And now…
The Aerstorns were dead, and Gideon North yet remained.
First had been the parents, ambushed at sea by opportunistic pirates and soldiers of fortune. They, and their wealth, now lay at the bottom of the Rhotano. Then the son, Dynitar--poisoned through deception, in which North’s dismissal lasted just long enough for his “replacement†to slip some degenerative agent into the young master’s meal, and vanish from the scene. When North reappeared on the scene, the last of the Aerstorn line was hunched dead at his desk, face wracked in a rictus of pain and anguish.
North had fled to Gridania, consumed by paranoia and despair, unable to direct his grief and rage towards some kind of culprit. The conjurer’s guild, and indeed the soft-spoken denizens of the forest, had provided a quiet solace for the deposed valet. He was asked few questions, and little was demanded of him other than his adherence to tradition, and North clung to the local rules and social order like a drowning man to a buoy. For almost three years, he remained there, recovering and trying to rebuild himself--politely attending the Gridanians when he could, putting up the pretense of studying the elementals further though his conjury remained amateur at best, and spending the evenings in quiet conversation with Ursandel, an old local who had been schooled in the same arts as North, if by different teachers. Little by little, the sting of his losses faded, and North grew to study the art of his healing somewhat more seriously. Though he could hardly be said to be emotional at the most dire of times, he began to feel like his old self once more.
Despite everything he had been through, however… despite everything that he had lost over the course of those short years… and despite the danger involved... something pulled him back to Ul’dah.
After those three years, the valet returned. North knew that he could no longer attend his young master. Dynitar Aerstorn and his parents was dead, and North was a servant without a master. However, there remained a part of him fixated on the idea that the young master’s desires had outlived his mortal body. Somehow, certainly, if North could still uphold the young master’s wishes--if he could serve the Aerstorns’ interests now that Dynitar himself no longer could not--then surely that would be the pinnacle of anything he could do. He would be a true servant to them, loyal beyond the simple ties of employment, or even life itself. It was with this in mind that he returned to the city of wealth and sand, intent on seeking one thing above all else, for the sake of both he and his young master: the truth.
Unfortunately, it was not the truth that awaited him in Ul’dah, but a brewing storm, and the dark machinations that fueled the city soon rising to a violent crescendo. In delving into its inner workings, North found himself caught between the cogs; ground with immense pressure between two powers bent on maintaining control. On one side, the Monetarist Jameson Taeros, with the power of sheer wealth, prestige, and employed force. On the other, the ex-pirate Nero Lazarov and his allies united by his vision of an Ul’dah free from the oppressive force of its controllers. Placed in the midst of this conflict, North came to know, trust, and alternately plot against several of the major players positioned against each other...
Roen Deneith, the wayward paladin with a bond to Lazarov. Tormented by doubts and emotion, she had been the one to first speak to North about placing him among the higher powers of Ul’dah, that he might feed information back to her (or find more information regarding her quarry). Despite her virtue and strength, she had faltered many times over the course of the long journey, struggling to find a purpose in following the whims and schemes of her seemingly uncaring love. Lazarov himself had never asked anything of North; indeed, it had always been Roen asking, apologizing, pleading, thanking. In her darkest moment, entrapped within Taeros’s underground prison, North had been the one to secure her freedom by deceiving the guards. He had grown to feel a curiously paternal bond with her, sharing insight and wisdom with her whenever her path grew dim.
Nero Lazarov, the pirate-turned-terrorist who opposed the Monetarist hold over Ul’dah. It was his scheme that ultimately placed North into noble employment, but as events unfolded, it became clear that he himself had been the murderer of the Aerstorn elders--decimating their ship in that nautical raid years and years ago. Aghast, North severed all ties with his cause… but, torn between his revenge and new loyalty, could not bring himself to act against the man Roen loved. Lazarov went on to wreak untold destruction in the streets of Ul’dah, driven by whatever ideals had replaced his mercenary attitude in days past. Though North yet despised him, the justification had changed--with all that he’d committed, it gradually became clear that he was simply no longer the man that had ended Dynitar’s parents, but a haunted, violent ghost of a man, with more ideals than sanity.
