A pause passes between them while Rudabeh considers how to handle the situation. Bothering Irovetti after he has retired is rude, especially considering all the hospitality he has shown me. Especially considering I do not know how important this arbitration is. Yet, the worse case scenario is Irovetti does not allow me to leave and I find a way to reschedule to a less disruptive time. This way I will have exhausted all means to rightfully do my duty. Hopefully Irovetti will not take offense.
Drawing in a breath, the undine's dark azure eyebrows rise slightly before she speaks. "Very well. Please show the way, this is my responsibility and I would like to personally petition Irovetti to leave the palace for a few hours. I apologize for the trouble, I was not aware of the protocols in place."
"Of course, Mistress." the slab-sided guard says, but his face finally reveals some emotion. He is surprised and a bit shocked that Rudabeh has chosen to bother the king of Pitax over her wish to leave. Obviously the guard assumed this was some idle request by a obnoxious guest.
Stiffly he beckons to Rudabeh and, leaving Julock behind, leads Rudabeh through dark marble hallways.
Again they pass wards of guards, stolid and hiding in the shadows. However, Rudabeh notices something. There aren't nearly as many as she expected. This hasty trip through the First Palace reveals less guards posted at corners or cross-corridors. Either Irovetti himself was less guarded then her or....something else.
It takes little time for the guard to stop in front of a heavy gold-colored door. It is large and round, and shines with reflected torchlight, throwing shadows on the walls behind them.
"Beyond is the visiting chamber. You will stay there and I will speak to his majesty." The guard says, not even turning to Rudabeh. However, she glances a glimpse of his face and sees triumph. Clearly the guard is looking forward to a cranky Irovetti put this upstart undine in her place.
The door opens and reveals the waiting chamber.
It is a glittering gold room, from ceiling to floor. Every surface is a shining, gilded mess. It is so bright Rudabeh has to shield her eyes, as they step inside. The furniture is baroque carved wood, shaped into swirls and curves, and looks quite un-functional.
Along the far wall is another golden door which the guard hurries to, opens, and steps inside. As he re-closes it, Rudabeh hears a heavy lock slide into place.
If she had thought her room was lavish, this simple waiting chamber was on a whole other scale. The sheer cost of all that gold leaf alone must have been more then she thought Pitax could have afforded. Where had Irovetti gotten the money?
The master guard man's expressions had suddenly went from blank to highly informative, though she does not care who he thinks she is. Ah, my goddess. Rudabeh prays to Alseta as she begins to follow the guard. Forgive my rudeness in the face of such hospitality. I do not wish to abdandon those seeking the Eyes of Alseta. If I cannot to deliver a fair judgment in your name, I hope they can find another.
The walk to the visiting chambers revels to her the bizarre sparsity of guards, and as they continue down the corridors she starts actually counting them. Why would Irovetti be less guarded than myself? Either some of the guards have been reassigned, or... Or what? Is there some kind of magical defense at work?
She has plenty of time to ponder the question on the way, but finds few logical solutions.
Squinting against the literally blinding display of wealth, she is promptly stiffed by the master guard, despite her request to talk to Irovetti in person, and left to her own devices.
As her eyes adjust to the shining room, the undine is positively stunned by the sheer amount of gold covering what seems like every flat surface of the room. Incredible. This one room could feed the entire country for.. How long? Years? She wonders, staring at the luminous leafing.
Rudabeh has a hard time gauging the value of the room. While her upbringing and her father instilled a good sense of supply and demand, he rarely dealt in gemstones or gold, usually dealing in kind, be it seafood or rare books. The River Kingdoms as a whole did not have the firm currency based market such as Taldor or Chelix had. Most local merchants would prefer to receive an ox in trade then a few gold coins. So she had little place of reference for this sheer display of wealth but still.....there was a lot of gold here.
Even as she ponders it the door to the inner chambers opens and Irovetti strides out. He is dressed in simply cut robes of amber and yellow, clashing horribly with the burnished gold of the room. Behind him, looking abashed is the guard.
Irovetti takes center stage, specter firmly in hand. Looking at Rudabeh he says, "I apologize for inconvenience, Paladin of Alseta. My guards are, apparently, slow and thick-witted. I gave them firm instructions that you were to be given every courtesy and favor. Clearly I was not plain enough. Do not worry, I shall make my wishes more...plain next time." He deigns to glance at the guard captain who visibly winces. Rudabeh wonders how the king reprimands his servants.
Going on Irovetti says, "Master of the Guard, assemble three of your most discreet men to accompany our honored guest into the city. She has already been delayed too long by your bungled incompetence." the words are harsh and formal, a world away from the begin old man she had spent much of the day with.
Where does all this gold even come from? She continues to wonder, imagining the kind of guard regiment needed to transport solid gold ingots.
Irovetti's arrival silences her pondering mind, though it opens up a new thought on seeing his amber robes amidst the burnished gold. Could... Irovetti be colorblind? I am beginning to suspect the color clashing is not simply coincidence.
Whatever wandering thoughts that were about to come next were pushed aside as the king speaks. She is a little surprised he is so plyable with her wandering around at night, but also grateful to be allowed to do her duty.
Rudabeh bows her head towards him. "It is I that apologizes for rudely disturbing you at such a late hour. Despite my intentions to not bother you with my unrelated duties, I was unaware of the Palace protocols. Or I would have otherwise informed you personally after the feast had finished."
Lifting her head, she turns her clear blue eyes onto the one that was moments before hoping to see their roles reversed. It was easy for her to Turn the Mask to his understandable, if petty, actions. "I must commend your Master Guard. He was respectful despite my unorthodox request and was merely putting the security of the Palace first. He performed his duty admirably- please take that into consideration if he is to be disciplined." She says sincerely, though her words would probably not spare the man some horrible punishment. After all, he had not followed Irovetti's commands, and punishment was forthcoming.
Rudabeh lifts a hand as Irovetti attempts to assign protectors to her. "I appreciate the gesture, but the persons seeking the Eyes of Alseta requested I come alone, and I not be followed. While it may seem foolish, I wish to honor that request. Though, I acknowledge and respect the fact I have no power to tell a King what to do or not do in his own lands. While I hope you consider my request for the privacy of my clients, if you are going to send men to follow me I do not wish to know." Her voice is neutral and truthful, without any accusations or suggestions. Her intent was to consider all possibilities with equal merit.
The paladin adjusts her weight to another foot in a soft clanking of shifting steel plates, her face changing to a contemplative expression. "This may seem strange, I have received such discreet requests before, typically from persons seeking advice on extramarital affairs or those that have committed crimes groping for a route to penance that does not involve the authorities. However, I do not expect trouble. Only cultists of Rovagug or Lamashtu would purposely lay a trap for an Arbiter of Alseta, and your city seems too civilized a place for such worshipers." She explains, though she is not quite sure what to expect out of the meeting.
Irovetti takes this words with obvious surprise. The ruler had expected lies, misdirection or even willful stubbornness. Her clear and direct declaration has thrown the His Supreme and Inimitable Magnificence out of his reckoning.
For a long moment he merely looks at her, eyes narrowed, judging things. Somewhere behind that changeable mask, Irvoetti is weighing items on a very fine and well calibrated scale. Then, he smiles, almost to himself, like a man who has seen a clever puzzle put together.
"Ah, I see."
"Of course, your duty comes first. What servant of Alseta and of the Pact would forsake such a summons." he holds up an aged and wrinkled hand, "Do not take threats lightly however. Despite my best attempts, there are still rebels and bandits in this area and even the city is not safe, doubly so at night. The Grand and Illuminated Festival has drawn many to the city, and preparations can give cover to various....dissolute elements. I beg you to take caution."
Then he turns to the guard and says, "Lead our honored guest to the main gates and allow her to go about her business. As before accord her all courtesy." Turning back to Rudabeh he adds, "I wish you a satisfactory night's work and look forward to seeing you tomorrow at the opening of the Festival."
Rudabeh stays silent while Irovetti thinks, watching the fine scales of his mind balance. I do not know what weights I have put upon those scales, but I hope they were not unwise ones. Is all she can think when his face lights up.
