It was later that day that Daegsatz' funeral ceremony was held. It was a simple affair, without words or tears. There was no plea for remembrance or grieving speeches. It was simply a group of men mourning another lost brother.
Nero and the crew had stood on a private dock, where a dinghy had been tied. In the center of the tiny vessel lay a well-cared for battle ax; it held some minor scratches, but it had been lovingly polished to a mirror shine, and the wooden handle gleamed with fresh varnish. In lieu of a body, the dinghy had been loaded with the Roegadyn's personal effects and various gifts ranging from mundane to splendidly luxurious. An ornate pen and ink pot with several sheets of high-quality vellum, a sextant, a jar of seashells, bottles of brandy, a basket of oranges, a set of large scale armor, gaudy jewelry, a gold-trimmed tricorne hat, and other items. The interior of the dinghy also gleamed with oil and dry hay.
With naught a word and with a gust of the wind as his signal, Garalt lowered the small sail and untied the dinghy, shoving it towards the sea. The wind gradually caught in the sail and the current slowly pulled the vessel towards Llymlaen's embrace. The men standing on the end of the pier were silent as the dinghy pulled further and further away. Eventually, the tall Highlander picked up a longbow nocked an arrow, the head of which was wrapped in an oil-soaked rag. The slight tchk of a match strike was heard as the head of the arrow was ignited, and with a practised eye, Garalt let loose the missile. Several seconds later, an orange silhouette made itself known on the horizon as the dinghy ignited.
One by one, the crew parted from the edge of the pier as the tiny blaze became smaller and smaller. There was the patting of shoulders and audible exhales as the men left, with only Garalt and Nero left.
It was after a long silence that the smuggler spoke. "Do you believe I should have invited Miss Deneith?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly as he stared at the horizon.
The Highlander inhaled, folding his arms across his chest. "It would only be right for her to have been here," Garalt said gruffly. He kept his tone neutral, but Nero could hear the disapproval that edged itself onto the Highlander's gravelly voice. "She had been with him in his last days."
Nero exhaled, his arms wrapped around his abdomen as he pursed his lips. "This...would not have been approved by her. She would have expected speeches, sobbing. Perhaps an award with his name." The Highlander responded by flashing a brief glare at him.
"She is not nearly as foolish as you seem to think," was the curt response, as Garalt turned and left the pier.
Nero knew that. Or did he? They had argued only earlier that day. His words had been sharp and venomous. He had demanded from her results, for truly in this world effort meant nothing if there was naught to show for it. Roen had, from the day they had made their alliance, insisted that there was another way. The wind blew at his back, causing his hair to ripple forward. The Hyur did not notice the weather, for he was too deep into his own thoughts.
That stupid woman. Nero had thought of all of the other ways. None of them would work. The people were too fickle, too short-sighted, too dull and dim and ignorant. For their own good, they had to be herded like cattle in the right direction. It was like Vail said; the surest way to make people act how you want them to is to make them act in self-interest. The Monetarists held a firm grip on the city. The people who knew about the corruption didn't care and the people who cared about the corruption didn't know, or at least didn't know enough to make any sort of difference.
Radical change required radical action.
This was the only way.
He loved you like a son. I cannot believe he would condone you killing families."
This was the only way.
And you are staining his death with more bloodshed,"
No. Daegsatz was dead, and what was left of him had been sent to Llymlaen. Ul'dah had killed him. Nero folded his arms, his hands clenching into fists.
"Nero, I want to help you change Ul'dah, not stop you."
The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. She was still intent on lecturing him, criticising him, perhaps even opposing him, all because she balked at the actions that were necessary. And there were others like her, others who would condemn his extremism, simply because they had never seen the Jewel for what it was.
Rotten. Festering.
This was the only way.
The Monetarists had to be destroyed. Their greedy talons had to be severed. The people, though perhaps they themselves did not know it, were crying out for salvation. They needed to know that their lives were more than just the clink of gil.
This was the only way.
Images flashed to the surface of his consciousness. A screaming child as a noble's guards dragged him away from his destitute mother. A Brass Blade grinning as he slapped a spindly beggar away, breaking the man's jaw. The bandits hustling merchants in broad daylight before beating them within an inch of their life. The prostitutes hurrying to hide the orphans before their crime lords came to take their due.
This was the only way.
An Ala Mhigan man holding a child in his arms, sobbing outside of the city walls. The child was skeletal, his skin drawn taught across his bones like paper. The man was in no better condition, his rib cage showing clearly. The Blades kicked him away to the refugee camp. Nothing but the quiet, weakened wails could be heard.
This was the only way.
A haggard Roegadyn, trying to teach a Hyur teenager patience. The Hyur was tugging on the rod with too much force, such that the rod would break before the fish would be landed. A large, gentle hand clasped itself around the rod, thick arms skillfully waving the rod in a dance as he turned the reel, a subtle twinkle of joy when the Hyur finally managed to do the same, even if the bass was small in size.
This was the only way.
Nero turned and began to walk back to the ship, his footsteps heavy on the planks of the pier.