Jameson Taeros, the distinguished Monetarist into whose service North had been placed. The man had began just as North expected him--ruthless, detached, and accepting nothing but the finest luxuries his wealth and influence would afford him. However, North’s time in his service had provided a feeling he had long missed; a curious sensation of being in his element, of fitting precisely where he belonged. Taeros was by no means a good man, but his treatment of North had been less that of the uncaring master rising above the masses, and more… simply master and servant, in the relationship of mutual-but-different respect that North had heard long ago to be the true, fulfilling archetype. No longer certain of his position against the man, North had in the end clutched to his newfound professional loyalty, serving the man as faithfully as he could without disrupting his other allegiances. His final disappearance in the bizarre battle beneath the high streets of the Goblet left North empty, and once more without a master.
Brynnalia Callae, Taeros’s information expert and inscrutable advisor, always ready with a sly smile, and the glint in her eye that straddled the line between cheerful wit and a shark advancing on its prey. She and North had shared an unsteady tension and a push-and-pull dynamic throughout the course of their work together. At one point, such tensions resulted in a startling, impulsive kiss, born more of calculated psychological maneuvers than any true feeling--on another night, culminating in a violent armed standoff at a Starlight gathering… but as they grew to understand each other, there was a strange kinship, respect, and even genuine endearment in their unexpected similarities. Even after her threats, her caution, and her ever-present air of deception and false emotion… something yet resounded, and they shared a bizarre closeness.
Coatleque Crofte, the paladin whose affections trumped her professional obligation. Once merely an investigator and element of law enforcement investigating the crossfire between Taeros and Lazarov, an inebriated night and an uncompromising intent to find the truth led her into a relationship with Taeros himself. What began as a cautious gambit to reach further into the darkness developed into genuine emotion, and Taeros’s disappearance hit her perhaps the hardest of them all.
Verad Bellveil, the dubious merchant whose insight and whimsy helped North see through Roen’s well-intentioned equivocation. It was only thanks to him that the armed Starlight confrontation orchestrated by Brynnalia was settled with minimal amount of blood loss--the eccentric Duskwight had spent the entire evening alternating between off-color jokes, betting all his clothes off, engaging in heated political debate, and obfuscating his own business practices before he called on an armed squadron of Miqo’te. The man was seemingly more well-connected than he let on, and though North had rarely seen him after that evening, he remained at the back of North’s mind as an unanswered question--or potentially the answer to a question of North’s own.
Edda Eglantine, the reserved woman of noble bearing and background. A chance encounter with North in the streets of Ul’dah was their only meeting, but now, chance seems to conspire to throw them together--as an unaccompanied woman of high social class, it seems she had been considered as a candidate for North’s new assignment, replacing Taeros after the man’s disappearance. Still hesitant, North had not sought her out again after that meeting--still sorting out his mental turmoil after the disappearance of yet another master. Fearing the ripples of the recent chaos coming to affect her as well, the valet kept his distance, remaining alone with his thoughts.
Finally, there was Brandt Wintfrydsyn--the mysterious Roegadyn merchant and speculator working on behalf of one Lord Banquo; a foreign noble who had apparently taken a very keen interest in employing North for his own services. Enigmatic, well-dressed, and constantly drinking what seemed to be aetherically-enhanced potions, the Roegadyn had suggested that North represented a tremendous asset not only in terms of his skills as a valet, but in his newfound knowledge regarding the inner workings and secrets of the Ul’dahn upper class. Though he claimed the best of intentions, something in his demeanor and suggestion seemed to hint at something darker to all those he negotiated with. However, with Taeros out of the picture, it would seem that there is no longer anything to keep Brandt from taking the valet to serve his own master...
The Aerstorns were dead, and Gideon North yet remained.
