Roen

The goofy smile on Chachanji's face made Roen answer the boy with her own. As soon as he popped that candy in his mouth his eyes seemed to glaze over, and it was as though happy thoughts bloomed like a great big joyful flower on his face. Watching him relish in such simple joy was contagious. "One of my favorite things to do when I learned how to ride was to go on long runs. Through the woods, up the mountain trails..." She leaned forward to give Goldwind a pat on the neck. "I think it lets you and your mount have a little fun together. And soon, he becomes your friend." Roen's smile grew wistful. She remembered running away with on the back of her childhood mount, named Greywind for his dark grey hue, to join the battle at Carteneau so many cycles ago. Greywind had been brave and stalwart even in the face of frightening explosions and the clashing of weapons all around them. More so than she herself had been, as the paladin recalled. "Avenger has to have as much courage as you do, and sometimes even more so if you falter." The paladin sat straighter in her seat, growing a bit somber. "They can be your best friend sometimes. And they need to be, if they are to help you charge into battle." "Trust and friendship are not just born out of sharing an understanding and learning together." She blinked at her own words, as she silently reminded herself to practice her own lessons with those she held dear. "You need to have fun now and then." A smile slowly grew as Goldwind stomped once on the dirt with growing anticipation. "So! Today, I have planned a race for us! From here to the Sultantree. There is a trail that leads out near the road, and there are a few obstacles off to the sides, rocks and logs. I want you to jump over at least five of those on your way to the finish." Goldwind let out an excited warble, craning his neck and flapping his wings. He could always sense when she was in the mood for a fast run; both the rider and the bird always found unabashed glee in trying to outrun the wind. "Are you ready?" Roen beamed at Chachanji, her challenge punctuated by a high-pitched kweh from her bird.

Anything that involves studying out of a book. Roen has never been good at book study. Even cooking, she cannot follow recipes, but has been taught hands on. She does things intuitively rather than following written instructions, much to the dismay of her childhood nannies and teachers. Not much has changed since.

Aaaah! Palette things! Makes my inner decorator smile. This was the closest palette I can come up with. But I really think the picture itself is rather apt for her too, fallen petals on hard stony ground.

FUN!

Roen believed Natalie would be her enemy... "next time they met." But then she died. Crimson Mountain was an enemy/tormentor. He's dead now too. Delial Grimsong was once considered an enemy, but before that a friend. Now... allies? Jameson Taeros would be considered an enemy, as well as Raelisanne Banurein. I do not know that Roen would have the guts to kill them though. Roen also opposes the Monetarists who she believes represents the corruption in Ul'dah.

Oops! I edited my original answer to include reasons.

