Roen shook her hand to loosen her fingers as she trotted toward the base of the scaffolding leading up to the mines. Her knuckles still throbbed after the bare-handed blows she'd delivered against poor Raffe’s face.
The Brass Blade had approached her unprepared, somehow not expecting much resistance. His swing was clumsy; she ducked away from it easily and answered with two quick jabs to his face. Even now the memory of the aghast expression that twisted his visage brought a small but satisfied smile to the paladin’s lips. Raffe’s complexion turned ruddier by the moment as he became angry, which in turn only made his movements rushed and lacking in precision.
That had been her first real hand-to-hand combat against an opponent that intended her harm, and the fact that she defeated him energized her and quickened her steps up the stairs. Roen was not foolish enough to think Raffe had been a difficult opponent; his balance was questionable and his swings were clumsy. He was likely a much more formidable foe with sword and shield in hand.
Roen could not dismiss the twisted irony that there was something positive she had gained from her unfortunate encounter with both Stank and Captain Anduron, and even Itarliht. They exposed her weaknesses, tested her fortitude. Roen had come out stronger for it.
“Run, cheat, or die. You chose to endure.â€
Roen left the two Brass Blades on their own to sort things out; neither seemed willing to object any longer to her taking the wagon. Roen even offered to heal Louvel's finger after she returned with the wagon. He grudgingly grunted and nodded in answer.
Nero had mouthed to her mines, which meant that whatever he was looking for was not in the building. The third Brass Blade was still unaccounted for, and unless he was in the building, Roen assumed the final guard would be with the supplies at the mines. She counted themselves fortunate so far to have kept things quiet, so all they needed to do was to find the goods and--
A sound of an explosion broke Roen from her reverie as she rounded a turn on the scaffolding stairs.
Was that…a fireball? She started to hear the echoes of yells from above. Someone is raising an alarm. Her eyes wide, the paladin began to sprint up the stairs, taking two steps up at a time. Nero had gone up by himself, and if someone was wielding thaumaturgy up there…
Roen doubted the smuggler would be dodging fireballs, no matter how quick and agile he seemed during their short spar. She shut out the remainder of grim possibilities from her mind as she rounded the last turn, heading up the final steps to the top.
That was when she heard the scream. Her pace slowed on the last few wooden steps as she watched a Brass Blade sail off the cliff, thrown by another fiery explosion. The scorched head and the smoking chainmail, the dismembered leg spiralling through the air...the paladin did not question whether the man was going to live as he plummeted down.
Her eyes then turned to the only man up top that was still standing, his back to her.
Nero had bodies scattered about him; a silver scepter held in his hand still wafted wisps of spent aether into the grey sky.
The Brass Blade had approached her unprepared, somehow not expecting much resistance. His swing was clumsy; she ducked away from it easily and answered with two quick jabs to his face. Even now the memory of the aghast expression that twisted his visage brought a small but satisfied smile to the paladin’s lips. Raffe’s complexion turned ruddier by the moment as he became angry, which in turn only made his movements rushed and lacking in precision.
That had been her first real hand-to-hand combat against an opponent that intended her harm, and the fact that she defeated him energized her and quickened her steps up the stairs. Roen was not foolish enough to think Raffe had been a difficult opponent; his balance was questionable and his swings were clumsy. He was likely a much more formidable foe with sword and shield in hand.
Roen could not dismiss the twisted irony that there was something positive she had gained from her unfortunate encounter with both Stank and Captain Anduron, and even Itarliht. They exposed her weaknesses, tested her fortitude. Roen had come out stronger for it.
“Run, cheat, or die. You chose to endure.â€
Roen left the two Brass Blades on their own to sort things out; neither seemed willing to object any longer to her taking the wagon. Roen even offered to heal Louvel's finger after she returned with the wagon. He grudgingly grunted and nodded in answer.
Nero had mouthed to her mines, which meant that whatever he was looking for was not in the building. The third Brass Blade was still unaccounted for, and unless he was in the building, Roen assumed the final guard would be with the supplies at the mines. She counted themselves fortunate so far to have kept things quiet, so all they needed to do was to find the goods and--
A sound of an explosion broke Roen from her reverie as she rounded a turn on the scaffolding stairs.
Was that…a fireball? She started to hear the echoes of yells from above. Someone is raising an alarm. Her eyes wide, the paladin began to sprint up the stairs, taking two steps up at a time. Nero had gone up by himself, and if someone was wielding thaumaturgy up there…
Roen doubted the smuggler would be dodging fireballs, no matter how quick and agile he seemed during their short spar. She shut out the remainder of grim possibilities from her mind as she rounded the last turn, heading up the final steps to the top.
That was when she heard the scream. Her pace slowed on the last few wooden steps as she watched a Brass Blade sail off the cliff, thrown by another fiery explosion. The scorched head and the smoking chainmail, the dismembered leg spiralling through the air...the paladin did not question whether the man was going to live as he plummeted down.
Her eyes then turned to the only man up top that was still standing, his back to her.
Nero had bodies scattered about him; a silver scepter held in his hand still wafted wisps of spent aether into the grey sky.
