Nero

Day 4 The sun rose to Daegsatz curled against a corner. Sometime during the night the landsickness had set in and the unfortunate Roegadyn's stomach had begun to twist and turn. There was no pain, but the Sea Wolf was clearly nauseous and uncomfortable. His eyes were shut and he swayed back and forth as if to emulate the motion of a ship in an effort to settle his growing sense of vertigo. His ashen hair was unkempt, a result of him rolling about the confined gaol. Every now and then a groan would escape his lips that sounded like an avalanche. The fish, while reasonably delicious at the time of consumption, was now choosing to disagree with his body. It was bound to be a long day.

Daegsatz paused, sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth. Roen could be surprisingly introspective. The Roegadyn considered himself too simple to have such thoughts occupy his mind. "Nay, it bein' too large ta be the Forte. The Forte be like a dancer with graceful curves an' a shapely body. This," he gestured to the drawing as he continued to scrawl on it with the quill. "be more like a brick, or a rock." Indeed, the ship outline was almost rectangular in shape, with straight edges tapering to a point that was presumably the bow. The masts were thick and stocky and the bottom of the ship was flat. Two rows of cannons stuck out of the side of the ship, with another row on the deck. Even with the odd design, the Sea Wolf had drawn waves being parted. "Me first ship, the Dagger. It be not lookin' like a dagger at all though, aye?" Daegsatz let out a small chuckle. "Eventually sunk due ta pirates. Common story in Limsa." He fell quiet for a few minutes as he added some finishing touches to his sketch. "It be easy to give up," the Sea Wolf said finally. "When ye be losin' enough, ye start thinkin' ye lost everythin'. Even if'n ye lose what ye deem ta be most important to ye," Daegsatz took his first drawing and lay the pattern of nonsense scribbles on Roen's lap as she sat on the cot, and flashed a grin at her, vaguely reminiscent of a certain smuggler. "Ye need only change yer perspective to realise the good yer life still be 'avin'." The Sea Wolf turned the sketch upside down, and an image made itself known; what was previously a mess of black lines and curves became a tangible image of an island shore. The waves were drawn with a practised, confident hand as it lapped against a beach, distant mountains were jutting in the horizon with a surprising amount of detail. A gull was perched on a piece of driftwood on the beach, and the beach itself gave way to a forest of palm trees where the mountains began. "If ye be losin' yer way like yer father, lass...there always be anoth'r side," Daegsatz said.

Things were proceeding smoothly. So smoothly, in fact, that the Twelve should ordain something go horribly wrong within the next few moons. The flame of the candles flickered in Nero's cabin, and several maps were sprawled out on his table. One was a map of the Rhotano Sea and the Strait of Merlthor. The other was a map of Vylbrand, and the last was a map of Ul'dah. He took a sip from a nearby bottle of brandy, grunting as the warm liquor spread through his body. Since Natalie had effectively chased him out of Thanalan, to say that he was expanding his operations aggressively would be to say that Ishgard was mildly devoted to fighting the dragons. His operation was beginning to grow too large for him to manage on his own; several times a day Nero found himself having to swap linkpearls in order to receive updates and information, and sooner or later the amount of assets registered under his dummy company would begin to receive attention from the authorities. Nero was an adherent to the belief that the way to get things right was for him to do it himself, and yet there was simply too much going on at once that demanded his attention. The longer he spent outside of Ul'dah, the more his plans there had a chance of failing. Scythe had agreed, in exchange for the Limsan weapons, to adhere to Nero's timetable for now, but the gangster was an unstable element. Nero also had to expect that he would not necessarily be safe in Limsa as well; his strikes against the Thanalan merchant ships continued, even if the Second Forte was almost never directly involved anymore, and Merlwyb was allegedly being pressured by Raubahn to keep the pirates under control, which would draw the Maelstrom into the situation. The smuggler examined the maps again. There were many, many factors to account for. Merlwyb would probably react as she always did: an iron fist and cannonfire. If the situation deteriorated enough, she may end up sending the Maelstrom against the Bloody Executioners and the other free pirates of the city. Such a conflict would put Nero's plans to an immediate halt, as he was relying on the free pirates to make the raids for him, not to mention that the Forte might also be involved by virtue of technically being one of said free pirates. And what of the Monetarists? They were shrewd enough with their gil that someone, multiple people, would be sent to Vylbrand to investigate who was beginning to choke out their sea trade, as the ports from Vesper Bay and Crescent Cove accounted for nearly a third of Ul'dah's trade. The Monetarists themselves cared for naught but the loss in gil. What mattered was who they would send. If it was simply one of their thugs, then Limsa Lominsa would chew them up and spit them out, as it usually did. Assassins? Unlikely, not unless the Syndicate knew who their targets were. Adventurers? Improbable; adventurers typically didn't interfere with the political happenings. The Sultansworn? A very distinct possibility. Nero was now convinced that they were firmly under the Syndicate's thumb; they might provide lip service to the Sultana, but the fact that Nanamo ul Namo held no real power obviously gave way to the Syndicate's authority. Though, Nero had to admit that "Syndicatesworn" didn't roll off the tongue quite as well. The Hyur sighed as he rubbed his forehead. He may have to deal with a cadre of knights storming into Limsa Lominsa, assuming he didn't need a bodyguard to deal with potential assassins. There were so many elements to account for. The Maelstrom, the Flames, the Sultansworn, the free pirates, the Brass Blades, the gangs, the bandits, the merchants, Merlwyb, Raubahn... Now Nero had a headache.

