Samuel looks at Rudabeh carefully then grabs a bit of parchment and a quill. For a few moments he scribbles on it, striking out often and starting over. The sounds of his labor are lost among the soft murmur of voices and the scratchings of countless other pens and quills at work. It is a calm noise, gentle white noise that reminds Rudabeh of the gentle crash of ocean waves or the steady grinding of the mill wheels in Galt. Reliable, peaceful and productive.
Finally Samuel pushes over the paper and says, "I want this to be the first item on this denouement, bar none."
Rudabeh peers down and sees, in a rather fair hand, 'A government of the people, by the people, for the people' The tired man smiles ruefully, "What do you think? I came up with it last night when I was busy trying to convince Dior to sign on. Granted, this argument didn't mean much to him but I kept it in mind."
Rudabeh waits patiently as Samuel scribbles away on the paper- he had plenty of time, considering no one else had submitted their entries of yet. She just appreciated the peace of the moment, appreciative that despite her many wounds, no one was trying to stab her at this moment.
Glancing down when the paper is slid in front of her, the paladin nods slowly. "Yes, this is the kind of ideaology I am looking for in this document. I am glad to see you understand that."
She reaches out a scarred hand and slowly pushes the paper upward, as if it were taking the top spot on a list that had not yet formed. "A government founded for the benefit of its people instead of the other way around will be wise one indeed."
Samuel shrugs, clearly too weary to spend time on idle philosophical debate. A man husbanding his remaining reserve only for life and death political battles. Rudabeh notes the man starts to ask for wine before lunch and seems to drink more then is wise while Zaria frowns.
Food and drink is offered to Rudabeh as well although the suggested menu shows the culinary arts have suffered a heavy blow with Irovetti's departure. Brazed torjada seems to be a thing belonging to the past. Still, it has been awhile since Rudabeh truly broke her fast and healing (with magic or without) was hungry work.
Around her the work of government hums on. This mostly seems to be quiet committee meetings and written papers, but there are a few grand speeches given by standing orators. To Rudabeh's relief they seem couched in careful words and the fiery calls to action have perhaps fallen out of fashion. Polite applause or stony silence seem to be the accepted responses although Zaria (and Dior, amusingly enough) sometimes grace a speaker with a dismissive snort.
Slowly, over the course of several hours each faction offers up written forms of their requests to Rudabeh. Even magistrate Dior hands her a scribbled missive (hand-writing an impeccable work fo art nonetheless) listing his points. To her surprise no one has altered their lanagauge much or tried to sneak in surprise clauses. Perhaps, by now, everyone knows hoping Rudabeh would lazily sign anything is a fools game. Or maybe her grizzled visage is enough to keep even this nest of vipers in check.
Rudabeh remains seated as the hours pass, only standing once or twice to stretch when something else in her body seemed to be giving. She sups on whatever fish Irovetti had left in his stores without complaint, though she does order an entire pitcher of water for herself. The paladin notes Samuel's drinking but does not comment- perhaps later she would confront him.
As the last paper is delivered and placed in front of Rudabeh, she thanks the messanger and begins to stand up. It is a slow process, and there is more than one wince on her face as she rachets to her full height. Nothing rips or tears, though, and she reaches out with a hand to start organizing the papers.
Her right arm still slung to her chest, Rudabeh couldn't write. But she could still push papers. The lists were shuffled around until they were all organized in a column, blank space overlapped with other papers to form what looked like continous text.
with a squeeze of her Iron Key the undine's bag of holding spontaneously opens, and she carefully squats towards it by bending her knees, not daring to engage her core. As her hand reaches the bag she thinks of the box containing her writing tools, and the well polished, carved wood finds her sensitive fingers.
The box too magically opens after it is set on the table, and Rudabeh picks up a vial of red ink from the few colors she owns. Shaking it rapidly with her wrist, she places the cork in her mouth and bites it, opening the jar with a pop. Both cork and vial were set on the table. She takes up her lapis lazuli inlaid pen and dips it in the ink before looking over the documents before her.
The pen is placed on the paper, her left hand shaking slightly. Rudabeh starts to slowly cross out entire passages of words with the red ink, and the line is not straight nor pretty.It was clear the undine had no experience using her left hand for writing, but it was getting the job done. She carefully crosses out words for many minutes, using the leftovers to make sentences and clasuses until the column she had created was complete- before her stood the founding principals of the Republic of Pitax, still gleaming with wet red ink. The wording was strange in places due to her unorthodox editing, but it still made sense.
* A government of the people, by the people, for the people.
* The government will promote civic duty centered around freedom and independence.
* The Head of State serves by the will of the People. Should the title fall to someone less worthy the Houses together may call the People to vote for their removal.
* Religious organizations shall be free of taxation. Interference of religious organization operations by Head of State must be at direction of both Houses.
*Alleged crimes committed prior to the Republic of Pitax are forgiven.
The patchwork document managed to give each party something they wanted, with some creative modifications on Rudabeh's part to prevent abuse. Best of all, it used their own words to do them. "Pitax's fonnding principles. May they guide the country into a bright future." She states while looking down at the document.
"Samuel, can you retrieive someone for me to dictate to, please?" She asks of the head of state. The paladin had been sitting through all the speeches, running through the phrases and functions of government in her mind. Now was the time to put them on paper.
*The Head of State is the Face of Pitax. They manage foreign relations, dictate trade and economic policy, appoint judges, set up the infrastructure of the country, and direct the guard and law enforcement. The military is only under the Head's command when authorized by the Houses. The Head of State will be directly elected by the people every three years for the entirety of that three years, with elections dictated by both Houses.
*The Head of State will choose a lieutenant upon election. Should they be unable to complete their duties, the lieutenant will serve during the interim while a new Head is immediately elected.
*The House of the People and The House of Lords will create legislation, and laws must pass through both houses to be written into law. The Houses will levy taxes together, control the treasury, and authorize use of the military by the Head of State.
*The House of the People will represent all those not affiliated with a noble house and chosen by election every two years to represent the area and population from which they hail. Regions are decided by a percentage of the population for equal representation, directed the Head of State, who oversees the elections.
*The House of Nobles will be composed of one representative from each major or minor House in Pitax and chosen by them by their own means. There will be one represenative per registered noble house, and the members of the house must be registered with the Head of State's department. In case of marriages or adoptions all members of a family must be registered.
*A lead representative, known as the Majordomo, will be chosen from among the representatives at any time. Majordomos have veto powers but serve at the behest of the other represenatives and can be replaced by a majority vote of their house at any time.
These guidelines were tacked onto the founding Principles of Pitax's government, and together Rudabeh hoped it would make a government they could finalize into the country's new government.
It was her turn to bear the crosshairs of the entire delegation, but she ensures they stick to these core principles. The weary paladin debates and struggles to compromise even as candles are lit and lanterns are hung as discussion edges into sundown.
---------------
Any other laws or guidelines added were carefully screened by Rudabeh's vast knowledge of River Kingdom Law as she compares them to other countries in the area and suggests similar laws that work.
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While it was clear the paladin of Alseta would always put the rights and well being of the common citizen first, she knew well the machinations of nobility and tried to give them leeway on certain matters.
-----------------
And above all, she encouarged peaceful discourse and cooperation among all parties as the ship known as The Republic of Pitax was launched on its maiden voyage from the harbor.
Rudabeh's words are clear, strong and backed by centuries of precedent and philosophy, forged in the fire of her own personal struggles. She has considered practical realities, theoretical implications, the political in-fighting and the demands from the various factions. The paladin had turned her gaze to the far horizon, trying to construct a document that would not only survive the stormy seas of it's birth but also the tempests ahead, the tribulations that time and circumstance always deliver. Wise, prudent and realistic, those were the undine watchwords, couched in careful legalistic arguments and stirring speeches that would satisfy all. A triumphant culmination of the last week of struggle, a celebration of justice, law and order.
The assembly tore it apart for hours.
Every phrase, every word had a detractor, someone who took offense to some idea contained. Some were incredibly petty and self-centered like the woman who thought 'People' should not be capitalized or another who felt 'the Face of Pitax' was too reminiscent of Alseta terminology. Others however were more serious and wide ranging.
The most ferocious was about the word 'alleged' in her last founding guideline. Here, Rudabeh's natural tendency to retreat into legal terms had merely sunk her (and all of the assembly) into a morass. Both sides disliked the phrasing. For the radicals it did not go far enough and assumed their calls for justice were merely trouble-making rumor mongering while for the more conservative
alleged' seemed far too strong an accusation. Basically the entire debate hinged on the idea, were things ordered during Irovetti's administration crimes or not? The speech, recriminations and emotions grew so intense Rudabeh began wishing she had her sword.
Finally, just as the paladin felt a riot might break out Samuel took the floor. His gait was ragged, uneven as a drunks as the tired artist took a place at the center of the hall. Talk died away as he staggered to his place, rainbow robes drab and flat on his thin frame. As he reached the speaking platform he actually started to topple until a passing aide lent him a shoulder. Murmurs ran through the assembly, all eyes riveted on the Head of State.
"Forgive my weakness." Samuel said, his voice a shadow of the usual ringing oratory. "It has been a long struggle, to be able to stand before you today, for all of us to stand before Pitax." He shook his head, and his voice grew stronger, "But not so weak as to stumble now, not at the turn of the tide, the dawning of a new age. yes, we have darkness behind us and it casts a long shadow, one which we will grapple with for many years. Old wounds do not heal easily, and scars do not always fade."
"But one must endure nonetheless. We will not, we cannot dissolve now on the cusp of victory. I. Will. Not. Allow. It!" The man was impassioned now, pouring the last reserves into this speech, to will it over this set of rapids by sheer willpower is required. "Pitax is founded today or it never will be. The sacrifices of all those that go before us will not be in vain."
Then, with a sudden movement of his hand, "Zaria! Dior! The time has come to move ahead. I do not ask you to forget the past, but to raise your eyes from it. Come forward, my majordomos."
Both of them hesitated, old man and young woman. For a heart-stopping moment Rudabeh feels Samuel's grand gesture has backfired, neither will stand and all will end here in recriminations and bickering (and probably violence). Then, as if synchronizing, both stand up and pace toward the center of the gathered tables. Soon both are standing by Samuel's small platform, looking everywhere but each other.
"I ask you...no, I beg you. Shake hands. A symbol for peace or at least understanding. Please." The last word is almost a whisper. Then, with every eye fixed on them, the two rivals face each other, shoulders square as if facing the gallows. Arms are raises, hands clasped, shoulders pumped. In a moment it is over, but in a moment the crisis passes.
The rest of the evening passes in continued debate, discussion and compromise but it navigable, the usual differences among interested parties. Apart from the scale, it is little different then the quarrels Rudabeh has sorted out in her long years on the road or even the more refined debates in Outsea. At her side Samuel sits, sinking deeper into his chair as the hours creep by. Whatever he had summoned for that last effort, it had cost him. Rudabeh honestly wondered if she should call for Hiram but also worries at such a sign of weakness. At any rate he is able to sign his name deep into the evening.
Finally, long after nightfall the crowd breaks up. There is still much to do, laws to be worked out, precedent to set, arguments to settle but the main framework is done. Rudabeh's guidelines have been followed, with everyone apparently being equally upset and rewarded with her purposely vague language. How it would work in practice was another question. Ruefully, Rudabeh imagines being a lawyer will be a good trade in Pitax for many years to come. Maybe Urqat can start a branch office?
Rudabeh's throat is dry and her voice hoarse from arguing by the time Samuel takes to the podium, and the paladin watches regretfully as he nearly sutmbles and falls from drunkenness. I should have taken the wine away from him Cross her mind as she watches his wavering form with deep concern.
And yet, despite his intoxication he manages to bring together two people that Rudabeh would have never even attempted to bring together, unless lives were at stake. Somehow Zaria and Dior shake hands, and relief floods through her chest, releasing a tightness she did not even know had formed. It was from that moment on she knew they could hold this together, that despite all the detractors from every angle they would make it happen.
