Nero

Far be it from me to take a queue from another man! How long have those people been waiting in line? har har

Despite his reaction, Roen's words did propel Nero's thoughts somewhat. What did he expect from her? He expected her to be willing to sacrifice her virtue. He expected her to protest and perhaps despise his methods, but to recognise when they contributed to their goals. He expected her to always hold on to her compassion for the people, but to discard that compassion when it became necessary for the sake of those same people. He expected her to act a bit more sensibly. "Oh, that is right. Burn everything to the ground," Roen retorted bitterly in response to his claim of having a plan. "I had forgotten." The smuggler's eyes rolled nearly right out of his head. Now she was being childish. "Just because I am being petty and nitpicking your ideas doesn't mean you should do the same," he responded with a slight edge of reprimand. "Do you not believe yourself to be better than that?" Nero shrugged. "No plan is flawless, of course, but I will adapt and make changes as the circumstances require." Roen glanced to the skies with a look of exasperation. She seemed at a loss for words at the moment. A small part of Nero secretly celebrated. It was always a triumphant feeling to have the upper hand in a conversation. "You chide me for..." The paladin shook her head, apparently dismissing whatever rebuttal she had planned. "I know Taeros better than you do. I know his contacts in the Blades, his employers, even those he knows in the Flames. Once I figure out his sphere of influence, I can start tracking--" she stopped. "We are no longer working together. I need not justify myself to you." Nero shook his head in a gesture of knowing disappointment. "You are treating the symptoms, not the cause. Taeros and his ilk are weeds that have drained the earth. It is not enough to pull them out by the roots: you must start with new soil." The smuggler cocked an eye at her curiously. "I could always have someone poison him for you. I do so enjoy ironic deaths." Crofte had told him that Taeros wasn't involved in Roen's poisoning, but then Nero had no reason to believe a snake like him was innocent. "His death would solve nothing," Roen insisted. "Another would take his place." Nero snorted. "Amusing how you seem to think arresting him will have a more lasting effect than simply murdering the bastard," he said derisively. Her eyes narrowed as she continued. "Do you not think that the people know of nobles like him? Of...the power that they wield? Many already think they own the Sultanate." Nero raised an eyebrow. "You say that as if the people are wrong when they are, in fact, completely right," he commented idly. Evidently the paladin was deliberately ignoring his prods and jabs now, but that didn't stop him from tossing out quips like daggers. "Just killing a man does nothing. It is simply bloodshed." Roen shook her head. "To publicly and legally condemn their actions...that carries far more weight. We are either too bound by our power, or we have sold ourselves out in your eyes." Nero folded his arms, covering his mouth with his hand to cover the incredulous and mocking smile that had crossed it. "Publicly and legally condemn them? In Ul'dah? Do you even know what city you're dealing with here?" The smuggler stopped just short of throwing another jabbing barb at the paladin's frankly absurd naivete. It took some seconds for Nero to hold back his laughter, but the grin remained as he moved his hand from his mouth. "Yes, publicly and legally condemn them. In Ul'dah. It's just like having a tea party on Dalamud, really. I suppose you could always take Taeros out to the stocks for him to be flogged." Nero put a hand to his chin thoughtfully. "I wonder if they would sell tickets. I'd buy one." Roen shook her head. "I cannot seem to convince you of it otherwise. But know this. The people you fight know how to dodge the system. Or make it work for them. They will have the advantage over you in that." Nero's eyes rolled again, and it was the smuggler's turn to glance to the sky and sigh in exasperation. It seems neither one of them had really been listening to the other this whole time. "Which is why I am circumventing the system entirely. Did I not tell you about this already?" The smirk returned to his face. "Fighting the system with the system--and losing basically every time, I might add--is something you lawful types do. That sort of method is far too good for me. I'm beneath it. I'll be down in the blood and dirt." Roen shook her head. "You do not have to be beneath--" The linkpearl in his right ear crackled as Garalt's voice came through. "We've taken the ship, and secured the ceruleum." Nero paused, pressing a finger to the linkpearl as he glanced away from the paladin, who paused in her statement. "Already?" "The Forte has some hold space left for the rest," the gruff voice resounded. Nero gave a slight shake of his head. "No, I said destroy the whole thing. We have what we want. Also, the East Aldenard Company has a captain out of Limsa....Bluegill or Bluetrill or some such. Does the Forte have enough for another strike?" His tone was crisp and business-like. "Nay, we will need a restock. Mayhaps we strike him before he departs from port." "That's fine. I'll check in later." Nero gave a helpless shrug. "Sorry. Business calls and all that. You were saying?" "How are you going to circumvent the system?" Roen prompted. The smuggler shrugged again. "Isn't it obvious? Gil is king in Ul'dah. Make gil worthless, and the whole system collapses. You can't eat gil, after all. You can't build houses with it. You can't grow crops with it. When you get down to it," his tone had become rather matter-of-factly. "Gil is just a piece of metal. It's a currency, not a good. Get rid of its value, and the Monetarist's entire power base will implode." Roen's face slowly creased into a frown. "Gil is power because it obtains..." she paused, her head tilting slightly. "...things. Do you mean to rob people of food? Crops? Supplies?" Nero shrugged again. "No, I am going to make the Monetarists rob the people." Roen blinked in response. Feeling slightly ridiculous, Nero rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Well, I mean...the Monetarists are already robbing the people. What I mean to say is that I am going to make them rob the people more. Enough to break the status quo." He coughed in embarrassment. "To be honest, saying that I'm going to make the Monetarists rob the people of Ul'dah is rather like saying I am going to make the sun shine, or that I'm going to make fish swim. But you get my meaning. Probably." Roen stared at him, a look of confusion in her eyes. "You are setting them up," she guessed. The smuggler shook his head. "No, I am making them set themselves up. I am merely setting the stage and letting things run its course. There's no script to follow, no ballad, no routine. When the situation becomes desperate enough, they'll react how they always react--throwing other people's gil at the problem until it goes away--and that will be their undoing." The paladin's eyes flitted about. "Why would they even...how do you know they will go that far?" Nero folded his arms, a knowing twinkle in his eye. He was clearly enjoying explaining himself, parading his "wisdom" in front of the naive paladin. "Because, dear Roen, the thing a man with power fears the most is losing that power. And fear is a very potent substance that can drive even the calmest of men into irrational decisions." "The reason why they have never forced the hand of the people or of Raubanh's Flames is because no one has ever gone far enough to make them push." He spread his arms grandly, like a magician opening an act. "And that's where I come in." Roen blinked, narrowing her eyes. "What are you going to do...?" "Kill many people, and destroy many things," Nero stated matter-of-factly. "As many as I have to. The innocents will be caught in the crossfire, which is regrettable, but in the long run this will have very good benefits. Given time, they can rebuild."

