"Of course." Rudabeh responds to Faro's request, turning away from the halfling to look out at the river and its many eddies created by the wrecks. She had already said some individual prayers for the people she had found drowned in the river, but it couldn't hurt to give another send off, especially for those that had died violently or with fear and anger in their hearts.
"Before me is an unexpected tragedy." Rudabeh begins, her voice strong and full of emotion. Even though it was only Faro behind her, Rudabeh speaks as if an audience of hundreds is before her- for indeed, she does not know how many souls still linger on this plane, wondering why they should move on from everything they knew. "This was supposed to be a new beginning. An escape from violence, a return to order, a peaceful if costly solution. This was not supposed to be the result." She stares across the glimmering waters- in the distance, a bass jumps, sailing through the air before landing back in the river with a plop. "Some would say this is the work of Zyphus, a mass of accidental death that no one could have seen coming. That these were meaningless deaths and the Grim Harvestman is grinning from ear to ear as these poor souls drift through the Astral Plane."
She shakes her head, caught up in her own speech. "I deny such a vision. No, these men and women, whether their lives be cut from bolts of silk or jute, died here so their country could flourish. No longer welcome, they would have suffered death or worse if they had stayed here. Even though death found them here, Pitax lives on because they chose to be here, at the time of their demise. Pharasma knows of all our deaths, and in these I have no doubt she will see the sacrifice made by all the few days before this disaster struck. To all you souls lost, go to her Boneyard. Take your place in line. When you meet the Lady of Graves, tell her of your home. How you left, and how you died, so it would continue and flourish. Rest in peace. You did your part in this world."
Rudabeh glances over her shoulder at Faro, turning her head to the left. "And to the river pilots, who knew the risks of unworthy craft and dealt with the cocky sureness of a virgin landlubber on their first voyage seconds before their lunch is lost over the gunwale, do not worry if Hanspur was watching in your final moments. For a pilot trying to drive a raft of reeds with a cane pole is as worthy of praise as a captain at the helm of a Taldan frigate. The water was your home, and now it is your grave. I thank you for performing your duty to the last stroke of the oar, and may The Water Rat be your guide in the journey off this mortal coil."
Fr her own comfortable, the paladin touches her Iron Key, feeling its perpetually warm surface through the thin leather of her gauntlets. "And may Alseta find her own amongst the ruins." She adds, for good measure.
Her duty complete, she turns back to Faro. The moment he goes for a barrel to sit on, Rudabeh kneels down, shifts her feet beneath her, and sits cross-legged before him. Silently the paladin listens the sun casting rays off of her helmet in every direction.
It seems likely. She responds to Seqhi about the flying man covered in flames. As more information about the attack is communicated, Rudabeh's face falls further and further. Irovetti had clearly done something- upset someone. The former king had lied to her before... could it be he hadn't paid for Gezzerbial, or the spells, from the dragon, and the fiery man was sent to collect? Was there a dragon?
She sighed in frustrateion- this was the problem with lies and liars. The obfucastion of the truth was making it difficult for her to decide what to do next. Her eye falls on the grimy piece of paper, and she hopes it holds some truth.
"I do not blame you for turning over Irovetti." The undine says sincerely. "You chose the needs of the many over the few. I would have done the same, if I had not sworn an oath to protect the man." She isn't sure how she would have fought a flying, flaming man. Everyone might have died if she had been present, unless she convinced Irovetti to turn himself in and she go with him. "All of the survivors owe you their lives "
In a brief change of subject she holds out a hand, some water running out of the backs of her articulated gauntlets. "May I see the letter?"
Faro nods and hands over a folded bit of paper, the bright white smudged by grime. As the halfling gives it up he mentions, "I did read it, I will say." A note of guilt enters his voice for the first time. Personal correspondence was one of the few exceptions to You Have What You Hold, and it was considered bad luck to read something addressed to another. "But I did not know it was only for you."
Rudabeh flips open the letter, and is greeted with a loopy formal hand. She notes, glancing over it, the writing gets more hurried and spotted as it goes.
'Dear Rudabeh of Outsea and Repsentive of the Pact of Years,'
'I hope this note finds you in good health and spirits, as well as the favor of the Welcomer. I distress to inform you I write this in haste, so forgive the lack of niceties.'
'I regret to inform you that we are currently under attack by creditors who believe I owe them considerable funds. They are not aware of my current circumstances, and that I no longer control any state treasury. I will, of course, do my best to convince them of this and, if not to waive said debts, to have them formally pass them on to the Pact of Years or, perhaps, the new Pitax government.'
'However, in the event I am unsuccessful, a more direct rescue may be in order. I am not sure how patient they will be.'
The letter ended there, a bit abruptly.
When Rudabeh finishes the paladin asks Faro to go on. The halfling looks over the ruined ships for a moment before answering, hands in his pockets. If you ignore the distant eyes, the callused hands and the tanned face, one might take him for a young lad looking for a good fishing spot.
"We gathered up the survivors and headed into the trees, as I said. Set up a simple camp, and waited. Has not been very eventful, until dawn. When I found this waiting on a log."
Faro digs out a square bit of metal from a pocket, and it glitters dully in the morning sun. The rigid sheet is engraved with text, and these letters are dyed with a faint red. An ornate border edges the entire sheet, an intricate pattern of sweeping lines and circles all edged with flame-like color.
'Oh!' Senqhi says, excited, 'That is a formal missive, from my home.' A short pause and then, 'Standards have slipped, this is much more sloppy then I have seen. How long have I been....away?'
Rudabeh takes the metal sheet in her hand, and finds the metal warm to the touch, much warmed then Faro's body heat or the sunlight should produce. The top half of the plate is filled with bizarre writing that means nothing to her but Senqhi informs is Ignan, the tongue of the Fire Plane. Below, the words are in Common.
"In the Name of Rakorth, The Firestarter, Lord of the City of Brass, Master of the Outer Lands, Iron Rule and King of the Skies, I bid you greetings."
"I hereby invite Rudabeh of Outsea, to negotiate on behalf of Irovetti of Pitax, in order to settle his debts and obligations. You have until sunset to reach us, or his payment will be taken in blood and toil. In the case this does not inspire you to hurry, if you do not arrive, the portal to the Plane of Fire will remain open and allow more creatures to invade this Plane."
Below in what was clearly meant to a post script was a single word, engraved in the hardened steel.
"Hurry."
A hairless brow quirks at Faro when he mentions reading the letter. River pilots, or sailors of any kind, were an incredibly superstitious lot, so it was interesting Faro decided to read the letter even though it wasn't addressed to him. "Do not worry, I would have done the same." She admits, considering how she had no such superstitions and interpreted Have What You Hold litterally, even if she did not agree with it.
Her eye scans over the looping script slowly, so no important information was missed. It was pleasing to read such a polite and well-written letter, even if the end was clearly done in haste and Irovetti was unable to finish it properly. The content led her to believe it was absolutely him, because only the former king of Pitax would consider passing on his personal debt to a magma dragon to the Pact of Years.
With an unrepresssed sigh, she lowers the letter, folds it in half, and places it within her bag "It is as I feared... Irovetti has gotten himself into trouble once again. If I wasn't oathbound to protect the man I would leave him to his fate."
Faro continues to explain the actions of the survivors, and the paladin sits up a little when the halfling pulls out the strange red piece of metal. This is a... missive from the City of Brass? Rudabeh thinks to Seqhi with a hint of disbelief. You have been trapped in this fire whale heart for a few thousands of years, from what I have gathered. Is her reply to the question on the amount of time that has passed since her last state of active consciousness.
Taking the metal into her hand, she can feel the warmth through the thin leather of her gauntlets. It reminded her of her Iron Key in one way, but the warmth of that holy artifact was comforting, like the sun, or a embrace of a loved one. This heat... it was dry, uncaring, like a sorching noon in an open field marching in full harness.
"Oh, good." The paladin mutters after the first few lines of text. "They already want to negotiate. That's usually the hardest part." The rest of the text is read carefully, and she surmises Irovetti would absolutely not survive the "blood and toil" part. "This is a very polite letter, with the exception of threatening the surrounding area with creatures from the Plane of Fire." Rudabeh shakes her head briefly in disappointment. This had to be in violation of some kind of interplanar law, but she was an expert on River Kingdom law, not extraplanar matters. Not only that, she had no way to contact any extraplanar creatures or even ask for divine assistance on the matter. Though she was sure her prayers reached the goddess or her helpers, and this seemed a matter concerning a gateway between planes and absolutely in her goddess' jurisdiction, it seemed a both a small matter and a grey area in the grand schemes of the vision she had witnessed when the gods spoke to her. Rudabeh is doubtful any help would arrive in a timely manner- she would have to deal with it herself.
"Completely unnecessary. Not only that, they must not be very familar with the River Kingdoms. There are very few people living in this area, and after a week some band of adventurers would show up and take care of it, or worse use it to pass through into the Plane of Fire and cause all kinds of trouble." Looking off into the distant swamp, she frowns at the mass of trees. "They could have provided a location, at least." Seems to be her only real complaint.
She asks of Seqhi, mentally. Do the Ignan and Common portions communicate the same message?
Tucking the metal into her belt, she looks to Faro. "I have a time limit to rescue Irovetti it seems. Would you come with me to the barge so we can negociate with the captain for everyone's passage? Then I will gather the mercenaries and meet with this fire-man. Hopefully we can resolve this without any more destruction."
Thousands.... Senqhi says then trails off in confusion and obvious bewilderment.
Faro doesn't say much as Rudabeh talks to herself about the letter, obviously quite content with the silence. He looks up river and spots the obvious mercenary barge, eyes narrowed.
"Ostend's boat?" he says, shading his eyes against the warming sunlight. "A fine riverman, if a bit particular. Has he married his lead sailor yet?" The halfling asks conversationally, the gossip talk the usual sort that congregates around the docks of any River Kingdom town.
"I can come with you, but I don't think everyone will fit on his barge. She looks like she is riding low as it is." Faro says confidently, "But I think we can re-float some of the wrecked ships, if you let me borrow a few strong backs." A pause as the halfling mentally weighs raised boats versus survivors.
"We can probably raise enough to get everyone on board ship, but it'll be crowded. Think the nobles will stand for it?"
"Not that I'm aware." Rudabeh replies succinctly to the request for gossip. She had an idea what the halfling was talking about, but had more pressing matters to put her mind towards.
"I don't think he wants any more people on board as it is, unless they're paying well. But It doesn't hurt to ask." There was a sudden epiphany on her scarred face. "You don't happen to have any cooks looking for work, do you? We've had nothing but jerky, hard tack, and what we can catch out of the river for days." The latter was fine by her, but she knew everyone else was getting sick of cold, dry food.
"Hmm, I don't know if you want to raise any boats right now. There's still an oil shark in the water." She gestures to the seemingly calm river. "I had to fight it to get here, and couldn't kill it by myself. I'm sure you could hire some of the mercenaries to keep watch though, I don't plan on taking all of them with me to this meeting. It's hard enough to march through a swamp by oneself, let alone with a full company. Otherwise, you can wait until I get back and I can keep the waters clear."
"Speaking of gold," She was already thinking ahead to Irovetti's arbitration. "which one of these vessels had Irovetti's money on it? I suspect this fire-man is not going to return empty handed, and even if I convince him to accept some sort of long-term repayment plan he will want a down payment." There was probably enough time for her to take a dive and dredge up a few bags of money from the wreck, as long as the oil shark didn't return. Asking Faro seemed to make the most sense, considering he was in charge of the cargo.
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Faro glances back toward the shipwrecks for a few moments, eyes only temporarily defeated by the dazzling sunlight over the water. After only a few moments he points to the 'flagship' Rudabeh already recognized.
"That one, same one he traveled on. I have a feeling your King didn't like to have his jewels far away. From what I saw it was more...items, then coins. Sculptures and metal-work mostly, should survive a bit of a swim all right. Might be work to get it to the surface, it'll be the heaviest ship and had the most damage." Then he looks at Rudabeh and smiles, "Ah, I forget. Going down and heaving up some art wouldn't be much work for you, would it? I have to say, I'm a good swimmer but I have a feeling you'd make me look like a snail."
His very choice of metaphor shows how even the most water-loving human is still hopelessly land oriented. Snails didn't swim.
Soon both of them are heading back toward Ostend's barge, walking along the over-grown bank. The ground is uneven and choked with growth, and the effort soon has Rudabeh sweating and hot. Her armor also weighs her down, making each step a gamble of how deep she would sink in the soft, muddy ground or if she would trip on an exposed tree root. A quick glance over the enticing river shows her the other bank is worse, much worse. Just getting to Irovetti was going to be difficult.
As they walk Seqhi 'returns' from her stunned silence following Rudabeh's comments.
I...I am sorry. It was just very shocking news, thousands of years... A pause as the ifrit gathers herself. You asked about the Ignan, on the plate. If you pull it out, I can check translate.
Rudabeh offers the still hot metal sheet, Faro giving her an odd look as she does so.
Language has changed Seqhi says, curious despite herself. For an official document, they have certainly dispensed with much of the formalities you used to have. Even so, I can make most of it it out. Tree root! She says abruptly and Rudabeh narrowly avoids face-planting in a silty pool of riverwater.
The wording is much the same, although more legalistic and binding, using Fire Plane expression. The time is given in candles of course, while the debt is enumerated in our coinage. A short pause, Unless exchange rates have altered a great deal, your friend owes a considerable sum.
In short order, despite the rough terrain, they reach the barge. Most of the mercenaries are on the bank already, carving out a small base of operations. Brush is cleared, trees felled, a few small cookfires started. The work is done well but very haphazardly and Rudabeh winces at the roughness of the camp. Finn had never been a stickler for camp regulations but Zaih Clor had been a nut on the subject. It wasn't until she left her old tutors she realized most mercenary bands didn't measure out their paths or calculate the best configuration of tents for any given space.
