“You wanted to speak to me, sir?â€
Roen stood at attention, her back straight, her hands at her side. She had been brought to a Goblet housing ward by a Brass Blade she did not recognize, on Captain Anduron’s orders. He had his back to her, his hands clasped behind him, as he looked over the railing of the rest of the hamlet, overlooking the magnificent view of a waterfall and stone-carved architecture before him.
Roen barely noticed the thin shower of mist that rose from the waterfall to cool the breeze that wafted through the residence, or the slowly darkening skies littered with stars that was starting to emerge from their daylong slumber. Her grey eyes remained with unease on the blonde Captain that had yet to face her, for she suspected the reason she had been summoned here.
It was the caravan run. It was obvious that the rest of the Brass Blades of her unit were there to extort money from those who sought to enter Ul’Dah. She had vaguely heard mention of the practice in the past, but had been fortunate (or ignorant) enough to never have encountered one personally to believe it. So when the pouch of somnus was dropped next to her two suns ago, she did not know what to do. And when the family on the wagon was so obviously poor… she could only make one choice.
But judging from the silence of the rest of the unit on their way back to Ul’Dah, and the cold glares shot her way from them suns after, she knew her actions were not well received. Broken Nose no longer deigned to show her around; he just told her to stand watch with Rand, near the Immortal Flames headquarters. But he did mutter something about the report he was going to make to the Captain.
Two suns later, she was summoned to him, escorted by a burly and bald Brass Blade who only gave his name as Stank Balls. He left it to her to figure out why he was called that, and she did not walk close enough to him to find out. He kept calling her Pinkie, referring to the her red locks.
“Come closer to the rail, Deneith. I am not here to throw you to your death.†Captain Anduron said in his usual precise, clipped tone, without turning around.  When she came to stand at his side, he continued, his pale eyes looking to the view below. “Look down at all the lights below. Do you see them? Do you know what they mean?â€
Roen blinked, following his gaze to the distant steps, windows, and the streets of the Goblet. Lights were just starting to be lit with the arrival of the evening. "They light the streets, for us to walk at night. The lights in the windows... families. Homes."
“What you see is progress, Deneith.†His voice was sharp, cutting through the cool breeze of the sundown. “Progress for the people of Ul'dah. Tell me, what do think other cities think of our precious Jewel, mm?â€
"They flock here, the refugees. For the promise of wealth. Haven."
Anduron shook his head with a sarcastic smile. “You see, you are wrong. This is why I am glad we are having this conversation. I asked what the cities thought of us. Not their castoffs.â€
"I... do not know, Captain."
“They fear us, Deneith. They fear progress. They fear what we have, as a city, and what we can build.†He turned partially towards her, his one good eye shooting her a look. “You are partially right, however. We are able to do what we do because of their castoffs. Their dreck.â€
He crossed his arms and looked back towards stone buildings. “They come to Ul'dah, and they are enveloped in our collective arms. Some are crushed by this embrace. And so be it. Not all can bear Ul'dah's prevailing heat. Some rise above, stronger for it. We are not the welcoming arms of a mother, Deneith. We do not coddle. We temper.â€
Roen tensed, her jaw set at those words. She trained her gaze towards the waterfall but said nothing.
“We remake in our image. We are the furnace; we are the forge of humanity.†His voice rose above the din of the distant rapids, spoken to the skies as if to declare it to the night itself. “I am of Ul'dah. One might say I am Ul'dah. We Andurons... we are an old family. We have ruled the Gladiator pits for two hundred years, earning praise and honor and, yes, wealth. Our wealth was not easily made, but wrought in sweat and blood, and yes, even death. We paid a price for what we became.â€
He turned to her, to face her fully. The falling darkness lent harsh shadows to already a severe facade. “Deneith, tell me: who rules in Ul'dah?â€
She turned to him in attention. "The Sultana. Captain."
