Initially put off by how lackadaisical the denizens from the plane of fire seemed to be about the entire situation, Rudabeh must approve at how quickly the dwarf-like creatures snap to attention and the fire-man gains his bearings. She spares a wary glance for the smiling Irovetti, and she recalls Tsoki in the dungeons of his palace, delirious and covered in filth. The man is lucky he had avoided such a fate, here.
Azers? They look like dwarves, but with fire for beards. She hoped, desperately, these individuals were not slaves, because if she got into a fight over releasing them both her and Irovetti would surely be killed by the fire-man. For the sake of the upcoming negotiations, she decided it would serve the greater good to remain ignorant.
"It is a pleasure, Ataabak-e Sardaar-edeem Azam." Rudabeh says his name back, her pronunciation perfect despite the foreign syllables. "Please call me Rudabeh, and I ask what you would prefer to be called as well." The frosty exterior is gone as quickly as it appeared, and she has adopted a warm and formal tone. "I also ask for your forgiveness, for I am quite dirty from traveling." It was true- a lot of the ochre blood had dried upon her face, and it gave her helmet a strange off-white hue that dulled the shining silversheen in the firelight. The mud covering her greaves and vambraces was already starting to dry in the interior heat and flake off in small chunks when she moved. "The swamps of the River Kingdoms are wet, dangerous places, I'm afraid."
Her head tilts in recognition at the word efreet, and she recalls a story her father once told her about a "bottled" efreet he once purchased from a washed-up drunkard adventurer that frequented their shop-ship in her youth. There was nothing inside when he opened it, though Gregdev went into great detail about the wishes he had thought up, which was the story in of itself. "Forgive my ignorance, but efreets are... genies, is that right?" Can he grant wishes? Like the stories say? She asks Seqhi, out of curiosity more than anything. It certainly seemed like a rude question to ask out loud. "Yes, I received your message and will represent Irovetti on his behalf. In the name of Alseta I intend to rectify this dispute and find terms both parties can agree upon."
At the wave to sit at the table Rudabeh begins to walk forward, and nods her head graciously. Though curious about whatever secrets or mysteries are being passed around, she makes no comment about the obvious staring. If they are as good of smiths as Seqhi says, she suspects they may have noticed the make of her armor, and that is absolutely not a conversation she wishes to have. "I would greatly enjoy some refreshments, thank you kindly. We undine are as close to a human as an ifrit is, or so I have been told." Is her response as she purposefully takes a seat next to Irovetti.
Plates scrape and mud flakes off of her boots as she settles down, and a stitch her side flares up that nearly makes her wince. Instead, she turns to the former king of Pitax. "It is good to see you well." Her words her genuine, even though his mistake cost multiple people their lives and her a great deal of trouble. If he died now her reputation would certainly be poorer for it considering she swore an oath to protect him. "We will sort this out."
"You will call me Satrap Azam." the efreet intones with all the flexibility of a stone wall. Clearly rank is not something to be ignored among denizens of the Fire Plane. "Your appearance is of no importance, I understand the strict time schedule I placed you under but I have no desire to linger on this Plane longer then I must. It is a small matter but one close to my master's heart, so I am attending to it personally."
There was a slight emphasis on the word 'heart' that Rudabeh was puzzled at. Was the magma dragon really that invested in Irovetti? How much debt had the king welshed on, exactly? Or did Azam refer to something else....
The dark red eyes narrow slightly when Rudabeh mentions genies but Azam says graciously, "Yes, that is the name we are given by some. But that word encompasses many other beings of which I have no desire to be linked to, no more then you would wish to be called an orc."
In her head Senqhi says, Yes, under certain circumstances. I wouldn't bring it up, it would be a grave insult, reminding him of the limits of his kind. Efreet are very proud beings... A slight pause and the former paladin adds, Do not be taken in my his manners, Rudabeh. He is merely being polite due to the rules of hospitality and negotiation. A satrap is a powerful and cruel being in my home city...be careful.
When Rudabeh mentions she'd like food or drink Azam nods slightly, and the two azers leap into action. With alacrity born of long training, they hurry to the back of the hut to a set of iron drawers. Over their clatter Irovetti says, "You never offered me anything to drink, I-"
The efreet cuts him off with a burning glare, "Silence, human. Do not mistake my interest in your game or your idle prattle for tolerance. You are not a guest in my house. You are a debt, something to be ticked off a ledger or left behind at my whim. A bit of chattel and nothing more." Any trace of the cordial formality in the efreet's voice was gone replaced with the hard command of a master, accustomed to instant, unswerving obeisance. "Speak out of turn again and you shall be duly punished. I doubt your frail frame would withstand even the mildest of rebukes."
Irovetti quails under the words, bowing his head but Rudabeh detects a burning anger there, buried deep. The former king is not the type to forgive and forget such a slight.
The satrap turns back to Rudabeh, inclining his head slightly, voice polite again "My apologizes, Rudabeh. This one is unmannered and clearly needs tutored in proper manners."
As the azers come forth bearing plates and bottles Azam says conversationally, "This Alseta, they are your master? The ruler of this land? Of these...River Kingdoms? A Kingdom of undines, perhaps?" His tone was proper but slightly bored, obviously not very curious about this damp sodden land around him. "Or a god, maybe? The name is not known to me."
As he speaks, his servants begin laying on trays on the table, ignoring the still sizable piles of jewels and gems from the card game piled at the corners.
A large bowl is placed directly in front of Rudabeh, dull beaten bronze inlaid with flecks of rubies along the rim. It is filled to the brim with bubbling, gooey...gruel. A light sheen of grease floats on the top, congealing like little rafts atop a stormy sea. Rudabeh is no wizard but she is veteran of many hard marches and a few short sieges. This is magically created food and promises to be filling but utterly without flavor or joy.
To her relief a few other dishes are laid along side the steaming porridge bowl. A shallow dish was covered with strips of dried meat, looking much like jerky, heavily encrusted with a yellow-red glaze. Next to it a shallow bowl filled with a thick, gelatinous fluid in which bobbed a dozen rounds orb, smooth and round. Lastly, a series of small jars are placed near the gruel, each containing a brightly colored fluid, obviously some sort of spice or flavoring to be mixed in.
Lastly is a glass bottle of slight-green tinted fluid, sealed with wax and looking very old. There is no label but a spicy scent seems to surround it and Rudabeh can see a small...worm at the bottom of the vessel?
"Eat. Drink." The efreet said genially, "Eat to your content, there is more if you desire it. After your repast, we can discuss the matters which brought you here...and perhaps others."
Though Rudabeh does not put too much emphasis on rank, she certainly recognizes when the person she is speaking to does. "I understand, Satrap Azam. It is fortunate you are here in the heat of summer, but it must be quite wet and cold here compared to your home. I have never been off-plane, but I suspect I would be miserable in The City of Brass."
The heart comment does not give her pause, but it does clue her in that it may not necessarily be her armor that has excited the azer, but the fire whale's heart embedded in the center of her breastplate; not even the clam shell motif could throw them off, apparently. Rudabeh continues to purposefully ignore the probing comments.
"My apologies if, in my ignorance, my words made a similar comparison. I appreciate you educating me on the matter." Her tone continues to be formal and genuinely appreciative- while this setting, a debt negotiation, was very familiar to her, the participants were not, and one can only be as polite as their knowledge of customs allows.
Interesting. Wishes are all story teller seems to talk about when they mention genies of any type. The warning about this being's nature does sound home, though; perhaps she was being too relaxed around such a powerful being that wants something.
When her charge is rebuked Rudabeh reaches out a hand and touches the quailed Irovetti's shoulder. "With Alseta's grace we will be out of here soon, and better for it." The comment was said to everyone, really- to the efreeti annoyed at the former king's manners, at Irovetti, who was not used to being treated as such nor ever liked such comments in the first place, and to herself, as she hopes the situation can be quickly resolved.
"Alseta is my goddess." The paladin states plainly, a twinkle in her sapphire eye as it widens slightly in reverence. "She is also known as The Welcomer. She often acts a mediator between gods and other higher powers, keeper of their domains when they are away, and has personal domain over transitions in time, as well as portals ranging from doors and windows to teleportation and interplanar travel, and the architecture required to support such matters."
Bowls of gruel are set in front of Rudabeh as she points to her silk eyepatch, which, unknown to her, has remarkably sloughed off much of the blood and mud thrown on the rest of her visage. "Alseta is typically depicted as a human woman wearing grey homespun robes with a smiling mask on the back of her head. I am unaware of her representation or other names outside of this plane, but she is widely worshiped here in the River Kingdoms and many of the human lands to the south of here." There was clearly far more she wanted to say, but if there is one thing she had learned on the road as a traveling paladin, it was to let those interested in the goddess come to you, instead of endlessly preaching. If Satrap Azam knew of such a deity, perhaps he would say. Or perhaps not.
The faire before her seemed exotic and not all that unpleasant when the additional food was brought out. "The meal is greatly appreciated." Her stomach rumbles its agreement- being without a cookie on Ostend's barge had left her wanting for good food, whether she wanted to admit it or not. "If you do not mind, may I see the written agreement between Irovetti and Lord Rakrath to read as I eat?" She smiles, faintly, at the incoming bland jest. "There is no finer spice than a sprinkling of law."
She would offer some to Irovetti, but it would likely be offensive to their host, so she settles for passing him her waterskin. "You must be thirsty. Have as much as you'd like."
Picking up a utensil, she spears one of the orbs floating in the thick fluid and pops it into her mouth, thinking it was a good start, and then the jerky after drinking a bit of the strange worm-juice. In quick order she would eat and drink everything in front of her; slightly pointed teeth, a heavy appetite, and thick frame making it disappear quickly, but with enough time to savor the exotic flavors.
If given the agreement, the paladin's trained eye runs over it multiple times, as if dissecting every word.
"Heat of the summer?" Azam says musingly, looking around as if he could see through the flame painted walls to the night swamp that lay around them. "This land is cold, even by the standards of the other lands of the Material Plane I have visited."
A pause and then the Satarap adds, with thick condescension, "But I am sure it suffices for your own needs."
The efreet seems to listen closely when Rudabeh talks about her goddess, eyes growing distant in thought. "A backward facing mask....ah yes. I do/i] know this goddess." he says sounding surprised.
[i]So do I! Senqhi said, You never said what she looked like!'
"The Steward of the Outward Facing Flame." Azam says, "A minor god of the lower classes. I know little of her, but the description matches. Curious, how the gods work." The last sentence is am obvious dismissal of the topic, clearly the divine is of little concern to the burning genie.
Rudabeh begins testing out the food, and Seqhi helpfully chimes in mentally.
Pickled rast eggs. She supplies for the floating orbs, Difficult to get, as rast tend to kill any who approach their nests. The flavor is of salty brine to Rudabeh, strangely familiar. She would have suggested more salt, but she knew few palates liked that taste as much as her.
[i'Dried fire crab meat.[/i] Seqhi says of the jerky, adding, This worthy of a king's feast. I wish I could have some...
This is less to Rudabeh's liking, the meat overly dry with the spicy glaze clinging like hot tar to the roof of her mouth.
The efreet makes a slight frown when Rudabeh talks and eats at the same time, and the undine imagines she made some sort of social faux pas. Perhaps dining and work do not mix on the Fire Plane?
Still, Azam merely says, "I would like to give you an agreement, but there is no written contract, which is what that one insisted." The fiery eyes glance toward Irovetti, "I understand he said something about blackmail at the time, worrying he would use it to undermine his regime." Azam snorted, "As if we care for the petty politics of his 'kingdom'."
The imposing figure turned back toward Rudabeh, "I understand this places us in the difficult position of discussing agreements without writing. I assure you, I have no more liking for that, then you do." He eyed the emptying plates. "Do you desire more or shall I explain how things stand?"
Rudabeh can't comment on the temperature of others planes, but she is delighted to hear of Alseta's presence among the souls of The City of Brass. "Steward of the Outward Facing Flame..." The paladin repeats the name, as if learning of the unknown parallel life of an old friend. I apologize, in my ignorance it had not occurred to me she would have a different name on other planes. Rudabeh thinks to Seqhi, feeling quite foolish. Clearly there was much to consider about inter-planar relations and culture that the undine was wholly unprepared to handle.
"The Steward is worshiped quite widely by all classes here in the River Kingdoms, though I am one of few of her paladins. Priests and druids make up the vast majority of her blessed ones, given our beliefs of arbitration and compromise above violence." Rudabeh continues, hopefully setting a tone for what was to be expected out of her.
The rast eggs were so good to the undine saved them for last- it was a good thing too, because the juices of the pickles helped dislodge the crab meat off the roof of her mouth and washed away the spicy glaze. I would share if I could. Well, you can see and hear and smell, perhaps there is someway you can taste? The paladin offers, clearly on board with at least helping facilitate this process at some point.
The faux pas is noted in the slight frown on the flaming giant's face, and she commits to memory the interaction, though at this point there was nothing she could do about it. "Indeed, our politics we have little effect on the Plane of Fire." Rudabeh concurs, as the last of the pickled rast eggs make its way into her mouth.
She shakes her head- a motion that causes the plates covering her neck to squeak and some dried mud to slough off some overlapping pieces. "No, thank you. I am not only satiated, but thoroughly impressed and humbled by the delightful meal. Especially the pickled eggs. They remind me of home." The undine says with a bow of her head. "You have my deepest gratitude for the hospitality." It was good to be full; despite the trials of the day, the fights and the wounds and the sweating and the hikes, a full stomach made her feel great.
Reaching into her bag of holding, she extracts a teak wood box containing her lapis lazuli enameled dip pen and assorted inks of all colors. "It is no problem. Nearly all agreements start verbally, as an understood contract between individuals. It is only when it must be scrutinized by an outside source that a concrete form is needed." It was mostly unfortunate for Irovetti... if he had a written contract it would be far easier to defend him, but at the same time it would let her maneuver into a more favorable deal for him.
The paladin waves her hand and smiles sheepishly at her lengthy articulations. "Forgive me, I have thought far too long about these matters. Please, explain the situation."
Satrap Azam leans back in his chair, shifting his weight on the bronze metal that despite his bulk, barely makes a sound. His crimson eyes settle on Rudabeh, looking like twin pools of flame. Two massive arms folds in front of his chest as he begins to speak, "It is a simple matter."
"This man approached my master, Lord Rakorth of the City of Brass. The method of contact was..." The genie pauses, raising an eyebrow. Instantly one of the azer's hurries forward, bearing an ornate bronze bow, inlaid with swirling, stylized flames. Rudabeh can see a shimmer of heat around it, like a rock on the hottest day of summer. Zam opens the box without any sign of burns, and lays a small hand mirror on the metal table with a slight clang.
"the method was this mirror, an interesting trinket. It allowed this one to contact my master directly, as well as provide some limited connection between the two. It is how I found him so quickly when desired." The efreet says, clearing up a small question.
At her side Rudabeh notices Irvoetti scowl at this last place, clearly regretting keeping the item in his possession.
"My master agreed to help this one, in exchange for a considerable portion of his petty kingdom's taxes as tribute. It was to be paid in the forms of suitable artwork, gold and jewels, the standard means of exchange."
"We provided arms, gold and a very valuable slave craftsman." Azam's eyes narrowed, "There was even a promise of my master coming to help directly if the matter escalated such. This was a matter of great honor to his city, not that this one seemed to agree. That personal connection is one reason I am here."
Azam pauses, then goes on, "To put is simply, this one has refused to pay and is now, apparently, no longer in a position to do so. The kingdom is lost, the taxes no longer his to command and, so this one tells me, the slave is dead." The Satrap's eyes linger on Rudabeh's armor for a moment at this, focusing on the whale heart.
"This debt fault is of course, hardly unknown to the City of Brass." Azam went on finally, "That is the risk of the loaner of coin and blades. However, it is always the creditor's right to regain a portion of what he spent, even if only in blood and toil. We wish to take this one as payment for what he failed to repay, not that he is worth much in such a market."[b]
A slight gesture toward Irovetti, as a farmer might indicate a sickly cow. [b]"I doubt he will last long in such servitude, but again, it is the principle of the matter. Do you disagree, it seems simple to me and my understanding of custom and law."
"I have only waited here for you, for two reasons. One, it is better to discuss this with a local representative of law and order, then to simply whisk away someone from the Material Plane. There is courtesy and good manners to consider. I am no raider, looking to plunder and steal without cause. I committed violence yes, but what robber does not have a band of loyalists to protect him?"
"Secondly, this one suggested that you would perhaps pay the debt instead." Azam appeared less then convinced by this, but interested. "That you were his new master and the group you served, this Church of Alseta, would make good his debts. If so, of course, this one would remain here, a free man paying his debts. A master paying a slave's obligation is right and proper, of course. Even those of foolish servants, unmindful of the costs of their excesses."
Azam leans forward, voice rumbling, "And there are your choices, Rudabeh of Outsea. Either those you serve pay this one's debts to my master, or I take this one back with me to the City of Brass, as punishment for a failed loan. As I said, simple enough."
Rudabeh's eye flicks to the bronze box as it is being carried up, already guessing the contents. The presence of the mirror was unsurprising, though she wondered if that was Irovetti's copy of the mirror or Lord Rakorth's. She found it amusing that Irovetti would not let her carry the mirror, or else he may not have found himself in this situation.
The paladin nods along with the genie's explanation of events and agreements, her muddy gauntlets folded in her lap. Beside her The Sixth Peak is propped against the table, the burnished steel of its pommel and hilt glistening in the roaring fire. The undine's mind briefly wanders and thanks that far-off priest of Alseta that sold her the scroll currently keeping her comfortable and sane in what had to be unbearable heat.
She keeps a straight face during the pause after Azam mentions "the slave" is dead. At least Irovetti kept the story straight about Gezzerbiel, and Nubauch's magic seemed to work exactly as he intended. The paladin had to be careful- she could not lie, and indeed actively worked to spread the truth, but she was also bound to enforce the laws of the River Kingdoms, the firstmost of which was that Slavery is an Abomination. If Azam knew Gezzerbiel was alive the genie would surely find the salamander and fetter him once more- or worse. Thus, she had to choose the Truth or carrying out her duties to the Law. It was a delicate dance, but she chose the Law.
As Azam finishes and lays out her two choices, a sudden plan forms in the undine's mind- one that may have everyone walking away happy, though she must tread delicately. Again, in the matter of a week, Rudabeh was about to be walking a thin line between upsetting powers much greater than herself and furthering the cause of peace.
"Indeed, this seems a simple matter to negotiate, though I disagree those are the only two choices. There are many ways to pay debts, and we can explore those if my own idea does not seem agreeable." Rudabeh begins, unfolding her hands from her lap to gesture slowly with them as she speaks. She decides not to correct the efreeti about his various misconceptions concerning her relationship with Irovetti, The Pact of Years, or anything else. It didn't matter, in this case.
"I believe we may be able to have a trade of goods and services..." The paladin continues, her eye locking with the giant's own blazing orbs. "... but to see if such an exchange will work, I request we table the subject of Irovetti's debt, and instead discuss something we are both curious about."
In what could be her signature style, Rudabeh charges forward, figuratively speaking. "The fire whale heart embedded in my armor was placed there by Gezzerbiel, the salamander that belonged to Lord Rakorth and was loaned to Irovetti, as part of an... experiment... I believe he called it. I asked him about the origin of this jewel, but he was coy on the matter." The paladin chooses her words very carefully- it is always the truth, and she moves on from Gezzerbiel quickly, rushing onward in an effort to leave him in the past and draw no further questions.
"Interestingly, this heart seems to contain two Ifrit souls originating from your home, The City of Brass, and while I wear this armor I can speak with them. Not only are both quite confused as to why their souls are imprisoned within this gem, but through my questioning it appears they have been trapped within for thousands of years." Rudabeh continues speaking calmly, carefully plotting her course to the eventual deal.
