An eternity.
He spent an infinite eternity staring at the green linkpearl that Endemerrin Rosethorne was holding out to him. His own linkpearl, the master he’d had on him ever since he’d stolen the bag of originals during a long-ago gallivant down Hawker’s Alley, the one that had only left him for a time when he’d been collared. He had lent it out to one Sizha’to Chalahko for safe-keeping during the Epinoch Incident, to keep his linkshell, his network of contacts, uncompromised. It had been returned to him when that threat had passed.
This threat would not pass.
This threat needed to be dealt with.
All those moons ago, he’d woken to the sight of a gentleman in white standing over him. A man he’d been assigned to assist… in an investigation that had ultimately led to the routing of key personnel from the Order, despite his own recommendations otherwise. It had been their demotion and subsequent “transfer†over to the Brass Blades that had opened the floodgates for subsequent suffering, and while he’d never be able to prove that the fop had been in league with the runt – though the thought of Natalie ever so conveniently producing a cure for the blue blood virus out of nowhere, despite beseeching Kanaria’s help mere suns before, and getting reinstated for this was never far from his mind – it was as clear as the heavens to him that Jameson Taeros was a key instrument of corruption in the Monetarist machine that was eating away at the sultanate.
Jenlyns Straightblade was too close to see that.
That was why, when Melkire and Lazarov had last met, the sergeant hadn’t shied from the audition the pirate wanted from him. That was why he hadn’t shirked his duty: because, to his eyes, there was no one else.
No one else cared.
The dispute between Lazarov and Taeros had grown into a feud, and that feud - and Lazarov’s plans - threatened far too many, innocent or otherwise. He’d spoken with Grimsong once, on what might have been, what could have been, and what should have been, had there only been someone to act… or, at least, supplant the tragedy that was the Kinslayer’s legacy with something… more. Something that was not... less. While they hadn’t spoken at length, per se…
…they’d been exchanging letters ever since.
He only hoped she’d live up to her end. Two men. Two deaths.
The denizens of Pearl Lane were running out of time… and in the current climate, Pearl Lane was a powder keg in the midst of a ceruleum-drenched city. That keg needed emptying. Careful handling, at the very least. Nero was the only one who knew how. Nero was the only one who could tell them.
For that, Osric Melkire would hand Nero Lazarov the keys to the kingdom, just in time for Delial Grimsong to sidle up alongside the smuggler and teach him what a true viper was capable of.
As for Taeros, the sergeant had gone ahead and enacted the very plan which he’d so vaguely outlined for Lazarov. He hadn’t dared risk exposure before now, though. He knew better. Plausible deniability. Alibis. For those, he needed someone else to do his dirty work. Dirk Problemsolver could not solve this problem. So he’d gone to the one professional he’d once been gaoled with.
He had hired Blizzard Yuko and given him the names of known associates of Jameson Taeros along with the names of other key Monetarists.
Blizzard Yuko was an oddity. There were more riddles to his enigma than the unusual name. The miqo’te male had been snubbed on payment by the albino following the failed “assassination attempt†on the sultana. Once Askier Mergrey had broken Melkire and Yuko out, the two fugitives had fled for the hills surrounding Black Brush… and there, Osric had offered to take up the two million gil debt owed to the man.
â€Small payments, mind. Increments o’, say, twenty thou’. I pay you? You work for me.â€
It had started out as an exercise in prevention, paying Yuko to stay out of Thanalan and away from Ul’dah. Small payments made out to the male and delivered at seemingly-random drop points all over Eorzea. He’d kept up with his end of the deal, which had required some creative redistribution of Red Wings’ funds and an… odd apprenticeship or two, but he’d kept the gil flowing for moons. Then Lazarov demanded his price, and the sergeant had known just who to go to.
Osric could only hope that the rising body count had Taeros fraying at the ends of his rope, because in three sun’s time, he, Kiht Jakkya and one other, along with some assistance from Tylwyth Narah, would be making for the Black Cells, ostensibly to rescue Roen. Melkire cared only to slit one man’s throat and hopefully not die trying.
