One Out of Many

Game Master Mowque

You detect the not so subtle hand of the shadow co-gm. He also wanted to make Goldwin invisible and able to fly but I haggled him down. Also, what was that about playing a character that is perhaps too self assured?

As the healing powers of her goddess rush through her Rudabeh knows that time is not on her side. This has been a long day, she is tired and wounded. Even at the best of time trading blows with a giant is not the best strategy but particularly not in her current state. No, she needed to end this quickly.

Spotting her target, she sets her teeth and rushes forward as best she can over the tumbled barricade crest. Tables, chairs, barrels and wagon wheels flow past her, each one throwing a stark silhouette against the growing flames, black on red.

Her raging foe lashes out with the broken flagpole, hoping to skew her.

AoO: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (8) + 8 = 16

AoO: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (17) + 8 = 25
Damage: 2d6 + 5 ⇒ (5, 2) + 5 = 12

His first blow misses, Rudabeh managing to dodge it, but the next lands home. The ragged wood punches clean through her armor, the mighty thrust simply too much to turn aside or absorb. Even the leather below is torn to shreds by the attack and Rudabeh feels the splintering wood sink deep into her left thigh, wrenching against bone. Dark undine blood gushes out, staining her armor.

But no matter. She was not feeling her foe's attacks. No, she was simply in another training drill, one more attack in a long hot day full of strikes and guards. Her target is right ahead of her, a wide gap in armor, a perfect point to cut deep. The paladin steps up, plants her feet perfectly, the sword light as a stick in her hand. Then she thrust up and into the imposing shape looming above her, sliding in perfectly, avoiding the armor.

Then the world comes crashing back down on her. The screams of dying men below, the crackling of hungry flames behind and the roars of a dying giant ahead. Sixth Peak's bite is deep, thrust deep into Goldwin's vitals. Reflex causes her to pull it out, letting a gush of bright red flow, splashing her and the barricade. It is like a waterfall, the knight's lifeblood cascading over the barricade.

Roaring he totters back, face wracked with unbearable pain, hands swinging. He leans back farther, farther....then topples over the crest, screaming as he falls. A streamer of bright red blood follows him over the side. Rudabeh watches the giant fall, and as he does, he shrinks down, reversing the terrifying transformation. By the time he hits the ground he is nothing then an another body, another corpse on a street littered with them. His armor hits the road with a clang among the soldiers, pushing out one final gout of blood.

There is a moment of silence while the soldiers look up at Rudabeh. She stands tall and proud, massive greatsword in hand, foot firmly planted on a wooden chest. Smoke curls behind her framing against a bloodred sunset sky, while flames dance at her feet, throwing glittering orange across her armor and blade. No flames touch her, as if the fire itself was in her thrall. For this instant Rudabeh is unconquerable, confidence and power made flesh.

The soldier flee into the darkening street without looking back once.

Whew

He DID have combat reflexes! Damn. Thanks for haggling co-gm down, though I feel a little bad the dice gods rejected his fighting monstrosity.

My backup strategy was to lead him ovver the portion of the barricade that had been partially cleared from the bottom, hopefully causing it to collapse and trapping his lower body. Not really sure how iwould have justified Rudabeh thinking that, though. As I said before she's not Roy!

Wretching her sword from the artifical giant's body, the undine is sprayed with blood for the second time in two days. The metallic smell assaults her nostrils, obscuring even the smoke in the air.

Rudabeh watches Goldwin tumble in a cascade of blood, unable to take her eyes away both in morbid fascinaton and wanting to make sure he was dead. She had seen many beasts and people bleed out, and knew by the sheer volume her strike was true- she had compeltely severed one of the major arteries in his hip, and probably skewered his guts. It reminded her of a punctured waterskin, its contents bursting out in a torrent.

Movement in the bottom of her vision catches her eye and she looks down, noticing the blood on her gauntlets also shrinking as Goldwin's potion fades. She tries to ignore all the blood on her leg that didn't shrink, which is still warmly tricking out of her torn up thigh.

Returning her attention to the ground, she is nearly startled by all the eyes on her. All the soldiers were staring, and she sweeps her glance over them. She realizes what they are looking for, and holds it together for a few more seconds, body taut and powerul.

They have no idea every part of her body is sore and she has exhausted every blessing Alseta has given her. They don't know she is putting her entire weight on her right leg, and most of the blood covering her lower half is her own. The paladin was spent, but for a few more seconds she looks like a fearless, indomitable warrior capable of killing every single one of them.

So they turn and run, and as they do her right leg gives out, no longer able to support over two hundred pounds of undine, metal, and leather. Stumbling only briefly, she puts her back against a wagon wheel. Looking down, she can feel the creeping pain of several splinters lodged in her leg as the combat adreneline wears off. I didn't know if that would work. How am I still alive? She wonders, before looking up at the sky. Alseta must have more work for me to do....and there is certainly plenty to do here.

Shining limpid eyes look up to the barricade and she throws up her left fist, the metal and leather gauntlet stained darkly with blood. "TOGETHER!" Rudabeh shouts with what little energy she has left. "WE ARE VICTORIOUS!"

No, all the soldiers flee. They aren't taking their risks with the crowd. However, a few look more like they are deserting then retreating

All around her the crowd roars approval. Whatever else she may have said is forgotten in this moment. Here and now, she is the hero of the revolution, her sword the blade of the people. Hundreds of fists are raised to the orange sky, blades taken from the dead or fleeing raised glittering like a host of flames.

"Together!" They scream, voices hoarse, "For Pitax!"

Off to the side Samuel is looking at her, his face hard to read. She sees confusion there, shocked surprise and more then a little fear. Down below a bloody, dirty and ragged Zaira looks up, awe and wonder on her face. At least for the moment she has mastered this crowd and everyone in it. But what else would this day and those that follow it, bring?

Ahead, through the smoke and evening dusk, she can see the Red Cresent Theater looming. That way lies the way to revolt...and destiny.

Frankly, that is probably the smartest decision for them right now.

Rudabeh, still leaning on the wagon wheel, looks over the glittering blades shining in the smoldering flames of the barricade. She could spend all day wondering whether or not she was doing the right thing, but she at least took solace in the fact that Goldwin, clearly an unwitting and selfish agent of chaos similar to Rennert, was dead. The fact she had absolute sway over the crowdat the moment seemed lost on her, uninterested in the power it bestowed.

Head swinging, she then looks at the Red Crescent Theater, its presence reminding her there was still so much to do. She draws in a breath, then pushes off of the wheel with a groan. The paladin makes her way towards Samuel with a slight limp and a tired face, extending her hand to take her bow back from the sculptor.

"Make sure Zaira gets a weapon." The paladin says flatly while putting her own blade down for a moment, hands busily unstringing the three foot tall yew recurve bow. "She's going to break her hands fighting like she was."

The bowstave and string disappear in the extra-dimensional pocket of her bag of holding, and out comes a rag. Rudabeh starts to wipe the assorted blood off of her sword, still speaking to Samuel. "That woman has an incredible spirit. There's no question she's going to fight, so I should teach her how to not cut off her own fingers at least." The rag wipes off globs of fresh blood, spilling onto the furniture below. Bits of dark, burnt blood remain on the blade, a project for later. "Spears would be ideal for everyone, but unless a smith has joined the rebellion to fashion some out of old metal and sticks I don't know where you would find such a supply. In any case, I hope this is over quickly. Irovetti is sure to hire bands of mercenaries to supplement his soldiers, and they will not fall, or flee so easily." It would seem that even after the battle has ended the paladin's mind was still on making war, even as she hopes for peace.

She looks at the blood-soaked rag and shakes her head, but says nothing. So much death. I hope it is worth it. Her hand finds her sword hilt and her sword finds its sheath in short order. Rudabeh turns towards the theater in the distance, face passive. "Let us go. Did you say earlier Lady Green Hood and her forces will be joining us?"

I dunno why I said the bow was made of oak before, yew saplings are a much better material for single-piece bows. I almost don't know as much about bows as I do about swords, so I might flub a bit here and there.

I'm the GM, I'll just change the wood type everytime I want. An elm bow! Apple wood!

Even unstringing the bow is an ordeal for the tired paladin. She had fought three fights today, and yet the true struggle lay ahead. She doubted Irovetti would simply lie down and surrender, no matter how big of a crowd they assembled. What might she be called to do before this affair was over? And that was not even mentioning the adventurers and their designs...

Samuel still looks a bit starstruck but is recovering at Rudabeh's prosaic words."I...I'll make sure someone gives Zaira something."

He shakes his head, like someone trying to get water out of his ears, "Who knows what we will find at the Theater. I hope the others have assembled other such groups like ours, but we have few warriors of your caliber. As for the mercenaries, I worry about that too. It would take a few to change the tide. Perhaps we should consider hiring some when we meet..."

Anything else before heading off to meet up with what the rest of the rebellion holds?

Great, Rudabeh's longbow is going to have an identity crises!

She wasn't quite sure why Samuel was acting strangely. Shock, maybe. This was likely his first real battle, even if he didn't fight. She reasons, completely unable to fathom the notion that he would be starstruck. After all, she was merely performing her duty. There was nothing special about it to her.

"Viridia is easily twice the warrior I am." Rudabeh says evenly as they speak of experienced fighters. "Though she is lacking in control and direction... in the end it is Dagen and Tolmara that guide her, and I do not trust the former." The undine was simply letting her thoughts be known to Samuel, speaking as they begin to walk.

"If Gemus and his merchants are truly willing to put their coin into the collection plate," She says while slowly climbing over an upturned, half-burned table with a groan. "...then hopefully they can provide us with equipment and some strong arms. Though I worry if they would truly have the coin to compete with Irovetti if a bidding war for mercenaries began."

Nothing else, she's already preached to this crowd, it's up to them whether or not the lessons sink in.

Rudabeh, without even meaning to, leads the crowd down a wide empty street. They trail behind her, no longer yelling or shouting, but whispering between themselves. Building a story, swelling the legend, creating a myth of Rudabeh on the ramparts, taking down a giant with the name of Pitax on her lips. Unbowed, unbroken.

