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***Nero*** · **08-15-2014, 12:32 PM**

"This is contraband," the Brass Blade snarled.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," the smuggler replied.

The Gate of the Sultana wasn't particularly busy. It was a late morning as the sun had begin to reach its zenith. The chocobo hitched to the wagon was starting to get particularly agitated; perhaps it too could sense the irony of the situation.Â

Nero was smuggling in every senses of the word, true. None of the goods in the wagon had been subject to taxes or tariffs. No authority had inspected his unmarked crates. Some of the goods, particularly the rarer potions, had been stolen or fenced to him. Even so, his cargo manifest was more or less completely honest--food, medicine, supplies that he had brought to distribute to the refugees and the poor in Pearl Lane--and so too was his merchant's seal from Limsa Lominsa. In short, everything was in perfect order, and Nero should have been on his way into the city.

Either his luck had gone rock bottom or the Twelve had a sense of humour, for it was with this shipment that the Brass Blades chose to engage in their daily brand of corruption. First was the "entrance fee" for using the Gate of the Sultana, supposedly for the maintenance of Hammerlea--the guards must have been quite proud of themselves for coming up with that excuse--and even when Nero had paid them, they decided to do a "random inspection" of his wagon, and had then decided upon its contraband status.

It's not as if the Brass Blades were necessarily wrong on the assessment, after all.Â

The Hyur pinched his nose and sighed, his earrings jingling softly. Just his luck. He didn't have the pull or influence in the city to stop them, and he had come alone with no guards, not that he could order his guards to cut down Brass Blades anyway. If he had to guess, they were planning on selling these goods to the bandit gangs within the city, or to the refugee camps outside the walls at extortionate rates. It was good to know that the wonderful Jewel of the Desert still had such capable law enforcement.

With guards like these, who needs criminals?

"You would do well not to cross those I work for," Nero said, attempting to bluff his goods back to his possession as he crossed his arms. It was a long shot, but if it's stupid and it works...

The Brass Blade who had declared his cargo contraband, a Roegadyn, scoffed at him.

"You weren't on the list. We would have known." A list? So the guards knew who they were supposed to let in without harassment. Probably some design of the Monetarists. Nero filed away a mental note to get his name onto that list somehow; it might mean cozying up to the Monetarists, but having his mostly legal goods taken by the Brass Blades was far too expensive of a cost to deal with more than once.

"I'm a late arrival," he said, shrugging. The Roegadyn just growled at him, and while Nero was typically more than happy to antagonise people who insisted he stop running his mouth, he wasn't interested in beating down the Blades or having a rib broken, and so he acquiesced to the Blade's silent threat.

There was nothing Nero could do but let the guards take his goods. Beating on them would do more harm than good--the Blades were known to hold grudges--and Nero's generous offering of gil to let him pass unscathed had been denied, with the Blades having the audacity to make claims to their integrity, even as they started hauling the crates away. Clearly they thought they could profit off these goods more than just a bit of bribery.Â

Thus was it that Nero was left at the Gates of the Sultana with no wagon, no goods, and an expression of annoyance on his face. All in all, a wonderful start to a day. At least the guards had the good grace to let him into the city.

The smuggler was dressed surprisingly modestly, given his usual flamboyance. He still had his jewelry; a golden choker, elaborate, if slightly tarnished earrings, obsidian bracelets streaked with silver, but he was adorned in a simple cotton doublet vest, black trousers, and leather jackboots. Internally he grumbled and fumed, his hands jammed in his pockets as he paced up and down the Emerald Avenue, considering what to do next.

He had no viable contacts in this city yet, and the smuggler dare not risk contacting Taeros about this. Simply letting the Brass Blades have his goods was out of the question. If he couldn't get his goods back, he at least needed to have some manner of leverage so that the Blades wouldn't harass him for his cargo ever again. In short, being empty-handed was not an option.

Perhaps that woman...Roen could help him. She was a former Sultansworn, and at the moment, the closest thing to a friend he had in Ul'dah right now. Nero did have a few clients in the city, but his relationship with them wasn't such that they'd be willing to cross the Brass Blades for him.

Roen, however, was easy to manipulate. Almost too easy. All Nero would have to do is tell her that the supplies were for the poor and downtrodden, spout some nonsense about good deeds, blah blah blah. Whether or not she'd actually be able to help was another question entirely, but given her penchant for justice and other such hollow idealism, she'd latch onto his cause faster than a drowning man latches onto rope. And having someone watching his back would be worth it, even with the price of being forced to deal with her annoying ethics.

There was a risk involved, as there usually was with everything, but Nero would deal with that when it came up. If it ever came up.

The problem, however, was that the two of them had never explicitly worked out a way to keep in contact without a link pearl, and Roen didn't seem to have the one Nero gave her. Were this Limsa Lominsa, Nero would have plenty of runners or couriers at his disposal, and he was well-known to the fishermen and the beggars who served as his eyes and ears. Were he to pay someone in Ul'dah, however, they were just as likely to simply wander off with the money as they were to actually accomplish the task he wanted them to, and what gil Nero had, he would need. She had mentioned spending some time with the refugees who'd been forced into squalor just outside the gates. If there was one place to start, it'd be there.

The first place he started looking was Stonesthrow, just outside the Gates of Nald. Nero did not ask the locals, but if Roen was here, she would notice him. It was hard for most people to forget the fiery orange streaks that ran through soot black hair. As subtly as he could, Nero peered at the faces of the poor wretches forced to live in the refugee camp, hoping to maybe catch a glimpse of the one he was looking for.

