Irovetti frowns in turn but he doesn't look surprised. Apparently the King was already aware of the events from last night. Despite seeming to spend his time at fancy breakfasts, the man is quite well informed.
"Unchecked..." Irovetti looks cunning for a moment and says, a lilt of a question in his voice, 'Are you advising me as a member of the Pact to take actions against fellow River Kingdoms?"
He lets that hang in the air a moment before smiling, "I joke. But yes, it is something I am considering. Fear not, steps will be taken, all in due time. It is important to not over react, my young paladin. This is a Festival after all. " But then the older man shakes his head, gray hair swinging, catching the light. "But no, we cannot have chaos in the streets. I thank you for your words and advice. Also, please take good care of Kilarra. Despite her current circumstances, she has served the city well for many years."
Quirking her brow, Rudabeh is about to respond about how the River Freedoms clearly state that Courts are for Kings, and technically the Ruling Council of the Kingdom of the Free Peoples are completely at his mercy, but it is quickly rectified as a "joke".
"Oh." The paladin says with a sigh, brows furrowing. [b]"I appologize. My receptivness to humor appears to be low today, though I am sure I would have found it quite funny at a different time."
Nodding at his advice to not become too incensed, the undine relaxes a bit. Though, there is irony in Irovetti telling her not to overreact... "You are right, it is unbecoming of a paladin of Alesta to became agitated at such events, but those adventurers...They seem the type to believe themselves above consqequences or decorum, and it unsettles me. Their flippant use of teleportation magic alone was proof enough for me to come to that conclusion."
With a small bow of her head, Rudabeh makes motions that she will soon be off. "In any case, thank you for looking into the situation, and please inform me if my assisstance would be helpful. Hopefully Kilarra will recover soon. I will see you at the joust and look forward to witnessing the competition."
Her business with the King concluded, the paladin would make her way to the holding cells below the Palace to speak to Toski.
Irovetti sees her off, eyes watching her carefully. Whatever his words about patience and careful timing might be, the King is planning something and is not nearly at ease as he appears. The actions in the Temple have bothered him.
Rudabeh is soon making her way toward the holding cells.
Dungeons are not places that attract many visits fromt he outside and are usually designed to be hard to find. Those of the First Palace are no different. There are no signs saying "This way to the Rack". However, Irovetti must have passed the word for Rudabeh is only forced to wander aimless for a few minutes before a wizened old guard finds her. His skin is pale and mottled, a lifetime of living indoors.
'The King said you wish to speak to a prisoner?" he says, voice soft in the gloom of the underground vaults. "Which one was it?" He says this like a man speaking of which book in a vast library and Rudabeh suddenly wonders how many people are down here....
Though there is much about Irovetti that bothers the paladin, she is glad to see he is taking the actions of the Ruling Council of the Kingdom of the Free Peoples seriously. Those adventurers were going to be trouble... it was merely a matter of when they started said trouble.
After walking from one end of the Palace to the other, Rudabeh is on the cusp of asking someone for help when the old guard somehow finds her before she finds the dungeon.
"Ah, yes." She says, turning around as the man approaches her. "Toski Darrad." Is stated simply, ready to follow the guard to wherever he may lead.
Recalling the poor state the woman was in at the opening ceremony the previous day, Rudabeh inquires; "How is she? Yesterday it looked like she had been beaten unconscious." The ending statement was not loaded with any accusations, but merely an observable fact.
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The guard's pale watery eyes are like lamplights in the dim corridor. There is no emotion there, nothing for Rudabeh to fix onto and she gets a chill up her back.
"Few enter this place otherwise. She had not passed, the last time I checked." His voice is a cool, wizened monotone.
Turning the old man leads Rudabeh deeper into the bowels of the First Palace. The air grows dank and cool, water condensing on the vaulted roof. Now and then, a torch throws some feeble orange light, soon lost in gloom. Down, down they tred, not steps, just endless ramps downward.
Finally, they begin to pass iron doors. They aren't the simple bars that Rudabeh has encountered in the simple jails she has seen, where the prisoners can see the hallway and breath some fresh air. Instead they are wooden doors, bound in stout iron bands. The floor is slick with dampness and the smell is that of old rotting hay and stagnant water.
Ahead of her the guard is mumbling to himself. After a moment, Rudabeh realizes the old man is counting to himself, sounding off quietly at each door. Finally, after nearly two dozen cells, he pulls out a long iron key and unlocks a door.
"Toski Darrad, traitor to Pitax and thief of public funds." he says formally and opens the door wide. The cell inside is pitch dark, but Rudabeh can see past that.
Inside is the hunched form of Toski, huddled in a corner, piled on top of some very sodden hay that serves as as bed. A hole in the other corner must serve as a privy. The walls, floor and roofs are cold, flagged stone.
The guard lights a lamp and hangs it on hole bored into the cell wall.
'Merely call for me when you are ready to leave. I will lock you inside." The guard says.
Toski says nothing, the older woman's face hidden from the light, beneath dirty arms.
As they escend into the bowels of the First Palace, Rudabeh becomes impressed with the scale of the place. The foundations of the building must be deep, and its vaults extensive. Probably equal parts prison, wine cellar, larder, and treasury took up its volume, if she had any idea about Irovetti's priorities.
The opressive security of the prison is astounding; Irovetti clearly takes no chances on criminals escaping, and deprives them of any hope. She found it cruel and unusual, perhaps worse than execution, but it was the king's land, his laws, and his prison.
The paladin bows her head in thanks to the jailor as he opens the door. "Very well. Thank you."
Striding inside, Rudabeh frowns at the sorry state of the woman, and she briefly wonders if she should have merely said nothing and let the woman have a dignified death.
Squatting down lower, the smell of sodden hay seems only to became more rank, but she pays it no mind. "Toski, it is Rudabeh. Are you well enough to speak?" She asks quietly before moving into a more formal tone.
"I would like to discuss the details of the charges against you. If you cooperate, I will attempt to persaude Irovetti to abolish your punishment of execution, and instead exile you. When I leave Pitax, you can leave with me, and I can escourt you as far as Daggermark." Her proposal complete, she awaits a response from the woman.
Kneeling down, Rudabeh can see scrapes and cuts along her arms and elbows, probably from being dragged about. A dirty cut on her scalp has turned her hair into a bloody, tangled mess. Even the back of her neck looks red and sore. Even after just one night, she reeks of sweat, blood and worse. However, there is another scent here, spicy and exotic.
'Toski...yes, that is my name." Darrad's voice is light, ethereal, totally at odds with her rough and wounded appearance. She turns toward Rudabeh, revealing a lined, battered face. She doesn't look to be in pain however, and her eyes are wide, pupils fully dilated.
With effort, she focuses them on Rudabeh saying, "My father said Toski had been his grandmothers name. He told me that when we were skipping stones across the river....down at Malby's Mill. Have you ever been there?"
Her eyes slide off the paladin into empty space, and she smiles to herself, revealing a mouth of bloody teeth.
Rudabeh was no stranger to violence, death, and dismemberment. Blood and carnage, in the name of a higher power, was even her duty in some ways. Thus, Toski's unfortunate physical state state did not bother her, though it seemed excessive for an older woman.
What did effect her, though, was the look in her eyes. The far-off gaze, and the exotic spice wafting from her body that she had started to take note of during her time in Pitax. This woman's will had been stolen from her.
Sucking in her lips, Rudabeh raises a gauntleted hand to her mouth and stares into Toski's bloody red smile for several moments, affixing it to her memory.
"No, Toski. I have not been to Malby's Mill." She finally responds in a soft voice, gauntlet falling away from her mouth.
She has been heavily drugged. It is clear that Irovetti does not care for the well being of the imprisoned or convicted, or she would not be so damaged. Thus either all the prisoners are kept like this, or she was specifically drugged to prevent her from speaking to me. Runs through her mind, creeping doubt descending on her thoughts like a tipped over flagon of oil. Viscous and black, the suspicion overflows and drips from her every thought.
He was overly coy about not sharing information about her crimes. Then this. Irovetti is lying to me, but why? If Toski was truly a traitor, wouldn't he be proud of capturing her, and tell me all about it? I do not remember anyone resembling her at my meeting with the rebels... so again, why? What did she do? The thought of the rebels reminds her of the woman with the missing eye, and how Irovetti put it out for speaking back to her.
Rudabeh briefly puts her head in her hands, the thick leather covering her palms pressing against her cheeks. She felt something tearing inside of her, something that had been chafing since she entered PItax. Veleda sent me here to keep the peace and represent the Pact. If I investigate this, and he was subjugating her just like that rebel woman, I must follow my oaths and bring charges against Irovetti. I cannot do both! Why did Veleda send me here? Why would she put me in a position where I cannot exercise my role as a paladin without causing an interkingdom polticial disaster? How am I supposed to reconcile my oaths to my goddess and my duties to Veleda?