"The power of Efreeti are well known to those of us on the Material Plane. We have stories and songs that regal us with your might and mastery over reality, and how it can bend to your will." A light bit of flattery never hurt anyone, another lesson she learned from her father and years of travels. In any case, she was carefully avoiding the "w" word, based on Seqhi's recommendations.
"Thus, I propose a trade, Satrap Azam. One that may benefit everyone." Rudabeh announces, sitting in her chair straight-backed and confident; the nearby fire catches unblemished portions of high silversheen crest on her helmet, casting yellow-orange waves over its surface. "If you will assist me in restoring these souls to their mortal bodies and lives, I will give you the empty heart in exchange for wiping away Irovetti's debts."
Though outwardly Rudabeh seemed a serene pool, inwardly her heart started to race. She was dealing with powers which she did not understand, and bargaining with goods she knew not the value of. It was a huge risk, a fool's gamble, and she knew then she was truly her father's daughter. Except this was perhaps worse than one of Gegdev's ridiculous schemes, because there was much more than just money at stake.
Ataabak-e Sardaar-edeem Azam's eyes remain fixed on Rudabeh, his arms still folded across a powerful chest, sitting straight. The face reveals nothing to the paladin and she wonders if that is because she has so little experience with efreet or if even Gegdev's daughter might be losing her touch. She hoped it was the former, her father's training had served her well through the years and she'd hate to lose the knack she learned at his knee.
The moment of silence grows, and the only sound is the crackling of the roaring fire and Irovetti's rather labored breathing. Glancing over, she spots the (former?) king is sweating heavily now, both with the stress of the exchange and the palpable heat. He drinks deeply from Rudabeh's offered waterskin, droplets running down his chin and dripping on his bare, sweat-slick chest.
Then slowly the Satrap smiles, revealing oddly pointed teeth, gleaming white against his dark dusky skin. The genie glances at the table, where the jewels still lie carelessly piled. "You play your hand well, Rudabeh of Outsea." He says, voice little more then a mutter. Was that disappointment...or approval?
Returning his gaze on her the efreet goes on, "I had wondered where you had found such armor and a prized jewel. These things are very rare in this land, beyond the price of kings. Indeed, by some measures, they outweigh the petty matter of this one's debts."
Another pause and then, Azam waves one of the azers forward. The firey figure hurries up, flaming beard whipping with his speed. 'Yes, lord?"
"Are you versed in the lore of armor and whale hearts?" The Satrap says, eyes never leaving Rudabeh and the silvery armor.
The azer nods.
Nodding Azam goes on, "Is what the undine suggest, possible? Can the souls be removed from the jewel?"
The azer frowns, and rubs his chin thoughtfully, casually passing his hands through the rippling flames of his beard. "I have never heard of it done, sire. There is a small market in saving souls in gem stones, of course. Either for important advisors who wish to be useful after death or for valuable prisoners who are too skilled at escaping."
"But I have never heard of anyone being returned to their former state after such a process. Perhaps a necromancer would know more?"
Azam considers this but says, "That would take too long. I have no desire to add to this affair." A slight frown crosses his face but he turns to Rudabeh, "Still, the offer is in good faith. What if I take the stone as it is, in payment? I can then investigate freeing the souls within or keep them there, if that proves impossible."
The large outside pauses then and adds, "Do you know the name and identity of the souls within, by chance? That would also influence their value, of course."
Rudabeh tries not to crack as she and the efreeti look at one another across the iron table, and if not for the magic keeping her cool, she is sure the heat would break her. To her left, in what remains of her peripheral vision, she sees Irovetti in a sorry state. The former king of Pitax had fallen far in the past few weeks; she would feel sorry for him if it were not entirely his fault, and if the pile of jewels laying on the table did not show that the man was still quite capable of rising out of the ashes.
Azam's smile does something to her gut, maybe her soul, maybe both. Despite the magic keeping her cool it was as if she had stepped too close to a fire, and she was starting to boil. Her encounters with all these extra-planar creatures lately had taught her one thing for certain- these creatures of fire made her uneasy. Why had Irovetti not made a deal with a brine dragon? Perhaps then, as Rudabeh's mother had always maintained, the undine could have met great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather.
"Indeed, based on my conversations with the ifrit souls, this jewel is surely priceless on this plane." Rudabeh confirms, as if discussing a shipment of grain sitting on the dock. "But my father always said a priceless item is also a worthless item until you find someone who wants it."
The undine breaks her eye contact with the Satrap when the azer is waved forward, listening to his consultation on the matter. It still bothers her that she has no idea how Tekken and Seqhi were trapped in the gem, let alone at the same time, both dying the same way. There was a missing piece of a puzzle, somewhere, but she wondered if digging deeper would be a boon or a bane to the current negotiations.
It is slightly discouraging to hear that returning souls out of the gems was unheard of- indeed, she had hoped it was a common practice, perhaps an exotic form of punishment to have one's soul trapped in a gem and later released. It seemed like something they would do on another plane.
"Unfortunately I cannot willingly part with the stone without restoring at least one of the souls to life. One has pledged to serve me, and the River Kingdoms, and in return I vowed to find a way to restore them to a mortal life. I am in need of such allies." Rudabeh explains, her hands finding their way back into her lap as they continue with the notably polite and refined negotiations. It was such a nice change of pace from battling
mobogo.
"The other is considering its options." She adds, still uncomfortable about the idea of having Seqhi living in her head without some sort of assurance that one day she wasn't going to try and take over her body, as Gezzerbiel had warned.
"I do know their identities." There is a pause, as Rudabeh holds on to their anonymity for a moment longer. There was also the issue of ethics to consider. Would Teken want her to reveal his presence to the efreet? Considering it may further his desire to be freed, and her own vow to free him, she is considering speaking for him. The other...
I am sorry for bringing Teken up in your presence, but I assume you can see the opportunity of this moment. Do I have your permission to give your name and rank to Satrap Azam? She asks mentally, seeming to stare off into the distance while "speaking" with the ifrit.
Then, she makes a decision. "The soul that has pledged to serve me is Teken Dabka, Officer of the Third Rank of The Ember-Keepers in the City of Brass." After all, if Rudabeh was in Azam's position, would she want to be restoring unknown souls?
Azam's dark eyebrow lifts when Rudabeh mentions her father and he says, "Your father was a merchant?" His tone implies this is akin to Rudabeh admitting she eats with her fingers (which, to be fair, she often does). "Still, wise words."
There is a flicker of interest, Rudabeh can see it in the Satrap's eyes, when she mentions Teken's name and rank. It is like logs shifting in a burning fire, and Rudabeh knows the bait is tempting. But would he bite the hook she was dangling? Azam was no backwoods peddler or desperate disgraced noble, he was a powerful and rich being, used to getting his way and clearly quite wily.
In her mind Seqhi says, slowly, You may give him my name and rank. Be careful, Rudabeh, and not only for your sake. My current condition may....discharge the state of certain protections. My soul may be forfeit in this state and I can tell that you would not be comfortable with such things.
Azam narrows those fiery eyes and says, "An Ember-Keeper? Curious...."
The Satrap seems to settle in his chair, still at ease. There is none of the frequent signs of nervousness of stress that a human might show in such a state. His fingers do not tap the metal table, there is no sweat rolling down his neck. The efreet is as steady as a rock. Minutes pass and his only move is to dismiss the azer back to the wall, never breaking eye contact.
And yet...Rudabeh notices his gaze lingers on the fire whale heart in her armor, that glowing jewel.
"Then I suggest a compromise." He finally says, voice musing, "You will give me your word and oath, by the Steward of the Outward Facing Flame, to honor the following."
"I will return to the City of Brass and research this stone and the souls within it, while it remains in your keeping. I shall consult our mages and necromancers, in due course, to see if the soul can be removed and returned to some sort of body. Then, after an agreed upon time, we shall meet again and I shall reveal my findings. If the souls are forever trapped, then you shall once again be responsible for this one debts, with interest. And if the souls can be removed, then we shall proceed with that and you will give the empty stone to me, and all debts erased."
The efreet nods towards the azers, who hurry into the back of the room again. After some rather loud searching through drawers, they return with a small wooden box. The wood looks very old, oiled and weathered by a thousand hands through many years. It occurs to Rudabeh that wood may be far more valuable then gold or iron in the Plane of Fire.
Azam takes the box with care and slowly opens the lid. Out of it, he retrieves a bit of parchment and lays it flat on the table. "Along with your oath, I will require you to sign this magical contract, once our terms are agreed to and wording satisfactory. I, of course, will sign it as well in the name of my Lord."
"Still is a merchant." Rudabeh says casually, not offended by the efreet's off-putting attitude. She had encountered this dismissive attitude towards "the peasants" often enough in Galt before the Red Revolution. "In the River Kingdoms many people are self-made, coming to fortune without titles or land. Social mobility is high, and nobility is a notion that is claimed after a few decades instead of generations. It can be a strange place for some, and a chaotic place for all." She says evenly, suspecting that Satrap Azam would find such a concept repulsive, but it was the truth of the River Kingdoms.
The paladin remains quiet after Seqhi gives her permission to use her name, and wonders if Azam offered to resurrect Teken and not Seqhi, if she would still give up the gem. It's not that she didn't like the ifrit, but Teken had sworn an oath to her, and Seqhi's intelligence made her nervous sometimes. She was vulnerable now, but would she always be?
The efreet was a wall of stoicism, and Rudabeh has to wonder how Irovetti had continually beat the giant at cards. He was impossible to read. Rising her hands up towards the table, she interwines her leather-bound fingers together, listening to the offer carefully. Someone- either Azam, to have the glory of giving his master the fire whale heart and any souls within, or Lord Rakorth, must want the fire whale heart quite a lot if Azam was willing to put extra effort into their deal, and more importantly, return to the material plane.
"This is an excellent compromise, one worthy of The Steward of the Outward Facing Flame." Rudabeh says with a small smile, the comment clearly meant to be a compliment. "I wish only to change one point." She continues as the wooden box is brought out, drawing a glance at its heavily oiled surface. "As the proposed agreement is worded, I would be immediately responsible for the debt if the souls cannot be removed. I do not have such funds immediately available to me, and I am a few weeks of travel away from any source that you may even consider a suitable down payment. Instead, I ask we resume negotiations when you return, and settle upon a payment plan should I not be able to give you the heart. I do intend to find you compensated, however that may be."
Her eye falls on the parchment. Is this her life now? Constantly signing magical contracts? "I do not feel the magical contract is necessary. As a paladin of Alseta, I am bound by the will of my goddess. I can provide you with a non-magical paper and contract if you wish to conserve resources, but if you insist I will sign it."
The result will be the same." Rudabeh says softly, though her voice is full of conviction. "I keep my word, Satrap Azam."
The efreet hides his scorn at Rudabeh's description of a meritocracy poorly, lips curling slightly. Even in her head Seqhi chimes disapprovingly, Does not sound very lawful.
"As for the change of wording, I do not desire to return only to begin again." Azam says, voice firm on this point. "Do you agree that you and your masters would take on this one's debt if the stone is proved to be a dead end?" There is a tiny spark in those eyes at the mention of the stone and Rudabeh wonders if her bait was too tempting. The paladin had heard of anglers attracting 'prey' large enough to swallow their craft whole.
Had she attracted a tuna or a shark?
Or a kraken?
The efreet smoothed out the magically enchanted paper and Ruabeh swore she saw a purple arcane spark glitter for a moment at the motion. "A paladin's word is a good as steel, or so the saying goes. But in this case I must insist, for these are formal affairs of state and I cannot leave things to chance. Surely you understand, Rudabeh of Outsea? If you were commanded on a task you would see it done properly, with all due consideration, yes?"
Out of the wooden box comes a quill, a dull grey. Rudabeh at first casually assumes it is a goose or gull feather but then sees the dull gleam of vermilion fire reflected in it. A steel quill?
"It will write without ink, for it uses your blood." Azam said, gesturing with the writing implement. "It is a traditional gesture in my home."
Senqi confirms but adds, Blood holds many purposes, magic and mundane. He is very concerned about you breaking the agreement.
"I will of course, sign in the same way." Azam says, noting RUdabeh's hesitation.
It's not. She responds briefly to Seqhi, and is surprised Irovetti didn't chime in about his own experiences. It was astounding to see the man legitimately cowed, and suspected that if he ever got the upper hand, Satrap Azam would be sealed in a bottle, just like the one her father told her about.
Rudabeh does not hide the displeased contortions of her face when Azam firmly states she would need to take on Irovetti's debts. It wasn't exactly an act- the last thing she wanted to tell Veleda was that she almost burnt Pitax to the ground and they were going to have to pay for it. But there wasn't much escaping the situation. Her dingy was tied to Irovetti's sinking ship, and she couldn't cast off.
Looking Azam in the eye, she briefly considers just how rare this fire whale heart is. What if she were to keep it, give it to Veleda, who would surely be powerful enough and connected enough to restore the souls and sell it for a favor that would benefit the entire River Kingdoms? With how badly Azam wanted it, this must be an incredible deal she was offering...
Instead, she follows through with what she suspected would be a better alternative. "Considering Irovetti made this deal before he was in my service, I would like to request some leniency in the matter and forego the accumulation of interest." Rudabeh asks, hoping it seemed a small matter compared to not being paid back at all.
"Of course, I hope we can find a way to extract the souls, and the heart can be yours. I suspect we would all benefit greatly from such an arrangement." Was concluded, and if Azam would agree to reduce or remove the interest from the deal, she would pick up the steel quill with a suspicious eye.
A wistful sigh escapes her lips as the efreeti explains the purpose of the quill. "I understand, Satrap Azam, and agree with your sentiments. I merely wish it were not so. Just as a singer wishes everyone were pitch perfect in their trope, I wish words were as binding as they are meant to be. There is a lack of trust between souls, for reasons I have dedicated myself to paladinhood, and I find it both sad and unfortunate." Her steel quill finds her fingers, and she can feel the warmth through her leathers.
Because he does not trust me, or because he does not want anyone else getting this heart? Rudabeh asks Seqhi, though she is fairly sure she already knows the answer.
Heat waves dance through Rudabeh's vision, making the painted wall shimmer at the edges of her sight. Once again she thanked Alseta for sending her that wandering wizard and his wondrous wares. Without it she would have had to ask to reduce the heat, and the paladin knew the loss of face would have undercut her position. Rudabeh knew instinctively that Azam set a great store by a show of strength.
The Satrap considered Rudabeh's counter-offer, still holding the steel pen in his surprisingly delicate fist. Finally he nodded, "Very well. We shall waive the interest, both in part for the reason you state and also because I do not wish to calculate a fair rate both our Planes." A small victory but a lifetime of negotiating (and battle) had taught her that small victories added up.
The efreet hands over the quill, inclining his head somewhat formally. At Rudabeh's comment about oaths and trust,"I have not yet found the Plane were all is as it should be, and I have visited many, Rudabeh of Outsea."
The gray quill was heavy in her hand and, to her surprise, cold to the touch. Freezing actually, the chill seeping through her gauntleted hands in mere seconds. If hadn't been for her current spell and her innate resistant to cold, she suspect it would have cramped her muscles instantly. A curious instrument, for such an envoy.
Rudabeh then sees something she did not notice. The magical parchment was covered with text, glittering lines of onyx black letters. The top half was in some script she recognized as Ignan while the bottom was in formal Common. The letters were moving. Squinting at it she saw the words matched the agreement she and Azam had just reached. Indeed, even as she stared, the letters shifted and changed to reflect the waiving of accumulated interest. The parchment was obviously enchanted to match a verbal agreement. Rudabeh could not help but wish she had such a spell, how much time would it save?
The paladin read over the black letters and found all was in order. Glancing up she noticed a look of approval in Azam's eyes, like that of a game player congratulating a foe on a correct move.
Seeing nothing out of place, Rudabeh pressed the quill to the thick heavy paper and began to sign. As the tip etches the surface, bright red liquid pours forth, forming the letters. As she does so, the chill in her hand intensifies, soon becoming a frosty lance of pain, even through her various magical shields. To her astonishment, a thin rime of ice even forms on her hand, tiny shards of ice winking up at her.
The signing takes a moment, and soon the words, Rudabeh, of Outsea, Paladin of Alseta, Representative of the Pact of Years sit wetly on the page, drying instantly.
The chill in her hand recedes and the ice is soon replaced with mere dampness, and even that soon gone in the heat. Azam gestures for the pen, and then signs his own name. Rudabeh notes the process seems far more painful to the genie then it had to her, with visible pruple lesions forming on his writing hand. Still, his writing is firm and bold, although she can't read the long lines of bronze-tinged text since he writes in Ignan.
He soon finishes, and lays down the pen. There is no flash of light, no burst of electrical sparks to signify the magical binding. Just a written contract, signed in blood.
"It is done." Azam says, bowing his head somewhat. "For now."
Rudabeh can only image what her sweat-soaked armor would be like without the magic protecting her. Irovetti's drapes were soft and plush, but they didn't absorb much moisture. Would Azam had even listened to her if she had been gulping at her waterskin between words?
"A healthy supply of work for all of us, then." She replies to his comment about nowhere being as it should. Nothing would ever be as it should, she knew that, but striving towards a more lawful world was her job and goal. If her life made just a little more progress towards a polite, peaceful, and civil society, she considered it worthwhile.
She expected the quill to be hot when it finds her fingers- instead, it sapped all the heat out of her hand, as if she had plunged her fist into a bank full of snow. There was more than one curious glance from the undine, back and forth between the contract and the quill.
Are such magical contracts common in the City of Brass? Rudabeh questions Seqhi as the text changes to match their verbal agreement. This would save so much time, and solve so many arguments.
Rudabeh's brow arches slightly in surprise as the cold intensifies, and she is returned to the youthful winters of Galt, laying on her back in a snowbank staring up at the snowflakes. Humans walk past in their thick fur coats and cast her plainclothes furtive glances before shuffling along quickly. In the distance, the bells of a barge ring, and she gets up quickly, already testing herself to see how quickly the job could be done.
A few feet and she is at the banks of the Sellen, fingers quickly checking the leather toolbelt at her side for chisel, hammer, and pick. A glance upriver paints the barge's ghostly silhouette in the falling snow, its white magical running lights telling her both its location and that the tip would be very good this time.
Rudabeh dives into the freezing water headfirst, sending up a huge splash around the edges of the hole in the ice she had carved out at the start of the day. The water was crisp, cold, and delicious.
She swims like a dolphin underneath the sheet of ice clinging to the bank and out into the main part of the Sellen that flowed through Dabril; its banks narrowed here, increasing its speed and making her father's waterwheel-powered mill profitable, but also increasing the risk of ice-locking ships carrying goods to or from the River Kingdoms.
So entered Rudabeh, on her father's suggestion, to use her heritage to free up any ships that thought they were about to become stuck in the ice. Maybe the sailors could see her- she could certainly see their poles in the water, desperately trying to move the barge downstream, but a chunk of ice had broken off and was pushing them towards the solid sheets along the western bank.
Up she shoots, gripping a pickaxe in both hands, kicking with a rapidity that her finned feet turned into a powerful propulsion. The steel bites into the ice sheet, and bubbles pop and scoot along the underside of the ice, seeking any path to the surface. Rudabeh strikes the same spot again and again, eventually forcing a huge crack in the ice. The cheers of the sailors above her reach her ears, a bizzare cacophony of distorted voices that would disturb someone not used to it. The barge lurches back towards the eastern bank and clearer sailing.