Ostend is at the rail and calls out as Rudabeh and Faro enter the muddy area. "Ah, Faro! Good to see you alive. I feared the worst at the sight of the wrecks. They said you were in charge. Did Irovetti steer you onto some rocks?" His tone is friendly but tinged with shared annoyance at over-rich passengers.
The halfling at Rudabeh's side nods back and says, "You could say that. Rudabeh will tell the tale."
Rudabeh is fairly sure Faro meant a "sunfish" instead of a snail, but she had to excuse the landlubber, even though he would most certainly be offended by such a remark. "That oil shark made me look like a snail. I was unfortunate I could take to land and escape it." She says anyway, despite the incorrect metaphor. Hauling statues from the bottom of the river didn't sound like a lot of fun to the undine, but she had plenty of practice at her father's warehouse moving things from water to land, so it could be done.
Sweat starts to replace the cool river water that had filled up her armor a few minutes before, and she would occasionally glance longingly back at the Pitax river. Oh, to spend the summer beneath the water, and stay on land in the winter. She had little choice these days but to grin and bear it.
The Ignan tablet is held out in front of her so Seqhi could read it, and Rudabeh ignores Faro's strange looks. She really didn't feel like explaining the whole "there's a soul in this armor" bit right now.
Candles? Oh, is there no sun on the Plane of Fire? It certainly makes keeping track of time easier. She thinks, reflecting on how much cooler it would be without the sun. That wouldn't be so bad, though the plane of fire had its own heat problems. I can't help with the currency exchange rate, at least not for interplanar values. Local exchange rates, though- she was not only very familar with the values, but kept track of legistlation on the matter as a hobby. But it being substantial is unsurprising. Irovetti is probably going to have to trade in a lot of his art whether he likes it or not.
The smell of the cookfires is the first senation to greet Rudabeh as they wander into the makeshift camp, and she briefly flashes back to being forced to measure the circumference of their campsite (by Zaih Clor of course) and placing their campfire directly in the middle. Unlike Finn's demeaning tasks that were meant to build character or strength, Zaih Clor was just very particular.
Glancing upward at Ostend, Rudabeh shields her eyes against the sun by placing a guantlet over her brow, which probably ended up blinding the barge captain with the reflection off the highly polished silverhseen. "Irovetti hired some help from the Plane of Fire when he was trying to keep hold of his throne. Seems like he didn't pay his bill before he left and they tracked him down to collect." She turns her torso and points to the nearby wreck. "They were not very gentle. They threw a bunch of creatures at the flotilla, and a man made of fire abducted Irovetti. Most of the passengers survived, and Faro has a plan to get them back on a boat." A finger taps the warm tablet in her belt. "Meanwhile I've been asked to negociate the debt on Irovetti's behalf. I'd just leave him to his fate, but I swore an oath to protect the man."
She looks to the mercenary camp briefly. "I would understand if you wish to leave, Ostend. The way downriver is clear, except for an oil shark that should give you no trouble as long as you don't try to go for a swim." She looks back to Ostend, craning her neck upward. "I will be taking a small team with me, and leaving the rest for Faro to hire for protection and labor. I ask you drop us off on the opposite shore so I can find Irovetti, but beyond that your will is your own. I am certain there are still some wealthy patrons among Faro's camp that would pay well for an immediate departure." It would certainly leave them in a bind to have to walk to Volouse, but she had already put Ostend through enough.
"Faro," She asks of the tough halfling by now looking downward. "How many of Irovetti's guard are left? They may want a chance to help with his release."
Seqhi responds, Yes, we have a sun. It is often clouded by ash and dust, but there is always a sun. I have heard from travelers that your own moves through the sky, even setting sometimes? Most unusual.
Ostend rubs his chin when Rudabeh explains how things stand although he looks puzzled at the term 'oil shark'.
"I can't say I'm not tempted. Trouble seems to follow you around." The half-elf says, fairly. "Still, would not be very kind of me to leave you and a bunch of shipwrecks behind. I'll give you a day or so to sort things out. If things go badly, we'll take our leave. Fair enough?" His eye strays toward Faro as he says this and Rudabeh gets the distinct impression the half-elf doesn't want to appear flighty or nervous in front of his professional colleague.
The mercenaries are less impressed. Rudabeh can see, instantly none of them care much about Irovetti's plight and mostly see his troubles as chickens coming home to roost. To her amusement though, they seem to know Rudabeh enough to not bother trying to convince her to break her oath.
Draze just shakes his head when asked, a slight smile on his whiskered lips.
Silvui agrees instantly, saying, "Least I can do after you saved my life with that drake. Besides, should be an adventure."
Litta agrees swiftly after Silvui signs on. To Rudabeh's relief she mentions swamp tracking and travel experience. Rudabeh is no city slicker but overland travel was not her specialty.
Dimir and Louise both decline silently despite Silvui's eyerolls.
Danngu agrees and even echos Rudabehs thoughts, "A better way of showing what we are both capable of then a mock fight?"
Aurelia agrees, hesitantly but is obviously excited. At this Ractus, face clouded, speaks up, "Is it wise to take the girl? Gods only know what other fire monsters are lurking out there? I know you are honor bound Rudabeh, but is getting anyone else killed for Irovetti's sake really the right call? You know he wouldn't work so hard for us."
Your sun doesn't move? Rudabeh thinks in response, briefly glancing up at the fiery orb in the sky. That sounds unbearable. I mean, it's the Plane of Fire, but it must be so.. hot. She knew it sounded foolish, but frankly the plane was sounding like it may as well be part of Hell for as far as she's concerned.
"If we are being fair," Rudabh responds to Ostend after his assessment of their continued business partnership, "Trouble seems to proceed me." Whether or not that was worse was up to the half-elf, but Rudabeh wanted to correct the small, but important, technicality. Still, she smiles. "But yes, that is fair. I greatly appreciate you sticking with me."
The mercenaries are no surprise, and frankly she would feel the same if the connection to her goddess, life, and the very nature of law were not at stake. An oath is an oath, no matter the consequences.
Ractus, in what she wasn't sure was a fatherly or otherwise manner, expresses his concern about Aurelia to an equally concerned paladin. "I don't intend to get anyone killed. This is a diplomatic mission, and this fire-man that has him hostage seems very reasonable. We'll be able to negociate a deal, I am sure of it. What I'm concerned about, and need Aurelia's assistence with, is creatures of the swamp. Fire or otherwise, there are beasts that swords cannot touch, but magic can." Rudabeh did not have examples off the top of her head, but it was an idea drilled into her by Finn, to always be prepared in the wild where anything could be lurking.
"I do understand though." The paladin admits with a small gesture of her hand, and she forms a compromise. "Irovetti is my problem, and if you do truly not think it wise to take along our only spellcaster, I will concede to your judgement. Instead, if Aurelia has any spells to brief underwater, Icould use her assistance looking for worthwhile items in the wreck of Irovetti's ship to offer as compensation to his debtor."
Ractus frowns, "It is a risk to the whole company to take our only real spell caster on a wild goose chase after Irovetti. Odds are he is already dead or worse. This is all a waste of time." The elf's angry tone is out of character for him, and he is obviously worried about something else.
Aurelia, for her part, says, "I want to go! I could help and these fire creatures seem interesting.....no drakes though, right?" She adds, throwing a concerned look at Rudabeh.
By now a few other mercenaries start paying attention to the argument, ears pricked for gossip as always. Seeing this Ractus waves his hand, and his shoulders slump. "Fine, take the girl. It is your Company, after all."
Rudabeh, Aurelia and Faro head back down the bank, both toward the shipwrecks and the survivors Faro has been taking care of. As they walk the young girl says, "I don't have any spells to breathe underwater, at least not prepared today. And...." She pauses, face turning red before she ads, "I can't swim."
This is unusual, even for humans, in the River Kingdoms. Rudabeh had known few who couldn't swim, at least a little bit. Most parents forced their children to learn, simply out of safety concerns.
"I don't think I'd be much help." She adds, sounds embarrassed.
They find the shipwrecks the same as when they left, water playing over the drunken decks, ropes trailing in the current. She sees no sign of the oil-shark.
Rudabeh begins to look concerned as Ractus' outburst reaches the point where he is considers upholding an oath a waste of time. She is about to ask him what was bothering him when Aurelia interjects a very real concern. " I truly don't know, but a fire drake would have a hard time attacking in the wilderness. The overhead canopy should protect us."
By this time the gossip-mongers had zeroed in on their conversation, and Ractus relents at the prospect of public scruntiny. Rudabeh, meanwhile, pauses a beat before nodding. "She will be under my protection. I know how vaulable and important she is... to all of us." The paladin turns, causing a shimmering light show to gleam off her armor. "I aim to return as soon as possible, fortunately or unfortunately with Irovetti. Thank you for holding down camp."
At the edge of the river by the shipwrecks, Rudabeh nearly trips on a root (again) when Aurelia says she can't swim. Though she catches herself in stumbling rush foward that sounds like cymbols falling down a flight of stairs, she does not fall. "Oh." THe undine replies in surprise, not from nearly falling over, but at the lack of the young girl's water-based education. "Once this is over I am teaching you to swim." It wasn't her usual way of speaking- the polite but nudging way of asking for consent. No, this was serious. "I should ask everyone in the company if they can swim. One drowning person can take many with them." Rudabeh had seen the panic, the way they dragged down expert swimmers beneath the waves... no, she couldn't let it happen.
"Ah, don't worry, it's not difficult. It just takes practice." SHe says as she remembers herself, casting a smile at the girl. TUrning her head to Faro, she asks of the halfling: "If there are any in your camp that wish to accompany us in negocaiations with Irovetti's captor, please tell them to gather their gear and meet me here. I won't be too long." She makes a short hop onto the deck of the nearby wrecked ship, and pauses before turning back to Faro. "If Jerrad Bealtier is among your group, please tell him I would welcome his assistance." It was a long shot- Rudabeh knew the man disliked her, but he was formidible, and if he came along the rest of his men probably would too.
Heavy boots plod along the surface of the wrecked flagship, and Rudabeh starts to look for a way below deck. While the pitch-black, water-filled interior would be a death trap for any human, navigating the vessel's sunken corridors would be a simple stroll for her.
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Faro makes a face and says, "I doubt any of them will join you. Most of them are either nobles, or guards. The former are generally useless cowards and the latter will wait to see who is buttering their bread. But I'll ask and see if there is any useful gear. Anything in mind you want me to search for?"
With that said, Rudabeh finds a hatchway leading down. It is like looking into the shaft of a coal mine, the water blacker then midnight. Aurelia, standing on dry deck looks down and shivers, "Stay safe."
For Rudabeh however, this holds little danger and no fear. What was the concern, if one could breathe water and see in the dark? Without preamble she plunges into the shaft, making the calm water lap up onto the deck.
In an instant Rudabeh is a stygian maze of the sunken belowdecks of the ship. Her eyes quickly adjust, the strange colorless darkvision taking over. Everything is shades of gray, silver, or smoke, but she can easily find her way downwards toward Irovetti's room. It is eerie though, walking through flooded hallways, pushing the odd bit of floating rope or wood out of her way. Doors open noiselessly in the water, adding to the already dream-like feeling. Even the tread of her heavy boots is muted on the water-logged wood of the ship.
She finds her first body after only a few minutes. A sailor, pinned to the deck by a heavy barrel of pitch. Rudabeh shakes her head when she notes the round object hadn't even been tied down, a basic requirement for any vessel. The sailor, a young man without even a beard, stares up sightlessly, short hair wafting in the still water, skin pallid with watery death. Maybe not a dream, but a nightmare.
Identifying which of the rooms was Irovetti's wasn't hard. It was the one that glittered. The huge stateroom was larger then many fishing vessels Rudbaeh had traveled on, with fine thick rugs on the floors and actual tapestries lining the walls. Both, of course, were covered with Irvoetti's own face and grand deeds, rendered in woven thread. Dressers and chests lay along every wall, many of them jostled and thrown about by the shipwreck, drawers hanging open revealing everything from sodden books to silvery combs. Fallen bits of art crowd the room, including entire statues, enameled snuffboxes and bits of stained glass.
In the center of the room was a massive four-poster bed, looking pristine despite the shipwreck. Rudabeh notes the bed is actually fastened to the deck with iron rings, strong enough to hold it in place no matter the weather. Beds secure but the tar barrels not..... Billowing curtains surround the bed, drifting like the arms of a gray jellyfish.
For the first time Rudabeh was glad darkvision robbed art of its pigments, for she could only image the colored assault the room might have been otherwise.
She starts to sift through the boxes and dressers in the room, looking for items of value. The paladin is not art expert but soon has a small pile of the most transportable and expensive items. She finds no money, which leads her to believe Irovetti must had hidden it rather cannily.
There was a moment's pause at Faro's quesiton, as she stands on the precipice of the shipwreck's depths. "Will you fetch us some rope, please?" As she speaks, she extracts a sack from her bag of holding, knowing that opening the extradimensional space underwater would spell disaster for the items within.
The undine takes a step forward, falling into the dark shaft. "Thank you." Are her last words as she is utterly consumed by the water, leaving behind a great rupture of liquid that sprays into the air and glistens in the midday sun.
Sinking quitely into the depths, her feet touch the sunken floors lightly despite being over 200 pounds of muscles and steel- a flutter of her arms was all it took for her not to land roughly.
In a quick motion Rudabeh draws her daffer from her boot and scores the nearby wall, marking it with an arrrow pointing upward. This was not her first shipwreck, and she knew how easy it was to get lost. The dagger is casually employed every time she makes a turn, opens a door, or climbs up a set of stairs, leaving behind a white arrow that stood out plainly in her darkvision.
