Roen

I love it when I get a random tell out of the blue saying hello, and when I ask them if I know them they tell me they recognize me from the RPC boards. It reminds me of the nice community we have here. I also do love it when a player tracks me down to show me something COMPLETELY ADORABLE out of the blue. It jolted me out of the raidraidraid doldrums that I was in at the time.

We are still recovering. Thanks Chacha.

How did I miss you sneaking up on me. In that full armor. >_> Too cute! Little Darth Vader...

I like you already. Welcome to Balmung!

Roen tugged on the cowl of her hooded cloak as she ducked out of The Gold Court, her eyes warily looking about as she began to make her way toward the Gate of Thal. Her meeting with Broken Nose was a quiet one, shared over a sandwich under the fountain, the quiet babble of the water masking much of their muted conversation. Her thoughts were a whirl with some of the updates she had received, both from the Roegadyn Brass Blade and from an earlier meeting with Mister North. The Hellsguard confirmed what she was already expecting to hear. There were rumors about that since the three Monetarist warehouses were raided, that the security had been heightened and blame had been eagerly dispensed to any and all who could have been responsible. Broken Nose counted himself fortunate that suspicion had not been cast his way as yet, and even though the Roegadyn put up a brave front, Roen could tell there was wariness behind his dark eyes. But the Monetarists were starting to founder, starting to suspect each other in who was betraying whom--so much so that there was another agent from Lolorito that was sent to “clean up” the mess. Mister North had been privy to the meeting between someone he referred to as Master Zuka and the noble Jameson Taeros. He had noted that Taeros sounded almost deferential in his conversation with the Lalafell, and that this Lalafell Enforcer seemed to be very well informed. The two Monetarists spoke of her and Nero, but also had discussed nearly all of her allies, including her brother, and even Qaeli Varily, a friend to both her and Gharen. While this meant that her plan was working--to throw more chaos and disorder into the ranks of the Monetarists and turn their focus towards their own troubles in Ul’dah--it also meant that her efforts here were started to get noticed, and the list of enemies was growing. If only this opportunity unveiled more weaknesses that she could capitalize on... Her thoughts and her steps froze when a distant crack rang out from the far end of Pearl Lane. At first, her thought was to look up at the sky, as if to expect rain. But it was not the sound of lightning she had heard. That was a gunshot. Roen instinctively reached behind her back to draw out her shield, her fingers sliding into the grooved handle even as her pace quickened down Pearl Lane. She had heard shots from pistols and rifles before, but it was mostly in Vylbrand and her homeland Garlemald. But here? In Ul’dah? Before drawing her sword, her free hand reached into her pouch and withdrew a pearl that she inserted into her right ear. “Broken Nose, shot fired. Pearl Lane. Relay to Brass Blades...and the Immortal Flames if you can.” She knew she could have used the pearl that sergeant Melkire had given her, but she was not exactly sure who else was on that shell. She had hoped that Broken Nose could contact whatever law enforcement was nearby. He had access to the linkshell that the Blades, Sworns, and the Immortal Flames all shared. She hurried down the street, even as she passed panicked refugees running away from the scene. The paladin skidded to a stop at a turn, hearing voices. She gave a glance around the corner and spotted a showdown between two groups. One man was bleeding on the ground, motionless. The larger group of men was looking up; she followed their gaze to the open windows above them. Roen thought she spotted at least one rifle poking out. A robed Elezen stood amongst the smaller group of men, in his hand an ornate pistol. Roen’s eyes narrowed. She had never before seen the firearm's like outside of Vylbrand. She ducked back out of sight and summoned aether with a quick, practiced cast, and a thin layer of stone began to form from her fingertips, wrapping around her gloved hand, then her armored limb. A layer made of hardened earth began to coil around her entire form, but fading and ultimately disappearing as soon as it came. The paladin knew enough of pistols and guns, after all; gunblades were a well used weapons in Garlemald. Any unarmored body would be vulnerable to a single well placed shot. One had to close the distance on the shooter before that shot was fired, else any blade held in hand was useless. With multiple rifles atop buildings and another pistol wielder at ground level, this was not something Roen could rush into and expect to survive. But she could not wait either--there could be more shots fired and more violence erupting before others could arrive. Perhaps she could end the face-off before it turned into something more bloody. The paladin took a deep breath and called out, “Cease and desist! Brass Blades and the Flames have been alerted! Drop your weapons before this ends even worse for all of you!”

