Roen

Having a sugar crash myself from these...

DAMMIT. What is with you people and these torture devices. I must go try this... it BETTER be "Best. Ramen. Ever."

I hate you, Osric.

This IS such a lovely idea! I think I ran by one being delivered. Sooo sweet!

!!! Whaaaaaaaat?

May 19th is my guess.

Roen sat by the foot of the bed, her fingers laced together and her elbows propped up on the mattress. She paid no mind to the heavy rain that pelted the windows and the occasional lightning that lit the night sky. Candles flickered from the desk, their faint but stubborn flames fending off the darkness and holding steady in the paladin’s vigil. Her silhouette resembled someone in prayer as she watched the man laid in bed, her gaze on Nero as his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. He had fallen to unconsciousness after drinking too much and too quickly of the potent liquor that he had kept hidden in his vault. She had dragged him upstairs to his bedroom and made sure that his unconsciousness was just a product of the liquor and the exhaustion, rather than anything more fatal. As the paladin regarded the sleeping form of the pirate, she could see that his eyes had sunken in, the dark rings under them that spoke of sleepless nights, the near gaunt cheeks that betrayed the toll this all had taken on him. And from the breakdown she had witnessed earlier that night, Roen guessed that something else must have happened. He had mentioned something about Garalt deserting him… A long exhale escaped through her nose as she found herself frowning. "You are a slave to your ideals. To your conscience. It doesn't matter how many are dying, or starving, or suffering. As long as your ideals are pure and your conscience clean…you are perfectly content to allow that pain to continue." Even now his words still twisted her insides. They had screamed at each other, neither wanting to really hear what the other had to say. He was convinced she cared not one onze for all the suffering, no matter how much she tried to tell him that she was protecting him, lying for him, involving good people, all for his--no, their--cause. It mattered not to the smuggler; it was not enough. It was as if nothing short of a willingness to kill would prove that she was willing to make sacrifices for the sake of others. And that was what he truly wanted to hear. He wanted her to admit that evil was necessary to fight evil--the tenet that had driven all of his actions. But she could not utter those words. Instead, all the doubts that she had harbored, the regrets that festered inside for so many moons since the Yoyorano incident, it all came spilling forth. Nero had been so angry, fury blazing in his eyes as he roared at her in indignation. It was as if she too had betrayed him--judged him--when he deemed her unworthy of such an act. But there was something else there too: desperation. A fervent need for her to understand and to justify the sacrifice of his conscience to save people. "I need to know that you will stand by me. I need to know that I am not wrong to pursue this path. I need to know that--that this dream we share, of changing Ul'dah…I need to know that it is something worth believing in.” He had asked her that, so many moons ago on that pier, when he promised to be a better man. Only now, Roen realized it was all a lie, whether intentional or not. Nero was still fully willing to commit more murders. To kill more people in order to draw attention to the Monetarists. And when she pressed him further, he admitted he would kill innocents as well, the one thing that she could not abide by. Even with all of the violence that he had wrought, she thought he would never cross that line again. But he confessed that he would. He would kill more women and children if it meant saving so many more. How could he be so willing to cause the very suffering he was trying to end…? “You've never had to sacrifice! You've always had other people, people like me, people like your brother, people like North, who have always shielded you from the truths you refuse to learn! People who have always broken themselves, their ideals, their conscience, for your sake!” Those words still echoed painfully in her head. Roen unclasped her hands, fingers digging into her hair by her temples. Her eyes were shut in fervent denial of the pirate’s angry accusations. But another voice joined him in her memory, a cold mocking voice of a Miqo’te she once called mentor and friend. "Whatever you suffered, you still came out of it with your ideals and your precious virtue unscathed. Some of us were not so fortunate. Some of us had to bend. Some of us had to shed whatever righteousness we had left, all to do what was necessary. Some of us had to make deals with the devil for you. So don’t you dare cast your judgement upon me.” Those were Natalie’s words. Roen had not listened to her then, she was furious at Natalie’s wrongful execution of Daegsatz. But now…now when Nero was accusing her of the same… Did she allow others to make sacrifices while she held her own ideals behind a protective wall of indecision? Did she hold them more important than saving people? Were they not the same? Just what was she willing to do to end