Rudabeh smiles as Aurelia runs up to her, lifting a hand and placing it on the girl's head in time with her hug. For a moment the paladin forgot her aches and pains, the impending disaster that could scar the Pact of Year's reputation forever, and the smell of a dead sea hag mere inches away. Much like her biological family, her adopted family of sellswords-turned-soldiers had their faults and caused a lot of problems, but they would get through it together. It's what a family does.
Aurelia's words knock her out of the brief fugue, and she frowns at the new if expected information. "How long has he been gone?" She asks, contemplating if the gnomes took him captive instead. Still, she was proud of the elf for attempting negotiations. Maybe he had cooled down and realized his mistake, though the gnomes did not seem the forgiving type.
"It is all right, Silvui. I'm worried too." The paladin intones before she looks down to Aurelia, her smile returning. "Silvui and I are going to go help Ractus." Next she looks to Litta, eyes filled with determination. "You're in charge, Litta. Pull everyone back a hundred feet, and by The Argent Gate establish a few rear patrols, I walked right up on all of you."
Hand dropping from Aurelia's head, she moves from the girl's grasp and removes her spear from her shoulder, briefly wiping it down and getting ready to stow it. "If we're not back in an hour, burn the town to the ground and bury me by the river." Extending a hand to Silvui, she motions for the rapier at his hip. "This is a diplomatic mission behind enemy lines. We fight with words, not steel." Her eyes flicker to the long knife at his belt. "Keep your side-arm, though, just in case."
Placing the rapier and her spear within her Bag of Holding, Rudabeh then begins to pick up the front of the Sea Hag. "Grab the legs and let's get walking. Once the misunderstanding is cleared up we'll negotiate reparations and hopefully be back to the barge by breakfast." The paladin sounded confident and fearless as ever, though she groans a bit lifting the corpse. It had been a long night.
She starts off for one of the barricades with Hag in tow, her exhaustion paved over by a zeal for peace.
"It has been awhile." Silvui says about Ractus. The man glances up at the Moon, judging i's passage. "An hour, maybe?"
"Longer." Aurelia says quickly.
Litta doesn't react to being put in charge but she does straighten up and nod. Her cool eyes sweep the dark surrounding them, taking in the few captured gnome buildings and the trees. Crickets and night birds sounded in the moon-lit gloom.
"Do you expect trouble?" The huntress asked, quizzically. Finn would have had a field day with such a question. A good soldier always expected trouble, from the worst direction at the worst time.
Aurelia's face pales when Rudabeh mentions her last requests but Litta nods, "I'll have the men ready." Then her face shifts to Silvui, her icy demeanor thawing for a moment when she whispers, "Stay safe, ok?"
Silvui nods and double-checks his long knife.
The wiry man grabs one end of the by-now stiff hag and starts to carry her. They quickly leave the Company's 'lines' and enter the dark no man's land in between. Then Rudabeh discovers something she half expected for a long time. Silvui is one of those men who, when nervous, talks.
"I'm sorry. About before." he says again, struggling not to trip in the dark. "I was just nervous. You were gone and the Captain was gone....Something needed done. I'll try better next time."
He glanced at the hag, gagged and spit. "Do you really think the hag did something? The Captain seemed convinced it was the gnomes." The barricade grows larger in the darkness. 'Should we fly a flag of truce or something? A white flag or whatever? Like in the stories. What if they just shoot us down?"
Evena s he says this a high-pitched voice shouts from ahead, "You! Stop!" There is no movement from the barricade or the other buildings. Rudabeh is impressed by their stealth, then again, gnomes have an easier time of it then humans (or undines). "What are you carrying? What do you want? We'll defend ourselves, if we have to!"
Rudabeh smiles to herself at Litta's question as she imagines Finn's biting response. "I don't know what to expect, but you will be my insurance. It's my goal to stop trouble, but if these gnomes will not respect peaceful negotiations and take us captive they do not deserve to settle here."
The trek through no-mans land felt tense, and she expected to get blasted with a fireball at any moment. Silvui wasn't helping her flagging alertness with his yammering, but she listens all the same. "I understand, I've taken stupider actions in my life that killed far more people than what would have happened here." The undine says dryly as she steps over a misplaced wagon wheel. "But you have to trust Ractus and I and follow orders. We've already made those mistakes, or seen them. You have to do what we tell you so we can all work towards the same goals and keep you as safe as soldiers can be." It was a discussion Rudabeh had been on the receiving end of both by her Sergeants at Outsea. To break the chain of command is to cause more harm than good.
Rudabeh makes a skeptical face when he asks about the hag, not that he can see it. "I thought it was the gnomes too until I met the hag. Honestly I don't know what's going on... If the gnomes were being extorted and wanted to be rid of the hag, if they tried to get us killed, or any other explanation. Brother Braxis claimed he knew nothing of even the clams. We'll find the truth somehow."
The shout from the darkness makes the paladin come to a rattling stop, head swinging back and forth. Nothing gnome-shaped was visible in her darkvision. "I am Rudabeh of Outsea! We are carrying the corpse of the Sea Hag that was living in your lake. We are here to parley with Brother Braxis and clear up this grave misunderstanding. Please take us to him!"
"The truth.." Silvui says, "Maybe. I just hope the Captain is all right. I have a hard time picturing a few gnomes stopping him from coming back."
--------------
Silence at first greet Rudabeh's shout. The mournful call of a whippoorwill echoes is the distance and the paladin wearily wonders when she'll ever get to sleep again. Then her sharp ears hear whispering, arguing voices. Obviously the gnomes seem divided about her request. Rudabeh is busy deciding if this division is good or bad (or just the nature of gnomes) when she hears a voice call out.
"Sea hag?" The tone is curious, confused. "Why did you bring us Sea Hag?"
Then, a different voice, "Brother Braxis is hurt. Brother Zuatuan is in charge now. " Zuatuan? Rudabeh recalls the hot headed hardliner gnome from earlier that day. Great, he's in charge.
"Or so he says!" the first voice rings out, voice full of disagreement. There is more hurried whispering and then, "Come forward. Take off all your weapons but bring the Sea Hag. We will take you to Zuatuan." For the first time, Rudabeh sees some movement ahead, vague outlines hidden amongst the jumbled items blocking the road.
Silvui starts and frowns, "We aren't disarming, are we? I mean, they have Ractus in some sort of captivity."
"Underestimating the gnomes may be what got him into this situation in the first place. Well, and punching their venerable elder. I'm surprised he went in by himself, though. That's usually my strategy... so either I'm not as crazy as I thought or he had a plan that went awry."
----------------
The division amongst the gnomes was enough of a distraction from the fatigue settling in that Rudabeh was able to find the scraps of a possible plan.
"It's proof!" Rudabeh shouts back to answer their quesiton about the hag. "If I merely told you I found and slain a Sea Hag living in your lake, would you believe me?"
The revalation Zuatuan was in charge causes her mouth to crease into a thin line. Zuatuan seemed to actively hate her. She can't blame him, considering how protective of the dam he was, and how much work they put into it. What happened to Ractus seemed cleaerer now- Zuatuan likely did not honor whatever truce Ractus was offering, or Ractus got upset and attacked Zuatuan, too.
Yet as the voices argue, scraps fall into place and a plan to hedge bets against Zuatuan making their life difficult forms in Rudabeh's mind.
"I am already disarmed." Rudabeh states, which was the truth. THe location of her sword was still unknown, her spear was in her bag of holding, and her dagger was lodged firmly in the Sea Hag's heart, where it would stay unless negotiations turned very bad. Silvui's rapier was also in her bag, in case of an emergency. "I expected this, which is why I have your rapier. Don't worry, Silvui, just hand them your dagger. I don't think these gnomes want to fight. Perhaps we can help Brother Braxis and settle this quickly. Have faith."
As Silvui takes the long knife off of his belt, Rudabeh is retrieving something from the few pockets along her faulds, a small vial of liquid. When they approach the barricade and the gnomes reveal themselves, she asks- "I am truly sorry about what happened to Brother Braxis, there seems to have been a misunderstanding. What is his condition?"
Rudabeh listens carefully, attempting to identify the first gnome that seemed to disagree with Zuataun's seizure of power.
To that gnome, she extends the vial. "This is a healing potion. Please give it to Brother Braxis with my apologies. I hope it will make him well enough to join our discussion with Zuataun." She was planning for the worst- if the now self-proclaimed leader of these gnomes would prevent her from speaking to Braxis, perhaps this gnome could circumvent matters and get Braxis well again. A small step towards gaining their trust and beginning reparations.
A small group of gnomes emerges from behind an upturned cart, armed with an odd collection of axes, shovels, hammers and spears. They seem willing enough but Rudabeh knows enough that these are untrained men, at best. Her Company could crush them like bugs, even while attacking a fortified position. Unless, of course, they had some magic at their disposal. You never could tell with gnomes, their link to the First World could generate powerful if unstable sorcerers.
Silvui grunts in disapproval but hands over his knife without a word to the gnomes. He does mutter in Rudabeh's ear, "If we end up captured, Litta will never let me hear the end of it." The many colored heads of the gnomes circle them, like a weird collection of mushrooms. A fairy ring indeed.
A gnome sneers at her question, "Don't try to pry. You're a spy!"
Another gnome elbows him and steps forward, "He's retired to his home and is recovering, from that vicious assault.we are all praying he is well soon."
"Why are you even talking to her?" the first gnome says, 'Let's just tie her up and take her to Zuataun. "
Before Rudabeh can reply a third gnome looks at Rudabeh's rather imposing physique and armor before laughing at the idea. Gnomes are strange captors.
Finally the one that Rudabeh has pegged as a hopeful ally says, "No ropes. We'll take them as they are. And the hag. I guess." the present of the reeking corpse seemed to thoroughly confuse all of the gnomes. Whatever deal the hag had with this town, clearly no one on this barricade had known about it.
The same gnome, who had a head of deep violet hair streaked with amber took the healing potion. He sniffed it carefully, eyeing it in the dim starlight.
The angry, aggressive gnome (who had a crown of carmine hair flecked with mint) scoffed and tried to knock the potion away. 'It's probably poison!"
But the purple haired gnome deftly dodges the blow, even tossing the potion into the hair and catching it. "Seems fine to me. Let's go!"
And with that, Rudabeh, Silvui (and the hag) are escorted deeper into the barricade village. The place is crawling with gnomes, running this way and that, many carrying items Rudabeh guessed were being added to the barricades. She was unsure what a gnomish bathtub would add in the way of the defenses, but one thing was clear. Gnomes didn't do things by halves. Give them a week and there would be a stone wall around this town.
Shortly they are brought before a round, wooden building near the center of the would-be settlement.
"This is the Eye of the Plan." Said the purple haired gnome. 'Zuataun is here. let's go inside-"
His voice is cut off when a voice barks from the door, "No. Outside!" Then, flanked by a dozen well-armed gnomes, Zuataun strides out of the building. The gnome's thin face is cold and stern, but the eyes dance with barely repressed excitement. Rudabeh's hopes for a peaceful diplomatic resolution fades. This is the face of someone who is enjoying the chaos.
'He will enjoy it less when we burn and kill every gnome here.' Teken says, breaking his silence for the first time in a few hours.
"So, you have come to surrender?" Zuataun says darkly, gesturing at Rudabeh. His eyes glimpse the hag's corpse and he shrugs, "And you want us to bury your dead? Is that supposed to move me to tears?"
The small figure snorts and raises his voice, "Because it won't. You attacked us and we won't be cast as the villains! We are merely defending ourselves from brutal attacks, even after we gave you food and shelter." Zuataun shrugs, "So, what are the terms of your surrender?"
"I wouldn't hear the end of it either." Rudabeh responds to Silvui's concerns while they are surrounded by a wide variety of different colored gnomes. It reminded Rudabeh of a sea anemone bed until they started arguing with one another.
She lets the argument resolve itself considering it was entirely to her benefit, handing over the healing potion that served as her back-up plan should she not be able to convince Zuataun they should end this chaos.
Rudabeh's eyes widen and her body briefly stiffens as one of the gnomes attempts to knock the potion out of her potential allies' hands. It was such a clumsy swipe, though, she wondered if the other was really being serious or if this was some sort of gnomish game. Puzzled and little put off, the paladin sets her jaw and begins to follow into the heart of the village.
She was impressed by their attitude and effort, even if they would be utterly crushed by the soldiers following her. Litta, though untested as a commander, seemed particularly ruthless and she doubts there would be little life or structures left if the time limit Rudabeh had set expired. It was hard, maybe impossible, to get soldiers to stop pillaging and burning once it started.
So Rudabeh had to settle this, for the gnomes' sake.
Her attitude changes a little when she sees the wide, excited eyes of Zuataun. Quite... I am glad I gave Litta the orders I did. Should we fail, it would be better to destroy this place than allow it to become the bed of chaos Zuataun would turn it into. But perhaps he can be dethroned peacefully. This peaceful village would become something else in his hands, and Rudabeh was horrified by the thought. Please be ready with the spell, Teken. I may need it.
"Surrender?" Rudabeh booms, her voice easily projecting in the cool night air so all may hear her clearly. "This is a misunderstanding, not a war, Zuataun." Her head turns to address Silvui, quietly. "Let go, thank you." And she takes the full burden of the hag onto her shoulder.
"My name is Rudabeh, Paladin of Alseta." Her words were not addressed to Zuataun- she wasn't even looking at him, but instead her eyes swept the gathered crowd. In a burst of theatrics she hoped would make Irovetti proud, she hunches up and tosses the Sea Hag into the space between Zuataun, his loyalists, and herself. "And this is a Sea Hag that was living in your lake."
The hag lands with a soggy squelch on its back, Rudabeh purposefully tossing it to land face-up where everyone could see its horrible, otherwordly ugliness. She, personally, averts her eyes, having seen enough of it.
Giving the crowd a moment to react and possibly lose anything they had in their stomachs, she continues talking. "That is my dagger which rests in its heart. The heart that raised the two monstrous clams you sacrificed a sheep to every night, Borther Braxis had the wisdom to see they would turn to eating his people should they not be sated by lamb. The soldiers of the Pact of Years killed these clams in exchange for the cooperation of this village, but at a cost of five of our own, for when the clams rolled from the water half our number fell asleep under some strange spell."