They had met at Buscarron’s, the remote tavern in the middle of the Black Shroud. A neutral territory, where an Immortal Flame sergeant, a Sultansworn, and a suspected accomplice to a pirate could meet without prying eyes and ears. It was a stormy night when Roen approached, the shelter of trees doing little to guard the building from pelting rain and howling winds. She looked up to the dark skies above, eyeing the storm somberly. Roen did not suspect that either Osric Melkire nor Coatleque Crofte would try and arrest her. She still trusted them implicitly and hoped that they still had faith in her intentions for Ul’dah. But much had happened since Roen had last spoken to either of them, that she could not help but feel some measure of apprehension as she agreed to the meeting. The paladin had not talked to Osric since, as she had heard, he had intervened on Verad Bellveil’s behalf. Mister Bellveil, whom she now considered a dear friend and trusted confidant, had been beaten within an ilm of his life by the Brass Blades--like as not for his participation in her movements against the Monetarists. It still pained her deeply to think of the vicious attack. Roen had come to see him as he convalesced in Gridania, under the watchful eye of Kiht Jakkya--another dear friend--and the Morbolvine Clan. Seeing him in such a weakened state, despite his words of bravado and reassurance...it brought about such pang of guilt that Roen soon had to depart after making him promise to take his time to recover. Suns later, thoughts of the Duskwight merchant and the rest of the people she had involved in this matter began to further solidify her resolve. They had put themselves at risk, therefore she had to do more to make their efforts worth something. And despite the fact that it began as an investigation into one Monetarist noble, Nero had opened her eyes to the fact that it had to become more than that. For all the suffering and for all the people who were trying to help her, it had to mean more than just the downfall of one man. “You heard what Crofte said over the pearl,” Osric’s words pushed through her thoughts, bringing her attention to the fore. Roen glanced at the sergeant then the Sultansworn, both of whom were seated at the table across from her. The Immortal Flame wore a deep frown. "Explosives. He's makin' explosives. I already have one Askier t'deal with. Not sure I can handle two. Not sure the cities can take two." Coatleque had inspected the warehouse at Moraby and had discovered that it was filled with garlean steel and empty containers that should have contained ceruleum cores. Both Crofte and Melkire immediately suspected the worst. The paladin looked between them, shaking her head. “If you think Nero is making explosives, you are mistaken.” "Roen, he is stockpiling ceruleum somewhere,” Crofte spoke calmly, but was regarding her carefully. "What else could he be using it for?" "Might be fuel,” Osric grunted. "Aye, that was my second thought, and it may explain the steel," the Sultansworn nodded. Roen considered her next words carefully. Nero had confided in her what they were for. It was for the Soldier Dance. But that was his secret that he had entrusted to her, and she felt that she could not share it with anyone else. She was not even sure that the two people she trusted at this table would understand, or believe in Nero’s altruistic intentions. "It is not for explosives,” she said quietly. "He trusted me with that knowledge and I vowed not to break that trust. But he is not Askier. He is not planning on massive destruction of cities.” She glanced to Osric pointedly. “It is a deterrent.” "Deterrents only work as such if the folks what have them are known t'be willin' to use them.” Osric met her gaze squarely. "Do you think him such a threat?" Roen blinked. "I think him wronged and rightfully infuriated enough to possibly make such rash decisions, yes." "He is not a foolish man. Nor is he wanting wanton destruction, even when wronged. He does want to improve things." "Things are rarely improved through force,” Coatleque chimed in quietly. Roen narrowed her eyes, eager to change the subject. “I heard of a recent bargain struck between you and Taeros, ser Crofte." It was something that Mister North had mentioned, but never elaborated on. His selective discretion had roused her curiosity then. She looked to Crofte expectantly. The Sultansworn’s gaze was slow to meet the paladin’s. “Nor should you want to…though it does concern your welfare." "Don't strike bargains for her welfare. Nat learned the hard way that all it earns you is a collar,” Osric said bluntly. Roen felt her own expression harden. "Jameson wanted me to betray you to him. To lure you back to the city. He has no legal proof nor reason to detain you, so he wanted you to make yourself available for easy capture." Coatleque averted her eyes to the table in front of her. "I…gave him someone else as a distraction." "Someone else?" Roen straightened, eyes widening. "Who...?" "Not important. What is important is that I shall keep him distracted as long as necessary for you." "Tell me it ain't Gharen.” Osric interrupted, his eyes narrowed. “I want to hear the words." “It is not." The sergeant then grinned. “Ain't me, is it?” The Sultansworn seemed taken aback as she stared at the Immortal Flame. "... No." "Coatleque, I would not have you throw anyone to the wolves in my stead,” Roen implored, leaning forward. Roen rarely spoke the woman’s first name, and when she did so, it was to beseech a friend. "Roen...this person volunteered. Please, just...do not waste the chance. I do not know how long his gaze can be held. He will surely find someone else to hunt you down." Roen just stared at her, not certain what to say. "Please just trust me," Coatleque murmured, her green eyes locking gaze with Roen’s. "Enough," Osric cut in, angrier. "She's struck her bargain, and it's buyin' you time.” He pulled out a vial of white liquid and held it up to Crofte. "This is milkweed." "So I see. But where did you get it?" Coatleque canted her head. "We seized it from a warehouse. This is but one vial of many from one crate among several crates. We also seized more than a few somnus samples from another warehouse, and enough incriminating records from both. They belong at least in part to a certain fop what dresses in white. If not him, his employers. The lieutenant and I have been buildin' a case, with some help. This whole conflict with Nero could've been avoided from the start. It ought t'have been a Flames matter, given the foreign nature." Roen fell silent, her eyes darting between the sergeant and the Sultansworn. It was obvious that Osric had come to a realization that she herself had not, and was driving the conversation elsewhere. "Normally, the Syndicate and every authority in Ul'dah would look the other way, what with Brass Blades and their penchant for makin' off with illicit goods. But this conflict's been instigated. A fire's been fanned. A man was ordered executed without due process from the Hall. There are witnesses. There is physical evidence." Osric looked to both women in turn as he slipped the vial back beneath his shirt. "I intend to use it." Crofte tapped her chin pensively. "To what end? You plan to ruin the man once and for all? Or to simply hold leverage?" "The man is entirely too competent at stirrin' up suffering. It needs to end,” Osric said gruffly. "Agreed,” Crofte nodded. Roen shook her head. "He is responsible for much. But...he is also the man who arranges things for many Monetarists. I hoped to gather enough evidence to implicate and trap him. And perhaps use him against his employers as well." "Nero wants to cut deep t'make things better. I'm content t'just cut out the bullet.” Osric shrugged. Roen inhaled and steeled herself. She knew neither of them was going to like what she was about to say. "I want to do both, sergeant." Osric met her words with a hard stare. Roen continued calmly. "If you remove one bullet, they will find another to replace it in the pistol. It may take some time, but the pistol still remains." "I move slowly, but I get the job done without bloodshed,” the sergeant’s voice had lowered considerably. Her own voice has taken a determined turn, her expression intent. "I do not mean to bring violence. Only sow more chaos and distrust amongst the Monetarists." "I can't help you there,” Osric growled. "I won't." Roen narrowed her eyes, her hand laid flat against the wooden grain of the table, as if to press her point. "From what I have seen and observed of the man, Taeros moves products, offers services, and arranges for things for his employers and for families that can pay. If his services and loyalties are held in suspect, then they may question their own alliances with each other." She finally flicked a glance back towards the Immortal Flame, an odd calm settling over her. "I know this is not what you wanted to hear, sergeant.” Osric stared down at the wooden table, teeth grinding hard as his fingers dug into his knees. He was not pleased. "I am not cutting either. Only…waving the scalpel a little. To see who flinches." Osric barked out a laugh. "Well, Crofte. I'm sure y'must be shocked." The Sultansworn kept a placid expression in place. "I rarely am anymore." "Gobshite." "It appears Mister Lazarov may be rubbing off on dear Roen more than she is on him.” Coatleque regarded the paladin carefully from across the table. Roen blinked. Was that true? Was she starting to see Nero’s way of things? Was she bending towards his radical views? Was she sympathizing with his needs to justify the means by the striving relentlessly towards the end no matter what the cost? She could not believe that. Where Nero saw her plans as not enough, Coatleque and Osric saw it as too much. She felt pulled in both directions. "I see the need for change. I just do not want to see the most radical plans come to fruition." "Quite likely,” the sergeant grumbled. "I do not want bloodshed,” Roen insisted. “But if some chaos can be thrown into their camp, mayhap the Royalist and those who support the Sultana can take advantage.” She shot both of them a look. “Are both of you so content to leave things as they are?" "No. But I prefer the slow road.” Osric frowned. “I've an obligation to the little folk, t'make sure they don't get trampled." Coatleque shook her head. "T'is not about contentment as much as knowing my place." "There are too many that are already getting trampled, sergeant, everyday. I too do not want any more violence to come to those who already suffer. Nor innocents to become drawn into this crossfire. That is the last thing I would wish." She wanted them to understand that more should be done. That more could be done. "Turn the corrupt upon each other. Make them work against each other." "You asked me somethin', once. I figure I'd better ask you now." Osric met her gaze again, his words deliberate. "Would you cut?" Roen blinked slowly at Osric, the memory of their previous conversation jarring her conviction. "Do you think…this is cutting...?" her words came out quieter, shaken with uncertainty. "Is that how you see this?" Osric bit his lower lip as if in thought, then shook his head. "Not yet, but you're on the edge of a knife." He added after a pause, "Don't fall." The paladin and the sergeant stared at each other in silence for what felt like hours, before she nodded slowly. He then answered her with one of his own. It was an unspoken promise. Osric then rose from his seat to go. "Ser? Anythin' else?" Coatleque nodded to the Flame. "I will keep you informed of anything I find." With a quick and sharp salute, the sergeant ducked out into the rain, leaving the two knights at the table. Coatleque broke the silence after two breaths. "Roen." She leaned forward to draw the paladin’s attention. Her voice held no accusation, only earnest curiosity. "I need to ask you...why? Why are you doing this? Trying to affect such change?" Roen leaned back, exhaling slowly. "Because no one else sees the need for it, but I am beginning to." Her words were calm, unwavering. "The Syndicate walks and lives off the backs of the poor. And the refugees...they suffer so greatly beyond the walls, and yet nothing changes. "Of course we all see the need. But how is that our place to act?" "I see their desperation, and I see it driving Nero. Perhaps he has opened my eyes to it." She shook her head, determination swelling her chest. "Should someone not try? Just because it may be impossible does not mean the very idea should be dismissed." Coatleque regarded her for a moment longer, before nodding."No, you are correct. Would that it were my place to try. But my place is to serve." "He wants to try. He will give his life to try. And I chose to stand by him. I mean for this not to take his life, or his humanity." "You still care for each other?" That made the paladin pause. Roen looked back to the table between them, studying a random wooden grain. But she nodded. "Why remain here then? Take him and go. Leave Eorzea. You still have family do you not? A chance to be happy? Ul'dah's troubles should not be your own." Roen blinked, her hands curling into a ball on her lap. "That would be running away." She frowned inwardly that there was a part of her that considered that temptation even for an instant. "Ul'dah is in his blood. The Jewel's pain is his own. And it is also my home, however flawed it may be." Coatleque smiled slightly. "True enough. I had hoped you would realize that just the same, but…still it is tempting?" "I do wish..." she whispered, almost inaudible over the din of the tavern and the roaring storm outside. "I do wish that after all this is over…that there is some chance of happiness for him.” "I need you to understand something then." The Sultansworn sighed as she rose. "Perhaps for both of our sakes. You may hear some disturbing rumors soon. Whatever you think, I need you to know I am still your friend, and that I still mean to help you in mine own way." Roen blinked, her eyes widening with some alarm as she watched the woman pull the turban back over her eyes. "Are you…alright?" "Yes,” Coatleque said, and turned for the door. She paused as Roen rose from her seat, her gaze hidden beneath the fly-mask of the turban. "It was me,” the Highlander said quietly, then strode for the door. Roen blinked, not understanding at first, then she felt herself grow cold at the realization. She could only watch in stunned silence as the Sultansworn disappeared into the stormy night.