"Thank you, Irovetti. I will proceed with the upmost caution. I hope there are few foolish enough to challenge my passage." She says, confident enough in her swordwork to know it would take more than the usual cutthroat to threaten her.
Bowing her head slightly, she lifts it with a small smile now on her lips. "I only hope for Alseta's will to be done tonight, so that I may find time to fully enjoy the exquisite apartment you have set aside for me. I wish you a good night's rest, and will see you at the Festival Opening."
She looks to the Master Guardsman, ready to leave.
Irovetti nods and retires again, golden door closing behind him.
The guard, whose face is now an unreadable mask, silently leads the way. They head through yet more empty passages and winding staircases until they are in the main foyer. At the main door there are two guards, who aren't dressed nearly as neatly.
The master guardsman leading Rudabeh barks at them to open the gate.
"Are..are you sure? I mean it is after dark..."
The master guard strides up to the stammering doorwarden until he is face-to-face with him, noses nearly touching.
In a dangerously low and calm voice he says, 'I said, open the gate."
In a instant the massive door is unbolted, and thrown open. A wave of cool, wet night air flows into the hall, and acts as a tonic to the undine. She hadn't realized it but the First Palace had few windows or natural air, at least in the places she had been. It was a relief to feel the cool breeze wave across her, tasting of a wet spring.
The guard, eyes not really fixed on Rudabeh waves her through.
Rudabeh steps out of the imposing First Palace, back into that large city square she glimpsed on her arrival. While the black night hides shapes and dulls colors, she hears a surprising sound. Men working.
The rhythmic shouts and cries of men at work fill the night air, as well as the smell of cut wood. Obviously Irovetti has men at work, preparing for the Festival the next day. As Rudabeh makes her way into the darkness, she sees phantom shapes moving in the dark, building stages and wooden seating. It looks a busy as a beehive, with stacks of lumber and other materials haphazardly strewn about the large work area. Here and there a guard stands watch but these are poor imitations of the solid, imposing looking guards Rudabeh has seen before.
The houses and shops that line the plaza are dark, with windows shuttered and doors bolted shut. Apparently few of the locals in this area have much of a nightlife, or maybe it is just the loud night work that makes them retire.
Rudabeh has time to consider what she's getting herself into on the walk through the palace. I hope this is simply some criminals looking for clemency, or a couple seeking a quiet alimony softer an affair...
However, Toski words stick in her mind. "Seeing justice done" probably had something to do with this, and did not sound like any kind of typical legal matters.
The stammering door guard reveals to her just how unusual this must be. Many places in the River Kingdoms were dangerous at night, but was Pitax truly that bad? If so, why was she being requested to wander around the city at midnight, alone? Either my clients are highly confident in my skills or I really am walking into a trap. She thinks as doubt creeps into her mind.
Yet, it was too late for such thoughts, and they were washed away with the invigorating wet breeze of a spring night. The undine breaths in the fresh air, straightens her back, and starts to walk forward.
Her eyes pass over the Master Guardsman as she leaves. "Thank you. Be well and have a good night." The paladin says with sincerity, holding no grudge against him.
The cries of workmen and the cacophony of construction meet her steel-capped ears as she begins to maneuver her way through the staging area of tomorrow's festivities. Barely-lit figures moving through the edges of her light vision mix with the black and white outlines of lurking half-finished carpentry projects in her darkvision, creating an amorphous landscape of charcoal greys and russet browns punctuated by the occasional bone white edge on abyssal black where her darkvision activates.
Powering through the construction zone, Rudabeh passes the central square and out into the city itself. She puts up the hood of her cloak, keeping to the edges of the torchlight that would reveal her to light-based vision, instead relying on her darkvision for navigation. She touches her silver and copper holy symbol of Alseta and whispers a standard prayer, granting her a third sight- one to detect chaotic creatures.
Rudabeh enters into the roiling mass of workers, careful to avoid stumbling into any of the lit workplaces. The rain has stopped and above clouds scud by, sometimes revealing a waxing spring moon, shining like alabaster above.
Recalling what little she knew of Pitax, she heads toward the New Ruins district. This area, once a burned over pile of rubble, has been the main center of Irovetti's urban renewal schemes. It houses the Art Academy as well as her destination, the Red Crescent Theater.
She leaves the main square, filled with workmen, and enters into the city proper. It is very quiet here, more then she expected. While Rudabeh knew that in small towns, the areas were quiet after dark, that was rare for a large city. Indeed, in places like Daggermark, sometimes the places were more lively after sunset. It was a time for entertainment, hospitality, roistering, and yes, illegal activity. The streets were usually dark but full of various passerbyes, with taverns, brothels and even some shops lit and open to the travelers of the dark.
That was not the case here. The houses were closed and bolted, shutters tightly shut. She only saw a few lights, scattered like glowing beads of amber, among the dark building. The streets were deserted, and her heavy footfalls sounded in her ears. She didn't even spot the usually unavoidable footpads and pickpockets.
She crosses empty street after empty street until she passes into one filled with sound. Here, clumps of guards stand at crossroads, huddled around small watchfires. The road itself is clogged with heavy wagons, heading both ways, laden with supplies for the Festival. The procession is not well organized, with wagoners cursing each other as they block and re-block the roadway. The guards, half-sleep, barely raise and eyebrow as more then one minor fistfight breaks about among the teamsters.
Most of the wagons carry lumber, obviously intended for stands and stages, but others are filled with haybales, rough fabric, or crates. One, close to Rudabeh is a massive, heavy wagon, sealed up like a box. Thick iron bands enclose it, like the rings of a barrel. From inside, Rudabeh hears...growling.
Although she is interested, Rudabeh is distracted as she hears voice close at hand. Looking, she spots a large man, dressed in glittering white and gold robes, emblazoned with a red dragon. A long sword hangs at his belt, a shield on his back. He reels as he stands obviously drunk, as he curses at a group of guards who shout back. It looks like it will soon become a brawl, which may easily spread to the already tense roadway.
The walk through after-hours Pitax was unnerving. Though she preferred to be sleeping at night, she had worked late many times before and was no stranger to darkened cobble streets. The nearly complete absence of citizens was bizarre, and she wondered if it was always like this or the locals knew to stay out of the street when the festival was approaching.
The echoing sounds of voices, trundling carts, and baying animals draws her attention as she closes in on a main thoroughfare. The words become clearer as she gets closer, and she notices it's mostly cursing before seeing the absolute madness the wagons are causing along the road.
She just shakes her head and starts weaving between the wagons, trying not to get crushed under a wheel, kicked by cranky draft animals, or whipped by irate or cruel teamsters. The iron banded box grabs her attention for a few moments before it growls, at which the paladin guesses it's either for upcoming entertainment or will end up the main course in Irovetti's latest feast.
The nearby shouts and curses draw her attention away from the boxed beast, catching sight of the drunken man antagonizing the guards. I do not want to fight my way across the street! Perhaps Alseta had me walk this way for this purpose.
The undine sighs, throwing her hood back, squaring her shoulders, and walking directly between the two riled up parties. She throws her hands to the side, gesturing down at the ground with open palms in a universal signal for calm.
"GENTLEMEN, gentlemen... Please." Her voice begins loud and confident, drawing their attention before falling to a softer, welcoming tone. "What is the trouble? I am an arbiter of Alseta and will happily tend to any grievances." She looks back and forth between the odd robbed man and the guards, holding her ground.
Rudabeh's rather commanding and unusual figure, as usual, settles things for a moment. The Pitax guards pause and look to her, faces playing in dim light, obviously happy to have someone of such rank. While this city is not a Alseta stronghold, the followers of the Welcomer are widely respected throughout the River Kingdoms. The fact the undine is over six feet tall, fully armored and bearing a massive blade also has something to do with the hush that falls on the small group.
The belligerent man though seems unimpressed, and merely turns on the paladin. Rudabeh scans the man carefully, looking at his sigil and clothing. It is obvious he is of a Brevoy noble house although she is unsure which one. Breovy was part of the Pact of Years, one of the first of those outside the River Kingdoms to join and had to be treated carefully.
Rudabeh wasn't sure which house this man belonged to, but his overbearing manner and fine clothing speaks of money and connections.
