Roen

I will show! ... with... someone. And something. *has no idea yet what and who or why*

Not if Nat has anything to say about it!!

I hope all things work out, Zhavi! This just means I have more time to procrastinate think about some things I was going to approach you about. Take your time and we hope to see you back soon!

“You are naive.” Those were the words Nero had said to her, that first day when they had met. “Your idealism will hamper you.” He had met her eyes squarely. “Sooner or later, you will be forced into a position where you must discard justice. Where you must discard righteousness. Justice is an idea. It works in a world of ideas…but not in our world.” "Your world, Mister Lazarov. I hope to see more light in mine." Roen had refused to accept his broken principles. “I commit injustice. I commit my evils, I break the law, for the sake of correcting that which the law itself cannot repair.” His icy-blue gaze had been sharp, gleaming with ambition. She remembered it well. “You speak of giving Ul’dah hope. I would be one of those who grant it hope. But I will do so my way.” Even back then, Roen had seen the ruthlessness in his eyes, the darkness that lay beneath the surface. And yet… She believed there was something more. She refused to believe that she saw only what she wanted to see. “Should the Twelve deem it so, I will take all of that city’s evils and mirror them," Nero had spat back at her. "I will become what that city had always intended for me to be.” Nero clenched his fists, so driven was he in his conviction. Then he turned to her, his intensity seemingly dissolving, if just for a moment. “But I need not be alone in this dream, Miss…Roen.” He said quietly as he extended his gloved hand to her. “I will accept your aid, and I will grant you mine. Though we may not agree on the how...we can at least agree on what must be done.” Two breaths passed between them, before the paladin took his hand. “I will help you achieve this dream, for the Jewel's sake," she had said to him, and she looked straight into his eyes. "But I will not help you spill blood.” “And I would not have you do such,” Nero replied sternly with a nod. He released her hand after that long moment. It was just before he departed that he shared one more thing. “I may not believe in your justice, Roen…but I would not begrudge seeing it as the victor.” Roen had believed him then. She had also believed in herself, that she was right about the man beneath the mask. The smuggler was ambitious--perhaps even consumed by his need to achieve the ends he sought at all cost. And the only way he knew how to reach those goals was through violence. But she believed that there was a side to him that hoped for another way--a side that wanted another way. “...What if I prove you wrong?” The paladin felt the blood drain from her face as she stared at the lifeless body on the ground. The man was a bandit--that much Roen could gather from his armor and the sword that lay near him--but he had been incapacitated. He was helpless when Nero slammed him back to the ground and snapped the back of his neck. The smuggler had done it without any hesitation. His demeanor, his expression--they exuded arrogance, with even a touch of disdain. Roen stared at the pirate, appalled, as if seeing him for the first time. "So I take it everything went well then," Nero even gave her his usual smirk when he saw her. No words would come from her lips, at least not readily. Roen shook her head slightly as her eyes roamed over the rest of the bodies near the entrance to the mine. Another man lay twitching nearby--a Roegadyn, his armor also showing scorch marks. Purple electricity sparked sporadically from his chainmail, sending the man into short bouts of convulsions. She also spotted a motionless Miqo’te some distance away, shards of glassy ice protruding from her feline, armored form. The third body lay near where Roen stood, lifeless; a crimson pool of blood quickly grew from where his neck had been cut. Roen's nostrils flared as she finally glanced back to the cliff where she had seen the Brass Blade fall to his death after being burnt by a fireball. “I will not help you spill blood.” Her own words echoed again from her memory. Roen shot Nero a dark look, words of righteous anger burning on the tip of her tongue. But a passing call from down below cut through her heated thoughts. Roen went quickly to the edge; miners were milling about down below, drawn by the sound of the fireball's detonation. It was only a matter of time. Wrinkling her nose with obvious displeasure, Roen went to the smuggler and the collection of boxes there. “I had taken care of the other two Brass Blades, but the third that you burnt and sent over the cliff is drawing more attention than any other ever could,” the paladin said in a biting tone. “And these bodies…” Her eyes flitted about the scene of violence. “Once they are discovered, more Brass Blades, or even the Immortal Flames will be called upon.” She gestured to the pile of boxes he was standing over with a flick of her head. “Are those the supplies for the refugees?” The paladin shot him a glare that would brook no argument. “Because we need to go. Now.”