A Free-Sworn. That is what Chachanji Gegenji had called her, the last time they had spoken. Goldwind slowed into an easy trot as Roen pulled on his reins slightly, the mount and rider approaching the bridge overlooking Fresca’s Wash. The path from Lost Hope to the Royal Plantations was one that Goldwind knew well, so the paladin allowed her bird to make his way there as she let her own mind wander. She had met the young Lalafell during one of her trips to Stonesthrow, delivering medicine and food. It was his baby piglet that had made the introductions when he ran into her leg and caused her to stumble. After a few broken jars and spilled supplies, Chachanji had helped her in gathering what was salvageable and more importantly, helping to convince Lancel’s father--that proud man--in accepting her offer of alchemical remedies. Roen could not help but smile a little at the memory, Chachanji’s twisted expression rising to the fore as he took a finger full of the awful tasting syrupy tincture into his mouth, just to convince the ailing Highlander that if he can take the medicine, so can the older man. It had worked, Lowell accepted the offering reluctantly. Since that day, Roen had found herself delighting in their chance encounters. The last time that they had met, she had offered to teach him how to ride properly, for the young aspiring ‘hero’ had hastily gotten himself a chocobo without even learning how to rightly sit on a saddle. But such was the enthusiasm and excitement that shone in the Lalafell’s young eyes, that she found herself volunteering to instruct him so that he took no more falls off his bird--a tiny chocobo he had named "Avenger." Not so ready was her response when Chachanji then asked her to teach him the ways of being a paladin. She once swore the Oath of a Sultansworn, only to leave the Order, and now she worked as a Free Paladin, but could not offer her services openly in Thanalan because she could still be arrested if discovered. She knew that Ser Castille was already teaching Chachanji how to fight with a sword and shield, and the Lalafell also had intended to approach Ser Crofte in learning about bravery and vigilance of a Sworn. So what, if anything, had she to offer the boy? “You can teach me how to halp people,” Chachanji had replied to her earnestly. Roen tried to refuse, but she could not. How could she when all she saw in his face was that eagerness to help others, that pure desire to see to those in need? That ardor she recognized easily enough; it was something that drove her every action when she had first come to Ul’dah. And Chachanji was a bit like she was back then, full of hope that if he just continued to help people, he would achieve all that he desired--that the abstract idea of helping people was all that mattered. A part of her wondered if that still held true for her now. Her faith in her ideals had been tested many times since, and sometimes she could not help but doubt her own hopes in the face of what seemed like indomitable obstacles. Her mind questioned her heart oft of late, and in rare moments she wondered if she had strayed from the path of virtue and righteousness in her current goals and alliances. The paladin quickly dismissed the heavy thoughts from her mind as she spotted the Lalafell in the distance, seated on Avenger. A smile easily rose as she looked upon the young paladin-in-training, Goldwind coming to a stop just a couple of fulms away. The larger chocobo let out a happy kweh in greeting, as if mirroring Roen’s own mood--already lighter in the boy’s presence. “You are early.” Roen inclined her head in greeting. “The mark of an eager student.” She nodded in approval as she noted how Chachanji sat on Avenger, both the rider and bird much less fidgety since their last lesson. He also sported no more obvious bruises; he had not been falling as much, she gathered. “You and Avenger have gotten to know each other better, I suspect.” The paladin grinned. “So! I propose we do something a little different this day. It should test how well you and Avenger get along.” She clapped her hands once, mirth in her eyes. “And it will be fun.”

Hmm... Roen favors dark blue. Rich midnight blue. It is the color her mother favored, and she always looked up to her mother. Or when she feels a bit more indulgent maybe deep purple as well. It is the color her father favored. She was a loving child who wanted so much to please her parents. She favors the darker richer hues over lighter faded colors. This comes from the fact that she was a tomboy who liked to climb trees and learn sword fighting since she was young, and darker colors hid stains and scrapes better. I don't purposefully dye many outfits for her thought though, she wears earthy colors and grey outfits also because she isn't rich and she isn't horribly choosy to make things fit her personal style. But if she had the choice, two colors above would be what she would lean towards. She did wear white armor for awhile when she was Sultansworn (Not the paladin regalia), and still dons it when she feels the need to be fully armored. She chose white when she was within the Order because back then, she saw the Sultansworns as something akin to white knights in shining armor. And when not wearing the official armor, she wanted to emulate it as much as possible. She wore a grey-blue armor before being accepted into the Order, simply because that was what she was gifted from a grateful merchant. She now sports black and red now and then, reflecting colors of the Maelstrom. Since she has been hiding in Limsa when not sneaking around in Thanalan, she has taken employment with a Free Company that is affiliated with Maelstorm so she dons those colors to try and 'blend in.'

