Rudabeh's loud, stern voice rolls over the crowded jousting list. Her ruling is met with a chorus of boos and jeers, mixed with angry whistles. They had come to watch men get smashed into mud and while they had got it, Rudabeh seemed to be condemning such exciting activity. Fists are shaken at her and cries of "Let them ride!" sounding in her ears.
Radelfo groans and, either not hearing Goldwin or ignoring him says, "I can barely ride as it is." he coughs, a wet sound and adds, 'I yield, Irovetti can pound sand, for all I care."
Close up, Rudabeh examines the parade armor that covers his top half. While it is well made, it is heavy and cumbersome. A roll, such as the one she had just done and considered routine among warriors, would be impossible in this armor. The joints are poorly fitted, design to reveal the intricate gilding and ornamentation, not to provide freedom of movement. Worst of all, some of the artwork is engraved not embossed, making the armor stupidly thin.
Goldwin, for his part, rides up, barely keeping his horse in check. He raises his visor showing an incensed face covered in a thick brown beard. "Unchivalrous?! I knocked him off his horse, just as the King demanded! How dare you impugn my honor, you ...you...ill-bred wetskin!" He throws the slur with vigor and obvious pleasure.
The term is common in Avistan as an insult to undine but rare in the River Kingdoms. The semi-aquatic nature of the landscape made Rudabeh's people both accepted and respected, even if not common. It is a dire insult and would be guaranteed to start violence throughout the Inner Sea.
Looking at the crowd in confusion, she briefly wonders why they were upset considering she had every intention of letting the men ride another pass. Then, she remembered, that none of these people had ever seen a joust before, and didn't even know that the pointy end of the lance was the part that was supposed to make contact.
A realization blossoms within her that maybe she cannot win a popularity contest with The Kingdom of the Free, at least not with her current mannerisms.
Rudabeh turns and looks up as Goldwin rides to their position, one of her thin azure eyebrows quirking at his easy and satisfying use of one of the worst racial slurs against her people. Thankfully her heritage also blessed her with supreme control of her emotions, allowing her to be as excited, upset, or calm as she needed at any time.
Placing her hands on the faulds of her breastplate, she calmly and clearly explains her ruling, his insults seeming to slide off her "wetskin" like oil even if inwardly she had already marked him as an idiot and a bigot with the same stability as Irovetti. She was a paladin of Alseta, and treated all equally even if they did not afford her the same respect. "Goldwin, you did not sweep your lance on purpose. I saw it slip from your armpit. If you had done it intentionally, which disrespects your opponent and is thus unchivalrous, I would have disqualified you immediately. Do not let it happen again. Keep your arm clenched on your lance when it is horizontal, and only hit them with the tip. How you hit your opponent in jousting is more important than whehther or not you do hit them. If you feel your lance becoming unstable, drop it and veer off." Her voice is dry and instructional; she truly was trying to make him better understand the competition, though she wondered if there was any point.
"In addition, congratulations." Is her last dry comment before turning around and raising her fist in the air. "LORD RADELFO THE FOX YIELDS, LORD GOLDWIN THE WHITE IS VICTORIOUS!"
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The interplay of emotions across Goldwin's face is amusing to Rudabeh, even if she can only see through his open visor. Her cold and try tone obviously elicits rage from the haugty man who apparently is used to more deference. Ont he other hand she loudly declares him the winner, and the crowd starts to cheer his name, obviously viewing this as a victory over Rudabeh's ruling. Many probably think the knight intimidated her into 'changing her mind'. After the twin emotions of pleasure and rage vie for a few moments, the former wins out. Grinning he says, grandly, "Very well then, arbiter." he adds an unpleasant edge to the last word. He canters off, barely able to stay on his horse.
After a getting his bearings Radelfo follows behind on foot, creaking like a broken wheelbarrow but the man makes his way to the end of the lists, horse having gone there long since. It amuses the paladin that the horses, imported, are probably more experienced then the riders.
The buffoonish atmosphere vanishes however, as the next riders are announced and emerge. The first is a slight figure, clearly a young man not much past being a boy. He clings to his horse for dear life but manages to get to his assigned place without much trouble. It is the other rider that gives Rudabeh pause.
"High Commander of the Unconquerable Legions of Pitax, Lord Rennert!" Rennert himself appears next, astride a powerful black horse that looks quite different then the rest. His armor too is full plate and covers him head to toe, a wall of black steel. No parade armor for him, his family must have been rich enough to buy their own. While obviously not a accustomed rider, a natural athleticism seems to let him master the hose without much trouble and the lance does not waver in his grip.
Rudabeh walks back to her position near the middle of the list, watching the next two riders approach. She started to see a trend: another young man that was clearly inexperienced, barely able to stand on his horse. Maybe if they can't hit one another, no one will die.
Of course, the trend was immediately bucked as soon as she lays eyes on the large figure in solid black full plate astride what was clearly a finely bred war horse. Her eyebrows slowly raise as they announce Dravos' title, and she briefly sucks in her azure lips in thought. That young man is dead if Dravos hits him.
Taking a deep beath, she looks over to Lord Rennert's opponent, and touches her brooch. "Alseta, please, protect this young man from death, for he is merely doing as his King directs and does not know the danger he is placing himself in." She says in a quiet prayer to her goddess before raising her hand, flat-palmed, in the air.
"RIDERS ON YOUR READY!" The undine shouts, glancing between the two horses to check their status, before making a fist and dropping it from the air. "CHARGE!"
Perhaps Alseta woul be merciful today, or she would defer to her paladins and priests.
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Her prayer vanishes into the thick, excitement laden air. Tradition held that Alseta saw over all challenges and community events so she should be watching yet....a muddy field where men hammer on each other like blacksmiths did not readily bring to mind the Welcomer. Even Hanspur tended to deride such pointless contests and violence. This joust was not of the River Kingdoms.
When Rudabeh calls the joust, both men move forward, lances held out front. To her surprise the slight Benek manages to hold the horse on course and even manages to lower the lance properly. Rennert for his part is as sure and steady as a mountain, lance held in a steel grip. Both are aiming for the other's shield and Rudabeh begins to hope that Rennert may be pleased with a simple un-horsing of his foe.
The two armored men hurtle at each other, flinging up clods of earth and sod. The horses lungs work like bellows, legs pumping at full speed. The clanging of jostling armor fills the space, like a cart full of iron rolling down a steep slope. Closer and closer, lances flexing under the stress, each aimed at the other's shield...
Then, just before impact, Rennert's lance dips low heading to his opponents waist. While Benek's lance glances harmlessly off Rennert's shield, the black knights lance tip slides down the fauld of his foe's armor and then stabs deep into the unprotected thigh.
Ina n instant the smaller man is thrown off his horse and slams into the ground face first. The crowd roars in approval as Rennert does a victory lap around the lists, fist raised to the crowd, a shattered lance in the other. Even Irovetti stands up to wave his favor and approval.
Benek lays motionless on the ground, but even at a distance Rudabeh can see torn flesh and gushing blood into the dark, damp earth. The leg contained many major arteries Rudabeh knew, and slicing even one of them would kill a man. Jamming a full lance and snapping it off was beyond dangerous.
Rudabeh nearly gets caught up in the excitement as the two jousters perfectly charge and lower their lances, and for a few seconds it looks like this was going to be a proper joust. Something inside of her, the most untrusting part of her, makes her track Dravos' lance tip as he holds it steadily in the air.
As if in slow motion she watches Lord Rennert's lance dip, her body immediately reacting on its own at the sight. She flings her hand out in a panic, fruitlessly yelling "STOP!", the sound lost as 10 pounds of wood jams and splinters into Benek's thigh.
Rudabeh has already started running by the time the young man hits the ground, her head turning towards the pair of brown-robed figures by the stands. "PRIESTS!" She quickly beckons them, coming to a skidding halt directly next to Rennert's opponent.
Collapsing into a kneeling position, her greaves sink into the mud while her hands are thrown into the mass of crimson meat that was once Benek's thigh. White light erupts from her palms and fingers, channeling the holy energies of Alseta in a desperate attempt to prevent the young man from dying.
Rudabeh leans over the young man, turning him over with ease despite his armored weight. His hip is completely torn apart, blood gushing everywhere. Ripped tendons and sliced muscles slide apart as jagged white bone reveals itself, cracked and shattered. Rudabeh has no healing background but it quickly becomes apparent to her that the injury is catastrophic, and Rennert has completely destroyed the man's hip.Placing her armored gauntlets on him, she sends a surge of healing power into the gaping wound. To her untrained eye nothing happens, trauma too vast, the injury too severe.
Out of the corner of her eye she spots the two brown-robed healers hurrying up. The Alesta priests, one an older man and the other a younger woman, kneel down beside her. With practiced ease they brush Rudabeh aside, and lean over the wounded man. After only a few minutes the man looks up at Rudabeh and shakes his head.
"He had lost too much blood. That, combined with the shock..." The younger woman shakes her head, neat curls bouncing. "He is already passed....I am sorry." Both her and the man begin a prayer to Alseta, to watch over this man on his final transition, on the last journey.
Rennert trots over, still astride his horse. He lifts his visor, calling, "What is the news, arbiter? Surely a victory?"
Rudabeh feels a pit form in her stomach as nothing happens when she channels positive energy directly into the wound. Something always happens, even when she herself felt on the edge of death. Which means...
The undine mechanically moves out of the way as the healers, rising from the ground and staring into the slowly expanding, dirty, hematic puddle formed from a mixture of blood and mud. Her face is set like a statue, eyes widened ever so slightly in a far-off stare as she contemplates whether or not this young man's death was her fault, Irovetti's, Dravos's, or the cruel machinations of some manifestation of chaos she was supposed to defeat.
Minutes pass as many arguments for and against what actions to take next circle in her mind, thoughts slowly driven into a whirlpool by the currents of rage beating against the apathetically neutral emotional barriers within her. The swirling anger does not break or spill over the carefully constructed dams of her oaths and convictions, but it does coalesce into a single point; Dravos must pay for his actions, or be brought too justice.
Dull, light blue eyes flicker to the older man as he speaks, and then the younger woman, the delivery of their completely expected news not moving a muscle on her face. "Thank you for trying." She says quietly, without surprise.
Rudabeh half-turns when Dravos approaches, looking up into his eyes. While his are flush with excitement, hers are cold and hardened into sapphires. "Benek is dead, Dravos. You killed him when you aimed for his thigh instead of his shield. Your bloodlust has robbed a mother of their son, a family of their future, and Pitax of a hopeful youth." Her voice is laced with barely contained disgust.
Completely uninterested in anything he has to say in response, she turns on her heel and begins walking towards the stands, ignoring Dravos. "Please excuse me, I must announce the results."
She walks across the muddy field with indefatigable purpose, coming to a stop in front of the stands. "Citizens of Pitax!" She announces, spreading her arms wide. "I am Rudabeh of Outsea, Paladin of Alseta and Representative of the Pact of Years. Your King, His Supreme and Inimitable Magnificence, Castruccio Irovetti, allowed me the great honor of judging his grand joust." The paladin's voice is clear, masterfully enunciating every syllable.
Her arms falls to her sides, and she begins to slowly walk in front of the stands, looking into each one of the faces of the assembled peoples. "This is an exciting sport practiced by honorable knights in the lands far from the River Kingdoms, where ones conduct is as important as athletics, a way of life known as chivalry. A concept your King sought to bring to Pitax so that you, the people, could benefit from its nobility acting with honor and distinction. But this is no longer a game, and there is no hope for chivalry in this fine land if what I just witnessed continues to take place unpunished."
Rudabeh's voice suddenly changes, its edges hard and accusatory. "Benek of House Brocklehurst is dead." A pause before her voice continues to ramp up in volume and emotion, displaying her race's unique ability to suddenly accerlate their emotions between complete calm and barely restrained anger in a matter of seconds. "He lies in a pool of broken bones and visera, purposefully caused by THIS MAN!" She points behind her, directly accusing Dravos before continuing to speak in a fevered mezzo-saprona.
"I witnessed Dravos Rennert purposefully lower his lance moments before impact, intentionally directing it into Benek's unarmored thigh instead of his shield. It was no mistake he sought to maim or kill his opponent. How do I know?" She hypothetically asks the crowd in a loud voice, stalking in front of them. "I personally witnessed Dravos' brutality and sadism last night at an instituion known as The Bloody Barrel. There he beat people that make up your friends and your family to within an inch of their life, taking pleasure in permanently maiming or disabling them while subverting the natural laws of your society for his own sadistic pleasure. Before you stands a monster in the form of a human, one whose sadistic soul is so deformed with wickedness and chaos that Lamashtu or Rovagug would gladly accept it into their fold. If he does not pay for his crimes against you and Benek, who will be next to suffer?! Whose parents will be without their son, whose family will be without an heir?!" The paladin shouts, decrying and publically denouncing Dravos's very existance.