the suffering of others? "You're so afraid of guilt, so terrified of responsibility! You're unwilling to become the evils that are necessary, even if that means saving them and their future generations! And when push comes to shove, you just sit back and condemn those who are willing to do what is necessary!" Did she see Nero as a necessary evil when she first accepted entering into an alliance with the man? He promised her then that he would not have her spilling blood for him, but that they would work together for the betterment of Ul’dah. She had accepted that. Was she reassured that she would never have to commit wrongs for the right cause? That had been their struggle all along. She wanted to convince Nero that there was a right way. That even in reaching for that impossible dream, to vanquish the corruption in Ul’dah, he did not need to resort to the same methods as his enemies. He promised her that the Syndicate ships he raided, he would always offer them an option to surrender without losing their lives. That regular merchants and sailors need not die for the sake of who they worked for. In turn, she did what she could to destabilize the alliances between Monetarist families, and weaken the power of his enemies. All without needless killings. But after the massacre of the Yoyorano family, Nero was partnering up with Scythe and supplying his gang with guns; he had planned for much more violence down the road. And he did not care if innocent deaths were part of the collateral damage. No, she reminded herself harshly, he does care, he does not truly want it. Only... He saw this as the only way. And she could not accept that. There had to be another way. "Have you ever considered that just because you demand that there be a way, doesn't mean there is?" Roen shook her head, as if to deny the very thought. How could he have thought of and tried everything? It was impossible. And yet, cycle after cycle, he was hoping and looking for a way to oust the Monetarists without loss of innocent lives. And he had come up empty. If she came to the same realization, would she choose the same path he did? A crack of thunder rumbled against the window to break her from her dark trance. Roen straightened in her seat and leaned back against her chair, looking to the prone figure in front of her as she tried to fight the weight of hopelessness that pressed against her chest. What now? She had tried and hoped so desperately to save Nero. To show him the right way. But she too had compromised, forgiven and accepted deeds she would never have done so before, to try and save both him and Ul’dah. And now he laid in front of her defeated and broken. Ul’dah was still…Ul’dah. What would she do? Had she failed as well? “Why did you ask me on that harbor?” She had asked him many suns ago, when she felt so alone in this cause. “Why did you ask me if you had more than my trust? Why did you ask me for my heart? I had already told you I believed in your dream. That I would see it through to its end." "Because I was tired of being alone. I was tired of being the only one who saw that city for what it was. I was tired of being the only one trying to change it. That is why I asked. Even if we disagreed on how it should be done, at least you understood. Even if you found my methods repulsive, you would at least see how they worked towards my--our--goal." "So it is a shared dream," she told him softly, "and a shared loneliness that bind us." She had paused for a long moment before she asked again, "So what...are we?" "A dubious pair of fools." Indeed, a pair of fools they both had been. Nero made himself believe that the evils he committed for the sake of everyone else would be understood and justified in the end. He believed he could live with himself and with the decisions he had made, the lives he had taken. And she believed she could save him, and that a wealthy and corrupt power like the Monetarists could be toppled from their gilded thrones without undue violence. That somehow, justice would prevail this time when in truth, for cycles it had turned a blind eye while greed and exploitation prospered. Now what...? Would she still see this plan through to its end? Even when Nero has given up? She had involved too many. Sergeant Melkire had warned her that he was going after Taeros in earnest. That he would cut, perhaps more than once. Coatleque and Gharen had already suffered in their own way, because they felt that they needed to get involved for her sake. Gideon had already risked his life in infiltrating the Monetarists society and spreading just enough lies while gathering information; he was determined to continue in his course for her benefit. Or perhaps his. Roen knew she could not stop now. Things were set in motion; Nero had armed bandits within Ul’dah with guns and had primed them for more violence. She had to see them stopped, and perhaps even see the rest through, even without Nero’s help. Suddenly the air around her seemed to grow heavier in its weight as it pressed down upon her. Her weariness was palpable and suffocating. She folded her arms and laid her head upon them, closing her eyes as faint light of the candles was eclipsed by the angry flashes of lightning outside.