"We did not know of the hag when I sent my Captain, Ractus, to investigate the spell's origin that killed our own. Upset over the loss of the men and women under his command, he lashed out at Brother Braxis when he denied any wrongdoing on the villages' part, and for that I am truly sorry. I pray to Alseta he makes a swift recovery, and I have already sent him aid. This is the truth of what has happened this night, and we had never set out to harm any of you!" Her gaze, which had not lingered on Zautan for long, now finally settles on the enigmatic gnome that stepped into the power vacuum.
"I am willing to blame this-" Rudabeh points to the sodden, ugly corpse before them. "Creature of nightmares for the spell that killed my comrades, the spell that has caused us to fight amongst each other. We would all be victims to its schemes, and we can move past it together to be at peace. For I do not wish to believe one of Brother Braxis' flock would turn against his wishes and antagonize the very soldiers he sent to make this settlement safer. Let us all walk away before this is made worse!"
Rudabeh hoped the majority of the gnomes, as strange as they are, wanted the fighting to stop as much as she. Yet the paladin knew she would not get through to Zuatan... so she had to make sure they saw his true nature. To follow him would be following a path of chaos.
Now, Teken, on Zautan. She wills the ifrit soul to bring forth his power and bring the gnome's darkest secret to the top of his mind.
A few of the gnomes openly retch at the sight of the slain hag, but Zautan is not one of them. He merely gives the hag a glance and dismisses it with a casual sniff. Rudabeh notes this as a possible sign of some internal power and skill.
Still, the gnome is not quick to say anything. Rudabeh can see the wheels turning in his mind. Rudabeh offered him an out here, a safe line of retreat and de-escalation. She blamed Ractus for Brother Braxis and held out the hag as the reason for the unconsious Company members. No one present had to take any blame and everyone could walk away. If Zuatuan wanted to engage his little coup or religious struggle or whatever it was, Rudabeh wasn't going to stop him.
The gnome is tempted, that is obvious enough. He hesitates for a long moment but Rudabeh sees a firming jut to his jaw that tells her all she needs to know. Greed and pride are conquering him. Without hesitation she orders Teken to cast the spell. There is no outward sign of the arcane casting, but there wouldn't be.
Did it work?
"A worthy offer." Zautan says with a sneer. Then, his face entirely changes from contemptuous disdain to utter panic as he glances at the solid looking gnome at his side. Ina sudden jerk he stumbles from from the would-be guard, eyes widening visibly in the gloom.
"You!" Zuatuan shouts, voice cracking with fear and anxiety. He points an accusatory finger to his very confused comrade. 'You are in league with this outsider! Yes, you!" His voice gains strength, fitting in this new compulsion with his world view. "How many of you has she bought? And what did she pay with? Gold? Promises of power? Visions? She said she is a witch! This hag is probably her puppet!"
His raving grows in intensity, as the other gnomes glance at each other, shifting a nervous grip on their weapons. A feeling of confusion and doubt flits across their faces, but Zuatuan seems to have no doubts.
"Yes! All of you are against me. She has poisoned your minds. I shall prove it to you!" he rages, and suddenly pulls out a hidden wand from a sleeve. Before Rudabeh or Silvui can react he points it at the dead hag, a sickly green light emanating from his outstretched arm. Rudabeh's mind whirls with concern.
This is not a simple healing spell or lesser resurrection. No, it was clear to Rudabeh's experienced eye this was a necromantic spell and one aimed at a very dangerous target. Such spells were unstable at the best of times, ripping open the very fabric of life and death, but aimed at a powerful spellcaster hag? Gods only knew what the outcome would be. Something far worse then a hag might slither into that gap Zuatuan was opening. And without her sword-
"Enough!" A voice booms and there is a flash of yellow light. From outside the ring a small figure enters, leaning heavily on a weathered stick. Brother Braxis, surrounded by a nimbus of pulsating yellow, glowing with power.
"Enough of this madness, Zuatuan. You risk more then you know. This is something far beyond your petty desire for power."
Zuatuan is past such concerns however for his laughs and says, "You have always feared those stronger then you! So, fear me!" The arc of green light reaches out for the dead hag.
Brother Braxtus merely looks sad and shakes his aged head, "I am sorry, my son." And he closes his hand into a fist. A beam of light shoots from his hand and intercepts the green arc.
A counter spell Teken says in her mind, But a strange one.
And indeed so, the green light is halted in mid-air, crackling against a wall of golden magical enegry. It seethes there for a moment, like a hungry snake. Then, without warning, rebounds onto Zutauan with blinding speed. The gnome has just enough time to shout before it is upon him.
A flash, a roar like that of a great wind and then....nothing. The gnome, his wand and the light is gone, leaving nothing but a tiny patch of blasted and oddly frozen ground.
"It is done." Braxis says, sounding as old as the hills. The light around him flickers and fades and he sinks to the ground. The other gnomes are stunned, seemingly unable to move. Then, the violet headed gnome darts forward and shoves something between the ancient gnome's teeth. A small bottle...Rudabeh's bottle.
The old gnome coughs and sputters as the healing potion is poured down his throat. In a moment his eyes flicker open and he sits up. Surprise in his voice he says, "I'm alive?"
Rudabeh tries not to show her anticipation as she asks Teken to cast the spell they had discovered while experimenting with the armor's power. She would never forget its first activation- poor Boots, who she had always thought was a reliable sort, immediately whirled on her, dropped to his knees, and began confessing a love for his sister that was definitely incestuous and possibily hysterical. It went on for minutes and there was little Rudabeh could do to comfort him. When the spell ended Boots was so embarrassed he asked to be released from his oath and got off on the very next stop.
Poor Boots. To this day she wonders if he ever stopped sending most of his pay off to his sister.
And so the paladin waited for it with bated breath, the sudden hysterics, the revealing of true feeling, and that nagging in the back of her mind that made her wonder what would happen if she were inflicted with such a spell. It was cruel, really, but the truth always comes to light and a village was at stake.
It's working. She thinks when the confusion soon sets into Zuatan's face, but the paladin feels no joy, or surge of triumph. The gnome starts to rave and go mad, turn on his friends... it was just more chaos. She seemed to be making much of it as she did order, lately. Hopefully she would be able to hammer this chaos into order, like a fisherman turning a tangled mess of ropes into a net.
The wand comes out and Rudabeh's face goes from slight concern to sudden panic, her jaw dropping slightly at the type and strength of magic on display. She is already moving, reaching over her shoulder to grab her bag of holding and retrieve her spear when another voice and a flash of light causes her to spin with a clatter that threatens to drown out the booming speech.
Freezing with her bag partially off of her shoulder, Rudabeh darts her eyes between the glowing Braxis and Zuatan. The magical display was beyond her comprehension, even with Teken's helpful identification, and she can only gasp along with the others when Zuatan is consumed by his spell.
Carefully putting her bag back in place over her shoulder, she watches the violet-headed gnome have more wits than she, serving Braxis the potion she had set aside for his healing.
"We are all alive, thanks to you." Escapes her mouth instantly after Braxis speaks, and she glances from the frozen spot where Zuatan once stood and the dead hag just to make sure everything was still as she thought it happened.
Tenatively taking a step forward, she kneels down to put a metal knee into the well-worn ground. "You're alive, but are you all right? What... was any of that?"
"Something very unpleasant." Brother Braxis said, his breath shaky. The old gnome's rheumy eyes flicked to the strangely icy place where Zuatan had once stood. He turns his face to another gnome and says, "Gindottluss, please go and release the elf captain." A few run off into the village, chattering energetically.
Brother Braxis slowly rose to his feet, leaning heavily on both a stick and the shoulder of a younger gnome. After much wincing and grunting, he stands up and looks at the kneeling paladin directly.
"I guessed something dark dwelled in the lake, but I never guessed something as foul as that." He mournfully considered the still quite dead hag. "She never attacked us directly, perhaps unwilling to take so many of us on, but I see her evil managed to creep into some of our hearts. Poor Zuatan." Brother Braxis took a deep breath and went on, "He was trying to reanimate the hag. A risky spell at the best of times, but with such a powerful spellcaster...it could have went very poorly. Her soul was not resting in the arms of the Gray Lady. Gods only know what might have come back with the hag. It was a counter-spell, but I fear I was too strong, too eager to stop him. His spell rebounded and instead of bringing a soul here, he sent a soul, his own, there."
Clearly wishing to discuss something else, Brother Braxis shook his head sadly, "Still, I have you to thank. You could have ordered an assault to reclaim your friend and to gain your vengeance. These are savage times, and I doubt you would have faced any penalty for such an action. You have my gratitude." The gnome offered a wrinkled hand to the armored paladin, "Perhaps we can end this before it gets more out of hand."
A tramp of feet announce the return of Gindottluss and his charge. Half a dozen gnomes swarm around Ractus's much taller form, making him look like an brother romping with his younger siblings. The elf looks mostly unharmed safe a few cuts and bruises from whatever 'crazyness' has happened in the scuffle by the lakeside. He was still bound however, with ropes around his forearms, binding them to his side.
"I said release him!" Brother Braxis wheezed at seeing the restraints.
Ractus merely grinned, flexed, and snapped the ropes. Still smiling he rubbed his hands and, after looking at Rudabeh shyly admitted, "I didn't think you'd approve if I stomped them, Rudabeh." He coughed, looked at the dead hag with interest before adding, "All is well then? We avoided a battle? Good, that was the idea. What took you so long to get back?"
"Indeed, I found no gnome bones in her hut at the bottom of the lake." Rudabeh replies when Braxis suggests the hag never seemed to have an interest in attacking the gnomes. She considers that someone had a deal with the hag... but if anyone, it would have been Zuatan, and he's not answering any questions from whatever hellscape his soul was shunted.
The paladin makes a concerned face over what could have been summoned should the hag's body had been claimed by something extraplanar. Even if she had her sword, would she be able to stop it with as tired as she were? Not only would she have died trying, who knows what would have happened to the village. She had no remorse over Zuatan's demise.
Taking Brother Braxis' hand, she clasps it tightly through the worn and torn lining of her gauntlets. "Revenge is an ever-open door through which hate and harm travel in and endless cycle until one party is willing to Turn the Mask and close the door." Rudabeh repeats a familar addage from The Sacred Kyetstones. "Please, allow me to return tomorrow so we may discuss our agreement about the dam and how we may harvest the dead clam in your clearing. I would also like to attend the funeral for your dead, but I will be conducting funerals of my own soon." Sapphire eyes dart to the dead hag a few yards away. "We will burn the hag tonight."
Looking up as Ractus approaches, she is surprised to see him fairely unharmed. She lets go of Braxis' hand and stands up in a clatter of plates, putting two hands on her knee for support. An annoyed look corosses her face as he snaps the ropes with a flex. Someone was going to have to fix those ropes.
"I was diving for pearls." Rudabeh responds dryly to Ractus' question before breaking into an amused smile. "I have to commend you on attempting to avoid a battle, though I ask you follow through." She gestures to Brother Braxis with an open palm. "Apologize for hitting Brother Braxis, and we can put this behind us."
Ractus frowns and says, a bit defensively, "I didn't hit him. I pushed him. It's a big difference." Which is fair, Rudabeh thought glancing at the elf's massive, scarred fists. If Ractus punches someone, he rarely got the chance to apologize.
Still the follower of Gorum strode over and then got on on knee like Rudabeh. He still towered over the wizened gnome of course, his powerful chest gleaming in the moonlight.
"I am sorry, Brother Braxis. I thought you had caused the deaths of my friends." The big man said simply, "I know better now."
Brother Braxis waved him back to his feet saying, "And I should have asked what you meant instead of just blankly denying your charges. The old should understand the young, not the other way around."
They leave the old gnome being helped back to bed after a very busy day. Rudabeh hopes the old religious figure doesn't fade into the Great beyond quite yet.
Ractus and Silvui are quiet on the way back, with both clearly considering their actions. They almost got shot by a jumpy picket but Rudabeh's armor is hard to mistake, even in the dark.
Litta only has eyes for Silvui when they get back to the little command post, but Aurelia throws her arms around Ractus. The bloodrager grins and squeezes her back saying, "I see you managed without me."
Litta and Silvui gather up the various soldiers and, after Rudabeh explanations and a few brisk orders from Ractus, head back to the boats. A few are still angry at the gnomes but at least it had been the clams that had killed people, not the gnomes. The sight of the hag seemed to muddy the water enough for everyone to move on.
Ractus carried the corpse to a isolated spot and began building the pyre. As the big man gathered firewood and cleared brush he murmured, "It was Zuatuan, Rudabeh. He admitted it to me when they 'tied me up'. He was the one who put our men to sleep. Some of those who helped him are still in that camp. Are you going to let that slide?" Without much dignity, the hag is tossed on top the pile of logs, looking like a discarded doll. The elf made a face, "It somehow even smells worse then it looks." He reached up and pulled out the silver dagger, which was stained with black, tar-like blood. "No need to lose a blade over it. If she pops back to life, there are two of us."
Rudabeh has half a mind to inform Ractus the two actions still stood under the definition of "assault", bu this was not a court and she understood what he meant. So instead she merely shrugs (a gesture consumed entirely by her armor) and steps aside.
She walks as silently as tens of pounds of silversteel would allow her to as they cross "no man's land", wondering about what transpired. After seeing the hunger for power in Zautan's eyes, and his surprising magical prowess, she was beginning to wonder if maybe he was the one to put the members of their company to sleep during the fight with the clams. For being an agent of truth, Rudabeh felt as if she did more to confuse the situation than expose it, but accussing Zautan would have surely led to conflict... just as it did at the joust in Pitax. Could Truth and Peace co-exist? In her morning devotions she would ask Alseta if she did the right thing. Even if she did not recieve an answer, she could reflect.
Rudabeh is picking up kindling for the fire and wondering where her sword had wandered off to when Ractus fills in the void of truth that had been threatening her worldview. "He just... told you?" She says incredulously, straightening up with a bundle of dry sticks.
"Well, that confirms my suspicions." She continues, moving to toss the bundle at the bottom of the pyre. A few sticks bounce back towards her, and she has to pick them back up. "The head has been cut off. According to Braxis, Zuatan recieved a fate worse than death. His soul was sent not to the Boneyard for Judgement, but... well, I don't know, but I would have merely killed him if I had the choice."