Roen tugged her hood lower over her eyes as she pulled away from the wounded Highlander. At least he was breathing, which is more than she could say for the others that took gunshots to the chest. She sat back onto her legs as her gaze went from her bloodied hands to the crimson stains that ran in between the stones. There were almost half a dozen bodies unmoving in front of her, all shirtless and sporting similar tattoos that marked them as members of a group of bandits called Hammerbeaks. When she was part of the Sultansworn Order, Roen had been given the files of high profile bandit gangs as well as various noble houses. Protecting the Sultanate required knowledge of those who might threaten or even support it. The Sultansworns, the Immortal Flames, and the Brass Blades were all debriefed of notable criminal elements and the powerful figures that led them. Hammerbeak was barely mentioned, for they did ‘lay claim’ to some of the minor territories and streets within Ul’dah. But as long as they did not incite obvious violence that threatened the citizens at large, they were left alone, even if their existence was already known by the authorities. Looking at the bodies now, Roen wondered if this practice was a wise one. She had not questioned it then, as she was an initiate learning the ways of the Order, but since then she was beginning to question many things. A pair of dark vermilion sollerets entered her line of sight, drawing her from her thoughts. “Deneith,” Broken’s Nose’s low voice rumbled just loud enough for her to hear. “Only two lived,” she said quietly. The Hellsguard paused a moment, then narrowed his eyes. “Never mind them, you shouldn’t have stayed.” He leaned in to keep his words just between them, glancing over his shoulder to the regiment of Immortal Flames that were exiting various buildings around them. Roen followed his gaze to one fair-haired Lalafell in particular, one who seemed to be giving the orders to the rest gathered. The paladin stiffened as a few more glances were thrown her way--one Midlander Flame jutting his chin on her direction as he addressed the Lalafell. “Corporal Kokojo, isn’t that…?” The Lalafell turn her direction, giving the paladin a once lookover. There was a slight narrowing of her eyes, and Roen realized that the Lalafell knew who she was. But then the Corporal turned back to the Midlander in front of her and answered without missing a beat. “I don’t recognize her, Private, do you?” “No, Corporal, I don’t.” The Private quickly turned his attention elsewhere as well, coming to a stiff stance. Both the Immortal Flames began to walk away, quietly exchanging what they discovered above. Broken Nose exhaled through his nose audibly in relief, then glanced past Roen to a few Brass Blades that were lingering nearby. “Well don’t just stand there! Clear out these bodies. Take those alive to the gaol and call for a physician to examine them.” He paused and pointed to the two Blades that were dragging away the unconscious Elezen. “And that one, put him in a separate cell. He will need to answer some questions.” Both the paladin and the Roegadyn stood in silence for a moment longer as those around them went about and dragged bodies--both living and dead--away, before they spoke again. “Guns? Rifles?” Roen said quietly. Broken Nose opened his hand, showing her an ornate pistol. “This was found on the ground. And the Flames are combing the buildings for those rifles. We caught the Elezen, but those who were wielding the rifles scattered.” Roen frowned. It was not of Garlean make--those she recognized easily enough. This one originated from Vylbrand. “Plans fail. Somethin' always goes wrong. Victory goes to the prepared. And you have not so much as asked him about the weapons." The sergeant’s words rang in her ear. He had suspected that there were weapons smuggled in, not just the supplies for the refugees as Nero had claimed. Roen had not given much weight to it…until now. Now there were bandits within the streets of Ul’dah that were wielding weapons they should not even know how to use. “I need to speak to that Elezen.” Broken Nose cocked a brow at her. “Are you serious? The corporal there just turned her back on you, to give you a way out of this without possibly getting arrested and dragged off to the gaol yourself, and now you want to walk into one to talk to a prisoner?” The paladin grimaced, but still nodded. “No one said I was going to make this easy for you,” she said apologetically. “But I need to know where these guns came from.” The Hellsguard crossed his massive arms, looking down at her with a reproachful scowl. “You don’t think we know how to interrogate a prisoner?” Roen sighed, giving him an imploring look. “I am certain you and the Flames both have your ways, but I need to know before it is known officially. Once I do, I will leave the walls for you to figure things out.” The Roegadyn glared at her for a moment, then slumped his shoulders with a sigh. “I'll see what I can do. I can probably reason with the corporeal that this is a Blades matter and falls under our jurisdiction, at least for a bell or two until things get sorted out. But once they start collecting more evidence of Limsan weapons, it will be turned over to the Flames. And your friends the Sultansworns likely will be poking their nose about too, no doubt.” There was a hint of a sneer as he said the last, but Roen noted that it no longer held venom as it once used to leaving his lips. The paladin nodded. “Aye, I suspect the same. Which is why I need to ask my questions first.” Broken Nose let out a long exasperated sigh. “I should've never let you convince me about this reformation business.” He shook his head. The paladin flashed him a small, quick smile. “You convinced yourself. It is not my doing.” The Roegadyn rolled his eyes and turned from her, tucking the weapon in hand away as he approached the Immortal Flames. His arms were out as if to make an offering, but Roen could already see the Lalafell look past him back to her. There was a sharpness to corporal’s gaze, and she nodded absently to what Broken Nose was offering. But Roen could see the Lalafell’s thoughts were already two steps ahead. As were her own. Roen needed to find out where those weapons came from. She was trying her best not to let her mind wander to where it wanted to go, where it had no choice to go. Limsan weapons, smuggled into Ul’dah and given to bandits. “Ask him about the weapons,” the sergeant’s voice echoed in her head again. She needed to talk to the Elezen.