I agree with Zhavi. You are adorable. Welcome to Balmung!

This little scenario has been percolating in my head for weeks now since the prompt! So here it is. I wonder whose child it might be.

I will plot happily in your absence. :angel: (I jest, it is YOUR plot... really... Come back soon!)

Roen watched her pupil carefully as she noted his mood turning sober. She had not seen such seriousness in his young eyes before, and at certain moments as he looked over his apple, he seemed almost lost. The paladin canted her head, studying Chachanji. What did she really know of this Lalafell? Not much really, other than the fact that from the first day they had met, she had immediately recognized their similarities; his eager enthusiasm reminded her of her own, younger self. She recognized his pure idealism all too well and found herself fiercely wanting to protect it. But she had never wondered--or perhaps even cared--why he wanted to help others. In answering his question, she had realized where her own desire to aid others had risen from. Her mother had instilled within her a need to lend kindness to others, but it was the loss of her father to his grief that had given rise to a purpose. This yearning for fulfillment, this sense of duty that always seemed to push her from within... She believed that it was following this path that she could feel right in the world, to balance the scales even just a little bit. As Roen looked back to Chachanji, she doubted he had a similar obligation that burned in his heart. At least, she desperately hoped that he did not. The innocence that shone brightly in his eyes from the first day that she met him, she would never suspect that there were shadows in his past. Was it then that in sharing her own, he wished for some gravitas to add to his own purpose? He thought that his simple need to help others was already too shallow in meaning. The paladin smiled with sympathy when the youth looked back at her. She leaned in towards him, her apple now back in her hands. She rolled it absently between her two palms as she curled a brighter expression for her pupil. “Just wanting to help others should never ever be considered shallow,” Roen said softly. “That in itself is an admirable trait. But being a paladin or a Sultansworn...it is not an easy road. It is not just a job. It takes conviction and resolve, and often those very things will be tested.” Her voice lowered slightly, as did her gaze. It was her turn to idly study the fruit in her hands as she turned it over. “I think that is why Ser Crofte was prodding you for a deeper answer. There are easier roads to take, and you can still help many people. Taking up the sword and shield, and dedicating your life to protecting others, sometimes it can take a toll on you. She wants to be sure, and I do as well, that you are committing to it for the right reasons.” There was a hint of caution to her words, as if to silently prepare him or even dissuade him, if there were any signs of cracks in his determination. “I will help you in any way I can, Chachanji.” Roen glanced back up at the youth, her expression intent. “But know this. You are choosing to live a life in servitude of an ideal. That is the path of a paladin. To dedicate your life to an Oath, one you will swear, to protect others that are in need. You are meant to bind yourself to this purpose.” She locked her gaze with his. “So why are you so intent on dedicating your entire life to this?”

