The dark wine swirled just below the rim of the glass, the gloved hand that held it by the neck tilting the glass with practiced ease, though there was a certain restless vigor underlying the habit that was unlike him.
Jameson Taeros stared at the various pieces on the chessboard in front of him as he reclined deeper into the large leather seat. A few pawns had already been moved off the board and cast aside. Crowe, Dyer, and Aapano had all been too vocal in their opposition of him, else panicked and wavered in their loyalties. So irresistible gifts were made--expensive wine usually worked well--to take them out of the game permanently. The void of wealth and power left behind was filled quickly enough, and most of the time it was to his advantage. Such were the ever-turning cogs of Ul’dah; when a wheel broke, it was replaced and the gears just continued to grind.
The noble mused with a measure of contempt that he himself was not exempt from this unforgiving game. He harbored no foolish arrogance to believe otherwise. But he had ingrained himself in the web of power long enough and deeply enough that he had learned to perceive early any pull or resistance in that entanglement. Just like the scales of Nald’thal, the balance could be tipped at any time; those who were good at the game knew how to maintain that precarious equilibrium while adding weight to his own side.
Jameson picked up one of the discarded pieces off the board, a Dragoon, and brought it before his apathetic gaze. It was a formidable piece whilst in play, though never subtle. He had lost it sometime ago.
Natalie, you could have been so much more, the noble reminisced as he took a long sip of the wine. Natalie’s zeal in protecting all interests of Ul’dah drove the single-minded Miqo’te to reckless actions and forsaking all other loyalties. She even forgave him for his Imperial connections when he had allowed her a glimpse into his past. He still did not want to admit that there was a sense of loss that still lingered inside him since her passing. But it was dismissed as soon as it was recognized, and the chess piece was dropped along with the rest of the pawns.
The noble eyed the Wyverns on the board still. Deadly yet somewhat unpredictable. Grimsong had been hesitant to act against Lazarov. She had been tasked to end the life of one Sebastian Redgrave over a moon ago, and yet nothing. Even at the Starlight Ball where the pirate had boldly shown his face and seemingly only with Roen as his obvious ally, Delial had not made a move against him. Nor had Zuka, one of the Lalafell enforcers that Lolorito had sent to assist him in these matters. Taeros wondered if the two were reliable pieces at all. Or if he was to merely use them as distractions against the pirate.
Lazarov. Why did you show up at the Ball? Jameson crooked an elbow against the armrest and rested his head against a curled hand. The Dragon piece the other side of the board seemed to stare back at him in silent defiance. For someone as pragmatic and meticulous as Lazarov to just show his face at such a public function…it had to have been a trap, and one that Jameson could not yet see in its entirety. So a passing smile was all that was exchanged with the man who had been causing so much trouble for his employer and his ilk. If it was a trap, Jameson was not going to spring it under such scrutiny, and he was fully aware of many eyes following his every move that night. It was best to let the pirate go, and strike at him another day.
But…if his Wyverns were no longer considered reliable, what pieces did he have left? He plucked the Temple Knight off the board, holding it between his fingertips like a fine jewel. My own knight. My Sultansworn.
Coatleque Crofte. She had once been a whore in a brothel, yet now she now served the Sultana and was arguably the best-known Sultansworn under Jenlyns. She was very much like himself in that she had clawed her way out of the pit of poverty--the worst sort of mortal obscurity--to rise in power.
He smiled. Coatleque could not have known that they were kindred spirits when she had thrown herself at him, offering herself as payment for a favor. It was simply a business arrangement at the start, and he could not deny the value of an alliance with a prominent Sultansworn. Even when Natalie was still alive, both of them had thought that recruiting Ser Crofte to their cause would only bolster their strength. But now…
Jameson did not quite know what they were. Coatleque had professed her love for him. It was after she had betrayed him and stolen from him. The fact that it was her, of all people...
He felt his anger rise up inside him before he even realized that she had affected him in such a way. The Sworn herself was wracked with guilt, and perhaps would have said anything to appease his anger, but she said she loved him nonetheless. He extinguished his rage quickly enough, but not before that calm facade that he had worked so hard to maintain faltered for a moment. He still doubted her integrity, even as he released his grip around her throat. The tears in her eyes convinced him that she spoke true, but he wondered if it would eclipse her sense of honor should the two ever came into conflict.
Would she accept him for all that he was?
The noble had assumed that Coatleque already suspected him of certain Garlean connections. She had inquired more than once, and ever so carefully, about his other employers. But when he had asked her frankly of her own loyalties, she had made it plainly known that above all things, Sultana’s safety would come first. It was obvious that any foreign connections would be seen as a threat. So Jameson had kept things vague if not dodged the topic altogether. Perhaps that is why she still acts devoted to me. To uncover more secrets.