Around them the city is quiet, with houses either locked up tight or dark and empty. Everyone seems to be busy making a choice. Backing the marching crowds or quietly waiting for the King to restore order. Whatever they chose is danger. The easy option is to lock the doors, bolt the windows and wait. But if the crowds prevail....there will be little forgiveness for those that waited inside. Rudabeh knows that 'collaborators' are always some of the first hung after a successful revolution.

At her side Samuel is speaking, and seems to be coming back to normal as talk turns to mundane things, "Perhaps not, but sellswords are not only interested in gold, but also winning. If we could convince them we will win, they will back the right horse."

As Rudabeh ponders this, she (and 'her' crowd) enter into the wide plaza around the Theater. There are hundreds of people there milling around. The atmosphere is a confusing mix of carnival, anxiety, energy, and released violence. Everyone is moving around, talking too loud, too fast, with weapons flashing here and there. The smell of ale and drugs is on the air, along with the odor of blood.

It is hard to see in the growing darkness but she guesses they are twice again as many as she is bringing behind her. They don't see quite as organized as hers, clearly no on here is taking charge. Around the edge of the plaza Rudabeh sees broken statues, pulled down by the crowd. A few stand upright...with bodies hanging from nooses on them. The paladin could not be everywhere but those dim, dark figures stood out as failures in her mind.

Then, looming out of the seething crowd Orza appears. "Where have you-" She breaks off as she spots the tramping crowd behind the undine, better armed and better led then the others.

She quiets then says, gruffly, "They want you inside." And turns without another word.

Samuel shakes his head and mutters to Rudabeh, "I'll meet you there, let me work on here." and hurries off after the Hanspur cleric.

Just as Rudabeh is about to follow however, she hears a female voice behind her.

"I still follow Samuel." It is Zaira, head raised, voice proud.

The whispering swirling around Rudabeh does not draw her attention. Instead, she is focused on the locked up houses and quiet facades. She doesn't blame people for sitting on the sidelines, trying to decide what is right. That was her this morning until Dravos Rennert revealed himself as an agent of chaos and Irovetti defended him, sending her on the current path of events.

Irovetti must be punished for violating Say What You Will, improperly imprisoning his citizens, breaking his deal with Toski... it is my duty that he be brought to justice. Stripping him of power and handing it to the people is not only a fitting punishment, but will beenfit Pitax in the long run She thinks, her head swinging forward to look down the street towards the Red Cresent. Despite his crimes against his people, if he can learn a lesson and show a willingness to listen I do not believe he deserves death as many of the rebels do. I worry he will be unable to change, but that will be dealt with when the time comes.

"How does a sculptor know so much about the behavior of sellswords?" Rudabeh asks Samuel plainly, turning her gaze to him. She still walks with a slight limp and looks like someone left her over a fire and tried to turn her into hickory-smoked undine, but the paladin still walks tall and with an air of righteousness.

"While it's true mercenaries prefer to be on the winning side, that is only if they are captained well. A good captain knows that fame and reputation is far more important than pay. But never underestimate the sheer lust for gold some mercenaries hold. If the reward is worth it, the risks do not matter." She intones as they walk, recalling some stories Finn has told her about some truly despicable adventurers and sellswords she has been forced to work with over the years.

The atmosphere in front of the theater makes Rudabeh uneasy, and she shakes her head at the bodies hanging from statues. She had not gotten used to this air of revolution, and hoped she never did, for it far too often transports her back to Galt and the bloody days leading up to her family's flight from Dabril.

The scar on the side of her head itches, the phantom, almost existential pain standing out in stark constant from the real pain of her bloodied and burnt legs.

Orza appears, as pleasant as ever, though Rudabeh neither has the will nor time to respond before she runs off. With a tired nod to Samuel, she briefly turns towards Zaira. "Good." She says raspily, briefly clearing her throat and nose of smoke only to be greeted by the smell and taste of beer and blood.

"Guard him closely. He is keeping everyone together. Me, Lady Green Hood, the Kingdom of the Free, Orza, the students..." A small smile tugs at the edge of her dried and cracked lips, as she realizes how many people she is surrounded by that probably think her ideas are crazy. "It is plain you and I don't agree on many things, and it is even more pronounced in everyone else making up the leadership of this rebellion. Without him we would fall to bickering and in fighting. So, keep him safe if you want to see a new day dawn in Pitax."

She quickly looks over the woman, seeing if she picked up a weapon. "You are going to break your hands trying to punch men in chainmail." Rudabeh repeats herself as before to Samuel. "Find a spear if you can, they are much easier to use. Though we are not replete with choices so any blade shorter than your forearm will do. If we have some time tonight I can at least show you how to not stab yourself in the foot."

With a sigh, the paladin nods to Zaira. "I must go from a battlefield of steel and blood to one of words and ideas. Until we meet again."

Before she leaves she projects her voice over the crowd that has been following them. "Please wait here while we discuss our next move! Tend to one another and share what you have! Remember, we are all in this TOGETHER!"

Turning, the paladin limps off into the bowels of the theater.

When Rudabeh asks about mercenaries Samuel merely smiles, tiredly, "I am a sculptor but also a leader of the rebels. Or at least, I was the leader. Who knows what may happen now?"

Rudabeh surveys Zaria, the small rather delicate looking woman. She doesn't look like someone who can battle an armed soldier hand to hand but the undine was quite aware that, often, it wasn't the size of the dog in the fight but the size of the fight in the dog. Still, the art student would end up killed sooner rather then later if this went on. Despite her words, the woman still carried no blade, although she had her fists wrapped in blood spotted linen.

When she speaks well of Samuel Zaira's eyes shine, "It is true. He is the lodestone that give us a sense of the way, the trailblazer. Whatever you try to build here, he will be a big part of it and there are many that will follow him."

At the mention of training the young woman looks doubtful. As Rudabeh turns away she notes one or two other better dressed people, presumably other students, rushing up to talk to Zaira.

At Rudabeh's words 'her' crowd raises fists and cheers loud enough to make heads throughout the entire square turn. "Together!" they cheer back. Their faces alight with righteous purpose and fury. However as Rudabeh turns she spots face filled with quite a different emotion, one of wry sarcasm and sardonic amusement. It is held by a young woman standing near one of the little informal fires springing up all over the dark plaza. It takes Rudabeh a moment to recognize her (how many new faces and names had she learned these last few days?) but it comes to her. The young woman who had arrived just before the Kingdom of the Free, the one who had allowed the teleportation, who had taken her bag of gold and vanished.

Rudabeh's walk slows as she sees a recognizable face, making eye contact with the young woman. As her identity coalesces in her mind, she turns and begins to make her way to the small makeshift fire. This woman was an enigma to her, unsure if she is some kind of messenger or trusted ally of the four adventurers. Considering she was still here while the city was consuming itself around her, the latter seemed more likely. Though the paladin was mostly curious what part this woman played, any knowledge of the Kingdom of Free's cohorts would be useful if Dagen was up to something.

"Hello, I am Rudabeh of Outsea. The paladin says as she approaches, extending her gauntlet, which despite being covered in dried blood and ash, still managed to convey an aura of genuine friendliness. "You introduced Tolmara, Nubauch, Dagen, and Viridia at the feast, correct? Do you work for them?"

The woman takes Rudabeh's hand, apparently able to ignore the mess splashed across the metal.

"My name is Sareh, nice to meet you." Her grip is healthy and strong. "Work for them? Not sure how to answer that. I guess, in a sense, everyone in the Kingdom of the Free works for them. That said, I consider myself a free woman."

She waves a hand at the assembled citizens, dotted with small fires. "It won't work out the way you want, you know." She says simply, looking over the dark plaza. "This whole revolution thing. It never does." Her voice is matter of fact and still light. Rudabeh has a feeling she isn't talking about the horrors of Galt or other failed revolutionary states. Not the images that haunt the edges of RUdabeh's vision even now.

A simple handshake can tell a lot about a person, and Rudabeh can already tell this was no average woman. Despite her warning, Sarah's matter of fact demeanor actually puts the paladin at ease. Finally, someone honest in Pitax.

"Someone once told me "Ideals are for the outer planes. Here, they are merely a source of disappointment."" The undine quotes the ever dour and down-to-seabed Urqat before spreading her hands wide. "He is right, but that does not stop us from chasing what we believe to be perfection, does it?"

"Tell me," Rudabeh continues with a light tone, genuinely curious. " What do you think will happen?"

Down to seabed. Love it

"Lots of people will die." She says, to start but goes on, "You will probably manage to sweep the King and his cronies aside. The Kingdom of the Free are a pretty powerful group, even disregarding the troops and such behind them. I doubt anything in Pitax can stand against them, if they have the Pact supporting them."

Then Sareh shrugs, "After that? What usually happens. The ideals get quietly sidelined and the powerful take over. I read a book once, that said "The strong do what they can and the weak suffer what they must.". That is usually how it goes. The type of government doesn't make much a difference."

"The Kingdom of the Free is a democracy, you know. With everyone being able to vote and all that. Pretty radical, even for the River Kingdoms. A sight better then Pitax, tell you that. But the folks in that Temple there, the Founders you might call them, hold all the power and do what they like. What is to stop such a group from arising here?"

She turns to Rudabeh, face weathered by sun and work but still young and strong, "That isn't to say the struggle is pointless. Like I said, the Kingdom of the Free is a better place to live now then before and Pitax probably will be too. Just don't expect it to be very different." There is a strong cynical edge to her voice.

Bonus dwarf version: Head stuck in the bedrock.

Rudabeh's hands transfers to the faulds of her breastplate as she listens to Sareh. People keep saying the Pact is behind them, but do they realize it's only me here and I have pledged nothing of the Pact? I believe I made it clear I am operating in my capacity as a Paladin of Alseta, but perhaps no one is willing to make that distinction. She thinks with abject disappointment. It seemed impossible to disentangle herself from her long-term fate of replacing Veleda, if such a thing were still going to happen; she had absolutely failed in the mission Veleda sent her on, but she would have to deal with the consquences later.

