One Out of Many

Game Master Mowque

Rudabeh chuckles at Marsh's choked question, smiling. "Oh, I wasn't swimming in it." She repsonds as if she was politely explaining to a child that they could, in fact, not touch a cloud. "It's more we were riding it." Casting an eye out onto the diminishing flood, the paladin admits to herself it was the most fun she had experienced in a while. If it were not for the exhausted Marsh and her own duties, she would consider jumping back in.

"well, I was always told if you can talk you're not drowning." She says after a moment, extending a hand to the human to help her to her feet.

The treck back made Rudabeh yearn for a cool winter day with sea mist blowing in her face. The waterlogged drapes from Irovetti's Palace that lined her armor only kept off the heat for so long, and after cutting through another mass of brush she was back to being miserable inside her steel shell.

Stumbling into the company camping area after kicking aside a pile of debris, she surveys the damage... to find none. Nothing stood out to her, and even Ractus had made a return with Draze after smartly waiting for the waters to recede a little. A deep sigh of relief escapes the undine's chest. Chaos had tried to bring destruction to their family today, but order prevailed.

"I knew you could swim, but that was impressive." She compliments the elf before looking over to the previous site of the tent, which was not a great loss.

"We are done with the gnomes." Rudabeh states flatly, shaking her head slowly and turning back to her captain. "No warning, no negociation, they just..." Letting out a frustrated sigh, Rudabeh sets her jaw firmly and looks out to the horizon. "They kept their end of the bargain, is what they would say. They are technically correct and it is infuriating. Brother Braxis also freely helped Dannagu. We will minimize our interactions with them and stay on the river tomorrow."

Her fingers tap against her faulds for a few repetitions, the plinplinkplinkplink driving home her annoyance. "I would agree we just all board the barge and leave, but if memory serves the barge is magically stuck in place for a day. So we continue as planned. Today we harvest the mother-of-pearl from the land-bound clam, tomorrow we move up the river so we can dredge up the smaller, intact clam."

Rudabeh nearly jumps when Irovetti appears, her stern and thoughtful expression giving away to surprise. His mundane, no, exotic, concerns amuse her, though she has little mind to immediately induldge him. "Unfortunately I saw hundred year oak trees being washed away. I'm afraid your spice collection is making its way to Sellen Lake as we speak and it would take ten of me to find it before then. However, tomorrow I can ask Alseta for a blessing to see if it is still nearby, it could have gotten stuck the shore."

She noted he never offered to share any of those spices... But there was too much to do today for her to care. Ostend needed to be debriefed on what occured, and she needed to convince him to float a ton of mother-of-pearl, as well as an intact giant clam, to Outsea.

Rudabeh will talk to Ostend next if Ractus and Irovetti are done, or however you want to move us along.

Ractus nods, "I was about to send a gang of men up for the clam when all hells broke loose down here. I'll go and find them. I have a feeling the one at the bottom of the lake got washed out during the flood, but we'll see."

She makes her way to the somewhat eerie looking barge. The fact that it remains rock solid instead of floating with the current obscurely offends Rudabeh's lifetime of maritime travel and she tries to avoid looking right at it.

The sailors are busy of course, making repairs to the damaged vessel. The hull has sprung in a few places, and Rudabeh can hear men and hammers busy at work out of sight. The scent of hot tar wafts up through the grates in the deck. Up on deck, others are gathering broken bits of gunwales and other such debris. It seems that much of the tackle had been lost in the waves and a shortage of rope which will need fixed at the next town or settlement.

Ostend is standing on shore, holding Marsh in his arms. They are quietly standing, almost as still as the barge behind them, clinging as tightly as Draze can done to his rock. Stepping closer she can hear OStend talking, "I've been a fool, a fool. Next chance we get....I almost lost you."

Marsh tries to shush him, but Rudabeh can see she is crying.

Both jump when Rudabh's rattling calliope approaches close enough to be heard above the still sweeping river. They do not separate however, and if anything cling tightly together, as if Rudabeh is a memory of their near disaster. After a moment, Ostend turns to Marsh and says, "So...is that a yes?"

The woman looks like she is about to burst but merely nods, tears now streaming down her face. What was going on?

Ostend, grinning like a school boy, turns to Rudabeh and bows, "I owe you a great debt, Rudabeh and I will not forget it. I'd like to add another favor to the pile. Can paladins of Alseta do marriages? I'd need one in a hurry." he grins and adds, "Before she gets away."

With am easy laugh that Rudabeh had rarely seen in the usual dour half-elf, the river pilot scoops Marsh up. His helmsman gasps but starts to laugh as well, both of them soaking wet to the bone.

Humans are strange. Teken offers, voice dry as usual but maybe less offended.

"I made sure to leave the one in the river closed after I gathered its pearls. Surely it stayed put, or it did not move so much that I cannot find it." Rudabeh communicated her wishful thinking to Ractus before he set off. It was going to take a lot of money to lure out some of the best healers in Outsea and convince them to join a soldier's life. That other clam had to be down there, for the sake of the company's future.

Approaching the ardge, Rudabeh actually grimmaces when she notices how eerily still the watercraft is on the otherwise turbulent water. It made her a little sick. She was already dreading trying to get any sleep on the stationary vessel tonight when she notices Ostend and Marsh embracing on shore.

I had heard the rumors, but I didn't know they were... public. She mentally comments to Teken, even if he didn't care for the scuttlebutt.

Rudabeh glances between the two as they acknowledge her approach, the last of the water covering her pauldrons drips to the disturbed ground, making mud in the marks of foot traffic.

"Oh!" Escapes her mouth, one hand lifting to touch her breastplate in shock. They are, ubt it can be endearing. She replies to Teken, glad to see his spikey, iron exterior soften for a moment.

"Well, let me be the first to extend my congratulations to you both. Of course, I have been authorized by the Church to officate both Alsetan or non-denominational weddings. I can also draft a document signifying your marriage legally, should you ever require proof, though we will need some witness signatures."

Swept up in the moment, she had already forgotten she had come to negociate with the Captain about hauling clams. "Are you looking to do this right now, or..." Rudabeh looks around, swinging her head from side to side. Then she turns in place, fully, searching the surroundings as if she were on alert for an ambush. No former kings of Pitax within sight. Where had he even gone? Could he be next to her right now, invisible?

"...If we do this later Irovetti will find out and there will be a party. Now, his parties are truly incedible, but I'm asking because I don't know if that's what you want."

As usual Teken's dry curiosity overcomes his grumpiness when he remarks in surprise, Paladins can do weddings in this strange land? We had such binding in my home, but it was a matter for the Church not the Law. Custom not Code. Strange people.

The concept of a society without legally sanctioned marriages intrigues Rudabeh and it was something they'd have to discuss later but now was not the time.

"No!"

"Gods no!"

Ostend and Marsh both shout when she suggests having Irovetti throw a party for them. Ostend recovers first, shaking his head. "Just...no. Can you imagine? No, we just want this done, nice and quiet between us. " He paused and said, "What does...non-denominational mean, exactly? Neither of us are very religious but we offer Hanspur his due, we walk his roads after all." Both he and Marsh glance at the still turbulent and brown river, a potent sign of Hanspur's possible wrath.

"You don't think it would upset him, if you did this, right?" Ostend goes on, a trace of worry in his voice and his smile slips a bit. "Nothing against Alseta, but I sail for a living. I wouldn't to offend the Water Rat."

Marsh fervently nods in agreement. She had come altogether too close to Hanspur's judgement that morning to consider him idlily.

While Rudabeh contemplates this philopsical question Ostend says, "As for volunteers, no problem." He turns toward the barge, eyeing the weirdly stationery vessel coolly. "Bark, Lefty and Preat! Ashore, if you please."

At his order three sailors, two men and one woman, jump into the river and swim to shore. They emerge, wet and laughing, in mere moments. "Aye Captain? You lose Marsh again?"

Ostend gives them a false grimace but then grabs the navigator around the waist and says, "No. Never again." She blushes furiously but says nothing.

Rudabeh is a bit surprised by Teken's commentry on the lack of legal rammifications of marriage. For such a supposedly Lawful place as the City of Brass, it had some beaucratic oddities.

She is not surprised, however, at Marsh's and Ostend's reaction to wanting Irovetti to plan them a party. Under normal circumstances she would laugh, but she was fairly sure that man coud sense merriment so no guffaws are issued and her mouth keeps its pleasant smile.

"Non-denominational services are ones acceptable to all faiths. Well, supposedly. I've never had anyone complain, at least." It takes a few moments of rustling, but she has drawn The Sacred Keystones from the depths of her magical bag. The leather bound book is well-crafted, its only embellishment on the thick, oiled leather surface being silvered writing bearing the book's name along the spine.

"Ah, well, about Hanspur." She begins, cracking open the well-worn and dog-earred text. "I think that personally Hanspur and I are on decent terms." She still couldn't figure out if drowning one of his priestesses was a good or bad thing, but she was leaning towards good. Surely. Hopefully. "And we did just destroy a damn on one of his rivers. That has to be worth something." She flips a few more pages, glancing up and noting the turbulent water behind them made for an excellent wedding backdrop.

"Have your witnesses bring a piece of cloth a few hands long, please, or provide one yourself." Rudabeh says instrutionally as she begins reading through the non-denominational section of the chapter detailing civil ceremonies. The Sacred Keystones had btoh Alsetan and non-specific versions of every rite side-by-side so a wandering priest could officate and accomodate nearly any religious situation.

While Rudabeh had many parts of the thick tome memorized, the wedding ceremonies were not one of them. She had performed a few, though sadly only one was an Alsetan wedding. The archway ceremony, the sharing of the lock and key, the vows... it was wonderful, even if a drunken brawl broke out at the party afterwards.

Claring her throat, the heavily armed, armored paladin stands in a stately manner, book held in front of her as rock-steady as any oaken pedastal. "Firstly, each of you take the cloth in one hand. I suggest it be your non-dominant hand. Then I am going to read this script to one of you at a time, and you are to answer both me and your partner. After you have made your statements, you will "Tie the Knot", binding one another's hands together and symbolizing your union."

A glance is taken back and forth. "Are we ready?" A deep breath, and she looks at Marsh. "Do you, Marsh, take Ostend to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and hold from this day forward?" A change in direction to Ostend, and she asks him the same question.

With that, she gestures to the knot. "Now, please work together and tie this cloth to one another's hands." A small speech follows as they do so. "As you bind your hands, your lives, and your love to one another, reflect on all the times you needed one another's helping hand. For marriage is an act of working together, and with this act you will always have another hand to rely upon, a friend to share the good times and the bad, no matter the circumstances."

When they are tied together, Rudabeh finishes evenly, glacning up as she reads from her book. "It is by the power invested in me by the Church of Alseta, with their friends as our witnesses, I proclaim to the gods watching over us that Ostend and Marsh be husband and wife. May their lives together be long and happy."

At the conlusion, Rudabeh smiles, closes her book, and nods, signaling the brief ceremony is over. "Congratulations the two of you!"

The rest of the day passes in busy and heavy work. The barge is battered and needs extensive repairs, made worse due to the fact that most of the supplies stored on deck was washed away in the flood. The sailors do the best they can but there is only so much you can do with hope, spit and river mud.

Happily, Rudabeh has a pool of labor at her disposal. Gangs of soldiers are organized and sent out to gather items from the nearby forests with a sailor or two leading them. The work was arduous and with despite being a new bride, Marsh pushed the men to their limit. Deadfalls are cut up and old branches gathered. Fire pits are dug and soon, Rudabeh has a small charcoal and tar work under her command. The scent of pine smoke fills the air, mixing with the scent of rain. Other soldiers are put to work cutting down live trees, roughly planing down trunks for spare spars and beams. Yet more are put to work shaping nails and braces. A few even make impromptu ropes from vines and hanging plants. Ostend strains every ounce of his creativity to make the barge river worthy again. Rudabeh notes however, the half-elf works with a smile and a will all day, not at all like his grumpy self.

Others are sent to organize the campsite and get together what they can. The flood also swept away much of the Company's heavy baggage, which is a heavy blow. Food, supplies, even some weapons were washed downriver, not to mention Irovetti's spices. Some men sift and note what is left while others are sent downstream to find what they can. Rudabeh has few hopes, but even a few crates found will be worth the effort. Ractus takes charge of these scavenging patrols, leading the men over the washed and sodden landscape.

For her part, Rudabeh leads a gang of men and women back up toward the gnome village. Their goal is simple, harvesting the clams. To her partial relief the gnomes are nowhere to be seen, although she wonders if this is guilt for nearly drowning her entire company or just gnomes being weird. Still, things will go smoother without her help.

They tackle the clam on land first, which is enough of a job. The meat inside is mostly spoiled sadly, even for Rudabeh's strong stomach. Still, it is littered with mother of pearl, encrusted all along the top. Removing it is more like mining then skinning an animal. The soldiers use hammers and crowbars to pry it loose but the sight of all that shiny whiteness eggs them on. The clams under the lake pose more of a problem. For one thing she has to do it alone and second, she needs a way to bring it to the surface. After pondering this, they retreat, heading back for ideas from the others, carrying the mother of pearl with them.

The work for all three sets continues late into the night and they keep Aurelia busy providing light at the various work sites. Finally though, around midnight tiredness and Aurelia's flagging arcane power calls an end to a very productive day. Even Rudabeh, with her high standards, is satisfied. The barge has been repaired effectively, even if she is a bit of an eyesore. She has no holes, no leaks and will make ways upstream is tended carefully. Ractus's scavenge parties have found some of their lost supplies, which helps morale. It would be a problem if they were going on campaign but Rudabeh hopes resupply will be easy in Outsea. Food is not much of a shortage although the Company might have to learn to enjoy fish.

The next morning dawns cloudy but dry, wispy clouds chased by a stiff breeze. There is no sign of the gnomes as they make ready to restart their interrupted journey. Rudabeh also reflects the flood did one other thing, besides rearranging the landscape. It washed away all the gnome's flyers away, leaving not a trace. Rudabeh wonders what the landlubber reactions will be when a city downstream is suddenly, quite literally, awash in gnomish propaganda.

The Company is ordered on board the still rock steady barge and they all wait. Rudabeh watches the sun and does her best to estimate the time. The alien stillness of the vessel makes her stomach churn, like a reverse seasickness. Then, without warning, the barge shifts in the current, stretching her ramshackle vine moorings and rising with the water's currents. A cheer goes up from all hands.

"We are free!" Ostend shouts and begins ordering the hands about. "Let's get out of here. Push off and head for deeper water!" With that, the barge is heaved out of the rocky shallows and into the main stream. And the Company is, again, on their way.

They head upriver, through the shattered remains of the dam. The gnome village passes on their right, and Rudabeh notes gnomes busy at work there. A few have the gall to wave to the barge, as if nothing is amiss. A few of the Company grumble and shake their fists but no one wants to stay here a moment longer, not even to exact revenge. Soon they come to where the former lake was, the expanse of water now much shallower. Mudflats extend on all sides, revealing just how much water had been released. Rudabeh drops off the side of the barge and heads down to the clam. Her swim is much shorter this time, with so much less water. The riverbed is brighter then she remembered, sunlight playing in dazzling columns around her. To her relief the clamshell is just where she left it, untouched by the siphoning water. The paladin watches warily but sees no sign of predators or scavengers. This surprised her until she recalls this entire area just underwent very traumatic changes in the last day. The flood probably scared off most big animals.

Then she gets to work. She does her best to slice away as much meat as possible, so they aren't towing a literal buffet along with them. The predators might be absent for now but the River Kingdoms abound with creatures that would consider a giant clam a tasty treat. Then, using Sixth Peak she severs the muscular connection between the two halves. And then...she has a problem. The clam shell will not float. Her first idea to simply winch it up and float it like a boat, was shot down last night. Ostend said that the curved sides might keep it afloat for awhile, waves and shifting wind would eventually sink it. It was simply not seaworthy. The problem had stumped them for hours, as everyone in the Company discussed the engineering problem. Not surprisingly it was Irovetti who had come up with a solution.

Now to see if it worked. The first part of the former king's plan was the same as hers. A spool of their precious rope (real rope) was lowered into the water, which Rudabeh attached to the clam. Then with much sweat, cursing and effort, the shell was slowly winched to the surface. Granted it was lighter then it might have been on land, but it was still hundreds of pounds. As it breached the surface, Rudabeh followed along, watching the water well around it like a rising whale. And then, came Irovetti's genius innovation. They flipped it over and caught a bubble of air under the curved shell. The shell shifted and settled as everyone watched with baited breath.

And floated.

A cheer went out at the sight of the floating clam. It wasn't the most elegant affair and it might sink eventually, but there was no reason it would not be refloated, an easier task in shallower water. The cheers are followed by groans when Ractus gives the orders to man the ropes for the second half. Still, Rudabeh promised clerics, cooks and uniforms with the proceeds so everyone works at it. In short order they have two clam halves trailing after them like docile puppies. Ostend shrugs, more amicable then usual and they set off upstream.

The days pass without incident, everyone falling back into their usual rhythms. Rudabeh practicing her swordplay at dawn, sometimes with Ractus watching. Silvui and Litta spending time together at the stern, Draze fishing enough to feed half the Company (more important then ever due to low food stocks). Irovetti does his best to fight boredom by planning their grand arrival at Oustea where he, apparently plans to hire several bands and at least three acting troupes. The former king seems mesmerized by the idea of a party in three dimensions.

The weather is good, at least by Rudabeh's standards who enjoys rainy days and cool foggy mornings. The nights tend to be clear and muggy however, full of the night sounds of the river. Splashing frogs, calling birds and fluttering bats.

It is one of these nights, with everyone oddly still and silent when Dannagu calls out, "Rudabeh! We are going to your homeland, yes? Outsea, where you are from?"

A few others look at the big man, who is more a suggestion then anything else in the gloom. "We should know more of it. Tell us a tale of your home. A myth or mighty legend! Come, I like to know stories of places I go." A few others take up the call singing out, "Story, story!"

Rudabeh was sitting on deck with a sturdy chair beaneath her and a conviently sized crate that had become her desk, lapis-and-gold fountain pen dancing across some parchment. The darkness was no impediment to her to her writing, and ideas on folding Daggermark's scattered judicial system into an organized body overseen by the Pact of Years flow onto the paper.

She looks up, surprised to hear and then see the usually silent and brooding Dannagu making demands. He he begun his transformation into a more lively man, as she had hoped and prayed to Alseta?

Looking up in thought as the chants begin to increase, a story does come to mind that would satisfy anyone. "Very well!" The undine responds, placing her hands on her makeshift desk and standing to her full height.

"I suppose we are far enough away from Outsea yet that speaking its name will bring no ill tides." She says mysteriously, pacing further onto deck to take something of a center stage. "Let me preface this story with some history. Outsea, as you may have heard, is a body of magically transported ocean water that foundered at its current resting place some 500 years ago as part of the eternal conflict between the merflok and sahuagin of the Inner Sea. But the Ceratioidi mercenary-spellcasters transporting this portion of the ocean did not just bring water with them... they brought sea plants, animals, fish of all kinds, coral, stone, deep sea caverns and all manner of creatures. To avoid Gozreh's wrath and keep the balance, they moved the ocean and its floor as one. Unbeknownst to them, in one of those deep caverns in a deep sleep was a powerful and much-feared fey, one that had terrorized the coastline of the Inner Sea many times in its long life."

By this time she had gathered a bit of a crowd, and the undine projected her booming voice over the murmurs as soldiers and sailors sat down or leaned against cargo. "They say to speak this creature's name is to draw its attention and bring its judgement upon you, so I warn you not to repeat this story or its name when you can taste the salt waters of Outsea or the Inner Sea on your lips." It was a dire and serious warning, and her eyes scanned the crowd to make sure there were none making light of it.

"This is the story of the nuckelavee of Outsea."

