"I always assume the worst," says Lyrian, "So that I am never disappointed." He sighs and follows them to the bath. He could stand to get some of the trail dust out of his skin.
@ Javi
You look around the house a bit, noticing a few things of interest: that very-heavy-looking clay pot set on a sloped shelf which is itself supported by a wooden pole that could... easily be knocked sideways by your new friend, and drop that pot down onto, well, just about head-level for someone sitting in the other chair than the one she offered you. (She must like you.)
There's a few other dangerous little things around, but none seem directly aimed at you.
”It’s why I’m here, actually, but you’ve probably guessed as much, huh? Have any of the treasure-hunters come back from the pyramids, yet? They got anything worth lifting?”
She smiles slightly as if to say, yes, well, I figured-- then shakes her head with a shrug and spread hands. "No, more's the pity. Locally, we were rather hoping to relieve them of some of that buried gold and treasure-- the ones who've stumbled back into town say that the four crypts are either picked as bare as a camel's bones, or so full of death traps that who knows if they hide anything at all but blood."
”And are there any local rules I should be aware of? I certainly don’t want to step on anyone’s toes around here… least not folks I’d rather have as friends.”
A low chuckle. "Ten percent of anything you nick while in the town walls goes to the Dock Shah, as we call him, but if you're not planning on lifting anything in town then you won't have a problem, hmmm? But we're an easy-going bunch, locally."
"The Chelish... you get a look at their leader?... I might have tweaked his nose recently. And he might have known I was headed this way. And I’d sure like to locate him before he can do the same with me.”
The woman's brows lift, followed by her shoulders, a little wave of her hand. "I'd like to help you, but the man heading the soldiers looked nothing like you say. He was heavy-set, had a gut, a broad scar across his face and a sergeant's crosses on his shoulders, if I read the Chelish uniforms right. I have seen no such priest of Asmodeus as you describe, I fear."
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Meanwhile, at the bathhouse....
Rosalia, Lyrian, and Heldar make their way along the busy main street, following the fruit seller's directions. The bathhouse is a building with several domed roofs clustered together, and Osiriani script reads Sphynx waters by Anoor.
A smiling Osiriani man greets you with deep bows, taking in your obvious foreign appearances.
"Welcome, welcome, it is time to wash the road away, yes? Most reasonable rates for esteemed visitors who have come so far! A single gold coin bearing the face of the Sacred Ruby Prince brings a soul entrance into the five chambers of the bath, just as a propitiary offering before the great Queen, Pharaz-Mat, brings the soul of a loved one to the fifth heaven! Our attendants are the very best, your bodies will be given fresh life after their ministrations, and your hair and skin shall gleam like fresh coins! For another silver, we also wash your current garments. Now, you are each wishing the baths? Although I perceive you have much gear with you: do you perhaps wish to leave some of your belongings at a local inn?"
You are ushered into the bathhouse, where your trio is divided into the men's building and the women's building, as it is quite unthinkable that the bathing facilities should be joined together. Deferential male attendants divest Heldar and Lyrian of their garments and offer them loose white robes to drape themselves in as well as wooden sandals to walk the floors; similarly in the women's building, Osiriani women make themselves available to assist in the removal of travel-stained clothing.
Those who are unfamiliar with the customs in this part of the world may be expecting a sunken pool of water: instead they are led into a room where the air is noticeably warm. Local individuals are sitting here, draped in their loose clothes, sweating freely; they offer the new arrivals little nods and return to their own local gossip (overwhelmingly concerned with either the newly-found pyramids to the east, and what treasures may or may not be hidden within; or with complaining about the many foreigners coming through town, lately).
After a number of minutes in the warm room, once perspiration has begun to flow freely, the attendants lead on to another, larger room-- this one actively hotter. Braziers fill corners of the room, and a large stone dominates the center. Here, men (or women in the women's chambers) are sitting on benches, perspiring, or lying flat on the central stone receiving vigorous massages from hands and from brushes.
