"I didn't expect ye of all people tae contact me."
The evening had only begun and it was already full of surprises. One came in the form of a veritable train of people that had flowed forth from the gates of Revenant's Toll. Word had reached her of a gathering of sorts, some sort of pilgrimage to honor Thaliak, and despite her reservations Delial Grimsong decided she could take a night out of her busy schedule of avoiding being shot to pay her respects. Surely, a blessing from the Scholar would aid her in coming days. Her intuition was sharp and her instincts keen but there were moves to come that required more wisdom than gumption.
The other came in the form of Brynnalia Callae. It was difficult to pick out her voice among the throng of others who were chattering around her but there was something about the Highlander that struck her as familiar. There were not too many, Delial had come to think, that carried themselves as Callae did: hers was the confidence and grace of a coeurl, and it was something Delial could recognize as well as appreciate. So she appreciated it from a slight ways behind, half-listening to her chattering with a Roegadyn fellow about spirits. Only when the woman turned to her armed with a smirk did Delial acknowledge her presence.
"'Tis what we do, hmm?" She shifted to eye the woman settling in beside her, hardly bothering to lower her voice. The crowd chattered on around them, filling the rise with the Scholar's stone with a dull echoing drone. "Last I heard, were on the same side. T'would be foolish of me to forget that."
Not long before, Grimsong had sent Callae a missive. Moons prior they had actually worked together on a mission that proved disastrous. Ul'dahn agents were seen attacking a Limsan warehouse and naturally there was a deal of displeasure exchanged between the two city-states. People died and people were disgraced but Delial Grimsong slipped away from that with nary a scratch.
"Stranger things have happened, thanks tae the Spinner. Ye and I." Brynnalia snorted. "So what we workin' on then?"
Delial's eye stalked the crowd. She did not mind that it was there, no, and perhaps such a thing was to be expected: people liked revelry and distraction and if it were to be in the honor of one god or another then Delial would be the last one to object. There were so many faces she did not know, however, and in that she felt some measure of annoyance. She had tried her best to lay somewhat low since the incident at the warehouse and she wondered briefly if that had cost her some influence. "Stormchild," she said flatly. "I wonder if you have been keeping your tabs on her?"
Callae groaned. It was known that the two had history: both had had their parts in working with the Ala Mhigan Resistance, just as both had seemed to distance themselves from it since an operation at the Nanawa Mines went sour. "Not o' late," she said, turning her attention somewhat back to the ceremony at hand. "She and I ended on... not quite the best terms last we saw each other." Then, she smirked. "She lost a card game."
From somewhere beyond Brynnalia came the uncomfortable shifting of armor. "Ye'd never guess who won, though," she offered, sounding quite amused with herself.
"My guess would be the twice blessed Duskwight." It was a voice Delial did not immediately place, spoken as low as it was. Resting directly in her blind spot was a suit of armor and a hat.
"Then I suspect," Delial continued, "That there would be no loss of good will, then, if I were to suggest she be tracked and found."
That caught Callae's attention again, as she glanced back at the woman to her right. "This be over that Lazarov affair?"
"She has information that Taeros would very much like, I should think."
"Hm. I suppose she does." Brynnalia tilted her head; she and Grimsong had not had what most would call an amicable partnership and the latter had seemed to drop out of the whole affair after it quite literally exploded. "Suddenly taken an interest again, have we?"
So, too, did the armor's attention find itself pulled towards Callae and her company to reveal the face of Ser Coatleque Crofte looking as grim as ever. What was once juicy gossip had become something a great deal more: Crofte was in Taeros' hand as well as in his bed and there was little question those days as to where her loyalties and interests lay. Her eyes narrowed and she offered but a simple word. "Indeed."
"Priorities change, my sweetlings," said Delial as if to apologize, "As do opportunities. Shaelen Stormchild may be key to ending this whole mess."
Brynnalia studied Grimsong with obvious doubt. "Ye don't say. Somethin' must've lit the fire under yer skirts. Ye've been layin' low until now."
"Was not Gharen Wolfsong on her trail?" Ser Crofte added. "What happened?"