She turns to face the General of Pitax's "armies", who has surely approached to defend himself by now. Standing tall, her voice has mostly calmed; now it is a serious and steady meter of a judge passing a sentence. "Dravos Rennert, not only are you disqualified from this tournement for unchivalrous behavior, but, by the power invested in me by Alseta, I hereby convict you of the crime of voluntary manslaughter. You have robbed a young man of his life and his future, and you must give it back. I give you one week to completely fund and oversee raising Benek from the dead by whatever means necessary, or you will share his fate." It was an expensive sentence, but she had already estimated the family could afford it.
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There is one moment of pristine silence after Rudabeh's words roll out, her voice reaching every ear on the field as surely as if she had used magic herself. One final moment of calm tranquility hangs in the air and Rudabeh can even hear a snatch of birdsong from the nearby forest. It is as if Alseta herself has given Rudabeh a final instant, one last chance to take a breath before the plunge.
Then many things happen at once.
The crowd explodes with roars of agreement at the paladin's words. On edge for days, tensions rising due to the Festival, fueled by drink and drug, whipped up by Tamora, the people of Pitax are a powder keg ready to explode. And Rudabeh just lit a match. The angry cries of the crowd rise like a storm, and she sees people pressing at the edge of the list, the wooden barricade cracking under the strain. Tankards, rocks, bits of the stands are taken up and thrown onto the field. Mingled with the inchoate roar, Rudabeh can hear charges and crimes leveled at Rennert's feet. The noble is not a popular man and finally Rudabeh has given voice to the outrage that trails him like a wake. The noise of the crowd is not only of rage, but of riot of a citizenry ready to damn the consequences.
Closer at hand Rennert merely looks stunned for a moment, eyes wide. Then the narrow, face hard and he raises his shattered lance. Sunlight glitters dully on his black armor. "You what? Convict me?" he stands up straight and begins to aim his armored steed directly at the paladin, "I'd like to see you make me-" He levels his broken weapon at her but then stops, obviously distracted by something behind Rudabeh.
Turning Rudabeh sees a new figure emerging from the open end of the list. To her surprise it is the hulking warrior from the Kingdom of the Free, her bastard sword held in one massive fist. She isn't wearing the full plate like the other knights, just a simple breastplate and helm, but looks all the more impressive for it. Rippling muscles gleam in the sun as she marches across the muddy list, moving quickly and easily despite the weight of weapons and armor. In a seeming moment she is standing at Rudabeh's side, staring at Rennert with hard, uncompromising eyes.
"There will be none of that, Sir Knight." The woman says sarcastically, her voice a deep rich alto. "You are a fool, a bully and a murderer Rennert. Listen, the people know it too."
Around them the crowd rises in tension, everyone standing now, holding some impromptu weapon. Many of the barricades are broken now and the crowd looks poised to rush the lists.
A flicker of doubt crosses Rennert's face, as he weighs having to fight two warriors of obvious skill. Before he says anything however, Rudabeh hears a voice in her ear.
"What have you done!" To her shock it is Irovetti's voice, spoken like a whisper. Startled she turns to the Royal Box and spies the King standing, hands clenching the front rail. Behind him, Rudabeh notes is Rennert's mother, standing stricken. In her ear, obviously by some magic, the King goes on.
"What have you done? You have ruined the joust, and insulted the only true knight in Pitax over what was probably a mistake. This was supposed to be a triumph for both me and you, and it now it is a international fiasco. Did you not think to consult with me, the ruling sovereign before declaring one of my most trusted nobles an outlaw? Whatever your feelings, your rash actions have backed us all in a corner and upset everything! It had all been carefully arranged!"
Across the field, Rudabeh can see a swarm of people around Irovetti, guards, nobles, other officials. Clearly they want the King to make an official announcement, something to contain the crowd. Next to her the woman barbarian quickly eyes Rudabeh, as if trying to guess her next action.
The silence that follows Rudabeh's words is bizarre, and she truly does wonder if Alseta is watching right now... and what she thinks of all this.
The explosion of the crowd causes the paladin to recoil, as if stepping back from a great wave of heat off of a burning fire. Her mouth drops open slightly as she realizes what she has done; this uproar was what Tamora had been nurturing for the past two days. All she wanted was to see Dravos brought to justice, fulfilling her duty as a paladin for his misdeeds. But it seemed her sentiment had been shared among many...
The dagger she had hoped to disarm had been accidentally pulled from its sheath by her own hand.
Perhaps... She thinks in a surreal moment as Dravos levels her lance in her direction. This is what Veleda meant when she said she "Makes it all up as she goes along."
The sudden appearance of the barbarian woman is completely unexpected, but entirely welcome considering how Rudabeh had learned there was no way she could fight Dravos by herself the previous night. Even so, the growing and angry crowd could easily contain the man if it was needed, an instrument of fury at her direction.
Before she can make a decision on what to do with the man, Irovetti's voice is suddenly in her ear. She turns, looking up at the royal box, looking directly into the man's pinched face.
"Dravos is no knight." She replies in a whisper, assuming the communication was two-way. "His actions were no mistake." Rudabeh continues, her whispers pitched to be full of gravity. "I chose to uphold my oaths against chaos rather than let him kill or maim another person for his sick pleasure. This has gone beyond plans or personal gain!"
Her whispers continue, staring at the king from the field with an intensity borne of righteous conviction. "Now you must choose. Either embrace the will of the people and show them you will stand up for them by encouraging the administration of justice in the name of Alseta... or do nothing and watch as this angry mob tears apart Dravos and becomes further disconnected and discontent with your rule."
She turns her back to the King, left hand touching her holy symbol and looking at Dravos with a hard stare, her adrenaline pumping as the roars of the crowd and the threat of violence hangs in the air. "You will not accept my more lenient punishment, and the people have spoken waves of accusations against you. If you are next in line behind Benek at Pharasma's Boneyard, I suggest you apologize to him." The undine says coldly, her decision already made to end Dravos and rid the world of his sinister brand of chaos.
All Rudabeh hears in her ear is an exasperated growl and then Irvovetti goes silent, probably turning to one aide or another to try and salvage the deteriorating situation.
In front of her Dravos looks down on her, taking in her threats. There is a sense of resolution about him, a hardening of purpose, a tension before action.
Without warning the heavily armed woman in front of Rudabeh straightens. Her muscles tense out of her limber, comfortable stance. Although Rudabeh can only see the woman's back, she can see it harden into some type of unnatural rigor. Then, over the roar of the advancing crowd, the shouts and screams Rudabeh hears an unexpected sound. High pitched, manic laughter. An insane forced laughter and makes Rudabeh's ears twitch. Still clutching her sword the warrior falls to the ground, pounding the muddy earth with desperate blows. From behind her she can hear Irovetti's magically enhanced voice roar, "Lord Rennert, I command you to withdraw! Attend to your King!"
Then the strange moment passes and the woman sits up. She stares, not at Rennert but looks behind toward Irvoetti, a hate so blazing and powerful that Rudabeh winces.
Her attention snaps back to the black knight ahead of her. "It'll work out in the end.." Rennert mutters, slams his visor down and starts his charge. Shattered lance held tightly he turns his horse to trample the barbarian as well. But Rudabeh is ready.
"Fall!" The paladin barks, armored hand upraised, voice like iron. And to her wonder he does. Rennert falls out of the saddle with the sound of an iron mill falling into the river, a huge crash as he slams into the ground, the lance crumbling to bits.
A younger man, dressed in black livery runs into Rudabeh's field of view Rudabeh recognizes him as the lackey who vanished during Rudabeh wreslting match with Rennert. He looks terrified and out of his element, clutching a massive lucerne hammer and other gear, worthy of a squire. Even over the crowd Rudabeh can hear him shouting, "Master Rennert! The King says to retreat!"
All around her the crowd surges forward with a roar. Carrying boards, rocks and everything else they push forward onto the list, instantly churning up the grass into a field of endless mud. In only a few moments there are screaming, angry people everywhere. Confused and unsure Knights get mixed in with the roiling crowd, horses panicking. The smell of blood and smoke is on the air, the taste of it on every tongue.
Rudabeh watches briefly as the barbarian woman next to her seems to struggle with some sort of magical force, a bizzare laughter that makes her fan-like ears twitch and scrape against the inside of her helmet. She glances back at Irovetti, and wonders what other magical powers the king may hold... Kilarra was right when she said not to underestimate him.
When Rennert charges she forces the power of Alseta into her voice, taking command of Rennert's mind and instilling in it with an altogether foreign feeling; the order of Law. There was no pity in her eyes as the man falls face-down into the mud, and she quickly turns her head to the hulking woman standing next to her, voice edged with tension. "Please, help me dispatch this evil man." The paladin did not need Irovetti's permission, for her goddess had already provided it.
Rudabeh begins to advance on Dravos when his squire appears. Icy blue eyes turn on the young man, but for a moment her face flickers to one of sorrow. "Squire! Fufill your duty, throw Dravos a weapon, then flee!" Reaching up over her shoulder with her right hand, she flips the switch that allows her greatsword to rotate on its hinge, left hand pulling the blade down as she speaks. "You are not complicit in his crimes, and I want no harm to come to you." The Sixth Peak Hisses as she draws it from its gorgeous black scabbard, the well-polished steel gleaming in the morning sun and contrasting heavily with her mud-splattered armor. "Please," she asks of the young man, gripping her blade in two hands and bringing it to bear against the prostrate form of Dravos. "Throw and run! Or this crowd will tear you to pieces."
Rudabeh lifts her sword high in the air for a brutal overhead chop, only hesitating a moment- stirking an unarmed, prone man... it was not right, but... Pointed, perfectly white teeth flash as her face twists into a grimmace as she comes to a final realization, one she said moments before to the crowd.
This man is a monster, and this is her duty.
"Your soul belongs in the Abyss!" She shouts, bringing her blade down along Dravos' back in a punishing blow as the crowd surges forward to exact their own justice.
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Rudabeh swings her sword over her head, the familiar weight of the Sixth peak light in her hands. As Finn taught her so many years ago, she uses her whole body in a smooth, easy motion, muscles only tensing at the peak of the arc. The rest is gravity and follow through, a simple execution of geometry. As the razor-sharp blade hisses through the air toward the fallen man's back, Rudabeh has no doubts, no hesitation. This, above all else, was why she followed her code. This man was a plague, a menace, a blight on the community. An agent of violence and chaos and Golarion would be better without him, and she was to be Law's instrument.
The blade slices through the dark armor like a knfie through butter, slicing deep into the man's back. Blood bubbles up, staring both the blade and the ground. The prone man lets out a loud groan of pain, curling to try and defend himself slightly. It is a mighty blow and a good one, but Rennert is not quite so easily defeated. She has marked and indeed wounded him, but not maimed or killed him.
She barely has time to savor this blow for justice and order when she hears Irovetti's voice in her ear. 'Idiots." The voice is oddly multi-toned, like that of a chorus and she has a vague idea that remark was directed at multiple people.
Snapping her head, she sees Irovetti roaring commands to his guards, voice impossible to hear over the churning turmoil of the crowd. But what he intends is soon made clear. A wedge of guards quickly forms around the Royal Box, with the Chief Guard at the center. While they only wear chain and helmets unlike Rudabeh's full plate, it is more then enough to ward off the blows of the unarmed crowd.
At the head guard's barked command, they advanced into the center of the list, as a wedge. Heavy clubs swing, beating apart the rioters, forcing a path toward the center of the confrontation, where Rudabeh and the others are tangled in combat. The guards may not be the finest soldiers she has ever seen, but apparently have great experience with crowd control. With savage and directed blows, they beat a path through the crowd, despite the hail of rocks, mud clods and bits of wood. While they don't quite make it to Rudabeh, their pressure merely makes the crowding worse, as the people are pressed back, anger and fear boiling over. Even Rudabeh is forced to push people aside, clearing space for herself doing her best not to hurt anyone in the tangle of arms and legs.
Then Rudabeh sees something strange, around the barbarian's head. A weird black haze, almost like a mist of gnats or buzzing insects. The barbarian lets out a loud and painful grunt, and shakes her head. In a few moments the spell, whatever it was passes and the woman smiles grimly.
With trained speed, she jumps to her feet, shouldering aside members of the crowd. A roar of battle in her throat, she muscles forward, sending other people flying, a mass of flesh and iron. She manages to reach the prone figure, sword in her hand. A single glance from her causes the squire to drop his hammer into the dirt, falling back with a cry.
From the ground Rennert growls, 'I will not die here, not like this." With the speed of a striking snake his armored hand reaches out and grabs the barbarian woman's leg. Wrenching it toward him, the woman slips in the mud and falls to the ground. In an instant both warriors are wrestling each other, throwing punches strong enough to bend iron. It is like watching a blacksmith work his metal without using a hammer, just his solid fists. In a sort of horrid fascination, Rudabeh watches the two struggle in the sticky mud, more like leviathan monsters then people.
All around Rudabeh the chaos intensifies, people packing closer and closer together. Benek's fallen body is lost in the mass, while other people are nearly trampled. Several knights are riding or wading into the fight, clearly under their King's command to assist his guards in stopping the violence. Glancing up from the frightening brawl at her feet, Rudabeh spots two she knows.
