The crowded hall is so quiet, Rudabeh can actually hear the man guzzle his drink and snidely mutter, "Your rules..."
He lowers the mug and eyes Rudabeh with a grin when she makes her threat. "I'd like to see you try. Better men have promised as much or more, and none have delivered." His white teeth flash in the dim yellow light. "Tell me, do fish even have bones?"
He laughs loudly, then throws the mug at Rudabeh's feet. It smashes into pieces, splashing her boots with stale ale and showering her with bits of broken crockery.
"Well, come on then!" Rennert roars, still leaning, "Try your luck." His bright blue eyes flash in the dark, keen and eager.
Rudabeh does not flinch as the mug smashes at her feet, continuing to stare at the flippant and overconfident man even as stale beer runs down her freshly polished and repaired greaves.
Not in the mood for giving a lecture, the paladin reaches for the hilt of her sword over her shoulder with her left hand, the right reaching under the guard. "Very well." She intones, flipping the switch on her sheath that allows the blade to rotate freely on its hinge.
"Alseta, grant my sword your mercy." Pulling down on the hilt, The Sixth Peak begins to slide out of its scabbard with a soft hiss, underscoring her words. "Let this edge not harm his flesh," Her right hand grabs the center of the blade when it is halfway out the sheath, pulling it free. "but instead batter his spirit," She lifts the blade into the air, 5 feet of masterfully crafted weapon held horizontally above her head, burnished steel glinting softly in the orange light. "so I may enact Justice fairly."
As soon as her incantation finishes, The Sixth Peak suddenly bursts into a radiant silver light, completely illuminating the arena in its unwavering glow. She lowers the sword and releases her grip on its center, shifting her left wrist to wrap under and support the blade's hilt.
Pointing the tip of the blade directly at Rennert, the acid etching of the cloud-covered peak along her sword's fuller seems to shimmer and dance. Holy power coursing through her sword, she gives her final words. "I smite you, Rennert. Embrace Alseta's mercy, for I will give you none."
Suddenly stepping forward, the paladin's left arm hitches up to her inside right, free hand grabbing the hilt near the crossguard and pulling it into her right armpit. She briefly flashes into an Ox stance before thrusting her sword's tip directly towards Rennert's throat.
When Rudabeh draws her sword and it alights with magic, the insolent sneer falls away from Rennert's face. He stares openly as Rudabeh charges him,s wining several feet of polished, shimmering steel directly at him. he tries to dodge, but Rudabeh is too experienced a fighter and easily twists her blade to stay on target. As the sword slices the thick air of the tavern, fear and terror blossoms over the younger man's face, obviously expecting to die.
Of course he doesn't.
The Sixth Peak hits him like a piece of lumber, snapping his head back with the sheer force. The nobleman staggers back, clutching at the place, gasping for air. An angry black welt appears quickly as Rudabeh takes a defensive stance.
The fear on the man's face is replaced with relief and then confusion. It is obvious eh is more then slightly puzzled why a sword swung at his neck did not kill him. But for his other flaws, the man is a fighter. His confusion only lasts a moment before he falls into a defensive stance.
"Using a magical sword is hardly fair, woman." His breath is coming hard and face, voice hoarse after the throat blow. "So much for rules."
Without turning his head he shouts to the crowd, "Squire! Fetch me my blade." Rudabeh risks a quick glance but doesn't see any movement. For the moment, her foe remains unarmed.
Rennert spits out some blood, then without warning launches an attack of his own. With speed like a striking snake he rushes up to Rudabeh, hands spread wide. He actually steps inside her reach, one hand grabbing a vambrace, using it as leverage to heave himself at the paladin.
Too late Rudabeh realizes what is happening. Instead of standing toe to toe with her, Rennert has come in to grapple her. A wise move considering she is the one with the weapon. It is an old trick Finn would approve of.
'Even the odds, when you can'
Even as those words fill her mind, the nobleman is enveloping her and it is obvious the man is an experienced wrestler. His grip is like steel, tight even through her newly re-finished armor. With arms like tree trunks, he wraps them around her, pining one of Rudabeh's arms.Somehow, he is now behind her, arms gripping her, restricting her movement. His ale laden breath is hot in her ear as he pants, struggling to hold her.
"You are going to pay for that, paladin." He mutters, shifting his feet for better leverage. Rudabeh is shocked at how strong this man is. "Let's talk about broken arms..."
Rudabeh was taught by very mentor very early on to treat every fight like it was your last, mostly because it could be. If you lose, you die. Finn's voice echos in her mind as she strikes Rennert in the throat. Treat every fight like that. Use overwhelming force, tricks, magic, friends, and win. Do whatever it takes- win. If you don't, your life will be in someone else's hands, and most of us aren't valuable enough for someone to bother keeping us alive. She didn't suscribe to all of Finn's philosophies, but this was an important one.
Stepping back after her lunge, she concentrates on keeping several feet between herself and the brawler. The greatsword was a battlefield weapon, meant to rival pikes and threaten with its great reach. It performed very poorly in close combat, and even in this situation Rudabeh risked clobbering an on-looker if she swung too wide.
"It isn't fair to kill you, either." Rudabeh retorts to the noble's complaint about her using a magic sword. She keeps the point of her sword facing her opponent, shifting her grip so the edge of her blade rests on her left arm in a Key guard. The paladin was expecting for Rennert to lunge for her and attempt to get inside of her striking distance, but the usual openings of an unarmed opponent simply weren't there.
Too late she thrusts, and the noble is able to grasp her forearm with an iron grip. Suddenly finding one of her arms pinned to her side, she struggles mightly against Rennert's grip. In her mind Finn is off to one side, nodding in approval of the other warrior's manuever.
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Rudabeh moves to break the grip, but Rennert is too much of a master. Despite Rudabeh's impressive strength, trying to move him is like trying to uproot an oak tree. The paladin exerts herself to the point of burning pain, every tendon straining, every muscle pushing, sweating pouring from every pore.
And it isn't enough.
The paladin is trapped and, in some ways, at the mercy of this man.
His breath is heavy in her ears as he pants, holding her tightly. It is obviously hard work for him to contain the paladin but there is no doubt who is the better fighter here.
With one hand he twists Rudabeh's arm painfully, and the undine can feel burning pain lance up her arm. "Ah, I think you do have bones. Now..will they break?"
Then a female voice fills the hall, "Dravos, my boy!" It si an aged voice, prim and proper, quite at odds with the rough and tumble 'Bloody Barrel'.
Instantly the pain subsides as Rennert releases his grip and turns to face the voice. "Mother?" he says, in a mix of surprise and exasperation.
Rudabeh turns her head and sees an older woman standing at the door of the tavern. Her lined face is set in obvious disgust at both the interior and the huddled masses, still silent. Her disdain is clear from her polished shoes to her glittering white hair.
She smiles at Rennert, apparently her son. "My boy, where have you been? There are feasts we have to attend, people to meet."
As if he was being ordered to scrub behind his ears and not forgo blood sports, Rennert sighs, "They are so boring, Mother. I would much rather stay here."
She rolls her eyes in a forgiving way, "I really don't see why you enjoy this so much, Dravos. Wrestling around in the mud, Disgusting." She says this as if they were alone in a drawing room, not surrounded by dozens of people.
Mother Rennert then turns her gaze to Rudabeh, "Ah, master Paladin! I saw you this morning at the festival. We are honroed to have a member of the Pact of Years here. Enjoying some rough housing with my son? He does so enjoy a good tumble. Boys will be boys after all."
Her tone isn't sarcastic but friendly enough, overlaid with pride at her son's prowess. Rudabeh wonders if she doesn't know or doesn't care that her 'boy' has been maiming people.