Rudabeh swims alongside it until their course had corrected and the poles retracted. Kicking upwards she surfaces, finding herself looking in the eyes of a familiar face- it was her fourth year doing this, and she recognized some of the people. This rich human captain, with his dark skin, dark eyes, and long dark hair with the same huge red hat no matter the weather, would be back next year, stopping to share news and wine with her father. She doesn't remember his name, but she does remember he would always smile big ivory teeth and toss her a gold piece.
She caught it, the coin warm in her hand compared to the icy river, and smiles back.
That was over 40 years ago- was that barge captain even still alive?
By the time the memory had passed her name and titles were fully signed in red, hand automatically moving with practiced ease. Briefly, she marvels at the frost on her gauntlets, then passes the quill back to Azam with a nod.
One sapphire eye watches him sign with no sign of difficulty, though it looked painful for the efreeti. "Indeed." Rudabeh intones, incling her head in a similar bow to Azam. "I thank you with as much gratitude as I can muster, for the sublime hospitality and willingness to work with me." She continues while getting up from the iron chair in a clatter of armor. Usually, she would shake hands at this point, but... Azam looked like he was literally the same temperature as a burning log, and magical contract was better than a handshake. "I hope your investigations yield success, for the benefit of us all."
Her eye finds the bronze mirror, still on the table. "How would you like to contact me, when you are ready to meet again?"
The vision of the past flares and passes in an instant, lasting as long as a snowflake in a blacksmith's forge and yet all the more sharp for the briefness.
The efreet considers her parting words carefully, nodding his head, "Well said, and it is a credit to your Pact that they send such a representative. I almost look forward to working with you again, Rudabeh of Outsea. I must confess, it was far more productive then I suspected when I set out for the Material Plane."
For the first time the genie stands up, chair grating loudly as he rises to his feet. He towers over Rudabeh by several feet, legs seeming to be as thick as young saplings. A rush of hot air fills the room at his movement, like the bellows of a mighty forge, and the fireplace in the corner seems to roar even louder.
He lifts the iron box where he drew out the dragon mirror, dumping it out onto the metal card table. Irovetti's things clatter onto it, jewelry, odds and ends, and a rather ornate hat. Lastly is his jeweled staff, ringing loudly on the dull beaten steel. For a moment the genie looks down at the pile, mouth half opened to say something. Then the efreet glances at Irovetti, then Rudabeh and gives a tiny shrug.
"These are yours, of course." The satrap says, waving for the former king of Pitax to grab his things, which he does with the greedy abandon of a child snatching a sweet he claimed.
"As for contact, you will know." Satrap Azam says simply, "There is little of the Fire Plane in this place so any missive will no go awry or missed, I feel."
He then actually gives a shallow bow to the paladin, hand folded across his muscular waist. "May the Steward of the Outward Facing Flame guide your steps and watch your home. Till we meet again."
The red figure then straightens, gives a tiny smile, and snaps his fingers.
There is a blaze of red light and then all is gone. The efreet, the azers, the metal house, the roaring fires....Rudabeh and Irovetti stand alone on a cool, nighttime hillock in the middle of a swamp. Even the memory of the heat seems to fade, as a cool wind passes over them, rich with the scents of flora and fauna. Over head, the stars peep between fluffy clouds, a dazzling display of lights set against the inky blackness of the abyss.
There is silence for a moment, only broken by the lightest puff of breeze. Then Irovetti visibly shivers and says, "Well, that could have gone better."
Rudabeh watches the genie stand up, and she wonders why anyone would ever think it was a good idea to try and put someone so intimidating into a bottle. As the heat washes over her and the room, she decides that Nabuach Jar, and the rest of the Kingdom of the Free, might actually be crazy enough to try.
Her eye flicks to Irovetti's things, which were not present for long, as the former king has them collected with a speed belaying his age. The hat was surprisingly tasteful, which made it stand out, and she was rather surprised that even the efreeti was able to part Irovetti from his staff- Rudabeh had never seen him without it. It reminds her to take up her sword, lifting it casually back to her shoulder and feeling its familiar weight against her pauldron.
"True." She replies, though the images of the massive, burnt cypress spring into her mind. Hopefully he didn't think The Grove was suitable tinder for leaving messages- while the genie was potent she suspected Azam would meet his match if he attempted to burn Veleda's magnum opus.
She returns the bow, and by the time her head has returned to
being level, everything was gone. Rudabeh takes a moment, turning in place and only seeing burnt hillock, her darkvision filling in the gaps where the moonlight failed to illuminate.
"Indeed. Veleda is going to have me crucified if I can't give them the fire whale heart somehow." She replies evenly to Irovetti, making a motion as if she were about to rub her face, only to stare at the mobogo-gored and muddy surface of her hand, which had been re-slicked by the cold snap of the otherplanar quill. "She might do it anyway." after what happened in Pitax, which is left unsaid.
Dropping her hand with a defeated sigh and setting her sword down onto the crisp, dead grass, Rudabeh pulls out her bag of holding and begins rummaging through it. "Are you hungry? I have some hard tack and nuts." it might seem to Irovetti she was just getting him something to eat, but she doesn't close the bag- in fact, she pulls the drawstings open to its maximum diameter, and is shoulder-deep in the bag rearranging the contents for some time. Her spear comes out, and she packs everything below her bedroll and tent.
Flattening out the bag into a circle on the ground, she gestures to Irovetti.
"Well, put your stuff inside and get in, unless you want to ride on my shoulders all the way back to camp." The look on her face communicated that riding on her shoulders was not really an option, and if it came to it, she would walk under every low-hanging tree she could find along the way.
Any skeptism is met with another sigh. "Just stand on my bedroll inside and I'll close the drawstings around your chest so your head and arms will be sticking out. Just be glad you're not any shorter, my blade master used to put halflings in these kinds of bags and toss them over walls to infiltrate fortresses." She still remembered the time Finn launched Lambert Sandyman and Burchard Swiftfoot over a wall in a bag of holding during a job to infiltrate a checkpoint in Wilksmont. When the bag was in the middle of the air Finn suddenly realized she had latched it shut out of habit, and the two had no way out of the bag. Rudabeh learned many, many new words and some surprisingly complicated halfling oaths that day after they managed to climb the wall and open up the bag to find two incredibly pissed off small folk.
"Hard tack?" Irovetti says, buttoning up his shirt against the chill of the swamp. "Nuts?" The former king shakes his head, "Is that the best you have to offer? Not even some wine to soothe my throat? The smoke was awful."
He sets the colorful hat on his head, adjusts it, takes it off and then sets it in a different angle. 'What I couldn't give for a mirror."
The man pauses for a moment, fingers dancing lightly over the head of his jeweled staff. Slowly, he adds without preamble for context, "Thank you."
When Rudabeh explains her plan about the Bag of Holding, Irovetti gives her a cold stare that she is sure he usually saved for democratic reformers. Or modernist artists.
"You want to carry me in your pack, as if I was some sort of invalid. Or woodsman's babe?" He says incredulously. "How far away are we from the river? Can't we simply walk? I admit I am no woodsman, but I think we should survive a few miles in the swamp."
He peers around the dark landscape around them, "So you are truly alone? I didn't expect a carriage but maybe a horse would have been nice....How are the rest of my nobles? Behaving themselves?"[
"No bottles of Sealord in my pack, as much as I wish it were true." She says, dryly but honestly. "Not even a keg of mead or beer." That didn't sound like such a bad idea, especially after today.
She is glad, for once, to be covered in mud or gore, or Irovetti might ask her to stand still in the moonlight so her silversheen armor could act as a mirror.
There is a flicker of a smile when the former king thanks her, and shes gives a small bow of her head in return. "You're welcome." It was nice to know that despite years of sovereignty, he was still capable of some humility. She does not belabor the point, and instead tries to convince him to get into her magic bag.
"I appreciate your willingness to walk miles in the swamp in..." The paladin glances down. "...silk slippers, but as soon as we step off this hillock we will be ankle deep in mud. We are at least a half a day's travel back to the river." A grubby, metal-articulated finger points to the sack. "This is the easiest," Her keen eye catchesa shiver from the still sweat-covered Irovetti "and warmest way back to camp. We won't be trying to return in the middle of the night, even if I can see fine."
A small shake of her head foreshadows her answer. "I brought a small group of trusted mercenaries, and Jarrad volunteered to bring himself and one of his guardsmen as well. I had them turn back to make camp for us when it was clear we were going to have to run through a potentially explosive swamp, and I made the rest of the journey myself."
His final question makes her wonder if they had been behaving. "I'm not actually sure what the nobles are doing, the last I heard they set up an encampment on the bank while they waited for help. There were only a few causalities from the attack from what I can tell, so most should be fine."
She tries to usher him into the sack. "I can give you more news of Pitax while we walk. It did not go as well as I hoped, if you can tell by my poorly constructed cyclops impression."
"Oh, the eye patch is real?" Irovetti says with the nonchalance of person who has never lost a body part. "I thought it might have been ruse of some type, hide your identity from the efreet. A poor disguise, but perhaps you were rushed."
He brushed some ash off his thin night-clothes with a sniff. The man perked up at Rudabeh's rundown of the circumstance and said, "Jerrad made it? Capital. I'll have to give him a promotion, once we set up shop in Daggermark."
"I will not be carried. I'll walk." Irovetti proclaims, as firmly as if he was ordering a new monument. "Tell me everything of Pitax, quickly now."
The small man is quite interested in the news of his former city, asking probing questions about the political situation at every chance. He does seem bored when Rudabeh describes her near brush with death atop (and at the base of) the wall, and apparently her slow recovery and Ractus's maiming mean little to him. However, when Rudabeh mentions Druxan and his sad fate, she catches something in his eye. A gleam? Could it be...a tear? Whatever it was, it vanishes instantly, lost in the gloom of the night.
"Ah, so Druxan is dead then?" Irovetti says, voice still light, "That is a loss to Pitax, he was supposed to be the sure set of hands to guide it in my absence. I had hoped you would have dedicated yourself to keeping him safe."
"And now that barbarian Samuel is in charge?" The former (?) king goes on, shaking his head, "Hopefully not for long. Dior could be suitable, if he learns to smile every now and then. Perhaps upon my return I can teach him."
This grand words are punctuated by sticky slurps from the mud as they leave the firm (if burned) hillock and meet the seeping mass of the true swamp. In mere moments Irovetti realizes he has made a horrible decision and is floundering in the molasses-like soup. Rudabeh is relatively fine of course, being taller, stronger and properly dressed. She gives the man credit though, for a solid half hour he struggles onward, until the slippers are long lost and he is covered head to foot in rotting slime and algae.
Finally he gives in, breathing hard. "Very well. Clearly I require assistance." His tone is cold and imperious, as if such regal airs will lessen the humiliation from needing carried through the swamp.
And so it is that when Rudabeh found her allies again, Irovetti was perched on her back like a child at a country fair, clutching the massive Sixth Peak like a toy won at ring-toss.
Dannagu is standing watch on the edge of darkness, looking like a stone statue in the blackness. "All's well?" is all he says, not commenting on the clutching king or spattered armor. Rudabeh sort of wishes Silvui had been standing guard, if only for the sure joke.
"Yes, Zadie Brunn killed him in his quarters." Rudabeh sounds sad at this, sharing Irovetti's sentiments. "It was my hubris that killed him. I thought peace had won, that everyone was in agreement that the fighting should stop, that the way to Pitax's future lie in the hands of its people. It is ironic I saved Druxan's life from someone as dangerous as Orza only for a lapse in judgement to cause his death by the hands of what we all thought was a harmless thespian."
She sighs, seemingly a common sound around Irovetti- perhaps he just finds her melodramatic at this point. "I learned then that chaos never sleeps, or takes a day off. None of us expected Zadie to take such measures into his own hands, or for The Kingdom of the Free to make an attempt on my life. I see now that if I want everyone to play by the rules I have to incentivize them, or worst case scenario, force them." It wasn't a pretty thought, but she had learned that she should be a little less trusting.
"He was a good man, and I am sorry." The paladin finishes, and she wonders who will keep Irovetti's affairs in order now. Druxan would have been a huge boon to the man in Daggermark, and as much as a pain in her backside he was, she was tied to him and his success in the city will inevitably bolster her as well.
She decides not to broach the subject of visiting Pitax. Not until Irovetti does something else that makes her wish he had been teleported to the plane of fire, anyway.
Rudabeh walks slowly, sword on her shoulder, as the former king makes his way through the mud with all the grace of and speed of a sea cucumber. She says nothing as he struggles, and waits for his eventual breaking point.
It took longer than she had expected, and when he does break she wordlessly squats, picks him up by the hips, and pulls him over her head as if he were the size of a child. It does slow her down- a full grown human is still a sizable mass even if they were as waifish as Irovetti, and by the time she meets Daanagu's gaze in the dark of the forest, Rudabeh is breathing hard.
At least the magic of the scroll wicked the sweat and heat off of her hot face.
"For now, thank you Dannagu." Rudabeh replies breathlessly, as she looks for a place to set down Irovetti. A partially large root had forced up some ground above the waterline, and she places him upon it with a grunt. Her hands take her sword, and she casts a gaze up at the sparkling night sky before casting a glance back at the large man she barely knew.
"Do you know anything about men that looks like they are made of stars, Dannagu?"
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Dannagu was silent for so long part of Rudabeh wondered if the man had turned to stone, black against black. Then, slowly, face still hidden he said, ”My people had many legends about the stars.” He pointed a shillotued hand toward the heavens above. ”Would you like to hear one?”
The big man stood, using his strange spear weapon like a cane, as if he was old and weary. Taking his feet, he began to sway as he spoke, the words rolling out as deep and strong as a mighty river.
”It is said that once on a time long ago in the winter, at the beginning of the season of snow after the first fall of snow, three men went on a hunt for game early on a morning. Upon a hillside into a place where the bush was thick a bear they trailed. One of the men went in following the trail of the bear. And then he started it up running. "Towards the place whence comes the cold is he speeding away!" he said to his companions.
He that headed off on the side which lay towards the source of the cold, "In the direction of the place of the noonday sky is he running!" he said.
Back and forth amongst themselves they kept the bear fleeing. They say that after a while he that was coming up behind chanced to look down at the ground. Behold, green was the surface of the earth lying face up! Now of a truth up into the sky were they conveyed by the bear! When round about the bush they were chasing it then truly was the time that up into the sky they went. And then he that came up behind cried out to him that was next ahead: "O River-that-joins-Another, let us go back! We are being carried up into the sky!" Thus said he to River-that-joins-Another. But by him was he not heeded.
Now River-that-joins-Another was he who ran in between the two, and a little puppy Hold-Tight he had for a pet.
In the autumn they overtook the bear, then they slew it. After they had slain it, then boughs of the oak they cut, likewise boughs of the sumac, then laying the bear on top of the leaves they flayed and cut up the bear; after they had flayed and cut it up, then they began slinging and scattering the meat in every direction. Towards the place of the coming of the morning they flung the head; in the winter-time when the morning is about to appear some stars usually rise; it is said that they came from the head of the bear. And also his backbone, towards the place of the morning they flung it too. They too are commonly seen in the winter-time; they are stars that lie huddled close together; it is said that they came from the backbone.
And they say that these four stars in the lead were the bear, and the three stars at the rear were they who were chasing after the bear. In between two of them is a tiny little star, it hangs near by another; they say that it was the puppy, the pet Hold-Tight of River-that-joins-Another.
Every autumn the oaks and sumacs redden in the leaf because it is then that the hunters lay the bear on top of the leaves and flay and cut it up; then red with blood become the leaves. Such is the reason why every autumn red become the leaves of the oaks and sumacs.”
A moment of silence then Irovetti said, ”Strange names, for the hunters. 'River-that-joins-Another' , what kind of name is that?”
Before Rudabeh has a chance to comment on the former King's blatant disregard for cultural traditions Dannagu laughs softly and says, ”Those are...were, the names of my people. I too have such a name, buried deep. Maybe one day you will know it.”
The next few days pass in a haze of work and organization. Rudabeh finds herself helping prepare not only her own mercenary company to head downriver but an entire 'royal' flotilla of nobles, admirals, pet artists and other hanger-ons. Ships need refloated, supplies repackaged, chains of command laid out, all done with people who barely knew how to tie their own shoes. Luckily Faro proves to be indefatigable about the entire affair, clearly happy to pass any 'noble problems' onto Rudabeh for adjudication. To her surprise Irovetti also takes an active hand, being quick to throw his weight around in order to speed process. The paladin has the feeling the former king has no desire to waste time squabbling on the banks of a muddy river when Daggermark beckons.
It takes a few weeks but due to the strong backs of mercenaries, Faro's seamanship and Rudabeh's own efforts, they are soon moving again. The stop in Touvette is a dangerous one, considering the town's well known aversion to outsiders but Rudabeh's group is so large (and armed) they have little trouble on their short visit. Still, Rudabeh keeps everyone under a close eye and only allows the bare minimum of shore leave with Ractus's battered frame literally creating a barrier on the gangplank between the mercenaries and all the possible troubles of the shore.
Voluse is a different matter. While technically under the rule of Touvette, the smaller town is considerably more liberal and open then the brooding capital, and a frequent stopping point for river traffic. Rudabeh's fleet takes up much of the local docks, and her tents create a small rival town on the far shore. At first the citizens are wary of the fleet, it not being unheard of for wandering bands to virtually loot a town for supplies or even carry off the local unattached women (who usually escape a few days later, but still). Rudabeh enforces strict discipline however and pays in good silver for what they need, so the town soon warms to the influx. Besides, Irovetti treats the entire thing as a noble visit and actually orgainzes a formal parade of both the troops and the nobles in all their regalia. Rudabeh figures this will be a legend in the town for years to come.
To her delight she finds a huge tumbledown hall on the edge of town, a long neglected temple of Cayden Caliean which looks much like an Ulfen war lodge out of legend. She has her troops patch the leaking roof, repair a few tottering pillars, scrub the moss-covered floor and in a few hours she has a hall fit to feast nearly the entire group. The paladin buys every drink in town, the locals rolling the barrels to the temple with a will. Rudabeh can't help but think the Lucky Drunk would approve of the labor and her men wave toward his old holy symbol on the wall, freshly scrubbed for the occasion.
The night is a long one, filled with toasts, stories and games of all sorts. While Rudabeh doesn't get drunk, she does enjoy more then a few tankards of a rich yellow mead that is the local specialty. The hall is soon a spectacle of song and ribald of laughter, as men dance on tables, laugh at jokes or compare outrageous tall-tales. Contests of all types break out, arm-wrestling, foot races or even poetry slams. Rudabeh makes sure things don't progress to broken arms or missing teeth but everyone is in too good a mood for anything to really escalate anyway.
Just as night truly sets in, the door slams open, driving even the drunkest mercenary to silence. Men totter on unsteady legs, squinting through wavering eyes. In the doorway stands Irovetti, dressed in his usual clashing of styles, a bright green brocade cloak thrown over a pin-striped shirt of frosty blue. The fancy red hat of his rescue night is cocked jauntily on his head, while his staff sits in one hand. His gaze sweeps the room, face unreadable.
Then without warning, he flips his wrist and a jet of blue flame leaps into the air, crackling loudly. Then he sweeps the other one and a matching streak of red flame does the same. They whirl above his head like flying snakes, shooting bright sparks this way and that as they narrowly avoiding slamming into each other. After a moment they vanish with a crack loud enough to topple a few of the drunkest off their chairs, leaving nothing but pungent smoke. In the stunned silence Irovetti smiles, bows and doffs the hat to the assembled men.
”To the brave men and women of the River Company!” With a magicians flair he pulls a tankard out of mid-air and raises it high. ”I salute you!” And he drowns the frothing beer in a single gulp to thunderous applause.
The rest of the night goes much as you would expect.
