Gemus footsteps echo away, leaving Rudabeh alone for the first time in....how long had it been? She had been rushing from fire to fire with allies (and foes) in tow for so long, it felt strange to be by herself and at rest.
She drifts to sleep wondering if someone might, someday, thank her for her work in Pitax? Would some servant of Alseta, in years to come, bless her name and wonder how Rudabeh had done it?
Dreams take her but one stands out.
Rudabeh is standing on a lakebed, colorful plants and sands stretching out on all sides lost into the distance. Schools of fish dart overhead, and vast forests of waving plants shimmer in the distance. But most of all, are the people. Hundreds, thousands...vast crowds of them on the sandy ground. Some are like her, finned and webbed, at home here. Others are humans, elves, and others, apparently unbothered by the lack of air. Other races too, exotic and strange to her, appear among the shifting colors.
Then the ground starts to shake, sand shifting this way and that. The once smooth landscape folding, creating rising platforms or opening in ragged crevasses. Above the glittering sun grows brighter, a blinding white-
Rudabeh wakes up, snapping bolt upright in bed. The paladin's pulse is racing, eyes wide, hand reaching for a blade that is not there. Slowly however she realizes it was a dream and nothing more. There is no earthquake, no danger, the blinding white light is nothing but the morning sun.
And what a dawn.
Slanting rays of bright white lance through the tall crystal windows, throwing forth rainbows from every tiny flaw in the glass. A kaleidoscope of colors drapes the entire room from the elegant lacquered tables to the deep carpet. The dancing light seems to make every color sing, every piece of artwork glow with a beauty not quite natural, somehow more then it should be. After the long and bloody night, it is a sight that heals more then any magical potion or spell.
A new day and much hangs in the balance.
On the table a hot breakfast of eggs mixed with shellfish is cooling, sending up spiraling columns of steam. Instead of the usual milk or cider though is a corked glass bottle, clearly a healing potion. Under it is a note in a strong but unpracticed hand Rudabeh does not recognize.
You are going to need it.
Rudabeh flutters her eyes against the rays of bright sunlight streaming into the room, her left hand tightly gripping the sheets of the bed after ending its search for a sword that was not there.
Letting go, she pushes herself off the bed and immediately grimaces at the splitting pain in her leg where Goldwin nearly took it off. Briefly rubbing the wound, her mind wanders to the dream that startled her from sleep. I am not skilled in interpreting dreams, but that seemed like some kind of omen to me.
Such thoughts were useless without a means to interpret them, and she didn't have time to waste trying to recall what little she had learned from texts about symbolism and prophecy from the dream world. That, and there was the scent of something she craved on the air...
The aroma of eggs leads the hungry undine out of the bedroom and into the main foyer, dry mouth summoning every bit of moisture in excitement at a meal. She had fought and talked and fought and talked on little more than nuts and jerky yesterday, and as a famous Sahuagin general once said... An warrior swims on its stomach.
She approaches the kaleidoscope colored feast, allowing herself to be overtaken by the steaming scent of fresh mollusk and eggs. Picking up a fork with one hand, she stabs a mound of scrambled egg and starts to bring it upward. Deciding it wasn't coming fast enough she lowers her head and meets the fork halfway, shoveling the contents into her mouth.
There wasn't anyone around... she didn't need to hold back.
The feeding frenzy starts in earnest, then, and her head gets closer and closer to the plate as mound after mound of egg is stabbed and scooped directly into her ravenous maw. She chewed occasionally, pointed teeth piercing the savory eggs and salty mussels, releasing flavors that sent waves of pleasure through her mouth- a bit of Outsea danced along her tongue, but mostly slid down her throat.
It only took over a minute of gorging and the plate was gone. She grasps the plate firmly, lifting up the silver edges and nearly being blinded as multi-colored lights reflect off its polished surface and into her eyes. The undine's azure tongue runs along the metal in long swatches, catching every particle of food and reveling in the salty shellfish juices that clung to the plate. A few seconds of licking and she had cleaned completely cleaned the surface to a mirror shine, the unabashed undine setting the plate and fork down with a satisfied sigh. Hunger was not something she dealt with well, and a full stomach was going to greatly improve her ability to navigate the day's tenuous and inevitable trials.
Turning her attention to hydration she lays eyes on the potion bottle sitting upon the table. One hand grabs the bottle while the other lifts up the note, scanning its contents. Jerrad? She wonders, the unpracticed hand reminding her of Finn's chicken-scratch.
With Finn on her mind, she turns her attention to the potion and wonders if this was a typical morning for the Bastard Brigade- washing down breakfast with healing potions. Popping the cork, the viscous and slightly sweet almond-flavored liquid coats her throat in a slick and cool film as it goes down, a strangely pleasant compliment to the salty eggs and shellfish.
The potion was drained in a few powerful gulps, and she gently sets the bottle and cork back onto the table. A content sigh escapes her lips, and she turns around to retrieve her boots from the bedroom. A few steps, a set of tight loops and some tugging, and at least her feet were ready to face the day.
The wash stand was her next destination, and Rudabeh looks into the silvered mirror for a moment as she washes her hands in a bowl of nearby water. Aquamarine eyes stare back at her, flicking over the various burns and bruises covering her face with little concern. Closing her eyes, she splashes cool water over her face, invoking her morning prayer to her goddess as she cleans.
Alseta... yesterday I prayed to you to help me be more subtle, to learn the ways of statecraft and diplomacy. To change and adapt to a life that I am not prepared for. I do not know if I achieved my goal, but Pitax seems to be on the way towards peace with minimal bloodshed. This feat would not have been accomplished without your guiding principles... I thank you, my goddess, for leading me on this path, and one day all those in Pitax that would have lost their lives in a bloody civil war will thank you too. Today I ask you continue to watch over and protect those that strive for peace and understanding in Pitax..
Water drips from Rudabeh's face as she opens her eyes once more, sapphire orbs hardened into jewels as she thinks of the challenges she will face today from Orza and Lady Green hood. ...while I, your sword, will punish those that seek to only further their desires of power and revenge through the machinations of chaos.
Toweling off her face and pulling her hair back into its tight, high bun, the slightly cleaner warrior makes her way to exit the apartment. The grand doors swing open into the hallway, and she starts the day with a small and easily achievable goal. Find Kilarra's apartment and speak with her; something that should be made simple by asking a nearby scuttling servant.
It is amazing what a good night's sleep, breakfast and a bottle of magic can do. The ragged wound in her leg vanishes, leaving nothing behind but a memory of pain and blood. The other countless nicks and bruises she sustained fade as well, dark skin knitting together smoothly. Her ablutions at the wash basin remove the last traces of the long night, washing both blood and grime out of her hair. Looking at the confident, clean and well-tested undine paladin, few would guess she had just experienced the longest night of her life.
Although today may surpass it.
She sends up a prayer to Alseta but hears nothing distinct back...or does the dazzling sunlight twinkle off her holy symbol just a bit brighter? Rudabeh glances back at the mirror and notices the ornate frieze of animals decorating the outer edge, a maritime theme of fish, otters and diving birds. And there, in the upper corner, an old, wise turtle, content and peaceful. The sign of Alseta. A sign of favor or just a random bit of art?
In any case, it adds a bit of spring to her step thinking that, maybe just maybe, she has done well in the eyes of her goddess. The paladin enters the corridor, aiming to find a servant to guide her to Kilarra's chambers. Hopefully the cleric is being treated well, although Rudabeh is not sure how the former High Priestess will receive her. It would be easy to interpret that day at the joust as abandoning her new political ally. Despite having lost her ties to the Savored Sting, the paladin somehow doubts forgiveness is one of her character traits.
There is a woman waiting outside, sitting in a simple wooden chair in the passage. When Rudabeh enters she stands up quickly, then bows formally, "Good morning. I was told to wait here and wait for you to arise, then escort you to the funeral service in the courtyard." This is all said very quickly, clearly memorized and trying her best.
She is young and pretty enough in a simple, clean way, with braided hair and short functional robes. Rudabeh guesses she has never known Pitax as anything other then a kingdom under Irovetti. What would the future hold for young people such as her? Was what Rudabeh was building worth it?
The end of the young woman's words nearly make her flinch, as if she had been struck a blow. The airy attitude that had accompanied her exit from the apartment slowly falls as rapidly as the undine's ears fold in. Irovetti expects me to attend the funeral of a man I personally convicted of manslaughter, proclaimed an agent of chaos, and helped his very subject rise against his will to ensure he was punished? She thinks while rubbing her hand against her temple.
The world is a better place now that it is rid of Dravos... there are many that likely disagree, and facing them is bound to lead to conflict. If I am lucky they will blame Veleda for everything so I can stand back quietly and say nothing, but that is as likely to happen as a sailor spending their pay on water at a bar. There was probably a moment of confusion as the tall blue paladin stands in front of the servant without a word, looking quite conflicted.
Finally, with a sigh, Rudabeh asks politely; "Thank you for waiting for me, but first I must speak with Kilarra. Could you guide me to her room? Unless you know for certain she is attending the funeral." The paladin could try to put off going to the funeral... and maybe avoid it all together... but if Kilarra is attending, her path would inevitably lead there.
The woman looks scared as the meeting veers off her careful instructions. "I..I was supposed to assist those at the funeral, I don't have time.." She hesitates, looks around and says, "If I give you directions, do you think you can find the room?" She drops her voice lower, secretly, "I don't think the King will mind if you avoid the funeral. I got the feeling he was inviting you more of politeness then anything else."
Rudabeh actually breathes a sigh of relief when the servant mentions she got the feeling Irovetti was inviting her out of politeness. The phrase causes her to pause for a moment. The person she dethroned a handful of hours ago was being polite enough to invite her to a funeral he knew she didn't want to attend. Was this the future she aspired to make for the River Kingdoms, where hate and vitriol were uncommon and everyone was polite?