As she speaks Rennert gathers up his clothes from a column nearby. As he passes Rudabeh he mutters, voice low, "Stay out of my way if we meet again. Your rules don't apply to me and your station won't protect you a second time."
Rudabeh struggles against Rennert's grip, the lancing pain in her arm merely increasing the ferocity of her thrashing.
The noble's beer-laced words waft over her ear (and unfortunately her nose), and she braces herself for the all-encomposing pain of a shattered bone.
Suddenly the pressure subsides and Rudabeh immediately breaks free of his grip, tearing out of his range and stumbling backwards. She follows Rennert's gaze, staring with dumbfound surprise that the man's mother, of all people, was here to collect him.
When her opponent makes no further aggressions against her, the paladin shoulders her massive, glowing blade, warily watching him gather up his clothes. She turns her head to the lady, looking at her with adject concern. "Greetings, ma'am. I was refereeing the fights, and we had a disagreement." Is the undine's simple explanation.
She scoffs at his words; her reply is quick and pointed. "No one is above the law, Rennert. Find a different hobby."
As the two go to leave the establishment, Rudabeh does a full turn, looking at the crowd. "Where is the man with the broken arm? Bring him forth and I will do my best to heal him." She announces, still cradling her greatsword by the crossguard.
As she looks for the broken man, Finn intrudes into her thoughts once more. You know in the stories how the hero seems to be on the edge of defeat, completely overwhelmed, then a god or something comes in and saves them at the last moment? Her teacher once said as they sat on the bank of one of Outsea's many tributaries after sparring. Guess what? You don't hear about all the stories where no one saved the hero. That's because they're dead. It's one in a million you get lucky like that, so never pick a fight with something you can't take.
The retreating figure of Rennert lets her know that she got lucky. He was insanely strong and experienced, and even unarmed she may not have been able to take him. But I do not fight for myself, or for a contract, Finn. Rudabeh thinks to herself. I fight for Order, and the benefit of others. Sometimes I must pick stupid fights, because no one else will.
Rennert laughs and says, putting on his shirt and jacket. "Master Rennert, paladin. Master."
Fully dressed he offers his mother his arm with a flourish and bow. She smiles and takes it, patting it lightly. "Very nice to meet you Rudabeh of Outsea. Enjoy your time at the Festival."
Together the two vanish into the now black darkness outside.
After the pair leave the crowd starts to breathe again. Apparently the tension between Rudabeh and Rennert was enough to focus everyone but now the crisis has past. Ale is passed out, card games re-start, conversations break out. The paladin notes the fighting ring is taken down however. Apparently the thirst for fights seems to have died away.
Out of the revived crowd, a few men carry the man with the broken arm toward Rudabeh. One of them is the bloody nosed brother, while the other bearers seem to be friends.
The man with the broken arm is no longer howling in pain, and has subsided into gasps. "It...hurts something awful." he gasps, voice the usual rough River Kingdoms accent of the uneducated.
The brother, ignoring his own still seeping wound asks nervously, "Can you....help him?"
"Nice to meet you as well. Take care." She says to Rennert's mother with a small bow of her head. The mother of a brutal sadist seems surprisingly nice, if vacant. Runs through her mind while watching them go.
Shaking her head, she carefully sheathes the glowing five feet of steel in her hand. In a testament to expert craftdwarfship, not a single ray of holy light escapes from within the ebony and silver confines of the scabbard. The hilt keeps glowing for another 5 minutes, though, making the undine stick out even more than she usually does.
She walks out of the fighting ring, impressed at how quickly normality takes hold. A card game springs up next to her, the wormy table it's being dealt on seeming to spring out of thin air. Resilient... or used to this kind of treatment?
While she contemplates the existence of a Pitaxian peasant, the broken-armed man and his brother manage to shuffle towards her, snapping the paladin out of her thoughts. Glancing at his wounded arm, her azure lips sink into a frown.
"I am sorry you had to suffer such brutal treatment. Rennert is clearly abusing his strength and position." She laments while placing a hand on the most wounded man's head. "Please forgive me for not exacting the justice you deserve. I hope the mercy of Alseta will be sufficient in compensation."
Positive energy flows from her fingertips and into his body, setting his broken arm, shifting his rib back into place, and re-knitting snapped ligaments in a wave of holy euphoria.
When the healing was complete she touches the arm of the brother, injecting him with enough positive energy to stop his bleeding and prevent a lifetime of breathing through a crooked nose. "I apologize again, because you will have to find other ways to impress the ladies. Magical healing does not leave scars, I'm afraid." She jokes with a small smile, placing her hands on her hips when the treatment was complete.
"What are your names, lads?" Rudabeh asks with a sweep of her left gauntlet.
Rudabeh's magic is a wonder to behold, and in a small way it always heals her too. To know that Alseta walks with her and is willing to lend her aid is a comfort beyond mere physical relief. No matter what trials she stumbles into, someone approves and is on her side.
The two young men still seem shaken up by the experience and Rudabeh wonders if there is more then simple shock at play here.
But she isn't sure.
They answer her question quickly, the one with the blood covered face saying, "Sven and Svin, your, um, m'lady." He stumbles over the honorifics, obviously unsure what to say. To Rudabeh's ears it sounds odd, as the River Kingdoms usually lack such pretensions, at least among the average folk.
The young man rummages in a bag for a second then presses a packet into her hand. It is soft and wet, smelling of river water. His face flushes in embarrassment as Svin (or was it Sven?) says, "I don't have any money, but this watercress is worth something. I come into town and sell it sometimes. please, take it."
Then stumbling more then she would expect they melt back into the roiling crowd, which seems to have totally moved on from Rennert's display. The paladin eyes them, wondering what other broken men are among them. Even as she thinks this the crowd starts to part again and Rudabeh braces herself for broken limbs..or worse.
Instead, an old man hobbles out. He has a crooked man and walks with a limp. Pale green eyes are filmed with age, and mostly hidden behind a wrinkled, weathered face. But there is no vulnerability, no softness from years. No, despite his frail appearance, this is still a man to be reckoned with.
He approach Rudabeh and gives her a broad smile that makes her skin crawl. 'Ah, I want to thank you, paladin, for your help with the nobleman. Please accept this minor token of my appreciation." He weighs a small bag of coins in a liver-spotted hand. "I would love you to take it and spend it somewhere else tonight, and think of the Bloody Barrel fondly."
The stress on 'somewhere else' is very strong and obvious.
"Please, call me Rudabeh." She replies after his trouble with the honorifics. As the man (Boy? Human ages were so confusing below 30) rustles around in his bag she wonders what has them so shaken, but ends up dismissing it as a combination of nerves and shock.
Opening up her palm to accept the soggy package, the paladin bows her head at the thoughtful gift. "Thank you, Sven and Svin. Watercress is delicious. Take care, and may Alseta open the doors to wisdom and enlightenment for you."
Poking at the package briefly, the paladin stops when the crowd parts once again. Puzzled by the approach of the old man, she eyes the bag of coins after his words. I assume they're hiding something in here, and I'm being bribed to go away. Crosses her mind, pausing as she considers whether or not it's worth it. Though, I have nothing to justify shaking the place down. Perhaps my presence is merely bad for business.
Accepting the small bag of coins, she nods. "I thank you, sir, though I'm afraid I cannot guarantee he won't be back, and I doubt I will be here to do anything about it." She twists her body, dropping the small sack into her Bag of Holding.
The hint firmly taken, Rudabeh bows her head to the old man. "Farewell. I hope you and your patrons enjoy the festivies." She says before turning to exit the establishment.
Stepping out of the Bloody Barrel onto the dirty and debris-laden streets was actualy a relief. Now it only smelled like piss and rot, instead of vomit, smoke, stale beer, piss and rot. Inhaling a generous breath of now relatively clean air, she starts navigating her way back to the palace.