The Temple Knight was set back down onto the board, directly in front of the oppositions’ Wyvern. Jameson’s took up his wine glass again, swirling it absently as he studied the opposing side. Melkire and his allies within the Immortal Flames. Limsan pirates on the seas that worked with Redgrave. Royalists and even other Monetarist nobles who sought to undermine him. Jameson was still trying to find the origin of the ripple being created by an unknown source--one that was also encouraging a shift in loyalties amongst the Monetarists. Someone was letting slip the tiniest of pebbles into the proverbial political waters; the noble heard the whispers when they thought he was not listening, and knew of the secreted meetings they held when he was away. While he was busy making agreements and gaining allies, his enemies were doing the same. Only now he suspected that someone was helping them.
Was it Deneith’s work? She had already done his reputation harm with the biased Lantern article, and then there were the warehouse raids. While he could not prove she was involved, he had his suspicions. Zuka was supposed to get to the bottom of things, but the Lalafell had been woefully unproductive.
His gaze settled on the Temple Knight on the opposite side of the board. And how far you’ve come. It would be easy to bring her in. Despite her never staying in one place and staying out of Ul’dah, Zuka’s men had slowly been able to track her movements. It would not be long before they could capture her. Natalie and Delial had both suggested torture to gain information from her. She would likely know much of Lazarov’s secrets and would be of great asset in bringing down the pirate. And if suspicions proved true, could they even use her to lure the smuggler out?
These were all obvious options, but neither the noble nor Zuka entertained them for too long. Zuka seemed more interested in using the paladin to track down his own target of interest. It was likely the reason that Jameson thought his efforts had been so far fruitless. And as for himself…
You have no idea what I want, do you Roen?
A touch of moisture drew his attention to his hand, where a stray drop of the wine had just managed to scale the rim of the glass and stained his pristine white velvet glove. Jameson frowned. He brought the glass to his lips and drained it of the remaining alcohol before rising. Methodically he pulled the gloves off, flexing his calloused hand as it greeted the cool night air. It still bore the scar that he had recently acquired during his trip to Gridania. The one where he had to cut some old ties…
More pieces needed to be moved. And there were measures being taken by players that were not even on the board, the ones that the noble had mistakenly failed to pay attention to. The frown upon his dark brows only deepened. This was not like him at all. He had let his distractions get the better of him.
Jameson set the gloves by the table where his butler was sure to find them, before turning and leaving the room. He had been idle too long.
Jameson Taeros stared at the various pieces on the chessboard in front of him as he reclined deeper into the large leather seat. A few pawns had already been moved off the board and cast aside. Crowe, Dyer, and Aapano had all been too vocal in their opposition of him, else panicked and wavered in their loyalties. So irresistible gifts were made--expensive wine usually worked well--to take them out of the game permanently. The void of wealth and power left behind was filled quickly enough, and most of the time it was to his advantage. Such were the ever-turning cogs of Ul’dah; when a wheel broke, it was replaced and the gears just continued to grind.
The noble mused with a measure of contempt that he himself was not exempt from this unforgiving game. He harbored no foolish arrogance to believe otherwise. But he had ingrained himself in the web of power long enough and deeply enough that he had learned to perceive early any pull or resistance in that entanglement. Just like the scales of Nald’thal, the balance could be tipped at any time; those who were good at the game knew how to maintain that precarious equilibrium while adding weight to his own side.
Jameson picked up one of the discarded pieces off the board, a Dragoon, and brought it before his apathetic gaze. It was a formidable piece whilst in play, though never subtle. He had lost it sometime ago.
Natalie, you could have been so much more, the noble reminisced as he took a long sip of the wine. Natalie’s zeal in protecting all interests of Ul’dah drove the single-minded Miqo’te to reckless actions and forsaking all other loyalties. She even forgave him for his Imperial connections when he had allowed her a glimpse into his past. He still did not want to admit that there was a sense of loss that still lingered inside him since her passing. But it was dismissed as soon as it was recognized, and the chess piece was dropped along with the rest of the pawns.
The noble eyed the Wyverns on the board still. Deadly yet somewhat unpredictable. Grimsong had been hesitant to act against Lazarov. She had been tasked to end the life of one Sebastian Redgrave over a moon ago, and yet nothing. Even at the Starlight Ball where the pirate had boldly shown his face and seemingly only with Roen as his obvious ally, Delial had not made a move against him. Nor had Zuka, one of the Lalafell enforcers that Lolorito had sent to assist him in these matters. Taeros wondered if the two were reliable pieces at all. Or if he was to merely use them as distractions against the pirate.
