Rudabeh bows her head as her two greater peers acquiescence. Really, it was a good investment- they were already trained and equipped. "Thank you. I hope this force will act only as a shield in uncertain times, and with Alseta's blessing, never a sword." She would straighten, but Veleda's gaze causes her to falter, if not shirk some.
Gathering herself, Rudabeh tentatively opens her mouth to choose her words carefully. "I know I did not do as well as I could have in my test at Pitax. But I wish to thank you for sending me on it. I learned much, though probably not enough."
Knowing there will be some pay headed the mercenaries' way also puts the paladin at ease- they were not salaried swords yet, and while they all swore an oath to serve the Pact of Years that didn't mean they wouldn't desert if they weren't paid. Not only that, if she hadn't secured some sort of funding she would have to make good on her promise to Ractus that she would join him as a mercenary.
She wonders what Veleda would have said about that oath as her and the elf captain leave the office, the two freshly regenerated warriors walking at a pace that would make a drillmaster start to sweat. "I would challenge you to a race to the exit, but Veleda could easily summon roots within the halls to trip us for our insolence." The paladin says airly, both completely truthful and joking in her customary style.
"So far I have fulfilled three oaths today, now that the troops are getting pay from the Pact. If I can avoid making any other promises at Irovetti's dinner party today I may have some actual free time in the future." It was less bragging and more a statement of how much was accomplished today- the present was bright even if storm clouds gathered in the distant future.
"Has our merry band decided a name for themselves?" She posits as they near the exit of the Grove.
Ractus keeps up with Rudabeh's demanding pace with ease, between his long stride, lack of full plate and reveling in his newly healed body. The dour elf who had scowled all the way from Pitax to Daggermark seemed to have vanished, replaced by an eager and jovial giant. Without the limp he seemed tall even to Rudabeh's height, striding along. He grinned at her joke about the race and seemed likely to start one when the passing frown of a dour druid stopped him.
They step out into the soupy heat of a late summer's day as Rudabeh asks about a name for the Company.
"Plenty of them, most not fit for a public street." The elf says, laughing. Rudabeh, recalling the Bastard Bigrade, is not exactly unfamiliar with mercenary humor (or language).
"I liked Rudabeh's Rutabagas, actually. Has a commanding ring to it, don't you think?" Ractus goes on, as they walk through the crowded city streets, his voice carrying over the clatter of cart wheels, shouts of vendors and laughter of children.
"Let's see, of the more polite ones...We have the Marvelous Mobogo Mutilators, A Boat Full of Swords, Ractus's Rascals and the Keyholes. That last group also offered a custom battle cry, 'Up the Keyholes!' Seeing Rudabeh's eyebrows raise at the last Ractus coughs and says, "Maybe not that last one, Veleda might not appreciate it."
They pause as an iron-monger's cart rolls past, making only slightly more clatter then Rudabeh's armor.
Ractus grows slightly more serious, "But nothing good yet. The drakes were a nice little fight, but it wasn't a real battle. I find standing together, in a line, singing the old songs...that makes a Company." A wistful smile as the elf pictures long-lost comrades and victories, forgetting the defeats and bloody battlefields for the moment.
They stroll along the streets of Daggermark for awhile, enjoying not having a place to go, or being crammed on a crowded barge. Even Rudabeh appreciates some time off the water. Gaily colored buildings pass them on both sides, many of them open-air shops selling every item from rare magical texts to humble farm produce. Music rises from many of these, with street artists and shopkeeps joining forces to attract customers. A customer who is enjoying a skillful violin might be more likely to purchase that dress or this silverware.
The baker with the bagpipes seemed an...odd choice however.
Rudabeh soon finds a bookstore, stepping into the tiny, cramped space without warning, nearly leaving Ractus on the street. The mercenary is soon rolling his eyes as Rudabeh picks out a heavy legal tome for some ' light reading'. As they step back into the sundappled street the elf reads the title out loud, "Cooper, Furness & Marshall's Taldane Rules of Civil Procedure (Annotated)""
Then he sighs and shakes his head. They find their way to a small park alongside the river, little more then a jumble of trees and uneven ground, too difficult to build on. On both sides the busy docks run away, a network of gangways, boats and sweating laborers but here the shade is cool and trees green. Others linger about, enjoying a brief respite from the harsh late afternoon sun. A handy log serves as a seat as paladin and mercenary sit and rest.
"Oh, gods perserve me. Not that." The paladin quickly responds in horror to the suggestion of "Rudabeh's Rutabagas".
There is a smile on her face about the Keyholes, which instantly vanishes at the mention of the battlecry. "It was so very close to being good. I suspect they will not drop the battlecry, seems non-negotiable." She knew her mercenaries and knew her bargaining- it just wasn't meant to be.
Rudabeh carefully considers if she wants to encourage this nostaglia for violence, but decides not to bring the elf down when he is in such a good mood for the first time in a while. "Well, we could always pick up some work in Outsea. You might be able to find something more romantic to fight. There are plenty of goblins and fey and oozes and owlbears and salt-poachers and whatever else is keeping the milita busy these days around the area. OUtsea always has problems above the waves and not a lot of landlubbers to solve them."
The bookstore instantly catches her attention, and she darts inside before the manure cart picking up horse patties rolls along to block the way. After a brief conversation with the confused clerk (who seemed suspiciously defensive about her fully armmed and armored presence), she found a excellent copy of Taldane debate procedures. It was not the local faire she was hoping to acquire, but the River Kingdoms wasn't known for its deating styles or Rules of Order. Perhaps I could pioneer it. Write a book on civil procedures for the Pact to use. Rudabeh ponders, before thinking to Teken: Would you be interested in collaborating? I would be eager to learn the Brass City's parlimentry or civil procedures, they could make a good framework.
She shrugs off Ractus' clear disapproval, and when they find a nice place to sit tuhumbs the book open with one leather-covered hand. "I shouldn't get into it or I shan't stop, but the forewords often contain interesting asides about the historical contexts of the motions, and the Taldans have a lot of history."
"How does one poach salt?" Ractus says, "I've only passed through Outsea, I've never actually spent time there. Salt is valuable stuff but I always pictured it mined more then...well, scavenged. You know, an industry.
The mercenary nods at the rest of her description however, adding, "That's what I like best about the River Kingdoms, always some trouble about. I've been to Taldor, Andoran and even Absalom but kingdoms like that don't have quite the same...thrill as here. It is a good place for a mercenary, reminds me of home." As often when he mentions his homeland, the elf glances north, over the endless miles toward Numeria.
"Do you plan to hire us out for jobs like that?" The elf asked suddenly coming back to the here and now. "Your words to Veleda seemed to indicate a...higher function. Then again, it is hard to forge peace and order with oozes slithering about, so fair enough."
Rudabeh finds a nice spot to sit, and gets as comfortable as he armor allows. It isn't as painful as one would think, between her long experience and Gezzerbial's skill. In her head, her question seems to surprise Teken.
Your land does not have a codified system of laws? He says , in the same tone one might question the lack of silverware at a fancy ball. Frankly Rudabeh, it is amazing you have gotten this far. But yes, such a project would interest me...
The rest of the warm afternoon passes while Rudabeh and Teken hold mental discussion and debate over the rule of law. Civil versus common law, the virtues of an inquisitorial system as opposed to adversarial. Rudabeh finds Teken has a deep understanding of legal philosophy, even if she finds herself disagreeing with him more then a few times.
Ractus meanwhile, occupies himself with climbing one of the giant, sweeping oaks of the makeshift park. Clearly reveling in his new-found mobility, the elf is soon sitting at ease among the massive boughs. The mercenary amuses himself watching the various ships head in and out of Daggermark's harbor.
Then, as the sun slides into the West and turns red, he drops to the ground near Rudabeh with a thump.
"All right, Rudabeh, that is enough of a break. It'll soon be too dark for reading anyway. Let's go see what Irovetti is up to. I haven't eaten anything all day. Say whatever else you want about the man, he knows how to set a good table."
The streets of Daggermark are just as packed as before. Many of their fellow pedestrians are laborers eagerly heading home for rest after a day's labors. Weaver and dyers, tanners and blacksmiths, scribes and clerks (along with their innumerable apprentices) clog the streets on their way home or to a friendly tavern. Street performers cling to the corners like barnacles, hoping to wring a coin or two out of tight fists. A few late stall owners push the last of their wares while most begin to pack up, pulling down awnings and nailing shut crates.
It takes them awhile to find the inn Irovetti indicated. They wander up increasingly fine streets, and soon have left the mud of the docks behind. Instead, they find themselves on avenue planted with broad shading trees and flanked by fine homes. The street itself is finely paved with brown cobblestones, with not a pothole or pile of horse droppings to be seen. Ractus whistles, "Not bad."
Soon they turn a corner and find their destination. The Silver Stag. It is a large stone building, with three floors facing the street. It has a roof of green tiles which gleam dimly in the fading light, and lamps glow from the many windows. Just a glance tells Rudabeh this is a very well-appointed and very expensive tavern. For one thing, it is a massive building, one of the largest inns she has seen in many a year. Just how big a space did Irovetti desire?
There is a small plaza of paved stone in front of the Silver Stag, fronting the road and flanked by the two wings of the building. Or at least, there normally would be an open space. For now it is covered with a massive fabric tent, billowing slightly in the evening breeze. It was multi-colored ranging from midnight blue to rose pink.
The flap to the tent stood open and many well-dressed people were entering. Rudabeh pauses for a moment outside, wondering what lay under the tent. Leaving Irovetti alone for hours was bound to have been unwise. Ractus on the other hand shrugs, and sniffs the air, "Smell that? That is grilled ox or I've never smelled on. Come on Rudabeh."
Entering the tent is like entering a dim and fragrant subterranean world. The expanse seems to be broken up into small 'rooms' by walls of cloth and fabric, all of which subtly shifts and rustles. The air is rich with the scent of lemon and roses, and lit by carefully dimmed lamps. Shadowy shapes of people move around, some mere outlines.
Out of the gloom Irovetti emerges. Or she guesses it is Irovetti. It is a man of the right shape and height, but his entire face is covered with an outlandish mask of beads and feathers. It reminds Rubabeh of nothing else but a fat stork swallowing a brightly scaled lizard. The monstrosity clatters and shimmers as he walks, waving like a treetop in a storm. The rest of his ensemble is equally outrageous, robes with vertical stripes of rose-pink and deep violet. Soft slippers, compelete with bells, ring on his feet. Ractus's snicker is lost in the bejeweled clamor of the approaching (former?) King.
"Ah, Rudabeh, you made it!" The festive specter says, voice slightly muffled. 'Excellent, excellent!" A pause and then, "Surely you don't intend to wear your armor?! Come, come, this is a party, Rudabeh." he drops his voice to a velvet whisper.
"You need to project a different image at an event like this. There are many important delegates inside."
"Most landlocked nations have salt traders that go to the sea and back, or if they're lucky they mine it as you suggested. But the government of Outsea has long-standing and complicated pacts with various factions of the Plane of Earth that provide volunteer salt mephits to spend some time on the material plane producing salt to keep the water at a comfortable salinity in exchange for exotic material goods." Rudabeh explains as they move through the park, her tongue tasting the ghost of a memory- the taste of Outsea after a hard rain when the mephits were working overtime and everything tasted so clean. "Sometimes brigands get the bright idea to try and kidnap the mephits working the inflows and force them to make salt to sell, or the more wise ones attempt to raid the Strategic Salt Reserves that are kept for emergencies. I've rescued my fair share of mephits and bags of salt... the latter was always far more appreciative, the mephits have quite the attitude about them."
Talking about Outsea put a bit more spring in Rudabeh's step than the healing did. Even if this was a sort of punishment for what happened in Pitax, it was going to be good to go home, to see her family. With that thought, she responds to Ractus again. "I had assumed you were from Kyonin. While I strive to follow Alseta's teachings and rid myself of such predjudices, some still stubbornly persist."
"Not if we can help it." Rudabeh says, practically, in answer to Ractus' question about side work for the Pact's up-and-coming special forces. "FIghting monsters is simplier than fighting men, but it is the men that seem to cause the most problems. No, I'm afraid we will be filling a gap that has been sorely left open for some time. A force for the Pact and its constituents to call on in their times of need that does no favors and occupies no land. Someone they can trust to deal with a problem and leave, instead of their neighbors wondering if they are plotting an invasion. A group to keep the peace, and failing that, to make the peace." It was probably as Ractus expected; it's what Rudabeh had been doing with the past decade of her life, but instead of one paladin, it would be much more.
Her discussion with Teken was pleasant, and it was quite stimulating to talk legal philosophy with someone that has experience, knowledge, and opinions after only being able to speak with the occasional judge or magistrate for years. Teken would find Rudabeh has her own well-thought out ideas on how the River Kingdoms could benefit from being a uninted country under a single set of laws, but acknowledged it was an impossibility under the current geopolitical enviroment. This is a lawless place, but with the Pact of years I believe we can change that. Perhaps when the day comes, we could be ready with everything written out. I will purchase some more writing materials before we leave Daggermark and we can start drafting ideas for a manuscript. It would be a useful way to spend the evenings, though she would have to stay in armor to speak with Teken. It wasn't the easiest to use a pen in her gauntlets, but she would manage.
When Ractus lands next to her and begins speaking, she looks up from a particular titilating section of her book that lays out arguments to separate a "point of order" and a "point of information" into 6 seperate motions that would allow for more clairty and scoffs. "I know very well you can read in the moonlight as well as any human at noon, and you know very well I can read in complete darkness just the same." She says in jest, armor creaking as she pulls herself up from the lodge. "But my stomach agrees we should be on our way. Irovetti is a fine host."
The sight of The Silver Stag fills Rudabeh's coinpurse with dread, and she is almost reveled to see that the former king had wisely decided to set up an outside venue instead of renting the entire tavern. Perhaps Irovetti would make a fine Master of Ceremony for the Pact until she can appoint him a position that would fulfill her promise, as bad of an idea it was to give the man any power. "Do you think he purchased a whole ox?" She says with mixed trepidation and excitement. In Taldan it wouldn't be an uncommon sight, but here... meat was hard-purchased.
The smells of the tent were such a sharp contrast from the smells of the street that Rudabeh feels as though she has run into a wall. Breathing in deeply, she is trying to pick apart the various fragrances when some sort of bird-creature begins to approach. After the realization that it was Irovetti sinks in, she supresses an amused smile and allows for the man to dispense his well-meaning but ultimately unneeded advice.
"I do not-" The paladin begins, but her jaw freezes as she realizes that within her Bag of Holding is a rather perfectly tailored outfit and made for exactly such an occassion. A few more thoughts about how it was doubtful that such a venue would have any chairs that could support over 200lbs of flesh and steel and the fact Irovetti did go out of his way to plan this party for both of their benefits cross her mind.
