One Out of Many

Game Master Mowque

All your cards on the table...risky move!

When Rudabeh talks of rebels and discontent, Irovetti's face is hard but controlled. He sips at a glass of wine, eyes fixed on the paladin in front of him. The masks of control slips slightly but not totally. For one long moment Rudabeh dares hope the old man might at least listen to her reason, even if not act on it.

Then she mentions criticism of his rule, and offering changes. The facade of calm completely falls away, as his face turns crimson. His eyes flash as Rudabeh finishes, hand gripping the wine glass tightly. Just as the paladin finishes he rises to his feet and throws the glass at the wall, shattering it.

"Shape the image of Pitax?" He shouts back at her, voice uncontrolled, unhinged. Specter in hand, he strides around the table, face growing taut with rage. Suddenly both the genial old man and the cunning manipulator are gone, replaced with a person of fury and rage.

"You say to reflect on my actions. I do, every day, paladin."He waves a hand at the tavern around them."Do you have any idea what I have accomplished here? Do you have the slightest inkling what I have built through my my sweat, cleverness and vision?"

He strikes the ground with his staff hard enough to crack the tile. "When I arrived here, Pitax was a hovel of criminals and river pirates stabbing each other over cards. A few sad houses overlooking a muddy river, plagued by violence. Look around you! I have created universities, schools, city squares and some of the finest docks outside of Daggermark! I did that. Myself, with a strong will and clear vision for the future."

The old man is breathing hard as he goes on, "Look at the parade outside right now! Would that exist except for me? No, it would be muddy peasant barely able to protect their vegetables from bandits. While you sit there and preach about 'nibbling at the edges of the Freedoms' I have created order out of chaos, conjured art out of illiteracy, and brought peace to a hotbed of violence. I look out my window and see a prospering city full of happy citizens. What is that compared to the complaints of the dregs of history, of old nobles and ideologues? Who else could have done this? Who else has done what I have done!"

"No one!" he roars, slamming his fist on the table. "Do not dare tell me how to run this kingdom, which I have lifted out of the mud with my own two hands. I will not stop because some unhappy fools seem to have befuddled you, and made you jump at shadows. Pitax is mine and I will rule it as I see fit and more wonders, more marvels will arise. Under my care, because of my guiding hand and will."

His eyes bore into Rudabeh's, as the old man takes deep breathes, hand on the table for support. Silence fills the room...as the king of Pitax awaits an answer.

I like to apply power attack to both combat and tense negociations!

Rudabeh's eyebrows shoot up as Irovetti turns and throws the wine glass at the wall, but she does not flinch.

Her brow slowly lowers into a furrow as the rant continues, the undine only moving to steeple her fingers. Light blue eyes track the king's movement as he rampages around the room, giving her plenty of evidence why Alseta teaches her faithful to be humble. This pride was very unbecoming of a king, or anyone else for that matter.

As Irovetti winds down and begins staring at her, Rudabeh slowly and deliberately unsteeples her fingers, laying one hand over another on the table.

"Much of what you say is true." She says calmly, employing a simple tactic Finn taught her in swordplay to the art of convseration; counter with equal but opposite force.

"You have built something grand, something few could hope to achieve." Rudabeh continues in a soft, soothing voice. "But now you must maintain it."

"This..." She gestures to the dark crimson strain on the white plaster, the shattered glass, and the cracked tile with her eyes and hands in a sweeping motion. "Is the opposite of maintaining anything."

"There is a great anger within you." The paladin intones, looking directly into the king's eyes. "And while anger is useful in a fight or carving out a city , it only results in domestic strife after the walls have come up. I am truly afraid it will one day be your downfall, and Ido not wish to see that pass. Even Iomedea once said "The general that continues to fight after the war has been won will soon be fighting their friends..." If you continue to lash out at those that criticize you, you will one day find yourself destroying that which you have built."

Rudabeh exhales softly, and speaks smoothly. "I have seen many sides of you, King Irovetti, and I do not believe anger is befitting someone of your station. So please, before we go any further, I wish to speak to the cunning and contemplative man that designed a grand city, so we may intellgiently discuss the future."

If I can just get him to listen to people... Just so their voices can be heard, it will be a huge step in stabilizng any rising resentment in Pitax. Runs through the paladins mind, wondering how Veleda does this every single day. Goddess, please help me find the words.

Diplomacy to get Irovetti to calm the hell down: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (19) + 11 = 30

Alas, I don't believe in 'diplomancy'. Some people just can't be reasoned with in certain ways.

Irovetti sighs heavily when Rudabeh makes her condescending final plea, at least that seems to be how the man takes it. He does stop shouting at least, and becomes icily formal.

"Very well, Rudabeh of Outsea. You wish to discuss intelligently? I shall await until you are speaking sense and stop trying to teach me how to rule a city or talk to a supposed diplomat."

He grabs his walking stick and heads out of the room. His back to the paladin, Irovetti pauses then says coldly, "I would suggest you cancel any further meetings you have with political malcontents in the city. Not only have they obviously biased you against me and corrupted your judgement, it is dangerous to stand near a tall tree in a thunderstorm."

Without a further word he sweeps out, his gold and crimson cloak billowing behind him.

Good, because it's dumb. The diplomacy roll was just to get him to stop freaking out.

"Please understand it is my duty to observe from all sides, even as I openly support you." Are her last, almost apologetic words on the matter, as she watches the backside of Irovetti's billowing cloak exit the room.

Rudabeh sighs heavily, pressing her lips together tightly and slowly rising from her seat. I handled that very poorly. That was worse than talking with the rebels. Why did I even mention them? I could have gone about this completely differently. I was foolish for jumping into this, foolish for thinking he would listen to pure reason.

She pauses momentarily, looking at the stained plaster wall. What am I going to do? If he does not change, one day the rebels will make a move against Irovetti, and if they fail he will become even worse. If they succeed...? I do not know, but I cannot support the chaos of revolution.

Closing her eyes and rubbing the base of her fin-like ears, the paladin starts to walk out of the room to follow Irovetti. I miss arguing over sheep.

Well, not sheep with Rudabeh's background. Tuna, maybe?

Frustrated and disappointed with herself, Rudbaeh leaves the clean, plastered room for the outdoors. She walks through the still empty common room, idling hoping this disruption doesn't cost the owner too dearly. Surely today was a good day to own a tavern?

As she steps into the golden morning sunlight outside, she spots Irovetti and his ring of guards already moving off. Apparently, in his fit of pique, he has decided to leave his honored guest behind. Barely visible between the men, Irovetti is issuing clipped instructions to Druxan, who hovers like a hummingbird at his side. The group makes good time down the street, the crowd parting like a school of fish around an annoyed shark.

Behind them the crowds seal shut, a chorus of laughter, shouts and good-hearted yells filling the air. The air is growing hot as the clouds of yesterday have departed, leaving a bright blue sky and a bright yellow Sun.

Lol. If there are tuna in the River Kingdoms I'll eat my hat. Hmm.. maybe she should go back to Outsea and become a tuna herder.

Stepping out of the tavern and back into the bright light of day, Rudabeh watches Irovetti's escourt cruise down the street.

She rolls her eyes at the power play of the king man-child, feeling an overwhelming frustration at having to deal with someone so... mercurial.

Looking down the other side of the street, bread bowls and that undine storyteller await. She could use a good cheering up right now, and her stomach was a sad, hollow pit. A brief moment of salivating fantasy overtakes her as she bites into the brothy, warm and sodden bread...

Sighing deeply, Rudabeh's heel ruggedly digs into the cobbled street as she forcefully and jerkily turns the other way to follow Irovetti. "Duty over comfort..." She mumbles to herself, working her way through the colorful crowds with a frown.

Please call irovetti a man-child to his face.

Following Irovetti is like trailing a whirlpool, his wake is restless and difficult. The crowds surge around him and Rudabeh, even with her powerful frame, has to struggle to keep him in sight. Several times the press of people almost sweep her down a side street or simply stand immobile in front of her, refusing to part. Still, the paladin manages to keep Irovetti and his guards in sight, as they pass from street to street, moving past stalls and shops. Finally the weird chase comes to an end in a small park at the river side.

There are no docks here, merely a square of green filled with trees, bushes and little walking paths. Unlike the wild looking gardens of Daggermark near the Grove, this is overly trimmed and maintained. Quaint, artificial ruins dot the park, along with fragrant roses and benches, all surrounded by cropped, neat grass. Rudabeh has a feeling this is what a park in Taldor feels like. Nearly sterile in its manufactured and manicured beauty.

Today the place is filled with a press of people, overflowing the pretty white stone paths. Rudbaeh notices this is a higher class of people then the common crowds she can been pushing through. Instead of a mix of peasants and shopkeeps, the figures clumped together in the park seem to be merchants, traders, bureaucrats of various types. Colorful robes, trimmed hair, effected speech patterns seem to be the theme here. Not to mention more then a few discreet bodyguards, hovering like shadows under trees or tastefully waiting behind bushes.

The people are scattered unevenly throughout the park, clumped here and there in tight groups. At the center of each conglomeration is an artist working, a variety of mediums. Even at a distance, Rudabeh can see marble, paintings and even glass being worked.

Irovetti's group moves to plunge directly into the fray. Ont he edge however, it pauses as a figure winds his way into the inner circle, dodging past Druxan. To her surprise, Rudabeh recognizes the man, it is Alderman Gemus Oskara, master of a Trade House and secretly a rebel (not that he knows Rudabeh knows that).

While they are too istant for Rudabeh to hear, Gemus seems quite emphatic when he talks to the King, moving his hands dramatically. Whatever it is doesn't impress Irovetti who soon brushes him off, and moves on to the artwork, leaving a frustrated Oskara behind.

The Alderman then catches sight of Rudabeh (to be fair, she sticks out) and smiles gamely, coming over. "Greetings, paladin. Are you perhaps the source of His Supreme and Inimitable Magnificence's annoyance today? He seemed more testy then usual, especially at such an event."

I might be stupid but Rudabeh isn't!