There is a straight gallery option in the edit menu, actually. I just needed access to my pictures. I've just added some, and hopefully there will be more coming as I RP more! :blush: OH my goodness. Now I know what I will be doing during maintenance.

Uuuugh. Screenshots. Yes! That is something I have completely underutilized the wiki for. If someone comes up with a good template for having a gallery of screenshots, I am SO going to steal your template.

“Where is he,” Roen nearly growled. The Highlander crossed her arms, her drink set aside. She eyed the Sultansworn up and down, an iciness to her gaze. The smile that touched her lips was not a pleasant one. "Silly girl. Even if I told you... well. What could you do? Pull together that little band of yours, march in? You caused quite a ruckus, my dear. People are angry." She added after pause with a cant of her head, “And angry people do not forget." Roen swallowed, trying not to react to Delial’s change in demeanor since they had spoken last. She felt herself grow cold. "Then why do you taunt me with his fate? What do you want?" Delial’s smile hooked wickedly as she flashed her fangs. "I'm not doing this for me. Gharen... well. Gharen made a mistake." "What is it you want? Need I return? I will. You must want something!" "You will return, my dear, regardless of my wishes. I do not care. Your father does, however, and... as I said. Angry people do not forget. It was sheer coincidence that your fate would intertwine with mine. With Gharen's. Such an interesting predicament." Roen paused, her eyes narrowing. "What do you speak of?" Delial tilted her head and raised her brow in mock surprise. "Poor, poor child. You don't even know what you are, do you? Roen Deneith, Sultansworn, prodigal daughter. It is much more fitting than you think." The Sultansworn shook her head. "I do not understand. What does this have anything to do with... with his fate?” The Highlander canted her head, then fished about somewhere beneath her robes. "He didn't believe me," she said idly, "When I told him. Perhaps it was the drug. Or the rage. I cannot tell - that man has a great capacity for rage. Did you know?" Her smile brightened some as she apparently touched upon whatever it was she sought and she withdrew a picture. She extended it to Roen. "I don't need this anymore. You know what happened to Greyarm." Roen opened the picture in her hand, her eyes blinking rapidly. "What is this...?" She saw her resemblance to the older woman in the portrait. “Who is this?!” "It is a dreadful thing to be so... oblivious to your ancestry. Perhaps it was better that you were taken,” Delial said nonchalantly. “Taken... what?" The Highlander sighed patiently. "I promised you I would lead you to your ancestry. So... here. I am an honest liar, duckling. Do not mistake me for anything less." "Who is this other woman?" Roen’s eyes darted between the portrait and Delial. She pointed to the younger woman in the picture, one that bore Gharen’s eyes. "Who are they?" "That, my dear, is your mother." Delial clucked her tongue. "No imagination in that pretty little head of yours. Honestly." Roen staggered. "No. This is not. I know my mother. She... she died when I was young. I-I knew her face." The Highlander rolled her eyes."Had I kept you to myself that night," she sighed, "You may very well have known me as your mother. Thank the Gods for small favors. Truly, a lost child." Roen stiffened. "You are lying." "The only lie I've told you, my sweet, is that I am on your side." Delial cracked that wicked smile again. "I do not know what you have to gain, but you are lying about my mother. And this has nothing to do with--" Roen did not want to believe. "What does this have to do with Master Gharen?!" Her hand lowered to her side with the portrait, as if to dismiss it for now. "I do not wish for your games! I only wish to insure his return!" Delial slowly tilted her head. "It almost breaks my heart, this. How