Rudabeh only watches the young man run away for a moment, frowning as he mentions telling the boss. This was going to get complicated very quickly, and with Ractus throwing a tantrum it was more likely to get bloody than anything.
Sounds of broken glass meet her ears as she enters the establishment as she finds out that Ractus suddenly has very particular tastes in wine. An incredulous look crosses the undine's scarred face when Ractus tells her to go away. "I thought Irovetti was the one who was going to be causing all the trouble in Daggermark, but instead my captain has a taste of a real divination and throws a tantrum because he doesn't like the results."
Her eye flickers to the jagged edge of the broken bottle in his hand, then back to Ractus. "By the Argent Gate's Shining Lock." Rudabeh lets out a incredibly rare (though still polite) swear while folding her arms over her breastplate. "For being hundreds of years old you are acting like a child. Will you please stop breaking things before a bunch of thugs show up to do it for you? I'm half a mind not to help you fight them off."
"Child." Ractus repeated, snorting dismissvely. "What do you know of children? You are all children!"
He cracks the top of a brown bottle and takes a long drink out of it, spitting some of it on the floor. "All of you, from you to that jumped up druid. Children. None of you have seen the things I've seen. Done the things I've done."
He takes another drink from the bottle, wiping his face with his forearm. "Get lost Rudabeh, and take that damned company with you. It'll take some time for the owners to get here, enough time to plunder some more of their piss-poor liquor."
He looks up at Rudabeh, his golden eyes gleaming brightly in the dim tavern. "Go boss someone else around for a change. Silvui will make a good student, until he dies with a spear in his gut. Or maybe Litta will amuse you until she chokes on her own blood."
The mercenary raises the glass to drink, curses, then glances toward Rudabeh and tosses the bottle at her. It smashes against her vambrace, shattering into a thousands pieces and cool liquid seeps into the joints as the strong smell spirit runs down the armor.
"I said, go!"
"Veleda has shown me that years alone do not equal wisdom." She replies, biting back a comment that Ractus' behavior is another explain that this fact can be portrayed negatively.
"Then what?" Rudabeh asks as Ractus points out he will be good and liquored up by the time the thugs show up. "Are you going to kill them all? For some bad spirits?"
She is quick to react as the bottle is thrown at her, throwing up her arm and pushing out to sweep it to the side. Instead, it sends a shower of glass and liquid over her. With surprise on her face, she shakes out her wet arm, sending more liquor to the ground and making her nose burn further. The smell was probably never going to come out.
"I cannot!" The paladin shouts back at Ractus, face edging on anger. "Not only are you my friend and clearly in need of..." Her features twist as she attempts to imagine what Ractus actually needs. Normally she would just ask, but he was pissing her off and clouding her judgement. "Something! But I swore to you I was responsible for your injuries and I would see you healed." She shakes her arm again as liquor begins to pool in the fingertips of her gauntlets, pickling her fingers. "I asked Veleda to heal your legs and she agreed! If you will stop throwing a fit and come with me, we can put this behind us!"
Ractus barks a rough laugh, "My legs. You think this is about my damned legs? Listen, Rudabeh, even in my current state-" He breaks off, and takes a long pull from the bottle. When he speaks his voice is a bit slurred. The paladin knew the elf could hold his liquor but perhaps his emotions are letting the booze hit him harder then usual.
"Even now, I could whip every snot-nosed kid that comes in here. Arm or no arm." Another drink, "You heard the lady, the one with the cards. I'm the Survivor!" he says the last words with mock reverence, "No matter what, I'll just keep pushing along, to whatever grand task the gods set ahead of me. Like one of those wind-up men out of Numeria. Following orders, ignoring the world around me. Well, I quit Rudabeh."
The anger leaks out of his voice, replaced with sorrow. Tears start leaking down his face, and he leans against the wall. "I quit watching my friends die, quit 'influencing history' and I'm done 'surviving'."
"So unless you so the same, and sit and drink, you can go back to the others. Tell Draze he's a good man." He sniffs, wiping away some tears. "Better, tell him to come join me in drunken retirement."
Rudabeh tries not to roll her eyes at Ractus' continued dramatics, instead standing straight and still with an annoyed expression on her face. She had no idea what a wind-up man from Numeria was and this wasn't the time to ask. At least he had some confidence back, but that was probably the booze.
The paladin draws in a deep breath (it stung her nose, from the vapors) and squelches her emotions. She had been caught off guard and gotten too heated about this by the elf's outbursts. "I understand you are not bound by the oaths and duties I have." She starts off calmly, hand gestures continuing to send liquor everywhere. "and you can quit living by the sword whenever you want," An aquamarine tongue quickly flicks out to wet her lips. "but yes, this is absolutely about your legs. If you hadn't gotten hurt in Pitax, are you telling me you would have quit after one fortune reading? After hundreds of years of fighting and watching friends die, now you're using the fatigue as an excuse?"
Rudabeh points a finger at the crying elf, a single droplet of some potent swill falling off. "No, you're afraid. Gorum's eye is on you, and you're afraid you can't live up to it now because of your injuries." Her finger falls back to her side, hands spreading wide. "Now you know what it feels like to be a paladin! Every day you wonder if you're fulfilling the expectations of your god. Honestly, if our situations were reversed, and they could have been, you would be the one having to talk me out of this very same situation!" The paladin's voice starts a rise a little bit again, though she calms immediately and glances around at the destruction. "Maybe with less liquor and property damage. But I still sat in that hospital bed for a good few hours while you were still unconscious, wondering if I would still be useful to my goddess. If I would have to hobble over and fall into the mouth of some mimic in a dungeon a hundred miles away so I could die fulfilling my oaths instead of dying in a bed!"
"The truth is, something is happening. Veleda says some... ancient evil or something is awakening, but that's all she knows. You and me are bound up in this somehow, and if we're going to get through it, if this whole land is going to get through it, if anyone wants to retire ever again... I'm going to need your help! Draze is great and all, but he's not Ractus." Her head swivels to the bar door, and she's surprised no one has shown up yet. "So pull yourself together, let's get your legs healed, which is something even retired Ractus is going to want, and we can talk about this somewhere else." Her head moves back, hitching the sword on her shoulder. "Because if we don't leave now, I'm going to have to beat you up and carry you off to satisfy whomever shows up to gut you for all damage you've caused." It was a matter-of-fact statement, similar to as if it were about to rain and they needed to get inside, or else their armor would rust.
"Afraid?" Ractus roars, climbing to his feet, all trace of sadness gone replaced by anger. "What do you know of fear? Have you faced down a charge of demons on the Worldwound with nothing but green Lastwall Knights at your back? Have you ordered an attack, knowing half the men would die? Don't talk about fear with me, play-solider. You think a nice sword and a few brushes with bandits make you world wise? Don't make me laugh."
Which he does, of course, do. He drinks more of the liquor while listening to Rudabeh's talk of gods, duty and Veleda. The elf seems unimpressed with the paladin's call to action and the undine grows more frustrated.
When Rudabeh mentions beating him, he narrows his eyes at her. "You think so, huh? You think you and that big knife of yours could take me? I'd like to see you try." When he laughs it is a grim, angry sound tinged with drink. There is a fire int he elf's eyes Rudabeh has not seen before, a strange play of emotions on her face. Every instinct Rudabeh has, ones pounded into her by Finn, flare to life. Danger!
The elf suddenly explodes from behind the bar, vaulting the polished wood with surprising grace. When he lands on the other side he winces at the impact but otherwise ignores it. With a roar he takes a step toward Rudabeh and swings his fist toward her face, still wearing the brass-knuckles. Then, just as Rudabeh raises an armored arm to block the blow, the elf shifts stances and sweeps out his uninjured leg. The attack is so smooth, it is like a blur.
But Rudabeh is not a greenhorn, whatever Ractus had drunken shouted. This is hardly her first fight. The paladin rests her weight on her legs, and lets the blow waste energy against the mirrored steel. It rocks her but she doesn't quite fall over, but it is a near thing. Alseta, that elf can hit hard.
Ractus grimly takes up a boxer's stance, just one arm raised. "Beginner's luck. Come on!"
"I know I'm afraid of lacking competent souls if I'm given leadership of the Pact of Years! I'm afraid of seeing you waste away from drinking and chasing women and dying of a slow death from gout!" She says, trying to turn the mask to the derogatory nature of Ractus' comments. The play-solider comment had stung a bit. Rudabeh was not a soldier anymore, but she had always taken her time in the Outsea militia, and her current duties, with deathly seriousness.
She staggers backward in surprise when Ractus vaults the bartop, struggling to get her sword from off her shoulder. Still the elf was too fast, and there was little she could do to defend against the brass knuckles but put up an arm. Further evidence that the man needed mental help, not physical help.
Instincts take over as the attack suddenly shifts, and Rudabeh centers her weight low just as the kick lands on the side of her greaves. Grunting as her leg is nearly swept from under her, she staggers a bit- but manages to pull her sword's sheath from over her shoulder, right hand grabbing the hilt.
"I hope after you've dried out you will see how foolish you've been." The paladin says evenly as she rips off the unimpressive leather sheath from The Sixth Peak to reveal the impressive acid-etched fuller running down its four-foot blade. "Because if you truly want to stop seeing your friends die..." Her sword switches hands, and she quickly grabs the key iron hanging from the faulds of her armor in her right hand. Gripping it tightly and pressing it to the black worg leather of her greatsword, a quick and quiet prayer leaves her lips to wish Ratus unharmed. ..."then you should be there to protect them!" The bevor of her armor magically shoots up at her words, the visor dropping down with a clang shortly thereafter.
Her sword suddenly begins to glow with a bright white light, wholly engulfing the entirety of the room. Everything becomes visible- every cobweb, beer stain, old blood puddles trapped in floorboards, and scuff mark can be seen in the pure whiteness emanating from the blade. It shines off of her armor, mirroring and intensifying the effect. The entire display would have been enough to make any street thug piss their pants, but she was sure Ractus had seen worse.
The Steward's Iron Key drops from her grip, catching on its copper chain and swinging back and forth for a moment. Her hands find a steady grip on her sword, and she snaps into an Ox guard, the tip of her glowing sword pointed squarely at Ractus' head. "Merciful Alseta... let me knock some sense into him." She murmurs to herself from within the confines of her helmet.
Ractus squints at the harsh blinding light, and for a moment Rudabeh wonders if the shock will blast some sense into the elf's scattered wits. Even for a battle hardened warrior, facing down a flaming pas blade is not an activity one undertakes lightly.
Then he grins, lowering his shoulders back into his fighting stance, "Nice trick to intimidate the unholy. Does it work?"
Rudabeh however was not watching the elf's face, but his hands and feet. The paladin knew all too well about the value of distraction during a fight, how your opponent might taunt or boast during combat, to capture your attention. An old trick, but a good one. So when ractus starts moving, Rudabeh is ready.
Still, his speed is surprising even to her. With fluid grace he steps inside her guard, using both his arm and legs to batter at her. The strong elf takes up her entire field of view, a blurring figure of motion, all aggressive attack.
One might think wearing a suit of full plate would make a fighter immune to fists and knees. You'd be wrong. Ractus hits her head with a jab strong enough to make her see stars, rattling her skull inside the helmet like a melon in a rickety cart. Meanwhile an iron knee smashes into her side, denting the mirrored armor and nearly knocking her over onto the stained and dirty tavern floor.
In an instant Ractus has stepped back again, fist raised in defensive stance, dancing on his toes. He wipes some blood off a knuckle, still smiling, with eyes on her sword. Ready for her counter-attack.
"Not dead of gout yet, then." he taunts, throwing her own words back at you. "Come on! Show me what that flashy blade of yours can do."
"No." Is the terse, muffled reply to Ractus' question about the light intimidating the unholy. Partly because no one ever seemed to actually be scared of it and partly because she had some thoughts about what exactly was considered "the unholy".
Thoughts for another time, such as when there wasn't an incredibly deadly elven mercenary inside of her guard and repeatedly punching her head.
Rudabeh's skull presses into the padded insides of her helmet at the first blow, and the second makes her gut feel like it's been moved up to switch places with her liver. No sound comes from her helmet, and she stumbles, but her feet catch the ground firmly. Just as Ractus is taunting her the paladin is already spinning on her left foot, sword twisting in her hand like a baton. In truth, her vision had blacked out from the blow, but she wasn't going to be able to see him on her left side anyway.
Fortunately, Ractus' jabbering made it easy enough to pinpoint and imagine his location- and that is all her highly trained mind needed as she spun around. Her sword had flipped its orientation during her recovery spin,grip held along the blade with the hilt facing upward. She follows the momentum with a step forward, perhaps surprising Ractus by moving towards him instead of increasing the distance between them to use her blade's superior reach. Rudabeh swings her shortened weapon like a club directly into Ractus' ribs, the burnished steel guard making a potent hammer when needed.
Following through with the blow like any good warrior should, the pommel drags along the elf's chest until her sword ends up at her waist, diagonally pointing downwards in a Boar's Tooth guard. Her vision starts to come back in a swimming haze of bright, washed-out colors; but she didn't really need to see anything else besides the pinkish blob in front of her to know where to swing next.
As Ractus moves backwards to get out of the range of any follow-up blows her right hand lets go of her blade's middle section, moving up and grabbing the hilt firmly. Rudabeh doesn't need to step forward as her right hand begins swinging upward, left hand quickly joining it to power The Sixth Peak in its vertical slice. Some part of the four feet of steel was going to catch Ractus in the thigh or groin as he moved backwards; an attack that would have split the unaware from thigh to navel or beyond under normal circumstances. In these strange circumstances, it was only going to hurt a lot.
Ending up back in Ox guard after the vertical slice, Rudabeh presses her hands together on the hilt of her sword and channels positive energy into herself. Immediately, her vision clears and all the organs she didn't know could hurt only hurt a little bit less.