"You seem well-traveled and are certainly wise beyond your years, Sareh." Rudabeh says evenly, brows raising slightly in surprise that such a young human could be so insightful. "Indeed, it is the strong that lead and often time force thier will upon others. For an idea without strength behind it is merely words, no matter how beautiful they may be." Nodding in agreement with the human's words, Rudabeh continues solemnly. "You are touching on the very reason I became a paladin. While I primarily serve my goddess, I also aim to become a physical manifestation of the ideals known as Law and Order, giving my strength in the struggle to keep our world in balance. I do what I do because many lack the strength to enforce a law or bring order, and I am here to provide that strength for everyone's benefit."

She waves a gauntleted hand through the air. "But I digress, and I must confess... You are correct. I know it will not work out the way I want, but hopefully it will work out in a way that benefits the people of Pitax. Given how many will perish in the coming chaos I will only be satisfied if they are given a greater voice than before. I don't expect it to be very different. I merely expect it to be better. Change is meant to be a slow and gradual process, after all. Perhaps one day it will be different and much better."

Rudabeh knows of the concept of democracy Sareh speaks of, though the paladin has always considered it one step above anarchy. The public should be able to voice its concerns and be heard, but how could they ever be able to amass the requiste knowledge to run a country or make educated decisions for its future? It was also too vulnerable to radical ideas, trends, and fads that begin and die out as quickly as a midsummer rain.

Despite her reservations about democracy, she decides to play Iomedea's advocate and instead decides to learn more about it rather than critizing its many flaws. "I am curious about the Kindgom of the Free. If the ruling council were to go against the wishes of the people, could they be voted out and replaced? Do you believe it would it be a peaceful process?"

I need to have Rudabeh hang out with some dwarves. She would like them, I think. Very straight forward people

Sareh laughs, "Would you like to to be the one to tell Virdia she is voted out of office?"

But then she sobers and goes on, "Of course there are procedures for all of that, but it never happens. Even if a vote goes the other way, and it does sometimes happen, the Founders will gather somewhere and vote amongst themselves, which is something they take quiet seriously. Then one or more, will come out and make a big speech about 'personal conscience' and do what they want anyway. That is how it always works and they are too strong to counter. Besides, they founded The Kingdom so mostly what they say goes."

She looks over the crowds of Pitax ahead of them and says, "They aren't a monolithic bloc though. Each is their own person with their own style. Dagen, for example, never does anything, unless the game is rigged and he can't lose. Overwhelming advantage, combined with surprise."

She looks over the crowds of Pitax ahead of them and says, "What makes you think this place will be any different then our own shame democracy?"

She would. Very family orientated, lawful, honest and straight forward sentients. Only sticking points would be their warlike nature though considering its usually defensive in nature she would find it excusable. The xenonphobia/lack of diplomacy not so much. I bet Torag (and his whole divine family) get along very well with Alseta, they preach much of the same morals.

Rudaeh cracks a smile at Sareh's mention of Virdia, shaking her head slowly. The smile fades as the human continues, though it does not completely disappear. She is not surprised that the Ruling Council throw their weight around, but at least they listen to their people. "It is difficult to change the fundamental nature of how power works in goverment." Rudabeh says in response to Sareh's question. "But I have some ideas. Perhaps it would be better for those in power to compete among themselves, each representing a different facet of a kingdom, so that they must compromise to accomplish anything."

The paladin sighs lightly before continuing. "But my musings on law-making bodies isn't what the city, the entire country, needs. What you just did, critizing your governemnt openly and exercising your right to Say What You Will, is in danger in Pitax. The people are without representation or voices, and the repression has reached a point where a single act of justice carried out by myself caused them to explode into frenzied, violent craving for more. No one in the River Kingdoms should live without a say, and that must change. They should speak freely, as you do, so justice can prevail."

Feeling the weight of her duty upon her, Rudabeh lets Sareh get the last word as the paladin straightens the straps barely holding her heavily damaged left cuisess to her thigh. "Any other day and I would greatly enjoy speaking to you more, Sareh, but I should go. There is still much to do before Pitax returns to a sense of normalcy- for the better. Stay safe, and I hope we meet again." Rudabeh says with a small bow of her head before turning to leave, making her way to the theater.

Dagen only backs a winning raft? She thinks to herself as she navigates the crowds. Overwhelming force and by surprise... I must keep a very close eye on him to avoid the surprise part. Perhaps if I figure out whatever he is hiding, he will not try anything at all.

Sareh nods in goodbye adding only, "Stay safe, Rudabeh of Outsea. There are sharks out there."

Rudabeh threads her way among the assembled citizens, all of whom seem to be waiting for....something. An order, a leader, a plan. Most are unbloodied and untested, apparently most did not have to fight there way here like Rudabeh's group did. Most are unarmed or only have the crudest, homemade weapons. Here and there Samuel's art students roam among them, speaking of patriotism and duty. The undine doesn't hear very much about democracy.

At the Theater itself Rudabeh finally finds those who are ready to fight. Lean figures dressed in fighting leathers guard the front doors, longbows in hands. Most have swords at their belts, or handaxes. A mixture of men and women, they have the hard look of fighters, with quick and fluid movements, and roving eyes. Green Hood's fighters?

They eye Rudabeh coolly but do not hinder her entry, obviously expecting her. Just as the undine passes over the entryway she hears quick steps behind her. Wheeling, ready for action, Rudabeh is confronted with a new face.

It is a human woman, of average height and build, although her shoulders are strong, and Rudabeh's eyes can see years of pulling heavy bowstrings in her muscles. Her eyes are dark green, spotted with brown and rove restlessly, much like the fighters watching outside. She is wearing the same simple fighting clothes except for a bright green hood tied around her neck, half-hidden by bright blonde hair.

The woman pauses a few feet away and says, voice familiar, "They are waiting for us inside." It is the voice of the Green Hood, Lady Lorenza. "I heard you had some fighting on the way in. How are the streets?" Her tone is brisk, business-like but slightly overly formal. She had not been on Rudabeh's side in that original meeting (in this very building!) with the rebels. What did she think now?

The woman starts to lead inside the Theater, a wide formal entrance hall blossoming around them. Everything is dark however, with whatever lighting they typically use dimmed or removed. Rudabeh can only glimpse outlines of elegant chandeliers, rich carpets, and polished oak railings.

Rudabeh muses to herself as she leaves Sareh: Sharks? Is she so well read to know of them, or has she even traveled to the sea? In any case, I would prefer sharks right now. I know sharks... Humans seem much more dangerous right now.

The undine's light blue eyes flicker over the men and women in leather armor, instantly appraising their fighting capability. These were quick, hard-hitting fighters supported by keen eyed archers, meant to skirmish or deveastate unarmored or lightly armored targets. Combined with the suspicion that these were Lady Green Hood's forces, she concludes they were part of the River Kingdom's most glamorous profession: bandits.

The obession with banditry never resonanted with Rudabeh, but Have What You Hold was strangely one of the most well-respected River Freedoms. In such a wild land full of danger and death, it does not surprise her that the people of the River Kingdoms worship open displays of strength... But to the point where they merely grumble and shrug if armed thugs take their belongings in broad daylight, but if someone sneaks into a bakery and steals a loaf of bread they form a mob to find and lynch the thief?

She always reconciled the idea by convincing herself it was its own form of honesty in a way, but in any case she would still defend it as one of the River Freedoms. Besides, the most common solution to bandits was to simply out-muscle them, which was not only completely within the law but the same solution everywhere else in the world.

Given the fact she was a Paladin of Alseta and probably one of the most unappetizing targets a bandit could think of, Rudabeh dealt with bandits very little, but she has still killed or chased off some of the stupider ones that thought she was a target.

Whirling as she hears quick footsteps behind her, Rudabeh grimmaces- not at the figure approaching, but at the wound on her left leg tearing open again at the quick movement. It turned out to be rather shallow, which is fortunate considering she was attacked with a flag pole, but it would start bleeding again if she moved too fast.

Recognizing the green hood around the woman's neck, she notices her physique and immediately decides this is the kind of woman she would like to have covering her back in a fight. Rudabeh nods in acknowledgement of the woman's words. "Yes, Irovetti's soldiers are mobilizing in a mixture of squads and platoons ranging from ten to fifty soldiers wearing chainmail and armed with swords or axes. The groups I have seen were led by a single officer consisting of either an experienced sergeant or one of Irovetti's hand-picked nobles. I have only seen a handful of crossbows so far, but they are likely being held in reserve to defend the First Palace." She explains in the same tone as Lady Lorenza while turning to follow her lead in the theater. "The soldiers roam the streets, tearing down barricades and forcing people to disperse on threat of imprisonment or death. Meanwhile, the people are gathering in the streets, rioting or tearing down public fixtures if they have no direction, or gathering here if they do."

The undine's darkvision begins to take over for her colored vision as they move farther into the theater, furniture flickering between black-and-white outlines with the occasional splash of brown. "Here we have between six hundred to nine hundred people. Maybe a quarter have real armaments, but the rest make up for it in spirit. I have watched them charge soldiers with nothing but bricks in their hands. With spears they would be formidible, but unless there is a secret cache of weaponsmiths and supplies in this theater it will merely remain an idea."

Rudabeh casts a sidelong glance at the woman after she is done giving her assement of the tactical situation. Would she be just like Virdia? Impressed with her accomplishments on the battlefield, but the moment she begins talking of how to deal with Irovetti the respect will melt away like a salt block in a rainstorm?

I forget if I've asked this before, and a search of the thread yielded no results, but does Rudabeh know anything about the Lorenzas?

knowledge: nobility: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (8) + 5 = 13

Probably not a high enough roll to reveal anything.

I really enjoy hearing Rudabeh's musings on things. Gives her so much more depth. And gives me lots to work with in crafting a meaningful narrative. Rudabeh should write a book- Thoughts for Your Thoughts

The Green Hood walks besides Rudabeh, her step quick and light, tuned to moving silently through the thick underbrush of the River Kingdoms. It seems out of place in a well appointed theater entrance hall and yet it is a comfort to Rudabeh. After watching Samuel (and Zaira) struggle to even hold a weapon, it is good to know not every rebel is a drawing room radical more comfortable with pen then blade. While words and speeches have their place (no one who worked with Urqat would say otherwise) it was nice to know one's allies could watch your back.