The next few weeks is slow going as Ostend (who constantly threatens to leave them all at the nearest town at least every other day) guides the flotilla down the river toward Riverton and Kallas Lake. Rudabeh doesn't waste the time and drills the troops relentlessly. She pulls on every memory of the Bastard Birdgae she can, and trains the men on everything from shooting volleys or arrows to making a cavalry square (this last one is moved to dry land after Ostend quite nearly sheds actual tears at the state of his deck). Rudabeh is pleased to find most to he soldiers are capable, having long ago learned the trade of the blade. They have the skills, she just needs to make them move and act as one. The paladin knows, from long experience, that it is that quality that separates the common rabble of sellswords and bully-boys from the real mercenary companies like the one she grew up in. It is a hard lesson to learn but Rudabeh sets herself to it, and uses the time wisely.
Aurelia learns to swim in the deep and still waters of Kallas Lake, under Rudabeh's watchful eye. To the paladin's astonishment, there are more then a few of her new recruits who also have no idea how to even tread water. Out of the group, Silvui seems the most comfortable in the water and takes to diving into the deepest pools from tall trees and cliffs, often to applause. Rudabeh spends several days giving instruction and breaking up splash fights, before she is satisfied that at least no one will drown if they get pulled overboard by a feisty trout.
Soon they are heading north again, upriver this time, sometimes poling the barges, other times rowing. The miles creep by, just like the towns. Novoboro, Wilkesmont, Solanos. Day by day they move closer to Daggermark, the center of the Pact of Years and soon the weight of what lies ahead begins to weigh on the paladin. What will she find at the Grove? How much of what had happened in Pitax had already reached the city, and how many lies were tangled up in it? Rumor traveled fast down the rivers, but it was always topped with a thick layer of confusion, guesswork and outright lies. Considering how outrageous the events actually had been, Gods only knew what gossip had made of it.
She distracts herself by talking to the two souls trapped in her still battered armor. The paladin quickly learns that it seems to be random chance if that morning Teken will be present in her head or Senqhi. To her utter frustration however, neither soul will talk about the other. Teken clearly knows who Senqhi is but loftily says she is beneath his notice while Senqhi practically boils over into rage at his mere mention. Despite that setback however, her efforts do earn her more familiarity with Gezzerbial's armor itself and she learns several new facts. For one thing, the armor has different abilities depending on which soul is ''present' that day. With Teken she gains the jagged spikes in a grapple as well as a single spell. With Senqhi however, the armor gains the ability to shrug off certain spells and effects as well as a single spell.
Another part of her routine is breakfast with Ractus at the prow of the barge every morning. Their lack of a chef is quickly reminded by Irovetti who reveals, among the endless staff of the noble vessels, a chef of considerable skill. He keeps to himself however and Rudabeh is still left wondering if he is an actual wizard or not. Still, his morning crepes are delicious and she enjoys watching the sun rise with the mercenary captain whose mood seems to sour as the day progresses. Draze is also often nearby, trolling the muddy current for catfish or other bottom feeders. In those cool, misty morning they speak of many things, of shoes (Ractus likes light leather boots) and ships (the elf doesn't know a keel from a keel-hauling) and sealing-wax (every warrior has his own trusted weapon oil), of cabbages (Ractus enjoys cabbage stew), and kings (a single glance toward Irovetti's royal yatcht is enough for this topic).
But they also talk of more serious things and Rudabeh speaks of her worries about how the Pact may react to her actions in Pitax, how Veleda will react and the pressures of being a ordained heir. For his part the elf is more reticent, but she learns much about his past travels and jobs, all over this part of Avistan, ranging from the weird horrors of Ustalav to the exotic dangers of Numeria.
The day they rounded the last bend in the river was a hot one, without a single cloud to block the blazing sun, a true foretaste of summer. Sunlight gleamed off the water, making the river look like beaten bronze. Rudabeh stood in the prow of the first vessel, the rest of the small fleet ranging behind her. At her side stood Irovetti, who seemed increasingly nervous as they ventured closer to their final estimation. He was constantly shifting this way and that, adjusting a small bit of clothing and changing handkerchiefs or the angle of his hat. He had gone for a rather overblown ensemble consisting of a currant colored robe, an ebony shirt and turquoise pants, all capped with a gold circlet that looked suspiciously royal.
At first they passed the acres of farms surrounding the city, much of it water-logged fields of rice or taro, traditional staples of the River Kingdoms, but Rudabeh saw plenty of drier acres of wheat and barely. Daggermark attracted many outsiders and clearly farmers were adapting to their tastes. She even saw herds of cattle at pasture, something nearly unheard of. Even in Pitax, which had been fairly urban and prosperous, didn't have a dairy industry. Not for the first time Rudabeh reflected on the fact that the largest city in the River Kingdoms and the beating heart of it's fragile peace, was the city least like the hinterlands.
Next they pass residential areas, entire districts of quiet housing for farmers and townspeople alike. Colorful markets dot this area, some of them busy and active, others quiet waiting for their own market days. Clearly there is some sort of schedule to avoid over-crowding. Child run this way and that across the wide boulevards. This part of the city was new and had only been built after the Pact located here and Veleda's time in power. The streets were clean, the houses painted and the air clear.
Next they came to the Old City and the docks. Miles of haphazard quays stretched out into the muddy water, surrounded by complicated networks of streets, cranes and wharehouses. People bustled everywhere, unloading vessels or loading wagons, goods of all sorts making their way to market or being shipped farther afield. Dozens of barges sat at anchor, with many more in the river itself. Irovetti seemed to pale a bit at her side saying, ”The city has grown since the last I was here.” His voice is a bit weak, and Rudabeh can tell he is comparing Daggermark to Pitax, and finding it an uneven contest.
Around them the Old City spread like a fungus farm, littered with tottering buildings, waterstained tenements and dozens of crabbed, narrow allies. Here and there, like a clearing in a fores,t a bit of new development would flourish, a small square with a fountain or a park, but most was the old Daggermark, a city of grime and knives. Change came slow in the River Kingdoms and the old character of the city of assassins died hard.
And thus, they arrived.
In the morning after their celebration in Voluse an unarmored Rudabeh sits at what may be the only clean part of one of the long tables in the repaired temple of Cayden Caliean, looking at a blank sheet of paper.
Not far off was Silvui, haphazardly laid over a bench and sleeping off what she suspected would be an awful mead-induced hangover. He wasn't the only one; the temple was littered with possibly still inebriated bodies as if some kind of massacre had taken place, and if it were not for the lack of blood one may think that some sort of ritual combat to honor Gorum had taken place. She was fairly sure The Accidental God would be pleased with the previous night, which was all the more reason to get out of Volouse as quickly as possible before their activities attracted the attention of The General's Knights. Even though she had her own travel passes well in order and she would probably be able to get an exemption for the mercenary company if she were merely a traveling sword, she knew from personal experience that as soon as the Knights saw her Alseta-emblazened eyepatch they would treat her worse than a slaver and find any excuse to cause her trouble. She would prefer not to be accused of "spreading religion" again considering the last time she was in Touvette she spent a night in jail just for being out after dark.
The paladin's lapis lazuli pen falls onto the paper, held steady and flat by the perfectly smooth slate she kept with her writing supplies. The nib arcs and weaves across the surface in the flowing, majestic language of Aquan. Every letter of every word was connected to one another, and every word in a sentence was also connected to every word by consistent and stylized characters that separated the words, and every sentence was connected by different characters, and so on until one's message was complete. This was the "true" way, the formal and proper way of writing Aquan (according to its own scholars of course), taught to her by Urqat and used in any important message in Outsea or the Planes. There were easier to write versions of Aquan practiced by laypeoples, but Rudabeh considered this important enough to put in the extra effort. It was a mark of pride among many that could compose an entire message or document without having to lift a pen or sea urchin spine expect to refill their ink, and the best knew exactly when to put a flourish to disguise such a stop and make it appear as if they never ceased writing at all.
Rudabeh was quite good at this.
My dearest school, I am sorry it has been so long since my last letter. I am sure you have heard the news that Veleda has selected myself as her replacement when she retires as the head of The Pact of Years. Though I am unsure why she has bestowed such a great honor and challenge upon a hitherto unknown paladin of The Welcomer, I have not yet taken her place nor am I sure she is absolutely certain I am the best choice for the position considering my involvement in the recent events of Pitax.
By the time this letter reaches your eyes I am sure a great variety of startling and far-fetched rumors involving the civil war in Pitax will have reached you. I will be happy to put these rumors to rest on my next visit, but know that the country has stabilized and I am both alive and well. The former King Irovetti and myself are currently on our way back to Daggermark. I hope the tides, my goddess, or the Pact carry ne towards Outsea soon so I can see you all once more.
To papa, my whale shark, I hope you are doing well and staying out of trouble, but if any arises know you can send a missive to me and I will do what I can. I met one of your associates in Pitax, Gemus Oskara, and he treated me very well.
To my mama, my sea star, know that all you taught me about art served me well in Pitax, though I do not think their styles are your own.
To Ondev, my minnow, I hope you are taking care of yourself. While I may be far away, know you are always close in my thoughts. I have told Irovetti of your works, and when he has settled in Daggermark I am sure he will be interested in some of your pieces as he adopts local customs and art. He is a great collector and you would be amiss not to make a connection with him.
To Dimi, my barracuda, I know your mandatory military service is quickly approaching, and you will serve as an important and respected amphibious personnel just as I once did. I must impress upon you again, make an appeal to be placed in Sergeant Shira's unit. She is an old friend and will train you well.
I give you my love. May Danglosa favor your days and Alseta bring us together again soon.
Ruda
A few pinches of sand over the ink and another piece of folded paper forms an envelope in her hands. She heats some wax over a candle , pours it over the missive, and seals it with her signet ring. Silvui stirs next to her, groaning, and Rudabeh smiles. It would do him good to go into town and find a courier to deliver the message, and she gets up to further rouse the young human...
---------------------------
"It has grown since last I was here, too." Rudabeh concurs, mirroring Irovetti's impression of the city. It seemed to get bigger every day, its own sizable agriculture feeding the Pact's increased organization and need for manpower in the area. Daggermark was getting bigger- how long could Martro Livondar stay in power before some new upstart moved in and tried to replace him?
She glances to her side. If Irovetti had been younger she thought he could be a contender for ousting Livondar. For Irovetti's sake, the Lord of Daggermark had best think the former king was too old for such plots as well.
Nervousness flutters in the undine's stomach as they near the Old City. Veleda was close, and whatever judgement Rudabeh deserved for her actions in Pitax. Maybe she should have sent a letter ahead, explaining everything to the druid. Or paid for a Sending. Anything to head off the rumors.
But no, the paladin had convinced herself. Surely Veleda's network had arrived faster and more accurately than any letter she could have sent. Such things were probably often intercepted, she had convinced herself.
The sailors pole their barge up to the docks, and Rudabeh adjusts the strap on her shoulder holding up The Sixth Peak. "I will send ahead word of our arrival and seek an audience with Veleda for both myself and yourself." Rudabeh says as she turns away from the bow to walk across the deck. "Alseta willing, perhaps she will have a position for you to fill immediately." It was a long hope- Rudabeh suspected Irovetti was going to be her problem to deal with, but Veleda was wiser by far and might have a use for the former king. "But it will probably take some time for us to meet her. My first and only time meeting her was about... ten minutes before another delegate arrived. We will want to seek lodgings until we are summoned."
Across the deck, Rudabeh tries to find Silvui- he had become her go-to trusted messenger, and together with Dannagu and Litta they were usually all sent on important errands together. Dannagu had found a place by her side in assisting with training and morale, as well as serving as one of the few sparring partners that could keep up with her. Litta had become the paladin's eyes and ears, and Rudabeh often asked for her assistance and opinions outside of archery. It was clear those three, along with Ractus who both oversaw the company as a whole (while also acting as her confidant and mentor), were quickly becoming Rudabeh's inner circle in the group.
"I need a favor, Silvui." She says to the perpetually grinning young man as she removes her signet ring from her bag and drops it into his hand. "When we dock, take Litta and Dannagu, go to the Grove, and find the Priest Arbiter of Alseta named Dryw. Show her my ring, tell her I have arrived with Castruccio Irovetti, and that we both seek audiences with Veleda. Please return with her instructions and I will be incredibly grateful."
She explains how to get to the Grove (which was very hard to miss), a description of Dryw, and promises to leave someone at the docks to direct the group to their lodgings if they have departed by the time the group returns. It was odd for Rudabeh, who was used to doing everything personally, to be sending others to do her bidding, but in the past weeks she had learned it was a necessity. Between helping settle the squabbles of Irovetti's nobles and training the mercenaries, she had to start relying on others to perform some tasks for her. Delegation was not something that came naturally to her, but she was learning.
More importantly, she wanted to stay near Iorvetti. At least for the day, if not the week. There had to be people in Daggermark that already knew he was coming, and if anyone was looking to test the former King's meddle, or saw him as a threat, to at least "send a message." Hopefully not in the form of a poisoned drink.
Irovetti snorts, "Someone of your stature should not be kept waiting. You need not stand for it, Rudabeh. You are the heir apparent, not some lowly underling to be snubbed by a extended meeting. Frankly, I think asking for an audience demeans you and lessens your position." The former king turns toward the paladin, as if sizing her up, the morning light glinting off his bright eyes, "I assume you have enemies among the Pact, political ones? Even if you don't think so, you do. I know this game, Rudabeh, I know it very well. Position and stature are everything. To be secure, you must act secure."
Rudabeh reflects, whatever else Irovetti's many flaws are, he did manage to climb the greasy pole of Pitax politics and stay there for many years. How applicable his cutthroat ways are to Daggermark is debatable, but Irovetti is at least experienced in these sorts of political fights.
Silvui pockets the signet ring carefully, surveying the city. The sun catches his crimson shirt, edged with fading gold braid. Apparently everyone wanted to wear their best for their arrival. "Not a bad town." He comments with a cosmopolitan air, "But it isn't a patch on Korvosa." Rudabeh, who has seen some of the larger polities of Taldor knows the man is exaggerating slightly. Daggermark is, these days, a big city by any standard. Then again, the paladin had never been to Varisia. "Dryw at the Grove, got it. No problem."
The three mercenaries cut a path through the busy streets of Daggermark, soon swallowed up by the crowds at the docks. Unless the Grove is actively under siege, they'll get through at least. One less thing to worry about.
As they vanish, Ractus walks over. The elf is perhaps not the brash confident general she met that first night with Dagen at her side, but he has not withdrawn back into himself. He too gazes at Daggermark.
"So, back to the center of it all." The mercenary scratches absently at the stump of his missing arm, "Any chance I can convince you to just turn around and head toward Numeria? We could make a killing there, and with no one to answer to." He smiles as he says it, knowing there is no chance Rudabeh would turn her back on duty, responsibility and her homeland.
In short order the boats are docked, registered with the proper authorities and beginning to be unloaded. It is an odd mix, with the weapons and gear of war from the mercenary vessels alongside the rare art and servants from the noble barges. Rudabeh had grown used to the dichotomy, but is aware of how strange it must seem tot he longshoreman. More worrying is the hard glares from the locals aimed at the perfumed and gaudily dressed would-be nobles, stepping onto gangplanks. The River Kingdoms has no love for such people, and Rudabeh wonders how this remnant will fare if left loose in Daggermark.
Rudabeh is overseeing the paying of berthing costs when Silvui appears out of the crowd. The young man looks a bit anxious, as if worried he did something wrong. "I found the Grove, and showed your ring. They rushed me right in to this Dryw person."
He coughs and said, while reaching in his pocket, "She said, 'She is to report immediately, to explain herself at once'." The fencer fishes out the ring and hands it back to Rudabeh going on, "It was the tone usually used by loan sharks to call in wayward debt, if you ask me. She almost didn't give the ring back but Dannagu... insisted. "
The big man has the shame to look abashed but says clearly, "It is not a trinket to be given lightly, unasked for. It was a grave insult to try and keep it."
Litta rolls her eyes but does adds in her northern accent, "I don't think she likes you very much, Rudabeh."
Ractus, appearing from around a crate, says "You've been summoned?" The elf glances around at the busy docks, the unloading ships and then the small circle of people. "I assume you want an honor guard? Also, please take Irovetti. I fear if you leave him alone the harbor master will either throw him in the harbor or owe us money by nightfall. Honestly, I'm not sure which I'd prefer."
There is a pause in Rudabeh's step when Irovetti posits she is lessening her position. Turning to look him in the eye, she does listen. He had become slightly less insufferable during their trip to Daggermark as she got to know him. He was almost likeable now that he wasn't oppressing an entire country. "Heir apparent." She stresses the word, as if it defeated his entire argument. There was too much to do to explain how she had to uphold her oaths of humility, and how she respected Veleda more than anyone in the River Kingdoms, and how it was rude to barge in asking for the time of the most important person in the entire Pact of Years. "There is nothing special about me now, but I understand your meaning. And yes, I can think of someone that would rather not have me take Veleda's place... but I intend to make friends of my enemies. If they will not respond to incentives..." There is a sigh as she turns to leave again, this time walking away without looking back when she finishes speaking. "I make peace. People may assume that makes me soft. If they interfere with the functioning of Pact, it is a mistake they will only make once."
Later, with Ractus, her face creases with mirth at his suggestion. "If Veleda kicks me out of the Pact and banishes me from the River Kingdoms, I will uphold my oath and travel wherever you believe the gold is given freely." The mirthful look disappears as suddenly as it appeared, and she looks off towards the direction of The Grove. "But I'm afraid my days of wild, unchecked adventures are over. There is a greater calling." Her head turns back, causing the morning sun to glint off her high browed helmet, and turns the discussion towards local lodging.
Later still, Rudabeh's azure lips, which had regained their color and stopped peeling about a week ago, become a thin line at Silvui's words. "No, she does not like me much." Which is followed by probably the fifth or sixth sigh of the day. "By the words and tone she wishes to chastise me herself instead of organizing an audience with Veleda, which is not what I wanted from her." There is a hopeless wave of her hand, which ends up sounding like pebbles sliding down a sheet of iron, and she does a double take at Ractus' sudden appearance. For a self-claimed cripple, he was surprisingly sneaky.
"Yes, that would be wise." She answers both of his questions, taking her signet ring and placing it back within her bag. "Thank you Silvui, Litta, and especially Dannagu. It can be difficult to speak truth to power, and I agree it was unbecoming of Dyrw. She must be frustrated." With another wave, she sees them off. "Find your beds and visit the marketplace. Enjoy the day. They even carry fish and other delicacies from my home of Outsea, if you have never seen such things."
Her gaze turns to Ractus, and she scoops up her sword's sheath by its plain leather strap to throw over her shoulder. "I would be honored for you to be part of the guard, Ractus." It was both a play on words, and she was serious. "In fact, myself, you, Irovetti, and a few of his people will be sufficient. I am not looking to cause a stir afterall... and I will have to talk him out of a parade, as usual."
Irovetti blithely waves off Rudabeh’s offer of some of his guards to go as an escort. ”Surely the heir apparent to the Pact of Years should be sufficient protection?”
The paladin gets the feeling the man is up to something, but how? They just got here!
The streets of Daggermark are heaving with people, just as Rudabeh remembered. Even just getting to the streets is difficult, and Rudabeh’s group has to push through hordes of laborers, porters, longshoreman and river captains just to get out of the dockside. After that press, they enter the new warren of warehouses and counting houses, the commercial beating heart of the city. Rudabeh can see bankers (both Abadaran and secular), insurance agents, and well-heeled traders bickering in front of opulent looking office buildings. Wagons of food, textiles, and finished goods poured past them to the waiting ships at the river. Troops of guards and soldiers stood at hand to keep off beggars and would-be thieves. Daggermark may have started as an assassin ridden slum and then turned into the political center of the River Kingdoms by Veleda but it was now clearly becoming a commercial center.
