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Melkire · **05-11-2015, 03:58 PM**

Nine, ten, elevenâ€¦ twelve feet. Six pairs. One, two, three, four, five bandits filed out of the mouth of the tunnel that let out in an alley off Sapphire, near Thalâ€™s Gate. Not one of them spared a backwards glance for the stone archway, so intent were they on their destination, and that was why not a one of them noticed the ragged bundle of wool, roughly the size of a man, tucked away into one shaded corner.

Thank the Twelve for Bellveil and these rags oâ€™ his. Man has Althykâ€™s own blasted luck. Right time, right pl-

The last padded footfalls were softer, quieter. His eyes widened as he doffed the woolen robe and turned the corner in a single fluid motion in time to strike out with his left fist, the knuckles of his first two fingers extended just enough to catch the surprised Miqoâ€™te in the throat. She choked as she staggered back, her free hand instinctively reaching for her throat.

Mistake.

He twisted his hip and kneed her in the gut, winding her, then seized her throat, locked one foot behind hers and tripped her, drove her back into the darkness and slammed her down onto the cobblestones. Her blade flew from her grasp at the impact and went clattering across the stones. Melkire winced, listening as he held the female pinned beneath him.

A cacophony of scuffling and yelling and clashing greeted him, above which sounded out a single tenor voice. He listened closer and grinned savagely as he recognized what he was hearing: a corporal directing his troops, the clash of shield up against shield as they opened up just long enough for an enterprising private to strike out, the desperate cries and bellows of bandits denied organization. He chuckled.

Iâ€™m long gone and theyâ€™re still drillinâ€™ the hogwash I sold â€˜em on.

He turned his attention back to the woman as she settled. Her eyes were wide open, staring blankly up towards the heavens. Her ears didnâ€™t twitch. Her tail didnâ€™t shift. He sighed. In his zeal, heâ€™d likely crushed her windpipe.

â€œShite. Mikh'aâ€™s goinâ€™ to be pissed. Gregson!â€

He stood and walked back out the archway, readjusting his turban as he went, in time to spot a burly Roegadyn woman dressed in Immortal Flame blues bash her shield against the side of a highlanderâ€™s skull. Down he went, the last of the bandits, and Melkire snorted.

â€œGregson,â€ he called out again, eyes roving over the assembled for his fellow midlander. â€œGet on the pearl, tell Peak we caught this one cold. Still another half dozen or so places they might come up again.â€

The bastards had already gotten through twice, though the Immortal Flames that Burning Peak had strewn through the crowds, dressed discreetly as they were, had managed to put them down before the casualties had risen above a few merchantsâ€™ stalls, their goods, and a handful of privates. Civilians, thankfully, had been kept out of harmâ€™s way. Osric took another spare moment to glance up at the rooftops that divided Sapphire from Pearl.

Smoke. One large column of smoke. That had started less than a bell ago, following a roll of thunderous roars more akin to a Dravanian Horde than toâ€¦ whatever it had been.

Best still be breathinâ€™, Korofi. And youâ€™d best keep him that way, Grimsong.

Shas · **05-11-2015, 05:39 PM**

Shas nodded to Coatleque before she went down the hallway and lingered only a moment longer to ensure no one would suddenly come out of nowhere and ambush her. At this point, Shas was not willing to take any chances or unnecessary risks. She started making her way down the opposite end of the hallway keeping a hand on the short blade hidden beneath her cloak.

Making her way through the building she took note on the amount of effort it must have taken to turn the row of dwellings into one large building without anyone being suspicious of how or why. She continued to make her way through remaining as silent as possible and keeping her focus on the task at hand. Coming across several closed and open rooms, she checked each one quickly and thoroughly to ensure they were completely empty. Even with all the commotion going on outside, she expected to run into some resistance on the inside.

"Leave it to the Sworn to be the ones sneaking into a building." She silently silently said to herself as she continued her search and stopped short of an open room with dim lighting coming out of it. Quickly pressing her back against the wall, Shas continued to make her way towards it until she could hear several voices coming from it. As she got closer she could make out the voices more clearly and at first thought that there were at least two men in the room until she heard the obvious slurred speech of a third, probably one who had too much to drink that evening.

Taking advantage of the lighting coming out of the room, she glanced at two shadows coming out of it and noted their position. Most likely they were the two that she heard speaking at first, with the third probably too drunk to stand. She decided to move in closer to peer inside the room before making her move, to determine what she would be up against and the they were armed with.

As she took a quick peek inside the room she saw one was armed with a short sword and a crude wooden shield with another armed with a long spear. She had also noticed the third man in the room who decided to relieve himself in the far off corner. She figured the third one to be the drunkard she heard earlier. She brought her head back and rolled her eyes as she drew her blade preparing to make her move. "And people question my preferences." She thought to herself as she heard the sound of a body collapsing in the room.

"You boys are making this too easy...." She mused silently and grinned as she heard the noise and took that moment to charge into the room. For a woman her size she managed to rush in quickly and silently coming up behind the closest of the two and bringing the butt of her blade to the back of the mans head quickly dispatching him before moving on to the second man in the room.

The second man in the room, the spear user, barely had time to react as he was laughing over the collapsed body of his drunken comrade when heard the impact of Shas' blade over the other mans head and his body dropping to the floor. He hastily readied his spear and struck at her in desperation, leaving himself open as Shas sidestepped the strike and and moved in to swiftly bring her knee into the mans stomach. She had only used enough force to knock the wind out of him and bring him to his knees as she brought her blade up to his throat.

She calmly looked over second man she had subdued and kept her blade firmly at his neck as a brief hint of red flashed from her eyes as she spoke to him. "How many of you are left in this building and where? Speak quickly and silently....you only get one chance."

The man looked up at Shas and seemed to be in complete fear as he struggled to answer her. "J-just c-couple more. B-b-bout two or four more maybe."
"Where....?" She responded as she narrowed her eyes applying a bit more force to the mans neck with her blade.
"Down the hallway, in the m-mess hall probably." The man continued on as he pointed in the direction Shas had came from.

"Thank you....pray that you are speaking the truth...." Shas slightly grinned as she brought her blade back and struck at the bridge of the mans nose with the butt of it and grabbing him by his hair to slam his face down into a near by table for good measure. Once she was sure that all three men in the room were incapacitated she took a quick glance around and noticed several crates stacked about. An eyebrow was raised as she attempted to pry open one of the crates with her blade. Upon opening it, a frown formed on her face and she narrowed her eyes as she discovered the contents. "Limsan firearms...almost look like Maelstrom issue, pretty damn close....hells, worry about this later."

Â She proceeded to exit the room as quickly as she entered and looked further down the hall, realizing it lead to a dead end. "Alright....back the way I came then...."

She made her back to where Coatleque and herself had entered earlier and continued on in the direction the younger woman had went, hoping to catch up with her in case she had ran into trouble. Going further down, she came across a dimly light room with the smell of stale ale and noticed an unconscious figure lying face down in the hallway. Upon further inspection of she suspected was the mess hall, she noted the second man lying motionless on the ground and flashed a quick smirk before moving on to continue her search.

Seeming satisfied that she had not come across any further resistance, Shas started to make her way towards the front of the building and could hear the sounds of the ensuing chaos outside as she got closer. She noticed Coatleque beginning to open the front door and made her way over as the younger Sworn was letting the member of Dauntless to come through. "We're all clear so far. Found three in the direction I went, one is passed out drunk, and the other two were taken care of."

At that moment she felt a strong trembling and heard the beginning of a loud explosion as she quickly glanced around looking for the source. "What in the bloody hells was that?" She yelled out, completely unaware of what was to come next.

Mikh'a · **05-12-2015, 04:14 PM**

What in the bloody hells was that?

Heat. Smoke. Ringing ears. Blackened vision.

Can't breathe.

His hands had gone up reflexively as soon as he hit the ground but people were still going to die.

No.

The lattice had spread swiftly but debris had still fallen through. A man was crushed, reaching, calling for anyone and anything. Sanctuary. Mother. Rhalgr. Anyone. He couldn't even think of a quip about the Twelve, barely remembered Mortar's usual reminder that his blasphemy was getting him killed. It smelled like singed flesh, the shield couldn't save them from all the heat. The roof was on top of it, held aloft by the sheer pressure of aether alone and Mikh'a grunted in concentration. Shas and Crofte had hit the ground, some of Scythe's men had been spared the painful death but it was a double edged sword. They couldn't get around the shield and it was just a sickening reminder of something A'laric had said to him a long time ago.