First had been the parents, ambushed at sea by opportunistic pirates and soldiers of fortune. They, and their wealth, now lay at the bottom of the Rhotano. Then the son, Dynitar--poisoned through deception, in which North’s dismissal lasted just long enough for his “replacement†to slip some degenerative agent into the young master’s meal, and vanish from the scene. When North reappeared on the scene, the last of the Aerstorn line was hunched dead at his desk, face wracked in a rictus of pain and anguish.
North had fled to Gridania, consumed by paranoia and despair, unable to direct his grief and rage towards some kind of culprit. The conjurer’s guild, and indeed the soft-spoken denizens of the forest, had provided a quiet solace for the deposed valet. He was asked few questions, and little was demanded of him other than his adherence to tradition, and North clung to the local rules and social order like a drowning man to a buoy. For almost three years, he remained there, recovering and trying to rebuild himself--politely attending the Gridanians when he could, putting up the pretense of studying the elementals further though his conjury remained amateur at best, and spending the evenings in quiet conversation with Ursandel, an old local who had been schooled in the same arts as North, if by different teachers. Little by little, the sting of his losses faded, and North grew to study the art of his healing somewhat more seriously. Though he could hardly be said to be emotional at the most dire of times, he began to feel like his old self once more.
Despite everything he had been through, however… despite everything that he had lost over the course of those short years… and despite the danger involved... something pulled him back to Ul’dah.
After those three years, the valet returned. North knew that he could no longer attend his young master. Dynitar Aerstorn and his parents was dead, and North was a servant without a master. However, there remained a part of him fixated on the idea that the young master’s desires had outlived his mortal body. Somehow, certainly, if North could still uphold the young master’s wishes--if he could serve the Aerstorns’ interests now that Dynitar himself no longer could not--then surely that would be the pinnacle of anything he could do. He would be a true servant to them, loyal beyond the simple ties of employment, or even life itself. It was with this in mind that he returned to the city of wealth and sand, intent on seeking one thing above all else, for the sake of both he and his young master: the truth.
Unfortunately, it was not the truth that awaited him in Ul’dah, but a brewing storm, and the dark machinations that fueled the city soon rising to a violent crescendo. In delving into its inner workings, North found himself caught between the cogs; ground with immense pressure between two powers bent on maintaining control. On one side, the Monetarist Jameson Taeros, with the power of sheer wealth, prestige, and employed force. On the other, the ex-pirate Nero Lazarov and his allies united by his vision of an Ul’dah free from the oppressive force of its controllers. Placed in the midst of this conflict, North came to know, trust, and alternately plot against several of the major players positioned against each other...
Roen Deneith, the wayward paladin with a bond to Lazarov. Tormented by doubts and emotion, she had been the one to first speak to North about placing him among the higher powers of Ul’dah, that he might feed information back to her (or find more information regarding her quarry). Despite her virtue and strength, she had faltered many times over the course of the long journey, struggling to find a purpose in following the whims and schemes of her seemingly uncaring love. Lazarov himself had never asked anything of North; indeed, it had always been Roen asking, apologizing, pleading, thanking. In her darkest moment, entrapped within Taeros’s underground prison, North had been the one to secure her freedom by deceiving the guards. He had grown to feel a curiously paternal bond with her, sharing insight and wisdom with her whenever her path grew dim.
Nero Lazarov, the pirate-turned-terrorist who opposed the Monetarist hold over Ul’dah. It was his scheme that ultimately placed North into noble employment, but as events unfolded, it became clear that he himself had been the murderer of the Aerstorn elders--decimating their ship in that nautical raid years and years ago. Aghast, North severed all ties with his cause… but, torn between his revenge and new loyalty, could not bring himself to act against the man Roen loved. Lazarov went on to wreak untold destruction in the streets of Ul’dah, driven by whatever ideals had replaced his mercenary attitude in days past. Though North yet despised him, the justification had changed--with all that he’d committed, it gradually became clear that he was simply no longer the man that had ended Dynitar’s parents, but a haunted, violent ghost of a man, with more ideals than sanity.
