"Well, I think you covered my assessment already - mysterious," Satina says as she and Zephirah speak in close conversation. "Best way to learn more is to confront him. As usual though I wanted to check first."
Her gaze shifts to where Zahara now sits. Then to the more ethereal woman that had spoken with them. "Shall we join her?" The words are clearly meant for Zephirah, though the invitation seems open to the other as well.
Satina also noted the woman in white with all the golden accessories who had just made her way to the bar. To be honest, it wasn't her but the ornate bluish cat-like creature that caught her eye. It was such an intriguing animal. And odd she mentioned 'finding the group' they were looking for. It rang eerily similar to the words from these other newcomers.
Zahara meets the hooded man’s gaze without flinching, the flicker of his amber eyes searching for something—amusement, intrigue, or perhaps something deeper still. His confidence is apparent, the kind possessed by those who are not denied what they seek. She does not let his ease unsettle her.
She leans back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other with slow, deliberate grace, mirroring his own composure. The scent of frankincense lingers between them, rich and commanding.
Zahara allows herself a small, knowing smile. “Are you more interested in investments that yield predictable returns, or those with the potential for the unexpected?” Her voice is smooth, measured, a play of curiosity wrapped in casual conversation.
At his mention of her interest in his ring, she lowers her gaze, letting it drift deliberately once more over the golden serpent coiled around his finger.
“Gold can be found in many places,”she notes, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass absentmindedly. “But a serpent? That is a choice. They carry many meanings—wisdom, power, transformation. Or is it something more personal to you?”
Zahara turns, following his gaze.
The woman who steps into The Golden Ankh carries herself with effortless grace, dark hair framing sharp, perceptive eyes that scan the room with purpose.
And there, perched upon her shoulder, is a creature most rare—a tiny sphinx, its form regal despite its diminutive size. Intelligent eyes gleam beneath its feline brow, exuding an air of both wisdom and long-suffering patience.
She studies the pair for a lingering moment before shifting her gaze back to the hooded man, arching a single brow in silent question.
Zephirah responded to Satina’s question with a casual shrug, her expression faintly sour. "I suppose we might as well," she muttered, her tone cool yet tinged with clear irritation at the unwelcome interruption. Satina, however, knew Zephirah’s moods to be notoriously mercurial—this momentary displeasure might vanish as quickly as it appeared, given even the smallest distraction.
Sliding down from her chair gracefully, Zephirah's smaller stature became apparent next to Satina, though she carried herself with a dignity that made her height seem almost irrelevant. Her gaze followed Satina’s toward the intriguing new arrival with the exotic companion. On another day, Zephirah might have been captivated by such a rare creature, her curiosity stirred by the tiny sphinx. Yet at this moment, her focus was elsewhere, still stinging from the disruption of what had been developing into a thoroughly enjoyable evening.
She straightened her posture, her irritation simmering just beneath the surface as she prepared to follow Satina toward the interloper’s table, her mood clearly indicating she did not plan to let this interruption pass unaddressed.
The young dark-haired woman with her blue sphinx companion quickly takes note of the more intriguing patrons of the Golden Ankh. To her surprise no less than two horned devil-spawns were among them, along with a heavily armoured human and an elf with strangely shimmering violet eyes. They all felt out of place, and yet the gods had brought them all here to this tavern, and the gods, although fickle at times, always had a plan and a purpose for the mortals. At least her purpose was clear to her and perhaps some of these individuals would be among those she was supposed to find. She frowns slightly as she notes one of the devil-spawn has joined a man at a far table, and then how the other devil-spawn along with the armoured human moves to join them. "The gods will test us huh?" She says dryly to her sphinx companion before approaching the group at the table, standing close enough not to be ignored but politely awaiting an invitation to take a seat, a friendly if somewhat strained smile on her pretty face, looking around at the others in turn.
Satina basically ignores Zephirah, figuring she was likely just displeased the conversation with Zahara had been cut short. She makes her way over to the table where Zahara sits with the cloaked man. As she does she motions to the woman with the violet eyes urging her to follow after them.
"You said something about investing? Perhaps you should just tell us what you suggest," she says to the man. She really didn't care for all the banter. Satina remains standing at the edge of the table, waiting for a response.