Glancing down at the wet package in her hand, she decides the scuffle with Rennert stimulated her appetite... Picking the container open the undine starts to eat the raw watercress as she walks, occasionally spitting out woody stalks along the way.
Rudabeh has journeyed to many parts of the River Kingdoms, under all types of conditions. During happy times, sad times, perilous times. Times of upheaval or turmoil. During her long (by human standards) career, she has built up a detection sense, for a community. A feeling for the times, as it were.
And as she walks up the dark streets of Pitax, she feels...danger. Not the obvious kind of the manticore or Rennert bear-hugging her. No,t he subtle sense of tension, the rising before a storm.
There is a tension int he air as the undine moves toward the Palace. The festive, light feeling of the day has vanished with the sun, replaced with....Rudabeh isn't sure what. Large groups of men and women wander the streets, engaged in whispering talks. If she ventures too close, they scuttle away, secretive and furtive. Drug users fill dark corners, creating cocoons of smoke, far more then she'd expect (and that she suspects Irovetti approves of). The few guards she sees are in packs, tense and watchful. Far more buildings are open today, doors flung open to the night air. Taverns bustling with patrons, fires roaring, drinks pouring.
But it isn't the wholesome feel of friends and family in fun. It has a giddy, wild sense. Here and there Rudabeh catches glimpses of couples in alleys...or perhaps not couples. Clients? There is a feeling of abandon in the air, of daring. The people are restless, wound up by forces she can barely sense.
It makes the paladin uneasy. There were deep currents here, upwellings from far below. And just like at sea, they could carry destruction in their wakes.
What was going on?
The menace in the air distracts Rudabeh far more than any smell, sound, or sight as she travels the streets of Pitax. Her face settles into a perpetual frown, the predictable pattern of the soles of her boots touching the ground her only company.
When I told Irovetti something was stirring in Pitax, I was more right than I had imagined. She thinks as another group of people stop as they see her, then dart into a side alley. What is this? Something bubbling to the surface? A repressed people about to yell out all at once?
She remembers her father once telling her stories about the seabed surround Cataokerp. A few miles west from the end of the kelp forest, deep below the surface of the waves, were small hyrodthermal vents that spewed a constant stream of scalding hot, inky black water from funnels. When he was younger, Gregdev got the idea to bottle that smokey water and sell it to passing sailors as a mystical deep-sea curiosity. Gathering up some armed partners in this business venture, they traveled to the vents and tried to collect the outpouring of sooty water in a barrel.
They succeeded in affixing the barrel to the vent and hold it steady, but in mere seconds the backpressure from the impeded flow blew out one side of the vent, causing the funnel to collapse and spewing dirty, scalding water everywhere. The moral of the story was to not told down something too tight and always leave room for movement, or else the pressure will blow back and destroy whatever you were trying to capture in the first place. Gregdev liked to apply the story to just about everything in life, but he usually launched into the story if Rudabeh was being too strict about something to her brother or sister.
Has Irovetti capped the desires of his citizens? Restricted the flow of the chaotic and turbulent River Kingdoms to the point where the pressure is reaching critical levels? Perhaps Samuel merely means to kick the funnel and accelerate the collapse. The paladin contemplates as she walks. Will a rebellion happen regardless?
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As Rudabeh contemplates underwater geysers, pressure and tension, she moves toward the Palace. The night air is cool and moist, with wisps of fog rolling off the river. Mosquitoes whine around her head, along with white moths and lightning bugs. Bats swoop and dart among the buildings, a welcome sight.
Lost in her thoughts, Rudabeh almost doesn't realize when she steps into a city square full of light and sound. Dropping out of her reverie, the paladin realizes she is standing in front of the temple to Calistria.
The large building is fairly glowing, with every window, every door streaming light into the darkness, thrown open to the night. Most are the simple yellow or red of firelight, but from the upper rooms Rudabeh catches glimpses of rose, teal and even amethyst. Magic or simply colored lens?
Rudabeh pauses a moment to look and she hears singing. Hardly surprising, given the party that must be going on inside. Then she cocks her head. The raucous chorus of voices seems to be growing...louder? Indeed, it is, along with the rising sound of many feet. All converging on the massive oak doors at the front.
Rudabeh pricks her hears and can hear the tune.
I said my dear lassie believe me I am a good joiner by trade,
And many's the good loom and shuttle before in my time I have laid,
Your short lams & jacks and your long lams I quickly will have them in tune,
My rule it is in a good order to get up and square a new loom.
It is an old song, one that the paladin has heard many times, sung in drunken taverns or around campfires. A bawdy one, she wonders how this version will go.
Well she took me and showed me her loom and the down on her warp did appear,
The lam-jacks and nails put in motion I levelled her loom to a hair,
My shuttle ran well in her lathe sir my thread it worked well up and down,
My level stood close to her breastbone the time I was squaring her loom.
As this verse finishes, the voice rise and she sees a crowd of people begin pouring out of the door. many are holding glasses or tankards, drunkenly sloshing liquor everywhere. Even the short shallow steps of the Temple defeat a few of them, tripping over their own feet. Along with the drink, Rudabeh also sees people smoking the strange drugs of Pitax. A spicy tang in the air. Everyone is laughing and shouting in between the song, which starts up again.
Well the cord on my lam-jacks and treadles at length it began to give way,
The bobbin I had in my shuttle the weft in it no longer would stay,
Her lathe it went bang
My pickers went knickety-knack all the time I was reviving her loom.
The crowd grows as more people push their way outside. Then, in the center of the crowd, Rudabeh spots a figure being held aloft. A place of honor perhaps? The paladins quints and decides no. The hands that hold the person aloft are too cruel, and the figure is jostled madly. It appears to be a woman, judging by the flapping dress and the comely boots. Other details are too hard to make out as the women is carried by a drunken horde to the door.
At the very threshold the woman is held up by a torch and Rudabeh can get a good look. To her shock it is a very bedraggled looking Kilarra, the High Priestess of this Temple! Her clothes are stained and torn, her makeup smeared. Even in that quick glimpse of firelight, Rudabeh can see dejection and disappointment in her face.
Well my shuttle it still kept in motion my lams she worked well up and down,
The weights in her rods they did tremble she said she would weave a new
gown,
My strength now began for to fail me I said lass it's right to a hair,
She turned up her eyes and said Tommy my loom you have got pretty square.
At the last words, Kilarra is thrown, unceremoniously, into the street. Everyone laughs and slaps their hands, as if cleaning them from dust. A few throw glasses of wine after her, a toast of sorts. Near the front, Rudabeh spots Tolmora. The half-elf is resplendent in shining, tight clothes, proud and tall. A cluster of attractive men and women surround her, like an inner court. Tolmara leads the song, her voice strong and clear over the rest, trained and exquisite.
She waves her hand, and as one, they turn and head back into the temple. The stamping of feet, the jeers to Kilarra, the raucous laughter starts to fade. All that remains in the air is the final verse of the song, drifting out of the smoky Temple, with Tolmara framing it.
ut when she let go her four loom poles it flew out of order again,
She said bring your rule and your level and help me to square it again,
I said my dear lassie I'm sorry for I must be in Oppara by noon,
But when I come back in this way lass I'll square up your jerry and loom.
With a short bow and a wink, Talmara closes the Temple door with a bang, leaving Kilarra sprawled in the dust, the square suddenly in silence and darkness.
The thumping of Rudabeh's feet slow as she's bombarded with noise of celebration and merriment far outstripping anything she's heard all night. To no surprise she finds herself in front of the Calistria temple, a small smile forming on her lips. Ah, they always know how to have fun. She thinks, stopping and peering up at the colored exotically lights above.
A look of confusion crosses her face as the singing grows ever louder, azure brows slowly lifting in amusement as bits of the well-known bawdy song start to reach her helmeted ears.