Drawing her hands down from her face, Rudabeh looks sadly at Toski. "Do you know why you have been imprisoned, Toski?" She says softly in one final attempt to see if the woman is in any way connected to reality.
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When Rudabeh speaks the older woman's eyes rove the dark, dimly lit room for several moments before fixing on the paladin. Her face clouds in mild confusion, like a child confronting a strange flower.
'Imprisoned...They just told me to wait here." She smiles then, her old, beaten face momentarily free of worry lines and wrinkles, and she looks thirty years younger, "I've always been good at waiting. My father alwasy says I am good girl, whenever we have guests over. He's a wool merchant on the river. Have you met him?"
Her eyes start to drift again, lost in some hazy memory of a childhood decades ago. Then her eyes see the silver holy symbol on Rudabeh's neck, the small silver mask.
Toski gives a child-like smile and says, voice stronger then Rudabeh expected, "Through closing door and shifting light, may Alseta watch me every night."
It is part of a child's prayer, often one of the first learned by those who follow the Welcomer. Later replaced by more intricate prayers and phrasing, it has long been a mark of innocence and childhood piety. Whatever else Toski Darrand did with the rest of her life, once she was a little girl who learned her prayers. And even now, in a dark pit of both earth and mind, the sight of that symbol stirred a memory in her, too deep for any drug to fog.
Rudabeh begins to get a sense of Toski's situation. The human was in a child-like state, a reality quite different from the one they are in, a realm of memory from decades ago.
Perhaps there was something in there she could work with, deep inside the haze. "I have not met your father, but I am sure he is good man." Though she is not quite so sure about that, considering it seemed Toski was excluded from these meetings with guests.
Rudabeh touches her holy symbol in response to the child's prayer, a small if pitying smile crossing her azure lips. "Wide open windows and turning autumn leaves, Alseta never forgets where I put the keys." She says in jest, reciting another light-hearted children's saying. "I am a paladin of Alseta, Toksi. If you answer my questions, I will bestow her blessing upon you."
"Toski, do you remember what you were doing yesterday? Before you were told to wait here? Please think hard, it is very important." She asks, grasping at shadows for something, anything.
Toski giggles at Rudabeh's rejoinder and Rudabeh gets the feeling such sounds are not much heard in Irovetti's dungeon. The air is thick with rot and the stone are cold and clammy to the touch.
'Yesterday?" The older woman frowns, as in thought, "I...there was a party. Then I was scared. The King was there...." She trails off, as if losing her grip on the shadowy memory. Then, as if in a last gasp, "He broke our deal..." Then she fades, eyes losing focus and she slumps forward, as if falling asleep. Quiet snores fill the cell.
What deal? Is the only thought in her mind for several seconds as Toski falls asleep, the heavy snores seeming to reverberate against the bubbled sides of her helmet covering her ears.
Perhaps Toski was mangaging the money Irovetti has been recieving from the drug sales, as the rebels suggested he was doing. Or she was in charge of the operation itself. The spectulation was rampant and dependant on the words of sownr enemies of the King; at this point she wasn't sure who was lying or telling the truth aynmore.
Bound to her word, Rudabeh lifts a hand, placing it on human's blood-matted hair. "Toski Darrand. When you meet the Lady Pharasma, may she see the wisdom The Welcomer has bestowed upon you and usher your soul to her side to forever serve as one of her fiathful and honored retainers." The paladin recites as a cool white glow extends from her fingers, the positive energy rapidly sealing Toski's wounds.
She knew the woman would very likely be executed soon unless Rudabeh stopped it, but even if she managed to rescue the woman it would be pointless if she died of an infection.
The bodyguard guard with her at the feast two nights ago is likely dead, but it is the only lead I have on talking to someone about this situation. If I can find out more, and prove Irovetti is going to unlawfully execute her, perhaps I can convince him to simply exile her. It was will persserve her life and prevent me from having to persecute the King. The paladin thinks while standing up, moving towards the heavily barred door.
"I am done, guardsman." She says plainly, waiting for the door to open. When back into the hallway, she asks the wized old man in a flat effect; "Are all the prisoners drugged, or just the ones soon to meet guests?" Though not expecting a truthful answer, she asks none-the-less.
WIth her business in the dungeon concluded, she would make her way back to the apartment to speak to Kilarra and deliver some encouraging news.
Toski doesn't react as she sleeps through her healing but, maybe her breath comes a little easier, and less ragged? Or is that just Rudabeh's imagination?
She questions the jailer as they leave the cell. Slowly he turns his face toward her, that unnerving blandness, a world away from the child like emotion on Toksi's face.
"I follow the orders of the King. " he says carefully, 'In every particular." He says nothing more as he leads Rudabeh out of the tangle of passageways and ramps.
Rudabeh heads back to her apartment, again passing the glories of Pitax art. When she arrives, she is confronted with a surprise.
Standing in the center of the room is Kilarra, dressed to elegant perfection. A long gray dress, conservatively cut, her hair tied in neat braids, and skin scrubbed. She looks like the prosperous mother of a merchant, ready for a day at the market or perhaps a visit to the temple. It is a stark contrast to both her glittering finery of the night of the party and her bedraggled, wounded appearance last night.
When she spots Rudabeh coming in, she doesn't smile but nods and says simply, "Thank you."
Then, with barely a pause, briskly adds, "You and I have quite the complex knot in our hands, don't we?" There is only the slightest trace of a quaver, of weakness in her voice.
The jailer's response was actually better than she expeected, which was lies and deflections. "I commend you for doing your duty to the letter." Is said sincerely, for either the man must be more dedicated to law and order than she, he abandoned his morality long ago, or he never had a sense of morality to begin with.
Knocking on the door of the apartment before entering, Rudabeh comes to a rigid halt when she notices someone standing the middle of the room. After realizing it was a finely dressed Kilarra, the undine relaxes and smiles lightly.
"You are welcome." She intones with a small bow of her head, before moving on to the matter at hand. "Quite. It is yet to be seen if we can unravel the kink and perserve the rope, or if it will be too stubborn and have to be cut out." Is said with a thick sense of foreboding. While she was dedicated to at least attempting to resolve all conflicts non-violently, her perjudice against the adventurers already suggested to her that they wouldn't simply say "sorry" and leave.
"I spoke to the King, and he is certainly disturbed about last night's events. I can tell he is planning to respond, but I do not know how or when." is the extent of her report on her promise to talk to Irovetti about it.
Turning to stand sideways, she gestures with a flat palm towards the door. "I returned to ask if you would like to accompany me to the joust. We can discuss the situation on the way if you'd like?"
There is a trace of hesitation from the ex-cleric when Rudabeh mentions going into public, a momentary pause. Then the woman nods, "Of course, you cannot remains hut up inside here all day."
There is a frailty to the woman, despite her ramrod straight stance and clear face. A sense of danger, like a broken music box that seems in order from the outside but explodes with rusty springs if handled incorrectly.
Kilarra moves to walk beside Rudabeh, "And how do you see the situation?"
"I do not rightly know. " Rudabeh responds as they exit the apartment, gently closing the door behind herself.
"I was hoping you could tell me what exactly transpired last night." She speaks as they move from the guest rooms into the brilliantly lit, art-festooned hallways of the First Palace.
Realistically, Rudabeh had not yet gathered enough information to truly pass judgement on the situation, no matter her emotional feelings concerning the band of adventurers.
However, she could sense that Kilarra was one wrong word from flying apart, so the paladin was not going to probe too hard at the moment.
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Kilarra stops stock still when Rudabeh asks about the previous night and the cleric's...coup? Her dress sweeps forward slightly, pulled in her sudden halt.
"I...do not wish to speak of yesterday." Her voice cracks slightly here, like thin spring ice on a pond. Cold, hard, even beautiful but ever so weak.
"I am sure your problems are more wide-ranging then one temple?" She adds, voice businesslike again and she starts to walk, setting a brisk, fast pace. The artwork passes in a blur to either side of them.
"The temple is a mere symptom, not a cause. I offer my knowledge of the city, in exchange for...well, I offer it." She says, looking ahead, avoiding direct eye contact with Rudabeh. "I believe you can use all the allies you can get." Her feet are loud on the polished stone floors of the First Palace, echoing.
In a clatter of chainmail, Rudabeh stops as KIlarra does, looking at herwith concern. With a simple nod she drops the subject, continuing to walk with her towards the palace exit. I must know what happened last night... At least Tomara's side of the story will give me some insight.