long have you longed for that boy? I wonder what sort of dreams you've dreamt of that man? It is... well. Tragic, perhaps. Tragic." She tsked slowly. "I do not know how well you think you know him. But... honestly. Did he never tell you of his sister?" Roen swallowed. "She... died." Her voice shook, her words were slower to come. "When she was a baby..." "That's odd." "When the Garleans..." Roen stopped. She felt herself sway, one step taken backwards as if she was struck. All breaths left her for an instant. She shook her head. “No.” “I should have killed you. Killed him. Ended the line there. It would have been a mercy." The Highlander shook her head. "Your... 'father' was quite insistent. And I was young, and idealistic. We all make mistakes." "No,” Roen said again, just shaking her head. "You are lying." "Do you believe that?" Roen stared at the portrait in her hand again, and what it showed plainly was difficult to deny. The older woman had her face, her eyes. And she also bore some resemblance to the younger woman in the picture, one that had Master Gharen’s eyes. Had she been so blind until now? "You will behave yourself, Roen Deneith. For as much as you have that traitor's blood in you, you are valuable. And so is he." The Highlander crossed her arms, smug confidence exuding from every pore. Roen curled one hand into a fist by her side. "I want him back." "Of course you do.” Delial smirked. “And it would please me to have him dead. But it is not up to me." “What do you want,” Roen growled. "Such a dangerous question.” The Highlander’s dark complexion split again with a broad white grin.“What would you do for him, hmm?" "Anything,” she rasped. Delial’s single amber eye seemed to shine with delight, she too sensing the Sworn’s desperation. "My employer wants you. But I want your peers. The boy or his wench. Have you killed anyone before, sweet Roen?" Roen blinked, blood draining from her face. "You cannot be asking me to..." She shook her head immediately. “Nay. I cannot.” "This... lack of resolve. It is disappointing to say the least." The Highlander tilted her head, still staring at her. "Why the loyalty? You understand what they are, do you not?" She sighed heavily, heaving her shoulders and shaking her head. "Tsk. I knew you were innocent, my sweet, but this... Ah, very well. They sought a bomb. What, pray, do bombs do?" When she was met with cold silence from Roen, Delial continued. “I wonder. How many lives have been saved because these... these rebels. Were they not given the chance to have their toy? Do you honestly think Ala Mhigans look any different from Garleans? Do you wonder if they bleed the same?" "I care not about--” Roen began, her jaw set. “I just want him returned." “You care about the lives of two worthless Ala Mhigans. Surely you care about the lives of thousands." Delial’s words were sharp and unrelenting. "You want your brother back. Then give me the Resistance.” “Do not give me such a choice,” Roen shook her head. “It is an impossible choice. You want me to kill for you.” "You are much too soft, my dear.” The Highlander tsked. “It is no small wonder how we've carried on so long, you and I." Roen’s mind raced. To refuse the woman outright, she may be damning Master Gharen--no, he was her brother now--to his death. She swallowed hard. "Give... give me some time. Please. I need to think on this.” Delial cocked her head to a side, seeming to eye her with a slice of skepticism. But eventually she nodded. "... Soon. Pray it is soon. I will remain in the area for a time. But when I am gone..." She shrugged, leaving the rest unsaid. "Very well." The words sounded dead in her mouth. "I'll be awaiting your word.” Delial’s face split with another wide grin again. “Enjoy the rest of the ball, my dear. And know that the choice is far, far easier than you think." The woman bowed with a flourish before turning away. "Do not make me your enemy, Roen Deneith. Things will be easier for you."