She taps her boots into the cobblestones in time with the song, briefly enjoying the welcome diversion from her dark and swirling thoughts of concerning the psychosocio forces at work in Pitax.
The tapping stops as soon as the jostled and aloft woman comes into view, and Rudabeh's mouth falls open in surprise. Paralyzed by the sheer shock of what she was witnessing, all she can manage to do was to look at Tolmara; the half-elf was clearly the mastermind behind the ejection of the high priestess.
What...? I... wow, what a beautiful voice. Intrusively invades her thoughts as she struggles to make sense of what is occurring in front of her. Just as the final verse of the song begins Rudabeh recalls Kilarra complaining to Irovetti that her temple was being taken over by the adventurers. It seems the rebellion had reached its climax.
Rudabeh almost jumps as the temple door slams shut, the sound snapping her out of the Tolmara-induced stupor. She quickly runs over to the prostrate woman, armor clattering in time with her steps.
"Kilarra!" The paladin shouts, kneeling down next to the bedraggled high priestess. "Are you all right?" She asks in an urgent and concerned tone, extending a hand to help her upright. "I recall you warning Irovetti this might happen. Those adventurers are out of control." Rudabeh says while looking back at the temple, her face now enveloped by a deep frown.
Ahead of them, the Temple looms, dotted with lights. Although the windows still shine brightly, the closed front doors cast Rudabeh and Kilarra in shadow.
The bedraggled (former?) High Priestess sits up, dirt smearing her face and arms. Her skin is pale and sickly looking in the moonlight, makeup no longer hiding the wrinkles and age spots.
"All right?" She echoes, absently. The superciliousness of the previous night is gone, the coldness. In its wake is...emptiness, a lack of emotion.
"Can one be 'all right' when one has lost everything?" She remains seated, staring at the dirty stones o the square, not even making eye contact with the paladin.
Rudabeh pauses momentarily while listening to the High Priestess, hand still outstretched. The paladin's hand falls to her side, looking at the woman for a long moment. Alseta may bless me with the power to heal wounds of the flesh, but wounds of the spirit... that is a much greater challenge. This moment... Rudabeh could see this as either being the starting point of greatness for Kilarra, or a spiral into wretched despair. Her code compels her to help in this moment of transition, even though it is forced.
She recalls a feeling she had not even less than an hour ago, the euphoric reassurance that her goddess would always be by her side and supporting her.
"No, they cannot be." She finally responds, squatting next to the High Priestess. Even though Kilarra was not looking at her, Rudabeh maintains a steady gaze. "But Calistria is still with you. You still have her blessing. You are a dagger of the Savored Sting, are you not?"
She points to the doors with a metal-covered finger, chainmail rattling with the sudden movement. "They have wronged you. Taken from you. Surely your Lady would take glee in seeing her priestess inflict double, triple fold what they have wrought upon you, would she not? Instead of dwelling on what is lost... imagine the blessings Calistria would bestow upon you from such a great act of worship."
A long moment passes where Rudabeh can only hear whirring insects, the gentle breeze and the distant sound of merrymaking from the Temple. The stars wheel overhead, distant and cold.
Then, with a cracked voice, Kilarra says "I lost...EVERYTHING!"
With a lunge, the woman hurls herself at Rudabeh, hands extended like claws. Staretled but still far larger and stronger the paladin easily catches the woman, holding her at arm length.
Instantly the woman breaks down into tears, sobbing. Wet marks soon stain Rudabeh's new armor, a type of damage the blacksmith probably never considered.
"I have lost everything. My Temple, my power, my place in society. And above all, the confidence of my God. I could sense it coming, the fraying of the bond." Her face remains buried in her dirty sleeves.
"The divine grace came less and less, I felt weak and tired. I played it off as age but I knew...." A shuddering sigh, then she straioghens, looking at Rudabeh with resigned eyes.
'I have been replaced, like a wick in an old lamp. The one who comes after me will burn brighter, will burn true. The Savored Sting has spoken, and her command cuts me like a knife."
Silence reigns.
Startled, Rudabeh holds Kilarra at arm's length, her mind racing as to what to do with the suddenly violent woman. The thoughts did not last long, for the angry spectre of the high priestess soon collapses into a heap of tears and anguish.
Quickly readjusting her grip to support Kilara instead of keeping her at bay, Rudabeh looks at the human with a stunned expression. A high priestess suddenly abandoned by their god is the stuff of stories, and the undine never imagined she would witness anything like it. Calistria was fickle to be sure, but Rudabeh never thought it seemed like a difficult religion to abide.
Her own judgements aside, the paladin lets go of Kilarra's arms as she straightens, a concerned frown dominating her features. "I see. I cannot imagine what you're going through right now." Rudabeh says softly, "But I am here to help you."
Glancing at the temple and shaking her head, Rudabeh steps forward, hand extended to Kilarra. "Stay with me tonight, at least. I would like to hear about what happened and why, if you wish to speak of it. Perhaps we can figure out a way forward, together. If you do not wish to discuss it, at least I can guarantee you a safe and clean place to recover from this ordeal."
She felt a great sorrow for the human, and genuinely wanted to help her. In any case her instincts that the former High Priestess was about to go through a major transition were correct, and the paladin was oathbound to assist her.
'Stay with you?" She says, and for a moment, Rudabeh glimpses the woman she met the night before. Confident, dismissive of help and certainly disdainful of a paladin of an upstart goddess like Alseta. Then, visibly, she wilts and it drains away, like milk from a glass.
The older woman shrugs, "Very well. At the least I will be out of the way. " Woodenly she stands up, like a puppet waiting for the next act of a play.
Rudabeh unconsciously sucks in her breath as, for a moment, the fiery woman she saw last night makes an appearance. For a brief moment she thought that maybe her extension of kindness would reignite the pride that drove the woman, kicking the former high priestess back into her stride.
But as Kilarra deflates, she knows that was not the case. For now.
"I am staying in an apartment at the First Palace. I wasn't planning on sleeping in the bed anyway, so you're welcome to it." She says honestly, ushering Kilarra forward on what Rudabeh considers the next part of the woman's journey.
What will become of her? I do not know. Irovetti should be informed of this absolute anarchy going on in the temple at least. Sighing to herself, she is brought back to what she should do about the king. I will start by apologizing. His reactions were absurd, but I was too hasty in my accusations. I must start over with him if I am to interrupt Samuel's plans.
Together, the two of them walk through Pitax toward the First Palace. The strange air of expectation hangs in the air, edged with raw tensions but Rudabeh is too distracted by Kilarra to notice much.
As they walk, Rudabeh is slowly reminded of those she had met after fires or other disasters. The woman was listless, weaving slowly this way and that over the moist stones. Her breathing was fast and yet her skin was pallid. Worst of all, she barely responded to any stimlus.
The woman was in shock.
Despite her physical aliments, it wasn't a sickness of the body. It was a weakness of the spirit and that was much harder to solve then a busted nose or a shattered forearm.
They soon reach the Palace. The front doors are closed and barred but when they spot Rudabeh the doors are flung open. A guard, younger then most Rudabeh has seen, awkwardly salutes, unsure of what to do.
Rudabeh, slowed down by the bulk of her armor, matches pace with the shocked Kilarra. Unsure of what to say, if there was anything else to say, the two walk in silence save for the soft clatter of metal on chain with the paladin's every step.
The knife-like tension pulses around her, but she ignores it in favor of paying extra attention to Kilarra, ready for any kind of outburst or collapse.
Fortunately no such thing happens, and they approach the gates unmolested. A grin blossoms across her azure lips as one of the guards salutes her. "At ease, soldier. You don't take orders from me." She says, suddenly modulating her speech to the deep and commanding tone of an experienced Sergeant. It had been some time since she had used that voice, but it was a good one to keep practiced in case Outsea ever needed her miltary service once again.