Daegsatz nodded absentmindedly. "Aye, landsickness. Some peoples be afflicted with seasickness- th' body bein' off balance due ta the motion o' the sea. Fer meself and peoples like me, the reverse be true. Too much stillness, an' it be mighty uncomfortable." He peeled another orange and threw the entire fruit into his mouth, consuming the unfortunate citrus fruit in four hefty chews. "It not be fatal or th' like, but ye be forgivin' me for any bellyachin' I may be groanin' 'bout fer th' next few suns." In the Roegadyn's mind, the image on the parchment was complete. He sighed in satisfaction, examining his handiwork. It was more or less completely nonsensical, and yet the Sea Wolf seemed quite proud of himself. He put the parchment away before drawing up another sheet, this time carefully outlining the silhouette of a ship. "Methinks yer wee seven-year self be on ta somethin', lass," Daegsatz commented gruffly, his gravelly voice contrasting with his consolation. "Mayhaps ye be too late fer yer mother, but ye und'stood th' need ta protect those 'o matter to ye. As fer yer father's grief," the Roegadyn shrugged. "'E lost a piece o' 'imself. 'Es a daft man if he be forgettin' 'bout 'is daughter, though."

Daegsatz snorted as he continued to scrawl on the paper. The black ink seemed to form completely nonsense shapes and patterns, and yet the Roegadyn made every stroke and curve with the utmost confidence. "Only 'cause ye nev'r given yerself time ta get used ta the sea's embrace. Once ye adjust..." a sparkle made itself known in his eye as he grinned at Roen. "Sailin' be the feelin' o' havin' all the freedom in the world." He sighed. "Ye be right about one thing, lass. Ev'ry sun that be passin' simply makes Llymlaen that much more insistent in 'er callin' me." Daegsatz shook his head. "Reckon it be but a few more suns 'fore the landsickness sets in." The Sea Wolf continued to scrawl on the parchment, the scratchings and strokes growing more and more unintelligible. "Where be yer mother now, lass? Pardon me sayin', but ye seem a wee bit young ta be fightin' with swords."

Daegsatz gave a grateful nod at the paladin, even as he snorted at her assertion. "Ye clearly 'ave not been 'round the right pirates, lass. Much 'preciated." He took the sheaf of parchment, the quill pen, and the ink pot. He shook his head ruefully at the veritable feast that Roen had brought into the cell. "Ye be spoilin' me silly. Soon I be losin' my sea senses. Maybe take root 'ere, become a tree." He took one of the sheets of parchment and began to examine it carefully. The parchment was of average make, borderline mediocre; "functional" would have been the appropriate term for it. The parchment was made of cheap goatskin and a few blemishes, though barely noticeable, denoted the quantity-over-quality way in which it had been manufactured. Then again, Daegsatz wasn't exactly expecting Gridanian vellum. The Roegadyn gave the back of the quill pen's nib a quick press against his tongue and gave it a light, practised dip into the ink pot. With smooth, swift motions, he began to mark the parchment. "So, eh...ye been keepin' healthy, lass?" Daegsatz said awkwardly in an effort to start conversation as he drew the quill pen across the parchment. Thick black lines began to criss cross the parchment.