Finally they escape the mercantile district and enter into the residential parts of the Old City. Narrow roads zig-zag in every direction, loomed over by frowning tenements. If it had looked bad from the river, it was much worse when actually traveled. The reek of human refuse hung in the air, and the streets were covered with slimy potholes. Irovetti sniffed, ”Veleda needs to hire some engineers.”
Ractus, walking slowly along, eyes everywhere said, ”This is how they want it.”
The former king scoffed but the elf went on, ”It is. You see a rat’s nest and call it foul, but what is such a place to a rat? Home, safety, a known environment that is hard to penetrate for outsiders. Whatever Veleda is building out there, the people here want no part of it and this is their quiet way of resisting. Of maintaining their way of life.” The crippled mercenary has a note of approval in his voice as if such acts of defiance appealed to him. Irovetti merely holds a perfumed handkerchief to his nose in silence.
The denizens of the street watch them pass without comment. Old women look down from behind mildewed curtains, young toughs on front stoops and bare-foot children playing in the street. All clearly note the entourage but let it pass without trouble. The problem isn’t the people, it is the unmarked streets and lack of landmarks. Rudabeh didn’t know the city every well, and neither did anyone else. Twice they pass the same street corner, trudging through greasy mud.
Rudabeh is about to admit she is lost when Irovetti points down a path and says ’ Ah, I recognize this way! Just straight through there, should get us to the Grove.”. The former king of Pitax points toward a road that cuts, not through more ramshackle houses, but a… green park?
A park, here? Rudabeh can see trees, brush and a well-kept road leading into it.
Approaching, it quickly become clear it is more of a ruin then a park. The ever-soggy ground of the city seems to have swallowed up some buildings here, and left the land unstuiable to re-build. In short order, nature had reclaimed the spot for herself. Old buildings sat half-sunk in mud, draped with vines and plants, while twisted trees reached for the sky. Ponds dotted the small area, alive with a chorus of frogs. Rudabeh even spotted a huge turtle, sunning itself on the remains of an old cart. It might have been a trick of the morning light, but the ancient reptile seemed to wink at them, as they passed.
They are fully in the little patch of wild nature, the wild greenery pressing close when Rudabeh hears the snap of a twig. To most it would have been nothing, unnoticed or just considered part of the background noise of the woods. But most did not have a lifetime of training that Rudabeh did. In n instant she is reaching for her sword, trying to push past Irovetti. Before she can do anything, two figures leap out of the greenery at the left of the path. They resolve into two men, both carrying a pair of daggers, which glint in the green-tinged dusk under the trees. Rudabeh can hear the others behind her, as Ractus tries to hurry up but the paladin only has eyes for her foes. They wear tight dark leathers and the blank masks that mark them as members of Daggermak’s most famous organization. The Assassin’s Guild. They move with a blurring speed, heading directly for Irovetti, who stands open-mouthed. Rudabeh is fast, but not that fast, what could she do against two trained killers-
Then the paladin hears a light cough, a gentle throat clearing suited to quiet afternoon tea with a treasured aunt. Despite its innocence, it somehow freezes everyone in place. Rudabeh’s sword, the two charging figures, the elf mercenary, everyone stops and looks over.
To their right, sitting on a mossy log sits an old woman. She is dressed in simple homespun gray, clearly relaxing against the gnarled truck on a massive crabapple tree. The light filters down through the branches, illuminating her gray hair. She holds a small cup of tea in her hands, steam clearly visible rising from the drink. The old woman coughs again, that same light yet penetrating sound. She turns, facing them directly and Rudabeh seems the aged, lined face with bright green eyes she has only seen once before.
Veleda.
The two assassins instantly straighten, hands rising in a gesture of peace. They glance at each other, look back at Veleda’s gentle, smiling face then bolt up the path at full tilt. They do not look back.
”Lady Smilos needs to be more discerning in her contracts. I must have a word with her.” Veleda says mildly, watching the pair of would-be killers flee as if the whips of the nine hells were behind them. She turns to face Rudabeh, Ractus and Irovetti, still smiling in the enigmatic way only the old can master.
”Well met.” she says, raising her tea as if in salute, ”Tea?”
"One would hope." She replies to Irovetti's dismissal of her acceptance of his entourage. In fact, she was quite suspicious of his immediate disregard, and thought she would need to convince him not to create an entire parade. What was he up to?
The crush of the streets was neither surprising nor an annoyance- in fact, she was glad to see Daggermark doing so well. The River Kingdoms was not known for its stability, but here, most could find enough to eat, find work, and generally prosper. It was not a perfect place, not by a large margin, but it was better than starving. If it could just be organized better, properly harnessed...
There was little time for such musings, as they begin to get lost in the Old City. "You speak as if Veleda is Queen of Daggermark." Rudabeh says as they discuss the quality of the neighborhood. "Martro Livondar still rules here, and while I am sure she has had much input towards the city itself, she must be far too busy ensuring the continuation of the Pact's function to be bothered by the flow of Daggermark's sewers." It was a common fallacy, she thought, to think one person could be in charge of everything, to be blamed or praised for everything, as if they were directly in charge of every aspect of a place or country. Life, society, family, it was all focused on cooperation, and trusting one another.
A theory when she was about to put in practice when they passed the same street corner again, though Irovetti saves her from the admission she does not know the city as well as she thought. "Very well. Though I do not know this place." Her words are edged with caution, and as they move into the park it becomes more apparent this is a strange place to find in the middle of a metropolis.
It was odd to see it abandoned. Rarely did humans let such prime real estate stay connected with nature, and Rudabeh knew that Daggermark was not exactly known for is worship or Gozreh or the reverence of nature in general. How then, had this place become such a refuge for wildlife?
The undine touches her holy symbol with her left hand at the sight of the sunning turtle, and her eye lingers on its moss-covered shell for a while. Perhaps this area is blessed by Alseta, somehow. There were many human ruins by Outsea that saw similar decline and later habitation by nature. Rudabeh reasons with herself, lost in thought as frogs croak and wet soil squishes under her boots. She tries not to think about the time Alseta, the goddess herself and guiding hand of her life, winked at her. It still hurt to think about that vision, and she did not want to deal with a headache.
Then, a snap in the brush kicks her out of all thought; the all too familiar noise of an aggressive, heavy foot stepping hard as it surges forward in a sudden ambush. They were fast, and as she whips her sword around her shoulder, grabbing the bulk of the leather sheath to rip her blade free, she calls out in her mind:
Teken, I need-!
The polite cough freezes every process in its tracks, left arm at the top of its arc from throwing her sheath free and away. Though her head turns right, in the background the simple leather sheath continues to fly through the air. Veleda's form is instantly recognizable, and Rudabeh's heart jumps into her throat just as her sheath lands in a nearby mulberry bush with a crash, scaring off a few golden-crowned kinglets and causing a far-off grey squirrel to start barking at the ruckus.
Though the assassins react instantly and flee, Rudabeh is frozen in place. She thought she had time to think, to go over the words she had carefully rehearsed for the past weeks while waiting outside of Veleda's office, but here was the legend herself, just... there.
Then, worse, the paladin realizes her sword is bared, and suddenly she feels as if she were naked, in a crowded marketplace, totally exposed, with her clothes in a bush several feet away. Heat rises to her cheeks, suddenly imaging herself naked and foolish in front of her hero. The River Kingdom's hero.
"I- Um." Rudabeh stammers, managing to tear her eye away from the old woman (Was she really human? Was she?) to spy her sheath nearby. "I am- am so sorry to interrupt your tea." Finally escapes her mouth, as her legs seems to move of their own accord and take her to the mulberry bush.
"We were heading to the grove to meet Dryw and schedule a moment of your time," The words come out in a tumble, Rudabeh quickly grabbing her sheath and extracting it from the bush. "I did not know this was your personal retreat," Only hours of training allow the paladin's shaking hands to easily slip orange-tinted steel of the The Sixth peak into its resting place, "and take full responsibility for disturbing you." and the etchings of the smokey mountain disappears within.
The task complete, Rudabeh doesn't actually know what to do with herself, or her hands, so she bows her head low before straightening again and remembering her manners as her mind mechanically informs her one is supposed to accept the offers of hosts to be polite.
So she blurts out, nervously; "But tea would be lovely. Yes."
"Personal retreat?" Veleda says, and shakes her head slightly. The old woman gestures to the swampy forest around them, and Rudabeh can see her hand shaking slightly. "No, it is no such thing. Also, you are not disturbing me. I was waiting for you, after all."
At her side, Rudabeh notes a flash of anxiety and exasperation cross Irovetti's face, but the former king hides it well.
Veleda takes a final sip of her tea and smiles at Rudabeh's answer, looking like a child whose parent agreed to sit at a tea party. "Excellent, tea it shall be." She looks past the armored paladin to Ractus and Irovetti and says, "Will you please excuse us? Feel free to wander the forest here, it is quite pleasant. If it is not to your liking, there is a teahouse at the end of the road where you can take your ease." The dismissal is polite, subtle and as hard as steel.
Ractus merely nods and begins to head, but Irovetti holds his ground. "I really should stay, I am Rudabeh's advisor-"
Veleda cuts him off without effort saying, "Nonsense, Castruccio, I insist." Rudabeh blinks and realizes this is perhaps the only time she has heard someone use Irovetti's first name. "This is an internal matter, just administration. No, go along. We'll find you later."
Even Irovetti can't withstand this, and he stiffly bows, gives Rudabeh one last look, and heads off down the road. The mismatched pair of disabled mercenary and strutting politician are soon vanished among the greenery.
As they melt into the forest, so does Veleda's smile. Replacing it is a stern look of...not disapproval but dispassionate judgement. The playful glint in her eyes is replaced by a cool stare, more fitting to a glacier then a woman. It is done as quick and complete as an actor changing a mask between scenes.
her green eyes track int he distance, as if they can still see the pair through the crowded plants and trees. maybe she could.
"He arranged it himself of course." Veleda said, setting her teacup aside. Seeing Rudabeh's puzzled look she adds, "The assassination attempt. Irovetti send a Sending ahead to Lady Smilos, arranging for a fake attempt on his life. I suppose he intended it as a way to prove how valuable your protection was to keeping him alive. Of course, he was outbid and those men really would have killed him. Or tried. I wonder if he knew?" A short pause and then, "Probably. He is nothing else if clever."
The old woman sighed heavily and faced Rudabeh directly, taking her eyes from the gray green of the forgotten forest, "You have let the fox in the hen-house with that one. Or, shall I say, a pike among the minnows? I hope you know what you are doing, Rudabeh." Her voice is wondering, and there is a slight edge that maybe she thinks Rudabeh can't handle the little man.
"I hope you do not mind me sending them away, this should be a private matter." She did not specify what []this[/i] was. Rudabeh's report? Veleda's views on it? The paladin's punishment?
Abruptly she turns slightly on her log and waves to some distant brush, "All right, you two. Come out."
Two figures from the undergrowth. For a single irrational moment Rudabeh's brain screams about more assassins but they are not. Instead it is Dryw and Vetto Scillari. The Alseta priestess is wearing the same rough gray as her master, her belt a dark brown rope while the man is dressed in elegant fashion that Irovetti might have envied if he had actual taste.
They silently take up positions to each side of Velda, standing at attention, both unsmiling with hands clasped behind their backs. Rudabeh has the distinct feeling this is a tribunal. Silence creeps over the small clearing, with only the somehow distant sounds of nature seeping in. The songs of birds, the soft splash of a jumping frog, the rustle of fluttering leaves. All of it deafened by Rudabeh's beating heart.
Into that quiet Veleda says, voice no longer that of a kindly grandmother but of a judge confronted with a difficult case, "So, you have much to tell us, Paladin Rudabeh of Outsea. Proceed."
In her mind Teken says, A formidable woman.
Rudabeh looks on in confusion when Veleda says she was waiting for them. She must have known about the assassins, but how? Irovetti, too, seemed to know something as well.
The paladin stays silent at the exchange between the former king and Veleda, noting that she had never seen anyone handle him so... well... before. He might have blown right past anyone else, but to see him stop and listen was awe-inspiring.
Rudabeh focuses on the woman even as her face changes and she watches her "honor guard" leave. At the explanation of why they were jumped in this park, why Veleda was here, and why Irovetti had seemed to be up to something all slid into place. In response, the undine says nothing but takes on a disgruntled expression and blows some disappointed air out of her nose. Irovetti had probably saved a lot of money by being purposefully outbid, and expected her to deal with the assassins. His faith in her martial abilities were flattering, at least.
She really, truly, had no idea what she was going to do with that man, and absolutely had no idea what she was doing, but couldn't bring herself to say it. The sheepish, almost embarrassed expression on her face probably told Veleda as much. "Someone once told me... they make it up as they go along." She says tentatively, shyly fishing for a laugh, at least. "I think I'm at that stage now."
There is a small shake of her head at caring about it being a private matter, and in respond Rudabeh lifts her head to her helmet, fingering the straps and latches that keep the helm and visor connected to the bevor. I am sorry, Teken, but if Veleda wishes this be a private matter I must ask for your understanding. You will be back soon.
She removes the top part of her helmet, fully exposing the damage to the left side of her face as Dryw and Vetto emerge from the foliage. While no longer a sickly yellow-green, the dappled sunlight on the scarred side of her face was dull and still compared to the glistening blues and turquoise hues that danced across her right cheek. Her left eyebrow was absent, as was any hair on the left side of her skull where the blast had hit her the hardest. The jagged and angry scar where she was struck with a shovel during the Red Revolution is plain to see as there is no hair to hide it and only a stub-like fin of an ear to distract from it. No sweat coated that side of her skull despite the warm temperatures. The rest of her hair, which was solely growing on the right side of her head, is still thick, black, oily, and tied into tight bun at the back of her neck.
Rudabeh swallows as the two take up positions beside Veleda, and her heart races for a few more moments. But as Veleda's voice changes and business proceeds, the paladin too changes. Her helm is tucked under her left arm, and her heels snap together. She pulls the leather strap on her shoulder tight, and lifts her chin. Rudabeh was a model soldier, delivering a situation report.
"After I arrived at Pitax, I was given a note by a groom..." Rudabeh details how the rebels contacted her, and she visited them to listen to their plea. She details how she refused, intending to support Irovetti but also try to work with Kilarra to enact reforms that would placate the rebels and the growing unrest in the city.
"One night as I was gathering consensus on the will of the people of Pitax, I met a man... Dravos Rennert." Her right eye narrows slightly, though the left side of her face does not exactly match the expression- indicating some nerve damage beneath the scorched skin. "Heir of one of Pitax's richest families, he was savagely beating locals for sport in fighting rings, and relishing in their suffering. I saw him again the next day... at the grand joust I was to judge."
She draws in a deep breath, and for a moment her eye glazes over to the still fresh memory, the moments baked into her mind forever. "Instead of aiming for his opponent's shield, Dravos purposefully dipped his lance and skewered the thigh of his opponent, nearly tearing off his leg and killing him instantly from the blood loss. Of this I am sure, and I swear by The Welcomer it is what I saw and I believe true. Benek Brocklehurst was killed by an agent of Chaos that reveled in his death."
A small pause. A moment passes as frogs croak in the background, unaware of the politics and events that had happened worlds away as far as they knew. Rudabeh's eye, that clear sapphire orb, was still far away. "So I upheld my oaths. I judged Dravos guilty of murder in front of the crowd. Irovetti. Everyone." Another deep breath, and she re-focuses on Veleda. Her left ear folds flat, though the pitiful leftover stub merely twitches. "That act sparked a civil war."
She goes on to describe the battle at the joust, how she was rescued by the Kingdom of the Free's Viridia, and learned how they were supporting the rebels through Dagen's plotting. The chaos of the day is described in the short, analytical way of someone used to violence. How the church of Alseta was burned down by rampaging citizens as she fought to defend its clergy, the fight on the barricade against Irovetti's troops, and how she met Ractus and helped Dagen kidnap Irovetti's right-hand man by securing a deal with the mercenaries.
"I saw the violence, the destruction, and while I knew the political situation had to change... I knew Irovetti would not give up his throne willingly, and the rebels would accept little else. So I took myself, and Druxan, to offer Irovetti a deal." She wasn't sure if she regretted that deal or not. The look on her face said maybe she would after this. "It was worse than I had feared. learned he had made a pact with a denizen of the Plane of Fire. That he was prepared to unleash a magma dragon on the entire city. So I offered him my protection and a high position in the Pact of Years, one assigned by me, if he would abdicate the throne. He agreed, and the riots ceased at the proclamation."
Her feet shuffle briefly, before her heels are back together again. She describes organizing the vote for Pitax's future, meeting Gezzerbial, and how she freed him with Nubauch Jar's help. "This may seem extraneous, but it is important for two reasons. Firstly, Gezzerbial's gift to me for freeing him, and making his former master believe he was dead..." Rudabeh points to the fire whale's heart embedded in the armor on her chest. "is the crux of another matter I became involved in. Secondly, I swore an oath to Nubauch Jar for his immense and powerful assistance, and I must... fulfill my end of the bargain now."
Rudabeh seems like she was very uncomfortable, her mouth opening once, twice, as she tries to find the words. "I am... sorry Veleda. There was nothing else he wanted, and I will be cursed if I do not comply." She starts, before drawing in a breath, setting her jaw, and recalling that the wizard insisted she must make his case with eloquence and tact. "Nubauch Jar asks for your assistance in the creation of a device, of his own design, that will save his soul in case he dies before his god-given time on Golarian and he is unable to unlock the secrets of immortality from his arcane studies." The undine looks disgusted with herself at the end, and she moves her mouth as if she had taken a bite out of an apple to find half a worm inside.
Moving on quickly, she briefly recounts escorting Irovetti out of the city, reconnecting with the rebels and ensuring them they would have a part in the upcoming elections. Dagen's plot to conquer Pitax with a soft conquest is given special consideration, as she knew it would lead to an imbalance of power in the Pact.
The election is planned, Zadie Brunn commits his murder of Druxan, and Rudabeh explains she would have slew him on the spot if Samuel did not warn her it would throw the election to Dagen... so she put Zadie on public trial, and he was exonerated moments before Dagen made an indirect attempt on her life. "... the last thing I remember of that day is falling towards the flagstones below, Haxiel about to explode with energies beyond my comprehension..."
There is a pause, as she considers telling them about the vision, but Rudabeh steals a quick glance at Dryw- the woman already disliked her. Maybe hated her. If she started talking about meeting Alseta and the other gods... no, it would be for Veleda's ears only. "... later I woke up in Hiram's hospital, looking as I do now with Ractus nearby and missing more organs than I. By his own skill and the grace of Alseta, the priest of our lady Hiram saved both our lives and I am forever in his debt." Still, unconsciously, she touches the Steward's Iron key, only noticing she had done so once its warmth penetrates the leather covering her fingers.
Dagen makes his last appearance to confess his attempt on her life and how they were pulling out. The election proceeds, and Samuel wins the position of Head of State. The new government of Pitax is formed, and Rudabeh takes her leave of Pitax, bruised but at least more sure of its future as a free-willed state.
She leaves the Tarnished Jewel of the North by barge, taking the Pact-sworn mercenaries with her. Irovetti had already found himself in trouble, and she describes the meeting with the efreeti Satrap Azam. "... Irovetti had taken on quite a debt with the ruling magma dragon of the City of Brass, Lord Rakorth. He wanted to trade the fire whale heart embedded in my armor in exchange for wiping away Irovetti's debt, but..." Again, she touches the large ruby on her chest. "Within this gem are two souls, ifrits placed there for unknown reasons thousands of years ago. I can speak with them, and they are fully conscious of their surroundings when I am wearing the armor, which is why I have removed my helmet so they cannot hear. They were both officers of the law in the City of the Brass long ago, and one has sworn to swerve me and in return I will find a way to release him. Thus, I could not give the gem right then, and I made a deal with Satrap Azam. He would research ways to free the souls and return them to mortal bodies, and if it was I will give him the gem. If it is not possible I will take on Irovetti's debt personally. I have not heard back from Satrap Azam yet."