To Brynnalia, Delial offered a shrug. "Should that not be the case...? I am no Askier Mergrey." That the thrice-damned miqo'te would have even be brought on such a mission remained a mystery to her; that he would make a catastrophe of it was, sadly, not. "My business is better left quiet." Then she sighed and nodded to Ser Crofte. An annoyed tick twitched at the corner of her lip. "Too soft, that boy. Too soft. He let her go."
"Let her go?" Crofte's scepticism was as hard as her stare. "I highly doubt that. Unless she was innocent, or something more urgent distracted him."
Brynnalia on the other hand seemed amused. "Nice. Ye two got that one trained like a hunt dog, eh?"
Delial forced a grin to Callae and Crofte both but her words were aimed more for the stoic Sultansworn. "Innocent, my dear? There is little innocent about Stormchild, especially regarding Lazarov. Gharen could not produce that which she was demanding, and when he had his chance to take it, he simply did not." Again she shrugged, and again she edged her voice with annoyance. "He let her go."
"Mayhap Resistance sympathies," Brynnalia suggested with a roll of her eyes which quickly turned into a pointed look aimed square for Grimsong. "Somethin' ye probably don't understand."
Crofte, perhaps feeling slightly more charitable, clenched her teeth. She and Delial did not have the most amicable relationship, either, and rarely had they seen eye to eye during any of their few meetings prior. Coatleque Crofte was not one who could be won over with the other's moral ambiguity and she made certain that was known. "Honorable if foolish. But what was it that she demanded?"
"Blood."
"Blood? Whose blood?" Then it was as if a sun was dawning on Brynnalia's face alone. Slowly, she turned to Grimsong, her lips broadening into a strange smile.
Delial seemed appropriately annoyed. "Does it matter? Wolfsong is not a murderer. He did not deliver, and that bridge has been burnt."
"Aah, I see now," prodded Callae. "Ye are the one who killed her father figure after all."
"The point remains," said Delial, "That Stormchild has what Jameson Taeros most certainly wants. We all want this ended, yes?" She looked from Callae to Crofte, looking for the spark of reason to nudge them away from the notion that Brynnalia was too sharp to leave alone.
"He didn't deliver you," Brynnalia nodded. Her green eyes remained on Grimsong with an odd curl to her lips.
"Not in a box, in any case." That encounter still left a sour taste in her mouth, but she felt no need to elaborate on what had happened. A gunshot wound and a bit of humiliation were not things that Delial wore fondly.
"The same woman who kidnapped and tortured..." Incredulous, she licked her lips and tossed her head back with a laugh.
To say Wolfsong and Grimsong had a tumultuous history would be putting it very kindly; that they had come to work together was absurd and Delial herself knew it. She nodded and sighed loudly. "Yes, yes. So very soft, as I said."
"Both Wolfsong and his sister, too soft to win this game." Callae's brows rose. "But ye and I... not so. Aye? Shaelen used tae be a colleague o' mine, but never close. And she don' fill my coffers now. Taeros does. So, if she got what he wants... we best snare the smuggler."
There was a cheering around them. Crofte, seeming to have found the happenings around them to be a little more appealing than the brewing plot, minded what appeared to have been some sort of proposal warily. Delial minded it not: it was not the revelry she had come for, and the more the others went on with ignoring their talks, the better off she was. "So, how we doin' this?"
"My connections with her are considerably lacking. Wolfsong would have been it, but I doubt she has any more trust in him." Not after he had taken Grimsong's side rather than spill a murderer's blood. That he could be so naive was something she had yet to wrap her head around but there was little time to waste pondering the man's shortcomings. "Nor... in you, I wonder? No, I expect she thinks poorly of you now." Her cool golden eye studied Brynnalia, as if to search for a reaction she knew her next words would invoke. "I had considered looking into Greyarm's son."
"She wants tae do nothin' with me," Brynnalia snorted. "Although... she still has her Resistance connections." She cleared her throat, growing wary of the quiet settling in around them as a performer took to crooning out a song near Thaliak's stone. When she spoke again, her voice was considerably lower. "Ye not be usin' this tae... do what ye used tae do. Are ya, Grimsong?"