But the time nightfall breaks, they are putting the final signatures onto the founding document. The undine is standing at the head of the table with her signet ring out as Zaria pours a glob of hot wax onto the foot of the document "With Alseta as my witness and by the power invested in me by the Pact of Years, I hereby recognize the Republic of Pitax as a rightful country in the River Kingdoms and a member of the Pact in good standing." Rudabeh says hoarsely, the insides of her throat burning with more than the previous day's damage now. Still, she says it loudly and proudly before stamping her signet into the hot wax and finalizing the document.
"When I one day return to Pitax, I will sign it properly." The paladin promises as she extracts her signet from the cooling wax. "But for now this should be good enough for anyone, I would hope."
Delegates, present and future hopefuls, start to disperse from the courtyard, and Rudabeh turns one worried eye on the new Head of State. "Samuel." With no response, she leans in closer, the smell of alcohol assaulting her burned nostrils. The undine had trouble smelling and tasting up until this point, but the reek of booze from the former sculptor gave her hope those senses would heal. "Samuel. Please, get some sleep. You have passed your trials and deserve to rest. It is time to delegate like any good leader should." Funny advice coming from Rudabeh, who was exploded the previous day for taking care of something herself. Still, it was sincere.
Turning her head to Zaria, or any of his other supporters. Rudabeh gestures to the inside of the palace with her one functional arm. "I believe I am strong enough to make a trip to Samuel's chambers and back, though I cannot carry him. I want to make sure he actually goes to sleep. Will you please assist me and guide him?"
Just in case, she touches her bandaged chest and lets positive energy flow through her. The aches of the day fade away, and she feels better than ever for someone that feels numb on their entire right side from the waist up.
Simply standing up reminds Rudabeh of her wounds and weary state after another long day of writing, talking and diplomatic negotiation. It amuses her in a way. Her first days in Pitax had been a whirlwind of adventure and action that had seemed to take forever, in a constant blur of motion with every moment lasting weeks. Now? Two days seemed to have sailed by without her barely being aware of it.
When Rudabeh mentions sleep, Samuel shakes his head and roughly shrugs out of Zaria's loose grip on his shoulder. "No time for that, too many things to do. Have to meet Hiram about the sewers and starting medical care, the new harbormaster needs orders and we need to select someone to manage the Watch..." His voice trails off into weary stupor. The artist sways again on his feet, hand actually catchign Rudabeh's shoulder. A bolt of sudden pain lances through the paladin but she manages to hold both of them up for a moment. "Can't sleep...must work..." Samuel slurs, not making eye contact with anyone.
"Are...are we allowed to order him to do anything?" One artist supporter says, voice sounding very young. "I mean he IS the Head of State."
Rudabeh watches Samuel with a mixture of pity and awe- on one hand, he was an absolute wreck and acting in a shameful manner for the head of state of an entire country. On the other hand, he had consumed an impressive amount of alcohol, was still standing, and still trying to work after not sleeping for days.
The paladin's teeth clench when Samuel grabs her shoulder, and she feels as if her entire torso was about to tear apart. Quickly she reaches up and puts her left arm around Samuel's chest, holding him in a slump that at least takes the pressure off of her shoulder. "You." Rudabeh makes eye contact wth the young artist, directing them through clenched teeth to the young artist. "Hold him upright, I can't keep this up."
When she is relieved she sighs, reflecting on a moment of humility. If she were not injured she would throw Samuel over her shoulders and carry him into the First Palace, throwing him into the first bedroom she found and locking him inside with her Steward's Key until the next day. But, she could not. She could only watch as he drunkenly sways and weaves.
This is how the weak must feel when faced with a foe they could not overcome. This is why she must regain her strength- to protect people from chaos they have no chance against.
The drunken human's words come back to her as she realizes if this is not a problem she can solve with strength, it will need to be solved with cleverness. Hiram... the way he put me to sleep last night. It will definitely work on Samuel in this state. Drawing in a breath, Rudabeh collects her bag and gestures out of the palace. "Of course not. You heard the man... We need to go to Hiram's hospital."
Turning her monocular gaze to Samuel, she states. "I delivered your message to Hiram, I am sure he is expecting you. He is taking care of Ractus right now, so let's go see him together." She looks up at the artist stabilizing Samuel. "Drag him if you must. There is business to attend to, after all." She leans in close, her voice a whisper. "Trust me on this."
With her final instructions complete she grabs her bag and turns towards the gates, guiding the group to the healer's temporary hospital.
Everyone looks at Rudabeh, glances at the inebriated, muttering Samuel, then each other. In a moment they are all moving downstairs, some holding Samuel up, others clearing a discreet path, others simply running interference to block any curious eyes. Rudabeh herself sets the pace, a respectable march through the corridors and hallways of the First Palace.
The crisp night air seems to revive the Head of State, because he looks up at the twinkling stars with some surprise. "Why are we outside?"
"Off to see Hiram, sir, about the sewer project. You remember?" Zaria says quickly, still holding him up by the armpit.
"Ah yes...yes." Samuel says, voice a ragged whisper, and keeps walking.
Zaria throws a look to Rudabeh that says, very plainly, 'I hope you know what you are doing.'
They pass through the empty streets without notice, soon reaching the little sickhouse Rudabeh has found herself waking up in twice now. At least this time she reached it under her own power, even if her side felt like she had been stabbed.
The mercenaries wave them through without trouble, seeing Rudabeh leading the way. There are a few less on guard, clearly some sleeping a shift somewhere.
They find Hiram inside and Ractus, ironically after his speech that morning, sleeping. The mercenary wakes up in a hurry however as a dozen or so people enter the low stone room, dark in the night.
Hiram waves a hand and light fills the space. Instantly the healer focuses on Samuel and shakes his head toward Rudabeh saying, "Another case of over work?"
Rudabeh catches Zaria's glance, but her face does not change in response. The young human may think it's the paladin's cool, fearless confidence, but in fact it was because Rudabeh indeed had no idea what she was doing.
There were few forces in this world more effective than an angry doctor trying to treat a patient, however, and she had experienced Harim's effectiveness first hand. Rudabheh had as much faith in the healer as she did in her own goddess, especially given the significant amount of overlap between the two. After all, the Welcomer had sent Harim to save her life.
The injured undine's limp makes a return as they near the sickhouse- Samuel using her as a post to stabilize himself must have tore something free, and she hoped it was only a stitch or two. Still, compared to the pain of the previous day, this seemed no worse than a wound she would have recieved from a spear to the gut. By now that was on the level of tolerable.
Her eye briefly focuses on Ractus as he starts awake, giving the man a nod that, in the low light conditions, only he waslikely to see. She is already looking at Hiram when a ball of light appears in his hand, and she steps to the side so he can look at Samuel closer. "Samuel is here to discuss updating the sewer system and setting up hospitals with you." Rudabeh says with a flat affect. "Though it has been a long day and I feel we would all do better to sleep on such matters." Rudabeh says while moving her exposed, hairless brow up and down several times while rapidly fluttering her one free ear. The paladin couldn't lie of course, nor was she any good at misdirection. Not saying anything at all was her usual mode of hiding secrets, so her suggestion to Hiram to put Samuel to sleep likely seemed as graceful as an oversized club in the hands of a troll to those more experienced in subterfuge in the room.
Meanwhile, the bandages on her side seem to slowly be getting wet, but she ignores it for now, concentrating on Samuel.
Hiram gives Rudabeh a close look, not only clearly understanding Rudabeh's intentions but also sizing her up with that healer's stare that seemed to penetrate all attempts to cover her own wounds.
'You next." He says sternly before turning to the Head of State. The same frank look lingers on the leaning man for a moment, eyes sweeping him from head to foot. Then Hiram bows shortly, "Of course, Samuel. I am at the disposal of Pitax's government at all times. Please, sit."
The old healer gesture at a set of nearby beds, himself sitting on the edge of one. After an exchange of looks, Zaria lets Samuel sit down on the soft surface, the man teetering but not quite falling over.
"How did it go today?" Hiram asks conversationally, peering at Samuel closely.
"Went...well." Samuel says, voice slow and heavy. "Much to...do still."
"Indeed, indeed." The old healer says, pulling a flask from under his robe and handing it to the man. Rudabeh is surprised at this and catches Hiram's eye, clearly expressing more liquor isn't what the Head of State needs. The old man merely smiles and tips her a wink.
"Here, drink this. Cant do business without the drink, eh?" Hiram says engagingly. Samuel stares owlishly at the flask for a moment, then shrugs, taking a long draft.
Then promptly falls over, thankfully landing on the bed cushions. Hiram chuckles and gathers up the flask, carefully stoppering it.
He stands up and faces Rudabh, "Ok, your turn. You need sleep as well and don't make me pour this down your throat. I don't have a sleep spell prepared for today but this will work, even on a workhorse like you."
Ractus grins in the dark, light glittering off his teeth. "Worked on me. The sly old man dosed me good before lunchtime."
Hiram waves him to silence and says bluntly, "You. Bed. Now."
Rudabeh flinches a little when the healer indicates she was next for "treatment", causing the undine's free ear to deflate slowly and sadly.
She sighs, causing a stitch in her side and making her keenly aware of the fact she was bleeding. Again. Dropping her bag and reaching her hand around to her side, she touches her fingers to the wet spot. White light glows from her fingertips and suffuses the area.
The pain fades and she is fairly sure the bleeding stopped, too. At least that's what she was telling herself, but it was difficult to tell given how wet it was She had precious little blood to lose lately, and bleeding to death in a hospital was not going to serve Alseta's goals very well.
She watches Hiram trick Samuel into drinking some sort of sleeping potion and sighs thankfully (which does not hurt this time), before looking at the potion and grimacing. "I'm not putting up a fight. I swear. I would like to sleep under my own power." Rudabeh explains, holding her free hand palm up to ward off any more magics. "I fear no creature, Ractus." The paladin says as she glances at him to smile cheekily with half her face. "But Hiram's medical instincts scare me."
Doing as she was told, Rudabeh places her bag and Iron Key at the foot of the bed and sits down slowly on the white linens. Her expression suddenly turns grim, and serious. "I was hoping I could be conscious when you change my bandages this time." She says, looking concerned. "I want to see the extent of the damage. Not knowing what is underneath bothers me."
Turning her head towards Zaria and the other young artists with her, Rudabeh bows her head. "Thank you for trusting me on this. Samuel was on the path to self-destruction, and we had to interrupt the cycle. Hiram will make sure he gets some rest and sobers up. I am sure you are all competent enough to keep everything from unraveling in the meantime, otherwise he wouldn't have picked you."
A moment passes before she looks out a nearby window, seeing the black-and-white outline of a mercenary on the edge of her darkvision. "Myself and the mercenaries are leaving tomorrow, but I will be by one more time to say farewell, give the blessings of Alseta should you wish it, and escort Samuel back if Hiram thinks he is ready to return."
Zaria and the others hesitate, clearly unsure if they should stay with Samuel or not. Hiram finally weighs in, "You could all use some sleep. It wouldn't be a good start for the new government of Pitax to all die on their feet. The Head of State is guarded and is tended to, there is nothing more you can do except seek your own beds." They waver for a second then nod slowly and leave the room, one by one until only Zaria remains.
The young woman looks from the now sleeping Samuel up to Rudabeh and says, voice soft int he dim divine light from Hiram's spell. "How? Rudabeh? How did you do it? Come here, upset everything and then just walk anyway? Have all that power in your hands, when a single shout could have rallied half the city to your side....how do you simply turn away and give that all up? Place it in other hands?"
Hiram smiles knowingly before turning to Samuel and examining the unconscious man.
Ractus, the only other person in the room is silent, merely watching Rudabeh's face with those ageless, deep eyes. Clearly, he was inspecting his newest employer.
Rudabeh looks up from the bed as Zaria speaks, the dim white light casting strange shadows over her burnt, sickly teal-colored skin. Her one eye, which seemed to be in a constant state of slightly squinted pain since the previous day, blinks slowly at the question as she ponders a way to explain. Then, she smiles softly.
"Pitax did not need a hero to steal the day, right wrongs, inspire statues, or build an empire for the bards to sing about." Rudabeh says huskily, her normally clear and smooth voice damaged by fire and hours of debate.
"Pitax needed a professional." She grips the Steward's Iron Key in her left hand, having scarily let it go since receiving it. "Though it was unbeknowst to me, Alseta sent you one."
