(( 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 words Soldier's Club 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."
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 words Soldier's Club 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."
