The secretary gives Obadiah an inscrutable look and takes the letter. "One moment, please." She stands up and strides to the door, which the guards pull open for her and close behind her.
Several moments of uncomfortable silence pass, which turns into a minute, then two, then five.
Finally, the doors split open, this time being opened by a different pair of guards on the other side of the door, who close them behind the secretary. She seats herself back at her desk and gives a professionally apologetic smile.
"I am afraid the Haty-a is busy today. You may try again tomorrow, if you wish, but I can make no promises. She is very busy this week. Have a nice day."
She returns to her scribbling without so much as looking at the party again.
Melech feels anger well up in the pit of his stomach. Remembering all too well what happened the last time he let it take control of him, he balls his fists, turns on his heel, and walks away.
Obadiah has a hard time getting a read on the young woman. He certainly feels like he's getting the run-around, but whether or not that's what is, in fact, happening, he cannot read from her face.
Seeing Melech storm off, Danu blinks in surprise and hustles after him, practically having to run to match his long strides.
"Okay, that was weird. I mean, we had a letter from Sebti and everything! Surely that merits us a few minutes of her time, at least! Right?"
She shakes her head. "Politics are beyond me."
Obadiah suppresses a sigh; instead, he smiles again. "You mentioned appointments. How would I go about making one of those?"
Melech whips around when Danu talks to him. He almost launches into a tirade, but the sincere look in her eyes calms him. For a moment, she looked like... he shakes his head and puts his hands on his hips. Making sure they are out of earshot of any official-looking people, he reminds himself not to rant too much and begins speaking. "Sebti mentioned this might happen. Apparently relations are 'strained' because Sebti dared to ask for aid while Wati was being OVERRUN BY..." He catches himself. "While we were at our most desperate. We can only hope that Obadiah can make something happen or we may be stuck."
He sighs and sits down on the nearest sittable surface. "Maybe we deserve to be destroyed by the undead. We can't seem to agree on who the enemy is."
The secretary looks up at him, mildly annoyed, and drags out a leatherbound book from a desk drawer.
She scans down the orderly lines of the pages and finally says, "Her schedule is very booked for the next two weeks. I can pencil you in for a tentative ten o' clock on the twentieth, but even that will be pushing it. If you want a guaranteed sit-down, you're looking at the fourth of Desnus at the earliest. I can mark you in one of those days, but otherwise your best bet really is to just come back tomorrow and hope you catch her at a good time."
Danu sits next to Melech on a stone bench, leaning forward as she takes in the majestic ceiling mural and incomprehensible amount of marble--particularly for a single building in the middle of the desert. This place must have cost a small fortune to build. Actually, probably not that small.
"I get it," she says, her words deliberate and careful. In recent years, she's had to start practicing careful deliberation of her words; she's way too used to just spouting whatever thought comes to her head, however callous or uncouth. It's mostly Obie's influence that has forced her to try and do better.
"It's frustrating, seeing people butt heads when we should all be on the same side singing bonfire hymns." She shrugs. "But people don't think like that. It doesn't even require a 'good' side and a 'bad' side. Two good people who both want to save the world can come to blows over exactly how to save it. Believe me, I know." She shifts uncomfortably as memories of her home in the jungles of the Mwangi drift into her mind unbidden. She pushes them away and tries to focus.
"People are messy. We can stonewall people trying to help because we think we can do it ourselves, or life has taught us not to trust a helping hand. We hurt people we care about, thinking we are poison and must drive everyone away for their own safety. And sometimes we put up walls between ourselves and our neighbors when our neighbors desperately need our help, because we think doing so will keep our neighbor's problems from spilling over into our own backyard and hurting our family." She looks at him meaningfully.
"That's not to say that the Haty-a was right to do so. That sort of worldview isolates you. And isolation is death. Community is necessary to survive; we are social creatures! But hubris, fear, jealousy, bitterness... these emotions taint our worldview, cause us to make harmful decisions."
She sighs, then pats Melech's leg. "Look. I know a lot of people can be downright unbearable. But nobody gets that way overnight. Everybody's got their own world inside their head. You can never see all of somebody else's world, just what they show you. So... I guess what I'm saying is, try to have a little patience. I know it's hard, especially when someone's being a damned stubborn fool. Ask Obie! I'm usually the stubborn fool!" She grins. "But sometimes if you show a little patience, those fools end up being worthwhile."
