The halfling nods understandingly. "Yes, must prepare. I come to Circle of Stone tomorrow night!" He gives a smile, then slips away into the crowd.
After glancing through his book for a short while, Dalton feels prepared for the trip. "Yes, yes - let's go. Can't be late to these affairs."
Though his words said one thing to the envoy, he felt quite another.
The polite half-elf slave leads the party into the walled off northern district. At the twenty foot interior wall there is a checkpoint with four Aussirian agents, but they appear to recognize the slave leading you and you pass through without incident.
One of the white cloaks whispers to another. "Tell the commander that Ares just passed into the northern district with one of Gahiji's slaves."
As soon as the party passes beyond the wall the stench that has been piercing the air since their arrival dims considerably, and over it is the smell of flowers and spices. The buildings are larger, in better shape, and more organized. There are still a good deal of labor slaves moving around the streets, keeping them clean, watering plants, and doing other work, but they appear slightly better dressed and fed. There are very few low tier slavers walking around with whips to keep the slaves in line; these ones appear to need no motivation getting their duties done. The slavers are all in more expensive looking clothing as they go about their business or sit in small groups and chat. There is the occasional food stand outside, most of them selling simple things like drinks or fruits. The noise is a much less prevalent as well; in general the northern district appears much more peaceful and prosperous.
The half-elf slave stays quiet throughout the trip but answers any questions put to him. The walk ends in the front of a metal gate that surrounds a magnificent red and gold manor. Slaves roam the grounds keeping everything looking nice including a beautiful fountain that depicts two naked woman dancing closely. Two slaves open the metal gate, one of them announcing "Welcome to the manor of Gahiji Rahotep." The polite half-elf continues to lead the party through the beautiful grounds, explaining the pieces of artwork in the garden.
The large double doors to the manor are opened and inside is a spacious ball room. A large widening staircase is directly across from the door and chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Slaves are bustling about, mostly with food on silver trays from one end of the room to the other. After a moment the booming voice of Gahiji Rahotep comes from the right The enormous form of the rich slaver comes from large swinging double doors from the right, face annoyed until he turns to see the party. He smiles and laughs, arms held wide. "Ah, my honored guests! I'm so glad you could make it, there will be a few others joining us tonight as we won't be eating the main courses quiet yet, but there are plenty of appetizers to stave off your hunger." He claps his hands twice and two slaves come out, one with a platter of cheeses and crackers and the other with little shish kabobs of roasted vegetables and meat.
Gahiji motions to a few plushy couches at the left corner of the room, sitting and taking up an entire one by himself. "I do hope the walk wasn't too much. I despise walking as far as the lower districts, I usually get my pavilion for a journey that far. Ah but I ramble, we are here to talk about you! So do tell me the story of yourself."
"Oh, no - if anything, it'll let this slab of meat stretch his legs," stated Dalton, referring to Bjorkus. "Where to begin? Well, let's start at the very beginning - a very good place to start."
And so it was. Dalton told the truth about his childhood - up until his experiences with the magister. Instead, he "rescued" the lady on the estate with quick martial talent. "You wouldn't know it to look at me now, but I was quick back then. But don't ask me to throw a punch here - I'd just make a fool of myself after all those decades!"
"After I opened my own shop, the opportunities in ... less restrictive territories seemed lucrative. My wealth allowed me to travel, to acquire, to indenture. While most of my wealth and contacts remain in the North, I thought I would see this end of the world for a spell. And for every raw fish you saw, you must have three succulent kabobs - these are outstanding."
"Speaking of meat, this one? In shackles on one of my trips. Some nonsense about killing people on a ship or something. Actually, after seeing what went on in the arena, maybe it's the truth. Whichever - I don't give a damn. Point is, I saw an investment and made it, bought off the death sentence. He's more civil than he looks, actually - it's why I could bring him here without worrying about him trampling your manor. Very expansive, I must say."
This man is synecdochic for many things that are wrong with this city.
Dalton has trouble recognizing the artwork and pricing it.
Toramin detects no evil.
Bjorkus does his best to ignore the ever-present Whitecloaks. Despite his showing in the arena today they still suspected him as responsible for the kidnapping. Maybe they’re not as well-informed as they think they are.
