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Roen · **08-19-2014, 02:47 AM**

â€œApologies,â€ was the only warning she gave. Roen grabbed the manâ€™s leg and pulled.

She heard his sharp gasp of pain, but she knew not to let his discomfort distract her now. Her grip was firm on the lower leg as both hands curled around the ankle and pulled it straight, allowing the jumble of broken bones to settle into alignment. One hand holding the leg in place, she shifted slightly to reach for Neroâ€™s hand--the one placed on the manâ€™s thigh--to move it down further, towards the knee. The manâ€™s leg was jerking somewhat involuntarily from the pain.

â€œHold his leg here, and push.â€ Roen put her weight on top of his hand for a moment, as if to press her point. Then with the leg secure and still, she brought both her hands over the crushed shin and began to conjure.

Roen always felt a sense of tranquility whenever she called upon the aether, as though she was awakening another sense that had been asleep. Her skin tingled as the soothing green energies materialized from thin air, delicate tendrils of glowing aether dancing and coiling around her fingertips. She pressed her palms flat against the manâ€™s black and blue skin, and felt the warmth of the healing magic suffuse his battered leg. She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly; she could feel the bones begin to fuse together, aided by the weave of aetheric energies. The swollen limb slowly began to flatten, regaining some of its original shape, although the purple color remained.

Whether it was the conjury or Neroâ€™s firm hold on the man, the patient became silent and still, only his shallow breaths filling the silence of the cabin. The faint green glow faded as Roen exhaled, her hand sliding off the manâ€™s leg. Her shoulders slumped slightly with fatigue, though she was used to it after healing any extensive wound. She lightly touched Neroâ€™s hand on the leg and gave him a nod to indicate that he could let up on the man.

â€œYour leg is going to need a couple of suns before it can bear your full weight.â€ Roen said quietly as she leaned back, her eyes studying the patient. â€œI suggest you get some rest, and use the cane your son is soon to bring you.â€

***Nero*** · **08-19-2014, 03:18 AM**

Nero could only guess at the process happening beneath the man's skin, but from Roen's assessment, he supposed that the leg had more or less been recovered. The paladin looked tired, as if she had donated some of her own energy in the conjury. Her neat auburn hair had taken on some subtle signs of unkemptness, and her shoulders sagged a bit after the procedure.

At the paladin's indication, he lifted his arms off from the man, as the door to the shack creaked open, with Lancel standing in the doorway. The boy looked rather pleased with himself, if rather tired and covered in dust that matched his matted hair, bearing his grand prize. It was a solid-looking branch, about one ilm thick. As fate would have it, it did not end in a convenient Y-shaped nock or curved end, as such discoveries usually did, but it would serve its purpose as a walking stick well enough.

"That's a good find," Nero said, letting out an impressed whistle. He stood up and rubbed the boy's head. "Nice work, Lancel. You did a good job." The smuggler gestured an arm towards the man leaning against the wall, before turning a kind gaze to the wide-eyed boy. "Your father will be fine. Try to keep him from walking for some time."

Nero reached for his gil pouch, counting out several coins. Stripping one of his fingerless gloves from his hand, he deposited the fistful of coins into the glove as a sort of makeshift pouch, holding it from the bottom before pressing it against Lancel's chest.

"There's an apothecary who comes by this gate once every two days or so. His name is Reynold. Wears a fancy blue coat and hat." Nero's expression morphed to somewhat playful. "If you need something, potions or the like, talk to him and tell him that you're friends with Sebastian, and pay with that." He pointed a finger at the glove of coins. Reynold was one of Nero's newer clients who did regular business with the Alchemist's Guild. He was not overly wealthy, but he was mostly fair and didn't ask for anything too dangerous.Â

Lancel glanced between the coins, his father, Roen, and Nero, as if the boy could scarcely believe his luck. It was with an amazed silence before the child's face broke out into a wide and innocent smile. "T-thank you!" He reached out to shake the Hyur's hand, which Nero obligingly provided, a soft expression on his face. The boy's tiny hand shook as vigorously as he could, with a child's innocent ignorance as to the purpose of a handshake.

Lancel skipped over to Roen and did the same with her hand, simply grabbing it from her side and waving his arm up and down enthusiastically. Nero couldn't help but smile at the boy's earnest gratitude before covering his mouth with his hand, turning away lest the paladin catch his expression.

As Lancel was about to skip outside, Nero caught the boy's shoulder as the smuggler knelt down again. "Lancel," he began, his tone firm yet kind, "be careful not to tell any of the other boys about this, okay? Not Sayer, not anyone. This'll be our secret."

"But--" came the protest, which Nero silenced with a shake of his head, his earrings chiming as he did. "You can't tell anyone what we did," Nero continued. "If anybody asks, Miss Deneith and I weren't here. Can you promise me that?"

With an expression mixed with both appreciation and confusion, Lancel glanced between Nero and Roen before nodding slowly. "That's good. You have my thanks," the smuggler said, tilting his head down in approval. He made a gesture to Roen towards the exit of the shack, stepping outside. Thanalan's heat began to make itself more and more of an unwelcome presence, though Nero couldn't tell if the heat was genuinely uncomfortable or if it was just because the pirate was so used to the mild climate of Vylbrand.

Nero glanced at his left hand, now gloveless, in quiet contemplation. He had belittled Roen before on her idealism, on her beliefs, her naivete...and yet, did he not now just engage in that same foolishness he had mocked? There was no guarantee that the father had been hunting in the first place; Nero didn't see a bow or spear or anything suggesting such in the shack. Lancel was a child, but that didn't mean he couldn't lie. The Ala Mhigans might have been informing on the happenings of the refugee camp for the Blades or the bandits. The refugees were often driven to be the pawns of such people just to survive.

And yet, without questioning it, he and Roen provided for Lancel and his father, without even considering any ulterior motives or possibly dangerous affiliates the two might have. Without even considering the logical options, without taking into account whether or not the boy was serving as someone's ears, the smuggler had exposed his plans, his name, and who he was working with. There was no telling how much Lancel had heard or who he would report to. In this instance, Nero's pragmatism had failed him.

He lifted his bare hand in front of his face, flexing and unflexing it. Was he a hypocrite? Perhaps his own feelings were simply repressed. Perhaps his cynicism was merely a defense mechanism, a mask that had become so ingrained with his identity that he had forgotten why he donned it in the first place. Nero recalled the words he had said to Roen at Crescent Cove.

"But should justice fail, I will see the Jewel drowned in blood, if that's what it takes to change it."

At the time, he believed passionately in those words. His resolve burned like a wildfire. But if he was still prone to such weakness, and yet continued down a path that had no place for compassion, would he still have the determination to see his vision through?