The ex-preistess words seem a bit strange to her at first. Wide-ranging problems? Symptoms? Allies? It slowly dawns on the paladin that she is once again out of her league; people used to request her services as an arbiter, instead of her wandering into a city full of problems. She was used to working alone, on a case-by-case basis, slowly investigating situations and gathering facts until she could come to a conclusion, which she had the final say in.
This was completely different. Around her swirls intrigue, unknowns, and no clear distinction between right and wrong. The fate of a city, perhaps even a country, could reside on her decisions and actions.
It was too large a job for one paladin, no matter how little she slept or how big her sword was. This was compounded by the fact she had only been in Pitax for two whole days, and barely knew the place.
"Yes, I believe I can use all the help I can get." The undine says breathlessly after a few moments of contemplation. "There is something stirring within the city. An energy that is building, and like a tidal wave racing towards the shore I suspect we can only see the 2-foot tip peaking above the water when the rest of the 100-foot wave has yet to surface." She explains, turning her head to look at Kilarra briefly.
"The people of Pitax seem... supressed, or reticent... as if they have been bottlingtheir desires and freedoms. This festival has given them an outlet, and they are pouring their every feeling into it, going wild with increasing fever." She continues her explanation of the phenomena she has so far observed. "I fear without a proper outlet for their energy, the city will descend into unchecked chaos under the guise of reverly. Do you have any idea how this came to be?"
Another questions pops into her mind, one that she decides to be completely blunt about. "Another matter that I hope you can illuminate for me. I keep smelling a certain smoked substance in the air or on people. It is... exotic, spicy, and the user appears to be in a completely different reality than our own, confused or lucid, anchored only by the thinnest of threads. What is this drug called, and where does it originate?"
Kilarra takes the words in silently as they walk, bustling through the Palace. They are soon outside, and find themselves in a beautiful spring day, with cool air and a bright blue sky. The singing birds and distant sound of the running river give Rudabeh a moment of reprieve from the tangle of lies and loyalties she is enmeshed in.
When Rudabeh mentions the drugs, Kilarra smiles, but it isn't a warm friendly gesture. Instead it is a cold, self-mocking expression, a cynical expression toward herself.
"It used to originate from me." She says simply, then explains, 'Well, in a way. The Calistria Church holds the monopoly on drug sales in Pitax. While Irovetti, if pressed, would claim this is to moderate usage, it was really so he could rake his share off the top."
Kilarra goes on, "What you smell is any combination of drugs and alchemical agents. There are countless formulations for various effects. Pitax has long been famous for their production and the arts and manufacture have only improved during Irovetti's reign. Many of them are popular with the artists for example. Something about 'opening their minds to the universe.' She sniffs.
She raises an eyebrow to Rudabeh, "While there is an illegal trade in the city, the largest stockpile of the drugs is at the Temple." The ex-cleric doesn't make it plain that the adventurers now control what is probably the most valuable resource in Pitax.
The woman grows more serious as she adds, "As for the other question....such questions are dangerous in Pitax." She glances around and sees they are standing apart from anyone else, "Irovetti has ruled unquestioned for some time."
Kilarra spends the next minute confirming things Rudabeh already knew, but because they were from a source that she was not oath-bound to keep in anonymity, she could now speak of it freely.
"I see. Thank you for being truthful with me." The paladin says simply and without surprise, perhaps projecting to the ex-priestess that she was already well aware of how the drug trade in Pitax functioned. "Tolmara seems to be more forward-thinking than simply hosting a week-long party with the church's supplies." Rudabeh says dryly. Inwardly, she wonders if the adventurers are working with the rebels, and if the rebellion just recieved a huge boost to their drug stores to sell. With no outward evidence the two are connected, and the restriction of her oaths from the one confession, it was not an avenue of conversation she could put forth at the moment.
"I understand it is unwise to speak ill of Irovetti's reign in Pitax, despite the rights the River Freedoms should grant you." She says while turning to move from the courtyard to one of the many side streets, which she was just now starting to understand. "I said as much to Irovetti yesterday, and confronted him about some of the opressive practices he employs. It went as well as you would expect." The paladin says with a sigh, thinking of a hundred ways she should have handled that differently.
"If I were anyone else, I would probably be in a jail cell. His anger..." She says, azure brows furrowing in thought of how to phrase the next sentance without revealing too much. "...I believe it will one day be used against him, to force him to incriminate himself, like a fish biting into a baited, barbed hook. I tried to explain as much, and that he needed to change, but I was speaking to a wall at that point. Perhaps he can change and this will not happen again. Perhaps not." She speaks plainly, without fear, which Kilara could either interpret as foolishness or bravery.
Figuring that Kilarra would be uncomfortable talking about the king in a public setting, she changes the subject. "Another question for you. Did Toski Darrad have any other functons besides her official ones? I spoke to her in the dungeons today, and though she was heavily drugged, I managed to get out of her that Irovetti broke some kind of deal between them before she was charged with treason. Do you have any idea what that could mean?" The subject probably wasn't any better, but the paladin knew no real fear other than matters concerning her own reputation.
Kilarra says, "Irovetti has done much good for Pitax and that is often overlooked. When he came Pitax was a burned out pit of bandits and river pirates, along with a few inbred noble families profited off of ancient vineyards."
She waves her hand at the sprawling city around them. "Now it is a center of art, of trade full of people making a living. It is an impressive feat. I tell you this not only to mention my own views but to say this."
She takes a long breath and adds, "Irovetti is not to be underestimated. When he sets his mind and will to a task, he can be...formidable."
The ex-cleric keeps paces easily with the armored paladin, the lack of armor making up for her lack of comparative athleticism. When Rudabeh mentions Toksi the woman raises an eyebrow, "Speaking of formidable people..."
They enter a wide square. Without even realizing it, Kilarra directs their steps down a certain street, apparently aware of where the joust will be held. Even in her current broken state, this is still a woman accustomed to command.
"You ask a dangerous question. Are you sure you want the answer? It imperils us both and may make your oaths hard to hold." At the mention of broken oaths Kilarra's footsteps falter for the briefest moment.
Rudabeh prevents herself from chuckling as Kilarra describes what Pitax used to be- it was exactly the opposite of what the rebels said. To the paladin it meant the truth was somewhere in between, as it often is.
"I have every intention to support Irovetti at this time. He has not only brought order to Pitax, but is a great contributor to the overall peace afforded to us by the Pact." She says, though she wonders what constitues underestimating the man.
Rudabeh shifts direction as Kilarra changes their course, having no problem deferring to the ex-priestess when it comes to navigating the city. Though, ironically, the two would not be talking right now if Rudabeh hadn't gotten lost and wandered past the temple of Calistria.
As Kilarra mentions the danger behind her question involving Toski, the two walk in relative silence for several moments, with the exception of the paladin's softly rattling armor.
She replies after a few moments of thought, her voice strong and full of conviction. "I am an Agent of Truth, Kilarra. I will find out what happened to Toski one way or another, and take appropriate action. I will not ask you to imperil yourself if you do not feel comfortable doing so," Rudabeh continues, touching the holy symbol affixed to the collar of her breastplate, "but I swear on Alseta's good name that you will remain anonymous if I must discuss this information with another."
The undine's gauntleted right hand falls back to her side as they walk. "I have lived with my oaths for a decade and never found them difficult to hold, though they will certainly cut my natural lifespan short. It is as they say... Paladins do not die in their own beds. So please, tell me what you know."
"Agent of Truth.." Kilarra says, rolling the words in her mouth, as if tasting them. "A lofty title indeed. One hopes not too high..."
She shrugs and says finally, "Toski was the one who did Irovetti's dirty work, his enforcer. She operated the various underground cartels and gangs that make the city run, and makes sure the proceeds went back to the First Palace. When someone needed evicted to make way for a new art project, Toski was there, when a new trade route needed taxed, she sent the auditors. If someone spoke too loudly for the need for reform, it was her thugs that took care of them. All very discreet of course."
Kilarra sighs and says, "Irovetti actually does detest criminals but he understand the need for them and nothing surpasses his desire to control Pitax and forge it for the future he intends. This is an open secret in the city, hence why everyone rejoiced when Irovetti arrested her. Many in the city would enjoy watching her hang. I would not make it public that you protect her."
Her long gray gown trails on the street, picking up traces of mud and muck as they walk but she ignores it.
Kilarra's eyes sparkle as she goes on, "Ah yes, the Pact of Years. The real knot of your problems, isn't it?"
Silent throughout Kilarra's explaination of Toski's role in Irovetti's empire, Rudabeh merely stares straight ahead as they walk, perfectly white sclera never seeming to move.