She pauses. "Sometimes. And sometimes you just need to slap sense into them. It can be very hard to tell the difference."
Obadiah casts searing light on the clerk.
Obadiah counts down from 10 in his head. He gives Ulysses a help-me-out-here look, then smiles again. "I know you are only doing your job, but our situation is somewhat urgent. We have just arrived from Wati, where we put down an undead uprising and barely escaped with our lives, not to mention the lives of the entire city. We have reason to believe that the threat is not over, and in order to fight it, we need information that can only be found in The Spiral Archive. If we do not act with haste, Wati, Tephu, and all of Osirion is at risk. We don't even need to meet with the haty-a if she is too busy; we simply need access to the Archive. Is there anything you can do to help us?"
Ulysses stands on his tiptoes to see over the desk. "He's right. It was bad. I got mummy rot! You do not want to get mummy rot." He shudders. "We are just trying to help."
The secretary sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose. "Look. If the Haty-a says she is busy, nothing you or I say is going to get her to see you right now. Certainly I am not in any position to tell her what to do. You may try again tomorrow, or you may place an appointment at the times I have suggested. That really is all I can do. I am sorry." To your surprise, she genuinely seems to mean it.
Obadiah nods. "I understand. Thank you for your help. Have a nice day." Then he turns to leave, gathering Melech and Danu on the way.
Once outside, he sighs. "No dice. We need to come back tomorrow and hope for the best. Maybe there is a spell I can prepare that will help... I'll need to consult with Bes in prayer." Clearly distracted by the idea, he walks away without waiting for the others to respond.
"Yes, I've heard all the excuses." He immediately realizes that he was more curt than he intended. "Sorry. It is not you I am frustrated with. But everyone's b~$@#&$+ and personal agendas aren't going to mean a damn thing when whoever is behind all of this wins. And being right isn't going to make me feel any better." He shakes his head and sighs. "And anyway, if Obadiah can't convince people to help us, what hope do I have?"
---
After watching Obadiah walk away, Melech turns to the others. "Well, I don't need to pray tonight. Anyone fancy getting s#%&faced?"
Ulysses nearly jumps for joy. "Yes! There is a Watian arak that I have been dying to try! To the tavern! Danu?"
Danu gives an apologetic look to Obadiah (mostly because he's seen how she gets when she's hammered), then nods at Melech and Ulysses. "Gods yes. I could go for an entire bottle of plum wine right about now."
Much of the evening is a blur of rowdy sitar music and table dancing (which, since all the tables are designed to sit at while on the floor, isn't really much different than regular floor dancing, though it does give the barkeep a hernia).
A few bright moments do shine through, however. An androgynous halfling with bright green eyes and night-black hair strikes up a rousing conversation with Ulysses on the finer points of various phaoronic eras in Osirion's history while sloshing most of their rice alcohol onto the table. Danu dances with a group of Tien travelers visiting the Library of Tephu for a foreign exchange program with Ngon Hoa, the capital of Xa Hoi; she speaks not a lick of their language, but the language of dance wins out anyway. Melech attracts a couple of local mercenaries eager to talk shop; one is even a grizzled old warpriest of Pharasma with a few pointers on how to handle dread wights.
Obadiah stays in his room and prays like the wet blanket he is.
You wouldn't think it was possible for a 3"2', 42 lb. gnome to support a 6"2', 215 lb. human (especially when that human is so blacked out that he is basically dead weight), but somehow Ulysses manages to get Melech's drunk ass into bed. On the way to his own room, he stops by to let Obadiah know that he should probably prepare lesser restoration for tomorrow's inevitable hangovers.
Obadiah laughs at Ulysses's suggestion, mentions that he always has a few LRs ready to go, and then heads off to bed himself. In his research and prayer, he found several spells that might help him finagle his way into a meeting, but he decides that they aren't desperate enough yet. If they are caught casting spells in or near the Sanctuary, things could get hairy, even if the spells are benign.
Before Ulysses goes, he tells him that they are rising at dawn and should be prepared to spend the entire day at the Sanctuary. Then he heads off to bed himself.
"Hey. I love you guys. No, shut up, I mean it. Whaat? PFFFFFT you're the one who's drunk. You know who I miss, Ulysses? Nevai! That guy was great. I loved him too. No I mean obviously you're great Obadiah, but that Nevai? ULYSSES! Tell them the story of how we got married! I'm gonna take a nap."
