Ophelia quirks an eyebrow at Glyph. "Mister Brookstone, I can tell you from personal experience that such objects are best left in their proper place. It is a mistake for which generations of my family have borne the cost."

"Oh I'm all for leaving things undisturbed, supposing they're actually undisturbed," the half-elf says, the roguish twinkle returning to his eye. "I'm not advocating that we dig anybody up or attempt to profit from the tombs of others. I'm concerned, however, that we're going to encounter people who have done just that, those who will undoubtedly bend such artifacts and wealth against anyone who attempts to interfere."

For a moment, Glyph's expression becomes quite serious. "For in these places--built on the broken backs of the masses to comfort the seats of the few--we will certainly encounter many crossroads. I suppose we'll have to make the hard decisions when we come to them . . ." He lets the thought trail off for a moment, before recovering his jaunty tone: "Which is why I'm content to eat and drink tonight, for tomorrow . . . well, who knows."

"The dead are everywhere yes," Adhida replies to Firebrand. "Sadly there are those who think the past is preferable to the future we're trying to build here. Those in the Old Kingdom in the former capital of Sol that our cousin and former king Seqenenre Ta'a left to begin Me'at Halwa we are striving to see thrive in spite of those trying to undermine us, " she adds.

"As for our journey ahead by sand ship as I've experienced it has its own mix of challenges. The desert itself is by its nature treacherous without beasts like the sand hydra and great worm to contend with. It's said some of the old ones can sense the big sand ships,  possibly the crystals that power them, but not to the degree those on foot would draw attention. We will take a reasonably sized ship and hope to pass undetected by the beasts on the sands and the air. Wild wyverns are predators too. Then there are the pirates," Maanai explains pausing with a sigh looking to Adhida who's fallen silent. "I...I would say the sun is also a foe to reckon with," they begin again, "when the sun is out it can boil the blood and when it sets amongst the dunes you could freeze to death! The Scorched Sea is cruel but it's the only way to Dendarah," they add with a shrug of slender shoulders. 

"Mr. Brookstone," Adhida begins her tone slightly raised having allowed Maanai to speak as she gathered her thoughts to address Glyph's assumptions about Anjara. "Our ancestors did not build anything on the backs of anyone for the benefit of the few," she says her fist clenched on the table. "We earned our arcane gifts through study and trial by fire. Arcane talents were once persecuted by those who thought themselves divine. Then the lich king's secrets further punished us. Only recently here in Me'at Halwa has arcane magic been seen for its truth. It uplifts us all and all Anjarans benefit regardless of their talent or birth! Wealth is accessible to all here who have the ability to make a contribution. But the truth is before Me'at Halwa was raised from the sands not long ago being able to wield arcane power came at a terrible cost. As for thieving, we seek an artifact of an ancestor that will reveal the truth of those who seek to undermine Seqenenre Ta'a and his achievements," she adds. "We will attain the book and talisman to thwart the Cult of the Dead embolden to grow once more in the shadows. We will allow nothing else will be taken. I am not sure you know this but..." she pauses to soothe the ruffled fur of Ameen who's given up his playfulness with Ophelia's mage hand to crawl back in her lap hissing at the heightened emotions! "That Maitland themselves," she begins again, "were cursed because of their hubris.  An outsider making assumptions about our homeland," she explains but then falls silent as Maanai interrupts by clearing their throat and hopefully defusing the tension budding in Adhida's voice.

Adhida looks visibly shaken by Glyph's assumptions about Anjara, implying enslavement brought the city or anywhere about! Maanai then slides their hand over Adhida's clenched fist, which relaxes almost instantly as Adhida looks at Maanai. 

"Where and how may I ask do you know of such places where the citizens are so abused? Do they also suppress arcane magicks?" Maanai asks Glyph. "Did...Maitland tell you Anjara was such a place," they ask their tone relaxed, unshakable as always. "As for thieves, I'm sure you know everywhere has such people but our thieves pay a heavy price. We will more than likely encounter them in the sand and sadly the tombs of our ancestors, " they add. "I myself have been punished for such a transgression in my youth. But I unlike Maitland have paid the price for it," they pause to gesture to their mask. "Since that day of atonement as long as I still draw breath I seek to protect my family, immediate and extended, from those who seek to destroy us," they finish looking to Adhida with a nod before looking back at Glyph. "Why are you here if not to aid us in our efforts, " Maanai asks Glyph for a response.