One is the banner of the Brevoy lord, High Lord of House Khavortov, the man who 'helped' her battle the manticore. He doesn't look befuddled today, indeed his eyes are clear and bright as he forges a path through the manic crowd. Over the roar he shouts, 'Rudabeh, we must get you free!" he struggles close enough that, if she wanted, Rudabeh could get to him and mount his horse.
The other knight is that of Goldwin the White, the knight Rudabeh gave the only jousting victory to. Visor down, the parade armor clad man is pushing directly through the crowd, using the flat of his blade to part the tide, breaking bones as he does so, not to mention the iron-shod hooves of the horse.
"Lord Rennert, to me!" he cries, pushing closer. "Get back from him paladin, or I will strike you down!" he roars at Rudabeh, raising his sword high in threat.
Rudabeh feels the resistance of flesh as she slices into Dravos' back, her blade slicked with blood as it rises again in her hands. She readies another strike, but the push and jostle of the herded crowded unsteadies her firm stance; these conditions made using her five foot blade nearly impossible, but decades of training for every situation found compromises in technique. However, another danger began to approach as Irovetti sends his guards out to beat the crowd back.
She watches the wedge of chainmail equipped soldiers tries to push their way to her position, and she knows it is only a matter of time before they attempt to rescue the man despite her condemnation. Without the help of the barbarian women she has little hope of exacting justice in time,
Just as the paladin had cleared a big enough space for her to bring her sword into position, Dravos springs into action, drawing the barbarian woman into a titanic wrestling match. Having felt the strength of Rennert's grip, she can only marvel at the hulking woman's power of evenly trading blows with him.
Her head swings to see the banner of House Khavortov above the melee, matched with a familiar voice. "Pircien! Thank you, but I must see this through!" She yells with strained effort, barely able to keep the area clear as the two forms in front of her struggle to gain the upper hand.
The "white knight's" approach elicits a similar response from her, though in a completely different tone. "Leave, Goldwin, or be held responsible for aiding an abominable agent of chaos!" The punishment for such an accusation wasn't clear, but it probably involved the edge of a paladin's blade.
Ignoring the the threat posed by Goldwin, she reaches down into the tangled mass of wrestling and grabs one of Rennert's jutting pauldrons, yanking it backward and attempting to hamper his movements enough for the barbarian to gain the upper hand in the struggle.
The world around Rudabeh is a chaos of colors and sounds. The wild neighing of panicked horses, the shouts of fear from the hemmed in crowd, the endless trample of feet, the clash sound of steel on steel. Flashes of bright faces whirling around her, too blurred with speed to pick out, green and black clods of earth thrown everywhere, bright flashes of colors from flags and armor, everything in constant dizzying motion. It was enough of itself to make ones head spin.
Irovetti's men press closer, their disciplined wedge working through the crowd with practiced ease. The captain roars orders to keep the men in line and not break ranks. Despite the crowds wild efforts to hold them back, and a cascade of dirt, manure and wooden projectiles, the guardsmen are unstoppable.
At her feet the barbarian woman shouts a warcry, trying to pummel her armored foe into submission. Ignoring all attempts to holds or other wrestling moves, she simply slams at him with bunched fists, hardened feet or even smashing him with her skull. Finally, as the pair of titans struggle, she manages to get an arm clear and brings her bastard sword down with a ringing blow.
However the awkward angle and Rennert's own impressive strength prevents her from landing the blow, even with Rudabeh's help. Then the powerful nobleman moves to pin his foe, arms thick as tree trunks. From her experience Rudabeh knows Rennert probably then intends to finish the woman off after containing her.
However, despite his effort it is impossible to get good footing in the thick, soup-like mud they have churned up. The woman slips free of his grip and manages to avoid being pinned.
Above Rudabeh she hears the hiss of a blade, as Goldwin swings a sword at her head.
Her helmet takes most of the blow, but the attack leaves her head ringing as if it were a bell. The world swims around her, a variegated host of colors and fuzzy sounds. The paladin stumbles slightly in confusion, then the world snaps back, a roaring malestorm of riot and violence.
Pircein moves his horse doing his best to block Goldwin with his sheer mass. For a wonder he laughs, a wild, uninhibited sound. 'I know I liked you, paladin!" He shouts, drawing his sword to ward off the rival knight.
All around the crowd presses in closer, a feeling of panic rising in the air. Whatever else the crowd may feel, they fear Irovetti's troopers and even the wild mob can feel when the trap is closing.
Despite her assistance she is unable to help the hulking woman land a blow, and she is nearly knocked off her feet by the press of the crowd around her. Shouldering her greatsword to avoid putting out someone's eye, she watches the twisting mass of humanity and the titanic forms struggling in front of her. They seem to the very definition of chaos. Had she been too caught up in marking Rennert as an abominable deviant and performing her duty to consider the consequences of her actions?
Finn would be very disappointed she had left her guard down just long enough for Goldwin to smack her into the head, and as the undine's head swarms she ears the half-elf's voice scolding her. Philosophy is for the living. Think after you win!"
Shaking off the ringing noises still seeming to reverberate in her skull, she is suddenly surprised to see Pircein's horse block her view. The wild man seems to have joined her side with no urging on her part, and she would have to thank him later; she wordlessly thanks Alseta for having made such sudden and stout allies.
An idea suddenly strikes the paladin with the swiftness of Goldwin's sword. She needed to buy the barbarian more time, which meant holding back Irovetti's guards... perhaps she could rally the citizens of Pitax to aid her, and break the guard's formation.
Lifting her greatsword from her shoulder into the air with one smooth motion, Rudabeh attempts to project her voice over the insanity. "PEOPLE OF PITAX! BY YOUR WILL, JUSTICE SHALL BE DONE! WE ARE LEGION!"
The Sixth Peak erupts into a shimmering white light above her head, and her words are punctuated by divine will. "WITH ME! PUSH! FORWARD!" She herself leads the charge by shouldering her way through the crowd, intent on meeting the incoming wedge and cutting off its tip to slow their advance before it an interrupt the barbarian.
[ooc] We are now out of intative
Rudabeh's blazing sword is like a pillar of white light, a beacon shining above a tempest tossed sea of humanity.Her words are a rallying cry that cuts through the ring of steel, the thunder of feet and the groaning of the injured. A cry of "Legion!" goes up, the public apparently enjoying using Irovetti's own term against his troops.
The wavering crowds halt their retreat and firm up, lead by the charging paladin. Just the sight of the fully armored woman pushing forward is enough to give everyone new heart. Cheers resound around her and a wall forms to combat the wedge of guardsmen.
Over their heads, Rudabeh gets a glimpse of the Royal Box. She is too distant to make out details, but what she can see tells a story. In the center is Irovetti, silent and still, staring out across the field with two hands gripping the front railing. Around him a flock of functionaries and servants bob and flutter. Off to the side is Rennert's mother, frantic, staring past Rudabeh to the barely visible wrestling match, where her son's life hangs in the balance. There is Kilarra, the gray robed woman being led off by two guards. Everyone merchants and notables hurrying to escape the chaos.
Then her attention snaps back to the front as she comes face to face with the guards. A row of chain-mailed men with clubs, trying to beat a path. They all stare at her with unease, eyeing the blazing sword and her shining armor. For a second a tiny empty space appears between them and the crowd, held open by Rudabeh's mere presence. Behind them stands the head guardsman, face dark under his helm. He has a solid breastplate and better armor then the rest, an axe at this belt.
'Stick together men!" he roars, voice hoarse and thick with anger, "If we waver, they will swarm us under!"
Slowly, reluctantly, they step forward toward Rudabeh and the re-invigorated crowd, closing the gap.
Driven by her desire for justice against Dravos Rennert, Rudabeh stands tall in front of the crowd of angry citizens. Her sword is literally a shining beacon, its length and splendor making the guard's clubs look like tree branches.
She briefly catches sight of Kilarra being lead away, a pang of regret stabbing at her heart- this was not how she wanted the situation handled. She wanted to work with Kilarra to bring about a peaceful resolution to the unrest in Pitax and support Irovetti.
But her duty demands Dravos Rennert must be purged from the material plane. If she had sparked a revolution, she would accept responsibility for it.
Supressing her wandering thoughts she locks eyes with the head guardsman, blue orbs hard and set on the grim task before her just as much as he. The paladin grips the worg leather hilt of her sword tightly, holding the blade vertically in front of her face. "You are merely doing as your King commands, and for that Alesta shall grant you mercy!" Her voice, an unwavering and clear shout, is directed at all the assembled men as they uneasily join ranks in her presence.
Warfare was what her weapon was designed for, and as she begins to move, The Sixth Peak asserts its sovernity over the mud-churned battlefield.
The small gap between herself and the wedge of guards is closed in an instant as she steps forward, shining steel suddenly flipping from vertical to diagonal, facing the ground on her right side. With perfect precision the blade whistles over the mud, tip nearly scraping the earth before swinging upward.
She catches the front guardsman directly under the chin with a blow that would have normally split his face in half, but instead of his jaw exploding into chunks of shattered bone he is lifted off his feet and thrown back into his companions as if hit by a giant.
Rudabeh's shimmering sword whips up through its arc, her grip shifting mid-air as she brings it down in a wide horizontal swipe to threaten her foes with her incredible reach. "PULL THEM DOWN! BREAK THEIR WALL!" She shouts commands to the people of Pitax, hoping the guardsmen will rout if they start being overwhelmed.
The roaring crowd slams into the wedge like a wave hitting a sandcastle, washing away all before it. The guards are overwhelmed by a tide of shouting, screaming men and women, pushing with the sheer mass of hundreds of people. Rudabeh herself leads the charge, slamming into the wedge with the force of a hurricane. Her first blow sends the man flying, nearly knocking others aside. Just the sight of her blazing sword, glittering armor and cold eyes is enough to send the guards on a hasty retreat. Behind the dissolving wall the head guard shouts orders and curses, trying to rally the men. Several times he resorts to hitting his own soldiers, pushing them back into the wavering line.
Rudabeh is about to smash into her foes, whens he sees a figure at her left. Turning she spots the barbarian launch herself into the fray, bastard sword swinging. In what is a horrific display of battle prowess the woman lands with both feet and uses her momentum to slice powerfully. In one clean stroke she decapitates a guard, sending his bearded head sailing in a bloody arc. Even before the dead man hits the ground, her sword is swinging again, making the crowd duck and pull back, almost caught in the woman's backswing. Again she lashes out, and men are left without arms or legs, and instantly she clears out a bloody gap in the heaving crowd.
The bloody, muddy woman turns to Rudabeh, a grin on her face, teeth bright white against the splattered viscera. She lifts up her left hand and shows the mangled head of Rennert, armor dented, face a bloody ruin. "He is dead and justice done." With a roar she hurls it at the guards, who reel back as the macabre token hits them.
"But we must retreat, paladin." The woman says, voice rough.
Before Rudabeh can ask why, considering they are carrying all before them, a horn sounds from behind them. Turning Rudabeh can see the line of knights from the joust forming up, weapons leveled at the now panicked crowd. With horror Rudabeh can see the disaster forming. They are trapped between the hammer of the armored knights and the anvil of both the guards and the stands. A single armored charge will kill hundreds.
The barbarian woman grabs Rudabeh's arm, and her grip is strong enough to feel [i]through[/o] the plate. "We must get free."
Rudabeh's sword whirls as she crushes multiple guardsmen, every swing sending a limp, but unharmed, body flying into the mud or crashing against his fellows. She is nearly in a battle trance, focus narrowing to the ebb and flow of her greatsword's swings, when the barbarian leaps into the fray in a horrific martial display.
Blood splatters on the undine's shoulder as a man's severed arm nearly hits her, and it dawns on her that she was in the presence of not only a skilled combatant, but the kind of warrior stories are sung.
The sheer brutality of her methods gives Rudabeh pause- these men were only doing their job, and killing them was unnecessary, but on the other hand did they are care for the shattered skulls and broken bones of their fellow citizens?
She looks into Dravos Rennert's lifeless eyes as his head, still stuck in its helmet, is lifted up. A sweeping wave of relief passes through Rudabeh's chest- her duty was done, and the world was safe from any further chaos he would have inflicted. "You have my thanks, I owe you a great debt for assisting me." She intones through breath labored with exertion.
Turning her head as she tracks Dravos' rolling helmet along the muddy ground to the feet of the guardsmen, other thoughts begin to filter in; was his destruction worth the chaos it created? The doubt creeps in like a midnight wave, dark waters washing away the newborn relief and leaving only a coarse beach of regret.
She is about to announce to the crowd that justice had been done and attempt to alleviate blame for the chaos by shifting anger away from Irovetti, who was understandably trying to protect his nobles, when her attention is turned towards the lined up knights. THe undine's mouth opens slightly in shock. "What? But.. they'll be killed! I-" She feels the incredible grip through her bracers, and tries to fromulate some way to stop the knights from charging. An appeal to Irovetti could help, but... was he not the one that gave the order in the first place? Why would he listen to anything she has to say? These people did not have pikes or anything to protect themselves against an organized charge... it was hopeless and she could not argue any other way. The paladin was not afraid to die, but pointlessly throwing her life away served the good of no one.