The following is an edit of "Nuckelavee" by S. J. McKenzie, which itself is a re-writing of a supposed first-hand account of an encounter with the a Nuckelavee collected by Orkney folklorist Walter Traill Dennison.

"Some hundred years after the founding of Outsea, there was a human orphan called Tam Brodie that lived near Westloch, on the shores of Outsea. One starry night, Tam was walking home from the tavern, along the edge of a road that had the sea on one side and a freshwater loch on the other. As he made his way along the narrowest part of the road, he saw a huge creature climbing up towards him out of the dark sea."

“Sarenrae will be with me, and take care of me, as I am out for no evil purpose tonight!” said Tam boldly, and he kept walking slowly forward. But soon he regretted all his brave piety, as he saw that it was no ordinary sea-creature, but a nuckelavee, a most terrible fey that is greatly feeared by any shore dwelling community.

"This is how Tam described him to the folks gathered in the tavern the following evening..." “The low part of him was of a horse, of eighteen hands, all black from dripping sea-slime, and giving off a terrible stink. But out of his back grew the torso of a man, and his arms were so long that they dragged right along the ground! His head was huge, and it lolled from side to side as he walked, and he had only one eye, but huge it was too, and as red as fire, and his breath was all burning, sulphurous steam!"

"But worst of all, the monster was skinless, so his body was only red, raw flesh, with blood as black as tar running through his veins, and with great white sinews, thick as horse tethers, twisting and stretching as he moved about!”

"Now, Tam had not had his parents by to see that he grew up with good sense or manners, so that he had become something of a target for mockery. But despite this, the boy had a way of telling a tale so that it would fill the room, and everyone listened as he continued."

“I was in fear now, for I knew that there was no chance to flee, for the creature would outrun me as a horse does a man. But yet I was undaunted.” A bold tone came to his voice. ““I’ll see the front of whatever kills me, rather than show him me back,” said I, and I continued forward.”

“It was beside me all at once, its arms reaching out towards me and its fiery breath all on me face.” And sure enough, the skin on the poor lad’s face was burned pink all down one side, and his hair and lashes were gone there too, to the last one. “I lurched backward away from it, and tumbled down the narrow bank, so that one of me feet went in the loch, splashing up some of the water.

"’Tis only Sarenrae’s kindness that the water splashed at the legs of the monster as it followed me down the bank! And as soon as it got on him, he gave an awful yelp, which gratified me no end to hear, and he shied back away to the other side of the road.”

And then everyone recalled the common lore about Nuckelavee... he feared fresh water, and could not bear to have even a drop of it on him; for to him with no skin, it was like brimstone, so that he was afraid even to leap across a running stream. There were a few cries of “Ah! It was fresh!” and “Of course, the water,” but then they hushed down, so that Tam could go on.

“So I stayed near the loch, didn’t I, as any fool would! I kept me legs almost in it, so as I could leap in there and avoid his clutches, if the worst came to it. But I wanted to get no closer to the loch than that, for only Sarenrae knows what other kelpie or beast might be in there! And so I stretched away along the bank of the loch with the monster galloping after me, bellowing something like a horse, and something like the waves on the rocks, and a fearful noise it was to hear."

“Well, I’m no braggart, but after the quickest mile anyone ever ran in Outsea, I come to the river. If I could cross the fresh running water, I was safe I knew, but he was gaining on me as I went to make the jump, and just as I leapt across, he lunged at me, but succeeded only in grabbing me hat! You should have heard him bellow as I ran away on the other side. When I turned he had gone from sight, although still I could hear the hooves of him clatter on the road as I made me way back. “

“And ran into your hat on the way, I’ve no doubt,” said a young fellow, and the laughter roared up in the tavern, but it could not hide the air of deep concern among many of those who had heard the tale."

"As I have said, Tam was an unruly fellow, and while his stories were as amusing as himself, most folks gave them little credence. And so it might have been that the people of Outsea ignored him when he said he had encountered the creature, which had not been seen by any human there in five generations, and never encountered there by the longer-lived seafolk."

"But this time, it had to be said that Tam might be telling the truth. The marks on his face were enough to convince them that something had happened out there, be it as he said or otherwise. Then, upon their investigation of the narrow road, they found that great hoof-prints were visible, right where Tam claimed the creature had been. And then at the end of the road where the river lay, they found his hat, with the top of it burned right through."

"That was enough for the landlubbers of Westloch. Quick now to believe the creature was aswim, the people began to take great caution, bringing in all their livestock from the outlying fields, and making sure never to be out on the roads after night had fallen case they too meet the dreaded creature. The landlubber advisory committee warned the Council of Generals in Outsea, but they were in the middle of yearly budgetary debates and tabled the matter indefinitely."

"It was not until a few days later that anyone gave thought to the reason for Nuckelavee’s return. Mrs. Harcus, an elderly widow and friend to the Brodies, was walking past Tam’s shack and saw him doing something that every other Outsea landlubber knew was unthinkable. There he stood, right before her on a clear autumn day, burning great piles of seaweed that he had gathered in an old pit by the ocean shore."

“What in the Abyss’s name are you doing, Tam Brodie?” said she."

“It is such an easy way to be rid of it!” said he, an idiot’s grin upon his red-burned face. “I have been doing it for a month or more. I am surprised no-one else has thought of it.”

“Well, I am surprised you are not already in line at the Boneyard, with a Psychopomp holding your hand to make sure you don't get lost.” She put her hands on her head and stomped up and down. “Do you not know that HE hates the smell of that?" She dared not say Nuckelavee’s name aloud. “To us it is but burning kelp, but to him it is the foulest odour!"

"All this was true enough. To burn the kelp weed was to summon up a nuckelavee out of the sea, for he considered it a terrible offence, and it had not been done in Outsea since its founding. But poor Tam had never learned this, or if he had been told, the news had gone straight through his head without finding a part of his mind in which to lodge."

"So this was why the creature had returned. Because Thomas Brodie is as big a fool as ever lived in Outsea and has been burning the kelp, which any child in a cradle knows you must not do!” she ranted that night, as the people gathered. “It is only by the god's mercy that we have not got the Mortasheen already. And if we do, it will be the boy’s fault, and then what will become of him?”

“The monster knows as much. It sought him out first,” said one of the men gathered there. “It is him the creature wants!”

“I hope you are not suggesting we turn him out, son,” said Mrs. Harcus. “We’ll not turn on our own, no matter how damnably stupid they are.”

"While many in the tavern nodded in assent, some others muttered about there being a time and place for rough justice, and it was clear that Tam’s future did not look bright. And so he was taken from his little shack by the loch into the house of his relatives at the Funnel on the southern most tip of Outsea, where his uncle could keep an eye on him and make sure he got up to no more foolishness."

"Unfortunately for the folk of Stronsay, Mrs. Harcus had spoken too soon about the Mortasheen. The very next day, signs of the disease had begun to appear. Horses took sick near to where Tam was now living at Funnel, and began foaming at the mouth. The day after that, other horses showed the same condition, although these were at the other end of the sea."

"There was no help for the poor beasts; after two days of foaming at the mouth, they were dead. It was not long before half the horses on the island were dead or dying, and other animals had begun to contract the sickness, too."

"And it got worse very rapidly. The barley, had begun to show signs of mildew, although there had been not an inch of rain for weeks, and little fog. Soon it was crumbling away into nothing. Other crops failed too, although there was not a sign of trouble up or down the Sellen."

"It was said that Nuckelavee was walking the length of the Outsea shores at night, breathing his pestilence into barns and fields, and causing the strange drought as well, so that no animal or crop on the shore would survive the winter, if nothing could be done to placate him."

"And of course, word had gotten round about Tam Brodie and the burning kelp, and on the seventh evening after the plague began, there was a crowd gathered outside his uncle’s door, demanding that he be sent out into the wilds at night so that the creature could claim the one he wanted, and leave the rest in peace."

“We are paying for his sin!” one of them shouted. “We’ll all starve, and not see out the harvest, now he has brought this thing on us. You’re harbouring the curse in there, Brodie. Turn him loose at once, or we’ll come in and take him.”

"James Brodie, Tam’s uncle, was a good man and respected in Outsea, and he did not want to see his orphaned nephew so mistreated, but he knew that after a day or two more of the disease, there would be no stopping the landlubbers from carrying out their threat. So he stood at his doorstep and placated them."

“Let him stay this one night more in my care, for he needs some time to prepare himself to fight the creature. After that, you may do as you please with him, but do not harm him this evening.”

"So the villagers went away, leaving the Brodies and other folk in Funnel wondering what to do with the wayward boy. They gathered to discuss it, and it was Mrs. Harcus who put forward the only real suggestion."

“It is the monster that is controlling the weather,” said she, “for it is known that he hates the rain. Autumn is his time. The Mother of The Sea keeps him at bay in summer, and the rain keeps him back at winter. As we cannot wait for the sun, we must have the rain, to bring on the winter, and to drive him away.” This was a strange suggestion, but no-one could think of an alternative, so that evening they went down to the water’s edge to pray to Gozreh for rain to come."

"Now, rain is neither a normal nor a needful thing to wish for in Outsea, in which every other day sees it coming down by the bucket. And so it was that their song caught the attention of a Ceratioidi, who was lurking in their night-boat offshore in the darkness."

Rudabeh pauses her booming storytelling voice to speak plainly and informatively "A note for you all when we arrive in Outsea. The Ceratioidi are tall, fish-like humanoids with a fleshy lure hanging in front of their face and rarely seen on land. They may appear to be one being, but are actually two minds fused together in one body, a male and female. They are most often very wise, sometimes feared, and are close to the native god of Outsea, Danglosa. Always refer to a Ceratioidi as "they", and heed well their words."

"The Ceratioidi were a mystery to many landlubbers in those times: their moods were changeable, and their magic as powerful as any winter storm. But they were also remote, and showed themselves to air-breathers only according to an occasional capricious whim, sometimes for the purpose of kind generosity and sometimes for malice, and one could never know their true purpose until the final moment came."

"Swiftly and silently, the Ceratiodi drew close to the shore without need of an oar, and then stepped from their boat and came upon them from the shadows of the beach. They was within a whisper’s distance before the little group of singers knew they were there. Of course, they were most frightened when they saw them."

"Quickly they formed into a huddle, with their fire between them and the sorcerer. But they, who was dark and tall and lean, and whose long teeth could only half be seen beneath their hood, gave a low laugh and told them not to fear."

“I have come to help you, James Brodie. I heard your song just now. If you wish to bring the winter rain, I know how it can easily be done,” he said, for like Nuckelavee, the Ceratiodi were masters of the weather. “But I would know why you want such a thing done, just when the harvest is upon you?”

“What is it that you want, if we tell you?” said James Brodie, who was by now holding up a burning branch from the fire to ward off the dark figure."

“I want only to help you. And in reward, you will meet me here on this beach in a year from today, and you will bring this bag, filled with silver; and if you do not, none of you will ever see me again.”

"James Brodie and the others secretly thought this was a foolish bargain, but one that suited their side well, and so they told the sorcerer all about poor Tam, Nuckelavee, and how they wanted to save the boy and be rid of the creature. The Ceratiodi nodded and asked no questions, as though they knew the reason all along, and soon agreed to make the rain come for them the next evening. And then they slipped silently away."

"On the night of the following day, when his uncle could appease the vengeful crowds no longer, Tam Brodie was turned out of the house at Funnel. Most of those who had gathered to see it done were quick to return to their homes before the darkness was complete, but some of the younger lads swaggered after him as he headed away from the village, shouting at him, one or two even throwing stones. After a mile they gave up the game, and he was alone."

“Head for high ground, son, and look for a shelter where he’ll not find you,” James had said to him before he departed, handing the lad a bag of dry food and a blanket to take with him up into the hills, where he was to wait out the evening. “Keep alive just one night longer, and you’ll be through this.”

"He walked slowly up the side of Sly Hill, searching the horizon for the promised rain. But this evening, the sky was filled with blazing star-shine, just like the night he had first met the creature and his troubles had begun."

"He began muttering to himself about all the bad luck that had ever befallen him, from the beginning of his life to this very hour. But as he looked back upon his life — a thing he had never done before — he remembered too all the kindnesses that had been shown to him, and he began to regret the many times he had ignored the lessons that others had tried to teach him."

“Damn me!” he said. “If I was more of a one for listening and learning, and less often at the tavern playing the fool, the Mortasheen would not have come upon us, and I’d be safe at home now!” And he decided that if he could only see out the night, he would abandon the life of the young fool and work at making a man of himself."

"But he was not even at the crown of the hill before he heard the sound of galloping hooves coming after him, and then the steaming blast of the nuckeavee’s breath. He turned and saw the glowing red eye, visible for a moment in the night before the rest of its body came into view as it charged out of the darkness."

"The eye stared straight at him, and the ghastly mouth grinned wide, and then it reared up upon its hind legs and roared, and he smelled the bloody slime dripping from its undersides and saw the fleshy tendons writhing within its body. Then it bore down on poor Tam Brodie, so recently of new resolve, but who now seemed certain to die that night, as there was no help from the Ceratiodi forthcoming."

"But then the darkness came, and it came swiftly. So sudden it was that frightened Tam thought the stars had all gone out and that his final judgement was at hand, and he began to pray aloud for mercy. But as he prayed, he looked overhead and saw the real reason that the darkness had come upon them."

"Great black clouds had rolled in from the west onto Outsea and had covered the stars in all the time it takes for a wave to break onto the shore. And as soon as the last patch of starry sky was gone from sight, down came the rain, and within a few heartbeats he was soaked through."

"Nuckelavee had got within five yards of Tam before the first drops hit his flanks, but it was so dark now that Tam had difficulty in seeing what befell the creature, and afterwards he could never quite explain it."

“It was as though parts of him just went their separate ways,” he would say. “Some of him staggered off down the hill to the sea, screaming in a man’s voice, but I heard the bellow of an angry horse go off towards the landward side. And part of him just fell to pieces in the spot where he stood, like a cake of salt in hot water.”

"And when the clouds parted, as swiftly as they had arrived, and he moved forward to see what remained of the creature, all he found was a large dark patch of slime on the grass."

"There is a final word to the story, and you may have already guessed that the Ceratiodi had it, exactly one year later. The Brodies and their friends, though not Tam, for he was away working, were sitting down for supper at their house in Funnel when there came a knock at the door, and before it could be answered, the dark Ceratiodi came into the room and stood before them."

“I fulfilled my promise to you. But you did not come to the beach. Have you the bag of silver, so that you may also fulfil your part of the bargain?”

"James Brodie had not forgotten about the bargain, and he was ready with words for the sorcerer, although he did not rise to greet him, but remained seated as he was."

“The bargain was unjust,” they said. “We are not to know if the storm came by its own accord, or was sent by Gozreh, instead of you." In any case, we are only poor people, and have no bags of silver to be giving away to strangers. Your word was that if we gave you nothing, we would not see you again. Well, we have nothing for you, and you have entered uninvited. Go from my house now.”

"The Ceratiodi said: “Very well.” And for a moment the Brodies thought he would trouble them no more. But then the sorcerer reached into their cloak and drew out from a small pouch a handful of black powder, smelling of salt and vinegar, which they threw in a whirl so that it went into the faces of everyone that sat around the table that night. And from that moment on, they were all as blind as the stones in the hearth."

“It is as I said: none of you will ever see me again,” laughed the Ceratiodi, and as the Brodies groped about on the floor to find their way, they never heard the Ceratiodi sorcerer slip away into the night."

Rudabeh reaches for her waterskin, both to signal the end of the story and to take several long draws that soothes her raw throat.

There is a general outburst of laughter and applause as Rudabeh wraps up her story. The paladin is not adverse to public speaking, indeed her little speeches are already legend among the Company. but she rarely tells fictional stories. It is a change of pace and goes a long way to humanizing the often rather severe Alseta paladin.

"But what is the meaning of this story?" Dannagu says as the cheers fade away. The big man tugs his beard in thought. "Is it to respect the ways of your ancestors and neighbors? Or is to to fear monsters? Or perhaps to simply work hard and live a good life?"

A pause and then Silvui breaks in with an nearly audible grin, "I think, Dannagu, the lesson is to never betray a deal with a Ceratiodi!" Laughter rings out again as the swordsman adds, "They sound as cunning as a Sczarni trader."

Agreement fills the air but Ractus says, "It has many lessons, like all good stories. Well told, Rudabeh. It was a new one to me, and that is rare after all these years on the road and in camp. Perhaps Outsea will have many surprises for us. But unlike Tam Brodie, we will not be caught unaware. Right?"

"Yes, sir!" Rings out the musical and somewhat humrous response.

"And now to bed, all of you!" Ractus bawls, standing up, "One would think you are children, listening for stories at the fireplace. We have a busy day tomorrow, and I'll not have you all red-eyed and yawning. We reach Rudabeh's homeland tomorrow and we will make a good impression. " Rudabeh doesn't bother to tell them Outsea isn't really her homeland. She is from the real ocean, and that distant body of water sings in her blood. Still, Outsea was a formative place so maybe the elf is not entirely wrong.

Armor: 1d2 ⇒ 1

It is Senqhi's voice that enters her mind when she dons her armor in the pre-morning gloom.

"We visit your old home?" The former ifrit says. "I seem to recall you mentioning many strange creatures. Will we see some?"

Up on deck she finds Ostend already at the prow, peering into a foggy morning. The half elf waves her over and speaks quietly, words muffled by the waves of mist.

"We will reach Outsea today. I asked around. Apart from a few of the crew, no one else onboard has seen the city before. It should be quite the shock. And I've only detoured around it, on the Byway." Rudabeh knows the Byway is the great canal built around the city, so through traffic can simply bypass the city entirely instead of having to wind through Outsea's rather...unquie geography.

"How does it feel to go home again?" The half-elf asks suddenly. The usual dour riverman has obviously changed since his marriage, growing far more open and personable. Rudabeh wonders if it'll last or this is just a honeymoon. She has seen plenty of both through the years.

"I was born in the Protectorate." The Protectorate of Black Marquis was a city of displaced pirates who exclusively preyed on no River-Kingdom traffic. It was a member of the Pact of Years but a rather unstable one. The pirates have mellowed out in recent decades though, generally collecting tolls from merchants rather then looting. Recently legitimate trade has been growing in the region. "So home is...complicated for me."

Lol, I just noticed I forgot to edit some stuff in the story, so there are some weird mnetions of places. Oh well.

Rudabeh smiles at the applause, but she takes no grand bow, nor does she join in their jubiliations. Her eyes rest on Dannagu first, his probing questions giving her pause. But in the end the paladin need say nothing, as others fill in the gaps and she merely stands at the bow with a small smile for the soldiers filing away. Her and Ractus are the only two left, and she turns her head towards him. "You'll be hearing many tales in the tavern at Funnel until we find some work. I don't know how long it will be be until Veleda summons me back to Daggermark, and trust me, after serving a few years as a Sergeant the last thing the guard wants to deal with is a bunch of bored soldiers. Military service is mandatory in Outsea, but their land forces are not as well developed, well equipped, or as... motivated... as the water forces, so they're usually looking to hire some strong arms or backs to supplement the landlubber corps. I'm sure we can find something for them to do, even if it's patrols."

---------

Oh, there are creatures there you will see nowhere else in the River Kingdoms. They're from the ocean, a body of salt water so vast it can take months to cross by ship. Rudabeh thinks as she climbs the stairs up to the deck. Whenever Seqhi was present it slowed down progress on the book Rudaeh and Teken were working on, but it was nice to have a break from Teken's sulking once in a while. She wondered if he would ever forget about that skeleton she let go at the bottom of the lake. Probably not.

And unlike all the birds and frogs we've seen, I actually know the names of most creatures in Outsea! It was going to be a nice change of pace, actually being able to answer Seqhi's questions, though the undine feared it would merely make her more curious.