He squints, revealing liquid brown eyes above a thin scraggly beard of the same color. "Listen, woman. I don't care who you are, just piss off! I am trying to get these men to clear the street for me." His stance is unsteady, weaving slightly and his voice slurred. The possible noble turns back to berating the soldiers, who look to Rudabeh pleading.
Rudabeh does not recognize the man's house, but his attitude was enough to tell her the man was used to getting whatever he wanted. Between his intoxication and pompous attitude, she had to handle this situation carefully to avoid a conflict.
As the man turns away the paladin clears her throat loudly to regain his attention. Her voice is firm, but respectful, as she attempts to pierce the haze of drunkness. "Sir, the guards cannot help you. They are here for your protection, not to direct traffic."
With a wave back towards the crowded street, she attempts to direct his drunkenness elsewhere. "Please show me where you need the street cleared and perhaps we can arrive at a solution together."
Rudabeh's calm and clear words seem to get through to the Brevoy man. he stops shouting at the soldiers and instead leans toward the paladin. His stance is unsteady and weaving, as he nearly loses his balance. His rather handsome face looms close to her and she doesn't smell any alcohol, but does note his pupils seem oddly mismatched, one dilated, one not.
He lowers his voice into a horse stage whisper, "I thank you for your kind words, mi'lady, but these are not guards. They are sworn servants of my arch-nemesis! I was merely only placating them with soothing lies."
He waves a hand dramatically at the rather slovenly looking Pitax guards saying, his voice rising slightly, "Do not be fooled, for they worship evil beyond my or your ken and only the most ruthless cunning and steadfast bravery will stop them!" He wavers at he stands, nearly falling into the muddy and manure laden street.
A few wagons start to move as the traffic eases slightly, but it only seems to flare tempers as those who are not moving curse and fruitlessly lash at their sullen oxen.
Rudabeh does not flinch as the man leans in, her face pinched with concern.
The lack of alcohol on his breath and the strange, mismatched pupils tells her wine or spirits are not the issue, but some other mind-altering substance or magic. She was no doctor or magician, however, and only had her suspicions.
The man's words are dumbfounding, but do affirm the fact that he was in some other reality at the moment.
The paladin does flinch as he almost falls over, and she extends a hand to help steady himself. "Ah, very clever sir, very clever indeed! They have clearly fallen for your ruse, and continue to act as harmless and humble guardsmen, too dedicated to their masquerade to reveal their true nature." She says, tentatively playing along in an effort to keep the man cooperative. The undine casts a glance over at the guards as she steadies the man, her eyes wide, brows up, giving them a simple shake of her head that tries to communicate: This man is crazy. I am so sorry.
Her face switches back to one of abject concern as she continues to address the Brevoy lord. "Your bravery and dexterity is exquisite sir, but I fear we are grossly outnumbered by the forces of evil and stand no chance at wining the day. Let us retreat, together, to your nearest allies, to reassess and gather reinforcements for this most horrowing of battlefields." Rudabeh places a gauntleted hand on his shoulder, gingerly trying to coax him in the opposite direction of the guards and towards someone that knows the man.
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The man woozily nods, his eyes moving in and out of focus. "Yes, yes, let us be away from these foul brigands and their treachery..."
He takes on step away from the busy street when chaos erupts. A heavy cart full of barrels had tried to dodge a roiling group of shouting teamsters, but had misjudged the distance and speed. Instead of skirting them safely, it instead rammed another wagon, and there sound of splintering wood fill the air. To Rudabeh's horror, she saw the rammed cart was the one that had been locked like a cage, the one that growled.
The sounds of breaking wood intensifies and is soon joined by the shriek of tearing metal and the bellowing of terrified oxen. Everyone turns toward the horrible sound, and silence breaks out on the street. A few, the smarter one, begin to edge away, heading for side streets and alleys that lead into the heart of the darkened city.
Most others are stock still, as they watch a new shape emerge from the ruins of the wagon. Rudabeh's darkvision allows her to make out the creature before the others, so the horror reaches her first.
It is the form of a huge lion, with massive muscles rippling under a tawny fur coat. All four legs end in huge paws, tipped with exposed claws the color of old ivory. Spreading from the back are two bat-like wings, arcing black against deeper midnight. To the rear a tail rears up, ending in two long pointed spikes. Twin amber eyes flash in the dark, as if sizing up the suddenly new situation with hunger.
A manticore, a feared predator of the wilder regions of the River Kingdoms. Rudabeh had never fought one, but she knew the violent creatures could make short work of a street full of mostly unarmed people.
Then the beast tilts its head back and lets out a earth-shaking, bellowing roar, that rattles the windows of the nearby houses. The guards break and run, apparently unwilling to face the beasts. The wagoners, stuck amongst piled carts are less nimble and many have no where to run.
Then the Brevoy knight draws his sword and shouts, voice oddly cracked, "Brave knight! We must fight these summoned evil together!" and, barely able to make a straight line, the man charges directly for the imposing beast.
Rudabeh starts to relax when the man calms down, beginning to follow. I don't have time to babysit this man, but he will start a fight if-
Her train of thought is smashed to pieces as the crunch of wood pierces the cool air of the night. Spinning in place, Rudabeh sees the barrel laden cart jammed into the strange growling box. Her mouth opens in silent shock, body freezing in place at the mounting suspense of what could happen next.
All intelligent speech ceases, replaced by an equal mixture of animalistic panic from the oxen and intense anger from the creature in the box. A cacophony of splintering wood and shearing iron complete what would be considered an orchestral masterpiece by only the most erudite denizens of the Maelstrom.
The moment Rudabeh sees the black and white outline of the huge, furry beast inside the box she has reached for the hilt of her sword, left hand firmly squeezing the worg leather grip while the other reaches over the pommel to access the sheath's pivoting switch. My goddess, you guided me out tonight with a purpose! trumpets in her mind as the manticore rips free of its confines.
There was no need to yell to the gathered persons to run, and as people stream in all other directions Rudabeh finds her heavy boots automatically moving, pounding against the cobbled street towards the threat alongside the intoxicated Brevoy knight. She only has a moment to glance at the man and feel a bizzare mixture of pity and awe before focusing on drawing her sword while running.
I am sorry, manticore. Floats through her mind as she goes through the practiced motions.
Flipping the switch that frees the hitch on her scabbard, Rudabeh yanks the hilt of her sword down and over her shoulder, pulling the blade out of its home with a satisfying hiss.
It is wrong to assume...
When it was halfway out and she could pull down with her left hand no further, her right hand, with palm facing away from her body, grabs the blade by its edge and pulls the rest of its length free while shifting the orientation of her left hand to match that of her right.
But if I was unwillingly caged for days,
The Sixth Peak's well-oiled surface gleams in the meager torchlight, and with practice honed instinct, she lifts the hilt of the greatsword above her left shoulder without shifting her grip.
and unleashed on a feast,
Half-swording the massive blade she charges forward as if wielding a spear, teeth gritted in anticipation of the coming impact. When the manticore completely filled her vision Rudabeh lets go of her sword's edge and drives the blade tip-first into its monstrous hide.
I would be hungry, too.
Rudaveh charges toward the manticore, trying to put her armored form in front of the Brevoy man. Whatever his skills may or may not be, he is obviously not up to actual combat.
As the undine charges, the beast roars again, flapping huge wings. It creates a stir of dust and garbage as it tires to fly away. However, one leg appears to still be chained to the cart and naolds the beast down to the ground. Before it has time to pull at the chain, Rudabeh is upon it, sword flashing in the dark.
The tawny hide splits easily under Sixth's Peak razor sharp blade. Dark crimson blood bubbles forth, liberally spattering both her and her intoxicated ally. In a mixture of pain and rage the manticore tries to both bite and rake Rudabeh with its claws. It is so large it actually has to back up to wield it's paws.
Both attacks find their mark, claws finding their way under armor and long teeth slicing into Rudabeh's back. Her own blood mixes with the manticores.
At her side the Brevoy man, bellowing some incomprehensible battle cry throws himself into the fray.
He manages to no only focus on the manticore but scores a telling blow. Perhaps, when not in such a state,t his man is a formidable warrior. Still, he seems to be quite unstable and that blow might have just as easily hit her or someone else.
Her first blow striking true, Rudabeh wrenches the buried blade free, left hand pulling the grip and right grabbing hold of one side of the guard.