----------------------
Rudabeh drove the pommel of her blade into Ractus's abdomen with enough force to drive a nail into a board. The paladin cal feel even the elf's rock-hard muscles flex under the pressure, partially knocking the wind out of him. She doesn't hesitate a moment however, before bringing the flaming sword upward and jamming it into his pelvis hard enough that, without magic, would have cracked bone.
The elf is nearly thrown to the ground, and grasps on the bar, clutching like a man about to be thrown overboard. To his credit he keeps upright, but only barely. for a moment he merely stands there, hunched against the polished wood, breathing hard.
Slowly he says, wheezing, "Is that...Is that all you got?" He spits out some blood and what looks like a tooth. He takes a deep shuddering breath and then does something that takes Rudabeh completely off guard.
The mercenary starts to laugh. Not a sarcastic or bitter laughter, tinged with anger. A real mirthful laugh from the depths of his soul, that makes his whole body shudder. Slowly, without any grace, the elf slumps to the floor, still laughing like a man possessed. Finally, eventually, he subsides and wipes his eyes, gazing up at the flaming sword. He is just about to say something when a female voice interrupts.
"That will be quite enough of that!" It has a brisk, strict tone that puts Rudabeh in mind of a exasperated school teacher confronted with rough-housing.
Turning toward the door Rudabeh sees Dryw standing int he door, hands on her hips, face a mask of anger. Behind her crowd a number of local bully boys, including the bouncer she healed. Clearly the owner of the shop had arrived and brought some help.
Dryw, still looking furious, takes a few steps in, eyes sweeping over the sitting elf, the smashed bottles and Rudabeh's still divinely inspired blade.
"What do you two have to say for yourselves?" She thunders, voice ringing off the roof beams.
"I swear," Ractus says, voice still fuzzed with drink, 'I swear the paladin started it." And collapses into another bout of laughter.
"This is foolishness, Ractus." Rudabeh says loud enough to be heard through the small holes in her bevor. The elf starts laughing, and though he cannot see it, the paladin's jaw hangs slightly open in disbelief for a moment. "I am blessed by my goddess to fight chaos, and you-"
The thunderous voice of Dryw echoes in the tavern, causing Rudabeh to take her eyes off Ractus and turn her head, first looking over her right shoulder at Dryw before the rest of her body follows to face the priestess. Shouldering her glowing blade with her left hand, she reaches up and the lifts her helmet's visor to reveal a a calm, limpid eye, an eyepatch, and the top of her nose. "Hello, Dryw, it is good to see you again so soon. Ractus was just about to stop making a mess of this place and sleep for a while."
Her words are calm, but in a flash she is turning, both hands on her sword. The elf surely sees it coming, but from his position on the floor there was little he could do to stop the acid-etched side of The Sixth Peak from smashing into the side of his head.
It was a blow that would have broken the elf's neck had it not been for Alseta's mercy- still, it left a red mark on the side of his head and he was going to feel it for a while afterwards. "Alseta saw fit to softened my blade, he will be fine." She explains to any questions, comments, or looks of scorn from Dryw.
Smoothly, Rudabeh's shining greatsword returns to her shoulder, and she starts to look for her sheath. "Ractus has not been the same since Pitax." She starts speaking to Dryw, seeming not to care about the audience. "You know what happened to him, from my report. His flesh healed, but his mind has yet to accept it." Her blade's plain leather scabbard was caught on a chair where she had thrown it, and she picks it up before smoothly sheathing her sword in one motion. The light in the room dims quickly as the blade is hidden in its sheath, but it is so bright one could see glowing escaping from the stitches. "As I am sure you know, I am sworn to help and guide those going through transitions in any way I can."
The little bit of light escaping from the leather sheath vanished completely as her hand leaves the hilt and the sword is slung over her shoulder. "He has been getting better, but unfortunately he just had his fortune read and... well, that girl in the alley by the tea house, Lissa, has the Gift, and I believe she read true. I think the results broke something in Ractus. He came here, broke the guard's nose, and started drinking what he could. I stopped him." A hand pulls down her bevor, exposing the rest of the undine's turquoise skin and azure lips.
She walks over to the unconcious elf, face twisting at the smell of booze. "I will make sure he is punished for this outburst." The paladin says as she kneels down and starts to pick up his limp form, briefly struggling to lift the big man and center him on her shoulders. It took a few moments and her breath is heavier, but she manages to pick him up and start walking towards the door, a mass of rattling plates, sweaty flesh, and a cloud of alcohol fumes.
Her eye turns to Dryw as she gets close. "Will you walk with me, please?"
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When Rudabeh had lived in Taldor, most of the local landlords had kept small herds of cattle and sheep, tended by tenant farmers. Despite over grinding poverty, the people took pride in their tasks and often specialized in one small aspect of husbandry. Every area had the 'best' weaver or blacksmith, the local expert. One old man, who had stuck in the paladin's memory ever since, had been Facinus. His treasured skill was being able to put down any beast, ox, pig, sheep, with a single blow to the head. It was not about strength, he had told the strapping young paladin once, after finishing off a restive bull that had injured one two many farmers. It was about technique.
Rudabeh was sure Facinus would have smiled when she knocked over the sitting Ractus as neatly as any pole-axed cow. The mercenary hit the stained, grimy tavern floor hard, even bouncing slightly. A look of puzzlement seem plastered on unmoving his face, clearly surprised at Rudabeh's abrupt action.
Dryw watches without blinking, although she does add, "He will be lucky to have a mind left, if you hit him like that a few more times." She looks up with interest when Rudabeh mentions the fortune teller and says, "An accurate prophecy is a rare thing indeed, although judging by his reaction, perhaps the Gods were wise to take it from us."
There is a clatter of steel as Rudabeh bends over and lifts Ractus onto her shoulders. The elf isn't a small man, and his dead form is ungainly at best but Rudabeh is a strong woman, long used to such toil. In moment she has the mercenary balanced on her shoulders as neatly as a farmboy carrying a bale of hay. Although, the paladin notes, the sodden elf smells far worse then freshly mown fodder.
Outside the presumed owner of the tavern steps forward, looking aghast at the broken bottles littering the floor. "I....That was expensive! Who is going to pay for this?"
Dryw cuts in, "I am sure Rudabeh will be happy to reimburse you for your troubles, Master Keeper. The Pact stands behind her. Submit a bill to the Grove's municipality office."
The druid sweeps past the man quickly, gesturing Rudabeh to do the same. As they leave the dim confines of the tavern and step back out in the busy, brightly lit street Dryw says, "So this is the type-" The priestess nods toward Ractus, "That you intend to turn into paladins of our faith and the Pact?"
There is a edge to her tone that tells Rudabeh much. There has long been a divide in the fragmented and decentralized Alseta faith weather the Welcomer should even have paladins. Many seemed to think Veleda's example as a druid indicated that path was the most correct and that martial leanings indicated a certain worldliness. For Rudabeh's side of the argument, didn't the fact that paladins gained divine blessings prove Alseta approved? She could hardly be a paladin without divine approval, after all. Still, it was a prickly issues among some, and clearly Dryw was one of them.
"It didn't sound so bad to me," Rudabeh recalls as they discuss Ractus' reading. "But something about it must have bothered him. If we would have just discussed it instead of throwing a fit like a tantrum child, this mess could have been avoided." It was clear the paladin was disappointed in Ractus' actions, and had knocked him out because she couldn't trust him to act rationally after that episode. Especially with all that booze in him.
The summer heat was already making her sweat, but now with the dead weight of a mercenary captain on her shoulders it was going to get even worse in Rudabeh's sweltering armor. She hated the summer, and hoped it would be a short one. Winter's cool embrace, and maybe even some snow if they were lucky, danced on the edge of her mind as a soothing thought...
Those thoughts were interrupted by the tavern owner bemoaning the loss of goods, and Rudabeh raises an eyebrow at Dryw's response. She does not immediately follow along at the preistess' gesture, and instead addresses the tavern owner directly. "I am sorry about the loss of product, but You Have What You Hold is very clear in this regard." Rudabeh begins as she recalls a few other cases of this manner that she had personally judged in the past. "When Ractus took out your guard, the contents of the tavern became his own. He only destroyed his own property, until I was able to stop him. Of course, I am not going to challenge you for this property."
There is a glance to the young man that she healed, and back to the owner, who was surely going to push back. "No, it is not fair. But the laws of this land are simple, often clear, and always harsh. You may want to hire more guards, but ultimately I encourage you to work towards having the laws changed. I only enforce them, and interpret them... it is up to the people of the River Kingdoms to decide what the River Freedoms say." With a bow of her head, she makes a laborious turn and begins to follow Dryw. It would have been better for the municipality office to have explained the laws to the man to avoid immediate confrontation, she knew, but she did not want him laboring under false pretenses, or make it someone else's problem.
A genuine laugh escapes Rudabeh's throat at the mention of paladins. "Ractus... a paladin." Her voice was full of mirth at the thought. "No, not him. He is set in his ways, and prays to the Lord in Iron, perhaps as he should. There are others among the mercenaries that could find our faith, perhaps after they have seen what the Pact can do that swords cannot. There are one or two that may take oaths if they became true believers... if they live long enough to see that words can triumph over steel, that your friends will still be alive if there is no fighting." She shifts the weight on her shoulders, which sounds like a tinsmith's cart taking a hard corner on rough cobblestone.
"I shouldn't be needed. Alseta shouldn't need paladins." Rudabeh says bluntly in a steady voice, perhaps surprising the priestess. "But there are forces in this world, chaotic forces that use violence or beguilement to do as they please with no consideration for others... Sometimes they want nothing but destruction and no amount of bargaining can stop them. There I make my stand in front of such forces, ready to fight and die and deal with the messy unpleasantness of our chaotic plane so people such as yourself can carry on our Lady's true will and vision."
There was much more Rudabeh wanted to say, but it was not a long walk back to the tea shop where she left Irovetti, and she looked for the man as they approached. If he had disappeared, it would probably mean trouble for her later. Hopefully Vetto had kept him occupied.
The tavern owners looks unimpressed with Rudabeh's argument, but people tended to be reluctant to argue legal points with a paladin in full armor with an unconscious mercenary on her back like it was a sack of flour. With an inaudible mutter (at least to Rudabeh's battered ear) he aprubtply gestures to his men to start cleaning up the mess.
On the street Dryw says, mildly, "I agree with your interpretation of the law, but the municipal office will probably give him some recompense. Veleda prefers we err on the side of compassion then justice, in regards to local government. Something about winning hearts and minds." Dryw indicates she has heard of this concept but disapproves.
Rudabeh's musings on paladins seem to surprise Dryw, who while not focused on Rudabeh, gives the undine more then a few thoughtful sidelong glances. She only has time to say, "Curious." Before they reach the cafe where they left Irovetti and Vetto.
The good news is the former king is still there, spoon in hand. The bad news is he have gathered a small crowd of admirers and on-lookers, chattering around his table. Many wear the flashy clothes that Rudabeh associates with Galtan exiles such as Vetto (who is still present), instead of the practical homespun of Daggermark.
"Ah, Rudabeh!" Irovetti says grandly, waving toward her and Dryw, "You return, triumphant?" A brief pause as the short man took in Ractus's limp form, then a shrug, "Join us, in either case. There are some men here I'd like you to meet!"
With a smile he stands up, and indicates a few fresh faced youths. "This is Théophile Jacquet, Legate Applicant for Vertou, Thierry Baschet, Legate Applicant for Croix, Régis Cailloux, legate Applicant for Beaune and, Estienne Le Tonnelier, Legate Applicant for Épernay."
Rudabeh notes each man has a small pin on his lapel, a different shape. She knew Gralton was a rats nest of secret societies and underground movements, all obsessed with retaking their bloody homeland.
Looking at them darkly Dryw breaks in, "I've never heard of these towns before."
Theophile Jaxquet, the youngest and freshest faced of the group simply grins, "We are newer villages growing near Gralton, but it is time we spread our own wings and fly. Part of that, of course, are our own seats in the Pact of Years Assembly."
The druid looked unimpressed and muttered to Rudabeh, "A shallow attempt to artificially inflate Gralton voices in the Grove."
Irovetti's smile slips a moment, obviously hearing the remark but passes over it smoothly, "They would love to have a word with you, Rudabeh. Dinner tonight, perhaps? Meeting the heir to the Pact of Years would surely be the highlight of their trip, and productive for all invovled."
"I was unaware of that policy, though it is probably for the best. In any case, it is not my decision to make." She remarks concerning the compensation of the tavern owner. It certainly made the Pact look good, though Rudabeh has to wonder how often it is abused or used for embezzlement. If someone such as Irovetti tried to be "compensated" for the loss of his kingdom...
The relief that Rudabeh wanted to feel at the sight of Irovetti still in the same place she left him is stunted by the swarm of hanger-ons that he seems to have gathered. Veleda was right that she had to get the man out of Daggermark. He had an infectious charisma.
Walking up to the group with a passive expression, the paladin looks each young human in the eye and bows her head slightly as Irovetti introduces them. She catches the pins on the lapel and wonders what sort of madness they were entertaining her advisor with. He didn't really need to be fantasizing about returning to Pitax- if he ever went back, he would surely be hanged, and Samuel would declare it a yearly national holiday.
"A pleasure to meet you all." Rudabeh says cordially, though her head tilts (as best it can with Ractus' legs over her shoulder) to hear Dryw's comment. It draws a snort of agreement from the undine, before she refocuses on Irovetti.
There is a moment of consideration- on one hand, she was not in the mood to be playing politics, but on the other, it was her life now, and it would keep Irovetti in one place for the evening. "I would be delighted to meet them for dinner tonight. After all, this will be the only night we are spending in Daggermark for now." She interprets Irovetti's face, which for a moment looks like he has sampled some spoiled milk, and comments: "We are leaving for Outsea tomorrow at the latest, I'm afraid. It was as much of a suggestion from Veleda as it was an order." The venerable druid had not exactly given a timeframe, but Rudabeh thought it appropriate to leave as quickly as possible. A day to recuperate and secure passage should be enough.
