As fate would have it, Nero would not be required to enter the mines themselves. He thanked the Twelve beneath his breath for granting him some manner of luck; he had ascended the scaffolding and could scarcely contain his excitement when he spotted the rectangular crates resting near the entrance of the mines. With some hazy memories, he recalled that the Nanawa Mines was primarily a conduit for the ceruleum refineries; it was fortunate that they had not been taken out of central Thanalan.
The arms crates were stacked along with a few other crates next to a support beam; Nero guessed that those were the refugee supplies. He couldn't see the Amajina and Sons logo from where he was peering over the scaffolding, but it was safe to assume that the Blades had kept all of the confiscated goods together, and even if the other crates weren't the supplies, the weapons--or at least the crate that carried them--were intact, and that was enough.
The question now was that if Nanawa Mines was meant to be a transit area for the goods, then where was the final destination?
The answer to Nero's question came in the form of a group of four bandits; they were dressed functionally and armed to the teeth, and were lounging several fulms away from the crates, near the entrance of the mines. From where the smuggler peered over the edge of the cliff, he could see three swords and a bow. One of the bandits stepped forward, presumably the leader; it was a female Miqo'te wielding the bow. Accompanying her were two Midlanders and a Hellsguard Roegadyn, all wielding swords. The Miqo'te was dressed modestly for the overcast conditions and perked up when the third Brass Blade, a Highlander, emerged from the mines.Â
Five foes in total. Could he handle all of them? It was clear that the bandits were here for the goods; the Highlander Brass Blade was making some gestures at the pile of crates. The Miqo'te made the same motions, occasionally glancing back at her henchmen. Nero couldn't read their lips, but from the motions being made, he guessed that they must have been negotiating for payment.
The smuggler's heart and mind both raced. He couldn't take on five of them in hand-to-hand. Thaumaturgy? If he didn't control the size of his spells, he could risk destroying his products. Roen was still dealing with the two other Brass Blades, presumably. Nero shook his head, withdrawing the silver sceptre from his side. Even if he ended up destroying the goods, he couldn't let the bandits have them.
At least, not these bandits.
Pulling the hood over his face as far as he could allow without significantly impeding his vision, Nero stepped up the scaffolding, sceptre in hand. His eyes narrowed as he clutched the sceptre, willing the aether to bend and form around the sceptre, which began to take on an umbral purple hue. Properly molding the raw aether into sorcery required immense focus; the first lesson taught at the Ossuary was the danger of failed spells, and an acolyte was subject to intense exercises of concentration before taking on learning how to shape the aether.
It had been some time since Nero had properly used his thaumaturgy--often he avoided using it when possible or simply lacked a reason--but it was with a pleasant surprise that he found that his concentration did not waver, even with his lack of practise. The aether began to manifest as flames danced around the head of the sceptre, creating sparkling lights within the emerald embedded in it. The Hyur kept the sceptre concealed behind his back, fully aware that the growing flames would not remain hidden for very long.
Nero was still a few yalms away from the group, but the bandits had taken notice. The Hellsguard Roegadyn drew his sword and stepped forward towards Nero; the two other Midlanders followed suit.
The Roegadyn growled. "Yer not supposed--"
The sentence was interrupted as Nero whipped the sceptre out as his spell completed, sending a plume of fire rocketing towards the group. The Brass Blade's eyes widened and the Highlander dropped to the floor. The Midlanders and the Miqo'te followed suit, but the Roegadyn took the fireball directly to the face, the spell exploding in a brilliant cascade of sparks.
Not wasting any time in preparing another spell, Nero's eyes darted from beneath the hood, assessing the situation. He hadn't killed the Roegadyn yet--that would be remedied soon enough--but he needed to keep the Miqo'te at least pinned. Taking an arrow would end this endeavour quickly. The aether swirled around the scepter again, and a violet orb flew out, again striking the Roegadyn who convulsed violently before falling to the ground, his limbs occasionally twitching.
By now, the Midlanders had recovered and brandished their swords, making a charge for the smuggler; the Brass Blade had bellowed something unintelligible and began to crawl to the edge.
The bandits were clearly not well trained in combat, a condition that came from preying on hapless refugees or unarmed caravans; the first came at Nero alone instead of waiting for his compatriot to attack simultaneously, the Midlander swinging a scimitar vertically. It was a clumsy attack at best, one that Nero easily dodged by sidestepping to the left and following up with a right cross directly to the bandit's throat with the intent of smashing the windpipe. The cobalt plates on Nero's gloves impacted on the tender flesh with a sickening thud that sounded like raw meat being hit with a sledgehammer.
The second bandit made a diagonal swing, but was met with the silver sceptre. A gurgle resounded as Nero flicked the knife from its sheath and jammed it with his left hand into the bandit's throat.
However, it would not be as easy as all that. The smuggler whipped his head to the left, narrowly dodging an arrow that whistled past his ear, violently brushing Nero's hood off of his head. The Miqo'te had recovered and was now taking careful aim at the Hyur. A fire spell would have taken too long; white-blue particles began to coalesce around the head of the sceptre. Another arrow whipped past Nero, who nearly fell over attempting to dodge the projectile. He raised his sceptre, and a cascade of icy shards manifested around the Miqo'te before exploding like glass.