"Some truths are best known through song, others perhaps by the silence between verses. Tell me—" she asked gently, fixing Ophelia with a softly encouraging gaze, as if experimenting aloud with a new lyric: "In cockle hats and sandal shoes, true love walks or merely woos?"
Eyes meeting eyes, sorrowfully, sorrowfully, Ophelia shakes her head despite a gaze that lingers to thank the song-mistress for her rhyme.
"Nay, he is dead and gone, my lady, dead and gone, At his heels the grass-green turf and at his feet a stone. Larded all with sweet flowers, Which bewept to the ground did not go With true-love showers, to blossom, decay, yet still not know..."
"I am Ophelia," the elven woman ventures to no one in particular in a brief fit of lucidity after an uncomfortably long pause.
The presence of the watching man to whom the other women drift one by one brushes her consciousness, fluttering, fluttering as moths to a fire, turning and turning in their narrowing gyre. Ophelia continues to shake her head unaware, as if through its own pendulous momentum, though none are left to watch, standing transfixed at the now emptying table, violet eyes beginning to focus on the wondrous winged sphinx that even she cannot help but notice.
Her mind tacks sinuously to another memory. They speak of dreams and never name the dreamer, of a glass candle that has never been lit and eggs of crimson and vermillion that would not hatch until the sunlit sands cease to drift. They claim the sphinx may not be the riddler, but the riddle...
Ever so slowly, like afternoon pollen drifting on a pond, Ophelia turns and follows the strangers who she now considers her companions.
Zahara allows herself a small, knowing smile. “Are you more interested in investments that yield predictable returns, or those with the potential for the unexpected?” Her voice is smooth, measured, a play of curiosity wrapped in casual conversation.
“Gold can be found in many places,”she notes, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass absentmindedly. “But a serpent? That is a choice. They carry many meanings—wisdom, power, transformation. Or is it something more personal to you?”
. . .
She studies the pair for a lingering moment before shifting her gaze back to the hooded man, arching a single brow in silent question.
Turning his attention back to Zahara, but clearly remaining observant to the other adventurers, the man continues. "Oh, I am infinitely more interested in the unpredictable. With great risk comes great reward. Wisdom, power, transformation, yes, these are all things that interest me. The sun favors only those who tread beyond the shade. Be not deceived, while we may sit in the shadows this evening, I am one who walks in the sun."
"You said something about investing? Perhaps you should just tell us what you suggest," she says to the man. She really didn't care for all the banter. Satina remains standing at the edge of the table, waiting for a response.
"Please!" The man beckons to Nephthys, Ophelia, Satina, and even (especially) to Zephirah. "Join me. Yes, you too, my dear!" He beckons Nephthys. Pausing a moment while those who wish claim a seat, or to gather nearer the rustic table, the man, a human, regards each of you in turn. His eyes linger on each, like a jeweler scrutinizing a gemstone, and finding it flawless. You can see at this range that those eyes are amber flecked with gold, and nearly glow as they reflect the light. His demeanor exudes an effortless confidence, his presence commanding yet measured, as if he holds secrets that could reshape the world. His voice is deep and velvety, carrying the weight of wisdom and the subtle menace of someone who knows the cost of failure. He never rushes—his words and steps are deliberate, each action calculated like a scribe penning destiny onto papyrus. "My name is Lord Menkaure Al-Saqqara. And I am in need of adventurers."
Please make a single History check to recognize his name. If you roll high enough, you are privy to the disclosed information.
History DC 10:
Ah, that name is familiar! An eccentric archaeologist, Lord Menkaure Al-Saqqara, known as the Jackal of the Sands, offers a hefty reward for anyone brave enough to retrieve artifacts. A man of enigmatic charm and unparalleled wealth, Lord Menkaure Al-Saqqara is a well-known Osirian archaeologist, collector, and rumored sorcerer. Menkaure is as much a scholar as he is a collector. His piercing amber eyes, said to glow like the desert sun, hold the weight of countless discoveries—some best left forgotten.
Histor DC 12:
Born into an aristocratic lineage, Menkaure has spent his fortune funding perilous expeditions into the lost tombs of gods and pharaohs. His private collection of relics, housed in the halls of his grand estate in the city of Wati, to the southeast, is whispered to contain many mystical artifacts—scrolls that speak, amulets that burn with ancient power, and even a sarcophagus that hums with a heartbeat not of this world.