He smiled a smile that did not reach his eyes. "Ah. You see. I knew this day would bring about an education.†He exhaled patiently. “The Sultana rules in name, because the other cities would spit on us if we did not hold up this gilded mask for them to gaze upon.†He narrowed his eyes. “The Sultana does not, however, rule.â€
Roen heard raspy laugh behind her, reminding her that another Brass Blade was still there, watching the street.
“Power is it's own mirror, Deneith. You were once a Sultansworn, and yet are one no longer.†He cocked his head. “Why?â€
Roen swallowed, trying to choose her words carefully. "There was an incident. We made a mistake and a ceruleum core was stolen."
“Ah. Ceruleum.†He was regarding her oddly, as if to take her measure. “An expensive material. And so this one mistake came with its own price. A worthy lesson. Do you find the punishment to fit the crime, Deneith?â€
Roen bowed her gaze. "It is what Commander Jenlyns has dictated. I find it fitting. Sir."
“Good.†He uncrossed his arms. “Remove your mask.â€
Roen paused, blinking with question, but obeyed him as ordered. But as the mask passed before her eyes and obscured her vision, she felt the hard impact of his fisted bronze gauntlet against her face, sending her staggering back. The turban and the mask fell from her hand as her vision blurred with pain.
“Help her up,†she heard the Captain say. She suddenly felt a strong grip on both her arms from behind, and the unmistakable stench of the Brass Blade that came up behind her. There was a coppery taste of blood in her mouth now from her split lip.
“We have a different sort of justice here, Deneith.†Captain Anduron stepped up close to her, just as she was blinking to clear her vision. She felt the rough yanking of her swords from her hip and her shield and weapons from behind her. They were tossed over the railing as the bald man behind her laughed.
Anduron nodded approvingly as he looked her up and down, stripped of her weapon and shield. "You had a task the other day. The caravan sweep.â€
Roen swallowed, staring at the Captain. She was starting to focus beyond the burning pain rising on her face. “Aye… Captain.â€
“It's a simple task. Exact entry taxes. Do you know how we enforce this taxation?†He leaned in, ilms away from her face; she could smell liquor on his breath. She shook her head.
“By any means we can.†He hit her again with a backhand, and the gauntlet blow would have sent her to the ground if it was not for the man holding her forcibly by the arms. She was then lurched over the railing by the same odorous Blade, her hand desperately grasping at the railing as she was bent over it. Below, distantly, sharp rocks awaited any fool unfortunate enough to fall over. The waterfall's thunder seemed much louder suddenly.
“They are not of Ul'dah, Deneith,†the Captain continued without missing a beat, unmoved by her precarious state over the railing. “They might be, one day, but they will have to let Ul'dah decide. They are, until we say they are, worthless drains on our society, leeches and maggots feeding off the refuse we, as a unified city, grant to them.â€
Roen felt her breaths coming quick, her eyes going wide then closing shut, dizzied by pain and by the depths looming beneath her. The height of the drop was making her senses spin. One hand shot reflexively to her head as she felt a painful grip on her hair from behind, and a heavy elbow forcibly pressed down onto her back. The rancid Blade has his full weight on her, his knee keeping hers bent. She could not move.  All the while, the Captain’s voice still cut through the night air.
“Because you interfered in the collection of taxes, you allowed a portion of the money that flows back into progress, into advancement, into the homes and livelihoods of the people you see all below you, to fall away.â€
"Captain.. they had nothing but clothes on their back..." she gasped out, trying to explain.
Anduron snarled. "And with a little coin you think they would have been worth something to our city?"
She gasped again when the hold on her hair twisted further, arching her head up and back towards the Captain. "I'd suggest less talkin' when the captain's speaking'," the Blade sneered.
That was when Captain Anduron struck her again, hard behind the ear, sending her senses reeling, her knees threatening to buckle once more. If they want to throw me over, they can, she realized with growing panic.
“You stupid sow," he hissed. "If all they are worth is coin, then it is their coin we should have. If they have nothing else to offer, I assure you, they are already quite dead.â€
The large Blade held her up still, one hand in her hair, another restraining her by the arm. She shot a desperate look to the Captain. Anduron’s expression was cold and cruel. “Or has your time in Ul'dah taught you nothing?!†He struck her again and this time her knees buckled.