With a defeated sigh, Rudabeh acquiesces and looks away with an expression bordering on shame. "Very well. Please show me where I can change and I will do so. But I do not intend to make a habit out of this." The "I am a paladin of Alseta and this is my uniform" speech was implied in her words.
Her head turns to Ractus, steel joints creaking as if in protest. "May Ihave your assistance?" She almost added "squire" on the end, but it both wasn't true and would have probably seemed flirtatious. Rudabeh honestly just needed his help getting her armor off in a timely manner. My apologies, Teken. If I do not listen to Irovetti some of the time he is bound to become indignant. I will give you a synopsis of events later.
Irovetti's face lit up when Rudabeh acquiesced to taking off her armor. Clearly the short man had expected more of a struggle on the this particular front. Getting the paladin out of her armor was usually quite difficult.
In her head Teken says, graciously Very well, Rudabeh. Have an enjoyable....party. The last is said with the obvious implication that a true being of law shouldn't go in for such things.
"Excellent, excellent. I'll bring your costume over, just choose any of the changing rooms!" And in an instant Irovetti is vanished into the dim and fragrant gloom of the tent. Rudabeh slowly realizes that the tent is not the party venue but merely the changing rooms.
"Costume?" Ractus says, face amused. "We once discussed fates worse then death. I am sorry it came so soon for you Rudabeh. You had such a bright future ahead of you." With that they find a small room in the tent and begin removing Rudabeh's armor. The elf, as Rudabeh expected, is quite knowledgeable and his hands very skilled. They move quickly, untying thongs, removing bits of metal and carefully stacking them on a small table. The decorative furniture wobbles under the increasingly heavy load. Being, essentially, undressed in a dim and sweet smelling room is rather intimate, if not romantic. While there was little chance of anything happening in this particular dressing room, Rudabeh wondered what some of the other guests might be up to and if Irovetti had planned it that way.
As if summoned, the (former?) King enters the room just as the last bits of cloth padding are being stripped off. Rudabeh notes the man did not bother to knock or announce his arrival.
"Excellent!" he says again, "Don't worry, I'll have a lad keep an eye on your armor, I am sure it costs a fortune. Anyway, he is your outfit."
He brandishes a horror of jewels, fabric and silk. It looks like full-length robes the color of creamy caramel shot through with swirls of cloud gray. They weren't that bad (although Rudabeh thought they seemed cut to.. enhance aspects of her physique she often ignored). No, the real terror her was the mask. It was several feet across, decked with glittering jewels brown feathers. After a moment she realized it was a strange parody of the Alseta mask. It had that same basic shape, just embellished to an absurd degree.
"I hope you like it, I had it made special." Irovetti grinned, "It is so nice to be in a big city again, with proper amenities." He glances at Ractus, "I think we have something for you in one of the chests." he points back out into the dim gloom of the main tent.
Teken's last remark was like being stabbed with a fork in the gut- it didn't do any real damage but it did hurt. She was here to learn the political situation of Daggermark so she could better perform her duties as a paladin and be better prepared to serve the Pact on her seemingly inevitable ascension... right? Well, maybe it was partly for the food.
"Costume?" Rudabeh says at the same time as Ractus, her face becoming a twisted grimace that, due to his speed, Irovetti never sees. "This may have been a mistake." She mutters as they move into the... changing room. The scenery was not lost on her, and she wondered if this was some sort of blackmail harvesting scheme cooked up by the former king of Pitax. There wasn't much she was willing to put past him.
Changing out of her armor reminded her how hot the days had become, and she was fortunate the room was heavily perfumed given the amount of sweat she had already soaked into the First Palace's former drapes.
When her gauntlet comes off she stops, staring at her hand. All of the nicks and off-colored parts of her fingers were gone. The callouses, too, had been replaced with soft flesh, and most noticeably the natural webbing between her fingers had tried to regenerate but was stopped by the insides of her gauntlets, leaving only a welling of the thin membranes from the sides of her fingers.
"Ractus, my scars are gone." She says breathelessly before hands quickly reach for her helmet. The latches comes off speedily, and she is surprised to find she had two fully functional ears once more. Tucking her helmet under her arm, the fan-like protrusions are pumped to their full height and she touches the left one gingerly. "I have two ears again!" Her hand moves from the ear down to her sclap, which had been burned clean by the explosion. Fresh, smooth turquoise skin had replaced the ugly purple scarring and patchy damaged hair. She wondered if her hair would grow back, too.
"Veleda... By The Welcomer's dutiful gaze, she fixed everything." There was a moment of reflection, as she saw all of the war veterans with missing limbs, miners with dust-filled lungs, the wounded and the poisoned, still having the suffer... and yet she was given this blessing. It didn't seem right. What made her so special? Even those chosen by Alseta should not be privy to such privileged as being kept alive and suffering no consequences for it.
The paladin becomes somber as she thinks about this, and she looks up as Irovetti walks in. Perhaps there were consequences.
"I am flattered, Irovetti, that you would go to such great lengths to embellish me." Rudabeh starts after she recovers from the initial shock of realizing the man really had tried his best, despite absolutely no understanding of her faith. "But I cannot wear it. To put on such a resplendent outfit would be a sin for any practicing Alsetan, let alone a paladin of my Lady. I swore an oath to be moderate and humble, and to be seen in this would surely break it." She says truthfully, actually appreciating that what he had made wasn't that bad. But it was too much for her oaths. "I am sorry. Worry not, I have my own clothes." She assures him, though she suspected her simple outfit would break his theme with all the masks.
Ractu's smiles in the gloom, his teeth white. "I thought you looked a bit....smoother then before, but it is hard to tell with a full helm." His violet eyes peered at the undine, inspecting her.
"The ear is a shame though, I thought it gave you a piratical look. How are we going to get anyone to take you seriously, when you look as green as new grass?" He chuckles, "After this party we need to go wrestle a bear or something."
Irovetti wilts when Rudabeh flatly refuses to wear the costume weighing down his thin arms but he rallies quickly. "Rudabeh, you have to wear a mask. Everyone else inside is wearing one. If you walk in without one..." he shudders at the social faux pas.
But then he pauses, and gets a sly look in his eye that reminds Rudabeh of a squid finding a new way out of their cage. "Not only would it be childish, it would be rude, Rudabeh. think about it. That room is full of Delegates and other members of the pact. All of them are wearing mask and various outfits. If you go in without any of that, that is a declaration of superiority, that they have to be hidden but you do not. It places you apart, at a very time we wish to win others to our cause. You are the great unknown in the political realm. Such a misstep might cause havoc for years!"
He sighs and says, "If not this mask, at least a mask of some type. I beg you, as your advisor." Irovetti begging is a new sensation and the paladin wonders if there is something to his claims of political dimensions.
Rudabeh sucks some air in through her teeth when Ractus mentions her not being taken seriously. She continues to run her fingers over the regenerated ear, feeling the firmness of the main spine that provides its backing. "I did not like the memories associated with the loss of my ear, but that is a good point. Any veteran is going to think I'm some foppish noble's daughter with too much money and not enough sense." Her hand drops from the side of her head. "Let's make it an owlbear." She sounds serious. This was clearly weighing on her mind now.
Irovetti's point about not fitting into the room of delegates strikes a point, and when he resorts to begging she actually starts to feel a little bad. This is apparently what she gets for acquiescing in the first place considering she could have merely closed the visor and bevor of her armor and called that a mask.
The undine briefly buries her face in her hands, rubbing the top of her forehead and briefly becoming distracted at how soft her hands felt. "You are right. Very well." Rudabeh finally utters with a sigh, taking one more look at the mask before shaking her head. "But not that one, I am sorry. If you could find me something simple while I change, please?"
"Think "country fair storyteller" instead of "Queen of Golarion..." Is her final bit of instruction to the man, though she dreaded the unlikelihood he had purchased any such thing. "...and if you do not find something suitable I am putting my helmet back on." A parting threat, to make sure he knew she really meant it had better be simple.
Despite the grim outlook of her party trappings, Alseta had favored her recently, and Rudabeh sends a silent prayer to her goddess that in this decidedly important event her paladin could both follow the dress code and her oaths. On the aether towards the Argent Gates floats her plea that Irovetti find something sensible.
'Knowing you, Rudabeh." Ractus says, quite seriously, "You will throw yourself into some trouble long before we need to seek it out. I won't be shocked if you have to stop a riot or break up a fight at this party. Dramatic events seems to follow you like flies after honey."
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Irovetti turns and once again vanishes into the vast hidden depths of the tent. Rudabeh glances out past her little partition and can see yet more guests arriving. Most are handed various costumes and hurry off to change, later emerging like glittering butterflies. In the distance, Rudabeh can hear the distant strains of formal court music, muted by walls of stone. And a fragrant, floral scent. Roses?
Behind her she hears thumping and the rustle of cloth. Turning she spots Ractus rummaging through a few chests of costumes. The mercenary tosses silk dresses, leather corsets, bejweled masks and frilled codpeices aside until finally he grins and says, "Now this is more like it."
Grabbing the chest, he sneaks around a fabric wall out of sight with a very sly look on his face. Rudabeh is about to ask him when Irovetti returns, looking rather disgruntled. In his arms he carries a mask, which at the very least seems to lack any feathers, jewels or bells.
"Will this suffice? The clothier threw it in for free. Not my taste, of course, it is a bit...well, rustic." This last word is said with the tones one usually saves for sludge found on your boots after a rainstorm. The (former?) King holds up the mask to the faint light.
It is also made in the traditional Alseta fashion, with the empty eye holes and the slight upturned lips Rudabeh knew so well. It is even made of wood, much like the masks Alseta priests wore, but their the similarities ended. The wood was a rich deep mahogany and gleamed in the lamplight, as if freshly polished. And yet Rudabeh guessed it was not, but this was the luster of life, of living wood. This impression is enhanced by the garland of leaves that surround it, like a lion's mane. Huge oak leaves, gently rustling in an unseen breeze. At first they are the bright green of spring, then change to the rich dark greenery of high summer and then into the golden yellows of fall. A year's transition in a moment.
"Will this do?" Irovetti says, a bit of acid in his voice at Rudabeh's rejection of his first offer.
The former king stared up at Rudabeh, squinting slightly. The paladin wondered, not for the first time, just how bad his vision was.
"Now, Rudabeh, remember. This is a party, so be gracious. Have some fun, loosen up a little bit." Despite his words however, his tone is that of a schoolteacher expecting disappointment. "Recall our purpose. This is your grand unveiling to many of the political community of Daggermark, especially with the Galtan factions, of which there are many. We need to convince them you are capable, strong but also human. That you are not just an implacable chyper of law and order, or a puppet of Veleda's will."
"They have to know they can work with you, that you are flexible. That you can be a friend or ally to their wishes."
'Good luck with that, Rudabeh is an implacable tower of law and order." Ractus says, stepping back into the changing room.
The tall, rugged elf is bare-chested wearing what looks to be an entire lion on his back. The hide has been cunning shaped into a long cloak, with the back paws hanging limply just above the floor. The beast's massive head has become a hood, with Ractus's face revealed through the open jaws. A hunting horn hangs at his belt, and he has leather boots on his feet. A tang of sweat seems to suffuse him, not unpleasant. He looks like a barbarian king or warrior fresh from a mighty victory.
Irovetti grins, "Now, see, Rudabeh! Here is a man with taste! No one will forget him."
Rudabeh quirks a brow when Ractus steps out of sight, openign hr mouth to ask what he's up to right as Irovetti returns. She is impressed by his speed, but more impressed by the fact he actually picked something good out.
"This is perfect." The paladin says with absolute certainty as she grasps the mask and runs her fingers along the enchanted grain of the wood. After admiring the seasonal motif and even giving the leaves a brief sniff, she slips the attached vines over her head and marvels at how it gentle tightens around her head into a perfect fit.
The following lecture is met with slight skepticism, though she knows he means well. "Veleda would not be such a poor puppetmaster, if it were the case." The paladin says almost defensively. "But I understand your meaning. I am here to listen, but I do not intend to make any promises or grant any favors."
Turning her head in a rustle of leaves, the undine smiles behind her mask at Ractus' costume. "You could easily pass for a Numerian chieftan in that." Is her sole comment before sighing and addressing the room at large. "I do not believe myself a so-called "stick in the mud", I merely put my duty first, as I am sworn to do." Her eyes light up behind her mask. "One could say I have an undine devotion to Alseta."
The smile behind her mask lasts several seconds into the silence before she breaks and has to explain the joke. "It's a pun, because undine sounds like undying, and I am also a paladin, so it actually works on multiple levels..." It was clear she was trying very hard to tell an original joke and prove them wrong. Perhaps trying too hard.
Another beat passes and she clears her throat, fan-like ears growing an unnoticed purple blush in the dim light and folding slightly in embarrassment. Suddenly, Rudabeh stands tall and looking serious. "In any case, we have dallied long enough. Will you kindly escort us to the main venue?" She directs her question to Irovetti and smooths some wrinkles out of the fine brown fabric of her trousers.
Irovetti beams when Rudabeh admires the mask and puts it on without any further fuss. "Excellent, excellent. Granted, it isn't quite right for your station but small stages. Besides, woodland themed things seem very chic here. Must be all the druids."
He nods when Rudabeh mentions favors, "Exactly. Do not say yes or no, merely indicate you heard them and will consider such things. I honestly doubt anyone will be so forward tonight but..." A tiny sigh, "There are many amateurs here. Daggermark is still new to this thing. Just make a mental note to tell me everything afterwards. I can attend to who deserves attention, and correctly snub those who don't."
The man sounded positively giddy at the prospect of going through a list tomorrow.
The less said about her 'joke' the better. Ractus only rolls his eyes and Irovetti merely winces. He does perk up when she mentions the venue holding up a hand. "One last thing. I don't expect any trouble but you are Rudabeh so...if you don't object." He places a hand on her forearm in a rather intimate fashion and mutters something in a sing-song tone. There is a wave of magic and Rudabeh feels her heart lighten, her mind clear.
"Just a little something in case of the worse." Irovetti says, then adds, "But yes, yes, let's go!"
Ractus eyeing Rudabeh, whispers in her ear as they follow the diminutive (former?) king. "What did he do to you? Are you going to dance and spring into verse?"
They pass through the shadowy expanse of tent, and the other guests give way before them. Mask or no, Rudabeh stands out in a crowd. Ractus stalks at her side, the lion's head pulled down over his face into a snarling mask. Irovetti meanwhile puts on his own bejewled extravaganza, which covers his entire head, neck and shoulders. For the first time Rudabeh can see it clearly and realizes it is, vaguely, in line with Desna symbolism. Moons, butterflies and swirling stars. It is hard to imagine the man worhsipping anyone other then himself, but perhaps the bard had hidden depths.
