Nero considered his options thoughtfully. Avoiding a fight would be best. Injuring or killing any Brass Blades would only draw attention and cause a ruckus...and if the smuggler wanted the Sultansworn on his side, killing law enforcement would not be pragmatic. Morality wasn't an issue; it was practicality. Dead bodies meant grudges and investigations, and neither were very good for clandestine business.
On the other hand, it was doubtful that the Brass Blades would let these strangers simply rifle through the crates looking for cargo. Roen lacked her Sultansworn uniform and Nero didn't have the coin to bribe even one of them, much less all of them. Subterfuge would have to be the name of the game, but it would be very dangerous. Three missing Brass Blades wouldn't be an issue; if they could get rid of them quickly and quietly, they could go in, get the cargo, and leave before anyone was the wiser. If a fight started, however...
The smuggler's eyes darted to and from between the caves and the buildings. The supplies for the refugees be damned; it was the Lominsan arms he was concerned about. He couldn't see anything resembling the two rectangular crates he had carried them in, which meant they had to be inside the building or in the caves. The building was more likely; the Monetarists had Black Brush Station under their thumb, so if the goods were being sold to the bandits or...whoever, they wouldn't put them in the caves.
The question, now, was how to deal with Roen. She couldn't be allowed to find out what else Nero was shipping, but there was no way to check which crates were his without checking the contents. Could he play it off as simply finding them? No, that wouldn't work; though the alchemists were capable of synthesizing the black powder, Ul'dah didn't manufacture firearms. Having Lominsan weapons in the hands of Ul'dahn gangs was enough of a political powder keg. The last thing Nero needed was the law enforcement trying to follow the threads.Â
Nero filed away a mental reminder to commission someone to create a graphic for his merchant front; unmarked crates were all well and good but they caused more problems than they solved, particularly in this instance.
There had to be a way for him to redirect the paladin to the refugee's supplies while drawing attention away from his goods. Or maybe it was possible to keep her from the goods altogether...as fortune would have it, Nero spotted his wagon resting against the side of the largest building, being attended to by a couple of miners. There was no chocobo, but if they hitched it to one from the porters, it would work. The wagon was empty for now, but it seemed the miners were going to use it to port ore back to the city.
Nero tapped her shoulder again, pointing to the wagon. "Forget the building for now. First things first; an exit. If my goods are here, we need a way to get them out of here, and quick. I think that's my wagon, there." The smuggler withdrew his gil pouch--it felt uncomfortably light--and pressed it into her hand. "Do whatever you have to. I'll check the main building for the goods." Nero's thoughts raced in his head as he considered how to bluff the Blades, and without giving Roen a chance to respond, he walked towards the largest building that lay at the foot of the mines.
She didn't want to kill Brass Blades, and that was fine. Let her do the easy work. Nero approached the Brass Blade, another Midlander, standing watch in front of the large building. The Brass Blade sniffed and glared at the smuggler apprehensively.
"My name is...Kenneth Taeros." It was a snap reflex, and Nero hoped dearly that using Jameson's surname wouldn't come back to bite him later. "I am a representative of the Miner's Guild. The Mineral Concern wants to do an inspection." Nero's tone was business-like; one of Vail's fondest rules were that as long as you pretended you belonged somewhere, most people would get out of your way.
"Never heard of an inspection," the Brass Blade responded, brushing a gloved hand past his nose. "They'd have told us." The Midlander peered at Nero's face under the hood. "And you don't look much like an inspector."
Nero shrugged. "We sent a runner; if he didn't make it, likely he was eaten by a peiste or something. Nonetheless, the Concern is...well, concerned with the recent output. I need access to the ledgers and records."
The Brass Blade folded his arms, his tone stern. "Let me see some papers, then," he said gruffly. Nero rolled his eyes in response, his voice taking on a derisive edge.
"Look, friend, we're not paying you to ask questions. My employer didn't give me any papers; I was just told to come here, retrieve some numbers, and bring them back for comparison. I'm just the messenger." The Brass Blade didn't look too pleased with Nero's attitude.
"We would have known," the Brass Blade growled, putting emphasis on each word. "Who in the hells do you think you are?" The Midlander's patience was clearly growing thin.
"I'm the one trying to do his damned job," Nero snapped back, mirroring the Brass Blade's annoyance. "I couldn't give a rat's ass about what you think. Get in the way of my employers and you can happily say hello to a brand new position in Little Ala Mhigo." The smuggler's eyes narrowed from beneath the hood. "I'm sure the Amal'jaa would love the company. Better you than me."