The sticks are back in place when the elf goes to lift the hag, and she assists in throwing its form on its final resting place. "I know Zuatan had supporters, but they were just following his lead. Let the gnomes handle their own affairs if they wish to punish the followers of the coup."
She extends a hand to take the crusty blade, making a face at the black blood that seemed to refute gravity. WIth one eye on the hag she kneels down and wipes off as much blood as she can on one of the pyre's logs. "On the topic of coups, I happened upon Silvui trying to convince the rest of the company they needed to attack the village and rescue you. While I commend his initiative, his words were bordering on mutiny considering your orders were clear."
Some progress was made on cleaning her dagger, but she wondered if it would ever be the same again. Perhaps they should hire a smith when they hire a healer. She had less and less time for equipment maintenance these days.
While her bag contained a box of Tindertwigs, those were for emerengices. Rudabeh instead produces a flint and steel, striking it once to produce a shower of long-tailed orange sparks in the air. She kneels in front of the pile of dry moss Ractus had placed at the edge of the pyre and begins to shower it with sparks, puffed turqoise cheeks blowing a steady stream of air onto any smoking portions.
A tiny flame curls into being, quite visible in the darkness. The little orange tendril winds among the moss and flakes of wood, crackling ever so slightly. An aura of red and orange flutters around her cupped hands, reminding her of that strange iron house and Ataabak-e Sardaar-edeem Azam, Irovetti's debtor. An odd memory.
"I'll speak to him, " Ractus rumbles behind her, voice deep in the gloom. "He's a good enough lad, but he doesn't quite have the...temperament for this sort of work. Seriousness. They were tough orders however, I will concede that. Alone, first time in command in hostile territory facing an unknown force? Plenty of first-timers have screwed that up. Better reckless then cowardly." Spoken like a true follower of Gorum.
Then Ractus coughs and goes on in a very different voice, "Speaking of reckless....." he trails off, gathering his thoughts. Under Rudabeh's hands, the fire grows, starting to catch on the dry twigs and sticks the paladin gently fed it. The tiny flame spreads, licking along branches and the orb of orange light grows, now illuminating her face and upper body. It gleams off her dented and stained armor, shimmering brightly.
"You were stupid." Ractus finally says, voice firm. "I could understand attacking the one clam nearly on your own. Full plate paladin? You're practically invincible, if you keep your head. But you didn't. You jumped inside that clam's mouth and left Dannagu to face it, alone."
"You don't even have the excuse of being berserk, Rudabeh. I know you too well. Frankly, I'm not sure what your problem is but you need to ratchet these little solo adventures down a bit. The follow-up into the lake, alone, nearly cost many innocent lives tonight. You are the Commander and patron of this company, and this places heavy responsibility on your shoulders. I know that isn't something you shrink from, Gods know. I don't think I've met anyone as serious as you about duty."
"But it also means you need to pause, and think of what you are risking. Maybe you think it is better to risk your own neck then someone else? That's noble but not always right. Tell me honestly. We lost five tonight. Five good men and women. Would you honestly think it would be better for this Company if I, or even Draze died instead? Less corpses, but we both now I'd be harder to replace. Apply that to yourself, Rudabeh. You aren't a scout or a bannerman. You are the Commander. Fight all you want, Gods know I support that. Just...use your head."
He probably would have went on but there is a rustle behind them. Rudabeh turns and sees a human shape looming in the dark. Behind her the fire is growing steadily and shadows start to dance on the grass around them. The intensifying light reveals Dannagu standing there, face unreadable in the dancing light.
He holds up a massive hand, "I must speak to Rudabeh. Alone." Ractus frowns but then, after a glance at his boss, shrugs and says, "Fine. But we aren't done with this conversation Rudabeh. Also, watch that hag. I don't want to have to fight some cinder ghost or anything." The elf mercenary slips into the dark as quiet as a hunting cat.
Dannagu walks up in silence, eyes fixed on the now sizable fire. The flames have not yet reached the hag, perched atop the logs, but it is close. the scent of smoke fills the air, driving off the clouds of biting insects. Rudabeh can even feel heat now, wood crackling and popping in the glowing fire.
"I have to resign." Dannagu says, his voice heavy but stern. The man does not even look at Rudabeh, instead staring ahead at the dancing flames.
Rudabeh's thoughts linger on Ataabak-e Sardaar-edeem Azam. Would he soon be her debtor? She wondered what the Fire Whale's Heart was really worth, if the efreet was willing to go such lengths to recover it. Yet if his research came to show the ancient souls inside the Heart proved more valuable than the Heart itself, what would he do?
"I argue being told to "Wait" is the most important and basic order a soldier can receive." Rudabeh responds between breaths on the glowing cinders. "Silvui is not fit for command. But maybe one day."
The paladin lets out a snort as Ractus trails off in his broaching of the subject she knew was coming, turning her head to look up at him. "I know, maybe I'm not fit for command either." Is her only comment before focusing again on the fire, and she lets him finish in full before she is about to respond.
Turning her head and opening her mouth was as far as she got before the nearby brush rustles and Dannagu appears. At this surprise Rudabeh stands quickly, and though she knew no human could read her face, it was full of concern.
"I know you're right, Ractus." She calls to the elf as he begins to disappear into the surroundings. "But change is slow." Her attention shifts from the approaching Dannagu back to the Hag, the orange-yellow flames slowly approaching her tarry, wet form. Fire seemed the best way to get rid of the body. Burying it in this swampy soil not only seemed like a disaster in the making, but Rudabeh wasn't so sure if the hag would revive or not. Her grimy dagger was still in hand, and her spear was propped up within arms reach just in case. She had no plans to relax until the hag was nothing but ash.
The skald's words make Rudabeh's heart sink, and guilt forces words out of her mouth even as her head tries to ask questions instead; Why did Dannagu use the phrase "have to?" Why are they speaking about this alone? "I don't blame you. I want to apologize for leaving you to face the clam yourself. I thought I knew clams, that once I was inside it would be dead in seconds. The acid... I had never seen a clam with acid. Just know I chose you because you're the bravest and strongest of our lot. I have been looking for people I can rely on, and you have been the best. But trust is a door, and it must open from both sides. I understand if you cannot trust me anymore." Her confession spills forth, ending with a long sigh. Rudabeh swore an oath to take responsibility for her actions, and she was ready to make it right.
Her head turns away from the hag for a brief moment to look at the human. "Is there anything I can do, any way I can convince you to stay on?"
Danngu seems surprised by her words and shakes his head firmly, once. "Not that. You are the leader of warriors, that is your choice. It is not my place to question such choices, made in the heat of a fight. Besides," the skald adds after a second, "It made sense to me. A clam, no matter how big, cannot bite you if you are already inside." A ghost of a smile flits across his bearded face but fades just as quickly.
"No, the problem is mine, not yours. I cannot be a warrior, a soldier, anymore. It was unwise to try." Danngu blinks, once. "It brings forth my curse. My doom."
The fire pops loudly as the flames catch on a large log. Steam starts to rise from the damp hag corpse, wisps of gray cloud in Rudabeh's low light vision. So far the dead body remains just that as the first tendrils of fire reach the sodden rags, scorching them.
"Tell me, Rudabeh. Do you know of Sarkoris?"
Rudabeh does not.
Danngu grunts, "Do you know of the Worldwound?"
That, of course, Rudabeh knows. The land, to the north, where a portal to Abyss stands open. A land where demons stalk freely, raving at the gates of the Material Plane. It was a place repellant to Rudabeh and all of her ideals. If she had less to attend to here, it was a place she might have ventured herself, to help in throwing back such chaotic horrors.
"Yes, I see you know that one." Dannagu remarks darkly, "Sarkoris is the old name, from before. It is the land of my people. Few remember it as it was. The green fields, the towering forests, the mighty cities ruled by wise and just shamans. We lived there in peace and power, telling old stories and crafting new wonders. Until the End, when the world was devoured."
'Lands depart, and memory takes them
To her caverns, pure and deep.' The big man recited then sighed sadly before going on.
"When I was young I ventured into the land, with other warriors. We sought relics of our ancestors and perhaps powerful weapons. We slunk among the ruins, rats among the greatness of our fathers. Evil eyes watched us, tracked our steps and dogged our rest. One by one we fell, devoured by evil maws. I was the last. Gods be that I had been eaten too."
"But I found an ancient temple, sealed and shut against the infestation of the demons. By my blood I was allowed entry and there...I found the box." This last word is said like a soft curse. "And I misread the words, the magic chants laid upon it. In my haste for power and glory I opened the stone chest and saw inside...nothing."
Danngu laughed darkly, "Imagine my anger! My rage! So many lives wasted, so many haunted nights. So, I smashed the box, throwing it to the ground. There was a great, grinding rumble. The ground shook and the walls of the temple rumbled. My rage was surpassed by the anger of my ancestors, and thus they destroyed their own temple tp spite me. Foolishly, I dodged their wrath and escaped. And then....my curse began." He looked over at Rudabeh, eyes reflecting the dancing firelight. "It was small at first. The feeling of eyes upon me, of being watched even when alone. At first I thought it was the demons but it lingered when I crossed the boundary. Worse, the feeling grew. Like a worm inside my mind. Gnawing. Growing."
"One night, I was sparring with a friend, trying to forget my woes. We fought harder then we should, and broke a spear. A shard flew toward my neck, long as my arm. Sharp as a dagger. But it stopped in mid-air. I looked in wonder and horror as an arm appeared out of air, holding the shard." Danngu blinked again, "An arm made of stars."
Rudabeh seems just as surprised as Dannagu when he not only dismisses her concerns, but provides validation for her choices. It was not what she had expected, and the paladin visibly relaxes as relief floods over her entire body. Dannagu seemed perfectly able and wasn't even upset with her decision. It was still wrong to leave the skald alone with such a monster, but at least someone thought she knew how to fight a calm.
Secretly, she hoped Ractus was eavesdropping, until matters drifted outside of her realm of knowledge.
"Curse?" Her mouth stumbles around the unexpected word as if she were chewing on a piece of willow bark. Compared to the rest of the lands she had traveled, curses were common in the River Kingdoms. In her travels the paladin had seen the spectrum from annoying to deadly, usually brought on by an angry neighbor's hurried, malicious words. She had accidentally broken some of these curses, too, by settling disputes or drawing out apologies from the cursee. Dannagu didn't seem cursed, but it could be subtle...
Rudabeh says little as Dannagu speaks, quite surprised at how much the normally quiet man is saying. His story tells the tale of a different man, a glory-hungry youth avoiding the fate of most novice adventurers- death. It reminds her of the stories her father once told her about his halcyon days around Catokerp before she was born. Given the amount of stupid "get rich quick" schemes her father invented and tried... Rudabeh was lucky to have been born.
Though Rudabeh's limpid eyes widen slightly at the end of Dannagu's story, and there are no words between them for a few seconds- just the crackling of the growing fire. Remembering her duty, she glances over at the steaming sea-hag, watching it for a few seconds as she processes what the kellid just told her. Two points connect in her mind, making a line.
"I don't quite know what to make of your story." She begins slowly, head shifting back to Dannagu. "But do you remember when I asked you about the man made of stars some months ago, the one that saved me from being crushed by the mobogo?" The fire continues to grow in intensity, and light reflects off of Rudabeh's shining armor as if she were a twinkling star of her own. If it were daylight every crow, raven, and jackdaw in a mile would be attempting to puzzle out how to take her shining exterior back to their nest.
"I know you said it was just an arm made of stars, not a full person but... well... it seems similar to what happened to me. Did you see it again? Did it save you from the clam?" The shadow hovering nearby Dannagu briefly flashes into her mind, causing her to start and make a noise like a frying pan being dropped on cobblestone. "I saw something earlier! A shadow in the edge of my vision, like someone was standing over you when I healed you. No stars, though."
Another thought occurs to her, and she grasps at a puzzle piece. "You said there were magic words on the stone chest you found in the temple. What did it say?"
The hag's clothes are smoldering now, oddly dark flames running along the fabric. A new stench rises above the clean smells of burning wood and night air, the reek of burning hair and melting flesh. Despite them horrible smell, Rudabeh is pleased however as the deceased spellcaster doesn't stir as it is incinerated. Hopefully no one will have to kill an undead version.
Dannagu's face darkens and the ironic mask he has been wearing cracks. "Questions, it is all these questions!" The big man wrings his hands together and starts to pace over the dewy grass, glancing from the roaring fire to the still lake. "It is not about questions! Yes, you have seen my curse but that only proves my point. Too often has it escaped my control, revealed itself. This line of work is too dangerous, too stressful. Since joining you, my doom has taunted me many times it seems. Perhaps it enjoys showing others the depths of my depravity and ill-fortune."
Still pacing, his eyes take on a bit of a wild cast, "Or perhaps, it is the other way. Perhaps it is enjoying spreading this curse to others, reveling in the bad luck it causes." Then he stops and turns suddenly to Rudabeh, "Enough! I did not come here to discuss my curse or explore the black cloud of misfortune looming behind it. I came to resign, because I respect you. Do you accept it or will I be forced to desert?"
Rudabeh's nose wrinkles at the smell of burning fabric and hair. She grips her befouled dagger a little tighter at the darkened flames dancing along the hag's silhouette. Merely a trick of the light, or necromatic revenge? She was as unsure of this as she was about Dannagu's problem.
As the kellid seems to panic over the nature of his affliction, Rudabeh turns her head to observe him. She had seen this many times before in many settings- a person, so worked up over their percieved lot in life, thhat they are unwilling to accept any alternative viewpoint or course of action. The paladin listens patiently, only glancing over at the burning hag occassionally.
"It is all right, Dannagu." Rudabeh says calmly, lifting a hand and slowly lowering it in a gesture meant to assauge. She decides to try and refrain the problem, to have him see it at a different depth. Though she uses the land-lubber idiom. "I think you are looking at this in the wrong light. What if this is not a curse, but a blessing? It has saved your life both from unforeseen accidents and the pitch of battle. This could be a silent guardian not just for you, but those around you. I know it helped me, and I am grateful for both it and your presence."