"I suspected as much. I am very disappointed he lied to me. Why must he be so underhanded?" She says after several moments of silence. "There is far worse occuring every second in Daggermark, much of it regulated, and you do not see me wading through the streets there, decapitating people. He is the King. If he would join the rest of the River Kingdoms monarchies and make his actions policy instead of pretending to be some benevolent ruler, one could at least make the argument his actions were transparent and for the greater good."
"The River Freedoms are the only stable and wholy appliciable laws in this land, and they are not difficult to follow. I must find a way to impress this upon him, especially Say What You Will." The paladin was clearly irritated, though it quickly fades with a deep sigh.
"Toski has been wronged, even if she shares some of the blame for following Irovetti's commands in the first place. There may be a way to see justice done, but it will be a delicate operation. It remains to be seen if Toski can be protected, even with my intervention." There was no doubt in the paladin's voice, even though much remained uncertain.
"The Pact of Years is a problem worth having, given the relative peace it brings." Rudabeh replies to Kilarra's observation, glancing at her out of the corner of her eye. "Veleda achieved the impossible, and I intend on maintaining and strengthening it. I like to imagine one day the River Kingdoms will be truly united under one banner, standing tall with the rest of the world. Irovetti, and others like him, are an integral part of that plan despite their flaws."
When Rudabeh mentions she regrets and is dissapointed in lies, Kilarra shrugs. The paladin recalls that to a follower of Calsitra (which Kilarra still is, in some ways) lies are not a black mark at all, but merely another tool.
"The River Freedoms are not as easy to uphold as you claim. If they were, were Veleda need agents such as yourself? Would the common people have to struggle so much in some lands to see them upheld? Would we even need the Pact of Years?" She speaks quietly, academically, obviously not too involved. After all, for her this is a secular matter of politics, not one of faith.
When Rudabeh mentions protecting Toski, Kilarra sniffs, "You are wasting time on ripples, when you should be worried about the tidal wave. You think Toski is worth your time right now? You said yourself, Pitax stands on the edge of a knife. I volunteer you to help with that task, not attempt to save a corrupt tradeswoman."
Rudabeh's talk of a united River Kingdoms, rolls off Kilarra's back like rain on a duck. Unnoticed and uncared for.
"You are right." She says briefly to Kilarra's statement about the River Freedoms. "I suppose it merely seems foolish to me. When a community agrees on laws, those who break them are betraying the entire community. Disobeying the River Freedoms is disobeying the will of the People of the River Kingdom, and it has never turned out well. I believe we will be seeing an example of this soon." Rudabeh returns in the same academic tone, quite at home debating ethical matters.
A small smile curls on the edge of the undine's azure lips as Kilarra asks why she is bothering with Toski. It is a smile of someone that does not expect their words to be understood, but is compelled to say them none-the-less. "Because I do my best to help those that have been wronged." She would add "and powerless to help themselves", but the priestess would likely find insult in that.
"But, you are right again. Do you believe there is anything that can be done to stop Pitax from falling into anarchy? Has anything like this happened before" Rudabeh returns to the topic on hand; the philosophical conversations were interesting, but Kilarra was right.
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"Happened before?" Kilarra echoes, a faint smile, "You mean in Pitax or in general? I hear Galt has had such problems."
She says this as a joke, not knowing that to Rudabeh 'Galt' is not merely a narrative tool, a useful political shorthand. It is screams in the night, it is fire from an angry mob, it is ultimate defeat as a community devours itself. It is death and horror.
"But here, no." Kilarra goes on, not noticing anything amiss, "Not since Irovetti took over and that has been many years now. Entire generations have lived with no memory of a time before him. Which is part of the problem, of course. No one can imagine a world without him, even the rebels." Her voice is low, pitched not to carry.
Together they pass through a tangle of streets and residential houses. There are no tree lined promenades or art galleries here, merely narrow, dirt streets winding between apartment buildings. People are everywhere, shouting, singing, laughing. However, the festive air has a bite to it, a wild abandon. Alcohol flows, gambling has sprung up on side tables in the street, and the air is rich with the spicy scent of the drugs of Pitax. The shouts are a bit too loud, the laughter a bit too coarse, everyone slightly on edge.
Past them, through the lines of hanging laundry, smoke curling from fires, Rudabeh can see an empty field on the edge of the city. The space is filled with tents, people and wooden stands. The joust is near.
Kilarra's low voice cuts through the assembled cries with ease, "Will you try to hold back the storm, like a dam? or will you ride them ripples, guiding them to where you will? As far as I see it, those are your two options."
A whiff of smoke on the air meets Rudabeh's nose at the same time Kilarra asks her rhetorical question about Galt. At the mention of that once-proud land of intellectuals and philosophers, she is transported back to the horrible events leading up to her childhood near-death experience at the hands of "revolutionaries".
-------------------
A young Rudabeh watches from one of the windows of their family's spacious house, set on a hill looking over the town center of Dabril. It was a beautiful evening; the late autumn hues of the trees gently rustled with a calm wind, and in the distance the town's set of waterwheels, which her father was responsible for managing, turned lazily.
The cool air should have carried the scents of pie and boiling pots full of fruit to be preserved, joyful music, and the lively sounds of sport-like debates between inebriated and sober individuals. It was to be expected during Dabril's annual Harvest Festival, and it had been so for the past 4 years.
But this year something was different. Instead, the gentle wind carried the smell of burnt wood, paper, and anything else that was being thrown into the massive bonfire that took up the usually empty, packed dirt square. The townspeople had been immolating anything associated with Cheliax for days now. If it was produced in Cheliax or even mentioned the country, it was going up in flames. Books were first to be thrown on, but as they became more desperate furniture was added.
Rudabeh was watching as they pushed an entire wagon into the inferno, and it looked like the oxen were about to go into the fire, too.
A steady beat of clattering metal on hardwood flooring approaches from a hallway; Rudabeh does not bother even turning her head from the scene of flickering orange flames in the distance. After nearly half a year under the protective watch of The Bastard Brigade, she knew Finn's footsteps very well.
It also helped that she can see her guardian's reflection in the glass- the fighter seemed to be a collection of metal parts covering her entire body (which Rudabeh only saw her take off to polish it or bathe; Finn even slept in it) with the momentary exception of her face. Salet and visor pushed up and bevor pushed down, the half-elf's handsome features were rimmed with polished steel, and focusing directly on the back of her charge's head.
"Sorry, kid. Your dad says you can't go to the festival this year, even if I go with you. Too dangerous." Finn says as she approaches the window, placing her hands on the metal fauld of her black-and-red breastplate, right above her hips.
The undine's ears fold down in a mixture of disappointment and anger, the ribbed turquoise fans becoming a bundle of spines perpendicular to her face.
Finn rolls her strikingly bright violet eyes and cuts off the impending complaints. "Oh, don't give me that. Pouting isn't going to help."
"I want to see my friends! I've been stuck inside for weeks!" Rudabeh responds with an edge of obvious angst, refusing to turn away from the window. "I don't need you to go with me. I'm older than you," she deploys her go-to phrase, abused ever since she discovered Finn was actually a few years her junior, "so I can take care of myself."
Sighing, Finn approaches the window, her left pauldron nearly coming up to the still growing undine's head. "Yeah... you could definitely sass someone to death with that attitude." She lays a gauntlet on her charge's shoulder, and in a suddenly very serious and unfamiliar tone, says: "Honestly, Ruda... If you went out there right now, they might throw you in that fire."
Recoiling from the window with a confused expression, Rudabeh turns and looks up at Finn, who was now staring out the window, across the valley, and towards the bonfire. "But we're not from Cheliax!" Is countered in a desperate, almost pleading tone.
The half-elf doesn't immediately respond, her square jaw firmly set and exotically colored eyes still focusing on the town square beyond the hill. Rudabeh looks back through the window, watching in horror as the oxen were now being beaten and gouged with shovels, mattocks, and the odd short sword before being rolled into the flames.
Finn's hand remains on Rudabeh's shoulder throughout the ordeal, calm and resolute. "I don't think that matters anymore."
-------------------
Rudabeh's mind tells her that Kilarra just asked her an important question, kicking her from the visceral and poignant memory. Sucking in a quick breath through her nose, she blinks a few times and processes what she was just asked.
When it was fully realized, something akin to a weary smile creeps across her lips. "You are very good at water analogies. I think you would fit right in if you ever visited Outsea." The paladin lightly jokes, before immediately addressing her question. "I do not think this is something that can be repressed. Even if a dam were put in place, the waters behind them would continue to swell, and it would eventually crack. The people need an outlet, something to direct their energy into, until they satisfied and worn out."