It was the First Annual Royal Ball held by Her Majesty, Sultana Nanamo Ul Namo. The Hustings Strip was bustling with activity, women and men dressed in all manner of finery gathered and mingling with each other. Music drifted through the air as bards made their talents known, their dulcet melodies weaving in and out of conversations. The Gold Court's central fountain seemed just a bit quieter this evening, its thin mist lending a cool air to the central halls of Ul’dah. Noblemen swayed and twirled their ladies around the waterfall, some lost in each other’s gazes and others taking delight in showing off their style and finesse. Roen barely noticed any of it; the grandeur of the event was lost on her, as her thoughts were far away. She had reported to her duty as bid, and stood vigilant guard next to the Sultana herself as endless rows of citizens and visitors alike lined up to pay their respects. Erik, Natalie, and Kage all stood at attention alongside her, and a part of Roen knew she should have been awed to be in Nanamo’s presence. And yet her mind was elsewhere. She was merely performing her duty to make certain nothing seemed amiss. So when they dismissed her from her duties to go ‘enjoy the festivities', Roen found herself at a loss. She had donned an elegant white dress gilded in gold--one that was sent to her by a mysterious benefactor--and walked about the crowded halls aimlessly. Even her Oath-sister Siha’s warm greeting did not break Roen from her trance. She distantly murmured her polite responses to anyone who greeted her, silently thankful that those who knew her well enough seemed pleasantly distracted with the Ball to notice her dour mood. It was not until she spotted Delial Grimsong, her dark complexion split with a wide smile, that the Sultansworn snapped to attention. The woman looked like a cat that had just swallowed a baby dove. She gave Roen a pointed look before sauntering away--one that indicated that there was more to be exchanged. What is she doing here?! Roen’s panicked thoughts raced through her mind as she tried not to think of the worst possible scenarios that would explain her presence at this ball, especially wearing that ominous smile. This was not the same woman who spoke of debts owed and made her promises at Drybone. The Sultansworn made a motion to follow the Highlander, when she spotted yet another familiar face in the periphery of her vision. It was a face she had not seen in sometime. Kiht Jakkya beamed at her, her dark Miqo'te eyes fond with recognition. It had been moons since they had spoken last, and when they had, it was about Roen’s undecided feelings regarding her mentor at the time. The Sultansworn could not deny the irony that the one person that Roen had confessed her feelings to would find her now, when his life was in danger. “Kiht,” Roen said, her eyes wide. “I am surprised to see you here. But glad none the less.” She exhaled in immediate relief as she stepped closer to the Miqo’te. "Kage told me you have recently become a full Sultansworn,” Kiht said with a bright smile. “Congratulations. I came hoping to see you." Roen and Kiht had come to know each other over many moons. They were both similar in their reserved demeanor, but in appreciating each other’s unobtrusive company had kindled a friendship of unspoken trust. It was this trust that drew Roen to the Miqo’te now as she glanced again across the hall to where Delial had gone. Kiht was quick to notice her somber expression and distracted gaze. "Is something amiss?” Roen gave her a quick shake of her head, though she knew it was not at all convincing, and the Miqo’te stepped up closer. Her dark eyes were trained on Roen’s. "If there is something you need help with, all you must do is ask," Kiht said softly. They were watching Natalie. And Kage. And all the Sworns. But they could not know about Kiht. How would they? Roen swallowed, her eyes locking onto the hunter before her. "Kiht, how skilled are you? As a tracker." Her voice had suddenly dipped to a whisper."...I cannot lose her this time.” Kiht narrowed her eyes, wary. "That is something I have done all my life. It is how I found C'kayah, and how I united a group of… Exiles." There was a twinge of guilt that made Roen pause, but only for a moment. "I am sorry, I know you must have come to the festivities to enjoy yourself... I do not want to ask this of you. But I cannot lose her again. If she disappears again..." She curled her hands into tight fists by her side. The hunter shook her head calmly. "Worry not, I came here to see you. What is it you need? Ask anything." "I will be approaching a woman, dark skinned Highlander. Remember her face. I need to know where she goes after she leaves this ball." She bowed her head slightly, as if to level her gaze with that of the shorter female in front of her. "She has someone I hold very dear." Kiht’s eyes widened in understanding. "Very well. You go. I will follow.” Roen just gave her a firm nod. Kiht asked for no other explanation. It was always how it had been between them. Unspoken trust. Silent understanding. Steeling herself, the Sultansworn turned and made her way through the crowd, weaving between dancers and singers, to find the Highlander. Kiht fell behind her and was soon lost to her sight, but Roen had expected as much. She had always suspected that the Miqo’te was a skilled hunter who often traveled about unseen. When Roen spotted Delial, the woman was standing by the railing with a drink in hand, watching the dancers below. The Sultansworn placed one hand over her stomach to quell the shaking there before approaching her. “You are not supposed to be here,” Roen said quietly. "Dearest Roen," the Highlander murmured, her lip coiling into a smile. "You made me a promise.” Roen did not bother to hold back her tone of accusation. Delial did not seem to care for her ire. "I was rather enjoying myself. A lovely boy on my arm, though there is not nearly enough wine. A shame. But it is said that even the Sultana's pockets are not infinite." She gave Roen a lazy sidelong glance. “I have made you a promise. And I've kept it." "You are not supposed to be here. You said…” “I said he would be safe. And he is. At least... in the sense that he won't be dying any time soon." She rolled her shoulders in a casual shrug. “In this I have not lied. Dear Roen, I have... no. I've not lied much at all to you. Though even if I did... well. You were very easy to nudge." Roen’s knuckles were white as she clenched her fists. "We need to talk." The Highlander’s lips broadened, it was akin to a crocodile."Yes. Yes, we do." The Sultansworn looked around quickly and gestured to the stairs leading towards the lift. “So we can speak more freely.” She had scanned the area for anyone suspicious, but spotted none. Not even Kiht. “As you wish, duckling.”