"Go on as if nothing is amiss. I know it is difficult, I know it is infuriating. But that is what you must do. One false word and she will know. And she may kill Gharen rather than risk another attack." Delial Grimsong’s warning echoed in Roen’s mind throughout her days. The memory of their conversation under the stormy skies of Drybone had casted a dark shadow over every thought and every interaction since. She had returned to her duties in Ul’dah and said nothing. She knew in the back of her mind that both Natalie and Kage had noticed that something had changed, though neither of them prodded her about it. But it was in their eyes, as they regarded her just a little bit more carefully than usual. Even before her confession to them of her Garlean heritage, both Natalie and Kage had always allowed Roen her secrets, and especially after her admittance, they had left it to her to come to them should she want to share any other truths. But this truth, Roen could not share. Gharen’s life depended on it. So when Natalie summoned both Kage and Roen to the middle of the Sagolii desert, the paladin came without much thought, her attention entirely elsewhere and on someone else. Her gaze was fixed on the distant setting sun, its fading rays elongating the shadows of the ruins there. "Ul'dah had a sister city once,” Natalie broke her contemplative silence as she too was watching the sun’s descent. “It's name was Sil'dih." She glanced over her shoulder to the two apprentices behind her, the orange sky setting the Miqo’te’s unruly locks ablaze. Her usual mischievous tone had given way to a pensive timbre. “It was Ul'dah's match in all things, and even greater in some." Roen remained silent, absently regarding the distant ruins. Kage fidgeted alongside her, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "There was war--over water of all things--and even to this day, this area is famed for its springs,” Natalie continued. "Do either of you know why this area crawls with the undead? And why we paladins train in the holy arts?" When Kage shook his head, Natalie turned back to the ruins. "Sil'dih was a city that had put its faith in the arcane, in magic and sorcery. In order to try and gain supremacy over Ul’dah, they ensorcelled their dead, believing Ul'dah could not stand against such a relentless force." She paused a moment. “But Ul'dah had a force more relentless than death.” There was a proud grin audible in her words, "Paladins." "They were many in number then, and found ways to match their holy techniques to force of arms." Natalie gestured with a sweep of her hand towards the ruins. "They pushed back the undead and sealed this place. Only recently have parts of it been uncovered due to the Calamity.” When Kage fidgeted again with his armor rustling, Natalie turned back with an amused grin. "You're probably wondering what this history lesson is for." She flicked a glance to Roen first. “Roen, what keeps Gridania safe? What do they turn to for protection in times of need?" "The Wood Wailers? The Order of the Twin Serpents?" Roen answered distractedly, trying to concentrate through her haze of worry. Natalie shook her head. "The Elementals." The Miqo’te then looked to the lalafell next to her. "Kage, what keeps enemies from Limsa?" Kage scratched his chin. "The Maelstrom's navy?" Natalie nodded. "The Sea.” She turned again and pointed to the distant horizon. "Those are the lights of Zahar'ak, where the Amalj’aa gather and plot against us. And you cannot see it, but out there lies the city of Ala Mhigo, filled with Imperial soldiers. Beyond that lies Garlemald itself." Roen stiffened, her eyes narrowing. Garlemald… Her homeland, and the greatest threat to all of Eorzea. She was still struggling to reconcile the two. "Ul'dah is surrounded by enemies, and we are not protected by the elementals, nor by the environment.” Natalie’s tone had turned to steel. "Both of you, what keeps Ul'dah safe?" "Us,” Roen said quietly. Kage nodded. "The Sultansworn.” Natalie answered with a nod of her own. "Aye.” Her eyes then narrowed, her expression hardening. "What then happens if we falter?" Kage bit his lip. “Ul'dah falls." Natalie nodded and stepped closer to her two apprentices. "That is the oath I would like for you to swear.” She held out her hand to them, palm facing down. "Place your hand on mine." When Roen and Kage’s hands joined atop hers, the Miqo’te Sultansworn closed her eyes. "I will not falter," Natalie said, her voice strong as steel. "This I swear.” Both Roen and Kage repeated those words, their own voice unwavering. "I will not falter, this I swear." Natalie opened her eyes as she withdrew her hand, her expression gleaming as a newly forged sword. "Welcome to the Sworn, brother and sister.” Despite the glow upon both her mentor and her fellow Sworn’s face, Roen could not share in the joy. This was the moment that she had been training for since arriving in Ul’dah over a cycle ago, and yet on the day she swore her Oath, her thoughts were elsewhere, mired in dread. It was a struggle just to keep her composure intact. But she could not let Natalie nor Kage know that. “I will not let Ul'dah down.” Roen furrowed her brows in concentration as she locked her gaze with Natalie. “It will not fall under our watch." Natalie smiled genuinely as she gave her a nod. "I believe you, Roen." Her eyes lingered on her a moment longer, before she sighed. "Ul'dah can be a confusing place sometimes. It's not always clear what is right, or where your loyalties should lie.” She turned from them to face the last of the sun’s rays on the horizon. "When that happens, try to remember this feeling. Follow it, and you won't be lead astray, no matter what the others say. Know what you stand for. What you believe in.” Roen blinked, lowering her gaze. She knew her mentor’s words should carry more weight, and yet any spare thought fled towards the life of one man. Natalie stepped in between her two apprentices, taking their hands in hers. She stood with them and watched the horizon in the distance as the day’s light finally gave way to the dim of twilight. After a long pause, Roen felt a small squeeze of her hand. "Roen..." Natalie said softly. "You can do it.” That brought her attention back to the Sworn, Roen looking to the Miqo’te who still held her hand. Natalie had turned to fully to face her, warmth in her green eyes. Roen nearly trembled at the sympathy she saw in her smile. "You can,” Natalie said quietly. “Whatever it is." "I have to," Roen answered, swallowing past the tightness in her throat. "But not alone,” Natalie added, her grip tightening just a little more. “Remember that, Roen. I know there is more going on than you are willing to share. Despite that, whatever may come, you are not alone." Kage stepped up next to Natalie, tapping his breastplate. "You can expect me to be there for you too." Roen managed to curl a small smile for them both. "I know." She nodded. "I know that I do not have to do this alone. I know I can call on you and Kage. And Kayah. I know I have a family and friends.” Her eyes narrowed as she then paused. She could not tell them why she could not call upon them. Not yet. Natalie released her hand, shrugging casually. “Good. Because now that I’ve sworn you in, I'd have to fill out a lot of paperwork if you die." Roen’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile. "I will…try my best to relieve you of that duty, Natalie." The Miqo’te’s countenance split with a wide grin. “I trust that you will, Roen.” Natalie placed one hand on Roen’s shoulder and another one on Kage. “And you can trust me. We are Sisters of the Shield now. I will forever stand by your side.”