The paladin's bag of holding appears to spontaneously open next to her bare, dusty feet; she soundlessly drops the wrought iron key into the extradimensional depths. "Now that that my duty is fulfilled, I move on to the next place my goddess guides me. Wherever order is needed, or communities need protecting, or where a pitched battle can be turned into a heated argument just because there is someone there willing to listen to all sides."
She starts to slowly manuever herself horizontally to lay down upon the bed. As her head touches the pillow, the undine snorts softly before looking back at Zaria and smiling sheepishly. "I am sorry, that was a long-winded way of answering your question, and I feel as though I still didn't answer fully. It was... "how", yes? She says, seemingly embarrased, but her one limpid eye blazes with convinction as she makes a statement in the tone of voice that indicated it explained everything Zaria could ever want to know about the undine.
"I am a Paladin of Alseta."
Zaria takes this evenly, eyes narrowed. Then she slowly nods, "I think....I understand." The Majordomo of the Public House gathers herself together, touches the sleeping Samuel on the shoulder (there is a lingering touch there that speaks to more then strictly professional courtesy), and then departs into the dark night.
Ractus watches her go then turns to Rudabeh, "Nice speech." he sighs with some pain and reclines back into his bed. "I have a feeling there are many such speeches in my future. Gorum preserve me." He grows silent, face invisible.
Hiram turns back to Rudabeh and says, "Now then, you are next. Sit down and I can show you the injuries." He pauses and then says, "I would tell you it might be graphic but I have a feeling you have seen worse."
The healer begins to unwrap Rudabeh's various bandages and dressing, including unlimbering her armed. "Ah, I see you have been applying healing spells? " Hiram says, pointing to where new flesh has knit together, a rich, healthy looking green-blue. "A worthy process, although most spells only heal the most critical, surface level injuries. As I am sure you noticed, deep tissue healing takes time."
His experienced fingers probe a sickly yellow bruise and Rudabeh winces. "See? That torn ligament is working due to your spells but will still cause pain from time to time. Longer, if you abuse them.The more you rest, the faster you will heal." His inspection is quick, professional. Rudabeh is soon nearly naked, all of her wounds and injuries exposed under Hiram's sharp eyes.
"You are healing nicely however, even taking the spells into account. Another day or two of real pain is probably all that remains. Perhaps even less, depending." The healer hands Rudabeh back some of her clothes, which looks to have been cleaned and repaired.
"How many more days for me?" Ractus says and, for the first time, Rubdaeh can hear the dark edge of depression behind the joking tone. "A few more days until I am dancing?"
Hiram looks unabashed with the jibe and says, "I've treated worse cases for people who have gone on to have full lives. But let's focus on the basic first, shall we?"
The elf grumbles but grows silent. Hiram turns back to Rudabeh and says, "I would recommend getting some sleep. I can tend to Samuel, what little he needs from me."
"Sleep well, Zaria." Rudabeh says politely in parting as Zaria leaves the room.
"Thank you." She says to Ractus, herself laying her head back into the pillow and looking upward. "I doubt Gorum is much for protecting anyone from speeches, though."
She turns her attention to Hiram and gives him a macabre smile with half of her face. "I'm alive, thanks to you, so it can't be all that bad."
Sitting back up slowly and letting the healer do his work, she watches her arm become unbound before allowing it to limply hang at her side. The skin was covered in angry blisters that, when fresh, were probably a necrotic white. Now they were yellow and sunken, and they looked very painful. At that moment Rudabeh was thankful she couldn't feel anything at all there, even as Hiram pokes it.
Experimentally, she tries to move her fingers, but all she manages is a small twitch of her index finger, which feels like nothing. "Is it numb because of your magic?" She asks, hopefully.
"I have no idea how the healing magic works, but it made the pain stop for a while. I just assumed it was helping." She admits, feeling no shame in professing her ignorance in such matters. The healing touch Alseta granted her was usually more than enough for the flesh wounds of battle, after all.
She winces when Hiram pokes a bruise that she definitely could feel. "I will try not to get into any altercations, but I am still sworn to fight the agents of chaos should they appear." A weak smile tugs at the left side of her face. "Let us hope they were all chased out of the city."
There was no protest from her as the bandages and clothes were stripped away- she was more than used to nakedness, and she has vague memories of many undine on the floating town of Catokerp wearing little at all save for decorative jewelry or wide hats to keep off the sun.
She glances at Ractus, noting the sadness creeping into his voice. It merely redoubled her conviction to heal him, to restore him to the vigor she once knew. This was kept to herself for now, as she decided there was no reason to aggravate the man's hopes.
"Honestly, I am looking forward to a proper rest now that my duty is complete." The paladin says with a relieved sigh as she realizes, for once, nothing was needed of her the following day. No blades to be drawn, or negotiations to take place, or pitched battles to be won. She would do a cursory search for her sword, say her farewells, and put Pitax behind her.
"One last request before I go to sleep." Rudabeh nearly flinches at the look Hiram gives her, and she speaks quickly before he reaches for the sleeping potion. "There is a mirror in my bag! I... want to see my face without the bandages. Please."
When Rudabeh mentions her arm is still numb, Hiram shows the first flash of concern, "Your arm is still numb?" He instantly starts to probe and manipulate the flesh, looking closely with narrowed eyes. Finally he says, "It seems to be healing properly, but it has only been a few days. Exercise it as best you can. Find a sparring partner, but take it easy."
He glances over at Ractus's bed, obviously expecting a snide remark but nothing floats over. The healer shakes his head but returns his attention to Rudabeh.
"As for your face....of course." He moves over to a heavy chest, apparently left by whatever noble had once lived here. Hiram digs around until he returns, holding a very ornate hand mirror, trimmed with intricate silver filigree. The gaudy thing looks very out of place against the healer's simple robes and rough, callused hands. He holds it up and Rudabeh gets the first look at her face.
It isn't pretty.
She first notices the eye, of course, or the lack of it. Where once there had sat a bright white eye, sharp and penetrating, there was only a sunken crater of scarred flesh, dark looking. Around it, there were narrowing furrows, scars cut into her flesh. Half her face had a tough, tanned look to it as if she had been re-surfaced with leather instead of the smooth almost rubbery skin undine's usually had. It did seem however the muscles still worked and her facial expressions seemed untouched and normal. Rudabeh could still frown and smile.
"As you can see, there is no infection." Hiram says, holding the mirror. "I was able to cauterize the wound and toughen the skin, at the cost of some flexibility. Still, not the most sightly injury." A short pause and then, "I doubt even the usual magics would restore the eye after the treatment. It was not simply excise, I had to burn the mangled remains....I am truly sorry but it was that or risk a rot in your brain. There was not even time for prayer, so you simply got what I thought was best, I'm afraid."
"Oh." Rudabeh says as Hiram seems concerned that her arm is numb. "Actually, everything on my right side above my hip is numb. I.. thought it was something you did, so I didn't mention it." She says slowly, as it begins to dawn on her that she should have commented on it sooner. The undine could feel..something when Hiram prods the flesh, but it wasn't pain. This gave her hope the full feeling would return soon, at least.
Rudabeh's brow furrows when Hiram retrieves the gaudy mirror. Such a thing in the hands of a priest of Alseta was unseemly, and she would have much preferred if he had used her simple silvered mirror in her bag. Still, it gets the job done and reveals, with a strange dichotomy, her ragged and scarred face; the right side is leathery and dark, that sickly damaged chartreuse and teal, while the other is smooth and supple, if burned. Her right ear, which was damaged and cut in half decades ago by a shovel in Galt, was now a pathetic excuse for a fin. There was only an inch or so of ragged, scorched spines remaining, as the membrane between them completely burned away.
She focuses on the empty socket of her eye, and in the shadowy ocular recess she sees muscles twitch and move, still trying to focus the missing part of her vision.
Rudabeh does not flinch at the sight, but stares stoically at the scars cut around her eye. "I'm afraid the brain rot would have found my mind quite disappointing." She jokes morbidly with a soft, even voice. They say you do not miss your beauty until it is gone. She thinks as she looks at her scarred visage. They were right. Though not vain enough to say it or show it, Rudabeh lamented, momentarily, what had happened to her, and indeed this was the first moment she had to do any mourning at all, for anyone or anything, since coming to Pitax.
Drawing in a breath, the paladin laws back on the bed and stares at the ceiling. "You saved my life. The last thing I will complain about is your methods. Besides, I always worried about not being taken seriously by other warriors. Scars are as potent as any reputation. Now I won't have to worry." She says sincerely before smiling weakly at Hiram. The gesture did not reach all of her face, but her cheek twitched some. "Thank you, Hiram. Goodnight."
Hiram puts the mirror down and says, "I think event he most seasoned river pilot will take you seriously now, Rudabeh. But, somehow, I doubt that was a problem before." he adds, looking at the tall, strong, usually armed and armored paladin.
"Sleep well." the healer says, turning back to Samuel.
She does not sleep well. Her dreams are troubled, filled with strange images from her vision, distorted and exaggerated. Strange emotions fill her body, fear, melancholy, anger or euphoria, nothing like the calm experience the actual vision had been. Rudabeh wakes up often, covered in sweat, tangled in blankets. In these brief lucid interludes she realizes, not counting the slumber Hiram forced on her, this is her first true night's sleep since the vision. Clearly it left a deeper mark then she thought. Then, without even thinking or trying, her hand finds the magical key Hiram had given her.
It feels heavy and cool in her hand, solid as mountains. Instantly she becomes drowsy and the paladin falls back to sleep, deep and steady. The dreams seem to be banished.
She wakes late, sun streaming in the window. Glancing over she sees Samuel is gone and then, to even more shock so is Ractus. As far as she can tell, Rudabeh is alone in the cool, sunlight room. A scent of fresh flowers dances on the air.
The first time Rudabeh awakens, she immediately begins to wonder if she made a mistake in refusing Hiram's sleeping potion. The black-and-white outlines of the wood holding up the ceiling are all that fill her waking vision, but her mind's eye is so fresh with the distorted reality brought on by the dream-vision it still seems visible.
The gods had been replaced by literal puppet-like mockeries of themselves. Hanspur looked like the manticore Irovetti had purchased for the parade after he had it stuffed; a rat on sticks jerkily moving around, its beady eyes made of false jewels and hate. The shadow-like god(?) was merely a human-like figure in black silk, raising and lowering its arms while making moaning noises. Worst of all, Alseta was a broken-down masterpiece. Metal, wood, springs, and strings were all visible behind frayed homespun cloth, and her face, that face of divine acceptance and understanding, was merely a cracked and faded mask, something that at one time had been a lovingly painted visage of her goddess. The Alseta puppet quaked and spasmed as it tried to move, but it was broken, and pieces intermittently fell off of it into the black void below.
Worse was the visions afterward. Fires burned, villages died, wars consumed entire countries. She watched the destruction of Catokerp, of which her family was spared by her father's intuition, but now she had to watch in full. Her family's sloop burned and sank, all of them crushed under its falling mast when lightning struck. Rose Headstrong murdered Rudabeh in her sleep. Finn did not come back for her during the Red Revoultion. Outsea's dams burst, and its inhabitants all suffocated in the uncaring air. Pitax was savaged by a magma dragon, and she was the first to die; but still she watched from her own body's eyes as it killed every one of the Kingdom of the Free, too.
She would fall asleep once more, and the dreams would repeat, time and again, until she wakes up once, covered in a cold sweat, only to find the Iron Key in her left hand. She does not recall grabbing it, but still she stared at the relic, feeling its weight.. a weight that falls onto her remaining eyelid and lulls her to sleep.
Sun strikes Rudabeh's face, and she blinks awake. Sitting up slowly and groggily, she looks around, puzzled at the lack of people. It seemed, finally, no one needed her for anything, and she hoped Pitax could manage its own affairs for now.
Sliding out of bed and onto her feet, the cold stone meets her bare toes with a sudden and welcome cold. Experimentally, she stretches- a bold move, which was met with lances of pain throughout her whole body at only a tenth of her usually flexibility. Still, she didn't turn into a pile of goop on the floor and her stitches were holding, so she considered it progress.
Her right arm is tingly this morning, and not in a good way, but at least there was feeling. It hung pallidly from her burned shoulder, and she could weakly, barely move her fingers. It was something.