What? They are not shifty... like... at all!

How about... Monetarist nobles who kind of have a hand in Brass Blade workings and such...? >__> And a Brass Blade Captain..? <__<

(Edit) Discussing my level of participation with Verad!

I am looking forward to quite a few things at this Ball... yes indeedy.

/holds up her finger about to make a joke... /doesn't. :angel:

They are the on and again and off again ship.

Broken Nose frowned. The Roegadyn knew the bandits would not surrender, for they rarely ever did. This would end bloody. It was always the same. Broken Nose was a lowborn himself, had worked himself out of poverty by joining the Brass Blades. He knew the desperation that drove many who otherwise had nothing to seek the security and safety in numbers that came with being part of a gang. While he would not admit it openly, the Hellsguard knew it was very much akin to joining the Brass Blades. Despite the fact that he wore his armor with some measure of pride, Broken Nose was no fool. Like any other bandit gangs, the Brass Blades too extorted money from helpless merchants, and strode about with an air of authority because they were great in number. What set them apart was that they were owned by the Syndicate--the true power in Ul’dah. And while the Brass Blades were rewarded with coin and power, as well as some small semblance of legitimacy in their job, these thugs were only paid with fear and submission. They drew strength in showing their willingness to punish their enemies, in making examples of those who stood up to them. It was against their very natures to cower...and given the impoverished conditions that drove them to this life in the first place, none of them ever wanted to go back. Rarely did they relent without resistance. So when the Elezen and his two guards turned towards them with weapons drawn, Broken Nose growed, “Cut them down! Take one alive for questioning!” The Brass Blades had been staying close to the wall as to not make obvious targets of themselves from shooters up top, but when the shutters did not open again, they stepped into formation, raised their shields, brandished their scimitars, and met those that came at them. Broken Nose charged the large Hellsguard to the Elezen’s left, meeting the bandit’s brute strength with his own. He bashed away the thug’s drawn weapon with his round shield and brought about his scimitar across the Roegadyn’s chest. Killing armed bandits was always easier than taking them alive. He wanted to call them fools for fighting armed Blades while they themselves wore only cotton robes. Then a metallic thunk caught his attention as he shot a glance to the Elezen, the apparent leader of the group. The Wildwood’s eyes went wide, then began to roll upwards as he stumbled forward. Behind him came another clang of a shield as it clattered across the stones. Broken Nose glanced behind the Elezen to see the paladin he had just met with moments ago; it was her shield that had been lobbed at the back of Wildwood’s head. Broken Nose only spared her but a moment’s glimpse as he turned back to the Hellsguard in front of him, but inwardly he thought that maybe with her about, they can take a few alive. Paladins and their succor. For the longest time, he had regarded them with disdain--both Free Paladins and the Sultansworns--for they always walked about with an air of superiority about them. It was as if their oaths had bequeathed on to them a mantle of righteousness that put them above the rest of the laws of Ul’dah. But now, in the last many moons that he had come to know Roen Deneith, he had come to appreciate some things about their value system. And their unique set of skills. He was beginning to have some hope that they may actually not kill everyone this day.