Day 3 Amazingly, Daegsatz' stomach had not yet erupted in protest. He counted himself lucky. The oranges and the rum must have staved off the aching for another day; how long that reprieve would last was anyone's guess. The Ishgardian book was thoroughly creased by now. Many of the stories were overly romantic fables, but a few of them were tales of zealous combat and legendary battles against dragons, which the pirate quite enjoyed, even if the vocabulary was unnecessarily flowery at times. Every now and then his eyes would begin to protest due to the dim lighting of the cell and the small words, forcing the Roegadyn to put the book down and go back to scratching at the granite. The Sea Wolf was now looking forward to the daily visits from the paladin. She was a kind enough person, and amusing in her own way, and Daegsatz was truly grateful for the distractions she brought, for the passing of bells and the time spent simply sitting in the gaol was truly monotonous. In truth, the Roegadyn wanted to ask about his ward, but if Nero found out that Daegsatz was worrying about him while stuck in a gaol, the Sea Wolf would very likely never hear the end of it.

"Why not simply use th' word 'eternal', then? Bloody pain..." The Roegadyn recoiled a bit when Roen made a motion that, to him, suggested she would take the book. "Oi, I'm readin'. Get yer own," he reprimanded gruffly. Daegsatz stuck his tongue out of the side of his mouth as he dogeared a few pages and continued squinting into the volume, his eyebrows knitting together as Sea Wolf traced the lines with a thick finger in order to keep sense of the tiny arrangement of letters. His attention was momentarily distracted when Roen called attention to his scratchings on the floor. Daegsatz' shoulders heaved in a gesture of a shrug. He peered over the edge of the book. "Me family tree. That," he pointed to an indistinct curve. "is me grandnan, and over there," another sausage-like finger jerked itself to another completely indistinct curve "is me grandpaps. Actually, I be tryin'a draw Vylbrand." After a few silent minutes, Daegsatz hesitantly glanced at the paladin. "Lass, if yer offer ta continue bringin' amenities here still be open...I could be usin' paper. And somethin' ta write with." The Sea Wolf jerked his thumb at the stone. "Granite be playin' hells on me fingers."

Daegsatz snorted as he chewed the sweet orange. The more things Roen brought that reminded him of Vylbrand, the more the sadness sank in his heart, though the Roegadyn wouldn't be caught dead expressing that kind of emotion. "Workin' togeth'r? Expect ye ta be married 'fore season's end," he scoffed. "Nay, lass, it not be in me nature ta gossip. Ye want ta learn 'bout 'im, ye ask 'im yerself." He began to peel another orange with one hand as he flipped through the Ishgardian book with the second, squinting at the tiny letters. The Sea Wolf was not illiterate by any means, but his eyes were more used to reading the fanciful titles of nautical charts and market board notices rather than the fine print of volumes and essays. "As fer family, hah! Don't be spreadin' rumours." A massive gust of air blew from Daegsatz' nose. "'Es not family, 'es a massive pain. Always runnin' after girls an' stealin' silverware. Two gen'rations o' that shite I've 'ad ta deal with, pardon me language. You Hyurs be like drunken mice, always runnin' into walls an' catchin' the ire o' broomsticks." He shook his head as he chewed on the newly peeled orange. "'is father be the first o' the two arses I've 'ad ta repeatedly pull out o' fires. Nearly four decades an' nothin' changed." Daegsatz wrinkled his nose as he nearly brought his eyes in physical contact with the pages on the book. He shoved the open book at Roen, a large index finger pointing at a particular specimen of grandiloquent loquaciousness. "Don't s'pose ye know what that be meanin', lass?"

I will be the very best at "Crying Inside Dirt Holes During Night Time". To dig holes is my real test! To sob in them's my caaaauuuuse!

"Heh. The only thing about my father that the sea reminds me of is that I still need to find him." Also, Nero unlocked the Ninja class early. That's why his right foot can levitate like that.

The Roegadyn took the waterskin and greedily took several large gulps of it. He grunted in satisfaction as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Much 'preciated, lass," Daegsatz rumbled. "Not the best I've ev'r 'ad, but it be pref'rable ta the swill they usually give." Indeed, the rum was a very welcome reprieve, but as soon as the flavour dissipated, the Sea Wolf felt a small sense of sadness. It may be many, many suns before he was released and allowed to return to Vylbrand. Mentally, he felt prepared, but that did not mean he enjoyed his imprisonment. At the paladin's offer for chalk, Daegsatz gave a guffaw that was more bark than laugh. "Ye be me nanny now, lassie?" He began to peel at the oranges with his left index finger. "Stories an' chalk. I s'pose next ye be bouncin' me on yer knee an' singin' me ta sleep?" There was no derisiveness or mockery in his gravelly voice as he eyed her, only gentle, well-meaning humour. "Ye need not do this. Ye know me not. I 'preciate yer altruism all th' same, though." Daegsatz bit into the oranges, the skin having been peeled into a perfect, singular spiral. He placed half of the orange on Roen's lap as she sat on the cot. "I hes'tate ta take advantage o' yer well meanin', truly," he commented.

