Roen

((the following is written with much thanks and collaboration with the player of Jameson Taeros)) The Night Life "Oh Jameson, must you go so soon?" Jameson Taeros curled a charming smile to the Miqo'te dancer who wiggled on his lap. "Alas, beautiful. Business does not wait." He gently uncoiled her pink tail from around his leg, feigning an apologetic frown for the girl's benefit. He had not bothered to learn her name; she and two others served well as a distraction for the guests he entertained that evening at the Golden Bazaar. The transactions went as predicted. He knew his employers would be pleased with the profitable agreements that were made this eve. Gently setting the pouting dancer to the side, he rose and nodded to those still indulging in the company and the fine wine at the table. They mumbled some semblance of thanks as he bid them farewell, and James noted their glazed eyes and flushed faces. This was a good thing; clouded minds became negligent of the details in favor of pleasures after all, and he attributed more than a few successes to lascivious loins. The men paid him no mind as he bowed, for they saw him as a mere subordinate to the heads of the Syndicate. It was his employer they sought to gain favors with, not him. That suited Jameson just fine. He only paused at the door to retrieve his cloak, for the desert skies looked to drench the travelers venturing into the roads that night. Stepping outside, he wrapped the cloak about him. Leaves and fliers were tossed haphazardly throughout the bazaar by the stormy winds. His mind was already going over the meetings that would await him in Ul'dah later that evening; his Monetarist employers had a couple of new hires for his perusal. Alabrous Tane, a man skilled at forgery and obtaining the right papers from the right people for the wrong reasons, definitely could be of use. Tane was grudgingly recommended to him by a Highlander bard named Callae, who had just won the favor of one of his employers with her charms and swaying hips. (As well as her skill with whips; training chocobos was only one of her talents in that regard.) Despite her sordid connections with the Ala Mhigan Resistance--a fact that Jameson discovered when he vetted her--his employer elected to forgive such inconvenient details when given the right incentive. In Callae's case, she provided just the right amount of leg, sass, and smile. James reminded himself to keep a careful eye on her from the moment she was hired. But the bard had already provided something useful. If it wasn't for her, James wondered if Tane would have been considered at all. The man wore his lewd nature upon him like a gaudy piece of jewelry, and his proclivity towards losing large sums of money whilst gambling made him somewhat of a risky investment. Still, knowing the right people could carry a man far in the Jewel, and Tane at least seemed to have that going for him--even if he too had somewhat of a distant past with the Ala Mhigan Resistance. But even more than Callae, Tane seemed eager deny that that part of his past ever existed. Then there was the matter of his other employer. James often thought of her when subjects like the Resistance rose in his mind. But he had not heard from the silver-haired woman in almost a cycle. She had always preferred to keep their connection out of the public eye. He had known the woman since before the Calamity, years ago when she escaped from her home and her family to find a new haven and a new purpose within the Empire. Jameson marveled at how their positions had reversed since that day, that now he answered to her. He no longer saw the darkness in her violet eyes--those short glimpses of the shattered woman she had been beneath the surface. Now all that remained was a cold and calculating scientist, one whose interests lay in manipulating people’s thoughts, their will...their very being. Communication with her had gone silent, as it sometimes tended to, but it had now been over a cycle--the longest span of silence yet. She never did call upon him often, granted, and a part of him preferred it that way. He had his own life and business to conduct, after all, far away from whatever she wanted. Or the Empire. Serving Lolorito and the interest of the Syndicate had given him a new path in life, one that he did not expect when it all began, and now he thrived in this many-faceted role. Would he prefer that she never contact him at all? He had pondered that on nights where he found himself restless. But he did not wonder for too long; there were things to get done, and far too many pieces to move on the board. The Syndicate’s work was never done. The cog of the wheel that turned beneath Ul’dah never stopped for anyone. Drawing the hood over his head, Jameson began to make his way across the courtyard. It was mostly deserted. The rainy gusts would usually have the vendors scrambling to cover their wares with protective canvas, but none were at their stands. Even the chocobo stables were closed. Odd... He narrowed his eyes, spotting a singular figure walking toward him, with a beggar tray in hand. The man had a tattered hood about him, and mumbled something about food and gil. “I have nothing to spare, dear man.” Jameson maintained his casual stance, waving the man off. But his attention never left him. The beggar continued to advance toward him, holding out his bowl. “Just a gil to spare.” As he extended his hand, Jameson noted the empty bowl, but the hand that held it was free of grime and dirt, and his fingernails were well trimmed. Jameson stepped back once as the bowl was thrust toward his chest. The beggar’s other hand had disappeared into the tattered robe, so it was no surprise when it shot back out, jabbing a sharp blade intended for Jameson's abdomen. What he did not expect was two more shadowy figures peeling away from the building behind him.