Giving her head a small shake as she knocks herself out of her musings. "I see. Yes, if you could give me directions I will try to find the room myself."
Rudabeh sends the servant off with a small bow of her head as she finishes the instructions. "Please, go on and attend to your duties, I will be fine."
The servant visibly relaxes in relief and gives off a series of rapid-fire directions. Rudabeh does her best to follow but she doesn't know the First palace every well. Usually she had been escorted or simply going to her assigned room. Soon the woman smiles and says, "And that is everything!" and before the paladin can ask for calcification she hurries off, vanishing down the hallway.
Armed with only a incomplete idea of where she is going, Rudabeh sets off to find Kilarra. At worst, she reasons, she can find another (perhaps less flighty) servant for directions. The paladin begins descending a series of staircases, navigating long stone hallways and peeking through half-closed doors. In a short time she is totally lost and, to her frustration, doesn't see another soul. Gone are all the guards, the hordes of servants, and even the lesser nobles that had haunted the place like ghosts yesterday. Everyone was apparently either at the funeral or had fled the Palace to avoid violence.
Then, just as she is despairing of every finding a way out of this labyrinth of fine art, she hears a familiar sound. The heavy ringing of metal on metal. Just the harsh clash of sparring or the random clatter of soldiers moving but the rhythmic pounding of a smithy. Had she found her way to an armory? Did the First Palace have an armory? At least it was something.
She passes down a wide passage following the oddly comforting sound. At the right door she stops and looks inside. Rudabeh finds a large smithy, complete with forges, anvils, tempering basins and the other tools of the blacksmiths trade. Hung on the walls are various items made here, but she spots few real weapons. Most seems to be artistic versions of them, parade ground fancies, little more use on a battlefield then lace. Huge (but thin) axes, elegantly embossed swords, heaps of glittering arrowheads and ornate shields so deeply carved as to make them useless.
All the forges but one are cold, filled with ash. In the center of the room, stooping over a roaring fire is the strange salamander who had escorted her into the First Palace last night. What had his name been? Gezzerbial.
Then she sees what he is doing. In his hand is a large hammer, also glowing light red (which is certainly not standard blacksmith practice). On the anvil in front of him is...Rudabeh's armor! The fiery creature has the hammer poised high ready to bring it down with tremendous force.
Rudabeh's face contorts into a variety of different states of confusion as the servant describes how to get to Kilarra's chambers without so much as a pause. By the time it had all been finished she had several questions, such as whether the Red Room was located in the north or south part of the palace and what exactly "The Gorn" was.
She raises a hand to speak but the flighty girl runs down the hallway and Rudabeh's hand falls slowly like a maple leaf on a windless fall day. Squaring her shoulders and turning in the opposite direction she sets off, immediately making the wrong turn at the second junction and completely bypassing "The Gorn", which was a lovely marbled rendition of Irovetti riding a Xorn into some unknown battle, not that she knew what a Xorn was or how to pronounce it.
There was one benefit to being lost in the First Palace- it was beautiful. Rudabeh muses that of all the places to be lost in Pitax, this was likely the greatest. To think that if she had not struck a deal last night all of this would have likely been looted or worse. At least now there was hope for a peaceful transition of power.
The undine's ears perk to their full height at the sounds of hammer and anvil, and she unerringly follows the noise, desperate to find anyone that could help her navigate the Palace. She enters the armory without pause, eyes sweeping the various weapons hung on the walls and grimacing. Brainchilds of Irovetti.. This must have been were that parade armor originated. Crosses her mind briefly. If she had been born a dwarf and became a paladin of Torag... the assortment of useless weapons on the walls would have given her a stroke.
Gezzerbial stood out in the room for multiple reasons, and while the creature made her uncomfortable she was still curious about it, having never met anything from the Plane of Fire. She was sure they could find common ground somehow... until she saw her breastplate on his anvil.
Instinctively, Rudabeh quickly thrusts forward a hand and calls out of the Salamander's name. "Gezzerbial!" She shouts with a little more panic in her voice than was befitting a paladin of Alseta. Clearing her throat and attempting to recover her poise, the undine tries not to jog towards him, instead just walking very quickly. "What... are you doing to my breastplate?" Voice quivering with trepidation, it was the most diplomatic way she could phrase her question.
Rudabeh crosses the space quickly, not quite grabbing the hammer but close to it. Her concern clearly fills the paladin's liquid voice, audible over the crackles of the burning coals. Gezzerbial pauses, long head turning her way. Then he smiles, a bit uncertainly. The glowing hammer lowers as the salamander says, "Not...breast."
His Common is slow, with a heavy strange accent. The voice is a sharp staccato, crackling like fire dancing over dry leaves yet not unpleasant. Rudabeh has the feeling he is quite precise and accurate in his own tongue.
The salamander turns the metal on the anvil slightly, to give Rudabeh a better view. And she sees it is indeed not her breastplate, but the cuisse. The metal had been savagely damaged during Goldwin's enlarged attack on the barricade, and even now, Rudabeh could feel the echo of the pain in her leg from the wound. To her surprise however, most signs of the jagged hole are gone, replaced with new metal, carefully overlying the damage. While no blacksmith, Rudabeh knows such repairs are expensive, time consuming and delicate operations that many blacksmiths simply refuse to do. The rivets holding on the leather straps have been carefully removed and lie in a neat pile on a work bench.
"I...metal worker, in home." Gezzerbial says slowly, working on each word. "Was told...work. Rather work real then...." He pauses and waves a hand to the pretty but useless array on the walls of the smithy.
The salamander shrugs, "I also....fix sword." He nods with his head and Rudabeh sees Sixth Peak carefully laid on a work table. The blade had been used hard the recently, especially last night. But the blood and stains had all been carefully removed and the few small burrs and nicks she noticed had been honed away. It glittered like brand new, catching the dancing flames of the forge, looking potent and sharper then a cold winter's morning.
At Rudabeh's face Gezzerbial smiles, revealing many sharp teeth. "Good blade...worth work on. You know who make? Some skill." Rudabeh has the feeling the blacksmith rarely offers such praise.
He turns back to the armor, frowning slightly, "Not so good...you fight often? Dangerous." He taps the armor lightly with the glowing hammer, which doesn't seem to be cooling in his grip. "Need better." he adds bluntly, the straight-forward voice of skilled craftsman of all planes and times. The slave collar around his neck is dark as ebony, hazy as if somewhat indistinct and the chains around it connect to nothing Rudabeh can see.
Rudabeh's outstretched hand falls as she notices new sheet of metal covering her damaged cuisse, brilliantly held into place to preserve the integrity and style of the armor. She was sure she was going to have to have the entire component remade from scratch, and the paladin finds herself dumbfounded that this creature of fire was such a skilled smith. It merely further reinforces the teachings of Alseta; no matter someone's appearance, every soul has a life rich with experience in some way or another. Acknowledging that and drawing respect from it was part of walking down the path of The Welcomer.
The moment of panic over, she suddenly realizes how hot is is next to the salamander, squinting slightly and feeling her body start to break out into a sweat. She knew from the previous night that it was definitely coming from him and not the forge, which was merely making the thermal situation worse. It also occurred to her that Irovetti's servants must have dumped out her Bag of Holding and went through her belongings at some point, possibly the previous night.
She listens closely to his slow and bizarre staccato, saying little and following his scaled hands as he gestures to and fro. The undine was trying to get a read on the creature, and despite her own internal protests she couldn't fight back the unease that pulsed from deep within her soul into her psyche.
There was a momentary distraction when Gezzerbial mentions her sword, and the surprise evident on her face was instantly picked up by the observant salamander. "I do not know who made the blade exactly," Rudabeh intones as she walks over to the work table, both thankful to get a little father away from the heat, happy to see her sword again, and grateful to see it in the best shape it has ever been. "but I do know it was made by a team of craftsdwarfs in Maheto, each working on a separate piece."
"Its name is The Sixth Peak." She says as she reaches out to grasp the warg-leather covered hilt, lifting the blade off the table and bringing it closer. "Thank you for maintaining it, I was unable to do so last night. Not that I could have done such excellent work." Its perfectly polished surface reflects her pleased expression, which shifts to one of pensive thought. I would be surprised if Samuel were here... Did Ractus bring this with him? Are the mercenaries already here?
The weight of the sword leaves her hand as she places the oiled blade back onto the pockmarked and burnt surface of the well-used table, looking to her armor. "I fight when I must." She says evenly, approaching the anvil once again despite the growing heat restoring her discomfort. "Which has been very often, lately."
A slow nod follows his statement that she needs better- the previous day's heavy fighting certainly proved to her that it was time to invest in some heavier armor, even if it meant sacrificing her ability to take it on and off by herself. "You're right." She admits with a sigh. "I had this armor made for me years ago, shortly after I became a Paladin of Alesta. Perhaps I have outgrown it without realizing." She was going to make an analogy about a snake shedding its skin, but she felt it would be in poor taste given the present company.
She stares at the repaired cuisse for a moment longer, savoring the memory of when she purchased the armor using the money she earned from settling a dispute between two large groups of river bandits. The armor held sentimental value and had served her for years, but she wasn't as useful to Alseta if she were dead. "I would commission you to fashion me a set of full plate, but given your... beyond mortal skill I do not believe I could afford such an honor." She says with sincere reverence, looking up briefly at the strange and otherwordly collar around Gezzerbial's neck.
"Do you exclusively fashion weapons and armor for the magma dragon beyond the bronze mirror Irovetti holds?" She asks tentatively, wondering if the collar was merely because he was momentarily bound to Irovetti on the material plane, or if it was a more permanent fixture enthralling him to the will of the dragon.