'It's certainly unique." She responds to Ostend's observation about the shock a magically maintained inland sea is going to have on a bunch of freshwater sailors, or as those that fished Outsea's waters called them, Bilge Drinkers on account of being able to drink the waters they sailed. Rudabeh thought it was tough talk for a bunch of lake fishermen that had never been on the real sea and were, by any real sailor's standards, landlubbers, but it's not like she had the power to change people's opinions or pride. Plus, there was some scary stuff living in Outsea that could get caught in their nets, like pissed off and well-connected merfolk with legal standing far above any air breather.

Some sad cases she had witnessed in Outsea court wash out of her mind when Ostend asks her about going home again.

"Really, the Protectorate?" The paladin says with some surprise. It was not exactly known for its elf or half-elf population, but she wasn't about to inquire about his lineage. "I've never been." She leaves it at that. Time in the Bastard Brigade had taught her that half-anythings typcially had difficult upbringings.

"I wasn't born in Outsea." She begins, leaning against the gunwale and looking north into the fog, her keen eyes barely picking out the banks on either side. "I was born in a mostly undine community, a town called Catokerp that floated above a kelp forest on the Inner Sea. My family fled to the Taldor shortly before the town was destroyed by pirates demanding tribute." This was all said with the subdued air of a history lesson- Rudabeh felt no real attachment to a place she barely remembered. All those pirates were probably dead of violence or old age by now, anyway.

"We ended up in Outsea and stayed, though, so it is definitely home." Her head turns back to Ostend, a smile of pearl white, pointed teeth blossoming between her aquamarine lips. "My entire family is there. I'm excited. It's been over a decade since I've seen them, and because I was always traveling I received few letters."

Gazing back into the fog bank, she looks past it to an unknown, titillating future. "I can't wait to see how my little brother and sister have grown. My brother is a genius and a truly remarkable sculptor. Honestly, the shells we're hauling could very well end up in his hands, depending on who buys them. And my sister is nearly an adult." Rudabeh was about to add "if she's learned to be one", but considered that not only rude to speak ill of family in front of non-family, but thought it oversharing.

"Will you be staying long?" She posists to the river Captain. "No matter what anyone says the barnacles really won't be that bad on your barge, and they'll all die once you go back to fresh water. Unless you get stuck with the magical kind, and well, some people will pay you for those!" She did not mention these magical barnacles, said to be from the plane of water, usually required either contacting an interested wizard or removing the entire plank of wood from the hull.

"I made a poor pirate." Is all Ostend says about his homeland and his past. His voice is low however, and his eyes fixed on the swirling mist ahead of them. The fog frames each tree and bush on the banks, wreathing them grand mantles, growing to great sizes.

"I have never been to see." The river man said, which was common. The River Kingdoms were a big place and a very specialized skill set, plenty enough to keep a man occupied for a life time. "I've done a few runs down to northern Taldor, but that is as far as I have gone. Maybe someday."

"A whole family of Rudabehs is an...imposing prospect, I confess." The half-elf says then squints ahead through the fog. Near one bank, a trio of sandbars poke out into the stream. He grunted and turned his head, looking down the length of the barge, and stern lost in the mist.

"A few fingers to the right!" he shouts. A muffled "Aye, aye," floats back. Slowly Rudabeh feels the ship alter course ever so slightly.

Ostend smiles and says, "That means it is coming up. Excuse me." He turns and rings a bell mounted to the prow, usually only reserved for emergencies. The half-elf pulls it hard, the iron clatter sounding loudly through the quiet dawn morning.

"All hands on deck! And all of the Company. I promise you don't want to miss this!" He rings it again.

The barge crew, of course, is on deck in moments. That is part of the sailor's life, either on salt or fresh. The Company takes rather longer, with more grumbling and sour looks. Still most turn out, even though Ostend can't really order them to sight see.

Draze sidles up, looking into the mist. "I've never been." The old veteran says, 'But I imagine one town is much like another?"

Aurelia emerges, wrapped in a heavy wool cloak against the clammy air. "Do..do they have sharks, Rudabeh/" She says in a quiet voice, looking down at the river water around them. "I hear they can eat people!" A few laugh, clearly thinking a fish that large is impossible. Sure, monsters can get that big, but a normal fish? Impossible.

Ractus is one of the last on deck, eyes bleary despite his words the pervious night.

"Really, Ostend? Dragging us all out of bed. For what, a few piers-" The elf trails off as the barge comes around a wide bend. "What's that?" The mercenary asks.

Two things strike Rudabeh at once, triggering a lifetime of memories. The first was familiar to any resident of the River Kingdoms. The sound of falling rushing water, like that over a waterfall or large rapids. Such things were rare in the flat swamp but not unheard of. The other was a strange scent in the air, wafted through the thick mist. A briny smell that stuck to the tongue, a potent mixture of fish, seaweed and salt. The smell of the sea.

And then a vast dark shape loomed out of the fog ahead, far wider then the river and taller then the drooping trees on either bank. A sheer black cliff, covered with cascading torrents of water. It curved away on both sides, arcing off into the misty air out of sight, towering above the landscape.

"The Outfall." Ostend said proudly, as if he had built the thing itself. "The only dam in the River Kingdoms."

He said it so casually, Rudabeh doubted he knew the full story. She did of course, studying the Outfall was a classic way to introduce law students to a complicated issue with intersections with religion, commerce, public works and community planning.

But really, at it's heart, the Outfall was allowed due to a very complicated tripartite agreement between Gozreh, Hanspur and Alseta (as mediator). When the denizens of Outsea were trapped in the River Kingdoms, they had asked Gozreh for help and with his divine assistance, they carved out the first great sinkhole. Gozreh's Well. This was all well and good, but as time progressed, it was clear Outsea needed more space and due to the nautical nature of it's citizens, that meant deeper water. And that meant a dam.

Easier said then done in a land partially governed by a water rat who despised all such creations. But the folks of Outsea were a...determined lot. It taken decades of prayers, communing and divine interference. Histories said actual divine servants of all three gods finally showed up. Druid arbiters were there (although this was far before the Pact of Years, of course), to help smooth things over. It took months of constant struggle but in the end an agreement was finally reached that allowed Outsea to create one single dam to protect their fragile bubble of salty ocean.

So they had built one. They had just done it on a grand scale. The rock had mostly been magically conjured out of thin air, a heavy black stone rooted in the very bones of Golarion, far past the mud and silt of the local landscape. It was singularly hard and strong stuff, yet able to be drilled and worked, if needed. It was merely one piece of the intricate engineering and magical wonder that was Outsea but it was a very visible piece.

"Is that salt water pouring over?" Draze asked, sniffing the salty air. Rudabeh knew it wasn't, of course. Salt was a prime commodity in Outsea and carefully regulated. Not only would it be wasteful to lose it downstream, it would pollute the watershed and that would cause all sorts of havoc.

The deep pool at the base of the Outfall is rippling with foam, but a deep channel runs out of it, under the shadow of the frowning dam.

"The Bypass." Ostend says, "We will go that way. It takes us around the dam and will let us enter Outsea proper. Or at least that is how I am told it works. I've only ever gone around."

"So..it is a lake behind the dam?" Silvui said, obviously confused.

How little he knew.

Rudabeh lets out an amused chuckle at Ostend's preconcieved notion that her whole family are in the same school. "Oh, don't worry, I'm the white whale in the pod, Other than being related by blood I don't share much in common with my family."

She merely nods to Ostend as he goes to perform his duties, turning her attention back to the languid mist ahead of them. It was coming up... even though teh bell ringing was annoying in the midst of such a calm, peaceful morning, she was glad Ostend wanted to share one of Outsea's more visible engineering marvels.

Rudabeh barely moves from her place as the crew and company file up onto the deck, stll leaning over the gunwale like a cat lounging in a tree. Resting, alert, and confident. Though they hadn't entered Outsea proper, the undine already felt they were in her "territory" so to speak.

A small, expectant smile is given to Draze. "There are a lot of things that are the same anywhere, but.. well, there are a lot of civilized folks here that in any other part of the world would be considered "monsters". In any case think you're going to enjoy yourself if you go fishing. There are some strict rules about fishing on the sea shore with hooks, though, so we should have a look at your tackle before you cast any lines. I know some guides I could introduce you to that would take you out on their boats for a silver or two."

Aurelia is given a sad, concerned look. "I'm sorry Aurelia, there are many sharks in Outsea of all sizes. Some of them are big enough to ride like a horse or even pull boats." Before the panic sets in, she adds a qualifer. "But most are tame pets of sahuagin and very well behaved! They're... like dogs, and won't attack unless provoked or ordered. They're very helpful for keeping the octopuses and crabs out of the pantry!"

All this was forgotten as a sudden, scented note reaches her on the breeze. Unmistakable. Unforgettable. A wave of nostalgia crashes over Rudabeh, and she quickly turns back to her spot on the gunwale, leaning over it, opening her mouth, and inhaling deeply. The salt wicks her nose and touches her tongue, sending a visible ripple of excitement through her body. She craved to dive into the salted depths beyond the Outflow. Most freshwater was a stale loaf of bread with mud for dressing, but the saltwater of Outsea was a flavorful as the main course of one of Irovetti's feasts.

"Technically a dam, yes, though the engineers refer to it as the Sellen's "flow restrictor. It is truly marvelous." She says as they cruise by the imposing structure. "You will soon see that Outsea's engineers and magicians treat water as dwarves treat stone." It was a shame everyone knew about dwarves and their ability with stone, but why does no one talk about Outsea's marvelous works of flow direction? Surely directing millions of gallons of water every year under constnatly changing conditions is just as impressive as living under millions of tons of stone?

Ostend skillfully guides the barge through the pool, avoiding the thundering cascades of water and heading for the wide canal. They reach it shortly, but the barge captain has to shout at his sailors more then once to stop gawking at the colossal feat of engineering off the port side. Soon they are in the Bypass, poling upstream.

The canal curves alongside the Outfall, which slowly shrinks in size as they leave the crest behind. The smell of the sea grows stronger as the great wall diminishes. It is hard to see much in the mist but they pass a few small vessels, still tied up.

"Small pilots resting." Ostend says, nodding, "Many would rather sleep out here then pay harbor fees. The Bypass is very calm, so not a bad place to spend the night."

They creep forward through the oddly artificially square and even stream. The mist curls around them, thick layers of shifting white gauze. Ractus comes up to Rudabeh and says quietly, "So, what exactly is our official capacity here?" Even close up, the elf is more a vague shape in the thick mist. "Are we representatives of the Pact or is this unofficial? Basically, are you a figure of state or just someone returning home? Also, will the Company be at your beck and call? I don't mind, I just want to know what you have in mind." he coughs and says, "I'd like to avoid a coup this time."

As if on cue, Irovetti's voice suddenly rises over the solemn silence of rushing water.

"Marvelous!" he cries, "Stupendous!" A bit of silence and then, "Rudabeh, where are you.."

In short order he finds the undine at the rail, the small man emerging out of the pearly white murk.

"Amazing, Rudabeh, amazing. I had no idea such craftsmanship was here. Your people keep it very secret." He peers up at the, while shrinking, still sizable wall. "It is very formidable but....a bit bland. Have you considered color? A coat of paint would do wonders. Imagine what it would look like in plaster white. Or even better, in gold foil! Glittering in the sun. It would be one of the Seven Wonders of Avistan!"

"And maybe some statuary on this side. A nautical theme, of course. Sailing ships and whatnot." The former king muses, staring at the black outer wall of Rudabeh's home. "Maybe some fish mouths gushing water? What do you think Rudabeh, do you have the influence to make that happen? Does Outsea have a King?"

Rudabeh is clearly not budging from her spot at the bow. Not only is she intent on being the first into Outsea, but her shining armor should serve as a running light to any other vessels coming the opposite direction in the thick mist.

"What I have in mind..." She repeats the elf's words trailing off in thought. "Other than spending time with my family and praying at The Archway of Alseta..." A thought occurs to her, causing her to shift and look off into the mist. "Oh, maybe I could organize a gathering for Alsetans at the Arch...Ah, but I digress. I have no plans with teeth. I hope to find work for the Company, some new recuits, a healer, maybe a journeyman blacksmith, definitely cook... Oh, and we should all go see a play!" She had a smile on her face, voice relaxed and cheerful.

"Veleda did not send me here to do anything. Honestly, she sort of exiled me, probably to keep myself and Iro-" The former king's voice cuts through the mist, and she turns her head to shout. "Over here!" Her voice quiets, turning back to Ractus. "Out of trouble. As far as I'm concerned, we're just visiting. I could, legally speaking, be called for military duties in service to Outsea while I'm here, but I might be able to find a way around if it's some sort of political ploy."

She allows Irovetti his critique of the Outflow, giving him a skeptical look at the idea of paint, though the gold foil changes her face somewhat. "Paint does not last long in the salt air, but gold foil would be in vogue."

Rudabeh laughs heartly when the human asks if she has the influence to make changes to a beloved landmark and engineering triumph of the nation. "No, I'm afraid not. While I am known by some Outears, I am just a merchant's daughter, lawyer, and reserve Sergeant. In any case, The Council of Generals doesn't consider "landlubber aesthetics" a priority."

His question about having a king makes her pause- surely Irovetti, with his long time political experience, would at least know the government structure of one of the River Kingdoms. What was he getting at? "Some on the Council of Generals would fancy themselves King or Queen if they knew such ambitions would not end in the rest of the Council swarming them for the attempt. The Council rules Outsea's waters, shores, and land, and is composed of one representative of each sentient water-breathing race living in Outsea. They are all Generals in the military and some have held their seat for a hundred years or more. Oh, land folk merely have an advisory panel, no voting power I'm afraid." She wonders if the undine representative still had their seat- considering they were also in charge of the volunteer Landlubber corps, that position took a lot of flotsam when anything went poorly on land. The position changed fins frequently either by the Council ejecting them or the mercuial undines themselves wanting a replacement.

"I have no desire to request an audience, but if the Council summons us to ascertain the intentions of representatives of the Pact of Years being here I will be sure to arrange passage for you as well. I think you'll greatly enjoy the sights." She says to Irovetti, knowing it would be good to have him around in such a politically tense situation, even if she would just tell them the truth of having no intentions. The Council was a suspicious lot, and surely knew of her arrival... either by Veleda's doing, their own spying, or the letter she had sent her family before leaving Daggermark. If it preceded her arrival.

"A military junta, then. Interesting." Irovetti says musingly, rubbing his chin. And with that the former king slots the very intricate and unique governmental system of Outsea into a neat mental pigeon hole. Rudabeh is not concerned. The man is a master political operator and will soon understand the flow of the currents. Indeed, she is more concerned that he will be angling for a seat on the Council by the end of the week. Outsea has a particularly ruthless and direct political culture. How on Golarion is she going to keep Irovetti under control? Ractus was right, the last thing they needed was another coup.

"There we are." Ostend says pointing ahead through the mist. Ahead, to the left, is a channel cut into the Bypass. "That channel leads to the docks." The barge is gently guided into it. Off to the side the Outfall is little more then a waist high line and even that finally vanishes into mist and soil.

For a short time they make way up the side channel until a suddenly voice calls out, "Who goes there? Heave to and answer!" The words are in Common but with a slight accent that makes Rudabeh's heart skip a beat. It sounds like home!

Ostend waves a hand and the gentle progress of the barge is stopped with pole and oar, a gentle backwash of water swirling around the flag vessel.

"River barge out of Daggermark, seeking Outsea port." Ostead shouts back, cupping his hands.

"Cargo?" The unseen voice replies.

Ostend glances at Rudabeh, gives an uncharacteristic grin and shouts, "Armed mercenaries!" Sudden silence from ahead. Rudabeh was really going to need to talk to Marsh. Ostend discovering a sense of humor was all well and good, but this was taking it a bit far!

Still grinning the half-elf adds, "Just a company looking for work. We come in peace, lads."

A suspicious silence and then "Come on ahead, but slow. No need for any trouble."

"Right!" Ostend replies and soon the barge is creeping ahead again. In short order the muddy banks turn to low wooden walls, as if someone had boxed in the river. Ahead another wall blocks their path, sunk into the water. The fog slowly peels back and reveals more of their surroundings.

On both banks a few low wooden buildings rest, having that heavy gravity of fortifications. Open warfare was rare on the river but bandits and pirates were hardly unheard of. Even simply the risk of a drunken and disorderly barge crew was worth building a few forts to handle. A huge rock, the size of a small house, looms near the waterside.

Among the shadowy buildings armed humans paced and walked, with most converging on the barge. Clearly Ostend's little joke has ruffled a few feathers. Rudabeh peers among the landlubbers and spots a skum officer managing things. The mist is too thick for her to recognize anyone.

One of the men hustles over to the side, and shouts to the barge, "Prepare for boarding and inspection."

"Inspection?" Ostend says in surprise, all smiles gone now. "What is, Opparra?"

The man, who looks rather young with a rusty beard shrugs, "That's the new orders. We've had smuggling problems."

Ostend glances at Rudabeh and mutters, "What's all this about? No on in the River Kingdom does inspections. It's unnatural."

In the distance the skum officer watches them, half-hidden between the fog and the isolated stone.

Rudabeh sees the wheels in Irovetti's mind turning, and realizes perhaps Veleda had been exiling the former king of Pitax more than exiling her. Still, if he was going to meddle in Outsea politics he had his work cut out- many of the figures on the council were immortal veterans of dozens political and physical battles. The human could be going from wading in a shallow pool to drowning in seconds.

Still, the thought of having to protect Irovetti wasn't enough to dry up her jubiliant mood.

She enjoys the gentle drifting up the channel, the splash of oars and poles in the foggy morning. The shout from the mist was not unexpected, and Rudabeh does straight from her post at the bow to listen and look intently.

A roll of her eyes and a shake of her head follows Ostend's little joke. Love does strange things to people, especially humans. It's like they're drunk for months. Yet she says nothing for this was not her vessel.

Lifting her head, Rudabeh watches the fortifications come into view, letting memory wash over her. As an amphibian her skills had mostly been needed elsewhere, such as patroling fresh water tributaries to Outsea, or performing search and rescue of air breathers, but she had a brief stint on the dock assisting customs. There were truly some bandits too stupid to live in the River Kingdoms, and these fortifications had been tested many times.

Figures in the fog materialize, and she is just as shocked as Ostend by the declaration. A cargo manifest, maybe some documents of sale or promissory notes to serve as proof of intentions... but an inspection? Once, she had seen river sailors pull knives at the suggestion and had to de-escalate the situation.

The undine paladin stirs, her tall figure straightening and moving through the mist, heavy boots thumping and steel rustling over the lapping of the barge's wake against the nearby stone.

"Hold on, let me talk to them." She says quietly to Ostend as she passes him to take center stage. If this was a shake-down by the docking authorities, she was having none of it.

Placing her hands on the gunwale and leaning over it, the young man on the docks can only see a looming figure of muscle and steel looking at him, her high-crested helmet easily invoking the imagery of a shark's fin breaking the surface.

Her voice projects through the mist in Aquan, the flowing langauge with few hard sounds seeming almost slurred or run-together to non-speaking ears. "I am Reserve Sergeant Rudabeh of the Amphibious Corps, returning to Outsea on an indefinite visit to see my family." She was going to need to state herself a returning citizen and reserve military member at some point, or risk being labeled a deserter. "I request audience with the commanding officer of this dock's garrison. I wish to see the declaration of the Council on this inspection policy before any boarding takes place." While it was clear she was talking at the young human, she was really intending on being heard by the outline of the skum officer some distance away.

The solider squints a bit at Rudabeh's Aquan, clearly understanding it fine but struggles to phrase his own reply. She has encountered this before with some new recruits, especially those not native to Outsea. Aquan was the lingua franca among the Outsea military but many understood it better then they spoke it.

He is still formulating his verb tenses when a new, crisp voice cuts through the fog. "Let them in, private." Perfect Aquan. The solider hesitates (which Rudabeh finds to be proof of his lack of training) and then turns and gives the skum officer a smart salute. He barks, in Common, "Aye, aye sir."