Ultimately, the bathers are led to the third room, a cool chamber where the attendants are ready to pour endless jugs of cool water over each bather-- no actual immersion-- and to assist them with drying with soft cotton towels. There is wine, and little platters of fruit and cheeses, flatbread and hummus. Men (or women, in the other building) seem to regard this as an excellent chance to slowly cool down from the intense heat of the previous room, taking their time in socialization and more gossip and in eating the provided snacks.
When the bathers signify their intention to depart, their washed-and-dried clothing is presented to them with a deep bow, and they are assisted in re-dressing once more.
Weapons are not permitted in the baths. How uncouth!
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Heldar is absolutely delighted by the experience at every step of the process, even taking the opportunity to jest with Rosalia when they are informed that the baths are separated by gender - "Whaaat? After all this trouble?" - he offers with a huge smile - "In that case, there is no point is there..?" - then motions to leave, just to turn around with a wink - "Just some rough humour" - quickly rushing ahead before she can retort.
Really grabbing the chance to relax, he leisurely moves along each of the separate areas, but definitely becomes a fan of the massage area, dwelling there for ages.
All the while, he does not hesitate in making conversation, mainly interested in understanding the impact that the recent discoveries had and will have in the settlement, at least what effects are perceived by the inhabitants - "After all it can't be all bad, right?" - he asks.
At a refreshingly hospital thief's house:
Javi listens along to the woman’s responses, nodding and smiling where appropriate, all the while enjoying sips of the wine as he watches her for any signs of withholding or deception.
At the lack of information about the Chellish man, Javi’s brows knit, ”Well, that’s good news, I guess. Though I’d prefer to know where the man is. All the same, thanks.”
He pauses to consider the rest of what she had said, ”Too bad about the treasure hunters.” He smiles at her, ”but who’s to say the game’s over yet, am I right? They keep telling me patience is a virtue… I guess we’ll find out. Besides, I’d hate to have come all this way for nothing. And should it come up, how can I find Dock Shah?”
Javi takes one last mouthful of the wine, savoring it for a few moments with exaggerated appreciation before swallowing it and putting down the cup. He looks over at the woman with a genuine smile, ”This has been a very pleasant chat. Far better than expected and even far moreso than I deserve.” He nods, ”You’re a wonderful hostess, and your house a refreshing oasis. Not to offend, but can I pay you back for the wine and hospitality? In coin or otherwise? Generosity is a gift worth rewarding, don't you think?”
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Shaggar chuckles to himself imagining Rosalia's reaction when she finds out that a desert bath involves stages of oppressive heat and sweltering humidity before cooling off. He looks to Hatyah and comments, "She'll be in for a surprise when they 'wash' her hair. Most cultures don't think honey and oil as ways to clean anything."
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Rosalia knew something was up the moment she was offered sandals and robes.
Public bathhouses weren't that uncommon, really, though she would have much preferred a private little place in which to soak away the pains of the road. Still, beggars can't be choosers, and she was excited enough for the opportunity to bathe that she even waves off Heldar's teasing comment without much complaint.
Alas.
Robes.
Sandals.
She stares in confusion at the garments proffered to her by the bathhouse attendants, resulting in a rather awkward stare-off between the strange and pale northerner and a shy-looking woman unable to communicate in Taldane. Rosalia eventually dons the robes, albeit warily, often shooting furtive glances over at any other women preparing themselves alongside her. Nobody else seemed weirded out by the fact that you needed to get clothed in order to... well, get hot, wet, and naked, as it were.
This place is as backwards as ever, Rosalia notes dryly as she proceeds into the bath area...
......? ...Wh--what--
The magus spends some time blocking the doorway until an older woman roughly pushes her forward, muttering some complaints about rude foreigners to her companion that Rosalia can thankfully not understand.
This room was... awful. It was like being locked in a library in Absalom in the middle of summer. No, even worse than that--a tropical cyclone was on the way, the clouds not yet broken, creating the unpleasant humidity Rosalia so loathed about the City at the Centre of the World. Except this time she had to be naked around a bunch of strangers during it.