Many huamsn have died attempting to search wrecks such as these. Rudabeh makes conversation wtih Seqhi as they walk through the topsy-turvy depths of the strangely constructed and large vessel. But I could live here. Several sentient water-dwellers do, in fact. Like a hermit crab, they take the discarded shells humans leave behind and turn them into fabulous dwellings. There was a pause as Rudabeh considers what she said. Do you have crabs on the Plane of Fire? Fire... crabs? It seemed a silly question- the answer always seemed to be yes, but she had to be sure.
By the time she reached Irovetti's room, it was clear the vessel was designed for the comfort and prestige of its occupants, instead of safety and speed. The dizzying size of Irovetti's chamber makes her gawk in a mixture of both awe and disgust. She shook her head as she shook it for the young sailor that was killed by a rolling object- what a waste.
In time, she has robbed the room of its contents, having made a small pile on the bed. Rudabeh bats aside a curtain for the fourth time, and annoyed, ties it to the nearby post. His money must be somewhere, but I can retrieve it for him later. He will still need to live after this is done, after all. She thinks to herself as much to Seqhi. I doubt this will be enough to please a dragon, but it is the intent of the matter I wish to show. I am sure I can convince them to free him and put him on some sort of payment plan. The debtors I have dealt with in the past want money, not pounds of flesh.
She brandishes her knife and cuts one of the silk curtains into sections, wrapping each object in a protective layer before placing it within the soaked sack. Silver spoons and wooden cups. The paladin thinks in amusement as the expensive objects are placed into a jute sack. The bag is tied off and she walks away with the long gait of underwater movements. At the door she pushes off, gliding down the hallways and following the arrows she had carved into the wood to make it back to the surface.
Seqhi is unimpressed when Rudabeh mentions being able to live here. You would live in a cold, dark hole? Maybe it is lack of experience. One day, you will go to my home and I can show you worthy places to live. Vast towers of gold and iron, sweeping plains with leagues of space, and grand rocky mountains with vistas that would make your head spin, full of wonders. Much better then this....ship.
Hefting her bag like a thief in a minstrel play, Rudabeh trots back up the watery corridors. Having marked her way, she doesn't lose her sense of direction and quickly finds the surface again. As she emerges from the water, there is the usual sloshing as gallons of water run out of her armor. Also the weight of her loot grows considerably, not longer partially buoyed by the water. The clinking of gold, ivory and polished wood grows louder as the bag settles.
On deck she finds the small group, mostly louding about, enjoying the bright sunlight.
"Find anything?" Silvui asks, "Irovetti's diary, perhaps?"
Even as he asks this, Rudabeh spots Faro exit from the trees. With him are two men, one of which RUdabeh knows and one she doesn't. The figure she recognizes is Jerrad Bealteir, the Commander of the Pitax Army and Master of the Guard. He looks battered and worn, with stubble on his cheeks and spots of grime on his uniform. The man is hale however, and clambers over the muddy ground with determination.
The other man is tall, older with a graying mustache and rather grand beard. In contrast his uniform is a bright, blinding white edged with coiled gold braids, edged with sizzling blue tips. RUdabeh has to admit, for what is surely a design of the King's own making, it is less eye watering then usual. The man walks with a stiff stride that ignores the mere vagaries of terrain, like a man marching over a parade ground. While imposing, it does mean he nearly slips and falls half a dozen time just between the trees and the sunken boat.
Faro lightly clambers up on the beached hulk and says, shortly, "Jerrad and Iyyov."
The white mustachioed man sniffs and says, "Grand Admiral of the King's Navy." Rudabeh frowns, having seen another man by the same title only a few days before, on the docks during the departure. That man, old and toothless, had been tossed int he river by Faro during that chaotic morning.
Seeing her confusion the man adds loftily, "I only recently gained the title."
Jerrad, frowning says, "She doesn't care about your titles, Iyyov. Rudabeh doesn't care about much save her own honor and morals. That is why we are in this mess. Otherwise we'd be home, overseeing a festival."
Iyyov waves a smooth hand, that has surely never held a rope or oar, "Regardless, she will have to listen to me. I am the ranking member of the court left, so I have command. Surely you agree, Rudabeh?" Not waiting he goes on, "Excellent. Now, how soon are we going to re-float these ships and head downriver? We can't live in a swamp forever."
I am not sure I want to live in a tower of iron and gold, Rudabeh thinks at the unimpressed soul inhabiting her armor. But mountain vistas certainly sound worthy of visiting. She was not under the delusion that she could convince Seqhi the merits of living in a shipwreck, though the undine found it quite nice. It was safe, orderly, near the shore, and most importantly dark and cool.
Hefting herself from the depths with a swelling of water, she notices there are already several pairs of eyes upon her- unsurprising, given the noise and entrance she making. This presented a problem. She was basically holding her breath until she got the water out of her lungs, but Rudabeh was quite self-conscious about the way humans always reacted to her exhaling a gallon or two of water.
So the sloshing paladin does not immediately respond to Silvui, and instead clambers up and out of the water, hefting the dripping bag over to a dry spot and setting it down. A single leather and steel bound digit is extended to the young human, and she puts her backs to the present company. Looking out over the glistening river, her mouth opens and glut of water pours forth for several seconds, followed by a great inhaling of warm air.
"Unfortunately debtors do not exchange credit for sentimental value, only monetary." The paladin finally responds as if nothing had occurred, turning in place and walking back over to the jute sack. As she kneels, water pours out of her boot onto the deck."Aurelia, will you do me a favor?" Is asked as she unties the sack and pulls open the top. "Will you dry this sack and its contents? I suspect anyone from the Plane of Fire would frown upon a sodden down-payment." Rudabeh knew the girl had the magicks to do so, and hoped she would put it to use.
Their company had made it within speaking distance by now, and Rudabeh finally gets a good look at them. Jerrad, at least, had come, and she intended to petition his help. The other, she had no idea what to do with.
Casting her gaze from Faro, Iyyov, and Jerrad in turn as they speak, Rudabeh stays silent even as titles, assertions about her character, and authority are thrown about by the two. She takes it in stride, and gives a small bow of her head to each of them. "It is good to see you, Jerrad. I hope we can be of assistance to each other."
Rudabeh begins before turning to Iyyov, who she notes seems to be rolling over his former king like a cart rolls over a pile of dung. "Iyyov, I do not intend to argue about your authority. Irovetti paid Faro and the rest of the pilots, and if you believe he would pass down judgement to the highest ranking member of his court, so be it." There is a gesture at the halfling nearby, which unintentionally flicks some water over his head. "I suggest you turn to expert advice and local means to re-float some of the ships. Faro can provide the way, and the nearby mercenaries can provide the means for the right price. Speak with the elf Ractus upshore, he will get you all the muscle you need."
Seemingly done with that matter, her attention moves to Jerrad. Water still drips from the inner lining of her helmet, and she seems to be completely unfazed as a droplet runs directly over her open eye on its way down to her chin. "Jerrad, I am oath-bound to help Irovetti and will be departing soon to convince his captor to release him and negotiate a payment for whatever debts have been incurred. Unlike civil wars, I have extensive experience dealing with debtors and I have high hopes we will reach a satisfactory deal with the fire man in a short time."
She shifts and looks to the opposite bank, as if trying to assess where Irovetti could be held. "We are leaving soon to find the location where Irovetti is being held, and I would be grateful if you joined us. I do not intend to fight the fire man, but there are still many creatures about from the Plane of Fire that are not keen on listening to reason, and your sword would be most welcome."
Seqhi recoils in mental horror as RUdabeh basically vomits up a gallon of river water, which pours like a waterfall over the side of the vessel. Must you do that, [i]every time? Why not let it...dribble out, over time? It is disgusting.[/i]
Aurelia nods and takes the bag. As she opens it, her eyes widen, "Ooh, this is beautiful. I'll be very careful."
"I'll keep an eye on her." SIlvi promises, eyeing the small treasure trove.
"And I'll keep an eye on him." Litta adds, "And his sticky fingers."
Iyyov frowns at Rudabeh's partial dismissal and says, "Surely you don't expect to find the King alive? Clearly the fire...whatever, killed him. Probably in some barbaric rite as is known to be common among such creatures." he effects a genteel shiver.
In her head Seqhi says, outraged Barbaric?!
Unheard she is ignored as the newly minted Grand Admiral goes on, "No, it is foolish to waste time and resources. While sad, we must make our peace with the death of the King. You must focus on the living, my dear paladin. Is not the Pact and your goddess dedicated to keeping such innocent travelers safe?"
Jerrad ignores this rather thin theological argument turns squarely on Rudabeh, "Let's say we went to rescue Irovetti. I admit, I owe him the favor. I assume you'll put yourself in charge? Maybe the master of his guard should be making the choices here?"
The man nods when RUdabeh says she intends to talk not fight, "Fair enough, and I'll leave the bargaining to you. I just hope this fire man hasn't cheated at any jousts or we'll end up fighting him anyway."
He waves a hand, "In any case, I meant command over the approach. No offense, but I don't trust you with my life, or the lives of my men, if any follow us. If you want us behind you, I want to be giving the orders."
I have to breathe! Rudabeh responds with more irritation than befits her station. She quickly masters herself, though. I don't have gills. Walking around with my lungs full of water is the same as holding my breath. Upset that Seqhi said something, and upset she allowed herself to get upset, she turns her attention to Iyyov.
"He is not dead." The paladin states tersely, taking the iron tablet she had affixed to her belt and extending it to the "Grand Admiral". She tries not to feel a guilty vindication at Seqhi's reaction to being called barbaric, and by the time Iyyov has finished reading the tablet the undine was back in control and her usual polite self.
"This Rakorth, whom I suspect to be a magma dragon in the Plane of Fire, doesn't want to just kill Irovetti, or enslave him. It wants its money back, possibly with interest." She extends her hand to take back the tablet, and places it into her belt loop, all the while deciding to ignore the ignorant comments about what her goddess does or does not care about.
Jerrad's words are far more interesting and in line with her current course of action. There is a moment of reflection as she considers the man's request for command. The more men they had, the safer it would be- and Ractus would never forgive her if Aurelia was hurt. On the other hand, the more people they had, the harder it would be to move through the swamp.
Rudabeh looks down from the treeline after some contemplation. "Very well. You will be in command of the approach, and I will follow your orders, if you swear to me you will follow my lead once we have found the fire man." Turning her hips, she gestures at her nearby companions. "Litta has experience with tracking if there is anything to follow. I suspect the fire man will not be too well hidden. He should want to be found, after all."
Jerrad pauses, eyebrows raised. The surprise is so evident on his face, that only a lifetime of training (and innate nature) prevents the paladin from bursting out laughing. The (former?) head of the Pitax guard recovers quickly though, nodding firmly, "Of course."[b]
Then he smiles with something Rudabeh can only call triumph, [b]"I have one man who is willing and able to come with us. I'll go get him, and we can begin this trek. Please have your followers recognize my authority. " With that he moves back into the trees, the thoroughly confused Admiral in his wake. Rudabeh can see the man trying to talk to Jerrad but being ignored.
Silvui , looking up from the treasures says blandly, "I think you got played, chief. You gave him command for one man and himself? Maybe you are a bit too trusting?"
Rudabeh is confused, if amused, at Jerrad's face, all the way through his triumphant look. "We will meet you shortly at Ostend's barge."
Turning slightly, she tilts her head at Silvui. "Played? Is that why he looked so... smug?" Confused once more, she questions the young man. "Perhaps I am missing something here, but why does it matter who is "in command"?" The air quotes were palpable, even as she moves to the sack of treasures after Aurelia had dried it. "Our goals are the same. I know nothing of trekking through swamps, other than that it is dangerous. Jerrad is as suited, if not more so, than leading us to Irovetti than I am. What is the importance?"
She kneels down and looks through the silk-wrapped treasures. "If this was some kind of... power play, or assertion of authority that would have scored some sort of political points in Pitax or elsewhere, it is lost on me." Seemingly over the matter, she holds up what appears to be an ivory carving of a polyphemus moth. "Is any of this worth anything? I suspect it is going to be bargained against Irovetti's life, so I should be able to quote... some sort of figure." The paladin asks of the group before she starts to place it all within her bag of holding.
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People had the wrong idea about walking around in heavy armor. It was difficult, but not for the reasons people suspected. It wasn't so much the weight of all that steel. Granted, it was heavy but Rudabeh was experienced and knew how to handle it, feeling for sound footing with a second nature that didn't slow her down. It also wasn't mobility. Even the most awkwardly made full plate was surprisingly flexible and Gezzerbial's joints were almost supernaturally free and loose. The paladin could move just fine.
No, it was the field of view. Even with the visor up, the helmet restricted her vision, not much but enough that she constantly found hidden tree roots and low hanging branches with her body, instead of her eyes. The occasional clank of wood on steel was not only jarring but it was embarrassing, being the loudest person through the swamp.
Not that the swamp was quiet itself. All around her, the world was filled to bursting with life. Most of the landscape was dominated by massive mangroves, whose huge twisting roots created a living forest floor. The sweeping roots created pools of water as well as pockets of dry land, an intricate network that plenty of animals and plants too advantage of. Already they had seen countless snakes, frogs, and turtles, along with any number of their predators such as muskrats, foxes and herons. It was a full time job replying to Senqhi's inquisitive answers about names, habits and uses.
Above, the arcing branches created a leafy canopy that blocked out most of the sun, for which Rudabeh was grateful. The swamp was hot and muggy, but at least she didn't have the harsh rays of the sun directly heating her armor, like a blast forge. Among the greenery above countless birds sang, squawked and flitted about. Entire flocks of crows watched from their rookeries, cawing raucously after they passed, while one massive tree was filled with nothing but huge colony of white egrets.
Rudabeh's team, even including her clanging steel, made little extra noise in the din. The paladin brought up the rear, moving the slowest under the circumstances. Jerrad had placed her here with a slight grin, probably relishing in the ability to place the Alseta follower last but Rudabeh knew better. How many stories had she heard from adventuring parties who had put wizards or other casters in the back, only to be attacked by some nameless thing following in the dark? No, a strong rearguard was good tactical sense, even if the head of Pitax's guards had done it by mistake.
