both born of Garlemald, primarily.” Roen paused, not expecting that admittance. She had of course suspected that he had associations with Garlemald, owing from his past connection with the Garlean scientist Banurein, but she had not known he himself was of Imperial origin. Why was he telling her? But even as she studied his face, she saw him blink, as if he just remembered something--a hair’s width too late. “Dirk.” The man that had entered earlier stepped out from the back room. He bowed deeply, his expression neutral. “Yes, m’lord.” “Do me a great favor, and replace the Holbrook woman's watch.” Jameson smiled. “Send her in.” Roen stole a glance at Coatleque as the man exited, to gauge the Sworn’s reaction. She betrayed nothing, but her eyes were intently fixed on the map. “Y'wanted t' see me, boss?” Tash entered, giving a nervous glance toward the two women. It was as if she was expecting to find a body or two. “Yes.” Taeros turned and rounded his desk, unlocking a drawer with a key he kept hanging on a chain around his neck. He withdrew a small pouch. “Esmond Dirk intends to betray me. He has made that plain enough. We need to ensure he is gone. That should not be too difficult?" He tossed the pouch to the female mercenary. “For your service.” "We's pros. 'Course not. But, uh..." She caught the pouch easily, and drew it open. Whatever she saw within made the woman smile wide. She pocketed it quickly. “We have an understanding,” Jameson nodded once. “Consider it done, boss.” “Dismissed.” When the door clicked closed again, the noble let out a long sigh, "We all have secrets we would rather not see the light of day. Trust is…” He paused for a breath, his amber eyes drifting to the Sworn. “It is a gift.” The two seemed to lock gazes for a moment before Taeros turned back to Roen. “I trust Coatleque implicitly. And she trusts me not to do something so juvenile as to murder you outright.” "So why are you telling me?” Roen too regarded the Sworn who seemed to have no reaction to a death order that was just given. Or the news of Taeros's Garlean origins. Perhaps she did not know the woman at all. “Are you trying to win me over?” “I do not need to win you over, Roen.” Jameson stepped back around the desk, approaching her. “I already know I will not. But I need you to understand my purpose in all this. It is every bit as equal as yours. We both come from a place that, were it learned by the commoners…neither of us would be safe from a common lynch mob.” Jameson studied her for a moment longer before he curled his usual smile. “You will be my guest, Roen. In one of my special cells.” He brushed a forelock away from her eyes, playing with it gently between his fingers. He glanced to Coatleque. “Take a lock of her hair, in case I wish to send it to Lazarov. But we should also ensure she has every comfort. For now.” He gave the paladin a pointed look. “Until she becomes uncooperative." "As you say,” the Sworn’s tone had returned to its flat monotony as she began to withdraw a pair of manacles from her belt. “Cover her face so that other 'Sworn or Blades do not recognize her.” Jameson tilted his head, feigning an apologetic look. Roen said nothing as her wrists were drawn behind her again, cold iron slapping around them. Taeros laid a tender hand on the Coatleque’s shoulder as he watched her work. "You should ask yourself one thing, in all of this, Roen. If I trust her with my secret, and she trusts me as she does, is it even remotely possible you could be the slightest bit wrong about me?" "Or I was entirely wrong about her,” Roen said bitterly, staring Crofte down. "In a way, you may very well have been." Jameson replied softly. Then with an odd smile, he leaned to kiss Coatleque on the cheek. "Return to me tonight, love. We will speak of pasts...and futures." "As you wish,” the Sworn replied quietly. Then another hood fell over Roen’s eyes.

*Climbs on Roen's head, settles askew slightly so as to look stylish* Beneficence combined. *grins happily* OH COOL HAT. YUSSS.

AAAH I love your pencil sketches!

Happy Birthday!