Roen shook her hand to loosen her fingers as she trotted toward the base of the scaffolding leading up to the mines. Her knuckles still throbbed after the bare-handed blows she'd delivered against poor Raffe’s face. The Brass Blade had approached her unprepared, somehow not expecting much resistance. His swing was clumsy; she ducked away from it easily and answered with two quick jabs to his face. Even now the memory of the aghast expression that twisted his visage brought a small but satisfied smile to the paladin’s lips. Raffe’s complexion turned ruddier by the moment as he became angry, which in turn only made his movements rushed and lacking in precision. That had been her first real hand-to-hand combat against an opponent that intended her harm, and the fact that she defeated him energized her and quickened her steps up the stairs. Roen was not foolish enough to think Raffe had been a difficult opponent; his balance was questionable and his swings were clumsy. He was likely a much more formidable foe with sword and shield in hand. Roen could not dismiss the twisted irony that there was something positive she had gained from her unfortunate encounter with both Stank and Captain Anduron, and even Itarliht. They exposed her weaknesses, tested her fortitude. Roen had come out stronger for it. “Run, cheat, or die. You chose to endure.” Roen left the two Brass Blades on their own to sort things out; neither seemed willing to object any longer to her taking the wagon. Roen even offered to heal Louvel's finger after she returned with the wagon. He grudgingly grunted and nodded in answer. Nero had mouthed to her mines, which meant that whatever he was looking for was not in the building. The third Brass Blade was still unaccounted for, and unless he was in the building, Roen assumed the final guard would be with the supplies at the mines. She counted themselves fortunate so far to have kept things quiet, so all they needed to do was to find the goods and-- A sound of an explosion broke Roen from her reverie as she rounded a turn on the scaffolding stairs. Was that…a fireball? She started to hear the echoes of yells from above. Someone is raising an alarm. Her eyes wide, the paladin began to sprint up the stairs, taking two steps up at a time. Nero had gone up by himself, and if someone was wielding thaumaturgy up there… Roen doubted the smuggler would be dodging fireballs, no matter how quick and agile he seemed during their short spar. She shut out the remainder of grim possibilities from her mind as she rounded the last turn, heading up the final steps to the top. That was when she heard the scream. Her pace slowed on the last few wooden steps as she watched a Brass Blade sail off the cliff, thrown by another fiery explosion. The scorched head and the smoking chainmail, the dismembered leg spiralling through the air...the paladin did not question whether the man was going to live as he plummeted down. Her eyes then turned to the only man up top that was still standing, his back to her. Nero had bodies scattered about him; a silver scepter held in his hand still wafted wisps of spent aether into the grey sky.

Fun fact: both of Askier's previous events caused, accelerated, or otherwise resulted in folks hooking up. So.. SOMEHOW... this is Askier's fault. Or... he's taking credit.

Now now, this is NOT the shipping thread!!! I've uh... been busy. Yeah.

Hmm. I have been absent from this despite my promise earlier to get involved. >_> Perhaps I need to correct that. <_<