Take care of yourself, Tiergan. First and always.

AAAAAAAH!!! TOO CUTE!!! You know I love warriors! In all sizes!! Especially in that original warrior AF... :love::love::love:

The pistol fired only a few fulms away, and it just barely missed her. Roen felt the shot graze the edge of her hood as she reflexively jerked to one side, even though she knew any attempt to dodge a fired bullet was a futile effort. She counted herself lucky that the Midlander was still dazed. She raised her shield between her and the Roegadyn on the other side of the Elezen; likely if the Midlander had a pistol, then likely the Roegadyn did as well. She was not likely to get lucky twice. “Stand down!” she yelled again as she slashed at the weapon arm of the man that had just shot at her. The keening of a Wildwood’s sharp whistle pierced the air, followed by the shutters above slamming shut. She sighed inwardly with relief that there would not be another barrage of gunfire descending on to the streets. Either they bought her ruse or… “You have ONE CHANCE to surrender! LAY DOWN the weapons, get on the ground, face down!” came Broken Nose’s booming voice echoing off the walls of the ally. From the corner of her eye, the paladin spotted the familiar dark red hue of Brass Blade armor as the men rounded the corner, sticking close to the walls. A few of them glanced warily above for any rifles pointed their way, shields still raised in anticipation. It only now occurred to her that her own identity was in danger of no longer being hidden. She hoped what Crofte said was true, that Taeros truly did not have a warrant out for her arrest, and that the Blades working for him would leave her be. She was not sure about the Immortal Flames however. While she and sergeant Melkire met in private, he did it so that there was no need to arrest or detain her for possible suspicion of conspiracy. But it was too late now to rethink her actions. Her eyes darted from the Elezen’s back to the two that were flanking him. They would need to be detained for questioning if they were wise enough not to resist arrest. She knew the Blades would not hesitate in cutting down a man or two who posed a threat. If they attempted to run, either they would find their paths blocked or she would need to slow them down if they had other means. "As the Blade said, you have one chance," she said firmly. "Surrender now or your life may be forfeit."

OOOOOH I DIED. That is awesome.

Roen winced when she heard the booming echo of the rifles all firing at once. She hazarded another look around the corner to see more bodies now crumpling to the ground. Single-fire muskets…they would need time to reload. She had no time to wait--something had to be done to prevent any more bodies from hitting the ground. Thoughts flew by all at once: the time between shots fired and when it could be fired again, the group of Highlanders that had greatly diminished their numbers after being shot, their opposing gang’s leader unarmed with a cut wound, and her warning shout that called out for reinforcements. There would only be a moment’s confusion that would not last long--a very small window of opportunity if she was going to take it. And it was still a dangerous one if not utterly foolish. I just left Broken Nose at The Gold Court. He cannot be too far behind…? The paladin bolted to her feet and charged around the corner, rushing the Elezen dressed in ragged cotton robes. She counted on the fact that they were likely not expecting a charge--and if so not expecting a paladin. Their firearms had all just been discharged. She darted past the Highlanders that were still left standing, skidded to a stop, and instantly summoned aether, releasing a blinding flash of energy all around her. She just needed to buy a few more seconds before they could react. Roen bashed the Midlander that was flanking the Elezen with her shield, enough to drive him back so she could get around to the Elezen’s back, her sword still in hand. She was hoping that the wound and the flash would disorient the Elezen leader just enough for her to place herself in between the Highlander and the gunmen above, with the Elezen in between. “Multiple targets up top!” Roen yelled toward the alley as if to order the unseen men. She knew there was no one there--no backup at all--but no one else knew. At the very least she hoped to seed some hesitation. “All of you, stand down!” She prayed to gods she did not know that soon this place would be crawling with Blades or Flames. She just had to hold off the violence until they arrived.