Taking up a spot on the very edge of a stone seat, Rosalia stares pointedly at her lap (thoroughly covered with a robe, of course--she's much too prudish to let much of her skin show, even amongst other women) and awaits this hell to end. She can't tell if the flushing of her cheeks is from the stifling warmth, her bubbling anger, or plain old embarrassment at this stage. Patience, Rosalia, she tells herself, sighing heavily and closing her eyes. This is clearly some weird local practice, but there's got to be a payoff at the end.
It's like... going for a run before you bathe, right? Rosalia nods assuredly to herself. Sweat heavily, and then the bath is doubly nice.
Rosalia point-blank refuses a massage despite her aches and pains from days of camel-riding, not feeling comfortable showing off her pale body amidst so many strangers. Are the Osiriani really into public nudity, or something? Absolute nonsense for one used to long, cold winters and short, mild summers, but she could sort of understand the logic in a place that seemed to be perpetually hot. ...but then why make yourself even hotter in that warm room...? Every time Rosalia feels she's figured something out, yet another perplexing question comes to mind.
Finally--finally!--Rosalia is led into a cooler room, and she looks around excitedly for the tubs. Unsuccessfully, of course. She watches in confusion as a few other bathers get jugs of water poured over them, and accepts the treatment once, though refuses to undress--her loud shriek of shock as the cold water splashes down her bare shoulders convinces the confused attendants to leave her alone after that though.
Indignant, Rosalia (clutching the now drenched robes around her chest in a desperate attempt to retain some modesty) gets up to leave--and then stares in slack-jawed amazement when she is offered her clothes. "B-B-But... the bath...?"
The pretty young attendant smiles widely, understanding neither Rosalia's words nor the disbelief and utter despair on her face.
...
Rosalia awaits Heldar and Lyrian to emerge from the bathhouse just outside of the building, a veritable stormcloud of anger and embarrassment. Her pride keeps tears from forming, but her fists unconsciously clench and electricity unconsciously sparks along her fingertips, causing passers-by to give the strange foreigner a wide berth...
It all seems pretty luxurious to Lyrian, who enjoys the steam and rubdown as the tension flows from his muscles. Cleaner than he has been in a week, he emerges from the bathhouse only slowly and with a satisfied grin on his face.
Seeing Rosalia, his face darkens momentarily. "What's the matter, Rosalia?" he asks with genuine concern. "Did you enjoy it? I know I did."
Heldar and Lyrian enjoy their bath much more than Rosalia... Heldar in particular takes the chance to chat more with the locals, who seem to regard him and Lyrian (and all other foreign treasure hunters) with a sort of wary indulgence: they are pleased enough at the influx of foreign gold into their community, but admit that they have reservations about the local young people getting crazy ideas and following in the path of Pathfinders-and-other-such-rabble. You are collectively considered to be a bad influence on the young folk.
They don't really appear to mind that these treasure-seekers are intending to rob the ancient Osiriani dead of their legendary wealth: one of them shrugs and says with a pragmatic fatalism that the ancient dead will take care of their own-- they seem to consider your quest foolhardy in the extreme, a suicide errand, but one they don't feel any need to talk you out of. Just as long as you spend money in town first...
Nothing in particular of note regarding these four pyramids is brought to light-- only a few of the men in the baths have even gone out to the site, usually serving as guides to the foreigners, but not one of them has entered the pyramids in question.
***
Javi's new friend only smiles fractionally at his words of patience-bearing-out. "I wish you the luck of Bes, but I will not bet on your horse, as the saying goes.
She smiles slightly more at the query of how to find the Dock Shah. "Around the docks," she says laconically.
"Your manners exceed your stature, my friend. Most gracious. Out of respect for our mutual acquaintances, I will ask nothing of you now: but should you, in fact, prove me wrong and 'win the race' to whatever treasure you are seeking-- perhaps some token of your gratitude might suffice. I hear the ancients had splendid jewelry."
***
Javi catches up with the others on the busy main street, able to track the sounds of Rosalia's unhappy words on her... bath quite easily above the hubbub of traffic and travelers.