The late afternoon glow of the Thanalan sun cast a warm hue over the docks at Crescent Cove. The docks were not overly busy, but there was some small manner of bustle as Nero and two other men, two Highlanders, prepared a ferry. The smuggler was dressed for combat; a night blue tabard hung over a shirt of chainmail, the leather boots had been replaced with steel sabatons, and a simple yet elegant sword was strapped to his side. The two Highlanders were similarly armed and armored with battle axes and chain hauberks. “You need to take command,” the taller Highlander said, even as he prepared the ferry to take off. Garalt Lyons was typically a very quiet man who did little more than follow orders or nod his silent approval. Now was one of those rare times where he made his opinions known. Nero shook his head, pointing at the ship anchored in the horizon. “You, too, need to be prepared, Garalt. I am trying to do everything I can to get Satz out. I know you can lead the crew. Vail trusted you. I do too.” “It’s not about whether or not the crew trusts me,” Garalt said gruffly. “It’s about whether they trust you. Daeg and I know better, but your constant shore visits are making them anxious. Not having the captain is trouble enough, even if Daeg is in command. Not having either of you on board is causing some concerns. Now you are participating directly in a raid? They don’t like it.” Nero raised an eyebrow, grinning. “Tell them to look at the bright side. If the ship’s not being captained by a Lazarov, they can’t vanish at sea. Besides,” he patted the sword at his side. “I think a good old fashioned raid will be good for my health. Haven’t been in a decent fight in a while.” The smuggler briefly recalled Nanawa Mines, and the subsequent argument with a certain paladin. Garalt narrowed his eyes at the jest, but said nothing. Nero shrugged. “This is just a routine raid. We’ll try to keep the enemy crew alive. They’re just bystanders; if they let us have the cargo, they can live. Once we’ve let them reach their lifeboats, we’ll send the ship to Llymlaen’s depths.” The smuggler vaguely registered footsteps approaching behind him, but ignored them. “There’s no need to be easy on this, Garalt. You’ll be fine in command of the ship.” Someone cleared their throat behind him, and a familiar voice spoke. “Mister Lazarov." ]Nero turned, glancing at a slender, feminine face and neatly arranged auburn hair. Roen’s appearance wasn’t unexpected, but at this juncture it was somewhat annoying. “Can you talk while we sail?” He gestured to the ferry. “I’m in something of a hurry right now.” The second Highlander leaned towards Garalt. “Spat with the missus, then?” the man said gruffly in a crude attempt at subtlety. The comment rang as loud as a gong. To his credit, Garalt didn’t dignify the comment with a response. Roen paused, her lips parting briefly as she wrinkled her nose. “You are leaving now?” Nero rolled his eyes in response. “”No, I’m leaving six months from now. Is this urgent?” In exasperation, he threw up his hands. Any more delays would mean the Second Forte would miss her mark. “You know what, nevermind.” The smuggler gestured at Garalt. “I’m leaving you in command. You know what to do.” Though the Highlander clearly wanted to protest, Garalt nonetheless nodded wordlessly as Nero undid the rope tying the ferry to the dock. The two Highlanders took up the oars to hasten their departure. The Hyur turned back to face Roen, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “Consider yourself in possession of my attention.”