"Thank you for opening the gate." Is her follow-up, said in her usual calm and dulcet mezzo-soprano.
Striding past the entry, she makes her way towards her assigned apartment, checking to ensure Kilarra was still following her. The undine's sharp eyes and ears keep a lookout for Julock, who she assumed must be lurking somewhere.
Rudabeh spots few servants darting about as they head toward the apartment. However, the number of guards lurking around every corner tells Rudabeh that the Master of the House must be back. Irovetti is somewhere, although it seems an early hour for the man to retire.
Kilarra follows, listlessly, unmoved by Rudabeh's words as she is by the soaring artwork around them. Soon both of them are in Rudabeh's palatial apartments without incident. The paladin notes that new flowers have been put out, and fragrant candles lit, a warm glow filling the space. By day it had been a shining room of splendor and beauty, now it was dark and mysterious, a place of dancing shadows and incense.
Kilarra seems unaffected and merely stands in the middle of the room, gazing thoughtlessly at a exquisite glass sculpture of a kingfisher diving into a pool.
The scuttling servants and lurking guards indicate Irovetti is at home, but given all the events going on, she has to wonder what has drawn him back to the palace. Considering his love of hosting, perhaps there is an event underway, here, right now?
She rounds the corner into the palatial apartments, opening the door for Kilarra to step inside. The mood lighting of the room certainly catches her by surprise, and the wonderful mixture of fragrant flowers and incense is a healing delight for her nostrils after the assault they suffered at the Bloody Barrel.
"Please make yourself at home." Rudabeh comments to Kilarra, gesturing to the entirity of the room. The undine stares at the kingfisher scultpure for a few moments as well, taking in the piece. "I am fairly sure I met the creator of that piece. Wonderful girl, incredibly talented." She makes small talk, as if pretending there was a sense of normalcy would bring it about.
"I'm going to request a bath be drawn and some food be sent. I'll be right back." The paladin says, making for the door. She was hesitant to leave the High Priestess alone, but Rudabeh believed getting cleaned up would do her some good.
Stepping back into the hallway, the rattling and heavily armed holy warrior and stops the nearest scurring servant. "Good evening. When you find the time, could a hot bath be drawn in my apartment and food for two be sent?"
Deciding it's best to know what's going on rather than live in ignorance, she makes a second inquiry. "Is anything happening in the palace tonight?"
Kilarra doesn't respond, staring into blank space. It unnerves Rudabeh a bit and she wonders what to make of the woman. 'Fallen' clerics are the stuff of stories and legends, usually cast as evil villains who make a mockery of their former faith. But this woman was....pathetic and sad, worthy of pity not of horror.
Rudabeh quickly finds a servant, a middle-aged woman with dark eyes and curly hair. She bobs a curtsy when Rudabeh speaks. The paladin reflects that at least Irovetti hadn't told the servants to act rudely towards her.
"A bath and food for two, of course. What type of meal, may I ask? The kitchens will want to know, m'lady." Again, the use of titles throws Rudabeh off.
When she asks about events the woman looks at her strangely and says, "Why yes, of course. The King is hosting a ball in the Old Lace room."
"Please, call me Rudabeh." She responds to the servant's use of honorifics, which was not only how she preferred to be addressed, but it gave her time to think. What would a woman that has lost everything want to eat? Does she even want to eat? "A light vegetable soup, a thick bread paired with hard cheese, and roasted fish, please." Is the best she could think of to not offend everyone involved, which included her cavernous stomach.
"Ah... that explains many things." The paladin responds to the information about the ball, remembering how Dravos' mother said there were balls to attend. If I had not upset Irovetti I would be at that ball right now, and Kilarra would be catatonic on the street. It was certainly not Alseta's will for me to bungle a discussion so badly, but perhaps it was for the best. In any case, I would just be getting paraded around, and possibly forced to dance.
"Thank you for your time, and have a pleasant evening." She says, letting the woman return to her duties. The paladin makes her way back to the apartment, wondering what exactly to do with Kilarra. Fallen clerics is not exactly something they teach an undine in any of her mayn professions.
The night passes quietly enough.
Kilarra and Rudabeh both clean themselves after a long, hard day. While the pritesses doesn't come out of her strange reverie, she does seem more relaxed after being warmed and cleansed by the bath, while Rudabeh feels much more at ease after wiping the scum of the Bloody Barrel.
The food arrives quickly, piping hot, exactly to order. She makes a note to compliment Irovetti's chef, who appears to be a wizard with soup. The paladin reflects, knowing Irovetti's expensive tastes, he may literally be a wizard.
While the quarters are Rudabeh's alone, they were apparently built with the expectations she would have servants, fellow travelers...paramours in train, so there are smaller bedrooms complete with beds and such. Kilarra takes one of these, silently falling asleep without saying a word. The silence is off putting but Rudabeh just hopes that means she is healing.
For the first time, Rudabeh confronts the bed assigned to her. A vast expanse of silk sheets filled with the softest goose down, surrounded by rich velvet drapes. The bed is as big as some some huts she has seen in her travels.
Rudabeh eats all of food with gusto, carefully watching the priestess. Any food Kilarra leaves is taken out by the hungry undine, and the aftermath is nothing but crumbs. It was delicious and filling, and she actually felt full for once in seemed days.
The cleansing bath was much needed, as she had sparsely bathed during her travels from Daggermark with the exception of diving into the river to swim. Rudabeh's greasy hair is released from its perpetual bun for a thorough washing, the tangled mass seeming to shrug off the efforts of any soap applied to it. But paladins are known for their persistence, and personal grooming is no exception to her stubborn endeavors.
She paces slowly in front of her bed while giving her azure hair a hard combing, forcibly straightening every strand into order with an old whale-bone comb. Its yellowed surface was beautifully inlaid with carvings of turtles swimming through a kelp forest, compliments of her mother.
As she combs, Rudabeh considers what to do next. Kilarra seems to be asleep. Should I go to the ball? I need to apologize to Irovetti, but I don't want to get wrapped up in whatever additional madness and politics is going on tonight.
Sighing, her hand drops to her side. The undine's now perfectly straight, wetly glistening hair falls to her shoulders while she stares at the opulence in front of her. Or I can simply wake up early and meet Irovetti for breakfast, avoiding the whole affair.
Deciding on an ultimate course of action, Rudabeh props her greatsword up next to the bed and lays on the goose down mattress with a comfortable sigh. I can't seem to be sure of anything since I arrived at Pitax, but sleep won't argue with me, at least.
Sleep finds Rudabeh quickly, which is unsurprising after such a long day. In fact she sleeps so soundly, she doesn't even recall any dreams when the dawning morning sun finds her the next morning, sprawled out on the giant bed. Ironically, the soft mattress seems to have disagreed with her, as a number of her muscles are knotted and stiff. When was the last time she had slept on a goose down bed?
Still, even with those few sore spots, she feels much better well fed, well rested and clean. Small things but is not life made up of small things in succession?
The paladin finds a warm breakfast already laid out on a ornate table. Steamed mussels, fish in melted butter, and mounds of scrambled eggs mixed with vegetables fills several pans and dishes, enough to feed a dozen people. Another sign of Irovetti's luxury. What did this cost Pitax?
Kilarra is not at the breakfast table.
Rudabeh finds that time passes suddenly; as far as she is concerned, she was laying in bed, blinked, and it was a morning. Sitting up with a groan, the undine rubs her back with a free hand. How do people sleep on feathers? Compared to stiff wood it must be terrible for one's posture on land.
She would have preferred to sleep in the luxurious bath, but previous experience taught her that humans don't like to find guests silently floating in their tubs. Not only did she not want to scare anyone, but she had explained to people that she was not a "drowned corpse cursed with undeath" enough times in her life.