Gritting her teeth, Rudabeh shoulders her greatsword and nods to the barbarian women. "Go, I will follow you!" She barks, pushing through the crowd. She keeps an eye out for Pircien, wanting to ensure his safety after he protected her from Goldwin.
Rudabeh looks around but doesn't see Pircien or his horse. Either both have been pulled down and he is dismounted or has been killed. Farther away the knights begin to hem in the crowd, preparing for the shattering charge. The rest of the crowd, having heard the horn and saw the danger, begins to flee in panic. Even if Rudabeh has wishes to rally them, it would have been hopeless. Men and women dart in every direction, seeking to escape the lances and swords of the armored knights. In its haste the crowd tramples itself and Rudabeh sees dozens trodden under as the mass of people writhes and swarms for any exit from the field, now nearly a crater of mud and blood.
At her side the barbarian woman forges a way, shoulders hunched like a man pushing against the tide. Now and then she is forced to thrust out an arm, pushing someone or something to the ground. Once a guardsmen, wedged by the crowd stands in front of her, face pale with terror. With a shout of glee the woman smashes his face with an armored fist, leaving his face a ruin of bone and teeth. With such a guide, it doesn't take them long to win free of the madness and to be on the streets of Pitax. Smoke and fear are on the air and the streets are alive with people, a confusing mass of people running this way and that.
The barbarian pauses, holding up a hand. She looks Rudabeh straight int he face, chest and arms still smeared with the blood and mud of her wrestling match with Rennert. Close up Rudabeh can see she is wounded, with long scrapes, cut and bruises all over her body. Although she had won, the nobleman had not been defeated cheaply.
'I had my doubts about you." the woman says, eyeing the street like a huntress wary for danger. "I never cared much for the Pact. Maybe I'll rethink it."
She chews her lip and says, "We will go to the Temple, Tomara will know what to do." She pauses and says, "My name is Viridia."
The lack of Pircien is disturbing, but she does not worry too much; she had seen the man fight during their struggle with the manticore, and knew it would take more than some "knights" in toy armor to bring him down.
Rudabeh grips her sword hilt tightly with her left hand as she pushes through the crowd, the still glowing blade harmlessly pressed against the space between the shoulder rib of her pauldron and the chainmail coif of her neck. Truthfully she didn't have to worry about anyone getting in the way, for the huge woman cut a path more easily than a marlin in a rough surf.
The paladin senses the returning guilt invading her heart as she jumps over the crushed and prostrate forms of ordinary people. It was one thing to see the dead in a proper battlefield, for they were soldiers that had a chance to fight back. But these were not soldiers, and their deaths seemed senseless.
She slows her movements as the barbarian does, turning in place with a deep, poignant frown. As she completes her circle the paladin's sad blue eyes meet the woman's own. Though Rudabeh notes the wounds, she does not offer to heal them- Viridia seemed okay, the day was most likely to be long, by the way things were going THe Sixth Peak may be needed again.
"I am truly in your debt, Viridia." The undine speaks sincerely, lowering her blade and retrieving a cleaning cloth from her bag of holding. "Without your assistance I may not have been able to bring Dravos to justice. I crossed paths with him once before, and he nearly broke my arm when I last attempted to punish him for his blatant disregard for life. Today, justice was done for the People of Pitax. Thank you." She speaks while quickly and expertly wiping off the blood of the man in question from her shining greatsword. While her words were sincere, she is partly trying to convince herself of the truth. While justice was done, what was the true cost? Hundreds of citizens had died in the riots she accidently instigated... all for one evil man?
Sighing, Rudabeh briefly stares into the shimmering steel in her hand, the glow slowly fading. She finds herself staring back at her own reflection, pinched and mud-flaked expression clearly visible in her open-faced helmet. The heir of the Pact decides not to comment about Viridia's expression of interest in the organization she was apparently destined to inherit considering how its goal was to maintain peace between nations and she had, in a single decision:
-Ordered and carried out the execution of its top general.
-Potentially destabilized the entire country.
-Completely annihilated any possibility of convincing Irovetti there could be a peaceful resolution to this problem.
-Ruined any hope of negotiating Toski out of her unlawful imprisonment
-Betrayed the trust of the country's ex High priestess, whom she had genuinely hoped to help.
A victory for Law, but a loss for Order. She thinks solemnly, looking up and beginning to sheath her weapon.
"Yes, please take me to Tomara." She says, voice certain of that at least. Rudabeh's sword, which she realizes has been used every day since she has arrived in Pitax, complains with the dull sound of metal against wood as it slides back into its scabbard. "I very much desire to speak with her." The crossguard meet the top of the ebony sheath, stopping with a satisfying click.
The spring day is growing hot around them, as Viridia leads the way back into Pitax proper. The sky overhead is a high roof of bright blue and there is no breeze to stir the muggy air. It is early afternoon now and yet Rudabeh already feels weary. It had been a long morning and there would be no time to rest. Not now. Not after the disaster that was still unfolding behind her. She could hear the whinny of horses, the shouts of guards, the screams of the crowds.
Even in the streets as they hurried past, the air was full of expectation and fear. Men and women ran here and there, many with worried or panicked looks. Some were still stained with the mud and blood of the jousting field, racing out into the city with news. Their high strung emotions charged the air and the sense Rudabeh got last night, of an eruption just below the surface began to boil over. Even hurrying along she sees angry faces in doorways, and catches snatches of shouts and rallying cries. Whatever was going to happen, it was starting.
But Viridia leads her down side alley after side alley, apparently not the least confused by Pitax's strange mix of formal, art lined promenades and more authentic side streets. To their sides everything from art stalls to butcher shops flash past. The streets are crowded but this is not the joyful crowds of a festival. Now, these are people on the move, crowds with a growing purpose.
Soon they enter the stone-flagged plaza around the Temple and the entire atmosphere changes. There is not tension here, no sense of a rising storm. The warm is warm and fragrant with incense and exotic woods. A sense of indulgence and even pleasure seems to fill the very air, as if emanating in waves from the Temple. It was such a change of tone that Rudabeh nearly stumbles and falls to the ground. Some magic was at work here.
Her companion seems unconcerned and rushes up to the large building. On the wide steps several people sit, some in small groups full of giggling and laughter while others sit quietly alone, heads wreathed in drug filled smoke. From inside the open doors, Rudabeh can hear music and raucous laughter.
Viridia moves inside, step still quick and light, despite her wounds. She is clearly comfortable with the place and threads through rooms and hallways with ease. They pass dark, shuttered rooms full of low laughter and sweet smells, hung with enticing silks and glowing with warm candles. Sounds of ecstasy startle Rudabeh a few times. This was hardly the time for-
They burst into a large room, clearly the main temple area. High ceiling held by up large wooden pillars, the walls decorated with Calsitria art. The ground was covered with mounds of pillows, expensive rugs and blankets, stern haphazardly. Several roaring fires burned, heaped far past the edges of the fireplaces, throwing sparks and embers everywhere. Rich food was cooking there and the scent of roast pork and glazed ham mixed with the ever present scents of drugs and ale.
At several tables groups of rowdy men were singing drinking songs and downing massive tankards, roaring with laughter at each bawdy verse. On the pillows, lovers lay intertwined, a mix of arms and legs, barely covered. Other simply lay alone, eyes far too wide, as if contemplating the divine, pipes and bowls scattered around them.
Int he center of it all, was a massive throne-like chair. On it sat Tomara, stretched out sideways, long legs hanging over one arm, her head propped on the other. A few men were actually feeding her peeled grapes as she lazily conducted a trio of musicians with one manicured hand. Whatever was happening outside, in here at least, the good times were still rolling on.
Rudabeh jogs behind the hulking form of Viridia, barely able to keep up with the woman's long strides. Between the paladin's armor, the sweltering heat of the day, and the deaths of hundreds of people wearing on her conscience, she felt near fatigued already.
Casting her eyes to the sides of the streets as they move through the twisting city, the scampering of the Pitax citizenry foretells what she had been sensing all along; the pot was already heating up, and she was the one that struck the first spark under the tinder.
Thoughts swirling and stress mounting, Rudabeh stumbles as she is hit with the peaceful and plesaant smelling air surrounding the temple. The undine's mouth nearly falls agape as she looks around, the change in atmosphere so stark it must be magical. Realizing she is falling behind, she quickly catches up with Viridia and enters the building, a deeper and disturbed frown now stuck on her azure lips.
Her armor crunches across the wooden floors, intermingling with the sounds emanating from the private rooms on either side of the hallway. I have seen plenty of excess in Calistrian churches, but this...
Her thoughts stall, contemplations turning into mind-numbing confusion as her current companion throws open the doors to the main temple hallway. Decadence and indulgence covered every inch of the room in a display of reveraly that made Irovetti's parade look like a prayer to Sarenrae. For a moment she almost misses Irovetti's opulent, gold-splattered waiting room, as it was at least quiet and controlled, until she realizes this is the equivalent setting... just with people as decorations.
Slowly, tenatively, the paladin starts to walk forward towards Tolmara, each step testing the floor as if the entire temple were an illusion and she was about to fall into some kind of trap. In any other circumstance she would have at least been happy for the happiness of other, it all seemed so far removed from the reality outside that she felt almost insulted by everyone else's good spirits.
Soon finding her stride to quickly cross the room, Rudabeh stops in front of the beautiful and bedazzling priestess. "I apologize for interrupting your festivities, Tolmara," The paladin delivers evenly if loudly, giving the elf a moment to at least stop the musicians so they could speak normally, "but the city appears to be on the edge of rioting." The undine's face was as flat as her voice, seemingly still at odds with how to feel about the atmosphere of the temple.
"I witnessed Dravos Rennert kill a man for his own amusement at the joust, and justly sentanced him to have the man raised or he would be put to death." She begins to explain, limpid eyes never leaving the huge pupils of the elven priestess. "It was not my intention, but the crowd exploded in fury at Dravos upon my setancing, accussing him of all manner of crimes that outstripped the single act I witnessed. The people began to pour into the field, and a struggle erupted between them and Irovetti's guards." A gauntleted hand gestures to the elf's armed companion. "I owe Viridia a great debt for helping me dispatch Dravos after he attacked me, sealing his sentance to death. Indeed, I do not think I could have bested the man alone. While his body housed the soul of a fiend, he was very strong. Viridia ensured justice was done today." Glancing at the barbarian women, Rudabeh gives another nod of thanks.
"The short-lived battle between the people of Pitax and Irovetti's guards ended when a cadre of "knights", she uses the term with the air of a drill sergeant assessing a bunch of peasants with pitchforks, "charged the crowd and killed hundreds. Now, outside of this temple, I can see the coming storm. The people of Pitax will not take the slaughter of their fellows laying down, and a civil war the likes this country has not exerienced in a century could be brewing." The mud-slicked paladin crosses her arms over her chest as she concludes. "Viridia said that you would "Know what to do"...so indeed, what do you plan to do, Tolmora?"
Rudabeh had many questions for the elven priestess, and even more she wanted to say, but she was being cautious; holding her cards close to her chest, the paladin had not necessarily chosen a side but seemed to be on a fact-finding mission to discover what was best for the people of Pitax.
The music cuts off instantly as Rudabeh strides into the room Viridia at her side. While most are too dazed and confused to note her, the raucous men grow somewhat more quiet, the better to eavesdrop. For her part Tolmara sits up straight, any hint of lassitude vanishing as she spots her wounded friend. She silently listens to the paladin's report however, eyes often wandering to Viridia, as if to confirm the story from a trusted source.
When Rudabeh says Dravos is dead a ragged cheer from the drunks sounds out, echoing off the painting walls and lacquered floors. It is not the cry for justice she fund outside, but merely a bellicose celebration of violence. At her side Viridia nods and says, voice not quite as serious as Rudabeh would like, "Just another bully." The woman is obviously relaxing in the presence of the elf cleric.
When the undine paladin ends with a direct challenge one of Tolmara's eyebrows raises carefully. She stands up suddenly and says, 'What I am going to do is heal my friend." She moves over to Viridia, concern in her face and voice. The hulking barbarian woman smiles and says, "I've had worse. Remember that time with the three trolls and the gelatinous cube?"
The cleric smiles back, warmly, "I do but come, let me heal you." Carefully she lays her hands on the human woman's face and mutters a spell of healing. Bright white light surges and soon most of the damage is gone, the slices and gouges fading away. Viridia grins, and finally sheathes her still bloody sword. 'You should have seen it, it was quite the tussle out there in the jousting field."
"I'm sure you enjoyed that part, at least." Her fellow adventurer replies, joking about the fact at least dozens of people were killed, probably more. "I wonder where Dagen is.." She asks, trailing off, gazing up at the swirls of incense high above.