"In any case, I wanted to check on you before I left for some personal business the Grove. You seem to be in good company, so I trust we will meet later in the evening at the inn for this dinner?" There is a glance to Vetto. "Will you be joining, and out of curiosity, will a representative from Liberthane also be present?" It was as much of a genuine question as a veiled barb at the tactics Gralton was employing to inflate its representation in the Pact. The small town, fortress really, on the edge of Galt was fairly unknown, but Rudabeh had spent enough time in Gralton to be aware of its existence.
Irovetti recovers from the unpleasant news of their immediate departure. It was clear the former king enjoyed the wheeling and dealing that made up Daggermark. It had been here for mere hours and was already forming a new block of legates. A dangerous man, but a useful one if she could somehow...direct his activities.
Vetto looks confused at Rudabeh's name-drop of Liberthane and says glancing at Irovetti for direction, "I..I hadn't planned it. Is he a friend of yours, Rudabeh? You can, of course, bring any guest you like."
Irovetti coughs and smooths over the confusion, glancing at Rudabeh with penetrating eyes. "Yes, at the inn. I think the proprietor mentioned a back room that could be rented. I'll take care of everything, Rudabeh. I have things well in hand here."
Rudabeh and Dryw head back down the street, the cobbles filled with busy people. Wagons rattle past, and even a few people on horses (a rare sight indeed), but most simply get around on foot with the rich pulled in rickshaws. Street vendors offer every type of good imaginable from books and perfumes to pots and pans. Rudabeh even sees a few preachers, promoting this god or that interpretation of the faith.
At her side Dryw finally speaks, her face temporarily hidden by Ractus's bulk. "I do not doubt your own motivations, Rudabeh." the priest says, somewhat stiffly, voice brisk. "Whatever else your flaws, I can see you are honest and mean well. but Irovetti....well, he does not. I am sure you know that, but it bears repeating. Many a good person has been swallowed by the likes of him. You, and the Pact, would be better off without him, oath or no. The fact you kept your word will be cold comfort if he upsets the entire Pact and everything Veleda and the church of Alseta has built."
Rudabeh is a little disappointed Vetto does not catch the meaning behind her reference to the backwater fort of Liberthane. She had thought him more clever, and was even prepared to make a respectful joke about it.
She lets the moment pass as Irovetti jumps in, and the paladin has to stop herself from grinning as, for once, the former king is trying to smooth over matters. "Of course, thank you for handling matters." Rudabeh says evenly, but some mirth creeps into her voice as she turns to make their farewells. "Unlike our walk this morning, I ask there be no hired guests appearing at this dinner, please." She references Irovetti's failure (or perhaps success, considering he didn't pay for them) to have her defend him from assassins, though she suspects he enjoys stately dinners far too much to ruin them with bloodsport.
The din of the city passes by Rudabeh on both sides of Ractus' body as they trudge down the cobbled streets. The paladin stares straight ahead, mostly because she has to watch her step for horse dung or anything else that may cause her to trip, but also to try and focus on something other than the pain in her shoulder. Gezzerbial was the finest armorsmith she had ever witnessed, or may ever witnessed, but there is no way he could have anticipated she would be carrying a quite heavy elf on her shoulders for long distances. Her left pauldron had been digging into the back of her neck for nearly fifteen minutes, and even through the thick drapes of the First Palace, it was starting to hurt.
"Yes, it is something I think about often." Rudabeh responds to Dryw with a sigh, and though the priestess cannot see her face, but the regret on her voice is clear. "I let the fox into the hen house to stop the hen house from being burned to the ground. Had I not made that deal with him, the city would have burned, its inhabitants would have died by the hundreds or thousands, and the Kingdom of the Free would have seized the entire country as their army swept in to "restore order" and put down the rebels they had allied with moments before."
"I can only hope I find something for him to do. He could be so potent, so helpful if properly directed... But as you say, I am handling a snake, and I do not know if I have it by the head where I can guide it, or the tail where it will bite me." The reflection of the matter draws her back into silence for a few moments, as she wonders if there is a position in the Pact he wouldn't abuse for his own gain. If everyone else benefits as much or more than him... it would be worth it, right?
A small shake of her head, and she banishes the thoughts, changing the subject amidst taking a wide step around a particularly fresh pile of horse droppings that had, through its impressively nauseating bouquet, already attracted several flies. "I have heard rumors you are a strong supporter of unifying and organizing the Church of Alseta in the River Kingdoms. Would you care to substantiate these rumors or explain?"
Irovetti looks wary when Rudabeh mentions 'hired guests' but says grandly, "Of course. A select guest list will be enforced." By the time Rudabeh is walking away, still carrying her burden, he is already discussing the wine list.
Dryw listens thoughtfully when Rudabeh explains her reasoning about Irvoetti. How many times had the paladin run through this before? Endless, if she counted the times Rudabeh had thought it over privately. Still, the priestess listen without interrupting, although she does sniff in disapproval a few times.
Her first response isn't about Irovetti or Rudabeh's question, instead the woman says, "Do you want me to wake the elf? I could rouse him and he could walk the rest of the way. Quite apart from how heavy he is, you might make a stir at the Grove walking in with him draped across your shoulders. Unless a stir is what you are going for."
She follows this with an arch, questioning look before taking up the undine's question. "Rumor is rarely more interesting than fact, but it is always more readily available.." She quipped but went on, "The Church of Alseta is....an interesting way to put it. You know, as well as I, we have never had the organization and structure of other faiths. Granted, the followers of Abadar or Calsitria are somewhat rare in our lands, but in the wider world they are vast hierarchies. Stable and strong."
Dryw shrugs, "I forget, you have seen much of the world. You know of what I speak. What we call a church would be laughed out of Taldor or Andoran."
"We have spent our time as wandering priests and judges, often alone. This served the River Kingdoms well for generations but times are changing." The woman meaningfully looked at the bustling city around them. "Veleda has set a great change in motion, toward unification, towards organization, towards conglomeration. We, the followers of the Welcomer, can either be part of that change or not. If not, we will be left behind in the mud, as your friend Vetto would prefer. His vision of the Pact and our role in it, is very different then mine."
Rudabeh hears, on the edge of conversation, some admittedly good wines that Irovetti was talking about. Her stomach, unfilled since the morning's breakfast, tenses slightly at the anticipation. Irovetti had many flaws, but he knew how to throw a dinner.
Slowing briefly when Dryw asks if she wants Ractus woken, the priestess can see she is thinking it over. On one hand, the elf was way easier to manage this way. On the other, the last thing she wanted to do was cause a stir for Veleda, or generate anymore rumors during her stay. "I think I've already caused enough of a stir just being here." She says regretfully, before looking over to the human. "I would be grateful if you wake him, but only if you can sober him up first. He was acting foolish before, and he has not had enough time to dry out."
If Dryw can remove the alcohol from Ractus' body, she will wave her over to the corner of an alleyway, carefully depositing the mercenary captain upright on to the ground, his limp body leaning against the corner of a stone building.
"Indeed. There are great changes coming." Rudabeh says, perhaps more mysteriously than she intended. With her hands on the faulds of her breastplate, she just stares at Ractus' limp form. "I have been thinking... the followers of Alseta should come together, to do great work, and then go back out into the world. Like a..." An inspiration from her time in Veleda's park hits her. "Like a creature breathing, we come together, we move away... come together, move away... it is a change, but a slow one, and predictable one, allowing us to sharpen our wisdom with travels but coming together to share it and work towards a common goal." It was an immature idea, but the undine thinks maybe she is onto something she could even get the elusive druids of The Welcomer to come out of the forests to attend.
"I would be interested to hear Vetto's ideas as well. I suspect we can come to a compromise on these matters." She finishes, predictably.
Rudabeh notices, not of the first time, that the bustling city swirls around them with even carts and wagons swerving away leaving an empty bubble free of pedestrians. The paladin wonders if the reason is her full plate, the unconscious elf on her shoulders or Dryw un-dyed Alseta robes. Any of these might make a stir but all three seemed sufficient to wordlessly clear a path right through even the busiest traffic.
Dryw gazes at the slumped elf, like a professor examining a lackluster student. "I think a full cure won't teach a sharp enough lesson but I don't want you to wrench your shoulder carrying him all the way to the Grove. Besides, I doubt Alseta would wish you to drape an unconscious mercenary across her desk. That said, we certainly can't have him drunk."
The priestess leans forward and touch Ractu's cheek with an odd gentleness. There is a brief glow of green light, which quickly fades, and the woman steps back.
In a moment Ractus's eyes flash open, revealing twin orbs of clear gold. He coughs roughly, staggering to his feet, hand braced against the rough stone wall for support.
After a moment he says, with obvious surprise "I feel....fine?"His gaze focuses first on Rudabeh, then back to Dryw with a little confusion and uncertianty.
"Only for the moment." Dryw says, voice brisk. "I have only delayed your intoxication, not cured it. Your drunkenness and the hangover will return in a few hours. I am told the sensation is quite unpleasant." Still serve she sniffs, adding, "I would advise you to reconsider acting in such a way again. Rudabeh, I am sure, has no need for such childishness under her command. Now, come along, all of us have a busy day ahead."
Turning away from the elf, Dryw sets off back toward the grove, speaking to Rudabeh, "An interesting idea. Do you have a task in mind? A one time event or do you plan some sort of yearly meeting? there are vague records of such gatherings int he past, focused around some great sage or priest." Dryw shrugs, "Indeed, one could say the Pact of Years is just the greatest in long tradition."
The woman visibly smirks at the mention of Vetto however, saying, "I would hardly look to him for such ideas. Vetto views the Pact as nothing but a useful organization to mold his own greed around. A source of patronage for allies and a club to use against his foes. I would advise you to steer as clear of him as possible, Rudabeh."
Rudabeh nods in affirmation along the lines of Dryw's thinking- Ractus certainly didn't need any magical remedies that completely absolved him of the consequences of his actions. The laws of the River Kingdoms had already let him escape any monetary or judicial punishment.
When the elf opens his eyes and starts to stagger to his feet, Rudabeh is there with a strong arm, grabbing his hand and helping him kip up. She keeps a tight grip on Ractus' hand, and she is able to look him directly in the eye due to the way he is stooped form his injuries. "We're going to have a talk later. But for now, we're going to The Grove to see Veleda." She lets go of his hand and turns, letting Dryw have her turn.
"I don't know." She says plainly about the earlier idea of a meeting for Alsetans in the River Kingdoms. "A predictable schedule would likely be more enticing... frankly, The Grove should be considered sacred ground and worthy of any worshiper to make a pilgrimage. But many worship just fine without one another, we would need to put all that energy towards something..." It was clearly an embryonic idea that needed nurturing.
"Hmmm." The undine replies when Dryw describes Vetto. "Him and Irovetti are going to get along very well. But surely he must have some merits, otherwise why would Veleda confide in him as she does you?"
As their conversation about Vetto comes to a close, Rudabeh finally decides to broach the subject of her eye. "Will you be joining us in visiting Veleda? She asked me to relay to you that she wanted you to heal my eye. I had hoped you could see to it while she was tending to Ractus." There is a sheepish cough from the paladin. "No pun intended. I would certainly appreciate having my eye back, such a blind spot may get me killed in a fight one day."
Ractus nods, looking more then a little confused. He does say, "I'm sorry." and the paladin has a feeling it is for more then a few broken bottles. The elf falls into step between Dryw and Rudabeh, seemingly happy to be left out of the conversation and rubbing his chest where Rudabeh slammed him with several pounds of holy iron. Even for a veteran campaigner, that wasn't a blow one just forgot about.
Dryw frowned, "I've never been a fan of mere pilgrimages. We should be out there, working, helping our communties, not sitting around oohing and aahing over holy places. But if we could do something useful on a regular basis....I would be willing to listen." The woman says this like granting a great boon to Rudabeh, and maybe she is.
At her remarks about Vetto, she snorts again, "Don't be so sure. Politics, Rudabeh, politics. Veleda is not more immune to that great force then anyone else. Vetto is popular and has powerful connections about the rich and well-placed. He does have a special...cunning, but it is for his friends that Veleda desires to keep happy. Unwise, but Veleda has her own store of wisdom at times." She sounds a little miffed at this, like a child disapproving of their much loved parent.
Dryw considers Rudabeh's more personal remarks carefully and in silence. Around them Daggermark roars along, seemingly louder and smellier with every step.
Finally the Alseta priestess says, "Healing is one of the most important charges our Goddess gives us. You know this of course, I could tell how much you respected Hiram in Pitax, from your story. It is not a task one undertakes lightly." Delicately she says, "A person's growth is their own, but you lost that eye during a very....pivotal moment in your time with the Pact, I think. Are you sure you do not wish to keep it, as a token?"
Rudabeh wondered how much the canny woman guessed about Rudabeh's dreams and such. Had the paladin given something away? Or did Dryw merely mean Rudabeh should bear the scars of her failures in Pitax (for surely Dryw saw it as failure). The undine was getting the feeling Dryw was more complicated then she seemed.
"But yes, I can heal it if you wish. I have that spell prepared, Veleda indicated something to me yesterday along those lines."
Rudabeh makes a face when Dryw suggests Veleda is making an unwise decision, but it quickly fades. The priestess was entitled to her opinion, and was certainly right, that the most powerful druid and uniter the River Kingdoms had ever seen could make mistakes or posses mortal flaws, but something about the comment left a bad taste in the paladin's mouth. "Politics is certainly something I have had my fill of lately." Is her only comment on the matter.
The undine inhales shortly through her nose when Dryw suggests she should not have her eye healed; a regrettable habit on this particular street which seemed to be far closer to a tannery than anyone should live. "I considered that notion for quite some time," The paladin responds slowly, as if she were still considering it. "and I had accepted it would be part of me, like in the stories of the Kellids that keep old wounds uncovered to show their experiences."