The blood-slicked steel slides out of the manticore as it reels back, causing Rudabeh to overcompensate with her pull and stumble backwards. Off-balance and exposed, there is no time to react as teeth clamp around her torso and claws rake her thighs. Rudabeh hisses in pain, blowing air through her teeth before refocusing with a strong, guttural shout.
Though her body is blue and black, R he undine's blood runs red, soaking into or coating the thick leathers and chain that protect her non-vital areas. She places a hand on her thigh and channels the power of her goddess; in a flash of light a nasty gash the manticore had left along her thigh seals shut.
Returning her hands to her sword she lifts the blade up and behind her neck in the Wrath guard, ready to take a swing when the moment presented itself. Within seconds an opening presented itself, the Brevoy noble landing with a magnificent blow that momentarily shocked the paladin's otherwise battle-tranced mind.
As a result she reacted too late, stepping to the side to hack at the beast's flank just as its restricting chain is whipped towards her legs, catching her left shin and sending her into a shameful, wheeling stumble.
Rudabeh's booted feet find good purchase on the cobblestone streets as she edges away from both the manticore and the Brevoy noble. Her blow misses, the blade merely biting into the thick oak planks of the ruined cart.
The streets continues to empty as guards and wagoneers head for safety, leaving behind panicking oxen. In their fright, they begin to pull at the traces, heaving wagons this way and that. Near Rudabeh, two wagons slam together hard enough to shatter wagon wheels. Another one behind her shifts, sliding toward her dangerously.
Despite her heavy armor, Rudabeh easily slides under the careening wagon, watching the crudely hewn wood fly over her. Heavy iron wheels crunch into the street and the careening wagons rolls away, oxen straining to escape.
Meanwhile, the manticore again tries to take to the sky but the chain holds fast, glittering bronze. Instead, in obvious fury it whips the long tail around, sending a shower of arrow-like spikes toward Rudabeh.
As the spikes fly, the Brevoy man bellows again, waving his sword.
Instead of a triumphant charge though, he trips against a shattered wagon and slices his own arm. While he doesn't seem to feel any pain, the blood obviously distracts him for a moment.
Wood chips fly as Rudabeh deals an excessively cruel blow to the already deceased cart, and she quickly works the blade back and forth to free it from its wooden confines.
Just as she unsticks her sword the sounds of shattering wood echo behind her, the paladin whirling to see a toppling wagon threatening to crush her. Without thinking, Rudabeh holds her sword close to her chest and slides feet- first under the cart, coming to a stop after it crushes the area she was just in.
Clambering up in a chorus of metal plates, the paladin flinches as a sharp spine bounces off the side of her helmet, the force of the projectile leaving her ears ringing. Lifting her left arm to shield her face, another spine is deflected by her metal-backed gauntlets, but the third finds purchase between the rings of her chain and leather in a blossom of pain.
Shot straight through the ulna and radius of her arm with a foot-long spike, the wicked tip pokes out of the other side and drips a concerning amount of blood. Switching her sword grip to her left hand and laying it across her right shoulder she grasps the spine with her now free hand and rips it out in a gout of blood. Rudabeh makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a grunt through her teeth, dropping the spine to the ground and covering the wound with her now-bloodied gauntlet.
Channeling positive energy gifted by her goddess, a flash of white light seals the wound and knits the muscle back into fighting shape, leaving tender flesh and a mess of dark and fresh blood.
Turning her eyes back to the monster, she fastens her hands around her sword hilt and charges for the manticore once more. Only briefly does she see the Brevy noble mangle himself on a cart while she makes apowerful right-to-left cut across the manticore's exposed flank.
The growling beast is deeply injured by this point, bearing the marks of three heavy sword strokes. Blood sheets out of its mauled sides, clotting the thick hide with thick mats of coagulated liquid. The roars are now mixed with notes of pain as it desperately tries to free itself.
The chain fails to break but the hulk of the ruined cart lifts off the ground. Chunks of wood and splinters of iron spray as the great beast thrashes wildly.
Rudabeh manages to dodge the larger shrapnel and hears the small bits clanging off her metal armor. One piece, a heavy wheel spoke, hits her across the shins and the undine knows she will have a nasty welt there tomorrow morning.
Frustrated the manticore lands on the street, muscles taunt. Still bleeding, it lashes out at Rudabeh with dying desperation.
Then, out of the circle of smashed and crowded wagons, Rudabeh hears a voice. "Don't kill it!" Sparing a glance, she sees a rather portly man wearing elaborately colored robes.
"Irovetti will skin us all alive if you kill it. It cost him a fortune."
The Brevoy man either doesn't hear or disagrees for he tries to throw himself into the fray again.
This time he staggers wildly, and charges right for...Rudabeh. His eyes are wild, limbs moving with jerky, unknowing precision. His well-made robes snap and flutter, the bright colors garish against the dun colored road and wagons.
Under his current aliment, Rudabeh detects the honed skills of a trained warrior. His footwork is superb over the broken terrain and his sword arm moves with blinding seed. It also helps that Rudabeh is distracted by the growling manticore and the shouting onlooker.
Without a shield to hide behind, Rudabeh has to rely on her armor and feet to protect her from most threats.
Lately, this included large amounts of wagon parts, which was not exactly something she had trained for.
Nevertheless, the paladin manages to sidestep a flying iron strap that was ten times bigger and heavier than her sword, though the wheel spoke gets the better of her shins.
Nearly stumbling, she rights herself just in time to eat caught in the manticore's desperate attacks- its teeth scrap against her breastplate but its claws once again shred her legs.
Matching the beasts frustrated cries with those of her own, the undine was about to ram her sword into its mouth as it retreated backwards when a voice calls out.
Shooting the man a glance typically reserved for belligerent and irrational children, the undine calls out. "Sir, that is NOT an option right now!" Her head turns back in time to see the Brevoy man stumbling towards her, and in her surprise Rudabeh does nothing to defend herself against his hurtling sword until it is too late to move completely out of the way.
The tip of his longsword bites into her neck, gouging the supple leather and drawing a spurt of crimson blood underneath. In a wave of agony Rudabeh realizes the man must be a potent fighter, for if she had not moved the blow could have easily opened her jugular.
Pressing a hand to the wound she channels just enough energy into the wound to stop its bleeding, yet the biting pain remains. That man is completely unhinged, I must end this!
Flagging and bleeding, Rudabeh steps away from the man and hefts her sword directly over her head, the tip of the Maheto blade reaching well over ten feet in the air. As the manticore lunges for her once again she is already steppings forward and swinging, putting all her strength into a single downward swing that was meant to catch the beast in the face before its teeth reached her.
The manticore lunges at her as she raises the blade, and manages to impale itself, even as Rudabeh rams the blade into the beast's throat. The howling roar cuts off as the steel slices open its throat. Bright red blood gushes out, coating Rudabeh in a sticky red flood.With a sad gurgle the creature's lithe body suddenly shivers, then slumps over. The sudden change to dead weight nearly wrenches her sword from her grip.
A strange hollowness fills the little battlefield as the manticore shudders once they grows still in death. All the guards and wagoneers have fled by now, screaming about a monster loose in the city, voices fading. The remaining oxen groan in fear, wild at the scent of blood, bumping and pushing past each other. The servant who shouted for her to save the beast curses loudly and then turns and runs into the dark streets.
The Brevoy noble turns to Rudabeh and tries to sheathe his sword. He misses entirely and it clangs to the ground, ringing loudly off the cobblestones.
"Well done, brave knight!" he croaks, voice cracking. "This foul beast has been slain by..." and he trails off, slumping against a shattered wagon.
Rudabeh gazes at the fallen creature, wings crumbled like old paper, spiked tail glittering in the dim light. With more time to see, Rudabeh can see the animal is half-starved, with visible ribs beneath thin muscle. There are clear whip marks on it's hide and areas rubbed raw by cruel chains. One foot is still firmly latched to the battered wagon, hooked to the solid chain.
Out of the shadowed alley she hears a male voice shout, "That was quite a sight!" Turning she sees a young man step into the street, moving around some broken debris. He is wearing a simpler and less expensive version of the clothes the Brevoy noble is wearing.