Rudabeh watches silently as Tolmara and Viridia exchange words. The powerful bond between them is unmistakable- an unconditional trust, born of multiple, shared, life and death experiences. It was the bond every commander hoped to instill in their troops, but one that cost lives... in this case, someone else's lives. Trolls and gelatinous cubes, apparently.
She had seen this bond before in Finn's Bastard Brigade, and from her conversations with the warrior, it was common. The groups that didn't have this sort of comradery were dead or destined to die, after all. It only takes one person to cut and run when the odds aren't looking good to kill an entire group. Even though Tolmara seemed to call the shots, she would need to treat the adventurers as a single entity.
The paladin supresses a grimmace as Viridia sheaths her still bloody sword- equipment mainteance was clearly not a high pripority, but given their status it was possible the sword was magical and resistant to the elements.
She quickly extrapolates that the weedy looking man whose acquitance she has not yet made was named Dagen, filing it away in her mind.
"May I speak with you privately? There are several matters I wish to discuss with you." Rudabeh suddenly and dryly interjects herself into Tolmara's far-off ponderance. "Viridia, and Nubauch if he is present and interested, are welcome to join as well of course." She extends her invitation to the barbarin with a nod of her head. Nubauch was probably not interested, but she was trying to be polite.
Tolmara gives Rudabeh a strange look, not one of anger or condescension but of honest confusion. "Politics have never been my strong suit." She says honestly after a pause and goes on, "Besides, I wouldn't be of much help in helping you sort out the mess you made. Wait until Dagen gets back, he tends to like this sort of thing."
She looks around adding, 'As far as Nucauch, I'm not even sure where he is..." This seems to be a normal state of affairs.
Viridia laughs and says, "I think he found an old library down at the docks. Been squirreled away there for awhile now, should I get him?"
Tolamra shakes her head, "It can wait, I think. Unless we need someone to expound on kinematic gemotires or on the principles of teleportation phase theory, of course." She smiles at Rudabeh, half letting her in on the joke. Her eyes don't smile however, dark and liquid.
It becomes suddenly clear to the paladin. The cleric is stalling for time, thrown out of her depth and waiting for allies to appear. However confident she makes herself seem, Rudabeh's news has thrown her into doubt. What did that mean?
Around them the people seem frozen, as if the party had been solely driven by Tolmara's will and now that she is distracted it hangs, waiting to be directed. The fires crackle and the smokes dances among the pillars.
My mess? Rudabeh thinks as Tolmara seemingly blames her for creating an enviroment where the people of Pitax are under the influence of as many drugs as they can get their hands on.
The paladin is about to fall for the entire routine until something finally clicks in her mind, the keystone falling into place as the priestess says "I think".
Tolmara was merely a face, an executor. Rudabeh had assumed the elf was the de facto leader, but this Dagen... he was the planner, the layer of groundwork. Could he be the one working directly with the rebels, merely instructing Tolmara in her part of the plan? Something must have gone awry in whatever schemes were laid, and the paladin expected the explosion of violence at the joust was definintely not planned.
It also revealed a weakness in the adventuring party, one she should have known. Each one was the weakest link in their chain. Together they were possibly unstoppable, but individually each had glaring vulnerabilities that had long been covered by another of the group. It was, perhaps, something she could exploit...
The undine's flat, expressionless face doesn't so much as twitch as Tolmara lets her in on "the joke". In her mind this was clearly not the time and situation for comedy. "Then we will speak here. I, and the growing unrest outside the temple, do not have time to wait." She says pointedly, taking a moment to glance at the suddenly still and silent crowd.
"I know you have control of the state's regulated alchemical mind-altering substances, which were managed and administered by the church." Rudabeh says plainly, merely stating facts. "Have you been distibuting them, and if so, to whom?" The paladin didn't expect any honest answers, but even lies would give her information; she suspected they were working with the rebels, freely handing out the drugs to stir unrest, or both.
Tolmara frowns, real emotion showing through her usual exquisite mask of beauty. "You mean the contraband that Kilarra was selling, with kickbacks to Irovetti and others? Drugs made at long labor by men and women barely paid for their efforts and then doled out to court favorites? " She sneers, drawing herself up proudly, "Yes, I found their secret stash, their hoarded pile of ill-gotten gains. Of course I shared it, should I not of? Would you rather have me act like Irovetti and keep it only for my personal gain, hoard it so to drive men mad with greed until I could name my price?"
A few of the drunken men at the table lift their glasses to salute her words but most of the drug addled people sprawled across the floor make no move.
Before Rudabeh can answer a side door bursts open with a loud slam, breaking the spell. Rudabeh whirls, but it is not a storm of Pitax soldiers or even an angry mob. Instead it is a small group of people, striding in.
At the head is the weedy looking man, the rogue. His already quick motions are even more exaggerated today, anxious and agitated. He is wearing dark practical clothes, tight fitting, and stained with mud and slime. His eyes dart everywhere then, spotting Rudabeh, fix on the paladin. They narrow, and his mouth curls into an obvious grimace, above a short black beard.
Behind him are two others, both of whom Rudabeh recognizes. One is Orza, the Hanspur cleric she met at the rebel council meeting. The wiry woman is also dirty, her front smeared with mud as if she had been crawling somewhere filthy. She looks around at the piled opulence with unconcealed distaste.
Behind them was Samuel Cauditanus, moving strong and sure. He was wearing a more formal version of a sculptor's smock, lined with blue and green and not dirty. His eyes look troubled however, lost in deep thought.
Rudabeh sees other people int he corridor beyond, but they do not enter. Tolmara nods and says, "Dagen, you are safe. Good, after what the paladin said, I was worried."
Looks pass between the two adventurers, and Rudabeh has a feeling more passes between them then she can see.
The thin man turns to Rudabeh, "So, if it isn't the hero of the revolution." he says sarcastically, "You do keep causing disturbances don't you?"
"She fought well." Viridia says from behind Rudabeh, her voice deep.
Dagen sucks his teeth, eyeing Rudabeh up and down. "Aye, I bet she did. But now we have to decide what to do." He raises an eye brow to Kilarra. "Can we have the room?"
'Of course." Smoothly she turns to drunken men, saying, "We need to be alone. Please take the others as you exit, they might not be up to walking quite yet. Don't fear," She smiles, with more then a hint of invitation and promise,"My business will not last long and we can return to our revel."
In moments the musicians, drunks and others are gone, leaving only the rebels, the adventurers and Rudabeh.
Rudabeh calmly listens to Tolmara's explanations, internalizing what she had expected to be the case all along. A sigh begins to build in her lungs as she begins to explain exactly what Tolmara is getting herself into when the door seems to explode open.
Turning quickly on her heel, shoulders tensed, she sees an unexpected sight that confirms even more of what she had been expecting. Light blue eyes meet Dagen's, a flash of recognition crossing her visage as she puts a name to the face. The paladin's eyes slide over the other companions as she relaxes, arms moving up to fold across her breastplate in obvious discomfort at being attached to the revolution.
"Revolution?" Rudabeh responds as the crowd filters out of the room, the word clearly highly distasteful in her mouth. "I was merely doing my duty and ridding the world of an irredeemable agent of chaos, passing and inacting a judgement with the help of all those present. The explosion of the crowd was not only unintentional, but it has been the purposeful distribution of mind-altering substances and reckless stoking of a repressed people that have led them to embrace senseless violence." She says, some heat creeping into her voice as she looks at all those present.
"Do you realize what you are doing?" The paladin challenges Dagen, arms unfolding from her chest to gesture in front of her. "You have been invited to a foreign land by its ruler, and immediately set about joining a revolution to overthrow him, seizing control of a church, flooding the streets with narcotics and Alseta knows what else?" The thought was clearly insane to her, the paladin's eyes flashing with incredulous anger that such a thing could even cross someone's mind.
"You are not some discontented mercenary group. You the ruling body of Kingdom of the Free, and your country is part of the Pact of Years. If you continue down this path your actions will be considered an act of war and espionage against another nation, one that was trying to welcome you with open arms." Voice thick with accusation, Rudabeh looks to Samuel and Orza, expression and mannerisms rapidly changing to one of neutrality. "As for those representing the woes of the citizens of Pitax, I understand. Those gathered, and their fellows, have been treated unfairly, and I have seen enough evidence to justify saying that Irovetti has nibbled at the edges of the River Freedoms for too long, and he is attempting to change Pitax into a socially and economically stratified nation that is far outside the norms of the River Kingdoms. It is only natural for them to reach out to all the help they can obtain, though I do not believe he needs to be overthrown."
Her eyes return to Dagen, now looking to Tolmara and Viridia as well. The undine's expression has softened as she attempts to give the other side of the story. "Despite what those that oppose him may say, Irovetti is not an evil man. I have spent enough time with him to know that what he does, he truly believes is the best for Pitax. The people do not hate him, though his aims are misguided and his ego is an obstacle to reform, and I believe he can be bargained with if he sees he will be deposed and is given a way out. However... if you back him into a corner with no escape, he will become the monster you may already believe that he is. He will fight to the death to remain in power, and all will suffer."
She spreads her arms wide, wishing for the adventurers to convince her that their actions are not only just, but worthy of violating the sanctity of the pact. "So tell me, are you ready to turn a misguided and fearful man to despicable acts, as I did today when he was forced to order his own people trampled to prevent them from tearing apart the nobility he was trying to build and was expected to protect? Are you ready to see your own nation penalized and suffer on an international scale so that you may continue to be heroes in your own mind? Are you ready to walk over the sea of corpses, filled with innocent people killed by their own fellows in a civil war? Please tell me why, please tell me how you can justify this, when this is not your country or your fellows. I will listen, and I will judge if your involvement truly has the best interests of the People of Pitax in mind."
Rudabeh's words ring in the temple, rising up into the air like the wisps of incense and smoke that hang there. As the echoes die away about the enameled woods and mosaic stones, her eyes shift from person to person.
Dagen's quick dark eyes, rimmed with brown, set in a face full of calculation. Mobile muscles move under his skin, face set in an unreadable mask, a careful man and not given to outbursts.
Samuel Cauditanus, face a mixture of troubled concern and anticipation. His deep gold eyes nearly glow with excitement, his hour was here, the time of the rebels nearly at hand at yet...how did Rudabeh fit into this? Whatever people had said had happened on the jousting field, her words now were hardly those of triumphal revolution. It is plain he is somewhat confused, but she catches the barest nod when she mentions Irovetti's danger when cornered.
At his side, Orza, the Hanspur cleric is much easier to read. Open contempt fills her face, tinged with open rage. Wiry, strong hands clench into fists at her sides, and the holy symbol about her neck almost seems to glow faintly, or merely reflecting some firelight as she trembles. She opens her mouth to speak but is silenced as a slam sounds behind Rudabeh.
Spinning, she sees Viridia, wielding a stool like a gavel, smashing it to the ground turning the sturdy wood to kindling. The woman's face is a mixture of surprise, disappointment and anger. "Leaving Irovetti alive is as bad as leaving Rennert alive. Both are fruits of the same tree. I thought you felt the same way, paladin of the Pact." her eyes are hard as she locks gazes with Rudabeh, "You seemed strong and decisive on the field but now you speak of bartering with a rat like the king?"
Before she can go on, Orza jumps into the gap, "Well, that is how this paladin operates? When we asked for her aid against a tyrant king, she said no, that it would be risky, would risk too many innocent lives." she sneers at Rudabeh, "Instead she sides with the King and helps him set soldiers on our tails. While she is off entertaining at jousts we are scrambling through basements and hideouts, trying to survive."
The woman gestures to the mud stains on her and Dagen's clothes. "Not everyone made it out with us. Zhuk was captured and that is bad for us. He was one of the few with real fighting experience." Rudabeh recalls the wounded half-orc from that meeting.
And yet, when Rudabeh glances, Dagen doesn't seem very concerned by this news.
"I don't need lesson on corpses and violence from you, paladin" The cleric goes on, voice harsh, "Who are you to judge us about the best interests of the people of Pitax. We are the people of Pitax!"
Tolmara interjects, her voice smooth and calm. Her eyes flicker from both agitated women, concern on her face. "Peace, we are friends here. Or at least allies. I believe when Rudabeh questioned motives, she was speaking to us, not Orza. No one questions your devotion to this cause. None of you are at fault."
A quick nod of respect to both Orza and Samuel then her eyes flick to Dagen. He seizes the opening, "Right." he turns to face Rudabeh, "As for the people of Pitax, they stand here beside me. If what I have said and done is enough for them, it should be enough for you. I view Irovetti as a corrupt tyrant, little more the a brigand, the real legitimacy rests with the people."
"As for what we are willing to do...that is part of what we can do, which is not much for now. Rudabeh, for whatever her reasons, had started things and there is no going back. The people are rallied and even now are taking to the streets. But we need to be wary. Irovetti has many loyalists at his back still, and we cannot storm the First Palace with the common people. It would be a massacre."
"So we do nothing?" Viridia says, voice hard.
Dagen shoots her a glance full of meaning but goes on, 'No, not nothing. I merely say we need to be patient, wary."
