The next morning, a blood red sun dawned on the island of Vylbrand, the sort that the superstitious would fear as an omen of turbulent times. As it stood, the most ominous thing that it signified for Nero was that it was the morning. He hated mornings.
Sleepily, the smuggler managed to muster the discipline to sit up, his eyelids blearily making up and down motions that vaguely resembled blinking. Like molasses, he cast off the unfinished sail that had served as a blanket and struggled to roll himself off of his ramshackle cot, landing with a dull thud.
The impact with the ground having jolted his basic senses to kick in, Nero stood up and stretched, his back protesting with a loud crack that relieved tension as much as it sounded wholly unpleasant. In an attempt to stimulate his mind, he forced himself to recall as many details of last night's little rendezvous as possible.
Kink. A runner and street rat who nonetheless had dirt on some important people in Limsa Lominsa's underworld. She had vexed the wrong ones. He was going to make a deal with her. Then the newcomer--the name escaped him--had butted into their conversation, spouting some nonsense about cleansing Limsa Lominsa of crime. Kink decided to use both the newcomer and Nero to her advantage. They were due to meet him today.
A hand was rubbed across his face like one would attempt to wipe a smear off a window. The plan had been so simple. Hire Kink for her info, use that info to remove or appropriate the assets of the rest of Limsa Lominsa's crime bosses, expand into Ul'dah, overthrow the Syndicate, become Sultan, conquer the Garlean Empire, ride a chocobo made of solid gold, replace his left arm with a cannon that fired pastries and slices of cake, go gambling with Nald'Thal, open an entertainment venue upon which the name "Grand Wonderdome Eorzea" is emblazoned on it in perpetual blue flame, clean that one barnacle off the hull of the Second Forte, and open a successful chain of culinary steak houses in Gridania.Â
Where had the situation become so complex?
His imagination ran wild as Nero slipped on a functional black sleeveless shirt and pulled on his boots. He couldn't be bothered to dress well for his appointment today, and it was about time that he made his rounds in Fisherman's Bottom anyway. Walking to the front of the building he was sleeping in, the smuggler pushed open the double doors to be greeted with the early cries of gulls and the sound of the sea lapping at the docks of Limsa Lominsa. It was a small warehouse he owned, but for a single frigate it served well enough as a storage facility and occasional hideout. Every now and then the tax collectors would come around, looking to collect on the property value from one "Sebastian Redgrave", who was always mysteriously absent but who nonetheless always left his owed amount on the door.
Locking the double doors behind him with a thick padlock, Nero stretched again, groaning as he did.
It was bound to be a long day.
Sleepily, the smuggler managed to muster the discipline to sit up, his eyelids blearily making up and down motions that vaguely resembled blinking. Like molasses, he cast off the unfinished sail that had served as a blanket and struggled to roll himself off of his ramshackle cot, landing with a dull thud.
The impact with the ground having jolted his basic senses to kick in, Nero stood up and stretched, his back protesting with a loud crack that relieved tension as much as it sounded wholly unpleasant. In an attempt to stimulate his mind, he forced himself to recall as many details of last night's little rendezvous as possible.
Kink. A runner and street rat who nonetheless had dirt on some important people in Limsa Lominsa's underworld. She had vexed the wrong ones. He was going to make a deal with her. Then the newcomer--the name escaped him--had butted into their conversation, spouting some nonsense about cleansing Limsa Lominsa of crime. Kink decided to use both the newcomer and Nero to her advantage. They were due to meet him today.
A hand was rubbed across his face like one would attempt to wipe a smear off a window. The plan had been so simple. Hire Kink for her info, use that info to remove or appropriate the assets of the rest of Limsa Lominsa's crime bosses, expand into Ul'dah, overthrow the Syndicate, become Sultan, conquer the Garlean Empire, ride a chocobo made of solid gold, replace his left arm with a cannon that fired pastries and slices of cake, go gambling with Nald'Thal, open an entertainment venue upon which the name "Grand Wonderdome Eorzea" is emblazoned on it in perpetual blue flame, clean that one barnacle off the hull of the Second Forte, and open a successful chain of culinary steak houses in Gridania.Â
Where had the situation become so complex?
His imagination ran wild as Nero slipped on a functional black sleeveless shirt and pulled on his boots. He couldn't be bothered to dress well for his appointment today, and it was about time that he made his rounds in Fisherman's Bottom anyway. Walking to the front of the building he was sleeping in, the smuggler pushed open the double doors to be greeted with the early cries of gulls and the sound of the sea lapping at the docks of Limsa Lominsa. It was a small warehouse he owned, but for a single frigate it served well enough as a storage facility and occasional hideout. Every now and then the tax collectors would come around, looking to collect on the property value from one "Sebastian Redgrave", who was always mysteriously absent but who nonetheless always left his owed amount on the door.
Locking the double doors behind him with a thick padlock, Nero stretched again, groaning as he did.
It was bound to be a long day.