"I'm sorry I missed it, but I got lost in the side streets...." he pauses then and truly notices her blood covered form. 'Are..are you ok?"
Rudabeh is surprised as the manticore impales itself on her blade, but she reacts quickly; her grip tightens around the hilt of The Sixth Peak as if she were a choker squeezing the life out of a drow.
Limpid eyes meet the manticore's amber gaze as it thrashes on her blade, and in that moment all she can see in the creature is pain. Pushing forward with all her might, flesh gives way to steel and the massive sword cuts open a two-foot gash from throat to collarbone. Thick, merlot colored blood rains down on her with the pulses of the beast's rapidly spasm in heart.
The paladin merely grits her teeth and bears the manticore's dying whimpers, and as it goes limp she moves to the side so it does not collapse atop her, barely hanging onto her greatsword.
Breathing heavily, Rudabeh takes a moment to recover, though her hands still grip her sword tightly. Blood runs down the crown of her helmet and pools along the beveled edges before dripping past her face and onto the ground.
She turns her eyes to the Brevoy nobleman, and relief washes over her like a high-tide wave when he completely misses his scabbard and drops his sword. Her eyes track his descent into a nearby cart, and she feels nothing.
All she can smell and taste is blood. All she can see is the mutiliated body of the manticore, lying in a pile of its own destruction. All she can feel is pity for the half-starved creature. "May Pharasma's judgement find you quickly." Rudabeh intones quietly, offering a prayer for the tortured beast.
With her 5 second break over, Rudabeh wretches her sword free of the manticore's gullet, causing another gush of blood and giblets to cover her blade.
Her head pivots when the young noble calls out, the sudden movevment causing a fan of dark red droplets to dribble onto the blood-soaked cobbles below. "I'm fine." She says, voice etched with weariness as she begins to flick blood off her gauntlets and sword.
Suddenly, she notices the cut of the young man's clothes. "Please tell me you know this man." Rudabeh asks, almost pleading, as she points to the slumped form of the robed fighter.
The other man is younger then Rudabeh first though, not much out of his teenage years, if at all. A peach fuzz of light blond hair covers his chin, barely discernible.
He looks utterly scandalized when Rudabeh uses the term 'this man', and his face visibly reddens in embarrassment. "He is High Lord Pircien, of house Khavortorov."
Rudabeh vaugely knows the house is of upper rank in Brevoy. Not the most elite but well respected and famous for hot heated knights with mastery of the Aldoria dueling techniques.
The young man, the squire probably, coughs apologetically and says diplomatically, "Mi'lord may have partaken a bit too...grandly of the entertainments offered him."
He rushes over to the man, bending over him, obviously checking for wounds.
Rudabeh notes the young man's age with some difficulty. Humans change so quickly in their first twenty years it was hard to pinpoint exactly how many winters they had lived, but the downy facial hair tips her off.
The paladin looks relieved when the young lord indicates his familiarity with the downed swordsman. "Ah, excellent. I was not sure what to do with him. I found him instigating some guards and was attempting to direct him elsewhere when all... This... Happened." She says, turning slowly to survey the crimson splattered ruin of wood and iron. "The High Lord rushed to battle with the manticore when it broke free and I joined him." Her comments continue as she makes a full turn, watching the lad check Pircien for wounds.
"He was not harmed by the beast, but he did cut himself at one point. And nearly took my head off at another occasion. He was very confused, but did land a powerful blow on the manticore that ultimately helped kill it." Rudabeh says dryly, her patience for the man torn to shreds along with her neck guard.
As the adrenaline wears off the undine starts to feel the piercing sting of her various wounds, especially the deep gouges in her thighs. Finding something to concentrate on, she retrieves a strip of brown flaxen cloth from her Bag of Holding begins wiping a prodigious amount of blood off of her sword.
"Oh, I apologize. My manners were apparently lost somewhere in the struggle." She intones, voice softening after the sudden realization she was being catty about the situation. "I am Rudabeh of Outsea, Paladin of Alseta. Are you Pircien's squire?"
"The High Lord is very brave." the young man says, obviously pleased to find his master still alive. He turns from his ministrations and looks up at Rudabeh, earnestly with deep green eyes.
"I....We....The High Lord owes you a great favor, paladin Rudabeh. I will be sure he gets your name and title, he will be most interested once he is no longer...indisposed."
He stands up, obviously awkward taking charge so, " I am indeed his squire, for many years now. he is a good man, please do not judge him by his excesses. At his best, he is one of the greatest men I have met." Rudabeh thinks the young lad is stretching the truth but still, he has alot to paper over here.
Hesitantly he adds, "I would assume a paladin of such a noble order would understand that the High lord would appreciate you refraining from mentioning his exact condition and entertainments?"
He pauses for a moment looking at Rudabeh's bloody form. Finally he says, "Do you..do you need help? I am somewhat experienced with wounds. My Lord is overly fond of danger, some might say." He fumbles in a back and pulls out a bottle of potion. Even from a distance Rudabeh can see it is a bottle of Cure Serious Wounds. Pircien must enjoy danger indeed to have this on hand at all times. When Rudabeh waves the young lad goes on, "My Lord is fine and I have more in our apartments. Please, take this as a sign of my thanks."
Rudabeh considers the young man's request, pausing to look into his green eyes, which are so full of admiration for his master. While the High Lord had caused her nothing but trouble and left an awful first impression, perhaps there was more to him than his intoxicated state seemed. She owed Pircien a second chance, at least, before judging him.
The undine sighs lightly through her nose and briefly closes her eyes as she mentally and emotionally Turns the Mask. Opening her eyes, she drapes her flaxen cloth over the hilt of her greatsword, then extends her hand to take the potion. "Thank you, I accept." Rudabeh says, bowing her head slightly.
Steel fingers encircle the glass bottle, and she cradles her sword's hilt on her shoulder to free up another hand to open the cork, which she continues to hold. The potion is immediately quaffed, the cool almond tasting liquid sliding down her throat and causing the gash in her neck to be replaced with tender turquoise flesh under a layer of wet and sticky blood.
Handing the empty potion bottle and cork back to the young man, Rudabeh passes a hand over her legs, relieving the torn muscles of their torment. She flexes her leg experimentally, feeling only an acute soreness in her banged-up shins.
Rudabeh returns to cleaning her sword with much less focus than before, casting an eye on the High Lord. "All I will say of the incident to others is he helped to slay the manticore, which is true. If he is as great a man as you say, I look forward to properly making his acquaintance when sobriety has found him."
Casting her gaze on the squire, her face shifts to one of concern, dark eyebrows flattening above bright limpid eyes. "Please take him to a safe place, and I hope he is more lucid when he wakes. He was a danger to himself and others before, so do be cautious."
With most of the blood cleaned off her blade, she begins to unbuckle her scabbard strap. Swinging the sheath around, she holds it horizontally in one hand, parallel to the scabbard in the other. There really was no other way to sheath the massive blade. "I apologize for leaving you to carry him yourself, but I am on my way to a mediation." She says, the steel of The Sixth Peak singing softly as it is returned to its resting place. "Before I go, what is your name, young squire?" Rudabeh asks out of curiosity, her sword clicking into place as the hilt meets the steel reinforcements on the wide end of the scabbard.
Rudabeh feels much better after healing her various wounds. There are a few cuts and scrapes still present but nothing too different after a few training bouts or a long day of overland travel. The slight edge of pain is almost a comfort in its familiarity, a reminder after the warm feasts and diplomatic dances that the world outside is still dark and full of terrors.
The squire shrugs, saying, "He will be mobile soon enough. The High Lord heals quickly, which is a blessing."
As she prepares to leave he stands up and bows formally, "Tenamar of Restov." The fact he leaves off a family names tells Rudabeh is lowborn. Restov is the home of the Aldoni sword masters and the closest Brevoy city to the River Kingdoms.
Rudabeh returns the squires bow with a small lowering of her head. "It has been a pleasure, Tenamar of Reston. I hope the rest of the night find you and the High Lord well. I am sure we will meet again soon." She says before turning to leave, hoping she has not been excessively delayed by the confrontation.