Pushing through the crowd, Rudabeh has time to reflect on her actions so far. I have managed to be completely unhelpful to the rebels while simultaneously jepordizing their lives by making Irovetti aware that their movement may be more than just Lady Greenhood. She thinks while trying not to elbow a much shorter woman in the face.

Veleda is going to be so proud of me. Sarcastically runs through her mind, finally managing to slip through a halfling-sized gap in the throng of people huddled around a falconer's stall.

She sent me here to... Keep the peace and observe? All I've managed to do so far is piss off Irovetti. Trapped in a crush of people, Rudabeh watches with forlone hope as Irovetti's quick-moving circle starts to retreat out of her eyesight... until the crowd suddenly surges forward, propelling her out of the jam.

But I am trying to keep the peace! If I can get Irovetti to meet some of the Rebel's demands... Namely, the leader's concerns of Irovetti infringing on the River Freedoms, I could prevent a conflict! The paladin thinks fiercly while her face is shoved into the back of a particually robust and unwashed peasant woman.

There is also the matter of him silencing artists. If someone were to bring forward a case of him doing so to me... I would say he was violating the River Freedoms. I have to convince him to stop doing that.. or... or.. Her internal monologue pauses briefly as she is shuffled along an intersection at record slowness.

What would I do? My oaths say to hold everyone accountable to the law, especially the authorities, but Irovetti MAKES the laws. I could only charge him with violation of the Freedoms, but how could I possibly turn him over for punishment? Would I need to tell Veleda? Threaten to remove him from the Pact? She sighs audiably, thoughts swirling with confusion as her oaths to enforce the law, treat everyone equally, and her assigned duty clash in a chaotic heap reassembling the celebration crowds.

Finally stepping into the perfectly sterile park, Rudabeh feels a sinking pit in her stomach that was not casued by hunger when Oskara runs over to Irovetti and is immediately brushed off.

Standing still as her and Gemus make eye contact, she gives a slight bow of her head in greeting. "Hello, Alderman. Yes, while Irovetti invited me to this event, I'm afraid we had a disagreement along the way and he left me behind." Rudabeh's ears fold back slightly, looking a guilty. "I was perhaps too forceful in my opinions, and he did not take it kindly. How long does it usually take him to... settle down?"

Gemus laughs, a real honest laugh and replies, "If you can answer that, you can move on to predicting the weather. It will be easy after mastering the enigma that is Irovetti." Rudabeh notices he glances around to make sure no one else can hear his joke however, before going on, "He is a very variable man. Sometimes he is as changeable as the weather and sometimes he holds a grudge to the grave."

"But I doubt an honored guest like you will be left on the line too long. If nothing else, he enjoys playing the host to important guests." Gemus bows, "So, what do you make the event so far? At our last meeting you were fresh into the city, but now you have had a night or so to observe. What do your fresh eyes see?"

Rudabeh smiles slightly at Gemus' laugh, the edge of her dark blues lips curling upwards. "Hmm. So like the weather, I should wait for it to change." She sayes evenly, taking on a tone appropraite for discussing a mutable enigma. "I will wait to approach him and browse the displays instead. Perhaps he will come to me when his mood has improved."

"The event itself is wonderful. I love seeing communities get together, bonding and enjoying the blessed experience we call life. Though the particular theme has nothing to do with her jurisdiction, I am sure Alseta would be pleased to see the country coming together to enjoy this day. As for everything else..." Sighing, the paladin runs a finger along the bridge of her nose at the Alderman's question on what her eyes have seen. "Have you been to the ocean, Gemus?"

Considering the question was rhetorical in nature, she continues regardless of his answer. "Among the shallows near the beaches and coves are rip currents. They are strong, fast moving underwater currents that have been known to capture and drown air-breathers. Ah!" The undine exlaims, remembering what humans typically call them. "I believe they're colloquially known as undertows."

Getting on to her point, she lifts a hand and slowly sweeps it downward. "I have seen evidence of some... allegorical... rip currents in this city, some only beginning to form and others already sucking people under. Standing on shore I am immune to drowning in such currents, but the people of Pitax are all swimming before me. If I dive in to save those unwillingly sucked in, the currents could become so strong I could be dragged in myself and crushed by the pressure."

She has no idea how the Alderman will interpret her analogy, but just talking about how she feels about the entire situation running through her mind gives her some peace.

The Alderman takes her words in silence at first, contemplating her true meaning.

After a bit of thought he ventures, slowly, "I've seen the sea once. I went on a trading mission to Absalom, in my youth. It was quite the experience and I saw much I will not forget. Upon my arrival in Oparra there had been a huge storm just days before, with massive waves and enough rain to flood the city. I will never forget seeing the huge rocks thrown up onto the docks, smashing warehouses like splinters or simply washing out the sand from the beaches."

He pauses then looks Rudabeh right in the eyes, "I mean to say. The shore may not be as safe as you think. Many of those who owned those buildings in Oparra thought as you did, that danger was a matter of "if" and instead it was a matter of "when"."

"A wise tale. I have seen examples of such damage myself." She responds, looking away for a moment to stare at the sky, as if searching for rain.

"Though, I do not fear for my own life. After all, it belongs to Alseta to do as she wills. I fear for the lives and livelihoods of those that stand on the shore with their backs to the ocean, unaware of the roiling clouds." The sun briefly reflects off her light blue eyes as she turns her head back to Gemus, the glinting reminiscent of a wave slowly and sadly lapping at a pier.

The paladin's ultramarine tongue briefly darts over her azure lips before she looks directly into his eyes, just as he did to her before. "When do you think such an... inevitable... storm will hit, Alderman Oskara?" She speaks softly to the human, her voice filled with melancholy.

Difficult to see. Always in motion is the future..

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (8) + 13 = 21

Gemus pauses for a long moment, idly watching the swirling onlookers. His eyes pass over the admiring crowds, the busy artists, even the rippling river and blue sky above.

"Sooner then we wish, I am sure. Beyond that, who can say?" The Alderman shakes himself out of his reverie and shrugs, "We each do what we can in our own time. Shall we tour the artwork? There are some marvelous pieces here. Irovetti has really outdone himself, as usual."

Figured it was worth asking at least.

Expecting such an answer, Rudabeh barely reacts to the Alderman's words, instead staring out into the crowd as he speaks.

"Of course, I would be delighted to join you." She says sincerely, before pointing towards the glassblowers. "I am particually interested in the glass works, they are absolutely breathtaking."

Walking towards the display, she recalls that the Academy of Arts director was not present at Irovetti's feast last night. "Oh, is the Academy Director here today?" The undine asks, turning her head to look at her human companion. "I would be honored to meet him."

When Rudabeh mentions the Director Gemus stops and looks at her, appraisingly. After a few moments he casually shrugs and says, "I do not know. I only arrived here to find Irovetti and speak to him."[/n] He grimaces, [b]"I still hope to once he calms down."

With a short bow the Alderman leads the way into the park. Rudabeh notices that people make way for the man, and evidently he is respected even by this crowd of Irovetti toadies and hanger-ons. Pitax is, at heart, still a city of trade and Gemus Oskara a price among the local merchants. It quickly becomes clear her guide has deep roots in the city and he speaks of generations of his descendants, a rare thing in the River Kingdoms. Few people have such deep ties in a single location. The Oskara family appear to be an exception.

They meander through the various displays, often having to gently push through the crowd to get good views at the front. The artist areas are...much different Rudabeh expected. Her time with her mother and brother she is used to artists with wild, unrealized ambitions and generally as organized as a flock of seagulls. Rudabeh has always connected art with a free, often unregulated spirit.

This however, is more like a scripted play. Every artist has his tools perfectly displayed, laid out like a picture. Every chisel, every paintbrush, even the dust seems to be set out to match an idealized image. Many of the artists are not even working but instead talking to the observers or even, in a few cases lecturing on advanced (and dry art theory). There is a strange tension, a falseness in the air, like a normally raucous barracks being inspected by a cantankerous drill sergeant.

What does Rudabeh focus on? Does she stop at all of them are is she looking for the Director in particular? Just want to know what to highlight!

She's here for the same reason as Gemus- to wait until Irovetti calms down. So she would probably stop to talk to people, enjoy the show. If the Director is here, great, if not, no big deal to her.

I, the player, think that the Academy of Arts Director is the rebel leader given the hints you've dropped (especially after Gemus' reaction), but I don't think Rudabeh has quite made the connection yet. If she hears his voice or sees his hands she might come to the same conclusion, but at the moment she just wants to meet him to introduce herself.

"I apologize again for upsetting him. I believe I will need to be more... subtle... when speaking to him in the future." She says before sighing lightly. "I have never encountered someone so hostile to advice before. Is there some kind of... trick... to make him listen?"

Walking among the crowd with Gemus, Rudabeh realzies she underestimated the importance of not only the trade houses, but emus himself. Perhaps they do have enough power and control to keep Pitax under control if Irovetti were no longer on the throne. Filter through her mind as they walk up to the artists. BUt I would prefer there be no conflict in the first place.

The undine engages in conversation with as many artists as possible as she looks over their works. She focuses more on discussing their inspirations behind each piece rather than the theory employed. Most of the terms in the dry lectures had never crossed her ears before, certainly not in the household she grew up in.

The rampant organization put the paladin in two minds.

On one hand it was a beatiful display of order, and under such strict guidance these artists actually finished the works they started on, unlike her mother, who existed in a perptual pile of quarter to half finished projects. Her brother was not quite so spacey, though he was more interested in experimentation rather than actually finishing anything. She saw in these lectures ideas that he had fully explored and exploited without ever naming them, letting the works speak for themselves.

Indeed, the other hand carried with it a bit of unease, spurned on by the shackling of artistic ambitation. While Rudabeh was a bastion of order, she believed that the only artists bound by hard rules were architects, and even they delighted in pushing the boundries of engineering for the sake of creativity. These were caged birds on display, many of which yearned to fly.