Gezzerbial nods when Rudabeh says what little she knows of the blade's makers and history. "Dwarf. Good worker." The salamander says then, as if considering, "Sometimes...too....the same. Not invent enough to be master."
Rudabeh glances about but does not her other items here, at any rate. Where had Irovetti, or more likely, Druxan, squirreled them away? Surely it violated some law or custom of the Pact to keep a holy symbol from a paladin of Alseta?
When Rudabeh asks he last question, the fiery face goes flat the half-smile vanishing. "I am...slave." he says slowly although Rudabeh thinks he knows the words quite well. His tone reveals nothing but his tail jerks slightly, as if in frustration...or anger.
"Dragon sells me...." Gezzerbial shakes his head and then goes on, "Short time, not long....I work many others. Make weapons, fight if must. Do not like to fight, prefer work." he gestures with the hammer. "Many slaves, my city. Big city, much more then here. Towers all brass. Very tall, shine with fire. Few not slave." The fiery eyes dip in sadness for a moment, obvious despite his alien speech and features.
The edge of Rudabeh's lip curls up slightly in amusement when Gezzerbial says that the work of dwarves was "too the same". If any self-respecting craftsdwarf, or worse a paladin or priest of Torag, had heard those words it would have definitely resulted in a fight.
Despite her instinctual reservations she is starting to like Gezzerbial. His bluntness reminds her of Urqat and her days spent listening to the sahuagin's brutal observations on the court floor.
The rest of her items weren't too much of a worry- if they had noticed the state of her armor and passed it along to someone has skilled as this salamander, everything else must be in good care.
The otherworldly being's reaction to her question causes her ears to fall slightly, his words confirming the suspicions she had the previous night. The description of his city sounds a lot like the legendary City of Brass, but she was no expert on the planes and could only guess where he was referring to based on old adventurer tales that were bouncing around in her mind.
Extraplanar geography was not as important as what she was about to ask, because she hoped that Irovetti wasn't about to get himself in trouble for breaking one of the few laws of the River Kingdoms again. "Were you sold to Irovetti? Does he claim ownership of you? Or is the dragon merely allowing you to be borrowed by Irovetti, and the dragon still owns you?" She asks carefully and neutrally, trying to ascertain if Irovetti has indeed purchased himself a slave or if he was attempting his usual tactic of skirting the letter of the law with clever legal buffers.
If the dragon still owned Gezzerbial there was little Rudabeh could do- River Kingdoms law definitely does not transcend planar boundaries. But here on the material plane... here she was a mortal manifestation the law, and would force Irovetti to free the salamander.
Rudabeh knows that the use of summoned creatures is a legal gray area in the River Kingdoms. Many refuse to use them on principle and the few summoners in the River Kingdoms are often looked askance. The salt mephits of Outsea are compensated for their services via trade deals with the Plane of Earth, for example. It is long practiced law that any slave who sets foot in the River Kingdoms is automatically free and such freedom is protected by all.
Not for the first time Rudabeh wishes Urqat was here. The old sahuagin had spoken more then once on the subject but it had never seemed pressing to Rudabeh at the time. Who had thought case law about summoned dire sharks would be important?
Gezzerbial is clearly frustrated by his lack of knowledge of Common. "Dragon still own....King borrow me, work for him. Go back home when done. Tomorrow?" he adds, a question in his tone, clearly having heard of Irovetti's coming departure of the city.
Rudabeh nods slowly at his words, unsurprised. Irovetti was too clever to try and purchase a slave himself, and in all honesty he may not want one. For all his failings he doesn't seem like a man that would want to legitimately enslave a sentient being, instead preferring loyal and willing servitude brought on by equal parts reward and fear.
Reaching up a hand, she pinches the bridge of her nose while wracking her brain for any snippet of conversation she had with Urqat about case law and summoned creatures in the River Kingdoms. The undine's ears droop further and further as she realizes that she remember nothing of her mentor's experience with the matter. "I see."
Sighing, she decides to handle the matter on her own, placing another heavy weight on the scale of Pitax that she was attempting to balance. Her azure tongue briefly flicks over her dry lips as she thinks deeply about her next words. "If you had the chance to be free, but it meant you may be stuck on this plane and unable to return home," She looks up into his fiery eyes, the flames of the flickering forge reflecting off of her cool blue eyes. "would you take it?"
"If so," The paladin evenly continues, "can you tell me everything you know about the magic holding you in bondage and the bronze mirror Irovetti holds?"
She doesn't know how she can get Irovetti to give up the mirror, if at all... but if she could trade it to Nubuach in exchange for him severing the creature's bondage, she could uphold the law of the River Kingdoms without having to fight a dragon. Perhaps she could negotiate directly with the dragon itself, but that seemed... unwise.
Perhaps there would are other ways, but Nubuach seemed the best hope for severing the magic holding Gizzerbial in thrall.
Rudabeh's question is barely out of her mouth when Gezzerbial answers, voice faster then any racing fire. "Yes. You say same, yes? Even if forced live in brass city?"
There is a pause, as his long tail thrashing momentarily, clearly pondering freedom. Voice somewhat distant the fiery smith muses, "Father made chain.." he touches the inky black collar on his neck. "Great metal worker...legend. Undo work.."
His bright red eyes lock with Rudabeh's then, revealing an intensity that is almost frightening. There is a depth there, and age beyond what Rudabeh expected. How long had this creature been a slave? Centuries? Millennia?
"Mirror not chain. Mirror...way of talking between here and Fire. Only hallway. Chain is hold. " He hesitates, clearly unsure, "Need magic and strength. Not enough break chain but that is part."
Then his eyes drift to Sixth Peak. "Break chain after magic. Do not know magic, dragon secret keep. Many slave, few escape." His eyes shine though, with an inner fire of which the forge is but a mere ember.
"You free me?" His voice is a mere whisper among the crackling coals. "You make enemy of dragon? And King?"
Rudabeh quickly nods to his question... her mind is filled with what life in the Brass City must be like. Hot, brutal, and... hot. Mostly hot. Not somewhere she would want to be, but if it meant having her own will it would be worth it.
She frowns when Gezzerbial mentions his father made the chain. What kind of place is the Plane of Fire that a father would willingly make slave collars for their children? Or if he was coerced... what power does this dragon hold?
The paladin tries not to wilt at the intensity from both the figurative and literal fire in the salamander's eyes as he contemplates freedom after time as a slave longer than she could comprehend.
As he explains the basics of the bindings holding him in thrall, Rudabeh tries to figure out how she is going to accomplish this. She definitely needed the adventurer's help for magic and strength of this caliber, and thankfully she had not made enemies out of them. Yet, anyway.
At his whispered question, she nods slowly, carefully choosing her words so as not to give him false hope. "I am a Paladin of Alseta. My oaths say I must enforce the law of the land I am in. Here in the River Kingdoms, slavery is illegal, and by law any slave that sets foot.. or tail.. on the soil here is immediately considered freed. However..." She points to the shadowy collar. "Ancient dragon magics do not care much for the laws of mortals, and I am no wizard. Yet, by my oaths I must attempt to free you for as long as you are here in the River Kingdoms, and I will do all I can to accomplish that goal. Do you know exactly when you must return? Is it at a certain time,at Iroveti's command, or both?"
Her hand drops to the said, face contorting in thought. "There is a powerful wizard currently residing in this city, one that may be able to break the magic and willing to help you. I do not know if he will require a favor in exchange, but I will speak to him. Once the magic is gone, what will be required to break the metal? I know another of great strength that is close to the wizard that may be willing to break it on principle alone."
On the question of making enemies Rudabeh smiles, her pearl-colored teeth glinting in the fire. "I may be able to work something out with Irovetti without making an enemy of him. I have before. The dragon..." Her smiles fades somewhat, for she does not have any plans to negotiate with such an ancient power. "Yes, I am willing to make an enemy of a dragon if it means fulfilling my duty."
Gezzerbial turns away, as if overwhelmed by Rudabeh's words. In a few moments he is back to work, pounding on the armor with a glowing hammer. In fact he works so quickly, Rudabeh is forced to step back as sparks fly up around him. Silently he works the metal, carefully smooth out the rough edge, reforming the hardened, annealed edge that gives the steel its strength. The salamander does not look up, does not pause in his work and soon Rudabeh is lost in the rhythm of his blows. How much time passes is hard to guess for what is time to the true craftsman?
Finally, he grabs the hot armor with a bare hand before plunging it into a tub of cool water. Through the billowing cloud of steam she spots him looking at her, face impossible to read in the flickering light of the forge. Carefully he lies the finishes cuisse with the other bits of armor near the sword.
"Bound till deal with King is done. Think ends tomorrow, after leave city. No need for fighting then or weapon. Deal very expensive for King, dragon ask for much gold. King must release back to Fire. You think wizard break chain?"
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Rudabeh nearly jumps backwards as the salamander furiously begins to work, throwing up a hand over her face as sparks fly all around the vicinity. The pounding of metal on metal rings in her ears, and she slowly lowers her hand, transfixed by the masterful sight of a legend at their craft. To her the blows seemed almost random, her uneducated mind not understanding the way he edges the bows against the anvil or crenalates then flattens the metal. Saying it was merely impressive was an insult to his skill.
She looks through the steam into his fiery eyes and touches her hand to her heart. "I do not know if the wizard can break the magic or what he will request in return. I will not make you promises I cannot keep because I truly do not know whether this is within anyone's power. By my oaths I swore to my goddess, as long as you are in Pitax I will do all I can to free you, Gezzerbial." Without her holy symbol to swear on it may have been less dramatic. "If you do not have to leave until tomorrow, I will ask Irovetti if you can come with me for the remainder of the stay on the plane. I was meaning to talk to the wizard and his companions later today after the parade, so hopefully you can accompany me."