Getting dressed was difficult- she struggled into her breeches and socks, but her boots... her boots nearly brought her to swearing, and by the time they were on she had broken out into a tired, angry sweat. She noted her dagger was still in its sheath on her right boot, though the leather had been slightly blackened on the grip.
Dressed and looking like a mangled veteran of the Worldwound, she kneels besides the bed she had been sleeping in. Reaching up her left hand to take up her Iron Key, the paladin presses it to her forehead and begins to pray. Alseta, my goddess. She begins, drawing in a breath even though no words were spoken. Thank you for sending Hiram to save my life. It is, as ever, dedicated to your tenants, and I now know it is not something I should not risk without cause. I used to wonder what it would be like to die in your service, and did not fear death for I knew it would be good. But now, after the vision you and the other gods sent to me... I sense there is something more. I have a purpose, one beyond the oaths I made to you, and I will exercise caution until that purpose is revealed to me. To show yourself to me... to send me this key , to save my life... The visions of so many people, places, things... I felt as if I was watching the entire world, throughout time, and everything was so.. connected. It all felt so fragile, and worth protecting.
Rudabeh realizes that she is actually rambling in her prayer and flushes with embarrassment. Ah, I am sorry. I will be patient. I trust your purpose for me and will follow it, should you command. If not, I will follow your tenants and my oaths, and I know it will lead me there. My soul, my heart, and my blade are forever yours.
Standing up, the paladin grabs her bag and begins to move outside, slinging the magically enhanced (though slightly singed) cow leather strap over her good shoulder and begins to walk outside.
My blade. She thinks, and she knows that if she is to serve Alseta well, the dagger in her boot would not do. With her duty fulfilled, it was time to track down her sword, and she silently asks her goddess for a prayer to assist.
Rudabeh pulls open the door to the houses' courtyard with her left hand under her own power and steps out, though the Iron Key remains firmly in her grasp.
Rudabeh steps out into the sunlight, feeling good stone under her boots. While still not quite the usual rock of good health and vigor she normally is, the paladin is also no longer a tenuous facade held together by iron will (or put less favorable, pig-headed stubbornness). Indeed, just the act of walking across the room feels good, blood flowing strongly to her limbs, rich blue color returning to her flesh.
The sun is bright, and she has to squint as she peers into the courtyard. It is a square of stone flagstones, boxed in by other wings of the same house. High walls filled with windows glitter at her from every side, fronted by well-trimmed flower gardens, the source of the fresh scents in the air.
The square is full of people, and as her eyes adjust to the sunlight, Rudabeh can make out the mercenaries. Most are lingering in the small strips of shade provided by the walls, leaning on spears or sitting on the ground. Some are polishing weapons, while others are stitching up torn or damaged clothing. A few are simply resting, or chatting with others but Rudabeh sees no dice or card games in progress.
In the far corner a knot of men seem circled around the only seated figure, someone sitting on a low stool. After a moment someone steps aside and she can see it is Ractus, the bloodrager dressed in full length robes instead of his usual tight fighting leathers. Rudabeh assumes it is both to hide his injures and to be much easily to take off and on. Considering how much effort it had taken the undine to dress that morning, what it meant for the elf made Rudabeh wince. Draze is at his side, and both are leafing through a set of old leather-bound books, stained and mottled with age.
Most eyes are on the center of the courtyard however, where a few mercenaries are sparring. Rudabeh only recognizes one, Silvui wielding a rapier and buckler. Facing him are two heavy set men with the more usual heavy sword and mail shirts. All the weapons are crudely wrapped in rough-cloth to prevent, or at least minimize injuries. There are a few lively cat-calls and shouts from the crowd, more supporting the two unknowns then Silvui.
The Varsian merely grins and lowers his sword into a standard guard as he assumes a fighting stance. The two men shrugs, exchange a glance and begin to move in. Rudabeh watches with a practiced eye, part of her enjoying this simply for what it was and another part with nostalgia for her time with the Bastard Brigade. How many times had she watched Finn practice with her blade?
The two men move with skill and percision, clearly having worked together before. Rudabeh approves of their footwork as they spread out and flanked their single foe. Two on one sounded easy but Rudabeh had seen people bungle it before, getting in each others way and other mistakes. Not these two, they kept their distance and moved slowly, always an eye on their partner.
Then, on some signal Rudabeh could not discern, one rushed in, sword moving in a blur as the other waited, either to catch Silvui on his retreat or add his own attack. But the thin Variasan merely spun, dodging the blade and slid under his attacker's arm. His thin blade thwacked the attacker on the back, like a teacher's ruler.
In a moment Silvui was free of the two, and grinning. A few of the mercenaries shouted approval but a few hissed or booed. Rudabeh nearly jumped as she heard a voice in her ear, "He is quite good, isn't he?" It was Litta, the red-haired archer, standing easily beside her. The woman was quiet on her feet to sneak up on Rudabeh, even with her damaged ear and the sounds of swordplay as cover. The woman's hunter eyes linger on Silvui with more then comradely affection.
Meanwhile the two men close in on Silvui again, moving slower this time, trying to box him into a corner. The younger man is forced to give ground, losing room to maneuver. Finally, after taking their time, his two attackers move in together, blades singing. Somehow, Silvui jumps toward them, tucking his body into a tight ball and tumbles past them, again escaping the trap.
he bounds to his feet with a grin and a bow. However, unseen to him, one surly looking onlooker sticks out a foot and trips the young man, who falls to the ground with a painful looking crash. The two attackers, by now turned, begin to fall on him, one letting out a barked laugh in delighted surprise at finding their quarry.
"They cheated!" Litta says, hand going to her own blade, voice as fiery as her blazing hair.
It is either a testament to Hiram's expertise, a blessing from Alseta, or her magical body that Rudabeh feels much better just after crossing the room. Perhaps it was all three. As the sun strikes her eye she squints, though noticeably less so given she only has half as much ability to see.
The dark void on the right side of her vision was still a bit of a problem, and she actually bumps into a post in her blind spot on the way into the courtyard. It would take more than a few days of walking around to get used to it. She wondered if Ractus, who she saw berobed in the corner, was having his own difficulties with adjusting to his injuries. The elf seemed fine, but he was also most likely sitting for a reason.
She gravitates towards the sparring sessions, sizing up Silvui as he faces off against two opponents. It was something Finn had arranged for her many times. The undine remembered fondly, in the way that someone remembers something that at the time seemed like abuse but came to appreciate it with age, how her mentor would go to taverns and pay two, three, sometimes four off duty guards to all rush Rudabeh at once with padded clubs, swords, or spears.
The bruises had been worth it in the end, she decided, though at the time she hated the exercises. Silvui seemed to be having no trouble with two opponents, though everyone else in the crowd did not seem to enjoy his excellent footwork.
The paladin is frowning slightly at the Variasian's showboating when Litta suddenly appears next to her. "Oh, good morning Litta." Rudabeh says politely, if reflexively, at being surprised; her ear were full and standing on end, though her damaged right one could hardly be considered "standing".
"Yes, his footwork is phenomenal." She continues, voice smokey and worn from talking so much the previous day. "He could have already beat them soundly, though, why does-" Her words are cut off as she sees one of the spectator's feet shoot out, and the left side of the undine's face twists into obvious disgust. The right, leathery side is a bit slower to respond, and ends up looking more like mild disappointment.
"STOP." Rudabeh shouts into the crowd, her hoarse voice still able to find a considerable and commanding volume as she tries to interrupt Silvui's pummeling. Still, despite the anger in her voice, she lays her hand on Litta's sword arm. The Steward's Iron Key, which seemed to always be in her grasp, is warm against the human's flesh. "I saw. We shall discover the truth of the matter."
Marching forward, Rudabeh pushes through the crowd with her left arm, finding its strength a shadow of what it was, but still enough to muscle some people to the side. Her right arm continues to be a barely more rigid than a wet noodle. Regardless, she pushes through with sheer determination and shoos off the two fighters that were pummeling Silvui.
Now near the center of the ring, Rudabeh lifts her hand and points at the man that stuck his foot out. "I saw what you did. Explain why you tripped him!" Her voice is loud, and her cylocpean vision is penetrating. Despite her humble blouse and breeches and lack of serious armaments, her ragged and eyeless socket is bared and raw; the unblinking chasm merely serves to enhance the aura of law and order that spills from the paladin's being.
Litta follows Rudabeh closely as the undine strides across the impromptu training yard. The paladin wills her pace to be as strong and confident as ever, despite the injuries she can still feel. This was not the time and place to reveal weakness. Mercenaries give way before her determined stride, iron will and, not least, her unsightly injuries (most being very careful to not make eye contact).
The surly looking man moves slowly to his feet, insult in the lackadaisical rise. He does seem a bit disappointed however when he only comes up to Rudabeh's shoulder, and a sour frown crosses his face. Rudabeh notes the man resolutely avoids looking at the crater that is he missing eye.
"Why do I need to-" He is cut off when one of the fighting pair shouts, "Your tripped him? Bah!", clearly unaware at the boon granted to them. He and his friend stomp off away from Silvui, who is still lying, breathing hard, on the stone flagged square.
The tripper shakes his head and says, voice raised "People trip each other in combat. Isn't that something we should train for? Or would you rather we practiced on counting to ten and playing with painted bits of paper?"
Rudabeh can feel Litta taking a step forward, hand going to her own sword. She also notes however, that most find the surly man distasteful and there is no rousing chorus of support for his words. Most are watching carefully, quiet but judgmental. How would Rudabeh handle this? Every employer or commander (and which was Rudabeh?) had different approach to such breaches of conduct. How did the paladin plan to deal with such bumps in the road?
Drawn up to her full height, Rudabeh has no problem staring down at the man as he tries to explain himself. As she sees Litta take a step forward out of the corner of her vision, she once again extends her hand to stifle the woman's sword arm.
"You claim you tripped him as a combat exercise?" The undine says skeptically, the jab at her electioneering completely ignored. "It doesn't seem any of the combatants were aware of this. Will you claim you are now in charge of drills, or do you care to answer again?"
Rudabeh takes a step forward, now merely a foot away, her voice probbing. "Were you betting on this fight, perhaps? Or do you simply have something against Silvui?" Their difference in height is even more pronounced, and if the man is to look at her face at all he has to peer into that ragged, scarred hole that was once her eye. "I will find the truth, even if I must beseech Alseta to draw it from you. So tell me, why did you trip him?"
She knew this moment would set a precedent, and the paladin had to show that she was both thorough and not one to jump to conclusions.
"Betting?" The man scowls, "On this rabble? Please, I wouldn't waste a copper on the likes of these. I've marched with the Taldan Imperial Army and the Knights of Lastwall. You think this impresses me, or you do?" The man shrugs, "I tripped him because I wanted to see how he'd do, instead of watching him swan about showing off for his girl." he gives Litta a withering look that makes her flush and take a step back.
Turning back to Rudabeh, still ignoring her damaged eye, "That's the truth and nothing more. What are you going to do, remove me from command?" The surly man laughs and adds, "This isn't even a proper company anymore, just a mixmash of castoffs and has-beens led by a religious fanatic."
There is a pause among the murmur of the mercenaries, as heads turn and tongues still. Clearly this is considered going to far. Insults, derision and even a certain level of rambunctious rebellion is allowed by this was going to far. Direct insults to the employer/commander was never allowed, let alone religious ones (dangerous territory in such mixed company as a mercenary band). Rudabeh has the moral high ground....for the moment.
Rudabeh takes the surly man's verbal blows as well as any boxer taking the light, testing punches that these comments were. There was something bothering her, distracting her from the rudeness spewing from the human's mouth.
She feels like she has seen this man before, with Haxiel, but she can't be sure. In any case, why was he here now?
"An impressive list of associations, and I am sure you have an equally impressive list of accomplishments." The paladin says evenly as she rests her left hand on the side of her hip. "But I am not concerned for whom you have fought with, or what victories you have achieved. I am concerned about your lack of respect for your brother-in-arms and the trust we all place in one another."
Just as Finn had taught her to fight, so too does Rudabeh hold nothing back when she debates or judges. "If you would trip someone in a sparring match to "see how they would do", what is stopping you from turning a blind eye to a spear headed for your fellow holding the wall, just because you don't like them? Because they're beneath you, and won your share in a game of cards that they don't deserve."
