"Just get out here, the man shouts, as his guards draw closer. He seems very suspicious of you now.
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"Huh," says Mareq, puzzled. He takes back the book.
"Perhaps another, wiser, scholar will be able to help," he mutters under his breath as he begins to turn away.
"أوه، نتظاهر لاعطائها له كهدية، ثم قال انه سوف فك أنه بالنسبة لنا. "كنت أعرف أننا لا ينبغي أن تعتمد على مثل هذه الخطة البديهة مملة " says Mareq, looking at Husarq, using a singsongy voice that is clearly a humiliating imitation of the efreeti's voice.
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Kintampo is baffled by what is going on, although he has a quick mind he did not see what Ionacu saw. He therefore keeps his position slightly behind and to the right of Oronia. Staff in hand he tries to radiate a calm competence while actually his mind is racing.
Clearly something went wrong, why is Mareck suddenly speaking ancient Osirion instead of Taldan? What should I do? Best to keep standing here, acting as if I don't know anything, which is true.
Hearing Mareck speak , "let me have a look - look out for those scoundrels," he tells his guards. Taking the book he flips through.
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"معتز، أنت مجنون. أنا لا ينبغي أن يكون وافق على ذلك. ماذا لو قرر انه يحتاج إلى "وقت لفك ذلك؟" وقال انه سوف يأخذ معه في رحلته! وسنكون من قطعة أثرية ثمينة! says Mareq under his breath (but not too under his breath) to Motaz.
He starts to read in the book "tell me a bit about the prayers within and your perspective on the worship of Khepri."
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He starts to read in the book "tell me a bit about the prayers within and your perspective on the worship of Khepri."
"Well, Professor Iocanu, frankly, I've got no perspective on the worship of Khepri. I know nearly nothing about such things. I mean, we don't really go in for Golarion-based religions in the City of Brass," says Mareq. "I have been lead to believe it is a rare book and... to ascertain its value I had hoped to discuss it with you."
He sweeps his arm wide to encompass Oronia when he says "lead to believe" so as to invite Oronia into the conversation.
"Thank you very much," he responds, "this book might come in handy."and stows it away.
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Lecate watches the tableau play out and thinks to himself this is indeed a cunning and confident group he has been assigned to assist.
On the way to the next objective Lecate, walks closely to Mareck and whispers in a conspiratorial tone
"Impressive Master Bolthune, I only have one question? How did you know that Motaz ibn Dakhil al-Lythertidi's blunder would interest the northerner and not get us expelled from the area or attacked?"
The Dancing Dunes
A spectacularly groomed garden of colorful sand occupies most of this two-story cabaret’s ground floor. A narrow wooden bridge winds about a trio of decorative obelisks dotting the miniature desert. A lavish sitting area filled with divans occupies the second-floor balcony granting a magnificent view of the garden below. Private curtained chambers encircle the garden, where lush rugs, soft mattresses, or piles of throw pillows serve to cushion the repose of clientele in each chamber. A door off the northern balcony opens to a staircase leading down to the street, while another set of stairs to the east leads down to the garden.
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"Thank you very much," he responds, "this book might come in handy."and stows it away.
Mareq looks at the book being put away by the scholar.
He raises his hand as if to say, "But..." He does NOT however, actually say anything. He just wishes to act the part to its finish: the man who played the gambit wrong and got his valuable artifact taken by the scholar.
"أنت مجنون، وأنا قلت لك هذا من شأنه أن يحدث!" he says, slapping Motaz on the head slightly as the group walks away.
When they are far enough away and out of sight, he says, "No offense, please Motaz ibn Dakhil. All an act. And one that worked well."
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Lecate watches the tableau play out and thinks to himself this is indeed a cunning and confident group he has been assigned to assist.
On the way to the next objective Lecate, walks closely to Mareck and whispers in a conspiratorial tone
"Impressive Master Bolthune, I only have one question? How did you know that Motaz ibn Dakhil al-Lythertidi's blunder would interest the northerner and not get us expelled from the area or attacked?"