As usual, Rudabeh has no idea what she's doing or getting herself into- she knew that this might jeprodize her deal with Irovetti. It was a dangerous line, but she had no choice. Any slave that sets foot in the River Kingdoms must be freed, and if she may be one of the few in the land willing to enforce the law against a dragon.
"I will speak to Irovetti as soon as I can." Normally she would put a comforting hand on someone's shoulder at this point, but considering she can barely stand being next to the creature it was probably unwise to touch him. Instead, she gives him a small bow of her head, a little deeper than usual. "Thank you for fixing my armor and sword and allowing me to watch you work. We will meet again soon."
Unless Gezzerbial had more to say, she would take her leave and continue her search for Kilarra, leaving her armor and sword in the salamander's capable hands for now.
Rudabeh leaves the salamander to his work, clearly Gezzerbial prefers to focus on steel and steam then dwell on a promise that may never be fulfilled. Still, Rudabeh has given her word that is not done lightly by the undine. Would not freeing one enslaved soul count as one unequivocally good thing done in Pitax? After so many days of gray areas and striking bargains for lesser evils, in a way, it felt good to be addressing a clear and simple evil.
Then again. A Magma Dragon.
She shivers a bit at the thought as she ventures back into the opulent warren that is the First Palace. This time however the paladin manages to keep her head and takes the third left after the jeweled mosaic of Irovetti founding the Art College. Soon Rudabeh finds herself in a small block of apartments meant for those too important to send to the dungeon below but still needed under lock and key. The hallway is wide serviceable stone with simple iron torch holders. No art here, no marble. The doors are stout oak, ringed with black iron, heavy rivets holding them in place, each with a wide grate at the top allowing inspection without entering.
Rudabeh glances inside one as she passes, seeing a fairly large stone room with clean rushes on the floor, simple hangings on the wall and humble wooden furniture. Only a small barred window lets in a shaft of bright dawn light, and no side rooms. No place to hide from a watchful eye.
In a moment she finds the door to Kilarra's apartment, last in the line. Interestingly the door hangs open, slightly ajar. Curious Rudabeh approaches, toeing the door open. No one is inside but there are signs of recent activity. The furniture is moved around, the pile of bedding shuffled about. On the scrubbed rough table is a note.
To whomever finds this.
Do not be alarmed, I have left of my own free will. This city has become anathema to me, nothing but a reminder of my own weakness and failures. I will not be a pawn of either others or my own frailty. Do not seek me for you will not find me. Even diminished as I am, your trackers will find nothing. Leave me in peace and I shall leave you Pitax.
To Irovetti- Do not think ill of me, not all of us are willing to hold to the last.
To Rudabeh of Outsea- I have not forgotten you. Do not forget me.
Kilarra
Rudabeh had taken special care to avoid making any long-term or dangerous enemies in her travels, usually by refusing rewards or ensuring compromise when she could, or by passing lenient judgements and ignoring the evils of greed or power abuse when it was not pertintent to the law. It was something that many of the people around her did not seem to realize- she did as much good as she could get away with, but not at the cost of her reputation as a mediator or her place in the fight against chaos.
Yet, the magma dragon would surely be an unavoidable enemy. She had never had to free a slave before due to the River Kingdom's reputation against slavery- someone usually helped them escape as soon as they crossed the border, but she assumed freeing them would have to involve fighting the slaver. This was a more complicated situation, and she was glad that Gezzerbial's owner was a few planes of existance away at the moment.
The prison apartments were interesting to Rudabeh, and it showed that Irovetti was, despite his many failings, a great host. If he wanted someone to know they were favored or important, even if they were being imprisoned, they knew it.
She toes open the door to Kilarra's apartment, slowly edging inside. Despite the lack of hiding places, she wasn't sure what to expect from the ex priestess (considering she had been attacked before) and kept her guard up.
The paladin picks up the note as it was apparent she had somehow escaped, her eyes rapidly crossing over the flowing script. Rudabeh feels a rush of several emotions mixed together- guilt, joy, sadness... She had not been able to apologize for being swept away from her, or tell her that she had kept her promise to get the adventurers out of the church. Neither had she been able to help her through her transition to one of the lay folk of the land. Yet, it seemed Kilarra held her in no ill will, and actually seemed much more sturdy of mind and emotion than previously observed. There is a small pang in the undine's heart as she places the letter back down on the table to wander away. I will not forget you, Kilarra. I look forward to seeing your growth as an individual when we next meet. What changes will you have undergone when we meet again? Who will you be? Floats through her thoughts, certain she will one day see the woman in the future. Alseta will bring us together in ways Calistria never cared to. I am certain.
Rudabeh steps out of the apartment, leaving the door cracked open as it once was. With many new matters on her mind she slowly walks through the First Palace, navigating her way towards the dungeons. Kilarra was not the only prisoner she had on her mind... what of Toski, who she had used to rally the mercenaries to her cause? Was she even still alive?
Finding the dungeons is easy, now that Rudabeh has been there before. Keep searching for staircases and passages that lead downward. She passes more apartments, then kitchens, then storerooms until she reaches the dark and slightly damp subterranean network of cells.
It is much the same as she remember, unmarked doors, hallways stinking of rotting hay, dim lighting by a few ill-tended torches. Then there is new scent in the air. Of ash and fire, of...acid? Rudabeh's hand goes for a blade which is not there as she rounds a corner.
In front of her is destruction. Much of the tunnel is collapsed, a huge rent torn in the side of the chamber. Bricks, stones and earth half-filled the way forward, much of it charred and burned. The paladin notes, with unease, splashes of blood here and there on the ruins.
It is clear that sometime after the breakage, an effort was made to clear a passage. It was done, the damage can be bypassed, but only just. She sees and hears nothing but the quiet drip of distant water.
Rudabeh had been in her share of dungeons, though thankfully only the kind people are kept in and not the kind adventurers commit suicide by entering, but this one looked like the latter.
Irovetti said they managed to beat back Veleda, but at what cost? Did she managed to free anyone, or just kill dozens of guards? The paladin contemplates, staring at a spot in the wall where, given the height and amount of the blood spatter, someone was certainly decapitated.
Shaking her head in disdain at the chaos, Rudabeh squeezes through the gap, for once thankful not to have her armor on. Surely a plate or a bit of leather would have been caught on the jagged stone poking out of the wall.
Her boots echo softly on the stone in time with the dripping water, trying to remember which cell was Toski's. Not only do the stout oak and iron doors all look the same, but there was no way to peer inside of them to take advantage of her darkvision.
With a sigh, the paladin realizes how hopeless this is without the master jailer's knowledge of the prisoner roster, if he was even still alive. I cannot spend too much time here. The funeral will be wrapping up soon and I will be needed for the parade. Crosses her mind as she continues down the hallway, hoping something changes or triggers her memory.
Finding Toski's cell is impossible. Indeed, the dungeon seems to be deliberately designed to be as unmemorable as possible, with no rooms marked or passages distinct. Irovetti has gone to some lengths to make break-outs difficult. Glancing at the shattered stone and collapsed wall, he only partially succeeded.
Rudabeh wanders aimlessly for some time, unsure what she seeks. Finally, just as she is starting to get worried she is lost, she hears footsteps. Turning, she spots a young man rounding a corner, a sack over his shoulder. He nearly jumps in fright at seeing Rudabeh and the bag hits the stone floor with a heavy clang.
"Who....who are you?" he says, hand reaching inexpertly, for a club at his belt. 'What are you doing down here? The dungeons are closed!"
After about the fifth turn into the same hallway, Rudabeh begins to realize that this was not only hopeless, but stupid. No amount of good intentions was going to allow her to magically find the woman, and even if she did, what was she going to do?
Thoroughly demoralized by realizing her plan to find Toski hinged on everything just working out, Rudabeh is about to turn around when the young man rounds the corner and nearly wets himself in fright.
Though certainly surprised to see someone else, the six foot tall and one-hundred and sixty pound hardened veteran of dozens of fights merely stops walking as sights the human, giving his club a casual glance. "Rudabeh of Outsea, Paladin of Alseta and Representative of the Pact of Years." She announces her titles in a clear and confident voice borne of repetitive use rather than pride. Her eyes shift to the... boy's...? heavy and metal-laden sack. "I'm searching for Toski Darrod's cell, but I was unaware the dungeons were closed."
Her head snaps back up to human's face, her own scrunching in a failed attempt to try and recognize him or any discerning features. "You are...?"
"Oh." he say when Rudabeh mentions his name and visibly relaxes. Clearly her name is well-known in the city by this point, even among the most insulted people.
When asked for his name he says, "Um, Halm, I am...was..one of the guards down here." Noting her looking at the sack he says defensively, "Just cleaning up the last of the old storerooms now that we are heading out. Orders, of course." he say nervously, clearly not wanting a paladin thinking he is stealing anything.
He shrugs then and says, "As for finding one cell, everything is chaos. After that rebel attacked, things have been confusing. Old Kerry was killed and he was the only one who knew who was kept where. After the attack we tried to clean things up but new orders are leave it all for the rebels to sort out."
The young man shrugs again, Rudabeh gets the feeling her does this often. "Orders, you know?"
Rudabeh nods slowly as the ex-palace guard identifies himself, listening intently from her position across the hallway. Once he finishes and she has a grasp of the situation, she slowly closes her eyes and sighs. I am surrounded by both an example of the power and aftereffects of chaos. Immensely destructive with no thought of the consequences... No matter how well Viridia means, she has possibly left dozens to an unknown fate in these cells.
Opening her eyes, the paladin regards the shrugging evenly. "Yes, Viridia is akin to a tsunami or a tornado. All of this..." She gestures to a nearby wall with a nearly two bloody foot gash running through the stone. "Done by one woman. To what end?"