As the little group of travelers passes by the temple of Pharaz-Mat, their attention is caught by a young, shaven-headed priest of that goddess who is sitting cross-legged before the temple's colonnaded entrance, fanning himself with a palm frond in the day's sun. He has a dark cloth spread before him and a bowl of some sort of off-white objects resting beside him. Pharasma's spiral is drawn in ash on his forehead.
When he catches sight of the obvious foreigners, he nods towards them.
"Greetings, most esteemed visitors, and welcome to Nemhep. For a modest donation, I am honored to offer insight into your destinies and your current prospects, as revealed to me by the Lady of All Fates. May I interest you in a divination? If, like so many others, you would seek out the dead, it is of interest, surely, as to whether the omens are good or ill for what you intend. A single gold piece for a reading of the bones," he says, hopefully.
***
Shaggar, meanwhile, has a blissfully restful time out of town, relaxing with Hatyah and the camels. He needs no silk pillows or people trying to sell him things.
He does notice, though, that the sky to the east is full of dark clouds-- he's been aware of them throughout their journey, but it appears the group is getting closer to storms that apparently have been going on for nearly a week now.
On a logistics note, Shaggar recalls that the main benefit of taking the river, rather than the land route which he led the party by, was that it was easier -- sit and be rowed, essentially -- rather than faster. The journey from Sothis to Nemhep is all upstream, and thus, powered primarily by manual labor against the current. Unless the Chelaxian whipped his slaves into a fury of frantic rowing (always possible), Shaggar believes they should have beaten the Chelaxian's galley here by a solid day, if not more.
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"No, Lyrian, I most certainly did not," Rosalia spits venomously, a crackle of lightning jumping down her arm and sparking out of the index finger she points at the bathhouse. "For one, this is false advertisement! There was nothing even remotely resembling a bath in that place! And... and..." A flame rises to her cheeks as she remembers being surrounded by so many naked people happily revealing themselves to be doused down or massaged. "Ugh! No! You just won't get it. You're too much like Heldar!" An insulting thing to be, apparently.
...
Shortly thereafter, when the Pharasman priest approaches them for a fortune-telling, Rosalia remains darkly silent and brooding. She doesn't pay any heed to the useless prophecies that the church espouses. Good fortune was something you made, not something you hoped would meet you somewhere along the way.
Lyrian holds up a gold coin. "Tell you what," he says to the priest. "You can have this for the price of merely telling me whether there is in this city the kind of bath where a lady can bathe in a real pool of water. The more luxurious the better." He drops the coin in the outstretched hand.
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Heldar cannot wipe away what may have become a perpetual grin on his face, after what he has considered a delightful experience in the baths. It widens a tad more as he listens to Rosalia's words - "On some of it, I guess I can agree with you Rosalia - more akin to a shower than a bath maybe?" - he offers honestly - "A shame you did not enjoy the experience, but at least some of the dust has been washed from yourself and your clothes?"
-------
As the shaven headed priest addresses them, Heldar listens with attention - "And once you have assisted my friend here, I would be interested in a divination indeed - tell me all you know about my future, and I will consider it gold well spent"
The priest squints up at Lyrian, blinks at his words, and looks to Rosalia, and back to Lyrian, and then to the coin. He seems quite taken aback by the question.
Apologetically, he hands the gold coin back to Lyrian.
"In good conscience, I, ah, do not think I can take your pay for such information. I do not know of any place in Nemhep where one can, ah... 'bathe' in standing water," he says carefully.
"Certainly, if immersion is desired, the river itself is, um, available," he says with an awkward throat clearing. "Though privacy might be a concern."
He brightens at Heldar's willingness to receive a divination, and gestures the other man to sit. "Very good, esteemed visitor!"
The young priest takes up the bowl of bones and shakes it side to side, rattling the bones audibly. He chants words in Osiriani as he does so.
With a flourish, the priest upends his bowl over the dark cloth, sending the bones down onto the cloth in a random pattern. The young man's dark eyes widen as he looks down on them, and he flicks an alarmed glance up at Heldar.