They pause at a pair of heavy oak doors, banded with intricate iron shaped into leaping deer. Clearly these would usually be the front doors. Irovetti looks smug and says, "No formal announcements or entrances. Masquerade theme. So we'll just slide in." he places a hand on an antlered iron knocked.
"Oh, and you might want to shade you eyes." Is all he says as he thrusts the door open.
Shade your eyes- is all Rudabeh has time to think before blinding light engulfs them. Ractus lets out an oath, Irovetti snickers but Rudabeh's eyes are not so easily dazzled. Nictating membranes sweep tot he rescue, dulling the shining onslaught. Instinctually she looks up toward the ceiling, trying to find the source of the light.
And quickly realizes there is no ceiling. Instead the room seems to open onto a bright blue sky, peppered with billowing white clouds. It seems endlessly deep and rich, a breathtaking sight. But isn't it night outside? Rudabeh stares harder and see can see the tell-tale shifts of light and magic.
An illusion then, but a very good one. The light shifts and ripples as clouds race across the imaginary sun, creating a very pleasing effect. And as the paladin's eyes drift downward, she sees the rest of the room.
It seems to be a broad, well-lit garden. The floor is cobbled brick, brightly colored in geometric mosaics but just faded enough to suggest age and heavy use. Waist high hedges of bright green break up the room, turning this way and that at random. Wooden benches dot the area, all seated to aim inwards where a huge fountain sprays into the air. Elegant 'ruins' ring the fountain, a cracked circle of stone. Statutes rear out of the greenery, most elegantly dappled with a patina, suggesting gentle decline and repose.
And everywhere, roses. Roses peeping out of the hedges, roses dappled with water clinging to the fountain, roses intertwined on the backs of benches, roses climbing the backs of the statues. The smell of them fills the air, rich but not overpowering.
Ractus whistles. "Not bad, not bad."
"I think it suits me perfectly well." Rudabeh says about the mask- it truly did, and she thanked Alseta for providing her with such a boon. Part of her wanted to keep it, but she assumed, no, hoped, Irovetti was merely renting all these customes.
A brow raises as Irovetti approaches and places a hand on her arm, but the spell he casts is quite plesaant. "Oh. Thank you." The paladin mumbles as it takes effect, but any trepidation on her face is quickly replaced by a smile. The future looks unbelievably bright, and she feels any lingering anxiety about the visions she witnessed, concerns about money taking over the Pact, all melt away. Tonight would be a triumph, she was sure of it.
"Perhaps." Rudabeh responds coyly to Ractus, though she does not leave it at that. "Some spell. I feel great. I don't remember when I last felt so... hopeful." She places a hand on the lion barely covering the elf's hulking shoulder. "Political intrigues, assassins, poison... whatever this city has in store for us, we will get through it."
The Desna symbolism is not lost on Rudabeh considering she was enamored with the goddess in her youth. It was not surprising that Irovetti may at least throw a prayer or two her way- they shared much in common, if one ignored the opressive tryranny of his reign. "No annoouncement is how I prefer it anyway." She comments before being blinded by the exquiste indoor display.
While there were many illusions about (how many did Irovetti do himself?), she knew there was enough real here that it was still an impressive display of planning and coordination. Breathing in deeply to fill her lungs with the scent of roses, the undine exhales slowly. It was no low tide on the coast of Taldan in the middle of fall, or the coast of Outsea in the spring when the dogwoods bloomed, but it was still very pleasant. Unfortunately it masked the location of the food... for now.
"Very impressive." She utters the compliment in full confidence, and as her eyes adjust her nicitating membranes slide back so she can make out more details about the guests around them. She realized how much the tall and muscular figures she and Ractus cut stood out among the smaller and dainty humans that made up most of Daggermark.
"Do I have some sort of schedule?" She asks of Irovetti as she dutifully follows the bedazzling man down the cobbled path. "I could entertain the idea of a pint of a dwarven stout or lager if there is a keg tapped, though I know you prefer wines if that is the evening's selection." It wasn't her first grand party- she had attended many in Outsea with Urqat, who frequented the circles of the city's Generals. It was a shame there were no live coral bed banquets in Daggermark where one could pluck oysters and clams and fish and worms directly out of their homes.
"Don't get too swept up in it." Ractus says warningly, "I like a good party as much as anyone, but knowing Irovetti we are likely surrounded by snakes and rats in due measure. Keep your wits about you."
Still, it is hard to take his advice seriously. Rudabeh's heart rises as they stride through the gentle gardens, the scent of roses wafting around her. Shadows race across the ground, dappling the plants with shifting shade. The undine notes that despite the fake sun's brilliance it casts no warmth, her skin doesn't heat under its gaze. Even better! For once, she isn't melting in a tin can but instead pleasantly cool.
Her violet eyes find other guests milling around. Some are gathered in knots around benches, others strolling around the fountain. There aren't many yet and while it could be that they are early, Rudabeh has a feeling the venue is just much larger then she can see.
Sure enough she finds three breaks in the tall 'hedge' that covers the outer walls of the room. One leading left and right, presumably into the two wings of the Inn she saw outside, while another leads directly back. Irovetti catches her glance and confirms, "The kitchens and refreshments are that way, yes. No dinner served, strictly buffet style, all eaten al fresco. Very informal." The elegant dress of the other guests seems to indicate otherwise. In fact, many of the outfits seem more fit to pre-Revolution Galt then the River Kingdoms.
'As for schedule.." Rudabeh can visibly see the small man welling with pleasure at being the center of attention. Events like this is what the man clearly lived for. Well, that and ruling with a velvet fist over a city-state.
"I have nothing strictly planned, but there are many people here worth meeting and talking to. As I mentioned earlier today, we have lots of Delegates from the various Galtan townships and villages." he lowers his voice below the imitation birdsong. "They have taken to founding tiny hamlets in order to secure more Delegates. So far it is working, but it causing tensions with other, more real cities. Be mindful."
Back to his normal volume, "Vetto Scillari is here of course, much of this was his idea. Clever man, keep your eye on him though. He is only looking out for himself, but such people have their uses." the breathtaking irony of that last statement seems lost on Irovetti.
"And I do expect a few other Delegates of course, both friendly and wary. I circulated the invitations far and wide. Maybe some fellow priestesses will show up?" He leads them not to the kitchens but one of the other exits, an arch of twining roses.
The outdoor motif continues as they enter into a large space but instead of an elegant bricked garden, this seems like an open lawn. The short cropped grass is so bright it is almost glowing, and a well-manicured stream seems to pass right through the room, dumping into a swirling grotto right into the floor. More statues dot the open sward, all casually slightly ruined.
While many people are simply strolling the grounds, a large group seems to be playing some sort of game involving balls, wooden stakes and very small mallets. She spots Vetto here and the man looks up and waves to them, beckoning them over.
Before anything else a man in servant's livery appears and whispers in Irovetti's ears. His genial face turns pale and he says in choked tones, "Not the soufflé!" He turns to Rudabeh, "A disaster, int he kitchens. I'll return as quick as I can. Meanwhile, mingle! Enjoy yourself." He hurries off, the servant in tow. After a few steps he pauses and whirls, adding, "And don't make any oaths!"
Then he is gone, leaving Rudabeh and Ractus on the green lawn, a group of seeming Galtan nobles eyeing them vetto still waving.
Ractus sighs, "Nobles. I thought Galt had got rid of all of them. More leftovers then I expected. They must be breeding."
Rudabeh is quite disappointed they were being led away from the kitchens, but she does not complain. Surely there was enough for everyone and she would have her fill soon enough.
The paladin takes note of the formal attire of many from Galt, and is impressed at just how many of their number Irovetti was able to invite on such short notice. He had only been here hours... she suspected his newfound close friendship with Vetto had something to do with it.
The issue with the soufflé causes her brow to wrinkle, and even if she wanted an excuse to visit the kitchens, for once she was glad there was absolutely nothing she could do to help. She could enjoy a rare moment of relaxation. An unseen, wary smile is all she returns to Irovetti when he tells her not to make any oaths.
"They certainly tried to get rid of them, but it is easy to flee when you have the funds to do so." Rudabeh says from behind her mask as she waves back to Vetto with open fingers. "They have their good and bad qualities just as anyone else." Is her follow-up as she begins to casually cross the lawn to the gathering.
"I know you." She says to Vetto after they approach, and she follows it with a small bow of her head in greeting. "Do you know me?"
She cannot see it, but the living wood of her mask starts to flourish under the intense faux-daylight of the lawn. Her eye turns away from Vetto in her small bow, looking at the nearby game for a brief moment before turning her eyes back to the exiled noble and Veleda's confidant as her head rises.
The masked man that was clearly Vetto smiled behind a baroque mask of (surely fake) gold and pearls that glinted in the fake sunlight. "Few could be confused for you." Is all he says to her question, "And not just in looks."
The game is unknown to Rudabeh, despite her time in Galt. That said, she lived with more humble people then seemed to be presented here. Maybe this was an idle of the rich?
Catching her eye Vetto bows, "Croquet. It was a favored game in the old Galtan court, and we play it in memory of what was and..." A deliberate pause, "And what may be again." Rudabeh notes a few of the others chanting along, as if following in a prayer. She also can see this is mostly a younger crowd, surely born after the Revolution?
"Do you want us to teach you?" A young woman says, her mask made of blue silk, matching the ribbons in her hair. While the outfit suggested childlike innocence, her scandalously low-cut dress said quite the reverse. She speaks not to Rudabeh but to Ractus, and the paladin notes most of the female audience seems far more interested in the bare-shifted elf then herself.
With a grin the mercenary says, "It would be a delight." and soon he is in the middle of a knot of giggling and simpering women. More then a few of the men give him dark looks but none quite seem ready to challenge the rather imposing looking elf. Rudabeh hopes no one is foolish to try. What Ractus might consider a fun tussle would result in broken bones or worse for these fops.
Vetto watches with obvious amusement before moving closer to Rudabeh and dropping his voice slightly, "Your man Irovetti is....impressive, I must say. Your reputation didn't seem to indicate working with such a political operator. Does he truly speak for you? Are you held by his promises?"
Rudabeh can tell however, despite his lowered voice, many of the others are listening.
Rudabeh wonders what stories these youths have been told, what they think Galt was or even is right now. Even if they somehow reclaimed Galt,what would restoring it look like?Surely they would no longer tolerate the spirit of philosophy, debate, and free-spiritedness that it used to embody?
The paladin tries not to chuckle as Ractus steals away all of the human girls, though in reality she is jealous. Not of the attention, but the fact he gets to learn this coquet game while she is stuck talking politics.
He slight smile disappears when Vetto moves in closer, her ears fanning out slighty and her head tipping to listen to what he has to say. "He is a capable man, and I believe he can be of great value to the Pact." She says as her head straightens to look Vetto in the eye. "But he is my advisor, not my mouthpiece," Are her first words on the matter, voice matching Vetto's. "and I prefer to speak for myself. In exchange for his cooperation I am sworn to protect him to the best of my ability, and that is all."
Limpid eyes are nearly colorless in the bright light of the room, only given contrast by the shadow of her mask's brow, though what little turqoise skin that shows on her neck glistens like the noonday surf. "Why, has he been making promises in my name?" She inquires without pause, completely ready to be unsurprised that the former king has sworn oaths for her or some such.
"Oh, no promises." Vetto says with a nod, "Irovetti is far too cunning for that. He far more enjoys hinting at the possibility of promises then making any. It is a quicker path to importance."
The younger Galtan looks wistful for a moment, a distant look in his eyes. "He is a legend, you know. Granted we only heard rumors from Pitax, but his prowess at the political game is a byword, even here in Daggermark. I wondered if he would ever been drawn here, like a moth tot he flame, but I have to say I didn't expect to find him in your entourage, Rudabeh. But it does give me hope. if you can find a way to work with a man like that, well, clearly you have more flexibility then some have feared."
"He's just an old man who talks a lot Vetto." One of the other young nobles said, scoffing a bit. His mask was shaped like a hunting dog, but Rudabeh thought it looked more like a bulldog.
Vetto Scillari laughed, and there was a touch of scorn there. "You speak nonsense, Coyne. What else is politics then speaking? As for being old...well, this is not a game where the foolish live long. It is a mark of skill to gain a few gray hairs. May we all be so lucky, present company excluded, of course." And he bowed toward Rudabeh.
There is a dull roar of approval as Ractus manages to hit a green ball under a wooden arch and strike a small peg. The paladin has no idea what this means in terms of the game, but it does seem to impress the gaggle of giggling girls.
After the uproar dies down Vetto says, "Also, he seems to throw a good party. I admit I was in charge of getting the guests but the event itself was all his idea." he waves a hand at the lush lawn, the dancing clouds and streaming sunlight. "Daggermark hasn't seen a party like this in quite some time. As for the food-"
He is cut off when Coyne, the bull dog man, grunts and interrupts warningly,"Vetto." He points toward the rose arch when a figure is striding out onto the lawn, heading directly toward the croquet game. Vetto sighs so heavily, Rudabeh is interested beside her herself.
The figure itself quickly resolves into a human woman of medium height, with a curvy, almost stocky build. She is not wearing elegant court clothes or even a costume, but shiny black leathers that reminds Rudabeh more of fighting then dancing. She is wearing a mask however, that of a red devil, complete with horns and forked tongue. The others in the group murmur and shift, forming up toward the oncoming woman almost like a phalanx. Smiles fade away replaced by anixety. Only Vetto seems unmoved, more bored then anything else.
Still long training kicks in and on a subconscious level Rudabeh's body changes. Rudabeh's feet shift, her eyes narrowing. There was danger here, but of what kind?
In a moment the new arrival squares off against them all. Her eyes, hidden by the mask, seem to sweep over the group one by one, excluding Rudabeh. The undine notes an empty scabbard at her hip, which causes a jolt.
The paladin realizes, for the firs time, no one else is armed. No swords, axes, or even daggers. She had been so used to traveling with the mercenary company, she had taken it for granted that everyone would be carrying live steel and she knew from long experience that was usually a safe bet with privileged nobles. Many of them prided themselves on their swordplay, even if they often overrated themselves (Nobles often fought to win not to survive, which was a very different thing).
Her mind snaps back to the present when the woman speaks, her voice fiery but refined. "Vetto! You pox-marked rogue! After this grave insult I find you are a party, joking?"
Vetto looks down his nose at the slightly shorter woman, and his own voice is calm as he replies, "What is this about, Ségolène?"
The woman jabs a finger at Vetto's face, nearly poking his jeweled mask. "You know very well! Don't Segolene me, in those honeyed tones. You call me Lady Marchal!" She pauses for a breath before going on.
"You set me up as a fool, in front of everyone! Making promises you did not intend to keep, like the rascal you are."