Why did I become a paladin? When did I know this was my path? Chachanji’s question had brought about a long period of quiet, for she had no ready answer. The paladin lowered her hand with the apple down onto her lap, her brows furrowing in thought. Her gaze strayed from the Lalafell youth to the desert fields behind him, memories drifting before her like a warm summer breeze. It was on a day not far different from this one, when the air was dry and the sun shone high above in a cloudless sky. Roen and Brenden Deneith were just returning from the nearest market town back home, the same trip that they had made many times before. But on this day, they came upon a group of bandits who sought what little gil that they had gained from selling their produce. Her adoptive father resisted, for the hard-earned coin was supposed to feed his family through the drought, but even as Roen and Brenden fought them off, one of the bandits left the merchant with a grievous wound. Two days later, on another hot and suffocating summer day, Roen saw Brenden’s life fading from his eyes, his ragged breaths shallow. That was when a Sultansworn had found them, a paladin in glorious armor--blue trimmed in silver and shining in the sun. He had come and laid his hand upon the wounded merchant, and with a prayer and a wondrous display of aetheric magic, the paladin had brought her adoptive father back to health. That was when Roen had sworn to herself to seek out the Sultansworn again. To ask him to train her, so that she too could do for others what he did for her and her family. To save someone who was beloved. To have the power to restore life and light onto those fading into death and darkness. How long had she been trying to find that path? It was for as long as she could remember. Why? Memories of that day in the desert were swept away as if by a dust storm, and before her appeared another scene she had long wanted to forget. Everywhere she turned, there were bodies. Swords clashing, fireballs exploding, guns flaring, and Magitek mounts and chocobos alike carrying more soldiers to their deaths. Roen froze, her sword in hand, unable to move. As blood rained around her, she found herself unable to take part in the battle she had convinced herself only weeks past to be the most important thing in her life. But seeing the fighting up close and the death it brought, she found herself unprepared. She was unwilling--unable--to kill people she did not even know. So she ran. As she did so, she passed numerous people on the ground. The ones that still lived...she still remembered their desperate expressions--and there were so many--as they tried to crawl away. They too wanted to flee, just as she did, even though she could tell that they knew their death was imminent. Still their limbs clawed at the ground in their attempt. Roen paused more than once, hesitant to leave someone behind. But then another explosion would rocked them all to their knees. She remembered hearing only the hammering of her heart in her chest. It was her fear that made her run. Tears stung her eyes as she passed one frightened face after another, some of them not too much older than she was. I ran like a coward. I did not save anyone that day, Roen thought bitterly to herself as she forcibly dismissed those visions from her mind. And yet she had snuck into that battle underaged, pretending to belong in an Imperial regimen, for the very purpose of saving one person in particular. She never did save him. “I am afraid he will not be present for dinner again, Miss,” Gerbert had said in his usual monotonous tone as he laid the bowl of soup in front of her. He then retreated back into the kitchens before she could engage him in any conversation, the echoes of his booted heels against the stone tiles sounding harsh to her ears. Roen sat in the dining hall by herself, in a chair that was too tall for her and at a long polished table that could easily seat twelve, much less one lonely young girl. Her father was away again, choosing to work through the night in his laboratory. She could not remember the last time they had dined together…not since her mother had passed away. She looked to the other end of the table, where he used to sit, and next to him her mother. The ghosts of that memory filled the room as Roen saw her younger self seated on her mother’s lap; her father had bent towards her with a delighted smile allowing her to pop a small piece of mushroom into his opened mouth. He crossed his eyes suddenly with his nose only a few ilms away from her face, which made her burst into a fit of giggles and fall back into her mother’s arms. Their laughter had filled the hall then. But since her mother’s death, she no longer saw him laugh or smile. There was only darkness that followed him, sadness that dulled his gaze. It was as if he too had lost his will to live when the love of his life had lost hers. How desperately she wanted to save her father then…she promised herself to find whatever way she could to bring him back to the land of the living. To restore the light that she used to see in his eyes. To rekindle the warmth that used to radiate in his smile. Was it then? The paladin blinked, the apple rolling along her lap towards her as she had lost the grip on it in her reflections. She glanced to Chachanji when she realized that she had fallen into a long spell of silence in trying to respond to his question. “I lost someone,” Roen said quietly. “I…could not save him. And then I saw many others fall.” She felt the wave sadness rise from within, but restrained it with a determined frown instead. “So when I met a Sultansworn, I finally thought that was what I could become. So that if I was given another chance, I would not fail them. That I did not have to lose anyone again, not if it was in my power to save them.” Roen exhaled slowly, trying to focus back onto the topic at hand. Ser Crofte had set Chachanji on this task for his sake, she reminded herself. She should be giving him counsel that would lend him some wisdom, rather than sharing her own inner demons. “Do you know why Ser Crofte asked you to pose such a question?” The paladin thought it best to focus the conversation back onto her pupil. “Did she ask you the same?”