Day 2 The designs Daegsatz had been scratching into the granite floor began to take shape. The fingernail of his index finger had been filed down, so he had resorted to his middle finger instead. There were some odd curves and crests indicating waves; it was clear where the Sea Wolf's thoughts lay. The landsickness had not set in but Daegsatz could feel it roiling on the edges of his stomach. If seasickness was due to a body being unable to cope with the constant swaying from the ocean, then landsickness was the opposite; sitting still for a long amount of time was not healthy for the Roegadyn. Forlorn thoughts occupied his mind. He'd been in Thanalan for naught but a few suns, but already he was missing the sound of the Rhotano Sea splashing against the hull, the chirp of gulls...hells, even having a clear view of the sky and the sun would have been preferable. The cell contained no window to speak of, and the light from the torches was warm, but hollow in a way, as if the light was merely a figment of his imagination. The only reason why Nero had not brokered for his release was because the smuggler couldn't. Daegsatz knew that. The Hyur needed time to build influence and bribe the right people. The woman, Roen, might have been Nero's way of trying to get him released. Daegsatz and his ward had known each other for fourteen years; not even the blackest pits of despair could instill the idea that Nero had abandoned him. Another grandiose sigh escaped from the Sea Wolf's lips as he shook his mane of ash-grey hair, scratching away at the granite floor.

The air blew out of Daegsatz' nose in a snort, though he offered a grin. "Ye be pushin' yer fibs a wee bit too hard if ye be thinkin' I'd believe a lady knight like yerself be readin' vulgar material while in a gaol. As for the lad, 'e worries too much. 'is father an' me been through far too much fer this ta cause a fuss fer 'im. An' this not be the first o' 'is schemes to end up like this." Still, though the Roegadyn would never admit it, something about the paladin's kindness struck him. Limsa Lominsa was not cruel, but it was not soft either. Roen, however, seemed to be genuinely selfless. In the back of his mind, Daegsatz feared what would come about if she maintained contact with Nero. His thoughts were not eloquent, but the Sea Wolf trusted his instincts like no other. Roen expressed guilt over the "plan" she had concocted with the smuggler, but Daegsatz was too old to hold any sort of grudge. His attitude might shift when the landsickness set in, but for now, the paladin was the closest thing he had to a friend in this city. In reality, the Roegadyn feared for his ward. Nero was hardly a young spring flower anymore--the lad was approaching his thirtieth year, yet Daegsatz saw in the Midlander's eyes a weariness reserved for old men and veterans. Perhaps it would be good for him to be with such a kind soul as Roen. "No requests fer now, my ladyship," Daegsatz said gruffly, his sudden formality contrasting hard with his Lominsan accent. "I won't be one ta take advantage o' yer kindness so easily." He continued to munch at the bread and scratch at the floor in contemplation before cocking an eye at her. "Ye be takin' care o' Nero's fool arse, aye?" the Roegadyn rumbled. "I guarantee 'e be needin' yer compassion far more than me."

Daegsatz exhaled like a blacksmith's bellows. His captain had mentioned this woman; if Daegsatz didn't know any better, he'd have called Nero smitten with her, but then he called Nero smitten whenever the latter spoke about any woman. The Hyur had had his share of female relations and typically speaking, the more positive his sentiments, the less positive his actual opinion was of her. This woman--Roen--had not had many kind comments said about her, so to Daegsatz' mind, Nero was practically already considering engagement. The Hyur were a very strange people. He accepted the basket gratefully, nodding at her. "Been bett'r. Wee bit stiff," he grumbled, rolling his shoulder. "But I 'preciate the thought, lass. Ye don' need ta go through all o' this fer me." It'd be at least a few more days before the landsickness set in, but right now the Roegadyn would take whatever he could get. He munched on the bread in silence for some time before speaking again. "Don't s'pose ye can bring booze in 'ere, aye?"