Roen · **08-16-2014, 01:46 AM**

"There. How does that feel?"

The Highlander child looked back up at her, his dark skin starkly offsetting sky-blue eyes which shone brightly under the Thanalan sun. He could have been no older than six cycles, and yet there was already a hint of keen wisdom in his eyes--a wisdom born from the hard life of a refugee. He inspected his arm where the cut had been, his small lips pursed in scrutiny. When he turned back to her, he bore her a bright smile. â€œAll better!â€

â€œSee, Sayer? There was nothing to be scared of.â€ Roen grinned back at him, her hand lightly playing with the beads that were woven onto the ends of his blonde braided locks. Even in poverty, the Ala Mhigans took painstaking care to display their heritage proudly. Sayer was a malnutritioned, nearly emaciated boy, but none would ever mistake him for anything else than a child of Ala Mhigo. And perhaps it was because of that proud and stubborn heritage that Roen had been able to goad him into letting her use conjury on his infected cut, despite his distrusting nature of magic. It also helped that he knew her from her days of patrolling through the camps as a Brass Blade, when she came upon him being bullied by older bigger children. They ran as soon as they spotted her, and she had made a friend that day when she shared her lunch with the small child.

â€œI said I wasnâ€™t scared,â€ Sayer reminded her quickly, his face scrunching up with protest. He hopped down from the box they were both seated upon and held up two fists, bouncing lightly on his feet. â€œIâ€™ve been gettinâ€™ better! And now those boys come at me, Iâ€™ll be ready fer â€˜em!â€ He threw a couple of air punches in her direction and showed off his fiercest look.

Roen laughed and held up her hands. â€œI surrender!â€ When Sayer paused with a beaming smile, she reached into her satchel and withdrew a wrapped package. â€œHere is some dried meat and an orange, fresh from La Noscea!â€

Sayerâ€™s blue eyes went wide as saucers as he snatched the package from her hand. He peeked inside the cloth wrapping to make sure of the contents within -- suspicious boy he was -- before he blinked back at Roen. â€œFor me? And ma?â€

Roen nodded. â€œAye, go share with your ma.â€ She watched with a contented sigh when the boy scampered off, eager to show his new prize to his mother. Roenâ€™s smile slowly faded as the small figure disappeared into the dusty throng of Stonesthrow, as more gaunt figures blocked her view.

"Have you ever looked into the eyes of a child, begging her mother not to sell them to a noble? Have you never seen that same mother hoping dearly that the noble might grant her child a worthwhile life, all the same hoping her child is not beaten too severely in the noble's house?"

His words echoed in her memory as her attention drifted from one refugee to another. A crying babe in a womanâ€™s arms. A man huddled on a thin rug laid on the ground. Another emaciated girl trying to stoke a fire under a pot of watery stew.

There was a kind of hopelessness that weighed upon the shoulders of every person she looked upon, like thick metal links of quiet despair that chained their strength and their spirit to the ground.

Roen thought she knew the adversity they faced. But it was not until Nero spoke those words, his expression darkened with bitterness, that she realized she had never fully bore witness to their plight. Now her visits to the refugee camps were colored in a new light, as if she was seeing things through a newly focused lens.

Sayer will never have to beg his mother. Not if I have any say in it.

Was that why she was here? To visit that child? To share the small meal that was her lunch? And offer her conjury to whomever needed it? And what good were her efforts, when they were still but drops in a barrel?

But that was why she had agreed to an alliance with a smuggler, was it not? Nero Lazarov had openly admitted he was a criminal, after all.

It was because she believed his words that he wanted to better Ulâ€™dah. She had tailed him in an effort to gain evidence against him and Jameson Taeros, only to find out that he too was plotting against the Monetarist noble. They even collaborated to lure Taeros into a trap and catch his men with illegal contraband, but that became complicated when Neroâ€™s crew was not able to get away, and his first mate was wounded and arrested, along with Taerosâ€™ men.

Roen wondered if the contraband was enough to arrest Taeros. Both Natalie and Coatleque seemed to believe Taerosâ€™ side of things when it came to the somnus affair--his claim that he was being framed and that he had nothing to do with her poisoning. But Roen could not forget that he was responsible for disgracing three Sultansworns, and for trying to lure Gharen out to be killed. And Delial had linked him with the Garlean woman Banurein. Roen was determined to find the truth behind Taeros, with or without anyoneâ€™s help.

But in investigating him on her own, the clues had led her to Nero. Roen could not discern his true motivations; she knew nothing about the man. But she could not help but be drawn by his desire to better Ulâ€™dah, to fix what was broken, even if his ambitions to oust the Monetarists from their seat of power seemed impossible and foolish. And as she sat amongst the destitute and the sick, Roen could not deny that this was a greater need. Perhaps Taeros is only the first step.

Roen sighed and rubbed her eyes, unsure of what to do next. But it was then that she spotted a figure that she did not expect to see. His black hair streaked with that strange orange hue was unmistakable. The long forelocks hid his eyes, but she recognized Nero easily enough.

She rose from her seat and dusted herself off, wondering if he was here on his own business. Either way, she had promised to give him an update on his First Mate, Daegsatz, so she headed towards the man.