Irovetti has given them a steady source of income and a purpose, but clamped down on their ambitions. What would they do if he were no longer paying the bills? Would they trade food for freedom? The thought of rebellion had become all-consuming to her, and she was having trouble pushing it out of her mind. She begins to wonder what would happen to every person on the street, how they would be effected if the Trade Houses once again ruled.

Rudabeh's mind is filled with rebellion, revolt, power struggles and ambition. It was an odd cocktail, considering she was looking at oil paintings, painted wood and shaped marble. Slowly she notices reoccurring themes in the artwork. In Outsea a trip through a single artist studio (let alone a dozen) would show subjects as diverse as a school of fish, a storm at sea to a couple swimming in the shallows. Images ranging from tender to ferocious would all be there, in varying degrees.

This is not the case at this art gallery. There are only a few themes present. One are scenes of the legends and lore of the River Kingdoms. Famous stories, mythological people and even a few living legends. One quite good painting shows Veleda herself during her hunger strike. The woman is dressed in simple white robes, looking pale and wan before a faceless, multi-colored crowd. Another shows The Grove being grown, a half-formed mass of trees and roots being woven by druidic magic.

Next are scenes of Pitax itself. Here is a new building under construction, smiling people gathered around carrying materials. There are simple fisherman, drawing in a net bursting with rippling fish. Rendered out of burnt wood is a beautiful scene of the sun rising over the river, with flocks of birds in flight.

The last, but not least used theme is Irovetti himself. In one painting he sits in stern judgement, wrapped in dark robes and looming on his throne. In another he leads a philosophical debate between a priest of Hanspur and Alseta. In a rather clever tapestry there is Irovetti admiring artwork, gesturing wildly as is his wont. In one glowing bit of mosaic, Irovetti is seated at a table with members of the Trade Houses, signing some important document, all looking wise and dignified.

Gemus actually rolls his eyes at this one, but doesn't say anything openly. Rudabeh gets the feeling history may not have been quite so romantic and pure.

Finally near the center of the park they see a massive marble statue in mid-creation. Much of it is covered with heavy, tasseled tarps, hiding the bottom. The top however is a finely carved model of Irvoetti's visage, with him looking regal and powerful. Many people are clustered around the base of it, admiring the half-hidden work. Standing there, chisel in hand, is a powerfully built man of middle years with a yellow beard and short, cropped hair.

"The Director." Gemus says idly. "Shall we approach?"

This is great, Ilove the description of all the artwork.

Legends, Pitax, and Irovetti. Rudabeh mulls over the repeating themes as she tours the assembled art and artists. I already know Irovetti directs what art is made. To him, are all three of thee themes one? I would not be surprised if he seeks to make himself into a legend, or perhaps he already belives he is one.

Rudabeh seems fixated on the oil painting of Veleda during her hunger strike, staring at it for a long while as Gemus speaks to its painter. Veleda has always conquered with cleverness and self-sacrifice. Rudbahe draws in a deep breath before sighing just as long. I cannot attack every problem head-on. I must be as clever as she. How else will the Pact survive after she is gone?

They walk away from the painting, but the scene has hung itself in her mind. What could I do similar to a hunger strike? What do I have to hold hostage? I am not so important as to move nations as Veleda did. I am a warrior and judge.

I do not want to fight... so... Rudabeh barely registers Gemus' question as they make their way to the huge statue being shaped under the tarp, the undine clearly deep in thought as the nebulous problems of the future swim just out of her vision. If citizens were to bring forth formal cases to me against Irovetti, which way would the scales tip?

"Ah, truly?" She finally responds as her thoughts finish, looking from the Alderman to the middle-aged man standing before the statue. "Yes, I would like to introduce myself, and give my compliments on this incredible scultpure."

I'm glad because I know little to nothing about art. I just enjoy it.

Gemus is held in high enough esteem that the other onlookers give Rudabeh and the Alderman some space, although a few look quite annoyed. The Director of the Art Academy doesn't seem to mind and he brushes white marble dust onto his utilitarian apron before reaching out to grasp Rudabeh's hand.

"Ah, the paladin from the Pact. I am sorry I wasn't at the feat last night. I heard it had a dramatic twist and unexpected guests." His eyes are nearly a golden color and seem to flash in the bright morning sunlight. The tawny color is unusual and Rudabeh wonders if it is natural or some artistic trickery.

He nods to Gemus, "Alderman, you honor me with your prescene."

The Trade House member merely nods and remains silent, gazing at the imposing statue looming overhead. When Rudabeh remarks on it the Director laughs, a deep chuckle that starts in his chest.

"You compliment something you can barely see? Perhaps what lies beneath is scarcely worth a sneer? But that shall remain to be seen. Not even Irovetti has yet seen the work. I debated bringing it today but I couldn't resist."

The man looks at Rudabeh side-long before saying, "So you come from Daggermark? I hear it is quite impressive and leaves Pitax quite outstripped, in particular the Grove. I have long desired to travel there."

Same here, so we can make up all the stuff we want!

Rudabeh is not very happy about disrupting the onlookers that were already looking at the statue, but Gemus' presence has already caused them to move aside by the time they are noticed.

Rudabeh bows her head slightly to the Director as he wipes the dust off his hands, lifting her head and firmly grasping his extended greeting in one smooth motion. These hands... this voice. They seem very familiar. The head of the rebels also had white dust on his hands.

"There was much excitement at the feast last night, but in the end enjoyment is measured is measured by friends, not food or dramatic twists." She says while releasing her handshake. "Please call me Rudabeh, Director. May I ask your name?" The paladin inquires quizically. "I have only heard you title."

The man's eyes pose another question, sight of the shining orbs tickling the back of her mind with some legend of story of great angelic heroes. Her multiple suspicious thoughts reach a tipping point, and for a moment she seems to stare past the man, looking at his aura.

Using single-person Detect Chaos ability on the director to check the strength of his aura.

Hmmm... is he an Aasimar? Would Rudabeh have any knowledge of how to identify them?

Knowledge: Religion: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (11) + 5 = 16 Planes would probably be more appropriate, but this is what she's got.

Rudabeh smiles softly as the man's infectious laughter rings in the air. "True I cannot see the full work, but if this is but a sample I can only imagine the majesty of the rest. Are you going to reveal the base today?" The undine says with a hint of excitement, her rising ears indicating her desire to see the completed piece.

Of Daggermark, the paladin sighs and shakes her head slightly. "I do not spend much time in Daggermark, unless it is in the Grove. The city itself is large and technically grand, but there is an... aura... about it that I find unpleasant, especially when combined with the smell of burning trash."

She pushes her palms together, eyes glittering. "The Grove, however... It is truly something you must see. No where else in the River Kingdoms will you see such grand, masterminded architecture. The entire structure is a prayer to Alseta, grown straight from the earth by Veleda herself."

An idea strikes her, causing her press two fingers to her lips in thought for a moment. "I have been discussing an art program with Irovetti, one where promising students from Pitax's streets would be sent for training in the druidic gardening arts at the Grove. Perhaps if it comes to fruition you could join them as a caperone and mentor." She says with a smile, clearly relishing in a plan that benefits everyone.

The man smiles slightly, "Pitax enjoys titles more then they should. No offense, Alderman." he adds hastily, nodding to Gemus who merely shrugs and waves him on.

"My name is Samuel Cauditanus." the old Taldan name tells Rudabeh his family goes back to some of the first settlers to the River Kingdoms. More old roots....

As they talk he turns and gazes up at the cloaked statue. "Reveal it? No...the time is not yet right. Picking the correct time to act is an artform of itself, wouldn't you say, paladin?"

The questions hangs in the air before he replies to her mention of the art proposal. When he speaks his voice is flat, his back to Rudabeh "Irovetti will never allow his artists to travel. He enjoys having them at his beck and call too much. A complete non-starter, I'm afraid." Oskara nods in silent agreement.

Like a insubstantial bubble, both men thoughtlessly pop the one good idea the paladin has had.

Poor Rudabeh.

What a bunch of negative nagas.

Also what's Samuel's aura like from the individual Detect Chaos?

Rudabeh contemplates the old Taldan name for a few moments, measuring it up against the Oskara's as the scultpor looks up at the statue.

"Yes, a powerful and dramatic reveal can be a very effective tool in both entertainment and court. Though if you are not in complete control there is always the risk someone may act before you do. Or in this case, a gust of wind may blow away your tarp and spoil the surprise." She says in jest, pointing to the fluttering tassles of the heavy cloth cover.

The undine's ears momentarily droop as her idea is given a one-two blow from both Samuel and Gemus, but she is not dissuaded so easily. "He seemed quite interested to me, even going so far as offering to pay for their room and board." She says in dogged defense of her idea. "It would be new and aspiring artists from within Pitax itself, talented yet raw individuals chosen by reccommendation by people such as yourself, Samuel."

"Sailing against the wind may be a difficult and slow process, but it can be done. It is better than sitting still." She adds as a keystone to her proposition.

Ah, knew I forgot something. Samuel has a strong aura of Chaos and he appears to be human. Perhaps the GM just got carried away in describing him?

"Perhaps." He replies to her analogy about a boat, but then counters, "And sometimes you are better off staying on shore and not stepping into the boat at all."

Gemus actually laughs and says, "I have a feeling undine attract more maritime metaphors then they care for. We just finished having a similar conversation. Although I was anti-shore then."

"Hmm." Samuel says, frowning slightly at the interruption. Rudabeh gets the feeling he likes to have control over conversations and is used to it. 'But there are rivers and winds worth daring."

He turns to Rudabeh, staring directly at her. "What is worth daring a storm to you, Rudabeh of Outsea? When do you sail against the wind?"

It was mostly another piece of evidence as to whether or not he is/isn't the rebel leader.

Rudabeh shares in Gemus' laughter, chuckling softly while looking from him to Samuel. "It's quite all right, I have to feeling I'm responsible for most of them. But yes, we beat that analogy quite to death."

Her amusement dies off as she sees Samuel's face, realizing he was used to commanding and controlling. Once again she is struck by his similarity to Irovetti. Their auras were the same, and she wonders if Samuel were in the current king's place if he would merely become a different flavor of tyrant. The River Kingdoms breeds as many types of tyrants as it does mosquitoes. Would he be able to resist the corruption of power?