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, the paladin stretches and inhales deeply. This is a new day. With Alseta's blessing, it will be a day of transition and positive change.
Glancing to her breastplate by the side of the bed, she unclasps the holy symbol brooch and clenches it tightly in her fist, closing her eyes in solemn prayer. My goddess, as every day your servant pledges to uphold her oaths in your name and for your glory. But today, I als swear to change my ways. I realize now the duties Veleda has given me, which is an extension of your will, require me to be more than the simple paladin I have been for the past decade. I am not only your sword and quill, but now the voice of the greatest creation of one of your greatest priestesses. I must protect the stability of the Pact and all those that rely on the peace it brings, something that requires subtly and planning, not just not steel and ink. I see now I cannot rush into every problem, flinging open doors to expose the light of truth. I must peak through the keyhole of every door I pass, deciding which to knock on. Please watch over me as I go through this transition, for I have much to learn.
Opening her limpid eyes, she stares at the perfectly stained wood of the nightstand next to her. And please, my goddess, help Kilarra through these troubled times. Calistria has abandoned her for reasons
I do not know, and she was suddenly thrown from her life into a foreign existence. Whether the loss of her connection to the Savored Sting was Kilarra's fault or not, I swear to help her through these times of transition, as is my duty. PLease watch over her when my mortal eyes are elsewhere.
Finishing her morning prayer Rudabeh jups up from the bed, ignoring the protest of her back. In a few minutes of route movements she is armed and armored, tighening the leather strap of her greatsword across her chest as the finishing touch to her formidible steel uniform.
Recalling the bag she was given by the suspicious proprietor of the Bloody Barrel., Rudabeh takes a moment to mentally recall it from her Bag of Holding, retrieving it and peering inside with a tug of the drawstring.
With her curiousity satisfied, she moves out of the bedroom and into the common area of the apartment. The inticing aroma of the food immediately catches her attention, azure brows shooting up at the scrumptous display.
Stomach rumbling with excitement, she briefly worries that either Irovetti has discovered her weakness for food, or the people of Pitax are going to starve if she is served a personal feast at every meal.
Sighing, Rudabeh decides to just enjoy the meal for now, speaaring a buttered fish with a fork and sliding it into her mouth. As the perfectly broiled and flaky flesh entices her tongue, she organizes her thoughts. There is much to do today. I must apologize to Irovetti, and figure out a way to reform his angry outbursts in the face of criticism before Samuel uses it to incite chaos in Pitax. I must also seek an interview with Tsoki and delve deeper into the threat of invasion Irovetti mentioned so I can report it to Veleda. Most importantly, I am going to demand a schedule of events for the rest of the festival, so I can be the representative I am supposed to be. I will not allow another event to sneak up on me!
She suddenly turns into a circle, shoveling fluffy eggs into her mouth whlie scanning the room. Where is Kilarra? Surely Irovetti will not dismiss the actions of those adventurers when he finds out they assaulted his High Priestess.
The soft carpet muffles the usual rough noises of the paladin's boots as she cross the room towards the guest chambers, searching for the disgraced prietess.
Rudabeh doesn't have to search long among the tapestries, glass blown art or expensive furniture to find the ex-cleric. Kilarra is still in bed, tightly wrapped in expensive silk sheets.
Despite her efforts however, she cannot tempt the woman out of bed. Invitations to eat, of getting out of bed, or seeing the King, all are met with a blank stare or, at best, slow negative nods. After a short time, the woman hides herself back into the bedding, ignoring the luxury surrounding her.
If Alseta is going to help this woman, she hasn't started yet, as far as Rudabeh can see.
Even though she uses every strategy she could conjure to coax Kilarra out of bed, Rudabeh meets with failure. Pity overtakes the undine's emotions as she looks down at the sad and broken woman before her. "You have my blessing to stay as my guest as long as you like. I will be back later."
The paladin takes a few steps away from the bed before stopping to add, "I will do everything in my power to see justice done, Kilarra. If those adventurers are left unchecked, I worry Pitax itself could be in danger."
Leaving behind the broken pirestess, Rudabeh stops at the overflowing table of food for another fish and half a plate of eggs, contemplating what it will take to snap Kilarra out of her stupor all the while.
Sufficiently full, the undine exits the apartment and begins her search for Irovetti, politely asking the first servant she meets for the king's most recent location and whether or not he is available for audience.
Rudabeh checks inside the small moneybag handed to her by the disreputable looking Master of the House. Inside are 20 copper coins and three silver coins. As the paladin was expecting wooden coins (or maybe just river rocks), she is impressed. Apparently bribing officials to leave is established practice in Pitax.
Rudabeh's vow to Kilarra goes without remark by the cleric.
As always, it doesn't take long for Rudabeh to find a servant, this one an old washerwoman carrying a heaping pile of towels. Setting down her burden, she seems happy to take a break to answer Rudabeh's questions.
"The King is downstairs, eating breakfast with a few guests. As far as an audience..." her wrinkled face reddens. Despite living in a palace, court etiquette is obviously beyond her.
Rudabeh finds herself surprised to see real coinage in the dilapidated sack, which tells her much about how the law operates in Pitax. She makes a mental note that anyone attempting to bribe her is most likely trying to hide something.
Though, if I'm chasing down every two-copper drug den, how will I properly serve my duties as a representative of the Pact? Already finding herself in conflict with her new vows to change, Rudabeh sighs and once more wonders why Veleda chose her for this job.
With a small nod of her head, the paladin thanks the old washerwoman for what information she had provided as she starts to stumble, saving her from the humiliation of admitting she did not know. "That is all I needed to know. Thank you, and I hope you have a pleasant morning." Rudabeh says with a pearly white smile, turning to head downstairs.
Normally she would be concerned about whether or not it would be polite to interrupt the King's breakfast, but she had no intention of losing track of Irovetti like she did yesterday.
Leaving the washerwoman behind, Rudabeh makes her way through the decorated halls. She skirts past imposing marble statues, vibrant tapestries and massive oil paintings hung on the walls. The opulent display is lit with cunning skylights and windows, each throwing a shaft of light on each artwork, enhancing their beauty. Her tour with Irovetti had been at night, which had done the place little justice. Fully revealed in the bright morning sun, they are stunning.
Following the sound of people talking, the clatter of dishes and the scent of cooking food downstairs. It leads her to a long hall near the edge of the Palace wall, as far as the paladin can tell. The door however is guarded by....the same guard she forced to rouse Irovetti last night.
His stolid face reveals a mix of surprise and exasperation that he struggles to hide as Rudabeh walks up to him. Over his shoulder, Rudabeh can see the room full of various people eating breakfast, although it is hard to identify individuals.
"Can I help you?" The Master of the Guard says, voice carefully toned to not show emotion.
Rudabeh walks slowly, admiring the beautiful and bountiful works lining the hallway. Tastefully designed windows let the morning light spill through to illuminate the exquiste (if constrainted) works of Pitax's greatest artists. She made another mental note to find and compliment the building's archetict, whom she hoped was a worshipper of Alseta.
The undine's keen hearing draws her towards the breakfast gathering, and ultimately face-to-face with the head guardsman. Briefly, she wonders if he is guarding the door as punishment or because there are very important guests inside.
"Good morning," she initially replies to his question before adding, "may I enter?" in an inquisitive tone. A gauntleted hand gestures to the room past the large man.
As usual, without thinking, Rudabeh has put someone in a very awkward position. Despite the guard's attempt to hide it, she can see the wheels start turning his head as he ponders her offer.
On one hand, breakfast with the King is a closed affair, a prize handed out to those Iorvetti wishes to curry favor with. A random Pitax citizen cannot wander off the street and gain admittance and Irovetti would not enjoy giving the power of invitation away to a mere door guard. If you aren't asked, you don't get in.