Glyph sets the wine glass down. Internally, he's completely unmoved by the emotive response from the two gilded lilies enshrined in their golden tower though his smile does falter a bit. He recalls his time spent in the finest of houses, their inhabitants flowing one of two ways: belaboring their affection and support of the common people, or refusing to acknowledge their humanity. In the former case, the performative charity did little more than the disgusted indifference of the latter to end collective suffering. To Glyph, it didn't matter if the pyramids were built on broken backs literally or figuratively, whether by sweat and labor or the might of magic. From Wildemount to Tal-Dorei, gold-encrusted tombs filled with treasures did nothing to fill empty bellies. Perhaps Anjara was different. He'd always had trouble buying arguments from the wealthy that people just need to work hard and they'll be fine. Pressing a finger to his lips, he ponders for a moment. 

From each according to his ability, the half-elf thinks, recalling a subversive and unpopular slogan from his homeland, to each according to his need . . . enough Glyph.

"The wine talking," Glyph says, suddenly shocked at how freely he's spoken his mind as he recovers a sheepish shadow of his gleaming smile. "I typically abstain, and I'm clearly used to a much different social hierarchy than Anjara enjoys. Rest assured, Maitland espoused no such views in my presence. Were Wildemount's people raises as the Anjarans are, I'm sure there would be a bit more equity in the world. With no excuse, my views have been shaped by a warped world."

With dewy eyes, the half-elf does what he does best in an awkward situation--situations often created by him--and performs. "Allow me to offer you this in apology. A short tale of a caged bird:

A little petal, wreathed in gold,
Locked inside the darkest hold.
Not a dungeon, nor a cell,
Instead a tower of silver and shell—
A cagèd bird in a gilded hell.

 The true hell—to the little girl dark—
Lay outside, unknown to our lark.
In the blackest corners, the free folk
Suffered many a deadly stroke,
Not wounds, but hunger’s yearning yoke.

“The common magpies,” lark’s father said,
“Have to work to earn their daily bread.”
And the little bird believed the buzzard.
Anon, a pox appeared, unbuffered
By the buzzard’s promised ward.

The gilded cage became a window—
A great glass bowl for the little minnow—
To watch the masses churn and race
Into death’s swarthy, cold embrace,
While buzzard’s family was given grace.

Inside the glittering, gleaming walls,
The façade, the mask, the illusion falls
And the lark begins to see forsooth,
Something missèd in her youth,
A silvery glimpse of the barest truth.

And ere the sun again could rise,
The glass was cracked, no lark inside."

A real, single tear falls from the corner of Glyph's forest-green eye, glistening, not for shame, but for a lonely little girl in a faraway place. He chooses to listen quietly as the conversation moves along.

Performance check + psi-bolstered knack: 23 rolled in game log

Adhida seems slightly frazzled by composes herself while Maanai never gave an indication of distress just a motion to console his cousin.

"It is a  real test of a being to have lived in such hardship and yet remain so...relentless in their need to entertain, " Maanai replies finally nodding to Glyph. "Your words are....moving Mr. Brookstone. I do hope thoughour task is dangerous our country provides at least some respite for you...for all of you," they add as they gesture out at the party. Maanai's tone,  like their expression blocked by the mask, isn't clearly revealed.

"Yes, yes," Adhida says as if remembering her host duties. "Shall we retire to bed now or are there any other questions you might have, " the young mage asks curiously. 

Glyph takes the opportunity to retire to the room (before the others, if they're shared), disappointed that he'd allowed himself to speak so freely to people he'd never met. Was he losing it? Maybe these Anjarans were the paragons of virtue the words implied they were, or as close as one could get. He didn't know, his experience told him that wealth equated to corruption. Perhaps it really was different here. Maybe there were aristocratic families with actual values that extended beyond perfunctory charity. Regardless of the hypotheticals, he'd more than insulted his hosts, which was not part of the plan. He damned himself for allowing himself a few glasses of wine. That was the fey in him, he knew. Faerie wine perhaps, but this non-fey alcohol went to his head every time. 

Relentless in my need to entertain? he pondered, thinking about Maanai's response, Well they're not wrong. We all handle trauma in our own ways, I suppose. And we all have our own masks.