The hag's meager amount of bubbling fat begins to pop and sizzle, which distracts her momentarily, but Rudabeh continues on. "I see you feel guilt for your past actions, but projecting that guilt onto what has only been a helpful spirit is clearly causing you great grief. Every warrior wishes for someone to watch their back and protect them in battle, be it a friend or a god. You seem to actually have one, and the price has already been paid. I say embrace it. I certainly would like to keep you on."
Still, Rudabeh is not the type to merely shove solutions in people's faces, or bend them to her will. Her compromise comes with open, spread palms. "But I understand your trepidation, so please consider this third option. Come with me tomorrow to speak with Brother Braxis, and I will ask him to examine you. If you are truly terribly cursed perhaps he can give advice in lifting it. If he cannot help you or you still feel uncomfortable serving after the diagnosis, you can either travel with us as a salaried non-combatant or I will free you from your oath. I just ask you wait instead of casting yourself out."
Dannagu turns away from Rudabeh at her words, only showing his broad 9and scarred) back to the paladin. But Rudabeh knows how this goes, and she can imagine his expressions and emotions. Hope, that her guesses are correct. Conviction, that her guesses are wrong. Anger, for her openly discussing such a sensitive problem. Confusion, for taking the conversation in a different, difficult direction. And, deep down, fear. Fear that Rudabeh is right and his life has been a life these past few years. Finding out your destiny is not what you expected can be very difficult, even if your thought your fate was also your doom.
Rudabeh also knew the best she could do was to remain silent and let the man grapple with these things, alone. Still, she left him little choice.
"Very well." he says stiffly, still facing away. "I will follow your commands, Commander. " And with that, he marched off into the dark, probably off to a night of little sleep and much contemplation. Rudabeh did not envy him.
Turning back to her other task, she saw the hag was a charred husk by now. Much of the muscle had melted off, the clothes entirely gone. All that remained was a black shape, outlined by surging flames. Bit of blackened bone wrapped by burned meat. One less problem to deal with.
Rudabeh is silent as Dannagu contemplates her offer, though in her mind she wonders if she already said too much. Or maybe she wasn't sensitive enough to his concerns? The last thing she wanted was for Dannagu to desert- it would be a violation of his oath to the Pact of Years,.. and by law Rudabeh would be forced to kill him if they ever met again.
"Great. I will see you soon, then." Are her parting words to the large Kellid. She contempated adding on that he shouldn't consider deserting regardless, but decided to end it there. Surely Dannagu knew what would happen if he ran.
Turning back to the burning hag, Rudabeh follows the outline of the form in the flames for any irregularities, but finds nothing even her suspicious senses could elucidate. Her thoughts turn to the funeral tomorrow for the 5 dead, and how she was to administer it. This was terrible soil for burying, but some faiths insisted on internment... and what would she say? She had to avoid the subject of the gnomes entirely, make it about their service and friends...
Hopefully something will come to me after a few hours sleep. I think we've earned that, at least. Is thought to both herself and Teken. It had been another of many long days in her decade as a paladin of Alseta, and they seemed to be getting more common. The morning's activities already stretched before her- funeral, heal the injured after her prayers, meet with Brother Braxis... and where was her sword?
Maybe she should at least find that before bed.
Finding the sword luckily does not take long. Before she scours the trampled lake shore in the dark, Rudabeh decides to head back tot he barge and see if anyone had the presence of mind to pick up Sixth Peak during the hurried retreat.
To her relief Draze has the mighty weapon sitting next to his bedroll. The older mercenary, having obviously heard what happened with Braxis, Zuatuan and Ractus stood at her approach.
"Well done." He murmurs, quiet enough that his words don't reach any other ears. "I see both you and the Captain kept their heads. Good work. I don't mind a battle if I have to, but I wasn't looking forward to a massacre over a few clams." He hefted the heavy weapon off the ground with a grunt, "One of the lads, well two of them actually, grabbed this when we pulled out. Figured you'd want it back. Nice bit of work. Dwarvish?"
The next morning dawns with a light drizzle that Rudabeh enjoys but everyone else grouses about. But it isn't the watery light filtered through hazy clouds tat wakes her but the rhythmic sound of pounding hammers. Waking up fully, she turns to see a large pavilion being run up on shore, soldiers pounding in large stakes. The heavy fabric is a garish combination of maroon and dark slate, which means it only could belong to one person.
"Rudabeh!" Irovetti calls out when he sees the paladin approach. "Congratulations on your success yesterday. I heard it went quite well? Want something to drink?" A passing servant, seemingly conjured out of mid-air, bears a steaming porcelain mug of something that smell spicy. "I do wish you would have come to me, however. I have always had a talent for dealing with other species. I imagine I could have saved everyone the unpleasant business of diplomacy." He pulls a sad face but then shrugs, rumbling with some unseen mental agenda.
"Someone mentioned a funeral and I thought you might appreciate some assistance." The short man seems quite pleased with himself, despite the plinking of raindrops on the tarp above. "I was thinking a full dress parade, complete with procession. Obviously their will have to be some speeches. I took the liberty of coming up with a few lines of verse." A very large stack of papers rustles wetly, as the (former?) king brandishes them. "Perhaps a reenactment? To properly give context to their heroic sacrifice, with some tasteful sacrifice. Will the gnomes be attendance? I know gnomes are often musical, perhaps they could provide a requiem choir?" he says this last bit musingly, the images apparently already swirling in his mind's eye.
Rudabeh miles at Draze, the edges of her burnt and cracked lips not reaching as high as they would if she were fully rested. "Thank you. I agree, slaughtering a whole village over some clams... Well, I'm jut glad it did not come to pass."
Reaching out a hand to grap The Sixth Peak by its unsharpened lower portion near the hilt, she effortlessly hefts the weapon to her eyes, inspecting the blade before laying out another hand for it to rest on. "Indeed, I was told it was made by a team of craftsdwarfs in Maheto. I recieved it as payment for a job some years ago and it has saved my life about as many times as it has taken others." The paladin says dourly, knowing that unlike an axe or a hammer, spear or bow, a sword is ultimately a tool of death. "I can only hope that one day only the mere threat can bring peace."
Rudabeh realizes she is tired and waxing on about her personal philosophies. "Not that the clams seemed to care. They could have done with a little more fear. The company easily outmatched them in bravery." Her head tilts as she remembers Ractus' words, that Draze was in charge of the wounded. "How many injured do we have? I will fix up as many as I can tomorrow, after my prayers. Alseta willing, we can find a real healer in Outsea to hire so our injured don't have to sit around in pain for days while they wait for me to patch them up." Not one to waste time, the paladin retrieves a cleaning cloth, oil, and a stone to hone her blade. There were numerous stains along its surface from the acid, and the orange temper caused by the explosion in Pitax around the fuller had turned more brown than usual. The acid-etching of the smoking mountains had suffered too, smeared in some places. Nicks along the blade and tip said The Sixth Peak had been through much, and she wondered if there was a smith skilled enough in Outsea to restore it before the problems effected its use.
-----------------
Distant hammerblows knock her out of dream where she was helplessly watching a sea hag eat her good dreams and wretching nightmares in their place. Unfazed bt groggy, she attempts to struggle out of the hammock only to be paralyzed by the painful spasming of her back. With a groan trough clenched teeth she waits for it to pass, nearly falling out of the hammock to just start moving. She finds herself looking down at her webless blue hands against the dark wod of the hold, red cuts and purple bruises dotting her fingers and knuckles from last night's fighting. She had started the process of collecting scars again, it seemed.
Pushing herself upright, Rudabeh starts to walk barefoot topside, stopping briefly to flinch and check her feet- the acid had seeped into her boots and blistered much of her cerulean skin, including her heel. The webbing between her toes was yellowed. It was lucky she didn't lose any more flesh- her sturdy boots next to her hommock smelled of bile and had taken on a patchy, light coloration that had refused to take any leather cream last night. Would they ever be the same again?
Sucking up the pain and limping topside, the undine crests onto the deck to be met with dark clouds and a refreshing drizzle that momentarily makes her day much better. The strange pavaillion, which was clearly a product of one former king of Pitax, doesn't do much to dampen her mood. Surely he had a good reason. Surely. She approaches, her Steward's Iron Key boucning gently with her pained steps.
"Oh, it-" She begins to reply to Irovetti when a servant appears. Where had he come from? This question and many more vanished form her mind at the smell of the dark liquid, and she gladly takes it into her hands. The warmth was painful against her cut and burned palms, but it was merely thrown onto the pile of aches she had this morning. "Yes, thank you." Rudabeh bows her head lightly to the servant.
The steaming liquid reaches her lips quickly, and she sips it while listening to Irovetti. She wonders many things- Was she ruining this perfectly nice, cool and rainy day ny drinking a hot liquid as the humans do? If Irovetti was so good with other races, why were all his servants and friends humans? Was the man going crazy with nothing to do holed up on the barge, which prompted his sudden action?
A bit of beaded water runs down Rudabeh's oily jet-black hair as she leans her head back to take another sip, unnoticed as it travels down her neck to be stopped by the edge of her grabby blouse. She was half-listening to Irovetti until the papers come out. Eyebrows raise, and she extends a hand to the moistened stack of verse. "Maybe not a reenactment. Or parade. We don't actually have uniforms, yet. And if the gnomes are going to be here I was not informed." She says simply, moving her wrist in an effort to get the papers to stand up straight with one hand. "Though I think it is important we establish some traditions within the company, and you are the perfect canidate to design them. The dead should be honored, and some songs would be an easy and elegant way to both recall our history and send off souls to the Boneyard. I'll look through these."
With a gesture to the general surroundings with her mug she concludes: "Thank you for doing this."
Irovetti's eyes lit up at the mention of tradition and 'design'. The pudgy man smiled and then looked away from Rudabeh, eyes searching the misty haze around them.
"You, boy!" The former king shouted imperiously, voice oddly muffled by the damp air. Half visable in the murk, a thirty something solider marred by pox and gangly limbs looked surprised. He pointed to himself in obvious confusion and question.
"Yes, you!" Irovetti snapped impatiently, "Your Commander needs you. Come on, on the double!" With that the solider trotted over, ducked under the wet canopy and sketched a very off kilter salute to Rudabeh.
"I have been thinking about uniforms. Honestly, it is a shame we did not remain in Daggermark long enough to employ a tailor. Does Outsea have the proper facilities?" Irovetti asked idlily, setting down his steaming cup. "Still, I have given it some thought. You, stand here, arms at your side." This last command is given with enough starch to match a drill sergeant. The poxy man stood to stiff attention and then....was wreathed in light.
A glimmering aura surrounded the man, quickly weaving into a loose, billow halo.
"I was considering something exotic." Irovetti said, voice studied and even but Rudabeh could hear the excitement underneath. 'Something that stands out. What would you say to this? A bit of Qaduira flavor?" The light shifted and suddenly the rather lanky man was clothed in fabric of glittering gold shot through with ribbons of jet. It was baggy around his arms and legs, but tightly drawn at his waist in a gleaming belt. His sword glinted with diamonds and a small turban sat atop his head, one end trailing down his back in an artless fancy.
Irovetti looked at it, squinted then waved his hand. The turban vanished and was replaced by a gold fez, jauntily tilted. 'Which do you like better?" It slowly dawns on Rudabeh she has stepped into a fashion show and Irovetti would happily do this for hours. The rain drums on the canvas as the (former?) King quickly displays a number of designs and outfits, most of them outlandishly outrageous and based on stereotypical national costumes. He is painstakingly creating an 'Ulfen' warrior when Ractus emerges from the mist.
"They don't wear horned helmets." the elf says, gazing at the rather imposing looking illusion. "I know they stories say it, but I've seen Ulfen berserkers. Not a single horn."
Irovetti looks like the mercenary had kicked his dog.
Ractus turns to Rudabeh, "Are we going to do this? I ordered a detail to start gathering firewood and to dig a grave." Seeing Rudabeh's question, "One of them was a dwarf, Torag fellow prefer burial. Even if the 'ground' is glorified mud," Ractus shakes a boot to demonstrate, scattering a spray of sticky soil which Irovetti dodges with a mutter oath.
"Anyway, Ostend wants to know if we are destroying the dam first or if we have to turn around and go around?"
Rudabeh seems taken aback when Irovetti suddenly calls over a "boy", and she wondered if he was going to start calling her "girl" at some point. A frown crosses her features when he commands the man over as if she had ordered it. "I did not-" She begins to say before getting cut off by an incredibly excited Irovetti. An exasperated glance is shot to the poor soldier, and she just shrugs.
"I don't think the landlubber side of Outside is going to have the... breadth of fabrics you prefer, or the ability to make as many as we would need." She says plainly, taking a sip of her drink and watching the illusions with honest interest.
"A dress uniform should stand out, yes..." Rudabeh does agree on that point, though she has found giving Irovetti any measure of encouragement merely emboldened rather than assuaged. "Definitely the other hat. The wrapped cloth one would become completely soaked with sweat." Still, he sort of knew what he was talking about, and there had to be a good idea or two in there somewhere.
Her face changes through several expressions throughout the illusionary show, running the gambit between disappointed and intrigued. There were certainly some ideas here... maybe if she strained them through someone more sensible they could actually come up with something decent.
"Perfect." Rudabeh responds to the elf Captain that he had already started the needed preparations for the funeral. "I feel sorry for that dwarf, he's going to get flooded out of his grave in a few years... hopefully he will reach Torag's anvil before then." The cup of steaming liquid between her hands had been emptied, and she was feeling energized. Gesturing to the seemingly magical servant that had appeared with another pitcher, the undine has the cup re-filled and promptly hands it off to the soldier that had served as their mannequin.
"For your service." She says with a wink before turning to Irovetti. "Let's table this for now, but I'll keep in mind what you have shown me so far." Another turn, and she's facing Ractus. "We are not destroying the dam, the gnomes should still be dismantling it. I will be meeting with Brother Braxis after the funeral to make sure the gnomes are sticking to their part of our deal, get specifics, and discuss salvage rights concerning the calms. Everything should go to us, of course, but we could give the meat or some bits of shell to the gnomes if we need to smooth over any bumps."