Honesty. That is what the pirate promised. But thus far he had answered most of her questions vaguely, and had actually turned the questions back onto her. Roen had not realized immediately that she was revealing more about herself rather than finding out anything about Nero, even though the purpose of this luncheon had been for the latter. But Roen held no misgivings for it; a part of her was surprisingly relieved to share some of the details from her past. She also hoped that in sharing something about herself, it would ease his guarded nature somewhat, and perhaps encourage him to open up a little. It was obvious now that sharing anything about his past came with great difficulty for the man. There was a tinge of resentment in his controlled voice and a stiffness to his posture as he avoided her gaze. But where she may have been affronted by his veiled temper and bitterness suns ago, Roen felt a measure of patience about her this day--a sort of serenity--being afforded the smallest of glimpse into the hardships that Nero had suffered early in his life. Having recently discovered a brother who suffered similarly, she knew how it could twist the core of a person. And just like Gharen, Nero did not seem to have encountered much kindness in his life either. “Stuck in twilight…” the pirate sneered, though his voice was quiet. "You are in the position where you can court the ideals of justice and fairness...and yet you still choose to associate with someone like myself. You still choose to condemn what I feel must be done." Roen listened, now trying to glean the truths of the man’s intentions and thoughts as he spoke, rather than trying to formulate a defense, a rebuttal against his accusations. "You feel that you are above the idea of partaking in the darkness, and yet you refuse to fully rejoin the light," Nero continued, his tone distant and cold. “You are stuck between your old life in the Sultansworn and the goals you seek to achieve. You are unwilling to let go of either of them. You do not want to accept that achieving your goals will require sacrificing your virtue. And you do not want to return to a life of law and order because you know you cannot change things." Roen nodded just slightly, in acquiescence. Her voice remained quiet. "If twilight is my path, I will walk it best I can. I can still see the remnants of the day, and prepare for the night." She glanced back to her drink, her finger resting absently next to it. “You are right, perhaps I do not want to let go of either." The paladin drew a breath, leaning in as she tried to draw his gaze yet again. "Perhaps I believe somehow, I can change things, without falling to complete darkness. But my eyes have been opened to the fact that night always comes after the sun sets." She gave him a small smile. “And yet so does the sun rise again, giving us hope anew. I owe allegiance to two lands who would fight each other to the death if given the chance. I hope for their peace. Some may call me foolish. Or even a dreamer." When Nero said nothing in return, only regarding her from the corner of his eyes, Roen continued, emboldened. “You are here, talking to me. Because you do need me. After you have burnt everything to ash, you rely on the goodness of people to rebuild. Even if you hold no hope for yourself, you have to have others with hope, to see your dream come to life." She nodded, peering at him intently as she canted her head. “I can help you in that.” "Perhaps it was fate that we be brought together," Nero mused after a long silence. Roen exhaled, a sense of relief washing over. Perhaps he and she can start anew. She now somewhat understood where his rage came from, and despite his barbed and often cruel remarks, his actions were driven by altruistic motives. "Appropriate,” the pirate said to himself as he pulled the linkpearl out of his ear and placed it on the table. He turned to face her after what felt like years. "An alliance between us…will not work." Roen stiffened, her eyes widening with disbelief as his words echoed off the stone ceiling above. "I have no use for those who cannot make the hard choices." The pirate said in a distant tone. "Protect the people. Provide for them. Guard them from the wolves at the gates." He rose from his seat, leaving a stack of gil on the table. The paladin sat stalk still, confusion turning her limbs and tongue leaden. She could not formulate a response. Her brows slowly furrowed into a frown. "As for me..." The smirking pirate facade returned. "Well, I suppose I'll have to find a way to get Satz out of prison. He's probably queasy as all hells right now. Poor bastard." His expression did not waver. "I hope the view here in the twilight lets you see the fireworks. I can assure you they'll look nice.” He tapped his fingers twice on the table. “Thank you for humouring my little lunch date. It was…interesting." With a parting ironic smile, he nodded her way once then left, leaving Roen stunned in silence.

That is GORGEOUS!! :love::love::love:

HAHAHA! I didn't see this until now! Welcome to RPC! :lol:

HEY! She's trying to be less stuffy! The Weaver's Guild swore up and down that's the fashion!! ... You know, Osric DID keep leaning IN...

I... copied a few emotes while talking to a friend and then cracked myself up. My friend, who did not play the game, thought I was nuts. >_>

OH MY GOODNESS you actually have a hedgehog. SO CUTE!!! Umm wow! A lot of acts there. I expected curtains opening and such each one. I am sorry to hear about your father! I am glad you have your hedgehogs. Well for your struggle: 1) BALMUNG! (I am totally biased though since I play on Balmung and I think the community is wonderful. And! LOTS of RP. Easily found.) Gilgamesh is lovely too from what I hear, but smaller more intimate community. 2) Here are some naming convention lore for you. http://forum.square-enix.com/ffxiv/forums/491-Lore And a name generator (I use this to make quick NPC names): http://fandango.exp.jp/name-generator.php 3) I came to Balmung and knew no one. I just uh... hung out at the Quicksand, AND I also sent PMs to people I saw on these boards to pitch them RP ideas. Everyone was very friendly and open to newcomers. 4) I have no idea about RAF. Edit: OH Refer a Friend! HAHA. Um. Yes what Melkire said above. Good luck out there! And if you come to Balmung, feel free to say hello! :thumbsup: (and way faster typers beat me to it with much more helpful info)

YAY!!! I am tired of eliminating all the jewelry, ESPECIALLY those darn collar like looking necklaces. Roen hates them. I second the invisible gloves. I would love those too.