Day 1 Rubbish, the thought wafted through the Roegadyn's head. Daegsatz Traggblansyn considered himself to be a simple man. A Sea Wolf who enjoyed all of the simple and elegant things a typical Sea Wolf did: sailing, the sea, the company of his crew, a strong drink, and the occasional skull gushing with a fountain of blood generated by a magnanimous axe wound. Politics, schemes, and conspiracies were far above him. That was not to say that he was necessarily stupid, but the Roegadyn often left such things to Nero. The lad was smart, and far too ambitious for his own good, but as long as Daegsatz Traggblansyn could continue to enjoy his lot in life, that would be enough. He rubbed his forehead. How did it come to this? He'd promised Vail before the latter went out to sea that he'd be be Nero's guardian, and that hadn't changed. Yet those circumstances had managed to land the Sea Wolf into an Ul'dahn gaol. What was supposed to be a routine drop had turned into a bloody skirmish that left Liam and Martin dead and Daegsatz himself captured. His neck was still stiff from the wound, but the conjury had helped quite a bit with the aching. Daegsatz held his fingers up, counting the number of days it would take before the landsickness set in. Nero, the daft boy, had insisted that there was no such thing as landsickness. Daegsatz considered his captain both lucky and unlucky that he was not born a proper Roegadyn. The cell was simple and featureless. A narrow cot lay tucked against a bed. A chamber pot that was cleaned out once a week lay at the foot of the cot. A drain had been fitted into floor of the cell, the rusty colour of the grates granting leave to unfortunate implications. Daegsatz shook his head, his ash-grey mane of hair seeming to convulse when he did, as he began to scratch at the granite floor with his massive fingers. The whole situation is rubbish.

Fists Level 1: Gil Toss Level 2: Gil Toss Level 3: Rude comment, Gil Toss Sword/Axe Level 1: Gil Toss Level 2: Gil Toss Level 3: Strongly-worded letter, Gil Toss Thaumaturgy Level 1: Umbral Gil Toss Level 2: Astral Gil Toss Level 3: Giant Scorpion

dlBvKzc8Odo As much as I love Susan Calloway in Answers, this is still probably near my top in vocal themes.

"Several bells to port," came the gruff response over the linkpearl. "Everything alright, Captain?" No, everything was not alright. Well, in a manner of speaking, it was. Or was it not? Nero didn't know anymore. The dock creaked as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. He hadn't even noticed that Roen had run off while still in possession of his sword, so distracted was the smuggler. The chainmail beneath his tabard rustled as he forced himself to sit down cross-legged in an attempt to calm his nerves. The memory of her soft lips meeting his still lingered uncomfortably in his mind. There was a purpose to that, yes...but the rash action seemed to backfire. The kiss was meant to confuse her, and it seemed to have succeeded, but so too did it put Nero at odd with his own emotions. He considered himself the definition of a manipulative bastard. He'd easily done something like this before; Vail, in his infinite wisdom, had imparted the importance of being able to make an enemy a friend, or to at least confuse them enough that they would not interfere. Flirtations and seduction were hardly beneath him. Yet, why did this particular instance seem to instill such wary anxiety in him? It was his initial intention to have invoked the possibility of an emotional attachment in Roen. The exasperating woman, naive as she was, had accepted his plan without questioning. When the bloodier stages of his scheming came to fruition, she would likely be shocked or feel lied to or some other irritating notion. Romantic affections were more trouble than they were typically worth, but Nero didn't feel that he was above using them to his advantage. "Did you ever consider, that I did not use my sword upon you because...of who you were?" Nero shook his head. He knew her well enough at this point to know that she was serious...or a very, very good liar. To the smuggler's cynical mind, she was an anomaly. The pure-hearted souls of goodness typically considered him a necessary evil, a role he was more than happy to fill. Yet here was this enigma of a paladin who desired nothing from him--no favours, no payment, no self-interest--but for him to...be better. There was nothing but infuriating, aggravating selflessness from her. Or was that it? Suspicion flared around the edges of Nero's mind. It was possible...unlikely, but still possible that this was her way of using him. Had he been beaten at his own game? The very best liars were those who had managed to convince others that they could not lie. Was this Roen's way of turning him to her purposes? Was he simply overestimating her? The questions opened the way for more questions. Why did he care in the first place? Supposed he found out that Roen was dead tomorrow. Nero searched his mind for what his reaction would be. Pity, perhaps. Some manner of sorrow, absolutely. Would he grieve? They had only known each other for a few suns, and those suns had been fraught with disagreements, arguments, heated clashes in ideology. What was she? What was Roen Deneith to him? Nero took a moment to place the linkpearl in a pocket before leaning over the edge of the dock and dunking his burning face into the cool seawater. He hadn't even noticed the growing ruddiness in his cheeks, and Llymlaen's bounty was a welcome to relief. Pulling his head out of the water, he shook like a dog, the fiery orange forelocks dripping with moisture. "A means to an end," he muttered beneath his breath. The very last thing the smuggler would do is let his emotions get in the way. Whatever he felt didn't matter. If it interfered, he would have to quell them by any means. He placed the linkpearl back in his ear, using the collar of his tabard to dry his face. "Everything's fine, Garalt. How is the Forte?" "Minor damage, nothing that a bell of repairs can't fix." "Store the cargo in the usual location, and tell Arturieaux as soon as possible." Nero sighed, wiping the seawater from his neck and face as best as he could. A long silence from the other end of the linkpearl preceded a suspicious question. "Who was that woman, Captain?" "No one you need to worry about. She's going to help me free Satz," Nero said evasively. Garalt's silence was all the smuggler needed to know about his opinion as he stood up. With the Second Forte out at sea, returning to Limsa Lominsa at this juncture wasn't an option for at least a few suns. Commanding the ship would have been a wonderful distraction, but he sighed again as he began to make his way back to Ul'dah. His plans may need some changes.