It's always that retainer distracting me....! I need to start switching up where I retain...

The dark wine swirled just below the rim of the glass, the gloved hand that held it by the neck tilting the glass with practiced ease, though there was a certain restless vigor underlying the habit that was unlike him. Jameson Taeros stared at the various pieces on the chessboard in front of him as he reclined deeper into the large leather seat. A few pawns had already been moved off the board and cast aside. Crowe, Dyer, and Aapano had all been too vocal in their opposition of him, else panicked and wavered in their loyalties. So irresistible gifts were made--expensive wine usually worked well--to take them out of the game permanently. The void of wealth and power left behind was filled quickly enough, and most of the time it was to his advantage. Such were the ever-turning cogs of Ul’dah; when a wheel broke, it was replaced and the gears just continued to grind. The noble mused with a measure of contempt that he himself was not exempt from this unforgiving game. He harbored no foolish arrogance to believe otherwise. But he had ingrained himself in the web of power long enough and deeply enough that he had learned to perceive early any pull or resistance in that entanglement. Just like the scales of Nald’thal, the balance could be tipped at any time; those who were good at the game knew how to maintain that precarious equilibrium while adding weight to his own side. Jameson picked up one of the discarded pieces off the board, a Dragoon, and brought it before his apathetic gaze. It was a formidable piece whilst in play, though never subtle. He had lost it sometime ago. Natalie, you could have been so much more, the noble reminisced as he took a long sip of the wine. Natalie’s zeal in protecting all interests of Ul’dah drove the single-minded Miqo’te to reckless actions and forsaking all other loyalties. She even forgave him for his Imperial connections when he had allowed her a glimpse into his past. He still did not want to admit that there was a sense of loss that still lingered inside him since her passing. But it was dismissed as soon as it was recognized, and the chess piece was dropped along with the rest of the pawns. The noble eyed the Wyverns on the board still. Deadly yet somewhat unpredictable. Grimsong had been hesitant to act against Lazarov. She had been tasked to end the life of one Sebastian Redgrave over a moon ago, and yet nothing. Even at the Starlight Ball where the pirate had boldly shown his face and seemingly only with Roen as his obvious ally, Delial had not made a move against him. Nor had Zuka, one of the Lalafell enforcers that Lolorito had sent to assist him in these matters. Taeros wondered if the two were reliable pieces at all. Or if he was to merely use them as distractions against the pirate. Lazarov. Why did you show up at the Ball? Jameson crooked an elbow against the armrest and rested his head against a curled hand. The Dragon piece the other side of the board seemed to stare back at him in silent defiance. For someone as pragmatic and meticulous as Lazarov to just show his face at such a public function…it had to have been a trap, and one that Jameson could not yet see in its entirety. So a passing smile was all that was exchanged with the man who had been causing so much trouble for his employer and his ilk. If it was a trap, Jameson was not going to spring it under such scrutiny, and he was fully aware of many eyes following his every move that night. It was best to let the pirate go, and strike at him another day. But…if his Wyverns were no longer considered reliable, what pieces did he have left? He plucked the Temple Knight off the board, holding it between his fingertips like a fine jewel. My own knight. My Sultansworn. Coatleque Crofte. She had once been a whore in a brothel, yet now she now served the Sultana and was arguably the best-known Sultansworn under Jenlyns. She was very much like himself in that she had clawed her way out of the pit of poverty--the worst sort of mortal obscurity--to rise in power. He smiled. Coatleque could not have known that they were kindred spirits when she had thrown herself at him, offering herself as payment for a favor. It was simply a business arrangement at the start, and he could not deny the value of an alliance with a prominent Sultansworn. Even when Natalie was still alive, both of them had thought that recruiting Ser Crofte