She was dead. Natalie Mcbeef, once her mentor, Sworn-Sister, friend and confidant; the miqo'te who then turned torturer, executioner, and became the one responsible for so much pain and suffering… She had bled to death on a ship. When Coatleque had delivered the news to the paladin, Roen did not quite know how to react. Her first instinct was to insist that despite what she was involved in her time of death, Natalie should still receive the proper rites of a burial as an honored Sultansworn. Those were her first words. She had then walked away from Ser Crofte, numb on the inside. But since then, the longer Roen pondered upon Natalie’s life--the woman she had become towards the end and the words they had exchanged in their last encounter, the more bitter she became. Why was that her first response? After all that the Miqo’te had done, why was preserving Natalie’s honor and memory her first reaction? Roen stared at the medallion of Nald’Thal in her hand, the one that Natalie had left for her. Her eyes studied the scales engraved within the metal, before her fingers closed down upon it. She instead regarded the view of the bay from her perch on Anchor Yard. The sun was setting into the ocean, lending a fiery hue to the clouds above. "Are you glad that she is dead?" Roen turned her head to the voice behind her to see Nero watching her. Of course he had already heard the news. "Should I not be? I should be dancing with joy on her grave, for all the things that she had done." The smuggler's expression did not change. He just shrugged. "That is up to you to decide. I, for one, am only regretful because she deserved far more suffering." His words did not surprise her. Of course Nero would want Natalie punished. He knew her only as Daegsatz’s executioner and a Sultansworn dog for the Monetarists. He knew not the woman Natalie was before all this. Suddenly the metal pendant felt a little heavier in her grip. "Nald'Thal's medallion, she left me." She looked down at her hand again. She had nearly thrown the cursed thing toward the bay at least half a dozen times now. And yet it still remained in her hand. "To remind me that everything has two sides. ...As if there were two sides to the woman she had become." "In that, you and I are in agreement." Her indignation simmered. "Does she think that I would try and…understand what became of her in her last days?" "I am under the impression that she did not think much of anything. Such was her way,” Nero said coldly. "Impatient. Single minded. Ruthless. Without compassion. Foolish." Each of her words were sharply said, nearly spat out. "Foolish above all. Thinking that there was always a justifiable cause in her mind, for all the mistakes that she had made." "I have never heard you spew such a low opinion of someone before.” Nero crossed his arms in study of her. “It's…refreshing." "I should hate her." "But?" Roen stared out over the bay, her eyes fixed on that distant horizon. "There should not be a but. Because that would make me a fool." “You are too good of a person to not have such regrets about her character, Roen,” Nero said quietly. “Do not justify any sadness that I…that I should not have. You have no idea what she put me through." A rueful chuckle was forced out. "Just call me a fool and tell me to forget her. Rather than stand here and wonder why I still mourn her death." "You don't mourn who she was. You mourn who she could have been." He stepped up behind her. "If she had waited. If she had given some thought. If she had considered. If she had reached out." "I loved her once. Like a sister." Roen sighed, her voice losing some of its venom. "Before she turned into someone I did not recognize.” "I’ve said before, she and I are a lot alike. In another life, we might have been friends." Nero observed. "It is unfortunate that it was not this one." Roen gave him a sidelong glance over her shoulder, her head half turned. "In this life, she had killed. And so have you. You likely would have killed each other." "It would have been a pleasure for me to kill her." Nero was matter-of-fact in his tone. There was no restraint, no stiffness, no doubt. Roen shook her head, turning her gaze towards the sea again. "Is it wrong that I am relieved it never came to be?" "If we had fought, who would you have supported?" She bowed her head. "I would have tried to stop you both, even though I knew neither of you would have ceased." "And you might have died in the crossfire. That might have opened our eyes. Or perhaps it wouldn't." Roen kept her back to him, her arms crossed as she hugged herself tight. "Is that where we are headed? Down the road for more violence, to kill or be killed?" Sadness finally emerged in her lowered tone and sagging shoulders. "I know she made mistakes. She killed Daegsatz. She brought a bomb. Fool of a woman! I knew she had to be stopped. But in the end, she died doing everything and anything she thought was necessary for what she believed was a justifiable cause." "You realize, of course, that that is a very likely outcome for myself as well." Nero’s voice had become quieter. "Conflict in this world is not brought about by evil people, but by good people who believe they are doing evil things for the right reasons." Roen hated that his words rang true, because regret and dread then began to root themselves from within. Natalie’s death was a cruel, sharp blade that tore through her dreams and hopes, and brought to bear the thought that the Miqo'te’s end could be a harbinger to his. They had both compared themselves to each other, in how they were not so different in their relentlessness. The paladin had loved the Sultansworn like family once, and now she struggled to even recall those memories. "Will I again wish for hatred in my heart to ease the pain of your passing?" she asked quietly. The smuggler said nothing, merely wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her against him, his head leaning lightly upon hers. "That would be merciful," he murmured. "But life is usually anything but." Her head remained bowed, but she shook it just slightly. "I should hate her. A part of me…perhaps I do. But I hate her for dying. For never allowing the possibility for us to…to..." Her hands were tight fists pressed to his forearm. "Why did it have to turn out this way?" "I suppose only the Twelve know why we mortals insist on fighting,” he whispered by her ear. Roen frowned deeper. "Why must you walk the same path that she did?" "Because if I didn't…I believe I would become something much worse." She glanced over her shoulder, turning her cheek slightly. "I do not want to hate you. Nor mourn your death. If I truly believed that is the path you were on, and there was no other recourse..." She paused. "Tell me there is one." "I cannot," he breathed, resting his chin along her left jawline, his cheek meeting hers as if to keep her gaze from him. "To turn away from my path would mean rendering all of the sacrifices thus far meaningless…and I cannot do that. Those deaths had to have meant something." A sharp exhale was followed by the turn of her head, as if to withdraw from that touch. "What am I to do, Nero," she whispered. "I have stood by your side. I have…trusted my heart, despite all you have done so far. And now…now you tell me you walk the same path as the woman who I am struggling to forgive even in death." "Do what you feel you must…for the path will not grow any easier. There will be little respite from the storm." Nero’s voice lowered, almost forlornly. She felt her heart sinking. “Is there not a part of you that want a recourse?" "Whether I want a recourse is not is irrelevant…this is the only way to change things with any measure of certainty." "It does matter! It should matter! Your fate is not decided! Your life is not forfeit to be a sacrifice. Lives lost does not gain justification with more lives lost!" She stiffened in his embrace. "Your wants. Your life. Your hopes. They should mean something. If Natalie had held the same hopes, she may not have ended up as she did. She may not have done the things she did." Roen exhaled in regret. "She could have…just reached out to me. Something. Anything. Rather than rush head first into something because she believed it was the only way." "My life..." he murmured, slowly releasing his clasp around her waist and stepping back. "What is the measure of a life's worth?" She turned to face him, unclasping her arms. It was as if she was holding herself together. Her expression was now filled with sorrow, the stoic cold control she had held on to earlier had completely fallen away. "I do not know, Nero. But soon as it is lost, so is all the potential it had with it." She canted her head. "Are you afraid of it being worth anything less than saving all of Ul'dah?" He stiffened, slowly curling and uncurling his hands. "No," he said. "This is not, and has never been about me, or my life." She felt her chest tighten. Of course it was not. If it was a selfish thing, a matter of pride, she would not have been drawn to it so. "It is about all the lives you have lost and taken, is it not?" Her grey eyes were steady on him. "You hold your life as payment for them.” "That is the least I can give. The price can never be high enough. But a redeemed Ul'dah…that may be enough." Roen slowly bowed her gaze as she nodded. "I will help you. As I said I would." Her expression and tone were muted; she could not bear the thought of him coming to harm, much less offering his life to this cause at the end of it all. "But you promised,” an emphatic whisper suddenly rose. "Do not forget your promise." Her eyes locked onto him, imploringly. "That you will try to be better. And that you will let me save you. That the end does not have to be what you foresee, that I can find a recourse even if you do not fathom one. Do not lose faith in that. Do not give me reasons to try and fill my heart with hatred for you." Nero nodded slowly, although he no longer met her eyes. He turned and walked away without another word. “Never falter,” were Natalie’s final words left in her will for her former apprentice. Roen looked down to her hand and opened her fingers to look upon Nald’Thal’s scales once more. There are two faces to all things. The paladin stood at the Anchor Yard, looking in silence to where Nero had exited. The earnest and compassionate man who had her trust and heart, but also a ruthless revolutionary who had already ordered the deaths of many to achieve his goals. When the balance tipped for Nero, she wondered what would be left on the scales.

How in seven hells did everything get so out of hand? Brynnalia Callae paced the floor of her bedroom in Limsa Lominsa, the bells of her anklets jingling chaotically with each quick stride. Her eyes were narrowed as she chewed on one fingernail, her mind trying to put the mess of events in some semblance of order. Jameson Taeros would want a full report, and he was not going to be pleased. It started as a simple raid. Well, as simple as any raid can be. From the information Brynn had gleaned through various means--mostly through prodding bedroom gossip from the salty lips of a certain Maelstrom Captain--she had picked a few choice warehouses that were suspect in terms of their contents. They were under the names of average businessmen, but had recently been seeing more deliveries and increased traffic, sometimes in the middle of the night. It was a passing observation that was made by one of the Yellowjackets, and one that Captain Hardy was not going to give much pursuit to in his investigation of piracy. And because he did not give much weight to the report, Brynn also found herself out of luck in acquiring a warrant for an official search. But the lack of legal justification to search a private property did not seem to be a deterrent for Natalie Mcbeef. As soon as the Highlander bard brought the location of a possible warehouse of interest in Moraby Drydocks, Natalie formed a group to raid the place: a Miqo’te named Askier Mergrey, a Midlander who was only known by the name Jana, the Sultansworn Coatleque Crofte, and the ex-Garlean sympathizer, Delial Grimsong. A motley crew to say the least. It still twisted something inside her, every time Brynnalia was near the woman who used to mercilessly hunt Resistance loyalists, but even while bitterness and suspicion lingered in the back of her mind, the bard put up a casual front--an easy smile firmly in place for Delial Grimsong. The fact that Ser Crofte also came along with Mcbeef, however, did surprise the bard. She always took the former for the type not to get involved in illegal affairs such as this. Brynn tried to keep the raid under control, but it was not to be. As she approached the warehouse guards in her Maelstrom officer regalia, she had already found two other Maelstrom members there--a Midlander woman dressed in a private’s uniform, and a well armored and dark-skinned Highlander male who proclaimed he was a Maelstrom Captain. They were both seeking entry into the warehouse as well, and were being held at bay by two stubborn guards. She had just begun to try and reason with them when the shout of “Grenade!” came from behind her. It was Mergrey, and he tossed some metallic object towards the chained and locked warehouse doors. It all went to seven hells from there. All the bard remembered now was the chaos that followed the thunderous explosion that blew the warehouse doors into a mess of flying wooden splinters and twisted iron. The two guards that were by the door were the worst injured, but other people were screaming and running about. Yellowjacket whistles quickly filled the void left by the grenade's fading echo, raising the alarm. While the rest of Mcbeef's crew rushed into the warehouse, Brynn quickly disengaged herself from the group. She diverted enough Yellowjackets away from the site of the explosion, focusing them on the rescue efforts and the fire just long enough to give Natalie's group the barest breath of time to search the warehouse. Brynn did not know what exactly transpired within the burning building, but she did recall the sounds of shots being fired from within. By the time she made her way back to the warehouse, the rest were making their exit, quickly retreating back to the ship docked nearby. They had brought the two wounded guards from the warehouse, neither of them in any condition to argue. Once on the boat, Brynnalia had thought that they had gotten away clean with at least two mercenary guards to pry information out of. But somewhere between the trip from Moraby Drydocks to Vesper Bay, Natalie Mcbeef bled to death. The Highlander was still not quite sure how that had happened. She had left the Miqo'te Sultansworn with the injured mercenaries, and Natalie seemed fine at the time. Jana had joined her in tending to the guards, while Brynnalia checked in on Ser Crofte, who clearly was unhappy about her involvement in the raid and its explosive outcome. Brynn gathered that Coatleque had intended to stop Natalie from creating such an incident, but had failed miserably. The bard also regarded the Miqo'te bomb expert and Delial talking quietly in the corner, and noted that they seemed to share some kind of relationship even if there was palpable tension between them. But by the time the bard returned to check in on Natalie with the guards, she saw the two mercenaries and Jana staring at the unmoving and pale corpse of the Sultansworn laying in her own pool of blood and refuse. Brynnalia had immediately called to Crofte for aid, but despite the Sultansworn's best efforts, Mcbeef could not be revived. Grimsong and Mergrey did not seem to care much for the Miqo'te's passing, though Jana and Crofte fell to stunned silence. The bard had no love for the Miqo'te, so it was up to Brynn to salvage the situation as best as possible. She blackmailed the two guards into giving her the name of their employer, threatening them with accusations of guarding illegal goods and participating in piracy. They were all fabricated charges at that point, since Brynn knew nothing about what was recovered in the warehouse, but they didn't have to know that; the two were too harried from the wounds they had incurred, and had not the wherewithal to doubt her. They sang like songbirds. The name they gave was not Anselm Mercer, whose name was attached to the property, but another businessman named Sebastian Redgrave. The bard did recall that name, just vaguely so, in William Hardy's mutterings. And the guards also confessed that that they were approached in Redgrave's stead by another Highlander--a woman named Shaelen. That name Brynn also knew--a ghost from her days within the Resistance. Shaelen had been close to Aylard Greyarm, the man Delial Grimsong had killed. She briefly mused on how the encounter between the two women would go. At least I've got names to give to Taeros, the bard told herself. She knew he was not going to be pleased with the news of Natalie's death. She wondered if the noble actually cared about the Miqo'te Sworn, or if her death would be considered something akin to the loss of a valuable tool. Either way, the end result was not going to be a good one. When the ship docked at Vesper Bay, Immortal Flame agents were already waiting at the pier to meet them. Brynn suspected that they were called upon by someone on the boat. There were too many people she did not trust within that motley crew, it could have been anyone of them. The bard bluffed her way through the Flame's questions about the dead Sultansworn, and let them claim the Natalie's body. She quickly made herself scarce afterwards. Menphina’s Tits, Brynnalia cursed to herself. They were supposed to find Lazarov and dispose of him before something like this happened. Bombing a warehouse on foreign city-state, that could be a spark to war, or at least a political disaster. If they had at least made a clean get away, none may have traced this act of terrorism to those responsible. But now with a Sultansworn's death...there were bound to be questions. With a shake of her head, the Highlander paused her pacing to fall to a seat on her bed. She grabbed herself a bottle of wine that sat nearby, uncorked it and poured herself a large glass. She did not like the implications of the troubles ahead and needed to soothe her nerves before seeking out her employer. What a mess ye've left us with, Natalie, Brynn cursed silently as she took a long sip of the dark red. If Lazarov had intended on starting a war, ye certainly provided him with the ammunition.