This was the only way.
The city would bend to his will or be destroyed.
This was the only way.
Nero and the crew had stood on a private dock, where a dinghy had been tied. In the center of the tiny vessel lay a well-cared for battle ax; it held some minor scratches, but it had been lovingly polished to a mirror shine, and the wooden handle gleamed with fresh varnish. In lieu of a body, the dinghy had been loaded with the Roegadyn's personal effects and various gifts ranging from mundane to splendidly luxurious. An ornate pen and ink pot with several sheets of high-quality vellum, a sextant, a jar of seashells, bottles of brandy, a basket of oranges, a set of large scale armor, gaudy jewelry, a gold-trimmed tricorne hat, and other items. The interior of the dinghy also gleamed with oil and dry hay.
With naught a word and with a gust of the wind as his signal, Garalt lowered the small sail and untied the dinghy, shoving it towards the sea. The wind gradually caught in the sail and the current slowly pulled the vessel towards Llymlaen's embrace. The men standing on the end of the pier were silent as the dinghy pulled further and further away. Eventually, the tall Highlander picked up a longbow nocked an arrow, the head of which was wrapped in an oil-soaked rag. The slight tchk of a match strike was heard as the head of the arrow was ignited, and with a practised eye, Garalt let loose the missile. Several seconds later, an orange silhouette made itself known on the horizon as the dinghy ignited.
One by one, the crew parted from the edge of the pier as the tiny blaze became smaller and smaller. There was the patting of shoulders and audible exhales as the men left, with only Garalt and Nero left.
It was after a long silence that the smuggler spoke. "Do you believe I should have invited Miss Deneith?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly as he stared at the horizon.
The Highlander inhaled, folding his arms across his chest. "It would only be right for her to have been here," Garalt said gruffly. He kept his tone neutral, but Nero could hear the disapproval that edged itself onto the Highlander's gravelly voice. "She had been with him in his last days."
Nero exhaled, his arms wrapped around his abdomen as he pursed his lips. "This...would not have been approved by her. She would have expected speeches, sobbing. Perhaps an award with his name." The Highlander responded by flashing a brief glare at him.
"She is not nearly as foolish as you seem to think," was the curt response, as Garalt turned and left the pier.
Nero knew that. Or did he? They had argued only earlier that day. His words had been sharp and venomous. He had demanded from her results, for truly in this world effort meant nothing if there was naught to show for it. Roen had, from the day they had made their alliance, insisted that there was another way. The wind blew at his back, causing his hair to ripple forward. The Hyur did not notice the weather, for he was too deep into his own thoughts.
That stupid woman. Nero had thought of all of the other ways. None of them would work. The people were too fickle, too short-sighted, too dull and dim and ignorant. For their own good, they had to be herded like cattle in the right direction. It was like Vail said; the surest way to make people act how you want them to is to make them act in self-interest. The Monetarists held a firm grip on the city. The people who knew about the corruption didn't care and the people who cared about the corruption didn't know, or at least didn't know enough to make any sort of difference.
Radical change required radical action.
This was the only way.
He loved you like a son. I cannot believe he would condone you killing families."
This was the only way.
And you are staining his death with more bloodshed,"
No. Daegsatz was dead, and what was left of him had been sent to Llymlaen. Ul'dah had killed him. Nero folded his arms, his hands clenching into fists.
"Nero, I want to help you change Ul'dah, not stop you."
The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. She was still intent on lecturing him, criticising him, perhaps even opposing him, all because she balked at the actions that were necessary. And there were others like her, others who would condemn his extremism, simply because they had never seen the Jewel for what it was.
Rotten. Festering.
This was the only way.
The Monetarists had to be destroyed. Their greedy talons had to be severed. The people, though perhaps they themselves did not know it, were crying out for salvation. They needed to know that their lives were more than just the clink of gil.
This was the only way.
Images flashed to the surface of his consciousness. A screaming child as a noble's guards dragged him away from his destitute mother. A Brass Blade grinning as he slapped a spindly beggar away, breaking the man's jaw. The bandits hustling merchants in broad daylight before beating them within an inch of their life. The prostitutes hurrying to hide the orphans before their crime lords came to take their due.
This was the only way.
An Ala Mhigan man holding a child in his arms, sobbing outside of the city walls. The child was skeletal, his skin drawn taught across his bones like paper. The man was in no better condition, his rib cage showing clearly. The Blades kicked him away to the refugee camp. Nothing but the quiet, weakened wails could be heard.
This was the only way.
A haggard Roegadyn, trying to teach a Hyur teenager patience. The Hyur was tugging on the rod with too much force, such that the rod would break before the fish would be landed. A large, gentle hand clasped itself around the rod, thick arms skillfully waving the rod in a dance as he turned the reel, a subtle twinkle of joy when the Hyur finally managed to do the same, even if the bass was small in size.
This was the only way.
Nero turned and began to walk back to the ship, his footsteps heavy on the planks of the pier.
This was the only way.
The city would bend to his will or be destroyed.
This was the only way.
