Confessions Of A Ghaele

[*A. Thereal]

Basic Information
Name: Nero Urbane
Pronunciation: neer-oh ur-beyn
Aliases: The Detective, Cheese Monger, White Rose
*Birthdate: Retributus, 101 Year of HaskarÂ’s Reign
*Birthplace: Shaelas Tiraleth, Feywild, Arborea
Gender: Male
Race: Ghaele
*Age: 30
Faction: Free League (Non-Factioner)
Profession: Detective, Avenger, Healer, Cheese Monger
Accent: Exotic, harsh consonants, and softer vowels, often with subtly rolled RÂ’s. (Spanish)
*^{Present Incarnation}

Physical Information
Height: 7 ft (2.13 m)
Weight: 275 lb (124.7 kg)
Body build: Tall, muscular, and trim
Hair: White, jaw-length and worn free
Eyes: Violet, featureless and electric
Skin: Sun-bronzed, timeless, and heavily scarred

Appearance:
Nero strikes the distinct presence of a celestial. His long white hair is worn free, save the length caught in a band at the base of his skull, where the excess falls between his shoulder blades. Eyes that are featureless violet pools absorb his company and surroundings, and faintly glow with electric clarity. Noble features frame those unsettling eyes - a stern brow, a rugged nose, masculine cheekbones, and a strong jaw-line. But itÂ’s his full lips that most betray his mood, flashing devilish smiles or tight in cold fury.

Standing tall and gallant, he sports an impressive physique. Broad shoulders and robust chest sweep down to a taut belly and trim waist, his arms and legs are corded with thick, dense muscle, and he moves with the deliberate ease of a man accustomed to fitness. However, riddled across his powerful frame are the scars of a thousand battles and hardships, strokes of clean and rough lines criss-cross down his flesh from throat to foot, ruining his perfect visage.

Upon his right thigh he wears a harness armed with three large knives. The opposite hip sports a heavy revolver constructed of formic amber.

Mental Information
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Philosophy: “Whenever a separation is made between liberty and justice... neither is safe.”
Deity: Godless

Personality:

[u]Arrogant:[/u] Like all celestials, Nero behaves with a superior confidence in his abilities and his moral perception. This is most evident when matters of righteousness and freedom are involved. [u]Inquisitive:[/u] Nero suffers from untamed curiosity that often sees him getting into awkward or tense situations. Despite a long standing effort to curb this tendency, he remains a victim to enticing mysteries and secrets. [u]Passionate:[/u] Unable to engage in anything moderately, Nero throws himself into all things full tilt. Investigations, battle, sex and all things between are treated with nothing less the the full vigor of his wild emotions. [u]Urbanized:[/u] Unlike many of his eladrin brethren, Nero has adapted to city life. He readily prefers to stalk streets and alleys, rather than explore the wilderness. [u]Wrathful:[/u] Built as an engine of violence against all things wicked, NeroÂ’s wrath is something even he can hardly control. At its least, his features darken into murderous rage, but at its most it manifests into a storm of fury. [/li]

Additional Information
General Health: Immortal
Core Ability: Strength 42
Favored Weapon: Ranseur

[*A. Thereal]

It was a simple book, bound in worn leather, the pages only just beginning to yellow with age. “I can ward it for a fee,” offered Minerva, when Nero had made the purchase, but the ghaele had declined and paid her the coppers she asked, then returned to his place at the Weary Spirit. Unlike so much in the City of Doors, the plain leather was unresponsive of magic when he rested his bare fingers atop the volume, and he found peace in that. Here was a thing unbound to the world, that would not leave a mark if destroyed, and could not judge if abused. It was a sort of freedom. Without further delay he flipped open the cover to reveal the first naked page, took up his favored fountain pen, and set thought to paper.

I wonÂ’t waste time remarking on my decision to keep a journal, and will simply get to it.

Sigil
IÂ’ve returned again after a rough year of travel, and even though IÂ’ve been here for about a month now I still canÂ’t pin down the reason why. Regardless, thereÂ’s a certain familiarity in the fluid city and her peoples that reminds me of who I was, and brings to sharp relief who IÂ’ve become. That same comparison applies to the people that I once knew, old faces that made Sigil special, many of whom still linger for their own reasons, and whom I now hardly recognize. There are new names mixed among the players of my past, and for better or worse SigilÂ’s new adventuring cast has breathed a life into it beyond anything I recall.

For all of that, Sigil is still Sigil. The Factions have managed to survive, adding another year of bloat to the stagnating corpse of politics. Khazeet’s cliché bar and grille remains the unofficial headquarters to the adventuring crowd, its own proof that booze, gossip, and sex are both route and reward to fame and success. And all the existential refuse across worlds continues to dump into the Hive. I’ve returned to the district I know best of all, and for all the city I find these warrens least changing. I could decide to resume my work as if I never left.