She thinks for a moment, a few ideas flitting across her thoughts. "If you would help me, Kilarra, maybe we can channel this energy into... something... something less destructive than full-blown anarchy. An activity or event everyone in the city can participate in. Does that sound plausible? I do not know Pitax. What does everyone here enjoy doing?"
At the mention of water metaphors the ex-priestess smiles slightly, just a flash. "I thought it fitting, given your background. I honestly don't know enough about Alseta to frame things that way. Doorways, I suppose?"
They pass the last of the houses, leaving behind the drugged and anxious crowds, the tang of unrest. Instead they pause in the green lawn before entering the area of the joust, a small liminal space. Past here, they may be overheard.
Kilarra looks at Rudabeh, "Distraction? Do you think it is possible? Something so simple...." She frowns thinking to herself, "I do not know. Surely it would need coupled with some reforms? And what to do with those from the Kingdom of the Free? They are not likely to sit back and watch you build bridges or whatever you think of."
Rudabeh laughs; it was a genuine and deep rumbling from her diaphram, brought on by Kilarra's admission she didn't know enough about Alseta to frame the country's problems in the light of the Welcomer. The paladin found something about it absurdly amusing. An ex-prietess of Calistria thought that a paladin of Alseta, who was supposed to be tuned into the soul of communities, needed specific metaphors to dissect a problem involving communities. Perhaps it wasn't what Kilarra intended, but Rudabeh found it funny all the same.
"Not a distraction, per sey." She says of her idea after a deep breath. "An outlet. I need to spend more time among them, but I believe the citizens of Pitax would like to be involved in their city more, have more freedom to communicate and express themselves. It would at least buy us time to find and fix the root of the problem."
Her hands stretch out in front of her, as if displaying a grand portrait. "So I propose this. All the paint shops near the Red Cresent theatre... Open them to the public. Let them take the paint and decorate a section of the city however they wish. Mute limestone walls will be splashed with color, houses come alive in a dazzling array, districts and streets turn into murals. We are surrounded by so much wonderful art here, but only a select few get to create. Surely the citizens themselves have been inspired, and if they get to unleash their creativity, claim some of the city as their own, and work together towards a common goal... I think that would relieve some of the stress they feel."
Bringing her hands together, she smiles. "Better yet, this could become a mainstay of the Festival. One district of the city could recieve fresh artistry every year, perhaps even evolving over time." The smile fades somewhat as she continues. "Of course, I do not know how receptive this idea will be to Irovetti. This city, and his plans for it, are precious indeed. It may need some modifications. As for reforms... we will need to discuss such matters with the King, but this will be good grounds to ask him to consider being more lenient on speech against him in the future. If the Kingdom of the Free People interfere, we will deal with them. Hopefully they are only after gold, but Isuspect there are more sinister intentions. Irovetti said he had a plan for them, and I offered my assistance... especially if force is required."
With a sigh, Rudabeh goes from her fancifal ideas back to reality. "This is a dangerous time. If someone else were to place an idea into the heads of the Pitax citizenry, it will spread and grow and they will think of nothing else but fulfilling that idea." A brief pause, as she considers a final question for Kilarra before they enter the tournement grounds.
Limpid eyes look into the human's own, stoic and focused. "What do you know of the rebels?" She asks as if she were inquiring about some sort of exotic monster. In reality, she wondered how true Samuel's statement was that Lady Greenhood was the only known rebel.
Kilarra reacts to Rudabeh's last question first, the woman standing still, her gray dress like a shadow on the green grass. The smells of the city blow away, being replaced by that of a fresh breeze off the forest, a rich loamy scent speaking of good earth and deep roots.
"Rebels? I suspect there are more then Irovetti guesses, which are none. At least that was his thought the last time I had counsel with him." The ex-cleric frowns then and glances sharply toward Rudabeh, "Do you know something more? Is there greater danger here then unhappy docker workers and drug addled street performers? I deemed the adventurers the more dangerous problem but an internal force could be much more deadly."
A pause as Kilarra digests Rudabeh's suggestions and plans. The ex-cleric then smile, but again it lacks warmth. It reminds Rudabeh of a hunting cat, stalking among the cattails before finding a nesting bird.
"You are strange, Rudabeh of Outsea. First you speak of a community project, a mild diversion for the people. Perhaps it leads to bigger things, perhaps not. Still, a minor affair at heart. Then, with the other hand, you hint at a dagger poised above the very heat of Pitax. You seek to deflect it with a mural of sunflowers?"
Rudabeh's face is plain as Kilarra speaks to her; unmoving with the exception of the occasional, natural blink. She says nothing over the duration of the ex-prietess' thinking, or her analysis of her potential solution to the situation.
Dagger? flits through the paladin's mind, in a way that reminded her of Tark when she accused him of skullduggery. The rebels seem more like.. a plow. I do not know their plans, but they seek to turn over fresh soil to encourage new growth, not kill Pitax as we know it. Of course, if they consider Irovetti a weed.. The analogy taken far enough, she draws a breath to answer Kilarra.
Without her expression changing, Rudabeh merely replies: "I am sorry. I cannot answer your questions due to my oaths. However..."
She looks briefly at the ground, placing her hands on her hips, carefully selecting her next words. Thankfully, the Lady Green Hood was well known and in her own words in open revolt against the King (even though her banditry was no crime in the River Kingdoms, and apparently was beneath Irovetti's notice), allowing her to at least speak around the assumption it was her, just as she did when she was attempting to coerce Irovetti to change his ways.
"There is or are persons of discontent in the country whose acquaintance I have made. That is all I can say on that matter." She says carefully, before looking back up at the priestess. "I apologize if this revelation is frustrating, but it is my duty to, as I like to put it, Observe From All Sides. I carry many secrets and confessions... and some are heavier than others."
The undine's hands fall from her hips, and she stands tall, the burnished steel pommel of her greatsword shining in the rising sun. "Know that I support Irovetti, even if I do not always agree with him. I intend only to work for the good of Pitax, and its people. I do not wish to see the country in another's hands."
She slowly nods in acknowledgement that her plans seem strange in light of the revelation that there may be more than some greedy adventurers threatening the country. "Yes...I am well aware I am a walking oxymoron." The paladin says softly in a moment of self-reflection. "I am a warrior that strives for peace. A bringer of justice that defends criminals. I breathe both air and water, run and swim.... I understand if my thoughts seem quixotic, but I try to look at every problem from as many angles as possible."
Her point beaten into the ground, she continues steadily, "I believe that the struggle for Pitax will not be won with sword and blood.. but within the hearts and minds of its people. I do not seek to deflect a dagger with a mural of sunflowers, but to disarm any hand that would choose to wield the blade."
Kilarra's hungry smile fades into determined thoughtfulness which, incongruously, reminds her of the blacksmith Rudabeh watched recently. A master contemplating their craft with eyes that can see more then most.
"So we defend Irovetti? Very well then, we can set our shoulders to that task." She locks eyes with Rudabeh with a quick motion, "However, once the die is cast it would be hard to change directions. It is now, before you are committed that your options are widest. If these rebels are as much a threat as you hint" Obviously the woman is annoyed at not hearing all the details, "then siding against them may be a real danger. Irovetti will not allow you to sit in the middle forever, and neither will they."
She waves a hand toward the distant stands, where voices are rising. Smoke billows into the air, along with the, to Rudabeh, exotic scents of horses and manure. A faint sound of steel ringing on steel reaches her ears, too rhythmic for battle. Blacksmithing? Ah, horseshoes.
"I've never been to a joust before." Kilarra offers lightly, leading the way toward the growing crowd. Whatever Irovetti was worried about, it was unfounded. A large group of people is gathering here, making muddy paths through the grass. "I wonder if it will be like the stories?"
"Correct." Rudabeh says with a sigh, still unsure if she;s making the right decision. Alseta forgive me if it's not. And if I make mistakes too grave to forgive... Rudabeh briefly closes her eyes. ...then I deserve whatever fate befalls me.
Opening her eyes, she finds herself staring directly into Kilarra's intense, thoughtful orbs. "Yes. I have no intention of joining or assisting those that would spread chaos in this city. Once the dust has settled... perhaps then I, or we, can negotiate the necessary changes so this does not happen again."
"I do not know how much of a threat the rebels will be, or what they plan to do." Rudabeh shrugs her shoulders and shakes her head simultaneously as she speaks, a motion that both conveys her lack of knowledge and causes the chain coif down the back of her neck to jingle. "and as my blademaster always said, "An unknown threat is the most dangerous one." So we must be on our guard."