He is surprised but doesn’t complain when he’s allowed inside the opulent manor and fed the decadent food. The bull eats, noisily, but is otherwise largely silent during the conversation – only offering a grunt or nod when referred to. He also keeps an eye on Gahiji. Something about the man rubbed Bjorkus the wrong way.
”Tomorrow then,” she says with a bow to the halfling. Rilka returns to Dalton, clearly deep in thought.
~~~~~~
Rilka keeps her face impassive as they walk through the walled northern district. She takes a mental census of the different races she sees.
As the half-elf explains the grounds, Rilka scans for signs of traps, magic or mundane, as well as hiding places, and ways to make a quick escape.
After Gahiji Rahotep invites them to sit down, Rilka stands near the couch Dalton selects. A few strides away. A semblance of privacy. She slowly examines the contents of the room, under the guise of watching Dalton should he require her assistance. She’s looking for any tell tale signs of secret passages (which she knows are nearly impossible to spot without close examination) and to the general demeanor of the slaves.
Gahiji listens with interest to Dalton's story. "Ah, a man from humble beginnings, I share that aspect with you. You wouldn't guess it to look at me now, but I was quite the fighter years ago!" He looks around with pride at his manor. "Yes I've become rather fond of it, but you're right the truly impressing thing is the food. It is so hard to find slaves who know how to cook well. It's a crime really, even if they can't enjoy exquisite food they should at least know how to make it for us." He laughs, slapping his thigh and taking some of the cheese and crackers.
He chuckles at the civilized comment. "That does amaze me somewhat. The calf is an oddity, even given the fact that he was a twice born bastard. I do wonder Dalton, how did you get into slavery growing up in Andril?"
Gahiji is very curious about what the group is doing here and seems to think the particular collection of people are very odd. It doesn't seem like his curiosity will be sated until he learns something rather unique.
Rilka notices a magic alarm set on the entire grounds that works for both entering and exiting. However, she would need to examine it more closely or talk to somebody to learn more specifics on how it works.
Hiding places are plentiful with many large pieces of art and furniture.
Escaping doesn't seem too difficult with the multiple windows spanning the walls. However, the manor is rather large and being in the middle could be a bit confusing.
She also notices that the slaves are somewhat happy about their positions in life, but they seem somewhat scared of Rahotep and are working hard to make sure they don't catch his eye.
Rilka notices several spots and pieces of furniture that could be very good spots for secret passages, but without being conspicuous she couldn't be sure.
As innocuous as the fat man seemed, Bjorkus didn’t trust him. With his servants all being unappealing to the eyes, the bull devotes all of his energy to eating and watching.
"Well, it wasn't by fighting - I'll tell you that much! Andril may not care for slavery, but there are a caste of poor workers - indentured servants, they call them. In exchange for working off a sentence out of prison or for some other great opportunity, the people - usually young - sign their days over to some taskmaster. Running a jewelry shop, I needed guards, and you may have seen me traveling with a dwarf - who better to know which wares need protecting most? Ares wasn't one of those, instead a true slave as he was acquired beyond the borders, but the few others with me have a less pure top-down relationship than most here, I'd say. The small one there - her job is to be a cross of errand girl and serving wench, but not a strumpet in the slightest." The transmuter reflected a moment. "I suppose I didn't venture further into ... human resources after Ares because he's a touch high maintenance, and during my travels, I'd rather not get tangled up in strings."
'Ares' snorts dismissively and goes back to his meal.
"Interesting. A slave in all but name, that's a good trick to use if you ever leave Yenrick. I'll have to keep that one in mind." He arcs a brow at Bjorkus. "Too high maintenance? Well that's something you should be able to beat out of him, or at least pay someone else to."
A gnome slave with an enourmous chef's hat approaches the group, bowing while holding his hat in a practiced maneuver. "Supper will be served in five minutes. Do say if you require any other appetizers." Rahotep nods, waving away the slave with a grunt. "That is Fosco, my head chef. He was captured during a raid into one of the gnome airships. A genius when it comes to the culinary arts, there isn't a dish he doesn't know. I got him for a bargain, only 800 gold. Although I suppose it evened out since I had to teach him not to try and run away. Do you ever have such problems?"
