Roen

"Am I goin' te have te hurt this fellow in th' future fer gett'n ye inte trouble, or worse?" Big brother was not pleased.

“Rum as promised,” Roen announced triumphantly when the barred door closed behind her. She gave the Lalafellin guard a smile over her shoulder as he walked away, with a small shake of his head. The paladin had implored to his sense of sympathy, in that Daegsatz was a Sea Wolf pirate and they drank nothing but rum. It was offered as a jest, but whether it was funny or not, the guard let her through with a roll of his eyes. “It is the favored drink of the pirates, aye?” She settled to a seat on the cot, a bit more at ease this third time, as she handed him the waterskin. She also began to lay out the rest of the contents in the basket: a book, a piece of dried meat, and some La Noscean oranges. She had Miss Jarara to thank in discovering the juicy fruit, and hoped that the flavors of home would bring a bit of cheer to the Roegadyn. “I could not find Mister Bellveil for one of his infamous memoirs, so I had brought this book of Ishgardian faerie tales instead,” the paladin said cheerfully, before she spotted the faint scratchings on the stony floor. She squinted as she could not quite make out what she was looking at and gave Daegsatz an arched brow in question. Roen first looked to his hand where she saw the filed fingernails. “I could get you a bit of chalk perhaps?”

The more she listened to the Roegadyn speak about Nero, the more Roen was convinced that it was almost a paternal relationship they shared. The Roegadyn was older, and both he and Nero had mentioned how close Daegsatz and Nero’s "father" worked together for years. The way he spoke of the smuggler, there was affection and protectiveness underlying his rather gruff form of endearment. “I will do the best I can, Mister Traggblansyn,” she murmured out his last name with some struggle. “I doubt your captain wants me looking out for him,” Roen bowed her head with a small smile, “but I suppose he is stuck with me regardless.” She absently rubbed her palms over her lap, recalling her first conversation with the smuggler. Roen knew next to nothing about the man so far, but the intensity that burned in his eyes when he spoke of fixing Ul’dah was undeniable. To see now that such a driven man could instill this vigilant yet tender sentiment that she saw in Daegsatz...it reassured her that what she believed about Nero was not far from the truth. “There is always more decency that can be had,” the paladin offered with a genuine smile. “Too many think such a thing should have a limit.” She tapped her lap lightly as if making up her mind. “Rum and the memoir if I can get ahold of it for the morrow. And I fib not! It was a gift. And only certain chapters made me blush...a little. It brought me more laughter than unease.” Her gaze lingered on the Roegadyn as if to give him some measure of consolation before she stood and made her way to the barred door. She knocked loudly against it signal the jailer before turning back to Daegsatz. ”Hopefully we will not keep you here too long. Then you can check in on your Captain, soon enough.”

Of course, liquor. He is a pirate, after all. Roen regarded the Roegadyn in silence as he took part in the basket’s offering. Even after just a few suns of getting to know Nero Lazarov, it was obvious that the bond between Nero and his First Mate was a close one. ‘Satz’ was what the smuggler called his Roegadyn friend, more than once, on his linkpearl. And when Roen told Nero that Daegsatz had been captured and imprisoned after the raid, the relief that washed over the pirate captain was palpable. Nero had been fearing and preparing for the worst. “Perhaps?” The paladin shrugged. “I can bring some rum in a waterskin and see if it will pass inspection. They do know me around here,” Roen said with a bit of irony. “They may allow it.” After a moment’s pause, she took a seat on the cot. Her voice was lowered, even though she knew no one else was within earshot of the cell. “I spoke to your captain last night. He is... worried for you. I told him I would keep an eye on you.” Roen said softly, her voice tinged with guilt. “You would not be here if it was not for the plan he and I set forth.” “And I know firsthand, the... comforts of these gaols,” she noted wryly, “so I intend to do what I can to lessen the harshness or your confinement.” Roen quickly held up a hand to dismiss the questions she knew that statement may bring. “It is a long story.” She shifted subjects instead. “So, any other requests? I know of a scandalous memoir that helped me pass the time while I was here not too long ago.”

Roen could still smell the freshly baked bread in the basket, nestled with a small bit of cheese and salted fish wrapped in linen. All were inspected by the guards, of course, as she was stopped at the entrance to the gaols. The Lalafellin jailkeeper gave Roen a look with lofted brows, obviously surprise to see her returned to her place of recent imprisonment. The paladin recalled the day she had walked out of the cell that had been her residence for weeks. She vowed never to return unless absolutely necessary; she was still trying to forget the walls that had grown oppressively thick, the rooms darker each day that had passed. “Bread, eh?” The guard piped up as he walked her down the hallway, the keyring jingling in hand. Roen just nodded, her eyes looking over the contents again rather than the long dark hallway or the bars that she had stared at for so many suns. She was not here as a prisoner, she reminded herself, but she could certainly sympathize with anyone kept within. From what few words they had exchanged when Daegsatz Traggblansyn was arrested and she brought him to the gaols, she knew he was not aware--at least not fully--of the plan that she and Nero had concocted to gain evidence against Jameson Taeros. But the Roegadyn had been unfortunate enough to be injured and apprehended at the raid that should have only involved the Monetarists' men. Daegsatz recognized Roen's name at least, and he told her where to find Nero after the failed raid. But now Nero's First Mate sat in the gaols while Natalie and Coatleque tried to sort out the truth about Taeros’ shipment of somnus, and Roen did not have the authority to set him free herself. So the paladin took it upon herself to, at the very least, check on him daily, much as Ser Crofte had done with her. It was the little things that mattered--the small bits of news or good cheer, rare as it might be, that the Sultansworn would bring that made things just a little more bearable for Roen. Sometimes she came with a vase of flowers, other times a book or memoir, or even an extra lamp. So Roen knew to do the same. It makes all the difference in the world, she knew. She said nothing as the doors were opened for her by the Lalafell, and closed behind her with a clang and a click of the lock. It was only after she heard his armored footsteps echo away down the hallway that she eased a smile for the Roegadyn. “How do you feel?” She canted her head, eyeing where she had used conjury on him the day before. “The bruise should subside in a few days.” She approached him and extended the basket toward him. “I thought you could use some amenities.”

