You have come a long way.
What started out as simple caravan guard duty, accompanying the Lady Valeria of House Jeggare from her home in Imperial Cheliax to meet her fiancé, the young knight Doritian of Andor, so they could be married and cinch a peace treaty between their two nations, devolved into a mad quest.
The caravan was attacked by a tribe of Goblins called the Red Debbulls, but those you could have beaten without too much trouble. Alas, the Lady Valeria was kidnapped by a Keleshite Wizard whose name you have learned is Xorshak, and who took the Lady to his tower stronghold in the mountains.
Braving peril upon peril, surviving Kytons, Orcs, an Ogre, and managing to bypass two terrible shrines without losing your souls, you won all the way to the top of the tower, only to face vilest treachery. Doritian was there, and admitted to having chartered Xorshak to abduct and kill Lady Valeria in such a way that Andor would not be implicated and his bloodline would remain clean of Chelish influences.
You did battle there, brave battle, defeating Doritian, the Debbull chief Bangu-Bangu, the mad Chelish noblewoman Secunda Jeggare, and even Xorshak -- or so you thought. The Wizard had already departed, leaving behind a Simulacrum in his place. You rescued Lady Valeria, but she has been through considerable hardship and only wants to return home. Carrying her, the catatonic body of Doritian - whose very soul is in jeopardy at the hands of the terrible goddess Dhalavei - with you, you escaped the tower just before it collapsed.
Thence, you returned to Apol's Thorp to rest and resupply before taking up the journey to grim Cheliax. Alas, such a welcome awaited you...
The first thing you heard on your approach to Apol's Thorp, the village you retreated to after the Red Debbulls' attack, was the buzzing. For a moment, you might have been excused by the mistaken idea that the bees had returned. Soon enough, however, you reaized the village was buzzing with flies, instead.
Big, fat, blue-bottle and green-bottle flies. Carrion-eaters.
Apol's Thorp was surrounded by stakes, rough-cut, wooden stakes. Decorating each of them was a corpse.
Most of these were Goblins, red mud gradually sloughing off of their skin showing you that these were the Red Debbulls who had fled Bangu-Bangu's madness before you even got to their cavern lair under Xorshak's tower. All looked to have died in fear and agony. You do note, however, that Gammer and her babies are absent. Possibly the grandmotherly Goblin escaped this massacre due to her determination to travel far away from her erstwhile tribe-mates...
Other bodies, however, were human. You recognized the Chelish sergeant and some of the other soldiers - all the soldiers who had elected to return to Cheliax, rather than pursue the Lady Valeria into Xorshak's tower lair. Most prominent among them was the Asmodean Cleric who had travelled with you.
On one hand, the village is bustling with activity. On the other, it is a very subdued place indeed; as you approach, you see the locals creeping about in terror, eyes wide and shoulders hunched. They remind you of beaten dogs, even though you see no signs of physical harm.
What you do see are soldiers. Many, many soldiers in the livery of Imperial Cheliax, clearly getting ready to march. Before you can contemplate hiding in the forest, you are spotted and cries of mixed alarm and joy go up when the Lady Valeria is recognized - this in spite of her tattoos and the fact that she is still wrapped in Pontia's cloak to hide the shameful harem outfit Xorshak forced on her.
You feel the fearful, resentful eyes of Apol's Thorp's people on you as the Chelish soldiers surround you, pounding the brawnier members of your party on the shoulders with approval and complimenting you on your victory over the 'Wizard scum'. You are rushed to the centre of the village, along a path of stakes festooned with bodies that are neither Chelish nor Goblin.
Here hangs the town's mayor, his golden chain still in place.
Here hangs the Sheriff, his tin star lying at the base of the stake and his eyes pecked out by a crow.
And here hangs the village priest, his stomach cut open to allow his bowels egress.
Seated before this final, grisly monument is a man in full plate, bearing the markings of a general in the Chelish army. A quick-eyed little Imp sits on his shoulders.
"Lady Valeria," the General rumbles as he rises from his chair and goes to one knee in front of the harried young aristocrat.
On his shoulder, the Imp mimics his actions, a brief flicker of irony in its eyes.
"I am deeply gratified to see you here alive, milady," the General continues to say, his voice echoing hollowly behind his closed visor. "News of your misfortune reached us by scroll and we force-marched to your rescue. As you can see, we encountered the deserters along the way and had them guide us to where they saw you last before administering appropriate punishment. We were also fortunate in encountering the vermin that dared accost you, and have administered justice to them. In closing, we have administered justice to those community leaders who failed to rally troops to rescue you. Cheliax brings order and justice."
"" all the soldiers shout as one, pounding their breastplates with gauntleted fists.
The roar of sound rises up from all around you, and you realize there must be a force of hundreds of battle-hardened soldiers here. Birds rise from the forest all around, shrieking in terror at the great blast of sound -- and a song hangs on the air. It is poisonously sweet, has an unshakable rhythm and metre, and feels like the touch of darkness upon your souls.
It is a Chelish hymn, sung to praise the Prince of Lies. Looking up, you see that the roofs of Apol's Thorp are teeming with Imps, all of them singing and looking at you with that same hungry, ironic look in their eyes.
"Milady," the General says as he rises and takes Lady Valeria's hand with surprising gentleness, "we shall escort you home. Her Majestrix, Queen Abrogail II of House Thrune, eagerly awaits your return to the bosom of Cheliax."
A quick glance over all of you sends an involunary shudder down your spines.