"It would be convenient, would it not?" There had been two Greyarms both scheming to smuggle a ceruleum bomb back to Ala Mhigo and she had made certain that the elder did not live. It was what she did: the Resistance in all their brashness forgot that men and women bleed the same regardless of their allegiances. Ala Mhigo could not be safe as long as men like Greyarm were allowed to live and plot and murder. The son, a boy called Hroch, either would not or could not step up to take the burden his departed father left him. It did not stop him from being a concern, however. "Sadly," she continued, "That particular line of work does not pay as well as Taeros."
Brynnalia did not meet her eye. She was staring straight ahead and her expression, ever eager to wear a sly smirk, remained neutral. "Good. Then Hroch Greyarm might be a good choice tae lure her out. She took a liking tae him." As the conversation steadily slid into darker terms, she gave a glance over her shoulder. Hovering not far behind her was a man in a Flame uniform though he did not seem to be paying particular attention to the cluster of Highlanders. She cleared her throat.
"I thought as much." Delial nodded, barely feigning interest in the noise from up ahead. "Though I wonder if that will be enough. Greyarm has nothing but his name as far as I am aware, and a name alone will not keep her operation afloat."
"It's not his name she needs. She does just fine with her own reputation. She has... affections fer Hroch. Like a sister. Since Aylard saved her long time ago." Callae made a face as a bard's performance was replaced, instead, by a troupe of moogles.
"Like a sister," repeated Delial. Her eye swung towards Crofte, as if she had been expecting her to pipe up about one thing or another. There was little honor in hostages, of course, but mayhap she understood what could be won. "Then I suppose he shall do. Have you leads on him? I understand he has not left Thanalan."
Brynnalia exhaled through her nose, her words coming slow and monotonous. "He's still around. I suppose... I can try and find him. Soon as ye poke yer head within malms near Little Ala Mhigo, little Greyarm will make himself scarce."
"I doubt this man knows who I am yet." It was Crofte who spoke, earning herself surprised glances from Grimsong and Callae both. Her tone was that of a suggestion rather than a blank statement.
"'Tis true enough, Ser Crofte," Delial agreed. "I should think you an unknown to them."
"Ye... offerin' tae lure them out then, Crofte?"
"I am tired of chasing this pirate to the ends of Eorzea. If he will not answer his linkpearl, then I must resort to other means."
It was likely only moons ago that Delial first heard of Nero Lazarov. First he came as a quiet warning, a request from Roen Deneith that then became rumor, vicious and obscene, as spoken by McBeef. All the brightest stars among her contacts had some stake in the mad pirate's game, and not a one seemed pleased about it at all. She had not been the first to warn Deneith against the actions she took and she had no reason to believe that she had been the last. All too taken by love and faith to listen to good, solid counsel. "We do what we must," she said, knowing well that it was Crofte that had Deneith caged, knowing well that she had made her warnings about the Sultansworn.
"I suppose we must. Aye." Brynnalia spoke without much enthusiasm and she regarded each of her companions without her usual cheer. "Alright. Let's lure the boy out, then. He can be found in Little Ala Mhigo. Ye yerself have worked with Stormchild before," she said to Ser Crofte. "He may trust ye either way, if he knew it."
"I do not expect it would be difficult to play upon his sympathies. The boy is weak. Once he is found, then I suppose we shall see if Stormchild does indeed have any stake in his life."
"So long as you do not intend to follow through on such a threat," Crofte said coolly.
Callae frowned and glanced between the two. "I suppose she'll have tae believe it to be lured out." She gave a half-hearted applause as the audience around them did; it was a fellow Highlander who had just finished their performance after all.
"We do what we must," Delial said again. "The boy need not die. He is not the threat his father was. I doubt Shaelen would be agreeable if she was not made to believe his life was up for bargain." She clearly did not share her companions' reservations about the plot, much less about the boy in question. The time had long since passed that she might have felt sympathetic.