^ ... What.

Three more that I forgot above... We were there as moral support to Crofte who was getting drunk after her break up. The guy seated at the table looks MOST distraught out of all of us though.

More screenshots! "If that is what you wish, Miss Deneith…I'm afraid I will have to refuse just this once. Forgive me." "Are you going to tell anyone? What you know?" "No." "Why not...?" "...because I trust your intentions, if not your skills." "A person with an ideology, who needs that ideology, cannot abide having it proven wrong. I find that in a city as cynical as Ul'dah, compassion is crushed not out of cruelty, but because to conceive of it would be devastating."

I ran away. Roen fell back onto the bed, the pillow and blankets bouncing with the landing. She covered her eyes with both hands, as if that would hide the grimace that twisted her face. I practically sprinted out of there. She wrinkled her nose, recalling her hasty retreat. She could not even clearly remember what words she mumbled as she did so, so eager was she for an escape. Why had she run away like a frightened doe? What was it about a him that made her heart race, tossed her thoughts into a chaotic mess, and turned her will and focus into mush? The paladin folded her hands above her head, letting her arms fall limp onto the blankets. She stared at the ceiling helplessly, as if the flighty shadows cast by the dancing candlelight would lend her an epiphany as to why she had been suddenly robbed of all strength and courage. Her lips still tingled at the memory. Roen lightly traced them with a finger, letting out a long sigh. "And who am I, Roen Deneith? Who am I to you? You know nothing about me.” His words echoed in her ears even now. Roen harbored no doubts then, as she took his hand and agreed to an alliance once more. She believed him to be a good man. She remembered the wash of relief that had filled her then--the fact that he was not set on some wonton destructive path, that she did not have to consider him an enemy. Was she simply relieved that he was considering a conscientious path rather than condemning himself? Or was there something more that stirred her then? Roen glimpsed the goodness in him early on; it was what had brought on those moments of despair in the man, those fleeting moments he worked so hard to then bury. She could not deny she was drawn to that man. But she also had to acknowledge that that was not all who Nero Lazarov was. He had layers of masks made of bitterness, cunning ruthlessness, and arrogance. And it made him unpredictable, infuriating, and manipulative. His derisive words had found ways to cut through her resolve before, and now he found another way to throw her thoughts into a turmoil of confusion and uncertainty. The question was…what was genuine, and what was not? The paladin turned to her side, her eyes going to the ornate longsword that stood against the table on the other side of the room. She had left the docks in such a hurry that she walked away with his sword in hand--the one that he had thrust into the wooden boards between them. She had no doubt that he was challenging her to end his life, that he was willing to die at her hands. And yet that was another test. I would be foolish to think that this kiss was anything other than yet more misdirection on his part, Roen told herself. But even as she struggled to accept that truth, she wondered why it affected her so. Why there was this distant melancholy that nipped at her thoughts. Did she want it to be something more? Perhaps that was what she needed to resolve for herself. How she felt about him, regardless of how he felt. But even if she held some hidden feelings for him, what good would that do in light of the fact that he would likely then use that against her? A part of her hoped that he would not. And another part of her chided her own self in believing that that would be the case. What did she expect of him? "Only that you continue to hope to be a better man. I wish for nothing else from you." Her own words. She had meant every word of it. Roen sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. She rubbed her eyes, as if to clear her vision, fixing her gaze onto the sword again. Mind to purpose, Roen, she told herself. There was a greater cause to serve: changing Ul’dah, lessening the suffering of the poor, and perhaps even saving Nero Lazarov from himself. Her own feelings on the matter had to be set aside. “I will try…to be better.” The smuggler’s quiet words echoed in her memory. It stirred her even now. The paladin groaned out loud at her own indecisiveness and shook her head quickly as if to dismiss the quagmire of emotions there. “Mind to purpose,” she told herself again. Emotional impulses and romantic whims would only jeopardize this alliance between them that already had been tested in just the few suns since its inception. I am certain we can work together without letting this complicate things. Roen reassured herself. I just need to be better prepared. She wrinkled her nose, wondering if that was possible. I just need to…not think about it. The paladin sat there, staring at the sword, while consciously trying to scrub the swirl of doubts and conflicting emotions into a blank slate. Roen let out another loud groan and fell back onto her bed.