Rudabeh shakes her head and steps backwards, lifting her left arm and sweeping it over the crowd. Her right arm raises a little, but is still clearly in no shape for such a manuever. "After seeing this, after hearing his words on our worth in his eyes, would you trust this man with your life? " The paladin starts to work the crowd, taking their silent stares, their inaction, and giving them all a focus. She meets eyes with her singular own, and her voice pitches upward. "There is a saying you all know well, one that has become an iron law among mercenaries the world over. "Where you tread, I watch your footsteps. Where you turn, I see the other way. When you sleep, I make your dreams come easily." It was the long version of the saying, in full, meant to ivoke the feeling of comradry, togetherness, and most important watchfulness of one another's backs that every company was supposed to feel. "Would you trust him to watch your "has-been" back? If we are so worthless, such rabble, why are we worth protecting or helping?"
Whirling back to the man, she steps forward again, single eye blazing with a fervor that was, indeed, that of a religious zealot. "Remove you from command?" Rudabeh scoffs, the noise a low, gruff noise in the bottom of her throat. "Convince me you're even worth keeping in this company." The paladin did not need to invoke her ability to detect chaos in this man- she could sense it, and the poison of his views and attitude, which were so far removed from the teachings of Alseta, would spread throughout the group and become a festering wound if she did not stop it now.
Rudabeh's words, as usual, are well delivered, a trait earned from long practice under Urqat's stern gaze. The pauses are well chosen, the words delivered with just the right flair, and the few gestures (truncated in her current state) are effective. There is a quiet murmur of support from the various onlookers although there is still a sense of expectation, of judgement.
However, when Rudabeh takes a step closer into the man's personal space, the atmosphere changes. While still generally supporting Rudabeh, there is a sense of....anticipation. The feeling that Rudabeh has initiated a more physical contest here, not one of mere morals and words. Clearly, despite her injuries, the paladin wants to make this personal.
The surly man cows for a moment under the missing eye and stern gaze of the paladin but then rallies. He stands up straight and shoves Rudabeh with both hands saying, "Get out of my face, woman."
The shove is hard, well placed high on her shoulder. In a distant part of her mind Rudabeh recognizes the man hadn't been entirely lying, clearly he had some fighting skills. Then again, the badly hurt and battered paladin was not exactly at her best. She reels back, loses balance and falls backward on the stone flagged ground. Lances of white hot pain erupt all along her back from the impact. Normally such a tumble would barely rate a grunt from the battle-hardened undine but in her current state, it was enough to make Rudabeh see dancing stars for a brief moment.
"You paid a few of us for a few nights during the trouble here, fair enough. So now you think you own us? Come here and shout out commands and talk about how to run a sparring sessions?" The surly man says, clearly pleased with how easily the paladin had toppled.
The crowd however seems very unimpressed with his actions and if anything the murmurs seem to be growing against him. More then a few seated mercenaries rise to their feet, shouting or calling for "Peace!". Litta steps forward, drawing her own slim blade, the light of battle in her eye. Silvui bounds to his feet, weapon in hand.
Rudabeh sees the man's arms start to move too late, and she is already stumbling backwards by the time she realizes he was going to push her. Unable to keep her balance she tips bounces off the ground, her Bag of Holding thumping against the grass and pushing into her back.
The blow knocks the air out of her, and she feels streaks of pain through her side. In a breathless moment she realizes she had been too aggressive with the man, but the thought he would do such a thing to his own comrade infuriated her still.
With a gasp the undine sucks air bac into her lungs, and she starts to struggle up to her feet. It takes a few seconds but she is back upright by the time the ring of mercenaries are shouting for peace. Rudabeh goes to speak, but instead coughs and nods for a few long moments.
For the third time, she reaches out her hand and lowers Litta's blade before looking at the man who shoved her. "A poor argument in your defense." The paladin states shortly as her breath comes back to her. "I own none of you." It was a statement made fully as one could with half a breath, and she meant it. "But I have the power to decide who comes with me to Daggermark."
"It is clear to me you are unfit for service within the Pact of Years, and your attitude falls well below its standards of civility." Even though she looks him in the eye with her own watery vision, she is appropraitely brushing some unwanted dust off of her blouse as she says it. "You are no longer wanted here. Go. Pitax's new government will surely welcome your experience in arms if you are looking for work, and I hope you find it." Rudabeh says flatly, both sincere about his future and amicably dismissive of his presence all at once.
The surly faced man is standing so close to Rudabeh that she can feel his hot breath. "Unfit? Who are you to declare anything like-"
"Enough" A new voice says from behind them, and everyone turns to see Ractus standing, chair forgotten. The bloodrager is standing fully erect, no sign of his injury except the strange folding of the robes where the missing arm is clearly visible. One callused and powerful hand is resting easily on Draze's shoulder. To the unobservant it seemed to just be a causal gesture of friendship,a relaxed posture among friends. Rudabeh can see clearly however that the old bearded Draze is holding most of the elf's weight, although disguising it well.
"Enough of this." Ractus says again, voice strong but there is a slight wet coda at the end of each word, of lungs not quite working properly. His bright eyes lock onto the surly man across the square."DeCosta, sit down. We avoided most of the fighting in Pitax so far, the last thing we need is a general brawl during peace time."
Ractus turns his still imposing look on Rudabeh and says, voice only slightly softer, "Rudabeh, ease off on the speeches, it is still early in the day." A gentle laugh diffuses the tension in the plaza as DeCosta takes a step back, silently glaring.
Ractus walks forward, gait visibly weak and unstable. Draze stays at his side, not actively helping but more obviously holding the elf up. Soon they stand in the middle of the area, sun shining down on the disabled mercenary captain. He glances up at the blazing disc and Rudabeh alone can see his lips move in a quick, inaudible prayer. What god did Ractus worship? Did Gorum look kindly on the injured?
"However, this all does raise a good point. What do we do now?" He looks around, meeting glances, returning nods. "We are not a formal company and there has been no official contract binding us together for the long haul. Rudabeh here has offered some generous terms and stated goals, but we all know words are not enough. We need something solid and clear."
A pause then, "I propose we form a new company, made up of those who wish to stay together and serve the Pact of Years via Rudabeh of Outsea. She has proven to be a good employer, better then many I have served under."
"Before we go on, let us decide on this. If you wish to stay and follow us under her....then stay. If not, leave. No harm or foul. As Rudabeh has so...pointedly suggested, the new government here will need armed men for awhile. There is work here for those that don't want to go with us." Ractus waves an arm, "So, who wishes to stay and who wishes to go?"
There is a moment of still silence and then, a mercenary Rudabeh doesn't know stands up, brushes off some metal shavings from his lap and says, voice rough and unlettered "Do we have to become paladins and learn all this Alseta stuff?" He looks hastily at Rudabeh, "No offense ma'am, but I've served with religious mind folk before and sometimes it goes poorly."
Ractus waves slightly to Rudabeh, yielding her the floor. Now the tension had changed from one of anticipatory violence and conflict to the guarded cool of a job interview. Rudabeh wondered if Finn would laugh or cry at this whole endevour.
Rudabeh is about to fire back that she has every right to decide who follows her when Ractus interrupts the heated exchange.
Turning away from the human menacing her, she looks the elf over, noticing that Draze is basically carrying him. It was impressive, to the point of stagecraft, the way the old human seemed to be supporting him so casually. It was then, as Ractus tells the one she had been judging- Decosta, that the paladin realzies the absurdity of the sitution.
Ractus had just come to her rescue in an argument, when not days before she had done the same to him. The same instance where Ractus punched a man in the face because he "didn't like his attitude", and now, albiet with less punching, their roles had switched? Wouldn't he have punched this man by now? Was she dreaming?
Rudabeh looks at the ground briefly at this realization, and relaxes some. Perhaps the explosion changed us both in ways we do not even realize yet. Runs though her mind as Ractus speaks, his words unfocused and distant as she has a moment of self reflection. I was so eager to enforce order and community as I always have... but did I go too far just to prove I am still capable?
Shaking off her distraction, the undine blows some air through her nose in frustration. This was not the time to have her head in the clouds; she could meditate and pray on these ideas later.
Looking up, she catches the last part of Ractus speaking, and nods her head slowly. It was something she had offered to the mercenaries many times, but now was as good as moment as any to solidify their relationship.
She notes the change in atmosphere, and though her blood is still running hot from DeCosta's attitude and actions, she considers this important business.
"Ah, no." Rudabeh answers with a bit of surprise as the unknown man suddenly stands up and asks about if they needed to worship Alseta. The idea had not even crossed her mind. "The Pact is a secular organization, and while a majority are worshippers of Alseta, it is filled with people of many faiths, both of the cloth or casual. Generally speaking please pray to whomever you wish." There was an exception, which made her pause, her burnt azure lips pursing sourly for a moment. "The only religions not welcome are those of Rovagug, Lamasthu, or their ilk, but that is true in most of the world."
The next part of his comment almost seemed awkward for her, as if it wasn't something she was used to talking about, or in fact, she was slightly embarrassed to talk about it. "Of course, none of you have to become paladins. If any of you do wish to become paladins I am more than happy to help, but... well..." Now the undine really did seem embarassed, and she looked about as if she was unwillingly, telling one of her greatest secrets. She was both excited and mortified someone had asked; because on one hand she would be estatic to have some company on the difficult road of a Paladin of Alseta, on the other...
"Truthfully, I am not sure how to become a paladin. I just swore the oaths found in The Sacred Keystones underneath an archway and... well..." Actually, an incredible miracle occured that is still talked about in Outsea today, and she also might have been chosen by the gods for some far-off, cosmic purpose that has only been barely revealed to her in a near death state, but that was, ironically, far too self-important and aggrandizing for a paladin of Alseta to ever admit in such a setting. Instead she just gestures to herself. "This happened. The paladin part, I mean. Well, also the being exploded part, because it wouldn't have happened if I wasn't a paladin, which is why I need to stress it is a serious commitment that is not to be taken lightly, but I am sure we can figure it out if anyone else wants to do it. Be a paladin, that is." It was the most rambling, awkward endorsement that she had ever made to anyone, and she is fairly sure no one would ever become a paladin again in all of Golarian if they heard her talk about it.
Drawing in a deep breath, Rudabeh clears her throat and completely changes the subject. "In any case, I will pay the way to Touvette for those of you that wish to come along, and then we can join Irovetti's group on the way to Daggermark. Once there I will secure funds to have you properly compensated and outfitted as permanent members of the Pact, where you will either stay by my sideon whatever mission Veleda sends me on next, or form a sort of policing force within the Grove."
She glances around with her bright and searching eye, seemingly completely recovered from her awkwarkness from moments before, and back to her cool, collected self. "Does anyone else have questions?"
The mercenaries watch Rudabeh, uncharacteristically, stammer her way through the speech. It was one thing to talk about hard strategy or tactics to a crowd, or even give a stirring speech about civic duty and morals. Those were things Rudabeh knew that, to her, nearly tangible ideas she could express at length and with some elocution. But being a paladin? That was something altogether else entirely. A personal matter, a mystery that despite being the very core her being was nothing she felt qualified to discuss, let alone in front of a rather practical crowd like this. Being a paladin was not often a term of endearment around mercenaries, who put self interest and coin above religious duties (most times).
There is undercurrent of laughter when Rudabeh lists the few religions she has no tolerance for. Such madmen and zealots had no friends here. A man willing to worship the Mother of Monsters or the Unmaker were clearly not good men to rely on in battle or camp.
After Rudabeh spells out the general terms for the future, a hard-bitten halfling emerges from behind some others, a scarred face mostly hidden by a wild blonde beard.
"Are you commander or employer?" he asks bluntly, looking up at Rudabeh evenly, long accustomed to being towered over.
Rudabeh looks downward at the halfling; another mercenary she hadn't noticed before. A strange wonder, too, because despite his diminutive size, he looked like someone that had lived as a hermit in the hills for a decade or more.
Still, his question was an important one, and the undine looks up at the clear, cloudless sky for a moment. I am not here as an usurper. The bright sun shines off of her scarred face as she lowers her head, and while the relatively healthy tissue on the left side is beginning to regain its lustrous turqoise sparkle, the leather right side seems dull and muted.
