Roen

Chachanji’s gleeful hollering echoed into the afternoon sky, and Roen nearly joined him in his loud cheer. The jump was a close one; she felt Avenger’s feet brush up against her back and was grateful that the bird had enough sense to curl his talons inward. But as she saw them both land past her and dart toward the Sultantree, she could not help but grin from ear to ear. She turned Goldwind back around, her mount letting out a snort as it continued to give chase to the rider ahead of them. But Roen found herself sitting back in her seat, relaxing into the saddle rather than the crouched racing pose she had held, as she pictured her younger self racing ahead of them. Was it twelve cycles ago? Or more? She remembered laughing and cheering into the cool wintry air as she cleared five jumps down a slippery wet slope in the mountains overlooking her family’s manse. Back then, she had imagined herself charging heroically into some battle, dodging obstacles along the way as she raced to save someone in need. Of course that was back when her life was filled only with tall empty hallways, cold stone floors, stern words from her teachers, and the muted gaze of a mournful father who refused to meet her eyes. After her mother’s passing, a home that had been filled with love and laughter only gave hollow echoes to the distant memories of a life that once had been. A child of less than ten-winters, Roen had taken to imagining heroic adventures beyond the vaulted ceilings and the towering walls. She took to riding, something that her mother had taught her, with fervor. She took up practicing sword fighting with the servants -- those who were kind enough to humor the girl who was eagerly swinging a wooden sword in the air. But it was racing down the hill her chocobo -- a valued Ishgardian import then -- that made her feel truly free. A wistful smile lifted her expression as Roen’s attention returned back to the present... just in time to see Chachanji reach the Sultantree. Goldwind had given them quite the chase, even if the paladin had been lost in her own memories. Roen tugged on the reins as she came to a stop shortly behind them, beaming at her pupil. “Well done, Chachanji!” She clapped as she hopped off Goldwind. “That jump was fantastic!” She approached the Lalafell and his bird, her hand clasped in front of her. “You and Avenger are certainly ready to race into any battle after that race. How do you feel?”

Brynnalia Callae crossed her arms tighter, overlooking the railing in the Goblet, frowning with annoyance as another snowflake landed on her eyelashes. Snowfall in the desert. Gods and their whims... What was the point to a snowflake in the desert anyway? Small tiny elaborate thing, all of its intricacies never to be noticed by the casual eye, and only to melt into nothing the instant it handed on the warm stones. It all seemed pointless, to be so beautiful and unique, but only for the lifespan of its drifting descent from the skies. Brynn remembered reveling in such things as a child. Traveling about the lands with her nomadic mother, one of her favorite places had been the high mountain regions in the winter. Only Coerthas reminded her of those old landscapes now, with its pristine white slopes and the chilly embrace that would seep through the thickest wool coats. She had found the soft snowy mounds forgiving and the beautiful shapes of each snowflake fascinating. Sometimes, the bard found it hard to recall such memories, and when she did, it always brought about a moment of wistful melancholy. But such days were gone, and her life now in Ul'dah would lend no leisurely moment for reflective musings. She had told Gideon North differently though. She told him that all moments of happiness should be pursued relentlessly. That his life of meek contentment was no way to live, and that there was no point to draw a breath if one did not mean to fill the day with some amount of pleasure. Such were her hedonistic views for as long as she could remember. Before she became employed with Taeros, or even before she became involved with the Ala Mhigan Resistance, her days were filled with pursuit of wine, men, and beautiful things, and not always in that order. It was always easier not to have a purpose, drifting about without care. But now, the only thing that occupied her days were thoughts on how to stay ahead of everyone else in this rat-infested backstabbing city that was Ul'dah. Brynn glanced back at the Mandercrown estate behind her, and reflected on the night’s events. She had used Verad Bellveil’s standing invitation to Shaelen for a card game, to draw the Highlander smuggler out of hiding. Brynn had to know if her old friend from her days in the Resistance had used their past acquaintance to plant Gideon North as an employee under Jameson Taeros. The bard thought nothing of the favor she did for Shaelen at first, the smuggler had brought the valet to her stating that he was an old friend in need of a job. Since Brynn had just become employed with one of the wealthier noble in Ul’dah, she was in a generous mood and offered to find him a job as well. Since then questions had risen. Gharen Wolfsong, another old acquaintance from her days with the Resistance, approached asking both her and Gideon specifically, about turning on their employer. He had mentioned that both her and Gideon’s names were given to him as possible weak links within Taeros’ chain of command. This she did not like. At first she thought it was Crofte. The Sultansworn had gotten herself into what she can only imagine as a temporary dalliance with her employer, but still had the strange compunction to try and stay honorable in all things. She even had the gall to insinuate that Brynn was likely better off finding a new line of employment. A part of her wondered if the Sworn herself was working in secret against Taeros, except there were also hints, looks that Brynn would pick up or certain things that Crofte would inadvertently say, that made her suspect that the Sworn was actually developing genuine feelings for the Monetarist noble. Crofte also had admitted to Brynn that she did direct Wolfsong to the bard, but not North. So then whom? After the Moraby Drydock warehouse raid, Brynnalia discovered that Shaelen had been involved with the owner of the warehouse, Sebastian Redgrave--a name that was suspected as one of Lazarov’s alias. Brynn then began to wonder if there were ulterior motives for bringing North to her to be employed under Taeros. So she orchestrated the card game to lure both Shaelen and North under the same roof, then brought in a couple of mercenaries that held hard grudges against the Highlander smuggler to pressure her for the truth. Brynn should have known better though. The woman was full of anger and pride, and threatening her only made her dig her heels in deeper. Even with her ear being half blown off by her own gunblade, Shael refused to say anything about Gideon. But it was the valet himself that told her the truth. Gone were his mild manners, his subservient demeanor. After everyone had departed, he stepped right up to her face, no longer observing any courtesy. “I hate Nero Lazarov, Brynnalia.” His voice was a low hiss. “I despise him. I hate him far more than Jameson Taeros does. My desire to see him dead outweighs my desire for myself to live. His destruction will be the day I am no longer necessary as a living being. He is responsible for taking everything from me. Because of him, I am a ghost. It is true that I may have ulterior motives in serving Taeros. But don't you fucking dare imagine...that they are anyone's but my own.” Brynn had been stunned to silence at his admission. But now she no longer doubted that the valet was working for the pirate. So the goal of the night was achieved after all. She ensured that the butler she had brought to her employer was no spy for Lazarov. So what if she duped Crofte into coming without weapons to have a Sworn presence there? Or lured Shaelen into what seemed like a harmless card game only to ambush her? And the flirtations and the teasings exchanged with Gideon that led him to accept her invitation as well, it was all an act right? It was not as if she was starting to relax or trust the man. So why the bad taste in her mouth now that her plans had come to fruition and she had secured the safety of her own employment? The bard snorted to herself, dismissing the doubts as a she did the annoying snowflakes. It was then that a moogle flew up to her and handed her a letter. Recognizing the penmanship, she opened it eagerly. Miss Callae, I’ve come across proof of the Redgrave/Lazarov link. I require those trade routes to find out what Lazarov is using them for. -Gharen Wolfsong Brynnalia curled a slow but wide grin. Not only did she confirm one of Lazarov’s aliases, but she also had managed to turn someone who would have undoubtedly caused trouble for her employer into an ally instead. She knew telling Wolfsong about the possible link between Redgrave and the Yoyorano massacre would turn him against the pirate. She even argued that putting him away would be the best thing for his sister’s well-being and safety. The bard knew she was using Wolfsong’s compassion as well as his concern for his sister to twist his motivations to suit her own, but in the end, it would be the best thing. For Wolfsong to oppose Taeros and the Monetarists, it would not bode well for him. And this way, he had a chance to save his sister from uncertain misfortune as well. All in all, she knew she should be proud of herself at this turn of events. Brynn lifted her chin and sauntered toward the gates of the Goblet. She found herself suddenly eager to find a beautiful man and a bottle of fine wine to celebrate her recent successes. She no longer even noticed the snow that were turning to a pitiful droplets on the stones.