Nero didn't take the time to examine his handiwork, but the lack of arrows flying at him indicated that the Miqo'te was either dead or incapacitated enough to stop using a bow; the Highlander Brass Blade was still yelling something unintelligible. The smuggler's mouth twisted into a cruel grin as another plume of fire emerged from the sceptre, blasting the Highlander off of the cliff with one of his legs spinning through the air, separate from his body.
The arms crates were stacked along with a few other crates next to a support beam; Nero guessed that those were the refugee supplies. He couldn't see the Amajina and Sons logo from where he was peering over the scaffolding, but it was safe to assume that the Blades had kept all of the confiscated goods together, and even if the other crates weren't the supplies, the weapons--or at least the crate that carried them--were intact, and that was enough.
The question now was that if Nanawa Mines was meant to be a transit area for the goods, then where was the final destination?
The answer to Nero's question came in the form of a group of four bandits; they were dressed functionally and armed to the teeth, and were lounging several fulms away from the crates, near the entrance of the mines. From where the smuggler peered over the edge of the cliff, he could see three swords and a bow. One of the bandits stepped forward, presumably the leader; it was a female Miqo'te wielding the bow. Accompanying her were two Midlanders and a Hellsguard Roegadyn, all wielding swords. The Miqo'te was dressed modestly for the overcast conditions and perked up when the third Brass Blade, a Highlander, emerged from the mines.Â
Five foes in total. Could he handle all of them? It was clear that the bandits were here for the goods; the Highlander Brass Blade was making some gestures at the pile of crates. The Miqo'te made the same motions, occasionally glancing back at her henchmen. Nero couldn't read their lips, but from the motions being made, he guessed that they must have been negotiating for payment.
The smuggler's heart and mind both raced. He couldn't take on five of them in hand-to-hand. Thaumaturgy? If he didn't control the size of his spells, he could risk destroying his products. Roen was still dealing with the two other Brass Blades, presumably. Nero shook his head, withdrawing the silver sceptre from his side. Even if he ended up destroying the goods, he couldn't let the bandits have them.
At least, not these bandits.
Pulling the hood over his face as far as he could allow without significantly impeding his vision, Nero stepped up the scaffolding, sceptre in hand. His eyes narrowed as he clutched the sceptre, willing the aether to bend and form around the sceptre, which began to take on an umbral purple hue. Properly molding the raw aether into sorcery required immense focus; the first lesson taught at the Ossuary was the danger of failed spells, and an acolyte was subject to intense exercises of concentration before taking on learning how to shape the aether.
It had been some time since Nero had properly used his thaumaturgy--often he avoided using it when possible or simply lacked a reason--but it was with a pleasant surprise that he found that his concentration did not waver, even with his lack of practise. The aether began to manifest as flames danced around the head of the sceptre, creating sparkling lights within the emerald embedded in it. The Hyur kept the sceptre concealed behind his back, fully aware that the growing flames would not remain hidden for very long.
Nero was still a few yalms away from the group, but the bandits had taken notice. The Hellsguard Roegadyn drew his sword and stepped forward towards Nero; the two other Midlanders followed suit.
The Roegadyn growled. "Yer not supposed--"
The sentence was interrupted as Nero whipped the sceptre out as his spell completed, sending a plume of fire rocketing towards the group. The Brass Blade's eyes widened and the Highlander dropped to the floor. The Midlanders and the Miqo'te followed suit, but the Roegadyn took the fireball directly to the face, the spell exploding in a brilliant cascade of sparks.
Not wasting any time in preparing another spell, Nero's eyes darted from beneath the hood, assessing the situation. He hadn't killed the Roegadyn yet--that would be remedied soon enough--but he needed to keep the Miqo'te at least pinned. Taking an arrow would end this endeavour quickly. The aether swirled around the scepter again, and a violet orb flew out, again striking the Roegadyn who convulsed violently before falling to the ground, his limbs occasionally twitching.
By now, the Midlanders had recovered and brandished their swords, making a charge for the smuggler; the Brass Blade had bellowed something unintelligible and began to crawl to the edge.
The bandits were clearly not well trained in combat, a condition that came from preying on hapless refugees or unarmed caravans; the first came at Nero alone instead of waiting for his compatriot to attack simultaneously, the Midlander swinging a scimitar vertically. It was a clumsy attack at best, one that Nero easily dodged by sidestepping to the left and following up with a right cross directly to the bandit's throat with the intent of smashing the windpipe. The cobalt plates on Nero's gloves impacted on the tender flesh with a sickening thud that sounded like raw meat being hit with a sledgehammer.
The second bandit made a diagonal swing, but was met with the silver sceptre. A gurgle resounded as Nero flicked the knife from its sheath and jammed it with his left hand into the bandit's throat.
However, it would not be as easy as all that. The smuggler whipped his head to the left, narrowly dodging an arrow that whistled past his ear, violently brushing Nero's hood off of his head. The Miqo'te had recovered and was now taking careful aim at the Hyur. A fire spell would have taken too long; white-blue particles began to coalesce around the head of the sceptre. Another arrow whipped past Nero, who nearly fell over attempting to dodge the projectile. He raised his sceptre, and a cascade of icy shards manifested around the Miqo'te before exploding like glass.
Nero didn't take the time to examine his handiwork, but the lack of arrows flying at him indicated that the Miqo'te was either dead or incapacitated enough to stop using a bow; the Highlander Brass Blade was still yelling something unintelligible. The smuggler's mouth twisted into a cruel grin as another plume of fire emerged from the sceptre, blasting the Highlander off of the cliff with one of his legs spinning through the air, separate from his body.