"You go towards great danger and death," he blurts out, his voice a little shaky. "And un-death also, that which is abomination to Lady Pharaz-Mat. I perceive that you are suffused with the gifts of life, but the bones speak of a great threat! Sir, I have done divination for many of the travelers who have come through Nemhep in this last week, and I will swear to you by my goddess that while I saw death for many of them, I did not see the un-death that awaits you. There is corruption of the immortal soul ahead."
The priest reaches into the collar of his robe and pulls out a wooden holy spiral of Pharasma on a thin leather cord, rubbing it worriedly with his fingers. "I would advise you not to go! Yet Pharaz-Mat wills that un-death be confronted and destroyed. So I will pray for you, sir, that Lady Pharaz-Mat offers you protection against this perversion."
Rosalia's barely listening to this strange man, particularly after he expresses confusion at the actual meaning of the word "bath". Perhaps it's a translation problem. She merely rolls her eyes at the portents of doom and taps her foot impatiently for Heldar to be done with this nonsense. She's seen too many over-the-top lie-peddlers pretending to have portents of doom to take this one seriously.
Heldar bows at the young priest - "Thank you for the insight young man, you are very perceptive" - he looks at him - "I guess whenever we have at least a small measure of control on the direction our life takes, we can at least guess if our future entails any dangers or not, still you have more than earned your gold so far"
Pondering for a few seconds, he adds - "Corruption of the Immortal Soul you said - what would you mean by that?"
The priest looks down at the bones with his smooth face wrinkled in consternation.
"The spreading of the abomination. In your path dwells a dark fate, by which you yourselves might be made into the undying, also: and in that there is little chance your soul will reach the great queen Pharaz-Mat. To be locked in a form of unliving flesh on the earth, with your will turned to evil... this is the corruption of the soul. I will pray that your spirits are strong enough to resist this."
The priest looks troubled, lacing his hands tightly together in his lap and shaking his head at the scattered bones.
Javi finally spies the group and ambles up to find them being addressed by the priest. He pops the final piece of the sugar cane into his mouth and waits patiently to the side, listening to the local priest’s words as he keeps an idle eye out for local cutpurses, thieves, or anyone who looks like they could be Chelaxian.
Something in the man's tone and body language stand out to Javi, and he steps up to the group, speaking in Osiriani. His tone is encouraging, but direct.
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While he waits, hidden from all sight, Shaggar takes the gnoll version of a bath. He strips down and abrades his body 'clean' with handfuls of sand.
"Well that doesn't sound good," says Lyrian, lightly. He gives the coin to the priest anyway and shrugs at Rosalia, sorry for her troubles but unable to do much about it. Feeling too good from his own recent bath he wanders away from the conversation to purchase a few oranges from a nearby stall and wait for the team to decide on its next move.
The priest bites his lip at Javi's words, looking not one-hundred-percent convinced...
Heldar adds his winning ways to Javi's earnest words, and the priest nibbles at his lower lip a moment before nodding. He casts a furtive glance over his shoulder towards the large and imposing temple of Pharaz-Mat, then quickly plucks up five bones from those on the dark cloth and presses them into Javi and Heldar's hands.
"Take these," he murmurs. "They are blessed with the power of the Lady of All Fates: perhaps they will assist your fortunes against the abominations. I am afraid that my superiors might see only yet more foreigners, were I to bring my reading to their attention... but I believe that great Pharaz-Mat wishes me to assist you. Ah... please refrain from mentioning where you received these?"
(On inspection, these bones appear to have been... somebody's... finger bones. They radiate abjuration magic and are considered to be minor artifacts.)
Javi raises his eyebrows up at Heldar before quickly looking back down at the priest with a smile. He responds in Taldan, "Pharaz-Mat smiles on us through you, good priest." Javi hands out the bones given to him, pocketing one for himself. "Given your warnings, I'm suddenly itchy to be ready for unliving, unfriendly visitors. Does your order sell anything we could use to fight them off? Holy water, maybe?"