Nero shook his head quickly, trying to dispel his doubts in the same way a dog did with fleas. He folded his arms and turning his gaze to Ul'dah as he waited for Roen to emerge from the shack.

Roen · **08-19-2014, 10:39 PM**

Roen sat quietly in the shack, listening to the exchange between Nero and Lancel behind her. Her eyes lingered on the boyâ€™s father that she had just healed, though her thoughts drifted to the smuggler who was just making his exit. With her back to them, she did not bother to hide the slow grin that rose.

He does care. The paladin glanced down at her hand--the one the boy had shook with enthusiasm, her skin still tingling with the memory of his joyous gratitude. She felt suddenly lighter then, as if the air in her chest had become more buoyant, her senses less encumbered by the stale heat that pervaded the small cabin.

"My thanks to you, Miss Deneith," came a murmur from the man who began to rustle in front of her. It seemed that his lucidity was returning to him after the healing that his leg had received. The older Highlander turned to her, his grizzled face crinkled with gratitude and relief.

Roen returned a nod, the warmth in her expression lingering. "What is your name, Mister...?"

"Lowell Radulf," the Highlander rasped, trying to sit up straighter as if to be polite. Roen shook her head and waved him back down.

"Just rest, Mister Radulf. I would not want you to undo all the work I just did." It was a jest on her part; his leg was healed and it just needed time to regain its strength... but he did not have to know that. The Highlander blinked and nodded solemnly, laying back down. The strict adherence to her words made her feel a little guilty.

"You leg just needs some rest, and practice." Roen reassured him. "Then you would be back to hunting in a few suns, I imagine."

The Highlander nodded. â€œI owe you Miss Deneith. And that man, Mister...â€

â€œSebastian,â€ Roen finished for him. Nero had given them that name, the same one he had given her first time she confronted him. She presumed he had his own reasons for doing so, and she was not going to betray it.

â€œYou two are a Twelve-send,â€ Lowell continued, tired eyes looking up at the low shoddy ceiling. â€œI had to hunt further and further away from the camps and...â€ The man curled his arm over his eyes, as if to hide his despair. But it shook his voice. â€œLancelâ€™s mother was lost to the poison sickness. I am the only one left for the boy.â€

Roen leaned over and lightly touched the manâ€™s arm. â€œHe still has you. And he is a smart and resourceful boy, your son. He came to find us on his own.â€ Her words were soft. She dismissed the frown that rose as she recalled the stories of the poison sickness that passed over a month ago, but it had claimed many lives, especially in the refugee camps. The repercussions were still felt to this day.

The Highlander lowered his arm, his sorrow giving way to some measure of hope as he looked back at her. â€œI hope to see you two again, to repay my debt. May Menphina bless you both in your future.â€ His smile broadened knowingly.

Roen blinked. He thinks we're-- Her lips parted to protest, then she thought twice and closed them shut, her lips tugged in a way that tried to emulate a smile but quite wasnâ€™t. The man seemed so sincere in his thanks that she was certain it was just a polite parting words. She nodded again oddly, then rose and ducked out of the cabin.

When she emerged from the shack, Nero was waiting for her, his arms crossed. Despite the awkwardness that lingered in the back of her mind, the paladin offered him a genuine smile. They had done good, and she no longer had any doubts about trusting her instincts regarding the smugglerâ€™s intentions. He could be as smug and sarcastic as he wanted; she was determined not to let it affect her. As long as his compassion remained for the poor and the discarded, she would do what she could to help him.

â€œSo?â€ Roen stepped up to Nero, dusting off her tunic and breeches. The heat and the sand were starting to cling onto their skin and clothes as the Thanalan sun continued to beat on them. â€œWhat is next?â€

***Nero*** · **08-20-2014, 01:02 AM**

He felt her gaze on him, and turned his head to glance at her, an expression of facetious annoyance plastered on him. "Don't smile at me, I'm allergic to positive feelings. Makes me sneeze like the hells," the smuggler said, waving a hand in front of his face. With his right index finger and thumb, he pinched the top of Roen's head and turned her slightly away, giving a sigh of relief as he did. It was the kind of gesture which everyone else would find quite odd, but which he found rather amusing.

His doubts had not fully dispelled, but they had relented enough for Nero to put on his usual front of bad jokes and joviality. The smuggler inhaled, considering their next move. "I think the first thing we should do is make contact with your Brass Blade friends. We need to inform them of the situation. Let them find a copy of the list while you and I start sniffing around to find our cargo. And they sound like good people to be friends with."

The smuggler started sauntering in the direction of Ul'dah, his hands held againsts the back of his neck. "Lead the way, Miss Deneith?"

Roen · **08-20-2014, 09:38 PM**

Brass Blades Headquarters.

Roen thought she would never see this place again. Or at least not so soon.

There were faces that she recognized here, perhaps more than she thought she would. Her time with the Blades had been short; just over a month, but she remembered walking through those double doors on that first day, eager to be fitted in that vermillion chain armor. She had not held the same dread that Natalie and Kage harbored when they too were demoted. Roen had held some respect for the men and women and their work in keeping the citizens of Ulâ€™dah safe, for they were the ones walking the streets, patrolling the lanes, and guarding the gates.

Did she still see the Brass Blades the same way she saw them that first day?

The paladinâ€™s eyes had been opened in that first harsh month. She did not know that behind the proud Ulâ€™dahn banner of Naldâ€™thalâ€™s golden scales lay an organization that was far from the staunch protectors of Ulâ€™dah that she thought them to be. Instead, Roen saw the extortion and the corruption that was part of their daily routine, and she was expected to take part in it. She also experienced firsthand the ruthless unforgiving traditions that governed their ranks--and she learned the price to be paid when one did not fall in line. That memory still pitted her insides, and Roen had to remind herself she was no longer a Blade.

The paladinâ€™s stride through the hall was quick, as she made her way towards the back of the building where she knew to find Broken Nose. Despite the hardships that she had to face while she was a Blade, she knew there were those serving the organization for the right reasons. Broken Nose used to be one of them. He too sought to protect and serve, at least at the start of his career. But much like the banner of the scales that hung on the wall, the Blades were expected to both do good and bad to maintain the balance inherent to Ul'dah. They protected the Jewel, risked their lives daily to fight the Amaljâ€™aa and others that threatened the City-Stateâ€™s safety, but they also took from the people they served.

Perhaps the Brass Blades represented the current state of Ulâ€™dah in the truest way possible. The organization was ruthless; it was about money, and it was about power. But through that, it also protected the people within its demesne.

That had been a strange and bitter pill for Roen to swallow. But she had--as had many.