Then, turning slightly tot he side, says in slow Aquan, "Kreel. Drain!"

A moment of silence and then the looming rock near the canal moves.

"Desna's eyes, what's that?" Silvui curses at the same time Senqhi remarks in Rudabeh's mind, It's alive!

Alive, indeed.

What had seemed a rock is actually a towering chull. Over eight feet tall, with four legs and crab-claw arms. Formidable fighters, the carapace clad chuuls were Outsea's finest shock troops, if rare. Their distinctive growth cycle was a bit of a mystery, even to the rest of the inhabitants. They did have a seat on the Council however.

Kreel lumbered forward, hard claws clattering on paving stones. The creature reached a heavy capstan, grabbed a worn metal bar and began to push. The wheel slowly creaked to life, wood grinding on metal. There was a clunking, gugrling sound from somewhere under the barge.

"Flat bottom, right?" The human soldier asks Ostend casually, clearly not much impressed by the huge monster-like chuul.

Ostend dumbly nods, eyes fixed on the turning capstan. The human nods, "Good. We don't have to fuss with nets and all that. Just rest on the bottom."

"The bottom?" Ostend says, shaken out of his wonder by the words. "The bottom of what?"

There is a sudden rushing sound and a flood bubbles in the canal. Instantly the barge starts to rock as if caught in a slight breeze. Perceptibly the barge settles lower, as if sinking in the bubbles. But no, the barge is not sinking, the water is draining. Like water flowing out of a holed barrel, the dark river water of the channel flows away, and the barge sinks down. In only a few moments the barge is sitting at the base of a sudden hole, and everyone can see a metal grate makes up the base of the what, apparently, is a lock.

What about the fish and the frogs? Senqhi asks in a worried tone.

"Kreel. Fill!" The young man shouts in his stilted Aquan. The chuul grunts, grabs the bar in a different way and starts to push again. There is a clatter of chains and the thunk of wood all around them.

"Why drain it?" Aurelia asks, still shivering in her borrowed fur cloak. "Why do they want water? There is plenty of it."

Then, without warning, water bubbles up out of the grates, like a dozen springs bursting to life at once. Except this time the water is rich with that salty, briny tang. It is all Rudabeh can do to not jump in the clear seawater. The water level rises quickly, lifting the barge in a gentle, smooth motion.

Amazing, in a only a few minutes the barge is soon floating on an entirely different stream, this time of clear saltwater, instead of silty river.

'Kreel. Open!" The chuul lumbers away from the capstan, grabs a heavy chain so far unseen, which draws away the wooden wall ahead. There is a slight rush as more seawater enters the little canal, and the barge pitches every so slightly. They are now in Outsea proper if one judges Outsea by the world of salt it has created.

Meanwhile the skum officer has walked up, with that weird slightly limped gait of his kind, to the side of the canal.

"Captain," he says in perfect Common, "Welcome to Oustea. I apologize for the confusion. May I borrow your sergeant for a few moments?"

A rough gangplank is thrown to the barge.

Assuming you go

The skum leads Rudabeh a few steps away from the canal for privacy. The flowing mist cloaks them, but her sharp eyes can see the sun is burning bright above and is already melting the fog away. Rudabeh has had little dealing with the skum. The quasi-immortal fishmen kept to themselves, often in defacto retirement for generations before one would emerge, master a new field or craft and then vanish in obscurity again. She did not recognize this officer but his ensigna marks him as a captain.

"Welcome home, Sergeant." He says in Aquan, and hearing that language again is like stepping into a warm bath for the paladin. "How are the Drylands?" That term for the rest of the world being horribly archaic.

The skum reaches into a pocket and pulls out a small flask, "And may I also offer you a suitable apology for my soldier's over eagerness?" He shakes the flask slightly and is rewarded with a slight slosh. 'Real greenwater. I can imagine it has been some time?"

Greenwater was a liquor made from fermented kelp found only in Outsea. It was a drink few landlubbers had ever heard of, let alone offered in their taverns.

The skum goes on, "I thought it might interest you that I was told to expect you. Apparently your arrival is of import to someone high enough on the food chain to order me around." A pause as the skum surveyed the barge for a moment and added, "What brings you back? Anything more then a desire for decent caviar and greenwater?"

Rudabeh stays at the gunwale even as the skum officer clears them, wondering if she had called out the shakedown or if she were giving a special pass as a citizen. Much like anywhere in the River Kingdoms, Oustea looked after their own.

Her gaze shifts to the chuul as it stirs. Though she is unable to make it out its gleaming carapace in the fog, its formidable bulk is unmistakable. "That's a chuul." She says nonchalantly to Silvui and the ifrit in her head, without taking her eyes off its feats of strength. "Other than their obvious strength, many are avid collectors and skilled decorators. I once knew a chuul gardener that was a quite pleasant conversationalist and very knowledgeable about coral bed management." She wonders if he ever caught that grindylow that was killing and eating the clown fish in the anemone cascade.

The noise of draining water distracts her from the memories, and she watches the water recede, barely moving from her spot. The fish and frogs are small enough to make it through the grates, they get swept back into the river. She assuages Seqhi, who probably wouldn't stop worrying about it until Rudabeh replied. Really, it's anything larger than that you'd need to worry about. I've had to pull mangled humans and even water-breathers out of the grates and pipes... if you fall into the lock when it's draining there's little hope of surviving when you hit the grates.

"They're switching the lock from fresh water, which is what runs in the Sellen, to salt water, which is what Outsea has." Rudabeh patiently explains to the shivering sorceress. This certainly wasn't her domain...

The officer gives the order to fill the lock, and Rudabeh begins uncharacteristically excited. She shifts and fidgets, leaning over the gunwale to actually watch the salt water come flowing in. Breathing in deeply, Rudabeh gets her first real taste of salt on her tongue in a decade. Happily, she watches the lock fill up, keen eyes searching for any fish or shrimp that may have gotten swept in with the change.

The paladin hesitates for a moment when the skum officer asks for her presence- she was wearing enough silversheen to make even a General stop and look. The metal was incredibly precious in Outsea because it could survive the harsh saltwater as well as gold while also being functional, and there might only be a handful of water-breathers in the city rich enough to afford the weight she was wearing. On top of that she had never actually seen armor made of silversheen, only blades, and she isn't quite sure what Gezzerbiel did other than cause her a religious and social conundrum-

It wasn't exactly what a humble, simple worshiper of Alseta should be seen in, and she had debated not wearing it in Outsea at all.

In the end her polite nature wins over, and she descends the gangplank to speak with the officer. She first looks at his face to see if she knows him, and then his ensigna, which causes her visible surprise. A Captain? Personally commanding a lock? This was absurd.

"Please, Captain," She begins, giving a quick and crisp salute- her head snaps upright, feet are pushed together, and her arm swings inward in a fist that stops at her solar plexus. If she were in parade uniform and holding a trident, the center point would be between her eyes. "call me Rudabeh." The salute is relaxed without being told to do so- she was not on active duty nor under his command, after all, and was merely giving the salute as a sign of respect.

"All the troubles of Outsea, without the food to make up for it." She replies jokingly to his question about the Drylands.

Her head tilts slightly at the offered flask, until its nature is revealed. "Oh, it has been too long, thank you." She says, taking the offered flasks for a sip of the thick, bitter liquor that overwhelms the tongue with umami and lines the throat with mucous. A satisfied, happy sigh leaves her as she hands the flask back.

"There are some that think I am worth special attention, or have unseen motives." She says to the expected news they were on the lookout for her arrival... which goes a long way to explain the presence of the Captain and the inspection. "But if you can pass it along for me, I strive to operate openly and honestly. After a decade of travel, I have no agenda other than spending time with my family and eating my weight in crab. The company of soldiers that follow me is merely a personal project in improving the ability of the Pact of Years to respond to state crises and enforce the River Freedoms. Our services are available should the Council need us."

A curious look, as she searches the officer's face for intention and information. "Should I be concerned with shadows in the deep? Is all well in Outsea?"

The skum takes this all in slowly and with obvious consideration. Obviously there is a great deal to process in Rudabeh's words. His reply however is oblique, as she expected.

"A personal project." he says and his orange eyes fix on the barge. "Landlubbers." There is a slight disdain in his voice, and Rudabeh is not surprised. Few in Outsea think very highly of the martial prowess of humans and other landsmen. This is generally unfair because it isn't their fault most fighting in Outsea is done under the surface. Worse, the River Kingdoms are not home to the truly great human armies Rudabeh knows exist in places like Taldor or Cheliax. Here it was more of a militia then actual soldiery (at least among the humans).

"I shall pass along your words in both my formal and informal reports." The officer said, taking the flash of greenwater and putting it back under his uniform. "I am sure it will reassure whatever nebulous group has interest in you."

Then he smiles, "That last question confirms your youth, your Rudabeh. Outsea is never that stable and it would be a poor home if it was. Is the sea ever truly calm? Does a shark ever really stop hunting? It is, as the humans say, the greatest fishbowl on Golarion, it is always uneasy." A very toothy smile but it fades. "But perhaps more then usual, but you can be the judge of it. Danglosa will provide."

He gestures farther down the channel, "They have re-built the docks since you were here last, but Landlubber's Row is still that way. You will find your parents house were you left it. I am sure they eagerly anticipate your arrival."

"As for your...personal project. I think they will find work easily enough. Matters move apace in Outsea these days, faster then the last time I held command. But that is nothing new, the world always changes. I wish you luck, Rudabeh and hope your time back home is all your would desire." A short pause and then, "I would add only this. I would expect a formal summons to the Council, eventually."

His face reveals nothing else but he instead nods formally and gestures back to her barge. Everyone on board is still staring at the looming chuul who remains silent, looking like a cragged rock in the slowly fading mist.

Nonplussed by the disdain in the officer's voice for air-breathers under her command, Rudabeh says nothing. This wasn't the time to make an attempt at changing the mind of a centuries-old soul that had made up their mind about landlubbers long ago. Rudabeh agreed they had their annoyances and could be truly, staggeringly ignoranat about life in the water, but they seemed to have the same dreams, thoughts, and fears as just about everyone else.

"One can hope." She replies to the skum's assessment that the nebulous group, which was most certainly someone on the Council or tied up with them, would be assauged by her reply.

"I won't deny my youth," The seven decade old undine begins with an air of defensivness. "But Outsea is far more stable and predictable than the landlubber's kingdoms. In the average span of a General's seat on the Council, a kingdom could see five or more rulers o entire systems of government come and go through murder, war, politics, or disaster. I will take these familar, perptually uneasy waters over the madness of human government any day." It was clear she belived in the stability of Outsea, and was willing to argue about it.

With a small bow of her head, she perhaps to make her leave as well. "Thank you, I appreciate the sentiment and will tread water on your words. Before I go, may I have your name, Captain?" Was her final question before departing back into the mist.

The skum officer laughed briefly, "You will not catch me defending the landlubber's way of doing things. But it is proof of being ashore for too long if they are your measuring stick, Rudabeh. I am comparing Outsea to what it could or should be, not to whatever the humans are doing. Ah well, perhaps both ways of looking at it are pointless."

"Captain Qrushrit of 3rd Company, 23rd Regiment." Unsaid is their famous moniker, the Diehards. Hundreds of years ago, they had preformed a famous last stand against a coalition of landlubber mercenary and bandit forces that had saved Oustea but nearly wiped out the Regiment. "May we meet again, Sergeant Rudabeh and perhaps you can tell me just how you came across a gigas clam shell in the River Kingdoms."

And then, as Rudabeh retreated back into the enveloping mist, her armor clinking wetly, she heard Qrushrit says softly behind her, "Round the world and home again, that's the sailor's way." An ancient saying that dating back to before Outsea, before they were tied to this small pond. Curious, to quote it now.

She found the barge safe and sound, if everyone was a bit edgy. As she tramped loudly across the gangplank Senqhi asked mentally, So...he was a skum. Some sort of lizard person. And the rock thing was a chuul. You are an undine. Your home is a very diverse place. It reminds me of my home, but different. It too was a city of many kinds. Still is, I guess.

The soldiers wave the barge on and, after getting a nod from Rudabeh, Ostend poles them out of the lock and into Outsea proper. In only a few yards the sides of the channel vanish into the mist, reflecting the fact they have entered what is essentially a vast lake, and are now floating on the surface of Rudabeh's old home and the bastion of Outsea. The giant sinkhole that makes up one half of this place, Gozreh's Well. Below them lies fathoms of vertical city, all around the outer wall of the massive plunge, leading down, down into the wild and dangerous Darkness. Somewhere, deep down in the gloom is Dalgosa and even from her Rudabeh feels that ever so slight tug, that tiny touch of the divine. She wonders if landlubbers ever felt it, or could feel it?

From here she could guide Ostend in her sleep. She points to the left where the old docks stood and Landlubber's Row, that long chain of houses, warehouses and taverns that ringed a fourth of the Well's bank, making up most of the landlubber homes in Outsea. As they slowly row, the fog generally breaks up, revealing more and more.

However, what first reaches them is not sights, by sounds. Through the slowly dissolving white curtain of mist, they hear the endless tumult of a major port. The shouts of working men and women. The clatter of crates and rumble of rolled barrels. Creaking wheels and thrumming ropes. The snap of flags and the slap of water on rock and wood.

The fog parts and soon they see the docks themselves. Long rows of wharves and quays sticking out into the fairly still seawater of the Well. There are many ships at anchor here, mostly landlubber merchants and traders. Outsea is a major River Kingdoms port, exporter of not only finely finished goods but also many raw materials otherwise impossible to get, ranging from kelp and seafood to purple dye snails and coral. This mixture of items has always been a magnet for outsiders.

Much of the docks is just how Rudabeh recalls it, she notes with satisfaction as they float past, looking for an empty berth. Groaning warehouses, busy porters and brightly colored boathouses. The scent of fish on the air, and the screaming cry of the gulls (fellow refugees from the distant sea). But some of the wharves are not quite...right. Something is off, that she can't quite put her finger on. In some areas the warehouses just a bit too clean, the wharves slightly too free of barnacles. The lobster traps stacked just so, and the boats a generation out of date.

She is pondering this when she hears a voice from behind shouting, "Out of the way!" Turning she spots another barge wallowing toward them, looking as graceful as a crab up a tree. She is stacked with people and for an instant Rudabeh assumes they are another company of soldiers except she sees they are all far too plump and old. What on Golarion...

Ostend curses and, despite having the right of way, heaves the barge out of the way just in time to avoid a collision. The half-elf eyes the lurching barge and says, "If this was the river, I'd do more then just curse them."

The other ship ignores them however, as a man sits at the front with a speaking trumpet. His voice echoes back to them.

"If you look to your left, you will see Old Landlubber's Row, the local name for this stretch of docks. This has been the beating heart of Outsea for hundreds of years. Look at the distinctive steep slopes of the fishing huts. These are the traditional surface homes of the fishing locals. Keep your eyes open for merfolk guides, who often cooperate with local fisherman, leading them to good fishing grounds." There is a general shuffle of feet as the passengers shift to get a better view of the docks.

This is a foe beyond any of you. Tourists!

"It would be my pleasure to tell you the story over a bottle of greenwater, Captain Qrushrit." She says with a smile, the bitter taste on her tongue and while the drink lightens her head.

Rudabeh makes a backwards glance over her shoulder when Qrushrit utters a solemn saying of ancient sailors. There's no knowing where we're rowing
Or which way the river's flowing. The verses spring into her mind as she looks away, unwilling to start quoting poetry when she was supposed to be heading back to the barge. Is change afin in Outsea? Is this going to be like Pitax? Did Veleda send me here for a reason, without telling me?

These thoughts plague her as she passes by the massive chuul with only a friendly nod in its direction.

Well, the chuul is more like a crab, less like a rock. We'll be seeing many crabs, but chuuls are rare. Did the City of Brass have buildings under lakes of fire? Rudabeh imagines outsea, but instead of Gozreh's Well being filled with water, it was just on fire. How awful.

"We're clear." Rudabeh says to Ostend as she tops the gangplank, deciding it would be for the best if she didn't know if he was smuggling anything. She didn't suspect him, but it would be a shame if she had to drag the newlywed river captain, whom she considered a friend, to the Outsea authorities to be fined or worse.

Ignorance was bliss in this case.

Taking her spot back at the bow, the undine leans over the gunwale and watches the sky, the shore, the foam... she just takes it in with all of her senses, relishing the slow poling out into the Well.

Engage Outsea Arc Theme Song.

Skeleton Key by Dessa

She feels it suddenly, as the canal vanishes on both sides. That small connection to Danglosa, the tiny string that binds them all to the twin god of Outsea. Rudabeh, now much more in tune with Alseta and divine powers as a whole, marvels at the subtly of it. Was it merely the equivalent of a fishing hook Danglosa used to reel in their yearly sacrifice, or was everyone in Outsea recieving something so very small through the connection none of them knew? What did the hook setting feel like? What if she were to be this year's sacrifice? Thoug hshe was loathe to admit it, recent events seemed to have placed her as a somewhat important figure in the mystical scheme of whatever was happening in the River Kingdoms. Would Alseta and the other gods intervene, as they did in Pitax? What if Danglosa were to hold her hostage in demand for a boon from the gods?

It bothered her, being so important now. Wearing priceless armor. Influencing the course of countries and thousands of lives. It was not very Alsetan, and she had still not gotten used to it.

This, combined with the strange sights of the Outsea docks, makes her uneasy. She is particularly fixated on why a large stack of lobster pots are so well organized and clean when the shout comes from behind them.

Aghast at the situation, she can only watches with one hand on the gunwale as Ostend heaves the barge out of a certain collision. Her mouth is still hanging open slightly when the guide's words reach her ears. It takes a few seconds, but she finally realizes what was going on. A tour! An entire barge of sight seeers?!

Setting her jaw, Rudabeh pushes off of the gunwales and stomps as close as possible to the over vessel. "YOU should be keeping YOUR eyes open for ships! Think of the safety of your passengers!" The paladin shouts over the sounds of slapping water and cursing saiors helping Ostend pole them out of harm's way. By the gods could she shout."There are rules here! We had the Right of Way! Is this how you want Outsea to be remembered? A dangerous free-for-all of ramming barges through traffic?! Be right by your fellow sailor and APOLOGIZE!"

Bent over the gunwale, with her armor glittering in the sun with an intensity matching the sun off the chopping wake of the barge, Rudabeh looked and sounded livid.

Ractus steps out on deck, having jumped down into the hold, and glances from Rudabeh's livid face to Ostend's sullen one. His purple eyes sweep over to the offending barge and he grins.

"Shall I gather up a boarding party?" the elf says, "They look rich but not too well defended. Maybe give them a real taste of the River Kingdoms?"

"Genius!" Irovetti says, returning from whatever he did at the stern among his servants and followers. "Encouraging the right sort of people to come and visit the city. Your homeland is progressive, Rudabeh!" The former king says with obvious enthusiasm, a mug of some lightly steaming drink in his hands. "I was doing the same in Pitax of course, with the jousts and such. " He lets out a sad sigh for an era long past. "It really has no downside. Money comes in with the sightseers, as well as influence and prestige. The guests get treated to a grand time, see the amazing sights and then go home and talk about your home. Tremendous." A speculative look twinkles in his expressive brown eyes. "I wonder how they are handling lodging and promotion...perhaps it is something we can look into.."

Irovetti the tour guide.

Meanwhile the sightseeing barge ignores all of them, even Rudabeh's heated shouts. Well, a few of the passengers regard Rudabeh with unfeigned interest, like someone spotting an interesting if annoying sort of bird. The guide at the front recaptures their attention by saying, "Please, turn your attention back to shore, you don't want to miss this."

Rudabeh can't help but glance at the shore and then she is distracted by what she sees The guide droned on, voice worn by rote repetition.

"As you can see, this grand stone archway dates back to before the founding of Outsea itself. Legend holds it was a temple to long forgotten gods, worshipped by the old human inhabitants of the region. By modern times, it was merely stacked stones, ready to fall apart."