I love the poetic quality to Rivienne's writing. And...her screenshots are gorgeous. If I ever create an Elezen, I may shamelessly model myself after her. (okay I won't but I would be tempted!!) EDIT: Dammit beaten to the punch! Telluride's posts make me pretty certain that he is a bard in real life. It makes me really want to cross paths with him IC someday.

Dreams were supposed to be visions of what could be, where one could get lost in their slumber to a world of unimagined possibilities. But this night, as it had been for many nights, Roen’s own sleep was restless, her dreams full of turmoil. Many faces, those she loved and held dear, now looked upon her with outrage. "Here ye are tellin' me yer workin' with a murderer,” Gharen said, his expression twisted with disbelief. Roen could not lie to him. She had always told her brother the truth. So when he had asked about Yoyorano, she told him. She told him about the bloodbath of an entire noble bloodline that Nero had orchestrated. She tried to explain that it was after Nero had learned that Daegsatz had been executed without a trial--when he was driven with cold blind rage. That he had set aside his promise to allow justice to work, instead setting in motion his deadly plans. But Gharen did not want to understand. And a part of her could not blame him. "An' tha's okay!?" he growled at her. "What part o' women an' children was fine with ye if'n ye knew this!?" She remembered those words made something snapped within her. "It is not fine!” Her voice rose to match his, shaking with indignation. “It has NEVER been fine with me! I wake with visions of dead bodies, faceless women and children, laying in a broken manse! They haunt my dreams! It is not fine! NONE of this is FINE!" She had hoped that her brother would give her guidance in this mire of guilt and doubt she was sinking in, rather than face his fury. It was too much to hope for. His anger never abated. He did not want to believe that she saw any good in Nero or that there were any to begin with. She tried to make him see that Gharen too had forgiven others--Hornet and Delial after the foul deeds that both of them had committed. But he did not want to see. Where as he had the benefit of crossing their paths after they had begun their road to redemption, Nero had yet to prove himself in her brother’s eyes. Despite the fact that the pirate’s actions were all driven by a desire to end suffering for so many, Gharen did not want to believe that there was a possibility of atonement. Even for someone she loved. When Roen tried to argue for the sake of saving Ul’dah, her brother uttered the words that she did not want to hear. The same words that everyone else had told her: Ul’dah was fine. That it would change itself in time. Her insistence that people had suffered enough, even going as far as to accuse him that he too had turned a blind eye to it, it only sparked his ire. When he grabbed her by the collar of her shirt and hissed in her face through gritted teeth, she felt her heart plummeting through her chest. She knew then that there would be no understanding between them. Not in this. “Don' ye talk te me about livin' in squalor, especially when ye've never walked a mile in my shoes,” he seethed. “I do not want to oppose you, Gharen,” she pleaded desperately, one last time. “Please do not make me choose. Give me more time. I know I can do this right. Else all this will be for naught.” Gharen’s muscles were taut with barely controlled temper, and his expression remained dark. "Well, it's goin' te be fer nothin' I guess. Cause I'm goin' te be workin on puttin' him away. This ends now.” Her brother’s voice rang harshly through her memory like a hammer striking an anvil, before his face faded in her mind’s eye. Roen found herself staring at the calm collected countenance of Gideon North instead. Only, his usually placid facade was cold as he looked upon her, shaded with a tinge of sadness. “Do you believe, Miss, that even if we had the materials, I should bring the young master back into the world alongside the man who shattered him? Who exchanged his parents for coin?” Mister Bellveil had betrayed her confidence and had told Gideon that she was hiding the truth about those who had been responsible for his master’s death. Roen had not wanted to reveal it just yet, she wanted to give Mister North another path of closure first. But when the valet was made aware, she had no choice but to tell him the truth. He did not deserved to be lied to. Gideon received the news that it was Nero who sunk his master’s ship off the coast of Limsa Lominsa with a chill to his demeanor. He bid her farewell and bid happiness in her future with the pirate, but there was only resentment behind his words. Roen could not let him go, she kept stepping in front of him as he tried to leave. "How do you expect me to answer that..?" Roen stared at him with her eyes wide. "That he should be punished for his crimes? A part of me knows this. For I would argue the same for all the other murderers. I would argue it for those who ordered and paid for that ship to be sunk." The paladin paused, bowing her head in sadness. "But another part of me… believes there is a remorseful side to him." “Belief, Miss.” Gideon said distastefully. “Aye. Faith in someone." She peered back up at him. "Sometimes that is all that we are left with." The valet met her gaze cooly. “I made clear my position on faith at the Ball.” He held it for a moment longer, before his shoulder sagged, his expression falling. ‘I…I do not wish to argue any more with Miss.” When she saw his frame falter with exhaustion, she too sighed. “My apologies,” she whispered. "Do as you will, Mister North." “I…” Gideon began, searching her eyes. “I don't know what I'm supposed to do, Roen. Work for the man who killed my family? Or work for the man who bade me to murder my friends?” A pause fell between them before he spoke again. “It feels like I've come to an...an end.” "At...an end..?" “I've no more way to move forward. I can't hurt him, because you love him, and I can't serve him, because I hate him.” Gideon seemed so lost. A man without a purpose. She found herself speechless, there were no words to comfort him. The butler’s forlorn expression washed away, leaving the familiar visage of a Duskwight merchant. His expression was one of stern reproach. “I don't know if your pirate is a good man or a bad one. But a good man can make a plan that causes terrible suffering all the same, can they not?" Roen was desperate to defend Nero, to make Mister Bellveil understand why she stood by him. "Why are you absolutely certain that he will bring just not your death but suffering to all?" "Because that is what you implied!" Verad pointed at her with an accusatory finger. "When you spoke of the necessity of sacrifices!” Those were Nero’s words. Sacrifices. Necessary destruction. Words that justified the bloodshed and the violence that he had orchestrated. All for just the glimpse of a chance that Ul’dah could be saved. She had repeated them to Verad Bellveil many moons ago in desperate hope that the merchant who had always soothed her doubts would do so again. But this time, he was throwing it back at her to question her plans. "I confided in you my fears!” Roen could not help but feel wounded. Betrayed. “My absolute worst nightmares come to life!" "Confidant I may have been - mayhaps I will be so blessed that I will remain so in the future - but why do you only confide terrors in me? Why do you only confide fears and agonies?” "Because you found me when I was in the darkest of places, Mister Bellveil,” she whispered sadly. “You were supposed to be my point in aether. That one person I could trust and turn to. Instead you took it upon yourself to lead me toward a path you saw fit." She slowly shook her head. "I did not ask for that." "There are a few types of love, Miss Deneith. I won't bore you with the other ones. But one of them involves helping a person become the best they possibly can be. Even at the cost of the relationship, whatever that may be." Roen stared at him, long and hard. "If that has happened - if you are a better person for this - then I can only apologize for doing it in such a manner. If that has failed, then I can only offer apologies even more humbly." "I know the line I am walking, Mister Bellveil. I am painfully becoming more aware of it, every sun. And I want to do the right thing. I…I have to do the right thing. Else all that I am doing is for naught." The Duskwight looked to her with a frown. His tone held a hint of patience, but also rebuke. "Why do you think you have time to choose for yourself? What vanity do you hold that you must decide the right path when hesitation causes more harm?" His words made her falter. Again, she had no answer. Was her attempt in trying to save Nero only costing more lives? The Duskwight’s face was suddenly swallowed up by the darkness, as screams rang from the depthless void behind him. The black curtain then lifted to reveal a broken manse, bloodstains on the walls, and dead bodies littering the floor. Men, women, and children alike, eyes opened along with their mouths in a silent scream, crimson stains beneath their bodies. With a gasp, Roen’s eyes shot open and she found herself in her bed. The ending was the same, the visions of the violence visited upon the Yoyorano family, the scene would often return to her dreams whenever she was troubled. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, trying to shake off the shivers that had nothing to do with the cool ocean breeze. Even now, the angry words from her dreams haunted her thoughts. Gharen would stand against Nero. She had no choice but to oppose him, her own brother. Gideon hated the man she loved. There was nothing she could do to fix that. She knew he would never look upon her the same way again. And Mister Bellveil... She had walked away from him for his own sake. It was something that she should have done when he was attacked by the Brass Blades. His love for her and his loyalty to her were undeniable. But it was obvious that confiding her deepest fears in him was taking its toll. He felt compelled to help her in however way possible. In the end, she believed that it would only hurt them both. Roen wrapped herself in her blankets as she curled in upon herself. Sitting alone in a starless night, surrounded by naught but sounds of crickets and distant ocean waves, the loneliness suddenly seemed all the more palpable.