Joan Jett of Eorzea. Oooh that alone makes me curious. I love Joan Jett. Some Dirty Deeds please.

In an Anberlin mood this morning! Adding ONE more since then I went to Grace Potter for some pick me up energy: (I love Grace Potter and can't believe I haven't linked her here before...)

[2] MUAHAHAHAHA [2] YOU ARE NUTS [2] I am, in fact, a sentient almond that controls a keyboard telepathically. [2] Sentient almo-- [2] WHERE DO YOU COME UP WITH THIS STUFF [2] I'm actually just cheating. I look at Verad's answers during the exams. [2] Also, being a nut is expensive. It costs an almond a leg. [2] HEH. HEHEH. [2] I'll show myself out. [2] OUT [2] GET OUT

Because you really deserve some. Nero. Dammit man, where did you come from? Plotting, writing, and RPing with you, you've blown me away so far. And I know plenty of fantastic players/writers! You are kind of awesome. Kudos to you.

...Heh! I was so prepared for the conversation to turn her way too. BOY was she relieved when it didn't! () ... And yes. Bad Osric.

I agree with the suggestions here from Aya, Warren, and Askier. And yes! Getting involved in Askier's plots are great ways to meet other players and make connections! I know (as Osric pointed out) even a few romances have bloomed/been accelerated through that. (Osric you totally did not mention Itar and Delial. That happened through the bomb plot! Kind of. Although... it ended badly... >_> )

>_>

Hey, where's Roen's entry anyway? Uuuh, I would never enter Roen for any "Hottie" anything? I know it's not IC. But she was never meant to be "hot" character.

Aw DAMN Berrod.