“Do we look like charity to you?” Raffe Gorne, the Midlander Brass Blade, looked at the paladin incredulously. He seemed neither the charitable nor the altruistic sort. “It is not charity if one pays for it,” Roen retorted. “You can ask the two men that relinquished it to me.” She made a vague gesture into the crowd of miners, not really attempting to locate the specific faces. She’d rather not have Raffe talk to them; she was fairly certain the wagon did not belong to them either. It was then that she spotted Nero exiting out of the building. She spared the smuggler a quick glance before turning her attention back to the Brass Blade. Raffe did not bother to follow her gesture, his attention remaining on the paladin. “We got uses for this wagon. And what supplies? I don’t see any supplies for the refugees here.” “It is not here, exactly.” Roen shrugged, keeping her tone casual. That was not a lie either. She actually had no idea where it was, but he did not have to know that. “But that is what I need it for. I paid for the wagon, and I will be renting a chocobo from the stables, I will have the wagon back before sundown.” “Yer not actually goin’ tae believe her, are ye, Raffe?” Louvel grumbled from behind the Midlander, still clutching his hand with the broken finger. His glare was an angry one. “Shut up, Louvel.” Raffe held a silencing hand up toward the Highlander without looking at him. The look he gave Roen was a sly, greedy one. “If you paid the men, now you gotta pay us. Deneith was it? I remember your name. Being you were one of us once, you know how this works.” He held out a hand towards her as if expectant. Roen sighed and shook her head. “Unfortunately, those men I bargained with demanded most of what I had. I need what I have left for the mount.” She tilted her head, glancing between Raffe and Louvel, even though she knew the answer before she even asked. “Perhaps you can seek out the men and share the profit?” The Midlander threw his head back and laughed. “You… aren’t serious right? Did you forget how things work?” “She’s the one that Stank dealt with!” Louvel snarled. “The ex-Sworn who thinks she’s too good for the Blades.” He spat on the ground. “Never did get that lesson right,” Roen said dryly, crossing her arms. Raffe glanced between the Highlander and the paladin, cocking his head in her direction. “Pay up, or the wagon stays.” “I paid for it. I am taking it. The wagon is not even registered with the Blades.” Roen gave Raffe then Louvel a pointed look. They had illegally confiscated it after all. “Right?” The corner of Raffe’s lips twitched, then quickly turned downward. “Well. Looks like you are going to get another one of those lessons today. You forgot quick how we deal with rabble rousers around here. Time for a reminder.” Roen exhaled a patient sigh, even as she silently gauged the Blade in front of her. A bit portly in the midsection, his feet dragged slightly on the dirt, and he was resting on his heels. The chainmail would make him slower but harder to hit any vital organs. His face bore no scars, his cheekbones pristine and symmetrical; there was no sign that he was a toughened fighter. Many times those that sought out this line of extortion was looking to avoid fighting by targeting innocent merchants and helpless travelers. At least, that is what she hoped. The paladin arched her brows as she saw Raffe’s fingers curl around the hilt of his scimitar. “Are you going to need your sword to teach me a lesson?” She held out her hands, as if to make it plain she was unarmored and unarmed. Her voice remained steady, even; she was issuing no challenge. But there was no fear either. The Midlander Blade paused, hesitant to let go of his blade. His upper lip paled as he pursed it, and Roen knew it was his pride fighting his caution. The fact that he did not want to relinquish his weapon at all boded well. He was likely--as she had been--relying solely on the skills of sword and shield in a fight. Raffe gave the Highlander behind him a half glance, as if reminded of his taunt earlier, then unbuckled his belt. “Nope.” Raffe tossed his belt and weapon to the side. “You’re just a girl. Ain’t no way you’re beating me," he declared as he drew himself up, as if to make himself look bigger. He was sizing her up as he approached, but his gait remained full of swagger. He did not even raise his fists in front of him in any kind of a defensive stance. Raffe did not expect anything of her at all. Louvel roared with laughter. The Highlander Blade was turning crimson with amusement, his uninjured hand pointing at the fellow Brass Blade in front of him. Raffe sat on the ground, leaning against the piled crates. He wore an expression that was half dazed and half humiliation. His perfect cheekbones were no longer pristine, his lip was split and his temple and jaw were sporting a growing welt. The Highlander's legs were splayed out in front of him. His entire torso was encased in a barrel, the top lid removed to allow his head to protrude from it. “Ya didn’t just have to sit there and watch.” Raffe scowled. “HAR!” the Highlander snorted, slapping his knee with his good hand. “Because ye needed help with a girl.” “And you did better?!” Raffe shot back. Louvel paused, and the two men stared at each other. “Are ye goin’ tae report this?” Raffe swallowed, his expression turning sour. “Sure,” he grumbled after a long moment. "Sometime next year. Unless you're going to." "Nae." Louvel and Raffe just looked at each other. They both sighed. A long minute of silence passed. Louvel finally looked back at Raffe. "Unless ye really think we should--" "Never. Now help me out of this already!”

Virtue: Charity, Fortitude, and Hope. Roen has an innate want and need to help others and will go to great lengths to aid someone in need. It stems from her desire to atone for what she feels her Garlean father is responsible for. She also does not bend when it comes to her principles even if it costs her dearly. She feels that her ideals are what makes her who she is, and if it was broken, she would indeed be a lost soul. She has a savior complex that also does not allow her to sit by idly while others are in despair and she would do whatever she can to bring them out of it. This need also very much stems from her childhood. Vice: Lust and Pride. When Roen becomes passionate about something, usually some cause, she is like a bulldog with a bone. She will not let it go. She may even make questionable decisions to see it through. She also believes that the righteous path is the right path, and constantly tries to prove this to others.

