The depths under Sky Reach practically ring with the noise of a dozen voices amid a frenzied commotion. Archival Lodge staff rush to and fro and chaos seems to reign.
”You there.” calls a very large, and very feminine sphinx. She is sitting calmly amid the hullabaloo, like a queen cat, but is dressed in naught but a gold headpiece, and a more-than-less revealing, gauzy, white drape. Her voice is the voice of a sultry Calistrian hetaira’s silken pillow talk mixed with a lioness’ deep low growl--the sort meant to be heard across the savanna. It cuts through the noise surroundings and hits the chest of the Pathfinder agents before it does their ears.
"Query: Each of you has at least one. They belong to you, but are used by others. What are they?”