I don't see why the launching of a ship has to be celebrated with violence being inflicted upon me.

He slipped the knife away into its hidden sheath beneath his tabard. This wasn't unexpected. If Roen had actually possessed the courage to run him through, then that would have been that. It would have been unfortunate for him, but Nero might have accepted it. He might have accepted that someone in her position--someone in the twilight, who could see both the day and the night--would have the power to change things. But her virtue would not be so easily broken. The smuggler had claimed that he did not want to see her idealism broken--and that was partially true--but if Roen truly shared his goal, sooner or later she would have to come around to his way of thinking. It would not be a pleasant transition, but the sooner it happened, the more she would benefit from it. What was the purpose of all of this? The question he asked himself echoed in his mind. Nero felt that he had to push her. He had to force her to choose, and with this refusal to kill him--indeed, with her attempt to arrest him, with no evidence, no witnesses, nothing that would hold up in Ul'dah's shallow excuse for a justice system--she had chosen. Roen would never willingly walk the same path that Nero did. Despite his insistence that there are some enemies virtue cannot win against, she was determined beyond reason to walk her righteous path. And yet, what was this feeling of bitterness, of regret? He felt that he had failed. He felt that in some way, failing to push her over the edge was...a misstep. Sooner or later, she will see, came the forlorn thought in his head. In failing to break her idealism early, Nero felt, perhaps egotistically, that he had damned Roen to an immeasurable despair. Let her have her delusions, then. Let her believe that she could "turn" him from this path. Nero would tell himself that he had done everything he could--as was usual--and that would be that. The paladin averted her gaze, her brows drawn in thought. "Taeros was going to be my lead. Just the first. He has a large sphere of influence and many contacts. If I can make him turn somehow..." Roen glanced at him. "If he can be convinced to...work for our cause, for his own sake, rather than against us..." she trailed off. "I already have grounds to put a few Brass Blades under his influence under arrest," the paladin shifted the topic. "It is a slow start...but Broken Nose and I...we were speaking of some kind of reform. From within." A reform from within the Brass Blades. Ordinarily, Nero would have thought of that was the least amusing joke Roen's ever told, but considering his plans called for something similar, he kept silent. "This...we need not bring about a bloodbath on the streets, Nero." Roen's voice lowered. A quiet plea to his humanity. "We need not tell the girl in your story that her father has been drowned. We need not tell her that she was going to be caught in a crossfire between Blades and bandits." Nero clicked his tongue. Her plan wasn't terrible, but it was sorely lacking in the bigger picture. Perhaps it was arrogant to think that she would never succeed without him...but that he could carry out his plans without her. The smuggler recalled her question. What did he expect from her? Why had he agreed to an alliance with her in the first place? Did he truly need someone on the side of the law to aid him? What was preventing him from simply circumventing or dodging the law as he had usually always done? On a practical level, Nero didn't need her. She had her occasional uses--the list he had jammed in his belt was proof of that--but Roen had naught else to offer him, and yet here he was proposing--even hypothetically--that they join forces again. Was it merely attraction? That was a possibility, however doubtful. The paladin had a fair, unblemished face. Any noble would be intrigued by her presence in their court. The smuggler briefly tilted his head, trying to imagine Roen wearing a ponytail, an endeavour that was difficult given her fairly close cut. Yet, Nero knew himself well enough to know that he was (probably) not that shallow. There had to be another reason. Roen had no significant coin to speak of. She was not willing to break her virtue. Her conjury might be useful in a pinch, but as a resource she did not hold much value. Not economically, not tactically, and not strategically. So then...? Nero clicked his tongue, bringing his attention back to the conversation and shelving away those thoughts from his mind. "Ever the warrior for justice," the smuggler commented. "I am doubtful of your plan, but I will not rule it out completely." He ruled it out completely. Taeros might have his contacts but it didn't change the fact that the noble was just a lapdog to his betters. The Monetarists were like a hydra; simply cutting off one head wouldn't do. To destroy his enemies, he would have to collapse their power base. Ordinarily the smuggler would have pointed these facts out, but Nero was surprisingly no longer interested in prolonging