The undine's clear blue eyes meet the sculptor's stare, not challenging but focusing, empathetic. "I have many oaths that require me to sail against the wind. I must treat all with courtesy and respect, be they angel or devil, and no matter what side of a fight they are on. Doubly so if they come seeking Alseta's wisdom. I must fight the servants and machinations of literal or metaphorical chaos, no matter the odds. I must not only uphold the laws of the land I am in, but ensure authorities are not exempt from those laws. All of those oaths sometimes require me to take dangerous or unpleasant actions."

She shifts slightly, looking back up at the statue. "Those are my duties as a paladin. Personally, I will dare a storm if I see a way to help everyone equally on the other side of the squall, which is normally no small feat. The good of a community as a whole is the upmost importance to me, but I know it is difficult to truly benefit everyone. I will also not turn down an earnest request to judge a case, reconcile a grievance, or perform a trial by peers if all parties consent to my own or the jury's ruling. I try not to inject myself into matters as a judge, because it makes it seem as if I have an implicate bias or a stake in the matter. Not only would it dishonor Alseta for me to do so, few would accept a decision made by a person forcing themselves into a matter anyway."

She looks back at Samuel, expression neutral. "Perhaps that was more information than you were looking for, but it is my job as a impartial arbiter to consider these matters a great deal."

The Director takes this in with a sweep of his hand, seizing back control of the conversation. When he speaks it is a non sequitur, "I have found paladins make poor artists."

He smiles and goes on, "I don't mean that as an insult, Rudabeh. But in my experience paladins are far too concerned with the how not the why. The meaning behind our actions and our desires. An artists must capture such feelings and make them real."

He turns to Rudabeh, face intense, "Why do you uphold the laws? Is it an end of itself? For what purpose? Why is all chaos evil? These rules you follow, these oaths as I know paladins call them, why do they bind you? Is there some goal in mind they will help you achieve? Or are they merely comfortable blinders?"

Gemus raises his eyebrows at the last remark and ventures, "Director, you go too far. The paladin is an honored guest of Pitax."

Samuel stops short, and bows slightly, "Of course. We would not want to speak truth to power." There is a slight smirk on his face, and he is obviously pleased with being a gadfly. "It can cause such problems for the high and mighty to have to explain themselves. Forgive me, my dear paladin, for putting you in such a difficult spot."

This guy... lol. I love the way you're playing him.

Rudabeh quirks an eyebrow at the sudden non-sequitur, but it falls as Samuel explains himself. The Director's barbs bounce off of her like stones striking a dragon's hide; there is no penetration and she seems completely unfazed.

The paladin raises a hand towards Gemus to signal there is no need for him to come to her defense. "Thank you, Gemus, but it is Samuel's right to speak his mind, no matter the position or standing of whomever he is talking to. I find this very interesting, in fact." She says evenly, with the tone of an intirgued scholar.

"In any case, I am more than happy to answer your questions and delve into the philosphical aspects of my goddess' calling. If could not answer, or refused to, I would be nothing more than a sham. A warrior hiding behind loftly ideas." Rudabeh says while looking back to Samuel.

"Firstly, there must be balance in this world, and I am part of the balancing. Not all chaos is evil. Not all law is good. Anything that stems from the mind of a sentient creature on the material plane must be interpreted from the viewpoints of that creature. However, if there is too much chaos in this world, I am here to level it out, and there are others, such as servants of Calistria or Desna or Shelyn to bring back unpredictablity if the world is becoming too orderly and stale. My goal is to spread law and order where it is needed for the benefit of all, and to maintain balance in this world" Her voice suddenly becomes sterner, sweeping a hand up towards the sky. "However, in the greater cosmos there are beings of pure chaotic energy that seek to undo everything, to rip apart all order, down to the very fabric that holds your soul to your body. They are not of this plane, but those are the creatures I am sworn to fight and kill at all costs should they invade our reality."

The paladin's voice softens once more, continuing to answer his questions. "Secondly, I freely and willing swore my oaths to Alesta as a promise to her, myself, and the people I assist. They are to her so she may strip me of my blessings if I step off her path, they are to myself so that I may keep myself on that path, and they are to the people I help so they always know that I will act predictably and in accordance to my oaths." She smiles lightly, touching her holy symbol brooch pinned to her lapel. "As for why... I had a teacher when I was young that said "If you can worship your holy one just by being yourself, you will find divine favor." I took that to heart. I enjoy the structure of laws. I love seeing communities flourish. I often sought to treat everyone with respect. I have always fought for greater order as part of Outsea's militia. My oaths do not constrain me, for I already lived by their tenants before I swore them. Now I not only live as I would have anyway, but am I assisting a wonderful goddess by acting as her servant."

Emboldened by talk of her beloved goddess, law, and her duty, Rudabeh speaks with the full-bodied confidence of one wholly devoted to their cause, and her aura of fearless divinity shines through to all present. "I am not a paladin for convenience. I am a paladin to face difficulties and dangers so others do not have to, for the benefit of all."

Cauditanus smiles and opens his mouth to reply but then Gemus coughs and subtly points. All three glance over their shoulders and see Irovetti and his retinue heading for them.

Samuel smiles and says, "While I would enjoy a long and spirited debate, we shall have to delay it. Even bigger fish are coming our way." He bows shortly to either of them and walks over to Irovetti, clearly intending on talking to the king alone.

To Rudabeh's surprise however, Irovetti walks over to the base of the statue. He coolly eyes both Rudabeh and Gemus before nodding to the Alderman. 'You are hard to put off, Alderman Oskara. I presume this is about those lost wagons?"

Gemus nods and says, "You did say if the bandits were successful you would reimburse me. I am trying to keep trade flowing but the Green Hood grows ever bolder..."

Irovetti frowns and waves his hand, "They are just simple bandits, Alderman. Please don't give them romantic imagery with titles and aliases. As for the funds....Druxan." he turns to hsi aide, who is standing near by. "Make inquiries into the value of the Alderman's lost goods." he turns to Gemus with an indulgent smile, 'Satisfied?"

'You are too kind." Gemus Osakra says, bowing low.

Irovetti then eyes Rudabeh before saying, "Admiring the work? Samuel is the best, my finest artist." His tone is warm and condescending, like a father talking about a particularly precious child. 'But he can still be mischievous."

The ruler of Pitax turns to the taller, stronger artist. 'Still hiding it under tarps? Come, today is a perfect day to reveal it!"

Samuel merely smiles but says nothing and makes no move to unknot the tightly bundled statue. Irovetti sighs good-naturally and says, "Ah, artists. It is like herding cats."

At least Irvoetti's mood seems to have improved although Rudabeh wonders how much is an act.

Part of Rudabeh is disappointed the discussion was not to continue; she enjoyed sparring with words as much as she did with blades, though admittedly she was better at the latter. "Indeed, but I hope we can continue this discussion another time, Samuel."

She is prepared to continue their tour of the art show with Gemus, but finds herself surprised by Irovetti's approach. The paladin listens silently to the exchange between Gemus and the king, having to focus on her maintaining her neutral expressiion to hide her shock at the sheer audacity of the rebels. Green Hood takes Gemus' goods... and Gemus makes Irovetti pay for them. Irovetti is inadvertently supplying his own rebels. What incredible boldness.

It suddenly strikes her one reason why Irovetti did not take her advice more seriously. Not only was she far too forceful, but as far as the king knows, and just as she pointed out in the meeting, Green Hood is the only one opening rebelling. I basically was saying to him that Green Hood doesn't like him, and he should change... No wonder he didn't take it seriously.

Slightly caught off guard when Irovetti speaks to her, the paladin's thoughts crash into nothingness, like a wave against a rocky outcrop.

She realizes she was indeed staring at the statue once more, turning her head to reply. "Yes," Rudabeh says breathlessly, which could be interpreted as being absolutely overwhelmed by the sheer skill of the statue, but in reality was in response to having to switch between the current reality and the secret-riddled one in her head so quickly. "you speak the truth in saying he is the best. The realism and size is uncanny."

All around her, she is surrounded by actors. Everyone is playing a part in this farce, and in the center is Irovetti, simultaneously putting on his own show. She is at a loss as to what anyone really feels anymore.

Rudabeh's mind momentarily snaps back to the reality where Samuel is the leader of the rebels in the city. She looks at the tarp covering the base, then back to the sculptor, integrates Irovetti's comment on his mischieviousness, adds Samuel's apparent disrespect for authority, law, and order, and multiplies it all by the artist's comments on Irovetti trammmpling on the people of Pitax. She never learned much mathematics beyond the basics, but it all foreshadowed... something.

"Samuel," the undine inquires with seeming innocence, "when do you plan on unveiling it? I hope I will still be in the city at the time, I very much wish to see the completed product."

Samuel smiles knowingly and says, speaking more to Irovetti then to Rudabeh, "I have recently made a breakthrough actually. I think the time will be ripe by the end of the current festivities." He bows low to the king of Pitax, sweeping his hand broadly.

'Excellent! About time, considering what I had to pay for the marble." Irovetti says, pretending to grumble but obviously pleased at the time table. "We shall make it a center piece of the closing ceremonies. Now, walk with me Cauditanus. I want to talk about that glass blower of yours, Sizell. Some of her pieces are extraordinary but some of her themes leave something to be desired..."

A frown crosses the Director's face but it vanishes before Rudabeh can even be sure it is there. "Of course, let us inspect."

As they turn to walk away Irovetti casually waves a hand and says idly, "Alderman, join us. I will be curious as to what you think." The man nods politely to Rudabeh then follows the larger entourage away from the wrapped statue, deeper into the garden park.

Rudabeh is left conspicuously alone among the neatly ordered chisels and hammers.

Rudabeh returns Gemus' parting nod, watching the entourage leave.