The subject changes with the scenery, stands growing larger and the number of people rapidly multiplying. "I have been to a few jousts, both on land and in Outsea. The latter was an unusual affair for the town. Typically, the merfolk and sahuagin the prefer to perpetuate their own cultures rather than take up the ideas of landlubbers, but in this case the sahuagin were taken in by it. We have seahorses trained as mounts for the underwater cavalry, but they are skiddish creatures and not well suited for charging at one another. Heavy armors in Outsea are made of giant crab and lobster shells, or specially grown coral if the wearer is rich."
She recalls some of the more gruesome injuries she's witnessed at tournaments, including when one man tried to cheat by having specially made armor to bolt his legs to the saddle. Rudabeh always figured Alseta was feeling particularly vengeful the day she saw his dimise- the force of brutal hit directly to the cheater's chest that would have normally knocked him off his horse instead broke his spine, exposing his ruse and robbing him of both feeling and function below the stomach.
"The underwater competitions were usually not as gruesome, given a fall was more of a slow sinking." The undine explains as they walk, deciding to save the spine-breaking story for later.
Jousting was rare in the River Kingdoms for two very important reasons, reasons bound up in the very foundation of the wild and untamed land. The first, of course, were the relative lack of horses. The expanses of marsh, swamp, rivers and lakes were not conducive to good pasture and also created little need. While horses were the primary mode of transport through much of Golarion would good was it in the fens of the River Kingdoms? The greatest road here was the Sellen and no horses yet had been bred that could walk on its muddy, turbid surface. And while horses often pulled the plow in other lands, farming in the River Kingdoms was done on a small scale with hoe and rake, and did not need horses (if it wasn't aquaculture). With the lack of space or need, horse husbandry was a rare and exotic art in the lands Rudabeh lived.
Secondly, and perhaps even more fundamentally, jousting was rare here because the land lacked the nobility it required. Jousting was the sport and practice of the rich knights, the heavily armored nobles who made up the backbones of armies in places such as Cheliax, Taldor, Andoran. Impossible rich, well trained shock troops who ruled by divine right and inherited station, backed by a chivalric code. None of this existed int he River Kingdoms. The rich here were not landowners of vast tracts but merchants, traders or religious clerics. A sign of power was not masses of heavily armored troops but the population who saw fit to live in your lands. The entire concept of chivalry was forgien and unheard of here. Without that background jousting made no sense as either a sport or a wargame.
It simply did not fit the landscape, both physical or mental, of the River Kingdoms. It said a great deal about Irovetti's grand project that he was forcing it as part of his Festival.
Rudabeh and Kilarra crossed the grass to the wooden stands that circled part of the open field, a wet muddy expanse hacked out of the forest. Here and there Rudabeh could even seen a ragged stump left to rot. The stands were fresh lumber, hastily constructed and poorly built. In her mind's eye the paladin could see them tumbling into ruin, crushing dozens of spectators. It was a risk Irovetti was willing to take apparently.
Brightly colored flags and pennants whipped from every surface, flapping in the breeze. Rudabeh guessed they were the various sigils and heraldry of the 'noble' houses of Pitax. Every one was a splash of clashing bright colors and strange geometric designs that dazzled the eye.
Kilarra snorts and says, 'All designed by Irovetti, of course. Who else would place pink stripes on a gold background?"
They wander with the growing crowd toward a open wooden gate in the stands. There they are greeted by a guardsman dressed in burnished armor, sweating profusely in the hot spring morning.
"Master Paladin and Lady Kilarra." he says with relief as they walk up. He wipes some sweat from his brow, "The King asked if you would sit with him in the Royal Box."
Rudabeh does not really like what she sees- the stands were a disaster waiting to happen. The festival had a year for planning, why didn't they at least put some effort into it? The muddy ground would certainly not be good for the horses, and she expected at least one broken leg by the time the tournement was over.
She nearly grimmaces when Kilarra points out the pink on gold family crest, and would have definitely guessed it was Irovetti's handiwork even without the forewarning. "Sometimes...I think he may be colorblind." She says as a joke, though there was a hint of exasperation.
Locking eyes with the guardsman, she immediately feels a swelling sense of kinship and pity. By the end of the day she too would be a sweaty mess, as she always was during the middle of the year. The paladin dreaded the coming summer, and already finds herself longing for a cool, stream-fed pond to relax in.
The undine seems a little surprised she is asked to sit in the box. "I thought I would be judging the competition?" She briefly inquires, though she does not expect the guardsman to know if or why this has changed. Regardless of the answer, she nods her thanks to the human and makes her way to the Royal Box with Kilarra. Irovetti would have the real answer, of course.
The guard merely looks uncomfortable at her questions, obviously not in the know. Kilarra raises an eyebrow when Rudabeh mentions wanting to judge the contest, but says nothing. The pair of them walk on a raised wooden broadwalk which at least saves them (and the other elite spectators) from tromping through the churned mud of the field. They pass endless rows of colorful bunting and ribbons, all tossing in the breeze. Around them the stands are filled with standing people, few of whom look like the neat and tidy townsfolk Irovetti would probably have enjoyed.
Indeed many looks quite drunk or perhaps something more. There is an edge in their calls, a thirst for the brutal violence inherent int he sport. Was a joust wise when the city was already one edge?
Rudabeh and Kilarra are passing a small knot of people when a fat, sloppyily dressed man turns and drawls, 'Well, if it isn't the ex-priestess." Kilarra says nothing but she freezes in place, face expressionless.
'You'll have to sell yourself more cheaply now." The man goes on, a heavy tankard in one hand, overflowing with ale. he coughs and adds, "What is the common rate on the street for a used woman?"
Kilarra says nothing but her clenched hands whiten as she grips the front of her dress. The exterior of strength and businesslike determination cracks. The drunk man leers and grins at both of them, apparently not understanding the risks of insulting someone with friends in full plate armor.
Rudabeh glances through the crowds as they walk. The energy is still there, and it was gaining an edge. Just as she predicted, the joust would merely further energize and push the people of Pitax towards violence.
She was wondering when the rebels were planning on making their move when the sloppy drunk suddenly assaults the ex-prietess with a barrage of biting insults.
If it were Rudabeh being insulted, she would simply ignore the man and continue on her way, but she knew worshippers of Calistria well; there had to be retribution for every slight. To avoid the occurance escalating into something she would have to break up (she still remembered Kilarra swiping at her the other night), Rudabeh quickly inserts herself into the situation.
"You are being hateful and rude." She says forcefully as she confronts the bully, her deep animosity for uncourteous behavior becoming apparent. "If you can feel shame, you should when you sober up."
Paying the man no more attention, she lays a hand on the human woman's shoulder. "Let us be away, Kilarra. There are much more well-mannered people waiting for us."
Rudabeh's imposing frame takes up the space in front of the drunk man quite effectively. being a large slab of moving steel tends to quell even the most determined heckler, and this man is no different. His eyes go wide when he spots Rudabeh's sword, and he quiets somewhat. Muttering he turns back to his friends, telling some dirty joke.
Under Rudabeh's hand, Kilarra is shaking. However, to Rudabeh's shock, it is not in rage or anger, but in grief. Glancing at her face finds the mask cracked, revealing not a wasp ready to sting, but a woman on the verge of collapse. Whatever her exterior, whatever happened to her last night has not even begun to heal. Silent, Kilarra follows, head bowed, her perspective inward. It is a worrying regression to the nearly unconscious woman from the night before.
Guiding the ex-cleric, Rudabeh makes their way toward an ornate wooden box perched at the center of the long, oval set of stands. Here at least the construction is solid, planted on several large piers sunk directly into the sodden earth. A bewildering display of banners and flags are draped across it, clearly marking it from the rows of standing areas on either side. Inside, Irovetti reclines on a cushioned chair, talking intently with Druxan and the Chief Guardsman Rudabeh has met twice now.
At the far end of the stands, Rudabeh sees armorer figures walking about, leading horses and pages running back and forth. It is a busy hive, but something seems off. Something wrong about the armor...but she is too distant to see what is wrong, if anything. Maybe she is just nervous about the rebels.
A solid ring of guards surrounds the Royal Box, insulating the King from having to deal directly with the public. Rudabeh and Kilarra are waved inside instantly, so quickly Rudabeh is able to catch a few words of Irovetti's whispered conversation.
"Then pull more men out of the Palace. I want them searched and I want it done now."
'My lord, we have already stripped too many-" But then Irovetti sees the paladin approaching and raises a hand silencing his guardsman instantly. The man frowns though, clearly unhappy at being able to make his point.
The King smiles broadly, "Excellent, excellent, you both came." He seems genuinely pleased going on, "I hope you are in the mood for a show, this should be quite impressive. I trust your...interviews this morning were satisfactory?"