Rudabeh gives an outline of the military circumstances with relative ease. While not exactly a soldier, such balances were not new to her. Finn's instruction would have been enough but Rudabeh also had (by human standards) a long lifetime of dealing with trouble. The scale however, was a bit larger then she was used to. Rudabeh was no general and did not desire to be. Maybe Pitax would have been served better by a cleric of Gorum?

When Rudabeh finishes her summation, the woman at her side is nodding. "I only brought a few score. Our advantage was always mobility and surprise. I didn't bring an army but Irovetti will. Already his outlying troops are heading toward the city to bolster his numbers. Many of them are more experienced then his troops here. Our task grows harder with each day."

She pauses, turning fully to Rudabeh, her eyes locking onto the undine's. "So you have decided to embrace our cause? Why the change of heart? Did Alseta speak to you?" She says it with a slightly dismissive air but not entirely. "I cannot fault you for lack of enthusiasm at this point but I must say I am surprised. In war, strange changes from one's allies are often just as concerning then from your foes."

I love that book title. Maybe one day, if she ever gets to retire.

Also, she was a soldier in Outsea's (mandatory) militia for 10 years. When she was placed into the reserves she had served with enough distinction to reach the rank of Sergeant and would be given that rank again if she was called to serve in Outsea's defense. Not really a grand strategist so every thing you say still applies, though.

I just forgot to add the ranks of Profession: Soldier at character creation because I'm dumb. I was going to rectify it next level but I can fix it now if you'll let me rearrange Rudabeh's Background skill points.

Stopping in her tracks when the woman suddenly turns to face her, the undine staring back into her dark green eyes with an unflinching gaze. "When I gathered enough evidence to be sure Irovetti had been violating Say What you Will, I was going to punish him privately, threaten him with action from the Pact, and hopefully convince him to change his ways." The paladin begins with a sigh.

"But before I could do that the joust occured, and a man was murdered before my eye. When I sentenced Dravos Rennert over the purposeful death of his opponent and saw the cries for justice from the crowd, I knew something fundamental in the kingdom had to change." She continues, blinking only once at clearly remembering the nefarious point of impact between Dravos and Benet that stole the latter's life.

"I gave Irovetti a choice, then. Support the wishes of his people and accept my ruling, or suffer the consequences. He instead ignored me, scorned his subjects, and tried to protect that murderer to appease the nobles he has been grooming. When he ordered a calvary charge against his subjects as they started to riot in a desperate call for justice, I knew I could no longer stand beside him." The paladin's face changes to a slight frown, dry and cracked azure lips turning down on the edges.

"I did not want it to be this way. So many have and are going to die. But Irovetti's power cannot continue to go unchecked. In addition to his violations of free speech, he is attempting to build a kingdom of nobles and serfs, which is culturally incompatable with the wills and wants of the people of Pitax. He must be at the very least reigned in, and a new system of government that controls the power and finances of the king should be put in place."

"So I fight for the People of Pitax, to give them back their voice." She finishes, still not breaking eye contact with the bandit leader.

Lady Lorenza's first words are quick, "You speak well but I already knew that. You must forgive me if my words are not as smooth. I spent many years in the woods, sniping at wagons." There is an edge of judgement in her words, the sound of a radical versus entrenched establishment (which, despite her current actions, Rudabeh technically is).

Then she pauses, weighing her words. The woman holds Rudabeh's eyes, not in challenge but in watchfulness, as if the Green Hood was watching one of those wagons, looking for weak points.

Her voice rises an octave, still controlled but with real emotion seeping in, despite her best attempts. "You speak of a voice for the people, the downtrodden. What of those Irovetti has thrown aside but were never quieted? My family was once one of the leaders of this city, and I intend to make it so once again after he is gone. I have not scourged in the forest, living off half-cooked stolen chickens in order to allow a bunch of the King's art students set up a tin-pot dictatorship."

"This is a restoration, not a revolution and I will not be shunted aside for your own ideals. For my part, I seek to overthrow Irovetti and take back my rightful place in this city. For me and my fighters, that is what we are doing and nothing less."

Should have seen this coming, how the hell is Rudabeh going to get all these people to agree on a system of government?

Rudabeh nods solemnly, crossing her arms over her chest. "Once we are done I intend for everyone in Pitax to have a voice, especially those that have been part of this country's long history. I have a plan for a system of representatives that will not only give power to those that have lost it, but give a voice to the people as well."

She continues in a flat tone, ideas pure and untouched by any kind of ambition for her own power. "I have no intention of this country being the hands of a single person or even a small group of people. There are so many ideas vying for supremacy that compromise will be the only way anything will be accomplished, and that will not change once I leave. I hope that through discussion we can find a way such that the power in Pitax is used for the good of all. I will propose a way for you to have your say and your way, if you are willing to share it."

While the discussion was fascinating and she learned an important facet about Lady Green Hood's ultimate loyalties, the paladin gestures down the hallway. "But before there can be any discussion of what to do after the smoke has cleared, we must first direct the fire."

Lady Lorzena frowns, "I will not be put off so easily, I-" She cuts off as angry voices echo up the hallway, making both of them reach for weapons and assume fighting stances. A dry, quiet part of Rudabeh's mind enjoy their reaction was almost identical although the human reached for a bow while Rudabeh groped for a sword.

But it only takes a moment for them to both realize the sounds is not an attack but an argument. An extremely loud argument. The Green Hood swallows her words and they both pass quickly up the hallway, plush red carpet underfoot.

They come to several sets of elegant carved wooden doors, inset with symbols of music, art and culture. Quite well done actually and Rudabeh wonders which of the campaigning students outside made these for Irovetti. Standing besides one set, which is cracked open, is Zadie Brunn, looking very concerned. As the two warriors rush up he points inside and says, "They are getting louder. I think they need you..."

Rudabeh can hear the voices more clearly now, "We can't afford to wait! Things will only get worse if we-"

Another voice, softer but still firm says, "It would be suicide without gathering enough backing-"

Both voices are lost in arguments.

At her side, the Green Hood turns to Rudabeh and says, a mix of sarcasm and honesty in her voice, "I think we need the legendary arbitration of the Pact of Years."

Once the threat of danger has passed, she finds herself amused at the twin reactions of the two warriors. It was like something out of a play, which was appropriate given where they currently reside.

Rudabeh takes a moment to admire the finely carved wooden doors before turning her gaze to the director of the theater. "Hello Zadie, it is good to see you again. I apologize I could not make it to one of your performances. Hopefully I will get a chance once this is all over." She says evenly over the shouting inside.

Glancing at the Green Hood, the paladin manages a small, weary smile. "I hope I will do better than the last time I was in this room."' She says, mind briefly wandering to ponder the whereabouts of Tark, whom she decided was likable.

Blood-stained leather meets darkly stained wood as she pushes open the door without immediately saying anything, eyes sweeping the room. Rudabeh walks in, and despite being covered in wounds, ash, and even some leftover mud from the jousting field, her otherwise well-polished amor catches what little light the room has to offer and shines like a beacon on a foggy night.

While walking towards a seat, her left hand going to the warg leather strap holding her sword to her body, Practiced fingers quickly undo it without looking, grabbing the strap with her right hand and swinging the sheath around in front of her. Rudabeh wordlessly finds the nearest chair and sits down, her aching legs and wounded thigh welcoming the reprieve.

She carefully props up her greatsword, the silver-trimmed mahogany sheath resting gently against the table within hand's reach. The burnished steel cross guard is now level with her face, one side scraped and blackened from being used as a hook to tear apart a window in the bruning church.

Despite engaging in three battles, rescuing priests out of a burning church, passing and carrying out several judgements that resulted in executions, a lot of preaching, and missing lunch, the undine still sits in the chair with perfect posture; back straight with hands folded in her lap, she looks over the assembled people with what can only be interpreted as concern for their well-being.

"How is everyone?" Is all she says to finally break her silence, voice calm and collected in a stark contrast to the shouting that was filling the room before.

The assembled crowd of men and women is not exactly the same as that fateful night when she had refused to joint his cause. A cause she now shouted from the barricades, a cause she had sealed in blood.

Samuel was there, looking tired but jubilant that he revolution was finally taking off. Somehow, he had found time to change robes, now a glittering gold green. He holds Rudabeh's eyes for a moment, and somehow, manages to convey a careful warning, not to trip the finish line.

Orza is at his side, looking daggers at Rudabeh. The undine has a feeling one of the raised voices was hers but it was impossible to be sure. Rudabeh does feel the water woman's eyes on her many wounds and signs of damage however. Impressed? How could tell.

Zhuk and Oskara were both missing, of course, and Rudabeh now wished their more stable, moderate voices could be heard. It seemed only the radicals survived, or indeed, thrived on revolution.

At her side the Green Hood took a seat, eyes watchful, searching the group for fault lines and weak points.

Then Rudabeh turned her eyes on the new figures. One of course was Dagen, who was hunched over the table, hands into fists. His eyes watched Rudabeh carefully, and she guessed they missed little. To Rudabeh's surprise there are no other adventurers here.

There were a few others she did not know, who may have been art students or other organizers. Then, to her surprise she spots a vaguely familiar face. It was that of the groom that had slipped the note into Rudabeh's pocket at her first arrival. She tries to catch his eye but he looks downcast, serious.

The argument, which had raged while Rudabeh entered, suddenly dies away at her polite words. Everyone looks at her in various states of amzement, confusion, and anger. Only Samuel manages to look knowingly amused.

Finally Orza sputters, "Very well. Are we going to serve cake and tea? Or shall we plan on how to kill the king instead?"

At her side, the Green Hood coughs and says, "Rudabeh has filled me in on the disposition of our forces. How does the political situation look?" She looks top Dagen as she asks this and the man does a poor job of hiding his delight at this.

"Not great." he says, voice hurried, "While many people have rallied to our cause, most are still in un-guided bands throughout the city. Irovetti has pulled most of his troops to the First Palace and is waiting for his outlying troops to reach Pitax proper. We cannot take it by reckless assault."