She turns then to the statue, staring up at the brilliantly chiseled marble. Her eyes track downward to the covered base, and beneath it she can imagine everything from Irovetti stomping someone's face into the dirt to him standing on top a pile of corpses. No... She thinks, realizing she is being far too simple-minded. Perhaps it will be him destroying some abstraction of art, such as an image of Shylen. Whatever it is, Samuel wants to send a message to everyone, that they should rebel. The director... He is a gadfly, goading people into becoming upset. He will also be aiming to shock and upset Irovetti.

The undine draws in her azure lips, pressing them together in thought. Irovetti will fly into a rage that pales in comparison to what I saw at the inn. Perhaps he will strike Samuel. Then Samuel will call on me to judge Irovetti, or call a grievance against him. I will be forced to publically conclude the King has violated the River Freedoms by attacking someone for expressing their opinion."

Rudabeh closes her eyes, a nervous knot forming in her throat as the grim scenario unfolds in her mind. She doesn't know what would happen after that, and doesn't want to think about it. I have until the closing ceremonies to unravel and fray what is about to happen. I must either teach Irovetti not to become unhinged and accept criticism, or convince the rebels this is not a worthy course of actions.

The paladin guffaws to herself, opening her eyes and looking upward once more, sunlight glistening in her light blue eyes. I am faced with two impossible tasks, and barely a week to accomplish them. But I must do it. Veleda sent me here to keep the peace. I will keep it.

She sighs, turning around and walking back the way she came. Irovetti did not invite her along, which means he is still upset. I do not know what else will happen between now and the closing ceremonies... But from now on I must be subtle, I must use every situation to my advantage. A look somewhere between discomfort and skeptism appears on her face. I have never been much for sutbly. I much prefer to face problems head-on, it seems so much more... honest that way.

Rudabeh's stomach rumbles with an intensity that would startle a dragon. She places a hand over her abdomen, heading back towards the street that had lines of food stalls. Finn always said never to fight on an empty stomach. Though this is more a protracted war.

Rudabeh is leaving the artist show and making her way back towards the food stalls. Along the way if she sees the poet Irovetti pointed out to be "talked to", or that Undine storyteller, she will stop and talk to either or both of them.

The longer the campaign, the more important the food.

Rudabeh leaves the prim and proper art show behind and is soon embroiled in the far more wild and authentic commotion of the common people on the streets. The paladin edges by jugglers, dancers and musicians. On one corner she even passes a quick-sketch artist, doing caricatures for pocket change. The drawing is quite good and part of Rudabeh wonders if the man could have done if his talent had been properly educated and funded.

Soon the paladin is among the food stalls and the variety of scents makes her mouth water. After perusing her many options she finally decides on one of the bread bowls, which turns out to be an excellent choice. The soup inside is a thick stew of vegetables and wild rice, all encased in warm chewy bread. It doesn't take long to devour both parts. Before she has a chance to find dessert though, she spots the story-telling undine.

She is sitting on a low stool, telling sea-faring stories. Rudabeh gets close enough to listen and smiles as she hears the audience (mostly children) gasp at descriptions of whales, flying fish, mighty sailing ships and icebergs. The last tickles Rudabeh's interest as even she has never encountered one of those. This undine woman must be a traveler indeed.

The undine rounds off a wild tale involving a kraken wrestling a giant sea turtle and everyone claps. A few coins are thrown in a conch shell at her feet. She waves them off, saying she needs to take a break and then catches Rudabeh's eye. The story-teller's eyes are a dull silver, and her face is lined with age. Even among her kind, this woman is old and despite the energy of her tales, close up Rudabeh can see a bent back and weathered calluses hands (and a frame that has missed a few too many meals lately).

I love how you pepper in little affirmations of Rudabeh's beliefs in her observations of the surroundings. It's very realistic- we often see what we want to see.

Also she technically has 20 days worth of trail rations in her bag of holding, but who the hell wants to eat that when you can have faire food?!

Rudabeh finds herself once again in the crush of humanity, her thoughts swirling as she slowly edges through the crowd. The man drawing caricatures gives her pause, and reaffirming her her pitch to Irovetti that the populace could be trained into excelent artists. That man should be on a list of potential canidates.. not a list of people barred from doing commerce in the city.

The wait in line for a bread bowl is nearby unbearable, and as she gets closer to the stall her stomach seems to increasingly tigthen. When the warm bowl is finally in her hands, she treats the stall operator with reverance akin to a god giving their blessing to the unworthy.

The undine tears into the delicious bowl like a shark, taking a huge bite out of the bread with her pointed teeth. She uses the wound as a funnel, drinking down the soup and coaxing vegetables into her ravenous gullet with a probing ultramarine tongue. Drained of its vitals she rapidly devours the remaining wet carcess of the soup, savoring the effects of the greatest spice of all- hunger.

Licking her lips of any remaining broth, she sighs contentedly and begins looking for dessert. Some sweet cakes, or an oil-fried batter balls were on her mind.. but instead, she spots the undine she had hoped to see.

Edging up through the crowd, Rudabeh listens intently to the stories of the sea, that far away place of salt and mystery she once called home, with a air of nostalgia. It was humbling to see an undine so old; the woman must have seen hundreds of Turning Days, and have experienced more history than Rudabeh will ever know.

As the stories wind down she edges ever closer to the storyteller, finally catch her eye. A smile blossoms across the paladin's face, and she gives the older undine a small bow of her head. "Rudabeh of Outsea, Paladin of Alseta." she intones, squatting next to the storyteller.

"I greatly appreciated the story about the icebergs, I have never seen one before." she says with a hint of awe, "I did not know there was that much ice floating in the ocean. For it to not instantly melt in the summer you must have traveled far, far to the north indeed. Has the sea always been your home?" Rudabeh asks while reaching into her bag of holding, pulling out a single Daggermark gold piece and carefully placing it into the conch shell.

The older undine smiles at the sight of the gold coin, revealing a mouth full of old and battered teeth, a lifetime spent chewing on hard shells. When she speaks it isn't in the usual rhythms of Common but instead the subtle intonations of Aquan. The language takes Rudabeh back to her distant youth in Cataokerp. As a meeting place, Aquan was often used there as a sign to mark them apart from the sailors and other travelers. It was of course also common in Outsea although considered impolite to use in front of landlubbers.

"The sea is every undine's home." the old woman says piously, scooping up the coins. As she leans forward to collect them, Rudabeh notices a very simple, very worn driftwood holy symbol of Gozreh around the storyteller's neck.

"But yes, I have spent my life upon her." She cracks another smile, "I've been as far north as you go, where the sea turns to solid ice all year around, chasing the whales of the north. I have sailed with the Ulfen, a northern people of great skill in sailing."

Rudabeh knew of the Ulfen of course, although most people regarded them as little more then rapacious pirates and raiders.

"But that was many years ago, young one." It is odd for Rudabeh to be called young one and for the speaker to have a point. At age 70 she is older then most humans she interacted with but this undine puts her to shame.

Then the old woman laughs and many years vanish from her lined face, 'I bet it has been many years since two undines have conversed in this place."

Rudabeh chuckles softly at her observations, nodding at the sage wisdom as if it were a prayer. "Indeed, though I was half this height the last time I was truly home." She replies in Aquan, relishing the opporunity to speak the fluidic and natural langauge.

The paladin notices the holy symbol around the older woman's neck, surprised to see it. Most sailors and undine paid only lip service to Gozreh, knowing the god cared little for the whims and wants of sentient beings. After so long on the sea, maybe she realized something the rest of us didn't.

"Solid ice? All year?" She says in awe. If it had been anyone else, she probably wouldn't have believed them.

Rudabeh shares in the old undine's laughter at her comment of them meeting. "If ever. Unless they are travelers like us, I do not see Pitax attracting our kind." She had not been called young one in over a decade, since she left Outsea to travel; her ancient sahaugin mentor, Urqat the Unhinged, would always say how she was too young to understand anything when he disagreed with her opinions, which was cnonstantly.

A small smile curls on the edge of her lips as she remembers the cantankerous and fierce lawyer. By the goddess she must be nearly as old as he... I wonder what his excuse would be then, if they disagreed?

Light blue eyes flicker back to the woman's holy symbol. "We are alike in other ways, I see. It is rare to meet another undine with a faith. I know my entire family and the colony in Outsea, barely pay attention to Gozreh or the other gods. Does the Wind and the Waves favor you?"

When Rudabeh asks about the nice she nods, obviously hearing this before. It is a tall tale and most probably question it. "Oh yes, all year. That is where the icebergs come from, they break off and float south. That far north, summer is short and not so warm. It never has a chance to melt it. I know it is hard to imagine but to the Ulfen, a sea that never freezes is strange. Some day you must travel north and see it, while you are still young and free."

When Rudabeh asks if Gozreh favors her, the old undine cackles in merriment. Her fins dip and swap as she shakes with amusement then says, "No, but I favor him. You spend a lifetime at sea and you realize what you want doesn't matter very much. I was glad for what was given and accepted when something was taken away. The sea takes much, young one. Never forget it."

She squints up at Rudabeh and then says, "Oh, you follow one of those locals ones. Alseta or something, right? I never really bothered to learn them. Everyone in Alseta seemed to natter on about her, but I never listened. You can't show an old fish new currents."

The old woman sighs and leans back against the warm stone wall of the building behind her. Her clothes are serviceable but worn with long wear and travel.

"I suspect you could tell some stories of your own, eh, young one?"

Rudabeh seems to be caught up in imagining entire seas of ice, with all sorts of exotic snow creatures living on them like ants on a rock. "Incredible." She mumbles, caught up in the fantasy. "I hope one day I will be able to see it. It will not be soon, sadly. Though I have spent little time in one place in the past decade, I still have a lifetime of work to do in the River Kingdoms as a whole."

Her own statement snaps her back into the realm of intrigue and rebellion, a small frown crossing the paladin's face for a moment. "I do not intend to forget the lessons of the sea. Its wisdom has been pounded into me by many sailors as experienced as yourself." I should probably listen to that wisdom more often... She thinks, remembering the old whaler and his advice about storms.