"Fine," sighed Brynnalia, looking straight head as if to avoid the others' eyes. "I'll give ye a sketch of what he looks like, Crofte. Ye can find him in Ala Mhigo. Just don't go dressed as a Sworn. Play up on yer Highlander ways, and talk as ye do when we get a few drinks in ye." She ignored Ser Crofte's grumble and continued on. "He'll likely take a likin' tae ye. He, too, has a soft spot fer redheads, much like his father."
Delial interjected. "There was a girl, was there not?"
"Aye, Daena. Don't come on too strong. He is spoken fer, last I heard, and she be a fiery tempered one, that. She is a bit more careful than he is. I haven't spoken tae her in a while."
"'Tis good to know, however, should we need to up the stakes."
Crofte did not seem interested in that thought. "And where will you be?" she asked.
"I get ye information. Don't be expectin' me tae help ye to apprehend the man. I can have some Blades nearby, I suppose."
"I am known there," Delial said matter of factly. She could not help the air of smugness that came with her words: to be feared by so many was almost flattering. It might have been even more flattering were they not cowardly men content to hide in caves. "I can extract what we need after the boy is in our hands."
There was yelling, exclamations of words. Brynnalia, wanting to seem like she was playing along, yelled along with them and earned a heavy sigh from Ser Crofte. "What?" she asked, shrugging sheepishly at the Sultansworn. "It's just a story."
"I don't suppose this boy will drink with me?" Crofte said thoughtfully.
"Ye know, I bet he would..."
"Hm. Perhaps we can make this easier than it sounds."
Callae sighed, a little bit of the furrow that had settled upon her brow easing away. "If ye can manage it. Then ye can figure out where tae hold him?"
Coatleque snorted derisively before she continued. "If I can. If not, best have someone standing by. Either way, he'll be taken the same place Roen is, more than likely. At least she'll have someone to talk to."
Delial's eye flitted back to Crofte but it was Brynnalia that spoke first. "Hm. I don't know where these are meself. Never been tae the black cells." She exhaled and narrowed her eyes. "Do people leave that place? I don' want the boy hurt."
"I would think that ill advised," Delial added. She did not know Ul'dah as well as she would have liked for all the time she had spent there, and this was the first that she had heard of the black cells. It was not something she needed to admit, however. The last thing she wanted was to be robbed of access to the very hostage she wanted held.
Coatleque waved a hand idly. "You make it sound as if I have any control over the matter. Very well. There is a Flame outpost to the south at the Forgotten Spring."
"That sounds fine," Brynnalia replied quickly. Her lip twitched and she tapped a fingernail against her hip. Ser Crofte picked up on the response and the implications behind it, as did Delial. The woman had her ties with the Resistance and had worked with both Greyarms when they were at large in Thanalan. "Right. Well, contact Delial or me when ye got him there. And we'll get the word out. Or... well, he can... technically. I think."
"Nervous?" Crofte asked. "How unlike you."
Brynnalia narrowed her eye at the Sultansworn and gave her a dismissive snort. "It's this silly pilgrimage. It bores me." That she was seeking a distraction was obvious enough, especially when she turned to regard someone that had been shuffling and fidgeting about behind them the entire time: the roegadyn with whom she had been speaking to before. "I think I need a drink."
Delial did Callae the courtesy of forgiving her sudden flightiness even if Ser Crofte did not. She did not think she would be overly attached to anyone at all, much less a bumbling son of a failed movement. Sentimental, mayhap. Some ties do not cut easily. She turned her attention back to Crofte instead, offering her a grin. "It will be good working with you again, Ser Crofte. Proper work. Pray let myself or Miss Callae know when you have caught the boy, hmm?"
Coatleque gazed towards Delial with what could only have been a weary look. "Yes, and I pray we shall be done with this business swiftly."
Delial studied her a moment. It had been moons since this whole business started, indeed, and Crofte had been pushed right into it. Once, Delial sympathized; now, Delial could not be so sure. Wasted breath and wasted time. Bitter thoughts were pushed aside by what she had hoped was a charitable grin and a shallow bow. The celebration continued on as she took her leave, turning away from Ser Crofte and her thoughts, from Brynnalia Callae and her flasks. Scholar grant them wisdom to do what must be done, she thought as she stepped on out the crowd. Scholar save me from the wisdom I am cursed to have ignored.