So there was a dissertation on the FoM LS... >_> [7] A refrigerator magnet that says "Nanamo Sucks" can still be made of the purest natural magnet on the planet. [7] but how do they work [7] If Leanne starts pointing at me and screaming like young Donald Sutherland I'm out of here. [7] Well, you see, certain properties of metals are aetherically attuned to one another. The astral aspects of a metal seek to overcome the umbral aspects of another metal, hence why they are attracted to each other due to the property that astral and umbral polarity overwrites one another. That is how Eorzean magnets work. [7] Right. So, magic. [7] party pooper.. [7] I think also that's magic. [7] It's basic science, really. [7] Just like the sky being blue being magic. [7] sounds legit, Nero [7] But even that basic science fails to explain the why of the attraction. [7] Ergo, magic. [7] ... [7] Damn these aetherial philosophers and their radical theories! Everybody knows that the attraction of the magnets is an attraction brought about by the tidal forces of Dalamud. [7] As such, magnets should no longer function. [7] Verad, you know that that is unbridled poppycock. Magnets are actually tiny sentient metal creatures bound directly to the will of the Twelve. They command the magnets when to stick to one another. [7] All the more reason that they should cease to function! For the Twelve have been silent in Eorzea for lo these five years. Garlean magnets only work because they are filthy atheist magnets, in this view. They must be the lingering remnants of Dalamud's pull! [7] So... [7] atheistic magnets and religious magnets are a thing now. [7] Are you suggesting that the Twelve are not omnipresent? Their silence is clearly because their attention is devoted to the important matter of making sure which magnets stick! They are forever guiding Eorzea through magnets! [7] This religious drivel is exactly what's holding back the spirit of scientific inquisition in Eorzea. One can't even observe the mating habits of Tuco-Tuco without some priest getting his dress bunched up because they are chosen of Oschon and must wander freely or some such nonsense. [7] And now magnets! [7] Mind = Blown. [7] Then how do you explain bananas, Verad? I suppose you'll posit some ridiculous theory that Hydaelyn just happened by accident, hmm? That the Twelve just don't exist? [7] I don't explain bananas, because bananas are clearly a product of the void, a natural and observable phenomena. What else could create something as empirically vile as bananas? [7] Vile? Are you suggesting that bananas are subject to a system of -morality-? Your assumptions grow more absurd with every passing bell! [7] I was happy believing it was all magic. [7] this belongs in the log thread [7] Yes it does. [7] To believe anything with certainty, dear Leanne, is to willingly submit yourself to ignorance. Question everything, for the Twelve always seek those with inquisitive minds! [7] Within the spirit of scientific inquiry, it has been conclusively proven that bananas are objectively the worst of the Eorzean fruits. Morality has nothing to do with it; that would be to suggest that it is moral for the tide to roll in or the clouds to rain or the Mogs to drink. [7] Crofte-senpai, protect me. [7] They want me to question magic. [7] Sorry, Leanne, I stopped listening hours ago. [7] You are listening to the greatest intellectual minds of Eorzea debate, and you just -stopped listening-?

Osric too has been calling it S.S. Reno. >_> Edit!: I guess it took after Kage named their child. <_<

