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"How kind of you, Motaz son of Dakhil," says Mareq with a bow. "But my own Mystical Wand of Harm Abjuration shall suffice for myself and this lout."
Mareq pulls out a wand shaped like a baby salamander horn, polished to gleaming perfection. Its tip is razor sharp. Tiny, gleaming silver Ignan runes wrap around the base of the horn, their queer words forcing the eyes away.
Mareq calls Husarq over, brusquely, and then STABS the efreet in the face with the horn! The silver runes rotate first and then run up the horn wand, like water flowing backwards. The puncture wound in Husarq's face seems to suck up the silver runes and heal instantly.
"Ahh, there. So much better. It is my job to protect you, after all, isn't it, you pitiful weakling?" A look of sick rapture crosses the ifrit's face as he licks a small drop of blood from the tip of the wand. "Oh yes. My duty. Truly."
If any were to look at the efreet's face, it would seem to sparkle. Up close, an examination would reveal the sparkles are actually small silver dots, barely motes of dust really, upon Husarq's face. Hundreds of small silver dots. Hundreds.
As an afterthought, Mareq pricks his finger with the horn and achieves the same magical armor effect, but with less disgustingly rapturous overtones.
What you know by no os that the Dancing Dunes serves as a teahouse by day, a cabaret in the evening, and a den of ill repute in the latest hours of the night. Standing before the Dancing Dunes, you can enter, if you wish so - only your weapon eed to be peace-bound.
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Lecate politely refuses the mage armor but thanks Master Motaz.
Heavy mace peace bound he is ready to enter the Dancing Dunes.
On the way over Lecate explains that his mistress, the Goddess Desna, has granted him the blessing of luck and good fortune, that he can bestow that luck in a limited fashion. With only a touch, the chances for success, in just about anything increases dramatically.
Lecate will offer to bestow this luck discretely if it is needed in this encounter or any up coming encounter.
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.
Husarq slowly binds his blade, following the lead of the others.
"Shall I announce you, master?" he asks, expectantly.
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"Yes, do so, but discreetly. Use my ambassadorial stylings only. The more lavish ones are impressive to the foolish, but sometimes a deft, subtle hand is required. I sense that is the situation here," says Mareq, almost calmly and without rancor. Only a brief sneer clouds his face when speaking to Husarq.
Mareq adjusts his robes, brushing the street dust from his shoulders. He stands just within the door of the Dancing Dunes, perusing the sight before him.
Husarq bows his head in acknowledgement of Mareq's commands. He steps in front of Mareq when the nearest attendant appears.
<AHEM> "I have the honor of presenting Mareq ibn Bolthune al-Shamiri, Ambassador Percipient from the City of Brass, and his companions. He would like to make the acquaintance of Madame Zelekhati and invites Her Graciousness to join him for tea. The Master is accompanied by five of the most esteemed men and women of their fields, whom Madame Zelekhati will also find it lucrative and informative to know. Please direct us to a tea room of appropriate stature for such a meeting. Something on the second floor, please."
Husarq's tones are quiet and subtle, rather than the normal stentorian call the Pathfinders have gotten used to. He refuses eye contact with any attendants from the Dancing Dunes, maintaining a near military-grade formality and discipline, staring straight ahead at attention after delivering Master Bolthune's request.
A servant comes along, " Madame Zelekhati will be available shortly. Can you please tell me your exact reason for visiting so that I might pass the information along to my employer?" she asks, as she directs you to a table with chairs.
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"Ah, my dear. Thank you. This table will be lovely. The view is magnificent, of course. My compliments to Madame Zelekhati on her taste."
Mareq gestures to his companions to sit and enjoy themselves at the table the servant shows them.
"Dearest Oronia, will you take some tea? Perhaps a light beverage of fermented dates? That is always lovely on an afternoon such as this."
Mareq turns to the servant one last time. "I think it will be tea for me. Something exotic, please. Entrance me if you can! As for our reason for visiting... we seek Madame Zelekhati's deep and knowledgeable company. We have been told she is an excellent host, full of clever sayings, indispensable aphorisms and astute observations. We hope our humble company is equally interesting and valuable to her."
Knowing that Madame Zelekhati is gathering information in some subtle manner, Husarq carefully examines the Dancing Dunes, watching the servants (are they listening carefully to conversations?), checking out the tables (are they infested with miniaturized azers who listen to private conversations?), are there blood droplets on the carpets (from the torture Madame Zelekhati uses to extract information from clients?), etc.
Husarq, as dim as he may currently be, recalls how effective the aid of another can be in accomplishing his aims. Accordingly, he watches the other Pathfinders to see if anything they do helps him in his task.
- you cannot take 10 to aid another
She nods understandingly - I"She will be with you shortly."
After a few minutes, Madame Zelekhati arrives. "Greetings, tell me what brings you here? Best you join me and stroll with me around my garden to talk business." she invites you.
As you walk along
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Motaz wonders who can identify this. As an outsider, he assumes Mareck can, but the servant's attention is on Mareck, so Motaz cannot ask.
Motaz realizes that the scholar Oronia may also know. So he slowly drops back next to her, catches her eye, places a discreet finger to his lips to indicate they should not talk, then quietly points the shifting out to her, in case she has not noticed it on her own, in the hopes that she can identify it.
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"My companion, Mareck, is a very well to do man, I must admit...
As she says this she quietly scans the room, taking in as much as she can.
Looking back to Madame Zelekhati, "Do you think it would be a problem for me to draw some of what I see? I always like to take notes when I see beautiful and unique things..."
Without waiting, she pulls out her glasses and places them upon her faces, then while pulling out her book, takes another quick look.
"Just feel free if you want to draw, it is a beautiful place, isn't it? I really like the gardens." she responds.