Awwww. I think this is a lovely idea.

Chronic Alt-itis! I know this disease. And yes, this game does not encourage it what-so-ever. Still! Welcome to the RPC!

Someone who enjoys playing NPCs! You are a rare gem. I like you already. :thumbsup: Welcome to the RPC!

The gil pouch jingled in her hand. Roen shook it a bit, hearing the quiet rustle of coin from within the fabric. What am I supposed to do with this? She glanced toward the wagon then the two miners attending to it. Convince them to just lend me the wagon? Bribe them? The paladin considered her options, her brow furrowing. She even considered smiling and coyly turning side to side as she had seen so many other women do to charm others into getting what they wanted. It was a brief thought. A very brief thought. No. Definitely not that. Roen watched Nero with a sidelong glance until he disappeared into the large building, before she exhaled through puffed out cheeks. Ducking her head, she strode toward the wagon, determined to get it any way possible. It went well, all things considered. Nothing talks like gil in Thalanan, and the mines were no exception. She had approached the two men, unarmed and without armor, and the response was merely a raised, curious brow. She tried the truth first, but entreating them to borrow the wagon in order to deliver the needed supplies to the refugees fell on deaf ears. But their unfriendly scowls soon brightened when she held up the pouch of gil that Nero had given her. And the miners were a greedy sort--or just poor, she reminded herself--that they accepted nothing less than the full pouch to discreetly relinquish the wagon to her. Roen reminded herself to learn how to play cards and bluff someone in the near future; she was pretty sure she had been taken advantage of in that deal. Perhaps they saw that she was too eager to get the wagon--that or their discretion simply cost more. Either way, they left her with a wagon that was without a mount to pull it. The paladin padded her own coin purse on her belt and glanced towards Black Brush’s stable. She guessed that she might just have enough to rent a chocobo for the trip to the refugee camps and back. Roen was counting the gil when a gravelly voice greeted her from behind. “Well, what do we have here?” It was the Highlander Brass Blade she had watched heading down into the mines earlier. And from the odd way he grinned at her when she turned--bearing his teeth with his brows drawn downward--she guessed he recognized her. And not in a good way. “Deneith, right?” The crimson chainmail of the Brass Blade rattled he approached her. He looked her up and down. “I see yer out of the gaols.” He nodded appreciatively. “It’s been awhile.” The paladin eyed the man as she tucked her coin purse away, squinting in an attempt to recognize him. It took her only a moment. “Ah. Louvel Burn, aye?” Hers was not a friendly greeting. She remembered the Highlander; he was in the same unit as the Brass Blade that brought her to meet with Captain Anduron--the one so appropriately named Stank Balls. She knew they got along famously. Louvel nodded, and as if reading her thoughts, he grinned at her hair. “The hair’s growin’ back nice.” His tone and gaze held a hint of lechery she did not appreciate. “I remember the day after Stank was done wit’ ye," he continued, "ye were bald as a babe’s bottom!” He laughed and reached for her hair. Roen’s eyes narrowed instantly and she knocked his hand away with her forearm. “Do not do that,” she warned him quietly. The Highlander’s brows shot up. “Oh ho ho! Got a little fight in ye now, eh? ‘s not what I heard from Stank. He said ye just stood there while Captain Anduron dished out one of his lessons. Then Stank took yer hair tae wear it for himself. That ugly gobshite, ye know he still wears that ridiculous wig around?” He did not seem discouraged by her cautionary arch of the brow as he leaned in again, his tone turning a bit more insistent. “Come now, Deneith. I just want tae see why he likes it so much.” The Highlander’s hand reached no closer than a fulm from her head. It got no closer. The paladin caught him at the wrist abruptly. Roen brought her other hand on his fingers, and quickly yanked his middle finger back toward the top of his wrist. There was a sickening crack, followed by a large howl from the Brass Blade. “Ye bitch!” The Highlander crumpled to the ground, grasping at his hand; the middle finger was now bent back in a rather unnatural way. His expression was twisted in shock and anger as he stared back at the paladin who still stood calmly over him, her arms crossed. “I told you not to do that.” Roen said evenly. She eyed the man’s hand; it was his sword hand finger she broke. At least I don't have to worry about him reaching for his blade, she thought. The paladin canted her head, and spoke slowly but firmly. “Now, I can heal that, if you just behave.” Louvel’s face had already turned crimson from shame (and probably more than a pinch of resentment), and by the look in his eyes she could tell there were an array of insults he wanted to hurl her way. But all he did was stare back down at his deformed hand and whimper. Boastful and arrogant Highlander, but still unable to handle pain very well, she mused. Louvel had always been the sort to duck out of Amalj’aa patrols, weaseling his way to desk jobs and gate taxation duties. “What’s going on here?” Another voice called out from behind her as she heard approaching footsteps. Roen winced inwardly, and turned to see the Midlander Blade trotting up to them. He had been the one standing guard at the door in front of the building that Nero had gone into, but the cries of the Highlander had clearly caught his attention. His brows were arched in surprise, one hand going to rest atop the hilt of the scimitar on his hip. “Raffe! The bitch of a coeurl broke my finger!” Louvel wailed, spittle flying. “I am gonna cut ye good…” he snarled at her. But no sooner than the words had left his mouth, he cringed again, looking to his trembling hand. Pain seemed to easily distract the man. Raffe stared Roen, then back at the Highlander, who was now rocking back and forth on the ground. After a long pause, he threw his head back in a derisive laugh. “Ya got beat by a girl! She ain’t even armed!” The Midlander bent forward, slapping his knee. “Aaaah, wait ‘til the unit hears about this. Get up, ya baby.” Roen licked her lips, brow knit warily as she watched the Midlander approach Louvel, who was still rolling on the ground. Muttering something about an inspector, the Midlander hauled Louvel to his feet. Roen stole one sidelong glance at the large building, before returning her attention back to the two Brass Blades. Since Louvel already recognized her, she needed to keep them here, and their attention away from whatever Nero was doing. Raffe did not seem threatened by her; perhaps he was more confident in his skills. Roen did note that his one hand still rested on the hilt of his sword. The Midlander Blade looked to her expectantly. “Now then. What are you doing here?” The paladin pressed her lips in a thin line and stared back at the man. Her mind raced to come up with a story that would not be a lie.