Perhaps.

Nyrralah & Myrra
The two most surprising individuals that IÂ’ve encountered are the two with whom my past mostly tightly intertwines. Both of my former wives have grown since last I saw them, Nyrralah truly blossoming into the avatar of peace she always wanted to be, and Myrra discovering her career in the sales of precious gems. More than anyone IÂ’ve ever known I trust that the former will thrive regardless of what life throws at her, but in Myrra I can still see the scars I caused as easily as if they were etched upon her flesh.

She has told me numerous times that IÂ’m forgiven.

But I cannot forgive myself.

The pain I caused her in my inexperience and selfishness has grown into my first true regret, and one that I believe IÂ’ll carry with me into whatever immortal eternity awaits.

Rond
I find RondÂ’s amicable manner free of expectations, and his hair is stylish to a fault. WeÂ’ve apparently picked up as if familiar and cordial associates, but for the life of me I canÂ’t remember ever having met him before now.

Kala & Nienna
IÂ’ve conversed with the two women I clashed with most in the past and find them as changed as I. KalaÂ’s confrontational manner has subsided, and so has mine, so for the first time in years weÂ’re actually able to speak and hear one another. She still insists that her romance with the fiend Katarina was a wholesome thing, but beyond that we might manage civility.

She marries soon. She has my best wishes.

Nienna has similarly grown, and though she still exploits every opportunity to insult me, the fabric of her cut has become less spiteful and more ironic. For the Slayer thatÂ’s a remarkable improvement. She still manages to capture the hearts of women with a taste for their own gender and damaged souls, but thus far IÂ’ve only seen Nienna remain cold to the most obvious advances. ItÂ’s none of my business, and I think this time around she and I might be able to live and let live.

Tammy & Abigail
Alone, either of these two are interesting but IÂ’m reluctant to delve deeper. Tammy herself is charming, and her interrogations are enjoyable, but sheÂ’s too harmless in her manner to be sincere. ThereÂ’s something secretive about her, and just speaking with her ignites my curiosity to discover what it is.

Abigail, on the other hand, is perhaps the most open individual IÂ’ve ever encountered. Quick to declare her implicit trust or her want to devour others, she is her own personal herald. Though a vampire, she reminds me more of a child, but IÂ’ll refrain from categorizing her as harmless.

Together the two seem more like a skillfully written comic dialogue. More than once IÂ’ve caught a smile creeping up for their antics.

Brindas
IÂ’m uncertain what my thoughts are regarding the good doctor. I admire his work, and canÂ’t remember anyone making such a great effort to assist those in need since Abigail Winters. ItÂ’s likely due to their common faith in Ilmater. However, Brindas is a rather dramatic man. While I canÂ’t fault that in and of itself, because IÂ’m guilty of the very same, IÂ’m skeptical of the driving force behind it. Like many of the pastÂ’s most abrasive adventurers, he exhibits destructive hypocrisy.

I’ll forestall any personal judgments – I’ve made that mistake before and it serves no one – and continue to observe, and if I can, attempt to guide him onto a more beneficial path. However, I can’t deny that he strongly reminds me of a man whose name I won’t write in this journal.

Krystelle
IÂ’ve done a very human thing in taking on the project of Krystelle, and though my nature compels me assist a fellow celestial in such need as hers, I canÂ’t deny that deep down I know sheÂ’s an attempt to make some manner of amends for my mistakes with Myrra. She makes marked progress, but between the rewarding moments of her small triumphs over her own past, I must remind myself that the pettiness of my personal motivation doesnÂ’t undo the benefit of our work together.

IÂ’ve taken Krystelle on as my ward, because it seems IÂ’m incapable of doing anything in moderation. The process is gradual and cautious, but she does improve and IÂ’m hopeful that in time sheÂ’ll make a full recovery. I believe that our work at the Weary Spirit helps her, and I expose her to every opportunity that I deem safe, and have apparently fallen victim to over-protectiveness thatÂ’s surprising even to myself.

Others have criticized my decision to work with Krystelle, rightfully comparing it to Myrra and assuming that IÂ’ll do as much damage now as I did then. I donÂ’t begrudge them their suspicion, and take private comfort in that Krystelle arouses nothing within me save the need to help an innocent soul in need.

Odette
It doesnÂ’t require a detective to see how special Odette is.

Nero coursed over his first entry, once and then again for good measure, his expression shifting in sync with each of his personal thoughts made real for the writing. Finally satisfied, he tucked away his pen, shut his new journal, and rose from his seat. For a moment he second guessed himself in the decision to not ward the vulnerable leather and paper, but quickly dispelled it with a resolute breath. The best protection that he could afford was his own person, and so he slid the small book away into a magical belt pocket.