"Not particularly. When they're penniless and possession-less, they learn there's no place for them elsewhere. The little one there escaped once, but she came back sobbing and hungry." Dalton gestured towards Rilka. "For him, I suppose sparing one's life is still worth something these days."
"Ah, so not the brightest those ones are." He chuckles as he continues to belittle the 'slaves'. He pops another piece of cheese into his mouth, chewing it twice before swallowing. "Have you ever seen a gnome airship? Wondrous inventions, it's a wonder they're not the dominant race with their warships." He looks at Toramin. "Dwarves tend to be more technically inclined than others, what do you know of them?"
The gnome airships are an invention only about ten years old, but it has already significantly improved their trade and military presence.
The gnomes tend to keep the secrets of their airships secret, but there's an idea that it's somehow based off of hot gases.
The gnome airships are remarkable in that they use little magic in their design to fly. While there are some safety and convenience features added with the skill of magic, all of the necessary components of the airship are mechanical in origin.
The airships are indeed run off of hot gas which is the primary ability that controls the height of the balloon, but there are vents built into the sides that catch the air and help with steering.
Aerodynamics is an interesting branch of science. The gnomish scientists are swiftly pushing forward the technological aspects of the techno-magical field. I would not give away any of their trade secrets, but those ships are not powered by magic, Master Rahotep. Personally, I'm much more interested in dwarven gear-work; everything from golems to automated cities is possible with the right expertise. Moreover, gears can be more easily paired with the permanence and reliability of rune based magics. It is truly a marriage of the old and new worlds. Isn't that better than relying on one or the other?"
Toramin's tone and demeanor are quite pleasant -- his diction shows the influences of dwarven and Andril nobility. It is almost as if he is used to polite dinner conversation amongst potentially rival elites.
"Come now," Dalton chimes, turning to Toramin. "Surely these trade secrets - if they are known by you - cannot be too necessary to keep from us." The wizard's natural curiosity showed.
The dwarf laughs politely. "Discretion is one of my watch words, Master Dalton. Surely you understand its value. It is one of the qualities that aids me as a liaison. You did not hire me simply because I know how to swing a hammer. You hired me because you want to sell the jewels of the Airgidcasúr without going through Dibh Muileata middlemen. I could not work with so many, if I could not be trusted. Do you not find trust to be more valuable than gold and more precious than diamonds, Master Rahotep? I would no more betray your confidences than I would those of my gnomish contacts."
Rahotep raises his brows at Toramin. "You're better read than you look. And a good secret keeper, that's always valued. I'm curious, how attached are you to him Dalton..." He stops as the swinging door on the west wall opens and Fosco the gnome slave/chef comes out, bowing again. "Supper is ready." Rahotep smiles, standing with much grunting and creaking of the floor and couch. "Come, let us experience the best part of the evening!"
Fosco leads the party to a large set of double doors on the east wall and into the dining room . There are a dozen wooden doors lining the room and a slave stands next to each, head held strait forward and arms behind their back. Rahotep seats himself in the massive cushioned seat at the head of the table that looks extravagant if well used. He motions for Dalton, Toramin, and Lindale to take seats at the main table while he has slaves show Bjorkus and Toramin to an adjacent table that is similar in appearance, but much simpler and lower to the ground. The smaller table is only a few feet from the larger one and easily within conversation range.
There are four individuals that come in within the new few minutes that Rahotep introduces.
- Gindrosh A pinch-nosed human who speaks slowly and very deliberately . He is in charge of human trafficking for Akropash and he has the records of every slave who has ever visited the city.
- Bahundo A dwarf with well oiled hair and a beard that has been shaped like a triangle. He has a large beer gut but well muscled arms and a dwarven warhammer at his waist. Bahundo watches over the defenses of the city. He gives Toramin a hearty shake and smile, then immediately gets some ale in front of him.
- Seimah An old elf with white hair and a knotted cane that he uses to slowly shuffle into the room. He is at the head of the magic control part of security and tracking magical resources coming in and out of the city. He sits down with an audible sigh, sipping out of a flask on his person.