History DC 15:
While many see him as a benefactor of knowledge, others whisper of darker ambitions. Some say he seeks not just history, but immortality.
History DC 20:
Some of his rumored, notable possessions include The Eye of Wadjet, a golden monocle that reveals hidden hieroglyphs and concealed passages; the Staff of Anubis, a blackened scepter, carved from an unknown metal, capable of awakening the spirits of the dead; and the Whispering Papyrus, a cursed scroll that only speaks its secrets under the full moon.
“Deep in the shifting sands of the Parched Dunes, the pyramid has emerged. They say it is the lost tomb of the Pharaoh of Sphinxes, whose true name is unknown. Much is shrouded in mystery. The Scroll of Eto, they are calling it, is incomplete. It was taken to the city of Tephu and is being studied in the great library there. But I obtained a fragment of the scroll. Just a small piece, but enough to procure the services of a diviner in the city of Wati. If such things are to be believed, and I am a believer, the pyramid is a tomb of an ancient sorcerer-king who sought the counsel of sphinxes. I realize that may not be much of a revelation, given that the Scroll of Eto tells us as much. But as a collector, I am immensely interested in what may lie in that tomb."
A smile tugs at the corner of Zahara’s lips—small, knowing, almost amused. “Then you must know that the sun does not favor all who walk beneath it,” she counters smoothly. “Some it burns. Others it blinds.” She tilts her head slightly, as though weighing the man before her. “And some… it reveals.”
As he continues, speaking of the Parched Dunes, the Pharaoh of Sphinxes, and the Scroll of Eto, Zahara listens in silence, absorbing the significance of his words. A lost tomb. A fragment of the scroll. A diviner’s insight. Her fingers rest lightly against the polished wood of the table, but her mind is already working.
The name Menkaure Al-Saqqara stirs something in her memory, but the recollection is faint, veiled in the shifting sands of time.
With practiced subtlety, she shifts her posture, exhaling softly. A whisper of celestial warmth unfurls within her, subtle as her fingers trace a divine pattern. The motion is unassuming, but beneath the surface, she draws upon her connection to the divine.
The spell Guidance takes hold, threading divine insight through her thoughts like silver filaments. To an outsider, it is imperceptible—just a breath, just a touch—but to Zahara, it is a gentle, knowing hand upon her shoulder, an unseen force peeling back the layers of history like parchment unfurling before her mind’s eye.
And then—clarity.
Zahara’s eyes flicker back to Menkaure’s, their golden depths measuring him anew. “The lost tomb of a sorcerer-king,”she murmurs, as if tasting the words. “The Pharaoh of Sphinxes.” A glance toward the dark-haired woman and her feline companion. Coincidence? She doubts it.
“And tell me, Lord Menkaure,”Zahara continues, “Does your interest lie solely in the collection of relics, or is it the power within them that draws you?”
The young dark-haired woman with her blue sphinx companion nods and takes a graceful seat at the table, her curious dark brown eyes studying the others, as does the wise eyes of the winged feline on her shoulder. She seems unimpressed as the man explains he is a lord and his name tells her nothing, but then again she has been a desert-dweller for the most part and the desert pays no heed to titles and blood. She doesn't quite consider herself an adenturer but she was certainly looking for some herself. A smile tugs at her lips as the man explains he needs adventurers to enter the lost tomb of The Pharaoh of Sphinxes. The gods truly had blessed her this time. She would simply have to offer her services as an adventurer. Whether this lord would end up with exclusive right to the secrets within was another matter entirely.
The young dark-haired woman glances over at the tiefling. She herself was admittedly a simple creature and was most often lost when Thoth and others didn't speak plainly but she was used to that. If it was important Thoth would most likely make sure she was fully informed on what had been said. For now she stays silent and listens, taking another sip of her golden drink.
Satina prefers to remain standing, but motions to Zephirah and others to take a seat. Her face shows a faint sign of recognition as the man reveals his name. Allowing Zahara to make her question, she then speaks to add her own. "Is your intention then to hire us to explore this new tomb? How would you help us and what would you want from us?"