In a bit of an Ed Sheeran mood today since our DM played this for my character during our game over the weekend:

"There is no one else I trust. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. No one shares my vision like you do.” The memory of her conversation with Nero would come to her out of nowhere, without warning. It did not matter what she was doing. Or in this case, who she was talking with. “So then when they saw the smoke, they thought there was a fire! HAR!” Broken Nose threw his head back in a rancorous laugh that echoed off the walls of his office, his large hand slapping against his armored thigh. The chair he was sitting on creaked with his weight. “I woulda loved to have been there to see their faces when they saw the Immortal Flames called in.” He sighed with a shake of his head. “Although bein’ that I gave you that location, it’s probably best that I wasn’t--” he paused, looking at the paladin in front of him. “Deneith...?” “Trust...it can lead to the most painful of betrayals. I know this all too well--" Roen blinked out of her reverie when two thick fingers snapped just ilms away from her face. “Hm..?” She looked distractedly at the Roegadyn Brass Blade. She was answered with a cock-eyed look. “Have ya been listenin’ to anything I said? Look like you were daydreaming.” One corner of his mouth lifted into a teasing smirk. “Got yourself a goofy grin an' all.” Roen cleared her throat, feeling a sudden flush to her cheeks. “A-apologies, Broken Nose. I was um...pondering on other matters.” The paladin did her best to calm her expression, attempting what she hoped was a blank look, hoping fervently that the warmth in her cheeks would abate. But guessing from the odd look that Broken Nose was giving her, she doubted that it went unnoticed. “I am tellin' you about how Taeros’ warehouse was raided, second time no less, and by the Immortal Flames, and there’s something more important on yer mind?” “Ah. No…nothing, really.” Roen knew she was a terrible liar. Thoughts of him kept floating through her mind like a welcomed breeze on a summer’s day, and they would not blow away. "I wonder too. There are doubts in my mind I cannot quell. Will you use me as well? Will there come a time where my belief in you will be dashed? Will I perhaps end up one day betraying your faith?" The memories would come at the most unexpected times. Sayer had caught her staring off to nowhere while he and Lancel prattled on about their parents. The two refugee Highlander youths took her absent smile to mean that she was approving of their parents becoming fond of each other, something that the two boys seemed in absolute opposition of. But the paladin soon realized that even in the most destitute of conditions, Sayer’s mother and Lancel’s father had found a blossoming romance. Perhaps they were each other’s port in the storm, drawing comfort from each other despite the suffering that weighed upon them. How could Roen not support such a thing? "That is what trust is. To leave it in the hands of that other person. I…trust you. What you do with that trust, I leave to you." “Well, unlike the first warehouse where everything was looted and untraced, this one, well, the Immortal Flames combed through it, quick as fire.” Broken Nose’s booming voice broke through the haze of her reflections again, the paladin furrowing her brows to quickly bring her attention to bear. “Mayhap they can nail something on him this time, though I doubt Taeros is foolish enough to leave anything laying around that implicates those illegal goods as his. Them warehouses are always under an alias.” “Right. Well, I will look into it,” Roen pushed herself off the desk she had been leaning on, nodding. “Gratitude, for the update.” Broken Nose cocked a brow at her. “You alright there, Deneith? You been awful distracted of late.” The tone in his voice suggested he was amused more than worried. Roen wrinkled her nose, fearing he knew exactly what was going through her mind. She shook her head quickly. “I am, but that is alright.” She felt another smile emerging, and willfully pressed her lips tightly together. “I will speak to you again soon?” When the Roegadyn shrugged back at her, the paladin quickly ducked out of his office and strode out through the back exit. When she felt the warmth of the Thanalan sun against her face, she leaned back against the building, finally not resisting the broad smile that lifted her expression. It had threatened to emerge at the oddest of times, and for no reason whatsoever. Well. That was wrong. There was a reason. "Then I will do my best not to betray that trust. For what it's worth--which is very little, I'm sure--you have my word on that,” Nero’s quiet words still rang clearly through her mind, her memories calling upon their words exchanged in small fleeting snippets. When they had spoken last after a secreted shipment into Crescent Cove, the smuggler had let his mask drop, something that he was allowing more often in her presence, even if it was only for a few moments. This time it fell away as he gave her a weak grin, and she knew he had no pretense about him when she saw the ragged expression that lay beneath. His arrogance and smirk often disguised his fatigue, his struggle to stay focused hidden behind his eyes; the dark circles under them spoke of sleepless nights. But the smile he gave her was honest, as were his words. "I do not imagine I will ever truly know you well enough to understand why you seem drawn to me so." Did she know why? Did she need to? This unbearable lightness of being that lifted her onto her tiptoes--this feeling that she could not put words to, that made her feel both bold and bashful at the same time...did she need to explain it? She wanted to guard this happiness as if it was something precious, and yet wanted to share it with the rest of the world too. She had never felt this way before. "You have caught me so unawares. I hope you know that,” she had whispered to him. "Believe me, the feeling is mutual. I've never known a woman quite like you, Roen Deneith." Since that night, when the vision of his smile rose in her mind, she found herself catching her breath, her focus lost. Roen could not help but share the news with at least one person, she had to. She had met Coatleque on the airship lounge, and had gushed to her--odd smiles and blushes abounding--about her feelings. The Sultansworn had shared her joy for awhile, before she then bequeathed upon her a warning regarding the pending dangers ahead. But Roen heard none of them. It was as though she were distracted by a distant song. "What…what do I mean to you, Roen Deneith?" Nero had asked her again. She had answered him in the past with how she saw him: the good man that she believed he was inside, the earnest intentions that spoke of his soul, and the compassion that was hidden beneath his layers of ambition and pain. But she had never truly answered what he meant to her. Not until that night by the pier. Beneath the moonlight surrounded by the whispers of the ocean, she finally summoned enough courage to admit her feelings that she had been hesitant to accept herself. "I believe...I believe you have more than my trust." "Dare I hope...that I may have some of Roen Deneith's heart, as well?” She had nodded ever so slightly, as if that would conceal her confession. He then answered her with a kiss, long and unabashed, his fingers entwined with hers. Only the moon and the sea stood witness to his acceptance of her heart. Roen closed her eyes, allowing the sun’s rays to warm her skin. She let those memories waft through her mind like a delicate melody, savoring each note. Despite the impossible odds...despite the threat of violence, and the darkness of corruption that loomed over them, Roen still felt hope lifting her from within, filling her sails with sunlight and sea wind, as if she too had finally found a port in a storm. She did not know what awaited, or if the world would come tumbling down at the end, for distant stormy skies loomed on the horizon. But her heart, one that was now entrusted to another, it held boundless optimism, one that threatened to fill her days with fleeting and distracting thoughts. And for the first time, Roen was content to let her mind wander, to revel in the joy of it all.