A glimmer passes over Vetto's eyes, "Ah, the bank. Well, if you recall I did not promise you funds, I only suggested-"
"I did not come here for your excuses, Vetto, but to regain my honor!" Ségolène snaps, and draws back a fist. Rudabeh is about to step in when a small red ball rolls between Vetto and his would-be assailant. Then everyone freezes at the sight of the Ractus stepping up.
The towering elf doesn't quite get between the two Galtans but nearly so, forming the third point of a newly formed triangle of tension. Everyone but Rudabeh takes an involuntary step back from the looming mercenary, still bare-chested, lion mask pulled down over his face.
"Is there a problem?" he says, voice a casual purr.
Ségolène visibly regains her composure before saying, "Of course not, my good sir." Then she carefully removes her devil mask, letting it all fall on the grass. It reveals a fair enough face, brown eyes and a small mouth. It is marred however by two long scars running from temple to chin.
Slowly she says, "Vetto Scillari, I demand satisfaction." And pulls out a glove. With a speed that belies her heavy build, she darts forward and slaps the Delegate across the face with it, making everyone gasp (except Ractus who chuckles softly).
Vetto rocks back on his heels, touching his face, "You can't be serious." He is met with stony silence from the smaller woman and then, shaking his head he turns to Rudabeh.
"Rudabeh, this is madness. You are the law here, can't you do something. A duel? Seriously?"
Dueling is perfectly legal in the River Kingdoms, and Daggermark is hardly unused to ritualized violence. It is the home of a formal Assassins' Guild after all. Assuming it was consensual, there was no legal barrier, within certain guidelines. That said, Veleda had spoked out against the practice in the past and the Alseta Church had little patience for dueling, doubly so over such casual insults.
Vetto refering t Irovetti as a "legend" when he was in fact best known for being (one of many) tyrants in the River Kingdoms gives Rudabeh the impressive that introducing Irovetti to this group was probably a mistake. Maybe Samuel was right and she had merely unleashed Irovetti upon the River Kingdoms as a whole instead of him being confined to Pitax?
"Indeed." The paladin concurs with Vetto after Coyne's dismissive remark. "Beware the old man in a profession where men die young." She echoes the word of Finn, who, now that she thought about it, had to be getting into her 60 or 70's, which was pushing into middle age for half-elves. Would her mentor be retired the next time they crossed paths?
Rudabeh is shaken from her half-thoughts about Finn and half-listening to Vetto's praise about Irovetti by Coyne's sudden movement alone. Turning her head to follow the young man's finger even as he speaks, and she sizes up the approaching woman. It was impressive Irovetti managed to get everyone's steel away, and she reminded herself to compliment the man later. It was a rare thing in the River Kingdoms to be anywhere without wanting at least a self-defense weapon.
Pox-marked rogue? Rudabeh thinks as the words leave Ségolène's mouth, and she is about to joke with it to Tekken or Seqhi before realizing neither one of them were there. It was an odd feeling, being lonely in the head, especially after spending so long guarding her mind from the ifrits after Gezzerbial's warnings.
Crossing her arms defensively, Rudabeh llistens to the exchange between the two, instinctively dropping them and pivoting on her foot to move forward as the Lady Marchal rachets back what looks like an amatuer (if strong) punch. But Ractus, with years of experience that make her seem like a child playing soldier, inserts himself in the situation.
As the others step back, Rudabeh quirks a brow when the Lady's mask falls off. It was absolutely breaking Masquerade decorum, and they are all lucky Irovetti isn't here to throw a fit.
The sudden glove slap causes the undine's other black eyebrow to rise in suprise, and suddenly her gaze is met by Vetto. "Of course, I would volunteer to referee the duel, should you accept." The nobleman's stunned (and slightly red) expression causes her to continue evenly. "There are no legal barriers for fair and consenual dueling in Daggermark. While there is no statutory law, judges in Dagger Keep have made numerous decisions in the past upholding the terms of duels and the precedent is quite clear." If anything, Rudabeh is more in favor of dueling than the ridiculous "You Have What You Hold" River Freedom, which is merely broad-daylight thuggery. At least in duels the two parties have to both accept the terms.
"On that same token, you do not have to accept, Vetto. This is not Taldan." The undine spreads her glistening turqoise hands, taking a step forward and preparing to work in the eyes of her goddess. "In fact I would discourage it, and instead offer my services as an artbitor in this despute." Her gaze turns to the woman, voice clear, calm, and full of understanding. "Please, Lady Marchal, If this is only a social or monetary slight, there is no need to bring steel into the matter. We can work this out, and see your honor restored without violence."
Vetto rolls his eyes when Rudabeh comments that duels aren't illegal here and she has no legal or moral obligation to prevent it. Lady Marchal seems to burn with righteous satisfaction however, smiling grimly.
Rudabeh's offer to mediate the dispute without violence does make the formidable woman turn toward her. Lady Marchal is nearly two feet shorter then the paladin but does give off a certain aura of danger, of vitality. Her pale face twitches slightly with emotion and...anticipation? Alarm bells go off in Rudabeh's mind as she realizes not only is this woman good at violence, she enjoys it.
A prickle of memory as Orza, the crazed Hanspur cleric, crosses her mind.
"And who are you-' The curvy woman says before breaking off, obviously seeing Rudabeh's aquamarine skin. "Ah, yes."
She gives a short bow, "Forgive me, your Honor, but some things are beyond mere arbitration." She spits this last word, "My honor has been defiled and I will regain it, on the blood of the cad who insulted me."
Rudabeh glances at Vetto, curious to see his reaction.
The paladin doesn't like what she sees. While the young nobleman maintains his façade of annoyance and exasperation, it is merely a cover for...calculation. Vetto gazes not at the furious Lady Marchal but at Rudabeh, sizing her up like one might consider a new bridge one wishes to cross, or a new sword before it's first battle.
"I appreciate your advice, Rudabeh." he finally says, voice slow and steady, "I can clearly not let this insinuation on []my[/i] go unchallenged. "
He turns to Ségolène Marchal, bows shallowly and says, 'I accept."
A rumor rolls through the quickly gathering crowd, and Rudabeh can feel the pulse of anticipation and excitement. Ractus circles the pair and comes up to Rudabeh side, and whispers, "As much fun as it would be to watch these two kittens claw each other, don't we need the boy?" he gestures with his chin toward Vetto, "I seem to recall him being important. Do you really want to explain to Veleda how you watched him get gutted? Because the lady means business or I've never fought a day in my life." And indeed, Rudabeh can see a world of intent in the smoldering eyes of the Galtan noblewoman.
Vetto seems unconcerned as he says, lightly, "Terms and weapons/"
To Rudabeh's surprise Ségolène holds up a hand, "You know the rules. We are at a private man's party. He first need to gain the solicitation of our host and inform him of the proceedings. If he is amenable, this would make a fine place, but if he is unwilling, we can...take it outside, as the rustics say."
A runner speeds off to find Irovetti.
Rudabeh studies Lady Marchal's face in the brief moment she is addressed, and feels some gravity settle onto her shoulders at the sight of the woman's clear excitement at the impending conflict. This "Lady" could very well be an Agent of Chaos, a soul seeking to disrupt the balance of their world through violence, their anger and disregard for their fellow souls barely held in check by societal norms. The paladin may have to do something about her after all... and she had yet to redeem such a person in her career.
Vetto's face also worries her- it was clear he was considering asking her to be his champion, to which she should decline. But if Lady Marchal was as dangerous as she suspected, perhaps it would give her an oppurunity to teach her a lesson on what happens when one tries to use violence to solve all of one's problems. After all, there is always a bigger fish.
Shaking her head in disapproval at the acceptance of the duel, Rudabeh is still considering whether or not she should accept Vetto's enivtable when Ractus comes by to interrupt her thoughts. It was a perfect cover, and as she folds her ears back to lean in and speak with the elf, she touches her Iron Key to whisper a prayer. "Alseta, please grant your servent sight beyond sight."
With no explanation to Ractus about the prayer, she whispers back. "I was given no instructions to protect Vetto, and this scenario is clearly one of his own causing. By all rights I should merely referee where I will step in to ensure Vetto or the Lady comes to no real harm... But something about her seems off. I may have other duties to fulfill here." It was cryptic, but Rudabeh did not want to risk being overheard. "Regardless, I appreciate your counsel, thank you."
While a runner is fetched, Rudabeh stands nearby and studies the aura of Lady Marchal first, followed by the rest of those in the room. "For the benefit of all those present and unawares," The undine says clearly and smoothly to Lady Marchal even as her aura is examined. "Will you describe the events that led to this proclaimaion?"
The Key pulses warm then cold against her flesh (for once Rudabeh is actually touching the holy symbol with her flesh, instead of feeling it through gauntlets). It is a comfort but also...a warning. Her heart was still light from Irovetti's spell but her nerves ratched up, ever so slightly. One did not have a divine link and then ignore it. Alongside that vague warning, she also fills a surge of magic fill her senses, giving her a glimpse of the world behind the veil of the Material.
Ractus looks a bit surprised when Rudabeh says she has no special instruction to protect Vetto so feels no compulsion to do so. It occurs to her that the elf has rarely seen her in her role as dispassionate arbiter. Mostly he had seen her as part of the Pitax street struggle, or employer of an unlovable bunch of mercenaries. Ractus, perhaps, didn't know how cold the Law could really be.
The paladin sweeps the crowd with her enhanced sense of law and chaos. Most of the crowd don't reveal much, her sight only shows the most powerful (or devoted). The familiar chaotic aura of Ractus makes her inwardly wince as usual, but no matter.
Vetto is Chaotic, of course, what else. She notes it is dim though, although if that was to a lack of power or a lack of chaos, she isn't sure. A few other of the nobles glow dimly, but nothing distinct or worrying. Turning her gaze on The Lady Marchal reveals...the expected.
She burns like a smoldering ember on a bed of coals, bright and hot. Chaos radiates off of her but also something... else. Something deeper but faint. Rudabeh is just focusing closer when the woman speaks, throwing off Rudabeh's divining.
"Gladly!" Marchal Ségolène says with a flourish, waving her hand.
"Two nights ago I was dining with this scoundrel," she points at Vetto, who rolls his eyes, "who then made certain...financial promises."
Her eyes sweep the gathered nobles, alighting on a tall, pale faced man near the back. Rudabeh recognizes him as Théophile Jacquet, one of men eating ice cream with Irovetti at lunch. A legate applicant for some tiny Glatan hamlet.
"Theophile!" Lady Marchal says briskly, "You were there, were you not?" The shorter woman tosses her head, dark hair rippling.
Theopile looks like he wishes the grassy ground would open up and devour him. he looks from the fiery woman to the annoyed Vetto and then to the armored countenance of Rudabeh. The paladin guesses he might lie, until he meets the undine's cool glance. There is no dissembling under Rudabeh's pericing look. he slowly nods.
Ségolène goes on, "Yes. The honorable Delegate implied money would be forthcoming for a recent venture of mine. It was quite clearly said. So, in accordance with that understanding, I went to the Abadaran bank today, to withdraw it. To my surprise and shock, in full view of all other patrons, the bankers turned me away. Said they had received no instruction from Master Vetto!"
"Do you deny it?"
Vetto sighs, and Rudabeh can detect an edge of anger in his voice for the first mingled with...fear. Oh yes, just a hint of it, but very real. Not for her claims but for her sword. His eyes kept straying to her empty sword hilt.
"I do not deny we met, but I deny that our conversation implied any sort of obligation on my part. I merely suggested-"
"Bah!" The Lady Marchal says, turning to Rudabeh, "So there it is, simple as can be. The rat makes promises and then tries to escape them. I trust you have no aversion to holding a politician to task, Lady Paladin?"
The gathering is further disturbed as a knot of people merge from the far rose arch, hurrying out onto the grassy lawn.
In the lead is Irovetti, the short man's Desna themed outfit just ever so elegantly askew. Suspiciously fashionably so. Behind him is a clump of livered servants, awkwardly carrying a heavy black trunk, doing their best to keep up with the rather spritely (former?) king. And behind them is a...goddess.
Or at least a woman doing a creditable impression of one. She strode along in Irovetti's wake with a seemingly prenatural grace and poise, each step firm and light. She is dressed in a flowing red cloak, cut short in a military style. Her body is covered in elegant parade armor, the metal plates gleaming. Yet while Rudabeh's mirrored armor makes the undine seem formidable, capable and impressive, this armor seems to flatter the woman's body and make her movements seem graceful and supple. Woven rings of thin mail (that couldn't turn a bread knife) wink from below the plates, like a dozen stars. A light helm crowns her head, swept back into the shape of a setting sun, rays of metal radiating out from her blonde hair. An aura of light seems to suffuse and surround her, a soft halo that makes everything lit by it burn with vigorous fire. Her face is hidden behind a mask that resembles Iomedae, who of course she is dressed as.
Irovetti rushes up, seemingly out of breath. He faces the two Glatan would0be duelists but then oddly turns to Rudabeh first, bowing to her slightly, "Master Rudabeh," he says, formally, "I was informed at the possibility of a duel. Is this correct and it is not merely brawling?"
The Iomedae woman takes up point behind him, silent. Close up she is shorter then Rudabeh first thought, and thinner. The armor hides a very slender frame...
Rudabeh tries to concentrate on Lady Marchal's aura, though Ractus' shining halo of chaos is obstructing her view. It bothered her the same way seeing unnecessary violence bothered her- it was a part of the world for good or bad, and she could only do so much has to limit it. Balance was far more important to her than a world free of chaos. Still, Rudabeh had to actually tilt her head away from him to get a good view.
The strength of Lady Marchal's aura would have caught her by surprise if she had not been expecting it, and that little something strange poking through the storm of chaotic energies would have been dug up if the woman in question had not started speaking.
Her gaze shifts from the maelstrom of energies and listens closely to the story, head moving slightly only to acknowledge their answers given. The undine's face hidden beneath her mask is as unmoving as the wood covering it by the recounting of the slight against Ségolène.
"I feel the escalation of your response is inappropriately violent for the events that occurred whether or not Vetto meant to cause you embarrassment, Lady Marchal." Rudabeh responds evenly and bluntly to the woman in leathers. "But your choice to escalate matters is as open to you as Vetto's decision is to accept it." The paladin delivers her opinion with seemingly little motivation to do anything about it. Turning her attention away from the Lady, limpid eyes meet the tall and pale faced man that had seemingly shrunk a few inches- metaphorically anyway.
"Theophile, may I have a word with you?" Rudabeh asks of the man just as Irovetti makes a grand entrance. Her attention is immediately drawn to the armored woman in the back, ears flattening slightly as her mind parses all bits and pieces that make up a very glamorous (and expensive) representation of Iomedae. She is either very brave or very foolish to take on such a superficial aspect of Iomedae. Her followers are not known for their sense of humor and may see a mocking joke in that armor even where there is none. Rudabeh thinks to herself; some followers of Iomedae were always looking for an excuse to be offended or itching to fight for their goddess' honor.