"But there are factions in the city we need to win over, to build a firm foundation for victory. First there are the mercenaries. They have gathered together in a large tavern in town, and barricaded themselves in. We know for a fact Irovetti has sent offers to them. We need to make our own bid for their services or at least neutrality."

"Mercenaries." Orza says, disgust in her tone, "Must we deal with them?"

"Our victory would be much more certain if we had them on our side." Samuel says, making eye contact with Rudabeh, nodding for her to speak.

Rudabeh is certainly cautious about the makeup of the room. It was the most extreme and loudest that were left, a difficult situation for any arbitor. How would she ever get all these people to agree on... anything? More puzzlingly, where had Samuel kept a change of clothes?

Dagen was still the most concerning to her, and she momentarily meets his gaze with a hint of skepticism before moving on. It was shocking to her that the other adventurers were not present. Sareh had said this, but she almost didn't believe it until now- the group was not monolithic, and perhaps she could use that to her advantage to stop whatever it is Dagen is planning.

They really like to split the party... Lots of work for their GM!

The groom was a surprising addition, and it seemed now that the octopus was out of the pot he no longer had to hide. She wondered what his story was and why he would risk his life to hand her that message three days ago. It was a concern for another time, however.

Listening to Dagen's assement, she now knows the other voice arguing with Orza was his own. "We play a dangerous game. Wait too long and we will be facing an entrenched army. Move too soon and we will not be able to take the palace." Rudabeh initially responds, hands moving from her lap to the table. "As with many things, I propose we take the middle road. If we can secure the services of some mercenaries, we may have enough strength behind us to attack tonight. If we only keep them out of the fight.. I do not know. We will have to assess the situation at that time."

Rudabeh continues her thoughts on the mercenaries, voice steady and calm. "Typically, mercenaries value only three things. Money, fame, and their own lives. The order of importance depends on their Captain. While there are some that are vulnerable to emotional appeals, they are the exception, not the rule. I have dealt with mercenaries before and would be happy to volunteer to speak to them, but I am not a bank and certainly do not have enough money to convince mercenaries to fight in a civil war."

She looks to Samuel, concern on her face. "Where is Oskara? If there was ever a time we needed funds, it is now. Without money, the best I can hope for is keeping the sellswords inside the tavern."

Her eyes swing back to Dagen. "You mentioned other factions that you believed to be important. Such as?"

That's why I play Solo games. Until Rudabeh starts having multiple personalities, I'm safe.

Rudabeh as usual, tries to ease tensions but acknowledging both sides and their points. In this case it was easy as indeed, going too fast or too slow did hold both hold dangers. Recognizing that was wisdom, even apart from good arbitration.

When Rudabeh mentions being willing to talk to the mercenaries, she sees a conflict flow across Dagen's face but the rogue says nothing out loud. The man is frustratingly hard to read, even without Tolmara running interference for him.

Samuel replies, "Oskara is still with the King. Somehow, he has managed to keep his cover as a member of the inner cabal."

One of the other students, a dark haired youth, remarks darkly, 'Or he has managed to keep his cover as a rebel spy. Double agents are real Samuel."

The artisan shrugs, "We all take risks and I trust him. But he is of no help right now." He waves a callused hand toward the groom and adds, "This is our go between right now. He says he can get a message back to Oskara but it will be risky and we should not say anything we do not wish to perhaps fall into Irovetti's hands."

Again, Dagen is obviously pleased Rudabeh turned to him. "For one thing we have the river pilots and waterman down at the docks. So far they are neutral, as is custom but even soft support would help greatly. Right now, if he wanted, Irovetti could starve us out. Orza volunteered but..."

The named cleric of Hanspur spits on the floor, "I'm not exactly popular." Rudabeh knows the rough and tumble river pilots can be hard to convince and generally stay out of local conflicts.

Dagen shakes his head before adding, "There is also a rival faction of some sort forming around a Brevoy nobleman. I think you know him Rudabeh?" The rouge asks, eyes unreadable. 'They haven't started fighting yet but a number of people whoa re unattached to us or the King have gathered there, the better armed ones and the remains of the old Houses, except for Lorenza, of course."

I'm still pushing for that cursed, intellgient set of full plate with every distinct piece having a different personality, ego, and powers ;)

That would be so much work it might have to be its own campaign. Maybe if I ever GM a game I should run with this idea...

Rudabeh swings her head to the younger student and Samuel, nodding slowly. "If Samuel trusts Oskara, so do I." She takes in the rebel leader's advice about sending a message to their money holder, carefully considering the serious groom. "He has already risked much. Unless the straits are dire, I propose we allow Gemus to continue whatever he has planned."

As Dagen begins to expound on the various factions within the city, Rudabeh intertwines her fingers and sets her elbows on the table, limpid eyes staring over her gauntlets.

Several seconds pass before she inhales, slowly exhales, and drops her hands back to the table. "We have already gathered many of the citizens to our side, but as Dagen pointed out they are not enough. Simutaneoously, Orza is correct that we cannot wait around or Irovetti will solidify the First Palace into a veritable fortress."

The paladin's gauntlets slide across the table to rejoin in front of her, leather softly whispering over the wood. "So I propose a compromise. We split up and attempt to gather more aid from or prevent the interference of third parties."

She looks to the artisan and priestess of Hanspur. "Samuel and Orza are best suited to speak to the river pilots. Any support you can convince them to give would be benefical, but in the end we merely want them to continue doing their jobs and stop starve us out due to Irovetti's pressure."

Rudabeh turns back to Dagen. I believe the Brevoy Lord you are referring to is Pircien, the High Lord of House Khavortov. I am relieved to hear he survived the chaos at the joust. We are acquainted and he defended me when Viridia was carrying out Dravos Rennert's execution. He is a skilled fighter and would be a huge asset to our cause." However, her head swings to Lady Green Hood. While they did not know one another and likely had very different opinions on which way the country should go, she had to trust her dedication to the cause. "But I do not know the other houses that, as Lady Lorezena put, were "thrown aside but never quieted." As such, I believe she would be the best option to speak to Lord Pircien and the other heads of houses." The paladin phrases the next words carefully, not wanting to insult her. "If you believe it would be helpful to convince Pircien, you may tell him I would be honored to fight by his side again. I am not expecting you to be some kind of messenger for me, though, but rather a representative of the old noble houses."

Finally turning her gaze back to Dagen, she nods. "Dagen and I can speak to the mercenaries. Best case scenario we can convince them to join us on the promise of glory and loot, but we will be up against the allure of Irovetti's vast coffers. I believe the two of us will be best suited to convincing them to at least stay out of it. When they see that the Kingdom of the Free and the Pact have put their lot behind the People of Pitax, they may hesitate to fight for the king."

"Thus," the undine concludes by leaning back in her chair. "We all play to our strengths, reconvene in a few hours, and discuss our current military situation. If we have convinced enough fighters to join or cause, we should attack tonight. If not, we will have to reevaluate the siutation."

"Thoughts?" Rudabeh sweeps her gaze across the assembled rebels, gauging their reactions. Part of her mind thinks this is asburd, that maybe it's some kind of fever dream she's helping a rebellion, no, a revolution, overthrow a king... but she hasn't woken up yet.

diplomacy: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (11) + 12 = 23

For once Rudabeh's suggestions to this group aren't met with instant rejection, shouts of anger and roars of disagreement. In a seeming wonder worthy of The Welcomer herself, everyone slowly starts to nod to themselves, apparently agreeing with the suggested action.

Lady Lorenza nods and says, voice still stiff, "I have not met this Pircien but I know many of the other lesser houses of Pitax. Not all have become the lapdogs of Irovetti, although few aided me in the woods. I will go and convince them to follow us."

Even Orza, the constant grit in the clam, says nothing but merely nods while Samuel adds, "Irovetti has heavy taxes at the docks that attacks their profits The river pilots aren't money hungry but it is a place to start."

To a mix of Rudabeh's worry and relief Dagen looks quite happy at her proposal, the rouge sitting back with a trace of a smile. Everyone else starts to stand and move about. The art students without assignments naturally gravitate toward Samuel who starts issuing his own various orders. Only as the others start heading toward the door Dagen says, voice low and conversational, "Keeping an eye on me?" His hands, nimble and quick, are out of sight below the table and make Rudabeh think of hidden knives.

Rudabeh is actually surprised when she wasn't immediately shouted at and 15 different opinions start to pick apart her ideas from their very core. She keeps her face straight as the other affirm her plan, trying not to look surprised. Maybe Alseta truly was with them?

She watches the assembled rebels start to leave, wondering what it was she said this time that actually made them listen. Perhaps now that she had dedicated herself to their cause with blood and words they were more agreeable... or was it simply that she was a vessel that each hopes to ride to their ultimate goal?

Dagen's sudden, though harmless, question causes her ears to twitch inside of her helmet, which she had forgotten to take off in the rush to enter the room and settle whatever argument had been occurring. She considered it rude, but given how well the meeting went it probably didn't matter.

Turning her head towards the rogue, a small smile creeps onto her dry and burnt lips. "Yes and no." She says in the same tone he is using, leaning forward slightly. "You are an enigma, Dagen. You are impossible to read, and yet I can still tell, instinctively, that you are hiding something you do not want me to know. So until I know why you, the representative of a neighboring foreign power, are supporting the rebels, and what you intend to do when we are finished, I cannot say that I fully trust you."

Rudabeh's own hands are on the table, and the most likely serendipitous symbolism of their hand placement is not lost on her. Each is displaying their modus operandi, opposite and conflicting. "So, we should get to know one another better, and hopefully this is all a misunderstanding caused by my off-putting habit of constantly searching for the truth in everything butting heads with your apparent strategy to never reveal your motivations, whether good or bad for those involved. Truly, I do hope you have the best of intentions in mind, and truly, I hope we will know one another well after our task is complete."

She folds her hands together, right over left. "There are few experiences better for building trust and ever-lasting friendship than negotiating with mercenaries in the middle of a rioting city." The paladin says without sarcasm, but instead a heavy dose of dry humor. "I will admit I have no plan for dealing with them until I arrive and speak with their captain or captains. What are your thoughts on the situation?"