Rudabeh merely smiles at the old woman's comments about Alseta, for she knew it was true. Pharasma would easily see that this one's soul belonged to the Wind and Waves when after the retired sailor had spent another decade or so wandering the land.

"I have a few stories, but I don't think anyone would pay me for them." She jokes, moving from her squat to lean against the stone building as well. The paladin was out of her training routine, and decided now was as good as time as any to catch up. "I've spent some time as a soldier and hunted my share of fey, but mostl of my stories involve legal matters and resolving disputes." Rudabeh says while pressing her back against the wall and forming a right angle with her legs. he clenches her quadriceps and holds the position as long as possible.

"To be honest, I'm in a difficult spot with my current job. Do you think you could give me some advice? Someone of your experience may find it a simple matter, but I am struggling." She inquires, turning her head to look at the older woman. "There is someone very stubborn and prideful. I am trying to get them to realize that their pride, and their unwillingness to accept critism, will one day be their downfall, or possibly get them killed. I suspect this will happen soon, because the person's enemies plan to use those characteristics against them. But when I suggested to this person they needed to change to avoid this fate, they became very angry, which not only proves my point that they can't tolerate any form of criticism, but it completely prevents me from having a discussion with them about it."

Rudabeh sighs, feeling better about expressing her worries to someone else, even if it's in abstract. "What would you do? How can you convince someone to see their own flaws when they believe there are none?"

The old undine looks to Rudabeh with watery gray eyes, old eyes that have seen so much. There is a long pause as the storyteller simply sits in restful silence, soaking up the warm sunlight and heat off the rocks. She closes her eyes and settles in. For a moment Rudabeh wonders if the aged woman drifted off to sleep.

Then she sits up and says, "I once knew a captain in the northern waters. Young, clever and was convinced they were the greatest that had ever graced the waters. The crew had those wiser then her, those who knew the sea and sky better, but she ignored them, of course. She was strong, oh so strong..." She closes her eyes and shakes her head in a distant memory.

"She rant he ship as she saw fit and sailed where she willed, only held to her own whim and desire. Finally a day came when the old hands felt a storm brewing, a true blow out of the deeps, one that smashed ships to kindling. But it was a clear day and the Captain laughed at them. She knew what she was doing!"

Another sad shake, "So they pressed onward, into rocky waters risky at the best of times. For awhile all was well. The fishing was good, the ship avoided the rocks. All the while she laughed at the old-timers, calling them scared or foolish."

"But the tides and winds changed, like they always do. The sky darkened, the air filled with thunder and the gentle waves turned to whitecaps. The captain repented and made a rush for land and home, but it was far too late by then. The storm caught up on the open sea."

A sad sigh as the undine tilts her head up. It is clear she doesn't see the clear sky of Pitax, with a burning sun but the dark heaving stormclouds of a hurricane at sea.

"Gozreh was in a temper that day. The ship was tossed in the waves for hours, the crew battered beyond all endurance. Men and women lost over the sides, smashed by cracked spars, struck by lightning. In the end the ship was lost, smashed to splinters by the fury. Only I survived."

A long pause then, as Rudabeh expected, "Only the foolish Captain lived. The wise, the good, those who tried to help. All destroyed by foolish pride. That was when I learned what I wanted did not matter, and that one needed to bend to the will of the world."

The ancient undine grabs the weathered symbol on her neck and holds it in wrinkled hands. "I found this on the beach that day, after the storm cleared. I took it as a sign that I could change my ways and I have carried it every since, through more years then you could count young one."

Her fist closes around the bleached driftwood, "So you ask what to do? Maybe there is nothing to do except await the storm. And not go boating with fools." The old woman sighs again and adds, "Mayhaps that was not as helpful as you would have liked, but the world rarely has simple answers."

Rudabeh's legs start to ache while the woman speaks, but she does not dare move or adjust herself while the story continues. As she had done many times in her life, the young undine listens with the same reverence she gives to all old sailors telling their stories; complete silence. The description of the ship being smashed to splinters, with only the undine surviving, bothered her the most. Would that ship be Pitax, broken by rebellion? Her, obviously the undine, spiritually broken but alive?

It was a sad tale, really. The woman's spirit had been crushed in that storm, forever turning her into some kind of walking willow tree analogy; alive and incredibly flexible to the winds of change, but ideologically rooted in one place. Rudabeh did not subscribe to such fatalism, of course, and she would be a failure as a paladin if she did, the older woman had a point; sometimes it didn't matter what you did, some things simply happen

"No, thank you, it was still helpful." Rudabeh says with a smile, grunting softly as she stands up from her sitting squat. "You have made me realize that if I fail, it would be the same as doing nothing. The storm will happen regardless. So I must try, because the price of failure and the price of doing nothing are the same." The words come as the burning in her legs only increases, and she resists the urge to rub the fatigued muscles.

Chuckling softly to herself, Rudabeh reaches into her bag of holding. "I am sorry. You were trying to take a break and I suddenly arrived, demanding more stories and advice." She retrieves a platinum piece from her bag, holding it between two unwebbed fingers. It would appear to be a normal silver piece from afar, except the incredibly detailed engravings of a regal-looking mermaid on one side, an equally impressive sahaugin on the other, and the flowing Aquan script accompanying the treasurer's Seal of Outsea betray the true value of its precious metal content.

She leans down and presses the platinum piece from Outsea into the older woman's webbed hand. "I went diving for pearls of wisdom, and found a big one. The least I can do is pay for swimming in your waters."

Straightening back up, Rudabeh adjusts the strap on her greatsword. "I should be going. I must rig the storm sails of my single-masted sloop if I want to have any hope of surviving the gales of Pitax." She looks into the older undine's silver eyes with warmth in her eyes. "But please, will you tell me your name before I go?"

The older woman's eyes widen as she eyes the platinum coin. Before Rudabeh arrived, her shell held a perhaps a dozen copper coins, and the odd silver piece. The coin she know held was worth a thousand copper coins.

The storyteller bows her head and says, "Iniidae was the name my mother gave me, but most call me Ini, Old Ini if they dare." She grasps the platinum coin tightly before adding, "May the currents favor your need." In the second time in two days Rudabeh hears the old formal words but from Iniidae they do not sound archaic or dated but instead transport Rudabeh to a time long forgotten and a place out of sight.

Moving along

Rudabeh leaves the old storyteller much richer then she found her and moves to get her armor replaced. This requires a quick trip back tot he First palace but this is no problem as security seems to follow Irovetti around, and the place is almost abandoned. It doesn't take her long to gather up her dented, battered and blood smeared armor.

Carrying it in a makeshift bundle on her back, the undine takes back to the streets to find a metalworker. Here the crowd are more of a bother then anything. Many of the normal shops are closed for festiveities or are only catering to the tourist crowds. The first few blacksmiths she finds are tightly shut and locked, frustrating her search. Apparently many of them prefer to party as well.

Finally after much searching she finds a smithy on a quiet street, away from the roiling crowds. The smell of burning coal, the sound of ringing steel tell her she finally found someone at work.

It is a large, well made stone construction and Rudabeh is pleased to see the simple and straightforward design. It is exactly what the task requires, with various tools hung along the walls alongside items made for sale or waiting to be retrieved. Among the shovels and pickaxes are swords and bits of armor. While the market for armor is not overly large in Pitax, she appears to have found the right person.

A stocky, heavy-set man introduces himself as the smith. He appears to be pleased to have work, as the Festival seems to have messed up his schedule. It only takes a few words to realize the smith is a man who enjoys having a schedule. He whistles when Rudabeh pulls out the worn and battered armor. The man holds it up to the light, examining closely while asking a few question. His queries are direct and experienced and Rudabeh is relived to be in the hands of an expert. He announces it will take a few hours and, without further ado, gets to work.

For awhile Rudabeh watches intently as the man builds the correct heat, using coal and a bellows. The man listens to the crackling flame and even sniffs the air to determine the right temperature. Then he begins the real work, slowly heating and re-working the broken bits of metal. It is tedious work but the smith's actions have a certain poetry to them, a conservation of energy. Every blow is exactly where it needs to be, every strike exactly hard enough to do just what it needs to. There is a rhythm here that Rudabeh recognizes as the same she attempts to achieve in her battle practice.

As time goes on though, others arrive. Some are merely neighbors, stopping by to say hello or swap gossip. Others are other travelers, looking to get a buckle fixed or a pan undented. The smith turns these away, obviously much more interested in the challenge of Rudabeh's armor.

One or two are even nobles and merchants come to pick up finished works. For these people the smith pauses and speaks in appropriately polite tones, although he never crosses into the servile or groveling.

While Rudabeh doesn't get much out of the rich people, she does spend some time talking to the others. Being an undine and rather imposing doesn't help, but she does her best to draw them out.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 12 - 2 ⇒ (7) + 12 - 2 = 17

What Rudabeh is after is information about Irovetti. In much of the River Kingdoms politics is natural conversation. Griping about rules, laws and regulations is the bread and butter of most places. There had been professional agitators in Outsea and Daggermark was full of diverse opinion (even more so since the growth of the Pact). To Rudabeh this discourse was the natural result of the free minded spirit of the River Kingdoms, sometimes annoying but a sign of their innate independent nature.

This is not the case in Pitax. Few are willing to say anything directly and Rudabeh gets the feeling, openly complaining about Irovetti is considered off limits, at least with a stranger. While this taints all of her discoveries, she doesn't gather the average person really hates the King. He has grown Pitax after all, and trade is generally good. More harsh words are said about the bandits and pirates that lurk outside the city. Few really understand the obsession with art but there are worse hobbies for as ruler to have. All seemed quite impressed with the Festival so far.

Everyone says nice things about the Pact and mention that Irovetti supports it.

Evening is wearing on when Rudabeh receives her fixed armor. It gleams and glitters in the orange sunset as she holds it up. The smith glows with his own pride as it is obvious he has outdone himself. If anything the armor is superior to how it was before. While it lacks the artistry of fine engraving or other artwork, it has the even mesmerizing aspect of quality. Strapping it on Rudabeh lets out a sigh of content as she feels, once again, much more herself. At heart she is a warrior and a warrior is not complete without their armor.