THIS ONE TOO

GO AWAY ROEN I FOUND IT FIRST

The rate at which the flames impacted with the ground and the sea intensified. Nero couldn't hear what the Miqo'te was shouting over the din of explosions and the shockwave, but from her wild gesturing and frantic flailing of her arms, he could guess at her intent. At any other time, the thaumaturge might have considered the situation humorous. He and this Miqo'te knew each other not. They were literal strangers, wanderers, and the only thing that brought them together was an event that seemed like the end of the world. Grimly, Nero peered across the coastline. The tremors had definitely made their mark; far off in the horizon, an approaching wall of water made itself visible. From this distance the tsunami looked tiny, but Nero had been in enough journeys at see to know that the size was very deceptive. If the flames and the tremors didn't kill them, the unrelenting waves might. He knelt down to stabilise his footing, even as the ground continued to shake and flames continued to rain from Dalamud's apparent explosion. The Miqo'te was standing now, her mouth still opening and closing, her arms insistent, even as the repeated shockwaves rippled her lilac hair past her face, but the Midlander was not about to abandon a young girl in this situation. Ignoring any protests that might have come out of her--not that he could hear her anyway--Nero suddenly swept his left arm under her legs, supporting the frail Miqo'te's back with his right as he stood up. She was a thin, spindly thing. Even in the chaos, Nero could not help but note with concern how light she was. He flexed his right arm as much as he could in an attempt to turn the young girl's head into his shoulder to shield her head from the blast, and broke into a loping run towards Limsa Lominsa. The gate was not overly far, but there was still some distance to be covered. The heat from the myriad of explosions began to grow more oppressive, each blast causing the loose folds of Nero's robes to whip past the pair. He grit his teeth, ignoring the flames and doing his utmost to stay solely focused on making it to the city.

I knew you wouldn't edit your kudos. I knew it. On the more serious note, kudos to Roen for being a major gateway for me to enter the RPC community. I probably wouldn't be around if you hadn't taken the time to arrange things in the first place.

The Forte has been lost. That was the message Nero had received, and even as he traversed the mild climate of La Noscea, the sinking feeling in his gut had not receded. The Hyur was still dressed in the traditional featureless black robes of an Ossuary acolyte; he knew he would return to Vylbrand one day, but he did not expect to be returning so soon, and certainly not because his father's ship had vanished. The Midlander occasionally glanced up from beneath his hood; the blood red eye of Dalamud was certainly not a good omen and did not do anything to raise Nero's spirits, and no one in Eorzea, and certainly not the young thaumaturge, was expecting the cataclysm that followed. First came the tremors. It was unusual enough for there to be quakes that could be felt in Vylbrand, but where there were quakes, there were waves. These were not ordinary upheavals, however; aetheric energy in a myriad spectrum of colours erupted violently from the cracks in the earth. The Hyur was rocked nearly off of his feet. "Gods damn...!" came the curse, as he struggled to maintain his balance. He withdrew from within the folds of his robes a copper sceptre and attempted to form something of a barrier to shield himself, but as soon as the Hyur's mind tried to focus on the gathering of aether, the sceptre fractured before fragmenting and falling apart like shards of glass, utterly destroyed by the feedback. Then came the flames. Nero did his utmost to keep his calm, but a deep well of fear began to replace the lump that had occupied his stomach. Dalamud was nothing more than a fiery nebula in the sky, one that had begun to sent blazing plumes rocketing towards every corner of Eorzea. Nero's thoughts vanished, and what remained were the animalistic instincts of self preservation. Inwardly he cursed at the clumsy footwear he had donned; they were made for browsing libraries or traversing cobbled steps, not running furiously on rough dirt paths. As the flares began to impact, the shockwaves whipped the Hyur's robes all around him. Shelter was the only thought crossing his mind. He knew not if he could survive this, but that would not stop him from trying. It was during his fearful retreat that Nero spotted her: a young Miqo'te girl, who could not have been older than thirteen or fourteen years, cowering behind the trunk of a tree. Another poor soul caught off guard by the explosive catastrophe. Dirt had begun to mat around her lavender hair as her arms struggled to shield her head from the debris and the wind Protective instincts overrode the impulses of self-preservation as he ran his way to the Miqo'te, kneeling down as Nero gripped her by the shoulders. "Stand up!" He found he had to shout over the din of explosions impacting with the sea and the cliffs of La Noscea. "Stand up! Escape!" There was no way to tell if she could hear his--commands or pleas, he knew not--over her own terror or the conflagrations, but that wasn't about to stop Nero from trying.

Sultansworn who grew up as an orphan in Ul'dah? Yes...I can think of a lot of potential for this.

.... Bad Osric. No cookie for you.

