1e: Ra fal Intro

I woke up in a comfortable bed, to the friendly chiming of a gnomish alarm clock. As usual when in Estanques, I was staying in a secure private room in a decent hotel in the business district.

I reached over to the nightstand, turned off the device, grabbed a blueberry-pemmican ration square, and started gnawing on it. Gnomish food is never filling enough to satisfy an orcish appetite, so I always have to fortify myself with high-energy snacks, even on a day when I have several power lunches lined up.

After a leisurely breakfast in bed, allowing the food to rouse my body from slumber, I heaved myself over to the dressing table to begin my morning makeup routine. First I cleaned my teeth and polished my fangs with three sizes of toothpicks, a toothbrush, a silk cloth, two types of toothpaste, and finally a rosewater-scented mouthwash. Then a quick brush and rebraiding of the hair, which was easy because it had been straightened and dyed blonde only two days ago.

Then I washed my face, and applied makeup: foundation to smooth out the skin, contouring to soften the cheekbones, eyeliner and eyeshadow to offset the red eyes, and miscellaneous bits of color and decoration to distract and focus attention.

After 30 minutes of skillful work and several shillings' worth of high-end cosmetics, I had transformed my face from 'feral hunter' into 'exotic nobility'. Even though the Ushkri had the oldest and proudest civilization west of the Tuck River, there were still people who believed that orcs could not be civilized savvy businesspeople. The same people also tended to believe that women could not be hardy capable adventurers, so the trick was to make their prejudices cancel out.

Next, I swapped my nightgown for a silk undershirt and black denim trousers, and started lacing up my custom-fitted cork armor padding. In addition to the practical benefits of impact resistance and precisely calibrated buoyancy, it served as corsetry, pushing the inevitable little rolls of orcish flab into places where they looked better. When the armor padding was secure and adjusted properly, I donned and clipped in my mariner-grade rustless-steel chainmail, then pulled a deep blue tunic over the chainmail, and finally a bandolier over the tunic.

Then, I put on the Spell Alert Necklace. It clashed with the rest of my outfit, but, as someone who was capable of casting mind-altering magic spells, I was forced by law to wear it at all times while in the city. Next up were the brilliant cloth-of-gold cloak, and the white wide-brimmed hat that shielded my face from the sunlight. Finally, a mostly decorative peace-bonded longsword to complete the ensemble.

I turned to the mirror and made a few final adjustments, to make sure that I looked like what the gnomes would expect of a dashing and professional river captain, capable of commanding any crew and guarding any cargo on any journey through the League or the Magic Lands. When I was satisfied, it was time to head out to check my mail and then go on to my meetings with prospective clients.

As always, I left a generous tip for the maid: two pence, plus one of the exotic little hexagonal copper pieces I had looted from a Dragonborn crypt years ago. The moneychangers valued the ancient Dragonborn coins at only two bits each, but people were always happy to get them. The coins were fun and exotic, and it usually brightened up the day of a menial laborer to be given a piece of adventurer’s loot. It was a tip with a story behind it, and it made people feel special to be connected to that story. The other adventurers had laughed at me for lugging dozens of pounds of copper coins back to civilization, but that sack of coppers has served me better than most loot hauled from dungeons.

As I stepped outside, I heard the bouncy tunes of a mariachi band that some merchant had hired to draw attention to a storefront. I swaggered in their direction, with all of the self-confidence of an experienced adventurer. As I passed, I smiled at them, pulled a two-shilling piece from my pocket, kissed it (on the side without Corellon's face, of course), and tossed it at the tip jar.

It missed, dinging off the side and clattering onto the cobblestones. Inwardly, I cursed my clumsiness, but outwardly, I gave the band a saucy grin as if I planned it that way. As I caught the gaze of one gnomish face after another, I saw blushes travel up two of them, and the music started to play with more pop and vigor. I swaggered off, making it my personal tune for the day. I still have it. Charisma is as charisma does.

Halfway to the post office, on the boardwalks near the dock warehouses, I saw a rat scavenging for food. I glared at and growled, in a deep baritone, "Filth."