After paying the man she heads back out into the darkening streets, wondering if she should stay out into the night or head back to the First Palace. What sort of Festival went on after dark? Part of her guessed Irovetti might not approve of some of the goings on.

The paladin is a bit turned around and finds herself wandering cramped back alleys in hat seems to be a shabbier part of town. Rudabeh, armored and armed, isn't afraid of footpads or thieves, but she does get annoyed at being lost. Finally she stumbles into a weedy, trash filled courtyard fronted by ugly brick buildings. Clearly Irovetti's urban renewal hasn't reached this quarter of the city. The hot evening air smells of rotting wood and stagnant water.

She looks around and spots a seedy looking tavern. A battered old sign labels it the 'Bloody Barrel'. Smoke pours from the front door and warm firelight frames dozens of bodies packed inside. Rudabeh is about to walk past where she hears a voice call to her from the doorway, 'Hey, it's that paladin! She's one of them, whatchamacallits, Alseta judges. She can help us, part of their code!"

There is a diffuse but drunken murmur of assent. She spots a thin, dirty man waving her toward the entrance to the nasty looking tavern.

"Thank you, Iniidae." Hearing the old woman's intonation of a phrase that fell out of fashion hundreds of years ago causes her to pause, as if soaking in the history contained within. "May the currents favor you as well." Is all she can muster before turning and walking away.

Rudabeh was not a supporter of excessive charity, certainly not the level she gave to the old undine, because she believed that work gave people something to be proud of, supporting their well-being and self-worth. It was hard to make an exception for your own race, especially when it had been a few years since even seeing another undine.

----------

Finally finding a smithy that isn't selling filet knives or "dwarven non-istick pots", which she was sure was a scam, Rudabeh walks into the smithy. She is struck by the simple and effective layout of the building, and wonders if some of Alseta's many traveling architects had a hand in the design. It was elegant in its simplicity and functionality, and she complicated the smith with such words.

The brief conversation between her and the smith establishes that they would most likely get along very well in the long term- doubly so given the dedication to his craft. Confident that her custom-produced armor was in good hands, Rudabeh unsheathes The Sixth Peak, retrieves a honing stone, and takes a seat near the entrance to the building. Looking over the edge, the warrior presses her thumb against every inch of the 4 foot blade, identifying any sections that were dulled during her fight with the manticore. The missed swing that went into a nearby cart dulled one part of the sword, but thankfully did not ruin the bevel or chip the blade. She had managed to take good care of the decades old blade; even the acid etching of the misty mountain running down the fuller still stood out. Deciding her sword was in good enough condition not to bother the smith about it, the paladin carefully runs the honing stone over the dulled portions of the dwarven-forged Maheto steel.

She didn't get very many people to talk to her while she was sitting there ominously honing the edge of a huge sword, but once the maintenance was finished she had some more luck.

Rudabeh struggles comprehending how difficult it was to talk politics with the common people of Pitax. She had seen tax collectors have an easier time of collecting coinage. Anywhere else and she would have most likely have formed a small circle of armchair governors by now, all of them telling her how their local should be run.

The lack of open discussion disturbs her and feeds into her suspicions that the rebels were right in one regard- people disappearing off the streets at night were spreading fear in the city. Whether that fear was general or directed at Irovetti she could not tell. Even though the nobles or rich would not talk to her, she surmised their opinions from Gemus already; he seemed a prime sample.

Still, the general feedback fit into a plan she had been developing to prevent a scenario that Samuel may be planning. If the Driector were to goad Irovetti into violating the River Freedoms in front of her at the closing ceremony and call the King to trial, she may be able to convince the two to decide the trail as a matter of public opinion rather than her own judgement. The King wasn't hated, and along with his other contributions to the well being of Pitax could tip the balance away from an event that triggers some kind of revolution.

This scheming did not sit well with the paladin. It made her feel dirty and underhanded. But she knew if she were called to bring judgement on an enraged Irovetti she would most likely be forced to publicly conclude he was violating the Freedoms. It was the last thing the Pact or her reputation needed, but if put in the situation she would tell the truth. Thus, the situation needed to be avoided all together, and this plan had a higher chance of success than convincing Irovetti to take criticism.

Rudabeh straps her armor on once it is completed, impressed that several dents that had been digging into her back for over a year had suddenly vanished. The sheer quality of the man's work convinced her that if she ever needed any repairs done within a few days travel of Pitax, she would definitely make the trip. Thanking him profusely, she walks out of the smithy feeling much more at ease, like a hermit crab in a new shell.

----------

Getting lost in Pitax seemed to become a new normal for Rudabeh, and to avoid becoming frustrated she had convinced herself it was good for her to see every part of the city. Especially the bits that were still raw and unfiltered humanity.

Eyeing the Bloody Barrel as she walks by its dilapidated sign, the paladin wonders just how hungry and thirsty she really is.... and decides she would rather see what they had to eat at the Palace instead.

That was before she was called out too, causing her steady walk to stop in a jangle of shifting plates. Turning her entire body to face the nearly emancipated and dirt-covered man, Rudabeh briefly wonders if she should correct him; after all, it technically wasn't part of her code to accept all invitations to arbitration. Yet, considering it was one of her own personal convictions to act as a judge for any reasonable request, she decided it didn't matter what the man's knowledge of an Alseta's paladin code was.

Smiling lightly, she walks forward through the dank courtyard, hands splayed in front of her. "What is the problem, good sir? I am happy to be of assistance, if it is within my power." Rudabeh says evenly over the din of the bar, stepping over the destroyed remains of what might have been a beer barrel.

As Rudabeh picks her way over the detritus of decades, a more beefy but equally dirty man from just inside says "We need an umpire for the fights inside."

As Rudabeh steps into the orange firelight, the stocky, sweating man comes into full view. Balding, wearing a stained blue jacket and muddy boots, he looks the armored and armed undine up and down. "Yep. I'd say you know your way around a fighting ring."

He jerks a thumb over his shoulder pointing further inside. Rudabeh cranes her neck to see into the interior.

The structure Bloody Barrel is not much different then she expected. A large wood timbered building that has seen better days. Glancing in,s he sees it has one main floor which is a single open room, ringed with crude firepits, rickety wood walls shored with mud and straw. Ugly pillars haphazardly dot the room, obviously added later to help prop up a say-back and poorly maintained roof. Above there is a rudimentary second floor which is a loft, allowing those above to look down.

The floor is earth, covered with filthy straw and sawdust, compacted with decades of spit, blood and spilled ale. Trampled down by thousands of feet, it is a disgusting mat of filth, that stretches wall to wall.

People are packed in tightly, a undulating crowd of people, weaved among the tottering pillars and a few sticks of battered furniture. The reason for the tight-packedness isn't so much the number of people, but a large empty space cleared out in the center of the tavern.

A rough ring has been formed out of people, and a thin rope stretched around a rough circle shape. All around people are packed close, shouting and waving their arms toward the impromptu ring.

In the very middle, a young man is lying prone on the ground. He is dressed in the clothes of a peasant, russet homespun and crude boots. He looks to be a sizable man, with the broad shoulders and massive chest that comes with working very hard every day of your life. It is hard to judge this though as the man is lying face-down on the floor.

Off to the side, taking a tankard from the crowd is a tall, somewhat cleaner man. He is stripped to the waist, revealing a toned and muscled body. However, it isn't the lumpen muscle of a manual laborer. No, Rudabeh's experience eye picks out the muscles of a fighter, a warrior. Both lithe and strong. His long dark hair, unlike everyone else here, shows signs of being cut and washed on a regular basis, although it is tied back right now.

Ar Rudabeh's side, the beefy man adds, "Master Rennart enjoys the sport. Perhaps a bit too much."

The man takes a huge quaff of the tankard in his fist and then shouts something at the crowd, eliciting a roar of shouts and yells. He doesn't seem to be a crowd favorite.

Wow I've been in dilapidated cattle barns that sounded more sanitary.

Rudabeh steps on something squishy as she nears the door of the establishment, deciding that it would be better if she doesn't look down.

Glancing at the beefier, dirty man and then into the Bloody Barrel as he points towards the ring, the paladin takes in the... sights. This was the foundation of the city and society; day laborers, nightsoil cleaners, chimney sweeps, teamsters. The common people that dealt with the less pleasant and difficult aspects of keeping civilization afloat. Most paid their taxes, and together allowed the government to function, gave their country identity. She was at home here as she was anywhere else, and often found great wisdom hidden in the words of simple folk.

"Well within my power, sirs." She says, glancing back to the man in the blue, stained jacket. Rudabeh briefly contemplates whether or not to charge for her services; a silver piece per fight would be fair, but decides that maybe she should be paying the man for the opportunity to do something simple, and well within her job description, for a change.

"Master Rennart certainly seems to be enjoying himself. Is he local?" She asks with raised eyebrows, amazed someone could drink that much beer and exert themselves so heavily without throwing up.

"Please inform me of your house rules and we can begin. If you wish to announce me to the crowd, Rudabeh, Paladin of Alseta, will do." While she speaks she is focusing on the young man laying on the floor. She would give him another minute to see if he got up.

See, you say unsanitary but I see a thriving ecosystem of lice, fleas, bedbugs, cockroaches and centipedes, all feasting on a constant shower of dandruff, dead skin and various forms of human waste. I wonder what it smells like...actually let's find out!

As Rudabeh takes a few steps inside and opens her mouth to speak the smell reaches her. No, not reaches her. Assaults her. It is a potent combination of stale ale, rank sweat and wet rotting wood, all overlaid with the sharp pang of urine. Harsh smoke billows out of the corner and some that are sweet enough that Rudabeh suspects some of Pitax's famous drugs are being enjoyed.

As she asks about the rules she eyes the fallen man. A few men approach Rennart and ask something. He laughs and makes a rude gesture at them, but then laughs again and waves. The men enter the ring and pull the man off. Their is a family resemblance and Rudabeh pegs them as brothers or close cousins. They half-drag, half-carry the man off, but near the edge Rudabeh notes he seems to move around a bit. The man isn't dead at least. They soon vanish into the motley crowd.