Nero kept the frown from his lips, but they curled slightly nonetheless, even as he kept his gaze focused on the wall. "And why have you not rejoined the Order?" The paladin fell silent. Perhaps she had realised how one-sided this conversation had become. From the corner of his eye, the smuggler saw a pensive expression cross Roen's face as she fingered her glass absently. "Because...since I arrived in Ul'dah...I saw things I did not expect to see. I learned things that the people outside Ul'dah never knew about. The struggle of power. The struggle of the poor. The corruption that runs unchecked." A snort managed to keep itself from escaping Nero's nostrils. "Why have you not rejoined the Order?" He echoed his question. Roen stared at him for a long moment before lowering her gaze. "Because I want to do more," she murmured. "Because the Sworns' hands are tied to the will of the Sultana...and the Sultana has to maintain the balance of power for peace to exist in Ul'dah. Nero took up his cup again and swirled the liquid in it, his thirst satiated. The smuggler continued to stare at the wall as he spoke, as if he were speaking more to himself than to Roen at this point. "You want to protect the people. Being a member of the Sworns grants you that authority. You may not always be able to punish the wrongdoers, but at the least you have the power to defend the innocent." He did not glance at her from his peripheral vision, but the silence that followed was noticeable. "Aye," came the response. "But there are other Sworns. And they will continue to do so. But none have sworn to change things. They cannot." Roen shook her head. "I never even imagined that such things would be possible. And I do not know that it is. But... I called you a dreamer once. For this impossible goal. It does not mean one should not try." Ironic how she was calling him the dreamer when he had spent so much time belittling her foolish ideals. Nero kept his gaze averted. "At least we can agree on that," he muttered, more to himself than to the paladin. "Some have called me foolish to hold allegiance to both the Empire and Eorzea. But... it is what I feel is right. So I shall." Roen canted her head, noting his evasive expression. "How old were you when you left here?" Nero sighed, choosing his words carefully. "Old enough," was the vague response. "Old enough to have seen things that are the stuff of nightmares. Old enough to know why I had to leave or be consumed by it. Old enough." His statement ended with a morbid sense of finality. A long silence followed that was eventually broken by Roen. "The story you told me...you saw that? First hand?" Nero nearly flinched. Telling that story was foolish, but there was no use in regretting it now. "My place in that story..doesn't matter. All that matters is that it happened," he said evasively. The smuggler held a solid mask of composure over his face, even as his tone was stiff in its neutrality. Roen's grey eyes searched the face that refused to look at her. Her voice was soft and gentle. She did not want to sound as if she was pitying him, but the sympathy was clear in her tone. "It does matter," she insisted. "It explains...." she paused, as if feeling that that was not the right word. "It helps me understand you." She tilted her head, as if to draw his gaze. Nero glanced at her from the corner of his eye, not willing to look directly at her, lest she spot the smoldering glare he wore. "And why do you care?" The question was still in the metallic, neutral tone, but held an edge of bitterness. "The only people who have ever cared are people who wanted something in return. I have no reason to believe you are any different."

Your avatar reference. I see it. Beware of yandere. Welcome to the RPC! Hope you'll enjoy your stay here.

Yes, Franz will probably get involved somehow, knowing Natalie. ...but meeting first to stir up some trouble could always be fun. ...if Nero isn't particularly hateful of Garleans, there's also that. Otherwise, a good old barfight or a past mercenary job could work as a fast introduction. Considering he adopted a Garlean name, he does not hold too much enmity towards Garleans, no. Past mercenary work is an angle we could potentially pursue. Barfights are something he prefers not to get involved in since they have a tendency to escalate.

I think given recent events, we're more or less on a fixed intercept route right now. We'll see how it goes! Hmm! I can think of some interesting ideas. Expect a PM from me later! I think so too! I'll have to put some thought into this (since I...kind of try to avoid the Quicksand

Nero's relationship section is a little sparse, and I'd like to fix that! To summarise, Nero Lazarov is a smuggler and pirate based out of Limsa Lominsa. However, he was born in Ul'dah, and escaped the city in his teens. His typical facade of the flirtatious and joking rogue hides a lot of repressed anger and a ruthless pragmatism. He is heavily involved with the underground scene of Limsa Lominsa and is attempting to break into Ul'dah's underworld as well. His involvement in Gridania is minimal, but his legitimate merchant front occasionally does business there. Normal connections are fine, but my limited schedule means I do not have too much time to do live RP in an average week. Forum RP I do a bit better with because I can often write posts while at work or some such, but both forum and in-game RP are totally fine with me. I've no problem with weaving the backstories of characters together, like childhood friends, and I do love to brainstorm plot ideas. I'm also receptive to integrating player characters into pre-existing storylines, or crossing multiple storylines together. I am more comfortable with structured RP (that is, RP with a driven storyline) than with spontaneous RP (such as open tavern meetups and the like), but I'm willing to engage in either. Feel free to PM me (in-game or on the forum here) if you'd like to talk more!

Hey! Who said you were allowed to read those completely public web pages!