The dawn rises on a new day.
You return to the Sanctuary the next day after several cups of coffee and some runny eggs (and a few lesser restorations) to keep everyone on their toes. You return to the desk of the secretary, whose smile at your approach is maybe just a little less stiff than it was yesterday.
"Hello again. Would you like me to see if Haty-a An-keret is available to see you?"
She heads into the Haty-a's office for a few moments before returning with a look of mild surprise. "The Haty-a will see you, but she urges you keep your meeting brief."
She leads you into an office that is surprisingly spare, considering the opulence of the outer hall. A tall, severe woman in priestly robes sits behind a marble desk, its colors a swirl of ebony and ivory fitting the halls of a church of Nethys.
"I apologize for a lack of pleasantries, but I have a city to run so let's be brief. The Inner Sanctum of the Library of Tephu contains much knowledge that is extremely dangerous. Why should I allow you access?"
Obadiah greets the haty-a with a bow. "We thank you for taking the time to see us, haty-a. We will be brief." He pauses and thinks for a moment. He had expected to be waiting quite a long time today, so he thought he would have time to rehearse his pitch in his head. "I am sure you have heard of the undead uprising in Wati. The four of us -- and one other who gave his life for the cause, twice -- entered the Dead City while hundreds of guards and soldiers distracted the horde. We found the source of the increasingly powerful pulses that were raising the dead; a man named Nebta-Khufre obtained a powerful artifact in an ancient funerary mask and performed a necromantic ritual with it. He was too weak to withstand the ritual's power, however, and he destroyed his own soul in the process." He stops, realizes he is rambling, and tries to get to the point. "Anyway, we managed to defeat him but the ritual was still active. Ulysses here contracted mummy rot but also managed to stop the ritual by putting the mask on his own face."
Ulysses interrupts. "Yeah! Have you ever had a funeral mask try to take over your brain? It's scary!" At Obadiah's reproachful look, he squeaks out a "Sorry," and takes a step back.
Obadiah smiles. "Nebta-Khufre was trying to use the mask to raise a powerful cleric named Nefru Shepses, but we managed to stop him. But we have reason to believe that he was just a small pawn in someone else's game." He goes on to explain -- briefly -- about the shadow people and the sceaduinar, Sekuer . "This mask is our only lead. We have found references in the Outer Sanctum of information we can find in the Spiral Archive, relating to a Second Age lost pharaoh named Hakotep. If we have any hope of discovering what is happening, we must learn more. All of Osirion may be at risk. We will assent to an escort if necessary."
He hands the mask to Deka, then steps back and folds his hands.
"My mummy rot got better. And Danu here is a master researcher. She found what we needed in only 2 days! We'll be in and out and will leave everything like we found it."
"Nebtu-Khufre was small potatoes, and he had a devourer. Hundreds died in defense of Wati. We are trying to stop it before it gets worse."
Deka's face might as well be stone for all the information you can glean off it; she remains perfectly neutral throughout your explanation.
When the group finishes, she considers each in turn for several moments before she asks, "And this... mask. Do you have it with you now?"
Deka doesn't take the mask. She stares at it where it sits on her desk for all the world like she would a viper threatening to strike. She studies it carefully without touching it. Her face never moves save for a small tic in her left eye.
After several moments, she says quietly, "You have brought a deadly power into my city, without so much as a forewarning, and now you wish to enter our most sacred archives? If this thing is as powerful as you claim, you had no right to bring it into my city. Take it and get out. You have twenty-four hours to get this... thing... as far as Tephu as you can manage. After twenty-four hours, I will remove you by force. Do I make myself--?"
Her cold anger suddenly spikes hot as a figure rushes into the room, interrupting her tirade. The Osirian woman is young--perhaps no older than nineteen--and garbed in plain, clean linens. Of more immediate note to Melech, however, is the brand on her forehead marking her as a slave. She immediately pushes in front of the crew and falls to the floor, prostrating herself before the Haty-a.
Deka no longer looks stern; she looks absolutely livid. "What," she snarls at the slave, "is the meaning of this interruption?!"
The young woman barely raises her head, not far enough to make eye contact with Deka. "A thousand pardons, Haty-a An-Keret. My mistress, Her Excellency Muminofrah of Sothis, demands I bid you a message immediately."
A range of emotions, none of them pleasant, pass over the Haty-a's face. Finally she snaps, "Very well. Come here." She turns to look at the party in frustration before stepping to the far side of the spacious office and entering into a whispered conversation with the girl.