to their cause would only bolster their strength. But now… Jameson did not quite know what they were. Coatleque had professed her love for him. It was after she had betrayed him and stolen from him. The fact that it was her, of all people... He felt his anger rise up inside him before he even realized that she had affected him in such a way. The Sworn herself was wracked with guilt, and perhaps would have said anything to appease his anger, but she said she loved him nonetheless. He extinguished his rage quickly enough, but not before that calm facade that he had worked so hard to maintain faltered for a moment. He still doubted her integrity, even as he released his grip around her throat. The tears in her eyes convinced him that she spoke true, but he wondered if it would eclipse her sense of honor should the two ever came into conflict. Would she accept him for all that he was? The noble had assumed that Coatleque already suspected him of certain Garlean connections. She had inquired more than once, and ever so carefully, about his other employers. But when he had asked her frankly of her own loyalties, she had made it plainly known that above all things, Sultana’s safety would come first. It was obvious that any foreign connections would be seen as a threat. So Jameson had kept things vague if not dodged the topic altogether. Perhaps that is why she still acts devoted to me. To uncover more secrets. The Temple Knight was set back down onto the board, directly in front of the oppositions’ Wyvern. Jameson’s took up his wine glass again, swirling it absently as he studied the opposing side. Melkire and his allies within the Immortal Flames. Limsan pirates on the seas that worked with Redgrave. Royalists and even other Monetarist nobles who sought to undermine him. Jameson was still trying to find the origin of the ripple being created by an unknown source--one that was also encouraging a shift in loyalties amongst the Monetarists. Someone was letting slip the tiniest of pebbles into the proverbial political waters; the noble heard the whispers when they thought he was not listening, and knew of the secreted meetings they held when he was away. While he was busy making agreements and gaining allies, his enemies were doing the same. Only now he suspected that someone was helping them. Was it Deneith’s work? She had already done his reputation harm with the biased Lantern article, and then there were the warehouse raids. While he could not prove she was involved, he had his suspicions. Zuka was supposed to get to the bottom of things, but the Lalafell had been woefully unproductive. His gaze settled on the Temple Knight on the opposite side of the board. And how far you’ve come. It would be easy to bring her in. Despite her never staying in one place and staying out of Ul’dah, Zuka’s men had slowly been able to track her movements. It would not be long before they could capture her. Natalie and Delial had both suggested torture to gain information from her. She would likely know much of Lazarov’s secrets and would be of great asset in bringing down the pirate. And if suspicions proved true, could they even use her to lure the smuggler out? These were all obvious options, but neither the noble nor Zuka entertained them for too long. Zuka seemed more interested in using the paladin to track down his own target of interest. It was likely the reason that Jameson thought his efforts had been so far fruitless. And as for himself… You have no idea what I want, do you Roen? A touch of moisture drew his attention to his hand, where a stray drop of the wine had just managed to scale the rim of the glass and stained his pristine white velvet glove. Jameson frowned. He brought the glass to his lips and drained it of the remaining alcohol before rising. Methodically he pulled the gloves off, flexing his calloused hand as it greeted the cool night air. It still bore the scar that he had recently acquired during his trip to Gridania. The one where he had to cut some old ties… More pieces needed to be moved. And there were measures being taken by players that were not even on the board, the ones that the noble had mistakenly failed to pay attention to. The frown upon his dark brows only deepened. This was not like him at all. He had let his distractions get the better of him. Jameson set the gloves by the table where his butler was sure to find them, before turning and leaving the room. He had been idle too long.