Sliding her gaze from the woman to Irovetti, the paladin makes a small bow of her head to the former king. "You were informed correctly. Lady Marchal has issued as challenge for a duel to Vetto and seeks your consent to settle the matter here in the garden." Knowing the man loved a good spectacle and what his decision would be, she holds up a finger to stop his immediate acquiescence. "However if I may have a moment to speak with Theophile before you make your decision, I would appreciate it."
Turning to walk some distance away with Theophile, Rudabeh leans towards Ractus with a teasing whisper. "Careful Ractus, lions are one of the favored animals of Iomeade."
A set of rectangular bushes serves as a good enough place to question Theopile, and she moves close to him, meeting him in height. "Thank you for speaking with me." The paladin says quietly as her hand reaches to the Iron Key around her neck. The warning is still fresh in her mind, but she still needed to know the truth before making a decision. "As a third party to the discussion between Vetto and Ségolène you are the only one I can turn to in order to ascertain the truth. Will you help me?" Her flawless right hand is placed palm-up while the other remains on the key. "Please take my hand and accept the blessing of Alseta. You will only be able to speak the truth as you know it. For my part, I swear by the locks on the Argent Gate that anything you say, be it about Vetto or Ségolène, will stay with me."
Her hand continues to hover in the air. "Tell me, based on your viewing of the exchange was Vetto attempting a ruse to embarrass Ségolène? Yes or no is fine, though you may say more if you wish."
Lady Marchal sniffs, "I thank you for your frank assessment. Perhaps they do things different in Outsea, and such slights can be borne. Glatans are cut from a different cloth, I can assure you."
In her mind's eyes Rudabeh could see roaring flames behind raging mobs, a simple merchant's house being torn down in rage. She went to feel her old scar but found only smooth skin, a sign of Veleda's healing. And yet, on some deep level, Rudabeh could still feel the burning wound suffered in their desperate escape.
A different cloth indeed.
Irovetti bows again, "of course, of course. We must do things properly. Your position as arbiter is beyond question." he says this last part quite loudly, clearly intending it for the gathered crowd. "But I will prepare things, in case your findings confirm things."
The stout man turns to his servants, "Come on then! I need a full circle, twenty paces wide, right here. Come along, don't dawdle. Yes, yes, pull up the grass, it isn't real anyway!" And is soon lost in the twin joys of ordering servants around and preparing a dueling ground.
Theophile looks ready to bolt, but a quick glance at the annoyed Vetto, angry Marchal and Rudabeh's cool stare quickly make him admit defeat. He nods and allows himself to be dragged off to the side.
Her passing remark to Ractus elicits a quick grin but the elf seems a bit distracted. he stares at the unknown armored women, shoulder's hunched. "Maybe...do we know her? She seems familiar."
Rudabeh glances but the slim figure rings no bells. Still, she had more pressing concerns.
The young men looks very nervous at being asked to undergo a truth telling spell. From long experience Rudabeh can tell this is someone who values the utility of lies. "Does...does it wear off? Can i refuse to answer?" he stammers but Rudabeh assures him of both,
Finally he nods and Rudabeh reaches out and touches his hand. His bare skin feels feverishly hot under her touch, like all humans did. There is a glow, both in her hand and on the holy symbol around her neck. For a moment a brief outline of glowing arch appears above Theophile's head, old stone wrapped by vines. Then it fades and the Galtan lets out a shaky sigh.
"Not so bad." he says, then shrugs. "Do you mean, do you think Vetto was baiting her?"
The Galtan noble pauses to consider this thoughtfully before shaking his head, "No, I don't think so. But you saw how Vetto can be, he can be a bit sarcastic and superior sometimes, and that gets on people's nerves." he pauses suddenly, face growing red, "I...you said this is in confidence? Just between us?"
Coughing he goes on, "I wasn't at their table, just close enough to hear. At first it seemed the usual. Ségolène asking for money for some pet project or other and Vetto listening. He has more money then the rest of us, and is willing to loan out a few coins...for favors." Theophile holds up a hand, "Nothing underhanded, I assure you. Just, he likes to be repaid. We come to him with gambling debts, or if we need clothes for a new party, nothing serious. Anyway, Vetto is an old hand, and I didn't think anything of it but..."
He trails off, obviously seeing the night in his mind. "I mean, I'm sure it is nothing." A quick glance at Rudabeh told him that stopping there was not want the undine wanted. Lowering his voice, "If I didn't know better, I'd say Vetto was scared after Ségolène kept pestering him. I don't know why, she didn't threaten him or anything. I couldn't hear everything she said, but I didn't note anything untoward and it isn't like Vetto to be frightened, of well, anything."
Finally the young man shrugs again, "Probably nothing. I didn't hear Vetto promised anything. If anything, I got the distinct impression he was going o turn her down, which is rare for him. But I left before they finished. Maybe something else happened I missed?"
Rudabeh must acknowledge she is pleased with Irovetti actually listening to her for once and everyone taking the time to do this properly. It was still organized violence, but at least the risk of it turning into a riot was very low.
The lady dressed as Iomeade is briefly in the undine's mind at Ractus' comment, but still nothing sticks out. Had they met before? Rudabeh was very good at remembering faces and names, but those were faces that weren't covered by masks.
Taking her hand back after Theopile is enveloped in Alseta's blessing, Rudabeh crosses her arms over her chest and listens closely. It was mostly what she expected, but word Vetto seemed scared of Ségolène confirms her earlier observations of his words and mannerisms. "I see." She says after the man finishes, looking down and sighing at the ground.
Her ears fold back into a pair of thick spine-like protrusions as she stares at the ground and considers her next action. Vetto's version of the events seems true, and as I suspected Ségolène is merely using violence to show him that refusing her is a mistake. Perhaps I should be the one to teach her a lesson...
Lifting her head up, Rudabeh's ears unfold and she smiles lightly at Theophile. "Thank you, your account has made matters clearer for me." Her head turns back towards the crowd, and her eyes find Ségolène. Reaching upward to her Iron Key, she grasps it cool exterior to call upon the warmth of The Welcomer's blessing. My goddess, give me the power to disrupt the chaos Ségolène brings to this world so others may not fear her blade as they go about their lives.
Fingers still embracing the warm pulsations of divine magic, her gaze turns back to Theophile. "You may go. The Truthtelling will fade in a few minutes, should you have other uses for it or if you do not wish to speak at all. May the blessings of Alseta be upon you."
Though she wishes to call Vetto over to discuss why he is afraid of Ségolène, it would reveal too much of what Theophile told her, and besides she suspected the proud man wouldn't admit to it anyway. If she were to volunteer to fight in Vetto's stead it would look better for everyone involved if it seemed unplanned, anyway. She would be fighting a battle against chaos, not a battle for Vetto's favor.
Supple shoes push aside the fake grass as she follows the young Graltan noble back to the ring of onlookers. "Please give your decision on the request for the duel, Irovetti." Is her announcement when she is within his earshot.
Theophile looks a bit nervous about facing all while under the effects of a truth spell but nods. He starts to turn away but stops and says, "Um, thank you...for your service?" Doubtfully before hurrying back to his friends.
Irovetti nods, "Very well." the short man paused for dramatic effect as every head turned toward him, every eye fixed. The utter center of attention, and clearly the man was enjoying every second of it. Imagine, a real Galtan duel, at his very own party! It was the stuff dreams were made of. The paladin had little doubt what Irovetti would say.
"I will allow the duel, with my blessing. It would be a poor look for me, if I forced these two esteemed gentlefolk to battle in the street like common thugs. Surely this is better, and afterwards, we can put the entire matter behind us."
He bowed low and Ségolène actually clapped while she grinned fursiously. "Excellent!"
Vetto for his part was looking more and more uneasy, and his eye kept straying to Lady Marchal's empty scabbard. Still he hid it well and merely shrugged.
"I have a selection of weapons, if you wish to peruses them?" Irovetti said, waving to the servants and the heavy box. "I believe it is the challenged that chooses them?" He said this casually, but Rudabeh suspected the man owned more then one copy of Galtan dueling guidebooks.
"Your preparation is impeccable." Vetto says, his tone light but his eyes holding a glitter, clearly wishing his would-be political ally was not quite so eager.
Meanwhile the crate is thrown open, revealing quite an array of deadly weapons.
"Just a small selection I set aside, just in case." Irovetti says, "I have some Varisian dueling daggers and bucklers, some Chelish shortswords, a wonderful set of Ulfen war clubs and of course a pair of Galtan fencineg rapiers." A servant holds up each item as it is name, showing gleaming, well-kept steel. Part of Rudabeh had been hoping the weapons were dulled or parade-style in some way but to her trained eye, each set looks quite real. There was a very real chance of deadly consequences. Also, where had Irovetti gotten a paif of Ulfen war clubs anyway?
Vetto's eyes narrow and he points to the crate, "And what about that smaller box? What is in there?"
Irovetti fakes a look of surprise as he says, voice dry, "Which one...oh, that." With a wave of his hand, a small laquered box levitates out of the crate and into his hands. "Look closely friends, for I believe I am the only one in Daggermark with a set of these."
With a soft click, the (former?) King slide the lid off. Inside are two very strange objects. It looks like someone had taken a metal tube and grafted on wooden handles. A number of thin, delicate looking metal levers stuck out at angles.
"A set of Alkenstar dueling pistols." There was a number of gasps from the crowd and rustling as some tried to push closer but Lady Marchal merely frowned. Ractus let out a long, low whistle.
'Pistols? What are those."
Irovetti's smile was visible under the mask. "Guns, my dear lady. Firearms."
Guns.
Rudabeh knew about them of course. Ranged weapons capable of throwing a lead ball dozens or even hundreds of yards at killing speeds. Unreliable and noisy but quite capable of punching through armor that even longbows had trouble with. They were beyond rare even in the richer lands of Taldor and essentially unknown in the River Kingdoms. Only once had she actually seen such weapons, and never in action. A so-called gunslinger had tried to hire onto the Bastard Brigade but Finn had turned him down. Not due to his unusual weapons, but because he couldn't accept a refusal to his follow-up request for dinner with Rudabeh's mentor. Whatever guns could do, they hadn't helped the man take a savage kick to the crotch.
Vetto looked at the gun, to lady Marchal and back again before saying, "I choose pistols."
Rudabeh merely nods to Theophile as he leaves; while it was nice to hear even the most uncertain praise, she didn't need it. The knowing comfort of Alseta's watchful gaze, the betterment of society, and a justly earned reward in the afterlife was all the paladin needed to keep going.
Standing aside as Irovetti dispenses with the theatrics, Rudabeh is rehearsing how she would address Vetto as they discussed seconds and the various rules of the duel. She would volunteer, making a point that it was not to defend him in particular but to show Ségolène that violence was not the solution to perceived and possibly manufactured slights, and that one day someone less merciful would stand up to her. Hopefully a lesson would be learned by the human after a sound thrashing at the hands of one of Alseta's lawbringers.
Her course decided, she turns her attention back to the arrayed weapons, finding each up to Irovetti's standards of quality, if less showy than she expected. The war clubs were particularly mysterious, but it paled in comparison to the small box the former king had "forgotten" to mention.
The undine gave a shocked start at the revelation they were pistols, and her heart dropped to the abyssal depths of the deepest trench in the Inner sea when Vetto chose the pistols. "I urge you to reconsider, Vetto." Rudabeh says with real gravity, he rears folding backward and taking a step forward to address him. "Firearms are not weapons of war or self-defense, they are instruments of destruction. They are complicated, unpredictable, and deadly, even to the ones wielding it. It is like..." She struggles to find a non-seafaring analogy until her the words of her mentor spring to mind. "It is like playing dice with Asmodeus. Even if you are told the rules, you do not know the game you play, and even if you seem to win, you do not know what you will lose." A gesture to the box of pistols and the heavy balls within. "The light of Alseta through my hands can heal cuts and bruises, stop bleeding and knit muscle, but I can do nothing about a lead ball buried two inches into someone's skull. A duel with firearms is not a contest, it is a gamble."
It was very clear to Rudabeh that is what Vetto had planned- take away Lady Marchel's advantage, maybe even scare her out of the whole situation. Finn would be impressed at the quick tactical cunning, but Rudabeh was mortified the young man would take such a risk.
"She's not wrong." Ractus says, sliding up closer enough for Vetto to hear. The elf eye's Irovetti's gun with a combination of surprise, interest and distaste. "I've seen what they can do, and weapons like them. My homeland is no stranger to such devices."
If the rumors of Numeria are true, far wilder things then guns can be found there.
"Even if you both miss, it could easily rupture and take your hand and half your face." The mercenary says remorselessly, and a flicker of fear crosses Vetto's face. "There is no way Irovetti has any idea how to maintain firearms properly. Gods only knows where he got the powder."
He glances at Rudabeh and adds, "Not to mention, innocent bystanders. Even your armor might not protect you as much as you think, Rudabeh."
Vetto considers this but slowly nods, "I am sorry, Rudabeh but I must. Ségolène is a devil with a blade. If I duel her with rapiers, you'll be picking up my guts off the ground. Not only would that be...dangerous, but it lose both of us face. I know you and Irovetti seek Galtan support in the Assembly. How will it look if I fail in a duel? No, guns will even the playing field."
Vetto turned back to Irovetti and Lady Marchal. The latter looked at the guns with obvious distaste and concern. Clearly she had expected to easily thrash Vetto in a battle of blades.
"The duel is on, Irovetti. Please, clear the on-lookers from the square. Rudabeh will arbitrate and, provide healing if anyone should need it. Acceptable, Lady Marchal?"
For a moment she pauses, doubt covering her face. Her eyes flick from the guns, to Rudabeh, then to the eager crowd. With a jerk she snatches a pistol from the box so roughly, Rudabeh winces and expects an instant eruption of smoke. "Fine. Guns it is."
Rudabeh ewas glad to have Ractus there to provide another perspective, a more experienced and educated one at that. She nods along encouragingly at his words, but her heart sinks as the Graltan nobleman acknolwedges the risks but still goes through with the idea.
The undine's aquamarine lips flatten into a thin line and her jaw sets hard as she tries to think of another way to dissaude the man, but the though of volunteering to fight for him with such a weapon of chaos makes her hesitate. Who knows what damage she could cause, and there was little certainy she would succeed with such an unwieldy weapon. A firearm was no device to teach a lesson and completely subverted her plan.
Turning around to walk a distance away from the duelers, the paladin reaches up to grasp her Iron Key tightly. Have I made a mistake? By maintaining my neutralilty have I let chaos reign in these halls? It was a troubling thought, and even as she nervously watched the two prepare themselves she announces. "The Eyes of Alseta shall watch and ensure a fair contest. State the terms of this engagement. I will see them enforced and the victor declared."