Honesty. That is what Nero Lazarov promised her, after inviting her for lunch at the airship bar. Their exchange at Lost Hope two suns before, had left things awkward and strained between them. Even when she had brought Ser Crofte for a brief meeting with the smuggler a day later, the tension had remained thick. The conversation between the pirate and the Sultansworn was cordial, and somewhat evasive at best, and it ended with a vague understanding where each other stood. Roen was not even sure where she stood with the pirate anymore. So many angry words were exchanged between them at Lost Hope, and that conversation ended with a very dark glimpse of his past. But when the paladin joined him at the bar at his request, she found the smuggler wearing his usual smirk, his facetious persona back in place. But then he said the words that she did not expect to hear. “You have questions, and I promise honest answers. Whether you choose to believe them is up to you.” His tone sounded candid, his gaze direct. Roen stared at the man that sat across the table from her, long and hard. There were too many questions; she was not sure where to begin. “You were raised here. In Ul’dah. Aye?” Nero nodded, setting down the steel cup in his hand. "The word 'raised' implies the presence of parental figures, of which there were none. But my first memories are of Ul'dah, yes." “What happened to them? Your parents?" The paladin canted her head. "Never knew them. Never cared to find out. Parents were like gil to me: something other people had that I didn't. Would it be that I were born in a more prosperous location in Eorzea, or Garlemald, but we cannot begrudge the circumstances of our birth." Roen noted that he spoke of Garlemald yet again. The name Nero was common in the Empire. When she had assumed in previous conversations that he was from Garlemald as she had been, he had never corrected her. But from the details that he had shared unwittingly of his past, she had come to suspect otherwise. His home was Ul’dah, the City-State that owned his soul. "...So. You are not of Garlemald." Nero curled the corner of his lip wryly. "I am loath to sever that connection of kinship between us, but no. I did not have the fortune to be raised in the Empire." His admission did not come as a surprise, even though a part of her wanted to take umbrage in the fact that he misled her all along, perhaps to gain her confidence. Roen set that annoyance aside."But your name. Did you choose it? Or was it given to you?" The smuggler shrugged, raising an eyebrow. "What does it matter? What is a name? A name is a label, used for the sake of convenience. You can say that it was given to me, in a manner of speaking." “But you were given an Imperial name.". "And why does the presence of an Imperial influence intrigue you so, Miss Deneith?" He cocked his head. "You yourself are not Garlean, unless your hair hides your third eye very well." Roen leaned back, crossing her arms. "I have ties to the Empire." She reflexively looked around and lowered her voice. Exonerated for not, advertising one’s Imperial past was not a wise thing to do. "I was raised there. But born in Ala Mhigo." "And yet, your attitude implies that you felt connected to the idea that I was raised in the Empire. But you are here, in Eorzea, serving the Eorzean city states." He seemed amused and curious at the same time, studying her from across the table. "What if I were truly raised in the Empire? What if I desired the subjugation of your cities and peoples? Would you still have felt some manner of kinship if that were the case?" "If that were the case, you would be behind bars," she said matter-of-factly and without hesitation. "We would not be conversing across a dinner table." "A pragmatic answer." Nero waved a hand mildly. "Odd, then, how the Eorzeans resist subjugation out of...what? A desire for autonomy, perhaps? Yet for all intents and purposes, the citizens of the Empire seem to enjoy some manner of comfort and respect. Odd how such things are so foreign on the home front, as it were." "Aye. The Empire enforces Order. They need not worry about Primals and all things made of twisted aether." Roen exhaled, her voice lowering. "Most of my life, I considered it my home, and worth defending." "And what changed?" A long silence fell between them before she answered; her mind was hesitant to recall that horrific day, when her life changed forever. “Dalamud fell," she whispered, her expression falling with shame. "I...did not know anyone could be capable of such horrors." "And so the actions of the Legatus condemned the entire nation in your eyes. Damned all of its citizens to be thought of as nothing more than evil, the soldiers little more than pawns to be slain on the battlefield?" Roen quickly narrowed her eyes. "Trying to bring order to chaos, to wield the power needed to defeat the mad Primals...I never opposed those things. But to unleash something that would indiscriminately destroy all things in its path..." The paladin shook her head. "I could not condone that." She paused before she uncrossed her arms and leaned forward. "But that does not mean I condemn the entire nation." Nero was watching her oddly as she spoke, but saying nothing for now. Roen shook her head. "I was one of those soldiers, Mister Lazarov. I snuck onto the battlefield at Carteneau. I would never see any of them as pawns to be slain." She inhaled; the horrors the Calamity had passed long ago from her mind, but even the faintest ghosts of those memories darkened her mood. “I would not ever support efforts to invade or kill citizens of my homeland. Aye, I still consider it my home. I was raised there. My childhood memories--happy memories--are of the Empire." The paladin drew a long breath, a new calm settling her thoughts. “But Eorzea... Eorzea is my second home." "I envy your perspective,” Nero said wryly. “How gratifying it must be…to have not one, but two places in which you feel you can belong." He snorted. "I would have dropped Dalamud as well, if it meant having something like that." Roen frowned, but saw the joviality draining from his face as he glanced away. "I am not sure I belong either place now." She offered quietly. “I still cannot talk about my home to most people here. And the Empire may call me a traitor." “And yet from your words, you are still willing to defend both, despite those odds." "Aye, I hold loyalty to both." The paladin nodded. She was not sure if it was wise to confess these things, especially to a man she’d only known for such a short time. Roen had never been comfortable discussing her divided loyalties between the Empire and Eorzea. She had never willingly brought it up to those who had been closest to her: her brother who remembered losing their parents to the Garleans, and all her paladin mentors that had fought against and shed Garlean blood. And yet, now she found her confessions came easily to her lips in front of this smuggler. "There are good people on both sides, Mister Lazarov. People worth defending." “Each side see the other as monsters, or primitives." Roen shook her head. "They are just...people." "Just people..." Nero offered a bitter grin for her efforts. "I suppose that is the way it must look." He fell to silence again, looking to his cup as he sloshed the liquid within it to and fro. Roen took up her own glass of sweet water, taking a sip. "Most people are. Most people just want to live their lives in peace. With a bit of happiness." "Most people..." the smuggler echoed her words softly. "You'll excuse me if I have trouble believing that sentiment." The paladin could sense his doubt, a hint of smoldering bitterness that he was keeping in check. "You called my view of the world askewed. I say the same for you." Her voice held no accusation or contempt as it would have suns ago. Rather, threads of empathy entwined itself into her words. "You saw what many do not. Or many refuse to see. But I think you also do not see outside of that darkness." Roen leaned back on her chair again, her finger absently rubbing at the edge of the table. “After I ran away from Carteneau..." she paused, and peered back up at him. "Aye, I ran away." She allowed a moment to let that sink in, her confession echoing in her own ears, before she continued. “I was taken in by a traveling merchant family. They took me in. For five years, no questions asked. Just...kindness offered." Her voice grew soft in recollection, wistful. "Their happiness lay in having made enough gil at the markets to lay meat on the table. Or to have a good harvest of what little crops they planted." The paladin lifted her gaze back to Nero. "When I say people, I think of them. And many like them." Nero said nothing in response. He propped his arm against the table and leaned his head on it, staring at the wall to his right. "When I joined the Order, I did it to protect people like them." Roen's words were softly spoken. She picked up her drink again, eyeing the clear liquid within. "I took their last name, because I saw them as my second family." She paused, her glass held in front of her. “You feel the need to fix Ul’dah for the suffering you have witnessed. I too see that need. But I also see the rest of the people, who only want to lead simple lives in peace. I need to protect them too.”