The relief that Roen found in his explanation was profound, in more ways than one. The fact that Nero had thought of so many possibilities, the consequences that would follow, and the expansive scope of his plan...it astounded her. But even more so, the fact that he did try to avoid unnecessary deaths and the killing of innocents, it allowed her to breath again; it granted her some respite from the grim and despondent future that he was painting before. Listening to him, also made her focus on something else other than the daring and flirtatious words he had thrown at her before; they were there to fluster her, of this she was certain. She should have been better prepared for it. But much to her chagrin, Roen found herself stammering, agitated, and grasping for words. His breath was warm on her lips, his voice smooth like honey, and his touch against her cheek made the skin burn crimson. The smuggler knew how to use his roguish ways to set a woman’s heart aflutter, and Roen hated the fact that she too was so easily affected by it as well. And she was annoyed with herself that she actually felt a pang of disappointment when he withdrew. Curse that pirate, Roen thought darkly. But really she was silently chiding herself for anticipating something more in the first place. And that was not a road she should be traveling on--or sparing a glance toward--or even pondering, for that matter! “It…will not be a peaceful transition. But it is the smoothest one with the highest chance of succeeding." Nero’s voice filtered into her consciousness again, and it made the paladin blink. She looked at him, reminding herself to focus on the plan. He did not seem to notice her distracted mien. "Trust me when I say that I have calculated as many factors as possible. I have accounted every variable. Sacrifices will have to be made...but if this works, then they will be minimal." "That is well thought out.” Roen nodded quickly, bending her brows with forced concentration. “Complex, difficult, so many things have to go right but..." Roen nodded, encouraged. "I can see how it can work." Nero nodded confidently. "It will take time. And rebuilding will be rocky. But so long as the Monetarists' power is broken, it can definitely work." Roen exhaled and shook her head, almost in disbelief. "If it works...it would change everything." "But there are risks," Nero warned. "Some more enterprising people among Limsa Lominsa will seek to expand. And if the Flames are not adequate to quell the city…the Maelstrom may become involved. The politics are volatile. I hope it will not come to that, but we must prepare for every eventuality." The smuggler’s pondered, his expression turning intent. "Ul'dah may, without the Monetarists, be forced into client state status. We risk its independence for this plan.” Nero turned to her, new fire lit in his eyes. “But politics be damned. So long as the people are provided for in the end, with a new system, then that will be enough." Roen found herself straightening, "Ul'dah still has the largest military force on land. I do not think we would need to look to Maelstorm or anyone else to restore order." "That's not what I meant.” The smuggler shook his head. “If the Flames grow out of control…if Raubahn cannot seize the reins, then the Storm will step in. I meant every contingency. And that includes the ability of the Sultana and Raubahn to lead. If they fail, Ul'dah loses its sovereignty. Not the worst thing to happen, but...it will cause much chaos." Nero gave her an odd, rather ironic look. "As much as I hate those bastards, the Monetarists keep the other city-states in check with their economic power. Gridania cares for naught but their forests, but Limsa Lominsa is another story." "I trust that Nanamo and Raubaun will know how to take the lead. The Monetarists's power comes from gil, that is why the Sultana deals with them as she does. The Brass Blades are but a fraction of the manpower of Ul'dah." Roen reflected out loud, then paused. She gave Nero an odd look. “So all that you spoke of before..." Her eyes narrowed. "That grim tale of blood and violence. That was to test me?" The smuggler folded his arms, raising a thoughtful eyebrow. "Yes and no. There will be blood and violence. The bandits will not back down easily; many of them are on the Monetarist's payroll as well. They would hate to see their corrupt income vanish." He shrugged, his expression turning somewhat sheepish. "I did…exaggerate some parts of it, to push you. You needed the push. You, not I, needed to know where the line was drawn. You truly will not kill, even knowing how it would save people's lives." The smuggler shook his head. "I still find that…foolish." And then softer, "But hopeful as well." His ice-blue gaze turned to her, looking at her intently. "You and I will become a sword and shield. I will slay those who encroach upon us. You shall defend justice and the innocent. An apt analogy, no?" Nero held out his hand. A slow smile broke through her wary countenance, lofted by relief and the promise of hope. Roen knew a part of her should be angry that he had tested her so. But she did not care. She did not have to run him through with a sword. She did not have to think him an enemy of Ul'dah. She did not have to stop him. Roen took his hand firmly. "It is." In that moment’s stillness when their hands met, Roen felt no uneasiness between them. Her eyes lingered on him as did her grasp. “Did you ever consider, that I did not use my sword upon you because...of who you were? That had you been some...bandit leader, boasting of his plan and waving a blade of his own, the results would have been different. But it was you." Nero cocked his head, seemingly both amused and curious at once. "And who am I, Roen Deneith? Who am I to you? You know nothing about me. Not that that is your fault," He quickly corrected himself, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head with his other hand. "I have been…evasive. To a fault. But still." Roen smiled just a little at that confession. She let her hold on his hand linger a moment longer, her eyes drifting to their joined grip."I know what you will say. That I am seeing what I want to see. But I do not believe you are the man you want to become. This dark avenging evil incarnate that you sometimes seem so determined to be." She lightly laid her other hand on top of his, embracing it with her own. "I believe you are the man you hope to be," she said, her voice low. "I know not much more than that, but...it is enough. For now." She peered back up at him, even as her hands fell away. Nero searched her eyes with a puzzled expression on his face. "Why is it that you seem to care so much?" His voice wavered for just a fraction, and Roen thought his mask of composure flickered away for just an instant. "No one…unless they wanted something from me. Unless I had something to give in return. What must I give in return for your compassion?" Roen regarded him for a long moment, a gentle smile emerging. "Only that you continue to hope to be a better man." She shrugged. "I wish for nothing else from you." "There…has to be more than that." The smuggler was hesitant to accept her answer. "It cannot be as simple as all that. Surely you want something in return." “Actually,” Roen canted her head. An odd expression came over her. “There is one thing.” His eyes flickered to attention, though she thought she saw a hint of disappointment. "And that is?" Roen stepped once toward him, and lightly knocked on his chest with a fist. “Stop. Testing me.” Her voice was firm, but it held a playful challenge. She looked to him with a small furrow of her brows. “Trying to get me flustered. Or challenge who I am. I think you know enough now. What I am willing and not willing to do." Her words seemed to stun him before his face broke out into a smile. "If that is what you wish, Miss Deneith…I'm afraid I will have to refuse just this once. Forgive me." In one swift motion, Nero moved his head towards her as he took her arm and pulled her body towards him. Without hesitation or warning, his lips met hers for several long seconds before he moved away. When he did, a small, satisfied grin marked his face. She could only stare, mouth agape. That seemed to amuse him even more; his next words came jovially. "We have only known each other for some suns…but I will accept your challenge.” He smiled oddly earnestly. His eyes were narrowed on her, but not in their usual way. He finally said, “I will. I will try…to be better." Roen barely heard those words. She stood there stunned. The kiss was…over before she knew it even begun, but she did not recall pulling back. Or if she had even breathed. She stood there, dumbfounded, at an utter loss for words. Her cheeks were crimson and her eyes unfocused. She blinked several times before she looked back at him again. "I...um." The paladin started then stopped. Her tongue felt leaden. Her thoughts moved as if they were caught in a mire. “Right. You. You...you do that." She cleared her throat, holding up a finger and gesturing his way vaguely. She felt like an actor on stage with no lines given to her--completely lost. Roen thumbed to no place in particular behind her. "I should um. Go." His eyebrow arched. "Should you?" She couldn't even reply to that. Nero’s expression shifted as he studied her reaction. It was apparently not precisely what he had expected. He nodded quickly and glanced at the empty sea behind him. "Right. And I...well, anyway..." He turned away from her and pressed a hand against his right ear. "Garalt. Status, please. Now." As soon as his back turned to her, Roen let out a stuttered breath. She no longer felt like a paladin who swore the Sultana’s Oath; she was no longer the gladiator who trained in the Blood Sands. No, Roen felt like a flustered young schoolgirl caught unawares by a boy, with no idea what to do. She hated it. So she hastily made her retreat. "Yes. There are things to do, get done." She spun on a heel, calling over her shoulder. "And you have things to done. To...do. And get...done..." Roen's words and feet seemed to be somehow stumbling over each other. She hurried off the pier, her strides long and quick. It was only when she reached the top of the walkway, and her feet crossed from wooden planks onto the Western Thalanan sands, that she paused. She did not turn back to look where she had left Nero; her cheeks were still burning too hot for her to dare a peek. She felt foolish, confused, and humiliated, and for a change it was not because of something he had done or said. It was her. She had practically ran away from him after a kiss. Roen rubbed her eyes with a frown. It was too late now. She ducked her head low and walked away quickly, to what destination she knew not.