Kilarra's regression is immediately apparent and deeply troubling to Rudabeh. By the goddess... I could tell she was vulnerable, but all this time it was just an eggshell thin facade? she thinks while walking with her, hand still on her shoulder. She knew coddling the woman would do no good, but perhaps her silent and constant support would be helpful.
Momentarily distracted from her watch over Kilarra, Rudabeh squints at the armored figures in the distance. She was an amatuer when it came to calvary equipment and armaments, and only had 3 decade old memories of jousting in Galt to go on, but something was very off. It bothered her, and she wondered what exactly was going on.
Irovetti's box is exactly as she expected it to be- garrish, but functional. A place of retreat from the masses. With the energetic crowd surrounding the box, she wondered how things would be different if he instead mingled with his people like a normal RIver Kingdoms King.
The snippets of conversation Rudabeh catches as she enters would have caused her ears to perk if they weren't stuffed into her helmet- indeed, she can feel the spinned fans expand and press against the relatively cool steel as Irovetti greets them.
The paladin gives a small bow of her head in greeting to the king. "Of course. I am very much looking forward to watching the sport." On the topic of the interview, she is deflective, "The interview went well, and later I wish to speak to you about it privately. Please ensure she is well cared for in the meantime." but her words hold a weight that suggests there will definitely be further discussion about Toski, whether or not Irovetti likes it.
However, the moment quickly passes as the paladin barges her way into matters that she probably has no business being involved in. "I am sorry to intrude, but I overheard part of your conversation. If you are short-handed, I offer my assistance if there is a pressing issue." She suggests sincerely, glancing from the head guardsman and back to Irovetti.
Something in the back of her mind nags her that she's supposed to be trying harder to be a representative of the Pact and be perfectly fine with sitting around like a banner stuck in the ground, but... She had to at least offer to help. It was in her nature to solve problems.
Kilarra seems to have recovered her poise somewhat, as they stand int he Royal box. Perhaps she knows, as Rudabeh has learned, showing weakness in front of Irovetti is unwise. The ex-cleric doesn't say anything when Rudabeh wades in, but raises a single, well-defined eyebrow in surprise.
Irovetti merely smiles, waving his hand, "I appreciate the offer, I truly do. Everyone can plainly see your prowess and the agents of the Pact are beyond reproach. Indeed, I would take advantage of your offer but the matter is a delicate one, best left in local hands. The natives can be touchy about such things being done by outsiders, you understand?"
His smooth and ready answer does not cover entirely his obvious dislike at Rudabeh's overhearing things she should not. He spares am angry glance at the guardsman, who, still frowning, leaves the Royal box in silence.
Still genial Irovetti goes on, "Now if you will excuse me, I have a few announcements to make, before we begin." His bright eyes twinkled with delight at being the center of attention.
Without further ado the older man stood up on a cunningly hidden platform that made him look nearly as tall as Rudabeh, facing the boisterous and roiling crowd. The stands seethed with people, as full as the rickety wooden construction could take, and more besides. The roar of the people dims but does not go totally silent. The King frowns at the lack of total enraptured attention, then he coughs.
It is a sound like a landslide, loud enough to be heard in the most distant seats. Unlike his trick yesterday opening the parade, this time his voice is merely louder and Rudabeh's head rings like a bell. The entire crowd grows silent and Irovetti smiles.
'Greetings proud citizens of Pitax and welcomed visitors alike!" he booms, voice rolling like thunder, easily eclipsing the crowd. Rudabeh can barely hear herself think as the King goes onward.
'I have the pleasure of announcing the first Royal Joust int he history of Pitax, the first of which I hope are many such spectacles, to show the worthy glory and richness of Pitax and her fighting spirit." he pauses and there are some cheers and applause, but not overwhelming.
Slightly frowning Irovetti goes on, "We shall bear witness tot he finest Pitax can produce, as well as honored guests from our neighbors, the Kingdom of the Free." A cheer goes up here, from much of the crowd, a drunken roar that makes Rudabeh uneasy. How popular were these adventurers?
"The rules will be as follows! Each pair of contestants will charge each other three times, seeking to dismount the other with his lance. If no one is knocked from the saddle, our arbiter will judge who performed more valiantly and with the most skill!"
A cheer goes up, mixed with cries of "Knock them into the mud!" and "Spear him!" Apparently Irovetti did not expect this reaction for he looks a bit flustered as he goes on.
"Our judge for this contest will be the Paladin of Outsea, Rudabeh of the Pact of Years." there are a scatter of cheers and clapping but again, not as much as Rudabeh would have liked to see. In many places, the common people were the strongest for the Pact.
"She will judge the contestants on merit, skill and chivalry." This last word might as well be ancient Azlanti for all the crowd understood. It also left quite a good deal of the contest in Rudabeh's hands.
He turns to Rudabeh, smiling and waves her toward the muddy but untrodden field.
"Mmm. I see. My offer still stands if my assistance is needed later." Rudabeh replies neutrally as she crosses her arms over her breastplate, this time unconvinced by Irovetti's polite, but blatant lies. She watches the head guardsman leave, eyes tracking him for a moment. I hope that man will be okay. Passes through her mind, somehow fearing the worst for him. Being under staffed for security matters was asking for trouble, and she wishes Irovetti would listen.
Turning slowly to face the outside of the box as the king steps up to give his announcement, she actually flinches when the man begins speaking. Her eyes begin to water as the speech goes on, and she can barely parse her own thoughts while the King's voice booms in her ears.
The cheers accompanying the Kingdom of the Free give the paladin pause, and she comes to a horrible realization; she was already being beaten at the game she had only now decided to start playing. Tolmara has been entrancing the hearts and minds of Pitax for two days already. Can I really wrest the attention of the public from her? Rudabeh worries, now unsure that her plan will have any effect on the population if it's already mostly enthralled by the enticing elf.
Not that she could make any sensible plans with Irovetti's voice pounding her ears... those thoughts would have to wait until later.
As she is appointed as arbiter, Rudabeh realizes Irovetti merely wanted to announce her as arbiter, and be seen leaving from the box. She should have expected as much. Bowing her head to the currently equally tall human, the paladin turns towards the stairs. "Thank you. I will ensure a fair and just competition."
The stairs creek under the undine's weight as she walks down the steps, the concurrent clanking of metal lost with the murmuring of the distant crowds. She easily strides through the ring of guards and into the muddy field, boots splashing wet earth up to the top of her greaves. The state of the ground still worried her... It was not good for charging across.
Regardless of the multiple worries swirling in her head the paladin of Alseta was walking from a political mire and back into her element, or so she believed; the rules of the contest were simple, and allowed her plenty of room for judgement calls. This, she knew how to do
Standing tall as she makes her way towards the center of the list, her burnished armor shines in the climbing morning sun. This, she knew how to do.
Rudabeh crosses the muddy field toward the center of the list, hoping she judges the distance correctly. Presumably any judging would best be done at the point of impact, as well as the best chance of catching any cheating. It doesn't take her long to get there, under the watchful and somewhat judging eyes of the populace.
Behind her Irovetti booms, "Let the match begin!"
The King sits back down and more standard heralds take over, standing at intervals around the stands.
"First up, is Lord Goldwin the White!" From one end a fully armorer rider on a white charger trots out to applause. Rudabeh takes one look and frowns. Something was wrong...surely not.
The horseman canters past, taking up a position at the far end of the list, lance bobbing awkwardly, unpracticed.
"Against him is the lance of Lord Radelfo the Fox!" A taller figure rides out, horse dressed in bright orange and black. He isn't much better at handling his weapon and nearly drops it as he assumes position.
Both men are wearing heavy, ornate looking armor...from the waist up. Their legs and hips are nearly totally uncovered. The armor itself is intricately ornate, with carved shapes of animals and people gilded into every surface. The helmets alone are works of art, surmounted with cresting waves and jumping fish. Both look like matched sets, as if made by the same blacksmith....
Then Rudabeh realizes. Irovetti, who must have purchased the armor for this event had selected...parade armor for his contestants. The armor would be both awkward, heavy and paper thin in just the wrong places. This contest would be a death trap, especially in the hands of such untrained combatants.
Rudabeh lifts a hand to the top of her brow to block out the glaring sun as "Goldwin the White" begins to move towards her. Something about his profile still seems... wrong.
It takes the passing of the other rider to comprehend the extent of the great tragedy about to unfold before her. The paladin's jaw drops open slightly at the sheer absurdity and ignorance on display, and a few seconds pass while she is too stunned to act. Irovetti is too proud to cancel the joust. But my healing blessings are limited. I have to do something, or these men will die.
One of her hands shoots up in the air, palm flat. "HALT! STAND YOUR GROUND!" Her voice booms across the setting, nearly as loud as Irovetti's in terms of sheer force.