Rudabeh gets no answer from Alseta as she offers up her prayers and questions, just the indifferent silence that greeted so many such supplications. Was Alseta and her servitors busy? Did they not care? Or was it important Rudabeh does this on her own?
Whatever the case may be, Rudabeh wasn't happy and her uplifted mood is totally gone, replaced by frustrated anger and dread.
"Yes, what are the terms?" Vetto said, his insolent confidence back after having made his choice. "I beleive it is the challenger who chooses them. Please don't tell me this is to the death. That would be very melodramatic."
A ripple went through the crowd as Vetto mentioned 'to the death', but the paladin saw the man's cunning. By saying the outrageous out-loud, he robbed it of the forbidden sting, turning it into a joke. Lady Marchal came to the same conclusion as her face swept the aseembled.
Finally she ground out, "To surrender then?"
'Actually," Irovetti said smoothly, voice sliding in between the two duelists. "I only have enough, ehm, propellent for one shot each. Forgive me, but the stuff is fiendishly expensive and dangerous to cart about. You will have to settle for one attempt each, although I am told one bullet can be sufficient."
"Then that shall have to do," Vetto said, shrugging, "Fifteen paces and fire on Rudabeh's mark?"
Ségolène Marchal draws herself up to her small height and says, "I accept."
"Very well then." Rudabeh's Pitax advisor says, still holding the gun box. 'I shall prepare the weapons."
Quickly a tiny pouch is dug out of the crate, and carefully sliced opened. A faint acrid scent of smoke and char fills the air, along with a strange chemical smell. A few tense moments pass as Irovetti ladles out a fine, black powder from the cask into each firearm.
Ractus watches with concern, shaking his head, "At least keep the bystanders well back, Rudabeh. As for you, we just healed up your eye. Be a shame to lose it again."
Slowly Irovetti empties the powder pouch and carefully cocks back spring-loaded hammers on each weapon. "Now be careful, you two, they are sensitive. The hammers are what sets off the powder. Just point and pull the triggers, they should go off."
Before handing them over he stops, looks at Rudabeh and says, "Rudabeh, would mind issuing a prayer over these devices? Place the guidance of Alseta on them?"
[ooc] assuming you agree[ooc]
As Rudabeh walks up, armor grating loudly, Irovetti whispers under the clatter of steel. "Do you want me to tilt the scales? We could tamper with things, either one could win as we choose. Just give the word." Up close, Rudabeh can smell the acidic tang of powder mixed with the refined perfumes the (former?) king usually wore.
The silence of the divine was not new nor discomforting to Rudabeh- it merely was, and the lack of council did not pass her mind as she listened to the two nobles discuss the terms of the impending ritualized violence.
She briefly wanted to strangle Irovetti as he mentions he only has enough ammunition for one shot in each pistol, confirming her suspicions the man had purchased the weapons not for self defense, as a piece of art, or as a patron of Arkenstar, but as a set piece in the theater of a King's court.
Washing away the impulsive to do harm against the man she was sworn to protect, the paladin nods to Ractus, strangely quiet at a seemingly pivotal moment.
A brow, hidden behind her wodden mask, quirks in Irovetti's direction as he wanted her to pray over the weapons, but she walks over while mulling a prayer in her mind. His question catches her off-guard and she starts briefly at the insinuation they rig the duel. Firstly she processes the anger that Irovetti would suggest such a thing to her by closing her open mouth. Next she works through the anger that, in all of the situations they had encountered together, he asks for her advice now by closing her eyes. With a deep breath she dispels the sudden urge of welling fury spilling forth from the fact the former king could have just not told her and she would have been none the wiser.
The acrid scent burns her lungs as she exhales, opens her eyes, and whispers calmly. "The first oath I took as a paladin is "I will not cheat. This is in the hands of the duelists." Straightening, Rudabeh hovers her cerulean hands over each tube of destruction and says aloud. "Alseta, bless these weapons so they cause no harm other than that intended by the one whose finger pulls the trigger. May The Welcomer guide the animosity which precipitated this duel through the door of Forgiveness, shutting those feelings away to be locked away and forgotten. May we all be wiser when the mask turns."
The prayer finished, Rudabeh turns away to break up the traditional dueling circle. She begins moving people away from the duelists, ensuring there is no one standing even close to behind the spaces where the two will make their paces, forming two parallel lines of onlookers.
"Let the chips falls as they may. A true gamble then." Irovetti says, nodding.
Rudabeh clears off the bystanders, not as easy task since most want 'a good view'. This vivacious impulse isn't a surprise to the paladin however, for this wasn't her first trial by combat. The River Kingdoms could be a violent place with very lax law codes. There were plenty of places were the most common resolution of disputes was a scuffle with fists or blades. It wasn't as barbaric as it might first appear for few such fights ended in death, and most were overseen by the local community, which kept things at least somewhat restrained.
That is not the case here. For one thing this crowd was not a small village community, dedicated to keeping the peace but a intense cloud of spectators looking for action and blood. Worse the weapons chosen were little more then random destroyers, taking no account of skill or restraint. This entire duel reminded Rudabeh far more of gladiatorial 'fights' then of actual justice.
Irovetti's servants have cleared a wide oval in the grass, marked by a bright white strip cut into the turf. Lady Marchal and Vetto stand at either end, twenty paces apart. It was a farther distance then one might suspect, and while Rudabeh was no firearm expert she began to hope both amateur's would miss. A cloud of smoke and fury but no injuries would be an excellent way for this entire farce to end.
The undine looks over the two combatants. Ségolène looks disappointed that she won't g et a chance to gut Vetto personally. She holds the gun tightly however, weighing it in her hand. When he eyes cross with Rudabeh's, the Galtan noblewoman is undaunted but nods slightly.
Vetto however, surprises Rudabeh. He has a mask of bored nonchalance, but the paladin can see fear and anxiety under it. However, as the man raises his weapons he notes he never quite aims it at his fellow would-be duelist. It is subtle but Rudabeh begins to hope her political ally doesn't actually intend to shoot Lady Marchal.
"On your count, Rudabeh." Vetto says tightly, gripping his weapon. The Lady Marchal follows suit, aiming it directly at Vetto's head.
"Shoot!"
Even as Rudabeh shouts her command, she notes Ractus cover his ears. Really? How loud could it-
The rest of her thoughts are obliterated as a double crack of thunder so loud it shakes her teeth fills the air. Her ears smarting Rudabeh realizes she actually closed her eyes for a spilt second at the pain and shock of the blasts, her sensitive ears ringing like a temple's great bell. She opens them in an instant but for a second all she can see is two wafts of black smoke. They flow like slow moving jellyfish, engulfing the two duelists. A silence fills the air, either due to the anticipation of the crowd or due to the fact that everyone has been blown to deafness.
Then she hears the screams.
She first looks at Vetto, but the Delegate is still standing ramrod straight. Smoke curls around him in rather dramtic fashion, almost like a long regal cloak. The gun is still in his hand and he glances down at it, surprised. "I didn't aim at her.." he stammers, voice tinny after the blasts.
Rudabeh's gaze shifts to the Lady Marchal and, she quickly realizes, the source of the screams. As the smoke wafts clear the paladin can see a writhing shape on the ground, a groaning humanoid mass. A person clutching their arm. Instincts even older and deeper then her fighting drills kick in and Rudabeh rises to the apparently injured woman. As she hurries over her mind fills with what little she knows of guns. What had happened? Had Vetto shot her? Would bullets burn?
Her approach is blocked as the crowd surges forward in sick fascination. Some shout out insults to Vetto while others laugh in that high-pitched way people sometimes did in a crisis. Other merely stumble into the way trying to get a better look, or trip trying to retreat. It almost turns into a panicked rout when Ractus stands up and roars in a parade ground voice loud enough to shock even this addled crowd.
"EVERYONE, BACK!"
Everyone freezes in place and even Rudabeh half pauses, the elf's voice is so commanding. Only Marchal's screams and moans drift over the crowd, seeming to mingle with the noxious smoke. Behind the circle, Rudabeh notes that 'Iomeade' is busy puking her guts out onto the bright green grass.
In a moment the paladin is kneeling beside the fallen duelist and what she sees is turns even her stomach. The gun is a smoking pile of metal and wood, blasted to ruin and Ségolène's right hand is...gone. No fingers, or palm, only a burned and splintered stump. Bits of charred bone stick out of wreaked muscles. Rudabeh is no stranger to battlefield injuries but this is as bad as she's seen. Was this what war did in Alkenstar?
The Galtan noble grips it with her other hand and her screams slowly fade away as she starts to fall into shock. Her eyes lock on the missing hand in disbelief and horror.
The sound of the double blast makes Rudabeh flinch, her ears folding into two thin sticks that reflexively pressed against the sides of her head in a pointless attempt to block out the noise that had already ravaged her sensitive ears. THe echo off of the walls was lessened, but she could barely hear it anyway.
Blackness from the sudden blink is replaced by a smokey scene, eyes already watering and nose scrunching from the choking, acidic fumes that were making their way across her tongue. She first turns her gaze to Vetto, standing stunned in the swirling mass, and just as she had expected he did not want to cause her real harm.
It was only a brief thought as her head swings, finally realizing that the screaming was only coming from one location and not the entire crowd. Breaking into a sprint towards Lady Marchal, the undine only makes it two steps before the crowd begins to panic and swarm. She is forced to push her way through, making minimal progress until Ractus stuns everyone long enough that she can shove a gaudily befeathered noble woman in a massive hoop skirt out of the way.
Sounds of retching catch her attention, and she sees the Iomeade lady fertilizing the lawn with her dinner. It was quite a bizzare sight, and probably would have stuck in the paladin's mind for some time if she was not immediately greeted by the charred, bloody stump of Ségolène's hand.
Disgusting. She thinks, teeth set hard against one another at the grim reality of the firearm's potential for destruction. These are weapons of Chaos. The world should be rid of these. It was a spontaneous and passionate thought that flies through her mind as she kneels down, scooping up and ccradling Ségolène's neck with her right hand while her left clutches the other side of the noblewoman's stump, cerulean fingers contrasting sharply against the blackened skin and blasted fabric.
Divine power flows through Rudabeh in an instant, moving from the Iron Key dangling at her chest and through her hands, pumping positive energy into Ségolène. Blackened muscle surges to life, causing pale white ligaments to surge forth and interwine over the exposed bone in a thin, confused, seemingly random arrangement. The lesser burns down her wrist begin to form a a dark scab that slowly creeps upward, covering the stump in a thick scaly mass that does little to hide the gravity of the injury. Soot and bits of burnt fabric that had fused with Lady Marshal's flesh fall into her lap like black snow, pushed away by the new growth.
Rudabeh holds her patient in place, but there was little resistance given the clear shock on the young woman's face. She could only watch while the paladin's furrowed brow focuses on directing as much positive energy as she could into the wound. "You're going to be okay. Just stay still." She says in a clear, commanding voice that did not sound like her own ringing ears.
With the situation stabilizing, she wonders if Irovetti did this. He ha full control of the powder, but seemed to be uninterested in whether or not Vetto would be harmed. Perhaps the chips, as he put it, did not fall in Lady Marchal's faovor.
In the Bastard Brigade, Rudabeh had often witnessed magical healing do amazing things. Depending on which cleric or alchemist Finn happened to hire (healers never seemed to stick around long), the fresh-faced undine had watched bones re-grow, muscles re-attach and even skulls re-solidify. Almost any injury could be undone, given the right amount of skill and power behind the healing. Rudabeh had even watched recently killed soldiers brought back once or twice (unlike most mercenaries, Finn had always been willing to spring for the cost if she thought it would work and the resources were available).
But it didn't always work.
Rudabeh could stop the Galtan noble from dying of blood loss but it was well beyond her power to truly repair the deep damage to bone, let alone regrow the hand. In moments the stump is no longer a bleeding and mangled disaster but a blunt and black stub. Less dangerous but no less somber.
Lady Marchal simply lies on the ground, breathing hard for several moments. Her left hand grips so tightly on the mangled right that Rudabeh is worried she'll cut off the blood flow. Still, that instinct might have saved her life for a few moments ago.
Vetto leans over, "She will live?" his voice is shaky, but he is doing his best to hide it. "Good...good."
Irovetti, face literally an unreadable mask, says, "I would get a refund on these weapons, but it was a traveling salesmen.." Gingerly he picks up the still smoking ruin of Ségolène's gun, and places it back in the padded box. Vetto's has already been returned.
Ractus, still looming over the kneeling Rudabeh adds, "The duel is over then." he turns to the crowd, "Show's over. Don't you jackals have other mutilation to ogle at?" His tones is harsh, the bitter anger at pointless injuries that only a lifetime of fighting can induce. To a mercenary and solider like Ractus, this was a total rejection of what combat should be about.
Most of the crowd withdraws like a routed army under his stern gaze.
Slowly the Lady Marchal opens her eyes and takes a shaky deep breath. Her dark eyes focus on Rudabeh's purple ones and Rudabeh see s world of pain, hurt, betrayal there but also mixed with shame, confusion and appreciation. This woman knows full well Rudabeh just saved her life.
Then her gaze shifts to Vetto and they become twin polls of hate and anger.
"So, you got what you wanted." she croaks, voice dry and smoky. "A foul trick. In a fair fight I would kill you." A tremor of pain passes through her. She grits her teeth and tries to struggle to her feet but fails.
"Lady Marchal I never intended-" Vetto starts but stops as the wounded woman suddenly jabs her missing hand toward him.
"Intended!?" Tears glisten in her eyes but not a single one falls. Carefully she rises (using Rudabeh's forearm). Shaky as a newly born bird the woman stands and says, "Thank you for the healing, Paladin Rudabeh. You are a credit to your faith. Please excuse me, I have my wounds to tend to."
Rudabe's head turns towards Vetto as he approaches, still cradling Lady Marchal's neck in her right forearm. "Yes, she will live. Battlefield triage is the extent of the powers granted to me by Alseta, I'm afraid."
Irovetti was the next target of her limpid eyes, and she cannot help but scoff. "They functioned exactly as I expected." Her voice is full of scorn and disgust for the gunpowder weaponry. "An Arkenstar battlefield must resemble the Worldwound." Is her final thought on the matter.
Ractus sees to it the results are announced and the crowd is scattered. She is partly focusing on Lady Marchal's wound and stabilizing her shocked body, but a part of her mind is surprised by the elf's comments. Would not Gorum delight in this madness? Either Ractus is nowhere near to becoming a priest of The Lord in Iron, or Rudabeh needs to brush up on the god's opinion on guns. Maybe she and Gorum had something in common after all.