The hypothetical question goes unanswered as she instead asks two questions that she actually does need to know the answers to. "Are the prisoners being watered and fed still? Do you know who has the keys?"
When Rudabeh asks her rhetorical question, Halm takes her literally and shrugging yet again, says, "Probably to free the prisoners. Why else come to a dungeon?"
When Rudabeh asks about the prisoners the young man says, "Don't know. Was told not to worry about any of that, clear out the old lockers and bring them to the quartermaster's offices upstairs. I imagine the King has the keys and all that sort of thing."
He looks around the desolate seeming passageway and says, hopefully, "Can we go upstairs? Being alone down here gives me the creeps. Besides, who knows what else might come up out of the sewers? That woman left a big hole in the wall."
Rudabeh briefly wanders if the young man will have shoulder problems later in his life before nodding. "I was afraid I had gotten myself lost, so I am fortunate you arrived. Please show me the way upstairs."
She begins to walk towards the human so they could both ascend. The paladin was not very talkative along the way, being lost in thought. The prisoners were all slowly dying in their cells from neglect and Viridia had invaded the dungeon through the sewer wall, which every city dweller knows contains an assortment of awful monsters or unsavory humanoids. Two complications she could do nothing about other than standing at the hole and fighting off rats with her fists.
There simply wasn't enough time to solve every problem, to save everyone. She had learned that some time ago and tried not to let it get to her, but it had been increasingly frustrating lately given the rate that problems were cropping up. If only she had help... if only there were more of herself.
At the moment she had to save the city, and that meant protecting Irovetti until he left. She could get the dungeon keys from the former king (why would he need them?) and pass it off to Samuel when she met him later today- it was not ideal, and some of the prisoners may not make it, but the needs of the many override the needs of the few.
The needs of the few... Gezzerbial pops into her mind, and she wonders how she will talk Irovetti into lettering him go along with freeing the salamander. What price would she pay to even try? What price would she pay in the end?
Yesterday night she had thought Pitax's problems had been solved, but she failed to consider all the problems she had generated for herself. For now, she was resolved to return to her apartment and await Druxan at least.
At least Halm knows his way around the dungeon and soon they are ascending into the more habitable portions of the First Palace. The young man is quiet, clearly more then slightly intimidated by Rudabeh's job title. Few people who work in a dungeon are at ease with paladins. Besides, even in a multi-racial society like the River Kingdoms, she is probably the first undine he has ever seen up close.
As they reach the busy sections the man begs her leave, hoisting his bag and setting off for the storerooms. Rudabeh is making her way toward her apartment when she hears many feet coming her way. Bracing herself she turns toward the noise.
Then, like a school of fish clustering around a bejeweled crab, Irovetti and a swarm of courtiers round a corner. The (former) king of Pitax is resplendent this morning wearing full formal robes of frosty blue and mustard yellow. The clash was stupendously awful. The shorter man spots Rudabeh instantly and says, "Ah, my dear paladin. Found you at least. Druxan has been giving himself fits over losing you."
He waves a hand to the cresting wave of aides who freeze in place,then slowly draw back, not quite out of earshot but respectfully enough. Irovetti takes a few more steps, clearly indicating Rudabeh should come to him, not the reverse. Royal privilege dies hard, apparently.
"We missed you at the service this morning." he says, eyes narrowing slightly. "I hope you were not indisposed too severely?" More then a few aides are listening a bit too obviously. Clearly missing the state event has caused quite the etiquette flurry, although it amusing that amid civil war, revolution and actual battle Irovetti is concerned with attendance to state events.
Rudabeh gives Halm farewell and thanks for guiding her out of the dungeon, and she is ready to collect her thoughts in the apartment when a flurry of noise reaches her finned ears. Irovetti's appearance is all at once unsurprising and startling; she is fairly certain that a wild animal would likely see the former king's clashing colors as some sort of warning display and immediately flee.
The paladin notes the king's habit of making people come to him has gone nowhere, and she briefly wonders how long it will takefor the spirit of a king to leave him. Given his ego, perhaps never.
She covers the remaining distance to Irovetti, briefly glancing at the aides who, despite the rioting and struggles outside, are more concerned with court gossip than anything else. Perhaps it was best Pitax was changing leadership, but would it really be any better? She had heard a saying in Galt, often repeated in the days before the Red Revolution; every generation wooden clogs are seen ascending stairs while silk slippers are seen going down them. How many generations of humans would it take before the rebels were the ones fat and unconcerned with the citizenry?
She pushes all this from her mind and greets Irovetti with a small smile and a bow of her head. "Good Morning Irovetti. No, I am fine. As always your accomodations are exquisite. I apologize for my absence if I was expected at the funeral. I did not mean to cause Druxan any anguish either, I will need to apologize to him later. There were persons I needed to speak to elsewhere in the palace before we prepared for your parade." The paladin seems quite unconcerned that she missed the funeral, though she is actually sorry if she caused Druxan and others distress.
Another glance at the cluster of aides nearby before her cool blue eyes refocus on the smaller man with some difficulty due to the swirl of clashing colors around him. "Do you have time to speak with me privately before the festivities? There are a few delicate matters I need your assistance with." The word "festivities" left a bad taste in her mouth. It was probably going to turn into a street battle.
The (former) King's eyebrows arch slightly when Rudabeh simply calls him by his last name, but he says nothing. Clearly though the man is not used to merely being another citizen. Suddenly, unbidden, Rudabeh gets the image of Irovetti, in full royal regalia marching into Daggermark like he owned the place and insisting on re-decorating The Grove. What in God's name was she thinking, having this man as her adviser?
When Rudabeh dismisses the funeral, the man lowers his voice and says, "I had hoped you would have used the chance to mend bridges with Lady Rennert. It would be good for you to heal such wounds, considering how she will be coming to Daggermark with us, alongside the rest of the court."
Breezing over this rather daring statement, Irovetti nods at the paladin;s final words. "Yes, a word. Alderman Gemus has been whispering in my ear and I am very intrigued." He pauses, glances at the walls around them, as if mentally picturing where they were.
Without waiting for a response he turns to the clustering crowds, "Get the East Scriptorium prepared." Instantly a few aides hurry off around a corner. After giving them a moment the (former)King follows after them, apparently expecting Rudabeh to keep up. The old man is spry for his age, moving with more energy then Rudabeh expected after such a long set of days.
Considering how Rudabeh is fairly sure Lady Rennert enabled Dravos' awful behavior, the last thing the paladin wanted was a conversation with the lady. Still, she was touched that Irovetti cared enough to attempt to mend relations between herself and his most trusted family. "I very much appreciate you for looking out for me," she begins in a low and sincere voice, "but the state of my personal relations will have wait until there are less pressing issues at hand."
Rudabeh wonders if Rennert had survived how long it would have taken for him to get assassinated in Daggermark. She might have thrown a few hundred gold into that pot if offered the chance just to rid the world of another agent of chaos.
The paladin must take to her full stride as they walk towards the East Scriptorium, the shorter man surprisingly speedy. If she had been fully armored, there was no doubt that she would have fallen behind. "Have Ractus and his mercenaries arrived? With their aid we should be able to easily repel any rebel attacks on the parade." She inquires as paintings rush by, not yet engaging in conversation about the upcoming vote for the fate of Pitax. Had she made a mistake by letting Irovetti know? Would the former king try to influence the election?
"Ah yes, your merry little band of sellswords showed up at the gates just before dawn asking to be let inside. Nearly set off a skirmish between them and my men but it was all sorted out without bloodshed." The (former) king shrugs adding, "But I think you overestimate the desire of the rebels to attack the farewell parade. Apart from your little...incident at the jousting field, I have never had a public event disrupted by violence."
Shortly they enter into the scriptorium, leaving the horde of aides and courtiers outside. More then a few look quite displeased at this snub but Irovetti ignores them with regal disdain.
The room is high and airy, with broad windows to let in as much light as possible. For the first time in the Palace Rudabeh gets a good view of the city. To the untrained eye, Pitax lies peaceful and quiet under the sparking morning. The paladin can see the faint pillars of smoke rising into the air, the signs of rubble at crossroads. The streets look empty, with little to no traffic on them. No stalls, no markets, no signs of life. A city still under siege.
The scriptorium itself is simple enough, a room lined with rows of benches and tables, each supplied with quills and ink. Clearly Irovetti issues enough proclamations, orders and records to keep a small army of scribes busy. All is quiet and empty now.
The (former) King takes a seat in an elegant chair propped against the wall, out of the way in a secluded corner. Rudabeh gets the feeling it was put here just in case the monarch decided to visit.
"So, an election?" He says as way of opening the conversation, "A bold ploy, if I dare say so. Tricky int he logistics however. Have you considered how you will actually hold such a vote? Will you have ballots? Will the people of the city be voting for factions or individual candidates? Will there be residency requirements or age limitations? What about those living in the outlying villages? Have you given thought to any of these, and other, questions?"
It suddenly occurs to her that, in this room, is one of the few people in Pitax experienced with actual administration and government. Yes, he seemed to have only used democratic norms as props to personal power, but clearly he understood how they could work. Apart from the adventurers (who seemed casual at best) who among the rebels had run so much as a municipal council?
Rudabeh is slightly confused why the mercenaries were nearly attacked. Jerrad said he would communicate their arrival to the gate guards, but perhaps they were jumpy after all that's happened. She would get the full story from Ractus later.
Completely ignoring the subtext of Irovetti's comment about the joust, Rudabeh takes into consideration whether the former king could be correct. What if they do not attack the parade and instead attack the election? The Lady Green Hood said she would not stand by as the rebels built a coalition. Orza, too, has a reason to hate me.