Yet, Rudabeh is a highly ranking guest, probably the highest ranking to visit in years. Turning her away would be a major snub, and is again, not something Irovetti wants to pass on to a guard. The King would be incensed to hear a valued foreigner visitors was spurned in such a way, whatever his personal attitude toward them.
Caught between a rock and a hard place.
After a long moment, the man steps aside and says, "Enjoy your meal."
Rudabeh briefly wonders why the man is taking so long to make a decision as to why she can or cannot enter- Wasn't it just breakfast? Something else was afoot, though she could not fathom the political importance.
That, or considering the way Irovetti treated him last time he refused one of her requests, the man was simply considerings his options.
Regardless, she smiles and gives the guard a small bow of her head when he finally steps aside. "Thank you."
Without any pomp or fanfare Rudabeh merely walks in with a casual gait, glancing at the room's decorations before setting eyes on the guests, and finally Irovetti.
"I apologize for missing the Ball last night, Irovetti. Not only was I quite tired and went to sleep early, I am a dreadful dancer and would have simply made an embarrassment of myself." She says truthfully, voice evenly metered, completely unaware she has invited herself into a private and possibly prestigious breakfast gathering.
If there is a seat available at the table, she takes one, but if there is not she merely stands with her hands folded behind her back.
Rudabeh steps into the room, and a wave of more breakfast smells reaches her nose. The room is mostly taken up by a massive wooden rectangular table, surrounded by chairs. The table is full of silver platters, bearing a breakfast (fittingly) fit for a king.
Slabs of greasy bacon, stacks of sausages, heaped piles of cheesy eggs. An entire ham takes up one plate, garnished with fresh watercress. All sorts of breads, rolls and croissants are available, either for dipping or singular consumption. Other trays hold sweet treats, toast covered with powdered sugar or fruits swimming in syrup.
Irovetti, of course, is seated at the head of the table. He looks deep in conversation but looks up instantly as Rudabeh enters. His face is a genial mask, but she detects his eyebrows rise as the paladin steps inside. Conversation pauses as all the guests, two dozen, stop to examine the interloper.
Nearly all the seats are filled except for a few at the far end, near Rudabeh. Before the paladin can take one however, a woman seated at Irovetti's side stands up. With a start Rudabeh realizes she recognizes the woman, it is Rennert's mother, the lady who had 'broken up' the fight in the Bloody Barrel.
The woman smiles sincerely as she stands, saying to Rudabeh, 'Here come take my seat, I was just finished. No, I insist."
Irovetti glances questioningly at the noblewoman. She adds, "I met her last night. She was rough-housing with my son, and getting the worst of it, I am afraid to say. I think a comfortable seat is the least I can do." She smiles at Rudabeh and the paladin is unsure if the barb hidden in that was on purpose or not. The smiling woman is hard to read, like everyone in Pitax.
Irovetti for his part looks less surprised then he should. The King waves to Rudabeh, "Come, sit then. It is an honor to have you with us, paladin of Alseta. I am only sorry you came too late to pray over our meal."
Rudabeh takes one look at the piles of food and wonders how big Irovetti's cooking staff is, because the time and skill it would take to preapre such a feast for every meal must be enormous. Maybe it really was just one wizard, conjuring up sweets from the elemental plane of baked goods or something.
She was unsurprised to see the woman from the previous night at Irovetti's side given the Rennert's reputation as being one of the most power noble families in Pitax, but her frankness on her son's activities is slightly startling.
With a bow of her head, the paladin moves to take her seat. "Your generosity is much appreciated, Lady Rennert." Is all she says on the matter, deciding that the woman is either daft, impossible to read, or both.
She pulls the chair out from the table and turns it sideways, but still sits facing the rest of the guests at the table. The tip of her greatsword nearly touching the floor, the undine sits up perfectly straight with hands folded in her lap.
"No divine intervention is needed to ensure a bountiful meal in your halls, Irovetti. Our stomaches should be giving thanks to you and your exquiste staff of chefs for their meals instead." She replies to his comment on praying over their meal.
Rudabeh is unperturbed if Irovetti and the guests return to their own conversations and machinations, considering her goal is to find a moment to speak to Irovetti privately, and does little to impede the flow of conversation in the room. Of course, she is not silent and will engage with any that approach her.
There was certainly room in her stomach for a sweet roll, though, which is rapidly disassembles with a fork.
As Rudabeh nibbles on her sweet roll (It is so good, Rudabeh wonders what Irovetti does to his chefs if they under preform?) she listens to the conversations around her.
To her left a few what she assumes are nobles chat about the festivities so far. They seem thoroughly impressed with the wide range of activities and amusements that the King has put together, but speak disparagingly of the peasants attending. A few even suggest that the day's joust should be closed to the public.
This strikes Rudabeh as very odd. The boundary between 'peasant' and 'upper class' is usually very fluid in the River Kingdoms, lacking the intense stratification of Taldor or Cheliax. Throughout these lands, porters and river guides rub shoulders with merchants and even Kings. It makes her slightly queasy to hear this words tumble from these 'nobles', who surely can only have held their titles for a few decades at most. What kind of kingdom was Irovetti building here?
To her right, Irovetti is engaged in deep conversation with a man Rudabeh vaguely recognizes as one of the master of the Trade Houses. The King's genial mask is gone, replaced by that affected annoyance he often has when things don't go just so.
'They'd rather be somewhere else?" He hisses at the Alderman. "What could be finer then a joust?"
The older man raises his hands, helpless. 'Just repeating what I have heard, mi'lord. The people have their own base tastes, after all. Do you expect them to enjoy the refinements of a joust?"
Irovetti looks thoughtful at this. Whatever else he is, Rudabeh thinks, the King is no fool. Does he sense the rising tide that Rudabeh felt as plain as the incoming tide last night?
Rudabeh munches on her sweet roll with the slow and deliberate chewing of someone wishing to savor every flake of sugar. Part of her brain wonders how Irovetti is not 300 lbs (because she will be if she stays another week) and the other listens in on the various conversations.
The rumblings of the nobility against the presence of the peasantry nearly make her stop enjoying her sweetroll. Ten years ago most of these people were trying to put a new roof on their tavern or hiring adventurers to chase goblins out of their warehouses... Rudabeh silently seethes, the audacity of their relatively sudden and pompous attitudes getting under her skin. Do they not understand that without the laborers, the nightsoil collectors, or even their own servants that there would be no society in which to flaunt their titles? Irovetti must support all this, or they wouldn't be talking openly about it...
There were a lot of things wrong with Pitax, but the lack of respect for the community as a whole from its land-owners and monied persons was starting to wear her down. You're not here to start an argument or fight. She thinks in a effort to assauge herself, switching her attention to Irovetti. You're here to keep the peace. Maintain the Pact. Focus on the goals Veleda set for you.
Swallowing the last bit of sweet roll, the paladin notes the wheels turning in the king's head. Perhaps he will realize the truth of my words yesterday, at least the part about a rising tide. Maybe then he will be more receptive to change.
"I spent quite some time among the various peoples of Pitax yesterday, myself." She intones, injecting herself in the conversation. "All were eager to express their appreciation and enjoyment of the feastivities."
"Though I noted there was a giddiness in the air." Rudabeh continues, as if she were examing the qualities of a sculture she was admiring from afar. "A kind of undirected energy spilling out from crowds and people, their excitement radiating forth like a cup of mulled wine." There are few things Rudabeh would claim to be an expert on, but it was her duty to know and safeguard the pulse of a community.
"Jousts build excitement and energy." The paladin says as she continues to wax on about the behaviors and natures of people. "Perhaps the citizens of Pitax are not interested in the joust because they are already filled with excitement and energy brought on by the freedom and jovial atmosphere of the festival." Rudabeh carefully alludes to the notion that perhaps the citizens of Pitax were feeling repressed or boxed in, but does not say it outright. She was trying to be sutble now, after all.