Ulysses' keen ears pick up the conversation almost without even trying.
"Muminofrah requests your immediate presence," the girl murmurs.
"Tell Muminofrah I will see her as soon as I can. I am quite busy, and--"
Shockingly, the slave girl interrupts Deka. "She is most insistent, Haty-a. Her displeasure is quite... severe." You're not certain, but you think she might have shuddered when she said it.
Deka's jaw clenches, and she closes her eyes and takes several deep breaths before returning to the party. "I am afraid an urgent matter has come up and I must take my leave. I trust you can find your own way out. If not, the guards will be happy to assist you." That definitely wasn't not a threat.
She doesn't wait to hear any response from the party, instead hustling briskly out the doors that the guards open for her. They leave it open and stare pointedly at the party.
The messenger girl, however, has not left yet. She smiles pleasantly at the party, head slightly bowed, never quite making eye contact with anyone.
Melech is all too familiar with these social cues; Viqir had attempted to instill them in him once. The necromancer was always more a stick-over-carrot sort of teacher, to put it mildly. Had Melech not fled when he did, perhaps he'd be in the same situation as this girl.
Muminofrah is a high-ranking noblewoman from the court of the Ruby Prince himself. She is the only person in all of Tephu who outranks Deka. If anyone can override Deka's stonewalling, it's probably her. Getting an audience with her is its own challenge, however.
Danu watches the Haty-a storm off and turns to the party with a yikes expression.
"Okay," she mutters, quietly enough that the guards can't hear her, "we're definitely not leaving, right? Whatever she claims, we still need to get into that archive. We gotta figure out something."
"We need to talk to Muminofrah. She outranks Deka."
Obadiah nods at Ulysses, then approaches the girl and smiles. "Hello, my name is Obadiah. Would you accompany us outside?"
Melech sees Obadiah accidentally spit on the poor girl and shakes his head. Why has the normally charismatic cleric been so awkward since they reached Nephu?
Actually, wait. He was quite eloquent and amiable while speaking to Deka. Unfortunately, it seems as if she was never going to help them. Bah.
He knows he doesn't have the most friendly face, but he does have a trump card that he hopes the GM will grant a large bonus for: his ruined slave brand. He obscured it years ago, but he isn't delusional; he knows that everyone in Osirion knows what it was. He walks up to the girl and lifts the dreadlocks from his forehead to expose the scarred-over brand. "Excuse my friend's demeanor. We would like to talk to you for a minute if you are willing. Are you hungry?"
The girl blinks in surprise at Melech's shared brand, then her brow furrows in confusion, as if she doesn't understand what she's seeing.
To be fair, it's quite rare to see a branded ex-slave in Osirion.
She finally remembers herself and smiles. "No offense was taken. Meaning no ill to the most honorable Haty-a, but it is my experience she can sometimes be... reticent in her dealings." She's surprisingly diplomatic for a simple messenger, but perhaps that's not so shocking upon second thought. After all, one would have to be able to speak carefully when referring to superiors who can have you whipped for the mere impertinence of making eye contact.
"My name is unimportant. I am but a humble servant of Her Excellency Muminofrah of Sothis, Fan-Bearer on the Right Side of the King, who has blessed the people of Tephu with her presence. If you wish to speak with her, she is holding court at the Palace of Gentle Reeds. I do not know if you will be allowed entrance, but you are certainly welcome to try. I can show you the way, if you wish."
She sweeps her hand at the door in offering.
When the girl says her name is unimportant, Danu's jaw clenches so hard she gives herself a headache, but she looks soberly at the others. "I don't think we have any other choice."
Melech wants nothing more than to draw his sword and rampage his way through Her "Excellency"'s manor. This poor girl has been entirely subjugated, likely from birth or at least a very young age. In any case, she doesn't know any other life. She probably can't even comprehend of a different life; the look on her face when he revealed his brand made that clear. The cruelty is breathtaking.
He doesn't draw his sword. Instead, he grits his teeth, forces himself to smile, and says, "Thank you. Please lead the way, miss."
The girl leads the party through the streets, eastward to the docks. But she doesn't approach the southern docks, where the BBC came in the other day. She leads them to the north, to a smaller set of docks with significantly more guards patrolling, and much sturdier piers that clearly see regular cleaning and upkeep--a far cry from the rickety, mildewed wood planks of the quays where the party's barge moored on their arrival.