"It's possible they will not attack." Rudabeh intones as they pass into the scriptorium, leaving behind a gaggle of pouting aides. "But it is my duty to protect you from clear and present danger." She continues, closing the door behind them. The paladin glances about the broad room, making her way to a window. "The Lady Green Hood and Orza are very dangerous and want you dead. This may be their last opportunity, and they have their own zealous supporters."
Staring out the window, Rudabeh sees a Pitax in stasis. The courtyard was not piled high with corpses and fire, but instead.... Its emptiness seems to awais something to jar it from the confusion created yesterday. Does that responsibility lie on her?
"In any case, I will stop worrying about it when you are safely on the river." She says, turning away from her own reflection in the window to approach the gilded chair in the corner.
Irovetti's words drill into her brain like an augur, a world of civics piercing deeply into her thoughts. The paladin was far from ignorant about the workings of government in the River Kingdoms, but the problem was every country was so different it was hard to who practiced what.
She was glad to have such a skilled administrator present to work through the ideas she had on organizing the election, which she had very little time to consider. "I have thought through some matters." Rudabeh says, standing before him with hands swung behind her back. "I will personally oversee the election of a single individual head of state from within the city itself so that order may be quickly re-established. They must be a Pitaxian citizen, physically present during voting, receive the overall majority of the vote, and will serve out a six month term. Ractus' mercenaries, whom I promised work as enforcers of the Pact, will hopefully assist in the collection of ballots." She begins explaining her ideas in earnest, looking at the ceiling above.
"While this head of state is re-establishing the government in the country representatives from each of the districts within the city as well as surrounding villages and municipalities will be voted in to serve on a council underneath the head of state, a body of delegates that will make laws, collect taxes, and control the powers the head of state has at their disposal. After the six month period for the head of state is expired, the representatives will vote on a new head of state from among their own for a term lasting however long they see fit." Her eyes track downward from the ceiling to meet Irovetti's. "Thus, the one holding the position of the first head of state is temporary, and will hopefully only be taken by one who wishes to see Pitax's future grow, and it will not totally exclude the outlying villages from having some say in the selection of the second head of state because their representatives will have joined the council by that point."
"As for logistics..." The paladin continues, her mind racing as she tries to come up with something on the spot that sounds feasible. "After you have left I will spend a day collecting nominations for the head of state among the citizenry and spreading the word that the vote will be taking place the following day in a secure location. Myself, Ractus, and his mercenaries will administer, collect, and count ballots by hand, at the previously advertised location."
There were further considerations down the road, one that she considers briefly. "The following day, after the head of state is chosen, I believe we can co-op the local jurisdiction regions of judges you have appointed to every area. The offices of the judges can run and oversee the elections of local representatives of the councils under the head of state."
Pitax has few governmental organization or institutions, by design and chance. Irovetti anted to not only be the absolute center of all political activity but also entirely irreplaceable. A coherent system apart from himself would only encourage rivals to plan 'post-Irovetti' regimes as well as limit his powers. Any judges you find would merely have been rubber stamps to the King, there is no independent judiciary.
The King leans back in his custom chair, easing into the opulent green and orange fabric. "At least you have put some thought into the thing."
"You know, I have considering running for this office myself. What better way to prove to you, and the rebels, about my popularity by winning an election?" he smiles somewhat distantly, clearly imaging himself before a cheering crowd, all waving pro-Irovetti ballots. Then he sighs and says, "But my promotion to the Pact of Years will leave me little time for such things."
Just as Rudabeh is about to let out a sigh of relief he says, "Druxan would be a suitable candidate, don't you believe?" He drums his fingers on the ornate carved arm of the chair. "Yes, quite suitable. Experienced, connected, loyal to the people, and of course, a link to a stable and prosperous legacy." His voice trails off, political calculations silently whirring like the gears of a clock.
Rudabeh tries to keep her face flat as the former king sits there, contemplating running for election to the very position he was just dethroned. Relief starts to flood through her as he mentions he would be far too busy for his former position, but then stops cold at the mention of Druxan.
The paladin seems to freeze in place as she considers this, and from afar the two must have looked quite a pair. Irovetti gazing off into the distance as he plots his right hand man's ascension along with his own while Rudabeh stands shock-still, wondering what to say, and if she could use this to her advantage to somehow free Gezzerbial.
A few moments pass before she says something. "Druxan certainly meets all the criteria I put forward." The undine says carefully, turning to slowly pace in front of the opulent chair, one boot coming to rest on the floor at the end of every sentence. "He would also be an effective and dependable administrator. I have come to greatly respect his tenacity." She turns, starting back the other way. "In addition, if you were to give him your endorsement, your loyalists would surely put their votes towards him. Many of the rebels will be vying for this seat and potentially split the votes among each other, but Druxan would be formidable, singular pillar of voting."
Rudabeh stops her brief pacing as she is once again in front of the richly upholstered chair, turning to look upward at the former king. "But before we discuss the possibility of Druxan's nomination further, there is another matter that may tie into this that I wish to discuss with you, a matter only you can assist me in solving." The paladin's hand are placed at the small of her back, each grabbing the wrists of the other.
"What was the exact nature of the deal you made with the magma dragon from the plane of fire for Gezzerbial's servitude? Could you recite it to me?" She asks neutrally, no accusations in her voice. Sapphire eyes regard the king cooly, seeking information alone.
Irovetti actually smiles at Rudabeh lists off Druxan's electoral possibilities. He waves a hand at her mention of split rebel vote saying, "The people will vote for my legacy, have no doubts there, as long as it is offered to them in suitable fashion. I will have a talk with the High Chancellor about this. I believe he would be very interested in serving as Head of State of Pitax."
As Rudabeh changes the conversation, the King raises an eyebrow. "What is it to you? After our deal yesterday, we should need not his services. I am only keeping him here to finish up some metal-work my smiths have been unable to attend to these last few days. As I have assured you several times, violence will not be required in our departure."
Still he grows silent for a moment, eyes lost in thought "The exact wording? I do not recall but essentially I bought his services, along with some other wards and defenses, for a considerable amount of the royal treasury. It was not a petty sum but it was a price I was willing to pay for the safety of Pitax and its loyal civic servants."
The eyes lose their dreamy quality and suddenly sharpen on Rudabeh, sky blue to her sapphire. "Servitude? He is no slave of mine, Paladin, and do not accuse me of such evil. I hired him and will happily sent him home as part of a contract. Whatever arrangements are in place at his home are beyond my understanding and outside my control."
"I apologize." She starts off evenly. "I should have used the word "service" instead of "servitude". I know you did not purchase him as your own slave, but instead for services rendered. To you he is a summoned creature, as part of a contract, and I do not fault your decision to hire him."
Rudabeh draws in a breath as she starts towards her explanation of why she is concerned in the first place. "However, Gezzerbial is a slave. I spoke with him this morning, and he has most definitely been a slave to the magma dragon for far longer than either of us have walked the material plane. I do not hold you accountable for that, and indeed, it is beyond your control." Her hands fall from the small of her back, rising up the rub the scarred knuckles of her left hand with her right fingers. "But the River Freedoms are clear. Slavery is an Abomination, and by law any slave that sets foot in the River Kingdom must be freed." She looks up to Irovetti, eyes, face, posture, all of it burning with justice, with a force far removed from the mundanity of the room surrounding them. Perhaps it was easy to forget, seeing Rudabeh in plainsclothes, but she was to her core a Paladin; an embodiment of Law and Order.
"I must free him. He wishes to be free. My oaths, the law, and my conscience is clear. As long as he is in the River Kingdoms, I must seek out a way to release him from the magical shackles that extend across the planes." Her hands shift again, falling to each side of her legs. "I know it will make an enemy out of the dragon. I am prepared to accept that. But what I do not want is for you to take the blame for this. I intend to be wholly responsible."
"For that to happen," The undine continues, head tilting back somewhat as she thinks through matters. "You would have to give me possession of the mirror, putting Gezzerbial's return out of your hands and causing myself alone to draw the dragon's wrath if I was able to free him. In this scenario the mirror will most likely be destroyed. If I am incapable of freeing him, I will return him at the indicated time, which I believe is tomorrow, and also return the mirror to you when we meet again. Gezzerbial would not be freed, but neither of us would suffer the dragon's wrath and you would get the mirror back."
"I know how much you spent on the magma dragon's services. So in exchange, regardless of Gezzerbial's freedom, I will ensure Druxan is nominated as part of the election for Pitax's Head of State and will put him at the top of the ballot if he desires the position." Her head tilts back down to look at the former king, expression and body language still indicating her desire enforce the laws of the River Kingdoms.
"I apologize." She starts off evenly. "I should have used the word "service" instead of "servitude". I know you did not purchase him as your own slave, but instead for services rendered. To you he is a summoned creature, as part of a contract, and I do not fault your decision to hire him."[/b]
Rudabeh draws in a breath as she starts towards her explanation of why she is concerned in the first place. "However, Gezzerbial is a slave. I spoke with him this morning, and he has most definitely been a slave to the magma dragon for far longer than either of us have walked the material plane. I do not hold you accountable for that, and indeed, it is beyond your control." Her hands fall from the small of her back, rising up the rub the scarred knuckles of her left hand with her right fingers. "But the River Freedoms are clear. Slavery is an Abomination, and by law any slave that sets foot in the River Kingdom must be freed." She looks up to Irovetti, eyes, face, posture, all of it burning with justice, with a force far removed from the mundanity of the room surrounding them. Perhaps it was easy to forget, seeing Rudabeh in plainsclothes, but she was to her core a Paladin; an embodiment of Law and Order.
"I must free him. He wishes to be free. My oaths, the law, and my conscience is clear. As long as he is in the River Kingdoms, I must seek out a way to release him from the magical shackles that extend across the planes." Her hands shift again, falling to each side of her legs. "I know it will make an enemy out of the dragon. I am prepared to accept that. But what I do not want is for you to take the blame for this. I intend to be wholly responsible."