the argument. "As for my plans...they can be put on hold." Easy to do when one was simply lying about them to begin with. "But like I said..." Nero placed his left hand under her chin, tilting her face up to look directly at him. "Persuade me." Roen looked him square in the eyes, relief clearly washing over her features. She blinked. "What reason do I have to stay the course? I can simply take to the sidelines and watch. If you are so confident in yourself, I no longer have a reason to participate. So persuade me." Nero's tone had a daring edge to it. She blinked thrice more. "You believe your plans will work out that smoothly. That you can condemn Taeros and his associates within the confines of the system. You believe Broken Nose will be able to reform the Blades from within. As of now, I have no reason to be here in Thanalan. Persuade me," he challenged her again. Roen inhaled sharply, her eyes narrowing. "I do not need to persuade you. The fact that you are listening, that you know there is a possibility that it can work is enough. Which means you do not have to do what you do not want to do." Her voice became firm. "You want that chance. You want that hope. I know it." The certainty was clear in her affirmation. Did he? He wasn't sure anymore. When they had first met, Nero had made the claim that he would not begrudge it if justice prevailed in the end, but now he was not so sure. Daegsatz was still in the gaol. Nero himself had sacrificed so much, far more than he would ever tell anyone about, for this. To simply let it be, to abandon those plans, those arrangements...would he be able to do that? The smuggler felt his advantage in the conversation begin to slip, and that was something he never liked. Instinctively he went to his backup plan. Nero caressed the paladin's face with his hand. "Miss Deneith, have you ever considered the possibility that it is not hope I desire, but you?" His tone was audacious yet sultry, as if he were attempting to seduce a dragon. He saw the heat rise in her cheeks and her throat contract in a swallow. Her unpreparedness was obvious in her stiffened stance and wide eyes. "Mister...Lazarov..I.." she stammered. "I do not think you do. I think you are trying to catch me off guard." She lifted her chin defiantly, though she did not pull away from his hand. "You do that...quite well, I am afraid. But I see what you are doing." "Yet, even when I told you I would not be convinced, I am still here, conversing with you. I'd be long gone if it were anyone else." Nero smirked. "Perhaps I am easier to persuade than you think. The reason you sought me out...is because you don't believe anyone else believes as you do, is that not right?" Nero switched hands, dropping his right only to place his left on the side of her face. "And the reason I am entertaining this idea is because...I would not do this alone, if I could help it. Change Ul'dah." Did he really believe in her methods? This tactic was just that: a tactic. It was a way to shift the paladin off balance. Yet now he was claiming to court her--her ideas, to be precise. His plan was flexible to a degree, but did not have room for many allowances. Roen searched his eyes, seeming conflicted. Her breaths became more shallow but she did not flinch. "No," she replied quietly. "You need not...do this alone. Like...like I said, it is difficult to walk..by yourself." Nero's gaze softened, the edge in his tone growing more gentle. "And you, Miss Deneith...have you been walking by yourself all this time?" The paladin blinked, averting her gaze to the wooden planks, a frown creasing her face. She nodded, barely, before turning her attention back to him, narrowing her eyes. "But that is neither here nor there. I have been perfectly fine and capable of...of taking care of myself. Doing what I needed to do." Nero raised an eyebrow. "I am not suggesting that you are incapable, Roen." It felt odd, using her first name so suddenly. He removed his hand off her face but brought his own face closer. "But..that does not mean you need to be alone in this...nor I." "That was...what I meant was..." she stammered in response, unable to find the words. "Persuade me," was all Nero said. His face was now close enough that he could feel her breath, and presumably she could feel his. Roen exhaled, looking distraught. "Are you just...toying with me, Mister Lazarov...? Because...that is no way to build trust or..." Her discomfort grew apparent enough that Nero merely grinned, and pulled away from her face. "You are right. If I want your trust...then perhaps I shall explain my plan to you. Rest assured that it is not nearly as grim and bloody as I made it out to be." What exactly was his intention in that little episode? He had been toying with her...to an extent, but Nero recognised a part of him that had wanted to push further. The reasonable side of him had pulled back his flirtations, but the fact that some fragment of his mind was even considering something like that was...disconcerting. The paladin frowned as he pulled away, pressing her lips