Why was it always with this woman? Why was it always about Ul'dah? Something about Roen and that wretched hive always brought out the worst in him. The subject had come up often; often they were clashing about their ideologies, but such things weren't new to him. What was it about her in particular that made him so vehement in his methods? Whenever she tried to instill some idea about justice in him, gone was his usual smirking pirate routine, the mask he had thought he'd solidly affixed to his face. What was it about her that made him so determined to prove his own ideals, as dark as they were? Nero took a deep breath, searching his memory. The smuggler never enjoyed talking about his past. The very last thing he wanted was pity or sympathy. The things that he suffered were not unique or special or of note; they were things that others were suffering right this very moment. The only difference between him and those unfortunate souls enduring those hardships right now was that he had endured before them. His past should remain exactly where it had always been: behind him. Yet now it seemed, to make this maddeningly stubborn paladin understand, he would have to agitate the ghosts. "This is a story about hope, and bright future. This is the story about someone who believed that they could overcome all odds and reach an opportunity for a better life," Nero began, his arms still folded. "This is the story about a young girl, full of that same hope, that same aspiration for a more prosperous life. This young girl lacked in material goods, but she was not lacking in spirit, or strength of heart." "Every day, she was confident that an opportunity would come where she could grasp a better future. Our young girl was raised by the prostitutes, but she was not unhappy. They were kind to her, and it was among them that she found many other children. She saw that they were unhappy, and full of sadness and pain. Above all else, the only thing our young girl wanted was for them to believe in the same bright future that she did." It was always dangerous for him to be skirting on such memories. He was careful to omit any mention of his involvement, but Nero knew he teetered on the edge; these bitter recollections had a bad habit of setting him off. He kept his voice tight and controlled, his tone somber. Instead of looking at Roen, he looked at the crates behind her, focusing on anything but the woman standing in front of him. "On some days, she would sweep in front of stores, and occasionally the merchants would see fit to flick a disdainful coin at her. On other days, she would brush boots with a ragged cloth until her hands bled. On good days, the less scrupulous alchemists would test their experimental concoctions on her. The effects were always thoroughly unpleasant, but often they gave enough gil for her to buy food." "Even with all of this, she never gave up. She never let the city break her. One day, a kind man saw the brightness in her, and that determined luminosity inspired some generosity in him. He gave her many coins--a paltry sum, but to her, he may as well have given her all of the wealth in the world. 'Take that to the other children,' he told her. 'Show them the prosperous future they might achieve, if they but believed in hope as you do.'" "With boundless joy and happiness she returned to spread her good fortune to all those she cared about. First she race to the prostitutes. Her smile and her beliefs did not waver as she watched the bandits drag them out of the brothel one by one. Her hope did not crack even the slightest as they kicked and screamed, insisting that they had paid their dues. She was not colored by a single inkling of despair as they beat the faces of those who resisted and broke the legs of those who tried to run." "Undaunted, she ran to the merchants, eager to show them that she could buy some of their wares. Her smile never broke as they threw the street rat out of their stores, as the Brass Blades they had paid to be enforcers snatched some of her gil as they tossed her into an alley. As she ran, they played a common game, testing their marksmanship with rocks. Some of them found their mark, but she did not waver." "And so, with great joy she found the children, her precious friends, and her hope in their future did not diminish by even a fraction as they stole everything she had, hoping for themselves that they could buy some food for the evening." "And so she was left in the streets, alone, with naught but bruises and shattered legs and nothing to grasp, nothing to hold but her hope for that better future. She died as she clasped onto that tiny light of opportunity, prosperity, and happiness, and her body was taken to the mass grave behind the city, the one used for the poor and nameless, for the worthless and scorned." Nero breathed in, keeping his emotions in check. "And as the next sun rose, another child awoke, full of that same hope, ready to face the challenges of a new day." How many years had it been? No...it didn't matter. That was not the point. The entire reason he had dug up that recollection was because within him lay the desire to shove the city's cruelty at Roen's face. To yell and shout at her, to berate her. You believe that you can change this city peacefully? That you can change things if you simply try hard enough? Nero knew that she had more substantial plans, but as his mind entered another tirade, he did not care. He bit his lip to prevent any more of his thoughts from flying free. He glanced at Roen and saw the sparkle of tears run unbidden down the side of her face. When he had concluded his statement, she blinked, and wiped them away. "How do you know such horrors..." It was almost a whisper, full of disbelief. Nero's expression changed to a melancholy smile. It was knowing, as if he understood what she was feeling, and tinged with the smallest hint of despair. "This is a city that is merciless, and so I will show it no mercy. And for the sake of that brighter future that so many have died believing in...I will not hesitate to do anything." The smuggler sighed, tapping the boxes. "Hand these out to the rest of the refugees. I will stop by Stonesthrow and make sure they receive their share." With no more words, Nero began to pile several of the crates back into the wagon, along with the rectangular ones they had retrieved before. He rubbed the neck of the chocobo as he clambered onto the wagon. His grasp on the reins was tight, his knuckles pale as he gripped them with far more force than he should have. "Hya," he called out, lashing the reins, as the wagon began to lumber its way out of the cave.

Yes, yes, and yes. It's been a while so I'd have to refresh myself, but I would love to do this.