Even as she is speaking, she starts to look about at the women gathered here together. 'Us? I don't even know most of these people! Has he mistaken us for some other group?' she wonders. Despite the doubts though she considers - she knows her own strengths, and Zephirah. This Zahara has clearly shown signs of some magics. The dark-haired woman has a sphynx-like creature on her shoulder - she must be knowledgeable about things such as this tomb! And the one with the beautiful violet eyes? She has no idea, but she would not be disappointed to have her with them.
Despite her unfocused eyes and winding, wandering mind, Ophelia finds that the man with the golden-flecked amber eyes has a name that tickles her memory, albeit less than it likely does for the others. An archeologist? A jackal? And searching for the tomb of the Sphinx-King...
Pulsing, pulsing, the call in her mind. He could feel it too! Of course Ophelia would go. They would all go.
She gazes at Lord Menkaure, then glances once more at the little Sphinx accompanying the human woman with the scholarly voice. An uneasy voice seems to whisper inside Ophelia's head and she raises her hand to her temple.
Somewhere in sands of the desert A shape with lion body and the head of a man, A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds. The darkness drops again; but now I know That centuries of stony sleep Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle...
A smile tugs at the corner of Zahara’s lips—small, knowing, almost amused. “Then you must know that the sun does not favor all who walk beneath it,” she counters smoothly. “Some it burns. Others it blinds.” She tilts her head slightly, as though weighing the man before her. “And some… it reveals.”
From behind, Ophelia nods slowly as if agreeing with the horned tiefling, though as usual, her mind walks in twisted paths in response, murmuring,
"Aye, it is so in my dreams. Shimmeringly, shimmeringly inevitable... In the black water with the sun burning at midnight, the strangling fruit shall come ripe and in the darkness of that which is golden, splitting, splitting open to reveal... to reveal... the revelation of the Sphinx-King... but whether it decays under the sands or far away on green fields, or out to sea or in the very air, all shall come to revelation... and to revel, in the knowledge of the strangling fruit, and the hand of the sinner shall rejoice, for there is no sin in shadow or in light that the seeds of the dead cannot so patiently, patiently forgive..."
The young dark-haired woman is almost relieved to hear the plain and straight questions from the heavily armoured one. It was still unclear if and how the others at the table knew each other but her own presence didn't seem to bother anyone so she assumed any offer the man would give was directed at her as well. She listens attentively as the elf with the strangely shimmering violet eyes shares her dreams. She herself was no stranger to having revelations that others would scoff at so she assumes these dreams are just as true and relevant to her mission as any of Thoth's tedious lectures. Again she is quite lost in the vagueness of it all but she had a feeling things would make more sense to her in time.
The tiny bluish sphinx too listens attentively to what is said, wise eyes studying the speakers, processing the information shared, comparing it to it's own extensive knowledge on ancient Osirion and it's rulers.
Zephirah gracefully took the seat Satina had indicated, offering her friend a brief nod of appreciation. Folding her arms delicately, she cast a slightly sardonic gaze toward Menkaure, her voice deceptively sweet yet edged with gentle sarcasm. "How fortunate we are that your lordship summoned us from our evening's pleasantries, something of such importance that it could not possibly wait until the morning," she remarked not so lightly. "Artifacts, tombs, the Pharaoh of Sphinxes… undeniably captivating—but hardly groundbreaking. Tell us truly, Lord Menkaure, does your interest genuinely lie in these ancient relics, or are we simply assembled here to flatter a nobleman's vanity with eager ears and ready hands?"
Her golden eyes glittered with thinly-veiled amusement as she continued, leaning back comfortably in her chair. "With such boundless resources at your disposal, surely your ambitions extend beyond mere collection. Is it power, perhaps? Immortality? Or perhaps you find the living so thoroughly tedious that you've chosen to personally brave the pyramid alongside us? Admirable, truly. Such bravery, inspiring. Do correct me if I've misunderstood your intentions—clarity is always appreciated, and guessing the ambitions of enigmatic men quickly becomes tiresome."
Waiting for the response, Zephirah leaned back, absently plucking at her lyre. The melody started softly, almost idly—yet soon, the notes grew confident, playful. “Da-da-daaa-daaa… da-da-da! Da-da-daaa-daaa… da-da-da-da-da!” Her golden eyes flicked up toward Lord Menkaure, a faintly amused smile curling her lips as the familiar tune danced teasingly through the air.
As he is challenged, Menkaure's golden eyes shift subtly side to side before refocusing on you. He peers around the tavern and drops his voice to a whisper.