Oh what a neat idea!! Name: Roen Deneith World: Balmung Character main class/job/role (Optional): Paladin, White Mage Cards (recommended): The Star, Strength, or Temperance Reason for Card choice (recommended): I think The Star card represents one of her key virtues that drives her current arc: her ability to hope and see goodness in others. This may have gotten her into more trouble than not, but she fiercely holds onto her optimism. The Strength card can also easily represent her: compassionate, gentle, and perseverance. The Temperance card could also work, because she began as an idealistic young woman, and through her past and current trials, she is learning the balance her morals with pragmatism. Perhaps after her current arc is over, she will also learn the true meaning of healing. Also please include 1-3 screenshots Image 1, 2, 3

Roen was certain that Chachanji would win the race. There was a certain amount of pride that swelled in her chest as she saw him streak toward the Sultantree, Avenger leaving a long trail of dust in his wake. Roen spurred Goldwind onward in a full sprint toward the finish, but she was racing through an unpaved path, while Chachanji was on the main road--and much closer to the looming tree. Except…the paladin found herself closing that gap. As she neared the road, she could see that the Lalafell youth had slumped in his seat, his head hung low. And Avenger had sensed the soured mood of the rider. and the young bird’s enthusiasm was waning to mirror that of Chachanji’s. It took a moment before Roen realized why: Chachanji was glancing about his surroundings frantically. He had not made that last jump. Roen herself had to resort to chasing creatures to do it, and likely that prospect did not appeal to him after watching the result of her choices. And now, even as they neared the end of the race, the young Lalafell looked defeated. The paladin pursed her lips in thought, before a new grin tugged at her lips lopsidedly. Goldwind let out a quizzical mrh as Roen tugged on the reins and veered them away from the direct path to the Sultantree. Instead, she guided her bird in a straight line toward the road that Chachanji and Avenger were on. With the younger rider’s slowing pace, Roen knew they had a chance of crossing the road just in front of her pupil. Roen put two fingers between her lips and let out a sharp whistle when she and Goldwind came within hearing distance of the younger pair. “Chachanji! Think fast!” With that she lowered herself close to Goldwind’s back, and her bird lowered its head, as if sensing what was about to happen. Either Chachanji had to be quick to react... Else there was going to be a fantastic collision of two sprinting chocobos.

Yvelont Navarre has to be one of my favorite grouchy Elezen on the forums, even though I've never met him IC. But I <3 Michael and Fi references and all the great screenshots. And I also blame him for putting a particular 1980s' Salt-N-Pepa song in my head in my first encounter with him ever.

I heard there is a pink leperchaun in this game that only comes out for good luck on rare occasions...

What am I doing? Roen sat on the beach watching the slow descent of the sun, its reflection on the waters setting the horizon ablaze with golden ripples. The night air was growing chillier; goosebumps ran up along her arms, but the paladin did not notice. The distant whispers of the foaming waves did little to sooth her troubled thoughts as she recalled the conversation just a bell ago. She had confronted Nero, asked him directly about the bandits and their Vylbrand-made guns. She at first thought he would dodge the subject, he had not even deigned to face her, so intent was he on his task--carving a filigree onto an elaborate silver plate. He spoke to her, but his eyes were hidden behind his magnifiers, his form bent over his workstation. But when she asked, his answers came direct and clear. He admitted that he sold weapons to the bandits in Ul’dah--that he sold weapons in many places, as others of his profession did as well. He also confirmed that there were guns along with the refugee supplies, those that she had helped him retrieve from the Brass Blades so many moons ago. That was the primary reason he wanted that shipment back. It had started all the way back then. "From the very start I never knew the whole truth. How much do you not tell me?" she asked him. "I did not know you very well back then. If I had told you that there were weapons, what would you have done? Had me arrested, perhaps. Insisted the weapons be thrown away or destroyed. What reason could I have possibly had to tell you that I was carrying weapons? If nothing else, our little spat at Lost Hope cemented the notion that you would never tolerate that kind of information, and lo was I correct.” His calm tone never wavered, and he did not turn his attention away from his work; his hands never stopped in their moving of the tools as he inlaid thin strands of metal and ceramic beads into the engravings. "Have things truly changed since then? Do you only tell me what you want me to know? Because I am starting to wonder." She scowled. "Roen, I've learned to trust you. I trust you to be honest to a fault, and ever the idealist. I also trust that you will never understand the concept of doing bad things for a good cause, much in the same way that I will never understand how you think this world can operate entirely without bloodshed." He only paused for a moment. "No, that's not fair. I should say that I will never understand how you think bloodshed is not necessary." The paladin squinted but said nothing in answer. "I am curious. Are you angry because of the weapons in Ul'dah, or because you did not know about them?" Roen paused. She had come to him wanting answers, but...was her anger because she felt that she was betrayed that he had not told her? Or was it because he was selling weapons in Ul’dah? The latter was something his kind had always done. Had she expected that all his criminal activities would end when he agreed to work with her? Nero went onto to add that the shooting in Pearl Lane was in retribution for the killings and the violence that the Hammerbeaks had already committed against others. But that did not justify adding more fuel to the fire. “I suppose both,” she muttered with a hint of indignation. She turned away from him. “Sometimes I feel as though I am supporting something that I have yet to realize what it will exactly do. That I am hoping for a result without knowing the full extent of all that will be broken and all the suffering that will be incurred along the way. I fear that I am on a path that will exact all the things that I once swore to protect people against. I fear that I am losing my way. And I have been defending you, to so many people and yet I know not what you are doing." "Perhaps you do not want to know.” His quiet tone remained neutral, as ever. “Perhaps knowing exactly what I am doing will drive you to stop me. You weren't prepared to kill me before. Do you think, if you had to stop me, you'd be prepared to kill me now?" Roen felt a chill run down her spine. She could naught but stand frozen still and stare at the wall ahead of her. "I see.” The paladin bowed her head with a pained expression, as if struck through the chest. "I gave my heart to you,” she whispered. “The very thought of you coming to harm..." She paused, shaking her head. “I do not know what I would do." The sounds of tools and beads came to a pause. "I do what I must, Roen. That is all I have ever done,” he said quietly. She could hear him turn in his seat, perhaps to look at her. It was her turn to keep her back to him. "The weapons, the deception…do you believe that I would have done any of that, if I did not believe it to be absolutely necessary?" Roen’s gaze drifted toward some burning coals nearby, the small sparks of ember taking flight only to be extinguished moments later. “Nay,” she rasped. “You told me that you considered all the options. And that you only choose violence if you believe there is no other choice. I believe you." A sigh could be heard behind her and she heard him turn back to his work again. "In any case, this should turn the focus towards the Monetarists. If the bandits are expelled from the city, then so much the better." Roen glanced over her shoulder to the back of his head once more. "One of the bandits, an Elezen, he implicated you through me. The Immortal Flames, the Sultansworns, and the Brass Blades. They will turn their attention to you." She could hear the wry smile in his response. “Trust the authority figures to completely miss the purpose of the message. But then, I suppose that's not a surprise.” His hands resumed their work, maneuvering tools over the silver plate. “The one thing a man with power fears is losing that power. Maintaining that farce of 'law' is the only way they can think of to keep their power. The second I can turn the Flames and the Sworns against the Monetarists, when they stop chasing their tails and look up to see the bigger picture…that is when we win. Raubahn bears no love for the Monetarists, but he hesitates. The only thing required to be in power is for you to be willing to do what your opponent won't." Nero let out a quiet sigh. "There is always some destruction before creation. Some demolition before rebuilding. As soon as people understand that…things can change for the better." Roen did not give voice to her own doubts. That she too feared this destruction he spoke of. This process of tearing things down so that a better future can emerge, like a seed sown beneath the barren ground. She feared for the deaths that may come. She already woke in cold sweat at times, thinking of those who had already lost their lives in this struggle, both innocent and not. And yet hope remained deep within, that Nero’s dream of fixing the tainted Jewel could still come true. And in that, she could help Nero find his own redemption. That the streets need not flow with blood. That countless lives need not be lost. And yet, in holding on to that hope, she had already seen an entire family's bloodline die. Even though he had promised to become a better man since, there were times when Roen still battled her own apprehensions, despite the love she held for the man. Had she not come to find him this day, fearing him to have betrayed her? Was her heart blinding her to the truth? Or was it giving strength to her faith in the man who truly needed it? Who would not be saved otherwise? And the city that would be left to rot as others turned a blind eye? She had to believe in the latter. “Perhaps if I can talk to Ser Crofte and Broken Nose, to see where they stand on this…” "I think you should avoid them for now,” Nero said matter-of-factly. "Despite your good opinions of them, all they can see is the status quo. That order is maintained. Good people as they are, both are incapable of seeing beyond that image." Roen felt a her chest tighten with dread. "I had hoped to enlist their help. I had hoped that others would see what needed to be done. That we were not alone in trying to do this." She realized then, it was not dread. It was loneliness. "But we are." "No one seems to see it," she whispered. "Or want it." "They've turned a blind eye to it. Can you blame them?" Roen turned fully then, facing his back once more. Her voice shook. "What we are doing. Is it so extreme? Is it worth it?" "Is it worth it..." Nero echoed the question, pausing in his work. "To be honest, I don't know. Perhaps all of this will be for naught. Perhaps the city will be even worse off when we're done." He sighed. "I do not know if it will be worth it. But I do know that things cannot stay as they are." The paladin shook her head, slowly at first, then the gesture grew emphatically. "I have to believe it will be worth it. It has to be. Else all that has happened, all the deaths and suffering for even a chance at changing something..." "If none of it is worth it…if nothing changes..." the smuggler seemed to falter, he stopped again. "Then I suppose the only thing left for me to do would be to atone for those I have harmed." Roen scowled deeply at the implication. "I meant what I said. That after all this is over…I wish for some peace and happiness for you." "You are too kind,” Nero said quietly. “I know what I've done. How loudly will the dead howl at me, if after taking their lives all I end up doing is living a life of content satisfaction?" "Then call it a selfish thing,” Roen snapped, stepping forward. "I do not wish to imagine the end you see for yourself." She exhaled sharply, her words turning into a plea. “It is never too late to choose to do the right thing. To show mercy. To spare lives. To atone." Nero set the tools down and leaned back as he took the magnifiers off his face. "Perhaps not. But what form will that atonement take, if I fail?" Those words haunted her even now. Roen had no answers for him then. And as the darkness began to descend with the arrival of dusk, the sun having fully retreated from the sky, the paladin still had no answers to give.