A kiss. A caress. A timely flutter of the eyelashes. A coy smile. Brynnalia Callae always knew how to use these things to elicit the response she was looking for. It was not too different from training a mount; when breaking in chocobos and coeurls, she just needed to find what made each creature tick and use it to make them respond accordingly. Men weren’t so different. Knowing what brought pleasure to the target, then using that to make them do what she wanted...well, it was something she kind of reveled in. William Hardy was a Maestrom Captain. Brynn came to discover that he liked things he was not supposed to have. It was an easy motivation; many did enjoy tempting the dangers involved when participating in an illicit affair. The Highlander was a married man after all, with two children at home and a loving, doting wife. And yet when Brynnalia caught a few stolen glances her way as she reported back to the Maelstrom headquarters, she knew he was a possible mark. Insinuating herself under his command added another deterrent; becoming involved with one's own officer was the height of taboo. All the more reason she had to test the waters. The Captain responded tepidly at first to a few flatteries thrown his way, coupled with a shrug here and a smile there. She let her gaze linger just long enough to catch his attention, then pretended as if it was not intended. It was like reeling in a fish. Pull a little, give a little, until they were netted. It was not long until he was in her bed, utterly forgetting the name of his wife and children. Brynn slipped her feet into a pair of slippers, sliding out from under the sheets as the Captain snored away. She padded to the mirror by the door, fingers ruffling and rearranging her messed mass of black curls. She eyed the reflection of the captain’s naked back as he continued to sleep soundly behind her, before she reached for his coat and the bag beneath it. She withdrew a thick stack of parchments bound with leather, and quickly undid the knot to finger through them. She scanned over the reports, her attention lingering on those that had to deal with investigations of piracy. The name she was looking for, Nero Lazarov, was not found in any of the reports, but there were more than a few mentions of raid on Syndicate ships. And there were names of businessmen as well, those that were suspect of illegal dealings due to their associations or rapid growth in wealth. Her skimming came to a pause as she read one document in particular, one that listed a number of warehouses that had been seeing a lot of traffic despite the fact that the names on those warehouses were not particularly known to be wealthy businessmen. It was a minor note in a long list of reports, but it was the sort of information she had been looking for. Smugglers had to store their goods somewhere, and an elusive one like this Lazarov would have to have multiple aliases. So while the Sultansworn and her Maelstrom allies sought the pirate himself, the bard turned her search to the telltale traffic of imports and the growing wealth of certain businessmen. Money was sometimes easier to track than the criminals themselves. Brynnalia paused when she heard rustling behind her, a throaty groan rising from the Captain. She quickly slid the documents beneath his coat, then looked at the mirror again, ruffling her hair just right. She saw in the reflection his form turn in bed, the Highlander smiling lazily at her. He was blatantly staring at the back of her bare form, and she let him enjoy that view for a moment longer. “Ready fer another go around, sweets?” She glanced at the man over her shoulder with a sultry smile. William answered with a broad grin, his eyes still half lidded. “You are insatiable, woman!” He protested as he flopped onto his back, his arms splayed out. But his expression said he was not actually objecting. The bard turned from the mirror, a white grin splitting her tanned complexion. “Tell ye what, ye wet my appetite with some juicy gossip, and I will reward ye fer each one.” “Gossip?” William chuckled. “That is what I have to tempt you with?” Brynnalia rolled her shoulders with a long exhale. “I’ve been away a cycle.” She sauntered back toward the bed. “I like knowin’ who is who and what they be up tae. I just want tae know who to make friends with, and who I should avoid…mm?” She slid under the sheets next to him, her manicured fingernails, lightly grazing his chest. “ And I know a man like ye would know a few things he shouldn’t...” The Captain let out a gruff laugh, impish smile tugging at the man’s lips. “What gossips would you have of me, wicked woman?” The bard swung one leg over his torso, coming to straddle him at the waist. She sighed, looking about the room as if to search her thoughts, letting his eyes drink her in for a long moment. “Hm. How about some rich businessmen. I like my fine wines expensive and aged. And I like men who can afford them.” William arched a brow at her, looking slightly disappointed. “Looking for other men already?” Brynnalia gave him a sidelong glance and a coy smile. “Why, ye be gettin’ jealous? I am flattered, Captain.” Despite the formal title, her tone remained playful. “Alright then, who should I not associate with? Anyone under the eye of the Maelstrom?” The Captain snorted. “There be plenty of those.” “Well,” she let her fingers dance like footsteps from his navel to his torso. “Then mayhap ye be in store for plenty of rewards, eh?” William’s face split slowly into a wide grin.

Congratulations!! I will miss your chaotic kitty around here. My best wishes to you, Askier!

“You can’t catch me!” “When I do, you will be sorry!” Light laughter tumbled through the air as three Hyur children chased each other around the well, daring and teasing each other. Roen cupped her chin with both her hands as she leaned on the windowsill, watching them at play. The usual Thanalan heat had given pause, and that in turn had given the merchants in the Silver Bazaar a rare respite this afternoon as clouds roamed the skies above. A cool breeze rolled in from the southern shores, and the usually deserted courtyard bustled with unusual activity this day. The paladin’s attention drifted to a mother that came out to retrieve one of the children, following her course to a vendor stand at the base of the building where Roen had rented her room. She saw another man hand the woman a newspaper, the two Midlanders exchanging some words. The woman then looked up to where Roen was watching from her second story window. Her expression was one of curiosity, although the smile she soon sent the paladin was warm and welcoming. The mother waved with one hand, then turned and led her child away with coaxing words. Roen blinked at such a gesture. Did she recognize me? the paladin wondered as she stepped back from the window. She glanced at the copy of Tonberry’s Lantern that sat on the table nearby, its bold title clear for her to read standing even fulms away: “Jameson Taeros Named by Former Sultansworn”. She knew she had thrown herself into the spotlight when she read the newspaper article. But that had been her intention: to shed light and make public the corrupted methods that Taeros and Natalie were using to hunt Nero, and to turn the public’s opinion against them, perhaps even the nobility’s as well. Would it work? "I need you to be our symbol. I am the sword. You are the shield. While I work my blade in the shadows against our foes, you shall be the gleaming surface they look upon." Roen recalled Nero’s words. They had spoken much of his plans when she had met him on the Second Forte. He had been earnest, forthright, and without arrogance or bitterness. They had talked and exchanged thoughts about what they hoped to achieve without their usual clash of ideals. It was as if they had agreed to meet each other halfway, perhaps for Daegsatz’s sake. Nero discussed ways to deter Eorzea’s enemies from within and without, while she listed possible allies to be gained. She shared with him the names of all of her contacts, from Franz Renatus, the man who was living with Natalie but promised loyalty to the paladin’s cause, to a Roegadyn who called himself Mister Steel and a Miqo’te woman named Leanne--both of whom considered Natalie a friend but worried for Roen’s safety. There were others that had offered their aid, even though none of them had actually met the pirate. Perhaps that is why he asked of her what he did. "I am not a trustworthy man. I understand that. My encounter with your friend made it quite clear that I am not the right person to be making the deals of this nature. Gathering allies." “But how am I to be…?” Roen had not quite understood what he was asking at first. "Simply do as you have been. Meet with your allies. Gather information. Deflect them away from me. I trust your judgment in this, Roen, and I am sorry to ask this of you. But I need you to be my mask for a while longer." Nero had asked her to draw attention away from him so that he may continue to conduct his business, continue to work to strangle the Syndicate’s sea trade, and to gather material for the Soldier Dance. Roen slid the newspaper aside to study the second parchment that was beneath it. The list that Broken Nose had given her. It was a list of warehouses where Taeros had used some of the Brass Blades to provide extra security. “Make no mistake, Deneith. You’ll be stirring, nah--upturning--the hornet’s nest with this,” Broken Nose had warned her when he handed her the list. “Taeros isn’t the type of man who’d forget or forgive a slight against him. And with this, you’ll be targettin’ him personally. Again. You ready for that?” She had given the list to Verad Bellveil, the Duskwight merchant who had befriended her in Limsa Lominsa. He had come to her in her time of need, and had drawn her out of her pit of darkness. Roen had come to trust the merchant implicitly since, and at his behest, and against her better judgement, she had accepted his help in working against the Syndicate and Jameseon Taeros. The tasks she had asked of him had started innocuous at first: simply watch the noble when he walked freely about the streets of Ul’dah and make note of his contacts. Mister Bellveil soon brought her a reporter from the Tonberry Lantern, Miss Spahro Llorn, to tell Nero’s side of the story--his being persecuted by the Sultansworns and unjustly blamed by Taeros. After that, Roen had accepted even more aid of the merchant when he asked for a list of Taeros’ holdings to look into them himself. That was when she obtained the list from Broken Nose. A few suns later, Mister Bellveil informed her that the raid had been successful, and although no somnus or Garlean weapons were found--nothing that would have incriminated Taeros and provided some proof of Nero’s innocence--there were illegal goods discovered nonetheless. And the fact that the warehouse was then left open to looting, Roen surmised that Taeros’ wealth and business had taken some hits. It gave her pause, that she had asked someone like Mister Bellveil--a man who was not involved or invested in these matters at all, except for his friendship with her--to take such risks in this conflict. But he was not the only one. The paladin had also recruited Delial Grimsong, a Highlander woman who she once considered friend, and then an enemy. Now… Now she was not sure how she saw the Highlander. Delial had a hand in handing her brother over to the Garleans for experimentation, and yet her regret in that affair after it had occurred was clear to see. Delial had played a part in getting Gharen freed, and then recently killed Crimson Mountain, the Roegadyn who had kidnapped and tortured Askier and herself. Roen could see that Delial was slowly trying to redeem herself, and needed a second chance. So Roen granted her one. She asked the woman to find employment with Taeros, to spy on him. This was not an easy thing she asked, Roen knew. Both the paladin and Delial knew that Taeros had connections with Raelisanne Banurein, the Garlean woman who had tortured Gharen, and Roen knew Delial wanted to be free of Banurein’s shadow. Returning to work for Taeros would be akin to calling upon the mysterious Garlean’s attention again. And working with Taeros would also necessitate working with Natalie, one who had earned Delial’s hatred when the Miqo’te interrogated the Highlander by pulling out her fingernails many moons ago. And yet, despite all the reasons to refuse this request, Delial had agreed to help Roen spy on Taeros. She had even thanked the paladin for giving her a second chance. Roen did not quite know how to respond to that. But she could not deny that everyone deserved a chance at redemption. Even a woman like Delial. Then there was Gideon North, a man of calm (if not somewhat emotionless) demeanor, but polite to a fault. Gideon had been raised and trained to be the perfect valet to a noble family, and he had approached her about investigating the Monetarists. He had lost his own family when his Roegadyn masters were all killed two cycles past. His master's ship was sunk off the coast of Limsa Lominsa, and his ward and their only heir had been poisoned to death. Mister North suspected other Monetarist noble families for being responsible for their murders, for his former Masters had diverted their influx of wealth towards the commoners in favor of trade and expanding industry. Roen could not deny that she and Mister North shared something in common in detesting the nobility’s casually bloodthirsty greed, so she had accepted his help. And he agreed to seek employment within a Monetarist family to glean insight and intimate knowledge of the political workings of the Syndicate. And it just so happened that the person who often did the hiring for many noble families was none other than Jameson Taeros. A part of her stomach twisted into a small knot of anxiety when the paladin pondered the possible dangers she had put upon people like Mister North and Mister Bellveil. Was she using them? They had volunteered for the task, but should she have refused them? What if they were discovered? Could she forgive herself if harm was to befall upon them because they were aiding her? The paladin released a long sigh as leaned against the wall next to the window, her eyes going to the ceiling. She was collecting evidence, turning Taeros’ attention away from Nero, and trying to turn the tide of favor against the Monetarist noble, all to try and prevent violence and bloodshed as much as possible. To try and look for a vulnerable spot. To place the scalpel, as sergeant Melkire would say. “How far would you go? To change things? Would you cut?” Roen had asked him. "I'd place the scalpel. I wouldn't push. I'm a Royalist and a Flame. I want reform…but I have obligations. Were I free…yes, I would cut." “I do not wish to cut. Nor does Nero want me to. And yet I have allied myself with someone who will, and plans to cut a large, bloody swath in order to change things.” Roen had implored the sergeant then, searching his face for answers. “I do not know what that makes me. Only that I feel that I have to see it through. And perhaps try and help him not cut so deeply. Does…that make sense, Osric?” "I told you. He's what I would have been had I not been...tch. The trick t'saving a life is knowin' when and where to cut, how much...that does, aye, but it's a damnable position t'be in. However this ends, there'll be pain." Roen frowned as she recalled the Immortal Flame’s parting words. She turned her eyes towards the window again, her attention drawn back to the distant laughter of children that resumed their game around the well. She watched them for awhile longer, trying to remind herself why and whom this was all for. It had to be worth it all.