***Nero*** · **08-16-2014, 03:08 AM**

Nero stiffened in apprehension as he felt someone approaching him, but the cautiousness turned to some measure of relief when he recognised Roen's neatly arranged auburn hair and slender face. By a guess, she must have been caring for the refugees here. It was gratifying to see that her compassion was genuine, but it was also worrying. Were Roen's soul a colour, one might have seen it as a shining white light of nobility, but he could see the fading lustre, the dimming gleam. Whether she knew it or not, her resolve had cracks in it.

It was strange. He scoffed at her for her belief in ideals, for her belief that the world was fair. His world had never demonstrated such even-handedness. In Ul'dah, the ones who knew didn't care, and the ones who cared didn't know, or at least didn't know enough to change anything. Breaking the law was necessary; results were what mattered. Balking at the means only delayed the achieving of one's goal. And even as he derided her naivete, he held an earnest hope for it as well.

Nero knew just how far he was willing to go; he knew his limits, as any man must should he wish to exceed them. He was not so confident that Roen possessed the same insight to her own determination.Â

But if that became an issue, it would reveal itself in due time. There was no point in fussing over a broken window before the glass had been formed.

The smuggler gestured towards her with a slight wave of his hand and a flash of his trademark smirk, his earrings chiming softly as he tilted his head. "I should become a fortune teller if I managed to predict you being here," he said jovially, placing a hand on his hip. He wasn't willing to admit it, but Nero was glad he managed to find her without much incident.

"Do you think there's room for 'fortune tellers of the evident and obvious'?" He waved a hand in front of his face slowly as a gesture of mysticism, imitating the voice of an old hag in a stereotype of fortune tellers. "'In the morning, the sun shall rise, and in the eve, it shall set!' That's my pitch. Good, right?" His wide grin became somewhat toothy at his joke, but diminished as he tapped the side of his head above his left ear.

"I was trying to contact you, but someone forgot their linkpearl," the Hyur said, his tone a cross between amusement and annoyance. "I had something...important to talk to you about. It has nothing to do with the other day," Nero was add to quick the addendum, "but it is something I can't take care of alone."

Roen · **08-16-2014, 11:37 PM**

Roen furrowed her brows slightly, although a grin did threaten to rise. She could see that the resentment and the determination that had burned in Nero's eyes the last time they spoke had been replaced by a cheery disposition, and that roguish smirk was back in place.

"Fortune tellers of the evident and obvious." She canted her head as she echoed his words with a note of skepticism. "Next thing you are going to tell me is that it is going to be hot tomorrow?" Her own amused smile gave way to a rueful expression soon enough. "Ah. The linkpearl. Apologies." She dug through her satchel to withdraw the small box he had given her. She opened it and plucked out the pearl from within, inserting into her ear. Although when she glanced back at him, she made another face, realizing the futility of the effort now.

â€œAnyroadâ€¦â€ Roen said sheepishly as she looked around, rubbing the back of her neck. She was familiar enough with the refugee camps, enough to know the pockets within that she considered safe from prying eyes and ears. Roen and Nero had been careful enough not to be seen within the city together, at least to keep up the pretense that he was still a smuggler for Taeros. But now, she was not so sure where the Limsan pirate stood with the Monetarists. She gestured toward a pathway that would weave around a few tents, leading to an isolated alcove of trees. It would be just enough removed from the crowd for a private conversation.

â€œI saw Daegsatz this morn.â€ She said quietly as she passed by him, giving him a reassuring nod. â€œHe seems none worse for wear. Although I think he prefers his own bed to that of the gaols.â€ She left it that that, for there were no other news. Natalie and Coatleque were still looking for Taeros to interrogate him, and until they did so, Neroâ€™s first mate had to stay put in the dungeons. â€œBut he sends his regards,â€ she added after a pause. It was not quite the Sea Wolfâ€™s exact words, but the sentiment was there. From what little she could gather of the smuggler and the Roegadyn, she could see that the two cared for each otherâ€™s welfare.

Roen stepped onto the path, looking about cautiously, then waited for him to follow.

***Nero*** · **08-17-2014, 12:28 AM**

The smuggler couldn't help let his grin expand at her embarrassment. "So you can be quite charming, even if by accident," he commented idly in the same way one would remark upon the weather. In response to the message she passed from Daegsatz, he provided a wordless nod of thanks. Satz was a Sea Wolf through and through; one would naturally be hesitant to define "landsickness" as a legitimate feeling, but if one person could suffer from it, it was Satz. Nero made a silent prayer for his friend, knowing how uncomfortable the Roegadyn must be in the gaol.

He trotted along the path Roen had gestured towards in silence before eventually coming upon a surprisingly secluded copse of small trees. Thanalan, the savannah that it was, was not terribly prone to sprouting patches of greenery like this innocent-looking thicket; typically the flora were the massive, thick-trunked trees that usually dotted the landscape or hardy shrubs. As both a secluded meeting place and a possibly romantic picnic, this location was fairly ideal.

From here, the ramshackle little huts and tents that the refugees had constructed were still visible. It was with no small measure of pity that Nero found his gaze drawn to the shanty town. "To have no option but to live such squalor," he remarked more to himself than to Roen, his voice barely above a whisper. Though his trips to Thanalan had become more frequent, the sight didn't become any easier to witness.Â

In a sudden fit of uncharacteristic self-consciousness, Nero gave a brief yet rapid shake of his head, once again replacing his mask of joviality. He wasn't grinning, but his lips were still slightly creased rigidly in an expression of nonchalance. "But I said I had something important to talk to you about, and I do." The Hyur folded his arms. "I ran into some...trouble. With the Brass Blades. They confiscated some goods of mine."