I dunno! I wouldn't say that after last night!

Having been raised in Garlemald most of her life, Roen does not believe in the Twelve. But since living for the past five years amongst those who seem to derive great strength and comfort from these gods, she is starting to reconsider her point of view. Or at least, she is learning to respect the religion. She cannot deny that prayer does seem to lend those in need strength and faith, and would never speak negatively about the Twelve or deny their existance to those who believe in them.

Roen stared at the knife. The steel edge of it gleamed, and she could see her warped reflection smeared along its metal shaft. Cruel. Brutal. Evil. These are the things he desired to become. Nero's gaze had turned hard as he spoke of the extreme lengths that he would go to achieve his goals. The fire that burned in his eyes, it was for Ul’dah, it was for the better future; it held fury for the suffering that pervaded like an epidemic amongst the poor. But when he spoke of his own life--the life that would be consumed and eventually lost in the end--there was nothing but restrained apathy, a scripted acceptance to his fate. To become evil. To die in a blazing conflagration that destroyed all else in its wake...these were the things that Nero said he wanted. The smuggler has said these words to her more than once now. Just as she had echoed her own beliefs of justice to only see it fall on deaf ears, was she doing the same? Was she refusing to see the end path he was committed to carving for himself? Was she, as he said, trying to save him whether he wanted it or not? Were taking on such causes her way of validating her existence? The fact that she survived when so many had perished in the madness that was Dalamud? Nero’s spiteful words were meant to crack her resolve. But Roen could not help but see a glimpse of truth in them. Did she not choose the path of the Order to atone for the sins of her homeland upon the people of Eorzea? She rarely even acknowledged to herself the deeply seated guilt in her heart when it came to her father and his hand in the Calamity, and her own inability to save him. Was she trying to save Nero now? Contorted grey eyes stared back at her, mirrored on the metal blade. Sorrow, loss, and suffering, they perverted the heart and mind of the person they infected, much like her own reflection twisted on steel made to cut flesh. Nero had shown compassion, patience, and generosity to those less unfortunate than he. It was what drew her to his cause in the first place. And it was that very benevolence that then sparked and fed his fury in witnessing their suffering. So how can a man hold both kindness and sorrow alongside such willingness for atrocity? Was deadening his heart his way of reconciling the two opposing forces that must have waged war within him? Roen could not help but see the similarities drawn between her and the smuggler. For the pirate, his compassion had stepped aside to allow wrath to dictate his course, his life. However, in the struggle between them there had been no victor yet. There was still a chance. Still hope. Perhaps this time she could save him. And he would not cause needless deaths. “Why..?” the paladin rasped, her eyes still fixed on the knife. She made no move to take it. “Why does Ul’dah own you so?” Roen peered back up at the smuggler, searching his eyes. “Why do you desire such horrible things? Why are you driven down this path? Why do you see such a violent end, and nothing else?” "Does it matter, why?” He lowered his hand along with the blade. His voice had turned cold again, distant. “Why does fire burn? Why does your body draw breath? Why does rain fall from the sky?" He shook his head. "These things know no other way to exist. These things are defined by these actions. Without Ul'dah, I am nothing. Without my belief that I can change it, I am truly broken." The paladin exhaled. “Fire burns. Rain falls. We breathe. Such thing are ordained by nature. Even hoping for a better future, we are born with these instincts.” She leveled her gaze at him, slowly shaking her head. “To desire to destroy one’s own heart, to throw away their lives to darkness so that others may find peace… that is not a natural thing. That is a conscious choice we make. Perhaps when we see no other choice left to us.” “Is it not? Is this not the natural order?” Nero arched a brow at her, unconvinced. "You were furious with me because you thought of me as a wanton killer who took joy in suffering. Tell me, where in my actions did you receive that idea? Did I torture my victims? Did I force agony upon them? Did I want them to know the futility of their own deaths? Did I want them to forever recognise life's fleeting mercy?" Roen bowed her head with a sigh. The bitterness and doubt had ebbed away, leaving only grim resignation. “I thought I saw gleeful satisfaction in you, as you took their lives.” She shook her head. “Now I know it was not malice. Not truly. But you also hold no remorse either.” There was still disappointment in her tone; it still leadened her words. “You are…who you say you are. I see that now.” The smuggler’s ice-blue gaze narrowed. "Is that not natural, to take joy in vengeance? In the bandits, I saw the ones who beat me, who forced me to fight the bottoms of their boots for a scrap of food. In the Brass Blade, I saw the ones who stood by and did nothing, who watched children knife each other for their amusement." "I took pleasure in exercising my power, in knowing that with their deaths, mayhaps some like me may find some relief on the morrow." His lips curled in a cruel way. "I found it amusing, that those who would force such desperation and depravity on others would themselves scrabble so desperately for their miserable lives." The paladin blinked, her eyes widening slightly. "I...I did not know," she murmured, pity leaking into her tone. He had never spoke of his past. She had an inkling of some of the darkness he may have witnessed, he spoke too vividly of the hardships that the refugees faced for her to think otherwise. But he had never spoken of his own past. Until now. Nero frowned, rejecting her sympathy. "You are still arrogant. You still believe that above all else, you know what is right and wrong. And you think you can impose that on someone without knowing anything about them or their experiences." He crossed his arms. "I take joy in destroying monsters, for if I destroy all of them, then no one will be forced to stain their hands with blood like I have." "You are right." Roen said quietly. "I know nothing about you. Or what you suffered." Her tone had turned to that of regret and contemplation. "I...I did not know." Nero looked to her long and hard. "Let me tell you a story, then, Miss Deneith."