- Morsik A ratfolk with black fur and a chipped tooth. He is the head of diplomatic relations for Akropash. Morsik has a pleasant demeanor about him, greeting each person individually and repeating their name.
"A dinner as diverse as its diners!" sounds Dalton, helping himself to the foodstuffs presented, then chuckling at its alliteration. "I must say it is a refreshing change from the blandness of Andril - if not a spot too hot."
‘Ares’ grunts and sits where he’s told, taking a moment to study each newcomer as they’re introduced. They were more of Targ’s flunkies – that much was clear. They question was, did they have any motives of their own. The bull keeps a close eye on the dwarf and his hammer.
Toramin clasps Bahundo's arm in the traditional fashion and gives polite smiles to all these souls.
Everybody seats themselves, nobody adjacent to Rahotep but they leave only one chair of space. Gindrosh is two to his right, then Dalton, then Bahundo. Seimah is two to his left, then Morsik. At the second table are about thirty slaves who sit quietly and they are as varied as the inhabitants of the rest of Akropash.
Gahiji finishes the introductions, then claps his hands twice. Slaves immediately pour out of the various doors with silver platters piled high with food. Pork, beef, ahnkeg, goose, duck, and various other meats take the center of the table. Potatoes in massive bowls are accompanied by trenchers with ponds of gravy. At least six different kinds of stuffing are brought out, then next are vegetables and fruits both cooked and raw. The second table is served second, but given most of the same foods.
Each person at the main table has their own slave to serve them food, and Gahiji takes no time for granted and quickly gets his plate piled high with a little of everything as he begins digging in. Gindrosh avoids the heavier meat and potatoes, but has some of everything else. Seimah takes only fruit and vegetables and potatoes and had smaller portions. Bahundo gets his plate filled with nothing but meat and appears to want to beat Gahiji in rate of consumption. Morsik has a little of everything.
After a moment of silent eating and appreciation of the marvelous food, the first one to speak up is Seimah who has been slowly nibbling away at a bit of asparagus. His voice is shaky and he pauses frequently. "So Dalton...Gahiji tells me...that you're a bit of...a, ah...merchant, yes?" Meanwhile Bahundo talks to Toramin between large mouthfuls. "Always nice ta see 'nuther stone blood here in tha desert. What clan do ye hail from?" Morsik eats at a steady pace and listens to the conversations with a friendly smile while Gindrosh eats methodically and goes between glancing at Dalton and Triba. Gahiji is eating noisily at the head of the table, but looks up often enough that it's easy to tell he's listening.
At the small table the slaves all fill their own plates, then begin eating quietly. Many of them glance at Bjorkus, but look away when he catches their eye.
‘Ares’ snorts again before spearing another hunk of meat for his plate.
”What do you know about me?” the bull rumbles aloud at whichever of the nearest slaves seems the most interested in him. ”You think I’m gunna hurt you?”
Seimah seems somewhat suspicious that a man like Dalton could hold such sway without tons of money or contacts.
"I am of the Trealamhgabha," Toramin responds, hoping that the other dwarf will not inquire too closely. It would be curious for the great grandson of a clan founder, the grandson of a clan matriarch, a dwarf of noble -- if new, lineage to be a liaison for a middling merchant because of the vast disparity of wealth and station. To prevent potentially awkward questions, Toramin starts asking several of his own. "You have the look of the Dibh Muileata or the Diabeoir, good Bahundo. Tell me of your lineage. This desert is hotter than Angradd's sac, and you must have some spark of his courage to defend this portion of it."
Earthy humor might divert him.
Bjorkus leans down and speaks softly in Rilka’s ear. ”The elf is on to Dalton. He needs to step up his game.”
Straightening out, he reaches for another slab of fatty pork.
”Shouldn’t you be servin’ our master?” he grunts with plenty of sarcasm.