Coming upon the door to the office, Roen knocked lightly, glancing over her shoulder to Nero who had been keeping close pace with her. She had offered no explanation of who he was or why he was here, and with her authoritative stride and the fact that her face was already known, none had questioned her about the man that accompanied her. Perhaps it was the infamy of her recent time in the gaols, or the fact that she used to be wanted for desertion but was dismissed of those charges. It could have been the fact that her previous commanding officer was now no where to be found; none in the Headquarters had the gumption to approach the woman in her quick trek through the building. For all she knew, Nero was just an honest merchant that had been dragged in for the wrong reasons.

Roen had asked the pirate to keep quiet and to let her handle things, but she was silently relieved that they had passed through without incident. Less questions to answer the better.

When the door opened, a large Hellsguard Roegadyn quirked a dark chestnut brow at her. He clearly was not expecting her. When the paladin gave him a small but wary smile, he stepped aside to allow her entry. He stepped slightly in front of the entryway after she passed as if to block Nero from entering.

â€œWho might this be?â€ Broken Nose rumbled.

Roen turned and leaned against a nearby desk, her hands curling around its edges. â€œHe is with me,â€ she reassured him with a nod. Her voice was kept low however, to keep it from leaving the room.

The Hellsguard gave Nero a once lookover as if to size him up, before moving to the side again to allow him entry. He glanced down the hallway before closing the door. The Roegadyn did not move from the entrance as he crossed his massive arms in front of his chest. He looked to the paladin expectantly.

The office had no windows, this the paladin was grateful for. None could see who was meeting within, and it was difficult for them to be spied or eavesdropped upon. The room was small but well lit with lanterns. A desk rested on the opposite of the room as the door, and there were chairs scattered about the room. A table near the corner of the room had some empty bottles of wine and stained cups. A few sheafs of parchment were spread about the desk that she leaned against, and a bookshelf and an armoire stood on either side of the room.

â€œThere have been some developments,â€ Roen said quietly, her eyes going to the Roegadyn. She leaned in slightly forward, as if to emphasize that this was a private matter. â€œAnd Iâ€¦â€ she glanced to Nero, â€œ...weâ€¦need your help.â€

Broken Nose narrowed his dark brown eyes, as if not liking that look from the paladin. His gaze slowly drifted from her to the Hyur man in the room. â€œAnd who might this be?â€

***Nero*** · **08-21-2014, 02:33 AM**

It was only with a great deal of effort that Nero managed to repress a scowl at being dragged through the headquarters of the Brass Blades. Nothing sunk his mood more than forced exposure to Ul'dah's thugs in slipshod armour. They were little more than paid enforcers for the Monetarists, conscripted to be cannon fodder against the Amal'jaa, all the while administering their employers' generous policies to anyone who didn't have enough gil to purchase some respite. Outside of the city, they may have different stories, but within these walls the only thing that separated the Blades from the bandits were the uniforms.

How many of his friends vanished into the gaols, never to be seen again? How often did he see them dealing with the bandit gangs they were supposed to be arresting, their eyes gleaming with greed at the prospect of gil and the warm touch of a few prostitutes? How many times did they witness a refugee being beaten, only to turn their heads away from the beleaguered cries for mercy? How many times had they blackened his eyes and kicked in his ribs, just because he tried to feed himself?

Within these walls, in the presence of the Monetarist's gangsters, Nero considered himself to be a righteous citizen in comparison to these criminals.

Upon meeting the Hellsguard, Nero gave a stiff bow of his head. While he would have ordinarily loved to engage in his usual quips and sarcasm, the Roegadyn was a fair ways larger than Nero had expected, and the smuggler wasn't interested in getting an arm broken today, and simply looking at the Brass Blades had soured the Hyur's mood enough to guarantee that no mordant remarks would emerge from him for now.

"My name is Sebastian Redgrave, ser. I am a trader just in from Limsa Lominsa." The casual observer might have called Nero's ability to change demeanors intimidating. Naught but a few hours ago, his grin had been plastered across his face like a child browsing an infinite selection of sweets, and he had been aggressively passing out bad jokes in the same way a philanthropist might have tossed out gil at a banquet.

But now, his eyes were dull and flat. His tone was metallic; it rang hollow, cold and steely. Nero's words were polite, but within his voice there was no warmth to be found. He knew he should let Roen explain the situation; leaving the talking to the paladin might have been the more pragmatic idea, even if she lacked the ability to lie. Even so, she knew these people and would be able to explain the situation in such a way that would allow them to obtain what they needed.

And yet, in what could only be described as an emotional impulse, Nero's mouth continued running, his tone becoming more and more caustic as he did.

"I will get straight to the point, for I am sure a man of your stature is not interested in suffering the presence of one such as I." It took every ounce of self-control the smuggler had to keep his words from being doused in venom right from the get-go; as it stood, they were only laced with it.Â

"Your compatriots within the Blades have confiscated a wagon of my goods. These goods were legal; the manifests were accurate, as was my merchant's seal, in addition to an affidavit vowing to the authenticity of the items." That last part wasn't true, but let the Roegadyn think it was. It was something that could possibly appeal to whatever passed for a sense of justice in this city.

Nero folded his arms, further indulging in his acrimonious behaviour. His voice remained quiet, so as to not draw attention, but his words remained fiery. Â "Now, I realise that Ul'dah doesn't have laws so much as it has gil-enforced suggestions," Despite his best efforts, Nero failed to repress his sardonicism. "but in the interest of at least maintaining the illusion of order and honesty within this godsforsaken city, I would like to ask that the Brass Blades investigate as to the whereabouts of my stolen goods--and stolen they were, by criminals in uniform--and secure them. Failing that, providing their location will be enough for me to retrieve my property on my own, seeing as how competence is in such short supply in Ul'dah."

What was he doing? He was better than this. He knew better. He had more than enough self-control, and there was nothing he detested more than losing that self-control to emotional impulse. Nero felt as if he were an outside observer to his own body, unable to stop himself from spewing his scarcely-contained vitriol, like a ship that could not help but be shaken by violent waves. All he needed was to explain his situation simply and politely, and let Roen handle the rest. Broken Nose would help them retrieve what they needed, and they could carry out their plan without a hitch.

And so, why did he apparently choose now of all times to lose himself to contempt, to anger? His memories of the Brass Blades were...unpleasant didn't even begin to describe it, but they were in the past. Nero had conquered Ul'dah's hold over him. The smuggler had come to this city to change its future, not to become mired in his own melodramatic past.

At last, after a few seconds of silence that felt like hours, Nero felt he had some measure of control over his body--and more importantly, his words. He didn't notice that his hands had tightened enough to cast a pale pallor over his knuckles, but he turned away from the Hellsguard to stare at the wall, his earrings chiming as he did. The pirate breathed in deeply before exhaling.