The undine raises a turqoise hand to interrupt his inevitable negative response, her soothing voice low and understanding. "I know. As my advisor, this must seem madness to you. That I would risk my life and peace of mind for the freedom of a single slave, no matter how powerful of an ally they could be in the future." Voice rising in timbre and volume, she continues. "But it is better we come to an understanding about who I am now, so that we may work together better in the future, for I very much want to work with you and heed your experiences."
Rudabeh then touches her chest with two fingers, tapping the space over her heart. "My oaths and faith to Alseta are everything, and I will often take actions not within my best interest to uphold those oaths. I am not a paladin out of convenience or to gain power, after all. I am a warrior in the infinite and cosmic struggle of law versus chaos, one that happens to support communities and the greater good for the glory of my goddess. I enforce the laws of the land where others would not, constantly pushing the world to a more ordered place. I fight those that embody chaos on the material plane to bring balance to our reality... and one day, when the scales tip too far towards law and order, when the world has been saddled by too many rules and creativity is stifled, I will most likely be struck down by a repressed chaos, and balance will be restored. It is my fate as a paladin, and I gladly embrace it. I do not fear this dragon, and honestly find it exciting that I have the chance to show those on the plane of fire that the laws of the material plane apply to them as much their own home."
"But I cannot do this alone. I need your help to free Gezzerbial, but I do not want the dragon to blame you. You had every intention of honoring your deal, and I know how much his services, and the mirror, are worth. I have no interest in tricking you, or stealing, or leveraging you into giving it up for nothing. We are supposed to work together, as friends, towards the betterment of the River Kingdoms." The paladin sighs, looking down at the ground, shoulders slightly slumped. She knew she couldn't pay whatever price he was going to name, that this was likely a hopeless endeavor, but she must try all the same. Could she make Irovetti understand that?
Despite the air of defeat that already surrounds her, she looks up at the former king, a glimmer of justice in her eyes, and asks. "What is your price for the mirror?"
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Irovetti is quiet for a long moment, face an unreadable mask. He leans back, hands clasped together in his lap, eyes slowly narrowing. The sense of calculation is stronger then ever, a feeling of spinning wheels behind the sky blue orbs....
Suddenly, Rudabeh's memory retrieves a long forgotten memory. A dark night on the river, the air full of buzzing mosquitoes and croaking frogs. The soft slaps of an oar in the muddy water, soft moonlight reflecting off the ripples.
Rudabeh was in the stern of the boat, watching the Larviss Finn, Kosan Tart and Zaih Clor play cards. It always delighted her to watch the mercenaries at ease, such a change from the capable and deadly fighters. It was hard to picture them as killers with Larvisss lounging at the gunwale, Kosan hunched over ever-present pipe wedged between thick teeth, and Zaih, losing as usual. The monk had never cared for the game and was constantly exasperated that his two fellows enjoying gambling so much.
Tonight the man, nearly out of money, finally bursts out, "Why do we even play this game?! We share all money equally anyway, and all expenses are done by the group. What exactly are we playing for?"
Kosan merely grunted, sending up an undecipherable smoke signal into the warm night air. Lavriss however leaned forward, cards forgotten. With a grin, and a glance toward Rudabeh the fighter said, "We play to win, Clor. Money, glory, prizes, that's all just how you keep score." There was a hunger in her voice, the sound of someone who had spent an entire life struggling, someone who desired above all else, to come out on top.
Now, Rudabeh could see that same hunger, that same drive in Irovetti's bright blue eyes. But here it was not even tempered by Lavriss's common sense and knowledge of her limitations. No, this was desire unbridled, unchecked, the certain knowledge that winning was worth any price. It was a strange connection, between her old sword master and this elderly king.
But Lavriss had always been good at cards.
Finally Irovetti leans forward, "A price? Surely as allies we do not need to speak so. Frankly, I find the fact he is a slave distasteful in the extreme and was only pushed to acquiring him due to the intense needs of the moment. Seeing you free him would be a relief to me."
He pauses then says, "However, I do think we can make an arrangement. I can give you the mirror as a sign of good faith and our new...alliance. In exchange, as an equal sign of cooperation, you allow Druxan to run as a candidate in your election. In addition, you mandate two councils under the new Head of State. One elected as you described, the other made up of established nobles."
Seeing Rudabeh's face he adds quickly, "They have the greatest stake in society, and are a bulwark to Pitax turning into another Galt. A sign of continuity with the past and keeping the most educated with a place at the table. The exact balance of powers can be worked out by the people, of course."
Suddenly catapulted into a memory long ago, the smell of earthy swamp lingers in Rudabeh's nose at the back of the rowboat the Bastard Brigade used to navigate the many tributaries feeding into Outsea's salt dams.
She remembers the card games, the conversations, the aching muscles as she was always rowing the boat in what Finn called "strength training". At the time the young undine cynically thought it was Finn being lazy, but in reality she is fairly sure the fighter was trying to make her stronger. Combined with her innate Darkvision, Rudabeh made for a perfect helmsperson.
She also made a great paige and porter, and usually assembled their camp, cooked, cleaned, and did an assortment of chores for the adventurer group when they were in town. It was a small price to pay for Finn's lessons in the blade, and in any case Rudabeh enjoyed being part of their simpler adventurers.
At the helm, the oars splash quietly atop the wake of their boat on the moon lit stream, Rudabeh is seated comfortably in a leather jerkin with a spear at her side in case any creatures tried to take a bite out of the oars. Her eyes flicker between the path ahead, the card game, and the surroundings as they make their way to the last sighting of a pack of dire wolves terrorizing a nearby cattle ranch, with rumors they were being led by an old and grizzled warg.
Zaih Clor has his outburst and the undine grins from the back of the boat, trying not to chuckle when Finn looks at her. The words that follow are burned into her mind- a philosophy her teacher had long espoused and that Rudabeh always takes with her into combat. Win. Win wholly and utterly, or your enemies will claw back some kind of advantage to use against you.
Her younger self, still not quite understanding the hunger and reasoning behind Finn's desire to be on top, asked that night; "How do you know when you've won?" Her higher pitched voice, though softened by her own desire to be quiet, is still a piercing soprano compared to the adults despite the fact she was actually older than everyone but Kosan.
Finn turned back to her, that confident and hungry grin still on her face. "You should know this by now, kid. What do I always say during drills?" Finn turns away and starts shuffling the deck of cards once again, Rudabeh watching with amazement as she manages to bridge the deck while wearing her articulated full plate gauntlets as if they were bare flesh. "Well?" The half-elf prods over the sound of shifting cards.
"Uh." Rudabeh starts, being thrown out of her stupor. "Don't stop swinging-" Finn joins in at this point, her deeper voice overlapping with the young undine's with no sense of harmony what-so-ever. "until your foes are on the ground." Though Rudabeh stops, her teacher continues. "That's how you know you've won. When there is no one left to challenge you."
The glitter in Irovetti's light blue eyes triggered the memory so strongly that Rudabeh blinks a few times, her ears standing on end for several moments as she clears her thoughts. The hunger in the old former king... if left unchecked, would she one day have to declare him an agent of chaos as well?
She quickly gathers herself and listens to his proposal, hands shifting once again to rub together near her chin in thought. Samuel would surely oppose this- after all, stripping the nobles of their power and handing it to the people was his primary goal. But... "This could solve another problem I have been considering." Her thoughts become spoken as she looks up to Irovetti. "I had no way to bargain with Lady Lorenza before, and I know she was gathering together the lesser houses that opposed you. Maybe this will assuage them so they won't try to overthrow the new government as well."
With a quick nod, she decides to deal with Samuel's outrage later. In any case, if he was voted in as Pitax's Head of State, as Rudabeh suspected he would be, he'd probably kneecap the nobles anyway and it would cease to be her concern. "I accept on the condition Gezzerbial will be coming along with me after the parade." The paladin says, extending one turquoise hand to grasp Irovetti's own.
"Thank you for understanding my need to do this. I will put forth every effort to free Gezzerbial, and I will make sure he knows of your involvement and encouragement. After centuries of enslavement, he has earned this chance at least." A small smile tugs are her lips- perhaps today law would prevail after all. "Can you explain to me how the mirror functions?"
Rudabeh shakes her head, the last figments of that long lost night vanishing like Kosan's pipe smoke. How long had it been since she had seen her old friends? What would they think of her now, bargaining with an old king about arcane governmental rule? Maybe she would get to ask them some day.
Meanwhile Irovetti eyes her extended hand, one eyebrow raised slightly. It occurs to Rudabeht hat it has probably been years since Irovetti has shaken anyone's hand in an agreement, decades. It was a sign of trustworthiness, of honor, of common loyalty between two equals. Hardly the manner of a king.
Instead he offers out the golden mirror, the ornate carvings of the edge glinting dully in the bright morning light. As Rudabeh takes it, it feel warm in her hand, the metal heavy. Other then such subtle signs however, she detects nothing else odd about it, the glass reflecting the room as it should. No surge of power, no booming voice of a distant dragon.
Irovetti, looking oddly pleased says, "I found it in a treasure trove here in the city. No one but me was able to discover how it worked, or it's true powers. There is a magical password locking it. Simply speak the password and it opens a channel between itself and the Plane of Fire. With further effort, from both sides, it can also act as conduit between the two planes. It is how Gezzerbial was able to arrive here."
A moment then, "I would prefer the word remain a secret, even from you. It is not something to bestow lightly, even to a trusted ally."
"I wish you luck in your quest, Rudabeh. As it is said, slavery is an abomination. However, I do not envy your eventual reckoning with a angry magma dragon. They say dragons never forget a slight and begrudge even a tithing of their wealth. The Plane of Fire is far, but dragons are patient." He cocks his head, somewhat bird-like, "How do you intend to break the link? While I do no doubt your will, do you have the arcane experience required for such an endevour?" Even now Rudabeh admires the old man, using this to plumb her abilities, to fully gauge her strengths and weaknesses. No doubt, he was a man playing to win.