“Ah, the indulgent comforts of this tavern are undeniable, but what I propose offers even more excitement, still! And even now, as we speak, plans are being laid, and the wheels of fate set in motion. Explorers prepare their provisions, their minds set upon the vast and unforgiving desert, drawn by the lure of discovery and the promise of the unknown."
"But I see that my reputation precedes me. It is well. I am an unfurled scroll. No… what is the expression… an open book! You see, I seek the ruby-jeweled skull of the pharaoh’s sphinx—” he casts a glance at Nephthys and her companion “—an artifact of untold splendor, a discovery most worthy of our illustrious Pharaoh, the Ruby Prince. With this item in my grasp, I shall earn his favor. He does not bestow his blessings lightly, but a relic of such grandeur will surely turn his gaze upon me. Imagine the prestige, the honor, the doors that will open when I present him with the Jeweled Skull of the Sphinx. Such a gift is not merely treasure—it is a key to destiny."
“Many are apprehensive to venture into the Parched Dunes, yet I have divined the swiftest path to the pyramid. The locals, steeped in superstition, refuse to tread there, for the pyramid lies deep within the desert, ninety miles west-southwest of this very place, beyond the towering expanse of the Pillars of the Sun.”
"That desolate land is a crucible of peril—its sands scorched by an unrelenting sun, its shadows prowled by beasts, brigands, and those who have forsaken civilization. A cursed place, some would say. But for those bold enough, fortune beyond measure awaits.”
"And so I say again, I seek adventurers—fearless souls willing to brave the dangers of the dunes. If you will bargain with me, I shall grant you my knowledge, leading you to the pyramid. Every treasure within shall be yours to claim… save for one. The Jeweled Skull is mine. Bring it to me, and let us both claim our share of destiny."
Common Knowledge of the “Ruby Prince”: Ruby Prince Khemet III, the Forthbringer, is the current ruler of the nation of Osirion. He is known for instituting a radical new policy for the nation, in which he has begun to open Osirion's many ancient tombs to explorers from throughout the Inner Sea region. His reasoning is that foreign adventurers who travel here are most likely to sell any artifacts they find to local markets in order to make an immediate profit, which in turn will provide a valuable boost to the Osirian economy.
Zahara’s golden eyes remain steady on Menkaure, unblinking as he weaves his tale. He is eloquent—maybe too eloquent. He speaks of explorers and fortune, of destiny and prestige, yet something lingers beneath his polished exterior. A hesitation, a subtle shift of his gaze before he meets hers once more.
Something unspoken lurks in the spaces between his words.
Her fingers trace idly over the polished wood of the table, a slow and thoughtful movement. As she listens, she breathes in, deeply, exhaling through her nose as though merely contemplating his proposal—but she does not waste the moment.
With a whisper of will, the air shifts. From between the slats of the table, where dust and forgotten crumbs might collect, a bloom emerges. A delicate desert lily, its petals the color of sun-bleached bone, unfurls beneath her touch. It is a small thing, easily overlooked—just another flower born of the desert’s mysteries. Yet its meaning is known to her alone.
A desert lily—a flower that thrives in barren, inhospitable lands. A sign of life where none should be. A whisper of something hidden beneath the sands.
She brushes a finger over the fragile petals as Menkaure speaks of the Ruby Prince and the Jeweled Skull of the Sphinx, but her mind lingers on his earlier words. Other adventurers are preparing. He had said it plainly, yet his avoidance of further detail is telling. If he is truly an open book, why turn the page so swiftly?
“How fortunate you are, Lord Menkaure,” she says at last, voice smooth as desert silk. “That fate so favors you, revealing the path to riches while others stumble in the dark. That you alone have divined the swiftest route.” She plucks the delicate lily from the table, turning it between her fingers. “Tell me, then, how many others seek the same fortune? You say the desert is a crucible—surely others prepare to brave its flames. You have spoken of the dangers,… but what of them?”
She lets the question settle between them, the weight of unspoken meaning pressing against the edges of her words. Others are searching. Others are moving.
Who are they, Menkaure?
She lifts the lily to her lips, breathing in its faint fragrance. “And this Jeweled Skull…” she muses, golden eyes gleaming. “A gift to the Ruby Prince, you say. A key to destiny.”Her smile is faint, enigmatic. “Yet keys do not only open doors. Sometimes, they lock them.”