More screenshots! There was a card game recently, where a few gathered at the Mandercrown manse while the owners were away... Little did they know that Brynn was dictating the rules of the game. Yes, the betting was done with articles of clothing. Then eventually secrets. The tea kettle is strategically placed for sensitive eyes. Verad's aggressive strategy early was not paying off. And the night ended with Brynn discovering what she wanted to know...why she set up the whole card game trap in the first place. "I hate him far more than Jameson Taeros does. My desire to see him dead outweighs my desire for myself to live. His destruction will be the day I am no longer necessary as a living being, Brynnalia. He is responsible for taking everything from me. Because of him, I am a ghost."

“He’s dead, alright.” The medic withdrew his hand from the corpse, flicking his fingers in distaste at the stench that had seemingly been laid upon his skin from its brief contact with the dead Elezen. He rose, turning to face a very displeased Brass Blade sergeant who loomed over him at the cell’s entrance. “Halone’s frozen ass…” Broken Nose gritted his teeth. “Weren’t ya s’pose ta keep him alive?” The Midlander shrugged helplessly. “I treated his injuries and stopped the bleeding! It doesn’t mean that I can fix the months he’s gone without food--or his general well-being for that matter! He didn’t die primarily from the wound inflicted by the blade to his...jewels, so to speak. He died because he was unwell and malnourished. And beaten.” The Roegadyn Blade frowned. It was obvious the medic had no love lost for any criminals he treated, and Broken Nose knew that they only did what was minimally necessary for certain prisoners. It was usually the more violent criminals that got the least amount of care. And this Elezen certainly qualified. Still, the Hellsguard did not think he would waste away so quickly, given that the medic did see to him. But the labored breathing, the quick wasting of what little muscle he had left, and the coughing up of blood…the signs had all been there that he was not doing well. And yet they had still kept him in chains. He was a dangerous criminal after all. Ul’dah never showed mercy to the weak. “So no sign of foul play?” Broken Nose cocked a brow. “Nothing obvious.” The medic glanced over his shoulder, frowning as a new wave of stench greeted them. “No new beatings since I saw him last. No broken bones or wounds. And usually any kind of poison would show some signs. Foaming at the mouth, bleeding gums, bloodshot eyes…depending on the agent used.” He shrugged again. Broken Nose narrowed his eyes and poked his index finger against the Midlander’s chest. “Look him over again and make sure. You were assigned to tend to him and he died. Under your care and under my command. Neither the Sultansworns nor the Immortal Flames will be happy about this.” The Midlander snorted disdainfully. “The man was a thug, sergeant. A murderer belonging to a bandit gang no less. I would say his death, as well as the Hammerbeaks cut down in Pearl Lane, will equate to being less criminals we have to worry about.” The Roegadyn exhaled sharply through his flared nostrils, annoyance pulling his brows dangerously low. “Check him over again. I don’t care if you come out smelling and looking just like him. Got it?” The medic grumbled but nodded, turning back toward the prisoner. With the Elezen dead they’ll look for another suspect, Broken Nose thought darkly as he began to walk back down the corridor. The Brass Blades knew about the bandit gangs within the city walls, but so long as they were not threatening anyone significant, most of them were left to be. There were never enough resources that they could muster to fully counter all the bandits...and some of the gangs were admittedly a source of business for some of the Brass Blades. He himself had accepted a bribe or two in the past, or turned a convenient blind eye from time to time. At least before he'd chosen a new path for himself. The Roegadyn also understood that the poor, after struggling to survive for so long and having little means to do so, often banded together in one group or another for the simple sense of security. There were many reasons why gangs were allowed to exist within the Jewel, but now that guns were fired and reports made, actions needed to be taken. Nobles would not want to hear about gunfire near their precious homes and streets. Ousting all the bandits from Ul’dah would be a task all its own, and was likely to incite more violence since the bandit gangs were often armed. But since this last group had been armed with Vylbrand guns, the Immortal Flames would also want to turn their eyes to the source of such weapons...and that is when their attention would undoubtedly turn toward Deneith and her Limsan merchant--the one Broken Nose had met moons ago. An angry man full of hate for the Brass Blades and all the things wrong with Ul’dah. It couldn't end well. I hope you know what you are doing, Deneith. The Hellsguard shook his head as he exited the gaol, the heavy door closing behind him.