He walks to the mirror in his room and looks into it. Lines again. Age lines under his eyes. How was that possible? It shouldn't be. Stress, a little voice in his head repeated. Stop bottling it up, you idiot. 

You're alone, a mechanical, blurry-pitched voice responded in his head. All those fans and supporters. A facade. When it comes right down to it, it's just you and your memories and the "stories" that protect you from them.

The rogue rolls his eyes at his own internal dialogue, taking his forefinger and pressing against the skin below his eyes. As he moves the finger from the outside of his nose toward the outside of his eye, the age lines disappear. He sighs again and dresses for bed. 

The party is given individual rooms on a single hallway. Each is lavishly furnished with varying views of the carnivorous gardens below. The evening passes with event. During the night Ophelia receives a message from Arduus.  It's a basic inquiry to the party's whereabouts and how the meeting with the Barakah-Set family went/or is going. They restate Maitland is still unconscious but Arduus has been able to make brief mental links to the professor who's still alive in their seemingly lifeless shell!

Awaken quite late, or allowed to sleep in, the party has a large breakfast awaiting them and Adhida yet again is host. Maanai however is absent but Lord Kurido is present.  He is eating his breakfast at a long table of chairs in a large dining room.  There are enough chairs for the party to seat themselves and the break is self serve as well. The dishes kept warm or cool depending on there intention by magical means of heat or frost!

Kurido Barakah-Set is a tall man with dark features, silvery tipped dreadlocks, and fine robes. He's a lot younger than the party expects even with the silver whispered about his hair and the wrinkles at his eyes as well as his mouth from smiling. 

"Welcome,  welcome," Lord Barakah-Set calls out as the party enters.  The man sets aside a ledger of some kind. "I see what you mean my dear Adhida! Sort an interesting collection of adventurers!" He says smiling.  "Please, sit and eat, " he gestures to the chairs. "I am Lord Hamdan bin Kassim Rashid Barakah-Set.  You can call me Lord Kassim," he explains with a nod. 

OOC just realized this WHOLE time my phone has changed Kassim to Kurido, uuuuuggghhh...

Jada awakens early as usual and has an itch to do some training drills, but instead takes the time to don his armor and grab his halberd. He places his pack by the foot of his chair. "Well met Lord Kassim." He then gathers a breakfast plate and sits down. He begins eating with gusto. This may be my last breakfast before returning to eating hard tack and jerky. Damn this good food.

Firebrand nods in greeting to Lord Kassim. The Dragonborn pretty much feels the same way that Jada does regarding the breakfast, and as such that is his primary concern at the moment.

Glyph, having tossed and turned all night, comes to breakfast with slight bags under his eyes. Wearing simple, casual clothing—and forgoing his typical flashy accouterments—he bows simply but courteously to Lord Kassim. “A pleasure to meet you, milord.”

The half-elf sits next to Firebrand and focuses on serving himself mostly vegetable and fruit dishes. A particularly bright dish catches his eye, and he takes a couple of servings. Other than the food, he seems to be preoccupied with Ophelia’s currently empty seat, hoping the scholar would soon arrive.

Ophelia briefly replies to Arduus, informing them that they have met with their hosts and apprising them of the conversation that has occurred so far. She sleeps fitfully. Her dreams are more frightful in this place, as if the talisman secreted among her belongings can sense how close it is to home.

Despite an evening of nightmares, her appearance in the morning is composed and elegant. She wears a linen shirt with jodhpurs. "Lord Kassim, a pleasure. We are humbled by your generosity. Professor Maitland sends their regrets they could not join us."

"Ah, yes. Maitland," Kassim replies to Ophelia hus expression clearly disappointed. "They...well they owe a great debt to my family and I was hoping to settle it once and for all. You all are committed to upholding this debt," the lord asks curiously furrowing his manicured eyebrows. 

Jada looks up with a look of concern when hearing about Maitland's debt. Memories of having little choice but to serve for his citizenship and lovely Namir flooded back to the forefront of his mind. He puts down his fork and look straight into the eyes of Lord Kassim "We were hired to complete a quest, not to shoulder someone else's debt. My loyalty with Maitland is not that deep"

Firebrand is also surprised to hear that Maitland is in debt to the party's new host... that does not bode well.

"I think I speak for all of us when I say that we would be willing to help him out... but within reason. I'm not planning to sell my soul to dig him out of a pit that he dug himself into."