"Sometimes, you don't know. You just go with it and cross your fingers," Mareq says, with a smile.
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Motaz, unfamiliar with Eto, nevertheless attempts to aid the group's attempt to find out some information about Madame Zelekhati, the Dancing Dunes, and the acquisition of secrets that Grandmaster Torch believes has been occurring there.
Motaz recalls that one of his old street gang associates, Atef, left Sothis to open a sausage restaurant and hookah bar called "Atef's Sausage Pit" in Eto. It's probably a good place to dig up the information the group wants, and Motaz's previous association with Atef might help convince him to help them.
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"An excellent idea, my dear Oronia. One must always check the word on the street about potential houses of pleasure. None will be surprised by such questions," says Mareq with a utterly straight face, not wishing to make such things uncomfortable with the lady.
"Motaz, perhaps you and I should investigate this Madame Zelekhati and her Dancing Dunes. Perhaps your friend Atef can assist, as you mention?"
Askin you around you learn the folowing:
Madame Zelekhati recently began hiring more workers at the Dancing Dunes, though she sends away most who don’t have at least some elven blood. Also, most merchants recommend avoiding Beggar’s Alley, which is home to a gang of pickpockets known as the Hundredfingers.
Something has the Hundredfingers gang spooked. The normally ubiquitous thieves have been avoiding the bazaar for a few days. Mistress Zelekhati of the Dancing Dunes is a collector of magical dusts and always accepts them as payment for her house’s services or her artwork. Some say that’s the secret of her magnificent tranquility garden. It may even have given the sand life as one customer claims he saw the patterns shift of their own accord
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Askin you around you learn the folowing:
Madame Zelekhati recently began hiring more workers at the Dancing Dunes, though she sends away most who don’t have at least some elven blood. Also, most merchants recommend avoiding Beggar’s Alley, which is home to a gang of pickpockets known as the Hundredfingers.
Something has the Hundredfingers gang spooked. The normally ubiquitous thieves have been avoiding the bazaar for a few days. Mistress Zelekhati of the Dancing Dunes is a collector of magical dusts and always accepts them as payment for her house’s services or her artwork. Some say that’s the secret of her magnificent tranquility garden. It may even have given the sand life as one customer claims he saw the patterns shift of their own accord
"What sort of magical dusts are for sale in the bazaar, i wonder?" asks Mareq. "Do any of us have magical dusts already? They may be useful to negotiate with Madame Zelekhati."
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"I have no magic dust, effendi. However, I am sure we could procure or create some."
Motaz suddenly remembers how his gang ripped off some foreign half-orc visitors once. His face lights up with inspiration. "In Sothis, when a sca...an operation we were running required 'magic boots' we hired someone to cast a spell on a pair of fine boots to make them seem magical! Then, when we demonstrated the boots, we cast a spell to levitate the wearer. We could do something similar here."
Motaz thinks about what the party has learned from its contacts - elves, dust, and shifting sand. He says, "The references to sand and elves are interesting. Elves are known to be immune from sleep magics, and sand is sometimes associated with sleep. Perhaps the Dancing Dunes is putting its clients to sleep and searching their persons?"
Motaz rubs his chin while he ponders the situation further, wondering why someone might want magical dust. "Also, if she is collecting magic dusts for her garden, and the sands shift of their own accord there, perhaps she has some entity living in the garden to which she feeds the dusts or which accepts dusts as payment. I am not learned in these things. Is there some planar creature or construct that would eat magic dust, be made from magic dust, or otherwise want it as payment over money or some other compensation?"
Finally, Motaz wonders how the Hundredfingers and the bazaar fit in. What could have spooked them into waylaying passsersby in an alley, rather than working the crowd of the bazaar? "Maybe we should examine Beggar's Alley. Perhaps the Hundredfingers know something. Although it may be a coincidence. If something has kept them from the bazaar, perhaps we can remove that problem for them and obtain more information in exchange, some magical dust, or coin to pay for dust."