Ah some story line screenshots! These are a bit older...will get up more recent ones soon! "I estimate by then, I will have enough means at my fingertips to orchestrate their... collection. And then, when everything is in place, and all is finally as it should be, Miss... well. I will prepare something special. They will not have the luxury of ignorance of their future, as the young master did." "It was nothing personal. I hardly remember the details of the raid itself. Likely it was a simple hit and run; draw up, knock out the mast, then the lower structure of the hull, and let it capsize."

Roen had to half-turn in her seat to watch Chachanji jump over the fence--and then the vase--the little chocobo and his rider breaking through the cloud of dust after their landing. The paladin grinned wide with pride; the Lalafell youth had learned so fast! Avenger’s outstretched neck showed the little bird's eager enthusiasm to keep up with Goldwind--if not surpass him entirely. Its small feet dug in the dirt with startling quickness, tossing rocks in its wake as it began to gain more speed. She turned her attention back to the road ahead, the impressive looming form of the Sultantree rising in the distance. Giant cords of bark and root twisted around each other, digging into the dirt like the hand of a giant gripping the earth. Its countless branches opened up into the sky, leaves and boughs nearly eclipsing the blue canvas above, the Sultantree seeming to continue to grow taller as she approached. Roen suddenly recalled that she still had three more obstacles to jump over. Don't get distracted! She glanced about but found boulders and fences unfortunately lacking. She swerved off the beaten path towards the Sultantree, eyes scanning the area for anything she might use, but only saw a giant tortoise feeding on a patch of grass and a few snapping shrews and hornets. One corner of the paladin’s lips tugged toward a daring grin as she leaned forward, pulling on the reins to steer her chocobo toward the tortoise. Goldwind gave a low questioning wark at the new obstacle, but complied and veered sharply, talons kicking up more gravel. Luckily, the tortoise did not seem to notice (or care) that a chocobo and Hyur were racing toward it at an alarming speed. If it could think, it likely would have believed no one would be foolish enough to charge a giant tortoise whilst riding a chocobo, and so it kept grazing on the flowers, not bothering to move. Only when the rider and the bird were three fulms from its face did it deign to peel an eye at the two; its maw only paused briefly in its idle chewing as the golden-feathered bird launched itself into the air, its extended legs arching over the terrapin’s scaled head. The chewing commenced as the paladin and chocobo continued to race away. Roen laughed out loud, sparing a glance back at the immobile tortoise. She leaned to the right, to lead Goldwind toward the last two jumps: a snapping shew and a huge hornet buzzing low to the ground. But her hope that these were going to be a quick detour at best was dashed when the two creatures she had marked to leap over clearly saw her approach and started to dart away--as any normal creature would. The paladin grimaced as she found herself giving chase to the two creatures to just try and jump over them. The shew was easy enough to catch, but the hornet was quick to zig-zag and flit away. It was only after she chased it around a tree, cutting off its flight path with a sharp left that she got lucky and leaped over it. Goldwind let out a quick snort of triumph, as if happy to say that nothing was going to outrun him. Nothing except perhaps Avenger and Chachanji. By the time she had cleared the last jump, the youth and his bird had gained greater strides toward the Sultantree, passing them. Roen shook her head at her poor choice of targets, but still…it was fun! “Hyah!” She flicked the reins, taking Goldwind into a full sprint toward the younger riders and the Sultantree.

The fact that you found me in the middle of nowhere... ...I am impressed! Now I must reciprocate. Sounsyy and Chachan and... *steeples fingers*

Yes! Welcome to Balmung! I will echo the advice given by previous posters. Quicksand in Ul'dah has the highest concentration of RPers per square feet at any given time, although that does not mean you cannot find RP in other locations. But if you want a place to practice random walk up RP, Quicksand is the place to go. That's where I got my start. Also, if you are looking to make connections, this folder is a great place to look around for other players looking to do the same. I have also combed through story posts and forum OOC posts in general to look for like-minded players and personalities that I want to contact for possible RP opportunities. Just a thought. Anyway, good luck and have fun!

"Honestly, is this necessary just yet?" Ser Crofte protested, clearly alarmed by what the corporal held in her hands. Broken Nose gave no objection as he unlocked the cell and swung the door open for the Lalafell. He was not about to get in the middle in between a Flame and a Sworn. Kokojo took two small steps inside and threw the contents of the bucket over the poor malnourished Elezen. With excrement covering both the prisoner and the wall and floor around him, she stepped back outside, slamming the bars closed again. She smiled proudly up at the Sultansworn. "There. Now he's fed, I pissed off, and you can live up to your name, Shite-licker Crofte of the Brass Blades." Almost instantly the levity was dropped for a stern expression. "He's a criminal, not some misguided sod." The Roegadyn held up a hand subtly toward the door to keep Deneith there, just as Ser Crofte gave him a glance as if to question the apparent title. She was speechless, as he was. Broken Nose merely shrugged. The Elezen retched and coughed, the sound not unlike a whetstone being ground against a block of granite. Even through his gagging, a weak laugh could be heard occasionally interjected through the spasm of dry heaves. "Yeah…see…she's…that little bitch ain't lying to herself…hah. Just like Pearl Lane…see, she knows she's just an animal. She knows that she ain't any better than just throwing shite around. Take a page from her book, why don't you..." The prisoner looked as if he was about to retch again. Kokojo smirked over her shoulder at the bandit. "I have a pedigree." "Yeah, I'm covered in your pedigree," came the spiteful response amidst heavy coughing. The Sworn shook her head in stunned silence before turning to the corporal. "Twelve forfend we should act civilized. Do this your way then." She put her hand to her mouth as if to fight off a wave of nausea and backed away from the cell. The Immortal Flame nodded briefly before turning back to the bars and slipping inside the cell. She stood only a fulm away from the man. "I learned this from a Lominsan. Last chance." "I've been...given a dozen 'last chances' in the past three suns..." the Elezen mustered up what spittle he could as he spat on the ground. "Do…do your worst." The little corporal shrugged, then drew her blade and, in the blink of an eye, set the point against the man's groin and shoved it in against the bulge. The agonized cry that came out of the Elezen's weak frame was truly pitiful, and more animalistic of an expression of pain than anyone knew he was capable of. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, and his chest heaved with heavy, pained pants in lieu of screaming. "CORPORAL! For Menphina's sa...sake...!" The Sworn made one move toward the cell, then staggered backwards once again from the smell with her hand over her mouth. "Picking the part you like the most, huh?" he gasped out in between loud, pained groans. He writhed against the manacles, the iron chains jingling in a symphony of protest. The Lalafell played just barely with the hilt and pommel, raising her left gauntlet to her face as if to inspect her nails. "Now, I can either pull this back out, or I can twist it as I push it further in. Your call." Broken Nose only watched, his thoughts dark but his form unflinching. It seemed the little Flame had some bite to her after all. He only pushed off the wall when he saw Deneith darting forward, quick to place a hand on the woman’s shoulder to stop her protest. The Roe shook his head at her in stern warning. He could see her shocked expression even behind the mask. The Elezen did not respond, merely biting his lip as his spindly body twisted and turned, as if trying to crawl away from the pain. "A name. Make me believe it. Then mayhap I'll stop,” the corporal slowly and painstakingly moved her sword-arm closer to the man, gradually rotating her wrist as she did so. The writhing and crying out continued until the Elezen finally gasped. "A…a woman…came by…to this cell. She'll know. She…urgh…was there...in the alley." Even with his face twisting in an agonized expression, the prisoner managed the ghost of a grin. "You…you want answers? Maybe try looking at your precious paladins first." Deneith wrenched her shoulder away from Broken Nose’s hold, stepping toward the cell and swinging the door open. "Corporal. Stop. Stop this now. Please." The Elezen barked out a laugh that was more akin to a gasp than an expression of amusement. "Nah…let her…let her do her thing! You never cared before…when…when someone did this to us…if they were Blades or Flames or bandits..." "Corporal, that is enough!" The Sultansworn’s voice echoed off the stones, this time holding firm in its indignation. "Hmph." A wrenching motion drew the sword out, along with some blood, before the corporal reversed her grip on the hilt and slammed the pommel forward into the Elezen's face. She didn't pause to inspect her work as the prisoner slumped forward; she strolled past Crofte, sheathing her blade as she went. "Fetch a medic," she told Broken Nose. Only then did she turn to Crofte. "I was told the criminal was to be left alive. I was specifically not instructed as to the rest of his treatment." Crofte merely shook her head at the Flame. "Who else was at the scene? I was not aware of any Sultansworn present in the streets." Both Kokojo and Broken Nose exchanged a look before both of their eyes went to the second Blade that was with them. Deneith had already entered the cell past Kokojo, kneeling in front of the man as if to see if he was conscious. The Roegadyn shook his head in disapproval. She was too soft for this. "You're outed. Talk." The Lalafell’s voice was calm and cold, and it cut through the tension like a knife. It was not until then that the Sworn paid the second Blade any mind, but now Ser Crofte turned her attention to the woman in the cell with the prisoner. Deneith seemed to pause for a moment, keeping her back to them all as if hesitating. But slowly she rose and pulled the turban and the mask off her head as she turned. "I was there,” she said quietly, the Hyur looking straight at the Sultansworn. "I was the one in the alley." Broken Nose heard the long exhale that was released through the Sworn’s nose. "Of course it was you." The corporal glanced between the two women. "The sergeant and I have a prisoner to see to. Perhaps you could take this outside." Take the chance given, Broken Nose wanted to say out loud. The less he knew about the details of this, better off he was. It would be easier to keep things legitimate, with less things to hide. But the two women seemed not to hear it. "No need,” Crofte answered curtly. “Based on what he said and the current revelation, I know what I wanted to." Kokojo gave Crofte a narrowed eyed look. "If this is a foreign matter--and I suspect that's the case, given the manufacture--then you're obligated to share what you know with the Flames. If not through myself, then through Swift." The Sworn crossed her arms and turned her back to Deneith, looking only to the Immortal Flame. "Indeed. I will speak with my Captain and then to your commander. This issue may be far bigger than we suspected." The confusion in Deneith’s face was clear as she exited the cell to approach the Sworn. "Can we speak?" she asked quietly. It was obvious that Ser Crofte was looking anywhere but at the paladin. "No,” she said flatly. "I have a report to file now. If you would excuse me." Clearing her throat, she walked swiftly past them, only calling back to Kokojo when she was nearing the door. “See that he lives, Corporal. We may still have need of him." With that she she exited, the heavy door closing behind her. "...Twice. I told her twice." The dunesfolk woman sighed. Broken Nose stared at Deneith, who stood there with a look of confusion before she too took her leave without another word. The Roegadyn shook his head as he began to lumber out of the gaol to fetch a medic. If Deneith knew who had brought guns to the streets of Ul’dah--and was now on the outs with her one ally in the Sultansworns--this whole thing was headed down a path he did not want to imagine. And now both the Sultansworns and the Immortal Flames had an inkling of it, even if neither Kokojo nor Crofte were ready to act upon it just yet. And he couldn’t discount the Brass Blades getting involved, since he himself had been made privy to the knowledge. Broken Nose did not like this. He did not like this at all.