"She also eagerly wishes to lay eyes upon these brave souls who have rescued you. I am sure there is much they have to tell us about this shameful assault upon the majesty of Cheliax and your own person."
The voyage to Cheliax was far faster than the journey to Apol's Thorp, for you travel with military efficiency. By day, the army sent to retrieve the Lady Valeria force-marches. Honoured guests, such as the Lady Valeria and yourselves, ride in enclosed coaches while around you sound the rattle and crash of armoured figures marching and riding armour-plated horses.
Hot, stuffy coaches that jolt and shudder on the uneven roads. Thick curtains in front of the windows cut off fresh air and sunlight, and there is always an angry soldier to reprimand you if you so much as twitch a corner of the cloth. Security while travelling, they assure you, requires that you keep the curtains closed at all times.
Only at night are you allowed out to catch some fresh air, and even then you are not allowed to leave the camps set up by the Chelish soldiers. Imps fill the night sky, ensuring no one 'goes astray', and soldiers with crossbows patrol the outer edge of camp. You notice they face both out and in.
Such a thing it is, to be an 'honoured guest' of the Chelish armed forces.
The food is nourishing but simple. The only drink served is water, for you soon learn that the General is a Hellknight with strict views on discipline and order in the ranks. None of the soldiers apparently sees fit to complain.
Only on the last day of your journey does the tense atmosphere loosen a little, and this only once you start to hear the cheering. A sneak peek from behind the curtains shows you that you have entered a grand city, and the streets are lined with people. Normal, average-looking, Chelish city-dwellers, some of them throwing flowers at the procession of troops and coaches. Humans and Halflings dominate, many of the latter bearing collars that mark them as slaves, but all seem healthy and well-fed and honestly happy to see the return of Lady Valeria after her harrowing adventure.
Great drums and brass horns start to thunder out the message of your arrival as you pass from the older part of the city, which has a more organic architecture, into the new city. Here, the architecture is dark and gothic, with most buildings erected from black, red-veined marble.
The roar of the music mixes with the roar of the crowd lining the streets and the squeals and chittering of the Imps scuttling around the rooftops. Fiendish, glittering eyes regard you from every minaret and spiked façade.
As you come closer to the Royal Palace, the press of citizens and Imps thins out, but the number of soldiers and Hellknights increases - and now you also see Asmodean Clerics waving their censers and filling the air with clouds of incense while they chant prayers to their dark patron.
Such a thing it is, to be an honoured guest of Queen Abrogail II of Imperial Cheliax.
You are finally allowed to get out of the coaches as soon as they have been parked on the great causeway in front of the Royal Palace. A mountainous structure, part fortress and part cathedral, the Royal Palace blots out the sky as you stand before it. You hear a constant murmur of prayer as the Clerics close in behind you - and you realize the whole Palace is surrounded by a circle of priests, actively soliciting the blessings of the Nine Hells for the royal family and for great Cheliax itself. Surrounding this ring of dark piety is a ring of steel; soldiers and Hellknights constantly marching, patrolling, looking out for threats from within and without.
You are approached by a group of servants, all of them wearing the livery of House Thrune. All three servants look identical; slender of body, androginous of features, pale of hair and skin and eye. They might be triplets.
"Lady Valeria," the first servant says, bowing deeply to the young woman you rescued. "If you will please accompany me, I shall guide you to your private suite and will provide your servants with guidance as you are prepared for the Welcoming."
The second servant bows more perfunctorily to you all.
"All males will kindly accompany me to be prepared for the Welcoming," he or she says. You honestly cannot tell which it is from the voice. "Appropriate clothing and other preparations have been provided for you."
The third servant bows one degree deeper than the second to you all.
"All females will kindly accompany me to be prepared for the Welcoming," he or she says. "Appropriate clothing and other preparations have been provided for you."
Infernal Chelaxian dot.
If allowed, Pontia will use prestidigitation to clean herself and anyone else in the party up before leaving the coach. Although outwardly calm and in her element, the more sensitive may detect a slight thread of worry in the otherwise seamless garment of her composure.
She bows in response to the servitor, calling on her knowledge from a profession long left behind her to calibrate her bow (respectful but not obsequious), and follows.
Having carried out his duty as he contracted to do, Mirandix is strangely ambivalent once Lady Valeria is safely within Cheliax once more.
With his usual lack of diplomatic awareness he simply turns toward the second servant and nods to acknowledge his acceptance of the instructions.
The entire trip is mental anguish for Zhu. He escaped a land of vile slavery and is now... the champion of a land of vile slavery?!
He had heard tales of Chelaxian depravation and cruelty, certainly, but those accounts pale in comparison to the sights - and smells - around him. He can tell that some of his companions have similar feelings.
But surrounded by heavily armed soldiers and feeling more like a prisoner than a hero, he understands that there's little he can do. Yet.
He accepts Pontia's offer of an arcane "cleanup." He had been so taken aback by their reception that the group's own bloodied appearance hadn't occurred to him.
With a nod of assent, he follows the attendant. "Our 'triumph' is not what I expected," he mutters darkly to the other men as they walk.
Noya bows respectfully to the servant and follows.
and thinks
If they have clothes in my size, I'll be surprised
Bydar has tagged along, though part of him was tempted to stay at the thorp to help the folks deal with their loss, grief, and terror.
Yet, it occurs to him the goddess has a plan for him, and that seems to include tagging along.
The second servant bows more perfunctorily to you all.
"All males will kindly accompany me to be prepared for the Welcoming," he or she says. You honestly cannot tell which it is from the voice. "Appropriate clothing and other preparations have been provided for you."