The evening had only begun and it was already full of surprises. One came in the form of a veritable train of people that had flowed forth from the gates of Revenant's Toll. Word had reached her of a gathering of sorts, some sort of pilgrimage to honor Thaliak, and despite her reservations Delial Grimsong decided she could take a night out of her busy schedule of avoiding being shot to pay her respects. Surely, a blessing from the Scholar would aid her in coming days. Her intuition was sharp and her instincts keen but there were moves to come that required more wisdom than gumption.
The other came in the form of Brynnalia Callae. It was difficult to pick out her voice among the throng of others who were chattering around her but there was something about the Highlander that struck her as familiar. There were not too many, Delial had come to think, that carried themselves as Callae did: hers was the confidence and grace of a coeurl, and it was something Delial could recognize as well as appreciate. So she appreciated it from a slight ways behind, half-listening to her chattering with a Roegadyn fellow about spirits. Only when the woman turned to her armed with a smirk did Delial acknowledge her presence.
"'Tis what we do, hmm?" She shifted to eye the woman settling in beside her, hardly bothering to lower her voice. The crowd chattered on around them, filling the rise with the Scholar's stone with a dull echoing drone. "Last I heard, were on the same side. T'would be foolish of me to forget that."
Not long before, Grimsong had sent Callae a missive. Moons prior they had actually worked together on a mission that proved disastrous. Ul'dahn agents were seen attacking a Limsan warehouse and naturally there was a deal of displeasure exchanged between the two city-states. People died and people were disgraced but Delial Grimsong slipped away from that with nary a scratch.
"Stranger things have happened, thanks tae the Spinner. Ye and I." Brynnalia snorted. "So what we workin' on then?"
Delial's eye stalked the crowd. She did not mind that it was there, no, and perhaps such a thing was to be expected: people liked revelry and distraction and if it were to be in the honor of one god or another then Delial would be the last one to object. There were so many faces she did not know, however, and in that she felt some measure of annoyance. She had tried her best to lay somewhat low since the incident at the warehouse and she wondered briefly if that had cost her some influence. "Stormchild," she said flatly. "I wonder if you have been keeping your tabs on her?"
Callae groaned. It was known that the two had history: both had had their parts in working with the Ala Mhigan Resistance, just as both had seemed to distance themselves from it since an operation at the Nanawa Mines went sour. "Not o' late," she said, turning her attention somewhat back to the ceremony at hand. "She and I ended on... not quite the best terms last we saw each other." Then, she smirked. "She lost a card game."
From somewhere beyond Brynnalia came the uncomfortable shifting of armor. "Ye'd never guess who won, though," she offered, sounding quite amused with herself.
"My guess would be the twice blessed Duskwight." It was a voice Delial did not immediately place, spoken as low as it was. Resting directly in her blind spot was a suit of armor and a hat.
"Then I suspect," Delial continued, "That there would be no loss of good will, then, if I were to suggest she be tracked and found."
That caught Callae's attention again, as she glanced back at the woman to her right. "This be over that Lazarov affair?"
"She has information that Taeros would very much like, I should think."
"Hm. I suppose she does." Brynnalia tilted her head; she and Grimsong had not had what most would call an amicable partnership and the latter had seemed to drop out of the whole affair after it quite literally exploded. "Suddenly taken an interest again, have we?"
So, too, did the armor's attention find itself pulled towards Callae and her company to reveal the face of Ser Coatleque Crofte looking as grim as ever. What was once juicy gossip had become something a great deal more: Crofte was in Taeros' hand as well as in his bed and there was little question those days as to where her loyalties and interests lay. Her eyes narrowed and she offered but a simple word. "Indeed."
"Priorities change, my sweetlings," said Delial as if to apologize, "As do opportunities. Shaelen Stormchild may be key to ending this whole mess."
Brynnalia studied Grimsong with obvious doubt. "Ye don't say. Somethin' must've lit the fire under yer skirts. Ye've been layin' low until now."
"Was not Gharen Wolfsong on her trail?" Ser Crofte added. "What happened?"