Broken Nose did not like this. He did not like this at all. The Hellsguard Roegadyn crossed his massive arms, firmly planting himself in front of the entrance to the gaol. He knew his looming form alone was a deterrent for anyone who was even thinking about going into the dungeons. Others probably saw him let one enter--a cloaked figure who said not a word in passing--but the Blades knew enough not to ask questions. Broken Nose maintained his silent and intimidating scowl...at least until the Immortal Flame corporeal entered through the doors of the Headquarters. Thal’s Balls, the Roegadyn thought to himself. Deneith should have been long gone from the gaol by now, but she had not yet made her exit. He watched as the blonde Lalafell made her way toward him, strolling by desks and other Blades. She seemed oblivious or uncaring of the glares thrown her way; the Immortal Flames were never a welcomed presence in the Blades Headquarters. The little Flame came to a stop before the large Hellsguard and gave a formal salute. "Nothing yet?" "He's shackled inside. Gave us a bit of a fight. And--" Of course it was at that moment that the door opened behind him. Deneith always had impeccable timing for trouble. He growled under his breath as he kept his eyes on the Lalafell. "I let this one go in a little earlier. She was a bit insistent." "Ah. Corporal,” the cloaked woman said quietly as she stepped out from the gaol. "Tch. The sergeant's papers make that quite clear." The corporal turned to face Deneith with a frown. "Is this altogether wise? She's going to be here shortly..." The Lalafell spared a glance over her shoulder towards the front door. Broken Nose rolled his eyes in immediate agreement. "She was supposed to be gone by now, corporal." Deneith remained stubborn as ever, much to the Hellsguard’s chagrin. “I actually have a spare Blades uniform if it is needed. I would like to stay if..." She glanced between Kokojo and Broken Nose. "...do you know which Sworn is coming?" Kokojo snorted without turning back around. "Given the gravity of the situation, that should be obvious." The Blade grumbled, nearly tossing his arms into the air in a helpless gesture. Sure, why not just imply to the corporal that the paladin visits regularly enough so that she stows a Blades disguise in his office? He gave the Hyur a pointed look of annoyance. Deneith did not seem to notice his ire, relief washing over her face. "If it is Ser Crofte, I think we will be alright." Broken Nose noticed the condescending smile toward the paladin afforded by the Flame, but before either of them could respond, the doors to the Headquarters opened again to admit Coatleque Crofte, two other Sworns in tow. “Why don’t you duck back into the office and come back looking a little less conspicuous,” he rumbled to the paladin under his breath. “Too late,” Kokojo hummed as Ser Crofte approached, thankfully leaving the two other Sworns to wait by the entrance. Maybe this won’t go so bad after all. "Ser Crofte," Broken Nose greeted the woman gruffly, his salute slow to come. He was doing his best to keep any hint of distaste from his tone. There seemed an uneasiness that flitted about her countenance only for a moment, before the Sworn reciprocated the salute, following it up with a small bow. "Sergeant Nose." It was immediately followed by the Flame salute to the Lalafell next to him. "Apologies, I do not believe we have met." she said, addressing the corporal. "Corporal Haruko Kokojo, ser. I believe you knew my former sergeant, back when he was with the regulars.” The Lalafell pushed herself off the wall she had been leaning on, returning the salute. "I assume you got the report on your way over." Broken Nose's tone was casual, even as the Flame and Sworn exchanged formalities. "Lady Coatleque Crofte of Her Resplendence's Royal Guard," the Sworn said with a bow before nodding back to the Roegadyn. "Aye, I have read the report of what happened. A firefight in the streets. I am here to evaluate the situation only." "--Not to slit his throat, right?" interjected the Lalafell. "If further action is required then we--" Ser Crofte stopped and looked at the corporal. "No. My office does not murder captives." The Immortal Flame’s eyes narrowed at the emphasis. "So long as we're clear. Commander Swift was rather adamant: no repeats." Broken Nose smacked his lips in distaste, knowing full well whom the corporal was speaking of. Even the Blades were aware of the execution that Mcbeef had carried out of the pirate prisoner. There were rumblings about whether it was hurried and why. Wasn’t that the start of it all? The Sworn straightened herself before responding. "As I said, I am here to evaluate the situation. This is not, as of yet, a matter for the Sultansworn." The woman’s eyes strayed to the cloaked figure with an eyebrow arched in question as Deneith was wordlessly slipping away. The corporal took that moment to move in front of the Sworn, gesturing and heading toward the gaol. "I'd rather not be here all night. Shall we?" "Yes, please,” Crofte responded as she too turned her attention back to the matter at hand. Broken Nose did not spare the cloaked figure a glance as he sharply turned and opened the doors to the gaol, leading the Flame and the Sworn inside. Kokojo only allowed him to guide them for a few steps, before impatiently darting ahead, peeking into each cell. “No...no…oh, shove off, you probably mugged a merchant…ah, here he is.” "Let's just say he hasn't been all that talkative so far,” the Hellsguard said as if that would explain the bruises and welts on the near emaciated Elezen. He crossed his arms again, leaning against the wall to allow for the other two to inspect the prisoner. Kokojo was already holding onto the bars to intently look over the bandit. "When was this man last fed?" Crofte asked. "Irrelevant." Lalafell reached one hand back behind her and snapped up at Broken Nose. "You recovered small-arms, yes?" Broken Nose shrugged off the Sworn’s inquiry. He was starting to think that Crofte was not that different from Deneith. Soft. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. "Feeding the prisoner is never our concern, ser." He nodded to the Lalafell. "Pistols. This one had a fancy one too." "My men recovered a single rifle,” the corporal said without turning around. "I'll have it sent 'round to both your offices. The commander will need to sign off on that first once we've finished our own inspection." "Firearms are not readily sold in Thanalan. I assume these were smuggled in from La Noscea?" The Sworn glanced between them. The Blade sergeant nodded. "Looks like Limsan make, from the look of things." Kokojo bit the inside of her cheek as she turned her head to look up at Crofte. "Does that mean anything to you? I'm at a loss." Crofte crossed her arms but remained rather straight faced. "That remains to be seen." She moved forward to the cell to address the prisoner. "You there. Can you speak?" "Piss off," came the rasp from the back of the cell. The Elezen raised his head; he was obviously in a weakened state, but his face still managed to conjure a scowl. Broken Nose rolled his eyes. His men had gotten similar answers already of course, when they had first brought him into the gaols. The Elezen was not unlike the rest of the bandits he had come across, full of anger and never in any mood to cooperate. And this one seemed especially venomous. But his attention was soon pulled away from the exchange between the Sworn and the prisoner to the corporal, who approached him with a sadistic expression on her face. “I need a spare bucket. And do you have a chocobo stable nearby?” The Roegadyn cocked a brow at her and thumbed toward the door where one hung on the wall. “Have at it. And the stable is a few paces to the right out of the building.” As he watched the corporal walk back out, he called out after her. “Ya need something corporal? I can get one of my men…” "No, no, I absolutely must do this myself. Be back shortly." The Lalafell hurried back down the corridor. Broken Nose stared absently after the Lalafell. He shook his head, muttering a curse or four to Nymeia under his breath. He continued to listen to the volley of polite questions from the Sworn and the vitriolic responses from the bandit for a few more minutes. He spied Deneith entering the corridor in a Blades uniform, trying to be as unassuming as possible. "Why not just leave me to die already, stupid bitch…or get…get on your knees and beg if you want me to tell you that badly." The Elezen coughed again, grinning slightly as the chains jingled. Broken Nose tapped the keyring on his belt with a warning look. "Maybe won't be smiling with a few broken teeth?" The prisoner ignored the thinly veiled threat. "The Hammerbeaks preyed on all of the poor in Pearl Lane. They ran rampant for several moons…and would you believe who came to help?" He coughed. "Would you…believe who gave a single toss about those jackals, or the people…the people they fed on? Why not tell me, you ignorant bint? I'm sure you already know the answer." The Hellsguard scowled at the implication, giving the Blade by the door a pointed look. But then came the disgusted cries of a dozen Blades outside. Soon the door to the gaol swung open again, the corporal returning with a bucket held between her legs with both hands. It sloshed about with...something that made Deneith immediate step back with a hand covering her nose and mouth. Kokojo grinned at Broken Nose. "Open it."