"Ractus is your commander unless he says otherwise." She states flatly, not seeing to take anything away from him. She glances over at the berobed elf. "You chose him as your commander, not me. The situation may change after you have offically joined the Pact, we renegotiate your contract, and we have duties for you, but for now I will act as your employer."
The wild halfling shrugs, "We chose Ractus. We may choose again." The words are ominous but the small man goes on, "Fair enough. Honest, most can't figure the difference between employer and officer. How many of us have seen a charge ordered or a retreat denied by some fool with more coin then sense?" A dark ripple of laughter from men and women that had seen too much foolishness. That said, few employers who tried to dictate tactics lasted long. Trying to prevent armed and dangerous soldiers from saving themselves was not the way to long life.
"Do you wish to choose a new officer?" Ractus says, voice casual but Rudabeh can hear the rough edge of pain, buried below the surface. The elf would never show it, but the mere fact this was being discussed hurt him worse then any explosion. "It can be done."
DeCosta waves his hand and says angrily, "I can't believe you are all going to go along with this! I'm leaving and I hope the rest of you have the good sense to follow." The surly looking man stalks away and a few do follow him, heading out a side door to the street.
Left behind are about thirty or so mercenaries, a very mixed group. In the silence Silvui says, "I say we wait to pick a new captain, if we do, until Daggermark. As Rudabeh said, there will be many changes then. Besides, if it doesn't work out, we won't have wasted any effort."
"Agreed." Draze says, voice rough as snadpaper.
Most of the others shrug or nod agreement, but a few look long and hard at Ractus, as if sizing him up. The elf ignores them and waves Rudabeh over, a casual gesture and an attempt to avoid revealing how hard it was for him to talk.
"Plans for today? Should I head down to the docks and arrange passage? Might not be easy, most left with Irovetti."
Rudabeh knew she was in an odd position- while she was their employer, she was also a trained soldier and had spent considerable time among mercenaries. It seemed the group respected her opinion more than some "fool with more coin than sense", at least.
She had seen a few of those during her time with the Bastard Brigade- while Finn and her companions were hyper competent and would usually take (and complete) nearly any job, she had seen her mentor laugh in the faces of some egotistical or downright ignorant individuals and throw their money back at them.
A look of concern crosses the paladin's face when Ractus mentions choosing a new officer, and even though it wasn't really her fault, she regrets putting him in this situation. The pain, though well hidden, was clearly visible. She relaxes as the others seem to indicate they still wanted Ractus as their leader, and nods approvingly.
As she approaches the elf after he waves her over, the undine glances to those mercenaries leaving. It was very clear she was glad to see Decosta go, and was concerned she was going to have to chase him, and any of his supporters, off if he didn't leave on his own. It was a relief to have such chaos and uncilivity out of her sphere.
"Plans for the day include, firstly, purchasing an eyepatch so I don't look so..." Her face twists up a bit as she tries to think of a different word, but failing to do so she merely sighs and accepts it. "...unsightly."
"Secondly I am going to make a cursory search for my sword. Best case scenario is someone snatched it and put it on their mantle, worst case it's been whisked through the markets and it is already miles away." It was clear by her tone that she didn't expect anyone to have the intention of using it. The sword was huge, unwieldy, and usually only seen on the battlefield; making it pointless for the common person's self-defense. It had adorned a wall in a noble's manor for over fifty years before she was given it as a gift, after all. "If I may, I would like to borrow Litta and Silvui to help me look and watch my back if needed."
"Thirdly," Rudabeh continues with the air of casually listing off items. "I want to say my farewell and thanks to as many people as I can, all of which will likely be conveniently located in the Palace. I doubt I will return to Pitax for a long while, and I am glad to have made as many friends and allies as I did while we were here." A small smile tugs at the edge of her azure lips as she looks at the elf, clearly counting him among them.
"But yes, please pack up and arrange for our passage to Voluse. I should have enough coin to pay the company's way, even if the riverfolk are charging a premium today." A moment's consideration, and she adds- "Tell them I will be paying the full amount up front. That should make them more considerate, at least."
Ractus considers Rudabeh carefully as she talks, as if trying to pry under the veil of casual conversation, to see what lies beneath. After a moment he shrugs, "Well, for the eye patch, I can't help you. They say Pitax is a city of artists though, maybe you can get one with Irovetti's face on it. A memento of your time here."
A laugh with a bitter edge just detectable to Rudabeh's battered ears. At his side Draze winces, clearly hearing it as well.
"I never saw the sword after the blast. I am sorry, it was a very fine piece of work. Did anyone report the sword Draze?" The bearded man shakes his head in a negative fashion. Ractus turns back to Rudabeh, the professionalism coming back into his voice, "I'll keep an eye out for it, and tell the rest. Might be something we turn up."
"Friends and allies?" Ractus says and then adds, "You might need more then two guards, depending where you go. try to avid causing any riots on the way out?"
Ractus nods when Rudabeh gives him orders about the boats, clearly approving of paying up front. People welshing on payments to river pilots was legendary and while Rudabeh wouldn't think of doing that anymore then removing her sole remaining eye, some pilots were hard to convince. Then the elf coughs and says, "Well, since I am still in command and they have agreed to follow you...we need to have the ceremony."
"You know, forming the new company. Formal oaths sworn by all, signing the company book, announcing the roll and company name. Assigning officers and quartermaster." Ractus says, looking weaker by the moment at the thought of all the paperwork. "I'd like to do it sooner rather then later. Perhaps at the docks?" He looks Rudabeh up and down critically, "It would all be so much more...official if you had your sword."
He glances over at Silvui and Litta whoa re standing awkwardly near each other, not speaking but exchanging furtive glances. "Silvui! Litta! Rudabeh requires your attendance during her errands this morning. Stay sharp and don't let anything happen to her, standard bodyguard protocol. Pitax is an uneasy town and our newest employer made more then her fair share of enemies." the elf pauses and turns his bright eyes on Rudabeh's sole white one. "Although she killed most of them already."
Rudabeh briefly wonders asking what has gotten into Ractus. His probing gaze was starting to make her concerned for his mental well being, but in the end she decides that he is going through the same realization she did yesterday- knowing you're weak after being so strong is very hard to reconcile.
"It is just a sword." The paladin says offhandedly, and it was true. Still, it was a very fine sword. The finest she had ever owned, and given her profession it would probably help to have it back. I will not search for too long, but thank you for telling everyone to keep their ears open."
The paladin sighs lightly at his mention of causing any more riots. "I'll make sure to lead it straight to the docks if I do." She says teasingly, before her good ear perks up a bit. "Ceremony?"
She squints her one eye with a mixture of skepticism and surprise. "You have a ceremony?" There was never any ceremonies or formalities in The Bastard Brigade, except maybe making Rudabeh do all the camp work to "build character". "The dock will be fine, it will be an appropriate send off." She lets out a restrained snort at his mention it would be better if she had her sword and slings her bag carefully around her shoulder.
Briefly Rudabeh tries to open it with her burnt, scarred right hand while holding it steady with her left, but she can barely feel her fingers and can only fumble at the latch. Frustrated, she wills it open with her Iron Key instead and dips her hand into the extra-dimensional space.
She draws a length of beautifully inscribed darkwood with thick oilcloth tied around the tip and a long length of leather attached to each end. The undine bites into the string holding the oilcloth to the tip with her pearl-white teeth and pulls, letting the covering fall away to expose a glimmering tip of well-polished cold iron that had been sharpened into a broad point; the kind that looked like it would rip your guts out if you were stabbed in the midsection.
"Will this do if I can't find my sword?" The paladin asks with a coy smile as she puts the length of leather over her right shoulder and adjusts the strap to easily carry the spear. In a few moments she has her bag in order and over her other shoulder as well.
Rudabeh gestures for Silvui and Litta to follow her outside of the camp, choosing to ignore Ractus' comment about how many people she had killed. There were, after all, hundreds if not thousands more lives her actions saved, and she was sure she had done the right thing. "We will see you at the docks before nightfall, Ractus. Take care."
Walking out onto the street, she glances to the two mercenaries shadowing her. "We make for the First Palace and stop at the first tailor along the way. Hopefully five eyes can find one on a street meant for the wealthy, I haven't got another to spare." She jokes morbidly- Ractus' slightly sour mood had brought her down a bit, but she knew she would shake it off once she started concentrating on finding her sword.
Ractus eyes the formidable looking spear, nodding appreciatively. "May I?" he asks formally, like any fighter looking to handle another's weapon.
The elf lets go of Draze's shoulder and, standing upright unsupported grabs the spear haft. Rudabeh is pleased to see, while weak, his fingers seem to retain their full range of motion and hold the spear normally, in a trained grip. Ractus peers carefully at the dark, oily spear point. He even lifts the weapon a few times, testing the weight (even as he wobbles himself, unsteadily).
"A fine weapon." The mercenary says finally, handing the spear back to Rudabeh. There is a strange light in his eyes that the paladin can't quite place. "Worthy of any company. I will see you at the docks."
======
Luckily for Rudabeh the shops meant for the rich are clustered around the First Palace, exactly where she is. With Litta and Silvui at her back, they find a tailor's shop in short order, the usual oversized metal pair of scissors hanging as a sign over the door.
Stepping inside, the air is warm and filled with the fresh scent of cloth. Bolts of cloth are arranged everywhere, hanging on racks, sitting on wall shelves, even draped over a wooden mannequin in the center of the space. There is a slight haze of dust hanging in the air, the wispy dandruff of cut fabric. A shop desk sits, gleaming, empty in a corner.
Just as Rudabeh wonders where the proprietor is, a dark-haired woman emerges dramatically from behind a striped curtain. "Hello, fair customers. What brings you to my shop today?" She is tall, elegant, and with a rather dashing strip of white hair near one of her temples. Her own clothes are dark, cut close to the body and perhaps a tad more revealing then Pitax fashion usually dared.
Her dark eyes light up whens he gets a good look at them, "Ah, dare I hope I have hero in my shop today? Could this be Rudabeh, the paladin who at once evicted the King and set up a new council to govern the city? You do me a great honor merely by entering my store." She bows low, one foot held back like a courtier. Then she looks up, a slight smile on her pretty features, "May I hope you also purchase something? Something befitting a noble and wise person as yourself?"
Behind her she hears Silvui laughs softly and recalls his father was a merchant of some kind in his distant homeland. Did the melodramatic entrance and exaggerated manner of the tailor bring back some old memory for the young man?
Rudabeh releases her grasp on the intricately carved spear for Ractus to inspect. "The haft is dark wood and the head cold iron." She says conversationally, though she is sure the wizened elf could tell just by touch and sight. "Because darkwood is so light the weight is heavily shifted towards the tip. It is quite potent." It was nice to discuss simple matters for a change, even if it is as mundane as where a spear is weighted.
She is glad to see he can at least use his hands well- Rudabeh was still struggling with her right hand, but at least it was intact. After Ractus' cryptic comment about it being a weapon worthy of a company, she takes the spear back and loops it around her shoulder once more.
----------------------
The paladin nearly sighs as she sees the oversized pair of shears hanging over the tailor's shop. Even if Irovetti was gone, it still looked like his town. She wouldn't be surprised if the former king had made laws stating every shop needed a sterotypical sign like the one she was walking under.
Rudabeh takes a step into the dusty interior and sweeps the room, curious where the shop keeper is. Could they have been one of the many that fled with Irovetti?
Before she could contemplate further, the human wman emerges seemingly out of hiding and starts her pitch. Rudabeh must admit she is impressed with the woman - a striking figure that seems to ooze the artistry and creativity Ptax had become famous for. It was a shame Rudabeh had only a simple request, but also well within the paladin's guarded, humble aestetic she not order a full set of clothes from the woman. She is not sure her oaths of humility would be able to handle whatever the woman could produce.
"You flatter me, miss." Rudabeh begins simply, bowing her head low in return at the woman's gesture and exposing the extent of her burned hairline that ended suddenly two inches up the right side of her skull. "But I am no hero. Merely a paladin doing their duty." Hero or not, she was kind of a mess- her simple cotton blouse and jute breeches were sturdy, but they were dully stained with much spilled blood and repaired so many times over the past few days they could use replacing.