She spins in place and looks at the King, waving her arms parallel to each other at chest height in a clear signal to STOP. Breaking into a jog she crosses the field with some difficulty; the armored arbiter kicks up globs of mud and puts deep divets in the soggy ground.
Rounding the corner at the box and stomping up the stairs, she leaves great stamps of mud on the lumber in her attempt to quickly reach the king. Hustling to his side, she leans in to speak softly to him. "These men are wearing parade armor!" Her breath is still even and controlled despite the quick jog to get here, revealing her superior constitution, and the edge on her voice is one of grave severity and barely contented shock.
"They'll be speared through even a by wooden lance! This is no longer a sport, it is a widowmaker." She says with intense animation, clearly caring about the poor fools that are certain to run each other through. "If you value the lives of these men, then cancel this joust. Otherwise, you must provide me with a healer on standby to save them from the inevitable life-threatening injuries that are about to occur."
Already anticipating the King's predictable answer, the undine's intense limpid eyes turn to the ex-priestess, the pleading for her help. "Are you skilled in medicine, Kilarra? I have enough power and potions to bring back six people from the brink of death, but I lack the knowledge to accurately tell a fatal blow from a flesh wound. If you assist me by determining who is most in need, all these men may survive another day."
Rudabeh manages to stop the riders before they start to charge, which she thanks Alseta for. Once all that armor and horse got moving, it would be impossible to stop the joust entirely.
When Rudabeh mentions halting the joust, Irovetti looks horrified then outraged. "Cancel the..." He sputters, standing up, hands gripping his specter tight enough to show white knuckles on his old wrinkled hands. The King on, his voice low and dangerous. "We will not be canceling the centerpiece of the festival because you are scared of a little blood."
Rudabeh realizes something she has guessed about for some time. To Irovetti being thwarted in even the most minor thing is the same as high treason. His ego does not allow him to differentiate between minor slights and major blows.
Kilarra remains silent when Rudabeh asking about healing aid, shaking slightly. Irovetti actually casts her a pitying glance before shaking his head and saying, "Do you honestly think I did not take the danger into account? I would not want nobles to die needlessly."
With a royal flourish he points to the crowded edge of the stands, where the armored knights had trotted out from. Rudabeh sees something she overlooked in her horror at discovering the parade armor. Two figures, one taller then the other, wrapped in the simple brown robes of Alseta. Priests of her faith!
The sight of that homespun was, more then all the art or all the glittering finery Irovetti could conjure, the most beautiful thing she had seen since she arrived in Pitax.
"I am told they are most accomplished healers. Now please, get on with it." he says, voice dangerously level. "Or I will find someone who will."
Rudabeh has since stopped worrying about upsetting the king, since it seemed to happen every single day since she arrived. She stands resolute until Irovetti explains the situation, casting a glance down to the edge of the stands.
The sight of priests of Alseta cause her to visibly relax, a hand touching the holy symbol brooch. There is still tension in her voice, for all priests had their limits, but it was better than nothing. "Very good, thank you."
Her head turns to face the king for one final comment, expression neutral. "Please, in the future inform me of these matters before the event so I do not come to these conclusions." She was not upset, but it was clear that paladin liked to have all available information at her disposal when doing anything. Between Irovetti's habit of not informing her of events, timetables, or rules, and her own inclination to constantly seek out structure and information, it was now clear the paladin and the king were probably going to be constantly chafing for the duration of her visit. The simple reality of her constantly questioning everything and his dislike of any slight suggestion to change his plans has already caused more than enough strife between them.
Turning, Rudabeh starts back down the stairs and hustles out into the field, easily finding the spot she had been standing in before thanks to the large indentations in the mud. A hand shoots out, fist curled. "RIDERS ON YOUR READY!" Her voice explodes across the field, looking between both "knights" to ensure they are in the same state of ready before dropping her fist and yelling two syllables.
"CHARGE!"
Hands going to rest on the faulds of her breastplate she watches the two riders, concentrating hard to catch the moment of inevitably brutal impact or at least some measure of skill in their techniques if they both miss.
Irvoetti merely shrugs at her request for more information. He does look quite happy when she runs back out onto the field, tromping back to her position. She guesses it would have looked quite bad if his honored guest had refused to judge such a high profile contest.
Both riders kick their horses and surge forward at her words. Between their inexperience on horseback, the shouting crowd and the unfamiliar weight, both animals looks quite panicked. The knights hurtle toward her, lances bouncing uselessly as they merely try to stay on top of the creatures. Even with her limited experience, Rudabeh can tell instantly there will be no contact on this run. Then, eyes widening she realizes Goldwin the White is about to run her down! Lance forgotten and with both hands on the reins he is, by accident, steering the charging animal right on top of her. Froth flies from the animal's mouth as it flings clods of mud into the air, blind to the danger.
One of Finn's mottos sounds in Rudabeh's mind. The best way to avoid trouble is to be where it isn't
With practiced skill Rudabeh throws himself into a tight roll out of the path of the charging horse. It rumbles past, missing her by bare inches. Standing up, Rudabeh is surprised to see the only damage done is her smeared and muddy armor.
The crowd jeers and laughs at the sight of the proud paladin dodging like a child ducking a run away cart. The undine can't see Irovetti clearly from here but she can imagine his sour expression.
Closer to hand, both riders have managed to master their mounts and lowered their lancers, preparing for another run.
With practiced skill Rudabeh throws himself into a tight roll
Rudabeh watches the charging horses, instantly feeling pity for both the panicked animals and the riders. She suspected that at least one horse was going to lose an eye to these "knights" inexperienced antics.
Of course, it was difficult to continue to feel pity for anything that weighed nearly five times as much as you and was about to crush you to death, so the moment she notices Goldwin's steed barreling towards her all thoughts of pity chease and self-preservation takes over.
Leaping to the side, the paladin quickly pops back up from her roll and spins in place to check on the two riders. Perhaps, by the grace of Alseta, no one will make contact this entire tournement. She muses while brushing some clods of mud off of the leather and chainmail covering her shoulder, which only made the dirt hopelessly stuck between the rings.
With a sigh, the now slighty less shiny and slightly more ochre-colored paladin resumes her position on the field, ready to watch the next pass.
Again the knights launch their horses toward each other. With a wary eye, Rudabeh watches the thundering steeds and judges that this time,s he shouldn't have to vault her way to safety. Indeed, they look perilously close to colliding with each other. Rudbaeh winces at just imaging the forces unleashed at literal tons of steel and horseflesh smashed into each other at high speeds. healing spells or no, it would not be a pretty sight.
But the Gods are kind today and the two contestants veer apart. Goldwin's lance, bouncing out of his grip, suddenly sweeps out, pointing perpendicular to the charging knight. Dozens of pounds of hardened wood whistles through the air.
Radelfo the Fox isn't as clever as his namesake and doesn't see the danger until it is too late. With a resounding crack the sideways lance slaps him across the chest, crushing his breastplate and throwing him onto the wet earth with a resounding thud. Clods of mud fly into the air as he impacts, and the crowd goes wild.
Goldwin, now holding a shattered lance looks in stunned surprise for a moment then holds it aloft in triumph. Cheers and screams accompany him. On the ground Radelfo groans and moves sluggishly, just able to rise to his knees, armored hand on his helmet, like a drunk nursing a hangover.
Rudabeh is tense as the horses thunder towards each other, attempting to plot their trajectories. She thinks this was going to be a miss as well, until Goldwin loses control of his lance and side-swipes Radelfo.
Cringing at the impact, she watches the armored man sail into the mud. Realizing she had to make a call, the paladin does some quick mental calculus: She could declare Goldwin the winner and encourage this behavior, possibly saving life and limb, but it would undermine the values Irovetti was attempting to place on this event. She could disqualify Goldwin for unchivalous trickery and cut the match short, but it would be untruthful. In the end, she needed to follow the rules set forth by Irovetti and turst the priests of her faith were well blessed.
Sweeping her arms to her chest, she passes them repeatedly over each other in a perpendicular motion towards Goldwin. "THE TIP OF THE LANCE MUST STRIKE THE OPPONENT FOR A DISMOUNT OR BREAK TO COUNT." She yells, her voice loud and steady. "LANCE SWEEPING IS UNCHIVALROUS CONDUCT AND ANY FURTHER INCIDENTS WILL RESULT IN IMMEDIATE DISQUALIFICATION."
She points towards Goldwin's starting line and yells, "TAKE YOUR POSITION AND STAND BY." before moving to assist Radelfo. "Let me take a look at you. Are you injured? Can you ride?" She asks in a normal voice on arriving, looking over the man's armor and general stature. The breastplate looked like it was crushed by the impact, and could be useless.