Dagen holds Rudabeh's eyes with ease, the restless black orbs unreadable. If he is uncomfortable with being under the gaze of a paladin, he doesn't show it. The sharp features, the trimmed beard, the whipcord muscles, all speak to a person who prides himself on self control and pragmatism. This is not a man to pressure or intimidate.

"I will answer your last question first." he stands up, sliding his chair neatly under the table. "They are mercenaries. We hand them a bag of gold and ask nicely. If that fails, offer a larger bag of gold. Tends to work in most cases, I doubt the mercenaries of Pitax are cut from a very different cloth."

He walks around the table somewhat, but keeps the corner between himself and Rudabeh. The paladin gets the sense this is a man who, at the first instant of walking into a room, has analyzed how best to profit from it with a minimum of fuss and effort. Efficiency?

"As for your other question, why not simply ask?" He buffs his fingers on his shirt casually, "I was an adventurer, a simple soul out on the road looking for adventure. Unlike most I didn't end up inside a troll or hanging from the rafters of some necromancers dungeon. Along with my allies, I founded a kingdom, a kingdom built on democracy, mind you. Is it so hard to believe I feel for the people of Pitax, at least slightly? At the very least, you should believe I find Irovetti's waste of gold abhorrent."

"I might not wear my emotions on my sleeve like Virdia, but I have them. Granted, I have considered the advantages to have a government in my debt as a neighbor but that only moves me to help all the more. Is self-interest evil? I have mouths to feed and workers to pay in the Kingdom of the Free. Your own mistress, Veleda has placed herself in a great position of power. Is engineering such am unprecedented web of prestige and influence evil? Frankly, anything the Kingdom of the Free does is rather minor compared to the Pact of Years, which spans the entire River Kingdoms and makes kings and lords bend the knee. My trivial concerns with coin and accounting books are hardly worth notice."

Rudabeh remains seated, fingers entwined on the table, casually watching Dagen walk the length of the room. "Actually, excessive self-interest at the expense of others is the definition of evil." Rudabeh corrects the man, having spent enough time, ironically, listening to the philosophers of Galt to know that much. "But what you describe is not excessive, and indeed, not evil. I do not believe you to be an evil person, Dagen, I simply think you have more reasons to be here than you are letting on." Not that she was a paladin that sought out evil, though it did happen that the worst cases of Chaos tended to share a bed with Evil.

The paladin shifts in her seat in a jingle of chain and metal sliding against leather, leaning back in her chair. "Something does not add up. You appear to be a man of efficieny. You would not be the type of merchant who sells cheap goods to profit a copper at a time. In a way you remind me of my father... a man that is in the middle of it all, gathering information, knowing when to move and when to stay still, carefully placing one coin at a time on the scales and waiting for them to tip in his favor."

She crosses her arms over her chest, brow furrrowing slightly. "So if your involvement here, which I will point out is an act of war, is as insignificant as you say... then why bother? There must be something truly monumentous to gain here, because if Irovetti squashes this revolution, I am killed, and you easily escape via teleportation, do you think he will simply shrug his shoulders at you? He is in very good standing with the Pact of Years, and using my actions as leverage he will force them to unleash econmoic and political hell upon the Kingdom of the Free, if not all-out war. The man holds grudges like a dragon hoards treasure. You are no fool, Dagen, you must have carefully considered all of this."

Rudabeh sighs as she reaches her final conclusion. "Do you see why I don't understand? Why I think you're hiding something? I cannot fathom a ruler risking such huge consequences for their country and their people if there was not some kind of end game that would be hugely beneficial. Especially considering I know you care about your people, and their opinions." The last sentance may be confusing, so she adds: "I spoke with Sareh on the way inside, and asked her about you and your country. If all of your citizens are as free and wise as she... you truly have a nation worth protecting."

Dagen takes this in without revealing much although an eyebrow raises when Rudabeh compares him to her own father as well as whens he compliments the Kingdom of the Free. When Rudabeh says that she can detect some wheels turning, some scenario being processed in his quick, agile brain. What landslide of thoughts had her words caused?

Finally he says, "Has it occurred to you that perhaps I don't plan on losing? At any rate, with you on our side, how can we fail? Alseta herself marches with us." His tone is that of sarcastic humor.

"In any case, the proof is in the pudding." Dagen shakes his head, "I'm not one for philosophizing, not when I have work to do. Come, we have to stop and visit Nubauch, he has my money purse. I have feeling we will need to drop some coin on the table to catch their interest. He's down by the docks, let's go." He waves toward the door.

Rudabeh ponders Dagen's reaction for a moment. He was the second person to act suspiciously when she mentioned her father... Oskara was the other.

Otherwise, she can only wonder what wheels she had set in motion. Dagen was so frustratingly difficult to read that she might as well be speaking to a stone. The undine did not like it when she couldn't tell what someone was thinking... maybe that's why, other than the whole rebellion going on, she hadn't enjoyed her time in Pitax very much so far.

She chortles when Dagen mentions not planning on losing. "Now you sound like my blade master. As for Alseta... she has merely allowed me to continue working in her name, that is all."

Placing her hands on the table to leave, Rudabeh starts to get up. She falters for a moment, surpressing a groan and looking at her leg. While unable to see it under the reset plate covering her leg, she can feel the warm blood seeping out of the wound.

Righitng herself she reaches into her bag of holding and pulls out a potion, quickly downing its contents.

potion of cure light wounds: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4

The bleeding stops at least, and though she was still tired and hungry, at least she could walk without a limp.

Tucking away the empty potion vial, rudabeh grabs her sword by the scabbard and swings the strap over her shoulder. "I am looking forward to seeing the pudding." She comments dryly, connecting the strap over her breastplate. "But I agree, there is too much to do for us to sit around wondering about each other's motivations. To Nubauch."

The two begin to walk through the dark underbelly of the theater, and she decies she has to ask. "Do you know my father, Gegdev of Outsea?" Suddenly pierces the steady sound of footfalls between them.

I'm going to move things along a bit

The street outside is dark and cool, the sun having long since set. The plaza is still full of milling citizens, although it seems slightly more organized. Their are fewer but larger joint fires and Rudabeh can see Samuel's students moving around, organizing things, probably under his orders. The sculptor was keeping a firm hand on the tiller of the revolt, so far.

At Rudabeh's words Dagen shakes his head and says, "No, I just found it odd to be compared to your father, that's all."

Once they leave the relative safety of the theater district, Rudabeh notes the smaller man grow quiet. His eyes are everywhere, looking for danger and his steps are quick and light. Even though he is walking right next to Rudabeh, the shadows seem to stick to him, creating a flimsy cloak of stealth. It was quite the stark contrast with her own dully gleaming armor and creaking leather. More then once he glances back at her with exasperation and the paladin detects, for the first time, a genuine emotion.

Professional embarrassment.

But either Iorvetti has given up the streets, the citizens have cleared out the local districts or simply they are lucky, the pair encounter no trouble on their journey toward the docks. Here and there, in the distance Rudabeh can see the ugly red of fires. While their path doesn't take them near any conflagrations, Rudabeh can smell ash and soot on the air, mixing oddly with the cool river scent. Whatever happened, Pitax will not be the same city tomorrow morning.

Dagen leads them to a stout stone house, somewhat isolated from the rest. The shutters are latched tight and the door wedged closed. There is no sign of life and at first Rudabeh thinks maybe Dagen got lost in the night. But surely a man of his talents would not be put off by a few winding streets? An abandoned hideout is probably exactly what they were going for.

At the door Dagen stops and mutters a word softly in the dark. Then he turns to Rudabeh, "The password is 'erőd'. Dwarven, I think. Nuabauch likes to choose weird words. "

Assuming you say it

Dagen pulls a small metal key from a hidden pocket and in a flash has the seemingly wedge door open. He nearly pushes her inside, clearly eager to vanish within.

Inside, Rudabeh finds herself in a medium size stone room. There is no fire but the air is warm and pleasantly scented, reminding her of freshly cut wood. Near the ceiling, floating orbs of buttery yellow lights circle, illuminating the room. At the center there are a few tables set up, covered with books and papers of all types, along with ink, chalk, quills and other tools of the scribe. Standing over them is Naubauch, the half orc dressed in simple robes.

At her side Dagen relaxes for the first time since they entered the darkness outside. "No trouble?" The man asks the wizard.

"None." The half-orc replies, not even looking up over a very complicated looking star chart. "You just missed Viridia. She's in a mood." He glances up and spots Rudabeh. His eyes narrow and he straightens. 'Guests?"

"Just one. I need the Bag of Holding, Jar. Where did you put it?"

The half-orc waves a careless hand to a pile of gear in a shadowy corner. Rudabeh has a feeling there are few troves in all of Pitx worth as much as that untidy pile of adventurer's gear. Dagen heads over to it, leaving Rudabeh at the door.

After the debacle at the church of Alseta, Rudabeh was pleased to see that the revolt was slightly more organized than before. Maybe less holy buildings full of people would be getting burned down nowwww.

Odd? She thinks when Dagen responds to her question, wondering if she committed some kind of human cultural faux pas. "Ah. I am sorry if I was not clear. My father is an amazing man, but like you I do not understand him or how he accomplishes anything. I meant no insult." The paladin replies politely.

Rudabeh makes no effort to hide herself as they walk through the streets, even as she can tell her clackering is causing Dagen some measure of embarassment. It was simply not the way the paladin behaved, and unless she were taking special caution for an arbitration client she strived to always operate in full view of everyone and everything. It amazed her how, even withhh her darkvision, Dagen would sometimes blend in so well with his surroundings that she would momentarily be confused as to where exactly he was standing.

The smell of ash and glowing fires in the distance make Rudabeh frown, watching the dim lights on the horizon. Maybe Dageen was right- if they planned to lose, what would be the point of all this? PItax would be scarred forever, and the city would most likely get much worse as Irovetti cracks down on any disobedience.