Reaching up a hand, she presses it to her forehead and skims fingers through her black, greasy hair, causing some water that had beaded there to be lost within the strands. "I will tell Ostend. I need to get in my armor, perform my morning devotions to Alseta, heal our wounded, and then I will give the eulogies and see off our dead." It was already a busy morning, and she needed to get started. Irovetti's song sheets hang heavily in one hand. Maybe she could skim them while she was being outfitted with her armor and choose one...
As Rudabeh dragoons a few passing soldiers to help with her armor, the paladin wonders if she should get a page. On one hand it seemed a bit silly and indulgent, to have what amounted to a personal manservant. Irovetti's own usage of such manpower left her uneasy. On the other hand, it would be a great help with the armor and such apprenticeship was a traditional way for someone else to get started. Maybe she should ask around in Outsea? Was there another undine looking at her own path?
Teken is still pouting so remains generally silent but resident in her mind while she works through her prayers. The silent prayers calm her mind but, as usual, engender no divine response. That might not be all bad since the last time she 'met' Alseta face-to-face was while falling off a wall during an explosion.
Speaking of injuries, she makes her way to the impromptu field hospital, literally nothing more then a few cots thrown up under some shady trees near the river's edge. Such things were common of course, since magical healing made mundane medical care unimportant in most units. Still, the fact these men had been here overnight with broken arms and bleeding wounds makes the undine wince. She had to get a cleric or something in Outsea, even if they were a amateur.
Still, she does what she can with her limited healing abilities. Luckily no one is near death and event he broken limbs are splinted and safe. The undine is more worried about the open cuts and wounds, invitations to infection. It takes 5 uses of her healing to fix those most at risk, and probably he same amount tomorrow to heal up the rest. The men are encouraged by her care and most insist on attending the funeral, even if they have to be carried.
As she looks for Dannagu and wades through some small talk with other soldiers, Rudabeh realizes the story of last night has...grown in the telling. Apparently most of the men assumed she was the one to gain vengeance on both the hag and Zuatuan, both of which are blamed for the poisoning. While Rudabeh is uncomfotable at the level of untruth being circulated, it does mean any antagonist feelings toward the gnomes have diminished. The paladin is still working through how that makes her feel when she finds Dannagu.
The big man looks haggard and tired, clearly not having got any sleep last night. He is sitting under a spreading willow, cross legged in the soft loam. His war drum sits in front of him, but unplayed, looking rather pathetic. As Rudabeh pushes aside the veil of foliage, he says, "Why do you care so much, Rudabeh? You could just let me resign and walk away. My troubles are not your troubles. I am not of your tribe or family. I'm not even an undine."
Rudabeh wonders what it would be like to have a servant, or a squire- the thought annoyed her more than anything. Not only did she prefer to do everything herself, there was the matter of paying and teaching them. Though she never recalls Finn ever paying her anything... Maybe that was simply part of the deal. Still, Rudabeh found herself with smaller and smaller amounts of time lately, and she thought it would be ironic that finding a squire to save her time would inevitably consume more of her time.
And yet, as she stands to her full height after being clad in armor by her compatriots, her Iron Key gently taps against the curve of a shining fauld. She had no children, and at the rate her life was going she was likely to die before finding the right person to start a family. Maybe she should hedge her bets, and find someone to at least pass along her ideas to.
Thanking the soldiers for their help, she notes the silence in her head. It had to be Teken, still brooding from previous day. At least she didn't have to explain why the giant clams were dead to Seqhi.
Taking the steps back up to the deck of the barge, Rudabeh takes a sudden left, walks straight to the gunwale, and effortlessly vaults over it. The freefall lasts only an instant before her discolored boots pierce the top of the water, and the undine enters the river with a great splash. Bubbles pour from every crevice of her armor as she sinks to the bottom, still in thought. Here I am thinking of legacies and passing along my thoughts... It is not befitting a paladin of Alseta. Who am I to say my ideas are better than another's, more worthy or requiring special attention in the endless seas of philosophy? As if some perfect pupil will suddenly appear, wanting to emulate me because I am so great. The ego of the thought. No, I should just use a spell to armor myself every morning. As she sinks she feels her aches vanish, and bruises cease their pounding hurt. The water's gentle caress rejuvenates her flesh, welcoming her home.
Her boots touch the river bottom, and she takes up her Iron Key, gripping it tightly in stitches the poorly sewn-up gauntlets. Alseta, I stand before you troubled and questing for answers. I seek to protect those around me, these soldiers who are alike a family not bound by blood but by oath, and yet others tell me I should put my safety before them. Their words... I know they are right, that without me this company would crumble, but how can I acknowledge this and remain humble as you have taught me to be? Is this truly the correct way, must I grow bigger so I can put my arms around all here? If they to protect me because I ordered them to, is it not I that killed them? But if they protect me out of love, or duty, then is it as a family would protect one another? Perhaps... perhaps... If I make myself the head of this family, the natural order will follow that the head should be protected. I will not have to ask anyone to do so, it will simply happen. If I make a model out of you, my goddess, they will see your way is the safest, despite our dangerous calling, and follow willinging. Please, Alseta, bless us, for I strive to build a force that walks softly and strikes only when there is no other option, whose threat alone could bring peace.
With a bubbly sigh Rudabeh drops her hand, letting go of her Iron Key. It quickly falls in the water, catching on its copper chain. She feels spiritual power fill her, a warmth only the truly blessed know. Turning a hand on herself, she pours positive energy into her body, and finally- her feet stopped hurting.
Rudabeh is nearly shot by a jumpy sentry as she emerges head-first from the edge of the river in a great glut of water and a sudden shining visage despite the dark sky above. Her seemingly cloudy unblinking eyes are locked with the archer's own even as water streams over them, nose gushing like a wellspring as she empties her lungs. Her shoulders crest the water as the archer relaxes with a nervous chuckle, and Rudabeh smiles at them, the nicitating membrane over her eyes slipping back into her sockets to reveal the clear blue orbs that rest within.
"Good reaction time, soldier. Never trust a ripple in the water until you can see its mouth." She lightly praises the guard while soddenly trotting up the enbankment to the field hospital to tend to the wounded.
She wonders for the fifth time as she mends another broken leg who they could get to be their company healer. Rudabeh knew some healers in Outsea, landlubber and amphibian alike, but to pick up and travel in a fighting company... it took a rare sort. The paladin leaves wet handprints on everyone, but she hoped
Thoughts of rumors worry her as she searches for Dannagu, and she is already crafting a speech at the funeral to set the record straight when the kellid's sad form is finally spotted under the grand arms of a willow.
She is kneeling down to his level even as he speaks, causing water to vomit from one boot onto the ground beneath her. "You are wrong on two of three counts." The paladin says evenly, as she attempts to be more... parent-like. Or something. "We are a kind of family, even though we share no blood. Your troubles are mine, even though we share no name." She reaches up to put a wet hand on his shoulder. "We, and everyone here, share a bond of battle, and then a bond born of an oath to serve the Pact of Years. We are a family, united in experience and purpose, and I look after everyone just as they look after me. You're not alone in this."
Her hand drops, and she reaches for her bag of holding. "I have some music here for the funeral, will you help me pick out one for us to all sing?" The massive stack of papers appears in her hands, still moist.
The rain has picked up, and it pings off her armor as she stands over the pyre and the single grave. In front of her, men and women squeeze under Irovetti's tent but they couldn't exactly burn the bodies under canvas. Ractus grumbled about the rain but Aurelia assured them that wet wood wouldn't be a problem.
The rain and Ractus's glare have managed to keep Irovetti's more...ebullient proposals to a minimum. The short man hovers under the brightly colored tarp, but lacks his usual reutine of servants and helpers. The (former?) King looks odd, crowded by mercenaries. Rudabeh spares a moment to ponder how these fighting men and women view the bearded Pitax nobleman. Confusion? Disdain? Acceptance? None of the face around him reveal anything.
Standing firmly in the rain is Dannagu, drum at his side. They picked out the music together and the big man apparently takes this duty seriously. Rain runs down his chest and arms, ignored, while he waits for Rudabeh's signal to start the music. Picking something tasteful out of Irovetti's collection was not easy. Rudabeh couldn't be sure, but she thought the Taldane Funeral Dirge might be a bit much for this crowd.
At her feet, a thin layer of water starts to gather in the grave, muddy clots beginning to float. Burial is not the easiest task in the River Kingdoms. She wonders if Torag will think less of the man for being entombed in clay mud instead of under a granite slab. Hopefully not.
Rudabeh feels many pairs (and some singlets) of eyes upon her as she stands in front of the covered pyre and the muddy, weeping grave. Droplets softly bounce off of her helmet and pauldrons in a steady tempo as if it were a hymn to Gozreh's life-giving bounty from the sky.
There is no discomfort or doubt in her upright posture, and her hands are animated as she launches into speaking to the group. "Before we begin I want to dispel some rumors I have heard circulating." Cool, limpid eyes look across all the faces in the crowd. " Yes, I killed the sea hag, who was responsible for raising the clams we fought. The gnomes at large seemed to have no knowledge of her, or the existence of the clams. Later Ractus brought to my attention that Zuatan, not the sea hag, was ultimately responsible for the spell that put our brothers and sisters to sleep. He wished to see us fail and the dam remain standing. In the end it was the leader of the gnomish village, Brother Braxis, not I, that turned Zuatan's magic against him and sent his soul to a dark place far from Pharsama's boneyard."
With the spreading of her hands, Rudabeh seamlessly transitions from her duties as a paladin to spread the truth to her role as a spirital guide. "I give you this truth here, by the bodies of our brothers-and-sisters-in-arms, with the hope that any lingering souls will find the justice carried out against Zuatan satisfactory. Our friends gave their lives bravely fighting unknown beasts in the service of the Pact of Years, carrying their duty to uphold the River Freedoms in their breasts with them to their final rest. They will be honored for their sacrfice as any soldier should. Henceforth, their names and monikers, and any else who die under our company oath, will be enshrined in our company records and retired from use. There will only ever be one Sap, one Gemeye, one Peach, one Filch and one Little Snake for as long as we are together. When we speak of their deeds, we honor them. When we laugh at the good times spent with them, we honor them. When we take up the sword and miss their presence at our flank, we honor them. Speak of them often, and speak of them well, for we are a family whose bonds are born not of blood passed down, but of blood spiilled for one another. I ask you to remember there is nothing stronger."
A brief pause, and she asks of the crowd: "If there is any objects anyone wishes to leave on the pyre or grave to send along with our brothers and sisters in their journey, please do so now."
After there have been takers or not, Rudabeh folds her hands at her waist, face settling in a serious, dour expression. "Please join me in personal prayer for the souls of the departed for the duration of a song in their honor. Together, let us guide them in the transition from our mortal lives to the Boneyard."
Turning her head, she nods at Dannagu to begin the music. Then, with a quick swivel, she locks eyes with Aurelia and nods to start the pyre.
At her feet, the dwarf's grave continues to swell. Almost nervously, Rudabeh fingers her Iron Key, the metal still warm despite the rain, cool air, and the leather of her gauntlets. It didn't sit right with her, knowing his body would be washed into the river with the next heavy rain. Surely Torag would forgive the circumstances, but what if his soul somehow becomes lost in Hanspur's domain? Her fingers tighten around the Key's thick loop, and she prays.
Alseta, these soldiers have given all their mortal shells can give in service of the sparse laws of this land at my orders. I ask but a small boon for this one- keep their remains entombed in Torag's earth, as they would have wished, until their soul has found its way to Pharasma's judgement. She attempts to tap into the power of the Iron Key, sealing the grave.
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Cremation ceremonies are part of the mercenary life, and Rudabeh attended plenty of them during her time with the Bastard Brigade and even one or two during her time with the Outsea militia. The fact that these five people get a full funeral is a luxury in a way, for many times an army has no time or energy for such affairs. A quick brush fire or hole in the ground is an all too common way for a sellsword to end their career. The face's of the men and women of her Company are somber but not overwrought. Death is expected, part of the price they pay. The close friends (or lovers) of the dead will carry heavy burdens but the real tears will flow in private sessions with a tight knit circle. Public mourning is not military practice.
Rudabeh's true account of what happened during the chaotic night is received with mixed reviews. For once he golden reputation works against her. While everyone in that crowd knows Rudabeh tells the truth they also know she is quite keen on making peaceful amends with the gnomes. Clearly more then a few assumed she slanted the story to make Braxis look good and create Zuatuan as a scapegoat.
Ah well, at least she tried.
There is a murmur of interest when Rudabeh remarks their names will be 'retired' from the Company. It is greeted with nods and general agreement, and the paladin can already see the idea turning into part of the Company legend. It will help cement these early losses in people's minds and preserve their memory. She does note a quick grin from a set of men who already share the same name. Davin and Davin. Nicknames....
When she calls for items, a few people shuffle forward. The Company is not a cohesive whole yet, but most joined as part of small groups of friends. Despite the bard's tales, few sellswords are strict loners with nothing but a blade and a name. Ractus and Draze are proof that real mercenaries are social creatures.
Despite that, it is still a rather pathetic ritual in the drizzling rain. Sap is left a small sewing kit (although Rudabeh suspects the valuable contents have been emptied, to be used by the living), because they apparently did his squad's clothing repairs. Gemeye, the dwarf, has a bag of rattling glass marbles dropped in his grave. Rudabeh recalls he enjoyed making them as a hobby and giving them away to children in the little towns they floated through. The paladin hopes Torag is paying attention.
A young man ties two hair ribbons around branches near Peach, a tear mixing with the rain. A battered old coin on a string is left with Filch. Little Snake is given no mementos.
At her gesture Dannagu starts to beat the drum to a solemn, steady beat. The rain keeps falling, oddly keeping time with the man's skilled hands, lightly thrumming the hide of his instrument. Aurelia whispers a word and the pyre suddenly ignites in roiling yellow flame. Unlike the slow greasy burn of the hag, this is a hot, sudden fire that mercifully hides all the bodies at once behind a cleansing sheet of fire.
Rudabeh sends a prayer aloft and is, to her surprise , graced with a reply. The sodden, muddy earth of the grave trembles slightly and then collapses inward. It fills it evenly and fully, even mounding up slightly, against all the laws of nature. Rudabeh feels the slightest feeling of warmth and approval from the Key, but it is enough. Alseta (and perhaps Torag) approves.