Welcome to the RPC Brendt!

:thumbsup::thumbsup::thumbsup:

The smuggler wore an intent expression, one that quickly sobered her own. He was hooded and robed, and Roen saw the wisdom in that. She wondered if she should also hide her face; she did not know whether she would be readily recognized by the Blades guarding the goods. That is... if deception was the route they were going to take. Roen turned half way as she leaned in, lowering her voice so that it did not travel beyond them. “Three Blades at the mines. I saw a few boxes stacked outside the building. But they might be hiding some in the mines too.” Her gaze casually roamed over the people around them as she spoke, trying to catch any stray glances their way. None seemed to pay them any mind, it was like any other day of business to most. “One Blade in the building, another checks the caves. The third watches outside. Otherwise, the miners are going about their business.” The paladin glanced down at the smuggler's choice of clothing, eyeing most of what he had on him hidden beneath the loose fall of cotton. “How are we doing this?” she asked quietly as she tilted her head toward a nearby building. "I have my armor inside. I can go in heavily armored or light."

You cannot truly destroy the Pillar, for the Pillar is a metaphor. The Pillar is inside all of us. Now when you say inside us all. . . Where exactly is it located? This is important. For science. Lol. Don't say it is in his arm. Because he is perfectly willing to blow that up.

Hey hey HEY! I am *right* here! No kidnapping plots allowed!! :evil: Askier, you are NOT allowed to walk behind Roen. Ever! Delial was right! Askier has not learned his lesson! And uh... until 11pm. Yes.

I will be there! Most evenings after 7pm Pacific works for me. (except Tuesdays which would be after 8pm) Weekends are usually good! Except for Sunday afternoons. And Roen is technically a Free Paladin at the moment.