â€œMove!â€

Shas lifted her head first. They hadn't been spared injury, just a roof.

â€œMOVE IT!â€

She looked confused and Mikh'a started to shift and try to get to his feet, kicking at a stray piece of beam that had fallen, splintered, and half landed on his leg. He was lucky it wasn't broken. The shield wavered the instant he got to his feet. Someone slammed in to the shield and he bit back the urge to cry out. â€œThe Dreadnaught must have been rigged, it was a trap!â€ Eorzea's gods be damned, Nero had set them up. The thug's face was half burned off by ceruleum and it was eating through flesh and bone. He clawed at the shield and Mikh'a had to force himself to look away. Crofte was finally getting up, coughing and groaning and Shas hooked her arm under the redheaded woman's armpits to drag her away as the shield flickered and seconds later the debris it held aloft near crashed down on their heads. It was all the concentration he had to pick it strengthen it as Shas and Coatleque reflexively ducked in preparation for the coming blow.

One of their hands shot out and snagged him by the scruff. â€œYou can't save everyone.â€ someone said and yanked him back as the aether shield buckled. The instant his concentration was lost and he was pulled backwards Mikh'a's shield was gone and the front of the building, no longer held aloft, crashed down on bodies that had been trying to get to safety within. They weren't far enough out of the red zone not to get the backlash of debris as it hit the ground and Mikh'a rolled on to his side after being tossed rather unceremoniously to the side by Crofte to avoid more damage. The dust was only starting to thin and he coughed as he sat up. â€œWhat happened..?â€ he heard.

â€œIt looks like--â€ he coughed. â€œLike the Dreadnaught exploded. It-- it had to have been rigged that way. T-to explode.â€ More coughing and he pulled his tattered shirt sleeve over his mouth and nose. â€œCeruleum. Toxic. Breathe as little as possible. Get moving, get out of here. We'll heal later, we have to keep moving.â€ The adrenaline would keep them moving.

Someone grabbed his arm, Crofte again. She was dragging him to his feet and pulling him backwards, half dragging him, half guiding him to his feet. Shas was leading the way, past destroyed homes and flaming debris as the three of them staggered toward safe air and freedom. There were still people trapped inside but they were already dead. You can't save everyone.

***Nero*** · **05-14-2015, 06:01 PM**

Contrary to the popular beliefs of some, moving around to evade detection was just about the worst way to evade detection. Every motion is noticed by someone, and even the most carefully hidden shadow will sooner or later fail to go unnoticed. Every road that's walked on and every word that's spoken signifies the existence of one more person who's seen or heard you pass by.Â

Such were the thoughts crossing the pirate's mind when he awoke, surrounded by crates and darkness, the cold stone of the floor making its unwelcome presence known to his rattled bones. The interior of the Aleport warehouse was as mundane as a warehouse could get, and calling Nero's accommodations shoddy would be calling a Sahagin a fairly decent swimmer. The warehouse was completely devoid of light, save for two windows above the large rectangular doorway that allowed for the occasional intrusion of sunlight. Nero pawed his left hand around him in the darkness until he felt the rough steel of the oil lantern he'd managed to preserve. A squeaky swing of the hinges and some concentration lead to a small spark emerging from the his fingertips. That tiny flame was the best he could do--the silver scepter that had served as his focus had been lost in the raid.Â

It was with no small measure of amusement that Nero noted the practicality of Vail's advice even as he struggled to sit up, wincing from his recent injuries. Several moons of successfully hiding from his worst enemies by cowering in his estate was, in the end, punctuated by an attack by brigands on the caravan he was travelling with during a rainy night on his way to Aleport. There was safety in numbers, generally speaking, but numbers--and a wagon full of goods--also attracted the kind of attention that was belligerent, greedy, and rhymed with "andit".

Of course, whether or not they were truly simple outlaws was a question that would remain forever unanswered. They wore no insignia and dressed in black clothing and were far more organised than the standard grounded raider that typically made up caravan attacks in La Noscea. Calling them assassins might be paranoid, but calling them anything else was probably quite naive. In either case, Nero found that it was an appropriately contrived ending. He had little idea as to the full extent of his enemies, yet it seems at least one was merely waiting for him to emerge into the public eye.

He raised his right hand to rub his face, only to wince as pain shot through his shoulder. Nero's tattered linen robe still had holes from the bullets, and to the pirate's dismay he found that he still could not raise his right arm above his chest too much without the joint and collarbone screaming in protest. The crude stitches he'd managed to apply across the gash on the side of his abdomen were only barely holding together and were oozing sticky blood and pus. A brief inspection of his forehead with his left hand found that the ugly swelling above his eye hadn't ceased, though thankfully he still had some measure of clear vision. The ratty cloth canvas that served as a blanket was peppered with dry bloodstains, and an audible groan escaped from Nero's lips as he sat up against the large box. Despite his rather horrid condition, the thought of seeking aid didn't cross his mind even once; Aleport lacked conjurers and he dare not risk another attack from his black-clothed friends showing his face again before his ship arrived.Â

The orange glow of the lantern did little to alleviate the gloomy atmosphere, the struggle of the flame inside the vessel only accentuated the grim situation he'd found himself in. Nero had been squatting in this warehouse for more than two days now. The first day, when he'd managed to somehow stagger into Aleport without succumbing to his injuries, he'd spent every waking minute cursing the delay. A ship was to arrive here, bound for Sharlayan and then to Othard, only to be stalled by a sudden tempest. By the second day of inhabiting the unused warehouse, his curses had surrendered to cold silence, and today naught was there to comfort him but resigned acceptance.

The malaise that had set upon him the previous day was still present. Something was likely infected, but at this point Nero lacked the means or the funds to seek medicine, and every second he spent in public was another chance for his old friends in black to finish what they started. He felt his life's fluids leaking out of the various wounds on his body, and the longer he stayed awake, the dizzier he felt, just like yesterday.

"What a way to go, eh laddie?" A voice called to him in the darkness. Nero glared at it with his good eye. Emerging from the oppressive gloom was a Hyur, a Midlander. The newcomer's face still held some youthful vitality, yet it was also aged, the skin creasing against the lines of his jaws, his cheeks somewhat gaunt. The eyes were guarded by long locks of fiery orange hair the shade of hot coals, each pupil gleaming sharply with intellect and wit yet holding a a bitter and steely edge. A sharply trimmed beard adorned an equally sharp jawline, the same warm hue as his hair. The Hyur's jewelry, his amulets and earrings, jingled with amusement at each motion he made, and those accessories matched the man's clothing in gaudiness; a pure white shirt with red trim, embroidered with elaborate golden patterns, silken black trousers, and boots of fine velvet.

The Midlander--grinning suavely to show off an array of sharp, almost carnivorous teeth--pulled up a box and plopped himself down on it, his various ornaments chiming in a cacophony of acknowledgement. The newcomer crossed one leg over the other, resting his hands on his knees. It was an incredible contrast that was struck between the two men: one confident and flashy, dressed in noble finery and infinitely arrogant, the other clad in little more than rags, despondent and resentful.Â

The Midlander gave Nero a cursory inspection before clicking his tongue and shaking his head sadly. "You know, I could have sworn I raised you to be a bit better than this." He rummaged around in his pockets until he pulled out an elaborate smoking pipe made of ebon wood and gleaming nacre, spinning it around in his meaty fingers.

Nero's response was a disdainful snort. He groaned as he adjusted his position, leaning his back against a large box. "Back again, huh? You know, they say that children are living proof of their parents' limitations. I wonder if that's more of an insult to me or to you."

Vail gave a puff of the pipe in his hands, though no flame was lit. "Do they really say that? Though, you're not really my brat, so I suppose that at it's only a half insult to me at most." He spun the pipe in his hands again, flashing that crooked smirk that had once been so familiar.

Nero's chest rose and fell with rhythmic breathing as he slumped against the crate, eyeing the man sitting on the crate. "I should probably tell you that your advice is garbage, by the way. I've heard more helpful adages from rocks and talking oranges."

The man on the crate gave a slight not of agreement, creasing his face in amusement. "Could be. Or you just didn't follow it well enough. And you're talking to oranges now? Ye gods, I always called you a friendless bastard, but I didn't think you were that friendless."

"Stuff it, old man."