The fire crackles, and the rain continues to fall. All is quiet for a moment and then a voice raises in song. It is a clear and fine mezzo-soprano, untrained but pure tinged with emotion. Rudabeh notes, to her surprise, it is Litta. All listen to her and then Silvui joins in, his voice a strong tenor. Clearly the Varsisian has some musical training as he matches Litta note for note.
Others start to join in. Most are simply the rough best attempts of men used to marching and work songs. Humble, gravelly but on the beat. Aurelia's voice is a cracking soprano while Ractus is a ringing bass. It doesn't sound bad actually, the chorus of voices rising over the drum, fire and rain.
Oddly, Irovetti does not sing.
If Rudabeh hadn't been anticipating the flame, she may have jumped at the sudden conflagration of the pyre. Aurelia's power continues to surprise her; how long would it be before this human waif was wielding enough power to burn down a house with all the people inside? It was a pragmatic manuever, one she had witnessed Kosin Tart perform at Finn's orders to flush out a group of bandits they had been hired to hunt down.
Rudabeh doesn't think Finn intended to burn them all alive, but the dark silhouettes of her comrade's bodies reminds her nothing except screams escaped that house. When they picked through the ash, there were skeletons small enough that the only swords they probably held were wooden toys...
Would Rudabeh ever be able to order Aurelia to do such a thing if it meant saving some of her own a fight? Would the kind-hearted sorcereress follow such a command?
Thoughts of future struggles wash through her mind as the drum beat starts, and she turns towards the loose grave at her feet to pray.
Anyone that was focusing on Rudabeh's face would see her eyes suddenly pop open in shock as she feels divine power manifest nearby. Her mouth falls open slightly in astonsihment as the ground rebuilds itself, and she is attempting to control her breathing, to keep from falling to her knees in jubilation, when the dirt rolls up into a neat little mound.
While Rudaeh's faith was strong, she had also spent a decade and a half praying and practicing her faith. It was one thing to be blessed, to recieve your daily allotment of divine power to carry out the teachings and tenants of your goddess, but to have a spontaneous request fulfilled was a true miracle. To everyone present it was probably assumed this is just another thing Rudabeh can do- but to her, it was another secret interaction between her and Alseta, another blessing to treasure forever.
It was only Rudabeh's undine heritage keeping her emotions in check in front of the company, the sturdy wall bringing the tightness back into her jaw and forcing her eyes forward off of the grave. Yet, as the company begins to sing, another massive wave of emotion smashes against the wall holding back her tears. Emotionally compromised by the miracle, the welling of pride she feels at the comradry on display is nearly too much.
The paladin is visibly moved as voice after voice joins the chorus, and the obsverant among them can see it was sheer force of will holding Rudabeh's sturdy demeanor together. She wants to join their song so badly, but she feels the rawness of her throat, the mucus in the back of her mouth stunting her breath... and decides to join anyway.
Her singing voice, typically a booming mezzo-saprano, cracks at first, making her clear her throat and try again. She takes a deep breath and manages to sing along softly, fully embracing the moment where they all come together not over battle or duty, but the steep price they must pay as a community for the work they do.
Dannagu's drums beat their final notes as they wrap up, and Rudabeh has a warm smile that seems to envolope all of them, dispelling the cool touch of the morning's rain for just a moment. "Thank you." She repeats it again, softly. "Thank you. We can rest easily, knowing they will find their way." Bowing her head to the group in a wordless dimissal, she turns and walks to Dannagu. A hand is extended to help the kellid up, so they can see to their next task of the day.
It is hard to walk somberly while encased in a clattering set of armor, but Rudabeh does her best. Danngu is quiet, almost sullen, at her side and she gives the big man his space. Whether this visit was confession, medical visit or magical investigation it obviously meant a great deal to the Kellid. It was not her first such intervention and the paladin knows to give him space.
Behind them the company starts striking the tents and putting out fire pits. Ractus would not ride them very hard the day of a funeral but it was also a bad idea to let them stew. Best to give them work to do. The Company would be ready to move when they returned, she is sure of it, even if taking down Irovetti's canopy required mathematical charts.
The pair of them venture toward the gnome town, the river swirling away to their right. Rain continues to fall just on the edge between mere mist and real rainfall. It feels good on Rudabeh's skin, refreshing her. The only real downside is how soft the ground is, squishing under her armored weight. Danngu, on the other hand, looks like a wet dog left out overnight. His head hangs low, his dark eyes lost in thought.
Between the mist and undergrowth they do not see the gnomes until they are nearly on top of them. Rudabeh gets a glimpse of an entire procession of gnomes, a few bearing wooden coffins before they scatter into the woods with shouts of alarm and confusion. It is quite shocking seeing dozens of brightly colored people the size of kids darting this way and that and then...vanishing. How did they do it?
They left behind only one figure, bent and old, leaning on a stick. He is hunched against the falling rain, water pooling in his hood. Brother Braxis looks up at them with milky eyes.
"Ah, my apologies, Paladin of Outsea. I did not expect you so soon or I would have told them to takr a different route." He gestures vaguely to the long gone gnomes. "You interrupted a gnomish funeral."
Rudabeh had no idea what a gnomish funeral was like. There had been gnomes in the Bastard Brigade but they had merely been burned like nearly everyone else.
Seeing her expression Brother Braxis went on, "A true gnomish funeral is done like this, although I hear the tradition is dying in the cities and towns. You take the dead and the community carries them into the woods. One by one people leave the procession, in order of how well they knew the dead. So the procession slowly shrinks to family and close friends until only one remains. That person hides them in a secret place and never tells a soul where the body is found. Then all return to the community and we hold a feast and party. A good gnomish funeral can get quite...rambunctious."
A ghost of a smile passes his aged face, probably at the memory of a hundred such revels. Then he sobers, "And your own ceremony? I know those of humans prefer fire and ash. Not easy on a day like today." A large drop of water slips off his nose and yet , somehow, does not diminish his dignity.
He glances up at Dannagu, "A bodyguard? I do not blame you after last night." But his face is cunning and Rudabeh guesses the old gnome has an intuition why Dannagu is here.
Rudabeh was glad to see the comppany already deconstructing from the funeral. They would have plenty of work to do if they were going to harvest the giant clam left on the battlefield, but the negotiations came first. Everything seemed so simple before Zuatan's betrayal, but now she needed to reassess where the gnomes stood... later, she would have to haggle with Ostend about loading such a large amount of mother-of-pearl onto his barge, but surely a cut of the profits would convince him.
Trudging through the mud towards the gnomish town, RUdabeh swears she feels something squish between her toes. Was there a hole in her boot? For a human this could lead to some horrible foot disease, parasites, or sloughing skin, but to her it was just annoying. They needed a real craftsperson on the company payroll, or maybe she really should get a squire...
She is surprised out of her silent wonderings when gnomes suddenly flee in all directions like a jet of ink from a startled squid. The paladin stops quickly and looks around in confusion before the singular figure of Brother Braxis remains.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry." She says sincerely on learning she interrupted the funeral, lifting a hand to her breastplate. "Should I come at a different time? Dams and clams are not the business of funerals. I would offer to join out of respect, but I'm afraid I would be one of the first to leave."
At the question of their own funeral, she nods solemnly, causing water to drip down from her visor in the downward motion and whip back into her face when her head returns upright. Rudabeh doesn't even blink. "Fire for four, and one burial by request. So you know, there is the deep grave of a dwarf marked by a bag of marbles near our encampment. I don't think Gemeye would mind if the marbles were taken, as long as they were given to the children of your village, but he wished to remain in the ground until Torag took his soul."
Her head turns to the soggy, sad Kellid when Brother Braxis. "While Dannagu is a soldier worthy of such a title, he is not my bodyguard." Her head swings back, a hand reaching down to brace on one of the faulds of her armor. "We seek your wisdom on a matter personal to him." Ever a keeper of secrets, Rudabeh is not about to reveal Dannagu's problems in front of an entire gnomish village.
The hand resting on her hip reaches out, palm up. "I also would like to extend the succor of Alseta to any of your wounded. I have enough magic left to help three of your people, and can do the same tomorrow."
Brother Braxis waves off her concern, "Do not be concerned. They will act outraged by a little chaos is considered good luck for a gnomish funeral. We hoped to run into a bear or something, your interruption is a good omen that the Lucky Drunk is watching over us...as well as any new players on the field." This last bit was said mysteriously yet wisely.
He does look a little offended that Rudabeh somewhat implies the gnomes might violate a grave but says nothing about it. "Torag is not very close to the gnomes but we will respect your soldiers wishes. Whatever else happened, they died fighting a monster that threatened us and other travelers." The old gnome sighed sadly, clearly remembering the clams and hag.
"As far as healing goes, this is not needed. I have been blessed with such skills myself and have attended our wounded, of which there was not many. Between you and I," Brother Braxis says gravely, 'Most of the injuries and deaths were from my own people getting carried away with 'defensive schemes'. Gnomes are not the most cautious people. Much of this was self inflicted in the chaos."
But the old men bows slightly, leaning over his stick, "Your offer is most gracious however and does you, and Alseta, credit."
Then the milky eyes fix on Dannagu with enough force to cut glass. "And what is your personal matter, young man?" The old gnome says this with authority and Rudabeh realizes Brother Braxis is used to such things.
The big man stands silently for a moment, merely dripping in the drizzling rain. Brother Braxis eyes him for a moment and then says, "I'm old, cold and standing in the rain. Don't keep me waiting!" His tone is sharp and stern.
Dannagu, startled looks up but sees an outline of a smile on the aged face. The gnome pats a mossy log under some leafy boughs. "Come my child, sit and tell me of this. I am too old to walk a funeral these days, at least I can do something useful."
So Dannagu takes a seat and, under Brother Braxis rather skillfully questioning, reveals his past, the plight of his people, his youthful trip into the Worldwound, the 'curse' he gained while there and all of his bad luck since. The tale is slightly different this time and the paladin gets the sense that Dannagu's expedition was more radical and self-serving then he expressed last night. Either he was being more honest under the gnome's questions or a long dark night of self-pity had darkened his memory.
Brother Braxis does not waver or look away but waits for the big Kellid to run out of words. Finally he says, "So, are you asking for forgiveness or for magical advice?" Dannagu mumbles something inaudible in the rain.
"Then let's start with the easier one." The gnome looks very hard at Dannagu, mutters a few words and waves his hands in very mysterious fashion. Even Rudabeh is unsure if this is an act or indeed some divine magical intervention. Then the ancient gnome shrugs, water sloshing off his thing shoulders.
"You are not cursed." Brother Braxis says simply, "At least not in a magical sense. You carry not outside aura, and certainly no demons."
Danngu looks up, eyes kindled, "Are you sure?" His voice is thick and choked.
"Quite." The gnomish leader says firmly, "Things like that leave a trail a mile wide. Even our esteemed paladin knows that. If you had an aura of evil or chaos, she'd know. And so would I. Leave those thoughts behind, you are clean and pure, as far as magic goes."
But then he goes on, "As for the other....that is a deeper matter. One of the heart. It is hard enough to forgive others, but to forgive oneself? It is like picking up a mountain." Brother Braxis smiled, "And even for a giant like yourself, that isn't easy."
Dannagu still sat in silence, but his eyes...his eyes were warm. Hope flared there dim, but real.
"Give it time, my young friend." The gnome said, "Consider what I have said and think on it. But perhaps your burden is not as heavy as you think."
Then, without warning turns on Rudabeh, "And you, Rudabeh of Outsea? Do you seek wisdom of the aged as well? I'm sure I can come up with something suitable."
Ruabeh seems equally concerned and relieved that she was the "little bit of chaos" a gnomish funeral needed. These mixed feelings play out on her face for a brief moment before she decides to just forget about it, there were more important matters at hand.
The paladin seems to return the well-meaning delivery of information gone awry when Braxis seems offended. She had only meant to keep him informed in case any children admitted to taking a bag of marbles off a mound of dirt by the river, but was misconstrued. Thankfully, both parties seem to be quite experienced in Turning the Mask and proceed undaunted.
In a moment of her own wisdom, Rudabeh holds her tongue about the gnomish deaths mostly being self-inflicted in the chaos. This was certainly not the time, place, or person for a sermon on the Good of Order.
She stands silently by while Dannagu recounts his tale again, her face softening as the Kellid makes it sound even worse than before. It was clearly dragging him into dispair, and if Braxis couldn't help Rudabeh may be forced to let Dannagu go.
It was a delight, then, to hear the old gnome say there was no aura about the the big, brooding man, though it does make Rudabeh realize she never properly checked for any herself. Quitely, she touches her Iron Key and asks for the magical sight of chaos detection.
Reagrdless, she approaches their seat on the log and places a comforting hand on Dannagu's shoulder. "Indeed. Breaking a magical curse has set conditions, and is gone when broken. But forgiving oneself is more difficult, and the doubt lingers even after you have moved on. As Alseta teaches us... "Only nock on the door of your past self when you need their experience, then walk away to become a new, wiser self."
Her hand drops away, and she lets him process the life-chaning words of Borther Braxis, who has turned his attentions on a relatively young undine that seems to stir up trouble wherever she goes. "Wisdom..." She chews on the word for a moment, thinking of several self-depiciating comments about her recent failures, scripture, and questions before settling on a more practical matter.
Sheets of silversheen steel creak and beautifully slide past one another as Rudabeh slowly and effortlessly sits down on the log with the other two. What a sight: A glimmering paladin, a soggy kellid in the throes of revitalization, and a gnomish cult leader far past the age of bleaching. If Teken wasn't mad at her, she was sure he'd say something.
"Brother Braxis, does the phrase "Ishe Vakanaka" mean anything to you? I believe it is associated with a symbol of a noose being cut with a knife. It was in the hut of the Sea Hag, and I was unable to identify it." The feelings associated with the symbol, and how it made the bile rise in her stomach, unfortunately come back to her.
Surprised she hadn't thought of it last night, Rudabeh casts a divinely enhanced look at Dannagu and Brother Braxis. In her defense, yesterday had been a very busy day. Surely Alseta wouldn't hold it against her.
The dour looking Kellid has no trace of chaos in him, and this is a bit surprising. Rudabeh has learned that most mercenaries have a bit of chaos about them, but then again Dannagu had always followed orders well. As far as she can tell no curse is laid on him.