"However, only a decade ago, it was the sight of a verified divine miracle." A few of the passengers perk up and look harder. " A local mystic prayed in front of the arch for seven days and seven nights, to abjure her sinful past. For an entire week she stayed here, dressed in rags and begged the gods, any god, to forgive her. People came and laughed at her foolishness, for no one believed a god would answer her."

"Then, at noon on the seventh day, just as the mystic was going give up and retreat to the wilderness, the arch began to glow. The cracks began to fill, the old vines torn away, gold filigree swarming over the old archway. Perhaps Alseta herself was visible, at least as an image. The legend goes, that the mystic was so overcome by this divine presence she was suddenly blinded and overcome with her past, cast herself into the Well and was never seen again."

The guide pauses and there is a spattering of applause and murmured conversation from the onlookers as the barge slowly makes its way past the Old Arch.

"The place is now a public park and place of quiet meditation and contemplation. Religious men and women from all over the River Kingdoms come in pilgrimage."

The Arch itself is not quite how Rudabeh remembered it. The lay of the land has been changed since her time here, the docks added to with backfill and roads moved. There is a small park around it now, where before it had merely been tumbled stones and twisted trees. Now bright banks of flowers surround the structure, carefully tended.

A statue of Alseta stands off to the side, worked out of native coral. It is a stunning piece, three times human sized depicting The Welcomer beckoning to the sky, as if gesturing to t e world to come and follow her. And yet, as the barge goes, it reveals the reverse side, by some trick, also depicts her front. This time however her face is stern and judgmental, and she holds a heavy key in her hands, a gesture of negation. A riot of colors flows across the entire statue, like threads of fabric woven into stone, creating a cascade of vermilion, gamboge and glaucous shades. Yet, somehow, it did not clash into a mess but highlighted the statue as a whole. A tiny ripple of red became suggestive lips, while a trickle of black became a band of iron. It was mesmerizing, stupendous and overawing.

And Rudabeh had a feeling she knew who had created it.

At her side Irovetti is actually speechless, mouth slightly agape. To her surprise she spots a tears forming in his eyes. "That statue...." He gestures toward it, like a beggar reflexively reaching for a steaming ham yet aware he can never touch it. "It is...." Then his voice stiffens, "Rudabeh, stop the boat. I must see it close up." There is iron in his voice, the first glimpse to his old royal days, when his word could send a man to the gallows. A man not to be trifled with. "I insist."

Rudabeh is about to lay into the man with the speaking trumpet again when he points his charges to look at the shore. She had been expecting, eagerly anticipating even, for Alseta's Arch to come into view. At the time she merely thought it a miracle because her kind were so rare, even in a country all of Alsetans. But now, in light of recent events, se keeps going back to the swearing of her oaths and wondering if there wasn't something more to it. Did her goddess already know she was going to be at the center of something that could change the RIver Kingdoms? Was it the other way around?

As her gaze settles on the Arch her face changes, quickly shifting from anger to confusion and awe. She is only half-listening to the tale being spun by the tour guide, but at one point her outrage at the spreading blanant falsehoods breaks through her reverie and she turns back to the boat. "That is not...!" She begins, but some other force in her psyche quiets her, and draws her gaze back to the Arch, the public park, but more importantly the statue. Without even thinking about it, the paladin simply Turns the Mask to the misguided tour.

SHe knew it was Alseta, and it was primarily composed of coral, but her eyes kept playing tricks. Colors and lines molded together into forms that became more than suggestions, but a face, a hand, a mask, a key. Rudabeh stares at the work with unrestrained fascination, and she reaches down to take hold of her Iron Key. "I swear by the Argent Gates, least its lock forever remain closed to me, that is the most beautiful statue I have ever seen." She says quietly while gripping the warm holy relic between her fingers. The style was very familar, and it occurs to her that Ondev must have designed it, or even made it himself. She knew he was incredible, but this? This was the work of some ancient master, or something found in a dragon's hoard in a story. How could her little brother, who she was sure was a mortal like her, have made such a thing?

Irovetti's response echos her own feeling. She had to see what had become of the area around the Arch, and if the statue had been truly made by her brother. "We can do better." Are her sudden, inspired words to her advisor.

"Captain Ostend!" She says while turning her body back towards the helm. "May I borrow your dingy and row to shore? I think my brother made that statue. I want to be sure. I will find you at the docks shortly."

Irovetti, somehow, tears his rapturous gaze away from the arresting artwork. "Your brother? I know you mentioned he was an artist but....that is not the work of an artist. That is the work of a God." His eyes involuntary sought out the larger then life Alseta again, a flame kindling deep under his brows. "Your brother..." A quick glance back toward Rudabeh clearly conveyed he was internally debating if he was being saddled with the lesser sibling.

Senqhi on the other hand is less then impressed. Rudabeh wonders why, considering the former ifrit was usually so effusive about beauty. Maybe coral wasn't her medium.

Ostend nods, "Just make sure you don't damage it. I would hate to have to add that charge on the last day." He gestures ahead, "I think I see some empty berths farther down. We'll meet up later." And then a small brittle smile, "And maybe I can find out where that tour guide takes his evening drink..."

Ractus helps her manhandle the dingy into the water, avoiding the floating clamshell. As they drop the wooden vessel into the clear blue, the scent of seawater is so strong Rudabeh almost topples directly into the Well, like a drunkard casting themselves in a vat of wine. The undine eagerly searches the water for fish but sadly sees none. Perhaps they are chased away by the busy docks?

The elf grabs her shoulder and says, "So what is the plan for the Company? I doubt we can afford full time accommodation. I have half a mind to make them bivouac in the swamp for a bit, keep them out of trouble, but not sure what Outsea laws are. I'll nose about for contracts tonight in the usual places. I'd stay with the barge but I think Ostend wants his ship back."

In a few moments she and Irovetti are bobbing in the fairly calm waters of Gozreh's Well. The fog has almost totally burned off now, revealing a breathtaking blue sky which turned the surface of the water into a blue reflecting mirror. While gorgeous it also dazzled her eyes as she gazed about to get their bearings.

One thing seemed have changed since her last visit. Landlubber's Row was bigger, far bigger. In her youth it had stretched from the lock to the Arch and her parents house. Indeed, her father's choice so far from the center of landlubber trade had been ridiculed at the time. He had always remained quiet on the issue however, if a bit smug. Well, clearly old Gegdev had been justified.

The Row now extended as far as she could see around the edge of the Well, all the way until the connection with New Dive, the other sinkhole that made up Outsea. The docks, wharves and buildings grew more slapdash and rickety but still, it was more then three times the real estate. Astounding. And there was far more surface traffic then she remembered. It looked more like the riverport at Daggermark, with the abundance of humans, barges and rowboats then her old childhood home.

Rudabeh mans the oars, which is clearly the only option when Irovetti patently ignores them. It is hard work of course, muscling the wooden boat across the surface and feels a bit silly since she could easily swim it. The activity feels good however, her muscles settling into a smooth easy rhythm, learned long ago. The smell, the sights, even the feel of the oars, it reminds her of years long past.

She guides them toward a small fishing dock near the Arch which, to her relief, is a real working wharf not one of the overly decorated simulacrums. Lobster traps, eel bucks, and nets are haphazardly piled across the rough wooden platform. Undines, gillmen and even a triton are there, heaving up their hard won prizes onto dry land. Rudabeh knows the real fishing in Outsea takes place below the Surface, but the landlubber market has always drawn a fair share of the trade. Even apart from that, land based scavengers are easier to keep out of stockpiles. Rats and seagulls have nothing on octopi for cleverness. It was often worth the hassle to keep dry houses on shore for storage, even for dedicated marine races.

The fishermen eye her and Irovetti with chilly wariness. Outsea is a heavily militarized society but even here, full plate and great sword marks her out as something unusual. Not to mention Irovetti dressed in his usual eyewatering color palette (today a mix of mauve and lime green). No one says anything to them directly and even take a step or two to clear a path, but it is hardly the homecoming she had in mind.

A bit short, but I thought maybe you'd want to talk to the locals?

"I won't be rowing into the middle of the lake." Rudabeh responds to Ostend's joke, deciding not to encourage his sudden and out-of-control sense of humor. She does return his smile with one of her own, though. "Let me know if you find that man. I wish to have words with him."

Deploying the dingy was a simple task, though resisting the call of the sea water was not. She can taste the nearly imperceptible mist that flies off of the boat as it lands in the water, and only Ractus' sudden slap on her pauldron knocks her out of the memorizing hold the extra-planar part of her soul had over her mental facilities.

"What?" She replies with a few blinks before looking at the elf and realizing the topic of conversation. "That's quite considerate of you, but I think Ostend will want to keep some of the Company around." She points down at the floating clam shells, which have probably already attracted some unseen underwater observers, be they guards, children, or barnacle larvae. "He doesn't get his cut from these shells until they're sold. They don't get sold if they get stolen. They won't get stolen if we keep a watch." The pragmatism rolls off of her like a rogue wave. "I propose you keep half of the Company on the barge on watch for tonight. Make them draw straws if you must. Take the other half to The Polite Clam, they should have space. Have everyone double or triple bunk if you think it's too costly. Tomorrow, we switch groups to be fair. Surely we'll have a buyer for the shells and accommodations figured out by then, be it camping or the landlubber's barracks. It's far bigger than needed for the active forces in peace time, we can probably work out a deal for cots."

She jumps into the dingy, then stretches out a hand to assist Irovetti aboard. "As for the law," the undine says with a smile. "I wouldn't worry too much. I recall some bylaws to chase off undesirables, but as long as there is no trouble some squatting outside the city limits would be tolerated. No one here will turn away a friendly sword-arm."

Rudabeh is soon rowing to shore, revealing in every splash of the tart brine. "I'm a bit shocked to recognize the style myself." She admits to the former king as they make for shore, glancing at the statue she swears has even more detail than before. "Ondev was always doing clever tricks, like arranging objects that looked like junk from one angle but they made a face or plant or something if viewed from another, and he was very skilled at carving coral, but that... well, maybe he's transcended mortality and drawn Sheyln's attention in the past decade."

The sights on the way were bizarre, strange. How had The Row grown so much? Surely it was not like this underwater. While the landlubbers had booms and busts that exploded before sputtering and dying in a mere decade, the cycles of proper Outsea, which were governed by immortals and centennial races, moved much slower.

Looking at the statue of Alseta, she wonders if Change was here, guided by The Welcomer. She could only hope.

Docking, Rudabeh helps Irovetti out while glancing at the nearby fisherpeoples that are eying her warily. "Tight lines to you." She says in friendly Aquan with a disarming smile of pearl-white teeth before glancing at their nets. "I see the halibut recovered from that wasting disease a few years back. Any big ones destined for the dinner table today?" It was merely small-talk, meant to put them at ease.

Briefly, but she wants to get to the statue/park.

You know what? Because I only reverse the dice for important stuff:

diplomacy: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (15) + 14 = 29

The fisherfolk are put at ease when Rudabeh speaks for her accent instantly signals she is a local. Perhaps a long time away but such things are measured differently among the long-lived denizens of Outsea. What is a season, a year, or even a decade spent aboard when your lifespan is measured in centuries? While many Outsears tend to be rather reclusive and insular, plenty have undertaken left for every reason imaginable through the years. Trade, politics, religion and even love. Leaving for the law is unusual but Rudabeh was always a bit unusual.

One of the fishers, a deeply tanned gillmen shrugs and says, "Those are for us, the lubbers have no taste in fish. All they seem to want is shellfish." He nudges a packed crate full of shrimp with a foot. "But the fishing is not as good here as it once was. Too many boats. And the weather..." He squints at the bright sky as if it were the start of a hurricane. At least one thing hasn't changed. Fishermen complaining about the weather.

A female undine, whom Rudabeh vaguely recognizes, stops coiling up a rope to give Rudabeh a good, hard look. A faint glimmer of recognition flutters in those deep emerald pools.

"You are Gegdev's daughter?" She asks but the tone says she is already sure. "I wasn't aware you were back in town. Tell your old man Suuli says hello." The words are friendly enough and yet...

I can roll dice too

Rudabeh Sense Motive: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (8) + 10 = 18

There was something...off about it. On the surface it was a friendly greetings but there was a stiff formality about it. It reminded Rudabeh of when a landlubber would be forced to salute a flag or seal. A sort of rote respect that is so ingrained and so accustomed no one begrudges or even questions it. It was just something that one did. Rudabeh wonders what is going on. Her father had always been a respected merchant and trader but never anyone particularly noteworthy.

Was he?

A few worn stone steps bring them up onto the road that contours along the shore, the main artery for the docks. Rudabeh notes with approval that the road is well maintained and freshly paved with crushed shells. It even has two wide, cleared gutters on either side to catch rain or splashed slop. It is a far cry from the usual muddy dirt tracks in most human cities but it does not surprise Rudabeh. Outsea is a fragile bubble and her citizens are as careful with it as a mother cichlid is with her eggs. Water and waste are too important and possibly hazardous to simply ignore them.

The thoroughfare is a busy one, clustered with all manners of people. Porters heaving heavy crates and bags from any number of ships. Most are simply transferring to other watercraft but some as destined for warehouses or shops. Wagons are essentially unheard of in Outsea so much of these goods are loaded on wheelbarrows and handcarts, loaded high with everything from squirming shrimp to dried bricks. Rudabeh also spots traders ranging from merchant princes in glittering finery surveying empires to hardscrabble dealers trading in a few pots.

Others simply seem to be enjoying the warm sun and salty breeze blowing off the Well. And, like bass following a minnow, all these attracts others. Shopkeepers peddling their wares, food vendors hawking an early lunch, along with the usual collection of entertainers, prostitutes and cut purses. It is well ordered though, despite the hubbub. Pedestrians
keep out of the main road, clustering alongside it. The traffic flows smoothly, even roughly keeping left and right lanes. A few blocks down, Rudabeh spots squad of soldiers marching, sweating in the warming sun.

They are just about to cross the road when a clamoring horde of humans nearly tramples them. Rudabeh has to literally grab Irovetti by the scruff of the neck and yank him back to safety. She gives the humans a hard look.

They are a rough and ready gang of workers clearly, wearing dirt stained clothes. Most are carrying heavy tools like shovels, picks and iron bars, with a few others heavy buckets. At the rear a few trundle along metal wheelbarrows. Some sort of digging crew. House foundations perhaps? But surely that wouldn't require a score of men? Would it? And the mud colors smudging their clothes seem lighter then the usual dark, soggy mud of the area. Was that chalk?

Also, Rudabeh's sharp eyes notice that some of the chalk marks are not just the random blemishes and spatter from hard work. Some are clearly straight lines of white, intentionally marking their back or forearm. Some sort of guild sign perhaps? Also, was it her imagination or did one or two of them give her frosty glares?

They tramp past and Irovetti straightens his robes grunting sourly, "Not very polite." Still, at least the crushed roadbed prevents any dust and soon the way to the garden is clear.

Stepping into the Arch Park leaves the hustle and bustle of the commercial area behind as abruptly as shutting a door. A few cleverly placed hedges and low trees neatly block the street and noise. However, a few cunning bit of raised earth and benches provide peeping views of the shining, glittering water. The air is full of land scents, of blooming flowers, growing grass and rich earth, yet all is diffused with a slight salty tang, as if in acknowledgement of the power of the sea close at hand. An unusually skillful harmony.

The park itself is simple enough, merely a few flower beds, benches and the looming Alseta statue and of course, the Arch itself. The gleaming marble gateway looks just like she left it, shining and pristine. No grit, grime or bird nests defacing the graceful, smooth exterior. She wonders idlily if someone maintains it or some divine grace shelters it still. A quiet, contemplative feeling hovers in the air and Rudabeh thinks, despite the tours, this really is a place of prayer.

Irovetti, of course, simply marches up to the statute.

"Marvelous." he says voice carrying loudly in the stillness, "I really have not seen anything quite like it." However the child-like wonder from before is fading as the king's rather critical eye starts to regain its footing. " I am not quite sure of the schools or influences though. I cannot see any of the usual tells. There is none of the Taldane heaviness and certainly no Galt baroque. And that isn't even touching on the actual techquine. Was this done with a rasp?" The former king steps forward and actually runs a hand along the coral sandal of Asleta's foot. "Tell me Rudabeh, where did your brother study? Who was his master?"

"Can you please be quiet!" A new, high pitched voice says. Rudabeh turns and notes a small hunched figure kneeling in solemn thought, half-hidden behind a bench. She had not noted them previously, thinking her and Irovetti were alone. To her surprise she notes they are grippli, that frog-like people who do frequent Oustea but are quite unusual, with no native population. Most tend to be primative nomads, making a living among the wild mud and rocks of the backcountry, only coming into Outsea to trade. This grippli however is wearing modern clothes, boots and is as clean as anyone else on the streets.

His voice is waspish as he goes on, head still lowered, "Some of us are trying to pray here."

Irovetti shoots back, "This is a public park, young man. Mind your manners with your betters."

Even as Rudabeh contemplates intervening, the grippli turns around swiftly, voice hot, "Your betters? Have you no shame-"

His huge red eyes, naturally already budging out of his head, fix on Rudabeh with startling intensity. "You..." he falters, raising a hand to his face. "It is ..."

And he faints dead away, hitting the grassy earth with a soft thump.

Rudabeh nods sagely at the gillman's complaints, casting her eyes to the sky as well in a moment of sympatico cloud-watching. "Well, if the weather was always good for fishing, our sailors wouldn't be known for being hail and hardy, eh?" She comforts his woes with a compliment before turning her attention to the staring undine. THe face seemed familar...

Rudabeh is recognized before she has a chance to put a name to the face, and the paladin smiles in affirmation. "I just passed the lock for the first time in a decade minutes ago." She takes a deep breath, sucking the salty tang of the water and burning, fishy ammonia through her nose before sighing happily. "It's good to be back."

The attached words to tell her father hello do not immediately give her pause, and she merely nods to the other undine. "Of course, Suuli, I'll tell him I saw you."

It was not until they had tied off and left the docks that Rudabeh replays the words in her mind. She glances out Irovetti, remembering how some of his servants interacted with him back in Pitax. Others used to refer to her father with a smile on how he found them exactly the item they were looking for, or a half-hearted complaint about his prices, but Suuli was almost acting like she was serving under the man. Had he purchased his own fishing boats instead of trading stock?

A dazzling array of sea shells crunch under her boots as they walk dwon the street, and thoughts of her father fade to the back of her mind as she takes in the Row. Everything seemed to be running smoothly, and she saw peoples from all echelons of society here, mingling and bartering. Her heart swelled with pride- the lubbers had a real community here, and the Council was either listening to the air-breather's advisory council or making the wise decisions to support them.

With her height advantage on Irovetti, she is able to closely monitor the street. And so when the gang of humans showed no sign of stopping, she was quick to grab and pull him back. Their unruly nature, and the strange chalk markings, stand out to her as one more thing that has changed in the city since her depature. Well, the guard will take care of them if they're a problem. She thinks before turning her eyes away, wondering why some might have glared at her.

"Quite." She responds to Irovetti's assement on their rudness, and she would have sasid something to them if it was worth yelling into a mass of humans on a busy street. Unlike the barge, no one was driving them.

Stepping into the park gives Rudabeh the same relief as a sudden rain on a hot, dry day. She spreads her hands and walks into the space with slow, reverant steps, looking upward at the Arch. She tunes rovetti out as he begins analyzing the statue, instead taking hold of her Iron Key, pressing it to the fire whale's heart on her chest, and whispering softly. "Thank you, Alseta, for watching over all the changes that have come to my home. By your grace, find the door unlocked. I hope this garden and statue pleases you, as it did me and all who see it."

She had more to say, but figured she should calm down the former king somewhat before he is accused of disturbing the peace. OPening her eyes to answer his questions, she quickly hears she is too late.