Then she exhales loudly, which was more of a sigh. "But one night when I couldn't sleep because the barren socket burned from ghostly pains that even The Welcomer's argent touch could not quell, I wondered what my blademaster would say about all this." Lifting her right hand, Rudabeh looks down without turning her head- only half of the leather-covered palm was visible. "If she knew of my injury, and knew I had the chance to be healed, and knew I refused it as a "token"... she'd box me in the side of the head, using my blindspot in a way so I wouldn't even see it coming, then she'd say "If that was a sword, you'd be dead. Get your eye back, or it might get you killed."
The paladin's hand drops, and she shifts her sword on her shoulder for a moment. "She is right. It is really more a matter of practicality to have my eye back. In any case, you have seen the right side of my face and head, Dryw. The rest of the upper half of my torso looks, and often feels, worse. It is enough of a token for me and it shan't let me forget that decisions have consequences. So I will accept the healing, if you will be so kind."
She is a little surprised Veleda had already asked Dryw to be prepared for such a thing. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised she knew I was missing an eye, but to have already decided I deserved it back without hearing my report... That I am certainly surprised about."
Ractus, still a few paces behind chimes in, "Your blademaster sounds like a wise woman. Does she still make a living with the blade? Also, was it her that taught you to hit unarmed, drunk foes upside the head?"
Dryw slowly nods, "Very well. It is your choice, of course. Symbolism should serve our needs, not the other way around. Alseta is, above all else, a practical goddess." The priestess comes to a quick halt, turning toward Rudabeh. "Well, shall we?" She says, raising a hand.
Ractus barks a laugh, "What, right in the middle of the busy street? Not very formal."
Dryw turns a cold eye on him, sniffing, "What would a worshiper of the Lord in Iron know of formality?" Ractus opens his mouth to reply but is cut off when the Alseta cleric goes on, "But fair enough. We shouldn't block traffic."
Indeed, around them the crowds of sweating porters, pedestrians, and loaded hand-carts are already building up. Dryw's keen eyes begin sweeping the cityscape around them, obviously looking for something.
"There should be..oh yes." She points down a side street and sets off down the cobblestones. In a few moments Rudabeh can see their destination, a very humble doorway wedged between a disreputable looking counting house and a busy brothel. Even as they approach a balcony door opens above and a very scantily clad woman leans out, eyeing the trio with a merchant's eye. She lingers on Ractus but a glance at Dryw's stern visage (and grey robes) makes her withdraw in silence.
It isn't until they are nearly on the threshold when Rudabeh can tell where they are going. An Alseta temple. The door looks very old, the cracked lintel sagging with countless years. Even the single stone step leading off the street is worn and smooth, shined by countless feet. A water-stained image of a turtle is deeply carved above the door, under a fainter image of the double mask. This is the old quarter of Daggermark, and Rudabeh wonders how old this little temple is, clearly far older then the neighboring buildings. Had that turtle been carefully engraved when Daggermark was little more then a river trading post? A few merchant stalls set up on wet sand?
The dank air inside is clammy and cool, the scent of wet stone filling Rudabeh's nostrils. As her eye adjusts to the gloom, she can see two figures sitting among the small circle of wooden chairs. One is wearing the plain iron-gray robes of the Alseta priesthood, while the other is a very pimpled young man. Rudabeh's wonders what is being discussed? A heartbreak? A family issue? Some other trauma of growing up? Whatever it is, the young man nearly bolts out the door as Dryw and the others approach, while the priest stands up slowly, bowing.
"Dryw, you honor us with your visit." He says, voice a wet rasp. "You should have mentioned you'd be coming, I would have...tidied." His eyes sweep over the battered chairs, dim lightning and grimy walls.
Dryw sniffs, "Nonsense, Kerrin. I know very well you spend your entire stipend on food for new mothers and aged men. You are not as good at hiding your generosity as you think."
Kerrin actually guilty, but Dryw's tone is as warm as Rudabeh has ever heard. The cleric goes on, "But I am not here for a social call. This is Rudabeh of Outsea, Veleda chosen sucessor and I need to heal her eye. Do you mind?"
Kerrin seemingly noticing Rudabeh for the first time (which is impressive considering the undine is over six feet tall and in full armor). He starts, bows again and backs away, "Of course, of course. Do you need anything?"
"Not at all." Dryw says, turning to Rudabeh, "It'll be done in a moment."
Without a further word, she raises a hand to Rudabeh's face and gently touches the paladin's cheek. Her palm is surprisingly warm and rough, and Rudabeh wonders why. What hobby wore calluses on the hands of a priestess? Then the healing starts.
Rudabeh has been healed many times, and by now, the process is routine. A growing pulse of light, a feeling of warmth trickling out of the cleric into her body and the slightest scent of almonds on the air.
Then Dryw frowns. In a moment Rudabeh can guess why. Despite all the obvious signs of magic, there is none of the usual sensation of healing. No stretching feeling of growing muscle, or the shifting of writhing bone. Just...nothing.
Dryw frown deepens and she actually pushes on Rudabeh's face as if trying to heal by sheer force. Finally, she steps back, obviously very confused.
"It didn't work." The cleric says, stating the obvious.
"You know Finn, Ractus, and from what you said in Pitax, you've seen her more recently than I." Rudabeh says evenly but without looking back, mostly because she was resisting the urge to tell him he deserved to be hit upside the head for the way he was acting.
Rudabeh gives Dryw a cross look for the barbed comment towards Ractus- it was not very polite of a priestess of Alseta to draw attention to the shortcomings of another's faith, even if she was absolutely right. THe moment passes without incident, at least.
There is a glance towards the brothel entrance, and she meets the leaning human's eye around the same time as Dryw's. Rudabeh face is expressionless, but Dryw's must not have been with the way the lady quickly pulls herself back inside. As the paladin turns her gaze back towards their destination, she catches sight of the old carving of a turtle above. Her hand immediately reaches for the Iron Key at her side, feeling its warm, heavy presence. May we leave your house wiser than we entered. Rudabeh prays silently as they pass the threshold into the temple.
The undine's darkvision instantly gives her an outline of the figures sitting next to one another, their robes of the priest not gaining much color as her color vision begins to fill in the surroundings. This was a good place; cool and wet stone radiating comforting peace.
Silent until her name is given, the paladin bows her heading a rustle of metal when introduced to Kerrin. "My apologies for intruding during your session." She says sincerely, and by the time she has straightened Dryw's hand is on her cheek. The priestesses' strangely coarse hands connect with Rudabeh's scarred face below her eyepatch, causing the dry and equally rough chartreuse to chafe briefly before the healing energies flow into the tissue.
A few moments pass, and though she was tingling, nothing was happening. It took the iron discipline of a paladin to remain perfectly still and not look questioningly at Dryw, especially when the preistess' hand is forced into her face.
Rudabeh blinks several times as Dryw steps back, glancing at her. "Oh." Escapes her lips, unable to hide her disappointment. "Well." She even reaches up a finger to feel the scarred, cut tissue around her missing eye, feeling around with great discomfort. "I suppose..." Her hand falls away, and the skin below her hollow eye socket now throbs with pain. "Either it cannot be healed, or... or..." There is something akin to a shrug, which in her full plate is more a general shifting of her entire upper body and upturned hands.
"Our goddess does not wish for it to be healed." The disappointment leaves her voice at the utterance, as one option was highly disappointing and out of anyone's control, but the other was a sign from Alseta herself.
"It must be the latter, mustn't it?" There was no questioning of Dryw's abilities in the searching look Rudabeh put to the priestess, but instead a request for her opinion. "Our Lady is rarely cryptic... this must mean exactly what you said before. I should... " The paladin starts to fall into some sort of inner contemplation about the nature of the visions she received. "...perhaps I must... keep these wounds."
"Well, thank you Dryw. I believe you were the vessel for a message from the goddess herself today." The paladin says, accepting her divinely mandated fate with the same attitude as one accepts a surprise rainy day on a long-awaited picnic trip. There is a glance to Ractus. "Perhaps I do not deserve my eye back, but I hope Our Lady feels differently about Ractus. You did all you could to protect me, after all."
Dryw's frown only deepens, "I...." She pauses, looks around and then goes on, "I have not been honored by direction interaction with our goddess, Rudabeh, but I have encountered her workings. I have confronted her wishes and desires at various times in my life. A few times, in my pride, I have even attempted to prevail over them." A quick, wintry smiles, gone in an instant.
"This does not feel like one of those times." Dryw says, a strange edge in her voice. Fear? Awe? Confusion? "I think we should speak to Veleda about this. Perhaps I am merely mis-reading the signs but....."
As she trails off Kerrin speaks up, "This isn't the first time." Dryw whirls on the older man, raising an eyebrow. To her unspoken question the man goes on.
"The same thing happened a few months ago. A traveling oracle was peddling his talents in the marketplace, and suddenly went blind during a reading. A friend brought the poor man woman to me, knowing the seer had no friends in the city. His eyes..." Kerrin pauses, glances at Rudabeh's eye-patch covered socket and says, "Both of her eyes were burned out, just like your one. I tried to heal her, but, as you just said, the magic did not...take."
The older man coughs, "I might be left in this small corner of the city, but I know how to heal an injury. I was very confused and after some study, I sent her on to the Grove. I have not heard of her since, but that is not uncommon."
Dryw bristles at this, "You are not as forgotten as you think, Kerrin. And I will have a word with a few people tonight to remind them you have friends in the Church."
She turns back to Rudabeh, speculatively "At the very least, you only lost one." With a small smile she says, "Have you done any seering lately?"
Behind the priestess, out of her sight, Ractu's head suddenly comes up, obviously recalling the dream Rudabeh told the elf. Was her eye related to the vision and not the fall, as she (and Hiram) assumed? What was going on here?
Rudabeh is stilled as Dryw gives her opinion, and the comfortable disappointment she had led herself into starts to shed at the insistence that this was not the work of their goddesss. At least not her specifically.
Turning her head slowly to Kerrin, she absorbs his words with a slight wrinkling of her forehead, unseen behind the high brow of her helmet. Mind turning on the subject, she does not quite understand how this is connected. Perhaps there is some fire that magic cannot cure, or a disease that insulates the flesh from positive energy...
A small grin starts to tug at the edge of Rudabeh's lips at Dryw's comment, right before a sudden start wipes away any mirth or contemplation at the revelation that the god's vision may have permanently burnt out her eye, not the explosion. Perhaps that is why the voice said she had already seen enough, to spare her other eye?
Quickly the paladin looks at the floor, expression confused, somewhat blank, and her mouth partly open. "If that is the case, Kerrin." There is a glance at the priest after she lifts her eye from the floor. "I think... Veleda suspected this would happen." Maybe not before today, but she still suggested Dryw heal the eye even after telling her of the visions. Does that mean Veleda wants Dryw to know of the vision, if she were to put Rudabeh in this position? Or perhaps more simply, for the sake of the healing arts, Veleda was seeing if this sort of damage could be healed by a mortal hand?
There is a nearby box that may or may not support her weight, and Rudabeh glances at it as if she wished to sit down. In the end, she stays standing, if more rigid, now looking like a set of armor on display in some castle, gaze distant. "I have not known you long, Dryw, but I assume you have already figured out what happened to my eye. The lack of understanding in what I saw is possibly the only reason why I still have the other eye. I do not wish to discuss it further. Not now." Drawing in a deep breath, she turns to Kerrin and bow her head. "Thank you for your hospitality. If I may make a request, please let only the archway recite the conversations here and the nature of our visit." She invokes an old Alsetan saying, merely asking for the sacred confidentiality of their faith, where the archway refers to the actual, physical structure of the church, which isn't known for speaking.
A weary smile briefly appears on her face. "There are enough rumors about me as it is, I do not want people to think I am oracle as well." The smile fades, and she begins to make to leave. "It seems sometimes such things are thrust upon us even if we do not go looking for them."
A motion to Dryw follows, not hurried but clearly wishing to move along. "I made my devotions when I passed the threshold." And it seems my prayers were granted, for better or worse. She thinks to herself and Tekken. "I will wait if you would also like to make devotions, of course, but otherwise I would like to continue to The Grove."
Kerrin nods, "Of course. I would have done it anyway of course, but that is not much of a promise. Who else would I tell?" he waves a hand at the dusty empty interior of the old temple. "As for rumors, well, as the saying goes. 'Rumor is rarely more interesting than fact, but it is always more readily available.' And I must say," the older man says, eyes lighting on Rudabeh, "You live up to it. Honored to meet you, Rudabeh of Outsea. May our paths cross again."
Dryw glances around as well, clearly taking in Rudabeh's suggestion about prayer. Finally she shakes her head, "Let us go. I have communed with our goddess a few times today, and let us be clear, the public street is hardly unknown to the Welcomer. It isn't as if she only lives in temples or churches."
The gray-robed woman turns to Kerrin and inclines her head, "Thank you, Kerrin. As I said, you are not forgotten. You are doing good work here, serving those that need us the most. There is a change in the wind, and I hope to see you benefit from it."
The priest shrugs, "As the Hanspurites says, a rising tide lifts all boats but a storm is just as thorough. Do not trouble yourself for me." he pauses, then adds, "However, if you feel the need...tell the city to clean the streets here more often. The garbage quite literally crushed a child a few weeks ago."
Dryw frowned and nodded, "Of course." With that they swept out of the darkened temple and back into the noisy, muddy and very bright street.
"The honor is mine, Kerrin. As a backbone of this community, you are doing The Welcomer's work here." The dichotomy, just as the double-sided masks, always stuck with her. Traveling judges and reclusive druids on one side of the mask, with long-standing pillars of permanent towns and communities on the other. "I am sure they will." She replies to the comment of their paths crossing.
There is a sour look on her face about garbage crushing a child, but she says nothing. It was not her place.
In a moment, Dryw, Rudabeh and Ractus are back out in the swirl of Daggermark. If Dryw's strides had been brisk and purposeful before, now she was positively driven. The priestess doesn't run or even jog of course, her strides being controlled and smooth with her sacred robes barely flickering in her wake. Yet, for all the dignity and reserve, there is urgency and speed enough to make Rudabeh pick up her own pace to keep up. Ractus trails farther behind, still looking lost in thought.