Brother Braxis of course, glitters with the coruscating aura of colors that marked Chaos. This is not a surprise to the paladin. The old man was a gnome, and the chaos of the First World was in his very bones, part of his blood. She guessed that if a gnome stopped showing that sign at least a little, they'd be dead. Idlily, Rudabeh wonders if that is connected to the Bleaching.
Dannagu looks unimpressed though and says, "What about the star..man." His words are hushed, barely audiable over the drizzling rain plinking off Rudabeh's shimmering armor.
Brother Braxis shrugs, "I said no curse, not un touched. You can be pure and clean, and yet carry something not of yourself. You sit amongst such people. My visions are not my own, but I would not say they are a curse. Rudabeh, " he turns to the undine, "Your divine gifts are not your own, but would you say they are a curse?"
The old gnome shrugged, "You have some gift, explore it, experiment with it. It isn't something to be ashamed of, at least in my opinion."
He frowns at Rudabeh's words and shakes his head, "The words mean nothing to me. Let me see if I can See anything." And before Rudabeh can say anything, the gnome closes his eyes, tilts his head skywards and enters....what can only be a trance.
His face tightens, brow furrowed. Dannagu and Rudabeh exchange a worried glance, unsure what they should do. The gnome mutters something under his breath and his head turns this way and that, like a dog trying to catch a scent. Muscles along his neck tense, veins exposing under ancient, parchment like skin. Sweat breaks out along his chin and Rudabeh wonders just what this costs the old man. Moments pass and then finally Brother Braixs lets out a soft breath, relaxes and slowly opens his eyes.
"All is cloudy. These are deep waters, Rudabeh of Outsea. I only see this. Death." Dannagu grunts as if expecting this but Borther Braxis shrugs, "Not death as in, prediction. Death...as a concept." Another shrug, "Seeing is often thus. Useless as a guide. I am sorry Rudabeh, that is all I know."
The lack of chaos around Dannagu pleases Rudabeh. She knew he was a fine soldier, and hopes this revelation will encourage him to stay with the company. The aura off of Braxis nearly makes her squint. It was like pressing her forehead against a rainbow, and she did not look for too long. Besides, she knew from experience that even the most chaotic of individuals understand reason and cooperation, and had long since learned not to judge based solely on auras.
"My gifts are a blessing." Rudabeh responds instantly to Braxis' question about the abilities Alseta endowed upon her soul. Her gaze turns to Dannagu. "As I said last night, you seem to have a guardian of sorts. Whatever was in that chest, whomever the star-man is, it seems to want to protect you and those around you. You can honor the memory of the lost by embracing this treasure you fought to obtain."
When Brother Braxis says he was going to attempt to... See... something associated with Ishe Vakanaka, Rudabeh does try to stop him. "No, I think it's dangerous." Leave her mouth, but fall on deaf ears. She watches carefully while the gnome goes somewhere else, and she recieves a glimpse of how he identified the place the village now occupies. It reminded her too much of the visions forced upon her by the gods, and she could not watch for too long without her head aching.
The concern melts from Rudabeh's face when Braxis comes back to them, and she turns to meet his milky-white gaze. "I see." Is muttered evenly, and she wonders. The skeleton heard whispers, promises, and left to find the voice that spoke. Death... Is this Ishe Vakanaka the one it heard? Does it call to others? Is this related to the event the gods foretold? In a land as muddled in ancient magic as the River Kingdoms, Rudabeh couldn't be sure of anything. She was no scholar of history or the arcane, and could only wonder. Maybe the oracles in Outsea could assist further.
Realziing she was gazing off in thought and being stared at, the paladin starts in a shuddering of steel. "Oh, no, thank you for making the attempt. The symbol seemed anethema to me, so I felt it my duty as a paladin to investigate. I would draw it, but I do not wish to invite whatever it represented. But thank you."
She clears her throat and sits up straighter, moving on to business matters. "I have only two other items on my agenda. How long do you estimate it will take to take down enough of the dam for a bardge to pass through? So I may inform my River Captain. Secondly, We intend to harvest the clam in the clearing for its mother-of-pearl, and will delve for the other one at the bottom of the lake after the dam has been widened. We can strip the meat from the first one today and provide it to your funeral party, and I would be willing to leave the bottom half of the large clam to your people as an apology for the violence that broke out between us." She small smile tugs at the edges of her cerulean lips. "It would make a fine public bath."
For the first time Dannagu seems to consider her words about the star-man, his face filled with thought. While the paladin knows setting aside the burden of many years is not done easily, they have made progress here. The Kellid trusts her and brother Braxis, despite his diminutive size, is not a figure to easily ignore.
For Rudabeh's part, the interview did not put her at ease. Death is not exactly what she wanted to see as part of the mystery of Ishe Vakanaka. Then again a undead skeleton had told it to her, so it was hardly a shock.
Everyone dies Teken says in her mind, but adds nothing else. Apparently the former ifirt was still feeling prickly about the whole affair.
Brother Braxis, still seated answers her second question first, "That is fair enough, assuming the meat is still good after sitting out all night." Rudabeh recalls that most landlubbers are very sensitive about aged seafood. Then again, that is fair considering few of them have her own iron stomach. "The shell may become an excellent reminder of these events, and of the cost of rash action. And, of course, a good deal of fun to paddle in.' The old gnome grins at this, looking like a wrinkled child for a moment.
"As for the dam," He adds, then gives an exaggerated, knowing wink that worries Rudabeh greatly. "I think that question will be answered momentarily."
Even as he says this, there is a deep rumbling sound from the unseen lake. A growing roar that fills the air, like thunder but louder and closer. Rudabeh can feel it virbtating in ehr chest and Dannagu springs up, hand on his long spear.
[b]"By Pulura's left eye, what is that?!"[/] he says, eyes wild.
The deep growl slowly fades away, seemingly reluctant to dissipate. Then, to Rudabeh's quick ears, she can hear the rushing roar of streaming water. Like that of a great waterfall.
No. Surely they hadn't....a cloud of dark smoke rises over the tree line to her right, directly over where she guesses the dam was.
They had.
Rudabeh wonders if Teken was aware his soul had been trapped within the fire whale's heart for centuries, vastly exceeding the life expectancy of his kind. In fact, he had achieved a sort of immoratility inside the gem, contradicting his own statement.
She decides not to broach the subject. He was already in a bad enough mood.
"I am glad you agree." She says simply to Braxis' agreement at the surprisingly simple negociations about harvesting the clam. Maybe the old gnome just didn't feel like haggling, but Rudabeh felt she was getting a great deal. This would fatten up the company's coffers nicely, and gave her hope they could afford to hire a skilled healer. Maybe even sign on some new recruits, a blacksmith, cook...
The distracted smile on her face borne out of thoughts of all the things she could purchase for the Company slips when Braxis gives his exaggerated, knowing wink. Her eye immediately widen as the first notes of rumbling reaches her ears, and she stands up quickly to turn her face towards the noise. Dannagu springs up next to her, and she would feel like grabbing her sword too if it would do any good.
Mouth agape at the revelation at what just happened, the undine stares off in the distance towards the sounds of rushing water. Her jaw quivers and she studders out a few words. "The barge. The camp." The rising smoke cloud confirms her worst fears, and her heart drops somewhere into her faulds. Suddenly, the paladin turns and begins running so quickly that she nearly trips.
"Thankyoubutpleaseexcuseus!" She says as quickly as possible while righting herself, the barest of enunciation nearly lost in the clatter of 50 pounds of steel suddenly being forced into a sprint.
"Hurry, Dannagu!" It might have been comical in any other situation- the heavily armored paladin, whose pace could be matched by a particually lazy horse's canter, was telling him to hurry.
She dives into the brush of the forest, branches and pokers and bushes rebounding off of her armor like swatted insects. Saplings are crushed and logs are vaulted as her breathing picks up. Trying to decide how she could get to the barge faster, she thinks to Teken. I know you don't like to talk about Seqhi. A particually low elm branch forces her to duck, and as she rights herself another limb wicks at her cheek like a lash, causing her to bounce off a thick hickory trunk and send bark shards flying everywhere. Regaining her wits, she pushes off the tree and keeps running. But she can make us fun faster when she's awake. Can you make us run faster too?! It was a long shot, but other than praying to the notoriously fickle Hanspur, she had few ideas.
No, I cannot. Also, I told you not to mention her.
Teken grumbled in her mind, cool and dry as ever, unbothered by the flood of adrenaline gripping her body as she willing herself to sprint. The hurtling paladin crashed through brush and threw up clods of mud as she trampled through the woods. Hopefully she didn't disturb any wildlife, the last thing they needed was her stirring up some local predator with all her ruckus. More then once she made the semi-calculated choice to run through a rotten tree instead of stepping around it, relying on her momentum and armor to shield her., It worked, but it wasn't the most pleasant way to travel.
Dannagu was already well ahead of her, his big form surprisingly fast as he nimbly darted through the overgrown woods. It helped that he didn't have an entire suit of armor on his back. All that steel was not made for speed. Still, it gave the paladin some peace of mind to know that Dannagu was going ahead, to help if help was needed.
After what seems like a year, she bursts out of the green underworld of the forest into a clear spot near the river encampment. She takes in a chaotic scene. The first thing she notices is the sound. Her stampede through the woods had cut her off from the outside world, her own clanging drowning out everything. Standing here now, she could hear the great churning roar of water throbbing in her ears.
The river had transformed from a fairly placid summer stream to a raging torrent more suited to a spring thaw. Roiling brown water had busted the low banks of the river and were still mounting higher, piling up on itself in turbulent rapids. Rock and mud sloshed in the water, mixing with a jumbled mix of entire trees, all pushed by the rapid current. Rudabeh knew better then most that such water was a deadly flood, quite capable of destroying entire towns. Floods like these were rare in the flat River Kingdoms, where river rises usually took days or weeks. Flash dangers were unheard of.
Her eyes first sought out the barge, thinking it was mostly in danger. Would it even still be here, or had it already been carried downriver like a child's toy in a bathtub? To her relief she sees Ostend knows his business and carefully selected an anchorage behind a set of high rocks. The spot had seemed ludicorius over protected that morning, looming gray rocks created a sheltered semicircle, a placid pond. Now it was a roiling bubbling cauldron of flood water but the barge was still there, and Rudabeh could see the figures of the desperate watermen trying to hold it together.
Next to sought over her men, the Company. The funeral spot was underwater now, the pyres extinguished and washed away. For a fraction of a second she wondered if Gemeye still rested at peace or if he had been exhumed by the flood. Then her thoughts went to the living. To her relief she saw Ractus had drawn the Company out from the bank in time. She is surprised but then recalls the elf spent time in Numeria, that land of technologic wonders. he, of all of them, would recognize and understand what an explosion might be.
His knowledge had saved many lives today. Most of the Company was drawn back into the woods, well away from the rushing water. Her heart slows a beat until, her gaze sweeping back, she spots an isolated figure on a rock, surrounded on all sides by muddy water. It was hard to see at this distance but she guesses it is Draze, a fishing pole still pointlessly gripped in one hand. It was easy to imagine the aged angler out in the stream, farther then the rest, unable to hustle back on order.
Rudabeh is already moving to help him, when a blur rushes past her. It is Ractus moving with a speed she had never seen the elf match before. With a grace she finds spurising he dodges logs and tree stumps before reaching the water's edge. Without a shred of hesitation he jumps into the rushing, brown water.
Her choice is clear. Help Ractus possibly save Draze or assist in keeping the barge together.
To be fair I haven't, until my company was at risk of drowning to death. Rudabeh mentally retorts as she smashes through a rotting stump, recieving a face-full of termites in the process. Maybe if she hadn't been running full tilt through the forest or spitting out pieces of rotten, termite-chewed wood chips she would have initatived a discussion with Teken about how he should really give his sister(?) a chance.
Instead, she focuses on getting to camp, her fears partially assauged at knowing Dannagu was going to get there first.
Bursting through the forest, Rudabeh stops to heave several heavy breaths and take in the scene. The rolling brown flood waters make her teeth grit in anger- how could the gnomes do this without warning them? Did they not consider the devastation this was going to cause downriver? Could they not have drained the dam before destroying it?
Anger gives over to concern when she sees Ostend's barge bobbing in the waters like a child's toy boat in a stream, but it was better than seeing the keel smashed on a rock.
Staring briefly at the grave site Rudabeh grips her Iron Key, choosing to have faith the miracle Alseta (and possibly Torag) bestowed upon Gemeye's final resting place. Surely it would hold.
Drawing in a sharp breath at the sight of Draze, Rudabeh begins to move forward, already planning on dragging him back to shore as she had done with many rescued landlubbers over the years. Yet Ractus rushes past her, his intentions clear, and she calls out: "What are you doing! Those waters-" But it was too late, and the elf was already in the brown swell, lost to sight.
Still drawing laborious breaths she looks between Draze and the barge, considering her options. It occured to her that Ratus had waited to jump in until she arrived... and while she could certainly save Draze, Ractus could not help Ostend. Shaking her head that the elf thought jumping into a raging river was a good idea, she recalls their discussion last night and decides that Ractus might need some of his own advice.
Maybe we're more alike than we want to admit. She thinks before turning away from the scene and running to Ostend's barge.
She jogs up within shouting distance, cupping her hands by her mouth. "AHOY!" Boisterious lungs reach over the constant drum of churning water, hurting her already burning throat in the process. "WHERE DO YOU NEED ASSITANCE?" Bits of twigs, leaves, and termite guts were stuck in the joints of her armor, but she would be in the water the moment someone threw her some mooring to help stabilize the vessel.
One of the harried sailors standing at the rail spots the bellowing paladin and hears her over the roaring water. He makes a face and replies, "Where do you bleeding think?"
But in a moment Ostend is there, the half-elf drenched from head to foot, but still looking hale and hearty. "Belay that! Tie down that line, Fitz!" The sailor hops to a broken line, re-knotting it.
Ostend turns to Rudabeh and shouts through cupped hands, "The anchor is coming loose! If it comes free, we'll be swept out into the main channel!" Behind him the main channel is a rumbling torrent of brown-green water, full of smashing rocks and entire tree trunks. Even sheltered the barge was taking a beating, if it was swept out into that torrent, it would be smashed to bits instantly. No, it was quite clear why Ostend wanted a strong anchor point.