She raises a brow at as they stop in front of the stone house and Dagen pulls out a key. "Do you own a lot of houses in Pitax?" The undine asks dryly, clearly wondering how they came about acquiring this property and how long they had been planning on backing the rebels.

"Erőd." Rudabeh says the password non-the-less, alowing herself to be pushed into the dwelling.

The pleasant atmosphere of the room catches her off-guard, and for a moment she stands still as Dagen moves around her, sniffing the air and places her hands on the faulds of her breastplate. Arcane magic was fascinating to her, but like art, she had absoutely no idea where a magic missile began or where an illusion ended.

"Hello, Nubauch." She says as the wizard notices her presence, bowing her head slightly. "Did Viridia say where she was going?" Rudabeh asks in a conversational tone. "She had some...dangerous plans last we spoke."

Finally seeming to adjust to thhe magically altered interior, she sweeps her eyes over the room, gaze landing on the pile of adventuring gear in the corner. The wealth of magic items in that pile likely put Irovetti's vault to shame. The power and wealth held by the ruling council of the People of the Free was truly tremendous- had it already gone to their head, to the point where they can justify meddling in other countries' affairs?

Shaking her head, Rudabeh decides not to think about it. She should at least try to trust Dagen. There was little choice in the matter, at the moment. So she should relax, and fill the pit in her stomach.

Reaching over her shoulder towards her own bag of holding, she undoes the clasp and opens the extradimensional space without even looking. A hand goes in and some dried jerky comes out, the salted meat immediately finding itself between her pearl-white pointed teeth.

When Rudabeh asks about Viridia the half-orc shrugs, "Judging from the spells she requested, I doubt she is going to a tea party. I think she said something about a jail break."

The wizard's eyes rest speculatively on Rudabeh, bright in the warm glow. His words are directed at Dagen however, who is rooting around the pile of gear. "She mentioned another vote, Dagen. On our course of action."

The rogue, face obscured, says, "We already did that, back home." A small pile of rings hits the floor and Dagen curses softly, picking them up with dexterous fingers. 'We need to sell some of this loot..."

Nubauch, undeterred goes on, voice serene "She seemed insistent on the point."

Dagen, grumbling returns to the doorway, a dirty Bag of Holding in his hand. "We'll see." is all he says to the wizard before pointing to the door. "Let's go. We have some sellswords to buy."

"I would like a moment alone with the esteemed paladin." Nubauch says lightly. However, his words leave little room for argument. Dagen shoots the half-orc a somewhat worried look, frowns but then nods and exits out the door saying, "Hurry it along, we have things to do."

"You always do." The master of the arcane says, not sounding the least concerned.

Dagen closes the door behind him with a soft snap. As he does so Nubauch waves a hand and a chair slides under him, which he sits into with a grateful sigh. He looks tired, bags under bloodshot eyes, hands stained with ink and powders. With a sigh the half-orc seems to relax somewhat, sinking into the chair.

Rubbing his eyes, he asks Rudabeh a question, "What's your birthday, Rudabeh of Outsea?"

Rudabeh sighs, swallows a piece of jerky, and shakes her head as the wizard reveals Viridia's plans. "I was afraid she would go ahead and try to break out Zhuk by herself. She will likely find him and the others in poor shape, unfit for fleeing. Irovetti drugs his prisoners into a useless stupor. I should have warned her, but I did not htink she would actually do it." She says mournfully. Maybe she can rescue Zhuk, but the guilt of not being able to do anything for Toski will still hang heavily in the paladin's heart.

As the two continue to converse Rudabeh has picked some hard tack and her waterskin out of her bag, alternating between breaking off a piece and taking a drink of water. She is about to follow Dagen out of the house when Nubauch asks for an audience with her. Rudabeh looks at the tired orc with concern, then turns her head to Dagen, who is already on the way out of the house. She ties off her waterskin and places it back into her bag as the door closes behind the rogue.

Wiping some crumbs off of her dry and soot-stained lips with the leather of a bloody gauntlet, Rudabeh turns towards the wizard, face lined with curiousity.

Her head tilts slightly at his question, face switching from curiousity to regret. "Birthday?" She stresses the last syllable, voice rising an octave, and frowns. "I am sorry Nubauch, but I do not know the date. Undines typically measure age by the year or by winters, so it is not in our traditions to celebrate birthdays." She seemed truly sorry she was not able to provide the requested information, because the wizard seemed to be working very hard on something. She tries for the next best thing. "I am certain my birthyear was 4630, and if it will help I can try to guess the season based on stories from my parents."

I'm not trying to be an ass here, in fact I am very intrigued about where this is going (astrological signs or divination?) I just really don't think Rudabeh would know her exact birthday or that undines, being so long-lived, would care much about them. It's actually why I only wrote her birth year in her background.

You can't make it easy, can you?

Nubuach blinks and looks over at Rudabeh in mild surprise, "Really? I find most humans are rather obsessed with the date, even to the extent of throwing parties on the occasion. Come, let's find out. It'll be a welcome break from my work."

The wizard waves a hand and another chair slides over to the table, invitingly. Meanwhile the half-orc is digging through a pile of papers and books until he finds what he is looking for, pulling it free of the detritus. A scroll, well written and new looking, is in his hand.

"A simple spell of my own creation." Nubauch says a trace of pride in his voice, "With the proper application it can give the exact birthdate of someone, according to Absalom Reckoning. I debated using a lunar calendar but the conversion was tiresome."

The half-orc spreads the scroll out, the surface covered with arcane lettering, inked in a very fine and elegant hand. His own?

"If you could just deposit a drop of your blood in the center, it'll do the rest."

Just to save time/effort, no, this isn't a trap. Just a device to make you laugh after Connacht's game. Also, please give me what you'd like Rudabeh's birthday to be, if you'd like. If not, I can come up with one.

Hehehe. I figured you'd go this route and I wanted to see what kind of spell Nubauch invented! Does it give time too?

I thought this seemed familar! I'm glad Rudabeh gets her own magicy scene!

Rudabeh nods slowy when the half-orc mentions the human obsession with birthdays. "Yes, the obsession has always seemed strange to me," She says while making for the chair, sitting down diagonally in the seat to accomodate the greatsword on her back. "But I see no harm in celebrating one's existence, as long as the party isn't too vain."

While the half-orc was shuffling through scrolls Rudabeh takes the chance to undo the strap holding her helmet on, pulling the armor off. She feels the moisutre of the day's sweat evaporating off of her head as she flaps her ears a few times and stretches them out to their full height, the webbed appendages free from the cramped metal confines. It was easy to see where she was burned earlier- all the flesh of her forehead was moist and supple while the rest of her face seemed dried and slightly cooked as if she had been out in the sun too long.

Gently setting the helmet on the table, blue eyes fixate on the scroll, very curious about its construction. "Truly? That is fasacinating." Of course, she doesn't really have time to ask Nubauch about the fine details, and in any case she doubts she would be able to understand.

Shrugging at his request for a drop of blood, Rudabeh strips her left hand of her gauntlet with a few quick releases of straps, placing the armor on the table and exposing her turqoise flesh. "I am happy to help with furthering the study of the arcane arts," She says while pulling her dagger from her boot with her right hand and pulling back the soft leathers covering the lower part of her left arm. "But what exactly does my birthday have to do with anything?"

She looks down at her forearm and presses the tip into the outward facing side, the blade surprisingly clean considering it had been stufffed into a man's brainstem hours prior. Noiselessly she moves the dagger across her skin by a fraction of a centimeter, then turns the blade and pushes down with the flat. The pressure causes a droplet of thick red blood to emerge, which she collects on the edge of the dagger and flicks down onto the center of the scroll.

Okay I randomly generated a date: Pharast (March) 23rd, AR 4630. According to the Golarion calender that was an Oathday!(Wednesday) Fitting.

Sorry it isn't as creepy as the other one. Also, centimeter? Does Golarion have metric?

The drop of red blood arcs through the air and lands, with surprising accuracy into the center of the page. Rudabeh watches, curious to what will happen next. To her surprise, instead of the blood soaking into the fresh parchment, it spreads out in tiny spider-web lines, almost too fine to see. The dark ink fades into the background, slowly vanishing out of sight. In their place, red shapes start to form, writhing and twisting like living things.

Slowly, the gossamer threads form an image, a great bridge arcing high over a dark abyss. Tall, with many strong pillars and towers, the imposing structure is quickly surrounded by an intricate chart, an ornate calendar. It wraps around the central image of the bridge, complete with many arcane figures, runes and phases of the moon. Finally it stops, setting itself firmly on the page. The confusing welter means nothing to Rudabeh, but she does see the few actual words are in Aquan, her native tongue. Some trick of the spell? Was her heritage actually floating in her blood?

Nubauch raises and eyebrow at the figures, apparently surprised. "Interesting..." he mutters to himself before handing the paper to Rudabeh. "You were born on Pharast 23rd, AR 4630. One day after my own. Maybe you can throw yourself a party next year, you just missed it."

He leans back in his chair, eyes locked with Rudabeh. For a long moment the wizard sits in silence, weighing the damaged paladin in front of him. Finally he says, "Why do you do it this way?" he waves a hand toward the walls and Pitax at large outside. "Maneuvering with factions, political parties and coups? It is so inefficient and time consuming. What do you hope to really achieve? How can anything truly permanent be accomplished?"

It's still pretty damn cool! Amazing depiction.

What is the current date, anyway?

Brow furrowed, Rudabeh watches the magicks take effect. It was an impressive display, to the point where even if it were all an illusion she would still believe something was happening.

As she resists the urge to touch the image of the tower that formed on the scroll, she is distracted by the sporadic aquan text. What else did this scroll reveal? She figured if Nubauch was developing his own spells, he would be good enough to make it do whatever he wanted, right?

She takes the paper with her bare hand when t is offered to her, touching the intricate image that formed on the paper. "Pharast 23rd..." She mutters more interested with the image on the paper and the sparse aquan text rather than the date tself. "I shall remember it. thank you. Today has been full of surprises, but Idid not expect to learn my own birth date." While not really interested in the date itself, she very mch enjoyed the image the scroll formed. It was beautiful, mystical, and now personal. She's holding onto the scroll like she's going to keep it unless Nubauch asks for it back.