"He?" Kassim asks. "You were brought together by my understanding to retrieve something from the tomb of Meneptah.  This is my...our ancestor," he gestures to Adhida, "we must retrieve it with any of the wrong people finding out.  The task isn't easy and the way to Dendarah is perilous.  I didn't realize Maitland had not explained these concerns for your consideration," the lord finishes his eyebrow cocked looking over the party but his gaze lingers on Adhida. 

"Although in the past my former tutor was less than honorable things have changed. Although they are unable to join the efforts to retrieve the artifacts these people have noblely taken up our cause," Adhida explains nodding at each of you as she looks at Glyph longer than the other party members before looking back at her uncle. "They will complete the task uncle and I believe should be rewarded for it even though they have requested no reward from us, personally, " she adds quickly. 

"Well I may have been a bit muddled when accepting the job, but in essence I offer my services for coin. If Maitland cannot pay than I expect payment from you Lord Kassim" says Jada with a look of determination

"They," the Paladin corrects himself. "My apologies. But my point still stands."

"I vaguely recall Maitland mentioning something about a debt. Or that they owed or were paying for something, I don't remember the specifics at the moment," Glyph adds, a bit less bombastic than usual. The half-elf meets Adhida's gaze, a thoughtful expression, not a stare or challenging gaze, though he breaks eye contact before she does. He reaches for what appears to be bread and begins spreading what looks like fruit preserves on it, keeping his eyes fixed on his task as he continues. "As for recompense: I require nothing from the most hospitable House of Barakah-Set, just as I agreed with Maitland that no compensation would be required from them. You see, I'll go on this adventure and I'll write a book. That book will contain certain embellishments to make it more palatable for popular audiences. Yes, a select few experts and scholars will contradict what I've written but it's never enough to stop the presses. It will sell out everywhere, and I'll add it to the list. I'll use the money to fund the next project and the story will go on. Yes, there is a lot of truth, yes, there are some . . . fantastical plot points. The connecting thread of my narratives, however, is an invisible one. The part you don't see is that every journey, every quest, every adventure truly revolved around recovering something special and returning it to where it belonged. Sometimes it's to its rightful owner, sometimes it's to its rightful people, and, occasionally, its to a reputable collection."

Glyph sets the knife down, begins to take a bite of the jammy bread stuff before closing his mouth and promptly lowering the uneaten food onto the plate. His voice is now completely even, with no trace of grandiloquence or boasting. "Maitland seems to have put the pieces together. Their damned elevated brainpower must've connected the dots and realized that each of my books happened to coincide with the disappearance or the reappearance of some lost, stolen, or unrightfully possessed treasure. That's why I'm here, as Maitland requested, to help return the lost property of your house."

He takes a bite of the bread, chews and swallows it. "There you have it. The mask is off and I've revealed to you what I've revealed to none before. But the game is getting old and it's catching up to me in strange ways." He looks at Adhida. "I'm indebted to Maitland, who chose to ask for my help rather than blackmail me or air my dirty clothing. I promised them I'd journey here to help you recover your artifact, and I intend to see that promise through."

"You confuse my meaning of debt Firebrand. I mean a debt of honor. Maitland stole from this family long ago. As I understand now they are more than reaping what they sowed. So, regardless of the amends they have attempted to make I remain unconvinced, you are the ones to bring this about," Kassim explains their tone firm. "These are strange companions indeed even for Maitland," he adds slightly amused looking to Adhida who sighs audibly before she tries to speak but is silenced when Kassim raises a bejeweled hand. "A sellsword," he motions to Jada. "A hand lent to help but uncertain of the depths of reason," he says gesturing at Fireband. "Then a storyteller," he adds looking at Glyph curiously amused again. "Which leaves you, lady," Kassim says looking to Ophelia now for her answer. He sits his expression uncertain as Adhida shifts uncomfortably in her seat having stopped eating her breakfast altogether and looking out at the party as if willing them to stick together for the sake of the quest ahead regardless of her uncle's needling!

Ophelia gives him a sly look and answers in her best ancient Anjaran, "A scholar, my lord." She slips back into the common tongue. "One who is all too familiar with paying the debts of another." She sups at her drink. "Though you speak the truth of it, Maitland did not divulge this 'debt' of which you speak. Not that it changes my resolve. We are here now, and I for one intend to see our quest through. Please, tell us more about the artifacts we seek."