The undine steadies Ségolène's body as she attempts to rise, bulky muscles and frame built from years of travel, fighting, and good food easily propping up the stout woman. Gently letting the human stand under her own power, Rudabeh takes a step back and gives a small bow of her head. "It may seem grim, but my Goddess teaches us that even the darkest changes can hide treasures within their shadows. Alseta watch over your recovery, Lady Marchal." Is said evenly and with the full commitment of a paladin's faith.
She watches the woman stagger out, wondering why such chaos seemed to follow her. It could have been worse- Vetto was alive, Rudabeh maintained her reputation for neutrality, and Lady Marchal was taught a lesson. But did it have to be this way? There was also the matter of the strange glimmer in the woman's aura, one that she did not seem to have the knowledge to place.
Shaking her head to clear hr thoughts, she turns to the young Graltan noble, lips thin. "Vetto, what exactly is the cause of animosity between you and Ségolène?" She asks bluntly. "It is clear you do not share in her hatred, and go so far as to not wish her any harm, but the next time her anger flares someone may end up dead and I would prefer not to see that come to pass." It was quite an inspiring example of Turning the Mask, if it was one.
Irovetti raises an eyebrow, "I don't think they are supposed to explode and hurt the wielder. I was assured they were quite functional..." Seeing Rudabeh's icy stare the smaller man shrugs, "But very well. I will see if I can get them repaired although I doubt a single gunsmith exists in all of the River Kingdoms. We might have to look farther afield."
Vetto watches the unsteady woman's retreat with pursed lips, face deep in thought. "I am...not sure. She was always a hothead, and dueling is certainly not new for her. I'm sure you saw the scars. Still, like you said, she seemed far more...angry then usual. There was also an air of desperation. Maybe her money troubles are worse then she let on? Creditors closing in?" The slim man taps his lip with a finger before adding, "I'll have some men watch her for awhile, see what we can dig up."
Then, in a normal voice, " I apologize for the unpleasantness, Rudabeh. I assure you, I had no intention of such crass behavior. But please, excuse me, I need to go calm a few fears in the crowd. Rudabeh, Ractus." And with that he retreats to the crowd of watching Galtan nobles.
Ractus snorts, "I wonder if he meant to tell us he had a spy network. Watch yourself Rudabeh, you seem to have a tendency to hold snakes to your breast. " Then he smiles and points, "One mystery solved though. Our unknown warrior."
The elf points at 'Iomeade', who has now removed her helmet revealing a mass of string blond hair...which Rudabeh recognizes. Aurelia! The spindly sun sorcerer. Had she tried to follow and been dressed up by Irovetti's helpers?
Ractus goes over to help the young woman up, who seems beyond embarrassment her face bright red. "Um...hello." She manages, swaying on her feet.
Ractus doesn't laugh but looks her up and down before saying, "Food. You need something to settle that stomach."
Aurelia nearly retches again and says, weakly, "No, really I-"
Ractus shakes his head firmly, "Food. Rudabeh will agree, always best to eat after a shock like that, right? Let's go."
The elf takes the lead and they soon leave the grassy playing field, through the rose entwined arch and back towards where Irovetti indicated food. The way is easy to find as they soon have to do little more then follow their noses. Rich aromas mingle in the air, making Rudabeh's stomach rumble. Healing was hungry work.
The dining area they step into isn't much different then the other two 'outdoor' rooms Rudabeh has seen. A faux grass floor, hedges obscuring the outer walls and a seemingly open sky. This time though the 'sun' is dim and low in the sky, simulating a summer dusk. A faint breeze seems to blow, pleasantly warm.
A few doors poke through the hedge wall, some of which are busy with servants (leading to the real kitchens perhaps) while others stand dark and empty (unused rooms?). In one corner a small band is playing soft, contemplative music while a singer seems to be taking a break, sipping cool water. How much had all this cost?
But the sight of food drives these thoughts from the hungry paladin's mind. Food is scattered across the open lawn on stone tables, clearly meant for idle consumption by passing guests. Each seems themed to only one type of food, constantly re-supplied by busy servants.
The table nearest at hand held nothing but various kinds of breads ranging from freshly baked buttered rolls to entire loafs of rye bread. Next was a table of fruits, with apples stacked in neat pyramids nestled to half watermelons. Pears, peaches and even a few imported oranges added color. Another table was filled with kinds of meats, with the centerpiece being an entire stuffed boar.
Where was it...yes.
Rudabeh soon spotted a table full of river food. Fried catfish, steamed scallops, buttered mussels. Braised eel on beds of rice sat next to freshly cracked crab legs. Half the table was taken up by a massive sturgeon, elegantly sliced to reveal not only rows of delicious fillets but also a heaping mound of roe. This last engendered many doubtful looks and shaking of heads by the Galtans.
"We?" She responds to Irovetti's implications the firearms be repaired. "I want nothing to do with these instruments of chaos. Clean them up and place them over your mantle, but it will be good fortune if both never shoot again."
"I appreciate your honesty in the matter." Rudabeh says to Vetto as he explains his views on Lady Marchal. "Should you discover something that may require the assistance of a Paladin of Alseta, please let me know. There is something... offputting about her aura. A sall glimmer or something Else... a measure of Chaos or magic that put me on guard, something I would expect from an abberition or a fey, but not from a human being." She waves a hand as the thought is put aside, and bows her head to hte young man as he makes to leave. "Fare you well, Vetto, and if Id o not see you again before I depart for Outsea tomorrow then may we have a more auspicious time next we meet."
Rudabeh lets a shocked laugh escape when Aurelia is unmasked, and she follows Ractus over to the waify girl. "Neither of us recognized you. Have you thought of a career in theater?" She jests while turning to follow Ractus as they remove themselves from the area of the incident. The paladin had not put the incident out of her mind, but the violence and the gore, of which she had become as numb to as a battlefield priest, had already left her thoughts.
She ponders what the woman's problem, and her strange aura, could mean all the way to the food tables, wherein her growling stomach overrides any worries about plots and chaos.
The bread and fruit tables do not impress her overmuch, and while the stuffed boar catches her eye her nose led her in a different direction.
"Ah, there is the good food... is that an entire sturgeon?" She says to Ractus and Aurelia, leaving them behind completely to quickly make for the table of steaming river delights. A plate is quickly secured, and she goes straight for a crab leg. Plucking it from the table with one hand, Rudabeh puts the meaty end to her lips and noiselessly sucks the muscle from the chitin down her gullet in a single motion without so much as chewing.
Briefly running over her cerulean tongue over lighter azure lips, she nods. "These crab are from Outsea, which in unsurprising given the size. I have never seen a freshwater crab grow this large, though with the size of some creatures that live in the swamps of the River Kingdoms I suppose it could be possible."
Tossing the excess leg into a discarded pile, Rudabeh starts to heap spoonfulls of roe onto her plate along with multiple fillets. "So Aurelia, are you here on business?" The paladin inquires while helping herself to a nearby dish of freshly cut parsley, which is sprinkled over the roe. "Irovetti insisted I come, and considering my political future I suppose it is for the best, though I hope my every day is not judging duels between the rich and influential of Daggermark." Tiny eggs are scooped onto a spoon and make way into her mouth and actually chewed this time.
'Irovetti does know how to lay out a spread." Ractus says with the appreciation only a soldier can give regular, full meals. He snags a strange twisted bread, sprinkled with salt, from the bread table as they pass it. Judging from the noises, it meets with his approval.
For her part Aurelia still seems a bit subdued and unstable on her feet, and averts her eyes from the dishes of glistening butter, bubbling gravy and steaming soups. Rudabeh had to admit that a full Irovetti feast is a...potent experience and not one taken on a uneasy stomach.
The pair follow Rudabeh who is drawn like a lodestone toward the seafood. With delight she starts to eat with unconscious skill, their strange ways of crustaceans and fish no barrier. Rudabeh needs no cracker or fancy fork to eat this kind of food. And, as always, the food is exquisite. Even after weeks of traveling together, Rudabeh hadn't quite gotten to the bottom of just how the man had such excellent food on such short notice. But however it worked, it always did. The crab is tender and flaky, with only the lightest coating for flavor.
While the paladin stuffs herself after a long day, Aurelia replies, "You said anyone could come and at first I was too nervous but everyone else was just sitting around playing cards...it was boring. A party sounded like fun. So I followed later. A man at the door said such nice things..." She blushed, "So I picked out a costume. I saw the King and followed him, since he always seems to be close to you Rudabeh. "
She pauses, "Was the costume a mistake?" The thin woman glances down at the still gleaming armor and billowing cape. "It seems a bit silly now, after...all that."
Rudabeh swallows some of the delightful caviar before answering but is interrupted.
There is an odd slapping sound from the food table, and glancing over, Rudabeh sees the massive sturgeon head flop wetly on the silver platter. Aurelia jumps back a step but Ractus merely raises an eyebrow.
The piscine mouth suddenly opens, revealing rows of razor sharp teeth. Out of it comes a human voice, pitched low and soft.
"Rudabeh of Outsea, please join me upstairs. I believe I have some information to your advantage." A short pause and then, "Alone, please." With that the fish mouth closes again and is still.
Rudabeh knew very well Aurelia had taken her up on the invitation and followed them, but as a follower of Alseta she tried not to assume. Often, she failed, but this was a minor success.
She is contemplating how to best broach the idea that the young sorceress should not refer to Irovetti as king anymore when the sturegon begins to talk. There is still a forkful of caviar within her mouth when it makes the flopping noise, and she quickly turns her head to the fish, body freezing when its large jaws open.
The undine visibly relaxes when it starts speaking Taldane, and even takes the fork out of her mouth to start chewing again. It was so absurd, and clearly magical, that it could not be a threat. A few beats pass as Rudabeh finishes chewing her caviar, swallowing fully before speaking. "Well, I wish they could have at least let me ask if they desire anything from the banquet."
Trained eyes start to look over the underwater feast for anything else she'd like to try or take with her- Rudabeh was clearly not in a hurry to meet this voice. "I am glad you took us up on the invitation." She says, resuming her conversation with Aurelia. "Though I ask you refer to Irovetti as my advisor. He no longer holds the throne of Pitax, and he does not enjoy being reminded of it." An cut of white meat catches her eye, which is speared with a fork and placed on her tongue. A look of recognition washes over her face, followed by rapid chewing.
"Very good catfish." She remarks after swallowing. "But no, I think the shining armor suits you." Rudabeh says with a smile of sharp white teeth. "Though do you know who you dress as? The goddess Iomedae, Lady of Valor, Honor, and Justice. More paladins serve Her than all the other known faiths combined, and the code Her paladins follow served as a template for my own oaths. She does not have many worshipers here, so I am sure she appreciates the representation..." A wink, which out of habit comes from her right eye. "As long as you don't tell any lies."
With a despondent sigh Rudabeh places her greasy plate onto a similar stack. "I should go see to this mysterious fish necromancer." She wonders for a moment what a paladin of Iomedae would actually do to a fish necromancer. Probably kill them. "If this is a classic Daggerfall assassination attempt I suppose I deserve it for listening. Otherwise I will return to your company shortly." She pauses a moment and takes the fork from her plate, licking it clean and slipping it into the pocket of her breeches, fully intending to return it later.
"Better than breaking my hand on some thug's face." She says to Ractus with a smile and a shrug. Really, she just didn't want to meet Finn in the line at the Boneyard one day and have to explain how she was killed unarmed, which would earn her a relative eternity of tongue-lashing.
With a small wave she leaves her companions behind and begins looking for some stairs upward.
Aurelia frowned, "He told me it was a sun goddess!"
Ractus laughs and says, "No, that's Sarenrae. We need to get you to a temple or two, child. You should at least know the names of all the main gods. " he glances at Rudabeh, grinning, "Maybe you could lead us in daily prayers and sermons?"
His grin vanishes when Rudabeh moves to meet the mysterious voice upstairs. The elf steps in front of her as the paladin grabs a fork and heads for the stairs.
"You can't be serious." he says, clearly surprised, "You are going alone, unarmed and unarmored because....a fish told you? You are a woman of importance, Rudabeh, with lots of enemies. Let's not make it comically easy for hem to kill you. It would make the company look bad. I'll go with you. Aurelia, you want to come?"
The young woman, still looking a bit troubled, shakes her head. "I've had enough adventures for one day. I'll stay here and try some of that apple porridge."
With a shrug of allowance, Rudabeh lets Ractus follow her through the dining hall, through a vine covered archway and up the stairs. In an instant they leave the outdoor fantasy realm Irovetti has constructed and are back in a simple (if expensive) inn. The stairs are clean but worn wood, dim and dark. More then a few creak loudly in the dark, although neither elf or undine need light.
At the top of the stairs is a long hallway, dotted with doors, presumably for the guest rooms. Rudabeh wonders what became of the guests staying here before the impromptu party. Surely Irovetti hadn't paid to kick them all out...had he?
In any case all the doors are dark and closed, save one halfway down the hall. That door is a square of warm, slightly flickering light. Inviting and warm. Ractus snorts quietly in the dark, eyes roving for any signs of danger or traps. Nothing.
Moving ahead Rudabeh approaches the door and peeks inside.
Inside is a sparsely furnished guest room. A neatly made-bed, a dressed, a few chairs and a single desk. The single window is shuttered close, latched tight. A tiny fireplace built into the wall is lit, small logs crackling in the orange flames.
A man sits at the desk, idlily picking at a small plate of food. A few hunks of bread, some fruit, a slab of greasy venison and a half-finished bowl of apple porridge. But Rudabeh has little attention for the meal but instead for the man tasting it.
Long golden robes, elegantly trimmed in intricate embroidery worked with gems hides his body but Rudabeh can see it is a short man, with slender shoulders. His long fingered hands are covered with white gloves, woven with gold threads. A single ring sits over the glove, a gaudy thing set with an oversized garnet. But most striking of all is his mask. It is a work of art, a solid gleaming piece of alabaster ceramic studded with gold, the eye and mouth holes edged with onyx. It shows a stern, almost frowning face.
The mask of Razmir.
In the silence the figure stirs, looking up. "Ah, Rudabeh. You were unwise to come." The voice is masculine but smooth, cultured and urbane. There is a hint of mocking laughter behind it, rich and knowing. "Mysterious summons are often dangerous, I'm slightly disappointed."
A pause and then, he notes the looming figure of Ractus, still dressed in lionskin, behind her. "Ah, well, at least you did not come alone. That is good, at least. You are learning."
"Do you wish to sit or...?" The man waves toward one of the other chairs before shrugging, "In any case, I did not lie. I have information you may find useful. " A faintly overly dramatic pause and then, "I am here, in the name the Almighty and Living God himself, to welcome you to the Great Game."