But Rudabeh catches his eyes dart back and forth, uneasy. Something is making him nervous, he is hiding something.
Rudabeh listens to each in turn, watching their faces and expressions carefully. The person that disturbs her most is Dagen; it is as if anything that happens to destabilize Pitax is good... which makes her suspect this is all a ploy to weaken the country in one way or another. Her eyes fixate on him for a few moments, untrusting and wary.
The paladin turns to address Viridia, face shifting to one of concern for the warrior's understanding of the situation. "Viridia, do you believe a murderer and a person that houses them that had nothing to do with their actions should both be killed? Guilt by association can only go so far. Irovetti is not free of blame, of course, for I believe he existed in a willful ignorance of Dravos' sadism and should be punished for not reigning it in, but the king is not an evil man and does not deserve death. In addition, words are just as powerful as swords, as you saw at the joust, and can accomplish just as much." She finishing explaining in a soft voice, saddened she had disappointed the warrior, but sticking to her own judgements.
Tilting her head with true confusion at Orza, Rudabeh lets the angry woman's words wash over her. Instead, she focuses on her accusations. "I took no actions or made any recommendations that would result in soldiers being sent after you, nor have I broken any oaths associated with you." Something clicks in her mind, recognization flashing across her cerulean features. "I overheard Irovetti speaking to his head guardsmen about searching something... He must have finally realized the rebels he had underestimated before were a true threat and swept your hideouts...Is that what happened?" A frown creases her lips as she finishes, adding: "I am sorry about Zhuk. I did not know him, but I hope I will get the opportunity in the future if he is rescued."
After nodding to Tolmara her thanks for helping to calm the situation, the paladin finally she turns to Dagen, mouth flattening to a thin line. "It is not enough for me, but I do not care to argue sementics on your motivations while people die in the streets. I will table the matter for now, but do not think your actions will be celebrated or go unnoticed on an international scale simply because you believe yourself in the right. I should know, I have possibly ruined my reputation as a neutral arbitor and supporter of states, as well as caused the death of over a hundred innocents all to exact justice Dravos Rennert."
Shifting her weight onto her heels, Rudabeh looks at all those assembled, spending a few seconds looking at each in turn. "After I passed judgement, Irovetti magically spoke to me. I gave him a choice. Support the will of the People of Pitax, which demanded the death of Dravos Rennert, or protect the nobility he was grooming." She crosses her arms, steel vambraces sliding against one another with a quiet screech. "He did not answer in words, but instead answered in actions. It was such that I rallied the people of the stands to push back Irovetti's guards so Viridia could dispatch Dravos, driving a possibly insurmountable wedge between myself and the King." She draws a breath, coming to a conclusion while sweeping her vision across the rebels. "I cannot go back, not after I killed the hier of his favorite noble family, not after Irovetti made the decision to trample his own people."
She stands tall, her arms falling from her chest, and the righteous conviction of a paladin shines through in her words. "There must be reforms. This country must change. I am not bound to this place and can leave at any time, but I feel it is my duty to exert the will of the People with as little bloodshed as possible. I will not only join you... but I will become your icon, leading by example and protecting those flooding the streets as best I can, among them and sharing their danger if you will agree to the following conditions." Rudabeh continues, voice rising to a confident tone reserved for bargaining.
"Firstly, Dagen, you will tell me everything that is going on." Her limpid eyes suddenly shoot to the man like a truth-seeking bolt fired from a crossbow. "I can tell you are hiding something, and if we are to work together I expect thorough and truthful communications between us."
Eyes now shift to Tolmara, softer but still stern. "Secondly, we must vacate this church. Not only has it been unlawfully siezed and occupied by a foreign force, but Irovetti will most likely be storming it with his soldiers soon. This morning he mentioned to me he was going to "do something about it", which, given Orza's experience, seems very clear to me." It was her attempt to not only spare the gathered and vulnerable revealers, but to fulfill her promise to Kilarra to deliver the church back into her hands.
The last point was addressed to all, and seemed the most important. "Lastly, I will be the one to negotiate with Irovetti if and when the time comes, I will be the one to pass judgement, and I will decide his ultimate fate. I reiterate that he will become a very dangerous man if cornered, and I intend to offer him a way out to avoid excess bloodshed, one that benefits everyone involved."
Her voice falls off, allowing them time to consider her offer. She stands resoulute, seemingly open to bargaining, but the core of the agreements must be met.
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All eyes turn on the paladin, fixing on her imposing upright figure. She looks the picture of a heroic image, at least. Long sword in hand, shining armor around her, dark blue eyes piercing and intelligent. She is strong, proud and firm in her beliefs, the model of stability and surety.
Then the bubble pops as Dagen says, obviously sincerely agitated, "Hiding something? What evidence do you have for that? It is a bold woman that, with one hand, accuses other of hiding the truth and having secret ends, while with the other hand, gathering up power and giving orders." At his side Orza nods firmly, and opens her mouth to speak but is cut off (again) by Viridia.
Viridia says, voice firm, "I call the King an evil man and see no downside to killing him on sight. Seems like it would save us a great deal of trouble. If you want to kill a snake, removing the head is the best place to start." The imposing woman does not sound the trace doubtful about her judgement. "I won't wait for your or anyone's permission if I see the chance."
Everyone looks at each other and Tolmara glides smoothly into the gap. "Maybe, Virida, maybe. But the best answer may not simply be to smash down everyone else. I think Dagen is right, we need a clear plan and goal. Caution is required, as Rudabeh has mentioned. More corpses may not be the answer here."
Orza then bursts out, her eyes flashing, hands spread wide in anger, "You are just going to let her make a speech like that? To let her make demands to us? Who is she? Who else tipped Irovetti off even to the existence of the rebels? Maybe it was on purpose, maybe she was foolish, either way it was after our meeting with her that the sweeps started. It is clear he divined us through her." She points a finger accusatorily at Rudabeh, face set.
Then, for the first time, Samuel speaks up, voice soft but clear in the smoky air. "I trust her." His gold eyes catch the flickering firelight, glittering. Then he smiles, "At least as a symbol. We should not forget, it is she that rallied the people in the field, alone of all of us. Despite our years of scheming and suffering, we have not yet matched that deed."
His eyes fix on her, and Rudabeh feels a thrill of warmth as the charisma of the man is focused on her. Part of her realizes, however, that this man is dangerous. And yet, could she turn down any ally?
"I pledge the support of the students and the artists to her cause. Already we have young men and women organizing to best serve the community in this turmoil. It would not well to overthrow Irovetti without a plan in place. They have been gracious enough to give me a seat at their tables and I am sure they would embrace Rudabeh as both symbol and ally."
At his side Orza scowls darkly, but does not directly challenge him, not yet.
"As for her demands, I know little of the tactical situation but as for her last demand....A trial would serve, would it not, Rudabeh? A trial of the King by his citizens. What could be more fair? Surely no potentate of the River Kingdoms is beyond reach of the common man?"
Viridia snorts, "A trial? Why bother?"
Samuel's eyes glow, and alight on Rudabeh, "To prove we are honest, open and lawful, and not a ravening mob like that of Galt. And of course, to allow justice to be done by the Pact."
Tolmara stepped forward, "Regardless of that, what of the second....condition." She smiles a bit at the word, as if amused by the temerity. "Do we have any place other then the Temple to rally the cause? There are many in the city who may follow us, if we give them time and place."
Orza says, anger somewhat receding, "Not if we can't keep them out of Irovetti's prisons. Those raids this morning has shaken confidence. "
Viridia steps forward, the light of battle in her eye, 'A rescue then?" As if she had forgotten their dispute she looks toward Rudabeh with a half grin.
Dagen's eyes go wide and he holds up a hand, 'I..I don't think that is wise. For one thing it is very dangerous. I doubt the dungeons would be easy to access. Who knows what might happen to those we send on this mission. You, or those who follow you," he looks at Rudabeh, trying to look caring, "Might not come back."
Rudabeh addresses the rogue first, words terse and simple. "I am a Seeker of Truth, Dagen. I know you hide something, and you know you hide it. If you do not tell me, I will find out eventually." She continues with words of a different tone, righteous and true ones. "I gather power, true," the undine says with a nod, "but I do it so that you all do not have to bear a target on your chest, so that I can ensure there is as little bloodshed as possible, and I swear to you that I aim to keep none of any power I obtain. It belongs in the hands of the People of Pitax."
A frown crosses the paladin's face as Orza points a finger at her, and she thinks back to her first meeting with Irovetti in the well-to-do inn on the first official day of the festival. "Perhaps it was my fault." She says softly, "In an effort to change him, I warned Irovetti that if he did not amend his ways that there will be repressed citizens that rise up against him. I was speaking generally, but perhaps he took the threat more seriously than I realized." Bowing her head low, the paladin's helmet reflects flashes of orange and red firelight. "I sincerely apologize for the damage caused to you and your fellows, and will take responsibility by carrying on their will, at least."
Samuel's voice, and more importantly his words, fill Rudabeh with the light airy feeling of someone justified... but only for a moment. The undine's eyes light up as the man says exactly along the lines she was thinking. Even the comparison to Galt rings so close to her own thoughts and experiences that...
It was... too close to what she was thinking. Am I... being manipulated? The cautious thought crosses her mind as she realizes just how dangerous Samuel is, and she wonders what lengths the sculptor will go to realize his ambitions. "Thank you, Samuel. That was exactly my intention." She says evenly, trying not to get caught up in the excitement of his words. "The King should stand trial, with testimonies from both supporters and dissentors alike, so that, as you said, the common man can have their say without fear of retribution. It is the way of the River Kingdoms. If Irovetti is disposed, it will show that any government formed in his absence is a just and fair one that puts its people first."
"I would be happy to talk to your students and artists. I have some ideas on an alternative form of government that I wish to discuss with your brighest thinkers." Rudabeh continues, showing a peek at a young idea that just formed in her head. "Regardless if Irovetti remains King or some other person takes his place, this person should not go unchecked. There should be a body of citizens that control a sovereign's finances or change the laws they make. The River Kingdoms is no place for a monarchy that puts its citizens second. Irovetti, or any ruler that follows him, should learn to work with the citizens, not against them."
Rudabeh tries to explain why she would like the temple evacuated in plain words. "While the sweeps Orza experienced were teams of soldiers, this temple is no fortress and will be raided by the full force. I believe that Irovetti will very soon send every soldier not guarding the palace here to take it back, firstly because he wants to reclaim the drugs within, secondly because Viridia helped me execute Dravos. His scorn will extend to you, Tolmara, especially after Kilarra was ejected from the temple and the building was siezed." As a disclaimer, Rudabeh reveals the rest of her motivations, spreading her hands wide. "To show you that I hide nothing to you, I freely admit I promised Kilarra I would do everything in my power to help her reclaim this temple. While I truly believe this place will be attacked, this is my attempt to fulfill that promise so I am no longer bound by it." She draws a breath, and sighs. "I thought I would be working with her to devise reforms to present to Irovetti and finding peaceful ways to dispel the growing unrest, but now... That path is gone. If I see her again perhaps I can convince her to join us, but I believe she would rather see your head in a ditch, Tolmara. Still, this building is vulnerable to attack, it was unlawfully siezed to begin with, and as a paladin, I must keep my word."
The idea of a rescue mission causes her to pause, hands going to the faulds of her beastplate. "I know where the dungeons are, and I know who has the keys." She says plainly, running the idea through her mind. "If Irovetti were not at the Palace, there are not enough guards to stop a well-trained force from overwhelming its defenses. However, I do not know if I can participate in such an activity. I do not know which citizens were unlawfully imprisoned and which ones were justifiably imprisoned, though if Toski Darrod is any example, they are probably all excuseable. In addition, though I owe a debt to Viridia and now Orza for her fellows, I cannot violate the sacred boundries of doorways and must always be invited into buildings nor can I condone the use of teleportation magic to circumvent barriers." It was not a glowing endorsement of Viridia's idea, but she certainly wasn't shutting it down either. Rather, she was laying out the reasons why she could not directly participate.
Viridia frowns as Rudabeh soft pedals the rescue idea. The large woman glances at Dagen and Tolmara then says, voice rough, "I'm going to find Nubuach." Without another word she slams open the massive doors and stalks out of the room, anger almost visibly rippling in her wake.
Dagen and Tolmara share a look but say nothing.
Orza breaks in, voice flinty, hard eyes fixed on Rudabeh, "You sincerely apologize? That is a great comfort to those locked up in Irovetti's prisons, being tortured as we speak. My friends, paladin. I won't forget it." She is about to say more but Tolmara taps her arm gently and she subsides mutinously.
On the other hand Samuel seems more intrigued and upset and nods at Rudabeh's words, but he face and stance indicate they should save such political debates for later, and in private.
As they go into tactical matters, and Rudabeh discusses Kilarra Tolmara actually laughs, "Kilarra? I doubt what she wants is of much importance. After all that in the field, she is probably in a dungeons somewhere. She is hardly a useful asset, to either side." The elf shrugs, dismissing the other woman with a slight shake of her head.