[*A. Thereal]

The dust that had settled over the Weary Spirit Infirmary had been knocked away. Empty stores had been replenished, water barrels filled, and old tables repaired and cleaned. Beyond the small food pantry, the surgery itself had been restored to the organized arrangement of bygone days. Nero sat and enjoyed the peace of it, but it was he alone. None of the infirmaryÂ’s pantry workers or nurses had returned, and not one of the needy patrons had visited for a bowl of soup or crust of bread. Frowning at the lonely shelter, Nero produced his favored fountain pen and small journal to record his thoughts.

The Weary Spirit

I would much prefer the opportunity to apologize in person, but without that option I suppose I should write it. At least in this admission it can exist outside my own head.

IÂ’m sorry, Abby. IÂ’ve failed your trust.

You left the clinic in my care, and I in turn left it neglected. Without my protection it was vulnerable to attack, and almost every soul that you carefully nurtured was murdered. There is one survivor, but his mind has gone. The details are obscure, but IÂ’ve made the investigation my top priority.

In the meantime Krystelle has adopted the care for the clinic as her own cause. I think she takes some comfort in the structure of returning it to working order, but no one has arrived to take advantage of her hospitality. The memory of murder keeps them away, and the clinic has become just another empty grave in the cemetery that is the Hive. I wish you were here. I know you could fix this.

I will find those responsible. I canÂ’t give them the forgiveness that I know you would, and for that I again apologize. There will be terrible justice.

Brindas

I made an attempt to speak with Brindas recently and he listened with all the open-minded reception of a diehard Factioner. That is to say, with none at all. The conversation eventually reduced to his criticising my judgment, purely based on my reputation as a womanizer. I didnÂ’t engage.

Instead I attempted to strike a chord that I knew would resonate within him, but I think that I only made things worse. The last time I saw him he was arguing with Odette. Though I wanted to leave the two to their own business, I couldnÂ’t stand by when she became openly distraught, and so I approached to calm the doctor. It backfired again, and he left with curses and accusations on his tongue.

He has been missing since. If he doesnÂ’t reappear soon IÂ’ll add him to my list of investigations, if at least to confirm his safety.

Krystelle

My ward continues to make progress. SheÂ’s indicated that the regiment ingrained into her has become a craving for structure, and itÂ’s proven a delicate thing in navigating that need while inspiring the seeds of free will. On the other hand, it could be not that her conditioning has instilled a need for structure, but that her nature as a half-archon is finally being allowed to arise. Though she hasnÂ’t advanced beyond the most logical of decision making abilities, and still fails to grasp concepts such as like and dislike, she has been increasingly more emotional in her behavior.

IÂ’m afraid that the two major players so far are fear and sadness. I probably shouldnÂ’t be surprised, considering her past, but theyÂ’re discouraging tools to work with. Odette and I attempted to give her a beginnerÂ’s lesson in humor - and I made an utter fool of myself in the process - but even our most outrageous antics failed to elicit a response.

There is, however, a ray of hope in that Krystelle has developed the ability to trust certain individuals. Of those she considers to be safe, I know of her psychologist Kimira, Brindas, Odette, and myself. IÂ’ve taken to regularly introducing her to the people who I trust in hopes that the trend can continue. Trust is fragile, but itÂ’s more wholesome than fear and sadness.

Odette

Do not underestimate this woman.

Nero left the scrawled page open long enough for the black ink to dry, while his attention was lured aside to gaze longingly at the kitchen. A moment later, decision made and jaw set, he closed his journal and slipped it away. Long strides carried him toward stove and cookware, he took stock of the vegetables that filled a nearby bushel, and finally he reached for a large pot. Perhaps the aroma of hot vegetable soup would bring the needy back into the Weary Spirit.

[*A. Thereal]

The door was shut. It had been for days, the dust settled upon the old wooden floor revealing not a trace of the occupant coming or going. Nero stood but a stride away, gaze affixed on the metal knob, and debated his options. Krystelle and whatever she suffered during her recovery was his responsibility. Filling his lungs with musty air, he paid himself a resolute nod and moved to lean up against and speak through the door.

“Krystelle. I know it hurts, and I wish that could heal your pain but… I can’t. I promise that it will pass though, and if you’ll let me I’ll teach you how to embrace it. Even if it’s hard for you to believe right now, sadness can be a beautiful thing.

“You weep for Brindas, I know. He was your friend, and I’m sure that he departed for good reasons. You can trust that, and take some comfort in it, because if you couldn’t you wouldn’t be so hurt. Your pain is a testament of how much he meant to you, and that makes it special. Soon it’ll fade, and you’ll be happy when you remember him.