"We do lack a company chaplin. While I am qualified and happy to administer rights, when we return to Outsea we should see about hiring a ourselves a priest." Rudabeh muses as she swallows the last of her caviar.
"Do I have a lot of enemies?" The undine asks, looking a bit wounded at the statement in a sudden bout of melodramatic flare thhat would make Irovetti smile. "My entire faith is dedicated to neutrality and not making enemies. I do hope I have not failed so badly I will get murdered at a party for political reasons."
Still, she takes her fork and does not argue with Ractus about coming along. The two heavy warriors makes the stairs creak during their ascent, and Rudabeh's darkvision picks out every scuff mark on the worn floor as they make their way down the hall, following the dim light from an open door.
She is surprised by the disciple of the Living God before her for a brief moment, easily visible by the widening of her eyes, but Rudabeh recovers quickly. Her head tilts in curiousity and ears relax to half-folded fans as she listens to the man's slightly berating and smug tone.
There was little time to waste; she had dealt with his kind for more than a decade, and there was nothing he could say or imply that Urqat had not. But she knew was that she could show no weakness. "On the contrary, I am always armed with my faith." She replies smoothly. "And my faith dictates that mysterious meetings are more often the rule than the exception. I trust in my goddess' reputation to safeguard myself during such meetings, for the Eyes of Alseta can see each side of the door. As a man of faith yourself I am sure you understand. We follow in the footprints of the divine up mountains and through fires to edge ever closer to our holy ones."
"Besides," The paladin reaches into her pocket and pulls out the fork. "This is pure silver, and if you are a lycantrope I'm afraid I have come adaquetely prepared." Was said with an amused tilt- she knew with this type you had to laugh with them, even if they were laughing at you. Their respect must be earned, and it was not a quick or easy thing.
The utensil drops back into her pocket, and in a few steps she has crossed the room, taking to the chair with ease. "I appreciate you personally delivering this message." She says cordially, reaching up to remove the mask from her face. The living wood is gently removed and rests in her palms, aquamarine cheeks now reflecting dim orange light. "But before we begin, I must note you have me at a disadvantage, sir...?"
The masked man laughed lightly and said, "Of course, your goddess. But my God is Alive and very close, while yours is very distant and perhaps not even interested in these affairs." He set down a spoon, and it gleamed like polished amber in the firelight. "I have no such doubts myself. My Almighty is very interested in you, Rudabeh of Outsea."
He turned slightly, looking Rudabeh full in her now revealed face. The man's visage was still entirely hidden behind the Razmiran mask, but the dark eyeholes were somehow...unsettling.
"My name is not important, or quite frankly, relevant for much longer. But you may call me Archdeacon." He brushed off some non-existent dust off his robes with a gloved hand, the pale leather matching the robes.
"We have been watching you for some time, as you might imagine." The Archdeacon said easily, not reclining in his chair but not sitting straight either. A casual, comfortable stance suited to a well-kept merchant perhaps.
"Veleda's successor..., well, we have hardly been the only ones. For a long time, the Almighty was even unsure if you would rise to the challenge." The man's hand raised a cup of wine and the mask partially moved back, revealing fine, tanned skin around a soft, almost feminine mouth. No beard, but fine white teeth. In a moment the mask is back. 'But your return with a mercenary company and Irovetti at your side has clearly shown your intentions. Perhaps Veleda has chosen well..." Despite his words, some doubt lingers in his tone. Apparently they still underestimate Rudabeh.
Good.
"Out of respect for your own master, the Almighty wished me to meet you personally and inform you of the depths of the waters you were jumping into." The Archdeacon said, steepling his fingers. "And to see if you could swim."
Rudabeh merely smiles enigmatically as the masked man asserts Alseta is distant and uninterested. Even if she had not felt personally felt the warmth of seen her goddess' gaze upon her, she would still feel it untrue.
She had little to say as he went on about watching her, and the polite smile remains unmoved as the man revealed they were still a little uncertain about how effective she may be. It did amuse her that the Archdeacon said her intentions were "clear", when Rudabeh had no idea what her intentions actually were other than a desperate scramble to keep a country from killing itself.
"I am happy to hear from the neighbors of the River Kingdoms. I can only hope Kyonin and the other countries along our borders treat myself and the Pact with the same respect as your master." She finally says, before gesturing with an open palm. "Please continue, Archdeacon, you have my full attention."
"I hope so." The Archdeacon said lightly, a hint of a laugh behind his words, "The servants of the Almighty are not lightly dismissed, even among their foes. Especially among their foes, perhaps."
The man shrugged again, golden robes rippling. They looked very soft and fine, far more luxurious then the cheap silks and taffeta downstairs. Irovetti merely strived for the elegance and richness this man seemed to embody.
"And we are enemies, Rudabeh of Outsea. That is partly the reason I am here, to inform you of this. The struggle between our two worlds, between our two...masters," he says this slowly, as if reluctant to compare Razmir to anyone else, even Veleda. "Has cooled in the last few years but her latest actions are impossible to ignore. "
The pit-like eyes settle on Rudabeh, "Choosing a paladin as her successor? Putting her in command of a literal army?" A tiny gesture toward the silent Ractus, "Bringing in a scurrying rat like Irovetti? It all points to one thing, escalation. It is one thing to have the Game be between the Almighty and Veleda. That is an old duel, and one that the Almighty was willing to let fade into the past, along with the druid. But now?" The man shook his head, a few locks of blonde hair visible behind the mask.
"No, I'm afraid we have entered a new stage of the game. One that will not be to your liking..." The man shrugged again, fiddling with the gaudy ring on his hand. "In a way I both pity and envy you. Pity you, for you struggle against a divine will far beyond your base comprehension. Envy you, for you have not yet been Awakened and realized the Almighty's holiness. Ah, to see it again..."
The man trails off for a moment wistful. Rudabeh opens her mouth to speak but he sits up straight, business-like.
"I have three more things to say, as bidden by the Almighty. First, there is more then two sides to this coin, Rudabeh of Outsea. Second, your mistress is not as well as she pretends."
A pause and then, more softly, "And lastly, you cannot win. And I am about to show you why."
The barest whisper, "You cannot save them all."
A sudden flick of his wrist, fingers closing on the ring, twisting the garnet. 'No!" Ractus bellows, surging forward but Rudabeh merely has time to wince. What sort of attack would it be? Fire? Lightning? Something more exotic, perhaps? Hopefully it would be quick, whatever it was. Rudabeh had no wish to linger if she was to die.
Nothing happened.
Ractus stopped mid-stride, obviously confused. The man still sat upright, at ease. What was going on? Had something gone wrong?
Then Rudabeh heard a very odd sound. A slight clacking sound...chattering teeth. The Razmiran agent's body started to jerk spasmodically, shoulders shifting abruptly, painfully. The robes curled and swirled as his entire body went into a seemingly painful series of convulsions. One hand randomly knocked the half-finished meal onto the floor with a clatter, while the other reached pointlessly into mid-air. With a soft groan, the man toppled off his chair, helplessly onto the floor. The mask rolled away, revealing a strong, youthful face. Tanned, with dark eyes.
A sickly yellow foam started to drip from his clenching jaw. His entire body twisted around a contorted spine, like a dying insect. Even as the agent of Razmir thumped mindlessly against the rough wooden floor, Rudabeh heard the screams.
Multiple screams, coming from downstairs.
Rudabeh keeps a straight face as the man delivers his message, queuing up counter-points in her mind and some stronger words on this idea of escalation. She balked inwardly, though outwardly she made not a sound. She suspected that if Veleda had chosen a copperless pauper with a bad knee and a lame eye as her successor Razmir would still see it as escalation. Time could not heal the sting of defeat the Living God felt.
Words of how building walls and digging trenches were defensive manuevers, not offesnive ones were about to leave her lips when the Archdeacon sits up, and her mouth closes again to hear him out.
In the end, there was nothing surprising the Archdeacon had to say. Rudabeh's faith embodied the fact there were two, often more, sides to every situation. She knew Veleda was unwell.
And she was painfully aware not everyone could be saved.
The paladin was, however, surprised by his actions, and when he suddenly gestured, flicking his wrist and twisting the garnet, her hands shot from her lap to the arms of the chair and begins to stand, her mask of living wood clattering to the floor from the motion.
But the pregnant pause that followed made her stop just as she had pulled up to her full height, and she risks a glance towards a just as confused Ractus before quickly turning back to the seemingly frozen Archdeacon. Well, if you're going to kill me, get on with it. Ran through her mind as the chattering of teeth reached her fully unfolded ears.
Rudabeh's face twists in disgust and confusion as the man begins to convulse and spasm, causing her to instinctively take a step back from the thrashing. She stands shock-still, eyebrows high on her head, looking down at the man with pity. Rudabeh would die for Alseta, but not so pointlessly. Not to deliver a private, threatneing message. Razmir was surely going to find a comfortable place in hell when the first part of his title was dropped by the ravages of time.
The screams from downstairs jolt her from her ponderings, and she realizes it was not just a private message, it was a public one. Quickly she takes a step and kneels down, left hand slamming one of the man's wrists to the floor and grabbing the ring on his finger with the other. She digs her fingernails behind the metal and rips the ring off as if she were drawing a stuck blade from a wound, taking flesh with it if she must.
"I never believed I could." Are her last words to the agent of Razmir, turning away from him and striding towards the door while looking to Ractus. "Go. Downstairs." Is said with an air of command, though the elf needed no such instruction. Following him out the door, she jogs along with half her mind on Ractus' feet and the other on the ring in her hands.
"Alseta preserve us, there's going to be another war." Rudabeh mumbles to herself as she despately fiddles with the ring, trying to turn the garnet back to its original orienation in a magically ignorant attempt to do something.
The man's hand has already tighten in a claw-like rictus, a tight coil in death. Rudabeh has no time for this and breaks bones as she tears off the ring, heedless of the damage she does to the recent corpse. This was no time for sentiment, especially for a murderer.
Rudabeh and Ractus hurry downstairs, feet pounding on the floor. As they rush downstairs, she can hear the elf mutter, "I hate fighting religious fanatics. Give me a nice greedy warlord any day of the week. You can reason with them."
Under her fingers the jewel simply pops out of the ring, seemingly barely attached. She feels no surge of power, no crack of arcane energy. Unsurprisingly, the magic seemed to be beyond recall.
Rudabeh hits the bottom of the stairs at a dead run. The party downstairs is a scene of chaos and pure bedlam. People are running this way and that, without purpose, while others simply stand in place and scream. Several of the tables are knocked over, plates and food scattered haphazardly over the faux-grass, much of it trampled. The party seems to have broken into small groups, clustered around something on the ground...
Bodies.
At the center of each group a person writhes and convulses, fingers clutching at the fake earth. A few groan or scream, but others are silent. Judging from their clothes, they seem to be mostly the poorer strata. The servants or guards of the more illustrious guests. To their credit, a few guests seem to be trying to help the fallen but it doesn't seem to be working.
Then Rudabeh catches a body by itself, a young woman with blonde hair spilling across the green grass.....Aurelia. The girl is jerking awkwardly on the ground, legs shifting this way and that like a dying spider.
So much death....
Near at hand she spots a middle-aged man wearing cleric robes kneeling over a girl, cursing. "It isn't working, the healing isn't taking." There is a flair of magic from his holy symbol but the older woman on the ground continues to feebly struggle.
Rudabeh tries not to curse when the garnet pops out of the ring. Not only was it an insidious, gaudy device, it was poorly made! She nearly drops both pieces as they run, but manages to shove them in her pocket as they round a corner of the stairs.
She slows and starts to take in the scene when they reach the ground floor, picking out clusters of groups and the occasional glimpse of writhing limbs. The sight of a dying Aurelia causes her to suck in air between her teeth. Something had to be done, but what? There was no monster to fight, or madman to talk down. Rudabeh was not only out of her element, but useless.
Panic starts to creep into her psyche and body, and for a moment she moves about nervously, clutching her holy symbol. The warmth of the iron key, and a reminder of the weight of her duties and vows soothes her. The panic recedes, she relaxes, and takes another look at the victims.
No sign of external injuries... The food. A poison? They were poorer. Aurelia was among them... what did they all have in common?
She thinks back to the Archdeacon. Bread, cheese, fruit... the smell of apples.
The apple porridge!
Gasping in what may be a revelation, Rudabeh whips her head to Ractus. "The apple porridge! Aurelia and the Archdeacon were both eating it! Find it and bring it to me, I'm going to get that priest's help!" She both points towards the man of the cloth and starts running at about the same time, nearly skidding to a halt next to him.
"Excuse me, sir!" Was said politely, though with a thick edge of alarm and gravity. Not that she needed to get his attention verbally- a tall, powerfully built blue woman running towards you was enough to get anyone's attention.
"Please listen. There was an agent of Razmir upstairs. He made a show of activating this jewel..." She fumbles the garnet out of her pocket and thrusts it into the priest's face. "...and said we could not save everyone. I think the apple porridge is poisoned. Or something magical. A magic poison. Poison magic. I'm having the porridge brought here. Should we make them vomit? How do you make people vomit?" The questions were spoken quickly, though Rudabeh's enunciation remained precise even in stressful situations.
The man looks at Rudabeh as if she had suddenly sprouted a second head. "Vomit? What would I know about that? I'm not a healer or alchemist, I'm a priest. Magic usually works..." His face showed he clearly had no idea how to help.
Rudabeh glanced at Ractus, hoping maybe the elf knew some field medicine. The big man shook his head slightly and shrugged. Nothing.
Quickly Rudabeh went from face to face, seeing nothing but panic, fear or blank expression. All of these people, the so-called elite and no one could help these dying people? The fallen body at Rudabeh's feet writhes, the movement becoming more feeble. Was that some of that yellow foam? This was all happening too fast, she needed-
"You, boy! Gorgum root, raw. It's in the kitchen near the icing. Go!" A musical voice cracks, filled with command. Rudabeh turns, surprised to see Irovetti standing there, pointing at a serving boy who dashes for the kitchens.
The former king turns to Rudabeh, face solemn, "You need more time. I can get it for you."
With that he says an arcane word under his breath, snaps a finger and suddenly his hand is enveloped in a glow of buttery yellow light. Leaning over Irovetti touches the sick and dying girl on the ground. The light pulses for a moment surrounding the fallen body in a halo, then fading. It remains on his hand however, and he hurries to the next victim. The former King touches each of them, one by one, before hurrying back over to Rudabeh.
"Delay Posion." he explains simply, pulling out a scented handkerchief and wiping his hands. "I always prepare it for feasts, in case something like this happens. Any idea who is trying to kill me this time?"
"It won't cure them, but it should give you a few minutes before it sets in. Divided among so many it isn't much but.."
The serving boy rushes up holding a thick bundle of dry, dirty roots that look distinctly unappetizing. Irovetti nods, "It'll make them retch up anything, I promise."