The corner of his mouth scrunched in a manner that suggested he was suppressing a frown. "Ordinarily, I wouldn't come to you about this, for obvious reasons," Nero continued, "except that the supplies in question were for the refugees. Food and medicine, some spare clothing to keep out the night chill, some leathers for them to repair their tents. Essential things. And as luck would have it, the Blades at the gate labelled them as contraband and took them, most likely to sell on their own to the bandits within the city." At the memory that had happened just this morning, the smuggler let loose a sigh before glancing at Roen. His cargo did contain some more clandestine products, but Nero wasn't about to tell her that.

"I'd like to get them back. Failing that, I'd like to take care of these Blades so that I can make shipments without issue. And I've no contacts here willing to cross the Blades for these refugees besides you." It was with equal measures amusement and guilt that Nero noted how easy it was to rope the paladin into his schemes. Her eagerness at such things was almost frightening.

Roen · **08-17-2014, 03:31 AM**

The shade provided by the small alcove was a welcomed respite, and the trees provided just enough barrier to keep much of a dusty winds that roamed the barren landscape at bay. It was where she came to find some moments of solitude when she patrolled as a Brass Blade. It allowed her to see the beautiful sunsets that would brilliantly paint the sky every night, but also lent her the view of the towering walls of the Jewel--as well as all the people those walls kept out. It was a stark reminder of where her duties lay.

The fact that Neroâ€™s gaze also came to linger on the poverty... it made her pause. His stated intentions to help those that the city had tossed aside and rejected were clear enough; he spoke of his desire on more than one occasion, and today he sought her aid for it. She would never reject such a request for help, of course, but of late she had learned not to simply take everyoneâ€™s word at face value.

So why then did she believe this man whom she barely knew anything about? It was because of those rare moments--those small points in time when that lighthearted veneer faded just for an instant, to allow a glimpse of the somber and almost sorrowful man underneath. That side of him never stayed on the surface for long, but it was just enough for her to trust her instincts. Even if she suspected that there was a part of him that sought some kind of personal gain in all this, whether it be--power, profit, or even revenge--she had made up her mind to help him when she shook his hand many suns ago.

â€œBrass Bladesâ€¦â€ Roen nodded as she pondered over the details of his dilemma. The news of his goods being confiscated did not surprise her one bit. â€œI know one who may help us. I used to be assigned to his unit. After I wasâ€¦â€ she paused. Some memories were still difficult. She started again. â€œAfter I left, I heard that he had himself transferred to work with Brass Blade of the Rose.â€ Roen gave Nero a sidelong glance. She hesitated in mentioning that Broken Nose, the Roegadyn Brass Blade that she was speaking of, was also part of the raid that got his First Mate arrested. She had called upon some Brass Blades that she considered allies to help with the arrest of Taerosâ€™ men.

Roen could still remember the look of sympathy that Broken Nose bore her when she returned after her incident with Captain Anduron. The Roegadyn changed her assignment from inspecting caravans, to patrols amongst the refugee camps. He made sure that she reported to him rather than the unforgiving Captain, and they even exchanged quiet words a few times at the end of their shift. She learned that he was a lowly born citizen of Ulâ€™dah, working to make a life for himself. Once he had been ambitious, but now he just wanted to survive day to day; he followed, as expected, the system of extortion and bribery that was the everyday expectation of any Brass Blade.

But Broken Nose finally admitted that she did not belong with the Blades, and that he did not always agree with the Captainâ€™s way of doing things. Yet there was some measure of pride within the Roegadyn of being a Brass Blade, and after her departure, that pride led him to join with Lalafellin Blade, Fufulupa, and the Brass Blade of the Rose.

â€œI could ask my contact to see where we might be able to find your property.â€ Roen tapped her lips in thought. â€œIf we can catch the goods in a storage area before they are sold to another party, we may be able to recover them.â€ She gave Nero another sidelong glance, her brows drawn low with warning. â€œBut I am not willing to kill any Blade, Nero. Corrupted or not, those Blades would still raise their swords against any Amaljâ€™aa.â€

Roen turned to face him, searching the manâ€™s sky blue eyes to try and see the man she was speaking to. Was it the ambitious and ruthless smuggler? Or was it the man who, she hoped, wished for some righteousness to prevail? She was almost expecting him to argue for violence. It was the quicker and perhaps the easier way. But the right way, was rarely ever easy.

â€œIf we can find where they are stored, and stop the transaction, we can let Broken Nose and Fufulupa know of them," she finished quietly. "The Brass Blade of the Rose can handle it internally.â€

***Nero*** · **08-17-2014, 11:34 AM**

Nero met her eyes with his own, that characteristic twinkle of amusement serving as a veil to a steely and studious gaze. It was with some humour that the smuggler noted how incapable of being dishonest Roen was; her expression was always a forthright reaction, and the knight could be read quite like a book. She paused at one point in her assessment, which was not surprising, given her past. The Brass Blades must have counted her among their number at some point before the Sultansworn did, and the idea of having to associate with them again must have drawn forth some unpleasant memories.

The smuggler inhaled, considering his words carefully. There must be a way for him to be in position to retrieve his goods personally. Roen might take his word at face value, but her companions in the Brass Blades might not be so easygoing--they were, after all, being used ostensibly to retrieve contraband. If they were as righteous as the young woman in front of him, there remained the risk that they would not be so trustworthy.