She felt a knee driven hard into her leg from behind, jostling her forward over the railing again. Roen saw droplets of blood from her lip fall to the swirling waters, far, far below.
"She's mouthy, cap'n. I don't think she respects authority." The foul stenched man taunted.
Captain Anduron leaned against the railing next to her, tilting his head as he watched her hang there. His next words were quiet, barely heard above the pounding waterfall and her pounding heart. “Your oath, as Sultansworn, was to the Sultana. You failed in that regard, you stupid, stupid girl... and so you. Fall. To. Me.†His last words came razer-sharp and pulsed in her ear, as if to hammer through her pained senses.
“Captain… I…†she began, but the rest left her with a guttural gasp as another hard punch cracked her rib.
“Who do you serve here, Deneith?†He hissed into her ear, as the Blade jerked her head back again with a twist of her hair. “WHO. DO.YOU. SERVE. HERE?â€
"I serve... Ul'Dah... Captain." Roen gasped.
Anden Anduron grabbed her chin with his hand, squeezing it in his gauntlets as he turned her head towards him. He leaned in close, his words angrily breathed upon her. “You serve Ul’Dah. And do you think Ul’Dah will be as merciful as the Sultana when you fail her?â€
Roen could not speak. She just shook her head.
“No indeed, she won’t.†Anduron smiled.
"Lemme show 'er how things work, Cap'n. I'd teach 'er a thing or two." The Blade who held her sniggered.
Anden released his hold of her chin, and just as her head dropped, he struck her again behind the ear yet again. She could feel the pain sing in her skull, and blackness was starting to threaten at the edges of her senses.
"I like 'er pink hair,†she heard the Blade growl from behind.
“You can have her hair. I do not like it at all,†she heard the Captain say as she fought to stay conscious. “And clearly it is a hindrance to her.â€
She could see Anduron step away. “Ensure when next I see her, Deneith's skull resembles yours much more than hers does now.â€
The Blade grunted with approval. Roen felt the cold steel of a knife that rose to her cheek near her ear. She hissed as it sliced into her face. The Blade laughed.
The Captain seemed unaffected by the bloody scene. “Deneith, you are given a twenty-four bell furlough. Report once more to me in one sun. I will have another task for you.†He nodded to the Blade then marched off, bootfalls ringing.
Roen felt another rough tug of her head, then the knife hacking her hair off. The cut on her cheek stung. All she could do was to try and stay conscious. Upright.
“Awful pretty." The Blade muttered, pleased. He grabbed another fistful of her hair and hacked it off, but this time Roen felt a burning pain as he took some of her scalp as well. She fell onto her hands and knees, trying to focus her vision. But her body screamed with pain everywhere, and her shaking hands and spinning senses would not allow her to mount any kind of a defense. What was it… kidneys, lungs… spine… Her thoughts swirled. She was unarmed against a stronger foe with a blade. There was no rock or dirt beneath her hands. She reached for the stone railing in hopes of trying to use it to pull herself to stand.
"Yer lucky, Pinkie. Lucky the cap'n didn't say yes this time." The Blade slammed up against her from behind and put his knife to her throat with a speed that surprised her. Or was it she who had slowed? She could not tell. He leaned against her fully, his weight threatening to crush her against the rail. He robbed her of any remaining breath she had. "Next time, I bet he'll let me take whatever I want."
She felt the blade then go close to her ear again, and with another sharp pull, he scraped off one last fistful of hair. Â He stepped back and laughed, even as she slid back to the ground at the release of his weight, gasping for breath. But the reprieve was short. He kicked her in hard in the ribs with his steel-toed boot. He held in his hand her unevenly hacked hair and bleeding bald-patched scalp with beady-eyed pride. He bent low to wave her bloody locks before her as she lay on the ground. She could only manage to curl her arms around her head and stomach when she saw another kick coming.
Her senses barely registered the laughter and the wave from the Blade as he walked away leaving her on the stony ground of the Goblet, bleeding under the lamplight.