"Appropriate eh? mmm. Not used to being fashionable." He follows despite his wry muttering.
With a nod of assent, he follows the attendant. "Our 'triumph' is not what I expected," he mutters darkly to the other men as they walk.
"Souls went into a void, I never count that as a triumph," The cleric sighs, "But other than that, anything in particular that really surprised you? Because it all seems one convoluted mess to me."
While travelling back to Cheliax, Robert recognizes the land of his childhood, and recalls the habits acquired in his father's house. After having been away for some time, he starts to question, maybe for the first time, the status quo in this land. Maybe for the first time he feels irritated, even oppressed, by the myriad imps on the rooftops, and the infernal chanting of the priests.
Then he realizes that it is not so much the supernatural and evil nature of the state that upsets him... it is rather more the whole regimental organization that stifles him and denies individual freedom.
At the prompt of the strange twin, he merely responds according to the rules of etiquette of the land, but follows without enthusiasm, his mind elsewhere.
"I take it you had never been in Cheliax Zhu? Nor heard of its fame before?"
He is still determined to take the best of the situation and enjoy whatever he can. After all, this is home, and he's a hero here!
At least, until they find about Secunda...
“I have not been in this land for very long,” replies Zhu to Robert, ”so you are correct – I have not been here before. And my homeland, Wanshou, receives few visitors from Golarion, so I arrived knowing little more the names of the nations, some of your gods, and a few things about … the Pathfinder Society, is that the correct name?”
He pauses before continuing in a softer voice. ”I do not wish to insult any Chelaxian with my comments, and I apologize if I have done so. But to travel from Wanshou to a nation that promotes – even revels in – slavery and despair… it makes me wonder if such cruelty is the natural state of things. My spirit might rest easier if I stopped fighting that idea and yielded to its truth.”
Noya thinks to herself some
"Good thing I have a dress with me, if they have one that does not fit.
Though I'd have to wonder if it would be appropriate, given that it's style is from beyond the Crown of the World."
Robert goes on his way, speaking as softly as possible that Zhu will still hear.
"If that's all you've heard about Cheliax, Zhu, be prepared for quite a shock. The spiritual inclinations in this land will probably be quite abhorrent to you. Have you seen the imps? Those are a clue. The gods here are those of hell. What sort of society would you expect from them?"
Zhu looks at Robert and nods slowly. "An unpleasant one, my friend," he says simply.
You are all taken to (different) 'preparation-quarters'. These turn out to be a combination of giant bathrooms and dress-rooms. Even while you bathe in lavish baths big enough to fit twenty, servants add fresh scented oils to the bathwater, offer to massage sore muscles, and politely but firmly take measurements. While you continue to bathe, other servants feverishly work to put together garments where you can see. You have free choice of fabrics, but the pale servants who guided you here dictate colours - and a few other small details.
After even more servants have dried you off, combed your hair and sprayed you with clouds of perfume, you are presented with garments richer than what most of you may be used to. All the garments are coloured sanguine red and midnight black, attached jewelry providing a bit of sparkle and sheen.
For you, the servants have created garments befitting a priest; while the quality of the fabric and the jewelry is of evident quality, the garment manages to project an austere quality. You might quite like it, if not for the erinyes you find worked into the high collar in sparkling thread-of-gold; one to each side of your throat, seeming to menace your jugular with their signature composite longbows...
The servants have no trouble creating clothing that fits your frame. The cloth is finest silk with a cut quite close to a traditional kimono, reminding you of your homeland -- and chilling you to the bone when you realize that the emblem of your father's house has been subtly worked into the cloth. Hidden behind traditional patterns of clouds and gamboling dragons are the marks of your family and traditional insignias befitting a Samurai...!
Upon the breast of your fine new clothing, you find the sigil of your father's House - with a crimson diagonal slash running through it from left to right. A very common - and none too kind - sign to indicate that you were born on the wrong side of the sheets. Clearly the Royal court is familiar with your blood status...
Your clothing has a cut that reminds you of home. It is quite like a hakama, only of much finer quality than the garments you saw some of the more prosperous slaves of the Kraken wear. You feel a chill when you realize that the swirling patterns of red and the precisely positioned jewels mimic the writhing arms of a Kraken, all of them wrapped around you and coming together over your heart...
"If you will please follow us to the Lesser Hall," the pale servants say as soon as the tailors have released you from their work. "Her Majestrix Queen Abrogail II awaits you and shall be well-pleased to see that you have accepted her generosity in providing you with these clothes."
Should any of you reach for your equipment and weapons, the servants immediately close ranks between you and your property.
"These items will be returned to you upon your departure," the pale servitors intone in Voices of Doom. "You are not allowed to bring anything that offers harm within reach of her Majestrix. Personal jewellery, however, is permissable."
Both servants smile - an expression which does not reach their eyes - and then proceed you to what they call the 'Lesser' Hall, but turns out to be a palatial (naturally) ballroom.
Chelish nobility seems to be everywhere; the old, the young, the beautiful, the ugly, the dull of eye, the cunning, all of them dressed to the nines in the latest Chelish fashions and sparkling with jewellery. All are chattering away, giving the image of pleasant diversion.
Great trestle-tables have been set out against the walls, all of them groaning under a heavy burden of food and bottles of the finest spirits available to this dark empire.