It is probably to the tailor's surprise then, or perhaps not, she only points to her missing eye. "I am merely in need of an eyepatch. I only ask it be sturdy, no decorations needed." The paladin's rough and tumble lifestyle made her choose the material carefully. Darkleaf would be ideal, but they were relavity far from Kyonin and the elves guarded their stocks of the durable cloth jealously. Plus, she had ran her fingers through a bolt of the stuff when it had somehow passed through her fathers decidedly non-elven hands; the cloth literally had strips of bark woven into it, which she decides is not condusive to placing against injured flesh. "Undyed silk would be best, I believe." Rudabeh decides, going with the tough, yet plain, option.
The tailor looks askance at Rudabeh, obviously surprised at the request just for the eyepatch. Up to now she had diplomatically avoided the charred cavity that once held Rudabeh's eye, but now she turned a professional gaze upon it.
'Undyed silk?' The woman says critically, then flicks her long fingers, as if physically brushing the motion away. "One does not come to my shop for undyed silk." Again she waves the last two words away, like an unwanted fly over a meal.
The woman smiles, revealing bright, strong teeth and says, "But do not worry, I know how to deal with your types. Even Pitax has those who are a bit afraid of being forward and embracing their inner fashion." She turns her sharp eyes on Silvui, and after a silent moment to size him up (which makes the young man turn red in the face) says, "You, what are the House colors for the esteemed hero?"
Silvui looks utterly confused and says, "House colors? I mean, I suppose the Company but we don't even have colors yet..."
The tailor waves him abruptly to silence, pensive for a moment. Then she smiles sparkling again, "Ah but of course. We must look away from you and to that which you aspire. The Welcomer, of course. Alseta herself."
Rudabeh is surprised to hear some actual reverence in the woman's voice, a slight pause to show respect to the goddess. Was she a believer? When she speaks again however, her voice is filled with professional passion not sacred joy.
"Yes, yes, the motif offers many options. Nothing too gaudy of course, understated but strong. Something that speaks of power yet restraint...." The woman says musingly then looks at Rudabeh, "Which do you prefer? The image of a turtle under an arch? Brown on gold? Or the simple two face in profile, to symbolize the mask, brown on blue? The right shade of blue of course, to match your rather stunning skin." The woman nods approvingly at Rudabeh's unique skin tone, "You offer so many more pleasing options then the usual shades I am forced to work with."
Already her fingers are flexing slightly, as if anticipating the work to be done.
Rudabeh watches any hopes she had that this would be a simple transation go down with the imaginary fly the tailor flicked away. As far as the paladin was concerned, she might as well have smashed the fy into the ground and stomped on it repeatedly.
She is about to open her mouth to interject when the human speaks of Alseta, but anything she was about to say was overunn by a flood of stylistic interest in all things Alseta. Rudabeh's azure lips slowly close as it dawns on her that perhaps she had made a mistake. Maybe she should have went to one of the poorer districts and gotten a scrap of cotton held together by two strings.
"I... um.." The thought of anything plastered on her face mortified the undine though a holy image of Alseta was slightly more comforting. "The uh.. the latter sounds the best, yes but..." She quickly tries to think of some way to get out of this mess. Suddenly, she arrives at the greatest of weapons in her arsenal- the truth.
"You see, I am leaving by nightfall. I don't want to order something too complicated and rush you, or put you under duress." Rudabeh says sincerely, and she is quite pleased with her a manuevering as she continues. "Just a simple colored eyepatch of silver and brown or whatever you think would go well with my skin will be just fine." Outwardedly the undine was smiling lightly, but inwardedly she felt as if she was about to break into a nervous sweat.
The tailor shakes her head dismissively and laughs, a throaty rich sound. Clearly she has taken Rudabeh's attempt at misdirection as a bargaining tactic, "You think a single day is a rush job? Oh Gods, clearly you have never worked for nobility. Most of them were outraged the item wasn't finished before they even walked into my shop."
The woman pulls out a cloth tape measure out of a stylishly concealed pocket at her waist. She approaches Rudabeh and begins measuring the area around the missing eye, apparently unconcerned by the still fresh scarring. She is very careful not to actually touch Rudabeh's skin however, talking as she does so, "I think you are right about the design. The twin faces in profile is the better choice. You have excellent taste, I must say. A keen eye."
Litta winces at the word choice but says nothing, and the tailor chatters on, her tape now measuring Rudabeh's shoulders and waist, "I saw you the other day, with that horrid explosion. I was sure you'd been killed, and I thought, 'What a shame'. Still, when they said you were up on your feet again, I wasn't shocked. I could tell, just by one look, you weren't someone to be killed like that, by falling off a wall. Too much style."
The woman kneels down and gets a quick measure of Rudabeh's leg and thigh before standing and heading back to her curtain, "It will all be ready in a few hours. I simply will not take no for an answer!" In a moment the woman is gone, colored fabric dancing in her wake.
Without her the room feels empty, like a shallow pool recovering after a turbulent storm. Then, Silvui says, to no one in particualr "I like her."
Litta rolls her bright green eyes.
Rudabeh knows she has been defeated as soon as the woman laughs- her attempt to dissausde the woman was debuffed, and if anything, made her more enthusiatic.
"Ah, yes, well, it is certainly a classic." She says to try and continue the small talk, though she knows the woman was going to tal anway. Dread begins to trickle down her throat and into her lungs, which tighen nervously at the thought of what was in store for her.
"Well, it was certainly an ordeal, but..." The palaidn starts to say, but another part of her mind interrupts. But what? You were held together by the will of the gods and sewn back up like a stuffed fish by Harim? It stiffles her response and instead makes her say: "Ah, but yes, thank you."
Fluttering her eye when she realizes the woman is measuring her thighs and legs for a moment, the undine reaches out her hand "Why were you-" But it was too late, and she had disappeared, sucking all the life out of the room and leaving only dusty cloth, a very worried looking paladin that took her oaths of humility very seriously, and her two bodyguards.
Rudabeh's hand slowly falls back to her side as she watches the fluttering cloth go still, and she starts to shake her head slowly. "We should go." Is announced as she turns on her heel and pushes the door open to the street. Maybe I should find her and stop her, I cannot be seen wearing something as garish as Pitax's styles...
Silvui and Litta have to pause the doorway, mostly because Rudabeh's bulk was partially blocking it. She stood still, staring down the street towards the First Palace. Nearly half the houses and shops seemed empty or at least lifeless. I did this. Her head turns back the other way, and down the street it is the same. So many people, gone. At least they weren't burned down and stomped on by a magma dragon, but still. The community, however affluent, had suffered a blow when Irovetti left, and it was her fault.
Surely it meant this woman's business will start to struggle in the future, though part of her is unsure Samuel's new friends or the lesser nobles from the countryside won't move in, but for now it would be tough. How many friends had she lost? No, the paladin assured herself, giving this woman her coin and being happy to wear whatever she was given was her duty to keep this community going.
Sucking in a deep breath and sighing, Rudabeh starts to move again towards the Palace. "Well, that was interesting." Is all she proclaims before looking down at the Iron Key in her left hand. She intended on asking Gezzerbiel to make a chain for it to go around her neck, and was very thankful it wouldn't be as much of a trial as getting an eyepatch made.
Quickening her pace, she looks back at the two mercenaries following her. "I have a spell prepared that will help me look for my sword." The paladin explains before turning her head back down the street and making for the spot where she had exploded above the crowd. "The best place to start would be where it was last seen."
'I wonder what the going rate for a fancy eye patch is." Silvui says as they leave the tailor shop and begin heading for the plaza around the First Palace. "My old man sold a little of everything but I don't think he ever did an eyepatch. Funny, you don't imagine people buying them. People with eyepatches just tend to.....have them, you know?"
The young man seems to realize he is talking out loud and stammers, "Sorry, Captain. Rudabeh. " Another pauses and then he says, "What do you want us to call you, exactly? Like, title wise."
They find the plaza in front of the First Palace generally empty, save for a few people coming and going out of the open gates. Lady Lorenza's guards have been replaced by men in Samuel's factions robes. Rudabeh wonders when, or if, Samuel will dispenses with the factional clothing and adopt a universal uniform. Still the regime was only a few days old and such things took time, even in a city like Pitax.
Finding the spot where Rudabeh came close to the Gods is not difficult. A huge black stain is smeared along the wall, just to the left of the standing gates. The bricks are pitted and charred, covered with flaking black soot. It all looks very fresh and Rudabeh realizes it hasn't rained since the fireball, a long time in the River Kingdoms. The paladin glances up and sees, indeed, dark clouds are rolling in from the west, heavy with rain.
Litta looks around and says, voice dry, "No sword." And indeed, there is no sign of rubble or anything in the area, the plaza's stone flags swept clean by the passage of many feet.
Rudabeh glances back at Silvui, her moth curving upward to grin slightly at his musings. "Please, just call me Rudabeh. I'm in the same situation... my father has sold many things, but I don't know how many eyepatches." She states before turning to look back down the street. "It's probably going to be more than I was hoping to pay, at any rate. That lady had the air of someone highly skilled, and it is probably going to be fancier than I'd like."
Her pace slows as they near the spot of the explosion, and she stares at the blackened bricks for some time. There was probably quite a bit of Haxiel baked into that stone. Far more than her, at any rate. The white hot flash of light, the blackness, and most importantly the vision were all forever burned in her mind. The longer she looked at that black stain the more her wounds ached.
She glances up at the sky instead, seeing the anvilhead clouds speeding forth with all the intensity Gozreh could give them. It was quite exciting, and in a few hours it would smell like rain even over the usual scents of a human city.
"No sword." The paladin echoes Litta as she rolls her Iron Key between the fingers of her left hand. "My bag survived, so you would think a sword wouldn't have vaporiezed... though this bag is magical, and the sword was.. is... not."
With a sigh she holds the key in front of her, its deep and unblemished blackness reflecting a white sheen in spots where the sun hits just right on its two simple teeth. "I have never done this before, but this spell should point the way to my sword if it is nearby. It only lasts a few minutes so be ready to move quickly."
Drawing in a breath, the paladin closes her eye and prays aloud. "Alseta, please open the path to that which I see." The verbal components were simple, which was good; mentally she was concentrating very hard, trying to conjure up every detail of The Sixth Peak that she could. The burnished steel pommel, the warg leather grip, all four feet of its shining steel blade that rarely pitted or ever chipped, and the fine, tasteful dwarven acid-etching of a fictional mountain that could the brother of any of The Five Kings.
Rudabeh is imagining so hard she has forgotten to breathe, and putting all her focus on feeling any kind of feedback from the key. To passerbys she probably looked very silly, standing there with her eye squeezed shut holding out a black key next to a spot where she had recently almost died. But would anyone dare say anything?
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Almost instantly Rudabeh feels something, a pulling force, as if a small but very warm child was tugging at the key. Rudabeh's eyes snap open but see nothing around them, just that same gentle pressure on the object in her grasp.
"Is it working?" Silvui says, looking hard at the unremarkable key. "Does it glow or anything?" The young man sounds interested and leans in close, reaching out to touch the divine symbol.
Litta shakes her head, "No. My mother used to use this spell, she said it always felt like a fish hook pulling her."
It certainly doesn't feel like that to Rudabeh, just a benign tug, a careful indicator to a direction. To her surprise she sees it directs her toward the First Palace, through the pockmarked and stained wall in front of her. Assuming the spell was working properly, The Sixth Peak was inside? A trophy by some civil servant? Scooped up and added to a new armory? Or maybe just a memento of a important historical event by some moth-eaten archivist.
Like being led by a warm current of water, Rudabeh lets the gentle spell guide her. Litta and Silvui follow at her heels, eyes peeled for danger or a glimpse of the blade. The guards at the door merely nod to them, Rudabeh being well known by this point.
The trio ignore the various servants or officials wandering through the cavernous foyer, now empty of tables and chairs. Clearly Samuel would find new accommodations for such assemblies, with yesterday being a fluke. Where did they store all the table and chairs, the paladin wondered idly. Or had Samuel simply looted every house in town to find the furniture they had needed? Rudabeh had never thought to ask.