(( The previous post and the following posts are an edited recap of an in-game session. )) His cheek still stung with the memory of her slap, but Nero could not help but take some satisfaction in it, even as the side of his face began to redden. She had struck him because some part of her knew he was right. It was an arrogant thought, egotistical, perhaps even narcissistic, but he could see his piercing barbs wearing down her idealism, her naive world view. Yet within some part of him, there was some tiny regret. The smuggler was testing her. Roen had gone through some experiences she had only given hints or summaries to, but she was still sheltered in many ways. The smallest, most insignificant fragment of his conscience did not wish to see her idealism broken. But it was far too late for that now. Nero turned his attention back to unloading and inspecting the crates, moving to the other side to avoid the paladin's gaze. Some of the refugees could hear their argument echo in the caves, and the Hyur sheepishly distributed some supplies to them before shooing them off. "I hope that day never comes, Mister Lazarov. For Ul'dah's sake." Roen's voice came from the other side of the crate pile. From the corner of his eye, he saw her glance at the refugees. After a long silence, she finally spoke. "We both want the same thing." "Do we?" Nero said, his voice melancholic and doubtful. "Have you even thought about what it is you want? Do you even know?" "I, too, want to end the suffering of the poor." The cavern rumbled a bit as the crate lids were peeled off and the contents shuffled. Nero couldn't see her face--he was avoiding looking at it--but he could guess at her expression. "I am not blind to the corruption of the Monetarists. I wish for their hold on the Jewel to end...but I do not wish for a bloody war to achieve such goals." Nero's bitter smile returned. Hopelessly naive, the thought rang in his head. He stood up from his crouching position, occasionally casting a sideways glance at the paladin as the two of them worked. "I do not wish for the bodies of my enemies to litter the streets, or for their blood to run over the stones." Roen shook her head. "I do not mean to keep the status quo. I know the status quo is warped. Twisted. Unbalanced. Else I'd have never agreed to this." She gestured between herself and the smuggler. "But I knew not how or where to begin. I had hoped you had the answers that I did not." She turned her face to search his ice-coloured eyes. "Perhaps you still do. In some way." Nero could not help but snort derisively. She wanted to correct Ul'dah and had absolutely no plan whatsoever. And when some parts of his plan contained elements that she didn't like, she complained. Typical. "And so your plan is to stumble about aimlessly in the dark, hoping that your goal will come to fruition by itself." Nero roughly brushed past her to reach the other crates. "Hoping that the story books weren't lies, hoping beyond hope that no one will need to sacrifice." He turned his head to glare at her. His words from yesterday had ached to be said, and now they received their chance. "You are nothing but arrogant, Miss Deneith. You sit from your pedestal of righteousness and indignation and simply watch the suffering. You convince yourself that you are helping, that you are 'changing' things, that you are making things better. You watch filth like me stain our hands with blood and destroy lives, and you turn your nose away in disdain. 'I am not like that', you say to yourself. 'I am changing things. I am doing things the right way.' And so the people continue to suffer, to live in squalor, to be chewed up and spat out by the city that despises them...and you just watch, chained by your own delusions." As Nero spoke, his words became more inflammatory, his tone smoldering with repressed anger. He turned to face her. "What would you have them do? Raise their hands to the skies and pray for salvation from the Twelve? Have them watch their families starve and freeze in the night, their faith in the system so justly rewarded? What would you have them do, Roen Deneith?" Roen slammed her hands on the box. "Stop that," she said, her voice hoarse. "Stop that!" The hoarse demand had turned into a growl. "I...I do not know! I did not have a plan! That is why I sought you out!" Her voice grew more infuriated. "All I have known is the Order! I am trying to find a new way. A better way! You were my hope in finding it!" What was she talking about, this simpering girl? She saw him as some kind of guardian angel, that he would provide magical answers to the problems she wished to solve? How foolish could she possibly be? Nero did his utmost to keep his lip from curling into a scowl. Her naivete--no, it was beyond naivete, it was now borderline stupidity--was incredible. He did not look at her face, but he could hear the paladin's voice calm at least somewhat. "No, I never expected gratitude from you," the bitter voice said. "I thought one day, I would be expressing them to you, for helping me find a solution that I had no way of finding on my own!" "But now..." Roen fumed. "Now I am not so sure of that at all. Now I think that all you seek is to prove yourself right, and everyone else wrong." "Where I thought I saw hope...that you too wanted to belong in that world you would help create, I was imagining things." The bitterness in her tone deepened. Nero looked away. "Yes, you were imagining things. I have no hope of that. I do not belong in the new world I seek to create. My very existence is contradictory to everything that world stands for. Honesty, peace, justice, virtue, kindness, generosity...hope." He sighed, rubbing his temple. "No one knows me better than myself. And I know for a fact, I know within my bones and my blood and in the depths of my soul...that there is no place for me there." He turned his head--his glare sharpened like a spear point, and burned like a wildfire. The smuggler's voice became steely, hard, and relentless. "I will commit as much evil as I have to. I will kill whoever I must. I will destroy everything, if I have to. In a twisted inferno, I will reduce everything to ash." "And if I am so wrong, if I am nothing more than the same evil I wish to destroy," he flicked a challenging finger at the sword at Roen's side. "Then do me a favour...and take my life now." His gaze intensified. "I will not hesitate. I will not waver. With fire and smoke and steel and a shower of blood, I will correct that which is remorselessly broken." The paladin paused, blinking at him. Her stare was one of disbelief. Nero continued. "And when the dust clears, when the flames have burned out and died, when the bodies have been buried and when I have paid for every single sin with every single ilm of my life...the future will belong to you, and to the people like you. The people who believe in honesty. Who believe in justice. Who believe in virtue. Who believe that life in Ul'dah is not about who devours whom, but that it is about living, together, in peace and cooperation. You and your people will construct the brightest possible future." Roen searched his eyes; the doubt regarding his words had evaporated. She had seen it first hand, the exacting nature with which he pursued his goals. Nero's eyes lost their sheen, that sparkle of ambition. They were dull and flat. "To enact extreme change, one must take extreme action, and the only ones who should take lives are those who are prepared to give their own." His mind was blank; no thoughts ran in the smuggler's head. His mouth moved on their own, as if he were reciting lines from a script. "I belong to Ul'dah. Every fibre of my being is devoted to cleansing her in the only way I know how." And again, the fire re-ignited. "I will not suffer interference. I will not allow anyone or anything to stand in my way. I will crush and destroy and maim and obliterate and burn and ravage everything and anything I must..for the opportunity of a better future." Nero turned to face the paladin. "You call me cruel, and brutal. You think me evil. That is fine. That is nothing less than what I deserve. That is nothing less than what I desire. I will become evil incarnate, if I must." In a swift motion, he flicked the knife from his belt and held the pommel towards Roen. It was an offer, a challenge, a dare...and a plea. "And if such a thing is unforgivable," he breathed in, his face taking on an expression of peaceful acceptance. "Then end me now."