In front of here was Silvui and Dannagu. The Varsisian duelist looked quite out of place in the swamps, but he moved with determined strides, head down. Dannagu moved easily through the brackish water but Rudabeh heard him curse more then a few times, wishing for open plains and clear country. Rudabeh wondered what sort of landscape he was used to.
Ahead of them ranged the rest of the party in near real order, sorted by happenstance and the variges of local terrain. At the head of the little column was Jerrad and his other Pitax ally, a blocky man who looked more like a bouncer (or leg-breaker) then a solider.
Out of the murky, like a ghost, Litta appeared at Rudabeh's side. The woman's step was silent and sure, seeming to find any trace of dry earth without effort, her green eyes sweeping the swamp around them like a cat expecting mice...or dogs. The bow in her hand was strung but held loosely.
"Rudabeh," She said quietly, voice a hushed whisper, "Tell Jerrad to let me take point. I can do the scouting, find the best path forward. I asked but he...said no."
The trudge through the swamp was about as bad as she expected, which was to say it was irritating at most. She was not surprised to take the rearguard, and it would have left her with ample time to sort her thoughts on how to handle negotiations with this fire man if not for the constant questions Seqhi was fielding her way. They were simple questions, and it was easy enough to say she didn't know, or to apply common names to anything she was unsure of.
It wasn't terribly embarrassing for her to be the loudest in the group, or the shiniest- the crows in particular seemed to be very interested in her, and she eyed them warily. A supernatural crow would probably see her as some kind of prize, and the last thing she wanted to happen was to get mobbed by birds during the already hazardous trip. A few curious avian onlookers even hop down to lower branches as she passes, and she switches holding her greatsword from the crook of her elbow to holding it horizontally at her waist by the blade- the paladin didn't want some giant intelligent crow, or a crow witch, or a... crow dragon coming out of nowhere and flying off with her blade. She had already lost it once and was not keen on it happening again. Not having a sheath for her large blade was proving to be a hindrance, and she hopes she had find someone that can at least make her a leather one at Volouse.
Rudabeh is fighting off a branch that had hooked itself on her visor when Litta appears next to her. Startled, the paladin backs up instinctively but the supple young branch stay stuck. There is a great rustling of both tree and debris as she nearly takes down the whole sapling, and it finally snaps out of her visor with a great woosh moments later. After a brief glance at the tree to make sure it wasn't actually attacking her, she turns her attention to Litta as if nothing had happened.
"I will ask, but if he said no to you he will probably say no to me." She says back, quietly, for all the good it did. "Honestly, it is not terrible to have him on point. We do not know what kind of fire creatures are in these swamps, and none of us should encounter them alone."
Turning back, Rudabeh raises her voice to the front of the column. "Jerrad, why is Litta not taking point? She is a skilled tracker and scout, and can find the fire man's camp faster than any of us."
Jerrad stopped instantly at Rudabeh's raised voice, shoulder's dipping obvious frustration. He whirled around, face unreadable from this distance, just a pale blob among the dark greens and browns of the swamp. The Pitax man pauses, then waves his hand at the rest of the train who stops moving with relief. Most lean against a tree, sweaty from the heavy swamp slog.
Alone, Jerrad stomps back up the line, sloshing muddy water everywhere, and giving his bottom half a new coating of slime. As he comes into focus Rudabeh can tell this is one unhappy man, face dark and neck muscles tense. To her alarm she sees his hand on the pommel of his sword.
Coming up he says, without preamble in a tight voice, "You rang? How can I be of assistance?" Then he steps right into RUdabeh's face (although he is a few inches shorter), "Why not run out a few flags and fire off a flaming arrow or two? Why on Golarion are you shouting up the line? We are supposed to be sneaking through. Gods only know what else is lurking in these swamps, ignoring the fire drake..."
Suddenly, voice quiet yet easily cutting over Jerrad;s bluster, Litta says, "Do you hear that?"
Jerrad gives her an angry glare but falls silent, listening. Rudabeh cocks her sharp ears, listening to the still air around them. It is silent as a tomb, the only sound being the mud squelching under their boots and their heavy breathing. A shiver runs up Rudabeh's spine. No birds, no animals calls...
"I don't hear anything." Jerrad says, exasperated.
"Exactly." And Litta starts reaching for her arrows, her hand a blur of motion.
Without warning a section of the swamp forest near them seemingly explodes, trees being flung aside with abandon, and huge clods of mud thrown into the air. A virtual tidal wave of sludge and slime careens out of the destruction, a roiling bulge of rotting leaves and wood. Out of the chaos Rudabeh spots a very large dark shape emerging from the ooze, covered in dripping scum. Even as everyone curses and avoids the swamp muck hurled at them, it comes into the dim light.
It has a bulbous body and bizarre shape, a gigantic, toad-like beast that seems to combine the most disgusting traits of dragon and amphibian. Reptilian wings unfurl from its leaking corpulence, the weird frame heaped with rolls of corded muscle and moist frog fat. Three buckler-sized yellow eyes protrude above a wide, drooling maw lined with teeth the size of daggers, each notched and serrated. From this cavernous hollow echoing with deep croaking belches = a thick tongue the color of an angry bruise lolls around, covered with ropes of saliva.
Rudabeh sees something dark hanging from this horrible man, a limp...tail? A tail of the fire drake.
"A mobogo?" Litta says, voice raised in alarm.
The towering beast glares at them for a instant, yellow eyes sweeping the train of humans. It seems to focus intently for a moment, the front legs digging into the churned mud around it, as if setting in stance.
Suddenly, the plants in the clearing start to grow. As if an entire summer season passed in an instant vines and brush leap into the air, growing with magically enhanced speed, and the sound of creaking wood and stems fills Rudabeh ears. Plants curl around her armored legs, sprouting leaves and flowers.
In an instant Rudabeh is surrounded on all sides by tall grass and dropping vines, a veil blocking out the swamp, her allies and even the huge frog-like beast. She hears the others start to scream and yell, trying to find each other in the chaotic growing plants, which are still writhing, but slowing.
'What-was-that?' Seqhi asks voice breathless with awe and wonder.
Rudabeh raises a hairless eyebrow as she notices Jerrad's face, and she stands unflinching as he closes the distance to chastise her. "My apologies." She says sincerely, her voice neutral. "I am not very good at sneaking, and it was my assumption we wanted to be found by the fire man."
Her attention snaps to Litta at her words, and Rudabeh strains her scarred ears. Even inside of her helmet, nothing out of the ordinary seems to catch her interest... indeed, there was nothing ordinary about this silence at all.
The paladin starts to open her mouth to suggest they should get into a defensive position when the swamp explodes into life. Both hands are on her blade, and she plants her feet firmly- mud splatters into her shining silver armor, running down the polished surface like butter on a hot frying pan and leaving black, chunky streaks behind.
Rudabeh didn't think herself a judgemental sort, at least unless she was asked to be, but this thing was ugly. There was a part of her that dreaded getting closer to it, too, because it surely smelled worse than whatever the swamp could muster.
An aquamarine tongue darts out to wet her lips as she considers her course of action, just as creeper vines begin to curl up around her legs and into the joints of her armor. She kicks at them, barely clearing out her space, but she looses sight of everyone else in the process.
A mobogo, apparently. Rudabeh responds calmly as she turns in place, trying to catch sight of anyone, anything between the grass and vines, but having no such luck.
The paladin reaches for her iron key with her right hand and presses it into the pommel of The Sixth Peak. "Alseta, your humble servant asks you for your power. Please grant my blade your might so that I may see my oaths upheld, and bring peace where there would be violence." At the end of her prayer flames burst forth from the nearly 5 foot sword, and in one motion she drops her holy symbol (which is caught by its copper chain) and grabs the hilt.
She draws the sword down, hands close to her breastplate, hacking apart some of the growth that was restricting her movement. Slowly, the mud-streaked paladin works her way through the overgrown plants, progressing towards where she last saw the creature. Aromatic smells fill the air as she burns through wet plants, mixing with the stench of the swamp.
Ooh Senqwhi noted when the greatsword suddenly burst into red flame. Reminds me of home. Does it do other tricks?
Rudabeh glances at the high wall of grasses and brush in front of her, a tightly packed wall of intertwined greenery blocking all sight and even muffling sound. Then she got to work.
Sixth Peak had been forged to cut through demonic hides, hardened armor and human bone. A few stray bits of green growth, however magically enhanced, were nothing to it and that isn't even counting the divine flames dancing along the razor edge. Rudabeh sets to work and is, quite literally, scything her way through the mess in short order. Weeds and plants fall back before her onslaught, both cut and burned, the paladin leaving a blackened charred trail behind her. She still cannot see much, but she hears some bulky sounds off to her left, and guesses Jerrad is doing much the same as her, cutting through the foliage.
Then Rudabeh feels a wave of heat roll over her, and the grasses to her right suddenly burst into bright white flames. Her eyelids close tightly against the passing glare and when the paladin can see again, she is standing next to a crater, the brush blown apart into black slag. In the center stands Aurelia, looking both pale and fiery, skin glowing.
"I don't like these plants!" She shouts, angrily tearing at the air with one hand. A gout of flame flares out, carving through the enchanted thicket with ease, ripping the plants apart. It chars straight through like a tunnel until Rudabeh can see the massive appear in her line of sight. Useful.
Around her Rudabeh can hear the others, slashing through grass and weeds, tripping over muck. Clearly no one else has any magic useful at the moment. They are all blind in a sudden green sea.
Then Rudabeh sees the Mobogo move. From her newly cleared vantage, she watches the weird frog-like creature half-hop, half glide toward them, clearing twenty feet of entangling plant life and mud with ease. It lands with a squelching splash, throwing decaying moss into the branches of tall trees, and coating its own body in stinking grime.
It eyes Aurelia for a moment, lowers the flat head, and opens the gaping jaws. Out of that wet darkness the thick tongue bursts forth, like an animate rope. With speed faster then any snake it whips through the newly charred tunnel of destruction, heading right toward the young sorceress.
It slams into her thin chest, knocking her to the ground. The dancing flames about her flicker then die, smothered by the mobogo's greasy saliva. Then, to Rudabeh's horror, the tongue begins to pull back toward the beast, dragging Aurelia with it, like some fly.
The young woman is pulled along the ground for ten feet before Rudabeh can even react. She rolls senseless in the grip of the monster, unable to even cry out as she is dragged toward the slavering jaws.
Trick? This is a blessing from my Goddess to assist me in the neverending struggle against Law and Chaos. The sword itself is mundane. Rudabeh thinks, almost pedantically. ... but yes, I can ask for other forms of enchantments.
The sudden wave of heat makes Rudabeh flinch- her own greatsword, despite being on fire, was as cool as a shaded stone in the winter to her. It made her fear the worst, that another flame drake had arrived to take revenge. Relief flooded through her at the sight of Aurelia, who was proving her usefulness just as she had predicted. "Careful of friendly fire!" The paladin advises her, considering how close the sorceress had come to hitting her with that scorching flame.
This was good. Rudabeh just had to put herself between Aurelia and the mobogo, and the two of them would surely make quick work of the creature if the young human was left to cast spells freely. The only problem was every time Rudabeh took a step some new briar or sapling got stuck in her armor, and she was moving very slowly across the ground.
Well, it was was the only problem until Aurelia was suddenly captured by the thing's tongue with all the ease of a true frog nabbing a fly.
"Aurelia!" Rudabeh calls out, already struggling to move quicker as she watches her get dragged across the ground. If asked how long it would take for her charge to get dragged into the mouth of the creature, Rudabeh would struggle to find the answer but may eventually arrive at the correct conclusion. Fortunately, she didn't need an exact answer, and her instincts told her if she wanted to save Aurelia, she needed to get ahead of the sorceress before trying to cut her free.
It was only ten seconds, but it felt like minutes- the paladin, face still fully visible and covered in sweat, looks back and forth between the ground and the tongue as she races to get ahead of it. Mud-covered boots and soil-blackened greaves flash past Aurelia as she gains some ground on the tongue. A little more, and she could take a swing...
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Rudabeh's boots, weighted with the heavy steel sabtons, churns the mud as she charges forward. Flecks of grime splash on her armor, dulling the usual mirror shine finish. Despite the uneven ground the paladin moves fast and soon overtakes the writhing tongue and sorcerer and plants herself between Aurelia and the mobogo. The scent of burned plants mingles with the soft ooze of decomposing muck in Rudabeh's nose, the competing smells hanging thick in the air..
The weird frog-like creature seems to frown at this intrusions, seeing Rudabeh and her flaming sword, for the first time. It opens the mouth slightly, feet planting in the mud for another spell when their is a flash of color in mid-air, hurtling toward the beast. There is a wet thwack as an arrow hits home, finding purchase in the rolls of greasy, slimy flesh. In an instant it is followed by another, the burst of colored feathers whipping through the air.
RUdabeh tracks the flight backward, peering above the piled greenery. After a moment she spots Litta, crouching in the shadow of a massive gnarled mangrove branch, perched high above the plants. Her bow is in her hands, reaching for another arrow.
Rudabeh sees no signs of the others, but hears shouts of confusion. Hopefully soon, they can overcome the plants, and fight as a ground.
Aurelai feebly struggles against the sticky mass of the tounge, the bruise-colored flesh unyielding.
The mobogo ignores the two flecthed arrows in it's side, the two pinpricks of dark carime arrows. The bulging mass of flesh heaves, coils of fat rolling and unrolling, revealing huge wrinkles of bistre skin, mottled with sickly viridian blotches. As the mogobo moves, the sac-like throat seems to swell in size, skin stretching tighter, and streaks of dark citrine appear, clearly a sign of anger and annoyance for the massive beast.