Nero wasn't worried about being seen associating with the Brass Blades. In fact, if he were to make any progress in Ul'dah, that was to be expected, for the Blades as a whole were more or less another bandit gang funded by the Monetarists. Dealing with them was to be expected. However, were he to be seen associating with a Sultansworn, even a former one, it could potentially tank any options he may be considering to expand. It was also rather problematic that Roen continued to keep in contact with her other fellows in the Sworn. With a certain grimness, the memories of the botched raid at the Silver Bazaar flashed to the front of his mind.

One issue at a time. The smuggler will deal with those knights later.

"I've no intention of slaying any of them," Nero replied, shaking his head, the gaudy earrings chiming in response. "Doing so would draw too much attention, and the Blades are known to hold long grudges. If they don't find me, they may end up taking their aggression out on the populace." His contention with the idea of killing Brass Blades was made more out of a sheer sense of pragmatism than out of any genuine moral qualms, but so long as it reassured Roen as to his intentions, it didn't matter.

At Roen's suggestion, however, skepticism painted itself clearly across his face. Brass Blade of the Rose? That must have been some sort of internal splinter group within the Brass Blades themselves, but the smuggler wasn't keen on revealing his ignorance on the subject.

"Not that I don't believe in your choice of friends, Miss Deneith," the Hyur said; in lieu of a nickname he was comfortable with giving the knight, he reverted to formality. "but given what you know of me, you can hardly expect me to simply let them settle it by themselves." It was bad enough that Nero had to leave the Taeros situation in the hands of the Sworns for now. Standing on the sideline was not his typical method of operation.

"Simply retrieving my goods won't be enough," Nero added, leaning on one leg. "Complex prevention is always more effective than a simple cure. I need a way to transport goods in and out of the city without having such annoyances happen again.

Nero brushed back his hair, the smirk spilling its way on to his face. "I mean, not that I don't likeÂ having my goods confiscated in their entirety by corrupt city guards, despite the fact that they're all more or less legal," The smuggler's amused tone enveloped his voice like velvet. "It's rather quite thrilling to be caught every now and then. But if I'm to be caught, I'd rather it be by an enraptured host of Miqo'te dancers. Chainmail and swords aren't really my type." He punctuated his statement with a shrug.

Roen · **08-17-2014, 04:37 PM**

That smirk of his never wavered. It was the smuggler she was dealing with.

Of course, it is. Roen reminded herself, dismissing that slight tug of disappointment in the back of her mind. She nodded, at least relieved that he was not intent on â€˜taking care of the Bladesâ€™ in any lethal fashion. Nero seemed to know them well enough to know that they did hold grudges. She was hunted down for desertion at one point after all.

â€œWell, if you do not want to go by the legal means of outing the corrupt Blades who confiscated your goods, and you wish to continue to transport goods in and out of the cityâ€¦â€ Roen crossed her arms, her head bowing in thought as she searched her memory. â€œYou need to get on a list. I never saw it myself, but Broken Nose and other higher ranked Blades had one. It was given to those who conducted caravan inspections.â€

â€œI assume you are not on that list?â€ The paladin peered back up at the smuggler. â€œOr leastâ€¦ not after that raid.â€ She grimaced, the reminder of what did not go right with that arrest still a salt on an open wound. She shook her head quickly as if to not dwell on it. â€œWhat are you proposing then?â€

***Nero*** · **08-17-2014, 06:00 PM**

Nero gave a bemused shrug. "I never said we couldn't use legal means," he said in a conciliatory tone. "They have their uses. And if I didn't want to use them at all," he wagged an index finger, gesturing between himself and Roen, "we wouldn't be speaking. I'm merely suggesting that we play the game with more than one angle. That is why you decided to ally with me in the first place, isn't it?" Because you know the law won't work.Â The smug thought was very close to forming into speech, but Nero managed to repress it. Another debate on philosophy was not ideal in the current situation.

"So first off, the goods. I may have expressed my doubts before, but my doubts do not equal disapproval. Your friends...Broken Nose, was it? And another who I am assuming to be a Lalafell. I will take you on your word that they are capable enough. Mayhaps it will be a mutual gain if we became familiar with each other." Nero stepped back and leaned on one of the trees that made up the copse they were speaking in, his arms still folded. The Thanalan heat seemed to grow more oppressive, and he was grateful for the shade.

"I believe your initial plan of action was a sound one. Locate the goods, stop the transaction, and if we're lucky we'll be back in time to give these refugees a decent dinner and some new clothing. And having your Brass Blade friends investigate internally can't hurt our chances." The smuggler then unfolded his arms, letting them fall to his sides.

"And you are correct; when they confiscated my wagon, the guards had mentioned something of a list. No doubt their employers keep track of who will keep their vices supplied. Getting my name on that list would certainly help," Nero raised his left arm, the palm of his hand facing upward. "or we could make the list unnecessary." He then raised his right arm, his hand taking on the form of a fist.

His smirk had taken on an eerie glow. "If we reach whoever is in charge of maintaining the list, we can eliminate him. And no, I don't mean murder. To be honest, simply stabbing people is terribly unimaginitive and not very effective of a solution." Nero dipped a slight nod at Roen. "Taking a man's life is merely one of many ways to kill him."

Without even waiting for a response, the smuggler tilted his head upward to gaze at the branches of the trees and let his arms fall to his sides again, letting loose an exasperated sigh.Â

"But let me guess. You want to do this the right way, by pursuing the bandits legally and putting them in jail, for if the corrupt Brass Blades have no clients, then they'll have no reason to confiscate goods to sell them in the first place, and by extension whether or not my name is on the Monetarist's list of delivery boys won't matter. Meanwhile, your fellows do some internal investigating, nothing bad happens, they punish the corrupt Blades with time in the gaols, the good triumph, the evil suffer, the innocent are spared, blah blah blah." Nero mockingly spun his left hand in circles as a gesture of his disdain, cocking an eye at the paladin. "It's not that I don't think it will work, it's just that I don't think it will work.