A final exhaling, and Rudabeh relaxes, legs shifting apart, shoulders slumping, and her right ear fanning out. "The rest of the journey is of little note. I have been training the mercenaries and hope they can be of use to the Pact as regulators and enforcers, under my command or otherwise, so the chaos of Pitax will not occur again. Ractus, though deformed by attempting to save my life from Dagen's plot, is their primary commander and of great wisdom. That is all."
Swallowing loudly and closing her mouth, she patiently waits for their judgement, a dry tongue making her wish Veleda had actually given her some tea.
As Rudabeh tells her story, doing her best to explain the tangled series of events in Pitax she can't help but watch her the three in front of her for reactions. Actually, the paladin has precious else little to look at, standing apart in the shaded grove facing the trio in front of her and looking away might have made her seem guilty.
Of the three, Vetto was the easiest to read. Indeed, the well-dressed man seemed hardly willing to hide his reactions to Rudabeh's tale at all. He smiled, frowned, even looked nervous at various times as if he was the audience in a tavern and Rudabeh a traveling bard spinning a yarn for her daily supper. The Galtan man seemed particularly interested in Irovetti's noble remnant, and the former King himself. He frowned heavily and shook his head when she described her 'arrest' of Rennert on the jousting field.
Dryw was more guarded, of course. The woman was a priestess of Alseta, used to sitting in judgement over such things, and had long ago schooled her face to stillness, regardless of her emotions. And yet, she too reveals much. As the tale winds on, describing Rudabeh's (mis)adventures her disdain for the paladin seems to grow. At several points she almost scoffs openly, as if dismissing some line of reasoning. She seems most concerned with the Pitax rebels (namely Samuel), her bargain with Satrap Azam and the Kingdom of the Free. Her disapproval is as plain as the fin on a shark.
Rudabeh is mostly concerned with Veleda's attitude however. She isn't immune to the other two's criticism, and obviously their views are important since they are standing here in judgement, but Rudabeh is far more concerned with the old woman's reaction. Not only because she values the druid's opinion (who better to judge such an event then a wise and just ruler) but because Veleda is the closest embodiment of her faith, of her views of what the River Kingdoms should be. It isn't quite like having Alseta revealing her thoughts, but it is close.
Veleda reveals very little, of course, her face as still as if it was carved out of driftwood. Staring at that unmoving mask, the woman looks even older then Rudabeh remembered. The lines deeper, the hair thinner, and the slight shaking of her hands now unmistakable. Veleda didn't look unwell exactly, but she did look frail. Unbidden, Rudabeh recalls a saying she heard from a dwarven traveler once.
"Time is the bridge that always burns behind us." It was hard to imagine Veleda being old, like any other human, but time and tide wait for no man.
For her part Veleda does reveal a little when listening to Rudabeh's version of events, a few chinks in her armor. To the paladin's eye she seems more interested in Nubauch Jar, her relationship with Ractus and, oddly, her attempted trial of Zadie.
When Rudabeh finally finishes, she is sweating as if she just ran a mile in full armor. It trickles down her back, leaving an itchy streak that makes her twitch. The air seems hot and stifling, quite at odds with the cool bower it should have been under the trees. The silence grows thick, as if the trees and grass themselves were bending close to listen to the pronouncement of Rudabeh's doom.
It is Dryw who breaks the silence first, leaning toward Veleda's ear. "See, it is just as I said-"
The old woman quickly raises a hand, a firm gesture. Dryw instantly falls silent, bows her head and takes a step back. Her simple robe rustles on the fallen leaves, the only sound in the swamp.
Veleda stares at Rudabeh, green eyes fixed tightly on the paladin. It is as if she is trying to bore through the full plate, to see the woman behind both the armor and the words. There is no enigmatic smile now, but also not the cold glacier-like visage from before.
Just guarded...calculation. A weighing of the odds on some distant and endlessly complicated set of scales. Finally, after what seems many minutes, she speaks.
"You have told us much, Rudabeh of Outsea. I credit you with giving us a very full account. As far as I am aware, you left precious little out of the report." She shifts on the log, "Your people have a saying I greatly admire, Rudabeh. 'One cannot step into the same river twice.' So, ignoring that great wisdom, it is that I ask you this, before we probe for details."
'What would you do differently, if given the chance?" Veleda smiles ruefully at herself, the first sign of real emotion since she sent Ractus and Irovetti away. "I am not asking for second-guesses or pangs of remorse. You have made your judgements and your decisions, and we must abide by them. That is the way of Law, and the way out Goddess asks. I merely wish to..."
A pause and then the old woman shrugs, "I merely wish to see what you will say."
The reactions of the three in front of her confirm Rudabeh's profiling. Dryw very clearly had it out for her, driven by jealously and a rightfully earned scorn that Veleda chose her as a successor when, by even Rudabeh's opinion, it should have been Dryw.
Vetto was more of a surprise- she had spent enough time among the nobles of Gralton to know their flaws and strengths, and it amazed her that Veleda would trust someone that exemplified, almost to a stereotype, the disposed and disgraced nobility that the Graltons were. There must be more to the man, she surmised, or else he would have never had made it to the place he currently occupied.
Veleda, her hero, the binding force of the River Kingdoms, was far more her concern than the other two. It did not take much effort to see her reaction, for there was very little, but it surprised the paladin that she reacted more strongly to Nubauch Jar, Ractus, and Zadie than anything else. In her mind, the only thing that connected all three... were the gods and whatever mystery Rudabeh found herself wrapped up in. Veleda must know about the vision, or something close to it. She must.
It made Rudabeh nervous.
Listening to Veleda's words intently, as if her very future depended on it, the undine draws in a breath, looks to the crabapple tree above her, and pauses. The saying was well known to her, repeated to the point of uselessness among her elders, but now it held actual form coming from a human. One of the most important humans in the River Kingdoms, no less.
"There was a man. No, it was a boy. His name was Kern, I think. When Irovetti's soldiers were ransacking the Church of Alseta while looking for me, I lured him into the street and ambushed him to gain a tactical advantage over the forces within." Her gaze is far-off, still remembering the dying light of his scruffy face. "I should not have done that. He did not have a chance to fight back, but died quickly. I should have faced them all straightforwardly, as befits my station."
A sigh, and she remembers another dead because of her actions. "And Tsoki Darrad... I saved her from public execution at Irovetti's hand only for her to waste away and die on some drug in his dungeons. I should have done more for her. I should have saved her from whatever betrayal Irovetti had done to her... but it was her or the thousands of people in the city. Still, I should have done more. If that is merely remorse, I am sorry."
They were minor points, not even touched on during her report, and as her limpid eye returns to Veleda, her response is predictable. "I suppose I mean... if everything else went the same... no. Dravos Rennert murdering a man in front of my eyes... I would have reacted the same now, then, and hopefully in the future. To kill for pleasure, to kill for personal gain... it is wrong, the ways of Chaos, which I am sworn to fight. It sparked a civil war, but it had to be done. The People of Pitax thirsted for Justice, and I decided they were right in that instance. Even if I had put him to public trial, as I did with Zadie Brunn, the specific results of which I do not agree with, it would have been the same. The events and their outcomes were inevitable, as much as I tried to make peace beforehand. There was too much anger, and hate. To have solved the problem without any violence at all would have required intervention... years ago, I suspect. And what chaos would have spawned itself from that intervention? It is an endless hole of "what ifs" that I ask myself often..."
The undine swallows again, wondering if she had even answered correctly. Was there a correct answer? It did not seem so, but still she worried. "I am sorry, I am rambling. It steals my sleep, some nights. Knowing it could have been better, less would had to die... if someone else had been sent."
"Perhaps." Veleda says, looking pensive and thoughtful. The old woman leans backward, resting against the rugged thick bark of the crabapple tree. She drums her fingers on the mossy log, eyes still fixed on Rudabeh. The paladin can't help but notice that the moss's tiny tendrils seem to dance and sway along her fingers, in tune with her beat.
Finally she sits up and says, "Well, what do you two think?" Their is a routine, rote phrasing to her words that make Rudabeh wonder how often this particular trio gathers on matters. The common legend had Veleda ruling the Pact alone, an impossible figure, far above the rest. Rudabeh had long ago learned such assumptions were rarely true, and yet it was odd hearing the old druid consult a committee. Perhaps others were being groomed for leadership as well? Or, as Rudabeh wondered deep in her heart, instead of?
Vetto spoke first saying, "Well frankly, I think we should start with the understanding you put Rudabeh in an impossible position to begin with."
Veleda raises an eyebrow at the mild rebuke, not in irritation but interest.
"While I had never been to Pitax, it was common knowledge the city was a tinderbox, ready to explode at the slightest provocation. If it hadn't been Rudabeh it would have been someone else." Vetto says, smoothing out the front of his silk shirt, picking off a crabapple leaf. "At least this way, Rudabeh had a seat at the table and was able to make sure the next leader was someone amenable to our mission here. This Samuel seems to be less radical and bloodthirsty then we might have gotten, at any rate. And even better, Irovetti lives. So while not a bloodless transfer of power, a step forward then most River Kingdoms."
He coughs and goes on, "Granted, her method was...aggressive, to say the least and perhaps a more circumspect approach would have borne better fruit. Then again, perhaps not and if she had walked more carefully she would have been sidelined in whatever revolt broke out." Vetto coughed here, and lowered his voice slightly, "In fact her tactics fit well into what I've been proposing for the Pact for some time. A more active insertion into the local-"
Veleda smiled and held up a hand, "Yes, Vetto. I am quite aware of your views on that particular matter. Your thoughts on the matter at hand are of interest though and considered." Turning she faces Dryw, "And yourself?"
The female priestess glances at her master, at Vetto and then on Rudabeh. When she speaks her voice is flat, devoid of emotion, "I disagree entirely. Rudabeh has been reckless, not with her personal protection which matters little in the grand scheme, but with her position in the Pact."
"Always the grand scheme." Veleda says, a gentle tone of mockery in her voice, "You and Vetto are more alike then you know."' Both man and woman looked entirely confused and displeased by this statement and struggle to hide the mutual disdain. The druid ignores and this and says, "Carry on."
Dryw straightens her simple belt, re-gathering her thoughts. "Several times in her mission Rudabeh involved the Pact in affairs, without asking for any permission, entangling us in deals and arrangements. First, essentially initiating a civil war in a member state. Second, involving herself deeply in the internal politics of said civil war and engineer the resulting government. Not only that but personally inviting a former head of state a position inside our organization!" At the last her composure cracks a bit, voice rising but she quickly gets it back under control.
"Her dalliances with the Fire Plane only proves it. She tricks the representative of another plane and then plunges into a deal whereby the Pact is going to honor the loans of a deposed king he took in order to violently subdue his former subjects? It is insanity and ties us directly with an egomaniacal tyrant. Or should I say, fellow colleague now?" Clearly the idea of working alongside Irovetti makes the woman's blood boil.
"As I said, reckless and feckless with the Pact's standing. It'll take years to untangle ourselves from the mess, maybe longer. How many other would-be revolts will turn to us now, expecting a Pact representative to fight on their barricades? And how many rulers, caught in bad deals, will expect us to bail them out? Am I to personally take on the personal debts Cordelon the next time I visit? The precedent Rudabeh set is absurd." Dryw crosses her arms and clearly wills herself into silence.
Veleda smile is gone and she nods gravely, "Our actions do resonate far in these lands."
A moment of silence and then she turns back to Rudabeh, "So, what am I do it with you? If I distill these two's opinions, you are a feckless gambler who is inserting us into every minor affair of a sovereign city. A dangerous character, if true." Veleda grows silent, peering at the undine paladin carefully. She drums her fingers again, the wood echoing hollow as if striving to speak to the druid, the rotten wood wishing to sing to her. Veleda pats the battered log fondly and then stands up.
"I have not decided. In the meantime, Rudabeh, I wish you to go to Outsea. Consider it a waiting room while I consider things. I will recall you when the time is right and things become more clear. I assume you have no objections to seeing your family? I know it has been some time since you've been home, and such ties are important to the Welcomer."
A short pause and then, "And what do you foresee for Irovetti?" The question is spoken to the air, but Rudabeh can't help but assume it is meant for her.
Rudabeh was glad to see that even a monolithic figure such as Veleda seeks out advice from her peers. Maybe she completely ignores it, but it at least made Rudabeh, and perhaps Dryw and Vetto, feel better to know none of them should ever expect to be put in such a position where they had to make country-changing decisions alone. Perhaps it was such hubris that put the paladin in this position in the first place.
Her face is blank as the ex-noble (re-established noble?) gives his opinions on her delivering with the situation in Pitax. He didn't seem to understand that many of the player in Pitax were demanding her attention. She was going to have a place at the table whether she liked it or not.
The undine's brow raises slightly at Vetto's suggestion that there be more active insertion into local politics piques her interest. Perhaps she had found someone that thinks in a similar vein, that the Pact should have more teeth...
She tries to keep a blank face during Dryw's list of all the terrible and wrong things Rudabeh had done, but by the end there was a small frown on her lips. There were a few points that were factually incorrect, by the undine's aquamarine lips stayed closed despite the urge to correct matter or defend herself. She had taken on Irovetti's debts personally, not shunted them to the Pact. Worse, much of what the priestess said was true, and even crossed Rudabeh's mind as the events in Pitax had transpired. She had set many new precedents, many she did not want to set, but she also knew if she had merely left or let Irovetti be overthrown due to her inaction Dryw, and the rest of the River Kingdoms, would find fault with that too. It was impossible to please everyone, especially those that disliked you.
Rudabeh straightens up when Veleda's gaze returns to her, spine flexing and chin raising. She does not answer the rhetorical question, insert sparing a flicker of her eye towards the rotting wood that seem to be.. yearning for Veleda's attention. Even nature... perhaps especially nature, wished for a moment of the woman's time. What were they going to do without her?
A brief moment of dread falls on her that this would change nothing, and still Rudabeh would be charge of the entire Pact.
Her attention snaps back to the druid as she starts to speak again, and the brief existential crisis leaves her completely unprepared for Veleda's words. "Outsea?" She blurts out, shock visible on her scarred face. "No, no objections, that would be..." The word "wonderful" comes to mind, but decides against it. She was supposed to be in purgatory, not on holiday. Instead, she regains her composure, swallows, and nods. "Yes, it has been several years since I last saw my family. Thank you." A thankful bow, one that keeps her head straight and brings her shoulder down follows.
"The deal I signed with Irovetti was clear." She intones as her body straightens and her shoulders level. "He will not be assigned a formal position within the Pact until I, if ever, have the power and authority to do so. If given the chance I believe he would serve us well crafting policy or acting as a local ambassador." It was clear she had formed the agreement so if Rudabeh were somehow exiled or killed, the former king would not have to be their problem. "Until such a time comes he will need to fend for himself in Daggermark and be content with advising me, unless you have something for him to do. Despite his faults he is quite eager to assist the Pact, and I believe he has talents that could be put to good use, locally or abroad."
Veleda raises an eyebrow, "I think leaving Irovetti here would be ill advised. Frankly, I lack the time or energy to get involved in his plots which would spread out as surely as a plants roots. No, I think he should stay under your watch during your time in Outsea." Dryw nods clearly vindicated but Vetto looks slightly disappointed.
The old woman nods at Vetto and Dryw, "Thank you for coming and sharing your counsel on this issue. We will discuss it again, I am sure and other issues. These are dangerous times, in ways none of you understand. We must work together, despite our differences, and forge true cooperation." A slight smile, "Please be patient with me."
Vetto and Dryw both nods, bow slightly and make their way out of the small clearing. Rudabeh notes they don't walk or talk together, each keeping their distance, lost int heir own thoughts.
"An interesting pair." Veleda says mildly, her eyes also on the, "The future of the Pact, perhaps?"Then druid shrugs and gestures with her hand toward a dirt path leading into the trees, "Come, let us walk. Sitting is fine for a group but a pair should move about."
Veled'a stride is quite short compared to Rudabeh's, but the woman is surprisingly nimble and despite her advanced age, keeps up with the undine with ease. She breathes deeply, clearly enjoying the scents of the small abandoned city plot, the smells of fresh leaves, decomposing wood and unseen flowers.
The smile vanishes though when she speaks, voice tinged with sadness, "I am sorry, Rudabeh." A moment of utter silence greets these words and then the leader of the Pact of Years goes on, 'I am sorry for putting you in such a place. I meant this commission to be a baptism of fire, yes, but I never intended you to have such....choices, so early. So soon."
Her voice grows stronger, "Time, Rudabeh. It is the great wheel that grinds all before it. Nature, the plans of men men, even the gods themselves must bow before it in their own ways."
The old druid stops, and turns toward Rudabeh. Her face is cast in a green shadow, the lines on her face looking like an eroded rock, blasted by a thousand winters. Weary beyond Rudabeh's imagination.
"The eye..." She lifts a grandmotherly hand toward Rudabeh's face, barely able to reach the tall undine's cheek. Veleda's touch is warm and dry, like the old leather of a much loved child's toy. "Do you wish it to be healed?"
"It is a heavy price for one so young."
Rudabeh quickly bows her head in acquiescence when Veleda rebuffs her attempts to leave Irovetti in Daggermark. It wasn't entirely unexpected, but by The Welcomer did trouble follow that man. Considering how trouble proceeded Rudabeh, together they may destroy her home. She would need to be careful.
Watching Vetto and Dryw go, the undine breathes in deeply, tasting the moist air on her tongue. She exhales slowly as Veleda speaks of them, and in the end does not comment. The paladin's thoughts were elsewhere, trying to decide how to broach the topic of her dream... no, her vision. They turn as one, gleaming helmet still held under the crook of her left arm.
Prepared to slow her pace for the smaller, aged human, Rudabeh is surprised to find herself speeding up to match Veleda's pace, albiet briefly. The two walk together for a few moments of relative silence, given Rudabh's constant clanking that the chorus of frogs seem to take as further rivalry in their competition for Veleda's attention.
Her head swings downward when Veleda says she is sorry, and Rudabeh meets it with a moment of confusion before her eye softens; she was touched by the woman's concern. It did answer some questions, but... "You did not know you were throwing a tindertwing on to dry kindling." She says softly, as if she were the one comforting Veleda. "I did what I could in the name of our goddess. I am not proud of many of the choices I made, but it could have been much worse." Drawing in another deep, earthy breath, she looks down the path as they walked. "I learned much. As much in a week as a decade of traveling. Despite the pain and hardships, it was good for me. So thank you, for choosing me when the others could have been better."
She stops as Veleda does, confusion returning when the druid reaches up to touch the scarred part of her head, clearly reaching for her eye. "I-" She begins, brain running in many different lines of thought and tangling up each other like a heaped net pulled forward by the center. Firstly, she was as old or older than Veleda, though it certainly didn't feel like it given the wisdom the woman exudes, secondly, she did not feel as if she deserved the offer, and thirdly... if had made a promise to Ractus, as they laid in the makeshift hospital together.
A small guffaw of disbelieve finally escapes her after a moment of silence, and she reaches up her right hand to gently touch Veleda's own. "No, thank you. Not me." Rudabeh says softly, the thin leather of her gauntlets taking the seemingly frail appendage into her own to squeeze softly. "It is a reminder I should not be so reckless. Besides, I only recently stopped running into corners." A small joke, and a smile, before it vanishes in seriousness. "If I may boldly ask to redirect this incredibly benevolent act, though... Ractus, the elf that accompanied me... He is crippled because he tried to protect me in an impossible situation. I swore to him I would find a way to make him whole again, and I cannot accept such an offer while he still struggles again the pain of my mistakes every day. If he could even walk properly again... He could assist me far more than a second eye ever could."