tightly together. "Fine," she said, her tone flat. "I am glad to hear it." A passing glance was sent towards some nearby barrels as Roen averted her gaze. Now Nero wondered about her. Where exactly did he stand with her? It was evident that Roen was not used to receiving affection, even if it was facetious, but from her reaction, the smuggler would have called her disappointed. Was he merely projecting? His own emotions were under control, but confused. He folded his arms, glancing past Roen's head. "Well, as I said, my plan was to hit the Monetarists directly in their power base. Their influence is centralised around the value of gil." There were some awkward pauses between his words, as if he struggled to recall them. "To make a long story short, I was going to strangle Ul'dah through its dependency in imports." He began to choose his words carefully; explain the goals, not the methods. Explain the effects, but not the cause. Nero's tone became business-like. "Thanalan does not grow a sustainable number of crops or have land for enough ranching animals to feed its population. Much of Ul'dah's essentials come from other city states. I was not planning to starve out the city, per se...but I would force the Monetarists to focus their funds elsewhere. The pirates will choke Ul'dah's sea trade and allow certain companies from Limsa Lominsa to muscle into Thanalan. In addition, I have some plans to force some..pressure onto the luxury goods. Force the nobles to draw so much of their fortune onto themselves and their wealth, enough to take out the knees of their companies, so to speak. Subsequently, conditions will deteriorate to the point where the public will rally against them." "Thus, the Monetarists will be stuck between a rock and a hard place. The people will demand reform due to shortages and the economic imbalance, and the Monetarists will not be able to buy their way out of the situation if their gil does not reach any of the prospective clients. If it does, the prices given--the prices we give--will be exorbitant enough to drain them dry." "That would allow myself and my compatriots in turn to arrive under the auspices of the Sultana. We will resupply the city. Discredit the Monetarists, and place the people in firm support of Nanamo ul Namo. Demonstrate that it was not the Monetarist's coin that saved the city, but the Sultana's sovereignty." He noted the paladin's absentminded nod. Nero waved his hands idly. "We will spout some meaningless nonsense about how the Sultana paid us not with coin but pleaded on behalf of the people, blah blah. She is not the strongest politician, but she will make an excellent figurehead. With the Monetarists sufficiently weakened, Raubahn and the Sultana will have ample grounds to depose the Syndicate, for they will no longer be dependent on the Syndicate's gil. Ul'dah's economy will suffer, undoubtedly, but with time, it can be rebuilt. With time, connections, and many, many favours, Ul'dah can be rebuilt." The smuggler frowned. "It will not be a peaceful transition. The Sworns will have to take command in the city. This is where your friend Broken Nose comes in. With the Brass Blades no longer having the Syndicate's backing, their authority will crumble. It is my hope that Broken Nose will begin to reform, while the Sworns and the Flames keep order in the city. Once the Blades have been re-organized--hopefully under your friend's authority--then they can be employed as a proper peacekeeping force." "There will be violence. The bandit gangs are used to dirty gil flowing into their pockets. They will resist...and will need to be taken care of." Nero flexed his fist in the air. "But with the Sworns and the Flames and certain other..cooperative elements, that will be the easiest part. Any damage Ul'dah suffers will serve our cause." Nero now placed a hand at his hip, the other dangling at his side. "Using funds appropriated from the Monetarist, the Sultana--with some financial advice--can begin to employ the refugees in public works projects and reconstruction. This will grant some reprieve to the people and stabilise the crime rate as these poor souls finally have a source of income. In addition, such funds can be used for things like education. Deposing all of the Monetarist's cronies necessitates having replacements--accountants, merchants, foremen, Brass Blades, and so on. From there, we can say that Ul'dah has a reasonably brighter future." "There are many details I have left out, but that is a brief scope of the plan," he concluded. Nowhere did he mention his intentions for Scythe or the Lominsan weapons, but hopefully this would appease her for now.

I'm pretty sure the United States Postal Service ships only a third of the amount you people ship.

This one looks almost profound.

...I'm telling Hutarin. I'M TELLING ON YOU. They're....um. Robot dodos?

Oh, you guys. It's not a clear cut as all of that, I promise. Instead of zombies stuffed with ceruleum bombs, it will be zombie dodos stuffed with ceruleum bombs...while wearing festive hats! MUAAHAHAHAHAHAHA