He could not mean them. This is his unrelenting ambition talking. Roen told herself these things, even as his promise of violence and the death of innocents hammered into her head like a metal spike chipping away at a stone statue. She felt as if he was relentlessly, purposefully, trying to cause her to crack and crumble, shattering her principals until there was nothing left but rubble and dust. Nero’s ice-blue gaze seemed to bore into her as he continued. "The reason, Roen, the reason that I cut off our alliance is not because I found your idealism annoying. It was because I did not want to see it broken by following me down this path. Our conversation over that meal made me certain. You are stuck in the twilight, yes, but you have the good judgment not to leap headfirst into the darkness. I am glad that such people like you still exist." Roen flicked her gaze at him, surprised. "Your experiences have brought you to the edge but they have not pushed you off. Disassociate yourself with me. Pursue the path you feel is best. And if the time comes where we cross blades as enemies...well. I pray your sense of justice is still intact when that day comes." So bent is he on this course, so ingrained is he in who he believes he should be, he has already accepted his fate. He has accepted that he is already lost. Roen frowned, but said nothing. "You will never betray your virtues or your principles. And I admire that." The smuggler still smiled; it was smug, perhaps, but earnest. "Keep it close. Guard it well. In this world of blood and shadows, that virtue may be the only thing left worth defending." Roen shook her head. "Is there no room for maneuver in this plan of yours? Must it be so rigid in the deaths that it demands?" Nero nodded. "It must be. It must be swift, without remorse, without concern for welfare." Roen narrowed her eyes. "And do you expect me to just sit idly by and watch innocents get caught in the crossfire? Is it not the very welfare of those you wish to save that drives you so? And now you are just pushing that aside?" “Indeed I am. I wanted to--I still want to--hold on to it. But there is no place for compassion, not where I am going. There is no place for humanity. As of right now, I am the same thing I seek to destroy." His jaw set, he regarded her with squinted eyes, before drawing his sword that hung from his hip and jabbing it into the dock between them. "I am going to kill many, many people. There will be many innocents dead. Many more will starve and suffer. I will be responsible for countless deaths. The people will revile me, as they should, as the one who ruined their lives." His gaze didn't waver. "Blood and war will fill the streets. And if you want to prevent all of that from happening…if you want to save Ul'dah. Take that blade," he made a thrusting motion to himself. "And eliminate me now." Roen stiffened, her eyes darting between the man and the blade. He had pleaded with her the same two suns ago when he offered her his knife. She had refused it then. Nero continued to hammer at her. "I am a threat. I will tear down everything you hold dear about that wretched hive of a city. I will demolish it to the ground. The bones of the people will be ground beneath the rubble. It's within your power to stop all of this now, because I will not turn away from my path. Not ever." Her breaths were coming heavy, she felt a viselike grip of dread around her chest. She glanced to the sword again, its hilt just ilms away from her hand. She did not take it. "And why...why are you offering me this chance?" "Because I am helping you choose, Roen Deneith. Even now, the pirates under my command attack innocent merchant ships, those unfortunate enough to work for the Monetarists. People simply trying to feed their families. They are being sunk and sent to the bottom of the ocean." Roen’s eyes shot back to the pirate, widening with horror. "Even now, bandits plan to take to the streets, for they have tired of living in the squalor of Pearl Lane. They will clash with the Brass Blades in open warfare." Nero continued, his voice sharp and cutting. "Even now, the other city states begin to contemplate cutting off trade, waiting for the 'Ul'dah Situation' to resolve itself before endangering their citizens. The Jewel will be locked into a whirlpool of blood and death." He leveled his gaze with hers, holding it intently. "But it need not be so. The head of the monster is here. None know of my plans other than myself." Roen stepped around the sword, her own eyes searching his, for some measure of truth. "Stop this. It is not too late. Stop this. I beg of you." Her voice shook. "You are offering me this chance, because somewhere under there, there is a part of you that does not want to carry out this plan. There is a part of you that do not want to see innocents die. Families suffer. Fathers drowned." Nero slowly shook his head. "No, I do not want to carry out this plan. I never wanted any of this." He smiled softly, without regret, without a sense of forlornness. "But I will not stop. Take up the blade. If you care about Ul'dah as you claim, then prevent these ravages from happening. Do not do what is lawful, not what is justice, but what is right." The paladin stared hard at him, her breaths now coming quick. She glanced to the blade again. "What will you do when there is an evil you cannot defeat by just means? What will you do when there is an evil that will not negotiate, that will not hesitate, that cannot be persuaded or convinced? Shall you commit evil to destroy the greater evil? Or will you remain steadfast and righteous...even if that means surrendering to evil?" Roen stared down at the blade, her brow furrowing with deep dread. She close her fingers to quell the trembling there. “...What if I prove you wrong?” The paladin curled her hand around the hilt of the sword and yanked it free from the wood. Her swing was quick as she brought the edge of the blade next to his neck. "If you are planning violence and bloodshed, and drowning innocent men...I cannot let you walk." Her voice was that of forced calm. "But your death is not for me to deliver." Her next words pained her, but it did not falter. "You are under arrest, Mister Lazarov. For piracy against innocent merchants. For conspiracy of violence against the City-State." She stepped back, out of arm's length, the sword's reach lengthening. Nero did not flinch. "And if I resist arrest?" Roen turned her wrist just slightly, the blade catching the fading light of the sunset. "I pray you will not." She said quietly. Her muscles coiled, her eyes watching him carefully. The smuggler only grinned. He pressed the flat of the blade with a finger, slowly moving the edge towards his neck. "Under whose authority do you arrest me, Miss Deneith? You are not a Blade. You are not a Sultansworn. This is an act of vigilantism. You are above the law, are you? You are above the justice of the system?" Roen inhaled sharply, her nostrils flaring. She held her sword steady. "I am a Free Paladin, trained and authorized by the Captain Jenlyns Straightblade. I am going to to bring you in, the Flames can question you." Nero’s grin did not waver. His left arm made a quick motion--not for the sword, but underneath his tabard. A knife was flicked out, but it was not pointed towards the paladin. It was aimed directly at his neck. Steel met flesh met steel again, as he sandwiched his own neck between two blades. "And if I am not in a state to be questioned?" His tone clearly signalled his intent. "Hard to talk with a severed jugular, after all." "Why are you doing this." Roen rasped, instinctively pulling her sword away from the edge of his neck. "What do you want?” The pirate continued to hold the dagger against his neck. "I have discarded the notion that I can pursue a fulfilling life. All I want now...is a meaningful death. And the redemption of Ul'dah is plenty meaningful enough for me. I am not Ul'dah's saviour. I am not its messiah. I am simply another victim, one of thousands." There was a twinkle in his eye, but it was not a mask. It was a dare, a challenge, and an acceptance. Roen stared at him in disbelief. She lowered her sword, outrage filling her chest. So determined was he in this path. So willing to throw away his life and the life of countless people for a chance…a fleeting chance of a future he would leave others to rebuild. He would immolate himself in the process of trying to raze Ul’dah to the ground, and was asking her to wield the executioner’s scythe in delivering his end. It was not enough that he confessed to her his dark brutal intent, but he would leave it to her to end his life. It angered her--this indifference to his own life and everyone else’s. "You are no martyr.” She said bitterly. “You are just another misguided thug who knew nothing else but to lash out the only way he knew how. You can end your own life, but do not think Ul'dah will be better for it. And do not expect me to stand here and watch you bleed yourself out, thinking you redeemed yourself with your sacrifice." Her words were filled with fury and indignation. Roen lowered her sword, stepping forward, searching his eyes. She would plead, this one last time. "It takes more courage to put out the fire and save who you can, than to set things ablaze, yourself included. Do not do this. Please.” Nero responded to her advance with one of his own. "It is not about courage. It is about results." He brought his face within a few ilms of hers. "Countless deaths are not results to judge yourself by! Nor the fear you bring upon your enemies!" The smuggler’s eyes darted between hers, as if to search for something. "Then what would you suggest? Let us say I put my plans on hold. Let us say I will adhere to your bloodless path of justice.” The smirk returned to his face. “Persuade me to stay the course."