She places the flower back upon the table, letting it rest between them like an unspoken challenge. Then, with a tilt of her head, she smiles.
“Tell me, my lord—what is it that you do not say?”
Zephirah leaned forward slightly, a playful but piercing gleam in her eyes as she regarded Menkaure. "A compelling narrative, my lord, truly. Yet one small detail continues to puzzle me," she began, her voice smooth yet lightly edged. "If the Jeweled Skull truly offers such unparalleled prestige, would it not shine even brighter if personally reclaimed by your hand? Surely the Ruby Prince would favor most the one who braved the desert himself, who walked boldly among those scorching sands rather than simply waiting safely within city walls."
Her fingertips lightly tapped the table's surface, each gentle strike punctuating her subtle challenge. "Tell me honestly, Lord Menkaure—what is it that keeps your esteemed self from venturing directly into the heart of danger? After all, bravery speaks louder than any gift… does it not?"
Satina nods as she hears Menkaure lay out his offer. "You are giving us knowledge of the path to the tomb. In return, you get the priceless ruby skull. All the work - and exposure to considerable danger - is done by us. As explained so far, this deal sounds very lopsided. You give up little, while we risk much."
She shifts impatiently as she stands next to the table, her weight shifting back and forth from one side to the other. She is clearly not appreciative of all the flowery words - and even an actual flower! - that are being spun about in this conversation. Finally, she adds, "I do see the need for haste if there are others. I presume though we could not be ready until morning." She pauses, "Assuming we all come to a proper agreement."
The conversation draws an amused smile to the lips of the so far quiet young dark-haired woman. She had barely begun her own search and the gods had shown her a path, but furthermore she was now also blessed with the scene of these horned women challenging a lord of the land. A part of her worried he might withdraw his offer but for now she was much too pleased with having him squirm for a while longer. "If you want us to be the ones to find this bejeweled skull and bring it to you, you would do well to be as open as you claim to be about what you know about our competition. Do they know what you are about to share with us? Should we expect others to find the pyramid?" The dark-haired woman finally chimes in, her voice soft and melodious, reasoning and curious rather than accusing.
Menkaure's gaze lingers approvingly on Zahara’s desert lily, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. He clasps his hands upon the table, fingers steepled, as the glow of the lamplight glints off his serpentine ring, making it seem almost alive—coiling, shifting, watching. As the questions unfold, he lowers his eyes in contemplation, the silence stretching as he carefully selects his words.
"I should expect you to be shrewd," he says at last, his tone edged with quiet amusement. "It is a trait that will serve you well on this journey, after all. I will be frank—venturing into the Parched Dunes is not a necessity for me. That is what adventurers are for. I am a man of influence, a weaver of fortunes, a hand that moves unseen within the walls of cities. I possess the luxury of commissioning individuals of exceptional skill to procure the relics I desire.” He leans back, the flickering light casting shifting shadows across his features. "As for your reward, the wealth of the tomb lies before you. Thanks to the generous decree of our great Pharaoh, any treasure you unearth is yours to claim and sell as you see fit. I deem it a most equitable exchange."
A pause. A knowing look. Then, with a faint sigh, he continues, "I will confess something further—you are not the only adventurers to set your sights upon the tomb. Nor are you the first to whom I have made this offer. Days ago, I struck a similar bargain with another band of seekers. But the Parched Dunes are merciless, and they did not survive." His voice lowers, threading with something unreadable—regret, or perhaps calculation. "Yet I have faith in you. Fortune will favor you where it did not favor them. I can provide you with camels, along with ample water and provisions for the journey. You need only supply your… talents."
"Do you accept this proposition? Will you set forth at first light?"
Zephirah leaned forward slightly, resting her chin upon her hand, golden eyes glinting with quiet cunning. "Let me ensure I understand clearly, Lord Menkaure," she began smoothly, her voice light but precise. "The great Ruby Prince has decreed that any treasures found within these ancient tombs belong freely to those brave enough—or foolish enough—to claim them. Thus, these treasures are already promised to us by royal decree, not by your generosity. The only true commodity you offer us is information. Directions across the sands, details to find a place that—let us be frank—may well hold nothing but sand, bones, and disappointment."