"Instead, they may be seeking an outlet for the energy they already have. The wind is blowing, but there is no sail to catch it." The sailing anology accidently slips out at the end, as if by habit at this point.
Rudabeh's words fill the empty space in the conversation. Many of the gathered shake heads in negation or frown disapprovingly. One, the Alderman who was speaking to Irovetti about the joust ventures, "An outlet? We should cave to the needs of the-"
But he is cut off as the King mildly raises a hand. Calculatingly Irovetti ponders Rudabeh in silence, his eyes sharp and bright. Finally he says, "I value the opinion of our esteemed visitor from the Pact of Years."
He says nothing more and guides the conversation into safer waters.
The breakfast soon breaks up, and Rudabeh hears several people mention they will meet up at the joust later. Irovetti stays seated as the various assemblage leaves the table and servants start to clean the table.
The King motions for Rudabeh to stay and when they are alone says casually, "I thought I had a breakfast sent to your room, privately?"
Rudabeh is a little surprised the king merely silences the dissent of the other voices. She was merely adding her opinion into the mix, and was not expecting Irovetti to support her idea. Regardless, she does not press the topic, instead joining in the safer conversation.
As the dining hall begins to clear, Rudabeh stays behind even before Irovetti motions for her to not leave.
"You did, and it was delicious, thank you." She begins, her tone even, "I apologize if I interrupted your breakfast, it was not my intention to intrude. But I wanted to find and speak with you before you left the palace."
Rudabeh turns in her seat to face the king, her voice soft and sincere. "I wish to apologize for my words yesterday. They were ill-planned and hasty, and your anger at them is justified. Veleda sent me to keep the peace and represent the Pact of Years, yet so far I have performed poorly in both those roles. I was bull-headed and severe. Those two qualities have long served me well on the battlefield and the courtroom, but I am in neither of those places now. I must learn to properly execute my new role, and I am sorry you are subjected to the chaotic and awkward flailings of my personal growth."
The chair she was sitting in scrapes the ground as she scoots it backs, standing up to her full height in front of Irovetti. In a formal display, arms rigid at her sides, she bows her entire torso forward at a 20 degrees angle. "Thus, I humbly ask for your forgiveness, and in the name of Alesta, to Turn the Mask to my actions."
While it may seem over the top to Irovetti, the action of forgiveness and Turning the Mask were very important to a devotee of Alesta, though a lay worshipper may find the Paladin's techniques overly formalized.
Irovetti's face changes from genial host to pleasure then quickly replaced by stern patriarchal authority. The King pushes out his chair with a loud scrape then stands at his (not very tall) height). As always his jeweled specter is in his hand, flashing in the morning sunlight.
Despite them being alone he says in a loud, and carrying voice, 'I, King Irovetti of Pitax, accept your apology and will bear no grudge against you for these past actions." Dramatically he sweeps out his hand over Rudabeh's face, gently closing her eyes, completing the ritual. Rudabeh can distinctly tell he is upset no horns start to blow as the ritual suddenly ends.
Then the stern look fades, and he says, 'Speak no more of it, paladin of Alseta. All is forgiven."
He leaves a space in case Rudabeh has more to say, which the paladin takes as a say that she may actually be forgiven.
Rudabeh is impressed the king knows the exact words for the ritual- but then again, he seemed the type to embrace whatever religion was convienent at the time. Perhaps that was cynical, though, especially coming from a paladin whose own religion involves embracing most other religions equally.
Recovering from her bow, Rudabeh opens her eyes and stands straight. "Thank you. I believe it goes without saying that Pitax will be better served if we work together, not against one another."
Relaxing from her rigid, ceremonial posture, the undine continues on to other business, putting the previous disagreement behind them completely. "There are two other matters I would like to discuss with you before the joust today."
"Firstly, I would like permission to interview Toski before she is executed. If she was abusing her position to conspire with outside influences to harm Pitax, that is clear case of treason and her punishment is certainly justified." Rudabeh says evenly, falling into the steady meter of case law and penal matters. "I am formally offering my services to fully investigate this matter. If a Pact member is involved in threatening PItax, I will bring it to the attention of Veleda so they may be properly punished for transgressing against their neighbor."
Continuing her proposal, she adds some further details on her requests for information. "Do you have any idea who the aggressors were? You said she was head of the thieves guild, if I recall, so there must have been an organized structure beneath her that could be tapped into as well. She certainly did not seemed to be well liked by the public. In addition, any documents or contact information of the judges or law enforcement that were responsible for trying or aprehending her would also be helpful."
Rudabeh seemed to be very interested and energized by this prospective endevor, eager to track down the perpetrators who would dare violate the sanctity of peace brought on by the Pact of Years.
Irovetti remains standing, apparently not quite at ease as much as his words may have indicated. Despite the ritual, Rudabeh has a feeling the King of Pitax forgets very little.
"As for Toksi, I already agreed to an interview. She is in one of the cells in the bottom of the Palace. It saddens me that Pitax even has such places, but Golarion can be such a cruel place."
"When do you wish to speak with her? The joust is at noon, I would hate for you to miss such an occasion to speak to a traitor and criminal."
When Rudabeh mentions the 'thieves guild', Irovetti says quickly, "That was a, apparently prescient, jest. Pitax harbors no organized crime and certainly none connected to the government. Her crime, embezzling wealth for personal gains from public trust and funds is hardly new. As far as we can tell, t ere were no accomplices. I will simply need to be less trusting next time."
The King sighs sadly, a bit dramatically. "As for evidence and documents...I cannot divulge. There were any number of contacts who report to me on the condition I keep their identities secret. While I would trust the Pact implicitly, I could simply not bear to break their trust. Surely you understand, my good paladin?"
"I have no intention of missing the joust, so I will speak to her once we are finished." Rudabeh says, her tone at being paraded around from event to event much different than before. It seemed she was attempting to embrace her assigned duties as a representative, despite her dislike of the pratice. Duty over discomfort.
"Ah." She responds to the revealation that the comment was a jest, looking up at the ceiling for a moment before back to the king. "My apologies. Though I do not support the idea, unfortunately time in Daggermark has normalized organized criminal activies to me, so I did not understand you were joking."
There is a brief pause before she responds to Irovetti's relunctance to share information with her; Why would he not share information with me? Is he hiding something?, she thinks, but she nods all the same. "While I would be oathbound to not share any information you provide me without your explicit permission, I understand the scared and delicate bond of trust between confdential parties all too well. If you happen to change your mind and include me on the investigation, I can swear any oath of confidentialty you desire."
Moving on from the topic of Toski to Kilarra, the paladin shifts her weight from her left foot to her right foot in a jingle of rubbing chainmail. "The second matter I wanted to bring to your attention concerns your High Prietess, Kilarra."
The undine's azure lips crease into a dark frown. "As I was walking back to the Palace last night I passed by the Temple of Calistria just in time to witness a mob of worhsippers, lead by Tolmara Fayendiur, carry Kilarra out of the church and toss her onto the street with about as much respect as emptying a bucket of nightsoil."
Spreading her hands in front of her, Rudabeh speaks with pity for the fallen woman. "She was quite traumatized by the ordeal, and will not speak much of it, with the exception that she is adamant has been cut off from communicating with or recieving blessing from Calistria. I offered her a place to stay in the apartment you provided me for the time being."
Agitation enters the paladin's voice as she continues. "I have not spoken with Tolmara to hear her side of the story, and I certainly intend to do so, but it would seem to me that your High Priestess has been unceremoniously removed from her post by a foreign actor. I know that Calistria churches can be quite... tulmultuous ... and... dramatic... but this is absurd! I fear those adventurers will become even more trouble if left unchecked."