They rush through a final market, which Dryw barely gives a side glance to. Rudabeh's nose however catches the scents of toasted bread, smoked shrimp and even the delectable smell of fresh, raw catfish. Itw as enough to make Rudabeh's stomach growl but she could only imagine Dryw's disapproving face if the paladin suggested they stop to buy something from a street vendor. Clearly, she would have to merely wait and hope Irovetti pulled off his usual culinary magic.
Soon, they arrive at the Grove. The giant dome of living greenery, as usual, takes Rudabeh by surprise. Every time she saw it, she forgot how big it was, the interlocking boughs taking up more then two city blocks, and reaching well over one hundred feet in the air. The midday sun gave the green leaves an almost metallic shine, waving in an unfelt breeze. Dozens of people strode in and out of the massive wooden threshold arch, formed by two leaning sycamore trees, bark stark white. Magistrates, municipal officers, bureaucrats, legates and priests seemed to mix together, like a an unnatural school of fish consisting of both pike and blue-gill.
The guards flanking the door merely nodded at Dryw as she strode past, climbing the few decorative stairs with ease. Rudabeh's ascent was considerable louder, armor sounding like a barrel of nails rolling down a hill. Apart from the few guards, Rudabeh noted few others were armed, and none encased in suits of armor. Clearly it was understood the grove was not an area for swords and axes, yet no one attempted to halt the undine as they entered inside the cave-like entrance to the Grove.
Dryw leads them with unerring precision to Veleda's office. As they walk, the living walls seem to tremble as they pass, as if the trees were greeting them. Dryw doesn't pause, but rushes straight past the foliage.
In short order they find Veleda's office, the door ajar. Through the open door, they can see the old woman standing at the window overlooking the river below. Rudabeh is about to stride toward the door when, from inside the room she hears a low, reptilian growl. From around the door lintel a shape suddenly steps into view. A long, low shape covered in thick scales and spines.
One of the largest alligators Rudabeh has ever seen is blocking the door, looking up at the paladin with inscrutable, amber eyes.
Rudabeh's stride increases as Dryw begins to speed up, and she can only imagine what the hurry is. Nothing was on fire, no one was dying, and no treaties were falling apart as far as she knew. It was an irksome fact about working with humans; they were always in a hurry. Her and Ractus had joked about it a few times before, even if they both knew it was part of what made the humans so prevalent and successful in the world.
Still, her stomach lamented every passed street vendor, and she even turned her head to look longingly at the fishmonger cutting fresh filets for an impatient-looking halfling. She wondered who had their fish cut for them, and decided that Irovetti may actually be the kind of person to pay for such a thing.
The Grove looms over her once again, and the bright summer sun seems to fade away under the canopy. She nods to the guards as they let her through, part of mind distracting itself with how often incidents occur in this sacred place of diplomacy and cooperation. Surely the very presence of Veleda would keep even the most volatile individual from attempting violence here?
Somehow Dryw actually speeds up when they enter living hallways, and Rudabeh is starting to become concerned Ractus may be left behind when the priestess suddenly stops. Slowing briefly to glance at Dryw questioningly, the paladin comes to a jerking halt at the growl emanating from Veleda's office. One of the burnished steel crossguards of her sword bounces against the back of her helmet and makes a hollow dunk.
Freezing in place, not out of fear but confusion, the undine meets the alligator's eyes with her own wide pupil and raised brows. Outsea was full of tamed predators that were used as guard animals, and so she just assumed this particular creature formed the same function.
"Hello." Rudabeh says calmly to the alligator, though her expression does not change and she watches it carefully. "I don't believe we've been introduced."
Ractus jumped back (nimbly, for a man with a limp) at the sight of the grinning reptile with teeth nearly as long as his hand. Dryw merely paused, eyeing the formidable door guard with the same stern glare she gave the prostitute. The alligator did not react, except to give them a long, lazy blink.
"He won't tell me his name." Veleda's voice floated over the threshold (and the alligator). "So introductions will be impossible, I'm afraid."
Slowly, the alligator shuffles off to the side, leaving the doorway open. "Come in, come in. He won't bite, I gave him a carp just this morning. He'll be full for days. Just don't step on his tail."
Rudabeh, far more at ease then her companions, strides into the office. The undine had calmly faced down literal sharks as watch animals in Outsea. A fat, well-fed alligator gave her no pause.
Veleda's office is just as Rudabeh remember. A small, spartan room with little more then a bookshelf, a desk and a distinct lack of chairs for guests. The old woman who ran the entire Pact of Years, still stood by the window, but facing inside.
She raised a pale eyebrow as Dryw and Ractus edged into the room (the latter with obvious reluctance).
"You came faster then I expected." Was all the old druid said, watching them carefully.
Rudabeh gives the 'gator a slow blink in return, relaxing a bit when Veleda says he's been fed. "The carp must grow large here if it was only one." She asks out of curiosity, giving the huge creature another look over as she passes it by.
The paladin's boots clamp softly across the wooden floor, though it was no hollow echo of a house- the living trunk beneath their feet sounded far different anything Rudabeh had ever walked on, and while the floor was mostly flat she even had to avoid a particularly large, raised knot in one of the "planks".
Coming to a stop in the center of the room, Rudabeh stands tall and bows her head low to Veleda. "I apologize for appearing ahead of schedule, and I hope we have not disturbed you. I have brought Ractus as we discussed, if you are ready to see him.." She says as her head rises back up, and she shifts to straighten her back.
"In addition, Dryw attempted to heal my eye at my request, and while I felt the holy magics of Alseta flow through me, nothing happened. The priest at the temple we stopped at, Kerrin, said he had seen this before, that an oracle with burned out eyes had also been unable to be healed and he sent them to you." Rudabeh's expression changes from someone giving a report to mild concern. "If I may ask and you are able to divulge, what happened to her?" The question was purposefully open, as she had no desire to probe Veleda further than she wished to answer.
The alligator retreats to a corner, curling up as if it was merely a very large and scaly cat. Half-lidded brown eyes watch the room, with a lazy, alien expression. Ractus chooses the other corner to stand in.
"I suspected..." Veleda says, her aged face a mask. "But I hoped..."
With surprising speed, the druid crossed the room toward Rudabeh and in a moment she is standing next to the towering undine. For the second time that day, Veleda's warm hand touched Rudabeh's face, gently turning the paladin's head, as if to catch the light. The Alseta priestess peered closely at Rudabeh's damaged eye, then sighed heavily. Her shoulders slumped in obvious defeat, eyes downcast.
She stepped away, back toward her desk as Dryw looked on, totally confused.
Slowly Veleda said, "The young seer you speak of, was brought to me. After explaining the circumstances, those chose to accept the loss of their sight."
The old woman shook her head again, revealing a weariness that Rudabeh never expected to see. Veleda was old yes, and sometimes even frail but she never seemed tired. Indeed, the old woman usually seemed to radiate vitality and energy, but now....
"Hope can be a sharp knife, Rudabeh. Never forget it." Veleda said, finally, "I had fears about your eye but hoped...." She shrugged again, then seemed to recover, sitting up straighter although her eyes did not regain their usual sparkle.
"Rudabeh, I believe we need to speak alone."
Dryw starts, catches Veleda's eye then nods, "Of course. Shall we wait outside?"
The leader of the Pact of Years nods slowly, "It should not take long. Ractus, do not despair. Your own healing is unrelated and, hopefully, much less dramatic. Forgive the delay."
The elf shrugs genially, but gives Veleda a cutting look. "Of course." Then he glances to Rudabeh, "Rudabeh, shout if you need me."
In a moment both Alseta priestess and elf fighter are gone, leaving the room empty save for Rudabeh, Veleda and the unnamed alligator.
Still sitting, Veleda is silent for a long moment, long enough for Rudabeh to hear birdsong and the distant whisper of the river through the window. Finally Rudabeh's master, mentor and guiding light says, "I believe, I can heal your eye Rudabeh. But there will be a cost."
"It was not the fire or fall that took your sight, but the vision itself. If I heal you, you may see the rest of the vision. You may see....." Veleda stops, takes a deep breath and stands up, clearly gathering her will. However, beneath that steel, Rudabeh can detect an odd fragitly.
"You may see something you did not wish to see."
Rudabeh's eyebrows twitch in surprise as Veleda suddenly crosses the room, reaching up to touch her cheek- which she had come to realize was one of the only spots of exposed flesh on her body. Staring ahead into the old druid's eye, the undine's face takes on a mild sorrow at seeing the tiredness in Veleda's expression. Though she wishes to encourage Veleda, the words do not come. What wisdom could she, a simple paladin of Alseta, have for the one of the greatest figures in the history of the River Kingdoms?
There is a glance backward to Ractus as he is asked to leave, and a nod from Rudabeh. "Thank you, Ractus." She says sincerely; even in circumstances were the talk is of healing rather than war, it was nice to know the elf was there to have her back.
Standing straight, Rudabeh thinks a quick apology to Teken and slowly removes her helmet so she could be alone with Veleda as requested. With the shining armor tucked under her arm, she waits patiently in silence, trying to remember what she called that birdsong when Seqhi last asked about it.
Opening her mouth slightly when Veleda says the eye can be healed, she closes it immediately at the mention of a cost. Rudabeh says nothing even as Veleda finishes, instead looking forward and blinking slowly in thought. The fragility, the tiredness, the worrying... it made Rudabeh afraid in ways a dragon's maw or a roc's talons could not.
"The rest of the vision..." Her eye squeezes shut as she tries to keep the part that hurt the most, the swirling towards some destiny for everyone. Her eye opens quickly, and she looks out the window to the river beyond. "I do not know who said it. But one of the gods said I had seen enough. I am embarrassed to say I do not know if it was Our Lady, or Hanspur, or the shadowy figure..."
Her gaze lowers slowly down to Veleda's, face placid. "I have trusted the will and wisdom of the gods this long, I do not see a reason to stop now. I am a soldier of Alseta, and sometimes a soldier isn't told why they are fighting until they need to know. I trust you, too, to know what is best not just for me, but for the Pact of Years." Drawing in a breath and bowing her head, Rudabeh accepts her condition. "Besides, the headaches and dreams are bad enough as it is."
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Veleda seems to relax at Rudabeh's words, like a woman having bent her shoulder to a heavy load only to find it light as a feather. Her shoulders lower, brow clearing. The old woman lets out a small sigh, chest easing. That weariness seems to depart from her frame.
"Yes, perhaps that is best." She says, starting to sit down behind her desk. Then she pauses for a long moment, body bent slightly. As Rudabeh watches, the old woman starts to grimace shaking her head. Finally she re-straightens, looking Rudabeh in the eye.
"No." Is all she says at first and Rudabeh has no idea what she means. Seeing her confusion Veleda shakes her head again, "No. We will not take the easy path, whatever I desire. You know, as well as I, that sometimes the flat and easy path is the most dangerous."
Doubt fills Veleda's face, an expression so unlike her, Rudabeh is startled. What could make the old druid unsure? What waters was she swimming in? Slowly, with great effort, Veleda seems to conquer that anxiety, rising above it like a kite harnessing strong winds. Finally she says, voice quiet but growing in strengh, "You speak of trusting the gods, and that is right. This is not about you, or I, but about Alseta and her will. Where the human will is frail, the Welcomer is strong."
"Please, Rudabeh, take my hand." The old woman offers up her hand to the undine, the small wrinkled palm vanishing into Rudabeh's gauntled fist.
"Do you remember when I told you above the Grove, how it symbolized the harmony of a community?" She says, leading Rudabeh over to one of the living walls of the office. "That is all true, but there were other, more...practical reasons."
With that Veleda stepped into the solid wood of the tree-trunks, like a child stepping through the veil of a waterfall. Nearly in a dream-state, Rudabeh followed after, hand still clutching that of her mentor and master.
There is a rushing moment of bizarre sensations, as the paladin enters The Grove. It is a heady wild feeling as pure, raw life courses through her veins. A sense of growing of struggle toward a distant sun, of roots sinking in good, deep earth. A surging primal feeling of endurance and power filled her mind and soul. She was blind of course, lost in earthy darkness and yet, in her mind, she saw a hundred sunrises and sunsets flicker past in an instant.
Then it ends and Rudabeh is stumbling forward on a earth floor, surrounded by darkness. Slowly Rudabeh's vision adjust, the pitch blackness no barrier to the undine. She is standing in a low, earthen vault just high enough for her to stand erect. The roof is made of inter-twining roots locked together like a net, while the floor is nothing but simple earth, dry and smooth. The scent of wood and earth fills Rudabeh's nose, wholesome and alive.
Veleda lets go of Rudabeh's hand and says, "A little light, please."
For a moment nothing happens, then slowly, a dim light starts to grow along the walls. Dozens of mushrooms begin to glow with a soft blue light, casting the faintest of shadows. Outlined by the light, Rudabeh can just make out an ornate door in the earthen wall ahead.
Veleda nods to the door, face solemn "Welcome to the Bole. It is what passes for a treasure room in the Grove."
"It is where I keep those things too dangerous, too tempting or simply too valuable to leave out for the causal eye or hand. They are quite safe here, under the watch of my most trusted friends." Veleda reaches out and pats a dirty root with casual familiarity. Despite her casual manner though, Rudabeh sens hesitation behind the old woman's green eyes, twinkling like stars in the gloom.
Then leader of the Pact of Years, perhaps the most holy woman in the River Kingdoms lets down her guard, just for a moment. The aged, wrinkled face discards the carefully assembled mask and shows the true emotions beneath.
Anguish is there, and a sense of self-doubt so deep as to make Rudabeh gasp. Of utter fear and concern like a rising tide. Into that vulnerability Veleda whispers, like a child.
"What would you forgive me, Rudabeh? Strong, loyal Rudabeh. Will even you forgive me this?"
The words hang in the air, obviously aimed at Veleda herself and not the paladin.
Then slowly Veleda gestures to the door sunk into the black, rich earth. "Shall you open it? I believe you have the Key."