She allowed a brief pause, long enough for her words to sink in, before continuing gently yet pointedly. "Our arrangement, then, is quite simple and far less ambitious than you've presented. You provide us with the precise location and route to this lost pyramid. In return, we endeavor to locate and secure the Jeweled Skull for you—assuming, of course, that it is still there, has not already been taken, or does indeed exist in the first place. What you have offered us thus far are merely promises and whispers, no more substantial than desert wind. I suggest we deal plainly: we agree to seek the artifact, but we promise nothing beyond the attempt itself."
Her lips curved slightly, her voice taking on a faintly playful edge, though her gaze remained carefully shrewd. "Surely, a man of your obvious wisdom and influence sees the fairness in trading words for effort, rather than guarantees built upon little more than rumor and hope?"
Zephirah let the silence stretch just a breath longer, her fingers drifting lazily across the strings of her lyre in a low, syncopated rhythm—casual, almost hypnotic. A sly smile played at the corner of her lips as she leaned ever so slightly toward Menkaure, her voice barely above a whisper, carrying only to those closest. "Roll the bones…"she sang softly, the words curling through the air like smoke. "Why are we here? Because we're here…" The melody settled into the space between words and breath, a gentle, teasing push—a reminder that chance favored the bold, and sometimes, the gamble was the only path forward.
(Deception for masking her true intent to water down the agreement to the point that it does not include actual delivery: 24)
"Well, I think you covered my assessment already - mysterious," Satina says as she and Zephirah speak in close conversation. "Best way to learn more is to confront him. As usual though I wanted to check first."
Her gaze shifts to where Zahara now sits. Then to the more ethereal woman that had spoken with them. "Shall we join her?" The words are clearly meant for Zephirah, though the invitation seems open to the other as well.
Satina also noted the woman in white with all the golden accessories who had just made her way to the bar. To be honest, it wasn't her but the ornate bluish cat-like creature that caught her eye. It was such an intriguing animal. And odd she mentioned 'finding the group' they were looking for. It rang eerily similar to the words from these other newcomers.
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Liivi Orav, Barbarian || Vanizi, Warlock || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi ||
Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric || Roxana Raincrest, Rogue || Satina Cindermark, Fighter || Meira Dheran, Rogue
Zahara meets the hooded man’s gaze without flinching, the flicker of his amber eyes searching for something—amusement, intrigue, or perhaps something deeper still. His confidence is apparent, the kind possessed by those who are not denied what they seek. She does not let his ease unsettle her.
She leans back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other with slow, deliberate grace, mirroring his own composure. The scent of frankincense lingers between them, rich and commanding.
Zahara allows herself a small, knowing smile. “Are you more interested in investments that yield predictable returns, or those with the potential for the unexpected?” Her voice is smooth, measured, a play of curiosity wrapped in casual conversation.
At his mention of her interest in his ring, she lowers her gaze, letting it drift deliberately once more over the golden serpent coiled around his finger.
“Gold can be found in many places,” she notes, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass absentmindedly. “But a serpent? That is a choice. They carry many meanings—wisdom, power, transformation. Or is it something more personal to you?”
Zahara turns, following his gaze.
The woman who steps into The Golden Ankh carries herself with effortless grace, dark hair framing sharp, perceptive eyes that scan the room with purpose.
And there, perched upon her shoulder, is a creature most rare—a tiny sphinx, its form regal despite its diminutive size. Intelligent eyes gleam beneath its feline brow, exuding an air of both wisdom and long-suffering patience.
She studies the pair for a lingering moment before shifting her gaze back to the hooded man, arching a single brow in silent question.
Zephirah responded to Satina’s question with a casual shrug, her expression faintly sour. "I suppose we might as well," she muttered, her tone cool yet tinged with clear irritation at the unwelcome interruption. Satina, however, knew Zephirah’s moods to be notoriously mercurial—this momentary displeasure might vanish as quickly as it appeared, given even the smallest distraction.
Sliding down from her chair gracefully, Zephirah's smaller stature became apparent next to Satina, though she carried herself with a dignity that made her height seem almost irrelevant. Her gaze followed Satina’s toward the intriguing new arrival with the exotic companion. On another day, Zephirah might have been captivated by such a rare creature, her curiosity stirred by the tiny sphinx. Yet at this moment, her focus was elsewhere, still stinging from the disruption of what had been developing into a thoroughly enjoyable evening.