But first, a message. Psychological warfare, was what folks called it. A mental assault, intended to induce panic. Classic assassin tactic.
He inhaled, breaking the eternal moment, and eyed the green linkpearl again.
I have help.
I have my knives.
I have everythin’ Masters Rosethorne and Armstrong ever taught me.
And I have that.
If I ever needed help, it’s now.
If there’s anyone ‘sides the runt who’s ever deserved steel, it’s him.
There’ll be pain, but I’ll endure. Survival is a matter of will and desire.
For everythin’ else, much as I hate sharpin’, there’s a stacked deck.
I can do this.
He breathed out then back in, one deep breath that came out in a sigh as he smirked and nodded at Endemerrin. He plucked the pearl from the former Garlean’s fingers, placed it in his ear, held it there, and spoke.
"This message is intended for Taeros. I would appreciate if those who can would pass the message along. Dear Jameson, you fop, my condolences. Your friends must have meant the world t'you, as mine do t'me. Hopin' t'see you soon."
He almost pulled the little marble to hand back to Rosethorne, but then he paused… and tapped at it again.
"Oh, and one last thing--“
Kage. Natalie. Roen. Gharen. Itarliht. Askier. Coatleque. Now Roen again. Himself soon to follow. Sultansworn, paladins, the reformed. Falls from grace. A procession of them. The fault to be laid at one man’s doorstep.
And now the gods-damned bastard had compromised the sergeant’s network.
“--quit stealin' my shite."
He all but ripped the linkpearl from his ear and tossed it underhanded to Merri. The male caught it one-handed, hammer in the other, and nodded. Words were exchanged, but the sergeant was barely paying attention… until, that is, Rosethorne strolled over to his furnace, considered the linkpearl carefully… and then just tossed the little sphere into the flames. Osric’s lips curled upward at the ends.
“…you’re jokin’.â€
He was still smiling that shite-eating grin when, what felt like a handful of moments later, Endemerrin pulled the master linkpearl from the forge with a set of tongs, set it against an anvil, and brought the hammer down. The white-hot marble all but disintegrated.
He spent an infinite eternity staring at the green linkpearl that Endemerrin Rosethorne was holding out to him. His own linkpearl, the master he’d had on him ever since he’d stolen the bag of originals during a long-ago gallivant down Hawker’s Alley, the one that had only left him for a time when he’d been collared. He had lent it out to one Sizha’to Chalahko for safe-keeping during the Epinoch Incident, to keep his linkshell, his network of contacts, uncompromised. It had been returned to him when that threat had passed.
This threat would not pass.
This threat needed to be dealt with.
All those moons ago, he’d woken to the sight of a gentleman in white standing over him. A man he’d been assigned to assist… in an investigation that had ultimately led to the routing of key personnel from the Order, despite his own recommendations otherwise. It had been their demotion and subsequent “transfer†over to the Brass Blades that had opened the floodgates for subsequent suffering, and while he’d never be able to prove that the fop had been in league with the runt – though the thought of Natalie ever so conveniently producing a cure for the blue blood virus out of nowhere, despite beseeching Kanaria’s help mere suns before, and getting reinstated for this was never far from his mind – it was as clear as the heavens to him that Jameson Taeros was a key instrument of corruption in the Monetarist machine that was eating away at the sultanate.
Jenlyns Straightblade was too close to see that.
That was why, when Melkire and Lazarov had last met, the sergeant hadn’t shied from the audition the pirate wanted from him. That was why he hadn’t shirked his duty: because, to his eyes, there was no one else.
No one else cared.
The dispute between Lazarov and Taeros had grown into a feud, and that feud - and Lazarov’s plans - threatened far too many, innocent or otherwise. He’d spoken with Grimsong once, on what might have been, what could have been, and what should have been, had there only been someone to act… or, at least, supplant the tragedy that was the Kinslayer’s legacy with something… more. Something that was not... less. While they hadn’t spoken at length, per se…
…they’d been exchanging letters ever since.
He only hoped she’d live up to her end. Two men. Two deaths.
The denizens of Pearl Lane were running out of time… and in the current climate, Pearl Lane was a powder keg in the midst of a ceruleum-drenched city. That keg needed emptying. Careful handling, at the very least. Nero was the only one who knew how. Nero was the only one who could tell them.
