Warren Castille's presence in the public eye had waned a great deal in the months leading to the Starlight Festival. Where once the knight had strode amongst the people of Ul'dah freely, he had instead chosen to batten down his hatches. The affections of the people belonged with those who protected them openly, and the Sultansworn and the Brass Blades were more than willing to be the public face of that protection. This allowed Warren to do his job without drawing as much attention to himself. There were few people who knew where Warren lived properly outside of his room in the Quicksand - the selfsame room he'd first taken when he arrived in Ul'dah years and years ago now - and none of those people belonged to any "Sisters of the Red Lotus" club.
He sat at the table in his private home with his hands flat on the wood before him, the small gemstone engraved with a mountain resting between them as he once again examined it. It remained where he'd left it when he departed in the morning, still facing the ceiling with the crude lines depicting a mountain showing. He'd initially assumed the parcel was randomly delivered, perhaps chosen at random by someone stuck working the holiday period, but the picture seemed to indicate otherwise. His gut felt that it was chosen for him, or perhaps he for it.
His questioning had been largely innocent, well-meaning. The public consensus of the Sisters (and their sibling faction, the Brothers of the Red Lotus) was that they were faithful above all else to Nald'Thal. They tended to the sick and the poor, offering services to those who might not be otherwise able to afford them, and despite their destitute beneficiaries the Sisters are seemingly well-provided for.
All well and good for an afternoon of asking around, but it didn't scratch the itch. Naturally suspicious, Warren didn't know why he had drawn the attention of these philanthropists. There had to be something more to it.
He sat at the table in his private home with his hands flat on the wood before him, the small gemstone engraved with a mountain resting between them as he once again examined it. It remained where he'd left it when he departed in the morning, still facing the ceiling with the crude lines depicting a mountain showing. He'd initially assumed the parcel was randomly delivered, perhaps chosen at random by someone stuck working the holiday period, but the picture seemed to indicate otherwise. His gut felt that it was chosen for him, or perhaps he for it.
His questioning had been largely innocent, well-meaning. The public consensus of the Sisters (and their sibling faction, the Brothers of the Red Lotus) was that they were faithful above all else to Nald'Thal. They tended to the sick and the poor, offering services to those who might not be otherwise able to afford them, and despite their destitute beneficiaries the Sisters are seemingly well-provided for.
All well and good for an afternoon of asking around, but it didn't scratch the itch. Naturally suspicious, Warren didn't know why he had drawn the attention of these philanthropists. There had to be something more to it.
![[Image: yEROfKO.png]](http://i.imgur.com/yEROfKO.png)