The ache that assuaged her muscles as she walked over the cobbled street was indeed a welcome feeling. Though peace is what all true warriors strive for, it feels good to be useful. I hope this was all part of Alseta will, and I was her sword today. The paladin thinks to herself as she weaves between overturned carts and other debris.
This chaos, though... I can only assume it would have been worse if the manticore escaped, and Pircien may have been killed if I had not aided him. Runs through her mind, still feeling a twinge of guilt over the tortured manticore's death.
As Rudabeh leaves the crowded street, she is once again plunged into the eerie quiet of the city. The paladin moves past shuttered buildings, locked doors and doused lights. The darkness reminds her more of the unsettled wild, and the glittering stars shine down. The moon is so bright as to almost cast shadows and reflects brightly off the scattered puddles of the street. The clouds above are nearly gone now, and the weather prediction of clear skies tomorrow seems to be coming true.
Then Rudabeh sees bright lights and hears music. She finds herself in a small square, and straight across from her is a large round building, lit up like a festival. Bronze shines with flickering torchlight and dark wood glows with warmth. It only takes Rudabeh a few moments to realize, this is the temple of Calistra. Here at least, the party is just getting started.
Even from across the square, the paladin can hear raucous music being played by seemingly dozens of instruments. Windows are thrown open to the night air, letting out the scent of burning incense and melting wax. Figures come and go from the various doors, in various states of intoxication. Rudabeh doesn't see anyone keeping watch or guard and doesn't see any of the adventurers.
After being engaged in such a pitched battle, it was odd to be so suddenly consumed by the strange city-wide silence once again. Her mind wanders the to the squire and High Lord. I am not yet familiar with Pitax laws, but perhaps I should have brought in the High Lord for endangering the public. I suppose I am the only person he attacked, so that assement is not entirely true.
The paladin is internally debating whether or not her decision to turn the mask to his transgressions was the right one when the sounds of music catch her ears. Surprised and delighted to encounter a bastion of culture and community in the otherwise dead city, Rudabeh walks a bit faster to discover its source.
It was not difficult to ascertain the source of the festivities once it came into view; the temple of Calistria was like a glowing pyre of joy among the otherwise subdued city. A small smile tugs at her lips as she watches people stumbling about and enjoying themselves, and with a deep breath she inhales the myriad of tantalizing incenses and waxes.
She skirts the sides of the temple, eyes scanning the building with curiosity. No guards? Perhaps they need none, given the popularity of Calistria in Pitax. Or they fear the Savored Sting of the church itself..? Regardless of her musings, the undine's pace, which was already trying to make up for lost time, does not slow as she moves through the city to her ultimate destination.
All too soon Rudabeh lives the oasis of light and music behind, and plunges back into the dark, rather forbidding streets of Pitax. The paladin again wonders how much of this is imposed by Irovetti and how much is the wishes of the populace. Rudabeh is no philosopher, but she knows there are several schools of thought on whether the 'Walk Any Road' freedom prohibits curfews or not.
She stops musing however, as she enters into several wide boulevards. They are obviously new, with wide paving stones and clear cut berms. Wide shade trees are planted down the middle, creating a pleasing effect. Scattered throughout are more of the giant mask motifs, looming ominously in the dark. This must be an area of the city Irovetti has personally designed and re-built. urban renewal indeed.
Then she sees her destination. The Red Crescent Theater. It is a heavy looking octogon building, built of heavy sandstone. There are no windows, just sheer stone walls rising from the street. she does spot many doors however, most of them grandly carved flanked by stone statues of actors and actresses, some in mid-costume change. It is hard to tell what colors, if any, are painted on the building. Int he current light it looks forbidding and rather more like a jail then a place for entertainment.
Then, out of a shadowy corner near her, she detects movement. Whirling, a shape steps out of the darkest recesses. The figure is of average height, coming up to Rudabeh's shoulder. It is wrapped in a heavy, concealing cloak. Most interestingly, the face is covered in a mask. It is neither the ornate masks of Alseta or the monolithic masks of Pitax. Instead it is simple fabric utility, whose only purpose is to hide, to obscure.
"You came alone?"The figure says, voice raspy in the wet night air. Rudabeh can see little but she is a trained warrior and has lived among fighters her entire life. It is obvious to the paladin by how this man stands, how he moves. Either he is armed or he is very confident in his fists.
Rudabeh walks among the giant masks, head swinging left and right to inspect each one. They all seemed the same, but she was curious if any differences were built into them.
As the Red Crescent comes into view the undine relaxes a little. At least I did not get lost. Either Alseta is guiding me or paid more attention to the directions than I thought. The lack of windows briefly interests her, until she realizes that having absolute control of the lighting on stage would be a handy prop.
The sudden appearance of the masked figured causes her to quickly turn and pause, appraising every pore of the simple cloth mask in her darkvision, and then a brief look at their aura.
Glancing at the rest of the figure's body told her much more information than she expected; this was a experienced and confident combatant. "Yes." Rudabeh answers simply at first, her voice quiet. "If there is anyone following me I have not see them."
She shifts her weight onto her left foot, equipment scraping softly. "However, I feel compelled to tell you that Irovetti knows I have left the First Palace to participate in an arbitration. As per my oath of confidentiality, I did not say where, how, or for whom, but given how suspicious he seemed, he may or may not have sent someone to follow me. I apologize if this is detrimental to you in any way, but I could not simply sneak out for multiple reasons. In addition, while I am sworn to keep your secrets, I must warn you that I am unaccustomed to and unskilled at any form of skullduggery."
Falling silent, she awaits the man's response to her blunt truths, passively staring down and into the mass cloth covering his face.
Rudabeh detects a light aura of Chaos around the man.
"Skullduggery?" he says, but his tone is that of someone in deep thought, of processing information. A long moment passes and then the indecision falls away from his posture.
Speaking quickly he says, "Please, if you can, walk a bit farther. This place may not be secure." He points to a side alley, 'Go up this alley to the next street. Take two lefts then follow the curve past the paint shops. Someone will be waiting for you to take you to the correct place."
His tone is brisk, used to giving command. The masked head turns tot he dark alley behind Rudabeh as if searching. When Rudabeh does not instantly follow orders he says, "Go, please."
Rudabeh realizes the situation was not as simple as it seemed, and this was not the person she was supposed to meet. This is a... lookout? A contact?
Slightly embarrassed she jumped to conclusions, the paladin merely bows her head to the man and starts to walk down the indicated alley. Why did he seem bothered by the word skullduggery? I am meeting masked men at secret locations in the middle of the night for an unknown purpose. What is this if NOT skulldrugery? Rudabeh thinks critically, taking a sharp left at the end of the alley.
What are you getting yourself into? You are a paladin, this all seems far too cloak-and-dagger. The undine's conscience assaults her as she continues to briskly walk down the street, taking another immediate left. She continues to follow the man's directions, glancing at the myriad of muted displays the paint shops have to offer. While they were probably impressive in the sunlight, all she saw was a mixture of black and white outlines and perhaps a hint of mauve from her light vision.
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Rudabeh wonders how deep the waters she is treading in is. What machinations are going on in Pitax that require cloak and dagger meetings in the middle of the night with multiple meeting points and dummy locations? Was she being followed? Were those who were meeting her trustworthy? How did this reflect on Alseta and the Pact?
Under her feet, the street is stained with paint. Darkvision provides only pale echos of argent, ibis, and sapphire. Pitax's art needs must be large to have an entire block of shops just selling paint, most cities only have one or two salesmen at most. The thought distracts her for awhile as she walks through the quiet, damp streets.
Then, she finds herself leaving the paint stalls and moving up a dark main road. Dead ahead of her lies...the Red Crescent Theater. Her directions had led her in a large, slow circle, coming right back to the same spot!
Outside is her masked guide, looking impatiently toward Rudabeh. When she comes close he whispers, "Come, let us get inside. The night streets of Pitax are not place for such a meeting." He makes no mention of the, apparently, wild goose chase he just sent Rudabeh on.
While certainly glad the art scene in Pitax is thriving, she wonders if there is anything hiding beneath the cultural lacquer that Irovetti applies with such broad strokes? Perhaps he is the leader of a cultural revolution, or is it all a cover-up?