Gently lowering Veleda's hand as if she were placing a priceless artifact into the safety of Abadar's Vault, Rudabeh lets go, suddenly frowning and looking disturbed. "There is something I must share with you that I left out of my report. I hope... being so close to Alseta, you may have some insight." Her mouth opens to speak again, but the words choke as they form, throat knotted and burning as if she had swallowed an angry pufferfish whole. "After... after the explosion. The one I lost my eye. When Dagen tried to have me killed, and Ractus was mangled." She was trying to broach the subject, but she was nervous. On one hand, maybe Veleda knew what it all meant. On the other... what if it wasn't real? Just a dream that hurt? Which was worse, or better?
Looking away, she continues to stand still, even as Veleda starts to tentatively walk once more. Glancing back to Veleda with a wide eye, Rudabeh suddenly hustles in closely in a clatter of metal, kneels to match the woman's height, and starts to speak very quickly and softly to her face.
"I was floating, as if in the sea, yet feeling as if ten tiger sharks were each chewing on a piece of me... The pain stopped, and a voice that sounded like all the voices of Daggermark came together and said... "Not Yet."
Staring straight forward, her face occasionally shows a wince as her head already starts to ache from the memory. She tried not to think about it much, yet it was still so disturbingly clear. "I was then in a place so impossibly vast with stars so numerous that it cannot exist in this world... there were colors that defied my eyes and there was... three of them." Her tongue quickly wets her lips, and the pressure on her head starts to increase. "One, a shadow, an outline, not hidden but obscured, an identity I do not know. The other was Hanspur in the form of a grand water rat nested in spinning clouds of dust, so real and huge and visceral I felt like one of his whiskers could fall and crush me." The pain that is starting to creep into her voice subsides for a moment, words switching to wonder and bewilderment. "But the third... Oh, Veleda, it was our goddess. So perfect was her form that when I look at the images of her in The Sacred Keystones I cannot help but think they are children's drawings compared to her august divinity." The next words are spoken as if made of silk on a soft breeze, so quiet yet so sure. "She saw me. She looked at me..."
Part of her wanted to mention the wink, that acknowledgement that meant more than all of Absalom's wealth, and the pride of that moment washes out all of the pain in her temple. But no... it was Rudabeh's secret treasure, and she held it very close. It was her's. Her's alone. Not even Veleda needed to know.
She starts talking faster now, as if trying to get it over with. "That is why I did not say anything before, Dryw... I cannot imagine how she would..." A twinge causes the right side of her face to twitch, and she continues as if the thought about Dryw never happened, her mind now on a singular downward spiral towards the center of the vision. "And then I saw the entire world. Golarion, the whole thing. From above. All of it..." Her teeth clench together for a moment as she recalls the millions of landscapes, the flowing rivers, pleasant meadows, high mountains and low valleys. "Then the people came into focus, moving so fast I barely knew where I was or why. I saw so many lives, everyday people just... living. There were so many people. They were all being drawn towards something, an invisible point somewhere in the distance. It felt like..." Sweat has broken out on the right side of her head, glistening in the dappled rays of the swamp. "A chance. Like the moment before you throw a pair of dice."
She swallows quickly, which does nothing for her dry mouth or the pounding in her head. "Three scenes are burned in my mind. In a dark crypt, a white robed man with a torch watches an ancient stone coffin tremble in the center of an equally ancient room. Then I saw..." Rudabeh laughs hoarsely, quietly, the act almost turning into a cough before she catches herself. "I saw you, standing in your office looking to the north... Then..." Rudabeh winces as a sharp pain stabs through her head. This part hurt the most, and sometimes it caused her to become delirious about time. "I was in the past, watching myself swear my oaths to Alseta under the Welcomer's Arch in Outsea, no, before it was the Welcomer's Arch... I swore..." She shakes her head quickly, trying to rid it of the confusion. ""I saw myself swear my oaths to Alseta."
"Then a voice said that was enough. That it was too much. Then, I was... sent back." Rudabeh breathes heavily, her eye wet with pain, though it was receding now that she had finished. "They were right. It hurts to think about."
Clearing her throat, the paladin realizes she is much too close to Veleda and leans back in embarrassment, cheeks flushing purple. "I think I was supposed to be dead. Ractus was several yards away and lost limbs. I should been the consistency of meat pie. But the gods.. they preserved me for that brief moment, and Alseta ensured Hiram was there to get to me in time to save me."
"But why?" It wasn't a question, now. It was a plea, she had decided it was better to have it explained, to know, than to be ignorant. "Why show me all of that? I am no hero or demigod destined for greatness or foretold in some prophecy. None of it makes sense, the scale of it all, the feeling of everyone moving towards one point, one event..." Eager to deflect from the idea she could be special, some sort of chosen one, she continues. "Ractus had a vision too. At the same time." She spits out, as if it had equal importance. "Gorum's herald, The First Blade, appeared to him and said there is a time of great struggle ahead, a time of turmoil and violence. That important factions would form and do battle with each other. A great moment to prove one's worth, to fight,"
Swallowing, she lifts her hand and wipes the sweat off of her forehead. "I Have only told Ractus and Hiram... and one of the souls in the fire whale heart, Teken, has overheard. I have told no one else."
The telling of the dream is not a fast or smooth process, as Rudabeh does her best to not only explain the imagery but how the kaleidoscope of visions made her feel, what it had done to her. The story gains it's own momentum and by the end Rudabeh is quite nearly babbling, trying to keep up with her own flood of words.
For Veleda's part, the cool mask is gone now. While she still maintains some reserve, the old woman seems far more likely to reveal her thoughts on matters of faith then on politics. While Rudabeh catches glimpse of a range of emotions from amusement to tenderness to confusion, the main reaction seems to be...concern.
The park around them suddenly seems very loud, when Rudabeh stops talking. The bird song, the soft rustle of leaves, buzz of insects, even the creaking of tree trunks int he breeze, it fills Rudabeh's ears in a way she has never heard before. Was it merely because of her anxiety or was nature simply more...present with Veleda? Was this how the druid experienced the wilds?
Standing still, eyes not quite focused on Rudabeh the old woman spoke softly, "Alseta has spoken to me three times in my life, each time an occasion I shall never forget. And each time it changed my life."
"Like you, I was not born in the River Kingdoms, Rudabeh. When I was young, in a far away land that had barely heard of Alseta, she came to me in a dream." her eyes mist over, both with thought and obvious emotion. Just like Rudabeh, a dream form the gods is not a casual event. Clearly, even decades later, it rests heavy on the woman's heart.
"She came as an old woman, hooded and cloaked, and revealed to me a distant place I had never seen. A land of river and swamps, of wild places and small towns. A place full of life and strife, of vitality in ways both large and small. It was a land torn between the lofty ideals of independence and trustworthiness and the reality of violence and petty disagreements. A land where both water and soil were stained with blood."
"I was shown all of this, a thousand years of the River Kingdoms in an instant, and it broke my young heart. In some ways...it has never healed."
"And then, int he act of that breaking the old woman whispered to me, 'You shall go." The light breeze around Rudabeh seemed to flare at this, and the leaves of the trees overhead flutter as if in a storm, then quieted. Veleda shivered and said, "I awoke then, covered in sweat but filled with purpose. I would find this land and do what this strange goddess, for god she surely was, bid me."
There was a long moment of silence, and Rudabeh had the distinct sense Veleda was critically examining that long-lost young girl, considering how she had lived up to that dream and the task given to her.
"I have never told anyone, save one, that story, Rudabeh." Veleda says, "I hope it helps you. The visions of gods are not given lightly or without reason. Alseta is not overly given to them, from what I understand from followers of other faiths. We must treasure them, both on a personal level and as part of her plan for us."
Veleda starts to walk again, long robe trailing over twigs, grass and muddy puddles. For the first time Rudabeh notes the hem isn't dirty or stained in anyway, although even the dark gray cloth should reveal it. Magic? Or was it merely nature's way of respecting one of its greatest champions?
"Much of what you describe is strange to me, unknown. I know little more then you, but I will say these two things, that I think are safe to share."
"The vision of the crypt, that ancient evil. Someone long asleep in our lands is stirring, and I feel it may touch both of our lives before year's end. I do not know exactly the shape it will take, but be wary."
"And the second.....I feel the third figure, the unknown one, the shadow." Veleda stops talking so long Rudabeh wonders if she has lost her train of thought, perhaps lost in some esoteric internal debate. Finally she says, "That may have been the most important part of your vision. A prediction...of sorts."
Her voice shifts, becoming the mischievous child again, "I have to admit, I never thought I would be asked to heal Ractus Redfist. I assume you know who and what he is, or at least was?" A quick glance at Rudabeh's eye makes her nod, "Good, so you do not ask in ignorance."
"I dislike the word cripple, Rudabeh." Veleda says lightly, "While true, such things can limit our options, it is also life's way of coping with changes. Adaption is nature's great tool, and a limp can be a triumph if the alternative is to never walk again."
A shrewd look enters those forest green eyes as she says, "Have you asked Ractus about this? He is not follower of Alseta, and may not consider myself as a worthy vessel to heal such damage. The fact Gorum came to him....I am loath to trespass on such jurisdictions. The Lord in Iron may have his own uses for Redfist."
The concern on Veleda's face is infectious. Rudabeh had been hoping, but fearful of answers, and seeing the woman's worried visage causes her gut to twist. If her hero didn't know, who did besides the gods themselves?
Regardless, she is stunned to silence as Veleda reveals Alseta has spoken to her three times. There was no jealousy in the thought, but sheer awe that Veleda had been contacted directly by their goddess multiple times. The paladin had merely seen her, and no words were exchanged... this merely cemented Veleda's legend in her mind, and at the end Rudabeh nodded slowly, thoughts spinning about what the other two times could have been about if the first was so important, so critical to what the river kingdoms now was.
It was amazing, she surmised with a hand gripping her Iron Key in reverence, that the wisdom of their goddess was so great she could change an entire country for the better by giving the right person a dream and a few words.
"It does help." Rudabeh says without thinking, and indeed, to her surprise the knot of anxiety had dissolved. "Thank you." It was comforting to know there was someone else that had experienced the same reality-changing sensations that the gods could apparently cause. She briefly wonders how delicate their mortal minds, bodies, and souls must be if such brief moment of a god's thoughts can change them forever.
Standing as Veleda begins to walk once more, Rudabeh brushes dirt off of the kneecap of her greaves, much unlike Veleda she was definitely more dirty than before.
"Who is waking up?" She asks, face wrought with confusion. "Is this... some sort of undead if they can sleep for so long?" And again, her voice mirrors the confusion on her face. "But who is the shadow? Is their form the prediction, or their presence? What is it predicting?" Full of questions and desperate for answers, the taller undine looks pleadingly at the back of Veleda's head.
A sigh and a nod, punctuated only by the slight scraping of chain around the back of neck, affirms her knowledge of Ractus' history. "I will not defend his actions, but for those of us that live by the sword there will always be someone you wish you had not killed." It was something she never asked Finn... but surely it was true for her as well. Every warrior that had a conscience, for as long as it lasted, had their regrets.
There is a quick bow of her head when Veleda mentions disliking the word cripple. "You are right. I should be more careful with my words, for they hold power. I have been assisting him with his transition to his current physicality, but it has effected his mind and heart as well."
Inhaling through her nose at the question if she had spoken to Ractus, Rudabeh intones: "No. But I swore to him I would do all I could to see him whole, and I believe he wants his former strength and mobility back. If he refuses the healing, or you do not wish to interfere with Gorum's sport, I will have done my duty and certainly accept my eye back." There is a pause as she wonders whether to say her next thought, before just going ahead. "Based on his description of the vision, the Herald was telling him opportunities for many battles are in the future... and if anything, he should be fighting in them if he wishes to gain Gorum's attention. Not only is that troubling after all you have done to secure relative peace in this land, but I would assume Ractus would want to be at his peak strength for it." It was her interpretation, however unwise. Clearly, she wanted no part of the Lord in Iron's chaotic and blood-stained glory, for any thrill she felt from fighting was for a job well done or knowing she was furthering her duty.
"I wish I knew." Veleda said simply, to Rudabeh's veritable torrent of questions. "You have no idea how much I wish I knew, Rudabeh."
"Gorum's sport..." Veleda smiles a bit at the phrase, "Perhaps, although I doubt his followers would put it so. We should not be so quick to judge him, after all. The River Kingdoms are built, in part, on struggle and violence. Nature itself is red in tooth and claw." She gently pats a oak tree near the path, 'Take this tree for example. It is, in its own way, under siege as surely as any castle, battling for light, water against the other trees and fighting off horses of insects and fungus. It is a fight as brutal as anything Gorum asks for."
The old druid shrugs though and adds, "That said, when applied to human affairs, I do find constant war...sterile at best. As you suggest, it is not comforting to hear of the Lord of Iron's coming." The old woman shakes her head gently, and looks up at Rudabeh, eyes bright, "One god at a time, Rudabeh. Let us concern ourselves with Alseta and her tidings, which I think is enough for either of us."
Veleda starts walking briskly along the path and Rudabeh finds, to her surprise, they are back on the main road, cutting through the small park-like area. Her step is quick and light, easy over the uneven ground. there is a determination there, a briskness that tells Rudabeh the audience is coming to an end.
"I would not recommend you stay in the city long. Not only would it engender confusion in your exact status, but it will also give Castruccio more time to get into trouble. Neither of us want that, I think."
"As for the healing of your eye..." Veleda slows in her business-like stride, [/b]"We will ask Dryw to do it."[/b] Seeing Rudabeh's confusion the old woman adds, "I have my reasons, child."
Rudabeh nods solemnly at the idea that they wish they knew more, though there were plenty of stories of people going mad from knowing too much... was there such a thing as a happy middle ground?
There is a brief furrowing of her brows at Veleda's commentary on nature, plants, an oak tree all fighting battles. It was true, she was sure, though it didn't seem to appeal to the paladin much. You couldn't reason with a mushroom unless it was sentient, after all. "I have seen enough of the battlefield to know the Lord in Iron cares for nothing but the fight itself. He is no friend or foe." But she acquiesces and bows her head. "I would certainly rather contemplate Alseta."
Protest forms on the undine's lips when Veleda suggests they not stay in Daggermark for long, but she closes her mouth and merely nods. Veleda was right of course. It was dangerous for her to be here, for the city, for Veleda's plans, for whatever Alseta needed her to do or be. Irovetti just made it worse.
A guffaw escapes Rudabeh's mouth at the notion Dryw will heal her eye. "I hope she does not gouge out my good eye instead." It was said in jest... mostly. "Or turn it a different color." That would just be embarrassing. She does not ask why, though, and already saw some webs of Veleda's plans stretching out. By having Dryw heal her and force her to work with her, maybe the two could work on the animosity between them. Forcing people to work together and form an understanding was a trick that any good negotiator knew, formally trained or not.
"Do you intend to help Nubauch Jar?" She asks as the streets of Daggermark draw close. Rudabeh takes her helm from beneath her armpit and settles it on her head, fingers deftly working the series of latches that kept it in place and lined it up with the bevor. "I do not know how one obtains immortality without becoming undead, or imbibing a Sun Orchid Elixir. But Nubauch seems intent on discovering it."
Veleda turns to the northeast, as if she could peer through woods and streams, over countless miles of swamp to the distant Kingdom of the Free. Her face is unreadable, as always, but her eyes are bright, as if lit by an inner flame.
"Immortality." Veleda whispered softly, seductively, a strange tone for the old druid, so out of place. "A dream that has enticed so many....to live forever, to grasp life's tiller so firmly as to never let go. To master time itself..."
Then Veleda laughs and turns back to Rudabeh, a child again, "I have never seen the point of it myself. One lifetime of duty seems enough of a burden for me. I cannot imagine wanting more then my fair share. Luckily, Alseta seems disinclined from giving me that particular stone to carry."
"Come, we have much to do, both of us. " She pauses for a moment as if wondering to say more, but then lapses into thoughtful silence.
After a few moments, as they walk the old druid says, "Maybe you are right, Rudabeh. This small area of green has much to be said for it. I believe it is slated to be a new set of warehouses, but perhaps I can convince the city to make it a park. Or better yet, leave it as it is. Such places of wildness are very valuable to both body and soul." As they pass up the road the Leader of the Pact of Years, the most powerful person in all the River Kingdoms talks to Rudabeh of the ways of trees, the nature of ponds and the strange customs of turtles.
Rudabeh stops as Veleda does, looking in the same direction. The old druid could probably see more and certainly knew more than the paladin, but to her it seemed as if they were just staring at a tree. Possibly an elm tree, Rudabeh wasn't really sure.
Veleda's tone causes Rudabeh's brow to rise slightly, having never heard such words from her in the... hour or two they have spent together. Still, it was surprising, and Rudabeh wondered if this was merely one of many Veleda's facets, or if she was often taken to dispensing cryptic wisdom. It was certainly one of those saying that she was sure to remember and repeat.
"Indeed." The paladin intones, bowing her head in reverence to the seemingly infinite well of wisdom Veleda espouses. "Immortality is for the forces of the planes and the gods and beyond. Life is for those subjected to those forces."
There is a glance around when they begin walking once more, the cool shade giving Rudabeh a slight reprieve from the building summer heat. "It can still be a park, and left the way it is." She says, filing away the thought of dedicating the area to Veleda once she had passed on from the world... as terrifying a thought that is. "Less work that way, even." Though she personally saw no use in wilderness in the middle of a city- there was seemingly limitless wilderness outside the city, at least there were no mobogo or fire drakes here.
The park is small and in short order they have left the soft green confines and are back in the city proper. It is like going from a small dark cave into blazing sunshine, as all the sensations of the city break over Rudabeh. The sights, sounds and most of all smells seem almost painful and Rudabeh wonders if this is how it always feel for Veleda, when she is forced to leave her love of nature for the problems of mankind.
The old druid stops at the very edge of the park, shaded in the last reaching shadow. "Excuse me, Rudabeh but we part ways here. have no desire to walk out into busy streets and stop traffic for hours." Veleda smiles, a bit wanly, "Some people are under the mistaken assumption a a prayer to me gets to Alseta faster. Untrue, of course, but it has a way of upsetting the local merchants."
"Please tell Dryw to heal your eye, if you desire it." She adds, "I don't think even she will think you'd lie about that." She turns, as if to go then stops and turns with a impish smile, "Oh, and give Castruccio my best. Dreadfully sorry to have dissapointed his desire for an audience. "
Then she says, more seriously, "May Alseta watch over you, Rudabeh. Just because you are heading home, that does not mean you are leaving the balance. And never forget to Turn the Mask." With that, and a little wave suited to an old lady going out to feed pigeons she turns back into the woods. In a moment she is gone....far more thoroughly then should be possible.
It is only a short walk across a busy town plaza dotted with bistros and gaming houses and Rudabeh finds the tea-house Veleda indicated. Out front, sitting at a small wicker table she sees Irovetti and Vetto deep in talks over a shared bowl of iced...cream? Whatever it was, the half-frozen, fruit covered bowl looked very expensive.
They are laughing at some shared joke as Rudabeh walks over, her boots ringing off the muddy stones. "Ah, Rudabeh!" Irovetti says grandly, waving a hand to invite her to sit. 'Please, have a set a and try some of this delicious dessert Vetto recommended. Simply delightful! A nice change of pace from trail rations." This is a bit rich considering Irovetti's 'trail rations' usually consisted of sugared pies, stuffed venison and grilled trout. Rudabeh hoped the chef back at the docks knew how to get plenty of ice and milk.