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Mareq strolls the gardens with Madame Zelekhati, beckoning for Husarq to precede them everywhere, acting as a diligent bodyguard, ought.
"Please excuse my bodyguard. He is, unfortunately, necessary all too frequently," says the ifrit. His red hair shifts in the light breeze, as if afire.
"My companions and I, normally free agents, are here on behalf of one Grandmaster Torch. As a connoisseur of secrets, information, and all types of knowledge, he is aware that you are an excellent source of detailed information here in the city and elsewhere in Osirion. He is, of course, astounded at your abilities and the capabilities of your organization in this regard."
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Mareq strolls the gardens with Madame Zelekhati, beckoning for Husarq to precede them everywhere, acting as a diligent bodyguard, ought.
"Please excuse my bodyguard. He is, unfortunately, necessary all too frequently," says the ifrit. His red hair shifts in the light breeze, as if afire.
"My companions and I, normally free agents, are here on behalf of one Grandmaster Torch. As a connoisseur of secrets, information, and all types of knowledge, he is aware that you are an excellent source of detailed information here in the city and elsewhere in Osirion. He is, of course, astounded at your abilities and the capabilities of your organization in this regard."
She raises aneyewbrow, "Grandmaster Torch, who is he?" she asks.
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[dice=Diplomacy Aid] 1d20 +12 "My companion, Mareck, is a very well to do man, I must admit...
As she says this she quietly scans the room, taking in as much as she can.
Looking back to Madame Zelekhati, "Do you think it would be a problem for me to draw some of what I see? I always like to take notes when I see beautiful and unique things..."
Without waiting, she pulls out her glasses and places them upon her faces, then while pulling out her book, takes another quick look.
[dice=Perception] 1d20 +11
[dice=Know: Planes] 1d20 +6
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Seeing the creature and getting a huge wave of understanding, she looks to the owner of the establishment and drops a bit of the facade of completely bookish, oblivious woman. Leaning forward
"Alright. Grandmaster Torch is a purveyor of information, much like you are. He has his ways, and you have yours. He asked us to come and find out your ways and hopefully recruit you to his web of information gatherers. I now know what it is you are doing here with your elementals and it is a nice set up, though I find it a bit undesirable, it is very smart and causes no major harm to anyone, so I am not worried about stopping it. I also don't think we need to tell Torch everything...as long as you cooperate. If you don't, you will be crossing one of the most dangerous men in all of Golarion."
Turning to Motaz, "Thank you, so you know my little secret." And to Oronia "You know, I have little reason to embroil myself in what is clearly a feud between others yet, so I might happily play along."
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On the way back to report to Grandmaster Torch, Motaz describes what he saw to the others. "There is some being, made of sand, that glides just above the level of the floor. It gave itself away by slightly disturbing the sand. I suppose, if it's an elemental, that it was mostly under the sand, rather than gliding on top. Either way, she must have it, and maybe others, listening and watching her customers, even following them out into Eto as they leave, spying on them and eavesdropping on their conversations. We were lucky to have seen, and were lucky that Oronio was able to identify it."
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"It was a sandman...a creature that is known for being able to put others to sleep just by being nearby. It is likely she has some method to go with it to pluck out secrets...or just hopes that people will talk in their sleep, regardless, it is how she was doing things and certainly why she was requiring elves to work for her. As you suggested, Lord Motaz."
She says all of this with a smile while she scribbles in her book as they walk.
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Motaz bows deeply, pantomiming taking off a cap as he does so. "Effendi, I am but a humble gutter rat and no lord. Having served as a lookout and an eavesdropper as a child, it was easy to spot a similar setup here."
Motaz resumes walking as the group heads back to meet with Torch.
"I think you are right that she must be using the elemental to put people to sleep, not just to spy on them. Why else hire elves? She probably has her staff search sleeping customers to learn their secrets, in addition to watching and listening in on them."
"I still do not understand about the magical sands and dusts though. Do sandmen eat such?"
Being back and reporting to Grandmaster Torch he nods, and seems satisifed. He in turn fulfills his part of the bargain by giving you several old maps. One is a map of Osirion, clearly marking Eto and an
unnamed site to the north. The second map has a much smaller scale and marks the route between Eto and the mystery location. The last sheet has a charcoal drawing that depicts two large rock outcroppings connected by
a smooth wall with a single gate. It is entitled “Seeker’s Folly” and signed “V.L.”
Once you had an opportunity to review the papers, Torch explains, “Those will take you where you want to go. Deviate from the path only if you know what you’re doing. Otherwise, stick to the landmarks.” He pauses to consider another thought. “Normally this is where I would say ‘pleasure doing business with you.’ However,” he adds with a grisly grin, “I’m going to throw you something extra for free—just because I’m such a caring individual. You’re not the only ones who know about that site. I hear a group of foreigners set out from Totra not too long ago and are after the same prize. Sounds like there’s no time to waste.”
Torch sneers at Mareq, remarking, “There are some parts of my past that I’d rather not revisit. Thank you for picking at old wounds, Pathfinders.”
A new day dawns in the Osirian trade city of Eto only hours following the meeting with Grandmaster Torch. In exchange for a handful of services, he delivered several maps and sketches of landmarks that collectively point the way to the last known resting place of one or more sage jewels—enchanted gems capable of storing memories of Osirion’s past and reviving the Sapphire Sage Amenopheus’s order.
“Those will take you where you want to go,” Torch declared while handing over the maps. “Deviate from the path if you know what you’re doing.” As an afterthought, he added, “You’re not the only ones who know about that site. I hear a group of foreigners set out from Totra not too long ago and are after the same prize. Sounds like there’s no time to waste.”