I relinquish my no-prize to Verad. I could think of no one better. But... he should ALSO BE SHIPPED. This is the shipping thread!

Does that mean I win the Shipping Thread? What did I win??

Weren't you there? Didn't Verad lose to you? Though to be fair I also missed the nosebusting. You were both on the other side of the road. We didn't get to see what happened to Oscare.

*takes a guess* Ummm... Oscare?

Also, bad Osric! Save that for the anti-"Shipping" thread! There is an... anti-shipping thread...? >_> <_< Roen! Roen! /Kage waves his hand like the last kid to be picked for the team. Kage's not a terrorist! :3 But.. with Kage... comes... *dramatic pause* ... NATALIE. DUN DUN DUN. Run Forest run!

I knew all those except Bad Boy. The fact that the first song you ever linked me was ENYA... I shouldn't be surprised. And from your musical choices, you are cheering for a break-up hm? (not that they are together technically)

*coughs* Toni Braxton... your musical choices Osric. Astounds me. I think Roen needs to stop hanging around terrorists. What is up with this. (but the dodo plan... is BRILLIANT)

You know, if RPed well with an honestly socially awkward character... it could be adorable!

You are like... the king of GIFs. Welcome!

*bonks Melkire* Don't listen to that guy! Level a class you want to level and have fun with! (although I did level a healer first) (then a tank - paladin for RP reasons) (then a DPS) BUT STILL! ... He is right. The DPS queues for DPS for dungeons is long. Sometimes painfully so. But once you open up the low level Dungeon Roulette, you get a big XP bonus for doing that at least on a daily basis. (how I level up alts...) I usually do quests, hunting logs and such while waiting on the DPS queue to pop. Or you can gather or craft while waiting on the queue to pop! (If you are totally open to leveling up other jobs though, tank queues are the QUICKEST)(and Melkire is right, once you get one to 50, subsequent classes level faster) Ul'dah is the biggest RP hub for random walk-ups. I have ran into a few in Limsa as well. Welcome to RPC and Balmung!