Dagen breaks in, "But other assets we do need to gather." He turns to Orza, "What about the others?"
The wiry waterwoman replies, "Lady Liacenza is int he woods, but she has her contacts here and is probably fully aware and heading this way right now, with her whole force at her back. Gemus is still with the King, or at least wherever he has stashed his supporters among the merchants and the nobles. Zhuk is, of course, captured."
"And Zadie is in the streets somewhere." Samuel adds but Oraz snorts.
"Zadie is nothing. He likes to play at rebels but when he need real deeds, he will bolt. You watch." She looks at Rudabeh pointedly.
Dagen shakes his head, "We need to centralize things. Anyone have a better idea for a command center?"
Rudabeh watches Viridia stalk out of the room, staring at the slammed door for several moments. She owed the barbarian woman much, and it was probably going to get her into trouble at some point. As Rduabeh's head turns back to the group, she notices another silent look between the two adventurers. Is there some magic at work? They always seems to be communicating without words.
Drawing in a deep breath, the paladin looks to Orza with sad eyes, accepting her harsh words with grace. "I agree. It is your right to seek reconcilation if I have wronged you or those you care about." She replies sincerely even as Tolmara taps the woman's arm. "But I ask we reconcile later." Rudabeh sweeps her gaze across the assembled people, extending the comment to all. "In fact, I ask that of everyone. I recognize my views will be in conflict with many of you. I will make decisions you will not agree with, or it may hurt progress towards your personal goals. I will be unable to say or do things the way you normally would. I am asking you to put aside your concerns and allow me to walk in the light of truth towards the promise of compromise, as I must, while you operate in the shadows. Most importantly, I ask you to put aside your individual goals so that we may all work towards the common purpose of enriching the common man."
She draws her lips in momentarily, trying to find the right words, looking at the lush carpets of the temple. "Soon, law and order will break down. I have stared into the fires of revolution in Galt when I was young and powerless, and it nearly killed me." Suddenly Rudabeh looks up, seemingly stronger than before as she places herself in her intended role in the coming struggle. "But now I have my goddess, my sword, and allies. Together, from the chaos, we can reform Pitax into something stronger if we all work together."
Rudabeh glances at Tolmara, but decides to say nothing. Though brittle and weak Kilarra was not one to be dismissed, for Rudabeh could see she would not yet totally defeated.
Though the undine seems to be full of speeches and righteousness, she does not waste all their time merely speaking of high ideals. "Then we move to the Red Cresent Theatre." She says curtly to Dagen and Oraz's concerns over a base of operations and Zadie. "If you are concerned he will not perform... " The incoming anology was originally unintentional, and it was too late to stop it as she looks to Orza, so Rudabeh just rolls with it "...then we must give him a stake in the show and put him on stage."
"If that is an acceptable meeting point, I am afraid I cannot go there directly. I must first stop at the Temple of Alseta and pray." The paladin explains herself, azure brows furrowing. "Please understand I will be toing the lines of my oaths and my commitment to my goddess by assisting you all. If I make a wrong decision for the wrong reasons I would not blame Alseta for stripping me of my power. I must reflect on my oaths so I do not stray from the path, and ask for forgiveness for the blood that is about to spilled and the chaos generated in the name of the betterment of community and the people of this city."
Her chainmail crinkles as she extends a hand in the revolution mastermind's direction. "Would you join me, Samuel? I believe we have much to discuss. If you need to gather your students, though, I understand."
"The Theatre?" Orza says doubtfully, 'It was one of the places raided today. We got most of the people out but they got just about everything else in their."
To her surprise Dagen speaks up, "What does it matter? The streets are probably a riot right now, chaos. Even if they raided it, it makes a good strong point. No windows, a few doors we can block. Maybe Irovetti left a guard, but I doubt he left many, he probably will pull everyone back to regroup. Let's plan on going there."
When Rudabeh mentions her and Samuel going off alone the rogue looks like he swallowed an entire lemon but says nothing, deep in conversation with Orza about the Green Hood and her forces. The rebel leader however bows and says, "Of course. Although I doubt the streets right now are a good place for discussion."
Tolmara watches them warily but stays quiet too, then she moves to say some quiet words to the people crowding the halls outside.
Rudabeh nods as they agree on the theatre. It was not the best choice, but it would have to do. In her mind, because it was already raided, it most likely would not be targeted again until Irovetti had retaken the church.
Thinking for a moment whether or not she could protect Samuel on her own in the streets, the paladin reconsiders. "I do not know where the temple is and was hoping you could guide me. We could have our discussion there, under the Eyes of Alseta. I believe I can protect you on the streets, but it may not be worth the risk to you. There is much to discuss about the future of Pitax, but I still feel we should not stay here. By the time we reach any sort of compromise this church will be swarming with soldiers. I leave the choice to you. We can postpone our discussion until we meet again at the theatre, or you can guide me to the temple and we will speak there."
It seemed the paladin was determined to go to the temple of Alseta, but she did not want to put Samuel in danger if he was not willing.
"I will come with you. At the least, I want to get a sense of the feeling on the streets. There is a river on the run out there, and we want to see how the current is flowing. I think you may under estimate the feelings you have unbottled."
Together, they wind their way out of the Calsitra temple, pushing past confused revelers and assembling rebels alike. They leave out of a gilded side door on a small side street. Samuel, with no problem, starts to lead them into the city.
'I'll try to avoid the main streets. I could guess those will be the arteries for Irvoetti's troops and agents." So instead the craftsmen plunges them into the warren of narrow side streets, with rough sometimes dirt roads and blank stone walls. There is no time for talk as they hurry through, and they wouldn't be able to hear anyway. Loud noises erupt all around. Screams, shouts, yells echo from street to street. The pounding of running feet, a rallying cry, or the smash of broken glass. On their street Rudabeh sees little except knots of men and women hurrying past, but on the larger streets Rudabeh can sense pandemonium.
Suddenly the street opens up onto a wider square, which probably contained a market in quieter times. Now the stalls are thrown about, broken poles and ripped canvas fluttering int he wind. Goods are scattered into the streets, trampled under feet. A large crowd is gathered in the center of the square, surrounding a large gilded statue. It looks to be of a winged being, perhaps an empyreal lord? The gilded gold glitters in the noon sun, overlaid with other shimmering colors. All around the crowd gathers around the heavy grantie podium, shouting and calling.
With a start Rudabeh sees chisels and hammers in hand. Already some are climbing up to get closer, trying to tear the gold off the imposing art piece. At her side Samuel stops dead, staring. Slowly he says, face unreadable, 'I made that statue...Winged Glory....years ago"
"Underestimate?" She echoes Samuel as they leave the temple, her heavy boots thudding along the wooden floors until they reach the stone steps. "No... I fear that the chaos I have unleashed is uncontainable, and so in my fear I downplay it." Physically Rudabeh was not afraid of anything, but she was not afraid to show Samuel that even a paladin can be vulnerable to existential fears.
She was glad Samuel joined her- the undine had enough trouble navigating the new streets before they had turned into rioting mess. Hurrying alongside the sculptor as fast as her armored form will allow, she still takes time to absorb the sounds of the chaos enveloping the city. I failed to prevent this... Could it have been prevented? Iniidae was most likely right all along. This was inevitable.
Rudabeh briefly worries for the ancient undine, hoping that she had used the money to eat a good meal and left the city before the trouble began.
There were more immediate matters to worry about than the fate of a single old woman, however, and Rudabeh slows to a stop beside Samuel as she takes in the statue and the crowd around it.
"It is beautiful." She says almost too quiet to hear.
Something flares within the paladin's heart. "These people are misguided." She says suddenly, before just as suddenly rushing forward to the crowd.
"Do you seek enrichment?!" Her voice, a booming mezzo-saprano, shouts over the crowd. "It is not found in this statue. Gold will not watch your back in the coming nights. Gold will not keep you warm, or protect your family when You Have What You Hold." She names the River Freedom that endorses banditry and holds up strength as the one of the higher virtues in the River Kingdom. "You may see this as taking back what belongs to you. But do you not realize you are stealing not only from yourself, but from your neighbors?"
She has started to move around the crowd, looking into the eyes of all gathered, her voice entering the familar pattern of preaching. "This statue was built using not only your taxes! It was built with the entire country's taxes! It is here for all to enjoy! It is here so you may see what your country, bursting with artistry and creativity, can accomplish when you all work together."
Rudabeh throws her arms wide, as if to embrace the entire crowd. "That is true enrichment, one that comes from your fellows and your community! A loved neighbor will watch your back, make sure your family is fed, and the tight bounds of a community can resist anything!"
One arm falls as she sweeps a finger across the gathering. "Ask yourself, who is benefiting from this? Yourself? What of your neighbors? Does this greed not remind you of those you despise? Would you jealously guard this gold from them, just as the king and his nobles do? Are you not angry at the inequities in this land, caused by this very same greed you now emulate?"
Her voice rises to a crescendo, stalking around the crowd, her movements animated. "Take up arms not against statues for the good of yourself! Instead take up arms for the good of your neighbors, for your community, for your country! If you wish to fight the opression that has plagued your country, go to the Red Cresent Theatre. Gather there with your fellows who have already linked arms to defend your right to have a place and a voice in your government!"
The paladin stops and raises a gaunleted fist, her shining armor seeming to glow with righteousness. "Together, WE are the true Unconquerable Legions of Pitax! WE. ARE. LEGION!"
At her side Sameul's golden eyes gleam in the mix of firelight from the crowd and the bright sunshine. He roars in agreement at Rudabeh's words, face animated with emotion, and raising his fist in defiance at her last words. As Rudabeh's last words roll over the group, the rebel leader starts to climb atop a pile of broken market stalls, gaining a higher place over the crowd.
As he climbs, Rudabeh's trained eyes sweep the crowd. Most are simple people, shopkeeps, porters, a few farmers from the villages outside the city proper. Many are dirty and hungry looking. At her glance a few rougher looking men on the edge of the crowd, many carrying sacks or bags, vanish into side streets, obviously unhappy at how the tide is flowing. The attacks on the statue cease as the crowd listens.
Samuel stands tall and proud on a broken shop stall, banners of ripped cloth flowing behind him like banners.
"Brothers and Sisters! Heed the call you have heard. This paladin speaks not only for herself but from Alseta herself. A goddess is with us!" A murmer of approval rolls through the crowd.
"She defied Irovetti on the jousting field, standing alone if need be. But I say to you, she does not stand alone! We the people of Pitax stand behind her."
"Every farmer who is forced to watch his grain be carted away at a low price to fill fat men's bellies!" Scattered shouts of agreement.
"Every woman forced to bribe an official to get her bread." more cheers.
"Every worker who slaves away on gild projects for the rich, and whose own home is a shack!" Roars of approval.
"Today we stand up to the classes that oppressed us! United, we are unbreakable. Together, united, we can achieve a new victory, a new dawn for Pitax!" Everyone cheers and the statue is forgotten as the column makes their way to the Theater.
Samuel looks breathless with excitement and enthusiasm as the crowd marches away, singing songs and clapping in unison.
"For Pitax!" he cries, arms held high in supplication. "For the People!"
Rudabeh remains silent as Samuel speaks to the crowd, her duty done now that the looters had vanished. She wonders how much of Samuel's words were exageration. How much of what he said really went on? The common people certainly did not hate Irovetti, but there was still enough surpression to whip them into such a bloody frenzy...
She suspects it is not Irovetti himself that is the problem, but the state he is attempting to create, modeled after Taldor or Cheliax with their gilded aristocracy. It was a culturally incompatible idea with the River Kingdoms; the people would eventually throw off any yoke placed upon them.
The paladin's thoughts on the country's woes fade as she approaches Samuel, and she looks into his flushed face. This was a man bursting with charisma, one that had found his calling years ago and was finally able to realize it. For a brief moent she envied his fulfillment. She was questioning whether or not her goddess and Veleda would reject her for her actions while Samuel pushes ahead with absolute confidence in his actions.
"Alseta is a goddess of change, as you know." The undine says calmly, any fevor that was in her voice before now completely gone. While it took a human several minutes to calm down, her racial heritage allowed her to switch demeanors in an instant.
"But it is slow, predictable change. Aging. The rotation of seasons. The turning of the calender year. The slow meandering of a river over hundreds of years." She intones, extneding a hand to help him down from the market stall. "I do not know if she approves of changes as quick and as violent as this. If the results are for the greater good of Pitax I suspect my goddess will approve, but I do not believe she will endorse the process we have chosen."
When Samuel has reached the ground, she lets go of his hand and looks back towards the statue glittering in the light. "That is why I must pray and ask for her guidance and forgiveness. That is why, if you truly want a goddess on your side, we must first try to convince Irovetti to work with the people, accept the culture of the River Kingdoms, and abandon his ideas of a Taldor-like state. We must at least try."
She turns, waving a hand. "But we can discuss this later at the temple. Thank you for helping me convince these people that their fellow man, and their country, are more important than gold. I hope they will remember that lesson if they end up fighting side by side."