The beefy man eyes Rudabeh with a surprised look but someone else, who has the rangy build of a hunter or woods guide says "The Rennert's are local nobles, miss. They be powerful folks, real close with the King himself. It's something off he is even here."

The beefy man, who seems slightly brighter then the others says darkly, "I'm not surprised. He can't do that to other rich folk."

Even as he speaks Rennert dumps the rest of his ale on the head of some other man, laughing uproariously the entire time.

When Rudabeh mentions being announced everyone averts their eyes and takes a half-step back. Apparently no one wants to take credit for bringing in a paladin. It isn't the first time Rudabeh has been summoned by people who wished to remain anonymous.

Horf. I regret saying anything! Uggggh.

Rudabeh closes her mouth just as quickly as she opened it, her body begging her not breathe. Her stomach clenches tight, threatening to unleash its contents in childish protest.

Through sheer force of will she supresses the disquieted reflexes, listening to the men and observing the scene.

"I see." She murmurs, partially to avoid breathing and partially because she was distracted by Rennert pouring beer on people. I will bring order and law to this place. Echos in her mind, the paladin's duty very clear for the first time in two days.

Glancing around as the men surrounding her take a step back and pretend they're not associating with her, Rudabeh chuckles softly- which is soon followed by a soft cough as she gets a face full of sweet-smelling smoke. "Very well." She croaks while waving an armored hand in front of her face.

Recovering quickly, she starts to make her way through the crowd and towards the ring, pushing softly and laying her hands on shouldersto make others move aside.

She easily steps over the makeshift rope boundry, and before Rennert can react her voice booms through the cacophony. "Patrons of the Bloody Barrel! I am Rudabeh of Outsea, Paladin of Alesta, and your umpire for the fights!"

The paladin begins walking around the ring, arms spread wide, speaking to the crowd. "My rules are simple! No magic or weapons! No shots to the groin or other dirty tricks! No killing intent or excessive brutality!

Pacing the the other way, the undine continues to shout and gesture in wide, sweeping motions. "Winner is last one standing or on my declaration! Forfeit is verbal, on tap out, breaking my rules, or being knocked out!"

The simple explanation of her intents now made clear, she spins around to face Rennert for the first time, gesturing towards him. "Who will be next to face Rennert? Enter the ring!"

In the pause Rudabeh focuses on the man's aura, looking for signs of chaos.

Using the single-person detect chaos on Rennert.

You forgot the one rule that even fights in the Wild West or Ancient Greece had. No gouging or biting! Although I guess that falls under dirty tricks AND excessive brutality?

After Rudabeh roars out her declarations, she turns to face Rennert. Up close he is both taller and stronger then she first thought, bulging muscles and strapping tendons. His frame is just so large he doesn't look muscle bound like so many men would with his strength. In addition, she notes that he is actually rather good looking, as far as humans go. A strong chin, a mouth full of white teeth and deep blue eyes.

As she scans his aura (chaos), he eyes Rudabeh carefully. Then he does something that doesn't happen very often to the paladin.

He dismisses her.

It takes a great deal to dismiss a six foot tall, armored undine with a sword big enough to nearly double as a spear. This man is either very confident or very foolish.

He chuckles to himself, tosses the tankard into the crowd without looking. He strides past Rudabeh without a glance although he says, "That's Sir Rennert to you."

The imposing man eyes the crowd then bellows, "Who else? I'll give double odds and take two at a time! Come on!"

The crowd wavers, but Rudabeh's quick eyes note movement in the crowd. Small men weaving through the crowd with small bags of coins and hastily scrawled ledgers. The bookies. These are men who could care less what damage happens int he ring and merely want to make a profit. And with them out there stirring up the crowd....

Two sandy haired brothers jump into the ring, and quickly strip off their own shirts. Hard and lean, they make a formidable pair but look like striplings compared to Rennert, who merely grins and flexes his arms.

Without waiting for Rudabeh he rushes toward them. Instantly Rudabeh's eyes notice his trained footwork and surety of step. This is not a blind brawl, whatever his face and words may say. Somewhere this man has had training in fighting, and he seems to have taken to it well.

He moves like a cat, gets between the two men and starts hammering at them. His onset is so fast and so complete the brothers are thrown. Obviously not trained fighters there is a moment of hesitation and the larger man makes them pay. The sound of fist on flesh resounds in the tavern, matched by rising cheers and boos.

I knew I forgot something! Tried to cover all my bases though.

Rudabeh raises an eyebrow at Rennert, but says nothing. The storytale overconfidence of nobility, or the fearless swagger of a veteran fighter? She wonders to herself, stepping to the edge of the ring. The man was certainly imposing, and she wonders if it came down to bare knuckles if she could take the man.

She spots the bookies wiggling among the crowd like worms feasting on freshly-dug hummus. I was wondering where they were. No fighting ring is complete without them.

The paladin watches the two brothers jump into the ring, figuring this would be a more even match. At least she did, until Rennert surged forward without giving his opponents any time to ready themselves.

Just as the brothers did, Rudabeh hesitates- she did not declare it was a rule that she had to start the fights, but surely would as soon as this one ended. Declaring it now would not only serve little point, but she was vehemently against any form of ex post facto punishment or laws.

The wet sound of the noble's fist slamming into bare flesh meets her helmeted ears like a 10-pound largemouth bass jumping out of the water and landing in the boat. She remains at the edge of the ring and observes the fight, quickly surmising it will be a slaughter. Her legs are tense, ready to intervene when the men go down.

He fights well. Disturbingly well. I would need Alseta's blessings against chaos to face him on equal footing. The undine thinks, planning ahead in case there was a confrontation. Though, Finn always taught her that if you were fighting someone with your bare hands, you must have made multiple mistakes somewhere around 7 steps back or so, and probably deserve whatever you get.

It doesn't take long for Rennert to quickly overcome his foes, despite being outnumbered. In a few short moments one is reeling back, clutching a bleeding nose while the other lies on the ground, holding what looks to be a broken rib.

As the crowd cheers and roars, Rennert saunters over, and twists the man's arm painfully backward. The nobleman looks up to Rudabeh, gives the undine a saucy wink then wrenches the man's arm roughly, popping the arm from the socket with a sickening crunching sound.

The crowd erupts into hoarse boos and shouts but Rennert ignores them. Sweating freely, he insolently turns his back to Rudabeh and shouts for more ale. Behind him the man writhes on the ground in pain, face-down in the disgusting filth of the floor. His brother runs over and tries to move him, blood freely pouring from his nose.

Oh, let's go, punk.

Rudabeh watches the slaughter with her arms folded across her chest, pitying the two brothers for having the courage, or stupidity, to enter the ring.

When one goes down and the other staggers about with a bloody nose she begins to call the match, but Rennert swaggers over and stops her voice in her throat.

The noble's saucy wink meets her limpid eyes, and something snaps inside of her along with the blood-curdling scream of the downed brother. A brute and a sadist. This is my duty. This is why I became a paladin.

Her right arm shoots straight up, palm flat, the articulated metal backs of her guantlets glittering in the low, orange light. "Excessive brutality! Rennert forfeits the match and the brothers win!" Her voice whips through the crowd like a crack of thunder.

Lowering her right arm, she points directly at the man's muscular back. "You have lost, Rennert. Leave this arena or face my judgement." As she yells her verdict the undine's left hand touches the holy symbol of Aletsa attached to the collar of her breastplate. Once her challenge is issued she murmurs a short prayer; beseeching the goddess to grant her protection against the man's chaotic and harmful will.

Rudabeh casts Protection Against Chaos on herself.

Rudabeh voices cuts through the hubbub from the crowd like a pike through minnows. The raucous voices falter and fade, dying away until the only sounds are the racking sobs of the man with the broken arm and his brothers feeble attempts to get him to his feet.

The bookies slither away and the calls for blood are stilled. An eerie calm descends over the crowd, the smoky air ripe with tension. Everyone turns to Rennert in shock, wondering how the man will react to this.

Back still turned to the paladin he grabs a tankard from a patron, struck dumb by events. Seizing it, the young fighter turns to Rudabeh. He nosily drinks it, then says, in a voice that carries to every corner of the silent crowd.

'Is that any way to speak to the High Commander of the Unconquerable Legions of Pitax?" he smiles, "Frankly, I'm not even sure who you are or what judgement you could possibly make of me."

He takes a long swig from the tankard, spilling a good deal over himself. "I'm standing and they are lying there in the dirt. I think I win, undine. Maybe you need to get your eyes checked."

Rennert takes a long look at the hostile crowd and grins, "And I'm not going anywhere!" He leans against a dirty wooden pillar, tankard held loosely, at ease. Nothing like a man who has just nearly killed three men in hand to hand combat.

Rudabeh Sense Motive: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (8) + 8 = 16

Bluff: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (3) + 7 = 10

But Rudabeh's not a novice to the world of violence. Even across the impromptu ring she can see the subtle tensing of muscles, slight shifting of feet, the narrowed eyes. This was a man ready for a fight. Even more, as she looked into those blue eyes. This was a man eager for a fight.

Rudabeh's arm falls as Rennert turns towards her, drinking his beer. She patiently waits as he boasts and posters, her face flat and unreadable. But her eyes; they shine, wide aquamarine-on-white spheres, they shine with a light born of conviction.

"You broke my rules when you broke that man's arm when he was already unable to fight." The undine says flatly, her voice adjusted to the silent, smoldering crowd. "You are forfeit. If you do not leave this establishment, you will face my judgement." She repeats, but it was merely to set up her next statement.

Extending a finger to the broken man laying in the filth without taking her eyes off Rennert, Rudabeh says; "Your punishment is simple. An eye for an eye." Her finger points back to the High Commander. "I will break your arm. I will make you experience helplessness in the face of strength."

Eyes flickers to his feet and her own posture adjusts, ready for him to charge at any moment. "This is your final warning." Her voice carried with it a promise, not a threat.