AWAY WITH YOU SINNER! It does not break my immersion, I can ignore the names floating above the character's head easily enough. But I do need to see a different look, else it would be a struggle. I roleplayed with your Doctor more than once, not once did I think that it was Askier. You dressed him up differently, the mask and such, immersion was easy. For myself though, I leveled up alts. (one still has yet to finish the story though... >.> ) Because each character is completely unique for me. Roen is completely different from Raelisanne even though they are both Midlanders, and Brynn is a Highlander to boot. I might be the lesser RPer for this, but I need my own characters to fit how I picture them in my mind, and for that I would have to fantasia them completely every time.

The ride from the Nanawa Mines to the refugee camps at Lost Hope was quiet and uneventful. Both the paladin and the smuggler did their best to keep a low profile as they left; Roen saw in the distance a crowd starting to gather near the dead Brass Blade. Roen did not see neither Louvel nor Raffe, but she knew it was inevitable that they would be called to the scene. With such clear evidence of violence at the entrance of the mines, even if it pointed to an armed assault involving blades and thaumaturgy, would they think to suspect her involvement? Only time would tell. Roen knew there were risks when she had gotten involved in this--in all of this. Nero had remained silent as well. He was busy checking on some crates loaded behind them, while she steered the chocobo up front. As the smuggler was hidden within the canvas of the wagon, as far as any onlookers were concerned, Roen had come and gone by herself. When they entered the refugee camps, none cared about their arrival. The sick and the poor could not see beyond their own suffering, their gaze downcast, their spirits nigh broken. Roen and Nero guided the wagon to the caves towards the back, where the smuggler could finally slip out unseen. It was only after they had unloaded the supplies that Nero broke the heavy silence between them. "Alright. Go for it. Lecture away. I'm a brutal monster who kills out of fun, blah blah." He waved into the air vaguely as he sauntered over to the crates to inspect them. "I can see the look on your face. You look like I just kicked your mother." Roen felt her smoldering resentment flare back to life at his blatant nonchalance. “Are you? Someone who kills out of fun?” "Killing is an inexorable part of the life I lead.” The smuggler shrugged. “I can either choose to hate myself for it, or I can choose to accept its presence and take some manner of relief in the act." He paused in his task to shoot her a glance. "I don't necessarily relish it, but that doesn't mean I can't find some satisfaction in the adrenaline rush from a fight." "So that is what you are doing.” Roen tried her best to hide the contempt in her voice. "When you joke about limbs flying off." She felt that indignation starting to build again, even though earlier she had resolved to set her disappointment aside. "I do not condemn you for killing. The bandits had their weapons drawn. I saw that. But..." "But what? I dashed your expectations? Even though I told you I would murder and steal, that somehow surprised you?" Nero snorted derisively. "You stuck your head in the mouth of a drake and didn't expect it to bite. Quite frankly, you're a ridiculous woman, Roen Deneith." Her eyes narrowed. Aye. Ridiculous for thinking you were someone else. I know differently now. Roen wanted to say it aloud. It would have been easier to just dismiss him for what he was. A killer. But… There was a part of her that still did not want to believe it. "And you are cruel and brutal, with a mean streak in you that enjoys the power you wield.” She retorted. "Do you not think that those you hate so much feel exactly the same thing when they wield their power over those you claim to protect?" "Yes, because kicking in the ribs of a defenseless beggar is a perfect analogy for killing armed and armored thugs who murder and steal.” Nero Lazarov rolled his eyes. “Thoroughly trapped by your logic, I am." His tone was acidic and mocking, and did not relent in his disdain. "The bandit saw my face, and I would rather he didn't. I suppose you suggest we take the injured bastard with us? Tie him up with rope we don't have? Make him stand trial? Or, I could end his suffering quickly and painlessly and remove a problem. It is unfortunate that he had to die, perhaps, but it is what it is." His argument was brutal yet logical. But she did not want to relinquish that. "Is there to be no trial at all? Throughout what we do here? Does death await everyone?” There was coldness in Nero’s narrowed eyes, even if his lips still entertained his ever-present smirk. "Well, yes, actually, unless you're friends with a Primal or know of someone who's discovered immortality. The joke, Roen, is that we all have the same punchline. We're all headed to the same destination. Some of us just take longer to get there than others." He sighed, with a shake of his head, his cheery mask failing. "Is there a point to this indignant tirade of yours? There are hungry refugees. Some of them can't even leave their tents. We should distribute these while we can." Her brow twitched, despite her forced calm. "You told me you would not begrudge justice, if it prevailed. But I wonder if you truly meant that." Nero clapped his hands as he rifled through the crates. "So it is a trial you wanted! Why did you even bother listening to me then, if all you were going to do was complain about us breaking the law? I found your idealism endearing before, if a bit tiresome, but now you're just going in circles." Roen stepped towards the crates, needing to do something other than to dig her nails into her palm. He was not listening to her. He just wanted to shove her ideals aside. "And I thought your goal, your desire to help Ul'dah to be worth whatever we may face." She began to roughly pry one open, perhaps more forcibly than needed. "But if we start to enjoy the violence, it would bring more bloodshed and sorrow than good." "I kill some bandits, and now you have doubts? What would you rather I do? Hug them and hope it works out?" "I was never foolish enough to think there would be no violence." "Except, from this little episode you're giving me, you apparently did." "No." She said the word firmly, her eyes narrowing on