So many speculations! I am just excited/curious/anxious to see how this story will develop.

GAAAAAAH. I need to go home and see this story happen...!!! (no spoilers please, I don't know what it is yet) (but I was teased earlier)

I needed some distraction at work while everyone else is diving into 2.4. Florence + The Machine is providing for me really well.

Leans in for hug. Punctures lung with hilt of sword. *cackles* (Sorry, had to ruin the mood) D: !!! Now that I think about it...Gharen made her that sword. It figures.

These are story snippets rather than cuddle pics.

"Nero. You are not the only one who wants to save Ul'dah. In that you are not alone." Those were her own words, offered to the pirate over a moon ago. "That remains to be seen," he had replied. "The night is darkest before the dawn, and blood will be spilled. The question remains, Miss Deneith, not whether you know to spare a life, but whether you will know when to take one. And take you shall. All of us will sacrifice. Sooner or later we are all forced to sacrifice our morals and integrity." Nero had warned her then: "The Jewel has shaped all of us, as the waves shape the shore. What form will you take when the smoke clears and the blood dries?" Roen regarded the smuggler with sadness as the memory of their earlier conversations flitted before her mind's eye. How true his words rang to her now. There was anguish that tugged at her thoughts, as she pondered on the loss of lives, weighed against the hope for the future. And the hope she held for the man in front of her. She still believed that she could change the course of his plans. But lives had been lost already, and he was planning for more. Would she be able to stop it? What was her other choice? To stop him? There was still hope for the refugees and for Nero. She could not give up on that, and the hope to spare innocent lives as well. She had made her mind up suns ago. She had to work to save them all. "I would hear the truth every time,” she said quietly, peering up at him. "But it is always just...glimpses with you. And you show naught to hardly anyone else." "Even those are...difficult," Nero said softly. "I've lived in nothing but a world of lies, Roen. You begin to tell so many that the word 'truth' becomes just that. It just becomes another word with which to lie." Nero frowned, and she could see conflict behind his expression. "I tried…I tried so hard to blame you. I tried so hard to think that Daegsatz' death was your fault. But the blame I held for you was only a mask, one of many. All it did was veil the blame I held for myself. The blame I still hold for myself." She saw his mask fall away then, arrogance evaporating to leave a man weighed with sorrow, guilt, and weariness. Roen canted her head, regarding him with tenderness. “He would not want to inflict this pain upon you," she said softly. "He knew you already held so much within." "I am…glad. For what it's worth, I am glad that you grew to know him. And I am glad that he had the chance to know you, even briefly." He met her gaze honestly. ”Despite everything, though he and I did not share words during that time…I believe he considered you a friend." She lowered her gaze again, fighting the sadness that rose. She swallowed it down. "I am sorry, Nero. I truly am.” Nero seemed to hesitate briefly before taking her hands in his own. "In Crescent Cove, I promised you. I said I would try…I would try to be better. That promise is not just for you, but for Daegsatz' sake as well. But there is something I need to know." When she looked back up at him questioningly, Nero met her gaze with his own. "I need to know that you will stand by me. I need to know that I am not wrong to pursue this path. I need to know that…that this dream we share, of changing Ul'dah…I need to know that it is something worth believing in. I need to know that Daegsatz died…for a cause. A good cause. Even if he did not know it himself." He bowed his head slightly, as if to level his gaze with hers. "Despite our arguments, our heated barbs, our differences…you still…insist. You push. You are still trying to save me." He shook his head. "You are as foolish now as you were back then." He took a breath, then added softly, "but…it is not so bad to be a fool at times, I am beginning to find." She glanced down at their hands, and tightened her own hold around his fingers. "I know. I am. But I still believe. I believe in this dream. And I believe in you. I believe in the hope that I know you still hold deep within." She glanced back up at him. "Daegsatz saw the same man that I see." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "I cannot give up on him." Nero pulled her ever so slightly closer. "And what man do you see? What does Nero Lazarov mean to Roen Deneith?” Roen brought one hand up to his face, her finger gently tracing a scar there. "I know him not. And yet...I believe that I do." Her eyes studied the scar, her fingers tracing his jawline. There was slight trepidation there. "And…as much as you push me away, I cannot leave." She gave him a sorrowful smile. "Am I foolish to think so? That I believe you are still good? That you hold hope in your heart?” She bowed her head, as a thought came to her unbidden. “And that you might…hold something else?" It was purely selfish thing, she knew, a thing she did not want to give voice. She did not want to acknowledge it even to herself except in her secreted moments. And yet...she asked. "For me?" Nero responded with a sudden, almost forceful kiss, one that seemed equal parts passion and desperation. He held his lips to hers for what seemed like days. He exhaled when their lips parted, his hands still clasped in hers. Roen released her own breath in a quiet gasp, inhaling as he pulled back. "I do not know," he breathed quietly. "I do not know if I can give you what you seek. I do not know if the man you see is real. I do not know..." The smuggler then gave a small, weak smile. "But…I suppose I am willing to find out, for now." Her hand was still tightly curled around his. “Then we will find out together.” Her lips lifted into a small but hopeful smile. “I will save you.” Nero blinked, something in his eyes changing at her words. He turned away from her then, though his voice remained quiet. "I do believe that your friend Melkire is a good man," he said, abruptly changing the subject. "But I do not believe he will approve of my plan. He cares about the people, but I do not believe he has a place working with us. Sooner or later, the city will force him to choose, and he will choose the status quo, or he will choose change. He is not like you. I do not believe the city's true darkness has revealed itself to him yet, even if he believes otherwise." The smuggler’s mask seemed to return gradually as a somewhat playful if tired smirk drew itself on his face. "And I would not have him diverting your attention from me, if I can help it," he teased quietly. "I do not believe I can convince him with mere words. The city itself must make its argument to him. Either he believes it can be saved, or he will believe that reform is needed as we do." "I will continue to speak with him. Perhaps…find a way to convince him. Or at least not stand against us." The paladin released a quiet sigh. "He does believe in the reform. But he is like me. He does not want to see bloodshed. But he also does not know you as I do." She bowed her head and nodded as if to herself. "I will speak to him." "I feel guilty. If only I were…not so stubborn, perhaps you would not have so much work ahead of you," he said a bit jokingly. One of his hands released hers and tilted her gaze at him. "I would like to see you on the Forte, later," he murmured. "If it pleases you. There are some important matters we need to discuss." Roen glanced back up at him and smiled softly. This was the man she had wanted to see--this was the man she wanted to save. She leaned her head against his chest and closed her eyes. “I just want to remember this," she whispered. "Here and now.” There was a twinge of sadness that rose, for she knew the struggles that awaited them both. But she wanted to capture this moment in her mind’s eye--to protect this single small ember of hope that lent its gentle warmth and comfort in their stillness. She could hear his heartbeat, and feel his breath upon her hair. Nero tilted his head, his lips resting against the top of her head as he embraced her. He whispered quietly, “I cannot promise that I can be the person you desire of me, Roen. But…I will try.” Roen nodded, not looking up. That would be enough, for now.