Samuel's flushed face doesn't dim when Rudabeh tries to splash some cold water on the overheated orator. Whens he talks about slow change he waves her aside, callused hand cutting the air cleanly, "And sometimes the dam breaks and a century of change is down overnight! We should not be fighting this energy, but using it, channeling it in righteous fury."
"They are risking their lives, Rudabeh, just as surely as we are. The least we can do is give them a bright future to strive for. Slogans for 'incremental change' won't light the fire we need. But yes, this is no time to talk. Let us go on."
Accepting her help he lightly jumps to the ground, and leads the way. They don't have to go far, cutting down a few side streets, moving in and out of the small shadows cast by the early afternoon sun. The air is hot and rank, the smell of the river thick on Rudabeh's tongue. From that, and the lay of the marshy land, it is clear they are close tot he docks.
Samuel pauses at a corner and says, "If I may offer advice in your own church, I would be careful here. Irovetti did not co-opt the Alesta church as thoroughly as he did the Calsitria but he was always very generous to them. The King gave them this temple for free and always supported them during tax season or when spoils were given out. Be wary, their loyalties may not be what you wish."
With those warning words they move out onto one of the large, wide boulevards. At the far end, near a corner, Rudabeh can see masses of men and women moving around, with a few figures on higher places exhorting the crowds, but it is all too distant to hear or make out clearly. Samuel grins though and says, "The streets are rising."
Directly ahead of them is a simple stone building, with a chisled portico of stone leaning over the sidewalk. The signs of Alseta are carved above the entryway (which is large and elaborate) but is is clear to Rudabeh this building used to house something more mundane. She reflects it is somewhat unusual for the temple to be int he city proper at all. Most holy places to Alseta are outside the city limits, often in a grove of trees or around a spring. The priests often find it wise to stay out of direct control of the local authorities and away from the hustle and bustle of daily life.
There are no signs of life around it. No milling crowds or people going in and out. Samuel looks torn. Obviously part of him wants to head to the congregating groups at the end of the street but he also wants to talk with Rudabeh about the future of the uprising.
Rudabeh doesn't have an immediate answer to Samuel's rhetoric about utilizing the energy of the people. He was right, of course, but the thought made her nervous. Queasy, almost.
Trying to channel chaos into some force that would create order... it was the same concept as using a storm to move a ship, but these winds were unfamilar to the paladin, and she had no experience with the sails.
She stops on the street as Samuel does, turning to blankly listen to his advice. Inhaling slowly through her nose as she processes the information, the undine is both thinking and sampling the scent of the river close by- the river she could use to escape all this if she wanted. To dive in and swim freely, to spear a fat catfish and eat it belly first... simpler thoughts floated through her mind for the briefest of moments at the smell of the nearby marsh.
"I hope their loyalties will be first and foremost be to Alseta and the communities of Pitax, but all have their vices. Money and comfort are popular ways to purchase loyalty." She says flatly, turning limpid eyes to the temple in the distance. "In any case, I had no plans to ask them for assistance in the rebellion. As a paladin I am expected to fight and occasionally take sides, but the priests should truly remain as neutral as possible for mediation purposes."
She begins to make her way to the temple, plate and chain ringing softly with every step. "All I seek is a quiet place to pray for guidance, some supplies, and a safe room for us to talk. They should be willing to provide those services to anyone, ranging from Asmodeus himself to a street begger."
As the temple comes into closer view, Rudabeh is perplexed by the location and design of the temple. Being in the middle of the city was strange enough, but the fact it was not built from scratch by a church architect for the glory of Alseta was pushing its existance into the bizzare territory.
Rudaeh glances at Samuel, noting his torn expression. Normally she would have no problem seperating to let him speak to the people while she was praying and dealing with mundane business, but she swore to protect him as long as he was guiding her. It was hard to protect someone if you weren't next to them. "Once we have determined the proper course to take, we will speak to them and more. The people should know our plans, and spread them. Let our ideas be tested in the court of public opinion." She says evenly before ushering him on towards the church.
They cross the street together, Samuel obviously divided but following without delay. He even nods and says, "Yes, although we should not over plan. This is a time for action!"
From the temple ahead, through the open door, she sees shadowy shapes moving around inside. Men moving this way and that, in armored uniform. This is no mob or group of street peasants. These are Irovetti's soldiers. Loud thumps and bumps sound from inside, sounding like barrels being tossed around in the hold of a ship.
Rudabeh's keen ears also hears protests from several voices (some female) and harsh male voices shouting back, silencing them.
At this distance it is hard to tell how many men and others may be inside.
Samuel sucks his breath and in and says, "Looks like we have been beaten here. We should retreat and join up with one of the crowds."He is already moving away.
Rudabeh freezes as she hears the commotion from inside, ears perking to press firmly against the inside of her helmet. Her enchanced vision picks out the uniformed shapes of soldiers inside, causing her brow to deeply furrow. The sounds of protest from inside further agitate her and cause her sword hand to twitch. This was a sacred place of neutrality and discussion... anyone should be able to freely and peacefully conduct business inside without fear of harassment or prosecution.
"Samuel." She says curtly as he begins to walk away, turning only her head to look at him. Her expression, visible through her open-face helmet, is one of clear determination. "What kind of paladin would I be if I allowed one of my own temples to be ransacked and its priests terrorized? In any case, the soldiers are most likely looking for me, and it is my fault they are searching the place. I must take responsibility for this. Besides, is this not a way to rescue the church from Irovetti's heavy hand?" Her words are edged with anger, sure that the soldiers are tresspassing and interrogating the occupants about her own whereabouts. Usually she would get the entire story before jumping to conclusions, but the panicked voices inside told her enough.
She debates luring the soldiers outside, or going in to confront them. Luring them outside would cause a spectacle on the streets and attract attention, but she is loathe to spill blood in a temple dedicated to diplomacy.
A gauntleted hand touches the copper and silver holy symbol brooch affixed to the collar of her breastplate, asking her goddess for a blessing to help her defend the sanctity of this church.
"If you wish to leave, I will find you among the crowds down the street. But know I cannot protect you if Iam not next to you. If you wish to stay, I suggest you maintain a position far behind me." She says matter of factly, hand reaching up to draw her greatsword.
The Sixth Peak is flipped over her shoulder, seemingly hissing with delight at being drawn for the second time today. Briefly shouldering the gleaming five feet of steel, Rudabeh takes a curved path to approach the entrance of the temple, taking the sidewalk and remaining out of line of sight of the doors as she crosses the threshold of the portico.
When she arrives next to the doors, she shouts inside "There's a rebel outside stirring up the crowds!", voice carrying into the building and echoing off the walls. It was a true statement, whether or not Samuel was still behind her.
The paladin's sword flips vertically from her shoulder, grip adjusting to make the blade parallel to the ground. The deadly tip is pointed outward, ready to drive through the neck of the first soldier to exit the doors, as she settles her body into a solid Ox stance.
Divide and conquer. Urqat always said that. Rudabeh thinks grimly as she prepares to fight. This was an underhanded tactic, but so was ransacking a temple of Alseta. There was no hesitation in her decision to kill them for their transgressions- a soldier should always be prepared to die to carry out their orders.
Samuel reads her face then nods slowly, "I will stay with you." Rudabeh though has a funny feeling it is less about supporting her and more about seeing what the paladin can do in a tight spot.
The undine pauses outside the open door, taking long slow breaths of the humid air. It was comforting to be so near the waterside, for her at least. She does notice Samuel is even more sweaty then usual though, as the day's heat mixes with the moisture laden air.
After she calls the sounds inside stops for a moment. Finally a rough male voice says, 'Who the Hells is that?" Steps toward the door and then, 'Of course there are rebels outside, they are all over the place." Then a solider steps out. He is wearing simply mail and leather, and it looks stained and muddy. Perhaps he was at the jousting field this morning? A young and youthful face creased by worry and confusion surmounts a short blonde beard.
Rudabeh sees this in an instant as her blade comes down in a flash. The man is caught totally off guard and the blow catches him on the shoulder, slicing cleanly through armor and clothes. Blood spurts out of the wound and Rudabeh can feel the steel grate on bone. The man staggers back against the doorframe, too confused to react.
Inside Rudabeh hears a muffled curse then shouted orders.
"The crowd outside is attacking! Get those priests in a sideroom and cover the windows. Form up, damn you, form up!" It is the shout of an experienced commander.
In front of her the man, still alive, slides to the ground, holding the gaping wound on his shoulder, vainly trying to hold back a torrent of blood. He looks up at Rudabeh in confusion, eyes blurry with pain and tears.
Rudabeh takes a moment to look into the eyes of the soldier, a grim frown on her azure lips as she pulls her blade up high.
"Be at peace." She intones as the bloodied steel flashes through the air, cleaning caving in the young man's skull. It stays lodged for a few moments as she listens to the commander, deciding there was no way to lure them all out one by one.
The paladin's greatsword could be seen from the doorway, its red-streaked and acid-etched metal clearly visible. She yanks the blade free and walks forward to occupy the doorway, low-hanging sword easily crossing the threshold into the temple.
A drip of bright red blood falls from the tip of her blade onto the stone, and Rudabeh shakes her head sadly. "Alseta, please forgive me for spilling blood in your temple."
Her hard, sapphire-like eyes sweep over the assembled soldiers, looking at them as if they were forcing her to do something she really didn't want to do. "Cover the windows...? You forget whose house you occupy."
Blood dripping from her bright blade, sun glinting off her shining armor, Rudabeh steps over the doorway and the bodies of her fallen foes like an avatar of war. Her face however is one of firm resolution, not of vengeance. Her hand driven by duty and a great good, not by mindless hate. A warrior doing what is right.
Her eyes quickly adjust to the gloom, and she sees the interior of the temple. It contains little furniture, this area merely being a large round room clearly meant for larger gatherings and services. Natural rush woven tapestries hang on the walls and the ceiling is painted with clouds and bright blue sky. Along the far wall a set of large windows open onto the street behind the building. Various doors lead off to smaller side rooms, most of these hanging open. Glimpsing through Rudabeh can see tossed furniture, clothes strewn around and damaged goods. The search, or ransacking, had not been gentle. The paladin sees no signs of her coreligionists.
The soldiers stand in the center of the room, hurriedly trying to assemble into a formation. There are ten of them, mostly younger men like the man she slew at the door. A few have scars or burns revealing rough lives spent in the field or mistakes on the parade ground. Most are armed with swords and axes, but two have crossbows, already loaded. They look at her in confusion, apparently expecting more (but lesser) foes.
One stands apart, wearing better armor and a sword in his hand. Older, with a cragged face and a mop of graying hair he is clearly the experienced voice Rudabeh heard outside. In an instant he understands and curses softly. Then he rallies, shouting, 'Well, we came looking for her men, and there she is. She is the one who started that fight in the jousting field! Come on, let's take her."
Another man shouts, face pale but voice hard, "For Kern!"
Before Rudabeh can react the man shouts, 'Loose!"
The two crossbows thud and bolts stream toward Rudabeh.
One goes wild while the other is reflected by her armor, catching an angle and sliding off. At the failure of the volley the others hang back, the soldiers obviously getting a sense of the danger. Rudabeh is no peasant to rob or fisherman to harass. She is a trained fighter, in her prime.
The captain pulls a pouch out of his belt and throws it at Rudabeh's feet.
It hits her greaves and explodes into a swarm of wriggling tar like tentacles, gluing her to the floor. Ina n instant the glue starts to harden, seizing her entire lower half up.
"This is our chance, lads!"
Rudabeh pauses as the "men" assemble, shocked they are little more than boys. It was difficult for her to tell human ages apart, but even she could tell they were young and inexperienced. A sad smile graces her lips as she quickly counts their number. Ten to one. What would Finn say about this? Do I die here, overwhelmed by human children?
A sudden resolution hones her thoughts, sad smile turning her azure lips into a flat line. Here I am, fighting to protect a ransacked temple of Alseta and its occupants. If I die here... it will be a good death. A paladin's death.
The shouting of their comrade's name snaps her out of her grim revitalization, and sadness washes over her heart. I am sorry, Kern. Rudabeh thinks as a bolt bounces off of her breastplate, the steel head leaving a shining line of ablated metal across her right side. Forgive me for not giving you a chance to run or surrender, at least. May Pharasma judge you fairly. The other bolt goes wide in the middle of her prayer, as everything seems to happen at once.
She intends to make up for her underhanded tactic that killed Kern by shouting a warning, "You have violated the sanctity of this temple! Leave or be killed!" , just as the commander tosses a bag at her.
The tangle-foot bag explodes over her sabatons, causing her to flinch at the unexpected and unknown substance impedes her movement. She knew vaguely what was thrown at her, but had no idea how to remediate it.
Even with her footwork nearly ruined, the paladin swings low at the nearest combatant, using her blade's incredible reach to her advantage. "Lads?! These are boys! Why do you send boys to their death?" She accuses, briefly concentrating on the sergeant to suss out his aura.