Roen stood at attention, her back straight, her hands at her side. She had been brought to a Goblet housing ward by a Brass Blade she did not recognize, on Captain Anduron’s orders. He had his back to her, his hands clasped behind him, as he looked over the railing of the rest of the hamlet, overlooking the magnificent view of a waterfall and stone-carved architecture before him.
Roen barely noticed the thin shower of mist that rose from the waterfall to cool the breeze that wafted through the residence, or the slowly darkening skies littered with stars that was starting to emerge from their daylong slumber. Her grey eyes remained with unease on the blonde Captain that had yet to face her, for she suspected the reason she had been summoned here.
It was the caravan run. It was obvious that the rest of the Brass Blades of her unit were there to extort money from those who sought to enter Ul’Dah. She had vaguely heard mention of the practice in the past, but had been fortunate (or ignorant) enough to never have encountered one personally to believe it. So when the pouch of somnus was dropped next to her two suns ago, she did not know what to do. And when the family on the wagon was so obviously poor… she could only make one choice.
But judging from the silence of the rest of the unit on their way back to Ul’Dah, and the cold glares shot her way from them suns after, she knew her actions were not well received. Broken Nose no longer deigned to show her around; he just told her to stand watch with Rand, near the Immortal Flames headquarters. But he did mutter something about the report he was going to make to the Captain.
Two suns later, she was summoned to him, escorted by a burly and bald Brass Blade who only gave his name as Stank Balls. He left it to her to figure out why he was called that, and she did not walk close enough to him to find out. He kept calling her Pinkie, referring to the her red locks.
“Come closer to the rail, Deneith. I am not here to throw you to your death.†Captain Anduron said in his usual precise, clipped tone, without turning around.  When she came to stand at his side, he continued, his pale eyes looking to the view below. “Look down at all the lights below. Do you see them? Do you know what they mean?â€
Roen blinked, following his gaze to the distant steps, windows, and the streets of the Goblet. Lights were just starting to be lit with the arrival of the evening. "They light the streets, for us to walk at night. The lights in the windows... families. Homes."
“What you see is progress, Deneith.†His voice was sharp, cutting through the cool breeze of the sundown. “Progress for the people of Ul'dah. Tell me, what do think other cities think of our precious Jewel, mm?â€
"They flock here, the refugees. For the promise of wealth. Haven."
Anduron shook his head with a sarcastic smile. “You see, you are wrong. This is why I am glad we are having this conversation. I asked what the cities thought of us. Not their castoffs.â€
"I... do not know, Captain."
“They fear us, Deneith. They fear progress. They fear what we have, as a city, and what we can build.†He turned partially towards her, his one good eye shooting her a look. “You are partially right, however. We are able to do what we do because of their castoffs. Their dreck.â€
He crossed his arms and looked back towards stone buildings. “They come to Ul'dah, and they are enveloped in our collective arms. Some are crushed by this embrace. And so be it. Not all can bear Ul'dah's prevailing heat. Some rise above, stronger for it. We are not the welcoming arms of a mother, Deneith. We do not coddle. We temper.â€
Roen tensed, her jaw set at those words. She trained her gaze towards the waterfall but said nothing.
“We remake in our image. We are the furnace; we are the forge of humanity.†His voice rose above the din of the distant rapids, spoken to the skies as if to declare it to the night itself. “I am of Ul'dah. One might say I am Ul'dah. We Andurons... we are an old family. We have ruled the Gladiator pits for two hundred years, earning praise and honor and, yes, wealth. Our wealth was not easily made, but wrought in sweat and blood, and yes, even death. We paid a price for what we became.â€
He turned to her, to face her fully. The falling darkness lent harsh shadows to already a severe facade. “Deneith, tell me: who rules in Ul'dah?â€
She turned to him in attention. "The Sultana. Captain."
He smiled a smile that did not reach his eyes. "Ah. You see. I knew this day would bring about an education.†He exhaled patiently. “The Sultana rules in name, because the other cities would spit on us if we did not hold up this gilded mask for them to gaze upon.†He narrowed his eyes. “The Sultana does not, however, rule.â€
Roen heard raspy laugh behind her, reminding her that another Brass Blade was still there, watching the street.