The Brass Blade's fierce attitude seemed to waver a bit, and he snarled as he pounded on the door. "Make it quick, then."
"Thugs in uniform," Nero swore under his breath, pulling open the door and stepping into the building.
On the other hand, it was doubtful that the Brass Blades would let these strangers simply rifle through the crates looking for cargo. Roen lacked her Sultansworn uniform and Nero didn't have the coin to bribe even one of them, much less all of them. Subterfuge would have to be the name of the game, but it would be very dangerous. Three missing Brass Blades wouldn't be an issue; if they could get rid of them quickly and quietly, they could go in, get the cargo, and leave before anyone was the wiser. If a fight started, however...
The smuggler's eyes darted to and from between the caves and the buildings. The supplies for the refugees be damned; it was the Lominsan arms he was concerned about. He couldn't see anything resembling the two rectangular crates he had carried them in, which meant they had to be inside the building or in the caves. The building was more likely; the Monetarists had Black Brush Station under their thumb, so if the goods were being sold to the bandits or...whoever, they wouldn't put them in the caves.
The question, now, was how to deal with Roen. She couldn't be allowed to find out what else Nero was shipping, but there was no way to check which crates were his without checking the contents. Could he play it off as simply finding them? No, that wouldn't work; though the alchemists were capable of synthesizing the black powder, Ul'dah didn't manufacture firearms. Having Lominsan weapons in the hands of Ul'dahn gangs was enough of a political powder keg. The last thing Nero needed was the law enforcement trying to follow the threads.Â
Nero filed away a mental reminder to commission someone to create a graphic for his merchant front; unmarked crates were all well and good but they caused more problems than they solved, particularly in this instance.
There had to be a way for him to redirect the paladin to the refugee's supplies while drawing attention away from his goods. Or maybe it was possible to keep her from the goods altogether...as fortune would have it, Nero spotted his wagon resting against the side of the largest building, being attended to by a couple of miners. There was no chocobo, but if they hitched it to one from the porters, it would work. The wagon was empty for now, but it seemed the miners were going to use it to port ore back to the city.
Nero tapped her shoulder again, pointing to the wagon. "Forget the building for now. First things first; an exit. If my goods are here, we need a way to get them out of here, and quick. I think that's my wagon, there." The smuggler withdrew his gil pouch--it felt uncomfortably light--and pressed it into her hand. "Do whatever you have to. I'll check the main building for the goods." Nero's thoughts raced in his head as he considered how to bluff the Blades, and without giving Roen a chance to respond, he walked towards the largest building that lay at the foot of the mines.
She didn't want to kill Brass Blades, and that was fine. Let her do the easy work. Nero approached the Brass Blade, another Midlander, standing watch in front of the large building. The Brass Blade sniffed and glared at the smuggler apprehensively.
"My name is...Kenneth Taeros." It was a snap reflex, and Nero hoped dearly that using Jameson's surname wouldn't come back to bite him later. "I am a representative of the Miner's Guild. The Mineral Concern wants to do an inspection." Nero's tone was business-like; one of Vail's fondest rules were that as long as you pretended you belonged somewhere, most people would get out of your way.
"Never heard of an inspection," the Brass Blade responded, brushing a gloved hand past his nose. "They'd have told us." The Midlander peered at Nero's face under the hood. "And you don't look much like an inspector."
Nero shrugged. "We sent a runner; if he didn't make it, likely he was eaten by a peiste or something. Nonetheless, the Concern is...well, concerned with the recent output. I need access to the ledgers and records."
The Brass Blade folded his arms, his tone stern. "Let me see some papers, then," he said gruffly. Nero rolled his eyes in response, his voice taking on a derisive edge.
"Look, friend, we're not paying you to ask questions. My employer didn't give me any papers; I was just told to come here, retrieve some numbers, and bring them back for comparison. I'm just the messenger." The Brass Blade didn't look too pleased with Nero's attitude.
"We would have known," the Brass Blade growled, putting emphasis on each word. "Who in the hells do you think you are?" The Midlander's patience was clearly growing thin.
"I'm the one trying to do his damned job," Nero snapped back, mirroring the Brass Blade's annoyance. "I couldn't give a rat's ass about what you think. Get in the way of my employers and you can happily say hello to a brand new position in Little Ala Mhigo." The smuggler's eyes narrowed from beneath the hood. "I'm sure the Amal'jaa would love the company. Better you than me."
The Brass Blade's fierce attitude seemed to waver a bit, and he snarled as he pounded on the door. "Make it quick, then."
"Thugs in uniform," Nero swore under his breath, pulling open the door and stepping into the building.