Vail raised the pipe to indicate towards Nero's head, an eyebrow rising with interest. "So uh, your hair? You do that yourself? Missed dear old pops so much that you needed to keep a constant reminder?"

"Contrast is more effective at drawing attention when you're making deals. I needed to be someone less boring than you, which admittedly wasn't difficult."

The pipe stopped spinning in his fingers as Vail feigned a wounded expression. "Boring!? I was many things, but boring was definitely not it." There was another pause and another whiff of the empty vessel. "You didn't answer my question."

Nero sighed. "No, I didn't do it myself. There was some Elezen, an Aesthetician in Limsa Lominsa who was more than happy to charge me my weight in gil for it." Vail said nothing in response, merely grinning in amusement.Â

The conversation died quickly for a time.

"So, you look pretty beat up," Vail casually observed.

"I'm so glad that your nine-odd years of being dead haven't robbed you of your ability to observe the obvious," Nero responded dryly. As quickly as it was broken, the silence returned, enveloping the warehouse like a blanket.

"You afraid of death?" the man on the crate asked.

"No," Nero murmured, shooting his adoptive father an annoyed glance. "After all, you came back from it enough to mess with my head for a few days. It can't be that bad. Or effective."

"True," Vail conceded. "Yet something tells me that you're afraid of something, lad. You afraid of dying? If not death itself."

"No," Nero echoed.

The older gentleman spread his arms. "Then educate me. What is it that you're fearing in these last few moments of your life?"

"That's awfully fatalistic of you to say, isn't it? 'Never say die'." the pirate muttered to himself. Nero tried to inhale deeply, only to exhale sharply as a jabbing pain made its presence known in his lungs. It seemed the bullet was still lodged somewhere uncomfortable. A frustrated grunt forced itself through his lips. "If you must know, it's impossible to fear dying when your entire life has been naught but one slow death."

A pair of warm hazel eyes threatened to roll themselves right out of their sockets. "Must you be so dramatic, boy?"

"Probably not, but I've no idea if I'm going to die tomorrow or eighty years from now. That's the exciting part of life, isn't it? That uncertainty." Nero's response garnered no reaction.

A much larger, bulkier frame emerged from the darkness to stand behind Vail. Ashen blonde hair, skin tinted a minty green, and a stern demeanor came with it.

"So, lad, ye been shot an' abused mightily thus far," Daegsatz whistled as the Roegadyn gazed throughout the dark confines of the warehouse. "This'n all be worth it?"

Nero snorted, wincing as he did. "What kind of question is that?"

"Th' question ye be askin' yerself all this time, lad," the Roegadyn said.

"The question we're asking you now," Vail affirmed, the crooked smirk flashing across his face again.

Nero sighed and rubbed his head. The amount of visitors was increasing lately and he wasn't sure that he liked it all that much. "I don't know, I think my injuries are worth a couple thousand gil at the very least. The amount of people who would pay to see me half-dead like this is astronomical. You could send them all to Ishgard and they'd win their war with the dragons through sheer numbers alone." He met Vail's smirk with his own weak trademark.

"But was it worth it, in the end?" The voices blended together, making it unclear who was asking. Not that it mattered.

"Nothing ever ends," Nero grunted. "As for your stupid question, 'worth' is relative. If you mean to ask me 'was it worth it' in the sense of 'did I achieve my goal', then no, none of this was worth it. I didn't even come close to accomplishing what I set out to do. And so, in conclusion, my life of twenty-nine some odd cycles or so is--was--pretty much worthless."

"And yet," once again the pipe was set on its adventure of rotation on Vail's fingers, "knowing this from the start, knowing that your chances of succeeding were close to zero, you set out to accomplish it anyway. You killed many people for it. Women. Children. Abandoned by your crew and your ship. You even got my first mate killed, somehow, which is something I'd been trying to do for years." He tapped a finger affectionately against the Roegadyn's arm.

The pair of them received a baleful scowl.

"So, was it worth it?"

Nero sighed again, his exhalation giving way to coughing. "We all need a little self-delusion. A lot of self delusion. It's how all of us get by in life. We tell ourselves 'yes I am making a difference' and 'yes I did the right thing', blissfully ignoring how insignificant our lives are and how resistant to meaningful change this world is. That said, I probably deluded myself into thinking it was worth it. Changing Ul'dah, making things better." Though he couldn't see it--the orange flame barely extended past his wrist--Nero lifted his left hand and stared at where his palm would be in the darkness. "They say that that intelligence eventually leads to desire, and desire leads to the two most tragic things that can ever happen in a mortal life. The first tragic thing is not being able to obtain what you want. The second tragic thing is obtaining what you want."

"So then laddie, which o' them tragedies be yers?"

Another snort blasted itself from Nero's nose. "Well, let me answer that by saying this: the good guys have won a triumphant victory, and everyone in Ul'dah still managed to lose. And the funniest part about that is that it'll happen again. It'll keep happening."

The pirate sighed, lolling his head to the side, careful to keep away the sizable bump on his forehead away from the crate he was leaning against. His vision had begun to dim, though perhaps it was a trick of the lack of light. "So in conclusion, no. It wasn't worth it. Nothing is worth it. Nothing is worth anything. When I came at the crossroads, I should have stopped and simply turned the other way."

Vail uncrossed and recrossed his legs, an index finger tapping his beard thoughtfully. "The boy I knew would have never been content with that life of apathy."

"Of course not, but that life would have at least given me ample time to think of a theatrical suicide. Blaze of glory or something, instead of rotting in a warehouse having to entertain you two figments of my imagination, waiting for that idiotic paladin to swagger in here and be unable to kill me because of her stupid morals. Again."

"Ye ev'r consid'r that she might be right, lad? That there be another way o' doin' all this without..." Two thick arms the size of tree trunks raised themselves to indicate the warehouse. "Without doin' all o' this?"

Nero raised his left hand in a mocking proclamation. "Then let her and her goody-goody friends take care of it. If there really was another way, they wouldn't need people like me to show them that there was no other way." He left his hand fall to his side as he muttered to himself. "Twats."

His venomous statement gave way to stillness as his inquisitive companions slunk away and faded into the blackness. There was no way to tell the time save by approximating the position of the sunlight that filtered through the dull windows of the warehouse, but the pirate was barely registering the sunlight at all, much less using it to track time. His eyes were half closed and he barely registered his erstwhile guardians re-materializing into existence.

"So then, lad, what are you afraid of? You know me, always spouting off proverbs and the like. Judge a man by what he fears." Vail wagged the mouthpiece of the pipe towards the slumping pirate. "Judgement time."

Nero glared at the wagging smoking pipe. He attempted to inhale deeply, only to fall short of breath once again. "I'm pretty damn scared of being expected to live, I'll tell you that much."

"Oho? That bad, eh?"

"Oh, I'm absolutely aware of how I sound. I'm just some whinging adolescent thinking his entire future is over because he isn't allowed to go pork the vacant-eyed bimbo with the big rack who lives across the street."

"Hah!" The man on the crate leaned back as he barked out a guffaw. "Ain't no woman in the world worth dying for, much less living for, laddie."

"What shall the warrior do when all of his foes are dead? What shall the doctor do when all illness has sped away from this world? What shall the merchant do when wealth loses all value? Silly premises, perhaps, but the answer is the same. A life without meaning is a very special kind of death, reserved for punishing the most heinous of crimes." Another sigh. "So, yes, I suppose you can say I'm pretty afraid of death. I'm afraid of dying. Just not in the traditional sense."

"But my dear child, are you not condemning yourself to such an existence this very second?" A third silhouette emerged to accompany the warm voice, a Highlander woman. Hastily applied makeup did its best to mask bruises and scars and once voluptuous figure had shrunk due to hunger and been wrapped in a scantily-designed dress meant for "easy access". She wore no other clothing besides the tattered dress, not even shoes. Nero dare not look at her face, but he could see the blood leaking from her forehead.

Nero exhaled. "Well, you're not wrong. Believe it or not, I'm not completely fatalistic. As long as one lives and breathes--okay, bad example with me, given the..." he was tempted to tap himself in the chest to make a point but thought better of it. "But still--one can one day find his purpose and rekindle his desire to live again."

"And yet, even knowin' this, ye be 'appy ta condemn yerself ta death. Th' traditional kind." The Roegadyn rumbled.

"Yeah, because I know better by now. I said that life is an opportunity to find a purpose. I never said my life held that same kind of opportunity. I'm not exactly keen on pushing the boulder up the hill just to see it roll all the way back down the other side. Trust me, I've done that a few times. That boulder can go plough itself." Nero spat.