Rudabeh is contemplating how she'll enter the turbid water when she hears a dreaded shout from the beleaguered barge.
"Sailor Overboard!"
A sailor at the rail points into the boiling, swirling waters. Following the finger Rudabeh can see, to her horror, a small figure being tossed around like a cork in a whirlpool. It is Marsh, the intelligent kind navigator that so often sparred with Ostend. She seems to be able to swim but the current is so wild, it doesn't help much. Even as others shout and try to throw her lines, she is slowly swept away from the barge and gradually drawn toward the unending chaos of the main channel.
Rudabeh is about to ask the sailor that spotted her to get Ostend, but the Captain is there in an instant.
The implications behind what he was saying was clear- resecure the anchor and the barge might be able to hang on. Swinging her Bag of Holding around, she is fetching her Anytool when the heart-stopping call of a lost sailor goes up.
Jerking her head upward, she sees Marsh being sucked towards the center of the river. Even an undine that was covered in silversteel from head to toe would have a difficult time surviving in the fastest part of the flow; Marsh was dead without intervention.
The anchor or Marsh. Dozens of sailors, all of the Company supplies, their means of getting to Outsea... she might even miss Irovetti if he hadn't evacuated. Rudabeh knew what the correct choice was, she had to fix the anchor and quickly.
A thought hits her mind as if it had been swept through the turbulent flow of thoughts. Still elbow-deep in her magical bag, she turns her head upwards.
"Captain! The magic Anchor Token!" It seemed so long ago, when she bartered for passage with the magical item she had kept for years. After a fast, swallow breath of forced on her by her weary body she expounds: "If you use it I can save Marsh!"
She waits a beat for Ostend's orders. It was his barge, his sailors. If he didn't think he could get to the anchor token in time, Rudabeh would respect his decision.
The stories all talked about heroic deeds, acts of strength and courage. Fighting against all odds for what you know is right, standing up when kneeling might be easier. Those were the tales the bards told and while the events sounded dangerous, difficult or even downright scary they all seemed right. There was the Right thing and the Wrong thing and while the right thing may be hard, it was worth doing.
Rudabeh knew all too well that isn't where the real danger in life laid. It was in the choices with no winners and all too many losers that the heaviest burden's laid hidden. What had Finn said about such things? There's small choice in rotten apples, even if you have a barrel full. Sometimes, you could make no wrong choices and still lose.
But with magic, sometimes a mere mortal could cheat the odds.
Ostend stood at the rail, barge forgotten as he watched Marsh kept swept along in the surging current. To Rudabeh's shock, he places one foot on the gunwale, bracing himself to jump over. The half-elf was not thinking if he thought he could do anything but drown with such an act. But before he dives into infinity, he stops, Rudabeh's word reaching his ears. Then there is a single moment of dumbstruck stillness, clear despite the tumbling of waves and crashing of rocks. The man had simply not thought of it.
Then he is a blur of action, reaching into a bag at his waist. With the other hand he waves Rudabeh on, shouting, "Go!" His fingers fumble at the drawstring, trying to get into his pouch that surely contains the token.
Rudabeh looks at Ostend in shock as he prepares to leap the gunwale to his death- the undine had long wondered what it was with landlubbers and underestimating even the calmest river current. She had recovered dozens of bodies over the years at Outsea- parents attempting to save children, children attempting to save siblings, pets. Sometimes they managed to make it back to shore, but most just ended up dying too. She never saw any humans flinging themselves off cliffs in an attempt to fly, so why did they think the water was any safer for them?
Steeling herself ot watch Ostend go into the river, she decided she had to fix the anchor when he suddenly stops, her words registering. Relief floods through Rudabeh, and she pulls her arm out of her magic bag, quickly sealing it. She pulls the strap tightly over her breastplate, inhales deeply, and looks into the churning, deadly waters. Sometimes, even the place you called home could be frigthening.
But in this moment, Rudabeh knew no fear.
Propelling herself into the relatively calm bay the barge had been anchored in, the undine pierces the surface of the water like a silver lance. All the sweat, dirt, and exhaustion wash off of her skin to be replaced by water, finer dirt, and debris. The nicating membranes of her eyes instinctively engage, keeping the silt and sand, from her sight. It did little good- she couldn't see farther than a foot in the brown waters.
Undulating like an eel beneath the water Rudabeh suddenly breaches, holding her head high and engaging in a powerful surface breakstroke. It was easy to follow the bobbing silver crest of her helmet even in the churning waters, and she carefully feels the movement of the swirling maelstorm to bring her closer to Marsh. All sound was irrelavant- the shouts, the roaring torrent. All she needed was her skin against the water and her eyes on Marsh.
It was not a matter of being a strong swimmer. Rudabeh was an excellent swimmer who, even armed and armored, could put most human athletes to shame. She was strong, lithe and fully comfortable in the water, with drowning not even a threat. Indeed, the water actively healed her.
And all of that was like spitting in a rainstorm compared to a flood like this.
A rushing flash flood was a raw force of nature with few restraints. Rudabeh knew a flood like this could destroy a stone bridge that had stood for centuries as if it were kindling. Boulders would be rolled, entire groves uprooted and swept downstream. While the threat of being trapped underwater was nod anger, even an undine could be dashed to death against rocks and trees. Not even a full plate of armor would help her fight this torrent.
So she didn't fight it. She used it. A lifetime of living in and amongst the water gave the paladin an understanding of water incomprehensible to a landlubber. Rudabeh could tell, just with the feeling of it on her skin, where the river was running. That riffle told her of a hidden rock shelf, while that whirlpool told her of a safe space just beyond. Every current, every slight difference in pressure, all of it was information.
So Rudabeh rode the churning brown waves, far outpacing both the floating debris around her, as well as the struggling, half-drowning Marsh. She was like a darting fish surrounded by jellyfish. She alone had agency, she alone had speed. It was thrilling and she was surprised to feel her heart quicken, her breath race. Despite the danger, it felt good.
Marsh didn't even see her coming, while she struggled to stay afloat. The woman had a tree branch in her death grip, but the wet wood kept slipping free and slamming against her. Her head was low in the water, constantly slopped by brown muddy waves, swamping her regularly. It was obvious to Rudabeh's trained eye that the woman was already tiring, body battered by the rushing water and hurtled debris.
Rudabeh reaches the woman, and stretches out a gauntleted hand to grab her.
Rudabeh rises and falls in her breaststroke, using her eyes to stay locked on Marsh when she tops the surface, while using the rest of her senses when her head plunges into the water.
Back forth between the two mediums Rudabeh exists seamlessly, yet she still draws breaths of air on the surface to keep her mouth and lungs free of silt.
Riding the currents was exhilarating. Unlike a fight, where every conflict was borne of mistrust, or greed, or a cycle of violence, Rudabeh felt no guilt in having some real fun in her navigations. She was born for this, and loved it.
She is within a few feet of Marsh, cresting in her breaststroke, when when she takes a deep breath and dives a few feet. Entering a world of swirling brown and hapless debris, Rudabeh allows herself to be carried along the current while she dips her right shoulder and grabs a strap with her left hand. The Sixth Peak, still in its leather sheath, slides easily off of her smoothed pauldron, nearly being swept away in the current.
Her right hand darts downward to grab the sword halfway down its length, simultanesouly twisting the strap around her left wrist to both secure it and grab one of the pommels. With inhumane timing and strength, Rudabeh kicks upward while extending her arms out, attempting to slip up past Marsh's legs and catch her body with the solid net created by her sheathed sword.
Her shining helmet breaches the water with a drowned-out splash, brown water running down her face and keeping her blind. As soon as she felt the human's armpits meet her elbows, Rudabeh would quickly draw her in with the flat of the blade, pressing Marsh's back to her breasplate and holding her there. Using the momentum, Rudabeh lands on the surface of the water on her back and kicks furiously away from the log Marsh had been clinging to in order to keep both their heads above water.
"MARSH!" The paladin shouts into the sodden's human's her ear. "HOLD ON!"
Marsh is taken completely by surprise when Rudabeh rudely grabs her from behind, pinning the navigator to her body with the sword. The rushing water jerks her wildly but Rudabeh's grip is strong and Sixth Peak is, essentially, a bar of heavy steel. The woman screams, primal fears of being caught by some river monsters (or, more likely, clinging debris) filling her mind. Rudabeh ignores her thrashing for the moment, focusing on lifting them both for air.
After a few breaths, Marsh calms slightly and looks back. Her field of view is all shiny flittering steel and Rudabeh's washed face.
"Rudabeh?" She says, voice barely audible over the rushing water. And then she faints.
If anything, this makes the rest of the rescue easier. Holding her limp charge's head up, she swims at an angle downstream. Fighting the roaring current would be stupid and unneeded, all the paladin has to do is get to shore. It is much harder swimming with such a burden but the undine manages, slowly working her way closer and closer to shore. They have to dodge a few broken limbs and tree trunks but the rocks upstream sheltering the barge also protect them from the full fury of the flood.
Eventually Rudabeh's boots touch bottom and she manages to struggle on to shore. Even as she lays Marsh down for a moment, Rudabeh can see the flood waters are receding. Unlike a 'real' flash flood, this torrent is only as big as the gnome's dam. As that reservoir is spent, the meandering river slowly returns to normal, even if the course is much altered. Rudabeh worries about people downstream but she recalls the miles downstream were mostly empty, giving the churning water time to dissipate.
The downside of her 'go with the flow' strategy reveals itself. It would be a bit of a hike upstream to re-join the others.
Rudabeh is a bit surprised when Marsh faints- most humans just kept screaming and panicing when she rescued them from drowning. This was a great improvement and she would need to use this technique in the future.
It was probably for the best Marsh was unconcious, as the two of them rapidly spin a few times when Rudabeh changes direction to avoid a trundling log and to navigate into a flow that is headed for the shore. It was tiring and difficult to keep herself and Marsh on the surface just using her legs, but Rudabeh's supernatural abilties shine through the deadly waters with the same brilliant as her plate armor.
Feet out as she approaches the shore, Rudabeh digs in with her boots the moment they touch mud and she hurls herself upright, using one arm to brace Marsh and her sword while the other grabs the woman by the hips. It was awkward, and the change in weight from water to land nearly made her drop Marsh back into the river a few times, but thankfully the paladin manages to struggle to a cut-out in the river that must have flooded long ago.
Placing Marsh down gently in the wet, loamy soil, Rudabeh takes a moment to catch her breath. She had just sprinted through a forest and performed a rescue in flood waters. Her legs ached, and she plopped down on the ground with a sigh and a cacophony of clattering metal.
Taking a few deep breathes, she looks down at the sheathed sword in her hand and smiles. I was always told that unlike an axe or a spear, a sword had no use other than killing people and monsters. I guess I have a counter-argument now. Teken was probably going to be mad at her for days still, but she talked to him anway.
Taking a few more deep breaths, Rudabeh turns her head to look at the soaked human next to her. The undine turns at her abdomen and reaches over, gently slapping Marsh's face a few times with the wet leather of her palm. "Marsh! Wake up!" A shake of her shoulder follows, and if there is no response Rudabeh rolls over onto her knees, steel digging into the sandy loam to make deep conical impressions. "We have to get back to the camp to do a headcount."
She quickly makes sure Marsh was still alive, and hadn't died of fright or anything.
Marsh coughs up a rather impressive amount of brown river water (for a landlubber anyway) before fully coming around. Her eyes are wide and white as she shakily sits up with Rudabeh's help.
"You...swam in that?" She glances toward the river which, although much lower, still showed the signs of the ravaging flood. The water was a dark brown and clogged with waterlogged debris. Even as they watched, an entire oak tree slowly twisted past, bobbing in the quickly diminishing tide.
The woman rises to her feet and Rudabeh guesses no long term harm had been done. At least, nothing obvious to her but she was no healer. Again, it became painfully clear how much they needed an actual cleric in the Company. Rudabeh might have some healing magic but she had no idea how to diagnose someone. What if Marsh had shock or water in her lungs? Would Alseta's magic heal something neither of them knew was wrong?
The walk back upriver is slow. Marsh is still unsteady on her feet, Rudabeh is weary from her sprint and swim. The paladin recalled their were sporting events in Taldor that had participants run, swim and ride horses as part of a great race. She dearly hoped that she wouldn't need to complete the full trifecta today.
Worse the undergrowth is thick alongside the river, and now smashed and tangled due to the flood. With no path, they either have to detour around piles of heaped debris or slice through it, like explorers in the Mwanagi Expanse. Finally, with her arms aching and legs pounding, they stumble into the Company campsite.
Even as she entered the clearing, she saw Ractus staggering out of the muddy water, holding Draze to his broad chest. She is worried the older man is hurt until he jumps down on the shore, shaking his head. The elf leaves his friend behind and strides up the beach, soaked from head to foot.
"Well, that was a wild one." he says and his easy tone lifts Rudabeh's spirits. If he was being so easy going, surely the damage was not that bad?
"All we lost was the tent." he says with a grin and points toward the river. There is Ostend, complete with barge, not sunk and not drowned. The barge looks unnaturally stiff, not bobbing in the current as it should. Still, it looked like the token had let it ride out the worst of the flooding.
"I got everyone clear when I heard the explosion upstream and guessed the worst." Ractus made a weary face, "Please tell me it wasn't the gnomes. Please." Rudabeh's face, usually so reserved must have given it away because the elf sighed and added, "So, considering no one died....what are we doing about it? I'm tempted to just cut our losses and get out of here before they do something else."
Meanwhile Irovetti appears out of nowhere. "My spice collection! That flood washed away a very rare and expensive set of Garundi spices! Not to mention my tent." His face is splashed with water and Rudabeh can just picture his servants dramatically holding him back from jumping into the swirling current o save his valuables.
"Rudabeh, glad to see you unharmed," he adds absently, "I trust you can help me organize a search for my lost items? The men fail to see the importance of their recovery, but no matter. One should not expect such vision from a lowly foot solider, I suppose."
Ractus rolls his eyes but the short former King misses it. still gazing out sadly over the brown water. "It was Tian silk, you know. That tent, specially imported. It shall be devilishy expensive to repair."