"I suppose we could just ask the merchants what dust Madame Zelkhati has been buying, too. The kind of magic might be useful to know."
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Motaz rubs his chin while he ponders the situation further, wondering why someone might want magical dust. "Also, if she is collecting magic dusts for her garden, and the sands shift of their own accord there, perhaps she has some entity living in the garden to which she feeds the dusts or which accepts dusts as payment. I am not learned in these things. Is there some planar creature or construct that would eat magic dust, be made from magic dust, or otherwise want it as payment over money or some other compensation?"
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As Motaz goes off on his speculations, Oronia continues writing as best and as quick as she can, "That is so very full of incite, sir. I don't believe that I would have ever come up with that so quickly."
Thinking for a moment, "Are any among us good at making disguises? Perhaps we could disguise one of us and pretend to be a half-elf.."
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Motaz blushes at Oronia's compliment. He then pulls back his long hair, revealing his large, fennec agathion ears. "I am probably pale enough and have the ears for it, but as we have seen, I am not a particularly skilled liar. I doubt I could pull off the deception for long. We could purchase a scroll or two, I think I have enough for an alter self or a half dozen disguise self scrolls, but those spells last only a very short time. One distraction, and they end."
"What if, instead, once we have some more information, we go and see whether Madame Zelkhati would be interested in hiring a human, an aasimar or an ifrit? If she is not, we can tell her we've heard she rejects everyone but elves. Grandmaster Torch essentially asked us to intimidate her. We could tell her that he is interested in knowing what particular quality she is looking for that makes us unsuitable and why. That's probably part of the mystery, and therefore even true."
You have no problem talking to a girl form the Dancing Dunes. She tells you that entering the Dancing Dunes during the day is free, but staying for a performance or entering after sundown costs one gold piece. Also weapons need to be peace bound.
She also tells you that Madame Zelekhati is always willing to hire great performers.
Beggar's alley
Two rows of decrepit wooden shacks are separated by an alley that serves more as a filthy runnel than a pathway. Broken wooden doors do little to keep the elements or vermin out, but there is little within to steal. Few of the shacks boast more than a chair or two and several threadbare bedrolls.
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"They'll be watching us even now," hisses Motaz <snip>.
"If so, then I think we ought to bring forth a herald," says Mareq. His face turns grim and a bit of madness can be seen in his slitted eyes and an unsettling grin splits his face. "Somebody to call them forth."
"Oh yes, a herald, a speaker, a servant... a slave to my will to announce me like a lowly squire does his idolized lord... heh like his idol. Heh heh heh. Idol-on? HEH HEH HEH!" cackles the ifrit diplomat suddenly.
He pulls from his waist band a small oil lamp. With his other hand he holds a water skin. Muttering strange otherworldly words under his breath he begins pouring the water into the lamp until it overflows. Each drip of water, splashing upon the ground of Beggar's Alley sounds louder, LOUDER, until steam begins to form from the mouth of the lamp, coalescing into a humanoid shape.
"Come forth SLAVE! Come forth and SERVE ME... " cries Mareq ibn Bolthune, ambassador of the City of Brass, despised ifrit scion of a once noble house.
Husarq's body coalesces from the steam pouring forth from the inundated lamp. When his form is solid, it is dripping boiling water upon the alleyway stones, where they immediately steam away, hissing angrily.
"Yes, oh my master? What is thy will, oh most prodigious, estimable, and impressive one?" says the efreet in a defeated, depressed tone, his shoulders stooped and head hung low.
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"Announce me, oh Destroyer of My Happiness. And do it well, or you shall suffer," says Mareq.
As he threatens the efreet, he drops the steaming oil lamp upon the alleyway stones and slowly, deliberately steps on the lamp until the dirty brass crumples, the small, barely audible screaming of the bending metal music to the ifrit's ears.
"Announce. Me."
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Husarq turns and draws his greatsword, which he promptly stabs into the cracks of the alley stones, bending his knee in an attitude of prayer before it, his head bowed in awe (?).