To Brynnalia, Delial offered a shrug. "Should that not be the case...? I am no Askier Mergrey." That the thrice-damned miqo'te would have even be brought on such a mission remained a mystery to her; that he would make a catastrophe of it was, sadly, not. "My business is better left quiet." Then she sighed and nodded to Ser Crofte. An annoyed tick twitched at the corner of her lip. "Too soft, that boy. Too soft. He let her go."
"Let her go?" Crofte's scepticism was as hard as her stare. "I highly doubt that. Unless she was innocent, or something more urgent distracted him."
Brynnalia on the other hand seemed amused. "Nice. Ye two got that one trained like a hunt dog, eh?"
Delial forced a grin to Callae and Crofte both but her words were aimed more for the stoic Sultansworn. "Innocent, my dear? There is little innocent about Stormchild, especially regarding Lazarov. Gharen could not produce that which she was demanding, and when he had his chance to take it, he simply did not." Again she shrugged, and again she edged her voice with annoyance. "He let her go."
"Mayhap Resistance sympathies," Brynnalia suggested with a roll of her eyes which quickly turned into a pointed look aimed square for Grimsong. "Somethin' ye probably don't understand."
Crofte, perhaps feeling slightly more charitable, clenched her teeth. She and Delial did not have the most amicable relationship, either, and rarely had they seen eye to eye during any of their few meetings prior. Coatleque Crofte was not one who could be won over with the other's moral ambiguity and she made certain that was known. "Honorable if foolish. But what was it that she demanded?"
"Blood."
"Blood? Whose blood?" Then it was as if a sun was dawning on Brynnalia's face alone. Slowly, she turned to Grimsong, her lips broadening into a strange smile.
Delial seemed appropriately annoyed. "Does it matter? Wolfsong is not a murderer. He did not deliver, and that bridge has been burnt."
"Aah, I see now," prodded Callae. "Ye are the one who killed her father figure after all."
"The point remains," said Delial, "That Stormchild has what Jameson Taeros most certainly wants. We all want this ended, yes?" She looked from Callae to Crofte, looking for the spark of reason to nudge them away from the notion that Brynnalia was too sharp to leave alone.
"He didn't deliver you," Brynnalia nodded. Her green eyes remained on Grimsong with an odd curl to her lips.
"Not in a box, in any case." That encounter still left a sour taste in her mouth, but she felt no need to elaborate on what had happened. A gunshot wound and a bit of humiliation were not things that Delial wore fondly.
"The same woman who kidnapped and tortured..." Incredulous, she licked her lips and tossed her head back with a laugh.
To say Wolfsong and Grimsong had a tumultuous history would be putting it very kindly; that they had come to work together was absurd and Delial herself knew it. She nodded and sighed loudly. "Yes, yes. So very soft, as I said."
"Both Wolfsong and his sister, too soft to win this game." Callae's brows rose. "But ye and I... not so. Aye? Shaelen used tae be a colleague o' mine, but never close. And she don' fill my coffers now. Taeros does. So, if she got what he wants... we best snare the smuggler."
There was a cheering around them. Crofte, seeming to have found the happenings around them to be a little more appealing than the brewing plot, minded what appeared to have been some sort of proposal warily. Delial minded it not: it was not the revelry she had come for, and the more the others went on with ignoring their talks, the better off she was. "So, how we doin' this?"
"My connections with her are considerably lacking. Wolfsong would have been it, but I doubt she has any more trust in him." Not after he had taken Grimsong's side rather than spill a murderer's blood. That he could be so naive was something she had yet to wrap her head around but there was little time to waste pondering the man's shortcomings. "Nor... in you, I wonder? No, I expect she thinks poorly of you now." Her cool golden eye studied Brynnalia, as if to search for a reaction she knew her next words would invoke. "I had considered looking into Greyarm's son."
"She wants tae do nothin' with me," Brynnalia snorted. "Although... she still has her Resistance connections." She cleared her throat, growing wary of the quiet settling in around them as a performer took to crooning out a song near Thaliak's stone. When she spoke again, her voice was considerably lower. "Ye not be usin' this tae... do what ye used tae do. Are ya, Grimsong?"