Queen Abrogail lounges on a dark throne set against the far wall, positioned directly beneath a huge banner with the arms of Cheliax in black and red. A young woman by human standards, the Queen of Cheliax nevertheless radiates confidence. A crooked smile of wry amusement is on her lips as she gazes from the nobles to yourselves, the gems in her simple, elegant crown sparkling in the light of drifting motes of light that hover overhead.
At the Queen's right hand stands a tall, muscular man with features so sharp that they might have been chiselled with an axe. Dressed in a military dress uniform, clasping his own wrists behind his back, this man radiates military efficiency and something more. You are not sure why, but just looking at him makes the little hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. When his gaze passes over you, you feel the urge to cower and hide...
Standing at the Queen's left hand is Dressed easily as lavishly as any noble, this stranger also wears light armour and has a composite longbow within easy reach; a clear breach of protocol here, where none dare carry weapons.
This winged woman is an , a kind of devil. It is little wonder that she is the only one armed; as a devil, she will perform her duty - presumably to the Queen - unto the last and never even consider harming her.
The pale servants precede you through the throng of nobles without saying a word - and the Chelish highborn part without even a single word of complaint or dirty look.
This is so incredible as to be worrying. A Chelish noble would never just give way to a servant, especially not for the sake of landless mercenaries (such as yourselves) without a formal announcement indicating someone higher in the hierarchy wants to see you. Clearly you are expected...
As you are brought forward, you can not help but notice that Valeria has not yet arrived. Clearly, you are to be presented first.
Another oddity. As a born noble of Cheliax, Valeria should have been presented before you were even allowed into the Lesser Hall, or at the very least she should be walking ahead of you. Your preferential treatment bodes ill for her standing in Cheliax...
The pale servants guide you to a respectful distance from the throne, there bow deeply and address the Queen in unison:
"The mercenaries responsible for the rescue and safe return of the daughter of House Jeggare, your Majestrix."
The Queen regards you with half-lidded eyes. Although her stare seems bored and casual, you feel it very strongly and suspect at least part of her casual attitude is a front. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, the Queen beckons the winged woman at her side and makes a casual gesture.
The winged woman takes a step forward and declaims in a voice like a brazen trumpet: "In recognition of your service, her Majestrix generously grants you half the sum you were offered in payment for the safe delivery of the daughter of House Jeggare to Andor. The Jeggare daughter has not reached Andor, after all, and the peace treaty between it and the great nation of Cheliax is not as certain as it used to be. Nonetheless, her Majestrix believes you should be compensated for at least getting the Jeggare daughter halfway to her goal and back to the safety of Cheliax."
Behind you, the mass of nobles roar in unison: ""
The sudden blast of sound is nearly enough to make you leap out of your skin...
"You are invited to remain for the Welcoming and the festivities attached therewith," the winged woman says. "Your payment will be left with your personal belongings. By her Majestrix' generosity, do keep the clothes you were given."
As beautiful as she is, you have no trouble at all, detecting the sneer in the winged woman's words as she flicks her fingers at you, dismissing you for the moment...
Music strikes up from above. Looking up, you see the galleries are packed with servants of various sorts, all waiting to serve. Some of them are musicians, who have now gone to work so the noble guests may dance if that pleases them.
Several routes lie open to you for consideration.
On the one hand, there is the food and drink awaiting you, and some merry-seeming souls already enjoying it.
On the other hand, you notice a venerable-looking old man dressed rather more simply than the whirling nobility; dressed in simple, black robes, this man stands in a small island of tranquility amid the pomp and gaiety of the court.
A group of young women catches your eye, as their colours are so different from those of the Chelish surrounding them. One is a pale blond, an infectious smile on her face, her slender body wrapped in bright pink silk and brocade. Her immediate companion looks to be a Mwangi woman, clad in bluest silk. Veils of white gauze trail after her like clouds. Two other young women, one pale and one dark, dressed less grandiosely but no less brightly in respectively silver and green, orbit them in the manner of well-trained servants.
You may notice that the winged woman is joining the milling nobility, exchanging a few casual-seeming words with the Chelish as she makes her way to one of the tables and pours herself a goblet of wine. It is possibly safe to approach her.
And finally, you see a familiar figure; the Hellknight who was in charge of the troops that brought you here. Dressed in military finery, his armour and helmet polished and lacquered bright red, the Knight stands out among the soft fabrics and glittering cheer of the nobility. On his shoulder, his Imp is wearing a copy of its master's uniform and leering at anyone who dares to come closer.
Or you could talk amongst yourselves or go looking for those of your friends who have not yet arrived...
-Posted with Wayfinder
Robert can't help but trying to take one of his daggers. If that passed unnoticed he will indeed keep it.
As they are led to the audience Robert notices the small unusual signs of a breach of protocol. He thinks back to Valeria, and can't help but ponder that the woman is in some danger, that she will probably be proscribed or punished somehow. Not that he understands the rationale behind that, but he is not very hopeful for the woman.
After the audience he is attracted by a group of women that somehow make themselves noticed among the crowd, and he confidently moves in their direction.
"Greetings, Ladies. Would you grant me the obsequiousness of allowing me the pleasure of your company?"
Bydar sighed at the collar work, and eyes it with an Isgerian perspective, Chelaxians, even in fashion they play their games of dominance. I'll have a tailor restitch the design when I can find one who won't worry about being hung for treason.
"These items will be returned to you upon your departure," the pale servitors intone in Voices of Doom. "You are not allowed to bring anything that offers harm within reach of her Majestrix. Personal jewellery, however, is permissable."