The spell leads them deeper into the tangled warren of the Palace, that maze of corridors that Rudabeh had wandered so often. Despite this experience, Rubabeh has a hard time getting to where she is going for the spell ignores doors and hallways, just a general feeling of one direction. It is much like wandering around a room blindfolded, guided by a bit of string attached to the far door. You knew where to go but not how to get there. For the first time the undine wonders just how many rooms the First Palace has. Dozens? Hundreds? Would this search take them all day? A week?
Slowly they make their way, heading downward on ramps and staircases, Litta and Silvui following closely. Unlike her they don't seem to feel winded at all, each step firm as the last. Rudabeh however is only a day or so out of her sickbed (or perhaps deathbed is more accurate) and is soon struggling with the long quest. Still, the prospect of finding her blade is enough to keep the paladin on her feet. There would be time for rest soon enough.
Soon, Rudabeh finds herself in a familiar corridor, down past the armories and storerooms. It is the hallway that leads to the smithy, where she last left Gezzerbial and his poorly spelled sign. That door is open now, the sign removed and the echoing sounds of roaring fires, hammered steel and human laughter echo up the otherwise deserted passage.
Rudabeh rounds the heavy iron door, followed by her two....guards? Friends? Employees? Inside, she sees, to her surprise, two figures both known to her.
One is Gezzerbial, the red-orange salamander feeding a coal fire, stoking it intensely, making the flames jump and twist. His eyes reflect the hell-like inferno making the already strange man look altogether alien. His scales glitter like those of a dragon, dancing with firelight.
The other is the smith Rudabeh met soon after her arrival in Pitax, the man willing to work during the Festival. He is sitting on a massive worktable, legs dangling down like a child. A look of sheer joy and wonder is on his bearded face, despite the sweat and grime on his skin. In his hands he holds The Sixth Peak looking bright and shiny as the day is was forged. Next to him a large uneven shape is covered by a rough tarp.
The human smith glances up and spots Rudabeh. In an instant he hops down and bows, "Rudabeh." Behind him Gezzerbial turns and smiles a very strange, very toothy grin.
"Ah, you come. Told you she would come." The reptile-like man says chidingly to the human, his accent bad but better then last Rudabeh heard. His words are stronger too, more confident. Gezzerbial eyes are knowing, "She would come for sword."
"the sword." the smith corrects absently, not glancing at the salamander. His words have the weary but patient tone of a somewhat aggrieved but proud teacher.
"Do you know him?" Silvui says, leaning forward eyes on Gezzerbial's weird form. [b]"Or is it an 'it'?"[/i]
Rudabeh sucks in a small breath as she feels the key tug on her fingers, her light blue eye snapping open with surprise and excitement. "Oh! I feel something!" Standing still as Silvui touches the key, she concentrates on which direction the force is pulling. "Fish hook? It feels more as if I let go, whatever is pulling on the key would take it out of my hands." The undine comments, briefly wondering what kind of spellcaster Litta's mother was before she realizes that the spell is definitely leading her towards the palace.
"It feels like it's inside the Palace?" She says, half question and half statement, but what follows is all action- Rudabeh beings walking towards the palace entrance with a purposeful and (relatively, for being exploded two days prior) powerful stride.
The paladin nods her thanks to the door guards. She was very fortunate to be well known at this point, and she thanks Alseta for not only literally showing her the path to her lost sword, but for making the barriers between her and her goal seemingly melt away. It was what you always prayed for as as a mental and spiritual exercise, but Rudabeh felt she was getting the real deal handed to her.
Deep they go into the Palace, and though Rudabeh's legs are already starting to burn after their quick pace, she doesn't flag, not yet. "The spell only lasts a few minutes, help me remember every direction it was not if it stops working." She asks her guards as they run into the second dead end. The entire while the paladin dreaded running into someone she knew, someone with some kind of problem, or worse, wanting to talk. Her oaths required to be polite, and it was going to be difficult to tell someone she was busy with such a short time span.
But Alseta, once again, provides for her. There were no familiar faces until she turns a corner and recognizes the hallway to the armory. With the way the key was pulling, it was either beyond it or... "I think it's in the armory!" Though she was breathing harder than she would like to admit and it felt like her hamstrings were already sore, the undine was having fun. There was no lives at stake, or countries to save, or moral quandaries to solve. She had one goal, and she was on the cusp of accomplishing it.
Rounding the corner of the armory, she stops so quickly she nearly trips, and only Silvui's (seemingly good) situational awareness stops him from smashing into her back. Considering this was the sudden time this had happened today, the young human would likely be wondering if Rudabeh did this often.
The sight of the man that fixed her breastplate holding her sword in his rough hands like a mother holds a babe fills her with absolute delight. Her face seems to melt away the pain of the past few days and the ceased lines under her eyes as a smile of true happiness blossoms on her lips. But it was not because he held her sword- Gezzerbial made a friend! She thinks ecstatically, and many of the worries she had about the creature from the outer planes surviving in this world vanish.
"Oh, that is Gezzerbial." Rudabeh says happily, moving through the door so the two mercenaries can follow as well. "He is a salamander from the Plane of Fire and a weaponsmith." Realizing that probably raised more questions than it answered, she waves a hand dismissively. "It is a long story how we met, I will tell it over the campfire, or more hopefully, a beer, soon." Despite her gesture her tone is a promise of a compelling tale, just not now.
Walking forward, she sweeps a low, dignified bow to both of the smiths- unlike Zadie Brunn, or the tailor they had seen earlier today, there were no showy gestures as she tucks her left arm under her sternum and declines her upper body deeply, legs perfectly straight and right arm plastered to her side (mostly because she could barely move it). It was a bow of immense respect and gratitude, one she did not give often.
"Gezzerbial and Sir, thank you so much.." She says while straightening up, the revelry of the moment making her forget how tired she was from rushing all over the palace. "... for retrieving and fixing my blade. It must have been in terrible shape considering what happened to my armor."
Instead of making for the sword, though, she looks to the human smith with a sheepish smile. "I am so sorry I did not ask your name before. Will you tell me now and how I may repay you both for your fine work?"
Silvui and Litta both raises eyebrows at Rudabeh's quick relation that Gezzerbial is not only a strange race but also from another Plane. Whatever their backgrounds, clearly it had not prepared them for this meeting. Both stiffly bow and grow silent, drawing back slightly wanting to five Rudabeh some space for this obvious reunion.
The smith grins, which strikes Rudabeh has strange since he had been such serious and sober man when she first met him. Still, the expression looked good on his sweaty, stained face.
"My name is Avin." He laughs, "You can imagine the 'Anvil' nicknames growing up, maybe that is why I became a blacksmith?"
"Ah, my work?" He says, rolling powerful, over-developed shoulders that make even Rudbaeh's look thin. "I did nothing except purchase it."
Seeing her face the man goes on to explain, holding the sword carefully, letting the firelight gleam off the surface, almost as if it was made of living flame. "I was there, when you were pushed off the wall and the ball of fire......I left in the chaos."
Avin sounds shamed at this and his face flushes red that has nothing to do with the sweltering heat of the forges. The blacksmith rushes on, "Anyway, later at my shop, a merchant came in raving about how a sword had fallen from the sky and smashed his melon stand. I first stare but then laughed because he lived three blocks from the Palace, how could anything have gone that far. Then he showed me the blade. This blade."
He held up Sixth Peak, "I knew it at once of course, from when when you visited my shop. An armorer would never forget a blade like this, not in his whole life even if he lived to be a hundred. The melon man wanted to sell so I bought it, and gave him more then eh asked." A small smile, "For the damage to stand, you understand."
The burly man continued, "I...I was going to keep it for myself, Rudabeh. I thought...I thought you were dead. Whoever was elected had no right to it, and if I turned it in all it would do is sit on some shelf or moulder in some armory. Forgive me, but I did not want to see the blade endure such a fate. It is a wondrous thing, worthy of song and deed. I had half a mind to sell it to some worthy adventurer when he showed up." he jerked a thick thumb to Gezzerbial. "How he found it, I still don't know."
Gezzerbial shakes his head dismissively, "No one in this city knows steel. So sorry, friend Avin, but it is true." He glances at Rudabeh, "I could...smell it. The good steel. Not hard to find."
Avin shrugs, "Anyway, this strange creature wanders into my shop in the middle of the night and tries to rob it. We nearly came to blows over it, but instead we worked out a deal. I will give him the sword if I can watch him work. I heard legends salamanders can work steel you know, from the storytellers and such. And Gods can he work steel, Rudabeh. It is like watching Torag himself at the forge! "
Gezzerbial hisses and says, "You lie, friend Avin. I am no god, not even one of dwarves. I am one of the least of my people's craftsmen. You simply do not know true skill in this wet, cold land of yours. Do not lie, friend Avin."
Avin laughs, "Modest bugger too. Anyway, I followed him back here and passed the time watching him work and helping him learn Common. He's a quick study, better then my own son, I'll tell you that."
Then, as if realizing he is rambling says, "Here is your blade. Gezzerbial shined it up but it isn't perfect." The human hands over the blade and Rudabeh can see a streak of orange embedded in the metal, running up the very spine of the blade, as if the fuller is topped with gleaming fire. "We couldn't buff it out, Gezzerbial said the explosion altered the metal."
The salamander shrugs.
Avin offers Rudabeh the pommel, which glistens with fresh oil on the worn leather. The subtle orange flickers in the light, sometimes vanishing out of sight, then strong as flames on a cold winter's night.
"As for repaying me, I simply ask to stay for...what comes next."
"Thank you, Avin." Rudabeh says as he reveals his name. Though it crosses her mind to share a bonding moment with the man, she decides not to reveal her own humiliating nickname of "rutabaga" in front of the mercenaries. They were going to have to come up with that one on their own, if at all.
She listens to the story with her good ear held high, nodding slowly as he describes leaving in the chaos following Zadie's trial. I do not blame you." The paladin says reassuringly at his retreat. "I nearly left this world."
Her eye lights up at the thought of a sword flying through the air and impaling a melon, and a muffled laugh escapes her lips. It was, honestly, really funny- only because no one was hurt, of course.
She looks back and forth between Avin and Gezzerbial as the story unfolds, her expression souring somewhat at learning the salamnder broke into the smith's shop. "Gezzerbial..." Rudabeh intones seriously, hairless brow furrowing as she looks the huge, scaled man-snake in his wide-set eyes. "Breaking into human's homes and taking their things will get you killed. I am glad you worked it out with Avin, but please don't do that again. Anyone else would have attacked you, or they would have fled and put out a reward for your head to adventurers. I know you don't like fighting, and trespassing will get you in one. Next time, trade for it like you did here. As Avin pointed out, you have skills far above anyone we know, and can secure whatever goods you'd like without stealing." Her stern but sincere lecture over, she places her Iron Key into one of the pockets on her breeches and wraps her scarred fingers around the handle of The Sixth Peak.
It was heavier than she remembered, or more accurately, she was weaker than usual, and her arm jerks downward as Avin lets go of it. Still, the brief moment of panic is over as she bends her knees and adjusts her grip, holding the four foot length of steel in front of her eyes. "Hmm." Slides out of her throat cautiously as the orange flickers noticeably in the room's light. The acid etching of the foggy, fictional mountain seemed to have taken the brunt of the damage, and she swears it almost looked intentional, as if the "Sixth Peak" itself had been sundered in two down the center by some spectacular orange cataclysm.
A moment passes where the undine says nothing, her mind wander back... Hiram was sent by Alseta, the two were sure of it... Did her goddess send her sword elsewhere too, so that Avin could find it and she would be led here? When I meet her for my final reward in her service, I will have to ask. Rudabeh resigns, putting the thought away and looking upward. "I would have been honored if you kept it, Avin, but I am very glad to have it in my hands once more." A questioning look crosses her face. "What of the scabbard? It was a beautiful ebony wood with inlaid silver, and a most curious mechanism that let it be drawn over the shoulder." The undine chuckles, a deep and throaty sound despite her injuries. "Perhaps it landed in a chicken coop?"
Lifting the tip of the blade high and swinging it around carefully so as to not menance anyone, the steel finds a comfortable resting place on her left shoulder, the guard balanced easily in the palm of her left hand. "What comes next?" She inquires, looking between the two smiths with her ears (both intact and ruined) raised to their full height.