Well, I *was* finally going to catch up on Season 5 of The Walking Dead. But I will be working into the wee hours instead.

OH I REMEMBER that picture!!! Still one of my favorites. You should visit your old teacher. He's not so old anymore. Whaaaaaat?

OH I REMEMBER that picture!!! Still one of my favorites.

This is the exact same conversation you both had in Mumble that one time... I don't remember that in the slightest. I don't remember that either. >_>

Osric Melkire, Chief Flame Sergeant of the Immortal Flames. If anyone can be an invaluable asset, it would be he. Despite the fact that it was Jameson Taeros who had initially recruited Sergeant Melkire into investigating the cover up at the Nanawa Mines, Roen and Osric had since developed a measure of trust between them. He was the one who had tried to prove the Sultansworns’ innocence at the risk of his own life, and was also the one that had recruited a sizable force to raise arms against Crimson Mountain when she had been kidnapped. It was also Osric Melkire who had investigated and neglected to report her involvement in the deaths of the bandits at the Nanawa Mines--an incident that had also resulted in the death of a Brass Blade. It was no secret that Roen owed Osric much. So when Osric asked to meet Nero, she complied. Not only did she trust the Flames sergeant, but he had numerous connections, ones that could be valuable. And after the last conversation the paladin and smuggler had exchanged a sevenday past, a part of her wanted to have a third set of eyes to assess the situation. Even if she knew that Osric would not like all of Nero’s plans--if any. Nero had agreed to the meeting, albeit reluctantly. His voice still held a sharp edge to it when they spoke through the linkpearl. When the sergeant and she approached the end of the pier in lower decks of Limsa Lominsa, the pirate had his back turned to them. He was dressed in a finely tailored black and brown robe, his silver scepter hanging by his side. Osric was in stark contrast to the pirate; he had come dressed in a ratty brown hempen cloak, most of his armor hidden beneath the coarsely woven cloth. "I will assume you have good reason to bring a Flame here,” Nero spoke first, his tone monotonous and controlled. “I thought it was time that both of you met. This is Flame Sergeant Melkire.” She gestured to the cloaked man next to her even though Nero did not turn around. "That wasn't yours to give," Osric said, shooting Roen a glare. "I am sorry, Sergeant. But to start off with a lie does not bode well for alliances. If that is what this is." Roen gave a look of an apology to the man. The Flame sergeant snorted, turning back to look at Nero. "You're sloppy. That should be reason enough." "If you are referring to the mines, then the fault would be the paladin's, not mine," Nero said, his voice still controlled. "You would not have found me if it were not for her leaving a trail that a blind child could follow." After a pause, he added, "And no offense meant, Miss Deneith. I recognize that subterfuge is not exactly a strong point of yours." Osric crossed his arms. "You brought her into this. That means accepting responsibility for the consequences. But then, I understand that responsibility is not exactly a strong point of smugglers." Roen remained silent, although she had stiffened at Nero’s judging words. "She brought herself into this by her own choices, but now we are simply arguing semantics. How much has she divulged to you?" "Enough. I'm but a glimpse of your face away from having you made." The sergeant shrugged. Nero craned his head back at the sergeant, his smirk more audible than visible. "Perhaps, but that is not why you are here, is it?" "I'm here to learn whether your brand of madness will benefit the people or cost them their lives. What was seized alongside the refugee supplies that you couldn't afford to lose?" The smuggler raised a brow, clearly impressed. "Certain luxury goods that I had intended to use to ingratiate myself with some of Ul'dah's lesser powers. Though that hardly matters now, no? The goods are far away from my hands now." Osric’s words had a tinge of wariness about them. "It matters given what you've just told me. Lesser powers...reform..." The sergeant heaved a long, slow breath. Roen had fallen silent, her eyes going to the wooden planks of the pier. Her frame was tight with tension, gone was the hope that she had held when Osric and she had spoken last. So much had happened since. "Tell me truly, if you'd like a man on the inside: why should I assist you in rebellion rather than report what I know, and what I now suspect?" "Because, Sergeant, reporting what you know and arresting me accomplishes nothing. A seasoned man like yourself surely knows that lowborn criminals like me sprout like weeds. You may, of course, choose to arrest me. Or report me to your superiors. Or have me assassinated, or what have you. Whoever ends up taking my place will have far less noble intentions." "And far less fanatic fervor. As one lowborn criminal to another, trust me when I say that I understand fully well that those who follow in your wake will be far less capable. If your intentions are so noble, win me over with silvery tongue and honeyed words. That's what you do, no?" Roen glanced between the two men, her look of consternation growing. "Miss Deneith seems to believe in our alliance. Is that not enough? Or do you believe her to be suspect in all of this as well?" "I believe you've sold her the prettier tale from your shelves. I'd like the unabridged copy." "Consider me, then, a political radical. Ul'dah is too corrupt to change from within the system, so I would like to change it for the better using external forces." His statement lacked any elaborate wording or flowery vocabulary; it was as blunt as a hammer, and as subtle as one. "The system, as systems typically go, favours those with power. Those with gil. That needs to change." Osric grimaced. "You intend to replace one standard power with another, then?" "You believe that the Syndicate's power is standard?" "I believe gil is the standard, as you just pointed out." Nero snorted. "I intend to change the standard entirely. What it will be replaced with is not up to me." Osric paused, as if to consider those words. When he spoke again,his tone had taken a slight prodding turn. "Those luxury goods. Weapons?" "I do not believe I am under any obligation to answer that question." Osric snorted. "Only those with something to hide refuse to supply answers. I'll tell you this: while I applaud your vision, your methods leave the Alliance open to the Empire...unless I've missed something?" Nero grinned with a sidelong glance toward the Flame sergeant. "And only fools fail to hide the things that truly matter to them," he returned. "As for the Empire, I do have a deterrent in mind. Not that I have any intention of revealing what said deterrent is to you." He paused with a nod. "Of course, there is a risk. There is always a risk. A plan involving anything worth fighting for carries a risk." Roen flicked a glance at Osric at the mention of the Empire. Her frown only grew, but she held her tongue. Osric returned that look with one of his own. "Risk naught, win squat. I know the adage. I know the logic." He met her eyes for a moment longer, as if to press that point, before turning back to Nero. "I asked for this meeting in order to better understand you. I had hoped that you might offer some justification for my assistance...yet not once during this conversation have you given a thought towards lives that might be lost. Instead, you focus solely on your goal, as if you only seek to feed your own ego. 'I was right. I did what I had to do. It needed changing because I said so. Damn everyone else.'” Osric shook his head, his arm still crossed in front of his chest. He sounded almost regretful. “I'm afraid I can't support that." The paladin let out a long sigh, her head bowing slightly. The alliance between Nero and Osric would not be agreed upon. despite her hopes. Nero had not opened up and discussed his true intentions, and Osric was too cautious of a man to accept any plan without knowing the truth about the man orchestrating them. The Flame sergeant pivoted to walk away, pausing only to leave his parting words. "Should you founder, and your eyes open, you can reach me through Roen." Osric quickly made his exit off the pier, his head bowed low as his heavy hood fell over his eyes.