"Good. Don't lose that, I'll be needing it later," Bydar says with his own authority. And when he goes in, his holy symbol is prominently displayed. Let them scorn, but he will not hide his faith unless he must.
Then they are brought before Queen Abrogail. He bows deeply. Clerics are known for wisdom, and some part of that is common sense.
When the rewards are mentioned, he bows again. The shout of the crowd does indeed nearly make him jump out of his skin.
This was done for her glory, not ours. And if she is interested in us, she also impresses upon us no matter how heroic we may think we are... she could crush us. All true, and all rather petty.
And then they are mercifully released.
On the other hand, you notice a venerable-looking old man dressed rather more simply than the whirling nobility; dressed in simple, black robes, this man stands in a small island of tranquility amid the pomp and gaiety of the court.
Bydar moves closer to the old man in simple clothes, as much as he feels more comfortable around simpler dress than out of curiosity.
Doesn't stop him from looking the fellow over a bit.
Mirandix pays very little attention to the etiquette of "polite" society. He therefore misses all the various cues that anything is unusual about the situation.
When the audience is over and he has been dismissed, Mirandix begins to drift towards the simply dressed, older man; primarily because there is a calm space around him.
-Posted with Wayfinder
Kyrax is not surprised at their escort back to the capital. He had been in Cheliax for quite a few months and was well versed in efficiency of hell knights. He rode in the close confines of the hot wagons passively and tried to lighten the mood of those he traveled with with his wit and light heart.
Once at the capital he allowed himself to enjoy the dotting attention and looked quite pleased with his outfit. As he dresses he fusses over each piece of clothing he is being fitted with and chastises the servants if they get something incorrect. He uses this as a diversion to palm his own dagger, hiding it within his sleeve.
Later he wonders on their treatment, recognizing that something is not quite right. Still he joins in the cheers for the queen and follows protocol nearly as well as a local.
When released to enjoy the festivities Kyrax heads initially for refreshments, but diverts towards the venerable-looking older man. Good sir, the manner of your dress caught my eye and I thought to stop and beg a word with you. I mean no offense, but you seem quite out of place here and I wonder what business you might have that would bring you here so attired?
Zhu is troubled by the design on his clothing... or rather he's troubled by what it implies. These Chelaxians know things that he didn't expect that they would - and they like to show off that knowledge. Judging by the looks on his companions when they're reunited, he isn't alone in that feeling. The clothing on all of them is fascinating, but he's particularly struck by the insignia on Noya's clothes.
After the opening announcements, he says, "Excuse me, Robert, but I am curious..."
He walks over to the winged woman. He gives a slight bow of his head. "My name is Zhu, my lady. Forgive my curiosity, but people of power intrigue me. So... why are you here, in this realm, on this night? You clearly have power and talent, and you're not from here, to put it simply." He moves to take a seat across from her. "So what do you gain from partaking in this -- " he glances around "-- this festivity?"
Bydar, Kyrax and Miranfix gravitate towards the elderly gentleman, leaning on a finely-made cane in his own little area of peace and quiet, and the Bard addresses him.
The old man smiles rather genteelly at Kyrax' forthright questions and Bydar's unabashed study, and he inclines his head to you.
"I am paravicar Aerous Alazario," he replies, his voice gentle the way a cat's paw can be gentle; power lies hidden beneath the surface. "Personal chaplain to her Majestrix, the Queen."
An ironic smile quirks the old man's lips and he spreads his arms in a self-deprecating gesture. Only now do you see the golden symbol of Asmodeus hanging around his neck, and the carvings on his cane - nine carvings, one for each of the layers of Hell.
"My business is the spiritual well-being of her Majestrix. Therefore, I observe due modesty and humility, yet make myself available to her whenever and wherever she has need of me."
The old man's shrewd eyes go to Bydar's throat and his smile widens as he extends his right hand.
"It is always a pleasure to see a fellow man of the cloth. Of course I already know all of your names."
As Robert approaches the young women in their colourful dresses, the pale blonde smiles impishly. You note she has lovely dimples. Her immediate companion, the Mwangi beauty, smiles with strong, white teeth. The younger girls giggle and titter behind their hands.
"That depends," the blonde beauty says, a faint flush of pink on her eyes as she takes a step towards Robert, raising fingers gloved in shimmering pink satin to be kissed. "Do you dance?"
The erinyes quirks an eyebrow at Zhu's approach, and a wry smile twists her lips.
"I am the Contessa Lrilatha," she says, pronouncing the ungainly word without any sign of difficulty. "I am here as attaché to her Majestrix, Abrogail II, by dint of her having summoned me for the task. I am both advisor and bodyguard and as such, I am always at her service."
Hips swaying, the erinyes takes a gliding step closer to Zhu, her eyes boring into his. "Always," she repeats.
At this distance, Zhu can smell a faint hint of scent about her. It is an uncomfortable mixture of perfumed oil, armour polish and some sort of musk or grease. The scent is unexpectedly... feral.
A new music is starting up: dance music, grand and stately, a Chelish waltz of some sort.
The pale blonde, her face shining with pleasure at the tune, offers Robert her hand. "Ooh, do let's!" she enthuses. "I love this one!"
At the wine table, the erinyes seizes Zhu by the wrist and draws him to his feet, her dark eyes searing into his. "Dance with me," she orders.
Elsewhere, the Hellknight General approaches Arma.
"You are a warrior," he rumbles. "It would not shame either one of us to share a dance."