He looks up and down the street, then gauges the height of the sun in the sky, "I visited a local business contact. She hasn't seen or gotten word of our friend here in town." He shrugs and looks at the group, "I suggest we make whatever purchases we want in the markets, then go get our guide."
Heldar smiles with genuine warmth at the young man - "Thank you my friend. I believe you have just went above and beyond your duty" - he bows deeply - "I can assure you, that once we return from our endeavours I will be returning here to pay you a visit, and put your conscience at ease - thank you again for your warnings and omens"
Looking at the finger bones he adds - "We will keep these close to us" - then turns to Javi as he poses the pertinent question.
The priest folds his hands in his lap again, and smiles warmly at both the thief and the half-elf.
"Of course," he says to Javi's question about whether holy water is available. "We have produced quite a bit of it, the last week, for the many visitors. A modest donation only..." (That appears to be the favorite phrase of every Osiriani in this town.)
"Also, potions of divine healing are available."
Javi—at eye level with the seated priest—gives the man another appreciative nod before tagging along with the group on their way to their next stop.
Some quick purchases are made with the Pharasman priests, for that 'reasonable donation'-- handfuls of gems and coins later, the group is carefully carrying five glass bottles filled with pristinely clear water, the spiral of the death-goddess burned into the top of each cork. Heldar tucks a useful scroll away in his robes.
Javi slips into a stall just off the main street with coins jingling in his pocket, and steps back out with yet more bottles, which he is is carrying even more carefully than the blessed water: some roil with a toxic green, others feel warm to the touch.
One last stop, and the group has a few potential curatives for all the horrible things you can find in a tomb...
It's mid-day now, and the sun is building back towards that brutal heat. The natives are clearing the streets to take their ease inside cool homes. It is likely for the best you follow their lead and retreat to your inn-- for come the night, it is time to set out on the last leg of your journey.
The inn is full of the other foreigners you've noted already (though you see no Chelaxians, or your other friends from Sothis). The various foreigners give you sidelong looks, sizing up apparent competition, but the atmosphere in the inn's common room is convivial and optimistic.
A light mid-day meal is being served: a green soup, called mulukhiya by the locals, which tastes of jute leaves, coriander, garlic, and fish - a soft, crumbly white cheese called domiati -- and a sweet dish of thin, greasy fried noodles topped with fruit and syrup. Glasses of goat milk or beer provide something to quench the thirst. After days of trail rations, it's a reward to the palate.
With full bellies and empty coin-purses, the Pathfinders adjourn to their rooms... and to real beds! With mattresses of woven leather-strips, but hey, it beats the sand.
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For all her complaining about the standards of living here in this awful country, Rosalia has little to complain about once they actually reach the inn. Perhaps it's the many, many days of rations having ruined her palette, but damn, she cannot get enough of the domiati, and stocks up for the winter (so to speak) on the delicious, delicious fresh foods. Goat's milk to top it all off (she still resents the hangover she picked up at the Dung Beetle) leaves Rosalia in quite the food coma, and she pleasantly drops off to snore away the next few hours in a real bed.
If only they had real baths here... Her last thoughts spring to mind just as sleep takes her. Maybe it would be a half-decent place to be... an oasis in the desert...
Rook is given a saucer of milk and some fish by the innkeeper at some point, much to the cat's delight. (He'd been wisely hiding away during the bath ordeal, and kept up the habit once Rosalia's anger... well, electrified.) He keeps hearing the word 'Bastet' mentioned around him for some reason, but, being a cat with food in front of him, he basically doesn't care one iota.
Come the morning--uh, evening--Rosalia is still in good spirits, humming an old Brevic child's song to herself as she flips through her spellbook. Rook 'helps out' by sitting in her lap and occasionally pawing at the pages, but even that isn't enough to ruin the post-food bliss. She meets up with the others, pays her fees to the innkeep, and practically skips on out of the place.
After they have made some final purchases in preparation for what they believe they are about the face, Heldar leisurely enjoys their last hours in civilization (at least for the time being) - he partakes from the meal, feeling their different taste and sampling from as many dishes as he can.