Like a bubble it swells, and Rudabeh has a feeling she knows what is coming. The mogobo opens its huge mouth and lets out a deafening croak, louder then a roll of thunder. Trees crack at the noise, and the roiling grasses flatten out, as if caught in a windstorm. Rudabeh's head rings, her vision going glassy for a moment and her limbs sag.
But Rudabeh is born of combat, and a will to match, not to mention protected by Alseta herself. In a moment she has re-mastered herself, vision clearing. However, which of her friends had fallen to the strange supernatural sound? Clearly it was meant to stun and confuse the mobogo's enemies.
Rudabeh sees the recognition in the creature's eyes. All three of them. It was clearly self-aware, and not some wild animal. Like the flame drake it had sticking out of its mouth when she first saw it, all she had to do was make it value its own life above that of dinner.
With a wave of one free hand Rudabeh signals to Litta, gesturing from the mangrove to the ground. "It has Aurelia, shoot the tongue, shoot the-!" Cut off by the strange machinations of the mobogo, the undine watches in horror as its throat begins to swell. Hand reaching for her Iron Key, she touches it, causing both visor and bevor to slam shut in unison moments before the giant croak rolls through the air.
The sound rolls over her as if she had been struck, and she stumbles back a few paces, flaming greatsword nearly tumbling from her hands. She sucks in a deep, soundless (to her) breath, spreading enough fetid swamp air over her tongue that she knows she is still alive, if blind and deaf.
Slowly, light comes back to her senses in a blur, sound squeals itself back into her ears, and she finds strength again in her grip. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced, but it was over now.
Her legs tingle as if they had been poked with needles as she starts to move forward once more, her restricted vision even more cut down by the slit of her visor. But it was hard to miss the massive purple worm of a tongue in front of her, and as she shifts her grip the Paladin of Alseta calls again on her goddess, surrounding herself with an aura of pure Lawful energy.
"Find your meal elsewhere, Mobogo!" She calls out as her sword, held steady with the blade against her left shoulder, starts to move. She lowers it, pommel near her right hip as if she were about to break ground with a shovel. Her armored hand grabs the flaming blade in the middle, causing orange jet of flame to shoot out from between her fingers. With a powerful grunt Rudabeh stabs the tip of The Sixth Peak into the purple appendage, attempting to impale and pin it into the swamp muck with her weight on top.
Rudabeh channels pure divine grace into her blade, imbuing it with the very power of Alseta herself, and the paladin can feel the blade hum slightly with the power. A thin aura surrounds it, like heat shimmering off a hot stone, barely visible. It feels good in her hands, solid, almost like a living thing, wishing to do her bidding and undo chaos. Rudabeh plants her feet, a natural motion that takes no more thought then breathing and brings down the shimmering bar of steel.
The razor edge slices through the blue-black flesh with ease, parting it as easily as a butcher carving a side of beef. As it tears open, blood begins to pour out, not red but aeneous, with a dull metallic sheen. The bronze fluid gushes out, splashing Rudabeh's armor and coating Aurelia.
With a final twist, the sticky mass at the end of the appendage is hewn cleanly off, showering them in blood. Like a wounded snake, the fleshy tongue hurtles back toward the mobogo's mouth, rippling across the muddy swamp floor.
As it does so, another set of arrows flies out of Litta's hideaway. With unerring precision they strike the streaking tongue, and RUdabeh takes a moment to marvel at the shot. A thin, dark moving target, over high grass? Litta was an amazing archer to even get close, let alone hit. Twice
"Rudabeh?" She hears a voice shout, and realizes it is Silvui, off to her left, still hidden behind the thick wall of reeds. "Say something, let me find you!"
Aurelia staggers to her feet, coated head to foot in mobogo pale spit and glimmering blood.
The mobogo writhes in pain, rearing up on the two massive back legs, the wings beating at the air. A stench of rotting fungus and moss fills the clearing and Rudabeh's eyes actually have to blink back against the fetid stink. Then the huge creature actually lurches skyward, the wings beating faster.
It lifts off the ground, ungainly at first but gathering speed. For a moment Rudabeh's hopes rise, thinking it is perhaps retreating fromt he painful attacks. Then her heart turns to ice as the bulky shape flies directly toward her, blotting out the sun. It looms above her, the stench filling her nostrils with the sweat and stink, like someone has unearthed a carcass after days of rotting in a pig trough.
Then, with a wet bugle of triumphant, it falls like a stone.
Entire trees snaps like twigs as the bulbous mass heads downwards, air rushing over it. Rudabeh has just enough time to decide whether to throw herself clear or the stunned, gore spattered sorceress.
It really was no choice.
Moving like an athelete, and in a clatter of steel, Rudabeh lunges and shoves Aurelia out of the way. She falls with a whisper into a bed of soft plants, just as the sky falls on Rudabeh.
It feels like Rudabeh is caught in a landslide, a fetid landslide of muck and greasy fat. It is pitch dark, with a crushing weight all around her. Even Gezzerbial's armor strains at the pressure, creaking loudly and water is squeezed out of the soil to surround her. At the very least Rudabeh is at no risk of drowning. She struggles and clears a small space under the huge frog-like beast, enough to move at least. But to do what?
The plan went better than she had hoped- hot, strange blood splashes over her arms as the rest of the mobogo's severed tongue whips past her and back towards its onerous owner.
Litta's marksmanship was a marvel that she would have to compliment her on... later. But it surely cemented her spot in any further strange and dangerous missons that Rudabeh always seemed to get herself into.
Silvui's voice, which took on a metallic echo within her helmet, reaches her ears. "I am here! Find Daangu! We must fight it together!" Is her response, and she hoped the impetuous human would listen to her this time. It was clear this creature was tough, and dangerous. She just had to distract it long enough for them to gang up on it, scare it away...
Unlike her previous plan, that one she had formed falls apart the moment the mobogo launches itself up in the air. Rudabeh was really hoping those wings were for show, or it merely hopped around like a frog, but no. It was flying, and straight at her no less.
Her... and Aurelia.
Without thought, she bursts into a clattering sprint and knocks the girl back with a steel shoulder that was surely to leave a bruise. But it was far better than the fate that literally befell Rudabeh as everything vanishes into darkness, pain, weight, and the awful taste of swamp in her mouth. She knew that without her helmet, the creature's awful fat and rubbery skin would be forced against her face, choking her out. Instead, she has to breathe swamp water, which causes her to cough sporadically- not from the water, but from the bits of plant material getting lodged in her throat.
Flailing instinctively, mud and detritus are pushed aside, filling the joints of her already strained armor. Beside her, The Sixth Peak glimmers and casts fitful white holy light while starting to boil the water around it. Her left hand held onto it tightly, fearing it would be sucked into some swamp cavity if she let go. Even though it was too big to be useful in the hellish hole she was trapped in, she hoped that no living creature would want to sit on top of a flaming sword for long.
Her right hand claws down her right side, past the warmth of her Iron Key (she knew exactly where it was, like a bird flying north), and she struggles to lift her right leg. Seqhi, I'm trapped. The paladin thinks quickly, tersely. Can you do anything to help?
It was difficult to feel anything, with the water, and mud, and the leather coverings on her fingers, but she knew where her dagger was. Not exactly like where she knew where her holy symbol was, but when her digits curled around something solid she knew it wasn't some stick.
Because if it was a stick, it wasn't going to do much as she blindly pointed it upward and raked it against the rubbery flesh crushing down on her, using the mobogo's own weight to drive the dagger deep and try to force it off of her.
Setting her shoulder as best she can, Rudabeh grips the dagger and draws it along the rubbery, putrid flesh above her. Again, divine power surges through her and the greatsword at hand seems to flare into bright light, lighting up the small dark cavity like a miner's lamp. The dancing flames reflect off the glistening corbeau flesh around her, and the light adds new strength to her arm.
The mobogo's stomach slices as easily as a melon, letting a fresh torrent of bronze colored blood flow, quickly filling Rudabeh's small empty space. In a second she is choking, as her lungs can handle water but hot blood? Her eyes burn as the helmet fills with the mogobo's tangy lifeblood.
I'm trying! Senqhi says, and Rudabeh feels a flare of power through the armor. But nothing happen. Whatever she can do, it doesn't seem to make a difference.
Then the immense pressured lifted, the mud sucking wetly around her. Rudabeh instinctively takes a deep breath, like a swimmer after a long dive, her lungs expanded even as the armor gives a final creak of relief. Sunlight dazzles her as the bulk of the mobogo rears back on hind legs, trying to escape the jabbing pain of the dagger.
Just as Rudabeh's eyes adjust she hears a thing voice behind her scream, "Burn!"
The world lights into a sizzling dazzle of white heat as a fireball whooshes over Rudabeh's prone form and slams into the mobogo's exposed stomach.
The wet mud takes some of the heat from the attack, but Rudabeh can see brown flesh crackle and burn in the heat. The stench of searing muscle fills the air, overpowering both the rotting stench of the beast and the wet mud still clogging Rudabeh's helmet.
The winged frog roars, a wet, tearing sounds, and then starts to fall forward again, to crush Rudabeh completely. The world grows dark and then-
A form bursts from the weeds at her side, scoops her up and tosses her into the plants past the falling beast. Her vision swirls as she tumbles into the sweet smell brush, but she manages to catch a glance of a humanoid figure, dark but cloaked in...stars? Then it vanishes, smashed by the falling mobogo with a wet slam that shakes the ground.
Rudabeh looks up and can see a few more arrows piercing the hide of the monster, and Litta has clearly keep up her barrage.
The mobogo turns this way and that, all three eyes looking confused and disorientated. It was being attacked on all sides, by, steel, arrow and flame. It roars again, front legs churning up the mud around it but Rudabeh can hear a note of desperation in that tone, for the first time. At least, they are making it doubt an easy meal. It is getting ready to run....but not yet.
It turns from Rudabeh to Aurelia, the young sorcerer again standing and wreathed in flames. It seems to hesitate for a moment, deciding which is the better target. Sickly yellow orbs stare at the burning woman for
a moment, then turn on Rudabeh.
The front feet dig in, as natural wild magic swirls around the mobogo. It an instant it is released, as a roaring cacophony tears the air apart, shaking the trees and shaking Rudabeh's bones.
Again, sonic waves rock Rudabeh's battered body. Her teeth clack together tightly, her head ringing from the noise. The armor sings like a bells truck with a hammer, a counter-point to the roaring around her. Then it passes and Rudabeh finds herself bruised but functioning. Her hardy will has once again overcome the stunning effect. The mobogo would find no easy prey here to fall upon and swallow.
[ooc] Ok, you are up. It is standing right next to you, although you are prone. Get to work and finish it!
Rudabeh coughs up blood as it spills into the few slits and holes of her visor- which were unfortunately hanging right over her eyes and mouth. At least this blood wasn't her own, and as she tries to spit out some of the thick tangy fluid she hopes it isn't poisonous.
Seqhi was once again of no assistance, though she was at least trying. Something was happening, and one day Rudabeh would figure out what. But it wasn't today, and she had to not be killed by a giant frog-dragon first.
A breath of real, genuine swamp air fills her partially submerged lungs, and she gets that weird choking feeling that happens when she's halfway breathing air and water; it was impossible to describe to a non-amphibian, really.
Propping herself up on an elbow, Rudabeh attempts to struggle away as the Mobogo rears up- the words and the familiar sounds of a fireball cause her to immediately go limp and splash back into the water, where she sees and hears the explosion above. Not only would she need to have another talk with Aurelia about friendly fire, but it was quite incredible the small girl was even capable of manifesting fireballs at such a young age. Ractus had picked up quite the catch.
Her head rises above the gunk again, and dirty water pours off of her from mud-streaked helmet to the joints of her armor. The paladin is about to go back down again to try and avoid the falling creature when her world becomes a blur and she is deposited elsewhere. Did you see that? The star-man? What was that? Is a quick thought to Seqhi to confirm she wasn't seeing strange things.
The mobogo turns it attention back to Rudabeh, her glowing and aflame sword turning the muck next to her into a foul mockery of a stew. She grits her teeth as another sound blast rolls through her bones, scrambles her guts, and makes her sick to her stomach. Still, she moves, dropping her dagger into damp earth and grabbing the hilt of her sword with two hands. Swinging a five foot piece of flaming steel was not feasible while laying on the ground, propped up by an elbow and half-sunk into mud; but using it like a pike was.
In quick succession she sits up and tries to jab the tip of her sword into the creature's hide, hoping that this will finally be the blow that scares it off.
Wielding greatsword while laying on your chest in soupy mud is not an easy feat, and while Rudabeh has trained to fight in any number of circumstances, even this pushes her technique. The clingy, chocolate-colored mud sticks to her, not only obscuring her view but also seizing up the leather joints in her armor. All of this, combined with the rubbery, toxic hide of the mobogo, finally defeats her.
Sixth Peak merely grazes the bubbled fatty skin of the beast, barely raising a single drop of bronze blood.
What a marvelous creature Senqhi says, apparently deciding this is the right moment to compliment the roaring, slavering beast that is about to kill Rudabeh or her friends.
There are no arrows from Litta, and the paladin guesses the archer has been stunned by the latest sonic attack. Aurelia too is hunched over, the flames still flickering about her person, but her eyes are unfocused. Alone?
Out of the grass a new figure steps, a slim blade in his hand. Silvui darts in, feet stepping lightly over the mud. In a moment his rapier-like blade punctures one hind-leg, lancing through flesh and bone with ease. Rudabeh can make out the Varisan's trademark grin, through a spatter of mud, as he leans and twists the blade.
The mobogo roars, stamping its feet and deciding to try one last round of attacks to finish off the dwindling foes. The heavy front legs webbed and covered in sucking mud fly toward Silvui while the gaping mouth lowers onto Rudabeh, like a pelican looking to scoop up a tasty fish.