The spat starts off poorly, and Rudabeh is already drawing a breath to intervene when the "young man" looks at her with shock and faints. There is a pause, with Rudabeh standing frozen, mouth slighly open before she looks to Irovetti to confirm they were both witnessing the same scenario.

Turning her head back to the limp amphibian, she tenatively walks over. This is a grippli. She thinks to Seqhi, cutting off the inevitable questions I have never seen one so... well dressed, though.

Kneeling down next to the small creature with a clattering of steel, she looks him over before gently reaching down and propping him up by the back of the head.

"Hello?" She tries at first, looking at the tiny, frail-looking body in her hand. Rudabeh was fairly sure she could pick him up with one hand and throw him over the Arch if she wanted to. How did such a small creature survive the streets of Outsea?

She next tries to touch his face, giving the tip of his nose a tap with the thin leather of her gauntlet's glove. "Did I do something? Is it the sword and armor?" She asks of the nearby Irovetti.

heal: 1d20 ⇒ 3

Goddess preserve me. She comes to a frigthened realization at the lifeless figure in her hand. Has he died of fright at seeing such a well-armed person in a place of worship to Alseta? What have I done? She gives him a slightly panicked shake.

Irovetti doesn't even glance back at the fallen grippli, instead still gazing at the looming piece of art. "Probably just a beggar who got faint from lack of food. The man should get a job," The former king says idlily, "how else does he have the time to sit around in parks at mid-day?" The sheer irony of the statement is clearly lost on the man as he keeps drinking in the glory of the statue.

Rudabeh gazes down at the frail figure lying on the rich, green grass. She notes that despite the decent clothing, he is frightfully thin even for his kind, not that the undine has much experience with gripplis. They rarely stayed in towns or cities long and kept to themselves. She wasn't even sure which gods they worshipped. His presence here made her wonder. Were there whole Alesta communities out there, living apart from the rest of them?

His eyes are still closed, his body limp to her touch. Rudabeh thinks she can see his heart beating so at least he isn't dead...yet. Or so she hopes. What does she know about grippli?

His skin is so...damp. Senqhi says with a strange combination of revulsion and fascination. Maybe he needs to be put in water? Do they dry out?

Rudabeh is so thrown by events she is almost considering this suggestion when the grippli's eyes flutter open. Giant red irises appear as the prostrate figure gulps some air. They fix on Rudabeh, widen and he starts to tremble. Good gods, was he going to faint again.

Instead, in a very weak, thin voice he says, "You are...Rudabeh? Rudabeh The Oath Taker?"

Without warning the grippli scrambles to his feet, the effort making him breath quite hard. he stands there swaying for a moment, still google-eyed at Rudabeh. "Ah...um.." he says, his thin voice trailing off. He sways like a tree in the wind, as it become painfully obvious he has no idea what to do. Giant webbed hands were splayed out and his knees bent, as if he was going to run away...or rush her.

Finally he said, "I've been to your house." Then he shook his head, "I mean, I've seen all your places. I've even talked to some of your old friends! Not in a weird way just...."

"I'm your biggest fan!"

Too concerned to even shoot Irovetti a disgusted glance, she wonders where this grippli originated.

Rudabeh knew of the Alsetan druids deep in the swamps and forests, living outside of civilization with the exception of trade. This grippli didn't seem like a druid. Most druids don't wear boots. Or have buttons on their shirt.

You're right. She thinks to Seqhi at the suggestion to immerse the fainted creature. There are some amphibious creatures that will die if they dry out, I should take him to... Her thoughts are interrupted as the small humanoid begins to awaken, and she looks into the wide red orbs with concern.

Her face swiftly changes to one of confusion as he says her name. "Yes?" Is her reply, noting for certain she has never had a conversation with a grippili, ever. How did he know her?

She tilts her head at the awkward silence between them, watching him go from abotu to speak to about to run away to aout to charge at her in the span of a second.

Then he says he had been to her house.

Jet black eyebrows shoot up so far past the lip of her raised visor they were hidden from sight.

"Oh. Well, I'm flattered. I didn't know I had any... fans." The undine says with a nervous chuckle as he explains himself... sort of.

Rudabeh's face shifts as she is momentarily conflicted. Should she have fans? That wasn't very Alsetan. Though, she was definitely one of Veleda's fans. Until she met her, and realized she is as mortal as the rest of them. Maybe it was good to meet your heroes.

It was enough rationalization for her to relax a bit. "Are you... a religious scholar?" She guesses, shifting her legs to be more comfortable while kneeling on the ground. Unfrotauntely, the grass beneath her plated kneecap suffers greatly. "I can't see any other reason for being interested in me."

The grippli gulps again, an action which given his massive mouth and throat is a far more universal action then it would be for a human or undine. "Um, I mean, not really..." he gives the frowning statue of Alseta a bit of a guilty glance.

"Rudabeh," Irovetti calls over his shoulder, "How much time are you going to waste on this obvious vagrant? I have a mind to visit your brother, I have many questions about his work." There is a hungry edge in his voice at the last few words.

The grippli gives the former king a quizzical glance, breaking eye contact with Rudabeh for the first time. "Who are you, anyway? Are you Rudabeh's servant?"

Irovetti turns sharply, shoulder's tense. The man is obviously ready to spit a hot retort at this spurious claim but then the truth dawns over his face. In many ways, he sort of is Rudabeh's servant, under contract anyway. The man's face twists like someone finding a worm in his apple. No, finding half a worm.

"I am Rudabeh's most trusted advisor and of royal blood." Irovetti says drawing himself up to his rather minimal full height. "And you will address me with more care."

The grippli looks quizzically from Rudabeh to the incensed king, "But the River Kingdoms don't have a king....do they?"

Irovetti looks like he is about to spit but finally turns around growling, "Ignorant peasant."

The grippli turns back to Rudabeh, that same awe and wonder suffusing his features. {b]"I...I'm sorry I upset him. I didn't mean anything by it. I don't want to bother you...but wow, I can't believe I am talking to you. Right here! At the Arch!"[/b] He starts to tremble again, like a dam full to bursting.

Without warning, he starts the deluge in a rush of hurried words, "I was here you know. The night with the Arch. You know, when you swore your vows. My family was in town doing some trading for some beaver pelts that had. We just happened to be walking by this spot when you were, well doing whatever it is you did. Prayers, I guess?"

"Anyway, I was just a kid but I saw everything start to glow and people shouting and then I saw the Arch change and you standing there....then I knew I wanted to be like you, just like you." He stops suddenly, obviously wondering if he has gone too far. He gazes at her directly, starting to sway again.

Are all of his people like this? Senqhi asks with interest.

Rudabeh watches the exchange between Irovetti and the grippili with a frown. She draws a full breath and lets it out with a sigh as the situation seems to resolve itself. "Please be patient, Irovetti. This seems important. I feel this meeting is..." She glances to the statue, seeing only the gently smiling face. "...preordained."

Looking back to the small frognoid, she smiles sadly. "I see now. You were inspired by the miracle, as was I." She lifts a hand to touch the center of her breastplate. "Know that I did not cause the miracle, Alseta did. I merely drew her attention, and we were all blessed by her august light and wisdom." Her hands falls, brushing the Iron Key by her side. "So I ask, do not strive to be like me. I am only a flawed mortal, causing as many problems as I solve. Instead, strive to be as The Sacred Keystones preaches, and be as one of many stones that make up a building, a sturdy and reliable greater part of the whole. "While our eyes may pass over completed wall, so sure of it structure, we all notice a missing brick and worry of its fall."

Shifting in place a bit after quoting some scripture, her limpid eyes focus intently on the grippili's form. He was waify, and liable to be mistaken for dinner if he joined the Company. But... "Irovetti and I came here to view the statue of Alseta, which I am fairly confident my brother created. That I should meet you here, now, under Alseta's gaze after you witnessed the miracle of the Arch a decade ago is no coincidence." She chuckles happily, feeling truly blessed to not worship some fickle goddess like Calistria. "We are so fortunate our goddess is straight forward and unobtuse in her messages."

Suddenly, in a great burst of diveinly inspired energy, Rudabeh claps her hands together, the action muted by her gloves. "So! I am currently hiring. There is a company of soldiers under my command and I need all the help I can find. Tell me your name, your skills, and I may have work for you." Another question springs to her mind. "If you desire to be of some aspect like me... what aspect, particually?"

"The Sacred Keystones!" The grippli says with obvious excitement. "I heard about that and got a copy." he pats his very few pockets but comes up empty, and says with embarrassment, "It must be....with my other things." His eyes, oddly, stray to the bushes making up the back row of the little garden.

"But I didn't know what it said since, I, well...I can't read." The grippli seems embarrassed but, frankly, Rudabeh would have been more surprised if he could read. Reading and writing were not common skills among the more wild groups of the swamps and even plenty in Outsea itself never bothered with it. What was more surprising was that someone had been selling the Sacred Keystones in the market. Alseta was not a popular god in Outsea, with Danglosa taking much most f the devotion with Hanspur and Gozreh as distant seconds and none of them really were literary focused divine figures. The religious book market was basically zero for Rudabeh's hometown. Maybe things had changed.

"But someone in the marketplace said it was an Alseta book, so I knew I had to have it." The grippli goes on, "You really think we are meeting because of her?" he glances back at the statue with doubt and one thing becomes very clear in Rudabeh's mind. This grippli may be guided by Alseta but he was no believer. Which really just made this whole meeting that much more spectacular. Maybe Alseta was a bit more cunning then she thought.

"A job...with you?" The grippli said, audibly swallowing, "Are you serious?" Then he shakes his head, "No, I don't mean you are lying. I mean, I didn't mean that but..." He straightens up and gives the absolute worst salute she has ever seen in her entire life.

"Of course, of course! I'll get my things." He turned and dashed deeper into the elegant little garden and promptly dived into some bushes.

Irovetti made a snorting noise and turned away from the divine statue. "Rudabeh, you can't be serious about hiring this vagrant. It is bad enough we travel with a cloud of uncouth soldiers but at least they have some uses. This...one is little more then a homeless beggar you stumbled across in a public park. I don't think you'll be doing your station much good with this one tagging along behind you."

The grippli returns shortly, sprinting over the park with total disregard for the neat paths and hurtling the flowerbeds. he barely manages to come to a stop in front of the paladin, breathing hard, with a lumpy, dirty sack slung over his back.

"I have...I have no real place to live." he wheezes, bending over with exertion. A thing, somewhat wet chest heaved up and down from the run. "I've been sleeping in the bushes." He gathers himself up and says, "So, is there an oath or something?"

Then eh stops, drops the bag and shouts with alarm. "No! You asked me something. What was it? I'm so..." A look of utter despair swept over his face, before suddenly replaced with a smile. "Yes, I remember."

The frogman looked at Rudabeh directly and said, "I want to be like you. Strong and wise, surrounded by glowing light. I can still see it, like it happened yesterday. I'll do anything, learn whatever."

Rudabeh had to use her father's connections to get a copy of The Sacred Keystones that she still carries to this day. The fact the frogling was able to get what may even be a fake copy of any religious text was astounding. Religious texts of Danglosa, Hanspur, and Gozreh, were pratically non-existent.

"I do." The paladin intones when the grippili asks if Alseta led them here. "I believe she has touched your life, just as she has touched mine when I first noticed The Sacred Keystones sticking out farther than the other texts on a shelf." Rudabeh wasn't one to push her religion onto others, but this seemed a special case. Alseta was trying to tell her this grippili was important. "One day you will read it for yourself and see the signs."

She tries not to grimmace at the terrible salute. Well, they all had to start somewhere.

Getting up off of the poor, smashed grass, Rudabeh wipes off some green juices off of her poleyn and greaves while Irovetti "advises" her. "If this were a secular matter, I would concede some of your points." She begins before turning towards him, now standing tall, proud, and displaying a nearly visible aura of piety. "But this is a matter of faith. My goddess led him here, and led me here. I trust her wisdom above all else." Looking up at the smiling statue, Rudabeh has no doubt this is the right decision.

Looking down at the grippli when he returns, she laughs at his mention of homelessness. "Most soldiers were homeless at one point or another. Some of them become soldiers because of it." A contemplative look corsses her face when he answers her question, the silence only broken by a distant gull. Does he want to be... a paladin? It was an odd thought. She had never met anyone in the RIver Kingdoms that wanted to be a paladin that wasn't already one. "I'm still figuriing out how to be wise myself, but becoming strong... that I can help you do. It will be exhausting, sometimes dangerous. You will get hurt. And when you become strong, there will be a point where you must decide what to do with that strength. Some use it to enrich themselfs, but I hope you will decide to use it for the enrichment of others."

She then smiles, and chuckles. "I also asked for your name. And do you have any particular skills?"

Rudabeh muses over whether or not she should make a homeless waif swear an oath to swerve the Pact of Years. Was it too much all at once? Could he even lift a... small sword? Dagger? Fork? "Yes, there is an oath..." She says tenatively, before explaining further. "You will be serving the Pact of Years, and the interests of the River Kingdoms at large, though I will be your commander. I do not expect you to swear an oath of loyalty to me, personally, though Isuppose you may if your heart desires it. Serving the common good is a far more important than doing what I tell you to, though I strive to have the common good at the forefront of my decisions."

Clearing her throat with a great haarump, rudabeh says clearly- "Repeat after me. I swear to honor the Pact of Years, uphold the River Freedoms, honor the ways of battle, and to serve as best one can."

With the oath administered, Rudabeh turns back towards the statue. If you believe me worthy of this soul, I will lift them up and teach them the duty you have intrusted me. She thinks, before stepping forward and laying a hand on the statue's base.

"Ondev has no master." Rudabeh says suddenly to Irovetti, answering his question from minutes ago. [b]"He may have picked up a few basics in carving from my mother, but overall he is self-taught."{/b]

Standing in the mid-morning sun, Rudabeh finally gets a moment to truly appreciate the statue, following the dizzying colors and lines with the slow crawl of her gaze.

Irovetti rolls his eyes when Rudabeh declares a wayward grippli youth a matter of faith but says, "One of those? Him? Really?." He waves a hand at the magnificent statue and gleaming Arch. "Now those, I would confess, have a spark of the divine in them. Something for us to reach for. You honestly compare these to...that?" he folds his arm, unconvinced as the frogman hurtles back into view.

"My name," The grippli says looking even more awkward for a moment. A very long pink tongue licks his already wet lips before he says, "I, um, don't have one. Grippli don't have names, not like you know them. It isn't, um, something I can really talk about...unless, I have to. Do I have to? Is that something you need to know?" The poor grippli looked like she was asking him to choose which baby to save during a fire. Clearly it was important to him.

'Skills?" he gulps and becomes, if possible, even smaller. "Not really...I mean, I speak Common, but that isn't very special out here." Which was a point, where did a grippli pick it up? Surely they had their own languages out in the swamps, didn't they?

At the mention of the oath he stands up straight as his rather slumped posture allows, eyes bright. They flick over to the Arch and Rudabeh can easily read his thought. Speaking his own oath, in this very place where Rudabeh had also bound her life and soul to a greater cause. The cycle of life unrolling, a constantly unwinding string.

The grippli says, "I swear to honor the Pact of Years, uphold the River Freedoms, honor the ways of battle, and to serve as best one can." There is a long moment of silence broken only by the faint sounds of the distant dock and the song of a few birds in the trees. There is no deep gong of power or flash of radiance. The Welcoming Faces did not appear and the Arch glinted the same as it was. A look of disappointment crosses Rudabeh's newest recruit's face but he recovers quickly.

"So, um, what are the River Freedoms? And the ways of battle? Is there other stuff then just listening to you?" He asks, and Irovetti snorts, "Like, certain foods I can't eat or anything? Do I need any money, I don't have any." He discusses 'money' as if it is a foreign, magical idea. This isn't totally unheard of, Rudabeh had met plenty of rural trappers and farmers for whom money was an abstract concept that only exist in theory.

"No master?" Irovetti says, doubt on his face, "Self taught and he made this? Are you serious? Well, are we done with all of...this?" The former king waves his hand dismissively at the grippli, who was still standing there awkwardly, his bag at his feet.

"The finest door hinge is one that opens silently and goes unnoticed." Rudabeh responds to Irovetti's concerns with more scripture from the Sacred Keystones. It was a good day for scripture.

"Ah, no. I don't need your... given name." She says to head off any more anxiety from the grippili. "But I will need to call you something, both to record your name in the Company book, and so the soldiers of the Company don't choose for you. They can be very unflattering with their nicknames, so it would be best if you chose ahead of time." A shrug follows her suggestion, the gesture swallow by her armor. "I could give you a name, if you'd like."

Rudabeh is also a little disappointed at no divine intervention when the grippili spoke his oath. She takes a cursory glance around to make sure The Welcoming Faces was not hovering nearby, as the rumors said they were on the night of the Arch miracle, before getting over it and smiling at the newest member of the Company. "The River Freedoms are the Laws of this land, and it is our duty to see them enforced. The ways of battle... well, it's complicated and we can talk more about it later, but honoring them is to know when to give no quarter, when to give mercy, and striving to be the best and strongest so you may be the one in control of a situation. It is bracely standing next to your comrades in terrifying situations, trusting your life in them and your commander so you may find victory." She does laugh at his suggestion of dietary restrictions. "No, I think you will find your diet unrestricted, and you will be paid money for your services."

Irovetti's doubts are dismissed with a nod of her head. "No master. I know it is hard to believe, but he is simply that talented." With a look down to the grippili, she says: "I have some more questions for you, but we can talk on the way back to the barge. Please wait for now, or return to your prayers."

Drawing in a great breath of sea air, Rudabeh looks up at the arch glistening above them. "Alllow me a few minutes to pray, and then we can be on our way."

I'm too lazy to write a bunch of prayers right now, so imagine Rudabeh has some profound interal insights and is deeply moved by the civic nature of this park and the statue.

Then they can start heading back to the barge, or whatever it was that Irovetti was suggesting they do.

The grippli relaxes when Rudabeh suggests giving him a name. "That is fine, if you think I need one. I promise to not get in the way." he says brightly, picking up his bag which gives a few odd metallic clinks as he hoists it over his shoulder.

Irovetti seems unconvinced but says, "I greatly want to meet this brother of yours."

Both wait silently while Rudabeh prays and communes for a few moments before the statue and Arch. It feels...right. The civic park, the glory of the Arch and the newest recruit clearly sent her way by Alseta, all mixed together with her own start from this place. It all fit together like a key in a lock, or the keystone in a doorway. All the bits becoming greater then the whole.

Finally the moment passes and life, with the many duties, press on her again. But that is not alien to Alseta. She is a goddess of transition, of community and none of those happen without work. Living well and in balance is worship enough. If anything, the prayers are more for her then The Welcomer.

They head back for waterside, crossing the busy street again toward their rowboat. The fisherman's dock is empty now, the other either having gone back out (and under) onto the Well on farther on land to sell their wares. As they clamber back into the whaleboat, Irovetti again neglects to offer a hand but the grippli is eager to help. He seems quite at ease in the rather rickety and unstable little vessel.

"Oh wow," he remarks, "Look at that, it has an oar attached! So you can steer! That's smart." It is also a very basic invention so Rudabeh wonders just how isolated grippli watercraft are. Are they not even using rudders out there? He eagerly helps in making way and takes up the steering while Rudabeh rows.

Ok, feel free to ask your questions

Rudabeh resists the primal urge to "accidently" miss a step and fall directly into the froathy bay. She had spent a decade without tasting Outsea's unique palette, she could go a few more hours or days. There was business to conduct, work to do, and family to see. To had sworn an oath to put duty above comfort- simple pleasures had to wait.

She was pleased to see the grippili's familiarity with watercraft, even if he seemed more amazed by a rudder than any civilized person should be. "So how did you learn Common?" Is her first, natural question as they break away from the docks and begin rowing north up Lubber's row.