Knowing the man now for who he is Kyrax looses interest quickly and begins to look for a way out of the conversation. Yes you to, both men of the cloth as some say, I am sure you have much to discuss. I fear I am out of my element here, and listen, someone had begun a dance tune. It would be unkind of me to leave the ladies there unattended. Its was a great please to meet you sir. Kyrax says to the priest. And with your leave I shall take my leave. Kyrax bows formally and unless detained, departs.
He quickly makes his way to Robert and the young ladies. Ladies, I am the courtier Kyrax Preyfar. Again he bows and turning to the Mwangi beauty he asks Perhaps I could have the honor of both your name and this dance?
Mirandix smiles slightly at the man when he mentions already knowing our names, "I hope you will not object to me taking advantage of the calm area around you. I find crowds unappealing, and I am not particularly well equipped for the verbal fencing that happens in this kind of crowd." Unless the Paravicar indicates a desire for Mirandix to move away, Mirandix will stay in the calm bubble around him.
Zhu allows himself to be pulled along onto the dance floor by the Contessa. He knows she’s evil, he know she’s demonic, but he’s intrigued by someone who seems so at ease with her nature. Unlike the orcs in the castle or the arcanely mutated slavers back home, she seems … comfortable.
While he isn’t familiar with the dance styles of the region, he’s quite nimble on his feet. A man needs to be sure-footed in the swamps of Wanshou if he wants to stay alive. ”As I said, Contessa, you have talent,” he says appreciatively as they dance. ”And charm.” Something about the touch of her skin is both repellent and enticing. He looks around at the other court attendees. ”Many of these regulars at the court… seem a bit dull. Do they appreciate your talents?” he adds with a slight smile of his own.
"Certainly, my lady, I was well versed in dancing in my courtly days. Adventures have taken me to farther and less refined lands, but I trust I won't have lost my footing. It would be an honour to be your partner."
With this, Robert's takes the proffered hand leads her to the middle of the room. As they whirl, he tries to make some conversation
"So, do tell me, how is court these days? I do not remember seeing as distinguished and charming ladies as you and your companions here before. Did you travel from far, have you been here for long?"
The old man's shrewd eyes go to Bydar's throat and his smile widens as he extends his right hand.
"It is always a pleasure to see a fellow man of the cloth. Of course I already know all of your names."
Bydar shakes the hand. His goddess takes few if any sides overall, and while he personally finds Asmoedeous too full of himself, and his priests often follow in that mold, the lady of death, birth, and destiny has no particular axe to grind with the slaver god.
"I prefer simpler clothes myself, normally, but the servants were zealous in their attempts to make me worthy of presentation. I don't envy them that challenge," Bydar says with tongue in cheek humility.
Arma for the duration of the trip to Apol's Thorp had been quiet but still responsive. She had seldom left Doritian's side and had been carefully feeding him a ground mash of trail rations and water hoping to resupply once they reached the town. She had cleaned and cared for what was little more than a soulless body with no complaint. It required duties that were both time consuming and unsavory but they were done all the same. Still she never spoke a word of complaint or hardship and a measure of peace seemed to sometimes find her tired and worried eyes when she did them.
That small measure of peace however vanished once they had reached the town. She only remained silent then because in part she was shocked by all the horror she beheld. The level to which "Chilanxian justice" now held over the small thorp, with bodies left mutilated made her anger rise even past the fatigue of her own heart which had little hope left within. But another reason she remained silent was the fact that what little of the man she loved that remained alive as well as her many allies could not allow her challenge such a force nor could she expect to reasonably defend against them. Her suicide and the death it could bring on them all for any such action desuaded her from even speaking against it. Such atrocity she painfully realized would have to be simply accepted with not a word against it. So she remained silent.
So on the long cart ride back to the Lady Valeria's home she did not speak except a few words when needed. She stayed by the invalid form of Doritian continuing his care as she must not even daring to speak his name. Taking him from the wagon only when allowed to keep him from whatever taxing the stifling heat might bring to his still form.
When they finally reached Chelish lands and the windows opened she did not do much to inspire her. Instead she waited and watched with almost no words.
Upon arriving and Pontia's offer she nodded slightly as the spell removed some of the grime and dirt from her broken and bent armor and the blanket on the litter that carried Doritian as well. Emerging from the cart she safely moved the litter to the ground and then resumed to carry it.
She listened and watched as the triplet attendants directed them to separate and with a nod to Mirandix as he set his portion of the litter down she continued to drag her Prince behind her. Any words that would make her release her grip or abandon him were ignored. She would give her weapons to them but she wouldn't surrender him and yet she did not hear much in that regard.
But upon arriving where they wished her to go the attendant spoke to her of clothes and needing to dress for the occasion. Still as she set Doritian down and looking to those around her spoke little more than this with a pleasant yet tired look in her eyes.
"I am sorry. But this armor for reasons unknown to me cannot be removed. But I thank you for your hospitality is appreciated... Still I fear to leave my charge unattended... He is quite helpless, and I do not wish to offend but I would not be comfortable leaving him without some promised assurance of his care and safety while I am away."
Her tone was kinder than she felt, and it was the truth she spoke but behind those words which comprised the longest she had spoken since leaving the tower she warily debated within if they would allow her to do such. She knew this was a precarious position they found themselves in but what more could she do. She did not know where the danger could come from in such a place. If they knew him or what he had done she had now doubt he was in danger. So she waited to see if the would try to force her to leave him to attend. She doubted she could actually resist but she had to try. And she had little doubt that if she resisted she would die or possibly worse.