Hope it all works out soon. We'll be here when you get back!

For a second I really had the thinking of Roen bringing Nero as a "junk exchange" Hey! Nero is a strong independent smuggler who don't need no paladin! :dodgy:

Nero rolled her eyes at Roen's reaction. He could tell from the way her face twitched and threatened to scrunch into a scowl that she was repressing a harsh rebuke, and that annoyed him far more than it should have. It took some effort for him to quell his own sour remarks about her naievete. What did she think? That this would be easy? That they could have gone through with their plan by simply kissing babies and shaking hands? It was not long ago that the paladin had fervently argued in favour of the inherent goodness she saw in Nero. He hadn't the courage to point it out to her then, but it seems now he did not need to: at that time, she had seen only what she wanted to see. She had pleaded so desperately for him, her idealism shining like a beacon. No amount of pleasure was lost when Nero saw that idealism shimmer and dim ever so slightly, even as she glared at him. "When next you see your compatriots in the Sultansworn, Miss Deneith, ask them this: what do you do when there is an evil you cannot defeat through just means? Shall you commit evil to destroy evil? Or would you remain steadfast and righteous, even if that meant surrendering to evil?" The corner of Nero's lip curled. Even as dire as their situation was, he wanted to be smug. He wanted to sneer at her. He felt some measure of pride in proving Roen wrong; it was petty and it was childish, but it still felt immensely satisfying. The words were on the very tip of his tongue, yet he knew he could not let them escape. Welcome to my world. The echoes of activity from beneath the scaffolding broke the smuggler from his arrogant reverie. He merely grinned. "Whoops," was his painfully meager reaction. "Guess they didn't like the fireworks. Have they never seen a leg be a routine? You'd think there'd be some more cultural taste around here..." Nero drew the hood over his head. The ones who had seen his face--the Brass Blade and the bandits--were dead, but the less risks taken at this point, the better. "But yes, it's time to go." A quick jaunt to the crates and a swift prying of the top revealed that they were indeed what Nero was looking for; sacks of potatoes, leathers, clothing, and so on. The smuggler smiled. "Finally, some luck," he exclaimed. "I suppose I could have been a bit more subtle about the whole 'blasting people to Dalamud' part of the plan, but we haven't invented silent fireballs yet. Work in progress." The jokes never ceased coming out of his mouth. He couldn't help but find the whole situation endlessly amusing, and incredibly thrilling. Nero hadn't been in an adventure like this in a while. Too much time had been spent haggling with merchants and crooks or simply sailing the waves on the Forte, which was all well and good, but it had a hard time beating the adrenaline and excitement of something like this. He turned his head to the paladin. "Bring the cart around. We should probably move before the party starts near us." Nero grunted as he began to lift the first crate.

The feeling when he practised thaumaturgy could hardly be described. Ecstatic seemed woefully inadequate. Manipulating the aether itself was a fairly pleasurable feeling, but what brought the smuggler such inordinate joy was just seeing the results of his power. Immense satisfaction had welled up inside Nero when he saw the Brass Blade spin off the cliff, the leg dancing in the air like a firework. The hood had been pulled off by the Miqo'te's arrows, and even as his face was somewhat hidden by his fiery orange forelocks, the expression on Nero's face could only be called one of pure exultation. One of the Midlanders, the one Nero had punched in the throat, began to struggle to get up. The bandit coughed heavily, clutching at his chest in an effort to recover his breath. Nero, bemused by the reaction, slowly sauntered over and placed his foot against the bandit's back, forcing the Midlander back to the ground. Nero moved his foot to the Midlander's neck and raised it before slamming down his jackboots hard, a sickening crack resounding from the point of impact as the bandit's flailing suddenly ceased. It'd been a long time since Nero had personally been involved in a fight. In Limsa Lominsa, Garalt and Daegsatz were usually more than enough to quell any chance of a brawl breaking out; the quiet Highlander had a glare of death permanently affixed to his face and the Roegadyn was, well, a Roegadyn. With a battle axe. Suffice to say that that was enough to cow most would-be opponents into submission. But even a little spat involving unskilled bandits like this provided a sense of freedom, the sense that Nero could control his own destiny, that he had the power to destroy those who opposed him. That was a tyrannical line of thinking, perhaps, but one that never stopped being immensely fulfilling to him. The smuggler strode lazily to the crates and prepared to check their contents, and it was only when he glanced around to see if anyone else was watching did he notice the paladin at the top of the scaffolding. Nero passed her a salute with his hand as he slipped the silver sceptre into the folds of his robe. "So I take it everything went well then," he said, wearing his trademark smirk.

Hey, it almost worked in FernGully too!

