Armored boots splashed through shallow puddles, the tall arched stoneway carrying the sound of lone footsteps further into the hollow winding tunnels.
"I asked you once, Mister North. Forgiveness or compromise. You said forgiveness is unconditional."
Torchlight flickered and glistened off old grey walls aged with years of neglect and darkness, and shadows cast a ghostly pall upon the fingers of mildew that clasped onto the cracks of the stones. Rats scurried into their holes, away from the sole armored figure running through the waterways beneath the earth.
"I...chose to forgive. But it is not a decision everyone agrees with."
Roen's mind whirled with too many thoughts. It had been days since Coatleque's visit, and since then she had been given water, food, and a cot to lay upon. Sleep had finally come, and she had been left undisturbed; no longer did the heavy irons bind her immobile to the stony floor for days on end. She barely recalled the conversation that she and the Sworn shared, and the preceding days of exhaustion and delirium had blurred into one another in her memory.
“I apologize, Miss Deneith, but that death is not yours to forgive.â€
Her legs felt steady enough to carry her once more, although the crimson chainmail hung loose from her thin shoulders. The paladin did not care. She was finally free of that cursed cell and equipped with one of the off-duty Brass Blade’s armor and sword. She raced down the ancient tunnels beneath Thanalan, even though she found her weakened body stumbling, demanding her to stop for breaths more often than not.
“If Miss prefers, consider not what you believe you must do, but instead what you must not do.â€
Mister North had delivered to her guards plates of thick tender eft steaks. The valet had even made them choose which plate to give to her while hoarding the rest for the watch. Clever, that. Removing himself from possible blame, Roen thought to herself. While he set out the steak for her, he bemoaned the fact that he should have spiced it as well as he did the nopales dumplings. Such an addition would have perfected the flavor, he said.
That was when Roen regained that breath of hope that had been robbed from her for too many suns. Even while they stripped her and chained her to the floor, the guards had not searched her cell. They had not discovered the small vial she had hidden beneath the cot, nor removed the hairpin buried under her ponytail. So when Mister North was allowed to deliver her the complete meal as he had promised many suns ago, she was prepared.
Roen added the sleep ward potion to the steak after the butler left, and ate the whole thing. She cared not for the strange aftertaste that the potion left behind. The piece of meat was a welcomed addition to bolster her strength for what was to come, and she suspected it counteracted whatever spice he had added to the rest of the eft steaks.
“My life...what is a measure of a life’s worth?â€
When the paladin drew the hairpin shaped lock pick from her ponytail and opened the cell door, she was relieved to find the rest of the guards sound asleep outside next to their empty plates.
“To turn away from my path would mean rendering all of the sacrifices thus far meaningless...and I cannot do that. Those deaths...they had to have meant something.â€
She knew she should have turned right when she turned left. Fresh air led to freedom and Western Thanalan, as she was told by the valet.
But she took the other turn instead -- the one that led toward the Goblet. She tried to recall the turns she had taken, albeit blinded with a hood over her head, when she was first brought down to the Black Cells.
"Conflict in this world is not brought about by evil people, but by good people who believe they are doing evil things for the right reasons."
A few memories refused to leave her from her days of starvation and fragmented thoughts. Trying to keep things in focus then felt like treading water while chained by heavy links of fatigue, thirst, and hunger. But there remained a few thoughts, and they were painfully sharp and fixed like a nail hammered into her head.
"I won't cut where it ain't needed. And I won't be the one makin' most o' the cuts, anyroad."
Perhaps it was the effects of the sleep ward that sharpened her senses. Her heart was pounding like a wild animal caught, and her eyes darted constantly left and right to spot any stray movements of shadows. Was it this heightened anxiety that lent even more focus to the goals that had coalesced in her mind during those fevered dreams?
"Nero wants to cut deep t'make things better. I'm content t'just cut out the bullet."
All that she had endured in the past cycle, Roen could trace to one man. Of all the Monetarists nobles that she and Nero had opposed, only one face emerged as the most manipulative of them all. Aside from the members of the Syndicate, who else could she target? Who else could she affect? In the chaotic churning of agitated thoughts, Roen’s mind settled on one thing and one thing only. The only thing she could do, when all the other goals had failed.
"There's one man that needs puttin' out."
It was in such a state that she somehow spotted the small side tunnel hidden amongst the stones. She ascended the steps to find herself behind the wooden door.
"The man is entirely too competent at stirrin' up suffering. It needs to end."
When she crossed the threshold, she found herself surrounded by deep maple walls decorated with rich paintings and plush rugs beneath her feet.