A small smile tugs at Rudabeh's lips when Veleda relaxes- it made her happy to see the old druid relax, to know that she was able to bring some kind of peace or harmony to the life of someone that has done so much for the undine and everyone else in the River Kingdoms.
The smile begins to fade when Veleda grimaces and tells her no, and Rudabeh's cerulean features become stuck in a valley of concern, and she is unable to pull herself out of it even after Veleda conquers her own anxiety.
"I..." Glancing down at the offered hand, Rudabeh hesitates before taking it gently into her own. "Don't understand." She mutters unsurely, commenting both on the matter being about Alseta's will and the apparent practical applications of the Grove.
The paladin actually grits her teeth in surprise when Veleda steps directly into the solid wood wall, and she might have hesitated further if not for the strong pull of the human through the apparently mutable wood.
Every part of her was still there in the strange space between the trees, though every step is unsure. With Veleda as her tether she clambers forward through the seasons, feeling the cycles of life, sleep, and death with every increasingly fast beat of her heart.
As they emerge Rudabeh chokes back a variety of questions, masters herself, and blinks rapidly at the enveloping darkness. Taking in a deep breath the paladin reclaims her hand and wipes at her other arm, swearing it felt as if the padding of her armor were now packed with dirt- but it was still the same polished silversheen metal as before.
The anguish on Veleda's face causes her throat to tighten and burn from the tears forming on the edges of her eye. Opening and closing her mouth several times, Rudabeh finally manages a quiet whisper of her own; "What are you asking me to do, Veleda?"
Even as the uncertainty hangs in the air, she ever loyal warrior is reaching for The Steward's Iron Key at her side. "I will endure all I can in the name of our goddess, and for you..." She walks slowly to the door, boots dully thumping on the hard-packed dirt. "... but why must I see this vision? Surely you would understand it, be able to act upon it, far better than I." It was clear Rudabeh was not excited about whatever was about to transpire. The partial vision, now that she knew it for what it was, had enough of an effect on her as it was.
Even if the door has a keyhole, Rudabeh merely presses the featureless key in her hand to its outer surface and makes a turning motion.
Veleda watches Rudabeh for a moment, taking in the paladin's words and clearly reading much more in the undine's face. RUdabeh has faced down hungry mobogo's, sentient balls of seaweed and crazed clerics of Hanspur without many second thoughts. Even the prospect of angering a distant magma dragon had only sparked concern and worry not fear. But seeing Veleda, the rock of the River Kingdoms waver with such self-doubt turned a knife in Rudabeh's gut like no monster claw or hostile spell ever could. What could scare Veleda?
"The wicked flee when no man pursueth: but the righteous are bold as a lion." Veleda said suddenly into the soft quiet gloom. "It is a quotation from 'Acts of Iomedae'."
"I have flattered myself my thinking I am one of the latter but today..." The old woman shrugged, looking as old as the hills. "But perhaps not. We shall talk after, perhaps I am borrowing trouble. As to your question, we have both learned the answer to that long ago."
"It is not what I want, but what Alseta and duty demand of us. As for why you...well, perhaps the truth lies behind that door. I do promise you this Rudabeh. No harm will come to you, at least harm to the body."
With that un-comforting answer, Veleda lets Rudabeh turn to the door. The key feels heavy in the paladin's hand as she raises it to the ornate metal door, set oddly into dark earth. There are no visible hinges, as if the doorway was somehow bolted to the planet itself.
After barely a moment, there is a whirring sound of locks and wheels, of mechanism from deep inside the metal. A rattle of clanks and then, silence. In that silence the door opens wide, silently pivoting to reveal a black abyss inside, foiling even Rudabeh's darkvision.
"From here, we shall have to provide our own light." Veleda says from behind. The druid raises a hand and it is suddenly encased in glowing, radiant light, bright enough to make Rudabeh's eye water. She pushes past the paladin, leading the way into a very small earthen alcove, even more cramped then the vault behind them.
The room is small and low. Most of it is taken up by a simple altar, made of..ivory? Bone? No, a giant turtle shell (big enough to provide a bathtub for a man) on two wooden pillars. In front of it is a humble prayer mat made of simple reeds, the same as Rudabeh has seen a hundred temples and shrines.
Along the walls, a dozen iron boxes rest on simple shelves, unmarked and unadorned. Clearly if you need to know what is in them, you shouldn't be here. Veleda approaches one, mutters a few words of power and waves her hand oddly. At this, the box slides forward and pops open.
The old druid withdraws a simple circlet from the metal container. It looks like the tiara of a fey, playing as lord. A woven circle of wood and vines, dried and fragile looking.
"Do you know of the Commune spell, Rudabeh?" Veleda says lightly.
Rudabeh stares into the darkness, disturbed that her darkvision was unable to penetrate it. Was that on purpose, or a byproduct of the place they were headed?
The brightness of Veleda's light surprises Rudabeh even with the warning, and she flinches as if struck. The old druid's words had not comforted her, for Rudabeh cared more for her eternal soul than her physical body. After all, her flesh had been scarred and bruise and healed countless times, but her spirit remained as pure and bright as the day of her vows to Alseta.
Following behind Veleda, the hilt of Rudabeh's sword immediately hits the top of the door with a scrap clack. She reflexively takes the sword and its sheath down from her right shoulder and huddles it in close, now holding her helmet in the pit of her left arm and her sword in the crook of her right elbow. Slouching to avoid her exposed head from scraping the ceiling of the dirt tunnel, Rudabeh imagined she looked pathetic behind Veleda; like a stooped child protecting their prized possessions from a bully by holding it close to their chest. She steps forward slowly in a low crouch, trying not to look directly at the light and keeping her pauldrons from raking the sides of the tunnel.
The room they entered was not much better in terms of space, and it became clear to Rudabeh that these spaces were meant for Veleda alone. The shrine in particular was breathtaking in its humility, for the leader of the Pact of Years had an altar like any she would have seen in any temple in the River Kingdoms.
Still stooped, Rudabeh frowns when Veleda turns around to question her, mostly because she did not want to be seen hunched over. In response to her own self-consciousness the paladin kneels to lower her height and profile, her sabatons lightly touching the dirt with a simple clank.
"I do not. How and with whom does it commune?" She responds quietly while looking over the circlet, as if she feared a loud voice would damage it. Keeping her head steady and gaze locked on the object, she places her sword perpendicular at her feet and her helmet near her left leg.
The heavy scent of earth settled on Rudabeh and yet the tiny cramped vault did not feel claustrophobic or crushing. Rudabeh had, at times, felt that clawing, panicked sense of weight when in small underground spaces, that primal certainty that you could not get enough air. She had seen others, otherwise brave men and women, unable to handle the strain.
But not here. There was a strange sense of....life here, a connection with the twisting roots above. There was no feeling of suffocation here. The russet-colored earth and roots felt like old friends, watchful and kind, no danger was imaginable.
Veleda raised an eyebrow at Rudabeh's remark, "Clearly we need to work on magical education for our paladins." Rudabeh couldn't help but laugh at the idea of 'paladin lessons'. As if anyone, outside of a few traveling clerics, had ever taught Rudabeh anything of Alseta. It was something one learned on their own, by doing her will and observing her truths.
"It is a spell, Rudabeh, a powerful one. It allows the user to ask questions of the gods themselves." Veleda says gravely. "It is not a spell I can cast myself but this circlet can grant the wearer the ability."
Seeing the paladin's obvious surprise Veleda nods, "It is not something I do lightly, for many reasons. For one thing, even my concerns rarely trouble the Gods themselves. I don't think Alseta would appreciate me consulting her on zoning issues."
"Secondly, and more importantly, it is often not needed. I am sure you have found, Alseta's will is not beyond human comprehension. In most cases we know what we must do and why. And even then Alseta has been known to favor me in subtle ways, to encourage or dissuade. I am sure you have seen such signs yourself. A auspicious turtle or a door held ajar. Alseta does not need this spell to speak with us."
Veleda's old fingers lightly tap the circlet in her hands, "But sometimes, a failing will needs direction. That is when I turn to this spell. This choice, to heal you or not, for you to see the possible vision...." the old woman faltered for a moment, voice fading in the gloom. "I leave it to the Welcomer. "
Then, without ado, the ancient druid knelt on the simple prayer mat. The reeds squeaked lightly under her weight, sinking slightly into the rich earth.
"Forgive an old woman her weakness, Alseta." She said softly, eyes closed, hands still clutching the circlet. "I do not have the strength to do what I think you require, not through faith alone. But weakness is not the end, it is merely another door we must walk through. Help me open it, I humbly ask you." With that, she placed the simple wooden crown on her head, the worn branches seeming to vanish into her gray hair.
At once, Rudabeh senses a sudden change in the room, subtle but distinct. A buzzing sense of...energy, just beyond her senses. A feeling of being on the edge of a great sea cliff, or feeling the building power of a great wave far out at sea. That vertigo inducing sense of dizzying potential, far beyond oneself.
The light in Veleda's hand goes out plunging them into utter darkness. And yet, even still, Rudabeh feels no fear, or terror of the black pit that just engulfed her. She can hear Veleda's heartbeat, feel the solid earth under her boots, sense that great network of roots reaching up to the distant sun. And more, a distant sense of being...watched, protected. Like a child knowing a parent is not far off.
In that darkness Veleda's word are clear, "Shall I heal this woman of her injury and expose her to what you in your wisdom, hid? Is that your will, Alseta?"
Silence as profound as anything Rudabeh has ever encountered is the only reply.
Then Rudabeh sees something. A tiny mote of golden light dead ahead, dim and faint, like dust in a morning sunbeam. No, two of them, dancing in time. They weave slightly, like leaves caught in the wind. Slowly a shape emerges around them, the curve of a cheek, the sweep of a forehead. A face...a mask. A brown mask with twin golden eyes.
More appear, more eyes, more masks. To Rudabeh's growing wonder, a whirl of masks appears, hovering just in mid-air before them. Each is set in the same expression, an inscrutable smile. The masks take no defined form, merely an undulating cloud of masks, all with the same eyes. And yet, each mask is of different make. Some are glittering gold, others seemingly of smooth sarcoline leather. Still more are worn steel, with tears of rust and some humble glaucous toned cloth, others of stone dotted with opaline gems. All of these and more, tumble over each other like an ever-lasting maelstorm.
"Yes, such is our will." The cloud of masks says, the voice sounding like a distant whispered chorus, as if a thousand singers were muttering to a lover. By the dim light cast from the yellow eyes, Rudabeh can see her mentor bow her head in solemn acceptance of the command.
Slowly the masks begin to fade, but even as they do so, the voice speaks again, growing fainter. "Know that we are pleased with you, Veleda of Melcat. Our blessing be upon you." And then the masks and the voice are gone, the blackness of the small room replaced with Veleda's Light spell again.
For a moment Veleda's had remains bowed, but Rudabeh can see tears in her eyes.
Slowly the old woman looks up, looks at Rudabeh and gives her a wan smile, "And so our master has spoken, Rudabeh. We are blessed, Commune usually gives merely an answer, not an appearance." With great care she removes the wooden circlet from her head, and adds, "Was it for me or for you, I wonder?"
She stands with surprisingly smoothness and grace, to place the circlet back in the iron box. When she turns back to Rudabeh, her smile seems more of herself, that of a slightly impish child. The endless years that had seemed to crush her was gone, like some great weight had been tossed aside. "Then again, such debates are not very becoming of us. Whichever of us it was meant for, the Welcoming Faces are always a great help in difficult choices. Alseta does not send them lightly."
The druid waves to the turtle-shell altar, "Please, take a seat." Seeing Rudabeh's obvious outage at being asked to sit on a holy altar, Veleda laughs, the sound as clear and refreshing as a clear mountain spring, "Fair enough! Then lean against it. I can't help but feel the connection will make this easier."
Once Rudabeh is leaning against the simple altar, Veleda approaches again, one sleeve of her gray robes rolled back. "let us do what Alseta has asked, and what you had the sense to ask for this whole time. Let us heal this eye, and be what may."
A shadow crosses her face then, an echo of old pain when she whispers, "Forgive of me, what you may see."
With a quick forward thrust, the old woman touches the side of Rudabeh's face, fingers grazing her shattered and melted upper cheek. There is a flash of warmth, a prick of pain and then the world turns into a zinnober swirl.
Rudabeh bows her head in reverence at Veleda's explanation of how little she actually communes with Alseta or her subordinates. "We are blessed to worship a straightforward goddess, it is true. I am sure She appreciates the self-sufficiency of her disciples in turn." Rudabeh assumed that because Alseta had to play mediator for the most powerful beings in the material plane and beyond there wasn't a lot of time for answering questions.
It was odd, no, disturbing that Veleda would pose this question of their goddess, when Rudabeh is sure the druid had made decisions that effect thousands of lives or entire countries on her own. How was this such a momentous decision? The undine was merely one soul- if it killed her or drove her mad, how much could it really effect the world?
The thought bothered her; stuck with her like a piece of hard tack stubbornly clinging to her throat with no water in sight as Veleda lowered the crown on her head.
Flicking her eye around the august chamber, Rudabeh starts to breath more heavily as the energy surrounds her. She does not flinch as her senses plunge into darkness, and Rudabeh floats in the sea of her own consciousness as lazily as a jellyfish rides the ocean currents.
The speck of light catches her off guard, and the rapidly multiplying lights become her sole focus. As the masks of The Welcoming Faces come into focus, Rudabeh is glad she is already kneeling wherever her body was, even though she is certain the construct would not care if she were or not.
The herald's voice rings through the paladin's mind like a thousand church bells, so pure and clean the notes she feels her eye start to moisten. As the herald takes its leave Rudabeh is frozen in place, breathing deeply of the rapture and brought by the holy presence Welcoming Faces.
Standing as Veleda places the circlet back in the box, Rudabeh is barely able to straight out- without her helmet she no longer touches the ceiling, but it is a near thing. "Yes, we can agree it must be... of importance for Alseta to send The Welcoming Faces." She says almost breathlessly, both still under the influence of the visit of the herald and dealing with distraction of the impending dread that she was going to have to actually see whatever Veleda intended her to see.