"The purpose of life is to have the freedom to seek its own purpose, laddie. You deny such a purpose. What's the measure of your life then, boy? What were you put here to do? What is your reason?" The Midlander murmured.

"Was," Nero corrected himself. "I'm fairly certain that I'll be dead soon." He grunted again as he adjusted his position against the boxes. "To get back to your question, who knows? Maybe my purpose was to be arrogant, believe I knew better, and proceed to make a complete ass of myself in front of everyone who claimed to care about Ul'dah. Maybe my purpose was to be the hack of a villain of some terrible story and make all of the good guys look good in comparison. Really, at this point, I couldn't care less."

"But what about atonement?" The Highlander hummed.

"What about atonement?"

"P'raps th' purpose o' all o' this'n be ta see yer own misguided cynicism fail, an' ta be giv'n th' chance ta redeem yerself."

"Brilliant," Nero scoffed. "Turns out the only reason I was born was so I can posture myself in front of some self-righteous group of bastards and whores and spend the rest of my life trying to convince myself that living in destitute misery is actually a very enviable existence."

"And now you're contradicting yourself. I could have sworn you weren't this stupid when you were crying on my ship. You demand justice for yourself and those souls you claim to sympathise with, and yet when the same demand of justice is made to you, you balk and refuse. Remind me never to strike a deal with you. You'd just run away from it." Vail raised an eyebrow sharply. "It's not as if you hate the idea of atonement. Not completely, anyway. If you did, you wouldn't have sabotaged Randolph's machine, and you wouldn't have told the paladin where to find you."Â

"That's called 'cutting my losses', old man. Something you failed to understand, which ended up getting you killed," the pirate responded disdainfully. "My plan would have never succeeded at that point. Merlwyb demolished the plans for the Rhotano League, so my collaborators are out of funding and are at each other's throats, and my support in Ul'dah is non-existent. The least I could do is wipe that stain of my past off the map." Now it was Nero's turn to sigh, pointedly ignoring the point that had been brought up about the paladin. "Even so, it seems nobody around here has ever been truly understanding the point I've been trying to make," Nero muttered bitterly. "Every bleeding heart shitelord and their mother going around screaming at me, 'the women and children, the women and children!'. The only thing that is worse than being forced to die is being forced to live."

"And so you were believe you were doing them a favour?" The woman's voice asked kindly, lacking any edge of judgment.Â

"I was saving them from a slow death. A life of misery, to be dominated by nothing but thoughts of how to survive the next day, the next hour...like I said, that is a very special kind of death. The kind of death that all of those arrogant fools are all too happy to subject them to."

"Yet ye be speak'n as if ye yerself not be engagin' in th' exact same imposition o' perspective that they are. Ye believe that they be forcin' a life o' misery. Yerself be forcin' an unwillin' death. Neither side be askin' those people who are bein' forced."

"Seeking morality in a situation like this is pointless. You either win, and you're right, or you lose, and you're wrong. Trying to gain the moral high ground is like trying to climb up a tree with all of your limbs cut off," the pirate breathed. "There is no justice, no righteousness, no good or evil in this. There are results, or the lack thereof, and nothing more."

"Boy, did you not start this crusade because of your morality? Because you believed your way to be right?"

"I believe my way to be preferable."

"But if someone had come along while you struggled on the streets, and told you they were doing you a favour by making you die for their cause, would you have accepted it?" The woman breathed the gentle, understanding sigh of a parent.

Nero paused, hesitating as his eye caught a rivulet of blood running down the woman's silhouette. "Regardless of what they told me their cause was, I wouldn't have accepted it. I would think they were lying or stupid or both." His voice trembled somewhat. "But if I did end up dying, I wouldn't have begrudged them."

"Ye would 'ave struggled ta live til yer own life be taken. That not be a contradiction o' what ye be sayin' 'fore, ye reckon?"

"I didn't struggle because I want to. I struggled to live because it was instinct. Self-preservation. That cruel gift that allows mortal lives to endure the very worst of the world beyond all hope and doubt."

The pause in the air was palpable.

"So, really," Vail, ever eager to overthrow a lull in the dialogue, examined his pipe as he ceased its spinning, the elaborate frame frozen around his thumb and index finger. "None of this was worth it then, eh, boy? Wasn't worth the killing, wasn't worth Satz, wasn't worth the Forte, wasn't worth them nasty injuries, and at the end of it all, one way or another you'll be dead. Literally dead, or living a life without meaning and thus better off dead."Â

Nero froze.

"The reason you did all of this, the reason why you were so willing to kill is because you reject a life ruled by instinct, a life that lacks all meaning except survival, and you call that a fate crueler than death. And yet, even as you rejected it, you hated yourself for accepting it as well, for without it you would never have had the option of rejecting it in the first place. Thus armed with this hypocrisy, you set about your plan with the intention of forcing everyone to reject that self-preservation whether they wanted to or not." Slowly, disdainfully, the pipe resumed its twirl. The crew of the Second Forte emerged led by Garalt, his square jaw narrowly set in reluctant determination.

"Ye be denyin' 'em their right as mortals ta struggle ta preserve themselves in a world that be cruel an' unusual. An' in doin' so, ye be managin' ta convince yerself that 'cause o' yer own experiences, such a thing be permissible, even if'n ye be considerin' it a necessary evil. Ye projected yerself an' yer choices onto them, an' called it a favour." Daegsatz folded his arms, his face wrinkled with sadness, his body soon glowing with the flames that threatened to engulf him. Another group stepped forward; Dunesfolk Lalafell with sword wounds, some with spears skewered right through them, Brass Blades with scorched armor and sailors bloated from the sea.

"Adair..." Fiora's silhouette stepped forward and crouched down to his level. He still couldn't force himself to look at her, for he knew what he would saw; a shattered skull, the blood seeping against the pavement. The Highlander woman reached out her arms to touch his houlders, her skin taut, her muscles weak and spindly. "In many cases, life is much worse than death. Death is itself a mercy, an instantaneous moment of pain soon to be flooded by the unending peace of oblivion. Life is often several moments of prolonged agony, stretched to a hundred years. And yet, that anguish, that torturous existence, that conflict and struggle is what assigns meaning to life. It is what differentiates living a life and dying a death. Without that struggle, without that bout of misery and torment...by taking that away, you remove life's meaning, and thus condemn all to the very death that you yourself fear."

Nero's breath shortened. His hands were shaking. He felt dizzy. He could see the blood, the blood from her skull, the blood that splashed on the walls and the pavement drip down and seep between his fingers.Â

"Not all is lost. You can still be saved."

The scantily clad Highlander woman, for an instant, vanished, and was replaced by a similarly slender form clad in armor, grey eyes scrutinizing him with a soft naivete.

And just like that, it broke.

What snapped inside of him was cold but soundless, like a glacial sheet snapping in the void. With a cry that was as ferocious as it was despairing, Nero swung his right arm. In an instant, the warm voice, the spindly arms, and the oozing blood vanished. He ignored the screaming of nerves in his shoulder at the motion, and he struggled to stand. He could not even stand up straight; it was all Nero could do to lean against the boxes in a facsimile of defiance.

"Ah," Nero said disdainfully, the volume of his voice raising. "So deep down, you're one of those people. An idealist. Let me tell you something. Love doesn't feed an empty stomach. Honor doesn't keep you warm at night. Courage doesn't heal your scars or soothe your bruises. A life of agony is a life of meaning? Don't make me laugh. That is a delusion, a weak justification made by those who've never had to worry about going hungry or freezing on the wooden planks that serve as your bed. You insist on 'salvation' and 'the right way' without understanding that every single second of your inaction is a complete and utter failure of that ideal. The only people who ever had the grounds to condemn me are people who have lived exactly like me. The people who continue to live exactly as I did. People who spend every waking minute of their consciousness facing starvation and fear and hopeless expanses of an empty future."

The Highlander woman appeared again, a few feet away from him. Nero found his gaze panicking, attempting desperately to avert themselves, but his willpower won over. With a shaking of his head and his body trembling, he forced himself to look straight at her. At the exposed bits of brain and bone that had been smashed against the wall, the eye that had popped out of its socket, the jaw hanging loose and unhinged like a snake's. She still had a sad expression on the half of her face that was still intact, and every second he forced himself to stare was another second he felt his consciousness evaporating.