“You're on the edge of a knife. Don't fall."
She was in Taeros' manse.
"I asked you once, Mister North. Forgiveness or compromise. You said forgiveness is unconditional."
Torchlight flickered and glistened off old grey walls aged with years of neglect and darkness, and shadows cast a ghostly pall upon the fingers of mildew that clasped onto the cracks of the stones. Rats scurried into their holes, away from the sole armored figure running through the waterways beneath the earth.
"I...chose to forgive. But it is not a decision everyone agrees with."
Roen's mind whirled with too many thoughts. It had been days since Coatleque's visit, and since then she had been given water, food, and a cot to lay upon. Sleep had finally come, and she had been left undisturbed; no longer did the heavy irons bind her immobile to the stony floor for days on end. She barely recalled the conversation that she and the Sworn shared, and the preceding days of exhaustion and delirium had blurred into one another in her memory.
“I apologize, Miss Deneith, but that death is not yours to forgive.â€
Her legs felt steady enough to carry her once more, although the crimson chainmail hung loose from her thin shoulders. The paladin did not care. She was finally free of that cursed cell and equipped with one of the off-duty Brass Blade’s armor and sword. She raced down the ancient tunnels beneath Thanalan, even though she found her weakened body stumbling, demanding her to stop for breaths more often than not.
“If Miss prefers, consider not what you believe you must do, but instead what you must not do.â€
Mister North had delivered to her guards plates of thick tender eft steaks. The valet had even made them choose which plate to give to her while hoarding the rest for the watch. Clever, that. Removing himself from possible blame, Roen thought to herself. While he set out the steak for her, he bemoaned the fact that he should have spiced it as well as he did the nopales dumplings. Such an addition would have perfected the flavor, he said.
That was when Roen regained that breath of hope that had been robbed from her for too many suns. Even while they stripped her and chained her to the floor, the guards had not searched her cell. They had not discovered the small vial she had hidden beneath the cot, nor removed the hairpin buried under her ponytail. So when Mister North was allowed to deliver her the complete meal as he had promised many suns ago, she was prepared.
Roen added the sleep ward potion to the steak after the butler left, and ate the whole thing. She cared not for the strange aftertaste that the potion left behind. The piece of meat was a welcomed addition to bolster her strength for what was to come, and she suspected it counteracted whatever spice he had added to the rest of the eft steaks.
“My life...what is a measure of a life’s worth?â€
When the paladin drew the hairpin shaped lock pick from her ponytail and opened the cell door, she was relieved to find the rest of the guards sound asleep outside next to their empty plates.
“To turn away from my path would mean rendering all of the sacrifices thus far meaningless...and I cannot do that. Those deaths...they had to have meant something.â€
She knew she should have turned right when she turned left. Fresh air led to freedom and Western Thanalan, as she was told by the valet.
But she took the other turn instead -- the one that led toward the Goblet. She tried to recall the turns she had taken, albeit blinded with a hood over her head, when she was first brought down to the Black Cells.
"Conflict in this world is not brought about by evil people, but by good people who believe they are doing evil things for the right reasons."
A few memories refused to leave her from her days of starvation and fragmented thoughts. Trying to keep things in focus then felt like treading water while chained by heavy links of fatigue, thirst, and hunger. But there remained a few thoughts, and they were painfully sharp and fixed like a nail hammered into her head.
"I won't cut where it ain't needed. And I won't be the one makin' most o' the cuts, anyroad."
Perhaps it was the effects of the sleep ward that sharpened her senses. Her heart was pounding like a wild animal caught, and her eyes darted constantly left and right to spot any stray movements of shadows. Was it this heightened anxiety that lent even more focus to the goals that had coalesced in her mind during those fevered dreams?
"Nero wants to cut deep t'make things better. I'm content t'just cut out the bullet."
All that she had endured in the past cycle, Roen could trace to one man. Of all the Monetarists nobles that she and Nero had opposed, only one face emerged as the most manipulative of them all. Aside from the members of the Syndicate, who else could she target? Who else could she affect? In the chaotic churning of agitated thoughts, Roen’s mind settled on one thing and one thing only. The only thing she could do, when all the other goals had failed.
"There's one man that needs puttin' out."
It was in such a state that she somehow spotted the small side tunnel hidden amongst the stones. She ascended the steps to find herself behind the wooden door.
"The man is entirely too competent at stirrin' up suffering. It needs to end."
When she crossed the threshold, she found herself surrounded by deep maple walls decorated with rich paintings and plush rugs beneath her feet.
“You're on the edge of a knife. Don't fall."
She was in Taeros' manse.