Jameson Taeros, the distinguished Monetarist into whose service North had been placed. The man had began just as North expected him--ruthless, detached, and accepting nothing but the finest luxuries his wealth and influence would afford him. However, North’s time in his service had provided a feeling he had long missed; a curious sensation of being in his element, of fitting precisely where he belonged. Taeros was by no means a good man, but his treatment of North had been less that of the uncaring master rising above the masses, and more… simply master and servant, in the relationship of mutual-but-different respect that North had heard long ago to be the true, fulfilling archetype. No longer certain of his position against the man, North had in the end clutched to his newfound professional loyalty, serving the man as faithfully as he could without disrupting his other allegiances. His final disappearance in the bizarre battle beneath the high streets of the Goblet left North empty, and once more without a master.
Brynnalia Callae, Taeros’s information expert and inscrutable advisor, always ready with a sly smile, and the glint in her eye that straddled the line between cheerful wit and a shark advancing on its prey. She and North had shared an unsteady tension and a push-and-pull dynamic throughout the course of their work together. At one point, such tensions resulted in a startling, impulsive kiss, born more of calculated psychological maneuvers than any true feeling--on another night, culminating in a violent armed standoff at a Starlight gathering… but as they grew to understand each other, there was a strange kinship, respect, and even genuine endearment in their unexpected similarities. Even after her threats, her caution, and her ever-present air of deception and false emotion… something yet resounded, and they shared a bizarre closeness.
Coatleque Crofte, the paladin whose affections trumped her professional obligation. Once merely an investigator and element of law enforcement investigating the crossfire between Taeros and Lazarov, an inebriated night and an uncompromising intent to find the truth led her into a relationship with Taeros himself. What began as a cautious gambit to reach further into the darkness developed into genuine emotion, and Taeros’s disappearance hit her perhaps the hardest of them all.
Verad Bellveil, the dubious merchant whose insight and whimsy helped North see through Roen’s well-intentioned equivocation. It was only thanks to him that the armed Starlight confrontation orchestrated by Brynnalia was settled with minimal amount of blood loss--the eccentric Duskwight had spent the entire evening alternating between off-color jokes, betting all his clothes off, engaging in heated political debate, and obfuscating his own business practices before he called on an armed squadron of Miqo’te. The man was seemingly more well-connected than he let on, and though North had rarely seen him after that evening, he remained at the back of North’s mind as an unanswered question--or potentially the answer to a question of North’s own.
Edda Eglantine, the reserved woman of noble bearing and background. A chance encounter with North in the streets of Ul’dah was their only meeting, but now, chance seems to conspire to throw them together--as an unaccompanied woman of high social class, it seems she had been considered as a candidate for North’s new assignment, replacing Taeros after the man’s disappearance. Still hesitant, North had not sought her out again after that meeting--still sorting out his mental turmoil after the disappearance of yet another master. Fearing the ripples of the recent chaos coming to affect her as well, the valet kept his distance, remaining alone with his thoughts.
Finally, there was Brandt Wintfrydsyn--the mysterious Roegadyn merchant and speculator working on behalf of one Lord Banquo; a foreign noble who had apparently taken a very keen interest in employing North for his own services. Enigmatic, well-dressed, and constantly drinking what seemed to be aetherically-enhanced potions, the Roegadyn had suggested that North represented a tremendous asset not only in terms of his skills as a valet, but in his newfound knowledge regarding the inner workings and secrets of the Ul’dahn upper class. Though he claimed the best of intentions, something in his demeanor and suggestion seemed to hint at something darker to all those he negotiated with. However, with Taeros out of the picture, it would seem that there is no longer anything to keep Brandt from taking the valet to serve his own master...
[sub]
Skype: wordsmithrefl[/sub]
Skype: wordsmithrefl[/sub]