Several river boats are moored here, all of them of exquisite craftsmanship or aesthetics (indeed, several of them are so clearly meant to be gaudy icons of wealth that you're not sure how they even stay afloat). But one stands out even among all of these fine crafts: a huge, multi-tiered river barge, on which several people in expensive clothes mill about. Someone on board is playing a mellow, pleasant tune on a sitar.
The girl brings you to the base of the pier, then bows. "I may go no further. Her Excellency is there, but you will need to speak to the guards to gain admittance."
A gangplank leads up from the quay to the deck of the pleasure barge. Brightly painted and trimmed with shining gold, the barge's polished wooden planks gleam in the sun. Toward the stern of the vessel, painted and gilded columns support a silken canopy, shading a pyramid-shaped dais heaped with cushions that rises from the barge's deck. Sheer curtains between the pillars stir slightly in the weak breeze along the canal.
At the end of the gangplank, two guards in fine gilded armor with masterfully-crafted khopeshes and steel shields stand at attention.
The guards narrow their eyes at you and cross their khopeshes, barring entry to the barge.
"Invitation only. And you definitely do not have an invitation."
These guards do not look particularly happy with their assignment. Downright irritable about it, in fact. A little coin might be sufficient to convince them to let you on board.
Obadiah mimes checking his pockets, then smiles. "Oh yes! The invitation! One moment, gentlemen." He leads the party away from the pier, and with his back to the guards, fills two of the pouches that Sebti gave them with 30gp each. He winks at the others, motions for them to follow him, then returns to the guards. He looks up at the blazing sun. "Phew! Is it hot enough out here? I reckon this is thirsty work!" He leans in to the guards conspiratorially. "We seem to have lost our formal invitation, but can a formal invitation keep you in your cups for a month?" He jostles the pocket of his tunic and an unmistakable jingling sound emits from it. He raises his eyebrows at the guards and awaits their response.
The guards glance at each other, and one raises his eyebrow before turning back to Obadiah. "No, indeed. Thank you for your invitations. Enjoy the festivities. If you wish to pay your respects to Her Excellency, you may join the queue. Otherwise, drinks and food are over there." He gives a slight bow, then the two return to their stances, khopeshes at their sides.
On the deck of the barge, you see over a dozen people from Tephu's upper class mingling, though you are apparently not the only adventurers. A trio of similarly garbed Osirians stand with a tall Mwangi woman in brightly-colored and very expensive fabrics, regaling her enthusiastically with some sort of tale. She listens with polite smiles but appears bored.
At the bar (for which there are no seats; standing room only) another slave in plain, clean linens pours drinks for the various guests, who mingle around the area chatting and eating finger foods plucked from trays carried by a pair of servants who look like they could be twins.
And of course, near the pyramid of pillows behind the sheer curtains, there is a short line of people chatting and waiting their turn to enter through the drapes to the small section beyond--presumably where Muminofrah can be found. Six more guards line the barge, four of whom stand at each of the pillars holding up the curtains to Muminofrah's area. All stand at attention but look fairly miserable in the rising morning heat.
Obadiah nods his thanks, surreptitiously passes over the pouches to the guards, then motions to the others to follow him. Once aboard, he gathers everyone and mentions that they should mingle a bit, specifically to try to learn anything they can about Muminofrah that might give them an upper hand in gaining access to the Spiral Archive.
Melech is just about the most charming he has ever been, impressing even himself. Until today, the only way he thought he could make an impression was with his sword, but now he is seriously considering a life in politics.
Ulysses completes the trifecta of utter magnanimity, but then worries that they've wasted their rolls on the rabble when they're really going to need them later...
The trio mange to gather some sweet deets about the local hoity-toities, but most of it is useless. Who's sleeping with whom, nobles betraying nobles, the usual high-end political tripe. You do learn, however, that Deka and Muminofrah absolutely despise each other. Muminofrah finds Deka impertinent, and Deka finds Muminofrah to be an insufferable blowhard who wields her position of authority like a club against anyone she doesn't like--and is fickle, to boot.
Unfortunately for the party, it sounds like she's also the only one who can get you into the Inner Sanctum.
But gods know what it will cost you.
The queue has shortened to only one person. You could probably get in to see her very quickly...
Obadiah raises his eyebrows at the others in a "shall we?" manner, then steps into the line.