The two legs slam Silvui into the mud, the man vanishing under the heavy weight in an instant. Rudabeh guesses the fighter is not dead, but another round might do him in. If Rudabeh let Silvui die, Litta would kill her.
Then the mobogo turns on her, triple eyes glowing a malevolent yellow as they stare down their prey. The huge mouth opens with stunning speed and snapping down at Rudabeh. Jaws close around her, teeth clashing against her plated armor with a resounding clang. But the metal held, Gezzerbial's skill holding her in good stead. The teeth gouge out dents and tear at the joints, but Rudabeh is shaken not snapped in half like an unfortunate fly.
The undine slips out of the gnashing maw, finding herself on her feet, sword still flaming in her hand. She faces down the creature, unbowed, unbroken.
Then Senqhi says, You aren't going to hurt it, are you?
It would seem Rudabeh was, like the ten seconds before, in a pinch. Her companions were dazed by the Mobogo's sonic assault, and it seemed she was probably destined for the Boneyard if this kept up. The thought did not thrill her- this wasn't a good death, and for the dozenth time she wonders why the gods did not just let her die in Pitax so she could claim her final reward from Alseta instead of becoming one with the swamp muck.
The gods certainly had other plans, it seemed, and Silvui emerges to attempt a welcome flank, until he was painfully stomped into the mud. She had been there, and it was unpleasant, but she knew he was tough enough to survive. Which was good, because Litta was a very good shot and may not care about whatever plans the gods have.
Her world once again changes, quickly, to a stinking dark mess with abrupt pain around her midsection. The paladin dares not think about the fact she was in the mobogo's mouth, and instead blindly pounds at its face with an open hand, striking it in the eye and causing it to drop her.
Stumbling in a clatter and feeling disgusting, Rudabeh spins on her right foot and lowers her sword into a Boar's Tooth Guard, blade parallel to the strained and creaking plates at her knee. I'm just going to scare it! She answers Seqhi, honestly, and with the last reserves of her strength she steps forward, bringing the tip of her sword upward to jab at the now flagging creature's exposed neck.
But it was a ruse, and she pulls back her flaming sword at only half her reach before stepping forward and swinging the The Sixth Peak around her head into a devastating diagonal cut aimed at the side of the mobogo's neck. She follows up the strike by easily rotating her wrists into a cross-cut at the other side, flaming blade wooshing as dramatically as any theatrical performance.
Rudabeh knew fighters and warriors who didn't care for formal fighting stances. Monster hunters who disregarded them as effeminate forms suited only for ritual combat, self-taught duelists who considered their 'innovativness' an advantage, and berserkers who relied on pure speed and fury to succeed. All of them considered the official thrusts and guards a waste of time at best, and an active hindrance at worst.
But Rudabeh knew better, and so had Finn. Despite the latter's untraditional style, she had drilled the stances into Rudabeh's head, with so much repetition the paladin frequently dreamed about them. Not only were they carefully designed to maximize results with a minimum of effort, honed by generations of fighting masters through centuries but they also had the quiet comfort of rote activity. They cleared the mind, let muscle memory work unhindered by fear or thought.
So when Rudabeh assumed the Boar's Tooth Guard, she wasn't thinking about a slavering mobogo, her friend trampled in the mud, or her aching wounds. Indeed, she barely had to think at all. On their own her feet found the proper place, her arms moving with automatic precision, all of her muscles performing an action done countless times.
The reward?
The attack slashed open the frog-dragon's neck with ridiculous ease. The mobogo's muscles slice open, rolling back like unstrung curtains. More blood, that same dark bronze color, sprays out at high pressure into the air, like a halo of death. On her second stroke Rudabeh hits bone and is jarred from her stance, but the damage is done and deep.
Out of the weeds Dannagu appears, long spear in his hand, jabbing up at the mobogo like a pikeman waving off a lancer. Litta fires another arrow, turning one of the yellow eyes into a bloody mash. The creature screams now, not in rage or confusion but outright fear. huge back legs tense and then spring , throwing the bulky beast into the air. The wings beat strongly, catching itself and, still roaring in pain, the mobogo flies away, bobbing over the treetops deeper into the swamp.
Silence falls over the clearing although Rudabeh's ears continue to ring from the repeated battering. Somewhat in a daze she spots Dannagu go over to the trampled Silvui, pulling him out of the muck with some effort. At the edge of her sight she watched Litta scramble out of the tree and fall to the ground, wallowed by the still towering plants.
"We..won?" Aurelia says, standing but swaying slightly, clothes both charred and stained from mobogo spit. She cocks her head and says it louder, as if unable to hear, "We won?!"
There were few moments when Rudabeh felt any pleasure from fighting. To her, the world was a chaotic and violent place that would be made far better if everyone talked things out and followed the rules. An impossible dream to fully realize, but every day she strove to make the world a little less chaotic, and little more safe.
But the moment her sword bites the mobogo to the bone, that she scores a true hit that would have made Finn proud, the paladin allows herself to feel a little pride in a job well done.
Danngu appears from the weeds to poke at the creature some more, and an arrow forces the creature to have a normal number of eyes. A few more moments of tentative, guarded caution as the creature takes flight before Rudabeh relaxes with a wheezing sigh.
As the adrenaline fades the undine begins to cough, doubling over as much as her plate would allow. She claws at her bevor, only to realize that due to the design she had to open the visor first, but then finds the visor stuck- smashed a little out of alignment by the crushing weight of the mobogo on top of her. Pushing, she manages to rise the visor with an awful scraping noise, but she could barely hear it anyway.
After her helmet is open Rudabeh spits up some of the swamp water still left in her lungs, and she gets a fresh reminder of what years of decaying plant matter tastes like. Taking her flaming sword down from her shoulder, she finds a nearby overgrown bush to set it on- the leaves are charred but for a few moments, for after her fingers leave the hilt the fires instantly vanish.
"Yes." She croaks, grabbing her water skin and taking a long drag, spitting it out, and taking another one. This time she breathes the water, and expels that too, before taking a deep breath of air that hurt quite a lot. It was the familiar pain of a broken rib, and she sets a hand over the area.
It still hurt, a lot, but at least she wouldn't have to worry about internal bleeding. Plus, her ears stopped ringing, and her stomach had settled from inhaling swamp muck. She didn't think that her body, or her armor, no matter how well crafted, could stand up to another fight with something like an oil shark or a mobogo. Even a lone goblin might challenge the exhausted warrior at this point.
"I didn't know you could throw fireballs." Rudabeh remarks to Aurelia, which draws a blank stare. "I DID NOT KNOW YOU COULD THROW FIREBALLS. IT WAS VERY IMPRESSIVE." She says, louder this time, before waving her over and setting a hand on the girl's forehead and channeling positive energy into her.
After the healing had taken hold, she asks. "Did you see a... well, it was shaped like a humanoid, but it seemed to be completely cloaked in stars. Did you see it push me out of the way of the mobogo after you threw the fireball?" Seqhi was no help in the matter, but surely Aurelia saw it?
Danngu and Silvui had gathered at this point, and she puts a hand on Silvui's shoulder. Both in thanks and to remove the pained expression from his usually grin-plastered face. "You did well, finding Danngu. You two drove it off, in the end, when it realized it was outnumbered and outclassed." A genuine compliment from a mud-splattered paladin rings true, and she even manages a small smile that was accented by nearly a liter of mobogo blood completely covering her scarred face. "Thank you both."
Litta, too, had picked her way out of the plants. "You, too, deserve my gratitude for your support. That was incredible archery, shooting the tongue like that. Well done, everyone."
Craning her head around, she looks for Jerrad and his crony. "Jerrad? We are here!"
She blinded that creature![i/] Senqhi says, obviously disturbed, [i]At least in one eye. What if it can't hunt or the wound gets infected? It'll slowly die in the swamps....how horrible. You invaded its home, so it is your fault.
Rudabeh is creaking nearly as bad as her armor as she administers some magical healing to herself. As the warm glow suffuses her, she can feel the ribs knitting together and some deep stabbing pain in her chest subside. Probably a collapsed lung re-inflating, or another ruptured organ. That mobogo's crushing weight had been serious, and even with divine healing magic, the paladin felt battered and bruised.
Aurelia stands nervously as Rudabeh touches her, the heavy gauntlets adding only slightly more to the gore and grim on the. A slight shiver passes through her as the healing begins, smoothing the lacertations of the battle. The sorcerer breathes easier after a moment, her eyes widening.
"That's amazing!" She says, adding, "I can't heal people, no matter how hard I try. How do you do it? Can you teach me?" When Rudabeh mentions the fireball she says, almost shyly, "Only one a day....so far." The young girl shakes her head when asked about a starry figure saying, "I was watching the frog...dragon....thing. I thought you jumped out of the way, should we be worried?"
As Rudabeh then heals Silvui, the man stirs in the mud. "Check...my pouch." he digs a grimy hand into the mud-encrusted belt at his waist, digging through the rotting leaves and muck. In a moment he has unearthed a few vials, and he grins. "Healing potions. I raided the Company store before coming. I expected to get toasted again...not sure if this is better or worse." Then he looks around, "Does anyone need it more then me?"
Litta meets his eye but keeps her distance, a blush rising in her cheeks at seeing him alive and talking. Clearly she feared much worse when the mobogo had trampled him like a wild horse.
Jerrad finally emerges from the thick weeds, slashing with his sword like an explorer in the jungle. Behind him is his one ally, tugging at a clinging root at his boot. The Pitax man surveys the muddy, bloody group and says, "Everyone alive? Good. Let's keep moving."
Am I blinded for having one less eye? Rudabeh asks, rhetorically, before sighing (audibly) and thinking It ate a flame drake. I think it will be fine. She wonders if she'll end up with both ifrit souls in the fire whale's heart mad at her; they seem to get upset a lot.
The paladin cracks a muddy grin at Aurelia's reaction to her healing, the undine's pearly white and slightly pointed teeth contrasting heavily with the orange blood now drying on her face. "The healing comes from positive energy, the energy of life, or so I've been told. It comes from my goddess, Alseta. I am merely a conduit for those energies. I cannot teach this, but if there is a divine figure whom you revere, I could show you the path to devoting your soul and receiving their blessing." Her hand falls off of the young girl's hand, leaving behind some mud on her already dirty figure. "I can tell your power comes from within. You remind me of the sun, you know, with your warmth and glow."
The fact Aurelia didn't see the star-man either causes her to look concerned. "You didn't see him?" Rudabeh puts a hand to her helmet, smearing the shining silver with mud. "I might be going mad. Maybe I did jump out of the way."
A hairless brow is arched at Silvui. "Raided?" She repeats his words, before looking down her nose at the young man. "By that language I assume not get authorization from Ractus for those potions..." She makes a gesture with her hand to put them away. "We will only use them in an emergency. Those do not belong to us. They belong to the company, and this is not company business. You will return them and tell Ractus you took them once we are back."
Rudabeh's body turns, a movement that draws a groan from her armor and a wince from a pain in her side. Old (less than a week, really) wounds ache, and for a moment she thought she was going to split in half again. "Aye aye." Is her hoarse response to Jerrad before reaching over and grasping the hilt of The Sixth Peak. As soon as her fingers touch the worg leather wrap, the blade bursts into flames and begins shining brighter than a lantern burning quicklime. "Before you ask, no, I cannot make this stop. Not unless someone wants to carry my sword." She comments as the blade is shouldered.
"May Litta take point, please?" Her question before they were interrupted is repeated, gesturing to the archer.
Aurelia looks unimpressed with all the talk of gods but nods vaguely, looking closely at her newly healed skin with obvious interest. Clearly healing seemed like...well, magic to the young woman.
Silvui rolls his eyes when Rudabeh gives him a short lecture on property rights. She catches a glint in his eye that he wanted to simply pop the top and drink one, just to prove he could. Slowly though he nods and says, "Fine. I only brought them for an emergency anyway. Your fights tend to end with me crushed or burned badly. I'm just worried one of these times Alseta will turn down your application for divine aid. I don't always trust the gods. Give me a nice mercenary healing potion instead. Doesn't care about my soul, just my wounds."
"Gladly." Litta says, without waiting for Jerrad to reply. In a moment the woman has vanished into the think underbrush.
The former Pitax head of guard watches her, then sighs heavily at the fait accompli. "Very well. Rudabeh, mind clearing some of this overgrown plant life?"
Rudabeh's burning sword makes short work of the remaining enhanced tangled plants and they are soon back in open country, or at least as open as a swamp gets. They don't travel very far before Litta materialized out of the shadows and says, "I think I found the way."
The scout leads them around a huge knot of swaying reeds into a small clearing. At the edge of it stands a massive cypress tree, so large that it would their entire group, hands clasped in a ring, to reach around the huge trunk. The sweeping buttress roots are taller then Rudabeh, waving wooden walls winding into the mucky soil.
It is burned to a cinder, bark removed by a searing heat leaving only blackened wood. All the leaved are gone, leaving the few branches left like skeletal arms outlined against the blue sky. The smell of smoke is still heavy on the air and white flake s of ash are still visibly falling off the immense arboreal pyre.
"That tree was probably over a thousands years old." Dannagu said, breaking his customary silence. He sounds aggrieved, as if the plant had been a friend.
Litta shrugs, "I think it is a marker. Unless you think something else did it, by chance?"
They continue on, heading in a generally westward direction. The ground slowly gets wetter and swampier as they progress farther. Every half a mile or so they find another scalded tree, each a massive forest giant reduced to black charcoal. The sun is starting to sink in the west, spreading inky black shadows over their path when Litta again emerges.
"I think we are close."
Ahead of them the ground is a soupy morass of mud and scum, only broken by a few dry spots, interspersed with old logs and rotten stumps. What draws Rudabeh's attention though are the flickering lights dimly visible under the dark canopy. Blue and green light, like dancing flames appear and disappear at random among the piled muck and mud.
"Fey?" Aurelia says, eyes wide with wonder and hope.