him. "The dead bandits... if that had to happen, then it had to happen. What surprised me was your absolute glee in it." "It had been a while since I'd been in a fight.” The smuggler shrugged. “I enjoyed the adrenaline. I did not torture those bandits. I did not take delight in their cruelty. I ended them as swiftly and as practically as I could. The fact that I may have taken some joy in exercising my power really does not matter." He placed his palms flat on the top of the crate, regarding her with a mocking arch of his brow. “You would rather I hate myself, then? You would rather I offer a prayer to the Twelve, asking for forgiveness as I take their lives?" "Stop...twisting my words!” Roen shot back. “You are just turning them into something foolish to mock me!" The pirate’s tone grew more derisive and vitriolic. "Maybe I should have let them live? And when a broken caravan is set upon by them and their fellows, the mother taken screaming into the night, the child's legs broken, the father murdered, I should have said 'At least I didn't kill them'...? Perhaps I should have said, 'But it will correct itself, for justice exists!' Perhaps I should have said 'They may be exploitative and evil and ruthless, but I should be glad that I am doing nothing to stop them!'" He glared at her, his voice dripping with contempt. "No, Miss Deneith, your world view is not skewed at all. Certainly not." Hypocrite, she wanted to call him--he who saw nothing but darkness and cruelty in the world. A rush of names, arguments, and protests flooded her mind then, but Roen held her tongue. It was all she could do to stay her hand and not slap the smug smirk off his face. The gulf between their ideals was never more clear to her than now. They were arguing across a chasm and neither wanted to meet in the middle. "Why did you even ask me?" Roen asked finally, her expression turning weary. "Am I just here... for you to feel better about your plans? That really, nothing else works? Because you can see how foolish I have become in this." She looked to him with indignant eyes. "Am I just a gauge you? To justify things that you do? Since nothing I believe or I hope to accomplish even belongs in this world?" Nero answered with a cool glare of his own. "I am not the one you should be asking that question of, Roen. And perhaps I shall ask you a question of my own." He crossed his arms. "What of me? Am I simply here for you to feed your ego? To be the evil soul turned back to the light by the shining faith of Roen Deneith, the former Sultansworn?" His eyes narrowed. "Did you really want to 'save' me, or did you just want me to be grateful to you?" She felt her face getting hotter by the moment. And Nero would not stop. "Did you really believe in what I believed in, or do you simply seek Ul'dah's betterment because you felt that such a righteous and noble vision justified your existence?" A hard slap across his cheek turned the smuggler’s head. Roen blinked, staring eyes wide at her hand that stung with the blow delivered. Her fingers trembled, her stomach roiled. "And the cat reveals her claws. Took you long enough." That smirk returned. It always did. "You do not know me." Roen seethed. She was shaking. "Do not presume to know anything about me." "Funny," Nero said wryly. "I was about to say the exact same thing." The paladin lowered her gaze, turning again towards the crates. She had to busy her hands with something, anything. Her movements were rushed, almost distraught as she began to set aside blankets and food. She cursed that his words had pierced her so. "You are fortunate,” the smuggler said quietly, his tone turning bittersweet. “Fortunate enough be stuck in the twilight. You can still choose to go back to your righteousness, your justice. Rejoin the Sultansworn. Hunt down those who would threaten the status quo. Know that for every action you take, you further the Monetarist's hold in Ul'dah, for the Sultana holds no power." "Or you can prove me wrong.” Nero said after a pause, his voice no longer dripping with venom. “Change Ul'dah from within. Change Ul'dah with the law on your side. Rub my face in the fact that I had drowned myself in darkness for no reason." Roen stared at her hands as she closed her fingers, her knuckles paling with the firm grip. "I will prove you wrong." Her voice was hoarse. "And I look forward to the day you do." His voice held a hint of regret. His glance diverted towards the refugee camp, toward the malnourished, sickly, shivering with the cold, their eyes dull and flat without hope for the future. "I took pleasure in the fact that I slew the bandits, yes. I knew that because if I did, some refugees would be spared. A merchant might return to the city with his goods intact. I knew, when I took their lives, that removing evil did not mean the same as creating good…but it did mean creating the opportunity for goodness to flourish." The smuggler turned his gaze back to her. "I knew that when I destroyed that Brass Blade, that perhaps some poor souls might be able to eat tonight because of these supplies. That they may no longer fear the night's chill with these clothes." He exhaled. "What I took joy in was not taking their lives, but in knowing why I took their lives." Those words could have set her doubts aside, had they been offered earlier. But now, Roen found herself just trying to calm her temper. His words, belittling or not...some of them had struck home. "Why do you fight, Roen? What do you consider worth killing for? At what point will you commit evil to destroy it? Or will you spend your whole life in the twilight, surrendering to injustice after injustice, paralyzed by the power you wield to change things?" "I do not believe that. I do not believe I have to compromise justice to fight injustice." Her words rang hollow to her own ears. Her belief had not wavered, but the fire that burned in those same words before had dimmed, perhaps with reluctance. She was realizing that despite how many times she said it, he was not hearing her at all. He did not want to. "As you said. You will do things your way." She let out a long sigh, but held his gaze. "And I will do things my way." The look Nero gave her held naught but sorrow. "And there it is. I pity the events you will have to endure, Miss Deneith. I will not relish the day you understand why I act the way I do." He paused, before he added quietly, "Mayhaps you shall be stronger than I, when that day comes."