The waves on the Well were nothing like the open sea, despite what the fishers would tell you, but there was still enough wind across the open water to send a bit of white-tipped water lapping at the sides of the rowboat, occasionally causing them to tilt as it passed from one side of the boat to the next.

"You mentioned meeting some of my friends." Rudabeh says, her breathing still even and unstrained as she takes great, rhythmical strokes with the oars. "Who did you meet, and where?" Te undine chuckles, though her face looks sad in its steel frame. "You have probably spoken to them more than I."

Seated facing the grippili, she had much time to take his statue into mind. He was so small, and waify- what if some bird were to see him and snatch him up, could she even do anything about it? She had seen eagles fly off with fish bigger than he. Could she really train him to become a warrior? Finn always told her that anyone can stick a pig with a spear, but not everyone had the talent to dance with a blade. Maybe some encouragement... something to make it happen.

"I have thought of a name." She suddenly announces mid-stroke, before looking the grippili in the eye. "How does Gig sound? You know, the multi-pronged spear tip for hunting small fish. You will fit right in with the company as Gig. Robust and useful in many situations!" Rudabeh seems quite proud of this name.

The day was slowly growing hot, and the last vestiges of fog and cloud were gone revealing a painfully bright blue sky above. Sunlight glittered off the choppy Well surface, creating a dazzling cascade of shifting prisms in each wave. While it was warmer then Rudabeh liked, the stiff, salty breeze made it far more bearable. She nimbly avoided the other watercraft as she rowed the whaleboat up the docks, keeping an eye out for the Company barge.

The grippli attentively guides the oar with surprising skill, despite having just discovered it. Rudabeh guesses a lifetime of just using a simple oar probably makes one a crafty waterman. Still, he replies easily, "I was trained. My..." he pauses, frowning, "You don't have a word for it...The one who trained me..."

Irovetti, clearly bored of watching slowly passing quays and docks drawls, "Your master?"

The grippli nods in agreement, although clearly unsure of what status to accord Irovetti. "If you say so. My master, he was the trader of us. I was to follow his trail. So I learned from him. It was why I was here when you.." he glances back at the Arch and a shiver goes through him, and he looks woozy again. Clearly the fact that he is here, talking to Rudabeh in the flesh is still overwhelming. He masters himself and says, "And I have been living here for a while, and thathelps. Everyone speaks Common here."

Which exactly true, Rudabeh knows. There were plenty of more isolated (or ideological) groups under the waves of Outsea that stuck to the old ways. Aquan and even Aklo were all one heard in some grottos. Still, Common was often a common denominator, at least for those outside the military.

At the mention of her friends, he seems to shrink down a bit, his slender shoulders slumping, "Well, I mean, I tried to talk to some of them. Not everyone....well, not everyone wants to talk to me. Yiu know, a grippli."

Prejudice is, of course, not unknown to Rudabeh. Too often in her travels she has run across hates and dislikes of all stripes, but honestly it has not played a major role. Not only does she live in the River Kingdoms which has a very different outlook then most places, none of her mentors had much of a discriminatory worldview. Her own parents were outsiders, importing few stereotypes and her father's mercantile attitude precluded that sort of viewpoint anyway. Everyone was a possible trading partner to Gegdev. Finn had divided the world not into races but into soldiers and everyone else. Her disdain for people had nothing to do with what they looked it, but how (or if) they fought. Even crotchety old Urqat was of Outsea, probably the most diverse and cosmopolitan settlement in Avistan. He just disliked everyone.

The grippli went on, "I found your sister, in the other lake." Rudabeh winces to hear the fabled Outsea sinkholes described as 'lakes'. "I tried to talk to her but they chased me off before I could really say anything."

"I did find Ogedoj, though."

Ogedoj, now that is a name she had not heard in a long time. A fellow undine, the man had been a few years ahead of her, Djo (as he was usually called) had taken a...romantic interest in their newest recruit. Rudabeh, of course, had been too focused on her work to even realize his friendly manner had been flirting and not just affable comradery. By the time a fellow recruit tactfully informed Rudabeh of what was going on, it had been too late and Djo felt rebuffed. While not overly hostile, it had meant years of dirty chores assigned to her by the older officer. They never had patched it up, just went there separate ways over the years. Rudabeh had no idea how the grippli had discovered him. Gossip had long fins...

"Yeah, he said all sorts of things about you." The grippli said, maddingly vague. "I tried to talk to your brother but he was always busy...." Rudabeh couldn't fault the grippli there. Ondev had often been too distracted to even talk to her.

"Oh, and Voyumre Vemlohy." The grippli says, "The engineer." This time at least he named an actual friend. Outsea was reliant on a extensive system of tunnels, settling ponds, channels, locks and salt pits and all of it was governed by a very insular guild of engineers. The Collaborative Society of Flow and Function. They were, in many ways, outside the usual Outsea chain of command and could, in certain circumstances, dictate terms tot he Council of Generals. Outside of perhaps the stranger clergy of Danglosa, they were Oustea's most important group. It was the engineers that kept the freshwater out and the salt content correct, that managed the growth of coral reefs and balanced the fishing quotas. It was the guild that maintained the salt mephit summoning circles and even the Reekworks. Without the Society, Outsea would have stillborn centuries ago.

And Voyumre Vemlohy, gill(wo)man had been their rising star. Intelligent, cunning and graceful she had been a frequent patron of Urqat's legal practice. Her duties often required unearthing the most ancient and hoary legal statues, which usually meant Rudabeh had to (in some cases literally) dig them out. The engineer however had taken a liking to the young undine and they had struck up a friendship, if a lopsided one as Vemlohy had been, even then, regarded as perhaps the finest mind of her generation.

"She was very kind..." the grippli said, shyly. That would be Voyumre. Gracious and understanding, even if often a bit standoffish or chilly at times. A bit regal, honestly, like a well-loved but reserved Queen.

When Rudabeh gives him a name, the grippli shrugs easily, 'Sounds fine to me." Rudabeh is slightly disappointed getting a name isn't a bigger deal to the frogman. He had nearly fainted just with talking with her but being christened was just run of the mill?

Then grig turns to Irovetti and says, "And what will you name me?"

The former king eyes the little man with beady eyes and snorts, "I plan to do so infrequently. Now, mind the boat. I don't want to swim."

The grippli tends the tiller but remarks, "Why not? This water is great to swim in. It tastes weird but it holds you up! Swimming in it is more like flying then swimming...."

Ahead Rudabeh spots the Company barge, tied at the end of a long wharf. Already a few of the most landlubbery of the mercenaries are standing on the wooden planks, obviously happy to be onshore. Ostend and Ractus are deep in talks with a human official of some type. Then, to her horror, she spots a few of the crew at the rail of the barge dumping garbage over the side.

Last night's greasy stew was no problem, Oustea's overly active ecosystem would process that before it hit the bottom but the old ratty blankets, a broken pair of boots, and a bucket of hardened tar? Such dumping was one thing in a isolated patch of river or even a human port but here? Oh no....

On the wharf the human official starts pointing and shouting, which only causes frowning and pointing from Ostend and Ractus. Even as Rudabeh hurries her stroke, a triton officer of some type is slowly stumping down the wooden dock. She lives them along for a few minutes....

"That sounds like Dimi." Rudabeh comments over the splash of oars as Gig extrapolates on some of the people he's met. "She's not very tolerant of strangers. I hope she was staying out of trouble when you saw her." The girl had all the mischiviousness of her father with none of the clevernesss, and it always worried Rudabeh.

She does look at the grippili in stunned silence when he mentions Doj. "Who told you Ogedoj and I were friends?" Her tone was as defensive as it was probbing. "We served together in the 3rd Search and Rescue squadron of the Amphibious Corps, but that is as far as our relationship went." If someone is still spreading rumors about that time... Rudabeh shook her head to herself and sighed. There were accusations of favoritism when she was promoted to Sergeant, though she knew that was absolutely not the case considering it was Doj that delayed her promotion for years.

"Ah, Voyumre." Her mood perpectively shifts. "She is indeed kind. Sometimes I think she is too good for this plane. One day the gods will notice her and realize they misplaced one of their own." Looking over her shoulder to the former king sitting at the bow. "I think you would like her, Irovetti. She's a gillwoman engineer and responsible for much of the cities' planning."

The paladin barks a laugh when Gig asks what Irovetti call him. "No, you don't under-" Her words trail off as she spots activity on the edge of the barge's gunwale, her heart jumping up into her throat when she sees a boot go flying off the side. Quickly, she sweeps her eyes across the docks and notes a triton officer has already made the same observation as her and is quickly approaching. Hunching forward, Rudabeh begins a set of powerful, full-bodied rows that suddenly lurch the whaleboat forward.

"Why can't I leave them alone for a few minutes?" The paladin complains as she rapidly accelerates the dingy to maxium speed. "Gig. Listen to me." Rudabeh huffs between splashes, tone commanding. "Get Irovetti onto the dock."

Suddenly Rudabeh lets go of the oars, and her fingers go to the strap holding the sword onto her back. As the buckle gives way, she flips the sheath around and lays the sword off to the side at the bottom of the boat. Her eyes meet Irovetti's as she's bent over. "I need you to be my herald. Tell the officer I am cleaning up the litter and I will be there shortly to represent the accused party under Statute 56." The law said any officer of a sailing vessel could take responsibility for the actions of their crew if they so chose. Rudabeh wasn't technically an officer of the vessel, but the soldiers also weren't sailors, so she had to hope this particular guard was not intimately familar with the exact wording of the law.

Rotating quickly, the undine puts her back to the side of the whaleboat, and starts to tip backwards. "Statute 56!" She says loudly, one more time, just to make sure he got the message. It was the last sound that filled her ears before the salt water filled all of her senses.

A swirl of bubbles engulfs her, and she feels the familar, slow sinking motion begin. Time seems to move so slowly. First, her back feels cool at wet, and the feeling rapidly surrounds her entire body like a cool comforting blanket. Her face and helmet immediately fill with water, caressing her cheeks and stealing away the warmth with delightful quickness. She inhales reflexively, sucking in the clean, nearly dessicating ocean water; her taste buds send a dizzying array of flavors while her nose fills up with every nostalgic smell from her childhood. Bubbles pop on the surfaces feet away and she is looking upward through the nicitating membranes protecting her eyes, catching glimpses of the sun shafts piercing the surface and refracting off air streaming from the joints in her armor.

Part of her soul resonates with the place, and she can feel the subtle string connecting her and Danglosa tighten like a fly line. The slack in the connection disappears, and she feels her skin soak in both the salt and the power the dual god infuses into Outsea.

Rudabeh realizes she is looking up at her hands, and at the bottom of her vision she can see her boots listing upward too. She was nearly numb with escetsy, overcome by the sudden infusion of water from her inland ocean home she had craved since arriving, and was sinking downward into the Well like a dead man thrown overboard. Any swimmers passing by would think she was some piece of fishing equipment fallen off the docks, glittering in the shallows on its journey to the sea floor, until they noticed the arms and legs.

The realization she needs to be swimming sets in slowly, dumbly, and she starts to move her fingers and toes. With a great gasp and a jerk that sends her body spinning, Rudabeh regains control of her limbs and rights herself in the water, belly facing down. With undulating dolphin kicks she quickly makes her way to the dumping site by the barge, using both her eyes and nose to locate the tossed trash and scoop it up.

perception: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (7) + 10 = 17

"I prefer artists to engineers." Irovetti says loftily adding, "Engineers are afraid to dream." Rudabeh has a flashback to the discussion regarding Pitax's out of date and clogging sewers. It is also a bit silly to say engineer's do not dream after just sailing past the Outfall that morning. If Outsea was not a dream, what was?

Say what you want though, Gig is willing to follow orders. When Rudabeh orders him to get Irovetti ashore he grabs the man's forearm as if he is about to manhandle him into the water and swim him to the docks.

The former king breaks the grip easily with a firm shake of his shoulder. Apparently pleased that he finally has physical mastery over someone he says in dark tones, "If you touch me without consent again, it will not be a mistake you can repeat."

The former king straightens his robes and quickly readjust his hair. Their is a twinkle in his eye when she names him his herald and he says, "There is no need to wait till we are ashore, Rudabeh." The former king mutters something soft under his breath, stands up in the whaleboat and faces the shore.

"STAY YOUR HAND, OFFICERS OF THE LAW. WE INVOKE STATUE 56 IN THE NAME OF RUDABEH, SERGANT AND CITIZEN OF THIS CITY." he bellows in the voice of a waking God. Rudabehs wears she can actually see ripples on the surface of the Well from his projecting voice.

It is a relief to escape into the Well with a splash. The water swallows her up, while Senqhi shrieks in her head like both ifrits do when she suddenly dunks herself in water.

I'm not going to try and follow up your description of how awesome water is, so moving on...

As the paladin regains her bearings, she flips 'rightside' up, surveying the underwater world of Outsea. Unlike a human port this is not a forgotten and ignored area, used only as a dumping area but a vital part of the city, and in many ways, more important the surface and shore.

Above her the surface of the water is filled with black shapes graceful shifting this way or that, casting long shadows. Every ship is like a dark cloud in a very nearby sky. To her right the shore rises up like a cliff, stone and pilings set deep into piled gravel or even just river mud. It is steep to provide deep anchorage for vessels of even deep draft.

But to her left....Outsea beckoned. The Well was not, as many humans judged, a simple shaft into the earth with a city on the shore. By both divine design and careful mortal engineering, the Well was the city, with most of Outsea's citizens living on the walls that made up the Well. The higher portions were terraced, like a giant's step leading deeper into Well. The further one got the shallower and steeper the stairs became until they vanished entirely and became rocky, jagged cliffs leading down to darkness. And, according rumors, darker connections to the Underdark.

But the terraces meant that Rudabeh would not have to swim an endless plundge to recover the garbage dropped by her shipmates. The first terrace under the docks was not very deep, a wide shelf of rock riven out of Golaron itself. It was busy however, covered with a weird inverse of the port above.

There were homes and warehouses of marine merchants who preferred to stay below the waves. Storage yards of sunken logs, crushed coral or coiled seaweed. This was prime real commercial real estate but Rudabeh knew farther away from the docks this first terrace was prime 'farmland' for everything from kelp groves to starfish ranches, due to getting the most sunlight. In other places it was dotted with coral reefs, carefully tended by both engineers and druids (often in disagreement). But the busy port saw too much traffic, and to her distaste, garbage. Perhaps it was a change in custom or perhaps there were just too many landlubbers above, but to his dismay she saw plenty of litter here.

Nothing of value lost overboard remained however. Anything very valuable would be returned (for a price) by the submarine locals while anything useful would simply be taken and added to their collections. But even with all of this, Rudabeh saw bits of old netting, rotting leather and a few piles of congealed tar. It was like taking a favored hiking path to see someone had felled the finest trees and hidden cracked ale jugs in the stumps.

Still, she finds 'her' litter easily enough and gathers it up. Above her, a few fisherman tow their catches along in long nets. Unlike their land-based counterparts, porters and laborers underwater often look like graceful dancers, flying through the air. One waves to her, clearly appreciative of her cleaning up.

"Damn humans." One of them shouts in Aquan, which carries well even in the busy waters under the port. "No respect!" And they hurry on, tugging a twisting bag of live crabs behind them.

Rudabeh made anote to herself that Gig follows orders very litterally. In some ways, it made him the ideal soldier. but in reality it was probably going to get him killed.

She also had forgotten how loud Irovetti could be. Now the entire dock knew she was there.

The majesty of Outsea distracts her from thoughts of well-wishers and politics, and she sweeps her gaze over the terraces stepping their way to the edges of the Twilight. Old haunts and the luxurious estates of Generals jump out to her like a breaching dolphin. Many things were still the same, and yet...

The excess garbage of the normally pristine Hull (the inverse of the docks on Lubber's Row) disturbed her. The barge full of tourists spring to mind, all of them here to experience Outsea but not beholden to its customs. The hull didn't remain clean because there were folk to pick up the trash, but instead it was a well defined community effort to not put trash there at all.

The thought of this problem was churning through her mind even as she picked up her own company's garbage, hooking the tar bucket under her arm and nabbing a boot by its strings. She even grabs an extra tarry plank just to get it out of her sight. Surel here was a way to instill an appreciation of how pristine OUtsea should be in the air-breathers?

Sure she had collected all of the refuse, Rudabeh looks up at the shadowy, floating shapes above to easily identify Ostend's barge. Not only was it close by, but it was completely free of barnacles. That wouldn't last long.

Kicking off, her head swivels to the fisherfin, and she is taken aback by his passing words. Not "damn lubbers", but "damn humans" specifically? Most lubbers were human, but why did he call them out like that?

The undine quickly kicks her way back up to the docks, forgoing one of the many ladders thrust into the water for the central ramp underwater porters used for heavy loads. She stops swiming a few feet away and sinks in a graeful arch onto the pertrified wooden structure, boots touching down on the backside of an anchored sphere of stripped willow planks, its cargo of bundled bright pink coral carefully arranged and proteted with some sort of cloth.

Rudabeh walks up the ramp, passing by the two draft seahorses sucking on krill bags, ignoring their beady-eyed, cautious stares. To her left, a rugged merman with an impressive number of scars haggles his find with a well-to-do naga, her ostentatious coif of golden chain links glittering in the nearby surf sun and attracting all sorts of curious fish. Two writhing grindylow servants take turns fussing over the immaculate placement of the coif or grabbing and eating any fish that get too close, much to their enjoyment.

Focused on defending her company, her (adopted, extended) family, from their own ignorance, Rudabeh ignores the happenings around her and marches straight back to the surface, expelling the salt water from her lungs and holding her breath as she is mere inches from the chopping surface waters. Something tugs at her soul, tells her not to leave, not yet, but just promises that part of herself she'll be back. She always comes back.

The shark-like fin of her crested helmet cuts through the waves as she pierces the boundry between liquid and gas, she takes a deep breath of the shore air and sloughs water from every joint on her return. Shimmering and shining, she triumphantly walks forward holding armfuls of garbage to face the triton officer head-on.

After Rudabeh's rather good impersonation of the roaring Outfall is finished, she surveys the situation. She also has to ignore Senqhi for a moment, who is still asking for the names and habits of all the many sea creatures they just quickly swam past.

Ostend and Ractus are standing elbow to elbow on the dock, faces as dark as thunderclouds. While neither has a weapon in hand (thankfully) both look ready to spit and bite. Behind them are arrayed a number of the crew and Company, all looking just as furious although a few seem to be hiding smirking grins.

Rudabeh glances toward the triton next. As with most of his kind, when forced to be land, he looks surly and grumpy, leaning heavily on a stick to take the weight off his weak legs. Underwater the tritons are formidable and capable warriors but few make the transition to land service well. However, since only a few marine races can even function on land, many tritons are forced to deal with landlubbers. It is a hated task.

His uniform is not military but some civil service post regarding the port. Outsea's barrier between the military and civilian worlds can be blurry at the best of times. In Rudabeh's mind, the official is probably a reservist, shunted to port duty in lieu of retirement. His rank is not known, but Rudabeh gets the feeling of a very put-upon corporal.

She notes Irovetti climbing out of the little whaleboat, which is now tied up at the wharf. The former king is rather spry and soon, fitting a herald, is at her side. Gig, meanwhile, stays in the boat.

"Statue 56" The triton says peevishly, he says in wet Common. Curious that he chooses that instead of Aquan. A bit of a slight at Rudabeh by 'assuming' she doesn't know it. "So you are taking responsibilities for these...sailors? Mercenaries?"

He sniffs at the landlubbers before going on, in that same annoyed voice, "You are aware that dropping foreign items into Gozerh's Well is a punishable offense? Both by fine or by corvee labor."

Forced labor for landlubbers? That's a new one. It wasn't unheard of for Outsea judges to demand physical labor as repayment for certain offenses or as restitution, but it wasn't really 'forced labor'. A change in the law code?

Still the triton goes on, "Are these the offending items?" He gestures a hand toward the sodden pile of garbage in Rudabeh's arms.