Roen · **08-18-2014, 02:45 AM**

â€œIâ€¦ that is not what Iâ€¦â€ Roen sputtered, feeling sudden heat rising to her cheeks. She stopped abruptly, and found herself staring incredulously at the man. Her lips parted as if to say something, then shut tightly as she calmed the indignation that burned her insides.

He is mocking me. She thought as she narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. She knew that Nero thought her naive and her ideals impractical. But strangely enough, more he tried to prove that things like justice and fairness were abstract and useless, more stubbornly she clung onto them. She would defend them out loud, even if a part of her knew that the world was not fair; far too many eluded justice, especially in Ulâ€™dah.

â€œAs you said, if I was not going to consider any other means, you and I would not be talking.â€ She threw his words back at him. She heard her own voice starting regain some semblance of control, and for that she was glad. She was certainly not going to let this smuggler shame her into denying her beliefs or thinking her hopes were foolish, even if his words made them sound like simple stories told to a child.

â€œAnd of this list maker. He must be in regular contact with his employers. For him to maintain the list, he must get his orders from someone else. More Monetarists? The Syndicate?â€ Roen shrugged at him with a pointed look, as if challenging him for answers. He thought her naive, she wanted to know what ideas he had to offer. A part of her recognized then that he had gotten under her skin more than sheâ€™d care to admit. She paused and took a breath in and let her arms fall back to her sides.

â€œGetting rid of that list altogether is not a bad idea.â€ She sighed and acquiesced before he could respond, no longer a tone of exasperation drawing tension to her jaw. â€œHow do we get rid of it without his employers being any wiser?â€

***Nero*** · **08-18-2014, 12:10 PM**

The smuggler pursed his lips in thought, even as he tried to repress a grin from emerging at the paladin's indignation. For all of his ambition and ruthlessness, there were few things in this world that gave him more pleasure than the knowledge that he had successfully antagonised someone. Part of it was pragmatism, for if he was capable of hitting the nerves, so to speak, it put him in a position above them, a position that his ego quite enjoyed. The other part was just plain amusement.

It was the small things that mattered.

Nero folded his arms, tilting his head slightly as a slight wind seemed to cause a rustle in the copse of trees. "There are a few ways to do this, not all of them easy," the Hyur stared at the ground for several long seconds before glancing up at Roen. "If I had to say, the most surefire way would not be to explicitly destroy the list, per se...it would be a forgery." The smirk streaked itself across his face in the same way that lightning streaked itself across a night sky, though the smuggler's smug expression at having an idea was far more permanent than the appearance of lightning.

"We obtain a copy of the list, and find someone who can forge a modified copy of it. I may know a few people...though it'll require a lot of gil." Nero shrugged. He always knew that a venture like this could be expensive, but it didn't change anything. "Then we find this list maker. We can rely on your Brass Blade friends for that; they'll trace the route from inside the Blades to find out who's creates the list."

"Who employs that list maker doesn't matter, whether it be the Monetarists, the Syndicate, or the Sultana herself. Hells, even General Raubahn could be getting in on the action," the smuggler gave a nonchalant shrug. "What does matter is how we spread our forgery to the guards, in which case we could try reaching out to the list-maker." The smuggler tilted his head from the right to the left instead, like a pendulum.

"If he has family or something else we can use to blackmail or threaten him, we can obtain some manner of leverage. Or," cue the head tilt from left to right, "and this is my preferred method; we simply swap in our forged copy for the one the list-maker receives from his employers. He'll distribute our forgery for us, his employers remain none the wiser, and everybody wins."

Nero gave a small jump forward from the tree he was leaning on and spread his arms out grandly, as if he were presenting the opening act of an illusionist. "This way, nobody hurts anybody, we get what we want, the good triumph, the evil suffer, and the innocent are spared," Nero echoed his past mockery, giving a slight bow at the end.

Roen · **08-18-2014, 04:49 PM**

Now he is just trying to push my buttons.

Roen was not going to give him the satisfaction. She maintained her best placid expression, the edges of her lips pulled tightly to hide a frown. But she never was good at deception, she knew this. A part of her expected him to see right through her pretenses despite her efforts, and that only annoyed her further.

Trying not to look annoyed when every senses prickled with irritation was harder than she thought. Although, there was a small part of her that found the whole situation comically ironic. After being kidnapped, imprisoned and poisoned, it was a smug smirking pirate of all things who would test her patience. It actually felt refreshing--in that infuriating sort of a way--just to be irked, without some enormous weight of dread and despair pressing down upon her shoulders.

Roen quickly set that musing aside and turned her focus to the plan instead, pondering on what to do next. Working with the smuggler did not mean she had to like him or that they even had to get along. His ideas had merit and it would avoid needless violence. If things went smooth, they could potentially spread the wealth to allow other honest merchants some reprieve from the Blades taxation and entrance fees.

She secretly wanted to find a flaw in his plan, just for argumentâ€™s sake, but she could find none. She had to at least admit that Nero seemed to know what he was doing. She found that a little annoying too.