"I...do not expect you to accept my apologies, ser, but I offer them nonetheless." Nero's tone remained steely but at least somewhat more cordial than it had been previously. "It has been a trying time for me, and I have not adapted to the city as well as I had liked. Please...listen to what Miss Deneith has to say."

Roen · **08-21-2014, 06:28 PM**

What is he doing?!

Roen could only stare in disbelief as venomous words erupted from the usually self-composed smuggler. She could see the eyes of the Hellsguard narrowing dangerously as Nero continued to slander the Brass Blades--very organization the Roegadyn worked for. By the time the pirate turned his back to the Blade, Broken Nose was scowling openly, his dark eyes glaring daggers at the Hyur man. Only when the paladin cleared her throat did the Roegadyn seem to remember that she was in the room. When he stared at her pointedly, it was with an expression most furious.

â€œThat was your pitch?â€ Broken Nose directed his question at her, his voice a low growl.

Shooting Nero a sharp sidelong glance, Roen pushed herself off the desk, her hands held up in front of her in an attempt to sooth the irate Roegadyn. â€œApologiesâ€¦â€ She grimaced at the Blade. â€œSebastian here,â€ she gestured toward the Hyur, â€œis a stranger to Ulâ€™dahâ€™s way of doing things. And perhaps the heat as well. He might even be addled.â€ She gave Nero a pointed look. â€œHe has not had a good day.â€

Broken Nose did not seem appeased at all. â€œAnd so comin' here, spewing insults at me while asking me for help, thatâ€™s only going to improve his day.â€ He uncurled his arms and cracked his knuckles.

Roen winced. The Hellsguard was, for the most part, an honest Blade...insomuch that he had grown tired of some of the ruthless and vicious ways of his former captain, Anden Anduron. But that did not mean he did not know how to enforce the ways of the Brass Blade, nor was he shy about dispensing some pain to prove his point. She could see in the Roegadynâ€™s dark eyes that he was giving it serious consideration; teaching foreigners lessons about the way things worked in Ulâ€™dah was a storied Brass Blades tradition.

The paladin shot another look at Nero in case he was intending on a retort. She then turned and gave Broken Nose an apologetic smile. â€œHe has already learned one lesson.â€ Roen stepped up to the Hellsguard, holding one hand up in front of her. â€œLet us not compound that with more violence. Please?â€

It took a moment for the Rogadyn to break his gaze from the Hyurâ€™s still-turned back to look to the paladin. It was a struggle between his rising temper and her words of supplication, that much was clear, but in the end, he sighed and lowered his hands to his side. His voice still held onto a rumble of dissent. â€œFor you, Deneith. This once. But he starts throwin' out his insults again, no promises.â€

Roen sighed with relief. She gave Broken Nose a small faint smile. She knew he did not truly enjoy violence for violence's sake so appealing to that had worked. â€œGratitude.â€ She inhaled, continuing before Nero or anyone else broke the tenuous calm that had barely settled between them all. â€œThose supplies that were taken... they were legal and accounted for. And they were to provide needed relief for the refugees.â€ Her eyes peered up intently at the Roegadyn, knowing he knew how she felt about the poor. â€œWe need to get them back.â€

Broken Nose grunted as he stepped back to lean against the wall with his arms crossed. One corner of his lips tugged tightly as if he was trying to look stoic despite her plea. He had been a lowborn, grown up amidst the poverty, so Roen knew there was a thread of sympathy there even if the Hellsguard did his best to hide it. â€œThey were probably taken to the buildings at the Nanawa Mines. Thatâ€™s usually where confiscated goods are sold.â€

Roen nodded. That was a good location for some illegal trading. Miners rarely cared, and it was close enough to the Northern Thanalan gates if the goods had to be smuggled elsewhere. â€œAnd getting the goods back...â€

The Roegadyn snorted with contempt in Neroâ€™s direction. â€œSince competence is in short supply, you can go appropriate your goods yourself. No point in sendinâ€™ criminals in uniform to do the right thing.â€

â€œDone.â€ Roen nodded, readily accepting what was offered. She knew it was the best she was going to get. She paused for another moment, deliberately waiting until Broken Nose turned his gaze back to her. â€œThere will be more supplies to Ulâ€™dah in the future, for the poor. Weâ€¦ need to get Sebastian on that list.â€

That brought the Roegaynâ€™s brows arching up. He said nothing, but the look he gave the paladin was one of incredulity and apprehension.

â€œI need to know where you get that list. Who keeps it.â€ Roen narrowed her eyes with determination. â€œI know you can get a copy.â€

Broken Nose slowly nodded. â€œI can. But gettinâ€™ a copy of the list, and gettinâ€™ on the list, are two very different things.â€

Roen pressed her lips together, curling an enigmatic smile. â€œLet us take care of that?â€ She cleared her throat, not really wanting to go much further into detail than that. The less he knew, perhaps the better. â€œWhere is the original list kept?â€

The Hellsguard slowly narrowed his eyes on her, skepticism clearly written in his face. â€œItâ€™s kept by a Lalafell named Kejin Zinjin. He has an office above Ruby Road Exchange. He updates the list whenever he gets new names, and hands out a new list every fortnight. He keeps the original in a lockbox in his office.â€

The paladin nodded, cataloguing the info in the back of her mind. She furrowed her brows when she saw Broken Noseâ€™s attention turn back towards Nero, however.

â€œThis doesnâ€™t sound like you, Deneith.â€ The Hellsguard sneered in the man's direction. â€œYour Limsa trader come up with this crazy plan?â€

***Nero*** · **08-22-2014, 01:34 AM**

"This Limsa trader seems to be the only one besides Roen who gives a rat's ass about the people this city has discarded," Nero retorted, breaking the silence he had been maintaining while the paladin had negotiated with Broken Nose. "Trust Ul'dah to kick the teeth of whoever tries their hand at altruism." He had gained control of his words again, but his residual anger still smoldered, and it was with his full consent that his words shot back to the Hellsguard. Regardless of what the Hellsguard thought of him, the smuggler made his message perfectly clear: if it weren't for Ul'dah being Ul'dah, this would have never have happened in the first place.

It would be incredibly inappropriate for him to change demeanours so suddenly, and so the 'offended trader' front would have to serve him for now. Even so, Nero gave an apologetic nod of his head. "I...will endeavour to repair my attitude, should we meet again, ser. You do have my gratitude for your assistance." The apology sounded flimsy, but it would have to do. The corner of his lip curled into a small, yet contrite grin. "Should our next encounter fail to be pleasant, then you may consider my ribs yours for the breaking."