The Elezen was a pitiful sight to behold. His head hung slack and his robe had been taken away, revealing a slight frame battered and bruised by the Blades that had arrested him. His face was gaunt and his ribcage was noticeable, the skin of his chest stretched tight across his bones.The chains of the iron bonds that held his wrists jingled as he began to stir awake. When he tilted his head up slightly to notice who was standing on the other side of the bars, he let out an annoyed snort and looked away. Roen had no sympathy to spare for the man. She had been sneaked into the Blades gaol by Broken Nose after he claimed jurisdiction over the incident in Pearl Lane. She only had until the Flames arrived before she had to make herself scarce. She had insisted on questioning the prisoner first, before the others could put him to question. She had to know. “I need you to answer some questions for me,” the paladin said calmly, breaking the silence between them. The Elezen barked out a laugh, or tried to. What came out was frustrated sputtering and hacking coughs. "I don't recall asking for one of the Jewel's whores," he finally snarled contemptuously. "Continuing to resist will only make things harder for you.” Roen sighed patiently. “It does not have to be that way." "Oh, so that's how it goes, then?" the Elezen sneered. "First it's 'I'll break all your teeth out one by one if you don't talk,' and now it's 'You're only making it harder on yourself.'" The bandit tried to spit at her from the back of the cell. The projectile fell short, but the message could not have been clearer. Roen frowned. She knew the brutal methods that the Blades employed, she had been part of their organization once. His words of such threats were not false. "You did fire a gun. In the streets of Ul'dah. That alone could have gotten you killed." "I've fired dozens of guns in the streets of Ul'dah. This just happens to be the first instance of any o' you clueless gobshites noticing it." "It is not a common thing, the weapon you wielded, that pistol. Where did you get it?" The Elezen scowled. "The Holy See o' Ishgard gave it to me himself.” “It was well made.” Roen slid her arms across the bars, coming to lean on the crossbar. "I suspect I know who might have supplied those weapons." A part of her already felt a hint of dread seizing the air in her chest. She hated what she was thinking. "I only need you to confirm a few things. In exchange, you tell me what you want. I will see what I can do." The bandit’s scowl turned into a vitriolic smirk. "Oh, I see. I'll have a few ribs intact by the end of this moon if I just tell you everything you want to know, is that it?" He turned his head away. "Go waste someone else's time, stuck-up bitch..." She bowed her head for a moment, shaking it slightly. "I will not lie to you. What I can probably get you is limited. But..." she sighed. "What else will you do?" She frowned, hesitating a moment on her next words. "I am trying to help. I am working with someone who wants to help you.” The Elezen said nothing, his head turned to stare at the wall. The silence continued for several more minutes before he spoke again. "The guns came from my boss, and no way in the hells would I be tellin' you where he is." The scowl returned. "'sides, that face of yours says that you already know. You just haven't admitted it yet." Roen blinked and she felt herself stiffen slightly. Her voice had quieted even more although she was now struggling to keep it as even as possible. "When did you get them...? These guns." Her mind was already racing to calculate how long it had been since Nero’s wagons were confiscated. The prisoner’s expression mellowed somewhat, though it was still undeniably belligerent. "A long while ago. Just ain't bothered using them until now. Got'em long enough ago to spend time learnin' to use them," the Elezen said, his expression curling into annoyance. "I ain't telling you no more shite." The paladin slid her arms out of the bars, crouching down to meet his gaze at eye level. “What will you be telling them?” She glanced warily to the door even as she whispered the question. "Hah!" the Elezen barked. "A few bells in their loving care and I won't be havin' a jaw that can tell them anything." He seemed resigned to his fate yet defiant, even as his emaciated arms shook against the manacles. Roen exhaled, her shoulders sagging. She recalled hearing about Natalie’s methods of interrogation; the Sworn had methodically pulled out Delial’s fingernails one by one as she asked each question. It was not just the Blades who were known for their cruelty. The paladin shuddered to think what the Elezen may face with his unwillingness to cooperate. But there was a part of her that also feared what he would tell them about who had smuggled in the guns. "Is there anything I can do for you?" she finally asked, her voice too resigned. Another contemptuous "tch" escaped from the prisoner's mouth. "Maybe show up in less clothing next time. Or stick a few of those bastards on your way out," he sneered. She sighed again, glancing one more time toward the door. "Do you not want to make some difference before you meet your fate?" The Elezen merely glared at her. "I'll tell you this much. If you kick people often enough, sooner or later they'll learn to kick back. As for difference? Hah! What difference? Only ones who make differences are people with money. People who can tell other people what to do. There ain't nothing for us to do, cause we don't want change. We want a war." Roen leaned in, frowning. "And what would a war accomplish?" The bandit smirked. "Pay evil unto evil. You can't change this cesspool. We're just little kids, breaking mommy's vases for attention. When she don't notice the vases, we steal the jewelry. When she don't notice the jewelry, we smash the windows. When she don't notice the windows, why, we'll just burn the houses down. That's all them rich people care about, so we make them notice us. They won't be turnin' away. Not this time. Not when their blood be spillin' down their gilded steps and their servants be pleadin'. No, we ain't gonna be ignored anymore." "...And then what..?" the paladin rasped. His hateful glower became more vehement, more intense, as if his glares alone could murder someone. But soon it began to subside. "Then? Then the rich people's rich friends come along, and kill us all for gettin' their carpets dirty. And that'll be that. Cause ain't that how it always ends? Cause to them, people are trash. Just refuse you can sweep under the rug, and when the garbage start pilin' up, you just hire someone to burn it away for you." Roen shook her head, her expression now full of dread and sadness. "Then why do this? If that is the end your foresee? There has to be a better way. People are not refuse. Do you not see? Even as you suffer under their foot, you still believe as they do. You still propagate what is so wrong with this place." Suddenly, the prisoner thrashed violently against the shackles and the iron bar clanged as the chains rattled in his rage. "Then what would you have us do, you arrogant bitch? You can go eat shite, you and your better way! You know what a better way means for someone like me?! It means not watchin' my sister starve! It means findin' a place to sleep where I won't wake up with roaches! It means killin' everyone who tries to rob us! It means not havin' to consider slavery just to get food at the end o' the day!" The Elezen's spindly, too-thin form flailed like a bundle of sticks as he practically frothed at the mouth. "When's the last godsdamned time you went hungry?! When's the last time you had to stare at mold on your goddamned bread?! No, I don't see you, blind justice-sucking harlot! You wanna know why?! I'm too godsdamned busy starin' at my own ribs! I'm too busy lookin' at the places the poor aren't allowed! I'm too busy lookin' at a city, who don't give a single godsdamned shite! You can go rutting yourself with your godsdamned better way till your own daddy can't tell you from the whores on the street!" His last vitriolic words echoed off the hard stone walls as the outburst seemed to drain all of the energy from the Elezen; he laid panting in the aftermath of his rage. Cold sweat dripped from his face, running down a thin nose and gaunt cheeks as he stared at the ground, battered breaths drawing attention to the frail chest that drew them. Roen bowed her head, her forehead coming to lean against the bar. "You are right," she confessed quietly. "I have not suffered as you have. I do not know poverty as you do. And perhaps that makes me naive. But there is nothing that would ever convince me that killing others, bathing the streets in blood just for attention is ever the right solution." She frowned at seeing his labored breathing. "I wish someday, you would be able to see the change come." Her words were quieter, saddened. She doubted he would survive this imprisonment. "Get away from me," he rasped in disgust. His torso heaved as he hacked and wheezed out several painful coughs, the spittle stained crimson with blood. The paladin rose back to her feet, letting out a long sigh. He clearly suspected she knew who had delivered the guns. And perhaps she already did. When she turned for the doors, he rasped grimly, "He…he'll punish this city." The Elezen’s gaze seemed gripped with delirium. "Everything. Everyone who stood by and watched. No shelter from the storm that's coming." Roen stood still for a moment longer before striding toward the door. She heard the last of his words, rasped softly, echo off the walls: "Everyone's gonna die. By fire and smoke and steel and a shower of blood."