â€œI can introduce you to Broken Nose.â€ The paladin cleared her throat, breaking the silence that had fallen while she considered his plan. â€œHe can likely get a copy of the list for us, and point out who they get it from.â€ She squinted up at the midday sun, although it was not the brightness of the sky nor the searing heat that made her frown. She recalled that the Roegadyn Blade in question had been there for the arrest of Neroâ€™s crew.

â€œI doubt he would remember you from the raid,â€ Roen murmured under her breath. She was fairly certain that none who had accompanied her--Natalie, Kage, Coatleque, nor Broken Nose--actually saw Nero there long enough to be able to recognize him. His crew had been quick to make their retreat in the chaos that ensued, although Daegsatz suffered an injury that delayed his escape. So long as Broken Nose did not know that Nero was the missing captain they were looking for, their meeting would stay uneventful--and perhaps even be profitable for both sides.

â€œThen your people can forge a new list, and we just have to switch it out with the original without anyone else knowing.â€ It sounded simple enough when she said it.

***Nero*** · **08-18-2014, 06:30 PM**

Nero clapped his hands together, letting out an overly dramatic exhalation at Roen's acquiescence. "Ah, the obstacles that can be overcome by working together. Brings a tear to my eye, it does." He sniffed and pantomimed rubbing his eyes, before plastering his trademark smirk all over his face and winking at the paladin.

"Are you...pouting?" The smuggler teased as he detected a frown attempting to clumsily crease its way on to Roen's face. Nero recalled that the paladin had never had to deal with this side of him before--the smuggler had cracked some small jokes in her presence before, but for the most part every occasion in which they've spoken to each other had been serious conversations that came uncomfortably close to revealing aspects of his true personality. Now that the melodrama had been mostly resolved--at least for now--Roen would have to contend with the flashy, arrogant mask that the pirate wore everywhere else he went.

Nero raised an eyebrow and a chuckle, making a few steps toward her, his gaudy earrings chiming with every other step. It was with endless amusement that he peered at the Midlander's slender face; the smuggler noted that this was the first time he had really taken time to pay attention to Roen's face. His smirk widened. "You can be rather cute when you're annoyed. You should keep that look. It'll be useful for when you're looking for a suitor," Nero remarked, his tone taking on a flirtatious edge. "'But before that..."

In two long strides that could almost be classified as leaps, the Hyur reached the trees behind Roen; the shrubbery that marked the border of the copse rumbled with panic as Nero's arm shot out like lightning and seemed to pull something from the brush, which he casually tossed into the middle of the thicket like a sack of potatoes.

It was a child, an Ala Mhigan boy. He was a thin thing; he didn't look as terribly malnourished as many other refugee children, but the child was far too spindly to be considered of decent health, his dark skin seemingly stretched just slightly too far across his frame. The burlap tunic and trousers he wore sagged around him like drapes. He couldn't have been older than eleven or twelve, though it was difficult to tell with the rags.

The child scrambled to stand up and make a run for it, but Nero pounced on him like a coeurl, pinning the boy's back to the ground by pressing a forearm firmly across his chest. The boy flailed his arms and legs, but the smuggler's grip was unrelenting. He had noticed the boy creeping on the outside of the copse for only a few minutes, but it was enough.Â

Shrubbery can't rustle when there's no wind around, after all.

"Eavesdropping is--agh--eavesdropping is impolite, you know!" Nero said, grunting as a wayward kneecap made contact with his back. He couldn't help but let out a small laugh as the boy gradually ceased his struggling, a look of terror in his eyes. What was so humorous about the situation Nero couldn't say...or perhaps he simply didn't want to say. Vail would have been very amused to see this sight, to say the least.

"We're not going to hurt you, kid. Just stick around and let us talk for a bit and you can go home with a bit of gil, yeah?" Nero's smirk had subtly morphed from the smug expression he wore to Roen, to a genuine and warm grin. He turned his head to glance at the paladin. Let me do the talking, he mouthed silently to her, before refocusing his attention on the boy.

The boy's terrified gaze, like that of a rabbit caught in a snare, didn't cease. "I'm going to let you sit up, alright?" Nero said slowly, almost in a coo, as if he were calming a wild animal--a metaphor which was not entirely inaccurate. "Stick around and talk with me. My name's Nero." Gradually he began to loosen his forearm from the boy's chest, careful to sense whether or not the boy was getting ready to bolt. The boy seemed to stop resisting for the moment, so Nero pulled the boy into a sitting position with his other hand, kneeling in front of him.

The boy's face was rather gaunt; hazel eyes tried to hide themselves beneath a mop of sand-coloured hair. Nero's smile never left his face as he patted the boy's shoulder. "I'm Nero. Do you have a name?" the smuggler asked, his tone as warm as the sun that had just passed its zenith in the sky. Despite his friendliness, Nero's left arm was positioned in such a way that he could grab the boy if the latter tried to run. Even with children, complacency wasn't an option.

"L-Lancel," the boy managed to stutter out with some effort. The characteristic jingle of earrings tinkled softly as Nero nodded. "Lancel. A good name. What were you doing around here, Lancel? If there's something you need, maybe we can help." There was a long silence before the boy glanced towards Roen and pointed weakly at her.

"She...Sayer said she healed 'im. I-I wanted..wanted to get 'er to see my pa." Lancel's voice gradually begin to smooth the stutters out of his sentences. "He broke his leg...a Hammerbeak while he was out huntin'..." The Ala Mhigan boy gulped, as if expecting a refusal. Nero's smile grew softer, as he patted the boy's head.