It didn't take any divination for Nero to sense when his presence was no longer welcome; he made a slight gesture to Roen that he would wait outside and allow her to finish any discussion she might have with the Roegadyn, making a hasty exit. Exiting before her was becoming a habit, but the longer he stood in the Brass Blade headquarters, the more his skin began to crawl.

It was with some measure of relief that the smuggler exposed himself to Thanalan's oppressive heat. The simmering mugginess was actually quite refreshing, given the circumstances, and ironically gave Nero some time to cool down. He had his arms crossed again, but his foot tapped the ground restlessly as he leaned against a pillar, indicating a flurry of thought perpetuating inside his mind.

That was a mistake. A massive mistake. An inordinate screw-up of catastrophic proportions. Nero did not have the room or influence to make such enemies so quickly. And if they were friends of Roen, then it was likely that they were at least somewhat trustworthy. It should have been incredibly easy. The smuggler should have been able to easily sweet-talk his way to Broken Nose's good side and be in good standing with a valuable ally.

So what had happened? Why had he lost himself to anger in that moment? Such things were dangerous. Broken Nose would have absolutely refused to assist had Roen not been there to plead him. Was it just repression? Nero didn't consider himself an emotional person by any means; Vail had taught him that reason and logic should always prevail, and that losing one's head meant potentially losing everything.

He was angry. Angry at Ul'dah, angry at the Brass Blades, angry at Vail, but most of all, he was infuriated with himself. That outburst was an embarrassment. It was more than just embarrassing; it was shameful. And Nero had exposed another vulnerability toÂ Roen. The paladin already knew more about the smuggler than he was comfortable with anyone knowing.Â

Nero couldn't help but let out a small, bitter chuckle. Now it would be her turn to lecture him on the values of pragmatism. With that childish tantrum, he'd very nearly ruined their only chances of accomplishing their goals.

Thus, only one thing was in order.

As if on instinct, Nero turned to face the pillar he had been leaning on, gripped it with both hands, and hurled his head at it. An uncomfortably loud thwack that accompanied the impact, and the smuggler fell to his knees, clutching his forehead. "Halone's great frozen ass," the Hyur gasped a mix of exclamation and curse. A tiny trickle of blood seeped through his fingers; the pillar had broken the skin but otherwise done little visible damage besides leave Nero slightly dazed.

In lieu of Vail being there to smack his head with an oar, the pillar would have to do. As of this moment, Nero considered himself cured of such impulses.

Roen · **08-22-2014, 06:51 PM**

â€œYou sure you want to throw your lot in with the likes of him?â€

Roen glanced to the door, her eyes lingering there as she tried to dismiss the perplexed crinkle on her brows before turning back to Broken Nose. She gave the Roegadyn a meek shrug in response. â€œI am finding that he can be a littleâ€¦baffling at times. But he has his heart in the right place.â€

The Hellsguard snorted and shook his head. â€œYou and your bleedinâ€™ heart, Deneith. Itâ€™ll get you in more trouble than itâ€™s worth.â€ He seemed more relaxed now that the hostile Hyur had gone.

The paladin curled a lopsided grin at him, crossing her arms. â€œI do not think I am wrong about you either.â€

Broken Nose snorted even louder, purposefully so. â€œHA! That remains to be seen! You werenâ€™t so crazy about me when my spit landed on your boots that first day.â€ As if remembering, he dug into his belt pouch to draw out a pinch of grassweed--his favorite chewing herb--and stuffed it in his cheek.

Roen wrinkled her nose. â€œI do not know what you like about that bitter thing.â€

â€œItâ€™s an acquired taste,â€ the Roegadyn shrugged with a stained toothy grin. When a brief silence fell between them, his brown eyes regarded her up and down, his cocky expression fading. â€œGood to see you well, Deneith. After all that.â€

She could only manage a subdued smile in response. The last time they had really spoken to each other was before the kidnapping--before everything that had twisted her world so sharply. She avoided his gaze by dipping her head and glanced at the desk, fingers brushing over some random piece of parchment. She was eager to leave the subject. â€œGratitude for your aid at the Silver Bazaar.â€

The Hellsguard let out contemptuous snort. â€œTaerosâ€™s not goinâ€™ to be happy about all that, but he has little pull with the Rose now.â€ The Roegedyn's chain-mail rustled as he leaned against the wall. â€œYou goinâ€™ after him. Not a safe thing to do. Or wise. Butâ€¦you never been known to be wise.â€ He gave her another toothy smile.

Roen canted her head, amusement lightening her features. â€œAnd now you are helping me. I could say the same about you.â€

The Roegadyn was fingering out more grassweed from his pouch when he paused, giving her a pointed look. â€œJust look out for yourself, eh? If that pompous Limsan gets out of hand, Iâ€™d be happy to break a few ribs.â€ When the paladin quirked a brow at him, he gave her an exaggerated shrug. â€œHe offered! You heard him!â€

Roen shook her head and sighed. â€œWell, I will return for the list later. I should make sure our mutual friend has not gone off and offended more people.â€

â€œHmph,â€ the Roegadyn grunted as he returned to the desk. As Roen closed the door behind her, she heard him call out one last time. â€œMy offer stands! Ribs!â€

Roen ducked her head as she strode out of the Headquarters, putting her stoic visage back in place. There was no need for others to know that she and Broken Nose were on friendly terms. But the extra effort to draw her brows low were no longer needed when she stepped outside and her thoughts turned to Nero. She rounded the pillar where he caught a glimpse of him, her tone already lowering with reproach. â€œWhat was that all about--â€

She paused when she found him on his knees, one hand on his head. Was that...blood?

***Nero*** · **08-22-2014, 07:40 PM**

"Not so loud, please," the smuggler pleaded, raising a hand to shoo the paladin away. He inhaled through gritted teeth, before letting his breath slip through his nose. Nero's head still rang with the memory of the impact, but his vision began to clear. Some blood had dripped onto the pavement; it wasn't anything that indicated a major wound, but it was just enough to be somewhat worrying. It seemed as if Halone herself had saw fit to punish Nero with a blow from her shield.

"Before...before you ask, I have just managed to cure myself of all of the various ills that had been afflicting my mind...agh.." A soft groan escaped from the Hyur's lips. "A malevolent shadow was...um, mind controlling me. Which is why I spewed all those insults at your friend. Yes. That's it. That's a defense that will hold up in court, right?" The pain gradually began to dissipate enough for Nero to start making his usual quips and deflections. He slowly stood up from his kneeling position, somewhat wobbly, a hand clutching his temple. A small trickle of blood ran itself down his nose and the left side of his face, running along the prominent scars that occupied those areas of his head.