A long moment of silence passes between the two, which Rudabeh lets linger for as long as the wizard needed. She assumed he was trying to think of a way to explain how her birthday mattered in a manner she could understand, and was surprised when he starts asking questions more related to her own actions.

Rudabeh actually chuckles softly when he inquires how she could ever achieve anything permanent. "I worship a goddess of change, Nubauch. I understand that nothing I do is really permanent, and I'd be disappointed if it were. But that doesn't stop mefrom trying to improve people's lives. I would have rather changed Pitax slowly culturally and intellectually, as my goddess perfers it, but my hand was forced by unforeseen circumstances. I could have fled and noone would have blamed me, but in the end it is my actions that set off this civil war and I must take responsibilty. I am working with what I have at hand."

She begins to answer his other questions while still meeting his gaze. "As for how I am trying to bring about change, I believe this is the only way to bring about anything you may consider to be permanent. By bringing together persons of common interests, a coalation can form that can only function if it is working towards the interest of the represented peoples. They will fight among each other to achieve their own goals, never achieve them, and forced to compromise in order to help everyone, which is my main goal. I hope to make Pitax work together as whole, for the greater good of everyone."

The paladin is well aware he didn't answer her previous question about why her birthdate mattered, but now she is more interested in why he is inquiring with this particular line of questioning. "How would you bring about lasting change, if not by a cultural shift?"

"With real and lasting personal power." Nubauch says firmly, tapping the piles of books. "For me this means dedicating my life to the study of the arcane, to assembling magical ability to combat the wild vagaries of this world. I am not concerned with a mere government or ruler, and neither should you. There are foes and dangers far beyond those of a petty tyrant like Irovetti. To combat them I need knowledge, I need power. Only with that in hand can I do real good, on a scale worth bothering about."

"Look at your own mistress, Velveda. When confronted by Razmiran, she didn't guide others, she didn't rely on diplomacy. She gathered an army and took charge, using a base of power laborious built over many decades. Then, after her victory, cemented that personal power in the Pact of Years. And that was only to combat a single mad wizard. I have heard she are to her successor, the next leader of the Pact perhaps. You must start looking above the mundane dangers to the true threats and forces that move in the world. What is Pitax compared tot he actions of the gods? What is a single city revolution to the history of Golarion?" The speech sounds both rehearsed and frustrated as if he has said this to many uncaring ears. "One must have the means before they can tackle the problems."

He shakes his head and with a lower voice adds, "And there is so little time."

It is little wonder to Rudabeh that a wizard held these views. She had to wonder which came first- his philosophies, or his mastery of the arcane to realize those philosohpies?

"There is truth in your words." The paladin responds evenly, briefly setting the scroll down to cover up the self-inflicted wound on her arm with leather and chain. "It is part of my duties as a paladin of Alseta to protect the world from the chaotic forces that chew on the edges of our reality, which I too would consider to be a greater threat than a change of government in a city."

She slides her hands back into her left gauntlet, flexing the articulation of the plated fingers. "I train with my blade and nuture my connection with my goddess to combat these forces. I do not seek personal power, because so far my goddess has provided all of the power I needed to carry out my duties."

Leather overlaps by her vambraces, and she begins tightening the straps that keep her guantlets firmly in place. "I am glad that you, and adventurers like Dagen and Talmora and Viridia have the power to face these world-ending threats that sometimes plague these lands. But have you considered what happens in between? When there is no doomsday cult threatening a country or ancient evil awakening? When normal people are supposed to live and try to propose as they can? Even when those things are hapenning, someone has to farm for our food, build houses for our shelters, and pass laws so people with treat one another with respect. It is those people I focus on protecting, so that life continues as it always has. We need protectors on every level, Nubuach, and I believe I am one who helps people live well instead of preventing the destruction of reality. We all have our place in the world, and I occupy mine happily."

Armor reaffixed, she puts her hands on the tabl. "I do not know what Veleda will do with me once I have returned, but yes, when I left she intended to pass along the Pact of Years to me. I asked her why and she would not tell me, but it seemed important and who am I to argue with a hero like her? So perhaps you have a point. Perhaps I should be thinking at a grander scale, taking the entire River Kingdoms into account, because one day that may be my job. I will leave the actions of the gods be; that is for the gods, and if my goddess requires something of me she will surely direct me."

She looks a little confused now, face scrunching up. "You do not seem the melodramatic type, Nubauch. What do you mean about "so little time?""

Nubauch laughs, "I thought you might ask that." He points to the paper in Rudabeh's hand, that holds her birthdate. "Not all of us look as good as you at age eighty. For me, my years are to be counted far shorter unless I can gain enough power to stave off the Gray Lady's hand. "

"Gathering arcane power is a time consuming task and adventuring takes far too much of my time. Why do you think I am here, sealed away in a room, pouring over the pathetic crumbs of magical knowledge Pitax possesses?"

He stands up, holding Rudabeh's eyes, "I think you mean well, Rudabeh and that isn't as common as you might think. But you I implore you to shake yourself free of the worries of the common man and elevate both yourself and your way of thinking. Leaving well enough alone is the policy of the fool."

Then the wizard waves toward the door, "Dagen will be getting impatient. I have said my piece and I hope you consider it. Do you have anything to say to me?" he seems to expect something from her. "Do not be concerned with privacy, I have placed a seal against Dagen listening at the door." The half-orc smiles at this.

Rudabeh feels a little ashamed she failed to consider Nubauch's lifespan. For someone that faced death often and would otherwise live through a dozen or more human generations, it was simply not a concern.

"Ah" She mutters, standing as he does. "I wish you luck in that endevaor, for I suspect you already posess the skill. I hope you find a way to both extend your life and keep your soul intact, for I would be saddened to see a man of your talents succumb to the temptation of undeath. Perhaps the test of the Starstone is in yor future?"

Resigned to her own fate, the undine adds. "As for me, I will be impresssed if I survive the day, and I do not intend to see old age before my goddess claims my soul in the Boneyard. I am sure you have heard the saying: Paladins do not die in the own beds."

Picking her helmet up off the table, she folds back her ears and settles the armor on her head while consdering his offer to ask questions. "Yes, I do." Rudabeh says after several moments. "Firstly, why did you wish to know my birthday?" She asks with curiosity in her voice. "Secondly, do you know Dagen's reasons for being in Pitax and assiting the rebels? His motivations are a mystery to me, though I suspect his intentions are not bad." She asks with no malice in her voice, just a desire for the truth.

"And thirdly..." Rudabeh holds up the rolled scroll with her birth date on it, a small smile reaching her lips. "May I keep this? It is quite beautiful."

When Rudabeh mentions necromancy the half-orc's eyes sharpen, "There are other ways then the dread and empty paths of the undead. One day, perhaps."

When Rudabeh asks her questions the half-orcs shakes his head, as with wry disappointment. "Straight forward to the last.

"As to your questions...the first I cannot answer. I simply do not know enough, and I do not believe in guessing based on half truths. It does more harm then good."

"Your second question.." he ponders it, eyes a bit out of focus as if calculating something. "I will only say this. Do not overestimate the kindness of your opponents Rudabeh and do not always wait for the snake to strike. If you insist on struggling in the muck, you will have to get dirty."

"As for the scroll, of course. It has no magic left in it, of course, but the ink will keep for a long time. And I thank you for the compliment. I was destined to be a scribe in a past life and I am glad the skill with the pen has not entirely left me."

"Good luck Rudabeh of Outsea. Think on what I have said."

Rudabeh nods her head slowly as the wizard answers her questions. She did not look disappointed, at least. "Very well. Please send me a message when you complete your studies, I would be very interested in the results. Also, I thank you for the advice, but like you, I do not enjoy dealing in half-truths. The time may come when I only see a glimmer of truth in the muck and must grasp it without looking, but I perfer to carefully uncover it before judging the actions of others. Regardless, I will think on what you said."

She is about to leave, but Nubuach's disappointed expression from before bothers her. Thinking she may have figured it out, she turns slightly while placing the birthday scroll in her bag of holding. "Were you expecting me to scold you about your use of teleportation magic?" She inquires evenly, resealing the bag. "While your entrance to the banquet intially upset me, I contemplated on it and saw no harm. You seem an upstanding user of the arcane, Nubauch. As long as you are expected and there is someone like Sareh to announce your presence, I do not think you will have to disintegrate any Paladins of Alesta attemping to rip pages from your spellbook." She smiles lightly at the last part, knowing full well that would be her fate if she were to go up against the powerful wizard.

Moving to the door, Rudabeh puts her blood-stained leathers on the nob and nods to the half-orc "May the currents be in your favor, Nubauch Jar." She says in Aquan before switching back to Taldan. "Don't forget to get some sleep." The paladin says in parting, opening and stepping out of the house.

Rudabeh is not much of a political wheeler dealer is she? Oh,a s for the date, it is late spring.

As she opens the door, she hears the barest scuffle of boots on earth. However, stepping outside, Dagen is sitting under a low wall, invisible to any passerby. The shadows nearly stick to him, eyes glinting in the dark.

"What was that all about?" he asks suspiciously. "Secret meetings don't see very paladin-like." he stands up, glancing up and down the quiet street. Above, the moon drifts quietly through a cloudy sky. The air is warm for spring, a portent of the sticky humidity of a River Kingdoms summer.

Nah, she's pretty straight forward.

How is late spring a date?! I need numbers, man. If you want to keep it a mystery though I understand.

Rudabeh glances around as she exits the house, barely able to see Dagen. Most likely because he wanted himself to be seen.

She shrugs, walking over in an embarrassing clatter of gear. "Honestly, I have no idea what that was about. " She answers truthfully, because she has to and it didn't seem to matter. "He had some questions about myself and we discussed philosophy for a while."

Rudabeh smiles coyly at his mention of secret meetings. "Perhaps not for a paladin of Iomede or Torag, but Paladins of Alseta are keepers of secrets and confessions. I may prefer to walk in the light, but I will always respect the privacy of my clients." She says matter of factly, before gesturing for him to lead the way.