It took all she had to hold her tongue. Roen spun around from the scene and strode quickly back down the scaffolding. It was not so much the deaths of the bandits that bothered her; if violence did break out, the paladin knew there was a chance for lives being lost. Bandits rarely relinquished what they saw as theirs, and most were perfectly willing to run anyone through who stood in their way. She herself had fought, and in rare cases killed, thieves and bandits who did not accept her call for surrender. So killing in self-defense--or in the heat of battle--was not something she would condemn anyone for. If Nero had no choice but to attack the Brass Blades, then she would have accepted that decision. But when she heard him joking--joking--about blowing people’s legs off, Roen could not help but doubt that killing was his last resort. She had seen the pirate snap a helpless man’s neck from behind. She would never call that self defense. It was pure brutality. Did she know this man at all? Did she agree to ally herself with a gleeful killer? By the time the paladin reached the stables to rent a chocobo, some of her rage had given way to forced scrutiny in an attempt to reassess her anger. From the beginning, the smuggler had warned her, confessed to her, that he was a criminal, that killing was not something he would shy away from. So why was she so shocked? Why was she so disappointed when he acted just as he said he would? Was it Nero’s fault that she made the mistake of believing him to be a better man? Why should Roen be surprised that a pirate killed? Pirates' lives were rife with stories of violent raids, murders, and thievery--all known (and oft beloved) by even the youngest children of Limsa Lominsa. And today, Nero showed that he was no different. Why did that bother her so? Was this burning resentment aimed at him, or at herself for being so wrong? The paladin mounted the wagon hitch to the chocobo’s harness, her fingers making quick work of the buckles and the bindings. As she hopped into the seat to spur on the bird, she could see some of the miners starting to point; they had spotted the body at the bottom of the scaffolds. She saw one of them hurrying off toward the large building, likely to seek out the other two Brass Blades. With a cluck of her tongue, Roen hastened the chocobo, ascending the hill leading up to the mines. If they were to have any hope in getting the supplies out of the mines without trouble, things had to move quickly. Even as her stomach twisted with apprehension, Roen thrust the doubts aside for what had to be done. They needed to get the supplies to the refugees first, else all this trouble would have been for naught. Only then, could she look at Nero once more; only then, once her mind was clear of it, could she judge whether or not this alliance was something she could stomach. Only yesterday was she convinced of the man’s good heart. That was when she told herself she would set all things vexing about him aside--because they shared the same dream. Only now... Now she was starting to see that his dream, and perhaps his reality, was not merely filled with blood and violence. His life was not mere happenstance; Nero Lazarov was a willing, or perhaps even eager participant in the shaping of it. As the wagon pulled up to the mouth of the cave, the paladin regarded the smuggler with much of her outrage having subsided. The look she gave him was somber, even though she tried to hide the doubt that threatened to shake her resolve. Without a word, Roen hopped off the wagon, hurrying toward the boxes. This was not the time for the deliberation of misgivings. She only gave Nero a passing glance before beginning the task of lifting the crates onto the wagon.

For a second I really had the thinking of Roen bringing Nero as a "junk exchange" I should join in on this because it seems very interesting. .... I meant MY character! Which one of my characters I will bring!