He opts for the beer to top it off, while maintaining a casual talk with his companions, keeping away from the pyramid investigation and instead commenting on the food and atmosphere. As the meal ends, he asks if it would be possible to prepare some sort of meal 'to go', reminding himself of Shaggar out under the desert Sun, and wanting to take something back to him as an appreciation for having stayed before, taking care of their mounts, and keeping watch over the sands.
Retiring to rest ends up being a strange experience - being indoors again - he falls asleep with a smile on his sleeps, thinking of the nightsky they will find in a few hours. As usual, the magic of his ring works as intended, and the man gets up fully rested after only a few short hours - when the heat begins subsiding, he opens his window, letting the outside air waft in, staring into the distance, in the direction he believes their goal is located, and smiles at the amazing experience they have shared so far.
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As the group settles into the inn, Javi seems preoccupied and anxious. If asked, he’ll give a smile and mention something about hating to waste a head start, but he doesn’t press the subject.
When there’s mention of beds, Javi gives a look outside, and his antsy nature gets the better of him. ”You guys do that. I’m gonna poke around by the docks then go check in on Shaggar. I should be back in an hour or two to get some shuteye.” He makes sure there aren’t any objections, suggestions, or comments before he finds the most discrete way to slip out of the inn.
Training and habit guiding his feet, Javi slips between stalls, alleys and shadows, making his way stealthily down to the docks. He spends a half-hour or so looking for the Chelaxian ship.
When he’s done with his hidden overview of the ship, he heads to go find Shaggar .
He checks in on their guide, but he can’t seem to help himself. As he nears the camp, he shifts his approach, doing his best to stay down-wind from Hatyah. He tries to sneak into camp, seeing if he can surprise the gnoll.
When he finally sneaks back into the inn, he closes the door and — despite the paranoia common among career thieves— crashes down at the foot of Heldar's bed to get some much-needed rest. Gotta be on my game.
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Javi navigates the hidden sides of the dunes and sneaks silently into camp around the resting camels and passed out hyena whose legs kick in her sleep. The halfling sneaks up behind the gnoll. Shaggar is lying down on the lee side of a dune, observing over the crest with just the top portion of his muzzle and eyes showing. He seems totally unaware of the rogue's stealthy approach.
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No single action gave the gnoll away, but a thief who can’t tell when he’s made doesn't remain a thief for long ... not a breathing thief, anyway. He shakes his head and picks up a handful of sand as he stands up. He throws it ineffectually at the gnoll, giving a series of barks and growls.
”You’re a crappy liar, desert man, but damn me you must have eyes in the back of that thick skull.”
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Shaggar rolls over and grins, "Some say my associates are disreputable. I find it... prudent to remain alert."
The gnoll takes the finger bone curiously (and gratefully) and resists the temptation to gnaw on it. After listening to the half-pint thief's recounting, Shaggar is pleased. "So, no sign of pursuit... good. Perhaps we still hold the advantage. Another day should see us at the pyramid - then the real dangers begin." The gnoll's face crinkles and the fur bushes out, which Javi realises is a sign of worry. "We must out-think these dead Osirians. Expect trapped false entrances, devious tricks, traps... and so many other things. I suspect the mask is the door's key but I don't know that it will aid us much beyond that. And if our pursuers are still behind us... they may follow on our heels into the pyramid itself."
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Javi nods along, "Good ideas. The team's crashing for a few hours before we set out." He gives a wide grin, "And make sure to ask Rosalia about her bath."
As he heads back out over the dunes and towards town, Javi pauses to holler back over his shoulder, "See you later, Shaggar." He nods to the hyena, "Hatyah. You two try not to eat any stray passersby while i'm gone."
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Shaggar waves a claw, "I make no promises."
Lyrian stretches out on the bed and relaxes for a while, dozing in the heat of the late desert afternoon. But soon he is restless, eager to be moving on. The pyramids are so close he can almost see them when his eyes are closed.
As afternoon slips toward dusk, he rises and moves to the rooftop of the inn or the dark recesses of a quiet doorway, and watches in the opposite direction from Shaggar.