I followed Xydane's example and actually listed in order Roen's story threads in her Wiki page. It is actually helping ME locate them. :roll: AND I added a very lovely art piece that I commissioned for Roen and Nero's current arc. I must say I was quite pleased with it.

"Yes, dear listeners, please don't be deterred by talk of Monetarists and Refugees. Despite what divide may be between the pay scale of some, this is still a stirring pot of multiple people and various lives, all mingling and working together to shine the desert jewel of Ul'dah!" Divide...between pay scale of some? Roen stared in disbelief, her confounded expression hidden beneath the shadows of her cowl. She could not help but notice the crowd gathered by the fountain when she was passing by, all their attention on the Lalafell and his speech. But as she stopped and listened, she found herself crossing her arms and eventually frowning deeply. The struggles of the refugees and the poor were being simplified as to a mere pay scale difference. If someone knew nothing about Ul'dah, this Lalafell's speech would have them believe that everyone was working in harmony to bring about the improvement of the shining Jewel! Nothing could be further from the truth. The paladin was of the mind to give him her own take on things--it would be quite the departure from the cheerful responses he's gotten so far--when she saw him disappear into the Quicksand. That made her pause. Even as the doors swung closed behind him, she could hear the din of the general revelry drift through the entrance way. All those people, adventurers and merchants alike, mingling within hoping to find a moment's respite. Would she rail against his askew view of Ul'dah among them? A part of her wanted to correct the Lalafell, and vehemently so, to shed the light on his listeners about all things that were wrong with the city. "In this city, the ones who know don't care, and the ones who care don't know." Those were the cynical words of an angry revolutionary. Was that what she was now? As she continued to stare at the closed doors, her ire began to ebb away. What if the Lalafell just was unaware? A part of her did not want to shadow what light he saw in the Jewel. The optimism he held for the very possibility that people can work together. Before all this began with Nero, she would have wanted to believe the same. This place...it needed such hope. That was when the doors swung open again and the Lalafell strode back out looking dejected, talky-wand in hand. So when he thrust it in front of her, it was with a measure of hesitation that she answered. "Despite the divide that clearly exists between the have and the have-nots, I think it is admirable that people still look to this city with some faith. A chance at wealth, fame, and success exists here, however slim. But I would hope that those same people also look to those less fortunate to remind them of the same aspirations." She gave Kali a pointed look. "You said they were working together. Are they? Are you? Perhaps you should ask those in Pearl Lane what they think. Perhaps your listeners should hear how they can make this city even a better place than it is now. Do what they can to abolish that divide. Then I think the Jewel can be the brightest shining star in all of Eorzea." The paladin straightened, putting some distance between her and the Lalafell. She knew she had given him more than he had expected, or even wanted. And if the wrong people were listening, this may even have been ill-advised on her part. Roen gave a small polite nod to Kali, and strode toward the Gate of Nald.

“Indeed.” The paladin nodded. “Especially for such a spirited race in the desert.” Goldwind gave her another quick snort as if to dismiss her concerns, scratching at the dirt with his talons. (Clearly still miffed about losing the race. Such was the competitive nature of her mount!) With an amused shake of her head, Roen approached the impressive tree before them, clucking her tongue to beckon her chocobo to follow. The Sultantree. A majestic name for such an imposing structure. She remembered the first time she laid eyes upon it, having to crane her neck back just to try and spot the highest branch. At first she had entertained the idea of actually trying to climb the thing...until she realized at close range just how enormous the span the trunk was. She was sorely tempted by the challenge still, but there were so many other things to see and discover. Roen remembered clearly how she was struck with awe at everything that she saw when she came upon Ul’dah for the first time. She had only been traveling with a simple merchant before that, seeing the outskirts of Thanalan at most. So coming upon the grandeur of the Jewel had taken her breath away. It was also nothing like the home she had grown up in. As she came to a shaded spot, she loosened the buckles of the saddle and slid it off Goldwind’s back, sending her bird off to graze on things with a pat to his hind leg. She tossed the saddle onto the foot of the tree and unhooked the satchel over her shoulder as well, taking out a pair of apples before setting the bag onto the ground as well. “How are you getting along, Chachanji?” Roen asked as she settled on to a seat upon one of the massive roots curling into the ground. She waited until he was done settling his own mount before offering him one of the apples. “I remember I was a bit overwhelmed myself when I first arrived here.” She squinted at the distant view of Ul’dah’s massive walls. She too had found mentors back then--Sultansworns she had wanted to emulate. They had become her new teachers, some of them like family even, and had made Ul’dah less of a lonely place. “Ser Castille is teaching you some formidable fighting skills, I imagine.” She smiled at her pupil. “You have a good teacher there. I assume your training is going well?”