"Quite right!" responds Dalton after gulping down some succulent meats. "Fine metalwork and jewelry. Connections with a noble house in my youth certainly helped, but I found - over time - it's the exotic goods that keep a name flowing along with the coin. Here in the arid desert, there are plenty of stones and such which are not found by Andril. Sandstones, turquoises, hematites ... it's a fascinating makeup, really. So in addition to exploring what this corner of the realm had to offer, I thought it wouldn't hurt to purchase some materials of the sort. I planned on doing so near the end of my travels as not to weigh my underlings down, but that won't be for a few weeks yet." He gulps down some wine. "This one here," Dalton says, plucking the twisted copper band off his finger which he made before the group had left, "Is one of my failed crafts from some time back. Yet scratched as it is, the curve in it is rather unique. Unorthodox designs are my specialty." He yields the ring if one of the diners desires a closer look.
Dalton turns to Morsik. "One doesn't often see Ratfolk in the North. An observant lot though - I bumped into one on my entry, and his directions were impeccable."
At the little table one of the brawnier looking slaves speaks up. "You're just a little famous is all. They're starstruck." Looking at the slaves gathered at the small table, a lot of words akin to fear come to mind but starstruck isn't one of them.
Bahundo laughs, holding his gut at the Angradd comment. "I'm certain this will be a new one fer ya. I dun't know!" He looks at Toramin's confused expression for a moment before laughing again and elaborating. "I was born to slave parents but was smuggled out as a babe before being branded. Talk about a loophole in the system!" Rahotep booms with laughter and Morsik chuckles, but the other two look less amused. "Unfortunately my parents are either beyond me reach or dead, so I've never learned from them what me ancestry was. I do what I'm good at and get taken care of fer it, and this is tha area I've been set up in. So I kill raiders and do it with a smile on! That's quite a story, ain't it?"
The successful men nod and mumble at Dalton's words. The old elf nods. "Indeed." They examine the copper band closely, insisting on being able to hold it. Rahotep stops eating for a moment as it's passed to him. "Interesting, holding onto your roots. I like a man who remembers where they came from." Morsik gives a polite smile. "My kind doesn't do well in the cold, our fur is meant for other reasons. Really? I imagine one of the slave guides at the front gates. Yes we usually get by through cunning and quickness instead of strength; it's what we were built for. What do you think of ratfolk?" Seimah raises a gnarled hand. "Excuse me...if I'm being rude...but where did...your elvish heritage come from?"
Bjorkus nods at the slave’s explanation but the truth was plain enough for him to see. Fear was good. Targ had shown that a city that’s scared of you will make you rich no matter how damned foolish the arrangement was. But fear wasn’t what he wanted. You couldn’t inspire folks with fear.
The bull continues to eat, pausing on occasion to catch the eyes of those looking at him.
”I don’t know what you saw or heard but I don’t kill just anybody. I only kill those fool enough to try to kill me, those tryin’ to kill those under my protection, and those puttin’ others in chains”, he rumbles with a pointed glance at the bigger table.
”Do you know why I called for mercy in the arena yesterday when Targ wanted more blood?”
Bahundo's story makes Toramin feel all sorts of ways. There is first outrage at the very idea that someone was enslaving dwarves. But that thought quickly gives way. No person deserves to be treated in such a fashion. Even the most uncivilized person is still a person. All people are one people. Slavery is a lie. A lie told and believed by both putative "master" and "slave."
Luckily, Toramin's face is stone. Moreover, months of spying on spies and grounded his composure. I doubt Bahundo knows much of the dwarven clans if his stories are true. The best deceptions are woven from the truth.
"You are right, Bahundo. I have never heard a story like that. I doubt I will ever be comfortable in these principalities, but I have great admiration for those who survive and thrive in less than ideal circumstances. What do you think are the greatest external threats to Akropash?"
Talk of defense seems safe to the stone lord, both dwarves would be passionate about it have could find some common ground in strategic affairs.
"I think cunning works well enough, but quickness is something I'm not familiar with!" Dalton has a good laugh, slapping his belly, then downing some more wine. "Oh, no - you're not being rude at all! My father gave me that part of myself, but he bounced-off before I was born. Never knew him. Seems to be the way with men. I never had any children - that I know of."