"Swamp gas." Litta says flatly. "The rotting stuff gets hot sometimes, can make these weird lights. Worse, sometimes it can cause real fires."
The woman waves a hand at the stinking sweep ahead of them, dotted with lights, "I've never seen so many. I have a feeling our friends little fires have ignited the pockets of gas under the water." She turns to Rudabeh, "This is dangerous Rudabeh. Someone might get hurt if we do this. Not only is the mud probably deep enough to drown someone, gods only know when it'll happen if a general fire breaks out."
"I intend to be dead before I betray Alseta, and I am inclined to believe the reverse is true." Rudabeh says matter-of-factly in response to Silvui's divine skepticism. "But I do understand. The gods have their own plans, and our individual best interests are not always at the heart of them."
Pleased that Litta took the initiative and started to scout, Rudabeh gets to work clearing through the mobogo's magical foilage. After a few minutes her greatsword's fire does extinguish as the sacred spirit infused within the weapon returns to... well, she wasn't sure, but she assumed it was something or someone originating from the Argent Gates itself, sent by some attendant of her goddess. Where else?
Rudabeh is tired and hurting by the time they reach the first burned tree, and she notes the air at least smells pleasant enough , as if someone were burning incense. "This is excessive and irresponsible. Could a creature capable of such power not have found a more effective way to send a message?" The paladin says with a sigh at the wanton destruction of life for the purpose of a guide marker. Still, she waves them on. "I suppose it's effective enough."
It was not difficult to notice they were running out of time- the sun was sinking in the horizon, and there were patches of ground were twilight didn't touch, but the undine's darkvision could see clearly. Still, she was not nervous- either they would find Irovetti and Rudabeh would do everything in her power to free him, or they would fail and he would no longer be her problem. Either way, she kept her oath, and was doing all she could right now to fulfil it.
The flickering lights amongst the wet ground, where there was ground, makes her mind leap to the same conclusion as Aurelia. "None I've seen." She replies, though, only to be informed of the situation by Litta.
It sounded bad, a whole swamp that could turn into a fireball at any moment. Rudabeh takes a deep breath, and the sulfurous air stings her nostrils. "Then I should go alone." She announces, looking over the rest of them. "I thank you all for your assistance, but I can offer no reward nor compensation besides my favor if you continue into this danger. This is my oath to fulfill, and I will not ask any of you to go further. You have gotten me here, " Before there was any protest, she pulls a vial off of her belt and looks at the silver contents with a limpid eye.
"I cannot drown, though breathing mud is like breathing smoke, and I have this potion..." She shakes it, causing the silver to swirl and mix witb brief flashes of cobalt. "One potion... that should allow me to cross this ground quickly." Her eye turns from the potion to the rest of the group. "You should all go back to the last burned cypress and make camp. I will bring Irovetti there once our business is concluded, so we can all return together in the morning."
The others look at the darkness under the trees ahead, to the armored paladin and back. Silvui rasies an eyebrow and says, "If it wasn't for the potion, I would say you are the least qualified to cross swampy terrain. How much does that armor weigh anyway?"
Litta purses her lips, eyes scanning the shadows pooling below the moss laden foliage ahead. "I vote she goes. Do any of us really want to risk our lives for some Pitax king?"
Jerrad coughs loudly but doesn't say anything for a moment. He also looks under the dark trees, obviously torn. He is clearly no woodsman and knows he will be of little use in such muck. On the other hand, he is probably the only person here who has Irovetti's best interests in mind.
"Will one of us going with you, make it less likely for you to succeed?" He finally asks, sounding doubtful. 'I wish to go, but I do not want to put the mission in jeopardy."
"You'd slow her down." Dannagu says, voice deep in the growing dusk. The man turns to Rudabeh, "May the stars shine on your path, Rudabeh. We shall wait for you."
Clearly the newest member of the Company assumes Rudabeh's plans are law.
Aurelia is less convinced and says, "What...what if something happens to you? Do you really want to go alone?"
Silvui digs around and pulls out the two potions again, 'At least drink these first. You won't do Irovetti much good if you get killed by a random snake on your way."
"Fifty pounds I'd say." She answers succinctly to Silvui's question. "It's not that bad, just hot. I could teach you to use heavy armor sometime." Rudabeh says with a grin that drill masters use when they know some sort of training is going to be hell.
"Former King." The paladin corrects Litta before adding. "And no, you don't. This is my burden." The conviction in her voice was one born of duty and sacrifice, and she gave off an air of selfless courage only a paladin could muster; one that made her armor seem to gleam in the fading twilight like something out of a story despite the dark brown mud and ochre blood covering most of it.
"As soon as I find the Fire Man, it will fall into negotiations. Even if there was a fight..." Rudabeh shakes her head with a rustle of steel, and adjusts the sword in the crook of her arm. "You saw those trees. You personally its capabilities. It can fly. We would have no chance in a fight. No, this will be solved with a quill, not a sword, and I have spent the past decade honing my nib for situations such as these."
To Daangu, she merely bows her head in thanks.
"If something happens to me..." She entertains the thought for a moment, for Aurelia. "Give me until noon tomorrow to find your camp. If I do not return, report back to Ractus my last known location and send the Company to find me. Best case scenario it will be a daring rescue. Worst case scenario.." A hand rises to touch the fire whale's heart in the middle of her corrugated breastplate. "My equipment is worth a substantial amount, and you will not have to worry about contracts for some time." It was purely a practical thought, and she did not seem worried. Dying in the line of duty was expected of a paladin, after all.
A limip eye falls on the healing potion, and there is a few seconds of hesitation before she takes one of the vials. "Keep the other. Without me, you have no other healing in an emergency." A sigh, and a wiry smile crosses her scarred features before popping the cork. "Now I will have to pay the Company back for this..." She mutters, the almond fluid passing her lips and cooling her throat. With her other hand she places fingers back upon her breastplate, and channels even more positive energy into her battered body.
She wonders, again, if she has replaced the majority of her body with healing energy at this point. But as long as her soul was intact, and she could still fight in the name of her goddess, did it really matter?
The vial is handed back to Silvui, and she turns to the swamp, the other, silver potion between her fingers. "Thank you for the assistance thus far. I would not have made it in time without all your help. I still may not, but we can all say we tried. With Alseta's blessing, I will see you all soon. Farewell."
The potion of Feather Step is downed in one quick gulp, and Rudabeh is shocked to find the solution has no taste, but it feels like drinking mercury; the liquid stays together in a single mass on her tongue before the solid glob slides down her throat as if she were eating a raw oyster.
Tossing the vial behind her she grips her sword in two hands and presses it against her shoulder before bursting into an energetic, cacophonous sprint westward. Her companions are left behind without a backwards glance.
In a moment, Rudabeh has left both her companions and the last rays of sunlight behind, plunging into the dismal swamp alone. Mud squelches loudly under her heavy weight but magically pulls back, not sucking on her boots or even seeming to get in her way. Even the worst tangle of rotting roots and moldering leaves seem to part under foot, and Rudabeh surges forward like a runner on dry level sand.
Color seeps out of the world as the undine's darkvision takes over. The sun might be setting in the world above, but down here among the gnarled boles of the great trees, twilight has come and gone. Still the stygian darkness around her is not formless. The ash-gray of tree bark is quite different then the glistening ebony of the deepest puddles, tinged with the fainest hint of purple. Tree branches dark as obsidian seem like cut stone against the blue-black of hanging moss.
The only color is the rare glint of the will o wisps around her, shading from faint emerald to deep sapphire. She pays no attention to the dancing flames however, forging directly westward, following the trail.
Rudabeh sees no beasts or birds on her trek and that, above all else, tells her she is on the right course. Event he whine of nighttime insects is missing, and the only sound (apart from her rather thundering passage) is the slow creak of aged trees in a night breeze.
Suddenly the watery muck halts, replaced with hard, solid soil. The ground rises somewhat to a low knoll, which in different times would barely be noticeable but here creates almost an island. It is bare of trees, and open to the darkening sky above. Rudabeh's sharp eyes can even pick out a few stars starting to peep out, among the fading bands of magenta and amethyst but she is not worried about her deadline. For she has arrived.
The grass of the small rise is burnt to a low crisp, crackling under her footstep. Only the faint outlines of skeletal bushes remain of what was once dense growth. It gives her a free field of view to a most unusual sight.
A small iron hut, sitting at the highest point of the knoll. It is dark but glints with distant starlight from gabled roof and sealed door. The windows burn bright orange revealing what must be roaring fires within. Everything else is dark and quiet on the lonely hillock.
The first several hundred feet were easy.
She could run that distance in full armor with little trouble, even if it were a swampy mess. With the aid of the potion, the ground may as well have been paved in dressed stone by a crew of dwarven engineers. Her armor didn't so much as sing but clatter its way across the bog, and her approach was so blatant her companions (at least Litta) certainly knew she was still running even a thousand feet away.
Shapes and colors of all manner flitted by her, and once or twice the undine was sure she saw something. Maybe a fey, or a creature of the swamp, or a ghost... but she remembered Litta's words about the gas, and paid them no mind. The silence of her passage further cemented in her mind that there was nothing to be concerned about- the fire man, and its portal, had cleared the area of anything even remotely threatening.
By the time her breath become ragged and her legs burned, she had found a foot on what seemed to be solid ground. Surprised at the sudden firmness the paladin nearly trips, causing her to stumble forward and up the nearly fall face first into the ground. A hand catches her descent, and her metal-backed fingers dig into the burned dirt while the toes of sturdy boots churn little bit of leftover mud behind her. Rudabeh crawls on three limbs for a few feet, sword still held tightly to her shoulder, before she pushes off and forces herself upright with a grunt.
Though her breath was labored and she was drenched in sweat, her thoughts were clear and uninterrupted. Seqhi, what is that iron house? How did it get here? The ifrit soul was likely still mad at her about the mobogo, but she still tried to talk to her regardless.
A brief glance is spared at the orange windows, and a feeling of dread forms in the undine's stomach. It was going to be terribly hot in there.
What is the proper way to ask for permission to enter one's abode in the City of Brass? She questions Seqhi, whether or not she had answered her previous question. A moment is taken to drink from her waterskin while the soul in her armor answers (or not), and she drains over half of the brackish contents before tying the bladder shut.
"Rudabeh of Outsea." She begins to announce to the hut, staring at its impeccable walls that, in any other circumstances, would rust away in just a few months. It must be magic. "Paladin of Alseta."
Fingers fumble at the tablet held in place by her belt above the faulds of her armor. "Present to give council to and represent Castruccio Irovetti concerning his debt to Rakorth the Firestarter," and she takes a quick peak to make sure she doesn't miss any of the titles that were listed; "Lord of the City of Brass, Master of the Outer Lands, Iron Rule and King of the Skies." The tablet is quickly and discreetly put back on her belt.
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Seqhi ignores her first question about the iron hut, clearly still stung that Rudabeh deigned to harm such a beautiful and exotic creature as a mobogo. Part of the paladin wonders if this would be a re-occurring problem. While Rudabeh didn't kill creatures for her amusement, the River Kingdoms had a very active ecosystem that often tried to.....engage travelers.
Seqhi takes a long moment to respond to the second question but then says, Your name, rank and purpose is traditional, the Fire Plane is an orderly place. We do not set much store by unexpected visitors. The one faux pas is to open the door yourself, which is tantamount to an insult. It is up to the master of the home to open the door. At least, it was so in my day. Doors and passing through them is an important ritual, or so our customs hold. In my grandfather's time, it was even more formal, with the answering of many questions and oaths.
A pause and then she added, Knocking is very gauche.
So Rudabeh avoided knocking and did as she intended to do anyway, clearly stated her name and purpose.
There was a long moment of silence, punctuated only by dim noises voice floating to her ears from a nearby window. Several voices...arguing? Quarreling? It was hard to tell.
Then Rudabeh was distracted as the door....shifted. The smooth (if aged) metal seemed to twist and curve, forming a old looking face, complete with shining metal eyes and a curling beard, all engraved out of solid steel. It gleamed dully in the dim starlight.
With the aged creak of a door that needed oil, the mouth opened and spoke, "Izvo zvakanaka kuti uone imwe sumo yakakodzera uye maitiro kuitira shanduko?"
A moment passes as Rudabeh tries to parse the strange language, which sounds like oil spitting on a hot stove. Ignan, surely?
In her head, all signs of surliness gone, Senqhi says, 'That is Ignan, and a very old style of it. Rudabeh wonders what 'very old' means to an ifrit several thousand years out of date. How old was this door?
There is a pause as the iron servant's face stares at her, a slight frown wrinkling the metallic features. Then it speaks again, voice that same grating squeak, "Forgive me. Thast been some time since I has't hath used this language, tis not much used in other lands." It is Common but of such archaic patterns Rudabeh has a hard time following it. When had this door learned Common, before Starfall?
"Thee desire entry?" It goes on, seeming unaware of Rudabeh's confusion at the old speech patterns, "Art thee prapr'd to speaketh the passwords, oaths and answer the do'r riddle?"
Door riddles! Senqhi says, her voice edged with laughter. This is an old servant, the Fire Plane has not used door riddles for passage, even for temples, for many ages.
Is that so? Rudabeh cannot help but comment at Seqhi's mention that the City of Brass considers passing through doors an important ritual. The paladin is about to burst with questions as to what the names for these rituals are, and if any deity was associated with them. After all, Alseta could merely go by a different name in the Plane of Fire, or it could merely be that Seqhi's knowledge is from a time before Her Lady's accession to godhood. There were so many questions on Rudabeh's mind that she had to press her tongue against the roof of her mouth to avoid interrupting further.
Thank you, that is very helpful. Knocking is our primary means of signaling a desire to enter here in the River Kingdoms. Is all she allows herself, filing away many questions for later.