Nanawa Mines. Roen peeked over the large outcropping of rocks to get the layout of the place, even though she knew the mines well enough to dread coming here. There were too many memories to count, and none were in her favor. As she took in the details of the area--the number of people, the location of the buildings, and potential guards that stood out from the throng of miners--she hoped that today the mine would yield her a better fortune than it had before. If she and Nero were successful in retrieving the confiscated goods for the refugees, she would consider the day a success. The paladin counted three Brass Blades in uniform outside the largest building that lay at the foot of the Nanawa Mines. There were a few boxes and crates placed outside the building, piled up against the side wall. She was not sure what she was looking for exactly in terms of the confiscated goods--how many boxes she was looking for, or even if they were in crates at all. She watched as she one of the Brass Blades ambled over to the mines, disappearing into the dark maw of the cave. His pace was slow and he cared not for the miners that trudged by, it was clear he was interested in something else, within the depths of the mines. Roen studied the rest of the area one last time before she withdrew, thankful that there were no signs of a wagon approaching, which could mean a buyer for the goods. Her trek to Black Brush Station was made on quick feet, and the paladin was thankful for the storm clouds looming above. It was still warm and the looming rain only made the air thick and muggy, but at least she did not burn with the sun’s unrelenting glare. It was rare that the Thalanan skies were ever littered with clouds, and if then, only a scant herd of them; this day offered an unusual overcast. Roen was not sure if that boded well or ill. Silly thoughts, she reminded herself. She never used to consider superstitious beliefs before she came to Eorzea. But here, people invoked their gods for the mysteries and the unforeseeable things. Perhaps their beliefs were starting to rub off on her. Whatever it was that brought the cooler temperatures this day, and perhaps even threatened rain, Roen was thankful. The paladin had still come dressed for the hurried expedition. She wore a sleeveless vest made of light linen, as well as cotton breeches with comfortable leather boots. She had stowed her armor along with her shield at Black Brush Station, but scouting about dressed in full armor would have made her more than conspicuous. She was not sure what to expect in reclaiming these goods. A fight? A conversation? Just how did the smuggler expect to get them back? Was she to provide her sword in the effort? Roen had already told Nero she was not willing to run any Blades through. Corrupt or not, they were still part of the law enforcement of Ul’dah. "Good luck," Broken Nose said to her this morning as he gave her the copy of the list. He had a dark grin on his face, though she suspected it was meant more for the snobby noble who was not present. If Nero had not lost his temper, she would have just asked the Brass Blades of the Rose to take care of this problem once they located the goods. No use dwelling on it now, the paladin reminded herself. If she was still with the Sultansworns, she would be arriving with her surcoat and authority to reclaim what was wrongfully taken. But without the rank and influence of the Order, she was just another armored fighter, even if she claimed to be a Free Paladin. Roen could not help but feel a bit powerless without the attachment to the Order, even if that power came with bindings of its own. The paladin set those thoughts aside by the time she was close enough to see the aetheryte crystal of Black Brush station. Her pace quickened as she eyed the cloudy skies. It would be noon in another bell, perhaps the smuggler would arrive early.

The white and blue armor did grow on me, especially when the Atma turned the swords and shields white. Then suddenly they were like knights in white shining armor.

Smart ass, heavy drinker, and combative! I like him already. But I do understand that such personality can stand in the way of random RP sometimes, since walking up to someone out of the blue to greet them is not be something your character might do. My suggestions would be... If you see a character you want to interact with, send them a /tell! Or a PM if you see something on these boards. Having a short OOC chat can lead to meetings between characters that don't have to see out of character. I personally had the most successes going this route. And don't feel intimidated! This community is very welcoming! Or if you are hanging about the Drowning Wench or other public RP places, I usually self emote my characters doing something, to perhaps let other players know that A) I am an RPer and B) perhaps give them a hook for them to interact with my character. And I do the same by reading other people's emotes, if they are doing something that would catch my character's interest, I notice them in /em! And hopefully that can get some kind of an interaction started. Lastly, as Franz pointed out, the is the Making Connections area where you can put what you are looking for out there and see if there are any bites. Oh, and if you have a wiki or a profile made, that also helps other players figure out what connections can be made between yours and theirs. I wish you luck and lots of fun! :thumbsup:

Alas, not a Sultansworn for story reasons!

I think we have plenty worshipers here to summon a Pillar.