Rudabeh's thoughts, and her feet, come to a halting stop as the same man steps out of the shadows, and she glances around in brief confusion. Going so far as to doing a full turn to look behind her, and then back at the man, she shakes her head. Was that to catch anyone following me? Very clever. If I were following someone I would have certainly fell for it. Ifeel out of my element.
"Very well." She whispers back, gesturing for the man to lead on.
The masked man nods and leads Rudabeh to the imposing theater. He goes, not to one of the wide main doors, but a simple wooden sidedoor. he knocks in a rhythmic pattern, then inserts a key. It turns easily and the door swings openly silently, revealing stairs into a dim basement.
He waves on and soon Rudabeh is swallowed up by the darkness. It doesn't last long however, and soon she finds herself in a warren of small rooms and narrow hallways, all lit by dim red magical lights. While not very bright, it is a nice break from the muted tones of darkvision.
The rooms are storage for the theater. Some are jammed full of stage furniture, all cut a bit oddly as such things often are. Others are full of elegantly painted backdrops or stage scenery. Castles, mountains, even underwater scenes painted on canvas. One room is full of hundreds of costumes, glittering in the light, sequins shining.
Rudabeh's guide leads her silently through the tangle, obviously at ease here in the bowels of the theater. The place seems rather empty until another figure moves suddenly out of a side room. The new figure seems slighter and less confident thent he other, but wears the same mask.
Rudabeh's guide curses and says, 'What is it?"
'I must speak with the paladin." The new voice is younger, higher, with a bit of an unusual accent that Rudabeh can't place. Definitely a man however.
Rudabeh's guide thumps the wall with a fist, 'hHanspur's tail, we are late as it is. We don't have time for.."
"It is a religious, personal matter." the newcomer says hurriedly, 'It won't take long."
The first man grunts then says, 'Very well, but make it fast. The other's will have my hide if we linger."
He stomps up the hall and finds another side room. he kicks the door open and soon two young people (a man and a woman) are forcibly ejected. They aren't wearing masks, in fact they are wearing very little at all, and stumble against the wall, obviously under the influence of something.
"What was that for, Tark?" the man slurs, squinting."[/b]
"You were told to not be here tonight." Rudabeh's guide replies, growling.
The nearly naked man and woman scurry of saying, "Besides, I hear the temple is where the real action is tonight anyway." Neither seem to even register Rudabeh.
Soon Rudabeh and the newcomer are in the room alone, with Tark (?) standing outside the shut door. The room is plain, with only a few mannequins piled helplessly in a corner, gathering dust.
In front of her the man wrings his hands, obviously deciding something. Finally, he pulls his mask away, revealing a young, olive skinned face. He is clean shaven, with wide dark eyes.
"I...I have a confession paladin, that I wish Alseta to hear." He finally stammers, obviously not at ease.
Rudabeh stays silent during the descent into the basement, her rough-shod boots clicking softly against the steps. The dim red lights easily reach her eyes after being so accustomed to the dark, her light blue orbs briefly sweeping the interior. Oddities were found in abundance, though ironically it would be more strange to not find such things in the basement of a theatre; thus, all was well.
She wonders briefly what her skin looks like under these red lights. Laevender perhaps? Ah, no, most likely lilac. The thought briefly bounces around in her head, before realizing she's still covered in drying manticore blood.
The paladin stops in place at the foto of the stairs and lets the masked man pass her, carefully following in his footsteps to avoid knocking over piles of props.
The undine's dark brows furrow as another man suddenly zips out in front of them, requesting to speak with her. She remains silent during the exchange between them, and merely tosses a concerned glance at the unceremonious ejection of the two lovers(?). Of more importance was the mention of a name- Tark, whom she dedicated to memory.
The concern melts from her face as she turns her head back towards the young man, her eyes meeting where she persumes them to be behind his mask.
"Do not be afraid." Rudabeh says quietly, extending her left hand, palm up, to the lad. Though her gauntlets were backed with metal that ran to the tips of her fingers, the inner portion was a comfortable and supple leather.
"Open your heart and I will open my ears. Together, we will ask the goddess to turn her eyes upon us and consider your confession." She says softly, her right hand lifting to touch the holy symbol affixed to her armor slightly above her collarbone. There was not much to work with yet, but she already trying to put herself in his position- nervous, deeply disturbed. Instead of bracing herself for the worst, she opens her mind to any possibility.
Rudabeh's calm words and almost ritualistic movements seem to steady the man. His tensions seems to ease slightly and his eyes focus more on the armored paladin in front of him. He bows his head toward the holy symbol, obviously moved by it. When he speaks his voice is lower and more stable.
"I...thank you for hearing me. I am sure you have many other matters pressing your time." he swallows and glances at the door where a probably annoying Tark awaits both of them. "I cannot say everything due to other oaths so please, judge me and my actions from what I say, not what you guess. And...does Alseta honor the scared seal of confession? Will you keep my secrets safe?"
He pauses, as if considering how to go on. In the silence, Rudabeh feels an odd sense of calm. here was not complicated political maneuvers or back alley spywork. Here was clearly a man in need of spiritual aid and she was Alseta's agent, brought here just in time. Fate guided her hand...didn't it?
"I have led others into corruption for my own gains." he says bluntly, and hurries along, "In my willing service, I have aided and abetted unwholesome activity." Frowning at his own vagueness he goes on, "Do you know of the recreational drugs of Pitax? I assume you saw the others who were in this room before us?"
"Of course. I am bound by my oaths to Alseta herself to keep your secrets safe." Rudabeh says with a slow nod, With a slow nod, confirming the confidentality between them both in words and actions. It made it easier that she could not see the lad's face, and did not know his name.
In the silence that follows Rudabeh actually relaxes a bit. This was more what she was used to. Helping someone spiritually and emotionally. Being a paladin of Alseta meant she was both a blade against chaos and a shoulder to lean upon, and she much preferred those duties to the probable backroom deals that loomed before her.
Barely reacting to the words that blurted out of the young man's mouth, she folds her hands in front of her waist before speaking. "I saw the others, yes, but I am afraid you will have to educate me on the specifics of recreational drugs in Pitax." Rudabeh says plainly, intent on gathering information before drawing any conclusions.
Rudabeh reflects on what she knows of drugs and laws in the River Kingdoms. While she had rarely dealt with it directly, it did come up now and then and some of Urgat's lawbooks had touched on the subject.
The Pact had few laws dealing with drugs, since it struggled to keep peace on a grand scale. The only notable exception was the total ban on the so-called Tears of Razmir, a potent drug used by that would-be god to keep his people subservient and compliant.
Each kingdom and area had their own laws. In Daggermark for example most deadly poisons were perfectly legal, indeed were a major (if secret) export. Various druid sects used drugs widely for religious purposes and some of the most traditional Kellish bands used them to enhance battle prowess.
As far as Pitax went, Rudabeh knew the basics. As in most cities, most drugs were banned except for careful religious use. Here, the church of Calistira was supposed to maintain a monopoly on the trade, with the idea they would at least somewhat regulate its usage and prevent wide scale abuse (or danger).
To Rudabeh's question the nervous man goes on, "Ever since Irovetti took over, there has been a flourishing trade for the art students and such. It became a fad to paint or compose while under the influence of various...exotic drugs. The Church, the guards and Irovetti turned a blind eye to abuse due to the money it made. Prices were made high however, as to milk the market dry."
"As you can imagine, our movement requires funds. For some time we have been supplying black market drugs to anyone willing and able to buy." He sighs heavily here.
"I know our cause is just, but...these drugs, they do damage. They create addiction, make people do stupid things, hurt themselves. It can ruin lives, even if it doesn't break their health. I have heard rumors of men I personally sold to, try to sell their own family into slavery to pay for more. Slavery!"
He shudders and goes on, "I..I wish to ask for forgiveness and guidance on what to do next."
Rudabeh somehow manages to prevent her facial expression from changing as the man confesses. Movement? Black market drug trade? Her mind reels as what she thought was going to be a simple confession once again plunges her back into a world of skulldrudgery and secrets. Briefly the High Lord Pircien pops into her mind, with his strange actions and mis-matched pupils. He must have partaken in the local delights.