Roen was not sure why she came. She had stewed, sitting alone at the airship landing bar, after Nero had unceremoniously dissolved their alliance. A part of her thought maybe this was for the best. Since the day they had first met, their course had been nothing but turbulent. Never had she felt such a swing of emotions--from annoyance, to relief, to rage, to empathy--and seemingly back again. The smuggler had a way of setting her nerves on edge, and Roen had to constantly remind herself to keep the end goal in focus. To serve the greater good. Except now, Nero no longer thought her useful to his cause. Their difference in ideology had been too great. Her resistance to ‘make hard choices’ was more of a hinderance than he deemed worth the trouble. The paladin had hoped that if she tugged the opposite way from his ruthlessness and willingness for violence, if she could anchor his ambitions just a little, that their course could stay out of the darker, more troubled waters. But in her efforts to try and make him understand her views, he had come to see her as nothing but a liability, and eagerly cut himself free. But as Roen pondered on Nero’s possible future, the path he was headed down, she felt a sadness rise in her that robbed her breath. Her hope for him still remained deep down, that he choose the path of compassion and light, rather than descending into darkness. She wanted to see this through, for that reason as well. But it was clear he wanted nothing of her interference. Roen had also believed that through him, she would find her own path. Not having returned to the Sultanate, she herself was wandering lost, searching for a new destination. She thought that helping the poor, reforming the Blades, and working against the corruption of the Monetarists, that that was her new path. And that she had found someone also walking that same path. And his fervent need to fix Ul’dah...it lit a fire in her as well, one that could not be extinguished now, alliance or no. Roen refused to let herself become adrift again, wondering what path to take. Through his words and his eyes, she had become more intimate with the sufferings of the poor. It was not something she would ever be able to ever forget now. With or without him, she would continue on this path. Perhaps that is why I came, she told herself as she regarded the smuggler’s cold demeanor. To just tell him that. “Is there something you need, or am I free to carry on with my business?" Nero said coldly, his arms crossed in front of him. His icy demeanor made her stumble over her words at first. "Yes. You are free to carry on. I was just here to--" she paused, drawing out an envelope from her satchel. She stepped forward and shoved it towards him. “Here. You wanted this.” Nero glanced at it curiously but did not take it. "The list, I assume? I am surprised you remembered." "Do with it what you will." Roen held it out a moment longer, her eyes fixed on it. When he did not accept, she glanced at him. "Do you not want it?" "No longer needed. The only reason I suggested a swapped forgery was to appease you. That's no longer a concern. Kejin Zinjin has some family in Costa del Sol. A direct application of force will make him turn. Although..." He flicked the envelope from her hand, shoving it into his belt. "This might come in handy later, so for what it's worth, thanks." His indifference did not waver. "Was that all?" "No. That is not all." Roen narrowed her eyes, her voice growing steely. "You are not the only one that want this. But you shove whoever else away that does not fit into your plan. Fine. I was on this course before I met you. I will stay on it with or without your help." Nero waved idly, glancing at the ship that began to depart the horizon. "I wish you luck, then. Say hello to Ser Crofte for me, if you see her." Roen glanced to the waters to try and quell her frown. He did not care. Not one onz. Did she expect anything else? "My apologies if my ideals were so inconvenient to you.” She kept her voice even. “I will do what I can to get your first mate out of the gaols." "They weren't as inconvenient to me as they seemed as inconvenient to yourself.” The smuggler shrugged it off. “And while I appreciate the thought, that will take far too long. Worry not about him. Daegsatz is no longer your burden." He returned his attention to the envelope, peeling it open and studying the sheet of parchment within. Roen frowned, looking down at the wooden planks beneath her feet. Not one onz. She turned to leave, but something held her where she stood. She spun back around. "What did you expect when you asked me for help?" Roen demanded. The smuggler passed her an idle glance, his attentions seemingly elsewhere. "I was expecting you to understand. I wasn't expecting you to enjoy it or consider me a saint or any such nonsense, but I was expecting you to understand that what I was doing was absolutely necessary. I have thought through all of the alternatives, all of the less violent solutions, and none have seemed feasible." "I have known you for only a few suns. How would I have known that?" Nero did not seem interested in answering her. "You and I are locked on separate paths. Unfortunate, but it happens." Roen sighed, her voice lowering. "I thought we knew we walked a different path, but in the same direction." "Perhaps we do, but that never meant we were to walk together." He may be right, Roen thought to herself. She was not even sure why she was arguing with him, only that she felt the need to with every fiber of her being. "This dream you have, is not an easy one. Nearly impossible one, alone.” Nero turned to her fully, his usual smirk emerging. "On the contrary, it is far easier than I initially projected. All it required was a different perspective." "A different perspective." She echoed him, puzzled. Nero sighed, rubbing his head. "You say we walk in the same direction. Without me, Roen, what is your plan? I wish to know." But before she could even drew a breath to respond, he raised a brow, that infuriating smirk still on his face. "Right, that's what I thought,” he said curtly, turning his attention back to the list. Roen no longer knew what point she was trying to make. But her words kept coming. "I was investigating Taeros when I met you. I am going to resume that course." "And? Did you have leads? Contacts? Resources? How were you going to coerce his associates? What would you do if--or rather, when--he disguised or destroyed the evidence and slipped through the fingers of the law?" Nero crossed his arms again. "Even if you did arrest Taeros, what then? Who will you pursue next? Why is he even important to the Monetarists? Now, if this was a quest for vengeance, I would understand, but you claim it to be something more noble than that, which means you are thinking of a larger scope." Nero did not give her a chance to say even a word in response; he just kept going, his voice edged with disdain. "How will you eliminate the corrupt Brass Blades? How will you eliminate the bandit gangs? How will you redistribute the wealth of the Monetarists? How will you allow the Sultana and Raubahn to secure power?" Roen stared at him in disbelief. "And you have a plan to do all that?" Nero smiled. His look was one of absolute certainty, near arrogance in his ice-blue eyes. "If I did not, I would not be here."