If anyone recognize the last name "Deneith" for my character Roen, it is because it is the name of one of the Dragonmarked Houses from Eberron Campaign setting. Roen Deneith's first incarnation was in a 3.5e D&D campaign. That campaign ended after five years and I fell in love with the character that I've come to learn inside and out. So when I discovered FF, I created her again, with an idea of "What if this character was born in another world under entirely different circumstances... how would she turn out?" So she is not actually a reincarnation, or even the same character. I just reused the name and the person she is at the core. But I am leaving who she becomes and how the circumstances change her to RP and storytelling, which so far, as had some significant divergence from the D&D campaign, as well as some eerie similarities, oddly enough. Brynn I have also used in other forums and settings, always a horse trader and a dance loving gypsy with a selfish streak about her. I use her as a side character to stories, and in this game she is an alt of mine to support people's arcs as well. She also lets me be a shameless flirt.

*Stares at the chat in this one* For shame on this Siha person for jumping people at a ball. Pah. What is she an animal? :angel: ILU Roen. HAHAHAHA! I didn't even see that chat. He was right too! It was right after she got jumped by Siha!

I found quite a few Waldos in Erik's shots! Even saw myself in one... Gharen and Delial in a couple, Chachanji and Leanne in a few, Anzio, Otto, Alexandria, Gideon, Jameson, Coatleque, Kiht, Inessa, Anelia, Verad and Odile... Too many to list!

Yes, great job CC. It has been awhile since I've played Magic: The Gathering, but these cards are perfect.

Roen believes in true love, that there is one person meant for another. It stems from the love she saw between her parents who raised her. She also witnessed the heartache that followed when her father lost her mother. She knows the pain and suffering that love can bring. But she also believes that love can save another person. A bit idealistic and perhaps even foolish, but she holds on to that belief fiercely. I suspect her current arc will test her faith in many ways.

A bouquet of white lilacs were laid in front of Natalie Mcbeef’s gravestone, though no one heard the whispered words of the cloaked woman who delivered them. She had stood in front of the grave in the rain with her head hung low, her face hidden beneath the heavy cowl. Roen stared at the gravestone, the name etched there, and the numbers below it that marked the length of the Miqo’te’s life. Her former mentor’s life had been cut untimely short, but there was no doubt in the paladin’s mind that Natalie had lived every moment to the fullest. Drawing upon her own memories, Roen knew of some of those moments--some filled with tenderness, yes, but many of pain, anger, and violence. Until the last few suns, Roen had tried to push thoughts of Natalie out of her mind. Her death had come while she was trying to hunt down someone Roen held dear; it had also been Natalie who had been responsible for so many tears, and so much suffering before that. And yet... The paladin could not forget the tender moments they had shared, the quietly-spoken words of trust and understanding, nor the smiles or small moments of laughter between them. Now that she stood before the Miqo’te’s grave, Roen knew that she did not want to remember her former mentor as she was in the last of her days. She did not want to remember her as an enemy. She wanted to remember her as a friend, a confidant, and her mentor who swore her into the Order of the Sultansworn. Natalie had accepted her despite her heritage, and also helped to clear both her name and that of Gharen’s from wanted charges as traitor and terrorist. “I forgive you,” Roen finally said. “I forgive you for all the things that you did and all the things that happened. I cannot forgive you for him, nor for those whose lives you took. But I no longer hold hatred for you. I hope you found peace and clarity in the end, or after, wherever you may be.” Roen knelt before the gravestone, laying the pendant of Nald’thal next to the lilacs. She stayed only a moment before she rose, turned, and disappeared into the storm.