Nero briefly buzzed his lips and shook his head, an amused and pained grin cresting his face. "What I meant to say was that...um...that was a test! To see if he was really your friend. Or something. Yes. And you passed. Good job." The smuggler padded Roen's shoulder like a parent congratulated a child, even as he winced again. He withdrew a handkerchief from his trouser pocket to dab at where the pillar had broken his skin. The bleeding seemed to stop, but as the pain gave way to soreness, Nero began to seriously consider retrieving his thaumaturgy scepter just to cast a blizzard spell at his face in lieu of using cold water to soothe his aching temple.

"Anyway. Nanawa mines, and Kejin Zinjin. I personally recommend we go for the mines first. The sooner we can get those supplies to the refugees, the sooner they can find some measure of relief. And then we can turn our attention to the list." Nero's stomach rumbled quietly, causing the smuggler to glance away, somewhat embarrassed. "Though I recommend we do so after we eat supper. We'll need a plan anyway before just assaulting the place." He turned his gaze back to Roen and flashed her his trademark smirk.

"If you're up for it, I know a place. Discrete, covert, and the food's almost good enough for a dinner date," he commented idly.

***Nero*** · **08-23-2014, 01:39 PM**

(( The following posts are an edited recap of an in-game session. ))

It was an obscure place, near a junction that connected the Pearl Lane and Onyx Lane. A ragged sign swung in front of the door, marked with a crude drawing of a sword and the wordsÂ Soldier's ClubÂ scrawled beneath it. It wasn't as ramshackle as the other buildings inhabited by the refugees and the squatters; a new door had been fitted to the entrance, and the windows weren't broken. The sandstone that had been used to construct the building didn't have the same signs of wear and tear as the surrounding buildings. It was as close to a clean establishment as one could get in Pearl Lane.

Nero pushed open the door with the paladin in tow, revealing a small room of several small tables and a bar. There were a few scraggly-looking refugees occupying a table or leaning against a wall. A tired-looking Ala Mhigan was slouched behind the bar, but was alerted to the door creaking open. A female Miqo'te who had been sitting on the bar perked her ears up, providing a friendly smile as she leapt off it enthusiastically. "Mister Redgrave!"

The smuggler provided a small wave, gesturing for Roen to take a sit. He took one of the chairs for himself and plopped onto it. "Good to see you're as healthy as ever, Maia. Aldo still washed out?" The Miqo'te giggled before patting the Highlander behind the bar on the head.Â

Nero glanced at the paladin sitting across from him. "Myself and many other individuals of Ul'dah's less savoury elements fund this place," he explained. "Good way to serve as a meeting place. Sometimes it can be a bit crowded, but it's better than the Quicksand. But then," he snorted derisively, "a horde of rampaging aurochs is better than the Quicksand."

He glanced at Roen, who nodded slowly. "The Quicksand can get a bit...rowdy," she concurred. "How's the head?"

At the reminder, Nero rubbed his temple gingerly. "A bit sore, but it's not worth using conjury for. Could do with some ice." The Hyur made a swift gesture to the Miqo'te. "Warmwater trout, if you would. With lots of salt. And rum!" Nero swept a hand towards the bar as an expression of his boundless magnanimity. "Meal's on me. Whatever you want. Consider it my way of making amends for the trouble."

Roen followed his gaze to the waitress. "I will have the same. Less salt. And sweet water."

Nero leaned somewhat out of his chair and slapped several gil onto the table, which swiftly vanished beneath the Highlander's hand. The Ala Mhigan then ducked behind a slightly tattered curtain into what was presumably the kitchen.

Though the smuggler still held his cocky grin on his face, Roen studied his expression curiously with a sidelong glance. "What happened exactly? Why did you...." He raised an eyebrow at the paladin's inquiry as she shook her head. "I did not expect that at all."

Nero offered a shrug that was equal parts nonchalant and helplessness, his smirk holding fast onto his face. "What can I say? I'm full of surprises. I even surprised myself with that." His deflection wasn't exactly a lie. He didn't know where that burst of vitriol had come from, and it was certainly not his intention to have offended Broken Nose in such a way.

"Besides, I already told you. Shadow being. It mind controlled me. Didn't we agree to run with that story?" The smuggler cocked an eye at her.

It seemed his refusal to answer the question had worked, for Roen narrowed here eyes and let out a sigh of resignation and amusement. "As you say," she responded tersely. The paladin leaned back against the chair, crossing her arms. "I would be extra nice and polite to Broken Nose the next time you see him, however."

Nero's response was another shrug. "I'll bring him a pie with hearts drawn on it, then." Roen's response was to roll her eyes. "Well, at least he agreed to help," she conceded.

As if on cue, the Miqo'te returned with two plates, steam wafting from their surfaces from the freshly cooked trout, adorned with a pewter fork and knife. She dashed behind the bar and returned with two tankards. "Thanks, love," Nero said cordially, clapping his hands as he took up the knife and fork and began to dig into the trout with gusto.

He paused his enthusiastic consumption to swallow before turning a somewhat more serious gaze towards Roen. "To shift the topic...what I want to know is if you've heard from your Sultansworn friends yet." As if to punctuate his point, he peeled off another chunk of the trout and stuffing it into his mouth.

"I am affuming 'e 'ih o' 'ih way 'o 'a gaols 'ight 'ow," he said, his mouth full of fish. He chewed rapidly before taking a swig from his tankard.Â

Roen paused, her knife and fork poised to begin cutting into the fish. Nero watched her carefully, even as he ate; she took a bite from the fish, chewing slowly. The paladin's eyes had furrowed, suggesting that she was stalling as she tried to determine what to say. "About that..." Roen began, rather hesitantly.

The smuggler's eyes narrowed, as if daring her to say what he was expecting her to say. "I spoke to Ser Crofte yesterday." Roen cleared her throat and took a sip of the sweet water. "He was...not arrested."

Nero's mind was blank. He had no thoughts on the subject, but it took some measure of restraint to prevent the words I told you so from slipping from his mouth. He paused in his evisceration of the fish and let out a long sigh. "I knew it would be so, though that did not stop me from hoping, however slight that hope may have been."

His gaze was stern and his tone was stiff as he shot an accusing glance at Roen. "Then justice has failed. Again."