For that, Osric Melkire would hand Nero Lazarov the keys to the kingdom, just in time for Delial Grimsong to sidle up alongside the smuggler and teach him what a true viper was capable of.
As for Taeros, the sergeant had gone ahead and enacted the very plan which he’d so vaguely outlined for Lazarov. He hadn’t dared risk exposure before now, though. He knew better. Plausible deniability. Alibis. For those, he needed someone else to do his dirty work. Dirk Problemsolver could not solve this problem. So he’d gone to the one professional he’d once been gaoled with.
He had hired Blizzard Yuko and given him the names of known associates of Jameson Taeros along with the names of other key Monetarists.
Blizzard Yuko was an oddity. There were more riddles to his enigma than the unusual name. The miqo’te male had been snubbed on payment by the albino following the failed “assassination attempt†on the sultana. Once Askier Mergrey had broken Melkire and Yuko out, the two fugitives had fled for the hills surrounding Black Brush… and there, Osric had offered to take up the two million gil debt owed to the man.
â€Small payments, mind. Increments o’, say, twenty thou’. I pay you? You work for me.â€
It had started out as an exercise in prevention, paying Yuko to stay out of Thanalan and away from Ul’dah. Small payments made out to the male and delivered at seemingly-random drop points all over Eorzea. He’d kept up with his end of the deal, which had required some creative redistribution of Red Wings’ funds and an… odd apprenticeship or two, but he’d kept the gil flowing for moons. Then Lazarov demanded his price, and the sergeant had known just who to go to.
Osric could only hope that the rising body count had Taeros fraying at the ends of his rope, because in three sun’s time, he, Kiht Jakkya and one other, along with some assistance from Tylwyth Narah, would be making for the Black Cells, ostensibly to rescue Roen. Melkire cared only to slit one man’s throat and hopefully not die trying.
But first, a message. Psychological warfare, was what folks called it. A mental assault, intended to induce panic. Classic assassin tactic.
He inhaled, breaking the eternal moment, and eyed the green linkpearl again.
I have help.
I have my knives.
I have everythin’ Masters Rosethorne and Armstrong ever taught me.
And I have that.
If I ever needed help, it’s now.
If there’s anyone ‘sides the runt who’s ever deserved steel, it’s him.
There’ll be pain, but I’ll endure. Survival is a matter of will and desire.
For everythin’ else, much as I hate sharpin’, there’s a stacked deck.
I can do this.
He breathed out then back in, one deep breath that came out in a sigh as he smirked and nodded at Endemerrin. He plucked the pearl from the former Garlean’s fingers, placed it in his ear, held it there, and spoke.
"This message is intended for Taeros. I would appreciate if those who can would pass the message along. Dear Jameson, you fop, my condolences. Your friends must have meant the world t'you, as mine do t'me. Hopin' t'see you soon."
He almost pulled the little marble to hand back to Rosethorne, but then he paused… and tapped at it again.
"Oh, and one last thing--“
Kage. Natalie. Roen. Gharen. Itarliht. Askier. Coatleque. Now Roen again. Himself soon to follow. Sultansworn, paladins, the reformed. Falls from grace. A procession of them. The fault to be laid at one man’s doorstep.
And now the gods-damned bastard had compromised the sergeant’s network.
“--quit stealin' my shite."
He all but ripped the linkpearl from his ear and tossed it underhanded to Merri. The male caught it one-handed, hammer in the other, and nodded. Words were exchanged, but the sergeant was barely paying attention… until, that is, Rosethorne strolled over to his furnace, considered the linkpearl carefully… and then just tossed the little sphere into the flames. Osric’s lips curled upward at the ends.
“…you’re jokin’.â€
He was still smiling that shite-eating grin when, what felt like a handful of moments later, Endemerrin pulled the master linkpearl from the forge with a set of tongs, set it against an anvil, and brought the hammer down. The white-hot marble all but disintegrated.
![[Image: 1qVSsTp.png]](http://i.imgur.com/1qVSsTp.png)