Pontia keeps silent through the speeches and salutes, looking around with a studied indifference that mirrors that of many of the nobles present. One eyebrow quirks upward at the sight of the devil accompanying Abrogail, a reaction quickly suppressed.
When you voice your concern for Doritian, the attendant smiles - an expression that does not reach its pale eyes.
"By order of her Majestrix, Queen Abrogail II, no harm is to come to sir Doritian of Andor," the pale creature assures you. "In truth, medics have been ordered to investigate his condition while you attend the Welcoming. You may depart in good confidence; he will be well taken care of in your absence."
As the servants find themselves incapable of removing the armour, they instead polish it and apply some tasteful gilding here and there.
The pale blond and the other girls giggle and titter at Kyrax' energetic introduction. The blonde girl taps her lower lip, her eyes flitting from one companion to another - and then she points at the youngest one, the other blonde girl.
"I am the Lady Hisvet," she says. "Daughter of lord Hisvin, of the House Hisvin. And as for the dance... Foursie fits your colour scheme best," she decides, a wicked grin on her lips. Then she sweeps onto the dance floor, pulling Robert along with her, while the younger girl bobs a curtsy in front of Kyrax, then holds her hand out with an imperious air. Clearly she expects to be taken out on the dance floor as well.
On the dance floor, Robert finds pale Hisvin to be more hearty and energetic than her pale appearance would suggest. A delicate pink flush of excitement suffuses her cheeks while the two of you dance and whirl.
"Oh, we've always been here," she says, smiling. "It's just that Daddy's only recently made enough money to buy our way into the highest social circles. Ghastly, isn't it, how money decides nobility? But the parties are good, aren't they just?"
The Paravicar smiles gently as Kyrax departs and makes a sign of blessing at his retreating back. His smile widens a little more at Mirandix' words and he nods.
"Sooth, I have little interest in such social frippery," he says, "but I have my duties and I perform them to the best of my ability."
For a moment, his smile becomes a little more playful.
"It is my good fortune that the festive folk avoid obvious members of the cloth, is it not?"
The Paravicar laughs outright at Bydar's words.
"Such a thing it is to serve," he says, eyes twinkling. "But without those who serve loyally, there is no place for leaders to command, no matter how eloquent and exalted they might be. This is a truth which is often ignored."
The Contessa smirks at Zhu's question.
"My powers and abilities receive due respect and compensation," she says, her voice subtly gloating. "If they did not, then my services would become unavailable in short order."
Pontia approaches the dais where the throne stands, but does not come too close. The threatening gentleman who was standing at Abrogail II's side is still there, arms crossed and dark glower sliding through the room. For a moment, his eyes rest on Pontia and his lips quirk in a mocking expression and then they move on.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The dance and festivities are interrupted by the sounding of brass horns, and the doors to the ballroom swing open.
Valeria enters the room, flanked by two of those pale servants, and followed by a third - a third carrying a small, vicious whip, which the servant brings down on Valeria's back every fourth step. The 'Crack!', 'Crack!' drowns out all other sounds as the young noblewoman moves forward, her face schooled to stillness despite the bleeding wounds criss-crossing her back.
It is easy enough to see those wounds. Although Valeria has clearly bathed and her hair has been put up in an expensive 'do, her skin oiled and perfumed from head to toe, she is entirely unclad, all of her tattoos exposed to the sight of the idle nobility.
"You will excuse me," the Contessa murmurs to Zhu as she abandons him on the dance floor and strides over to the throne.
As Valeria is brought to a stop in front of the ghoulish seat, the erinyes speaks in a thunderous voice: "Valeria, sent to wed Doritian of Andor as part of the great treaty between our nations, you have returned to Cheliax. Do you return successfully?"
'Crack!'
"I do not," Valeria replies, lines of pain and tension at the corners of her eyes. Slowly, she curtsies before the throne, then falls to her knees. "I beg your forgiveness, my Queen."
'Crack!'
"Her Majestrix forgives you your failure, child," the erinyes coos, her eyes half-closed. "It is a shame that you have failed your Queen and country..."
An angry murmur rises from the gathered nobility.
"... but we understand that it could not be helped. You were not equal to the task before you. We understand an older cousin accompanied you...?"
'Crack!'
"She is dead, my Queen," Valeria says, her eyes on Abrogail's slippered feet. "Slain by..."
'Crack!'
"We see you have chosen to take up a new hobby," the erinyes says. "And you have taken up a new faith, abandoning the worship of your homeland's great patron?"
'Crack!'
"No, my Queen," Valeria says. "These markings were placed upon me without my request or consent by..."
'Crack!'
"These markings suit you," the erinyes says. "Her Majestrix feels you should nurture these markings and maintain them well. You may be called upon to display this... body art... again. It is a shame you have been Disassociated by your House..."
Valeria visibly flinches, and the vicious whip snaps down in punishment.
'Crack!'
"... or else her Majestrix might call upon your former House to provide you with even finer beautification. Alas, the Disassociation has been completed. Such a thing it is to have money; the formalities were completed with exceptional speed."
Dutiful laughter echoes around the room as the nobles respond as they are expected to.
"Be of good cheer, Valeria, formerly of House Jeggare," the erinyes concludes. "While you no longer possess noble standing, you are allowed to remain at these festivities. You shall be called upon again later, after the final round of dancing is completed. All may carry on."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The music starts up again, and the Contessa sweeps back over to Zhu's side.
"Apologies," she says, a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I am always on duty, after all."