“Power is it's own mirror, Deneith. You were once a Sultansworn, and yet are one no longer.†He cocked his head. “Why?â€
Roen swallowed, trying to choose her words carefully. "There was an incident. We made a mistake and a ceruleum core was stolen."
“Ah. Ceruleum.†He was regarding her oddly, as if to take her measure. “An expensive material. And so this one mistake came with its own price. A worthy lesson. Do you find the punishment to fit the crime, Deneith?â€
Roen bowed her gaze. "It is what Commander Jenlyns has dictated. I find it fitting. Sir."
“Good.†He uncrossed his arms. “Remove your mask.â€
Roen paused, blinking with question, but obeyed him as ordered. But as the mask passed before her eyes and obscured her vision, she felt the hard impact of his fisted bronze gauntlet against her face, sending her staggering back. The turban and the mask fell from her hand as her vision blurred with pain.
“Help her up,†she heard the Captain say. She suddenly felt a strong grip on both her arms from behind, and the unmistakable stench of the Brass Blade that came up behind her. There was a coppery taste of blood in her mouth now from her split lip.
“We have a different sort of justice here, Deneith.†Captain Anduron stepped up close to her, just as she was blinking to clear her vision. She felt the rough yanking of her swords from her hip and her shield and weapons from behind her. They were tossed over the railing as the bald man behind her laughed.
Anduron nodded approvingly as he looked her up and down, stripped of her weapon and shield. "You had a task the other day. The caravan sweep.â€
Roen swallowed, staring at the Captain. She was starting to focus beyond the burning pain rising on her face. “Aye… Captain.â€
“It's a simple task. Exact entry taxes. Do you know how we enforce this taxation?†He leaned in, ilms away from her face; she could smell liquor on his breath. She shook her head.
“By any means we can.†He hit her again with a backhand, and the gauntlet blow would have sent her to the ground if it was not for the man holding her forcibly by the arms. She was then lurched over the railing by the same odorous Blade, her hand desperately grasping at the railing as she was bent over it. Below, distantly, sharp rocks awaited any fool unfortunate enough to fall over. The waterfall's thunder seemed much louder suddenly.
“They are not of Ul'dah, Deneith,†the Captain continued without missing a beat, unmoved by her precarious state over the railing. “They might be, one day, but they will have to let Ul'dah decide. They are, until we say they are, worthless drains on our society, leeches and maggots feeding off the refuse we, as a unified city, grant to them.â€
Roen felt her breaths coming quick, her eyes going wide then closing shut, dizzied by pain and by the depths looming beneath her. The height of the drop was making her senses spin. One hand shot reflexively to her head as she felt a painful grip on her hair from behind, and a heavy elbow forcibly pressed down onto her back. The rancid Blade has his full weight on her, his knee keeping hers bent. She could not move.  All the while, the Captain’s voice still cut through the night air.
“Because you interfered in the collection of taxes, you allowed a portion of the money that flows back into progress, into advancement, into the homes and livelihoods of the people you see all below you, to fall away.â€
"Captain.. they had nothing but clothes on their back..." she gasped out, trying to explain.
Anduron snarled. "And with a little coin you think they would have been worth something to our city?"
She gasped again when the hold on her hair twisted further, arching her head up and back towards the Captain. "I'd suggest less talkin' when the captain's speaking'," the Blade sneered.
That was when Captain Anduron struck her again, hard behind the ear, sending her senses reeling, her knees threatening to buckle once more. If they want to throw me over, they can, she realized with growing panic.
“You stupid sow," he hissed. "If all they are worth is coin, then it is their coin we should have. If they have nothing else to offer, I assure you, they are already quite dead.â€
The large Blade held her up still, one hand in her hair, another restraining her by the arm. She shot a desperate look to the Captain. Anduron’s expression was cold and cruel. “Or has your time in Ul'dah taught you nothing?!†He struck her again and this time her knees buckled.