She leans against the altar (though only enough to make it seem as if she were putting her weight against it to assuage Veleda) and closes her eye. Perhaps the only indication of her dislike and nervousness at what is about to about to happen is her silence.
Rudabeh takes in a breath as Veleda's hand moves and prepares herself for oblivion, rapture, or whatever lies between.
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Rudabeh's vision cleared after mere moments, but her returned sight did not reveal the dim underground vault of the Bole. Instead, to her confusion, the paladin was greeted with an entirely unfamiliar shadowy room. Before she could focus on her surroundings though, a sense of...unreality and strangeness overtook her.
It was like being a dream, in a way. Rudabeh did not feel like herself, she did not feel like she was wholly present in this place. This was nothing like her visions of the Plane of Fire, which had felt so real and tangible (if muted). Here, Rudabeh couldn't feel her own body. No weight of her armor, no need for breathing, not even her heartbeat. The undine seemed to have no physical form, was merely a disembodied bundle of senses. Indeed, the paladin couldn't even turn her gaze this way or that. Her vision was fixed, as if someone else was telling a story and she could only witness what was told.
With few other options, Rudabeh took in the scene around her. It was a very strange space. The walls fluttered seemingly at random, with dim lights passing through them. Papers covered the interior, rustling like the leaves of a dry forest. A bits of furniture and chests were pressed against the walls, except for one light table directly in the center. The floor was heavily trampled grass, covered here and there with thick, worn carpets.
Grass? Moving walls?
When Rudabeh realized it, she would have laughed if she was able. This was no inter-planar waiting room or exotic location. This was a tent! And judging by the size of it, and the maps pinned to the walls, a military campaign tent. While the paladin had little direct experience with such things (she had never served in an army, and few mercenary groups in the River Kingdoms were large enough to bother with such things), she certainly knew a tent when she saw one.
To her sudden surprise the tent is not empty. Seated at the table, lost in the billowing shadows, is a human figure wrapped in a dark cloak. The hood is pulled up, and the figure slouches forward, either in weariness or despair. Gloved hands rest on the folding table, clasped tightly together. The face is entirely hidden, obscured by the poor lighting and folds of the cloak.
Then the flap of the tent opens, momentarily letting giving Rudabeh glimpse of the outside. It is a gloomy day outside, the sky filled with twisting thunderclouds and gusting wind. While not raining yet, it seems inevitable. A figure steps in and lets the tent flap close again, banishing the sky. A quick glance and Rudabeh realizes she knows this latest visitor to the tent.
It is Veleda.
Although it is not Veleda as Rudabeh knows her. This woman is young and strong, in the prime of life. Her hair is not a steel gray, but a soft yellow, long enough to reach past her waist. Her skin is tanned and smooth, showing no wrinkles or blemishes. She wears the simple robes of the Alseta priesthood, but wears a wooden circlet on her head and bears a wooden staff in one hand. Her bearing is stern and hard, back ramrod straight and stride strong. She reminds Rudabeh not of a kindly old woman or even a venerable stateswoman but of a bold commander, a veteran campaigner. And yet her eyes, those green eyes.....those Rudabeh knows.
Those eyes lock on the seated figure with a cold contempt that makes Rudabeh wince.
"I wonder what would happen if I told them it was you, in here?" She finally said, voice low but strong with a singer's effortless control.
The slumped figure at the table shifted, resting back in the camp chair. With a sibilant slither, the hood fell back revealing a masked face. But it was not the simple, smiling mask of Rudabeh's church. Instead it was the ornate mask of Razmir, ivory and ebony, and studded with gleaming jewels.
The masked figure shrugged, "Then they would come, and many would die." His voice, for it was a man's voice, is rich and rolling, resonant in a way Rudabeh has never heard. Wisdom and power filled it. It made you want to trust the voice, to listen....to obey.
"Including yourself?" Veleda says, but the remark turns to a question as if despite herself.
"Perhaps." The figure says, standing. The cloak falls away, revealing a strong man of medium height, clad in golden armor that shimmered like ripples in a pool of molten gold. "But I think it is best they assume I am merely am emissary."
"Perhaps." Veleda says, throwing his own words back at him. She sighs, and an edge of weariness enters her strong stance. "So, the Watch said you wish to surrender? I can scarcely believe it."
"You leave me little other choice, Veleda. My armies routed, my supplies plundered, my outer fortresses captured. This little war seems to have been going entirely in your favor." Despite his seeming despair of a few moments ago, his tone is light and conversational, like a gamester comparing the results of a well-fought chess game. "The other Gods seem to favor you."
"Other Gods." Veleda says dismissively. "Even here, even now, you cling to that?"
The man steps to the side of the table, shrugging, "You mean the defeat? Even Gods must sometimes face defeat. It happens in all the stories. In defeating me, you have done nothing that a dozen other heros have not done in legend and song." A short pause and then, with only the barest hint of reluctance, "But yes, surrender. To end this conflict."
"What terms?" Veleda says, voice hard but Rudabeh can see a new expression in her bright eyes. Hope. Such a desperate, pure desire to end this conflict that it makes Rudabeh nearly weep.
"The usual." The masked figure says easily, "Withdrawal from the few areas my troops still hold, abandonment of a few outer forts, return of captured prisoners, various forms of monetary reparations." Eyes glitter through the mask, "And of course, a solemn vow to never interfere with the internal affairs of the River Kingdom again."
Veleda lest out a heavy sigh of relief, tinged with wry sarcasm. "That last, at least, is a lie."
"But a necessary one." The Razmirian says. "Upon such lies is peace founded. Hence why I find it so detestable. However, I will admit, your way is better."
"My way?" Veleda says cautiously.
"Yes, your way." The figure says, touching the edge of his mask as if to adjust it slightly. "Do not pretend. I know of your plans to turn this war to your advantage. Of what you plan to declare afterwards, now that you have an entire army at your back. This precious little Pact you dream of. Clever really, I didn't know you had it in you."
Veleda takes a step back as if struck, but recovers instantly, "You are a monster, and your words are hateful lies, twisted in vile rags. Leave aside your preaching. Those are the terms of surrender?" Veleda smiles ferally then, and Rudabeh recoils from the bright white teeth. "You do not offer your head?"
The robed figure laughed darkly, a rich laugh that yet felt sharp and cruel. "Is that what they are demanding? My head on a pike?"
"Some of them." Veleda admits, "Can you blame them? You have invaded their homes, sold their fellow countrymen into slavery and burned entire villages to the ground. In all honesty, I cannot help but admit seeing you dead would satisfy me as well."
"Would it?" The masked figure says in a low voice, "Truly? If my head was offered, would you take it?" He takes two long strides toward Veleda, standing just next to her, voice now a smooth whisper of oil on silk. "You may play the dogged commander with the rabble outside, Veleda. Maybe you have fooled them. Indeed, maybe you have fooled yourself, but I know you. And I know you would never kill me. Could never."
"Kill me?" The figure repeats with a seductive laugh.
The hidden eyes flash, as a gloved hand reaches up and pulls aside the ornate mask. Revealed is a stern yet beautiful face, high cheekbones and strong chin. Locks of gold hair reaching down to his shoulders, ending in elegant ringlets. No stubble mars the smooth line of his face, and the eyes are a rich green.
Green.
With horror Rudabeh realizes the truth even as the Razmiran speaks it. "Your own brother?"
The paladin's mind reels from the revelation. This, surely was Razmir himself, was it not? The wizard who claimed godhood, a brutal tyrant who ruled over an entire kingdom of men and women turned to slaves of his will? The same enemy the River Kingdoms had strove for decades against. He was Veleda's brother, of flesh and blood? Her guiding light and mentor was relative to that monster?
"Try it." Razmir whispered in Veleda's ear. "You wouldn't even have to do it yourself. No need to match me, spell for spell. Just raise your voice, shout an alarm. I know they are out there, your intrepid commanders, eager to come to your aid and slay the emissary of the hated Razmir."[b]
[b]"Do it, I will not stop you."
Veleda wavers, leaning on her staff like a drowning man clutching a floating spar. Her shoulders quiver and her move moves to open, drawing in a breath. Razmir's eyes dance in amusement, and he adds, "That's it, just a little scream..."
Then Veleda slumps in defeat, the breath leaving her in a silent sigh as he eyes close.
"As I suspected." The blonde man says derisively, taking a step back. "Of course. Weak, again. And due to your weakness, it does not end here. There will be more war, more bloodshed, more endless maneuvering behind the scenes. You may claim victory today, and announce your 'peace." The last word is hurled like a curse, freighted with hate. "But everything you build after this moment is built on your failure, on your weakness. Like a palace built on sand, it means nothing and stands for nothing."
Razmir replaces his mask with a flourish, "Am emissary will reach your outer pickets within the hour, to begin the peace talks. As always, it was a pleasure visiting with you, sister. Good bye."
There is a flash of golden light and the man is gone. Veleda stares at the empty space in the tent, alone. The patter of rain fills the tent, and a distant roll of deep thunder as the storm outside breaks. The tent flaps in a sudden gust of wind, ropes stretching taut under the pressure. All of it ignored, as Veleda falls to her knees, weeping like a child.
Rudabeh's vision fades again, like a veil drawn before her, hiding the shame of the sobbing woman.
Then she comes back to herself. Like a shock of icy water, her body returns and Rudabeh is once again leaning against the altar. Musty air fills her lungs, the taste of earth heavy on her tongue.Her armor scrapes loudly in her ears, its weight familiar and yet novel. Without conscious choice, Rudabeh touches her face, and feels her cheek whole and sound under her fingers. She opens both eyes, reveling in the field of view.
Veleda is standing at her side, face drawn. She looks so old now, compared to the young and vibrant woman. Hunched and withered, like an old tree barely clinging to the earth with ragged roots. She searches Rudabeh's face and sees what she fears. It is like a death blow to the woman, and Veleda visibly winces and turns away with a shuttering breath.
"Alseta is cruel." She mutters, barely audible. "To show you my greatest failure."
Fixed in place, Rudabeh is almost... disturbed by the mundanity of the vision compared to last time. This was a normal tent. In the material plane, probably. She had no body, but that was easy enough to overlook given everything else so normal.
When Veleda emerged, the undine's metaphysical eyebrows raised as high as they could. Oh. This is... the past. Well, it was still better than the head-splitting vision the gods had made her see. Rudabeh must have been still playing on the shores of Taldor when all this happened...
Events unfold before her, and she finds herself both strangely attracted to Razmir and simultaneously wanting to strangle him. He certainly held himself like a god, though Rudabeh, and any true follower of the divine, knew it was false. The thought he must be getting old now entered her mind, judging by Veleda's age. If the world just waited long enough, it would be rid of Razmir.
Shock enters her psyche when she realizes the blood connection between the two, and the paladin starts to actively fight the containment she feels as Razmir begins to taunt and belittle Veleda. She understood the hesitation by Veleda, and knew Razmir was not dead, but if she could just get free... just do something... maybe she could help and end this threat to the River Kingdoms.
But it was of no use.
Just a smoldering vision, Rudabeh watches Razmir humiliate her hero. Forced to watch Veleda falter, Rudabeh reflects on what she would do in this situation. If her brother, Ondev, whom she loved as much as Alseta, had become a slave-driving megalomaniac bent on taking over as much of the River Kingdom as he could get away with, would she run a sword through him? Would she have act contrary to the foundation of Alseta's teachings and kill the very flesh and blood she raised and nurtured for years because of their negligent mother?
It does not take much thought. It is an immediate reaction, so quick it disturbs her.
Yes, she would. She would kill her own brother, any family that had gone so far to spread destruction, to bring peace and order to the land.
As Veleda breaks down into tears, Rudabeh pays her no mind. She is staring past the scene, at the wall of the tent, lost in her own thoughts. Even as the vision begins to fade to darkness she is still thinking, wondering if it makes her a bad person... if it would make her any less in the eyes of Alseta. It is not until she notices the smells of the underground room that her eyes open, fluttering briefly. Her stomach clenches at the (relatively) new peripheral vision, her balance taking a moment to recover to the extra information.
Her finger runs along her once-burnt cheek, and she can once again feel the roughness of the thin leather upon it. Maybe it wouldn't hurt so much to chew with that side of her mouth is the only thought that comes to her.
Veleda catches her attention, and the old druid can seemingly read Rudabeh with a glance. Expressionless as she turns away, Rudabeh stares past her for a long moment. Before her, once a hero of the mightest stature that could do no wrong, was now a normal person with flaws like everyone else. The mystique and legends had been stripped away, revealing an extraordinary human but still a human.
Drawing a deep breath, words stall in her throat for a moment. She wants to tell Veleda, that in her place she would have removed Razmir's head from his neck, even if he were her own brother, but it dies in her throat. It was not polite, and besides, it was in the past- literally.
Instead, Rudabeh lifts herself from the altar, plate shifting and crumpling in stark contrast with the silence of the room. She lifts a hand and lays it on the back of Veleda's shoulder. "If that was your greatest failure, and it still spawned the Pact of Years... it still ended a war and brought peace to this land... it still inspired me and countless others to put this land and its people above their own selfish desires... then I would say it wasn't really a failure at all."
"I would say..." Rudabeh draws in a ragged breath, the image of Ondev's crumpled body with The Sixth Peak sticking out of his heart lodged in her mind. Her left arm moves of its own accord, and she wraps an arm about Veleda's shoulder. Perhaps because she wanted to comfort the human, or most likely, because Rudabeh wanted to comfort herself at her own dark thoughts, or possibly because of both, she draws Veleda in for a light yet sincere (though metallic) embrace from behind. "Thank you. Thank you for doing all you could do."
Veleda seems surprised at Rudabeh's hug and is initially stiff in the paladin's embrace. It reminds Rudabeh of trying to hug a bent, weathered tree, hard angles and unyielding strength. Yet the old druid slowly relaxes and even manages to pat Rudabeh's upper shoulder, finger drumming on gleaming mirrored steel in an oddly musical fashion.