Roen · **08-23-2014, 03:38 PM**

Roen frowned. Her fork and knife were set motionless against the dish, her appetite suddenly forgotten. The disappointment hung from her shoulders like a heavy cloak. Nero had predicted this; that Taeros would somehow elude the arm of the law, contrabands or no. She had argued for and defended the right way of doing things, whereas the pirate was a proponent of â€˜whatever means necessary.â€™

â€œI thought we had enough on him. For an arrest.â€ The paladin flicked a glance back at him, her objection like a knee-jerk reflex whenever he condemned her ideals. â€œJustice has not failed. It just got stalled. Taeros has been at this much longer than you and I.â€ She straightened, new conviction leaking into her words. â€œWe just have to find another way.â€

Nero did not seem convinced. He snorted derisively into his mug as he took another pull of the rum. "You could have pinned the Calamity on him, and that would not be enough for your friends to indict him." He set the drink down none too gently. "'Sultansworn'. 'Paladins'. Seems Ul'dah's knights in shining armour can be bought just like any other Brass Blade." The sneer was evident in his voice.

â€œThey have not been bought.â€ Roen did not hesitate in her reply. She set her utensils down and leaned forward as if to press her point. â€œThey believed his story. Taerosâ€¦he has a way of spinning the truth. Heâ€¦â€ she winced. â€œHe is blaming you.â€

Nero mirrored her gesture as he too leaned in, his gaze unflinching. â€œI suspected as much. He is not a foolish man, and your friends do not know me as you do. It is the logical decision."

"I underestimated how closely he had been working with both Natalie and Ser Crofte. And they know you not at all." She let out a long exhale as she bowed her head. â€œHe is trying to paint me the fool and you the liar."

The pirate shrugged and leaned back. "None of this was unexpected. We will simply have to alter our game plan a bit. Might Crofte have told you why Taeros was shipping so much somnus?"

"They are looking for a somnus dealer. It has to do with an old case." Roen frowned thoughtfully. There was more to that, of course, but she was tired of explaining her string of troubles. "He said he was bringing in that much somnus to flush out the dealer they were all looking for. But you setting him up, ruined that plan."

Nero rolled his eyes."Breaking the law to do good. A man after my own heart." His tone was thick with sarcasm.

Roen wrinkled her nose. She did not like what she was about to ask. "You do not have...anything incriminating to be found in Limsa, do you?"

The smuggler flicked a lazy glance in her direction. "That depends. What does my business in Limsa Lominsa have to do with this?"

"Ser Crofte mentioned she was going to poke around in Limsa about you."

The pirate actually seemed amused by this. "Was she now? And what does she expect to find?"

Roen shrugged. "I do not know. I think...she thinks she is looking out for my best interest."

Nero snorted. "If that is so, then why not introduce us? If Crofte is so concerned for your welfare, let her be the judge of the company you keep." He shrugged again; his trout had been cleaned off his plate, and he picked at his teeth with the fork.

"As I said earlier and as you agreed, your friends do not know me. Perhaps it is in our best interests to remedy that. After all..." the smuggler narrowed his gaze at her; the spark of amusement was still in his eyes, but there was a steely accusation embedded in them as well. "You claimed they cared about Ul'dah as much as I did."

â€œThey do,â€ Roen answered readily, her eyes narrowing at his veiled allegation. She could not help but feel slighted at his derision; even if she herself had been reluctant to return to the Order. She still trusted many within the Sultanate and she would not see some pirate defame them so.

â€œThat remains to be seen,â€ Nero said brusquely.

â€œAlright. Perhaps you should meet them.â€ The paladin crossed her arms. â€œThen you would not have such doubts either.â€

***Nero*** · **08-23-2014, 03:40 PM**

He couldn't help but notice the similarity in situation. It was very likely that Roen's Sultansworn compatriots were affiliated with Taeros in the same way that Roen herself was affiliated with him. Two sides of the law, each allied with a side of the lawless.Â

The Twelve, it seemed, had a sense of humour about the whole situation, to pit two sides of the same coin against one another.

Nero was doubtful, but he offered a shrug at the suggestion as he leaned back in his chair. "Agreed, then. Mayhaps we may yet squirm ourselves out of this misunderstanding before we are forced to become enemies." Still, he had to make preparations. There was the possibility that his plan would have to be altered to account for the Sultansworn. If they would not join him or at least refrain from interfering in his operations, they would have to be removed.

He leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows against the rough wood of the table. "If I am to meet them, then I would know about them. I saw some of them during the raid, and I am vaguely acquainted with Crofte, but the others I know not. Describe them to me."

The paladin picked at her fish, as if fidgeting. "You have met Ser Crofte, aye. She is the superior ranking Sworn of the three. Honorable. I have not known her to break her word."

That would be advantageous. Assuming Crofte's authority held true, if Nero could convince her, then the others would--hopefully--no longer be a factor, or at least fall in line enough to make their presence negligible. It would be naive to assume that she would acquiesce to the smuggler's reasoning so quickly, however.

Roen paused, eyeing the trout on her plate. "Then...there is Natalie." From her tone and mannerisms, Nero could only assume that there was some bad blood between them. The paladin began to cut into the fish more diligently. "She is ruthless. Goal driven. Will do whatever it takes to get things done." The paladin took another bite of her fish, the curling of her lip suggesting she was repressing a frown.

Ruthless. From Roen's description alone, the smuggler had a decent idea of what kind of person Natalie was, and who he would be dealing with. Suffice to say that she and him were more than likely birds of a feather. If Nero couldn't convince Crofte to keep her subordinate in line, they would inevitably be opposed to one another.

The grin that made its way across Nero's face was smug. "Seems the Sworns aren't all together in their methodology," he commented idly, a subtle challenge to Roen's image of her compatriots.Â

The paladin shook her head, chewing on a chunk of fish. "They are like oil and water. Crofte and Natalie."

Nero folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. "You understand that this Natalie and I will most likely enter in conflict? She will attack whatever her Monetarist handlers point her to. And I will not suffer such thugs tarnishing that particularly shiny uniform the Sworns have." He put the tankard to his lips and drained the remaining rum from it, signalling the Miqo'te for a refill. The waitress swiftly swept away his plate and tankard.

His gaze narrowed at Roen. "Dogs like she and I must be put down early, lest they become rabid. From your description of her, I can guarantee that she is thinking the same thoughts as I on the matter."

"She is not handled by the Monetarists," Roen responded quickly. Nero raised a skeptical eyebrow; that was a quick defense. He wondered if her insistence on Natalie's supposed integrity was for his sake or for her own. The paladin's expression became somewhat alarmed.

"Neither of you have to...become dogs. Or become rabid. You two can reason to the same goal," she said quietly.

Nero's face twitched in an effort to keep the scowl from his face. The Miqo'te returned with a filled mug, and the smuggler slipped her several more coins. "Then I will assume she considers Taeros to be a necessary evil, just as you consider myself as such." He couldn't help but grin.Â

"What an amusing situation. Two noble and righteous paladins, each siccing their animals on the other. It makes a good story, I must admit." Nero's appetite for rum had been satiated, but he pretended to drink from his tankard to hide his gaze from Roen.