"Of course Miss Deneith will help your father. I will too. Come on, up you go." The smuggler stood and pulled the boy up; Lancel was light, far too light for a child of his age. It was a subtle but grim reminder of the conditions he had been forced to live in.

Nero pointed at the shanty town and patted the boy's back. "Go to your father; we'll be right with you." Hesitantly, Lancel began to trot back to to the collection of huts and tents that made up the refugee camp as Nero shot a glance in Roen's direction. "You and I will go into the city...there are some things we'll need. After we take care of Lancel," the smuggler added, before staring at the retreating back of the thin boy. "And...um, maybe...well..," Nero seemed to struggle to say something, his usual confidence having evaporated at the worst time as he rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"Nevermind, we'll talk later," he said quickly, cutting off his own inquiry. Nero shoved his hands in his pockets and stepped past the paladin to make his way towards the refugee camps.

Roen · **08-19-2014, 01:10 AM**

Roen followed Nero and the boy back to Stonesthrow in silence. She stared at the smugglerâ€™s back every now and then as he traced the boyâ€™s steps, the youngster having ducked around a few shacks and tents in his urgency to lead them to his father.

Odd. That was a good word that befit the man, she thought. No. Exasperating, that is a better word, she corrected herself.

For the short time that she has known the smuggler named Nero Lazarov, she had seen too many sides to the man. When she had tailed him in Pearl Lane, he was a cautious businessman. Then when they spoke alone in the caves near Black Brush Station, he had been a determined crusader, steadfast in his ambitions to drive out the Monetarists and better Ulâ€™dah. It was this same driven man she saw again after the botched raid in The Silver Bazaar, except anger had fed his zeal and made him even more resolute.

But today he was a different man altogether. Antagonizing, sarcastic, and so deliberately jovial it made her teeth grind. And yet his pompous smile and self-centered attitude were quickly dismissed in the presence of that boy; Lancel had seemed terrified of him after being caught. Was he just capable of turning on that kind of genuine air about him whenever he needed to win someone over? Or was that a glimpse of the man underneath that he rarely let out?

Roen wanted to believe the latter, but prepared herself for the former. She still trusted her instincts in that she believed he did truly wanted to help Ulâ€™dah, no matter how he acted. And that is what is really important, she reminded herself.

It was then that she spotted Lancel, beckoning both of them toward a small shack. Giving Nero a quick glance, Roen ducked inside first, her eyes blinking as it adjusted to the dimness of the unlit cabin. There against the wall lay a man in ragged hempen tunic and trousers, one side of his pants ripped open to reveal a swollen and strangely bent leg within. The paladin frowned, recognizing the nature of the break below the knee. The manâ€™s bloated skin was a sickly purple, and Roen knew his bones had been crushed, blood bloating beneath the skin over ripped muscle and tissue. It was more than just a simple fracture.

â€œPa!â€ Lancel crouched near his father, rousing the lethargic man awake. â€œI brought her, pa! The Sultansworn. She can heal you!â€

Roen gave a gentle smile to man who looked at her, his eyes glazed with pain and confusion. Kneeling by him, she gently squeezed the manâ€™s hand in reassurance. â€œShh. I know conjury. I will heal your leg. But you must stay still,â€ she said quietly. She glanced over to the boy with another warm smile. â€œLancel, can you find your father a long stick? Something he can use as a cane after I am done?â€

Lancel blinked his wide hazel eyes and nodded, eager to help. He darted out of the shack. It was only after she watched the boy exit that Roen turned to Nero.

â€œI will need your help to hold him while I set his leg. It may hurt a bit, but it will make his leg heal better.â€

***Nero*** · **08-19-2014, 01:33 AM**

Nero nodded his acquiescence wordlessly, all the while carefully concealing a certain incredulousness. He'd obviously heard of the Sultansworn before--tales of paladins in shining armour, defenders of Ul'dah's sovereignty, righteous and mighty. The smuggler had never actually seen them practice conjury, however; he had assumed that the story of the paladins having skill in magic had been fictional, an exaggeration with which to enamour the populace.

Admittedly, Nero knew little about conjury. He'd only ever been to Gridania once, and that was such a brief visit that he might as well have never stepped into the city at all. What he did know from his training as a thaumaturge, though, was that learning to manipulate aether was never a case of talent or inborn skill--it required dedication and careful study. To devote oneself to such rigorous application of both sword and sorcery was something to which the word "admirable" felt woefully inadequate. Though Nero's ego wouldn't allow it to expand too far, he did begin to feel a certain amount of grudging respect for Roen, naivete and all.

The smuggler grimaced, flipping the ramshackle door to the shack closed, as he positioned himself to kneel perpendicular to the man against the wall. With a sense of practice, Nero held his left arm across the man's chest, just below his collarbone, and his right arm across his thighs. With a knee he pinned the man's right hand to the ground to prevent any flailing.

Nero lifted his hand briefly to tilt the man's head to face him. "Look at me," he said softly, gesturing to his face, his earrings, the gaudy streaks of orange in his hair, anything that might distract the man from the ordeal to come. "Guess you don't see many people like me around, huh? Focus on the contrast." With a finger, he tapped his head where the black locks met the fiery orange ones, before giving a small jerk of his head to provoke a jingle from his earrings. "Focus on the sound." The man didn't nod, but Nero noticed that his irises dilate in an attempt to focus on the smuggler's directions.

Nero returned his right arm to pin down the man's legs, clasping the unfortunate man's left hand, as Nero nodded at the paladin to begin.

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