"So you think you're righteous, do you? You said it yourself. A torturous existence is the only existence that has meaning. You can vilify me for robbing those lives of their worth and their purpose, but don't think for a second that you are any better than me for damning those same lives into unending squalor. Do you want me to tell you why you think that way? It's because you think you're better. You had money, you had power. You never went to bed wondering if you would wake up with another dead sibling, or a dead parent. You never waded through garbage wondering if you could find something to eat today. You ran away. You took your money and your wealth, and after building yourself a golden platform, set about calling yourself righteous, insisting that there was meaning in struggle." At this point, it wasn't clear if he was speaking to his illusionary audience or to himself.

The flames crawled up Daegsatz' broad form, lapping at his chest and soon enough, covering his shoulders and head, the latter of which casually lolled off of its body as it disintegrated wordlessly into ash. The Lalafell slowly began to fall over, one by one, and sink into the ground.

"'Women and children, women and children', they said! How could you kill women and children? Because it was necessary.Â I've killed men, women, children a plenty. Sometimes by my own hand, sometimes with a pen or a shout of a command, and I'd kill a thousand more if that's what it takes to see my vision through. To carve a better place for those souls denied every opportunity at happiness. To leave Ul'dah a better place than I found it. This is me. This is who I will always be. I did what I did because someone had to."

Like that day, the crew retreated. Garalt shook his head as the shadows enveloped him. Nero felt his strength leaving him, his voice growing hoarse.

"There was--is--no room for hope in Ul'dah. There is no...no way. No atonement. Not for the deaths of hundreds, maybe even thousands of people. It's impossible to justify a single one of those deaths. So I will do what I must. I'll build a better future. A future that saves as many of those other lives as possible. A future without that meaningless struggle against the depravity and greed of others. To fight for that future, that is my only salvation!"

The silence persisted for what felt like years. The images of those people had completely faded away, swallowed by the empty, inky blackness of Nero's mind. He was breathing heavily now, searing pain shooting up his chest with every expansion of his lungs. Cold sweat enveloped his feverish face, and his vision had begun to shift out of focus as he swayed unsteadily on his feet.

Only Vail was left. The pipe had vanished from his hands completely.Â

His fingers were folded together as he stared the haggard pirate down. Though Nero himself was not sitting on it, he could feel Vail's seat on the box become uncomfortable and unwelcome.

Vail again flashed that crooked, audacious smirk. "So then, does that mean you regret it?"

A violent plume of icy shards, uncontrolled and undisciplined, as wild as the hand that shot it came screaming towards the darkness and plunged through Vail, whistling as the jagged, haphazard forms effortlessly pierced through his silhouette and crashing somewhere against the wall. Violet smoke flowed from the haphazardly conjured slivers as they disintegrated, leaving cold gashes at their point of impact.

Nero limped to the box where his adoptive father had been arrogantly sitting. The light from the tiny flame in the oil lamp had grown dimmer, leaving naught but defiant rays of sunshine.

He sat down on the box with a thud, scowling into the darkness with disgust.Â

"Grow up."

Roen · **05-15-2015, 01:38 PM**

"What is the measure of a life's worth?"

It was early afternoon when Roen and Kiht stepped onto the wooden pier at Aleport. The port town was rather sparse, and its harbor was conspicuously available. The warehouse they had been looking for was dull and featureless: flat wooden doors, limestone exterior. It was be a perfect place for a would-be fugitive in hiding.

â€œToo many smells, and the sea air burns my nose. We must rely on our eyes, it seems.â€ Kiht sniffed the air as she pushed her goggles up on her forehead. She had come dressed in dark camouflage armor; three black stripes of warpaint adorned her face and a long spear hung from her back. She paused when the paladin next to her did not move, Roen remaining still as she stared at the warehouse before them. The miqoâ€™te huntress laid her hand lightly on the womanâ€™s arm. â€œTake heart,â€ she said softly.

Roen nodded and approached the building with heavy steps. She too had donned black armor -- dark plate-mail chased with silver gilding. Her shield hung heavy upon her back and a longsword swung by her side. Why had she chosen to come armored this way? Was she expecting Nero to fight her? In truth, she did not know what to expect. Her heart pounded as she imagined what or whom she might find inside. Neroâ€™s estate had been emptied out, cleaned of furniture, and even the walls were clear of dust, indicating a hurried exodus. But sitting in the center of the room was a single modest chair with a small card resting on it. It had a hastily drawn clock, an address of a warehouse in Aleport, and tomorrowâ€™s date.

He has to be here.

The door swung open with ease, though the brass hinges squealed in protest. The interior of the warehouse was just as lacking as the exterior; unmarked crates occupied the walls gathering dust and barrels huddled together in the corner along with a pile of ragged blankets. Only one figure occupied the large space, dressed in a plain unadorned robe, perched on a small box at the center of the room. He craned his head back toward the two that entered, and while Roen could not yet see his face, the voice was unmistakable.

â€œI was wondering if you were going to be late,â€ Nero called out.

The paladin squinted her eyes as she closed the doors behind her and Kiht, adjusting to the dimness within. Two shafts of sunlight filtered in through the high windows, but otherwise only a single lantern sat next to the man and his box. Its flickering flame lent an orange glow to the manâ€™s robes. â€œBound for Othard, so I hear.â€ She answered, approaching him slowly.

â€œThat is my intention, yes.â€ The pirate snapped his fingers and a purple cloud of thaumaturgy puffed near his hand then vanished. The flame in the lantern seemed to suddenly rekindle itself, burning with renewed vigor.

Roen knitted her brows. â€œWhy did you leave me the address?â€

â€œBecause I felt I owed you that much,â€ the smuggler answered without hesitation. â€œTo be honest, I had considered simply leaving a linkpearl in my home. I knew that is where you would check first. But then my ship got delayed, and so here I am.â€ The cowl turned slightly, eyes within peering at the two. â€œFeel free to survey the premises, if youâ€™d like. There is no one else here but myself.â€

His words did not relieve her apprehension, but she took steps towards him nonetheless. â€œSo. To Othard. Then what?â€ She could see from the corner of her eyes that Kiht stayed near her as well.

â€œIâ€™m not sure,â€ he sighed. â€œI have no money to speak of. No belongings besides the clothes on my back and my abilities. Maybe find a new way of living. Have a mysterious encounter, get married, settle down on some backwater farm. Maybe live a life under the Empire, like what I dreamed of as a boy. Maybe I'll fight and lose against some giant monster. Maybe I'll just kill myself." He shrugged nonchalantly. "The wind could blow at any direction. The only thing I know for certain is that Othard is an opportunity. Nothing more, and nothing less."

"What is to stop you from returning to Eorzea to check the results of your work?â€ Kiht asked curtly. â€œWhat is to stop the wind from blowing you where you may yet cause more havoc? After all this, are you truly content to just live a life of minding your own business?"

"A very wise question, miss..." Nero turned in his seat and peered at the miqoâ€™te. "I could have sworn we have met before. Were you, perchance, lacking in the war paint in our last encounter?"

"Kiht Jakkya.â€ The Keeper came to stand within few fulms of him and Roen, her frame tense. She was watching him carefully. â€œI was in your employ before I knew what you were doing, or what you had planned."

"Ah, now I remember.â€ Nero nodded. â€œYour clan's scouts were very, very competent. Nary feather nor beak of Ixal showed themselves to my caravans, while they had operated. They've my compliments. Despite what you may think of me, miss, I do hope the coin I paid them offered them some measure of comfort."

Roen watched him carefully, even though he still kept much of his face hidden. He had always been a difficult man to read, his usual smirks and sarcasm often quick to mask everything else underneath. But now as he spoke in what seemed a neutral tone, he seemed to be hiding something more.

"To return to your question, the likelihood that I will return -- given that something or someone does not kill me first -- is almost indisputable. Whether it be in ten years or fifty years, I believe that sooner or later I'll return and see whether or not Ul'dah proved me wrong. It may be a simple dalliance, a curiosity to gaze at my past, or it might be a fiery vengeance, wrought in fire and steel. Who can say?"

"Osric showed Roen and I the letter. We know your detailed plan now.â€ Kiht growled.

Nero responded with a scoffing laugh. He raised an eyebrow at them beneath his hood, an ice blue eye staring at the miqo'te coldly. "Oh? Then what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be out there, putting poor Scythe out of his misery?" He shook his head. "No matter. I have no idea where my ambition will be twenty or thirty years down the line, especially regarding Ul'dah. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that the more things change, the more things stay the same. That much is true of both people and the cities they live in."