Finally she breaks the hug, taking a few steps away from Rudabeh, creating a bit of distance between (as much as the small space will allow). When he turns to gaze on the paladin both the fey woman who put on the circlet and the broken woman who cried are gone. Instead is yet another facet of Veleda, this time an icy judge, stern and hard.
"Your heart forgives what your mind would not. You are letting your emotions guide your words. As a judge, you should know better. Place yourself in that mindset now, Rudabeh, that of arbiter." Her voice is cool, controlled, rigid.
"Picture the scene. You have three parties in front of you, waiting for your judgement. One is a brutal murderer, whose crimes are not in doubt. Another represents his many innocent victims, past and present. Finally there is a young woman. Her crime is thus. She knew the man was murderer and had a chance to stop him before his latest rampage and yet, for petty personal reasons stood aside. "
Her face twists, "At best, she applied first aid to some of the later victims. Now speak true, Rudabeh of Outsea, would you hold her blameless? Would you hug and cry over her? A mitigation of sentence perhaps, you would warrant but how much? Would she not be an accessory to the crime?"
Rudabeh straightens her back as Veleda pulls away, her stomach turning a little at the sudden vertigo from seeing more than she had gotten used to. The paladin frowns slightly when the druid takes on a stern and icy demeanor, though she remains quiet and stoic throughout the entire thought exercise Veleda imposes.
"Blameless? No." Rudabeh responds instantly. "But not an accessory either. The young woman was not responsible for the actions of the murderer. Inaction for personal gain is a crime, but inaction due to fear, or for love? That is excusable." Shaking her head, she extends her open palms to either side of her body. "In any case, you are leaving out the part where the young woman stopped the murders from spreading further. The part where later, she brought peace to an entire nation. The situation you give is "
Sighing, Rudabeh casts aside the entire metaphor. "You told me earlier today how important it is to turn the mask. You asked me minutes ago to forgive you for what I may see. So I did, because I know what happened next. if you had killed him, how do we know any of this would have come to pass?" An aquamarine tongue darts out of her lips, wetting them. Minutes ago, she would have never lectured Veleda, never would she think to try to offer any wisdom greater than her's. But now, seeing her as a mortal just as herself...
"I do not believe you are taking your own advice. The one who should be turning the mask is yourself... to yourself. You are the only one that blames yourself for letting Razmir free. Even if he wasn't your brother, you chose peace. You chose to stop the war that was already raging. You saved the River Kingdoms, and you did not need to kill Razmir to do it. The Welcoming Faces itself said it was pleased with you." Rudabeh draws in a breath, and smiles weakly. "There is no judgement to be passed because there was no crime. I see only regret."
Veleda considered Rudabeh's words gravely before saying, "Then perhaps we have that rarity in judgement. The judge is inclined to mercy but the accused refuses."
"And perhaps you are right, that other choices would have led to darker roads. Or perhaps fate was unbending and no action of mind could have helped or hindered." The old woman seems to ponder this a moment before going on, losing some of her coolness. "In any case, despite my ego, I doubt you were shown this vision to pass judgement on me."
"I am sure Alseta had deeper and greater ends then to forgive or chastise an old woman. I have guesses but..." Veleda gives a thoughtful pause before saying, "But I am not ready to share them, not yet. I beg your permission to let you continue in ignorance for awhile. "
Without waiting for that permission she shrugs, "Then let us go, Rudabeh. The Bole is no place to linger, I feel you prefer the fresh air and feeling of sun on your face. I know I do and besides, our friends are waiting for us upstairs. I have a worthy and brave elf to heal."
She strides over, grasps Rudabeh hand firmly and leads her toward a massive taproot in the cavern's wall. It is like a wall of wood, tunneling deep into the rich earth. With a breath they both slide inside, Rudabeh once again entered that tangled world of time and earth.
In short order the undine half stumbles into Veleda's office, trailing her mentor. From a corner the massive alligator surveys them with slow consideration, amber eyes glinting. Slowly it winks, although weather to Veleda or Rudabeh, she isn't sure.
As Veleda crosses the room, Rudabeh hears, to her surprise, Teken's voice in her head.
'Siblings can be.....trying.' Is all the former ifrit says.
The office door is opened and Ractus and Dryw re-enter, following Veleda who takes up her place at the window. The warm sunlight plays across her aged face, giving it a glowing, healthy look.
Ractus looks to Rudabeh a look and then his face splits into a grin, a rare sight since his mutilation.
"It worked!" The mercenary says, shuffling over and clapping Rudabeh on the shoulder with a clang. "Veleda does good work, it matches the old one."
The druid chuckles slightly from her window ledge adding, "With some help from the Gods, I think we managed."
Dryw opens her mouth to speak but Veleda waves her hand, "I know you have many questions Dryw, but now is not the time. Just be content that your inability to heal her was through no mistake or weakness of your own. In fact, forcing such a process would have been quite...unpleasant for you both. Rudabeh has been healed, and that is something to be celebrated."
She glances back to Ractus, "Speaking of healing, Rudabeh mentioned you desired to be repaired yourself, Ractus Redfist."
The name is like a splash of cold water, and Ractus's grin freezes in place. Slowly, obviously without intending it, one hand curls into a tight fist.
"Peace!" Veleda says lightly, crosses the room to the elf, "It was not meant as an insult or reproach. Today, of all days, I am not in the mood to plumb old wounds and mistakes. Come here, into the light."
Even Veleda's causal words have enough force of command that, without pausing to think, the elf steps over into the bright light streaming out of the window. Through it, Rudabeh can see the river rolling past, under the eaves of the green forest of the far bank.
Veleda inspects the elf carefully for a few moments, prodding him a few times. Finally she steps back and says, "I think we can repair most of the damage. Do you wish it?"
The elf glances at Rudabeh, lowers his head and mutters something so low, only Veleda can hear.
The old druid smiles softly and says, "I'm an old woman Ractus, you'll have to speak up."
The elf grimaces but says louder, "If I deserve it."
Veleda smiles then, like a sun rising over a meadow, "Luckily for you, you are the only one here who is not a judge. And if this tribunal of old women judge you worthy, then so you are. Come, let us fix what duty did to you."
She lays two hands on a massive leg, and mutters a single word. There is a pulse of soft blue light, and a sudden rush of wind in the small office. It ruffles Veleda's hair playfully, rustles a few papers on her desk and tickles Rudabeh's nose. It smells of fresh leaves, deep loam and the spray of river rapids. The scent alone is enough to fill Rudabeh with vigor and energy.
In a moment it passes and Veleda steps away, eyeing her handiwork. Ractus takes a step, gently favoring the leg. Then his face breaks into another smile, "It worked." Then he turns to Veleda, face curious, "I have been healed many times, after many wounds, some worse then this. What you did...that was no normal healing spell. What as it?"
The old woman merely smiled enigmatically.
"Druids." The mercenary replied and went back over to Rudabeh, 'So we are whole and hale again...until next time."
Rudabeh draws in a breath as Veleda starts to expound on the reasoning Alseta may have shown her the vision from the past, but instead of speaking she merely exhales in relief when the druid says she was going to keep it to herself. Frankly, the paladin wasn't ready for any more world-shattering revelations today. She still needed to process the day's events , and maybe wonder a bit for herself why this had happened.
The trip upwards causes the undine to lose her bearings for the umpteenth time, but even as she stumbles into Veleda's office she immediately has one eye, well, both eyes now, on the crocodile in the corner of the room. Though her stomach churns, it only took a slow blink for her to relax, confident the ancient predator had no violent desires towards her. This time, at least.
Teken, who had been quiet most of the day, does surprise her with a few words. Indeed. I am fortunate my siblings are not so... destructive.
Old women? Rudabeh thinks, with a bit of distress at the end of the exchange between Veleda and Ractus. But I am only seventy... surely that was a joke.
She watches the healing with great interest, just as one who had no interest in music would still be smitten by the greatest fiddle player of the country. Veleda was, she had no doubt, the most masterful healer in the River Kingdoms, and the nearly effortless manner in which she regrows Ractus' mangled body proves it.
Extending a metal-backed hand to limb Ractus had lost, she goes to shake the freshly regenerated appendage. "I upheld my oath to you just as you upheld your duty to protect me. Next time, let's work together so neither one of us lose organs."
Withdrawing her hand, she smiles at him, and this time the smile reaches both of her eyes, fully healed cheeks and bright turquoise skin able to move once again. "Let's keep it to just a lost finger or two, so we can still tell some stories."
Turning from the mercenary captain to Veleda, Rudabeh's smile fades and she bows her head low. "Thank you for healing both of us. Hopefully, with time, we can show it was worth it." Her head raises back to its full height, and she continues, glad to have Ractus present to join in discussing the following topic. "And speaking of worth, I have a request that concerns the Pact. I was looking to take the mercenaries under my employ and give them work under the pact as enforcers of the law, similar to how I do my own work. I realized in Pitax that there is only so much I can do myself, and it was only with their help we were able to bring stability to Pitax. Thus, I would like to put them on the salary of the Pact of years, to give them purpose beyond the piecemeal mercenary work they have become accustomed. They have all sworn oaths to serve, and I shall take responsibility for all of them henceforth."
They would need uniforms, of course, and standardized armaments, but she figured one thing at a time... they were still mercenaries, after all, and a promised payday would serve to cement their allegiance. There is a glance to Dryw, whom she knew would oppose the idea. "I am not looking to wage war, but to keep the peace. It is unfortunate we live in a place that values strength in its laws, but at the same time it is fortunate we have the means to be the strength."
Rudabeh examines Ractus closely, seeing his healing. Not only does it interest her as an admirer of useful magic but also as Ractus's possible commander. She would be a poor leader if she didn't keep abreast of just what exactly the elf could do. True, so far his injuries seemed to be less dire then Ractus thought, but Rudabeh thought it might be unfair to ask the mercenary to swim the Sellen if Veleda's healing is not complete.
The undine had not needed to worry. The new arm looks as strong and hale as it had ever been, free of the scars and burns that dot the other. His muscles are firm and wiry, laid out like thick cords under his tanned, almost amber skin. Rudabeh wondered, fleetingly, if potent magical healing could substitute for muscle training and then inwardly laughed at how horrified Finn would have been at the idea.
His hip and leg seemed repaired as well, the elf's stance tall and proud again. Her keen eyes note perhaps some favoring of the uninjured leg but that may be force of habit from long use. Rudabeh had seen that before, that it could take weeks before an old injury, even after the best healing, to truly go away. The mind was a powerful thing, stronger then even the most potent magics.
At Rudabeh's remark Ractus flexes his fist, "I seem to recall we worked together, to fall off that exploding wall. I doubt teamwork was the problem." He tears his eyes away from his new hand with difficulty, obviously impressed by the healing.
He takes a deep breath, "Gods, I feel I could climb a mountain." Then he laughed as he looked around at the room, "Not that the River Kingdoms have any worth the effort."
Rudabeh's suggestion to put the mercenaries on the Pact payroll is met by silence at first. Predictably Dryw frowns, but Veleda speaks first.
"The Pact of Years has no standing army." The old druid says quietly, "We do not rely on soldiers to enforce our decrees and wishes."
Ractus, to Rudabeh's surprise speaks up, "Well, you must have some. I saw guards outside, on the doors. Don't tell me they were volunteers."
Veleda nods, as if conceding a point, "Fair enough, we do have a few men under arms here at the Grove and one or two other holy places. But nothing on the scale you are suggesting Rudabeh. It would be a change in policy."
The leader of the Pact of Years looks to Dryw who looks at Rudabeh and says, face hard to read. "You mention 'your work', Rudabeh."
"What do you mean by that? You would take them to Outsea, your home? What work do you intend to find there?"
"My duty, my work, if to bring peace where there is conflict, understanding where there is mistrust, and law where there is chaos, for the benefit of all. I do not speak only of Outsea." Rudabeh says to Dryw with conviction, working her jaw briefly after speaking- the popping in her left jaw was gone, she had just noticed with surprise.
"Veleda and yourself have accomplished this for many years without a need for swords such as myself, and I too seek to emulate the methods preached by our Goddess before I reach for steel. Indeed, I consider myself the last tool in our Goddess' repertoire, reserved for those which speak and listen only in violence." The paladin sighs as she reaches her point, now looking to Veleda. "You brought the River Kingdoms together with an army and your own personal strengths. When you retire, if I am to take over, the Pact will be tested. I will be tested. The Kingdom of the Free already makes moves to expand their territory. Countless other lords and ladies will try to seize what power the can, and many will merely smile politely, taking armfuls from our nets as we ask them to stop."
Frownly slightly at the thought, Rudabeh continues. "It pains me to say it, but a status quo will need to be re-established in the chaos of your retirement. I am not asking for an army, but a personal task force to slap the hands of the takers away from that which The Pact has built, and until that time comes or thereafter, they can act to enforce its laws and the River Freedoms as an independent body beholden to no particular nation. A beacon of neutrality, trust, and strength."
Plate creaks softly as the undine spreads her hands in front of herself, the gesture a final please in itself. "Perhaps the day will come once again where the leader of The Pact can stop the violence of men by clearing her throat, but until then... I will need help."
Veleda raises an eyebrow before turning to Dryw, "Well reasoned, you cannot argue that. I particularly liked the appeal to cooperation."
The younger cleric frowns a bit, like a gamester recognizing a good move but not enjoying it. "That is true." Then she shrugs, "Very well, then let us try this as a trial. I withdraw my objections, for the time being, pending the results."
Veleda swings her penetrating gaze back on Rudabeh, "Needless to say, perhaps this time avoid street battles and toppling governments?"
Ractus smiles at this, but doesn't quite have the nerve to say anything.
The old woman goes on, "I will have a paymaster visit the troops before you leave, and issue some of the back pay. In the next session of the Pact, I will bring the issue up with the Delegates, but I think we can safely send you on your way for now."