Perhaps Rudabeh was too hasty her treating Irovetti like a lay person- she had done it before of course, due to her oath to be courteous and civic-minded to all, but before she threw on a bit extra just to keep him from getting upset with her. All things in time.. She muses as the heavy bronze mirror is placed in her hand.
The first thing she does, as any would do, is look at her own reflection with an air of curiosity. No flames danced in the background, nor did infernal fish leap forth upon lakes of fire as she saw in the First Palace's gateway the previous night.
Looking back up, she wonders if she should worry about how pleased Irovetti seemed. She hoped it was merely a result of him explaining how he had discovered and analyzed the mirror himself rather than the fact she had fallen into some kind of dastardly scheme.
She seemed a little wary about the fact that he would not share the command word of the mirror, but decides to answer his question first. "You are correct, I am ignorant of the arcane and have no time to study it." The paladin begins, though her voice holds great respect for the art. "Gezzerbial said that his shackles are twofold.. one part is magical, the other physical. It was made by his own father... can you imagine what a cruel place the City of Brass must be?" A small shake of her head follows the comment before the undine continues. "The physical portion can be broken just as any other metal, but for the magic I plan to enlist the services of Nubuach Jar. As far as I know, myself and the wizard are still on good terms, and I know where he has set up a study within the city."
She holds the mirror steadily, the object seeming heavier as she considers the fact that if it were dropped it may unleash a dragon into the room. "It is the only option I could fathom. It is not that I did not want to ask you or any of your court wizards to examine and break the magic, but I did not want anyone else involved in the matter so they did not also draw the dragon's wrath." A shrug follows. "Nubuach does not seem the type to be afraid of dragons, and given his great skill he may even be able to mask his involvement. I do not know what he will want for his services, but it will not be the first favor I have exchanged today."
"I do not know much of magic, but I am concerned, however," The paladin continues, face scrunching some. "That the mirror will need to be activated to sever whatever magic is holding Gezzerbial in his chains. It is very easy for me to swear an oath to you never to speak or even think the password near someone, or use it for my own gain." Another shrug follows. "It is part of my duty as a paladin of Alseta to be a keeper of secrets and confessions, after all. You do not need to be concerned about me telling anyone." It was the strongest argument she had, but without actually knowing if the password was needed she couldn't force the issue. If all else fails, hopefully the mirror alone would be enough for Nubuach...
Irovetti's eyes narrow slightly when Rudabeh mentions Nubuach Jar as part of her plans. Slowly he nods saying, "On good terms you say. I have a feeling your election maneuver may have cooled relations somewhat. Then again, I have found the masters of the arcane less concerned then most about the mundane struggles of power and kingship."
He does raise a hand and add, almost theatrically, "I must say,a s your adviser, those whoa re not afraid of dragons tend to be dangerous in their own right. Do not step lightly into any deal with the half-orc."
When Rudabeh mentions the troubles of the mirror and desiring the password, he stills. In a moment his guard is back up, poker-face at the ready. For a long time he ponders her question, clearly turning it over in his mind.
Finally he says, "No, I'm afraid not. Your oath is your bond, but such things do not always hold. What you do not know, you cannot reveal, either by mistake or under duress. The risk of the adventurers getting access to such powerful magics is too great. Frankly, I am more then slightly concerned they will even learn of the mirror's existence through this exercise. Even if your wizard friend is not of the mind to use it,t he others may not be so scrupulous. Mind the danger, Rudabeh of Outsea." The (former) King hops down from his throne-like chair, straightens his hideous clashing robes and says, "We leave for the docks at noon, so you have the morning. Where should I find you, if I need?"
Rudabeh, mirroring the former king, nods slowly on his assessment of the wizard. "Yes, Nubuach did not seem concerned with the fate of Pitax when I spoke to him. I doubt that has changed, but Dagen and the others may have... soured opinions on me." She sighs and shakes her head. "I doubt Dagen cares much, but the consequences of marching an army into a Pact-bound foreign nation would not have been light. He may be upset, but his people were to bare the brunt of the sanctions that would have been placed upon his nation. Still, I appreciate the advice and will heed it."
There is no response to Irovetti's refusal to give the password for the mirror other than a slight slumping of the paladin's shoulders. She did not like the added uncertainty in her effort to free Gezzerbial, but she hoped it would all work out for the best any way.
"There is a stone house near the docks that Nubuach has made into a study. I will attempt to bring Gezzerbial to him, and failing that bring Nubuach here. Do you have any sort of magic that we could use to communicate?" She inquires, before asking a few more questions. "Also, where are Ractus and his mercenaries currently staying? I wanted to touch base with them before leaving."
Another, slightly more urgent humanitarian matter springs into her mind. "In addition, do you have the keys to the dungeon? I am worried about the well being of the prisoners and wanted to pass along the keys to someone with the means to care for them."
Irovetti, as usual, had made himself the center of everything, and the paladin assumed he was deriving great delight at being the source of all the paladin's information.
Irovetti tilts his head when Rudabeh asks about communication. "There are a few spells....but not ones I have prepared today. In the future I will be prepared for us to work in closer tandem. Forgive me, if has been a very busy night and morning." Smoothing out a stubborn wrinkle he adds, "Our mercenary friends are being kept near the front entrance, away from the rest of the troops. Apparently neither side much cares for the other. Something about a scuffle last night."
He sighs, "Military men tend to be overly concerned with bravado and the appearance of victory. So tiring."
When Rudabeh mentions the keys Irovetti says disarmingly, "I have made arrangements for that. The keys and documents have been left in a place where Druxan, as head of State, will find them and take whatever steps needed. I wish I could give them to you, but there are dangerous criminals down there and it would be re-miss to risk someone as valuable as yourself. Trust me, all is in hand."
"Now, really, I must be going. There is still much to arrangement. I still haven't even decided on a palanquin or a carriage yet..."Muttering to himself the (former) King hurries out of the writing room, soon engulfed by the hovering swarm of courtiers.
Rudabeh gives a sad sigh when Irovetti mentions the troops and the mercenaries not getting along. "unfortunately, soldiers rarely have respect for sellswords even when they're taking arrows for them. I've always suspected it comes down to views on loyalty."
Slightly stunned by the laissez-faire attitude towards the prisoners, the undine's face screws up into one wrought with confusion as he says to "trust him". She starts to protest, but Irovetti suddenly seems to be moving quicker than a marlin swimming in an underwater current.
With speed that she could not summon when armored, Rudabeh jogs to his side and partly in front of him, blocking his exit. "Wait. Are the prisoners being fed and watered? When I went to the dungeons earlier, a guard told me the area had been completely abandoned, and my eyes told me it was true."
She stands resolute, eyebrows furrowed into deep trenches above shining sapphire eyes. "Dangerous or not, you have clearly already judged outright execution of those prisoners as unwarranted. Their sentences did not include a slow and painful death from dehydration. It will take two more more days for the election to occur, and I am not willing to stand by as those locked away slowly die from neglect. Justice is not so cruel."
Rudabeh, towering over Irovetti and outweighing him by a few dozen pounds, has now fully slipped between him and the door. She wasn't letting this matter just slide past. "Please, tell me the location of the keys and prisoner roster and I will pass ensure they are cared for until the new government is in place."
Irovetti stops short as a wall of undine flesh and will step in front of him. The bustling horde of hanger-ons lurches back, like a questing ooze countering something toxic, as if just being close to the honest and straight-forward paladin makes them ill.
The (former) King looks up at Rudabeh's hard face. "You don't think I give my prisoners enough rations to survive after a short interruption? They aren't that sickly..." Seeing that Rudabeh is both unconvinced and unwavering, the man sighs somewhat bitterly.
With the air of a man making a great concession, he looks past Rudabeh into the crowd. After a moment he finds the one he seeks and says, " Zoa, go and get the black scroll on my desk. There will be a key rolled up inside. Bring it back to our dear paladin here, she most eagerly anticipates its arrival."
Glancing up at Rudabeh, Irovetti says, "Satisfied?" The paladin gets the feeling even this trivial loss angers the shorter man, and he will strive even harder they disagree to be the 'victor'.
Rudabeh is about as enthused by Irovetti's words that the prisoners are not "sickly" as a panther being offered a carrot, and it shows on her face. As he sends one of his aides off to fetch the key, her stance slackens and she moves to the side. There was only one key? That will make it easier to release them, at least. On top of that, she briefly wonders what Irovetti's desk looks like... it was probably huge and carved from a dead treant.
"Yes, thank you. The prisoners will thank you for your merciful act as well." She says before making a realization and correcting herself with a sheepish cough. "Actually, one final matter. Do you know where my bag of holding is being kept? I have no pockets and I am not keen on carrying this mirror in my hand."
With those words she carefully lays the back of the mirror across the fabric of her blouse, as if to keep it close and safe.
Irovetti seems supremely unconcerned at the good will of those locked in the cells below. Waving a hand he says, "I suppose it would be best if someone maintained the justice system in the interregnum between myself and Druxan. Just be sure not to try and socialize with the scum down there. There are many liars and tricksters sequestered away."
When Rudabeh asks about her things the (former) King looks somewhat confused and says, "Oh, Druxan has them, somewhere." he glances at another aide, mutters some directions and they hurry off. "I'll have both aides meet you at the front gate, so you can have both your key and your bag after discussing business with the mercenaries. Now really, I must be going." He blusters but is quite incapable of simply brushing past Rudabeh, who tops him by a over foot of muscled flesh. Rudabeh gets the sense the man intensely dislikes being contained or constrained.