Javi: though you scrupulously look through the watercraft at the docks, everything from tiny fishing skiffs to yachts and barges, you see no galley flying Chelish colors.... nor any galley that really fits what Shaggar had described at all, honestly. A few words with the sailors who work the docks confirms that they have not seen any such as you describe, although they do say that three days ago a barge unloaded ten Chelish soldiers into town-- the same ones you already heard of when talking with your local contact.
***
With the cool of the evening settling over Nemhep, the town stirs. The inn's common room has a quartet of local musicians entertaining the various foreigners: there is man playing an intricate stringed instrument called a qanun, a woman piping away on a long flute-type instrument, an old woman shaking a sistrum with a decorative cat motif, and finally a young man who is singing a lively song in Osiriani.
you and your own true love;
Let not your heart be troubled
during your sojourn on earth,
but seize the day as it passes!
Put incense and sweet oil upon you,
garlanded flowers at your breast,
While the lady alive in your heart forever
delights as she sits beside you.
Grieve not your heart, whatever comes;
let sweet music play before you;
Recall not the evil, loathsome to the gods,
but have joy, joy, joy, and pleasure!
O upright man, man just and true,
patient and kind, content with your lot,
rejoicing, not speaking evil
Let your heart be drunk on the gift of Day
until that day comes when you anchor....
Many in the inn are clapping to the beat of the sistrum, whether or not they understand the words of the song. In the bustle, Heldar is able to approach the innkeep and request some food be wrapped for the road: he is given strips of fried, flat bread, small fried fish fro the river, as well as a slice of something the innkeep calls halwa -- a thick sesame paste with chunks of pistachio in it. It smells pretty good; Shaggar may be lucky if it reaches him untouched.
With packs on their backs, the group sets out once more...
As you move out of town towards your rendezvous with Shaggar, the wind seems to have picked up.
Shaggar is ready to go, of course, as he is not overly pampered by the luxuries of civilization. Hatyah yips, sensing the mood of anticipation among the group.
Camels are mounted once more. Your path leads now due east: in a few hours, the moon will rise before you... if it can be seen over the blot of storm on the eastern horizon.
The small band of travelers sets out once more in their now-familiar formation...
The first few hours of travel are uneventful. The moon does rise, ahead of you, but it seems diffused and faint, a small silver coin that flickers and wavers with a haze passing over its surface. The wind is picking up, too-- blowing from the east, sending fine grains of sand into your faces. The camels whuff and snort and lower their heads into the wind-- their long eyelashes and other adaptations make this a minor inconvenience for them. For those of you less blessed by nature, wrapping your keffiyehs around your faces helps.
An hour after you first notice the rising wind, you all see figures on the distant strip of the road, well below you: a group of six humanoids, riding camels. They are headed, not towards the pyramids, but west on the old road-- back towards Nemhep. Between the moonlight and the distance, it is hard to tell any other details about the travelers. They do seem in a bit of a hurry, though.
The gnoll sniffs the air, trying to predict if/when the storm will hit them or pass by.
Shaggar, the storm is not entirely natural, per se-- it's all part of the same 'storm system' you've been aware of in one form or another, roiling in the east, for much of your journey.... it seems that now you're actually coming close enough to feel the outlying effects.
You recall when you first entered Osirion, the figures you had seen on the far, far horizon of titanic, struggling elementals. It's likely that this could be part of that fierce war between earth and air-- as such, it doesn't behave like a storm of nature, but instead is most severe at the thickest of the battle, and moves in accordance with the fighting elementals.
TL;DR: it's hard to predict, unfortunately.
Javi lowers the protective corner of his keffiyeh from his mouth and pitches his voice so as not to carry over the wind. His eyes are on the travelers below, ”Should we bother them? Ask about the conditions at the pyramids?” He shrugs tiny shoulders, ”Not sure if it’ll be much help, but you never know.” He looks over at Lyrian and Rosalia. ”At the very least, it’d be easy enough to sneak down for a closer look … see if they’re warriors, adventurers, or traders.”