Broken Nose frowned. The Roegadyn knew the bandits would not surrender, for they rarely ever did. This would end bloody.
It was always the same. Broken Nose was a lowborn himself, had worked himself out of poverty by joining the Brass Blades. He knew the desperation that drove many who otherwise had nothing to seek the security and safety in numbers that came with being part of a gang. While he would not admit it openly, the Hellsguard knew it was very much akin to joining the Brass Blades.
Despite the fact that he wore his armor with some measure of pride, Broken Nose was no fool. Like any other bandit gangs, the Brass Blades too extorted money from helpless merchants, and strode about with an air of authority because they were great in number.
What set them apart was that they were owned by the Syndicate--the true power in Ul’dah.
And while the Brass Blades were rewarded with coin and power, as well as some small semblance of legitimacy in their job, these thugs were only paid with fear and submission. They drew strength in showing their willingness to punish their enemies, in making examples of those who stood up to them. It was against their very natures to cower...and given the impoverished conditions that drove them to this life in the first place, none of them ever wanted to go back. Rarely did they relent without resistance.
So when the Elezen and his two guards turned towards them with weapons drawn, Broken Nose growed, “Cut them down! Take one alive for questioning!â€
The Brass Blades had been staying close to the wall as to not make obvious targets of themselves from shooters up top, but when the shutters did not open again, they stepped into formation, raised their shields, brandished their scimitars, and met those that came at them.
Broken Nose charged the large Hellsguard to the Elezen’s left, meeting the bandit’s brute strength with his own. He bashed away the thug’s drawn weapon with his round shield and brought about his scimitar across the Roegadyn’s chest. Killing armed bandits was always easier than taking them alive. He wanted to call them fools for fighting armed Blades while they themselves wore only cotton robes.
Then a metallic thunk caught his attention as he shot a glance to the Elezen, the apparent leader of the group. The Wildwood’s eyes went wide, then began to roll upwards as he stumbled forward. Behind him came another clang of a shield as it clattered across the stones. Broken Nose glanced behind the Elezen to see the paladin he had just met with moments ago; it was her shield that had been lobbed at the back of Wildwood’s head.
Broken Nose only spared her but a moment’s glimpse as he turned back to the Hellsguard in front of him, but inwardly he thought that maybe with her about, they can take a few alive. Paladins and their succor. For the longest time, he had regarded them with disdain--both Free Paladins and the Sultansworns--for they always walked about with an air of superiority about them. It was as if their oaths had bequeathed on to them a mantle of righteousness that put them above the rest of the laws of Ul’dah.
But now, in the last many moons that he had come to know Roen Deneith, he had come to appreciate some things about their value system. And their unique set of skills.
He was beginning to have some hope that they may actually not kill everyone this day.
It was always the same. Broken Nose was a lowborn himself, had worked himself out of poverty by joining the Brass Blades. He knew the desperation that drove many who otherwise had nothing to seek the security and safety in numbers that came with being part of a gang. While he would not admit it openly, the Hellsguard knew it was very much akin to joining the Brass Blades.
Despite the fact that he wore his armor with some measure of pride, Broken Nose was no fool. Like any other bandit gangs, the Brass Blades too extorted money from helpless merchants, and strode about with an air of authority because they were great in number.
What set them apart was that they were owned by the Syndicate--the true power in Ul’dah.
And while the Brass Blades were rewarded with coin and power, as well as some small semblance of legitimacy in their job, these thugs were only paid with fear and submission. They drew strength in showing their willingness to punish their enemies, in making examples of those who stood up to them. It was against their very natures to cower...and given the impoverished conditions that drove them to this life in the first place, none of them ever wanted to go back. Rarely did they relent without resistance.
So when the Elezen and his two guards turned towards them with weapons drawn, Broken Nose growed, “Cut them down! Take one alive for questioning!â€
The Brass Blades had been staying close to the wall as to not make obvious targets of themselves from shooters up top, but when the shutters did not open again, they stepped into formation, raised their shields, brandished their scimitars, and met those that came at them.
Broken Nose charged the large Hellsguard to the Elezen’s left, meeting the bandit’s brute strength with his own. He bashed away the thug’s drawn weapon with his round shield and brought about his scimitar across the Roegadyn’s chest. Killing armed bandits was always easier than taking them alive. He wanted to call them fools for fighting armed Blades while they themselves wore only cotton robes.
Then a metallic thunk caught his attention as he shot a glance to the Elezen, the apparent leader of the group. The Wildwood’s eyes went wide, then began to roll upwards as he stumbled forward. Behind him came another clang of a shield as it clattered across the stones. Broken Nose glanced behind the Elezen to see the paladin he had just met with moments ago; it was her shield that had been lobbed at the back of Wildwood’s head.
Broken Nose only spared her but a moment’s glimpse as he turned back to the Hellsguard in front of him, but inwardly he thought that maybe with her about, they can take a few alive. Paladins and their succor. For the longest time, he had regarded them with disdain--both Free Paladins and the Sultansworns--for they always walked about with an air of superiority about them. It was as if their oaths had bequeathed on to them a mantle of righteousness that put them above the rest of the laws of Ul’dah.
But now, in the last many moons that he had come to know Roen Deneith, he had come to appreciate some things about their value system. And their unique set of skills.
He was beginning to have some hope that they may actually not kill everyone this day.