*Waves hands!* If you need a healer and Franz (and probably plenty other great healers) isn't around, hit me up! I'd love to help.

Roen could see the slow waning of her young pupil’s elation as he stuttered out the question. His nervous energy gave her pause, making the paladin give Chachanji’s shifting expression a second look. There was more behind that question, and when she realized it, she found herself at a bit of a loss. She could have won. But that was never the real point of this outing. When they started the race, she was fully prepared to give him the toughest competition yet. The thought of throwing the race--if that was what she did--hadn’t even crossed her mind. She just saw that Chachanji’s spirit was taking a turn for the worse towards the end, and race or no, she needed to fix it. But were she in Chachanji’s position, the last thing she would want is her opponent to throw the contest. The joy of victory needed to stand on its own merit to be truly enjoyed. Would she tell him it was all a big lesson? Was there some deep meaning she wanted to impart in her choice of actions? She was his mentor now after all, shouldn’t she have some profound guidance to impart? When Roen realized that none of these thoughts went through her head as she decided to serve as his last obstacle, that it was purely driven by instinct, she just smiled sheepishly. “It just felt like the right thing to do.” Roen gave him a small shrug. She chewed her lips slightly, not quite happy with that simple answer. “And Goldwind was still pretty confident that he could still catch up to you both...so I thought it would be a close race either way.” She glanced over her shoulder to her bird, who responded with a spirited kweh and a flutter of his wings in response. Turning her attention back to the youth at hand, the paladin thought for a moment longer, trying to make sense of her own intuition. “Sometimes you just need to go with your gut. Just like that last jump you made, you did not think on the hows or whys, you just did it. Because it needed to be done. And when you succeeded, it felt wonderful.” “Now, jumping over something to avoid a collision and doing the right thing are not the same.” She canted her head, expression softening. “But in both instances I have always felt that you do what comes naturally to you. What you feel driven to do. In time, experience will temper your judgement and mold you instincts.” She reached over to stroke Avenger’s head feathers. “Had I not known how to gauge your riding skills from watching you, I doubt I would have felt compelled to run directly into your path.” Roen gave Chachanji another sidelong glance, as if to take measure of his response to her words. This was partly why she had hesitated in accepting a pupil. She never thought of herself as someone wise, or learned in ways of paladinhood. But he seemed so eager, and he reminded her so much of herself that she could not refuse. And now, as she heard her own words, she wondered if those were the lessons she would impart onto her younger self. Would she still say the same knowing what she does now? To trust in her instincts even in the face of adversity? Even if it would lead to lessons she was not prepared for? Some that were almost too painful to bear? The paladin shook her head suddenly as if to shake away her doubts. She needed not delve into her own life while teaching the youth. Roen smiled again, this time more brightly, trying to revive the exuberance of the race. “You did well, Chachanji. Else you would not have won the race. You should be proud of yourself.”

I would flirt with ya Chachan! Only...Brynnalia would think he is too young! There are plenty of characters that I want to flirt with, but on Roen I don't flirt. Like at all. But that's what Brynn is for! Usually if I really did want to flirt with someone, I will pull out my bard alt, like I did for: Warren, Gharen, Franz (hm...I am noticing a trend...) because they were hot Highlanders, and Gideon because he's Gideon, Al because he's a sleeze, Jameson because he's her boss, and just about anyone else I want to flirt with that is of the hot male variety. (if I ever run into Berrod while I am on Brynn I swear...)

YES THEY DO, THEY SERVE THE PURPOSES OF THE HUG AGENDA. It's up to Jana to stand up for the personal space of all! THE HUG AGENDA!!! How insidious is this...!!!

I'd also like to point out that those Public Service Announcements are pure propaganda advertisements, not official statements of any official organizations. It all began with the first PSA which was a sponsored advertisement.

My list of people I need to stalk and creep is growing... >__>

I EVEN KNEW you were around... SOMEWHERE. I still did not see you. Damn you are good.