Anyone who bothers to check can see Valeria limp towards the drinks table. The three pale servants continue to follow her, and the whip continues to fall at every fourth step. Her back is criss-crossed with thin, bleeding cuts...
Arma, hearing the words from the pale attendant being is hesitant to trust them, but she does as what little knows of the Cheliax, it includes that above all they are a lawful people like the deity of their chosen religion.
"Very well... I am grateful for it."
Her voice is not unpleasant and with a concerned look to Doritian as he lays motionless in the room, she moves forward to their inspection and their efforts to make her presentable in the damaged armor.
After a time with a cloak and mantle covering the majority of the damaged pauldron and the crack open along the back and with the polish making the best of the fairly dented suit armor she has remained in she leaves the room and follows her escort.
She is unable to let her mind wander far however before she arrives in the hall she watches the events unfold. She listens to the words and spends some time observing as her friends attempt to openly socialize with the Cheliaxian nobility. Much as her mind has been elsewhere before this it worries in part for the Lady Valeria's absence and still also for Doritian, though she makes the effort to try and let her mind relax enough to trust that they are in no immediate danger. Doing so she does observe the hell knights approach and finds her focus finally start to move to the present as he speaks up.
His request while a little surprising to her she considers for a second as she keeps the somewhat forced pleasant look on her face from showing the strain of her now more distant thoughts.
"I have little experience with dancing Sir, but I would be happy to make the attempt with you if you wish it."
Her voice is respectful and pleasant as her eyes look over the man carefully. Assuming he is still willing she will accept and follow his lead onto the floor. Thoughts to when Doritian had taught her a few steps came briefly to mind but she pushed the thought gently to the side as she did not wish to think of it at the moment.
"I am Arma Fili Sustinuit. I am pleased to make your acquaintance Sir?"
It had been days since she had done anything other than worry for Doritian and Lady Valeria. Despite her love and duty she felt that perhaps for a time what she needed was what little distraction this could provide. Something to get the feelings that tired her mind to retreat for a time. He smile by then earnest as he guides her to the floor.
And she does her best letting her mind focus on following her partners lead. Hoping to enjoy the moment as best she can and puts her effort into it.
But she stops her revel and stares as Valeria is made to enter the room in such a state. Her mind is forced back to worry for her as the whole ceremony of it all plays out and the good Lady she had taken as her charge is made to suffer. All the horrible cracks of that whip. It takes most all of her restraint to not interrupt the horrible mockery of ceremony before her.
Still as the music resumes and Valeria is allowed to go to the table Arma will turn to the Hell Knight with her gaze now focused but as polite as she can make it.
"Forgive me Sir. I am afraid I have lost my taste for dancing at the time."
Moving over to the Lady Valeria, Arma will without word put herself between the whip and the young woman. She will take any hits she must without notice or concern as she removes the cloak on her back to cover the lady, exposing her damaged armor to them.
"Forgive me, my Lady. I beg that you allow me take such punishment. You deserve none of this."
It had all become more than she could allow but she hoped that only she would suffer if her move was not proper for this court. But she would die if she must before she would see this happen to the girl she had sworn to protect. Whips she knew from experience, hurt quite a bit. But being cast out as well hurt more. She kept herself between them and the woman taking any hit that fell upon her.
Pontia gives the former noble only a glance as she steps away from the throne. The higher the rise, the further the fall...remember that. No doubt they already know how Secunda died. I shall have to tread carefully.
The wizard casually strolls over to the paravicar, bowing. "My lord, a moment of your time?"
"Pardon me," Bydar says with a nod to the Paravicar, "I needs must tend to the wounded."
Anyone who bothers to check can see Valeria limp towards the drinks table. The three pale servants continue to follow her, and the whip continues to fall at every fourth step. Her back is criss-crossed with thin, bleeding cuts...
Bydar heads towards Valeria, only to see Arma is ahead of her. While the Fighter stood between the woman and her torturer, Bydar moved to the other side and laid a hand on hers, "Since folks claim the lord of chains is no longer your patron, I imagine that means there is no shame in taking the healing from a humble cleric of another power. If you permit?"
Arma nods gratefully to Bydar meeting his eyes with a look of respect as he comes over to attend the Lady Valeria though she remains ready to stay between the girl and those who would harm her.
Zhu has seen people being whipped before, but the boldness of the strikes against Valeria -- the sheer spectacle of it at a “social event” -- amazes him. The erinyes glides back to him as though she had done nothing more than wag a scolding finger at a misbehaving dog. Still, he forces a slight smile as the dance begins anew. As his grandmother once said, “In a pit of adders, it does one no good to act like a rabbit.”
“I’m curious, Contessa,” he finally manages to say as they dance, “does intent not matter in offenses such as this? For instance, you are in control of your destiny. As you said, you could take away your services if you were not treated properly. Valeria, however, was kidnapped … against her will. Abused horribly and tattooed with the symbols of a foreign god… against her will. As a newcomer, I seek to understand whether she is being punished for crimes against the country, the Majestrix, or religion… or is there truly a difference in Cheliax? You are an excellent dancer, by the way.”
Mirandix has lived in Cheliax too long to be much surprised by the casual cruelty of the Queen's court. He simply watches and waits, though he is curious how the intervention of the others will be handled.
Pontia shakes her head at her colleagues' attempts to ease things for Valeria. If she endures this with grace, she may yet regain her proper place. This will not help her. Then she awaits a reply from the paravicar.
Noya watches the events holding herself back
and thinking
"Good grief, the rumours of this place's noble code is just as bad as I've heard."