Roen followed Nero and the boy back to Stonesthrow in silence. She stared at the smuggler’s back every now and then as he traced the boy’s steps, the youngster having ducked around a few shacks and tents in his urgency to lead them to his father.
Odd. That was a good word that befit the man, she thought. No. Exasperating, that is a better word, she corrected herself.
For the short time that she has known the smuggler named Nero Lazarov, she had seen too many sides to the man. When she had tailed him in Pearl Lane, he was a cautious businessman. Then when they spoke alone in the caves near Black Brush Station, he had been a determined crusader, steadfast in his ambitions to drive out the Monetarists and better Ul’dah. It was this same driven man she saw again after the botched raid in The Silver Bazaar, except anger had fed his zeal and made him even more resolute.
But today he was a different man altogether. Antagonizing, sarcastic, and so deliberately jovial it made her teeth grind. And yet his pompous smile and self-centered attitude were quickly dismissed in the presence of that boy; Lancel had seemed terrified of him after being caught. Was he just capable of turning on that kind of genuine air about him whenever he needed to win someone over? Or was that a glimpse of the man underneath that he rarely let out?
Roen wanted to believe the latter, but prepared herself for the former. She still trusted her instincts in that she believed he did truly wanted to help Ul’dah, no matter how he acted. And that is what is really important, she reminded herself.
It was then that she spotted Lancel, beckoning both of them toward a small shack. Giving Nero a quick glance, Roen ducked inside first, her eyes blinking as it adjusted to the dimness of the unlit cabin. There against the wall lay a man in ragged hempen tunic and trousers, one side of his pants ripped open to reveal a swollen and strangely bent leg within. The paladin frowned, recognizing the nature of the break below the knee. The man’s bloated skin was a sickly purple, and Roen knew his bones had been crushed, blood bloating beneath the skin over ripped muscle and tissue. It was more than just a simple fracture.
“Pa!†Lancel crouched near his father, rousing the lethargic man awake. “I brought her, pa! The Sultansworn. She can heal you!â€
Roen gave a gentle smile to man who looked at her, his eyes glazed with pain and confusion. Kneeling by him, she gently squeezed the man’s hand in reassurance. “Shh. I know conjury. I will heal your leg. But you must stay still,†she said quietly. She glanced over to the boy with another warm smile. “Lancel, can you find your father a long stick? Something he can use as a cane after I am done?â€
Lancel blinked his wide hazel eyes and nodded, eager to help. He darted out of the shack. It was only after she watched the boy exit that Roen turned to Nero.
“I will need your help to hold him while I set his leg. It may hurt a bit, but it will make his leg heal better.â€
Odd. That was a good word that befit the man, she thought. No. Exasperating, that is a better word, she corrected herself.
For the short time that she has known the smuggler named Nero Lazarov, she had seen too many sides to the man. When she had tailed him in Pearl Lane, he was a cautious businessman. Then when they spoke alone in the caves near Black Brush Station, he had been a determined crusader, steadfast in his ambitions to drive out the Monetarists and better Ul’dah. It was this same driven man she saw again after the botched raid in The Silver Bazaar, except anger had fed his zeal and made him even more resolute.
But today he was a different man altogether. Antagonizing, sarcastic, and so deliberately jovial it made her teeth grind. And yet his pompous smile and self-centered attitude were quickly dismissed in the presence of that boy; Lancel had seemed terrified of him after being caught. Was he just capable of turning on that kind of genuine air about him whenever he needed to win someone over? Or was that a glimpse of the man underneath that he rarely let out?
Roen wanted to believe the latter, but prepared herself for the former. She still trusted her instincts in that she believed he did truly wanted to help Ul’dah, no matter how he acted. And that is what is really important, she reminded herself.
It was then that she spotted Lancel, beckoning both of them toward a small shack. Giving Nero a quick glance, Roen ducked inside first, her eyes blinking as it adjusted to the dimness of the unlit cabin. There against the wall lay a man in ragged hempen tunic and trousers, one side of his pants ripped open to reveal a swollen and strangely bent leg within. The paladin frowned, recognizing the nature of the break below the knee. The man’s bloated skin was a sickly purple, and Roen knew his bones had been crushed, blood bloating beneath the skin over ripped muscle and tissue. It was more than just a simple fracture.
“Pa!†Lancel crouched near his father, rousing the lethargic man awake. “I brought her, pa! The Sultansworn. She can heal you!â€
Roen gave a gentle smile to man who looked at her, his eyes glazed with pain and confusion. Kneeling by him, she gently squeezed the man’s hand in reassurance. “Shh. I know conjury. I will heal your leg. But you must stay still,†she said quietly. She glanced over to the boy with another warm smile. “Lancel, can you find your father a long stick? Something he can use as a cane after I am done?â€
Lancel blinked his wide hazel eyes and nodded, eager to help. He darted out of the shack. It was only after she watched the boy exit that Roen turned to Nero.
“I will need your help to hold him while I set his leg. It may hurt a bit, but it will make his leg heal better.â€