She felt a knee driven hard into her leg from behind, jostling her forward over the railing again. Roen saw droplets of blood from her lip fall to the swirling waters, far, far below.
"She's mouthy, cap'n. I don't think she respects authority." The foul stenched man taunted.
Captain Anduron leaned against the railing next to her, tilting his head as he watched her hang there. His next words were quiet, barely heard above the pounding waterfall and her pounding heart. “Your oath, as Sultansworn, was to the Sultana. You failed in that regard, you stupid, stupid girl... and so you. Fall. To. Me.†His last words came razer-sharp and pulsed in her ear, as if to hammer through her pained senses.
“Captain… I…†she began, but the rest left her with a guttural gasp as another hard punch cracked her rib.
“Who do you serve here, Deneith?†He hissed into her ear, as the Blade jerked her head back again with a twist of her hair. “WHO. DO.YOU. SERVE. HERE?â€
"I serve... Ul'Dah... Captain." Roen gasped.
Anden Anduron grabbed her chin with his hand, squeezing it in his gauntlets as he turned her head towards him. He leaned in close, his words angrily breathed upon her. “You serve Ul’Dah. And do you think Ul’Dah will be as merciful as the Sultana when you fail her?â€
Roen could not speak. She just shook her head.
“No indeed, she won’t.†Anduron smiled.
"Lemme show 'er how things work, Cap'n. I'd teach 'er a thing or two." The Blade who held her sniggered.
Anden released his hold of her chin, and just as her head dropped, he struck her again behind the ear yet again. She could feel the pain sing in her skull, and blackness was starting to threaten at the edges of her senses.
"I like 'er pink hair,†she heard the Blade growl from behind.
“You can have her hair. I do not like it at all,†she heard the Captain say as she fought to stay conscious. “And clearly it is a hindrance to her.â€
She could see Anduron step away. “Ensure when next I see her, Deneith's skull resembles yours much more than hers does now.â€
The Blade grunted with approval. Roen felt the cold steel of a knife that rose to her cheek near her ear. She hissed as it sliced into her face. The Blade laughed.
The Captain seemed unaffected by the bloody scene. “Deneith, you are given a twenty-four bell furlough. Report once more to me in one sun. I will have another task for you.†He nodded to the Blade then marched off, bootfalls ringing.
Roen felt another rough tug of her head, then the knife hacking her hair off. The cut on her cheek stung. All she could do was to try and stay conscious. Upright.
“Awful pretty." The Blade muttered, pleased. He grabbed another fistful of her hair and hacked it off, but this time Roen felt a burning pain as he took some of her scalp as well. She fell onto her hands and knees, trying to focus her vision. But her body screamed with pain everywhere, and her shaking hands and spinning senses would not allow her to mount any kind of a defense. What was it… kidneys, lungs… spine… Her thoughts swirled. She was unarmed against a stronger foe with a blade. There was no rock or dirt beneath her hands. She reached for the stone railing in hopes of trying to use it to pull herself to stand.
"Yer lucky, Pinkie. Lucky the cap'n didn't say yes this time." The Blade slammed up against her from behind and put his knife to her throat with a speed that surprised her. Or was it she who had slowed? She could not tell. He leaned against her fully, his weight threatening to crush her against the rail. He robbed her of any remaining breath she had. "Next time, I bet he'll let me take whatever I want."
She felt the blade then go close to her ear again, and with another sharp pull, he scraped off one last fistful of hair. Â He stepped back and laughed, even as she slid back to the ground at the release of his weight, gasping for breath. But the reprieve was short. He kicked her in hard in the ribs with his steel-toed boot. He held in his hand her unevenly hacked hair and bleeding bald-patched scalp with beady-eyed pride. He bent low to wave her bloody locks before her as she lay on the ground. She could only manage to curl her arms around her head and stomach when she saw another kick coming.
Her senses barely registered the laughter and the wave from the Blade as he walked away leaving her on the stony ground of the Goblet, bleeding under the lamplight.