Roen narrowed her gaze, studying the man as he continued. â€œIt's possible that I will take a glance at it and then leave, never to return. Conversely, it's just as possible that I will rekindle my rebellion and raze it to the ground. Of course, at this juncture, the last thing I want to do is even think of Ul'dah. I'm rather curious to see Othard myself." There was an odd air about him, one tinged with bitterness and perhaps resignation.

"Then why do what you did?â€ Kiht crossed her arms. â€œIt would just cause more hardship to only end up in the same way. Only difference is a different people will have the power."

"Ah, so you agree then, miss Jakkya, that attempting to instill change is fruitless? You are wiser than I took you for." He flashed an ironic grin, as if reveling in the hypocrisy of the question.

"I thought you would make something of an explanation or justification.â€ Kihtâ€™s gaze bore him a dark look. â€œAre you saying you have none? The Hells did you do it for then?"

Nero sighed, folding his hands together. "If I did explain myself to you, if I did justify my actions, would you believe me? Would you understand? Would you even be capable of understanding? When an oppressive system nourishes the rulers with the suffering of the ruledâ€¦you think that kind of system can be dismantled safely, quietly?" He held up a finger. â€œAh, but I know what you are going to say. 'There had to be another way.â€™ Interesting how that convenient excuse always comes up to save the conscience of those who fail to act. But you did not come here to listen to me preach, and to tell the truth, I would rather not be preaching. Why don't we open a true dialogue?"

He opened his arms wide as if in offering. "I will listen to what you have to say. About me. About my methods, my goals. Make no mistake, I've committed atrocities for what I believed to be right. But if you think of me as nothing but a black-hearted villain, then you've truly failed to pay attention to the story."

The pirate turned toward Roen, a hard stare on her. "In all of our arguments, we've done nothing but shout our convictions at one another and fail to listen to the other side. Mayhaps this time will be different, no?"

Roen · **05-15-2015, 01:43 PM**

â€œ...What form will that atonement take, if I fail?"

â€œWill we? Truly listen to each other?â€ Roen met his gaze, her coiled frame losing some of its earlier uneasiness. â€œYou wanted me to admit to your truth. And I wanted you to admit mine. Would we be here now if we had just met in the middle?â€

The paladin bowed her gaze, sadness tugging at the fringes of her thoughts. But she chased it away. "Perhaps you are right, and there is no better way. No way to incite such a change, to end the suffering quickly, without violence and extreme actions. But you started it. You took lives. You set in motion plans to bath streets in blood. And then...nothing." She swept her hand toward him. "You gave up on your plans, and now you flee. A part of myself...I braced for it. Somewhere within, I knew the storm was coming. I warned others what might happen."

Roen closed her hand, quelling the anger that also threatened to rise. She was not here for vengeance, she was not here for regrets. She was here for justice. She had to remind herself of why she came. "And after all that, there was nothing. And now here you are. You have given your plans to someone who will put a stop to them.â€ Her expression turned steely. â€œAfter all is said and done, what were those deaths for?"

Nero paused in thought. "Those deaths were for hope. The hope for something better. A better future. The kind of hope that is worth killing for. But now?â€ He waved an arm. â€œNow, the most I can do is to adjust the intention. Cut my losses. Simply put -- those deaths were made in order to make a point.â€

â€œ...A point?!â€ The paladin gritted her teeth.

Those blue eyes sharply turned to her. â€œIt was a message, not to the Monetarists, or the Sultana, but to people like you, and Crofte, and Melkire, and the innocents you claim to protect. It was a message that if you would not strive for a better future, if you would not openly resist tyranny and corruption, if you simply stood by and allowed things to reach the breaking point -- then someone else would rebel. Someone like me would emerge, and armed with nothing but a bloody past, a skewed perspective and raw, blind fanaticism, we would make the changes you could not." He paused again, his head bowing to look to his hand. â€œIt was for hope, and a future,â€ he repeated softly before his gaze hardened. â€œA future that's been quite handily squashed, for which you are to be commended.â€

â€œAlways blaming someone else.â€ She snapped. â€œWhen you buckled under your own realization that methods did matter. The end did not justify all means. You sabotaged yourself.â€ Roenâ€™s nostrils flared with indignation that she could not keep in check. But before she could continue, Kiht stepped up in between them.

"One person's hope can be another person's curse.â€ The miqoâ€™te scowled at the smuggler. â€œA hope is not always justified. All I have ever seen in this is a war. There is not good or evil side. Just two side who can not, or will not, compromise."

"That is a very rational perspective, miss.â€ Nero glanced at the Keeper from the corner of his eyes. â€œI'm rather sorrowful that we did not meet sooner; your shades of grey would have brought valuable clarity." He sighed. â€œIn any case, you are completely right. It wasâ€¦isâ€¦a mistake to paint this as an issue of black and white, of â€˜usâ€™ and â€˜themâ€™, of â€˜goodâ€™ versus â€˜badâ€™. The mistake was in thinking either side was â€˜goodâ€™, because really, there are only ever â€˜badâ€™ sides. But sometimes those sides are against one another.â€

Roen closed her hands into tight fists by her side. â€œ"I thought...there was a part of you that mourned those lives you took. That wanted to make it all worth something. But if lives were taken for a cause that failed, and now you just justify those losses to make a point..." She inhaled deeply, her voice growing quieter with a demand. "What is our atonement?"

"You think I don't mourn the lives I took?â€ It was his turn to look indignant. â€œYou truly believe I am that heartless? Roen, if I were that heartless, would I have done all of this for the sake of my fellows who live in destitution and squalor? The rest of our lives, from this moment forth is our atonement. Whenever we close our eyes and see the faces of the people weâ€™ve killed, that is our atonement. Whenever we walk Ulâ€™dahâ€™s streets and see the Monetarists, the Blades, the bandits running roughshod, and we think about raising our swords, only to remember that we cannot stop them or change themâ€¦that is our atonement."

â€œThat is a cowardâ€™s response,â€ Roen retorted. â€œThat is the answer of someone who isâ€¦cutting his losses and running. You too have thrown in with the rest of us that you blame for your failure. I believed in your vision. I believed we could have made a difference.â€

â€œBut you didnâ€™t want any part of the sacrifices that needed to be made! You couldnâ€™t imagine harm coming to women and children, when women and children are in harmâ€™s way, every day!â€ He seethed. "I could have gorged myself on a life free of hardship or sorrow, and simply forgotten those I had left behind. I chose not to. And perhaps that was the wrong choice. Perhaps when the lights are off and the swords are out, the correct answer is apathy."

â€œYour plan is forcing things on people who want no part of it.â€ Kiht shook her head. â€œThere are those who are just people trying to make a peaceful living, and you would have them dragged into this."

â€œYou are entirely correct, Jakkya. And therein lies the problem, no? What difference exists between a man who commits evil, and a man who fails to prevents evil from happening?"

"So where does it end?â€ Roen glared at him. â€œA man who commits evil, and another man who does nothing to stop evil, and then those who will commit evil to fight evil. Where does it all end? It does not. The world burns in darkness because nothing else matters. You have condemned everyone."

"And that is the paradox,â€ Nero sighed. â€œWill you commit evil to destroy evil, or remain righteous and just even if that means surrendering to evil? In either case, evil remains."

"This paradox...does not save the world, Nero.â€ Her words were barely a whisper. â€œIt saves no one."

"I do not need it to save the world," the pirate snapped. "I only need it to save those who were never given the opportunity to save themselves."

"There is turning a blind eye, and then there is helping in the best way,â€ Kiht protested. Roen could tell from her tone that there was a part of her that believed that Nero might be convinced in this. Roen knew better now. â€œDonate gil, food, shelter. Give what you can, but going to these lengths is beyond a moral line that you did not care enough to cross."

"Do not presume to know me or my actions.â€ The smuggler shot the Keeper a sharp look. â€œDo not presume to know what kind of city Ul'dah is, to know what kind of ruler the Syndicate is. Benevolence is not always an immediate blessing. You think such solutions have never crossed my mind? You think Iâ€™ve never tried such things before reaching this extreme?"

Nero turned his gaze on Roen. "Do you recall the little girl? What happened when the man gave her gil, out of the kindness of his heart? Where did such kindness lead her?"