Lazarov. Why did you show up at the Ball? Jameson crooked an elbow against the armrest and rested his head against a curled hand. The Dragon piece the other side of the board seemed to stare back at him in silent defiance. For someone as pragmatic and meticulous as Lazarov to just show his face at such a public function…it had to have been a trap, and one that Jameson could not yet see in its entirety. So a passing smile was all that was exchanged with the man who had been causing so much trouble for his employer and his ilk. If it was a trap, Jameson was not going to spring it under such scrutiny, and he was fully aware of many eyes following his every move that night. It was best to let the pirate go, and strike at him another day.
But…if his Wyverns were no longer considered reliable, what pieces did he have left? He plucked the Temple Knight off the board, holding it between his fingertips like a fine jewel. My own knight. My Sultansworn.
Coatleque Crofte. She had once been a whore in a brothel, yet now she now served the Sultana and was arguably the best-known Sultansworn under Jenlyns. She was very much like himself in that she had clawed her way out of the pit of poverty--the worst sort of mortal obscurity--to rise in power.
He smiled. Coatleque could not have known that they were kindred spirits when she had thrown herself at him, offering herself as payment for a favor. It was simply a business arrangement at the start, and he could not deny the value of an alliance with a prominent Sultansworn. Even when Natalie was still alive, both of them had thought that recruiting Ser Crofte to their cause would only bolster their strength. But now…
Jameson did not quite know what they were. Coatleque had professed her love for him. It was after she had betrayed him and stolen from him. The fact that it was her, of all people...
He felt his anger rise up inside him before he even realized that she had affected him in such a way. The Sworn herself was wracked with guilt, and perhaps would have said anything to appease his anger, but she said she loved him nonetheless. He extinguished his rage quickly enough, but not before that calm facade that he had worked so hard to maintain faltered for a moment. He still doubted her integrity, even as he released his grip around her throat. The tears in her eyes convinced him that she spoke true, but he wondered if it would eclipse her sense of honor should the two ever came into conflict.
Would she accept him for all that he was?
The noble had assumed that Coatleque already suspected him of certain Garlean connections. She had inquired more than once, and ever so carefully, about his other employers. But when he had asked her frankly of her own loyalties, she had made it plainly known that above all things, Sultana’s safety would come first. It was obvious that any foreign connections would be seen as a threat. So Jameson had kept things vague if not dodged the topic altogether. Perhaps that is why she still acts devoted to me. To uncover more secrets.
The Temple Knight was set back down onto the board, directly in front of the oppositions’ Wyvern. Jameson’s took up his wine glass again, swirling it absently as he studied the opposing side. Melkire and his allies within the Immortal Flames. Limsan pirates on the seas that worked with Redgrave. Royalists and even other Monetarist nobles who sought to undermine him. Jameson was still trying to find the origin of the ripple being created by an unknown source--one that was also encouraging a shift in loyalties amongst the Monetarists. Someone was letting slip the tiniest of pebbles into the proverbial political waters; the noble heard the whispers when they thought he was not listening, and knew of the secreted meetings they held when he was away. While he was busy making agreements and gaining allies, his enemies were doing the same. Only now he suspected that someone was helping them.
Was it Deneith’s work? She had already done his reputation harm with the biased Lantern article, and then there were the warehouse raids. While he could not prove she was involved, he had his suspicions. Zuka was supposed to get to the bottom of things, but the Lalafell had been woefully unproductive.
His gaze settled on the Temple Knight on the opposite side of the board. And how far you’ve come. It would be easy to bring her in. Despite her never staying in one place and staying out of Ul’dah, Zuka’s men had slowly been able to track her movements. It would not be long before they could capture her. Natalie and Delial had both suggested torture to gain information from her. She would likely know much of Lazarov’s secrets and would be of great asset in bringing down the pirate. And if suspicions proved true, could they even use her to lure the smuggler out?
These were all obvious options, but neither the noble nor Zuka entertained them for too long. Zuka seemed more interested in using the paladin to track down his own target of interest. It was likely the reason that Jameson thought his efforts had been so far fruitless. And as for himself…
You have no idea what I want, do you Roen?
A touch of moisture drew his attention to his hand, where a stray drop of the wine had just managed to scale the rim of the glass and stained his pristine white velvet glove. Jameson frowned. He brought the glass to his lips and drained it of the remaining alcohol before rising. Methodically he pulled the gloves off, flexing his calloused hand as it greeted the cool night air. It still bore the scar that he had recently acquired during his trip to Gridania. The one where he had to cut some old ties…
More pieces needed to be moved. And there were measures being taken by players that were not even on the board, the ones that the noble had mistakenly failed to pay attention to. The frown upon his dark brows only deepened. This was not like him at all. He had let his distractions get the better of him.
Jameson set the gloves by the table where his butler was sure to find them, before turning and leaving the room. He had been idle too long.