It doesn't take long before the guards pull apart the curtains to allow your party inside.
A heavyset woman dressed in revealing silks and wearing a gold headdress lounges atop the pyramid, almost lost in the vast mountain of cushions. A guard intones, "Her Excellency Muminofrah of Sothis, Fan-Bearer on the Right Side of the King, will see you now."
Muminofrah fans herself with a large hand fan containing a single ostrich feather, and regards the party with open curiosity.
You have heard mixed things about Muminofrah. You've heard tales of her wrath, and of the dreadful fates of those who wronged her--including one or two about people being fed to crocodiles in the River Sphinx. But you've also heard of her generosity, such as the poet she showered in gold after he pleased her with a particularly beautiful poem, or the the young slave she made a noble after the girl traveled 100 miles to pick a rare flower for her.
In other words, she's fickle as hell and you should probably be careful how you speak to her, but it sounds like she's open to flattery. You also know the proper etiquette is to bow to your waist, and to officially request an audience with her before asking any favors.
"Such a curious group to seek an audience," she says in a husky voice. She seems particularly interested in Obadiah. "Well aren't you a dashing gentleman!" she coos. "Old age rarely suits people, but you wear it like a silk robe. So, what does such a unique group
desire of Muminofrah?" When she emphasizes the word, she bats her heavy-lidded eyes at Obadiah.
Obadiah bows deeply, notices that Melech follows suit but Ulysses doesn't, elbows Ulysses until he also bows, then rises back to standing. He smiles and, using his noblest voice, begins speaking. "Thank you, Your Excellency; I am unworthy of your flattery but I accept it humbly." He gestures to the barge around them. "The opulence and beauty of Your Excellency's vessel is breathtaking. It is surpassed only by the beauty of Your Excellency herself. May I?" At this, he takes a chance: he steps forward, arm extended and hand offered, hoping that she offers her hand in return so he may kiss it.
Obadiah gently takes her hand and presses his lips to the back of it. Then he releases it, steps back, and bows again. "Your Excellency is most kind."
Obadiah steps back and bows again. "Please forgive me for my forwardness, Your Excellency. I must admit to being flustered in your presence, and I lost myself momentarily. It will not happen again."
"We have journeyed far to seek your audience. Would Your Excellency do us the honor of hearing of our plight and our request?"
If Melech has learned anything since first arriving in Wati, it's when he should keep his mouth shut. He follows Obadiah's lead and bows when he does, but otherwise stays behind the dwarf and doesn't make eye contact with Muminofrah.
Ulysses blacks out as he feels some external force briefly take over his actions. When he comes to after Obadiah finishes speaking, he doesn't know what he did, but he somehow knows that it was exactly the right thing to do to impress Muminofrah.
Danu smiles and nods.
Muminofrah giggles girlishly and offers her hand for Obadiah to kiss. "Such a gentleman! You shall make me blush, Master Dwarf."
She smiles politely as Obadiah makes his request, but when Ulysses, taken by some unknown spirit, produces a small flower he'd preserved with a flourish as a gesture of goodwill, she squeals with delight. "Oh, my! This is a Mwangi sunpetal! How in the world--?" She holds it gently to her ample bosom. "I shall treasure this gift indeed. An audience is granted. What would you ask of the Fan-Bearer to the Ruby Prince?"
Obadiah just barely manages not to stand agape at Ulysses's display. It was so utterly out of character for the gnome; not that he isn't a genial enough fellow, but he has always seemed a little aloof and flighty to Obadiah. To produce a gift that stuns a noble like Muminofrah to speechlessness suggests a degree of wiliness that Obadiah wouldn't have guessed Ulysses was capable of.
Well, wherever it came from, the gesture seems to have captured Muminofrah's entire attention. He would be a fool to waste this opportunity.
"Thank you, Excellency. We have journeyed here from Wati, where we were heavily involved in putting down the undead uprising." He proceeds to tell pretty much exactly the same story he told Deka, but takes the opportunity at the end to stick it to the haty-a: "Forgive us, Your Excellency. We wouldn't have presumed to bring a matter that is so beneath Your Excellency's attention, but we tried speaking to the haty-a first, and, rather than grant us access to the research that may save Wati and Osirion as a whole, she had us forcibly removed."
He stops there, hoping the opportunity to contradict her hated rival will be much too tempting to ignore for Muminofrah.
I f#%&ing hate Pathfinder.