The paladin blinked. She recalled that story still, so clearly. The one of the girl with hope, and the man who had given her the gil. Nero had been that man, and the girlâ€™s death had haunted him since. She could still see the ghost of regret in his eyes whenever he spoke of her.

Her gaze softened little as she answered him. "The man had benevolence then. And it lightened the girl's heart if only for a bell. If she had but taken a right turn rather than left, if she had maybe found a kind sister rather than the Blades...perhaps her life would have been different. Perhaps she would have remembered that man's kindness and it would have bloomed in her heart so she would return it later ten fold to another child." Roenâ€™s composure faltered for a moment. "It was not the man's fault what happened. It was not his kindness that condemned her."

Nero would not be moved, his pale eyes growing cold with fury. "But she ended up dead in a ditch the next day. What you wish would have happened, what might have happened, will never erase what did happen. To assume that the only choice in any situation is benevolence, to believe that a good act with good intentions is incapable of causing harm and suffering, that is the worst kind of ignorance."

â€œAs is believing so firmly that the darkness is your only option.â€ Roen frowned again. How had she believed that there was hope within him to be something better? When he had already so thoroughly condemned it in his mind?

"At one point, I might have even agreed with you about my own naivete.â€ Nero exhaled. â€œThe truth is, Nero Lazarov is nothing more than the sum of his circumstances and experiences. He never chose this life. He never chose to have such a skewed perspective of the world. Was it his fault to be born penniless in a city where wealth was everything? Was it his fault that the suffering he endured twisted his sorrow into anger, even hatred? Was it his fault that his attempts at peace, his attempts at a docile salvation for those he cared about, was it his fault that they failed? Perhaps."

He fell quiet for a moment, his expression turned pensive. "Being a victim perhaps does not excuse what he -- what I -- have done, or intended to do. But the truth of it is that I am nothing but the product of my past. Would a kinder and gentler Nero Lazarov have been better for this world, for Ul'dah?"

"And this Nero Lazarov,â€ Roen eyed the man, almost accusingly. â€œHas he been better for this world? For Ul'dah?"

The paladin was met with a cold stare from beneath the hood of his robe. "Of course not. But who we want to be is often very different from who we must be, and in the end, this is the Nero who survived.â€

â€œI do not know how the kinder, gentler Nero Lazarov would have fared.â€ Roen forcibly dismissed the wistful sadness that rose at the thought. Instead she fixed her gaze on him, her own words slowly turning grim. "But the man that did survive has killed many. He has incited riots. I cannot allow you to do that again."

Roen · **05-15-2015, 01:46 PM**

â€œ...What if I prove you wrong?â€

â€œAt the end of the day, when beasts have devoured all and the world falls into shadowâ€¦your ideals will always take priority.â€ Nero said, this voice tinged with bitterness.

â€œWould you have done what you did for Osric if he had not carried out his end of the bargain?â€ Roen matched him with venom of her own. â€œWould you have left Scythe with that weapon in Pearl Lane? Without anyone else knowing?"

The pirate snorted. "Ever thinking of the women and children. If you really must know, the weapon is defective. It's designed to explode when it's activated. It'll take out the building his gang is holed up in, and nothing more." He glanced to the paladin who stared at him eyes wide with her lips parted. "So yes, I would have simply let Scythe have it. Then, when he acts to engage his master stroke, he dies. Along with anyone who follows him."

Nero waved a hand. "That would be my last act of vengeance before leaving. It won't cleanse the bandits from Ul'dah, but it will offer Pearl Lane some respite for a time."

Roen stiffened, feeling her resolve waver. She had been so sure that all he wanted to do was to prove his point. To convince the rest of the word that his radical way was the only way. That he was willing to accept the bloodshed and gladly so just to convince others. Only now...

The paladin bowed her head, her long disheveled forelocks falling limp before her eyes. "I came here to arrest you," she confessed. "That is why I came."

"Ever the hypocrite, aren't you?" He turned to face her directly for the first time in their exchange, flashing his trademark smirk. "You never change." He shook his head. â€œYou're going to haul me back to Ul'dah just so I can be tortured and left to rot in a gaol? I suppose that would be a surface definition of justice."

Roen glanced at Kiht, uncertainty in her eyes.

"Please.â€ The pirate snorted as he waved his hand toward the Keeper. â€œIf all you want is for me to die without having to get your own hands bloody, simply have Jakkya do it for you. She's right here. You can tell them that I resisted. That I ambushed both of you, and that arresting me simply wasn't an option." His tone and glare turned cold upon the paladin, almost daring her. "Nobody will ever know."

Roen straightened, resentment struggling against the reluctance in her heart. "I believed you wanted to bath the streets in blood as you fled to Othard."

"I did. I do." His gaze sharpened. "You never bothered to ask whose blood.â€

The paladin flared her nostrils, stepping towards him. "You think your aim is so sharp, but evil and violence oft do not discriminate once sparked, Nero. There would have been other casualties. Life is a life."

"Roen, he still gave them the guns.â€ Kiht shifted in her stance, and her firm tone clearly revealed that the Keeper had recognized the cracks in the paladinâ€™s resolve. â€œThey still plan to kill innocent people, and he still committed killings of his own. Choose a ground to stand on, Roen. Remember."

Nero glared at Roen. "If you're going to continue pretending that you believe in that farce you call justice, then just kill me yourself. Don't force someone else to break themselves for you. Again." He opened his arms out towards her. "I offered you twice before. Both times before, you balked at the idea."

Roenâ€™s hand trembled by her side. She did not want to reach for her sword. Her part of her refused, as she had at Lost Hope, then again at Crescent Cove. He had offered her a blade to kill him both times, to end his threat. She had refused. She believed that he was a better man, one that could be saved, one that could be turned from his violent course.

And nowâ€¦?

She glanced to Kiht. Was that not why she had brought her friend? But deep down, paladin knew she could not let the huntress do it.

"Just know this,â€ Neroâ€™s gaze bore into her. â€œThere is always going to be someone like me. As sure as the sun rises in the morning, there will always be someone who is pushed too far, pushed too hard, who has decided that standing by is no longer an option."

â€œ'Killing one innocent group to save another is not a 'right' thing to do.â€ Kihtâ€™s voice was clear and edged, as if trying to pierce through the paladinâ€™s haze of conflict. â€œRoen, his mind has been twisted."

"That's right, Roen,â€ Nero growled. â€œI'm irreparable. I'm beyond salvation, just like Ul'dah." With a bow of his head, he rotated in his seat on the box to face both of them. He pulled back his hood to reveal an ugly wound above his right eye, one that had been hidden thus far. The paladin could tell it was patched hastily as it oozed pus from the poorly-done stitches.

"Put me out of my misery. I'm dying a slow death, just like that wretched city."

Roen could not help but stare at the wound with some measure of horror, her eyes flickering a look to Kiht. There was as silent plea to her friend. Her heart was pounding with indecision.

"Remove me now, and you remove the threat. You fix the problem.â€ The pirate stood up from his seat, his stance belligerent. "What's the matter? It's simple, isn't it? I am a threat to you and everything you stand for, everything you hold precious. I am the symbol of the wrongness you seek to correct, the injustice that you've failed to set right."

The paladin grimaced to calm the trembling of her lower lip. One hand shot to the hilt of the sword at her side as he loomed over her.

"Tis not about justice,â€ Kiht called out to her, tension also tightening her voice. â€œTis about making sure he does not do it again. Turn him over to Osric. He could be back again to do this shite again, Roen."

â€œDon't run away!â€ He was now shouting. "I'm a monster, made by people like you, made by people who are content to turn a blind eye whenever it suits them!â€

Her fingers clenched around the hilt, but her arm felt leaden. She could not unsheathe the blade. She stared at him eyes wide, her head unwittingly shaking side to side.

"You're going to add Osric to the list, too? Who's next? Who else is going to ravage themselves to defend you from something you don't want to be responsible for?" He spat at her. "I swear to you. I will return, and if Ul'dah has not found its way, if the Jewel of the Desert continues to stamp on those it deems worthless, I will raze it to the ground. I will destroy it completely, utterly, and trample on the ashes."

â€œStop. STOP! Stop SAYING that! You are just trying to--â€ Roen found herself shaking.

The pirate's voice was full of vehement rage as he continued. "The city is dying. It must be allowed to die and croak its last breath. Only then can it ever have a hope of being renewed!" He glared down at her. "But that's against everything you stand for, isn't it, Sultansworn!? You can live with yourself, you can condemn those people to a lifetime of slow death, as long as your conscience is clean!"