He munched on a root of some sort. "These tourneys are long things. Dreadfully expensive in manpower, I'd imagine. What with the worm and chariots and all. Dozens of bodies. Good ones too! Ares would set me back a touch if I lost that investment, but I'm sure what the others may not have in brute muscle, they might make up for in quickness. I see he got one of them a second bout today - I thought he was done for."
At the small table the majority of the slaves continue to avoid Bjorkus's gaze. The broader slave responds shortly. "Why?"
Bahundo rips a strip of meat off a chicken leg, thinking over Toramin's question for a moment. "I'm going to assume ya mean non-natural threats, so I'll leave out creatures an' sandstorms. Day ta day, raiders. Unpredictable they are, 'specially with each group attackin' in different ways. Giants, halflings, and elves are tha most common tribes that attack. This far into Targ's territory the other slave princes aren't a direct threat. Then o' course there's the occasional group o' freedom fighters. Zealous, but not very organized usually."
Gahiji nods at the expenses comment. "Aye, it's a significant bit of work, but in the end it makes money from food and ticket sales. Even enough profit to send out certain parties to replenish the number of slaves." He shrugs. "We normally seed some good fighters in each group, but the majority of them have only been fighting for a few weeks, and that's just so that they don't stab themselves in the foot. We don't want to send nothing but experienced fighters in."
Seimah gives a small shake of his head. "That...is truly...a shame...to not know...half of your heritage." The old elf breaks into a coughing fit, earning a couple pats from Morsik on the back. He recovers, looking at Dalton with a serious gaze. "Would...you like to find out?"
To know my own father...
Dalton thought over the question with a mouthful of food. Yet the area was one he'd come back to again and again over the years; the choice was not a hard one.
"Seems to me he could be a king or a cad. Quite the risk I think. But, as Rahotep knows well - yet not as well as he knows his meats, I must say - they're just succulent - I am a gambling man. What would be involved?"
"Is it your responsibility to organize defenses against sandstorms as well? It is an interesting engineering question: how to create buildings that are both beautiful and useful when it comes to environmental hazards. How are the tribes organized? Are they looking for resources or is there a more cultural reason for their aggression?"
Toramin chuckles politely about the unorganized nature of freedom fighters. "It is a blessing from Torag when one's enemies are disorganized with no head for strategy. Many underestimate the value of coordination and the strength inherent in a unified authority."
"Because I'm a lotta things dependin' on who you ask but I'm not a butcher. I just want same things all of you do - to live happy. To grow fat and old without a whip at your back or your balls in a vice. To be free", the bull rumbles.
Seimah gives a small, knowing smile. "Elves...are as different as humans...if you know what to look for...Desert elves...arctic elves...the only ones...who stand out clearly...are dark elves..." He folds his hands, scrutinizing Dalton. "You can look beyond that...to their bloodline...and clan...from there you talk to..." He gives another harsh cough, but recovers faster. "Well, it's quite the process...but generally accurate...It only takes...some physical examinations...and questions...it takes about an hour on your part...would you be interested?"
Bahundo gives a nod. "When it comes to that I mostly manage keeping people alive and supplies covered. Get tha word out, get merchants and their goods inside, get people in shelter." He runs a hand through his beard. "Beauty isn't the focus for most of the city which keeps construction somewhat simple. As we both know, stone ain't always pretty but it's damn durable. For tha most part." He takes another scoop of potatoes. "Most of the attacks are for resources, a good number of them are over territory, there are a few that is just for the killing. Aye, freedom fighters fight hard, but they'll make the dumbest damn tactical decisions you'd ever seen. But the white cloaks, ohh, you should see them in action. They're a force ta be reckoned with."
At the small table one of the other slaves immediately speaks up. "We are happy here and would never dream of leaving!" He says it rather loudly, earning a brief moment of silence that causes heads to turn at him as he sinks down in his seats.
Bjorkus remains silent during the outburst.
What's going on here?
"Gladly!.. though I wouldn't want to interrupt the marvelous supper our wonderful host has invited us to."
Speaking of whom, Dalton glanced to the head of the table. "I know you'd expressed interest in purchasing Ares earlier. On the other side of the coin, is there any of yours you'd be willing to sell? You've convinced me I'm short-handed in that department!"