"It would be convenient, would it not?" There had been two Greyarms both scheming to smuggle a ceruleum bomb back to Ala Mhigo and she had made certain that the elder did not live. It was what she did: the Resistance in all their brashness forgot that men and women bleed the same regardless of their allegiances. Ala Mhigo could not be safe as long as men like Greyarm were allowed to live and plot and murder. The son, a boy called Hroch, either would not or could not step up to take the burden his departed father left him. It did not stop him from being a concern, however. "Sadly," she continued, "That particular line of work does not pay as well as Taeros."
Brynnalia did not meet her eye. She was staring straight ahead and her expression, ever eager to wear a sly smirk, remained neutral. "Good. Then Hroch Greyarm might be a good choice tae lure her out. She took a liking tae him." As the conversation steadily slid into darker terms, she gave a glance over her shoulder. Hovering not far behind her was a man in a Flame uniform though he did not seem to be paying particular attention to the cluster of Highlanders. She cleared her throat.
"I thought as much." Delial nodded, barely feigning interest in the noise from up ahead. "Though I wonder if that will be enough. Greyarm has nothing but his name as far as I am aware, and a name alone will not keep her operation afloat."
"It's not his name she needs. She does just fine with her own reputation. She has... affections fer Hroch. Like a sister. Since Aylard saved her long time ago." Callae made a face as a bard's performance was replaced, instead, by a troupe of moogles.
"Like a sister," repeated Delial. Her eye swung towards Crofte, as if she had been expecting her to pipe up about one thing or another. There was little honor in hostages, of course, but mayhap she understood what could be won. "Then I suppose he shall do. Have you leads on him? I understand he has not left Thanalan."
Brynnalia exhaled through her nose, her words coming slow and monotonous. "He's still around. I suppose... I can try and find him. Soon as ye poke yer head within malms near Little Ala Mhigo, little Greyarm will make himself scarce."
"I doubt this man knows who I am yet." It was Crofte who spoke, earning herself surprised glances from Grimsong and Callae both. Her tone was that of a suggestion rather than a blank statement.
"'Tis true enough, Ser Crofte," Delial agreed. "I should think you an unknown to them."
"Ye... offerin' tae lure them out then, Crofte?"
"I am tired of chasing this pirate to the ends of Eorzea. If he will not answer his linkpearl, then I must resort to other means."
It was likely only moons ago that Delial first heard of Nero Lazarov. First he came as a quiet warning, a request from Roen Deneith that then became rumor, vicious and obscene, as spoken by McBeef. All the brightest stars among her contacts had some stake in the mad pirate's game, and not a one seemed pleased about it at all. She had not been the first to warn Deneith against the actions she took and she had no reason to believe that she had been the last. All too taken by love and faith to listen to good, solid counsel. "We do what we must," she said, knowing well that it was Crofte that had Deneith caged, knowing well that she had made her warnings about the Sultansworn.
"I suppose we must. Aye." Brynnalia spoke without much enthusiasm and she regarded each of her companions without her usual cheer. "Alright. Let's lure the boy out, then. He can be found in Little Ala Mhigo. Ye yerself have worked with Stormchild before," she said to Ser Crofte. "He may trust ye either way, if he knew it."
"I do not expect it would be difficult to play upon his sympathies. The boy is weak. Once he is found, then I suppose we shall see if Stormchild does indeed have any stake in his life."
"So long as you do not intend to follow through on such a threat," Crofte said coolly.
Callae frowned and glanced between the two. "I suppose she'll have tae believe it to be lured out." She gave a half-hearted applause as the audience around them did; it was a fellow Highlander who had just finished their performance after all.
"We do what we must," Delial said again. "The boy need not die. He is not the threat his father was. I doubt Shaelen would be agreeable if she was not made to believe his life was up for bargain." She clearly did not share her companions' reservations about the plot, much less about the boy in question. The time had long since passed that she might have felt sympathetic.