Nothing happened. My spirit was not in the right place. Over the course of a few seconds, I filled my mind with thoughts and songs and stories and images, forging a connection to the source of my magic. I speak not for gods or primordials, but for the collective narrative will of sapient creatures. I am their voice, the instrument by which their dreams and stories come to life.

I focused on stories of rats consuming, devouring, causing plague and killing infants in their cribs. Then I spoke again, my voice woven with enchantment and will. "Baby-killer."

The rat twitched, squeaked, and collapsed in a dead heap, blood oozing from its eyes. I grinned and continued walking, happy that I had done my bit to clean up the city.

When I got to the post office, I smiled to the clerk and bowed to him with a flourish. “Good morning, Raúl Ernesto Jebeddo Umberto-Garcia-Goodbarrel-Lopez de Estanques de Olmos! How’s your little Florinia doing?”

“Much better, Señora Capitán Ra Fal del Río, Libertadora de Torreón, la Aventurera Mercantil de Nyangravorah de Ushkri! Her knee is healing perfectly, we don’t expect any scarring.”

“Well, if it does, I can come by to tell her that scars are to be worn with pride, and show off some of my own.”

“That would be a true kindness, Señora Capitán Ra Fal del Rio.” He snapped his fingers, as though just remembering something, then leaned forward conspiratorially. The gesture made it immediately obvious that something important was being discussed, and made it more likely, not less, that we would be overheard, but I played along. “You got an important-looking letter this morning. I put it in a drab envelope to make sure nobody would notice it.”

I gave him the gnomish ‘okay’ hand signal, then leaned back and placed a pence and a dragonborn coin on the counter. He swiftly grabbed them and they disappeared into one of the dozens of pockets on his leather vest.

I like dealing with gnomes. They appreciate my flamboyance, and they appreciate a good tip. Dwarves have this pseudo-religious belief in one true price for everything, so if you tip them they will just hand it back to you and grumpily repeat the listed price. The cleverer ones might give you a good or service technically valued at whatever you tipped, but they will not see this as you being nice to them. And elves, at least the local courts, have a philosophical refusal to give or accept tips under any circumstances. Something about unfair dominance and discrimination and causing social disruption, typical elf nonsense. But with gnomes, you can make a name for yourself and brighten everyone’s day by throwing money around, so I do.

When I opened my box, I saw Raúl's drab envelope. When I opened it, there was indeed an important-looking letter from the Gray Ridge League of Armed Neutrality Space Command.

I carefully slit the letter open with one of the knifes from my bandolier. It was a fairly standard adventuring job offer letter. I read it carefully, top to bottom, noting the requirements, conditions and reward. It was a specimen-collection trip to collect exotic wildspace flora. The payment was quite low, especially considering that it was a space mission with no transportation provided. Aside from the possible long-term political and career benefits of getting a good reputation with Space Command, there was no reason at all to take it.

Then, at the bottom of the letter, I saw the list of people selected for the job, and everything changed. Identical letters had been addressed to six people who hoped to marry Martin Cooper. There were four adventurers and two nobles. I knew of six adventurers, four nobles, and at least a dozen other people who had proposed. The two adventurers with the most difficult personalities had been filtered out, and somehow two of the nobles had been added to the list.

I was the most experienced adventurer on the list. Most were people of no reputation, people I only knew as potential rivals for the attention of Martin. This mission was listed as FSOC Level 3, well beneath me if I was with my equals, but just the right thing to give to the listed collection of people if you wanted to challenge them while being 95% sure they would all come back alive.

This was obviously a test. Martin was looking for something to help him choose who to marry, probably a demonstration of leadership ability and field command skills. Everyone who was anyone knew that Martin had spent his career devoted to the cause of peaceful cooperation, to working with people of all races and cultures to make the world a better place for everyone. That was one of the many things that made him so attractive.

I will prove to him that I am a competent leader. I will forge these people into a team, just like Martin forged the League itself, and prove my right to stand at his side. Then I will add my skills to his, and we will inspire hope and achievement in people across the region and forge the League into something truly great, an instrument for attaining the dreams and ideals and potential of all its people. The story of the power couple Ra fal and Martin and the young days of the League shall echo across generations.

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