Other pieces fall into place; the massive amount of gold in Irovetti's palace, all of the incredible luxuries she had been sprinkled with during her visit. By the goddess... Can he not just raise taxes like everyone else? If any ink has cleared with these revealations, it has only revealed a tightly closed clam shell.
The undine draws a deep breath, extending her hand to place it gently on the man's shoulder. She looks into his eyes, her gaze shifting to one of warmth and forgiveness. "Accepting responsibility for what you have done is the first and hardest step of redemption, and I commended you for crossing this most difficult of thresholds. I do not know your movement so I cannot judge based on the merits of the percieved greater good, but you have disrupted the lives of others and the functionality of the community as a whole. While this is grave, I can see that the consequences of your actions weigh heavily on your soul. I can see you initially percieved to be doing what you believed to be right. Thus, by the power invested in me by Alseta, I forgive you."
Taking her hand off the man's shoulder, she looks deep into his eyes, her voice changing to a slightly stern tone. "However, it is clear to me you that your conscience is out of balance, and you must restore it yourself. Truthfully, it is neither mine nor Alseta's forgiveness you should be seeking, but the forgiveness of those you have harmed, so you can in turn forgive yourself. Otherwise, the guilt will plague you forever, follow you into the afterlife, or worse, cause your soul to linger on this plane. To truly alleviate the burden on your soul, you must take action. I beseech you to seek out those wishing to stop using the drugs you sold. Help them transition back to a normal life, then ask for their forgiveness. Only then will you find peace."
With a small sigh, she approaches her final piece of advice. "I do not know your circumstances, but I would obviously stop selling the drugs in the first place, or you will merely create more strife and guilt. You should take on other duties within your organization instead."
The man visibly relaxes as Rudbahe goes through the ritual. While his words and actions don't seem to indicate an overly familiarity with the worship of Alseta, it is clear he sets great store but this forgiveness. From from empty formality, his body language is like that of a man finding a spring after long wandering in the desert.
When Rudabeh turns to what he should do, his face clouds again, "I see what you mean, but does working inside an organization doing such things only remove me one degree? Is it truly enough to keep me pure?" then a rueful smile, "But I suppose that is philosophy beyond either of us. At least at the moment."
At the door Tark hammers loudly, "Come on! The others are getting anxious. Hanspur knows we don't like all sitting in one place like a row of ducks."
The confessor slips his mask back on and stands up, shakily, "I..I thank you for both your time and your words, paladin of Alseta. You are a credit to your god and I hope some of her blessing passes from you to me.
He opens the door and hurries out, the other man glaring at him scurry away. Grumbling, Tark turns to to Rudabeh, [b]"Shall we go on or do you need to perhaps bless the building or expound on some other theological point?"
Rudabeh returns the small smile with one of her own. "I agree that is a discussion for another time." She says, truthfully glad she didn't have to answer that question on the spot.
Her head briefly turns to Tark as he bellows, then back to the confessor. She gives him a small bow of her head before starting to walk towards the door to the gathering. "You are welcome. May Alseta open the doors to wisdom and enlightenment for us all." She intones with practiced measure.
Pausing briefly next to Tark, Rudabeh looks up as if in thought. "Unless you have fifty pounds of powdered silver on hand, I suppose we can skip the consecration." A small smirk tugs at the edge of her lips before she passes through the indicated door and on to her ultimate desintation.
Tark grunts at the joke but seems to appreciate it, since he mutters, "Alseta drives a hard bargain. I haven't heard a demand like that since the last prophet of Kalistrade passed through."
They weave through a last few rooms until they reach a solid looking door, bound with iron. Tark nods, knocks a few times and it silently opens outward. The room beyond is lit with colorful lights of green, purple and orange. Rudabeh frowns until she realizes it is probably re-used stage lighting.
With Tark leading the way, the paladin steps inside, floorboards creaking under her weight. The room inside is not large and is very crowded with five people sitting around a round wooden table. All are wearing the same dark robes and masks as Tark is wearing, except for one whose hood is a bright, forest green.
There is on empty chair near the door and one of the figures waves for Rudabeh to sit. Tark shuts the door, locks it, and stands guards just inside.
"We thank you for joining us, paladin of Alseta." the figure at the head of the table says, voice a rich baritone. "We apologize for the slightly disreputable circumstances but such is the nature of rebellion." There is a pause as if a smile passes the man's face then he goes on, "I assume you wonder who we are?"
Tark grunts and says softly, 'I hope she can guess by now."
Rudabeh merely smiles to herself, pleased she was able to share a light moment with the grumpy devotee of Hanspur.
The garrish colors that light the interior of the meeting room almost make Rudabeh wish she were seeing in darkvision instead. It took a moment to get her bearings with all the weird colors mixing together, but the figure with the probably green hood certainly stood out.
Taking the indicated seat, Rudabeh sits slightly askew so her sword does not get caught in the spindle. Placing her hands on her thighs, she sits up straight before briefly scanning the room. Her enhanced visions picks up any auras of chaos that linger in the room, and she expected to find several. This is not where I thought I would find myself a few hours ago. Did Veleda know I would be swept up in this?
Focusing her attention on the head of the table Rudabeh's eyebrows rise slightly in a gesture of passive acceptance for her current situation. "I feel I must apologize in turn for my tardiness. I had some difficulty leaving the First Palace, and then I was forced to kill a manticore that broke from its confinements on one of the festival thoroughfares." The paladin says casually without any bravado, as if she had been delayed by the weather.
"As for your question, I wonder very much who you are," she says with a hint of curiosity, scanning those in the room again before continuing, "but if you do not wish for me to know, I understand. Irovetti mentioned there were rebels within the city, and you seem to identify as such. However, I do not know what you call yourselves or your intentions."
Raising a gauntlet to gesture to the green hooded figure, she inquires: "Are you the "bandit" known as "Green Hood"? The moniker certainly fits in any case. I had only heard it was a woman of the Liacenza family, but rumors are well known for their inaccuracies if I am mistaken."
The green-hooded figure slumps back, arms crossed as laughter ripples across the table. The figure at the head of the table holds up a hand and says, "I told you the green was a mistake." but his tone is joking.
Rudabeh takes a good hard look at the room while she is scanning it, examining each person in turn. While the generic masks and heavy cloaks hide much, Rudabeh can still note a few things.
First on her left is a medium sized figure, leaning back, fingers steepled in front. Judging from the skin, it is a man who does not do much manual labor and has probably never rowed a boat in his life.
With a shock, Rudabeh realizes she knows this man. From his hands, his height and his laughter..this is Alderman Gemus Oskara, the member of the Trade Houses who traded with her father.
After swallowing that bombshell, Rudabeh moves to the next one.
This one is smaller, wiry. Bony shoulders nearly poke through the heavy cloak but Rudabeh has a feeling there is power behind those thin arms. A curl of long dark hair pokes from beneath the hood, marking them as probably a woman.
Next is the head of the table, the man with the baritone voice. He sits easily, facing forward that somehow exudes control over this unruly crowd. Rudabeh notes he seems to guide the laughter that passes through, and is obviously the leader.
The paladin notes white dust on the man's exposed hands, which are callused.
Next is the Green Hood. The curved shoulders are powerfully built, and Rudabeh can see muscles straining through the fabric. The bandit keep her hands hidden under the table, perhaps slightly more experienced. Otherwise she is slender and slim, with a certain grace even seated at ease.
Last, on Rudabeh's right, is a boulder-like figure. Heavy shoulders, thick neck, arms like hams. It doesn't take a genius to realize this one is a soldier, and an experienced ones. Heavy callused hands from wielding a sword rest solidly on the table, skin a tinge of green Rudabeh associates with half-orcs. The left hand is missing half of its fingers.
Of the figures, all but two gave off faint auras of Chaos, with the strongest being the leader at the head of the table.
After the laughter dies away the man at the head of the table speaks again, "Yes, we are the 'rebels', if you want to put it that way. We are opposed to Irovetti's government, at any rate, as all good citizens should be."
A rumble of agreement fills the room then dies away.
"Which is why we wanted to meet you, face to face. So you could hear the truth and not merely whatever lies our so-called king is pouring into your ears."
A few agree but others are silent. Apparently this route of action is not universally agreed upon. Rudabeh reflects that bringing an outsider, no matter who, is a great risk to these people.