“I can’t tell you how hopeful I am for you. That a friend’s departure should weigh so heavily on you speaks of a tender heart, and a tender heart can always be saved. You’re on your way, Krystelle. Your tears may burn, but a week ago your cheeks were cold as stone. Perhaps next week they’ll dimple for a smile.

“We won’t give up. I won’t go anywhere. Not this time.

“Please come out. At least long enough to eat.”

Since she had locked herself within he hadnÂ’t once tried to force the door. It would have been a simple thing to snap the latch, splinter the panels, or even shed his flesh and pass through unhindered. Any of those unwelcome invasions would have hurt Krystelle even more than the DoctorÂ’s leaving the Cage. So, patiently the ghaele stood by and watched the knob for movement from within.

[*A. Thereal]

The Foul Olde Spirit was packed to bursting with adventurers all who had scrambled inside, chased by the sludge that served as a poor excuse for Sigil's rain. Tucked away in a corner table, Nero sat alone, wiping black tar from his features and frowning at the ruined kerchief. A sigh preceded the toss of the small garment into the roaring fire, and the ghaele produced his new journal. The others in the common room took up tales, set beer to thirsty lips, traded boastful achievements, but Nero quietly etched his thoughts in ink.

That was my favorite handkerchief.

Krystelle
If I were to compare my ward to a child, I would have to say that she's entered that stage of human teenage years, when she wants attention if and when she asks for it, but otherwise wishes to be left alone. The transformation from what she was into what she is wasn't an easy one. She must have cried for a week straight, behind a locked door, and seemed to believe more then than ever that she's a burden on me. Reassurances didn't seem to help. I could only watch, speak words that felt inadequate, and hope that somehow she survived the ordeal emotionally intact.

The woman who finally emerged seems more whole than she was, but also wears sadness like a cloak. Krystelle has discovered regret and grief and they've come with tears. Many tears. Now she busies herself more than usual around the infirmary, and I've never seen the place so clean. We haven't hosted a single Hiver yet, but everyday she keeps the kitchen ready, the stoves hot, water boiling and ready for soup making.

When I first took her on, I thought she would eventually become a champion of justice, employing her skill set to defend what's right and good. Now when I look at her I see the same resignation that made Abby such a tragic woman. But where Abby was at peace with her burden, Krystelle might collapse beneath it. I'll do everything I can to prevent that from happening.

Vyse
Vyse is a bard, a tiefling, and one of Odette's men. Like all of her circle he distrusts me, but he seems unique in being the only one so adamant on judging me based on what he's heard, while the others are willing to compare my reputation against my actions. Because he's Odette's closest friend, and because he seems a sincere man, I do want to dispel his suspicion. So far, I'm failing miserably.

I've made several attempts simply to speak and connect with the man. The first was probably one of  my finest blunders. Vyse spoke with conviction, and I retorted with machismo and passive-aggression. Ironic mix, no wonder it made things worse. The second time may have gone slightly better, but was completely undermined by something he heard me say to a third party. Again, my mouth. The third time I tried to keep things as impersonal as I possibly could, and while he didn't seem offended, he also wasn't very receptive.

I'm probably trying too hard.

Dace
I've had the opportunity to watch Dace grow from the day he arrived until present, and it's been an interesting experience. Despite obvious links to fiends, things I've heard him say, power I've seen him use, he usually tried to do the right thing. I think. He and I were never very close, but we weren't complete strangers either.

Now we're starting to interact together and he confessed to me that I'm difficult to work with. This is probably true. I'm opinionated, stubborn, arrogant, and beyond personal shortcoming I do make it more challenging to deal with fiends on any level, even by necessity. Despite all of that, he's permitted me the opportunity to join into an investigation, simply for my asking. I don't really understand why, but I'm grateful. In the future, I'll try to show my gratitude by not making things so difficult.

Odette
Odette So far Odette is a good investigative partner.

Thoughts
I've always been the sort of man who owns his words and actions and will live with the consequences. Until now, I've worn this like armor, and was content enough to be a pariah among certain circles. It always seemed to me that those who took the time to look deeper invariably decided that that I'm a worthy person. It split my world between the hostile and the friendly, with no middle ground, and I was alright with that.

For the first time that dichotomy has been blurred, and now I can't be so cavalier. My brash moments are getting in the way of the things I want to do for the sake of others. It's a strange thing to think, stranger still to write, but I must grow up now and start acting the part I've_______

The table lurched beneath the blade of Nero's favorite pen, scoring a long gash where he had been writing. "Sorreh, halo! Right sorreh I am," muttered the guilty party, already backing off with a unmistakable drunken wobble. Nero watched, read the fear in the human's eyes, the alarm of a man who recognized a celestial and considered them dangerous and unknowable.

Swiftly tucking away his journal and pen, Nero swept up the spilled tankard the drunkard had left behind and assured, "It's alright. Let me get you another."