Rudabeh leaves a dripping trail upon the salt-encrusted dock, putting another layer of water on top of the barely dried yellow-white wood. "I am the commanding officer of the original perpetrators, yes." She says carefully to the triton. They weren't sailors, and merely had been on board the vessel. This was threading a legal loophole.

"Well aware, sir." She replies quickly while kneeling down to drop the tar bucket form the crook of her arm, throwing down the blanket and boots next to them. One boots turns over, sending out a gush of water and a small, frightened crab that rapidly squeezes its way between the planks and out of sight.

"These are the items. As per statue 56, I personally take responsiblity for the infraction committed, as if I had taken the action myself. In light of this blunder, I have extracted the offending items, with extra foreign objects I found nearby, and returned them to the surface for proper disposal, which I will see to personally." Rudabeh bows at the waist, arms held straigh at her sides. This triton probably just wanted some respect, being in a maladapated job on a summer day. She could give it to him.

"Please forgive and forget this transgression, sir." She says formally, looking down and squinting against the summer sun reflecting off the docks.

diplomacy: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (12) + 14 = 26

Forced labor for lubbers... she ponders as she waits for the port official to pass judgement. It was certainly a change. She would have to talk to Urqat about it. He loved to complain about changes in Outsea's codes, so it would be easy enough to learn what had transpired just be listening.

Irovetti aims a kick at a shrieking seagull which makes a swooping dive on the suddenly exposed crab. The former king misses, but he does enable the crab to make good its escape back to the inviting depths of the Well.

The triton gives Rudabeh, and her pile of garbage a sour look. She can see the man's mind working as clearly as if it were an exposed waterwheel. Weighing his desire to punish them with a petty ticket versus everyone's distaste for paperwork. Finally he shrugs, laziness winning out.

"That will not be necessary. Your apology is accepted. Please, just do not let it happen again." he waves toward the original landlubber official, "Take the garbage off her hands." The thin man is struggling to manage the awkward load of garbage, but just manages to keep up as the triton stumps awkwardly away.

As soon as his back is turned, Ractus grins, like a schoolboy who has gotten away with truancy. "Right, Rudabeh! You showed him! All that 'rule 56' stuff. Is it even real or did you make it up?" He laughs, "Your homeland is a bunch of finickers, Rudabeh. I see you came by it honestly."

Ostend however is still frowning and points down at Gig, still in the boat, "What's this then? No grippli onboard ship, everyone knows that." The half-elf raises his voice and points at Gig, "You! Shove off!" The little frogman wilts visibly but holds his place.

Ractus frowns and shrugs, peering down at Rudabeh's newest recruit, "What's the problem? Sure, he is a bit spindly, but we keep Irovetti around."

The former king sputters but Ostend goes on, "No grippli, basic rule of the river kingdoms. They steal, everyone knows that."

Rudabeh, to her surprise, sees nods from some of the other crew and Comopany, the locals anyway. Silvui, from the back looks darkly and says, "I've such tales before, about other people. They are usually lies." Litta, at his side as always replies however, "No, it is true. Can't trust them."

Ostend goes on, "They can't help it, just the way the Gods made them." He waves a arm at Gig shouting, "Now, give me back my boat. I'll have none of your frog tricks." Gig shrinks down lower into the boat, doing his best to vanish into the rough wood.

"Ah, good effort." Rudabeh quietly comments to Irovetti on his nearly successful kick, even though she was liable to get a mindfl from Seqhi. The paladin was typically ambivalent about the wildlife, but seagulls were so annoying. If Irovetti was going to dedicate his energy to chasing them off she was going to encourage it.

"Thank you. I will make an effort to educate the freshlings." She says while straightening up from her bow, nodding her thanks to the lubber offical that takes the trash.

She chuckles at Ractus' enthusiasm. "No, Statue 56 is a very real law dating back hundreds of years. Its original intent was to allow river captains pay fines in lieu of their crew to spare their sailors having to spend time in jail." Suddenly, her demeanor turns serious. "I hope this was an adaquete demonstration of an important law in OUtsea. Do not throw your trash in the water! There are houses below you! Thousands of souls live in the Well! They do not want to breathe your garbage! Besides, it is the law, and it our duty to support the local laws of Pact Member states, of which Outsea is a member, not break them."

The sudden verbal battery of her newest recruit leaves Rudabeh with a deep rown, her head swinging back and forth at the chorus of opinions on grippili.

"I have not heard of this." She states flatly before turning to the whaleboat. "Gig, come up here next to me on the dock please, and bring my sword." Turning back to the assembled group, the paladin places her hands firmly on her faulds. "Ostend, it is your barge and you have the right to refuse anyone you please. But the rest of you will need to judge this grippili on his own merits, for he is our newest recruit."

A hand raises to silence the sudden mumblings. "When I went to pray to Alseta at the Arch, Gig was already there, in prayer as well. He was there, near that very spot ten years ago when I swore my paladin oaths to Alseta and he witnessed the Miracle rebuilding as I did." She notes some more murmurs and turned heads in the crowd. "I know what that tour guide said, and that... that... "tale" was full of falsehoods. I was no wretched waif, nor did I die when Alseta blessed me. I merely brought Her attention to the broken arch, and by Her august grace it was restored." Gesturing down at the frogling, Rudabeh continues. "I find it no coincidence I found Gig beneath the shadow of the Arch, and I fully believe Alseta arranged our meeting. Though his background is in trade and commerce, he has sworn the very same oath as all of you, will train alongside all of you, and I expect all of you to treat him with the same respect as you would any of your brothers or sisters."

She leans down to take her sword from Gig, standing it upright and holding the 5 foot weapon by its leather wrapped-hilt. "Gig's first assignment... as well as those who threw the trash into the well..." WIth a pause, Rudabeh sweeps her eyes among the group. There would be lingering glances, grimmaces, and gerneral tells that gave her clues or outright revealed who was responsible for the incident. "is to guard the clam shells until I can find a buyer. While many of you have learned to swim, Gig is the only one among you that can breathe underwater and watch for thieves from below. You will be supporting him on watch duty, so noone try to steal our prize."

Casually leaning against her sword, she glances to her elven Captain. "Ractus, will you fetch the company book please? I will brief everyone on my plans for accomodations and future work in the meantime."

Basically she'll tell everyone what she discussed with Ractus before. Half of them stay on the barge to guard the clam (she can surely convince Ostend), other half go to The Polite Clam for some R&R, switch the next day. In the meantime she'll find them work and a buyer for the clam, and hopefully a place in the local barracks.

The Company looks rather unconvinced at Rudabeh's argument based around the Arch. No one on that dock doubts the paladin's religious devotion. Anyone who has spent more then five minutes with the undine knows her unwavering faith and unshakable personal honor. Still, it was clearly a bit of a reach to say you found a vagrant at a holy site and therefore he is touched by the Gods. A few shrug but she sees a knot of unhappy faces. Clearly grippli prejudice runs deep.

Gig sidles up toward the barge, peering down at the enormous floating clamshells. A few of the litterbugs join him, but keeping a distance away, making sure to label him as an outsider. To Rudabeh's lack of shock, most of the litterers tend to be those who are the most unconvinced of the grippli's worth. Good, let them work together a bit.

Ractus, who seems merely bemused by all the fuss over a very slight frog, shrugs, "I'll get Book. I hope he is worth it. I'd hate to see a munity over him." As the muscular elf vanishes below decks Ostend comes up, keeping his voice low.

"I do not want to undercut you in front of your men, Rudabeh. I know how hard it is to keep order, especially over a lot like this." The half elf says with a nod but goes on, "But I am not merely being evil or something. Grippli always cause trouble when they come into civilization. It just happens. I will not allow him on my barge, and I am glad you respect that. I assume you'll take reasonability if he steals anything?"

Then Ostend sighs, "I think you'll regret this, he is going to be the cause of many more headaches. Doesn't Irovetti do that enough for you?" The former king is standing off to the side, busy sipping a cup of hot tea provided for by a servant. His eyes sweep the dockside and Rudabeh feels a prickle of concern about the man being turned loose in her homeland. She didn't want to spend her time here saving Irovetti from himself.

Ractus returns with the Company book and this discuss matters going forward. "Do you want me to stay here, or at the inn? I wouldn't mind some time off this floating wreck but I understand if you don't want them unattended. Unless we just invoke statue 56 every morning." He pauses and rubs his chin, "I can take care of finding work, if you like. I've never been to Outsea before, but I am sure the places are the same as they usually are. See who is hiring. City seems busy enough. We might be overkill for cleaning rats out of basement but a place like this probably needs a few sellswords. Save you one thing off your plate."

Awkward place to stop, but I want to give you a chance to react to everything

Rudabeh does not seem put off by Ostend's superstitions- it was his job to have quick judgement and work from experience. "I have never heard of these rumors, but I will keep your opinion in mind." She says succinctly to his assertion Gig was going to cause trouble. "I don't see how Gig could possibly cause more trouble than Irovetti." The paladin replies as she watches the man sip tea. "If I can deal with him, I can deal with Gig."

Ractus' return, and his words, put her at ease. Even if she disagreed with his ways of dealing with things, he was always dependable. "Leave Draze and Silvui in command of guarding the barge tonight. Not only do you deserve a pint or two, but you'd do well to make some friends here. Any job will do, but prioritize work for the city if you can manage. It might pay less, but we should be able to talk the guard captain into letting us stay in the barracks so we wont have to camp in the loch and be sucked dry by stirges."

"Gig!" Rudabeh calls to the grippili, waving him over. She kneels down on his approach, crushing a pile of rock-hard salt beneath a silversheen poleyn. "To officially join the company, you'll need to sign the Book with your call name." She reaches for her book, drawing the foot-long dagger from its leather sheath. "Take the quill, and I'll show you what to write." It only takes her a moment to carve "gig" into the layer of dry salt beneath her. "That's your name. Copy that onto the line in the book with the quill."

She'll help him if it's a struggle.

Once they are done signing him in, she coaches him further. "You'll be on watch duty. I want you to be our eyes below the surface. If any finfolk take an interest in the clams, tell them to leave. If they get belligerent, or you see someone trying to steal the clams, warn the others on the docks so they can get the guard. You don't have to fight. We'll get some equipment for you and I'll start your training later, hopefully with some other new recruits."

Her armor rumbles a bit as she adjusts her position on her knee. "I won't be here to help, but I believe in you. I was in this position before, too, with a bunch of people thinking I was a demon, and wanting to hurt me. You can't play into what they think you're going to do, because they'll try to get you to do it. Be kind to your fellows, even if they taunt or tease you. Lashing out, or getting revenge will only make it worse. If you want something, like if you're hungry or thirsty, ask one of the others for it, like Silvui." She points to the roguish man that has no idea he's on guard duty tonight and probably won't be happy about it. "We share with one another here, but there's an order to it. Just ask first."

Standing up and brushing the salt off her armor, she turns to Ractus. "I am going to see my parents, mostly because I haven't seen them in a decade, but also because there is no better person in Oustea to find a buyer for these." She thumbs backwards to the floating load of mother-of-pearl, on which all her future monetary dreams rest.

"If he loves his daughter, he'll waive his usual fee." She says with a mixture of humor and uncertainty.

Ractus turns to get orders to Draze and Silvui, neither of which will probably enjoy being made babysitters for a night on the barge. The Company was restless after days cooped up on ship and Rudabeh wondered if any would be brave enough to try and swim to shore for a good time? Maybe she should repeat the stories about the sharks.

Gig finds signing his name to be delightful, even if he is terrible at it. The concept of writing doesn't seem unknown to him, and she guesses he has seen plenty of it during his time in Outsea. That said, he doesn't seem to grasp how it works and has a fixation with writing on the line, instead of just above it. The childish scrawled name is not very out of place however, among many of the other Company names, some of which had done little more then make a glorified X. Maybe she should teach lessons or something. A fully literate mercenary Company would be novel, but maybe they'd follow local laws more.

The grippli listens to her orders carefully, seeming to take them in with due seriousness. When she is done talking though he looks nervously right to left and then whispers nervously, obviously embarrassed "What exactly is stealing? People keep talking about it, but I don't understand. It has something to do with money right? Maybe I should get some?"

Feel free to reply

The elf, having returned after giving Silvui the bad news, grins, "He is that type of merchant, eh? I've met a fair few, but I have a hard time imaging someone like that related to you, Rudabeh." Then he glances at the assorted Company and recalls all the various compromises, deals and promises made to create it.

"Then again, maybe not. You seem very good at convincing people of things."

"Taking anyone with you? Also, I assume Irovetti is not my problem? He seems to assume he is coming with you, so unless you want me to clap him in irons, I'd rather not deal with it." He rubs his chin, mutters about needing a shave and adds, "Should I keep my ears open for a cleric? Any hope of that here? Or is everyone going to be a weird fish who won't leave his bowl?" He drums his fingers on the rail in thought and adds, "I'd rather not have a Hanspur priest. No offense to Ostend, but they creep me out. Orza left a strong impression on me."

If the elf thought Hanspur was a strange god, what would the mercenary make of Danglosa and her clerics?

"Stealing is... well, let me back up. You know the word "property", right?" Even if she doesn't get a blank, bug-eyed stare, Rudabeh contnues. "It is something you own, like an extension of yourself. So the clothes you're wearing right now, that's your property. Your bag, and everything in it. Other people will assume you "own" those things because they're used by you and closely associated with you. Ownership is not something that's obvious, and sometimes you have to ask people if an object is theirs before you take it."

Rudabeh draws in a breath, wondering if this is better or worse than having to deal with Irovetti. Probably better, at least Gig was listening and seemed open to change. "How can you pass property from one person to another? You can give it away and recieve nothing in exchange by saying so or writing it down, or you can trade for it, which is bartering ownership of some property for another. Money is an easy way to trade for things, because we all give it a bartering value. You will get some money soon, if you want me to teach you how to use it."

Shifting in place, the paladin finally gets to the point. "Now, stealing is when you take property that is not yours with the intent to make it your property without the owner noticing or being able to fight you for it. It's not stealing if the owner knows the item is being taken and can fight for it, but that's a different matter entirely we can talk about later. In a civilized society as this one, stealing is agreed to be harmful and it is harshly punished by returning the item, or paying an increased cost for it, doing labor for the victim of the stealing, or in the most extreme cases for repeat offenders, cutting off a hand, or death."

Rudabeh had seen many few cases of theft go to any real court in the River Kingdoms. Victims tended to get their friends and family to mete out their revenge, usually against the poor, the downtrodden, or the ignorant. Still, she had to know what the definintion of stealing was.

"Does that make sense? That's why you should ask for things that are not yours, so you aren't stealing them." A thought crosses her mind, as she recalls the book Gig showed her earlier. "Your copy of The Sacred Keystones... how did you obtain it if you have no money? Did you barter for it, or did you take it?" The question was probing, but not acquisitory.

She just smiles at the comparison of her and her father. "I've been told I take after him, but that was a decade ago. I think I've diverged somewhat." A thought occurs to her, something they've never really talked about before. "What of your parents? Family? I have always heard "All Elves are from Kyonin or headed to it.", but I don't think that's true."

Mention of Irovetti coming along is met with some indecipherable waving hand gestues. "Yes, he's my problem. He wants to meet my brother but I think he'll be terribly disappointed. Ondev is barely in the mood to have a conversation with me and I used to change his smallclothes."

Rudabeh shoots Ractus a stern look at his fish comment. "Just a warning, you don't want to refer to anyone here as a fish. All the water-breathers, who would be the most offended, have military training. You would probably still win a one-on-one scuffle, but their friends are going to be much more potent than usual when they've all spent several years together in a squad." Her warning issued, Rudabeh continues. "I agree no Hanspur, not really what my relationship with Him is after the whole Orza incident. I don't want a healing spell failing or some sort of plot against my life in the middle of a battle. Though... I would be hard to drown..."

Brushing away the thought, she continues. "Most of the healers here are Oracles of Danglosa. The Twin God usually wants something in return for the powers it grants, and most are crippled. I don't know if any would be willing to leave Outsea, or if Danglosa would or is able to extend their powers beyond Outse, but it wouldn't hurt to ask I suppose. My bias is showing, but a druid or cleric of Alseta may be our best bet given our eclectic crew. But, if you find a cleric of Gorum or something I won't complain as long as they promise not to tell someone with a broken leg to "walk it off."

Another thought occurs to her, and she scratches at her cheek, feeling a bit of dried salt peel off her skin. She'd eat it, but Ractus was watching and flicks it away instead. "My criteria are.... literate, capable of divine healing powers, knowledge of mundane medicine and care of the sick or wounded. As a bonus, they can teach. I think it would do the Company well to be literate, or learn some battlefield medicine, so I may ask this person to teach lessons. They would be not be expected to fight, and would be salaried, though I do expect them to take the Company Oath."

As an addemdum to the ideas, she includes with a raised finger. "Keep a lookout for a cook, too. Maybe a journeyman smith to do repairs. And about four good recruits to replace our losses. I'd like a say and maybe an interview with all these people, but if someone good is going to get away if you don't nab them I will defer to your judgement."

Gig listens very intently to what Rudabeh is saying, almost painfully attentive but Rudabeh doubts he still is any closer to understanding what she means. Which, to be fair, is not that unexpected. If the concept of property and ownership is alien to the grippli, that isn't something you pick up in a quick lecture. He nods alot, protuberant eyes gleaming wetly in the bright sunlight, and he swallows a great deal but Rudabeh is still doubtful. Hopefully keeping him underwater will keep him out of trouble.

But when she mentions the book, he brightens. Without pausing he digs into his bag and, after a rather metallic heavy sound clatter, withdraws the book. Looking closer Rudabeh can see it is very old, with a heavy leather cover braced with wood trim. Faint images of arches and wheels grace the front, worn away by the passage of time to vague impressions. Like many copies of Alseta's holy book, it has a lock on the side, clasping it shut. Such barriers are merely symbolic however, and usually open with only a slight press of the fingers.

"I mean, I found it." Gig says, not evasively, but trying to place it in the context her understands. "I heard people say this was your book, the one who swore to. So I listened and waited, and someone mentioned this old man had a copy. I tracked him down, waited until he was not using it, and then took it." Rudabeh gets the sense the word 'took' here is more like someone 'taking' a an apple from a wild tree. No sense of stealing.

"It wasn't very useful though, since I can't read it. I thought speaking Common would help but.." he sighs frustratingly.

Might want to follow up on this later

Ractus shrugs, "It's not a bad saying really, but it is hard for others to understand us. But aye, I have a family. Mother and father both, but they aren't....around, you might say. A sister too, but I don't see her much. She's a priestess and doesn't really approve of what I do. Says it is a phase I'll grow out of." The muscular elf shrugged then, violet eyes growing distant. "Maybe she is right. It's only been a few centuries."

The elf laughs a bit when Rudabeh gives him a warning about Outsea. "I used to live in Nuemria, Rudabeh. If I could handle Starfall and the Technic League, I think I can get along in this place. No offense, but they tried to fine us for littering. Not exactly intimidating." he cracks a knuckle while listening to Rudabeh's thoughts on a cleric.

"No offense, but your homeland is weird, Rudabeh. I mean, gods are always weird, that's fair. Still, underwater fish god, that's a new one. "

He actually looks bothered when she mentions a Gorum cleric being perhaps less then gentle. "I'll have you know, 'walk it off' has cured many an aliment." The elf says, with a mix of sarcasm and some real irritation. "God forbid we treat them like soldiers. And clerics shouldn't read. It's unnatural."

Rudabeh is about to frown when she catches a wry smile on his lips. But the elf does go on, "Fair enough but I do think a bit of tough love might help ground these troops. You are too gentle with them. A druid is interesting. They are good fighters but tend to be a bit wild. I'll have a look around for the others as well. It's a big city, should be plenty to choose from."

Anything else? Or are you ready to take Irovetti home to meet the parents?