At her unspoken question the former King frowned, "Ractus went off toward that street, with some lady from the crowd. " he waves a hand vaguely, "Something about a fortune-telling."
The buzz of the city seems to reverberate in Rudabeh's helmet, and for a moment she nearly feels ill. Was it always so loud? The armies of cicadas that were soon to emerge droned softer than this. Teken? She thinks briefly, partly to make sure her contact with the ifrit spirit was intact and partly to concentrate on something other than the noise. I apologize for the interruption, our business is concluded.
Rudabeh nearly opens her mouth to say something when Veleda says they were parting ways- didn't she agree to heal Ractus? But she stifles the words, and even the thought. As she had impressed upon Nubuach the woman was no wand to wave about, and instead the undine bows her head in reverence and acceptance. "Perhaps a donation to the Pact of Years would be a more suitable replacement for a prayer." She says as the idea strikes her. "It would cause you much less inconvenience, though the merchants will still be upset." A small, brief smile plays on her lips.
The prospect of telling Dryw to tell her eye was daunting- but Rudabeh had faced far more hostile priestesses and survived. There was surely a way to work out the animosity between them.
The sun, now bright and harsh and reflecting off every angle of her polished armor, causes her eye to squint as she straightens from her bow. "Thank you, Veleda, may-"
The druid was suddenly... gone, and Rudabeh stood there for several silent seconds, waiting for her eyes to adjust and see Veleda's retreating form, but there was no trace she had ever been in front of her.
Drawing in a deep breath (it stank of sewage, somewhere, and it was overpowering to her suddenly sensitive nose that longed for moss and sod), the paladin turns and starts to make her way to the tea shop.
A curious glance went three ways as Irovetti waved to her- from the former king, to Vetto, to the iced cream, and between all three. There were a lot of questions on her mind, and though the treat pulled at her as a hook pulls at a bass's gaping maw, she squelched the desire to express her concern about Ractus.
"Fortune-telling?" She repeats, louder than necessary, her neck craning towards the street with a scrape of articulated plates. Perhaps Ractus was also looking to get to the bottom of the mysteries they witnessed in Pitax? The man didn't seem like a scholar, but surely he had to be interested in the visions of the First Blade?
"Veleda apologizes that she is unable to meet with you, Irovetti. I have been sent to Outsea, and I will certainly need my advisor along." The pull to know what Ractus was doing, either from nosiness or concern, started to yank at her psyche.
"In any case, I will be back shortly, please stay here." Is said as the rest of her body follows her head and she turns to walk into the street, looking for the elf.
"Outsea?" Irovetti makes a face, "Clearly I'd be of more use here at the center of -" he breaks off as Rudabeh essentially turns away and heads off toward Ractus. Irovetti sniffs disdainfully at the quasi-rudeness and turns back to Vetto, spoon in hand.
Stepping into the alley is like stepping into twilight. The high arcing buildings block out the sky, plunging the winding walkway into a world of shifting shadows and murk. In many ways, the gray gloom is a man-made reflection of the green twilight of the park Rudabeh just left. But instead of the soft rustle of leaves and animal calls, they were replaced by the harsh stink of human waste and tar, overlaid with the shouts of unseen humans. Still, a strange connection threaded the two places together. What had Ractus said? To a rat, a rats nest is home.
Squinting into the artificial dusk, Rudabeh soon spots a small stall set-up a few feet away. It is little more then a wooden counter set between two wooden poles, sunk into the sticky morass of the street grime. Above a simple tarp spreads, dark blue and spangled with hand-drawn stars. The artistry is actually quite good, if amateurish.
Along the front of the counter is carved a butterfly, the holy symbol of Desna.
Ractus, looking in surprisingly spirits, is seated in front of the counter on a sawed off barrel. His good arm rests on the counter, the mangled appendage half hidden.
On the other side, under the dark overhanging tarp, sits the fortune teller. She looks every bit the cliche from a thousands stories save for one detail. In the tales the fortune teller was always an old crone, shriveled and aged, bent against the years with hands like claws. This woman though was young, and shockingly, strikingly beautiful. Clear skin, long raven hair and sparkling eyes of icy blue made Rudabeh wonder if Ractus had other designs then strictly the arcane.
The young woman looks up as Rudabeh enters and she smiles. "Ah, you would be Rudabeh of Outsea then? Please, have a seat." She waves to another barrel cast off. "I was just about to begin." Her voice is smoky and exotic, with a much heavier version fo Silvui's accent.
Ractus turns, a slow, painful movement. Still he grins at spotting the undine, a rare gesture since his mutilation. "This woman is going to tell my fortune, Rudabeh." His voice is full of joyful mockery, "She insists she can do it, even after I shared my doubts."
Turning back to face the Desna worshipers the mercenary went on, voice sarcastic, "I am hoping for long life and good health."
The woman merely smiles enigmatically, apparently untroubled by the elf's tone. In her hand she shuffles a deck of cards, which look to be made of worn and yellow ivory. Or perhaps the bones of some long dead creature. They clack softly int he dim light of the alleyway, oddly melodic.
Rudabeh tentatively walks into the alleyway, eye forward and trying to make out the features around her. She nearly steps on a wet piece of dirtybread, but a large hissing rat causes her to adjust her stride at the last moment. A glance is spared for the critter as it grabs its prize and disappears into a heap of broken, weather-worn boards.
The journey to the fortunetellers stall was a short one, though it lagged as her step slowed to admire the carved butterfly. The symbol of Desna, the goddess of her youth, had appeared before her again. There were a few half-remembered, rote prayers that could still be shook loose from her head, but the Tender of Dreams had no place in Rudabeh's spheres of thought, though she had found herself occasionally throwing a prayer to the goddess after particularly bad dreams, just to be safe that something unmanageable wasn't lurking within her nightmares.
There is a quick nod of her head when the young woman invokes the undine's name and title, eye turning to Ractus and stifling a chortle at his dark humor. "Though prophecy died with Aroden," Rudabeh begins, her blunt words used only because there were no worshipers of Iomeadae about, who would surely take offense, "there are still a few that can see glimpses of possible futures with the assistance of the gods or other powers." Her words end there, for they were not her own and came out of a book on general religious studies. It seemed she wasn't ready to dismiss the street-teller outright, at least.
Armor creaks and protests as she sits next to the mercenary captain, signaling she needed to oil the joints of her beautiful armor, but the barrel beneath her sounds even worse- it wobbles under her bulk, and she has to shift her weight to stabilize it. Swinging her leather sheath from her shoulder, she places it tip down in the alleyway and holds onto the The Sixth Peak with one hand, hilt now rising above her head.
"If your fortune goes well, perhaps I will have mine read too. If I'm told I will have a happy life and a peaceful death, though, it will surely upset someone out there." The paladin jests over the sound of clacking cards, clearly not adverse to a little bit of fun.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Whatever Rudabeh might imply about her chances of success, the young woman smiles at the paladin's hint of paying for a reading. Rudabeh had never met a fortune-teller yet that turned down a quick coin. "A chance to predict your future would be interesting but I am surprised you want it."
Her blue eyes lock with Rudabeh's, "The rumor on the street suggests your path is fixed in stone."
Rudabeh's future? Certain? What in the name of the gods were they saying out there?
The woman sets the cards down and pulls out the stub of a small candle, which she carefully lights with a match. The wick catches instantly, burning with a weird, green glow. A scent that reminds Rudabeh of almonds fills the air, layering over the stinks of the alley. The woman mouths a silent prayer, before putting away the matches and taking up the cards. Ractus watches this with obvious amusement and a knowing grin.
Quietly, politely he says, "Ah, you are one of those."
The woman pauses, ivory deck in hand, and glances at the elf. "One of which?"
Ractus, still smug, "All fortune-tellers seem to fall into two groups. The first are the happy ones, the ones that want to be your friend. A quick smile, a swipe of the cards and your bright future is laid out for you. You'll die peacefully at the age of 150, in your own bed surrounded by hordes of great-grandchildren, that'll be a few gold please."
A faint tone of bitterness enters Ractus's voice as he goes on, 'The other kind goes for a more mysterious, exotic approach. Chanting unknown tongues, weird tattoos and vague predictions. Nothing outright negative of course, no one wants a dark future, but things like 'And you shall meet a hooded stranger on a dark road'." He nods toward the small, merrily burning green flame, "The candle is a nice touch, I've never seen it before."
Again the fortune-teller seems unbothered by Ractus's growing rudeness. "My grandmother always lit a candle before a communing with the Else, and I light it in memory of her. Shall we begin?"
Ractus puts back his mocking smile, glances knowingly toward Rudabeh and then nods.
The young woman shuffles the cards one more time, the musical clatter reminding Rudabeh of something but unable to quite put her finger on it. Something from her childhood?
The fortune-teller fans the cards, face-down on the table and then begins picking them up, placing them in a circle, still face-down.
For the first time Ractus frowns and says, "You do not use Tapestry?"
The young fortune-teller's smile falters, for an instant, as she says slowly in obvious surprise, "You know the Harrow?"
The elf grunts, obviously lost in thought. His voice, when he answers, is oddly thick and uncertain. "I know enough, woman. Do you know how many peddlers and shysters descend on any army before battle? promising this fake healing amulet or this fake reading? Telling every solider 'Of course you will not die, my friend' and predicting victory for a coin. I've seen many a men throw his life away, convinced he was protected by fate. Fate predicted by a liar and faker, who is quickly off to pluck the next soon to be corpse!" The mercenary suddenly pauses, as if remembering when he is, and sits up straighter, visibly controlling himself. There is a gleam in one eye...a tear? It is gone in a moment and when he speaks again, his voice is cold and mocking.
"Oh, maybe a few had a spark or two of talent, some connection. But most of it is tricks and nonsense, I'm afraid. A way to separate the foolish and their money."
This is so rude Rudabeh is about to say something but the fortune-teller waves her hand and says, her tone oddly gentle, "Tricks and nonsense? Perhaps...perhaps. Shall we see your hooded stranger?"
Ractus, neck tight, nods.
With a flourish the pretty woman flips the circle of cards face-up, the soft click cutting through the alley noises like a sharp knife through a man's flesh.
The woman rests a single, pale finger on the card at one o'clock. "A long life indeed, many signs in your past. Powerful omens." She glances up at Rudabeh and whispers, "The reading is of three, past, present and future."
"Go on." Ractus says, his mocking tone replaced with something like dread. The scent of almonds seems to grow heavy in the air, cloying on Rudabeh's lips.
"The Bear, strength and power, unyielding fury." The fortune-teller says, touching each card as she names the first three. "The Twins, unsurety of purpose." Softly she adds, "And The Crows, of personal loss."
Ractus, stone-still, says nothing but the woman goes on, moving toward the bottom of the circle, "The Beating, of an attack from all sides, outward and inwards. The Juggler, the gods who play with the fates of others. And...the Eclipse. The loss of faith and bringer of doubt." A a pause and then, 'Do you wish a deeper reading of the present-"
"Read on, witch!" Ractus says, voice cruel as a whip.
She nods gracefully, smooth skin glowing in the gloom. "The future then....The Marriage, the joining of strange things, for both good and bad. The Cyclone, pure destruction of the works of men. And finally, the Tangled Briar, influence on history."
Then she frowns, and looks at yet another card, still in the circle and unnamed. "I counted wrong? How-"
She looks at the card more closely then glances up at Ractus. The elf abruptly stands up, knocking the barrel aside with a loud clatter. Without a word the mercenary smashes a mighty fist down on the wooden counter shattering it and sending the ivory cards cascading into the slimy mud. Still silent, he glares down at the scrambling woman, and raises his fist again, pauses, then turns away, stumping back up the alley toward the distant sounds of life and laughter, his limp heavy and painful.
Before Rudabeh can even breathe the young woman, still kneeling, lifts a cracked square of ivory out of the muck. Squinting past the gloom and the mud, Rudabeh can see the card bears the image of a battered pine tree, clinging to a great rock against storms.
"The Survivor." She breathes.
A curious looks passes over Rudabeh's face as the woman mentions her path was set in stone. Rumors about the paladin must be thick in Daggermark, but maybe it was better she had no idea what sort of nonsense was swirling about her name.
The candle was a nice touch, or maybe even a real reagent for a prayer, and even though her Elven companion seems to ignore the name, Rudabeh had spent a years reading Urqat's special collection of religious texts and the name Else seemed to carry some sort of power or significance...
Ractus' jibs showed Rudabeh the man had considerable experience with those that mime true faith, but she was starting to get annoyed at how rude he was acting. After his outburst about petty tricks her right hand lifts and she places it upon his shoulder; though the limb below it was missing, she could still feel the sturdy body beneath her fingers. "Please, Ractus, let her read." She asks evenly, though it was clear the man was burning hotter than the candle in front of them.
Still throughout the reading, Rudabeh's feelings slowly slide from respectful tolerance of other faiths to a morbid curiosity as the cards are revealed and explained.
She had seen many auguries in her time- one of Urqat's few pleasurable expenditures beyond his rare books were auguries from a local Oracle of Danglosa. This female Ceratioidi known simply as "Danglosa's Light" was born without limbs, but her lure could shine with a spectrum and control that staggered the mind. Urqat never took the readings seriously, and Rudabeh was convinced that he was merely amused by watching her form get slowly towed around Outsea by the dozens-strong swarm of small male Ceratioidi acolytes(or suitors, for she had picked no mate when Rudabeh last saw her), or he drew enjoyment from the watching the shrimp used in her auguries be torn apart and their ragged carapaces be read for clues of the future.
It was from these experiences that Rudabeh knew, as soon as The Juggler was revealed, that she was witnessing something real. Respectfully silent and lips pressed together in a thin line, she feels the explosion of anger from Ractus before he even hit the counter.
Stunned by the sudden movement she can do nothing to save the wood, but as his fist raises again towards the human the paladin quickly stands and is about to act- only to see the elf once again turn into a cripple and shuffle away.
Mouth partially agape, Rudabeh turns her eye to the fortune-teller, taking in the image of the battered tree and then looking back down the street to the retreating Ractus. "My apologies." She mutters, reaching out a hand to pull the fortune teller to her feet in one effortless heave. "He's sensitive about his condition."
Quickly regaining her wits, she awkwardly flips her bag around to the front of her breastplate in mere moments has produced two unblemished Daggermark golden crowns, which find their new homes on the still upright barrel she was sitting on. "One for the reading and one for your property. I am truly sorry about the card." She says sincerely, wishing she could repair it instead of compensating for it- but she was no paladin of Torag, and such miracles were beyond her.
"I think we should play it safe and not do a reading for me." Rudabeh intones seriously as she picks up her sword and throws it over her shoulder. "After that display, I don't want you to draw the attention of... whatever is happening in my life these days. Be safe, and may Alseta watch over you, or whatever powers you call upon. Goodbye."
Turning, she starts back down the alleyway, armor clattering at her quick steps. The rat from before, apparently unfazed by the violence that occurred, hisses at her one more time from behind its nest of weathered planks just to be sure she knew this was its turf before returning to happily munching on its soggy bread.
The city hits her with its sounds and lights, and she sweeps her vision carefully across the crowd- she had to find Ractus before he did something rash.
The fortune-teller, knelling in noxious mud no longer looks like the mysterious and exotic purveyor of clairvoyant truth. Instead she looks like a young girl trying to pick up her dolls. Her fingers squelched unpleasantly in the ooze as she picked up the scattered cards.
She glanced up at Rudabeh's words and said, looking more then slightly confused, "Of..of course. My offer of a reading stands, of course." She pauses and then adds, for no reason Rudabeh can tell, "My name is Lissa."
She turns back to her work as Rudabeh leaves the dim alley, ignoring the sludge clinging to her boots. Peering into the overly bright square, the paladin doesn't instantly spot the mercenary. How can a man with a limp move that fast? Rudabeh's single eye has to sweep the busy cityscape a few times before she spots her quarry, a few blocks over. Her heart sinks as she sees him standing in the entrance to what looks like a tavern, and a bouncer blocking his path. Her eye catches a glint of metal on Ractus's remaining hand. A set of brass knuckles rests easily on his clenched fist. The undine starts to move as fast as full plate allows.
As she draws closer to the two men, she can hear the conversation over the ring of steel on cobbles.
"Get out of my way." Ractus snarls, his stance crabbed by his bad leg, so pronounced he looks like an weary man stooped by age.
The bouncer is a young man, with a broad flabby chest and an ugly scar under one eye. Being up one stair and standing straight he is taller then the elf mercenary, and he sneers down. "Listen, I don't care who you are, you aren't-"
Ractus good arm moves to fast it is a blur, and in a moment the bouncer is sitting on the porch clutching a broken, bleeding nose. The elf steps over the moaning man, utterly ignoring him.
Rudabeh reaches the porch, and her darkvision lets her peek inside the tavern. To her relief the building is apparently empty, and Ractus stumbles to the bar and starts loudly searching through the assorted bottles of liquor.
"He broke my nose!" The man bawls from the ground, trying to staunch the bleeding. The bright crimson bubbling through his fingers suggest his attempt is in vain. "The bas-" Then he catches sight of Rudabeh and goes silent, gazing up at her with a mixture of confusion and fear.
"Thank you, Lissa. Some other time, perhaps." Rudabeh says, voice slightly raised to carry over the clanking of her armor and the growing din of the nearby street.
The sudden disappearance of Ractus causes rapidly growing concern, until she spots him at the entrance to a nearby bar. The concern quickly transforms into dread as soon as she spots the dull sheen of brass knuckles on his hand. She bursts into a noisy sprint, causing startled onlookers to very quickly move out of the way of the (relatively) fast moving paladin with a five foot sword. The sounds of the street stop and change to murmurs, pointing, and hushed conversation.
Flinching as if she herself had been hit by Ractus' fist, it just further confirms her thoughts that the elf could easily work past his disabilities... if he believed it possible. A few more seconds and she is standing over the bouncer, glowering at Ractus' back as he searches through the liquor like some kind of bandit.
She looks down at the blubbering young man on the ground just as he looks up, catching her one sapphire eye. Articulated sheets of shining silversheen plate shift and ripple as her right arm twists to present the palm of her gauntlet to the human in an offer to help him to his feet. "My sincerest apologies. He is in a mood." The undine says with all the air of a mother chasing down a misbehaving but beloved child.
Briefly she considers commenting that Ractus went easy on the kid by just breaking his nose, but figures he has suffered enough humiliation. "May I please enter this establishment, sir? I will talk some sense into him and get him to leave the premises, though I ask for your patience in the matter."
Her oaths prevented her from rushing in after the elf, and she hoped the kid had been cowed enough to let her go inside and deal with the situation. Otherwise she was going to have to yell at Ractus from the street, and that was going to get very awkward for everyone.
The man is silent when Rudabeh reaches down and lays a heavily gauntleted hand on his shoulder, either in confusion or shock. The paladin can feel the healing glow press into him, and the man grunt in surprise. Tenderly he touches his damaged nose, smiling with relief when it obviously doesn't hurt.
He frowns slightly at Rudabeh's request but his reply is interrupted by the sound of breaking glass inside. The bouncer winces and says, gaining his feet, "Sure, sure." Then, regaining his wits a bit says loudly, "I gotta tell the boss!" and runs down into the square, and out of sight.
Rudabeh steps to the threshold and looks back inside. Ractus is still behind the bar, tossing bottles aside, muttering to himself.
"Elven wine? It's as elvish as Draze's mother." He says and throws the purple bottle at a far wall, adding it to a growing pile of glass and liquid.
At Rudabeh's heavy tread he looks up, holding a heavy bottle in his hand. He grunts and drops it when his eyes focus on the intruder. "Go away, Rudabeh. This isn't about you. For once." With a snarl he smashes another bottle with reckless abandon.