"A beast, no matter what made it, is dangerous.â€ Kiht growled. â€œDo not let him make you think you are unjust simply because you will not kill innocent people like he has."

"Then why not do it?" His voice took on an eerie calm. "We are alone. Jakkya understands you. Simply remove your sword..." He made a motion to an imaginary blade at his side. "And put it here." He tapped his chest, where his heart would be. "Nobody will know. Your honor will be clean. Nobody will know that you killed a defenseless man. Nobody will truly know how much pain you enabled. Nobody will know what it is you did for the 'greater good'." He spat the last phrase derisively.

Nero's face, now contorted in pain, twisted into an ugly grin, a diseased caricature of his once carefree smirk. "Nobody will ever know that in that last instant, you knew that I was right, and that you were wrong.â€

Roen felt heat rise to her cheeks and moisture well in her eyes; her hand upon her blade shook with coiled tension. "I curse the day I met you. Not for my conscience. Not for my honor. But for those who died under that false belief that you could save Ul'dah. I curse the day that I believed you would prove me right." Her face twisted with anger and regret. "I already see that I was wrong all along."

The pirate threw his head back and laughed, his earrings jingling with the motion of his head. "If there is one thing you will soon learn, Roen Deneith, it is that there are some things worse than being killed. The pain of death...is nothing compared to the pain of life."

"I cannot let you raze Ul'dah." Her expression hardened. "I cannot let you do this again."

"I have only ever been the product of my circumstance."

"And for that...I am sorry..." Roen rasped.

"Then do it," he sneered, daring her.

Heavy silence fell between them, before a whisper of steel being drawn sliced through the air and the blade lunged. But it stopped just before his heart, its point quivering just an ilm away. The paladin gasped, as if disbelieving herself. Her face twisted in a deep frown, staring at the length of the blade accusingly.

The pirate merely stared at her unflinching, a spiteful look of disdain on his face. His pale eyes bore holes into her, and though he spoke no words, his judgement was loud as the largest bell. Your righteousness cannot save anyone, the memory of his words rang in her mind.

He lifted his left hand and slapped the blade away from him, uncaring or unaware of the gash that appears on his forearm that caught the edge of the blade. He turned away from the pair, waving his hand behind him in an expression of derision.

"Stand on a ground." Kihtâ€™s growl cut through the air.

The smuggler turned, spreading his arms. "It is fruitless, Jakkya. Roen has made her choice." He seemed oblivious to the stream of wet blood that ran down the length of his forearm, staining the bandages that had been crudely wrapped around it. â€œShe is content, to threaten everything she knows and loves, because the method is wrong. Because there must be another way.â€ Hateful echoes of ideals he despised escaped from his lips like a torrent of vapor. "And if she arrests me, all she is doing is killing me without taking responsibility for it. And she knows it."

He stared balefully at the paladin, his gaze filled with pity and disgust. "That is her way, after all. The way of her justice."

Roen stood, as if frozen in place, her sword arm suddenly heavier than it had ever felt. Could Iâ€¦?

From the corner of her eyes, the paladin spotted Kiht reaching for her spear. The look the Keeper gave Roen was one of a predator who has designated its mark.

"Do you want to risk him doing it again?â€ Kiht asked pointedly, through gritted teeth. â€œDo you think he has changed, Roen? Just answer that for me."

Roen felt herself grow cold, all blood draining from her face.

â€If it was someone like Taerosâ€¦I could.â€ Kihtâ€™s words came roaring through her memory. â€You are a Protector, Roen. Not a hunter.â€

Then another voice screamed at her. â€œPeople have always broken themselves, their ideals,their conscience, for your sake!â€

â€œSome of us had to bend. Some of us had to shed whatever righteousness we had left, all to do what was necessary. Some of us had to make deals with the devil for you.â€

â€œ...It was me.â€

Her sword dropped to the ground by her side, the metal clang almost painfully loud in the suffocating silence. Roenâ€™s hands felt numb.

"What will you do when there is an evil you cannot defeat by just means?" Nero called out to her. "Will you commit evil to destroy evil? Or will you remain steadfast and righteousâ€¦even if that means surrendering to evil?" Those were the very words he had asked her the first day they had met.

"I said...I would do it," Roen rasped. "If it would stop evil, once and for all." Her vision had blurred a little, and she blinked the moisture away as she looked to the man before her, his visage darkened with hatred and bitterness. â€œI guess that is you,â€ she said quietly.

"There is no evil!â€ Kiht was now yelling across the room, her spear drawn. â€œThere is no righteousness! There are just people, many of whom are innocent. Do you want him doing this again?! Is he innocent, Roen?!"

She took one step then another towards the man she once loved. Her steps came slow, heavy with regret.

"Are you going to hide again, Roen?â€ Nero remained still as the paladin began to approach him. â€œLet someone else bloody their hands for you? Will you ever stop running from what you know must be done?"

As she neared, his own vitriol gave way just a little, his voice lowering in her proximity. â€œSometimes, the ends donâ€™t justify the means. Sometimes, the bloodshed goes nowhere, the lives taken rendered meaningless.â€ His brows were furrowed with regret for a moment, before it twisted into something darker. â€œBut no matter what, I would rather commit evil, misguided and blind as it is, than to simply stand by and allow evil to happen.â€

One gauntlet was shed then the other. They dropped to the ground in a cloud of dust as Roen came to stand just a breath away from him. She tilted her head to regard his wounds, his numerous bandages that were more apparent now over his chest and body. Her bare hand hovered by the ugly wound above his eye. On any other day, aether would have been summoned at her fingertips to heal him, but on this day, no glow came. Nero stood still, meeting her gaze.

"You gave me hope,â€ the paladin murmured, nothing but sadness in her heart. â€œEven if it was only for a short time. And in your own way, you gave me something more. I will remember that."

The quiver to her lower lip returned and she looked upon him with her deepest regret. She leaned in, almost a tender gesture as her lips nearly brushed his cheek. "But I cannot let her do it," she whispered.

The second unsheathed length of steel did not whisper; it was silent, with only a glimmer of the orange glow that licked the metal blade spared by that single lamplight. It was a knife from her belt sheath.

"I suppose...this is my atonement." Roen thrust the knife upwards, through his ribcage. She knew exactly where his heart was beating. And in that moment, she understood. The sacrifices made to oneâ€™s own soul so that others may not suffer the same. To commit violence to end violence, because every other method had failed. She finally understood Neroâ€™s heart, just as she plunged a blade into it.

â€œI pity the events you will have to endure, Miss Deneith. I will not relish the day you understand why I act the way I do. ...Mayhaps you shall be stronger than I, when that day comes."

Nero gasped as the knife pierced through the soft bandages into his flesh. His left hand trembled; the fingertips sparking with violet aether, but nothing coalesced. His right hand instinctively struggled to reach the knife as he stumbled backwards, his legs failing him.

Roen stood immobile, paralyzed by the vision of the man dying before her. In one last, defiant instant, he curled his casual, easy smirk, even as blood bubbled from his mouth and spilled down his lips. He fell to one knee, his left hand still crackling with unstable aether. He gasped as he tried speak but naught emerged but a mouthful of blood. Then a last curl of his lip into a grinâ€¦one could almost call it satisfaction. The violet glow vanished from his hand.

The paladinâ€™s breath now only came in stuttered gasps, her head shaking unwittingly in a silent plea.

A heavy, ignominious thud greeted the ground, as his legs gave out and Nero fell to his side. Blood began to rapidly pool around his body. His ice blue eyes, once holding such sharp clarity and conviction, were now glazed over and milky with the transparent veil of death.

It was only after he fell limp that Roen rushed to his side, falling upon her knees. Her bloodied hands trembled as they hovered near his face then the growing stain on his chest. Her vision began to blur then burned as tears began to fall freely from her eyes.

â€œWhyâ€¦â€ She pleaded in between sobs that now rose, her hands closed into fists as she began to pound them against his chest in protest. â€œWhy?!â€ Again and again she pounded her fists on top of his lifeless body, until the paladin crumpled forward.

Her form shook as she wept, her arms wrapping around him in an embrace that came much too late.

Nero Lazarov would never answer. He was forever gone.

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What You Are In The Darkã€Completeã€‘

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What You Are In The Darkã€Completeã€‘