"Yes, stone endures and when it does not there are ways to help it along. I have seen stonework so cunning that it would be nearly impossible to mar," Toramin observes as he helps himself to his beer.
"Honestly, I do not understand the impulse to create unlovely things. First, there is a beauty in things well-made. Second, when one has to see something year in year out for decades and centuries, one starts honing the aesthetics of one's craft. Now, I'm an egalitarian when it comes to people. People are people if they have pointy ears, green skin, or will breed with anything. But, perspective and patience are not attributes shared by all. Though, more might think to cultivate them."
Seimah gives a nod. "Oh...of course!..We will set up...an appointment...How is tomorrow...at about sunset?.."
Bahundo shrugs. "The original builders realized they needed function and couldn't afford to have appearance with it." The table gets a bit quieter as Toramin finishes his speech, making for the second awkward pause in under a minute. Then Gindrosh speaks up in a soft, harsh tone. "Do you mean to imply that slavers lack perspective and patience?"
"Not at all, sir. I meant shorter lived races sometimes lack patience and perspective that comes with longer lifespans when it comes to architectural matters, but they are qualities that can be learned. I would not care to speculate on local customs. Nor do I desire for you to be offended by my observation," Toramin replies with an apologetic smile.
"Speaking of foresight do you know if any of the city planners have considered creating a series of artificial windbreaks? It might require magic and it would definitely require manpower, but it would be possible to channel the fury of a sandstorm around the city."
"Sunset sounds good. The arena matches will have ended, and I'd hate to travel during the peak of day here. The heat is simply dreadful."
There's another brief pause, then Rahotep breaks the silence. "Indeed Dalton, let's get some business done." He takes a large napkin and wipes his chin off, clapping his hands twice. After a few moments four low ranking slavers wearing armor and weapons come in through the door behind him with two slaves between them. The first is the knightly looking human. "This is 21565. He's the one we spoke of." The next slave brought in is Gabriel, but he appears to have been worked over pretty well. Black eyes, swollen lip, cuts, bruises, burns, and other marks. He stumbles forward with a push. "This is another one you may be interested in. Prisoner 24601. He shared some of the same sentiments as your own fighting slave, and well, you see how we take care of the rebellious ones." A slave from the main hall comes in, going to Rahotep and whispering in his ear. The fat slaver gets a smile on his face. "What excellent timing. Indeed, see him in." The slave gives a nod and exits.
After a moment the hulking frame of the commander of the Aussurian Legion comes in, Raul Ulric. He has half a dozen white cloaks on his heels, and the entire group stands with hands on their weapons. Raul's disfigured, burned face scowls as the looks around the room, gaze falling on Dalton. He steps forward, taking out a big that has the unmistakable clink of gold coins coming from it. As he does so the white cloaks spread around the room, two of them standing right behind Bjorkus. The dinner guests look surprised and somewhat scared, but Rahotep just quietly spoons some soup into his mouth. Raul reaches Dalton, dropping the coins down in front of him. "Targ is buying Ares from you, there's your payment." The white cloaks on Bjorkus each put a firm hand on his shoulder as Raul's eyes flick to the bull, then back to Dalton. This close it's terrifying seeing his entire left eye exposed due to the lack of flesh. "That's not a problem, is it?"
Bjorkus scowls when the Whitecloaks appear and begins to rumble unhappily when they puts their hands on his shoulders. Rahotep’s servants had known. That’s why the slaves were so anxious. Had everyone at the dinner known? Any why all the cloak and dagger b++*!~%$? Was Rahotep’s inquiry just a formality?
The bull doesn’t move a muscle but pauses to steal a glance at Dalton.
Well, f#&@.
Dalton had been in situations before with armed theives over his many years. While not quite like this one, the course of action was simple: concede.
"I suppose not." His eyes turned from the commander to the smug slaver. "You've put quite a damper on the spectacle in the arena for a man who had lost a fair chunk of coin already." Dalton bucked his chin at the two slaves. "Are those part of some arrangement you have with Targ, or are they coincidentally purchasable for replacement?"
This may be time to summon Heff. Not in the middle of these whitecloaks though.