The silence after Rudabeh stated her name, rank, and purpose starts to make her a little uneasy, and she glances over at the window once or twice at the words past the glass. There were more voices than she was expecting. She had assumed it would be Irovetti and the Fire Man, but perhaps the latter had brought a retinue.
Something moves on the corner of her vision, which was much reduced in capacity, and she jumps backwards a bit. It took a moment for her to realize the door was shifting, and she watches it keenly. A blank expression is frozen on her face when the door speaks, as far as she is concerned, gibberish. She is about to reach into her pack for a particular scroll that would solve this situation when the door begins speaking words that mostly make sense.
Common? It must have learned this language far before it was called Taldane. I supposed it was for you, too, but you still do not speak like that. Rudabeh thinks to Seqhi as she formulates a response.
The paladin bows her head to the face in the door before straightening. "I desire entry, and I am prepared. Please, continue." Are her words, but there was a worry in the back of her mind. Was she? An oath was no problem for her, and she had heard a few riddles in her day. I don't know any passwords, Seqhi. Is that some sort of formality, or is it really a secret word? Her fingers find the tablet at her belt, and she thought that if it came up, perhaps there was a clue to be found in the text.
You are not understanding. Senqhi says, a trace of that old imperious, know-it-all tone coming back into her voice mixed with...nostalgia? It is not a matter of passwords or secret codes. His words are a poor translation. This is a ritual about intent and impressing on visitors the importance of entering the home of another. She mentally sighs and says, It reminds me of the grand manor homes in the City of Brass, many of which still had such doors in my day, although even then they were being replaced.
The door, not hearing any of this slowly nods, metal grating loudly. The eyes seem to narrow as it says, voice solemn, "Doth thee gage yond thee cometh in valorous intent, with ope heart and steady back? Yond thou art not a cut-purse 'r cut-purse, despite the dead of night 'r calleth of gold? Yond coequal if 't be true violence 'r discord enflame, thy intent is pure?"
"If 't be true so, then gage it true".
The door smiles, the steel curling oddly to allow it. Then it says, still formal, "Anon the riddle, heareth it well vist'r." The metal figure pauses as if take to a dramatic breath and Rudabeh has to smile. Surely the door didn't need to actually breath?
Silence fills the dark night around Rudabeh, the spicy scent of burned grass mixing with the distant smells of the swamp. Charred plants crackle loudly under her boots, sending up tiny alabaster flakes of ash.
"I am what men love moo than life, fear moo than death 'r mortal strife, what dead men has't and rich require. I’m what content'd men desire."
Rudabeh silently absorbs the lecture on the importance of entering homes in the City of Brass. She knew it had been thousands of years since Seqhi lived there, but such a respectful and orderly society couldn't be so bad, could it?
I see, thank you. This is good, because I had no passwords. She thinks as the door starts to rattle off some barely understandable oaths that she is fairly sure she understands.
I think I have an ope heart and steady back... I'm not here to rob anyone, regardless of time or money, and I am not here to cause violence or chaos. Rudabeh runs through the mental checklist of everything the door had said.
"I gauge it true." Is the response uttered with total conviction, as there was no doubt in her mind despite the fact she was covered in blood-spattered metal plates from head-to-toe and carrying a sword in the crook of her arm that measured nearly the length of her body.
The smiling door commences with its theatrics, and the undine's lips curl up in a brief grin. She isn't sure if a magical door can enjoy its job, but it certainly gave off the impression.
She listens closely to the riddle, and tries to break it into pieces.
Love more than life, fear more than death or mortal strife, what dead men have not and rich require... what content men desire. There are long moments of thought; she looks at the burnt ground, shuffles at the ashen grass a bit. Some men greatly love life more than anything, but that is not always true. There are more frightening things than death, but the average person fears it.
Her gaze turns upward to the stars, head tilting backward as far as the articulated plates covering her neck would allow. Dead men have not... life? Hope? The rich, they require nothing, and the content... they desire nothing. She nearly brings her fingers to her mouth to chew on them in contemplation before realizing they are covered in mud and blood. There was really nothing to wipe them on so she just lets them fall.
I would say nothing, but the dead men has not.... but a dead man has not anything. Maybe the door meant HAS when it said hast. Then, it would be what a dead men has, which is nothing. Well, that is three out of five... Meeting the door square in its expressive, metallic eyes with her single orb, her brow furrows and she says tentatively;
"Nothing!"
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As Rudabeh puzzles out the answer, she notes the door seems tense, almost quivering with anticipation. Waiting for her to get the right answer, or the wrong one?
Seqhi remains silent, clearly considering it cheating if she helped with the riddle.
When the paladin replies with her answer the door seems to consider it for a moment, eyebrows knitting together with a soft clink that reminds Rudabeh of two copper coins rustling in a coin purse.
Then it smiles again and says, "Fairly spoken. Enter then, but recall your oaths and promises."
The door grinds open, steel grating on unseen hinges until it stands fully ajar.
"Welcome."
What first hits her, quite literally, is the heat. It is like the blast of a freshly opened oven, a wave of dry heat that makes Rudabeh's eyes water with the intensify. The cool damp air of the swamp behind her is blown away entirely, replaced with the same dry wind the paladin recalled Gezzerbial seemed to prefer.
Next is blazing light, enough to make the undine nictitating eyelids close protectively. After the starlight darkness outside, the harsh red-yellow light is an almost sickening contrast. Slowly, her eyes adjust allowing her to take in the interior of the iron hut. It is a most unusual sight.
The entire room is made of metal, from floor to ceiling and the walls. The floor underfoot is solid steel, interwoven with threads of red and gold, seemingly worked into the very metal. The same follows up the walls, creating an illusions of a vast fiery landscape of shifting pillars of flame, and making the hut feel much larger then it was. Hanging from the ceiling is a massive chandelier-like bronze brazier, the metal glowing a deep red, the nearly molten metal giving off light instead of a fire within.
There is little furniture in the space, a few metal writing desks pushed against the wall and an ornate fireplace (shaped like the gaping mouth of a cobra) along the back wall. In a corner, an iron cage sits, empty with the door hanging open.
In the center of the room is a golden table, simple but polished to a mirrored shine. Around it sit four figures, perched on wrought-iron chairs that look hideously uncomfortable.
Two of the figures are short, squat figures that Rudabeh at first mistake for dwarfs, complete with beards. After a moment though Rudabeh can see the beards trail not to wispy ends of hair, but
tiny licking flames, as if they were caught on fire. Their skin is flesh but with a dull bronze sheen, greasy as with sweat or oil.
The third is a taller, much more powerfully built figure, sitting on the chair with the rock-like stolidity and reserve Rudabeh usually thought the department of judges or high priests. He, and if is surely a high, with square jaw, massive shoulders and a bare chest of rippling muscles, is taller even then Rudabeh and more strongly built. The harsh firelight plays off crimson skin, smoldering eyes, and small black horns. Smoke rises in curls from its flesh, ignored by the being. Two powerful legs sit planted on the floor, iron-shod.
And the fourth figure is one Rudabeh knows quite well. It is Irovetti, sitting at ease, with his shirt front opened, revealing a thin sweaty chest. His clothes are rumpled but clean, and his hair not even mussed. The short man's feet do not reach the ground from his own chair, dangling like a child. Heavy chains are wrapped around him, but do not seem to bother the (former?) king.
All four figures are leaning forward, thin slabs of metals in their hands, held close. Small piles of gems sit in front of them, assembled rubies, garnets and diamonds. It takes Rudabeh a moment to put it together.
They are playing cards!
Then Irovetti breaks the silence, lying down his metal 'cards' with a resounding clang on the gold table. "And that is whist, gentleman!" He says triumphantly.
The two squat figures groan loudly, throwing their metal slices onto the table. One pushes a pile of rubies as big as robin's eggs toward the man while muttering, "He must be cheating! That's four times in a row!"
Irovetti merely chuckles, carefully sweeping the offered jewels to his large pile (Rudabeh notes he uses a hankerchief to avoid touching both the cards or the jewels), chains clinking lightly with his movements.
"Just good luck, I think." The man says, smiling. "Whose deal?"
"Thank you." She says to the door as it welcomes her. That was quite nice.[i] Is thought at Seqhi. [i]It makes one appreciate the transition from the public space to the private space, instead of just banging about and rushing in. She tempts a thought- If Veleda doesn't banish her to the Mwangi Expanse for nearly setting Pitax aflame, would the old druid allow her to get a talking door to her office, one day?
The mobogo and the oil shark did not give her much pause, but the hot gush of dry air emitting from the inside of the hut stopped the undine in her tracks. She had been fighting and marching and swimming and sprinting all day, and then she had to deal with this? An imagine of one of the many dried up starfish she had found on the beaches of her youth pop into her mind.
Rudabeh swore an oath- Duty over Comfort. Well, sometimes you could do both.
She quickly reaches for her scroll case and plucks out one marked with a bit of red twine. It is unfurled in the blasting heat, and she squints while reading over the magical words penned long ago by an Alsetan priest she had met on the road selling the things on the side.
The paper turns to dust in her fingers, and she immediately feels better than she had since the beginning of spring. Her armor was no longer a furnace of dank sweat, but instead a cool wine cellar of dank sweat. Sighing with relief, Rudabeh takes comfort in the thought that she would seem, literally, cool and collected during the coming and certainly tense negotiations. It would surely be an incredible sum of money at stake, and she steps into the hut with decisive first words to the Fire Man on how this would all be handled...
All that was forgotten when she sees the piles of gems, the metal "cards", the disbelief of the dwarfs(?) and what had to be the Fire Man. Briefly stunned at the scene, her mouth parts and she must have looked like a gaping fish for a moment. Some part of her mind wonders; Did Irovetti actually, somehow, win the Crown of Pitax fairly?
A hot spike of anger drives itself through her chest, skewering the thought and flaring up to her cheeks in a way that the scroll's power had no control. It is a force, a pressure on her pysche, and it wants to be released at the chuckling Irovetti. She had fought, bled, struggled, and risked the lives of others to get here, and he was having a good time.
If Rudabeh was a human, she would have burst right there. If Rudabeh was not a devoted worshiper of The Welcomer, sworn to be moderate and thoughtful in her action, she would have yelled.
But she is an undine, and a paladin of Alseta.
The hot spike of anger is hammered down by an iron force of will as she puts to work the well-exercised emotional control her race is known for. Then, as the smoldering, glowing rod of anger starts to flare again, she goes through a quick mental exercise; it is carefully, calmly, wrapped up in a neat silk package, placed gently inside a glass bottle, corked, and dropped over the side of a gunwale to an imagined ocean below where it will bob and weave with the waves on its journey to distant shores.
"Do you require a judge, gentlemen?" Rudabeh says cooly, the frost on her voice seeming to drop the temperature of the room to a level she would be comfortable with.
Though wearing and wielding enough steel to make any thug soil their britches, annoyed in expression, and covered in a thick layer of both blood and mud, her relaxed posture made it clear she was not about to start a fight, even with The Sixth Peak still cradled in one arm.
"Rudabeh of Outsea, Paladin of Alseta." She introduces herself before they can react, not taking her eye off the group during her customary small bow of the head, before asking formally; "May I make your acquaintances?"
The convivial atmosphere evaporates as quickly as ice in a forge when Rudabeh's voice cuts over the table chatter. The two bearded men instantly grow quiet, glancing over to the paladin, cards forgotten. The towering figure at the end of the table also remains silent, but he leans forward slightly as if to get a better look at the woman who just entered the iron hut. There is a slight jangle of gold as various ornamental necklaces and jewelry shift across his powerful chest.
Only Irovetti seems unaffected by the mood change, looking toward Rudabeh with a warm smile, "Ah, Rudabeh! Thank you for join-"
He is cut off when the imposing man at the head of the table says, voice throaty and rich, "So you have come. This is good. Very good." His Taldane is exotically accented but perfectly understandable. It reminds Rudabeh of the southern traders her family met in Taldor, those that hailed from Katapesh and beyond.
He nods to the two bearded men who instantly gather up the cards with little fanfare. In a moment they are gone from the table, standing at attention, arms at their side. One thought keeps stealing puzzled glances at Rudabeh, as if surprised by something.
Then again, had they ever seen an undine before? Her kind was rare enough on the Material Plane, surely they were virtually unheard of in the City of Brass?
They are azers. Senqhi said, mentally noting the attention she paid the men with flaming beards. Common servants or slaves on the Fire Plane. Often used as metal-workers, and although they are not quite as talented as the fire salamanders, far more tractable.
"Rudabeh of Outsea." The deep voice rumbles again, "Forgive our recreation during our wait. This one," The crimson eyes flashed to Irovetti and back again in an instant, "was amusing us with a new game, to pass the idle hours."
"My name is Ataabak-e Sardaar-edeem Azam, Satrap and Keeper of the Keys for Lord Rakorth the The Firestarter, Lord of the City of Brass, Master of the Outer Lands, Iron Rule and King of the Skies. Long may he reign." Rudabeh notes the azer nod their heads, as if in prayer at the invocation.
A pause and then, "I am an efreet, if my kind is not known to you. You received my message then? You come to negotiate on this one's behalf?" Again the eyes flicked to Irovetti, who seems to finally wilt under the fiery stare. Even the charismatic (former) king of Pitax cannot seem to hold up under that pitiless gaze.
The efreet waves to the now empty seats at the table, "Sit, and we shall talk. Do you require refreshment? I have some small store of food and drink suitable to your kind, if your taste is like that of humans."
As Rudabeh is about to answer she notes the azer who had been staring leave his post, moving quickly across the steel floor. His actions betray anxiety and he cringes, as if expecting a blow for his temerity. Ataabak says nothing however, merely bending down so the servant can whisper in his ear. His gaze never leaves Rudabeh as he listens...or does it narrow slightly.
In a moment the azer finishes, hurrying back to his place along the wall.
Silence fills the room, Ataabak obviously pondering something but saying nothing.