"If that is the way you want to see it," her voice came from the other side of the tankard. "I do not think you are just...someone or something to sicc on an enemy." Perhaps Nero was just imagining it, but her voice sounded stiff, almost tremulous. He put his mug down.

Roen's gaze was focused directly on him. "I thought we were allies. That we were to help each other."

Nero sighed, considering his words carefully. His face shed his amused facade like a snake shed its skin. For only the second time since they met, his expression had taken on one of brutal honesty. "Roen," he began sternly. The smuggler leaned forward, taking a deep breath.

"You do not know me. You do not know what I have done, and what I will do. You do not know to what extremes I will go to, for the sake of something I believe to be greater than myself. For the sake of a better Ul'dah." Nero's icy blue eyes had become steely and firm.

"I told you once before that I will drown this city in blood if that was what was required to change it, and my resolve since then has not wavered. I hold no illusions. What I have done, and what I will do, is evil. But it must be done. I will not inhabit the new Ul'dah I seek to create."

Nero looked weary. "For myself and anyone like me...there is no place for us there."

Roen · **08-23-2014, 06:42 PM**

Roen could not accept that.

The very idea that someone would risk everything, do everything, to better the lives of others, while willingly damning themselves for itâ€¦

The paladin stared at the man seated across the table from her with renewed eyes. He had warned her before--hinted at the extremes he would be willing to go to in order to achieve his goals. She had glimpsed the hidden sadness there, behind his stoic wall of determination and resolve.

Now she knew where that melancholy stemmed from. He honestly believed he did not belong in the light, once the Jewel was brought out of its murk of corruption and poverty; even if he had a direct hand in its emergence.

â€œI do not believe that,â€ she said quietly, finally breaking the silence. â€œYou are right. I do not know you. Nor what you have done. But I do believe you want a better future for Ulâ€™dah.â€

Nero answered her with a bitter smile. She could see in his eyes that he thought her naive; she had spied that expression before when he belittled her ideals. But she did not care. There were those brief flashes of doubt when his mask fell, that told her that there was a part of him that wanted to believe. That his path of violence was not the only way. That he could belong in the better world. That he too could be righteous.

â€œThe only thing I know is crime,â€ his voice was even, almost cold. â€œI know only how to take life, not how to give it. Removing evil is not the same as creating good.â€

Roen shook her head, her dinner all but abandoned. She searched the manâ€™s eyes, her voice imploring. â€œYou say you are a criminal. And yet you want to do good.â€ A breathâ€™s pause fell between them as she locked her gaze with him. â€œYou can do good if you want to. I know you do.â€

He said nothing to that; Nero's eyes seemed to stare at the table more oft than not.

â€œYou seem so determined in this path, to fix Ulâ€™dah at any and all cost," Roen continued. "Even if it means you throw away your own life and happiness.â€ Her expression softened, a hint of sorrow tugging on her brows. â€œYou seem so driven. And filled with anger.â€

When the smuggler answered her with apathetic silence, Roen set aside her questions about his outburst earlier. She suspected there was something in his past that haunted the man so, that sparked a darkness, and perhaps chained him to this unrelenting course. But if he did not want to divulge it, she would not pry. Her faith and hope in him still did not waver regardless.

â€œWhat criminal works with the poor? Or gives money away to children and the sick?â€ Roenâ€™s gaze softened as she recalled the boy and father at Stonesthrow earlier. Her shoulders lifted and fell with a deep breath. â€œI think you are more than what you think you are. You just want to be what you think you are, because that is what you know.â€

The paladin thought she sensed something else in him at that moment, his brow twitched. â€œPerhaps you are right," he finally rasped after the long silence. Was that reluctant acknowledgement? She could see that his resolve was faltering, even if just a little. His frown deepened. "But perhaps you are not."

â€œThis,â€ Roen gestured between them, â€œis new for me. I have never worked with someone like you. Nor have I ever thought of anything else other than working under the Order and the Sultanate.â€ She drew herself upright as she inhaled. â€œAnd yet here I am. Perhaps both you and Iâ€¦are on a path we have never walked before.â€

When Nero met her gaze, she held it firmly and gave him a small but gentle smile. â€œYou do not want to walk it because you do not know it. Butâ€¦neither do I.â€ She laced her fingers together, clasping her hands in front of her on the table. â€œBut I am willing to try. I know I need to. To change things.â€

***Nero*** · **08-23-2014, 07:33 PM**

He searched her face. A careful mask of composure had placed itself over him, hiding the turmoil and doubt that swirled in his mind. Nero's only response was a long silence as he mulled over her words.

"I do not know what it is you want from me, Roen," he said, breaking the tense atmosphere. The Miqo'te waitress was nowhere to be found; the Highlander had vanished into the kitchen, even though there were no patrons. He and paladin were courteously left alone. Nero's eyes narrowed at her. "I am not so sure you know what it is you want from yourself."

Where exactly did he stand with this infuriating woman? She claimed to want to save him, from...what, exactly? From himself? From injustice? From some hollow idea that the world was fair if one went looking for it? The more the thought about it, the angrier he became, and the more his temper began to boil beneath his facade of tranquility.

"You are fortunate, Miss Deneith. You are stuck in the twilight. You are caught on the cusp between the hopeful dawn and the despair of night." Nero began to tap a finger on the surface of the table, a subtle gesture of his self-control. "You claim that I am a person who contains naught but good intentions, that I am chained to my path because of fear. And perhaps there is some truth to that."

He leaned back in his chair again, a cold, analytical gaze being thrown across the table. "You see me as far better of a person than I actually am. And I do not know whether I should thank you for that, or pity you. But regardless, I cannot walk the path you ask of me. I have seen too many stray from it. The darkness holds no power over those who have never possessed the light...and lost it."

The paladin tightly pressed her lips together. "You are right. I do not know what I want from myself," she admitted quietly. The corner of Roen's lip curled upwards just slightly. "Since you do not hold hope for yourself, I will have to, for both of us." Her tone was firm, yet hopeful. "If you have lost the light, then you get it back, for I do not believe that it can ever be truly lost forever."

Nero's fists tightened. The thoughts pulsed in his head, a maelstrom of contempt and disgust. His lips trembled, pleading, demanding that he say what was on his mind. He wanted to shout at her. He wanted to slam his hands on the table and scream in Roen's face. Why? Why do you have such blind faith? Why do you believe in someone you know nothing about? Why must you fill me with these doubts?Â His knuckles took on a pale pallor as his nails threatened to bore into the skin of his palm. You are arrogant! You know nothing! Don't you dare pity me from your pedestal of self-righteousness and hollow idealism! Don't you dare pretend that you know anything about this world!

But no words emerged.

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