"Fine," sighed Brynnalia, looking straight head as if to avoid the others' eyes. "I'll give ye a sketch of what he looks like, Crofte. Ye can find him in Ala Mhigo. Just don't go dressed as a Sworn. Play up on yer Highlander ways, and talk as ye do when we get a few drinks in ye." She ignored Ser Crofte's grumble and continued on. "He'll likely take a likin' tae ye. He, too, has a soft spot fer redheads, much like his father."
Delial interjected. "There was a girl, was there not?"
"Aye, Daena. Don't come on too strong. He is spoken fer, last I heard, and she be a fiery tempered one, that. She is a bit more careful than he is. I haven't spoken tae her in a while."
"'Tis good to know, however, should we need to up the stakes."
Crofte did not seem interested in that thought. "And where will you be?" she asked.
"I get ye information. Don't be expectin' me tae help ye to apprehend the man. I can have some Blades nearby, I suppose."
"I am known there," Delial said matter of factly. She could not help the air of smugness that came with her words: to be feared by so many was almost flattering. It might have been even more flattering were they not cowardly men content to hide in caves. "I can extract what we need after the boy is in our hands."
There was yelling, exclamations of words. Brynnalia, wanting to seem like she was playing along, yelled along with them and earned a heavy sigh from Ser Crofte. "What?" she asked, shrugging sheepishly at the Sultansworn. "It's just a story."
"I don't suppose this boy will drink with me?" Crofte said thoughtfully.
"Ye know, I bet he would..."
"Hm. Perhaps we can make this easier than it sounds."
Callae sighed, a little bit of the furrow that had settled upon her brow easing away. "If ye can manage it. Then ye can figure out where tae hold him?"
Coatleque snorted derisively before she continued. "If I can. If not, best have someone standing by. Either way, he'll be taken the same place Roen is, more than likely. At least she'll have someone to talk to."
Delial's eye flitted back to Crofte but it was Brynnalia that spoke first. "Hm. I don't know where these are meself. Never been tae the black cells." She exhaled and narrowed her eyes. "Do people leave that place? I don' want the boy hurt."
"I would think that ill advised," Delial added. She did not know Ul'dah as well as she would have liked for all the time she had spent there, and this was the first that she had heard of the black cells. It was not something she needed to admit, however. The last thing she wanted was to be robbed of access to the very hostage she wanted held.
Coatleque waved a hand idly. "You make it sound as if I have any control over the matter. Very well. There is a Flame outpost to the south at the Forgotten Spring."
"That sounds fine," Brynnalia replied quickly. Her lip twitched and she tapped a fingernail against her hip. Ser Crofte picked up on the response and the implications behind it, as did Delial. The woman had her ties with the Resistance and had worked with both Greyarms when they were at large in Thanalan. "Right. Well, contact Delial or me when ye got him there. And we'll get the word out. Or... well, he can... technically. I think."
"Nervous?" Crofte asked. "How unlike you."
Brynnalia narrowed her eye at the Sultansworn and gave her a dismissive snort. "It's this silly pilgrimage. It bores me." That she was seeking a distraction was obvious enough, especially when she turned to regard someone that had been shuffling and fidgeting about behind them the entire time: the roegadyn with whom she had been speaking to before. "I think I need a drink."
Delial did Callae the courtesy of forgiving her sudden flightiness even if Ser Crofte did not. She did not think she would be overly attached to anyone at all, much less a bumbling son of a failed movement. Sentimental, mayhap. Some ties do not cut easily. She turned her attention back to Crofte instead, offering her a grin. "It will be good working with you again, Ser Crofte. Proper work. Pray let myself or Miss Callae know when you have caught the boy, hmm?"
Coatleque gazed towards Delial with what could only have been a weary look. "Yes, and I pray we shall be done with this business swiftly."
Delial studied her a moment. It had been moons since this whole business started, indeed, and Crofte had been pushed right into it. Once, Delial sympathized; now, Delial could not be so sure. Wasted breath and wasted time. Bitter thoughts were pushed aside by what she had hoped was a charitable grin and a shallow bow. The celebration continued on as she took her leave, turning away from Ser Crofte and her thoughts, from Brynnalia Callae and her flasks. Scholar grant them wisdom to do what must be done, she thought as she stepped on out the crowd. Scholar save me from the wisdom I am cursed to have ignored.
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