To be truly prepared for anything would require omniscience, but that didn't mean Nero couldn't try.
Before leaving Ul'dah, he purchased a simple linen robe from the Weaver's Guild to wear over his clothing; he simply recycled his outfit from the previous day, a sleeveless doublet with trousers and jackboots. The robe would potentially be stifling, but the smuggler was not overly fond of showing his metaphorical hand right away, and the hood would conceal his face. The heat would, thankfully, not be too much of a problem, as the Twelve saw fit to bless Thanalan with a generous overcast.
He had just enough gil to hire the services of a wagon, if he needed one--hopefully the Brass Blades had kept his own wagon intact--but not enough to bribe his way out of a bad situation. Which meant combat if they couldn't just convince the Brass Blades to return his goods.
The fingerless gloves from before were discarded for rough leather gloves with cobalt plates affixed to the knuckles. A small knife was slipped through his belt, dangling from his right, and hanging from his left hip was a simple yet elegant silver sceptre, about a fulm in length, with a gleaming emerald embedded in the top.
Nero considered using thaumaturgy on people distasteful--they had a bad habit of combusting, screaming, and exploding into chunky bits, often simultaneously, which lacked a certain subtlety that the smuggler preferred--but if they needed a distraction, being able to conjure a fiery blast would be a useful tool to rely on.
Nero mumbled vague curses under his breath as he made his way on foot to central Thanalan. The smuggler wasn't lacking in fitness, but after having spent many of his years on a ship or at least hitched to a wagon where the chocobo was doing the walking, having to make the trip on foot was exasperating to say the least. Even so, retrieving his goods personally really was the only way. While simply leaning back and letting the--what had she called them, the Brass Blades of the Rose? Letting them take care of this would have been lovely, but Nero wasn't willing to risk them finding his more illicit cargo.
It seemed he was the later of the two; the smuggler arrived just after noon to see Roen lingering near the aetheryte crystal as miners and various workers milled about to distribute the ore drawn out of the mines. He approached her from behind and tapped her shoulder, the hood drawn over his face.
"See anything I should know about?" Nero asked tersely, his tone stiff and business-like. The sooner they got this over with, the better.
Before leaving Ul'dah, he purchased a simple linen robe from the Weaver's Guild to wear over his clothing; he simply recycled his outfit from the previous day, a sleeveless doublet with trousers and jackboots. The robe would potentially be stifling, but the smuggler was not overly fond of showing his metaphorical hand right away, and the hood would conceal his face. The heat would, thankfully, not be too much of a problem, as the Twelve saw fit to bless Thanalan with a generous overcast.
He had just enough gil to hire the services of a wagon, if he needed one--hopefully the Brass Blades had kept his own wagon intact--but not enough to bribe his way out of a bad situation. Which meant combat if they couldn't just convince the Brass Blades to return his goods.
The fingerless gloves from before were discarded for rough leather gloves with cobalt plates affixed to the knuckles. A small knife was slipped through his belt, dangling from his right, and hanging from his left hip was a simple yet elegant silver sceptre, about a fulm in length, with a gleaming emerald embedded in the top.
Nero considered using thaumaturgy on people distasteful--they had a bad habit of combusting, screaming, and exploding into chunky bits, often simultaneously, which lacked a certain subtlety that the smuggler preferred--but if they needed a distraction, being able to conjure a fiery blast would be a useful tool to rely on.
Nero mumbled vague curses under his breath as he made his way on foot to central Thanalan. The smuggler wasn't lacking in fitness, but after having spent many of his years on a ship or at least hitched to a wagon where the chocobo was doing the walking, having to make the trip on foot was exasperating to say the least. Even so, retrieving his goods personally really was the only way. While simply leaning back and letting the--what had she called them, the Brass Blades of the Rose? Letting them take care of this would have been lovely, but Nero wasn't willing to risk them finding his more illicit cargo.
It seemed he was the later of the two; the smuggler arrived just after noon to see Roen lingering near the aetheryte crystal as miners and various workers milled about to distribute the ore drawn out of the mines. He approached her from behind and tapped her shoulder, the hood drawn over his face.
"See anything I should know about?" Nero asked tersely, his tone stiff and business-like. The sooner they got this over with, the better.