The jab of the knife was thrust aside as James struck the attacker’s wrists, first the one holding the knife then the other with the bowl, which went bouncing across the muddy ground as the assailant lunged again with his knife. James dodged to the side and grabbed the arm holding it, pulling his assailant in closer. Two quick strikes with the elbow to the man’s throat sent him staggering back, choking for breath. James noted the man’s eyes as the tattered hood was tossed back with the wind. They shot to his flank. More assassins. His hand slipped within his cloak to draw out three small throwing knives hidden beneath his doublet. Two figures wearing dark leather to make them blend in with the night approached him from either side, the glint of steel in their hands. They wore masks, only their eyes visible. Jameson did not need to know who any of them were, but their purpose was clear. The beggar was a decoy. The assassin to the right flicked his wrist, sending a deadly projectile Jameson's way. Fast and accurate. James shifted his weight slightly to lean to the left, and the throwing dagger sailed past his head only an ilm away. He heard the rush of footsteps from the opposite side of him, the rain lending even the quickest and quietest footsteps a small splash in warning. Jameson afforded but a glance to both his flanks, that briefest glimpse allowing him to duck the swing of the long serrated dagger that arced for his neck. Short blade. Close-quarters assassin. The one bearing down on him was already bringing his dagger low, wasting no time. James struck the swing aside with the side of his palm, jutting the butt of his other hand at the man’s underside of the chin. Taeros sprang up as the man’s head snapped back, affording him that precious second to coil his arm around the man’s extended hand with the dagger. His feet digging in, he pivoted at the waist, spinning the man in front of him. Two more throwing daggers thudded into the man, one on his upper torso, the other on the nape of his neck. Quite accurate, James noted. He glanced to the second assassin over the shoulder of the man who was now gurgling blood by his ear. But overconfident. Seeing the human shield in between them, the second assassin drew a scimitar from his hip. With a slight pivot of his feet, Jameson flung his arm, sending the three knives nestled within the web of his fingers towards the assassin that was rushing him. The assassin batted two away with his scimitar as he charged forward, though the third one found its mark just below the left collarbone. But that barely slowed him down. James pushed the bloodied human shield between them, the dying man now grasping at his neck in a futile attempt to slow the spurting of his lifeblood. The second assassin sidestepped his partner with nary a glance, his scimitar cutting rain in quick smooth arcs in front of him. Jameson hopped back out of reach of the first swing, sidestepped another, then hopped back away from the third that sought to disembowel him. This one is quicker, he observed, and in the back of his mind he remembered that the beggar still lived; his strikes had not quite broken the trachea. But he could not spare a glance elsewhere -- the scimitar strokes came fast. He turned sideways to dodge two more swings, though one came close enough to leave a tear on his sleeve and draw blood. Jameson backpedalled toward one of the deserted vendor tables. In their hurried escape, the merchants had left their goods strewn about. James grabbed a silver plate from the table, flinging it at his assailant. The man brought up his arm to shield his head from the oncoming objects, his advance slowing as he did so. But by the time his hand lowered, James had a brass candlestick in one hand. He turned his wrist, holding the candlestick upside down, lining up the length of the candlestick against the side of his arm. The assassin with the scimitar advanced again, seeking quick strikes to end the fop. But this time Jameson stepped forward, closing the distance between them. The first swing of the scimitar was parried, metal of the blade scraping loudly against the brass candlestick where it should have sliced into the nobleman’s forearm. A quick and vicious swing of the elbow struck the assassin’s neck; James’ arm then uncoiled to shoot behind the attacker’s neck, grabbing and pushing him downward. James brought his knee up to meet the man’s face, an audible crack telling of shattered nose and broken cheekbone. He brought the metal candlestick down on the back of the man’s skull with a sickening crunch. The assassin's scimitar dropped to the ground with a wet clang and the body fell away. James spotted the beggar five fulms away. But the man was already eyeing the limp body on the ground. He spun and broke into a full sprint out of the bazaar. James yanked the throwing knife that was embedded in the man at his feet, and launched it at the fleeing figure. The beggar had worn no armor as part of his disguise, which left his legs exposed. When the knife pierced his left hamstring, the man fell hard, skidding across wet gravel and mud. Jameson straightened, looking about. Undoubtedly there were eyes behind the closed doors, peering through the cracks in the wood and the windows. But he knew none would speak of it; they all knew better than to talk of these kinds of business dealings. He checked the bleeding wound on his arm, one that was now staining his lovely doublet. Even as he strode the distance between himself and the man struggling on the ground, James gave the building he left a sidelong glance. There was the possibility that any one of his guests within could have sent the assassins. Or that this was a gift from another member of the Syndicate. Or any of the Royalist families. These sorts of treacheries were the norm, hidden--if barely--in the underside of that faceted Jewel that was Ul'dah. The "beggar" was desperately trying to crawl away with one good leg; the other was sliding behind in the wet dirt, useless. The man's eyes widened when the nobleman reached behind him and drew out a small but wicked looking serrated knife. “I suppose this means I am going to be late for my meeting.” Jameson sighed. Then he smiled. "I apologize for what's to come, in advance." Civility was still expected, of course.