As fate would have it, Nero would not be required to enter the mines themselves. He thanked the Twelve beneath his breath for granting him some manner of luck; he had ascended the scaffolding and could scarcely contain his excitement when he spotted the rectangular crates resting near the entrance of the mines. With some hazy memories, he recalled that the Nanawa Mines was primarily a conduit for the ceruleum refineries; it was fortunate that they had not been taken out of central Thanalan. The arms crates were stacked along with a few other crates next to a support beam; Nero guessed that those were the refugee supplies. He couldn't see the Amajina and Sons logo from where he was peering over the scaffolding, but it was safe to assume that the Blades had kept all of the confiscated goods together, and even if the other crates weren't the supplies, the weapons--or at least the crate that carried them--were intact, and that was enough. The question now was that if Nanawa Mines was meant to be a transit area for the goods, then where was the final destination? The answer to Nero's question came in the form of a group of four bandits; they were dressed functionally and armed to the teeth, and were lounging several fulms away from the crates, near the entrance of the mines. From where the smuggler peered over the edge of the cliff, he could see three swords and a bow. One of the bandits stepped forward, presumably the leader; it was a female Miqo'te wielding the bow. Accompanying her were two Midlanders and a Hellsguard Roegadyn, all wielding swords. The Miqo'te was dressed modestly for the overcast conditions and perked up when the third Brass Blade, a Highlander, emerged from the mines. Five foes in total. Could he handle all of them? It was clear that the bandits were here for the goods; the Highlander Brass Blade was making some gestures at the pile of crates. The Miqo'te made the same motions, occasionally glancing back at her henchmen. Nero couldn't read their lips, but from the motions being made, he guessed that they must have been negotiating for payment. The smuggler's heart and mind both raced. He couldn't take on five of them in hand-to-hand. Thaumaturgy? If he didn't control the size of his spells, he could risk destroying his products. Roen was still dealing with the two other Brass Blades, presumably. Nero shook his head, withdrawing the silver sceptre from his side. Even if he ended up destroying the goods, he couldn't let the bandits have them. At least, not these bandits. Pulling the hood over his face as far as he could allow without significantly impeding his vision, Nero stepped up the scaffolding, sceptre in hand. His eyes narrowed as he clutched the sceptre, willing the aether to bend and form around the sceptre, which began to take on an umbral purple hue. Properly molding the raw aether into sorcery required immense focus; the first lesson taught at the Ossuary was the danger of failed spells, and an acolyte was subject to intense exercises of concentration before taking on learning how to shape the aether. It had been some time since Nero had properly used his thaumaturgy--often he avoided using it when possible or simply lacked a reason--but it was with a pleasant surprise that he found that his concentration did not waver, even with his lack of practise. The aether began to manifest as flames danced around the head of the sceptre, creating sparkling lights within the emerald embedded in it. The Hyur kept the sceptre concealed behind his back, fully aware that the growing flames would not remain hidden for very long. Nero was still a few yalms away from the group, but the bandits had taken notice. The Hellsguard Roegadyn drew his sword and stepped forward towards Nero; the two other Midlanders followed suit. The Roegadyn growled. "Yer not supposed--" The sentence was interrupted as Nero whipped the sceptre out as his spell completed, sending a plume of fire rocketing towards the group. The Brass Blade's eyes widened and the Highlander dropped to the floor. The Midlanders and the Miqo'te followed suit, but the Roegadyn took the fireball directly to the face, the spell exploding in a brilliant cascade of sparks. Not wasting any time in preparing another spell, Nero's eyes darted from beneath the hood, assessing the situation. He hadn't killed the Roegadyn yet--that would be remedied soon enough--but he needed to keep the Miqo'te at least pinned. Taking an arrow would end this endeavour quickly. The aether swirled around the scepter again, and a violet orb flew out, again striking the Roegadyn who convulsed violently before falling to the ground, his limbs occasionally twitching. By now, the Midlanders had recovered and brandished their swords, making a charge for the smuggler; the Brass Blade had bellowed something unintelligible and began to crawl to the edge. The bandits were clearly not well trained in combat, a condition that came from preying on hapless refugees or unarmed caravans; the first came at Nero alone instead of waiting for his compatriot to attack simultaneously, the Midlander swinging a scimitar vertically. It was a clumsy attack at best, one that Nero easily dodged by sidestepping to the left and following up with a right cross directly to the bandit's throat with the intent of smashing the windpipe. The cobalt plates on Nero's gloves impacted on the tender flesh with a sickening thud that sounded like raw meat being hit with a sledgehammer. The second bandit made a diagonal swing, but was met with the silver sceptre. A gurgle resounded as Nero flicked the knife from its sheath and jammed it with his left hand into the bandit's throat. However, it would not be as easy as all that. The smuggler whipped his head to the left, narrowly dodging an arrow that whistled past his ear, violently brushing Nero's hood off of his head. The Miqo'te had recovered and was now taking careful aim at the Hyur. A fire spell would have taken too long; white-blue particles began to coalesce around the head of the sceptre. Another arrow whipped past Nero, who nearly fell over attempting to dodge the projectile. He raised his sceptre, and a cascade of icy shards manifested around the Miqo'te before exploding like glass. Nero didn't take the time to examine his handiwork, but the lack of arrows flying at him indicated that the Miqo'te was either dead or incapacitated enough to stop using a bow; the Highlander Brass Blade was still yelling something unintelligible. The smuggler's mouth twisted into a cruel grin as another plume of fire emerged from the sceptre, blasting the Highlander off of the cliff with one of his legs spinning through the air, separate from his body.