She straightened her posture, her irritation simmering just beneath the surface as she prepared to follow Satina toward the interloper’s table, her mood clearly indicating she did not plan to let this interruption pass unaddressed.
|| Oriace - Halfling Bard - Dragon Heist || Valerian - Pallid Elf Rogue - Wildnis || b'Reh - Stig Order Cleric - Humblewood || Rowan - Halfling Giant Path Barbarian - Runewarren || Shaephina - Half-Drow Blood Cleric/Wizard - Murder Court || Ianjin - Gallus Open Hand Monk - Mad Empiricist || Khazela - Spiritfarer Dervish - Tribute Court || Arista - Human Frost Giant Sorcerer - The Old Keep ||
The young dark-haired woman with her blue sphinx companion quickly takes note of the more intriguing patrons of the Golden Ankh. To her surprise no less than two horned devil-spawns were among them, along with a heavily armoured human and an elf with strangely shimmering violet eyes. They all felt out of place, and yet the gods had brought them all here to this tavern, and the gods, although fickle at times, always had a plan and a purpose for the mortals. At least her purpose was clear to her and perhaps some of these individuals would be among those she was supposed to find. She frowns slightly as she notes one of the devil-spawn has joined a man at a far table, and then how the other devil-spawn along with the armoured human moves to join them. "The gods will test us huh?" She says dryly to her sphinx companion before approaching the group at the table, standing close enough not to be ignored but politely awaiting an invitation to take a seat, a friendly if somewhat strained smile on her pretty face, looking around at the others in turn.
Satina basically ignores Zephirah, figuring she was likely just displeased the conversation with Zahara had been cut short. She makes her way over to the table where Zahara sits with the cloaked man. As she does she motions to the woman with the violet eyes urging her to follow after them.
"You said something about investing? Perhaps you should just tell us what you suggest," she says to the man. She really didn't care for all the banter. Satina remains standing at the edge of the table, waiting for a response.
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Liivi Orav, Barbarian || Vanizi, Warlock || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi ||
Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric || Roxana Raincrest, Rogue || Satina Cindermark, Fighter || Meira Dheran, Rogue
Eyes meeting eyes, sorrowfully, sorrowfully, Ophelia shakes her head despite a gaze that lingers to thank the song-mistress for her rhyme.
"Nay, he is dead and gone, my lady, dead and gone,
At his heels the grass-green turf and at his feet a stone.
Larded all with sweet flowers,
Which bewept to the ground did not go
With true-love showers, to blossom, decay, yet still not know..."
"I am Ophelia," the elven woman ventures to no one in particular in a brief fit of lucidity after an uncomfortably long pause.
The presence of the watching man to whom the other women drift one by one brushes her consciousness, fluttering, fluttering as moths to a fire, turning and turning in their narrowing gyre. Ophelia continues to shake her head unaware, as if through its own pendulous momentum, though none are left to watch, standing transfixed at the now emptying table, violet eyes beginning to focus on the wondrous winged sphinx that even she cannot help but notice.
Her mind tacks sinuously to another memory. They speak of dreams and never name the dreamer, of a glass candle that has never been lit and eggs of crimson and vermillion that would not hatch until the sunlit sands cease to drift. They claim the sphinx may not be the riddler, but the riddle...
Ever so slowly, like afternoon pollen drifting on a pond, Ophelia turns and follows the strangers who she now considers her companions.
Inge(Barbarian2):Krayveneer's After the Fall| Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1):Uhtred's Windward Isles| Xarian(Fighter1):NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric4):Vos' Beyond the Veil| Soren(Druid5):Bartjeebus' Ravenloft| Nivi(Rogue4):Raiketsu's CoS| Ophelia(Sorcerer3):Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(Fighter6):NotDrizzt's Simple Request| Toa(Barbarian6/Fighter4):MrWhisker's Dark Lord's Return| Sabetha(Monk3):Bedlymn's Murder Court
Turning his attention back to Zahara, but clearly remaining observant to the other adventurers, the man continues. "Oh, I am infinitely more interested in the unpredictable. With great risk comes great reward. Wisdom, power, transformation, yes, these are all things that interest me. The sun favors only those who tread beyond the shade. Be not deceived, while we may sit in the shadows this evening, I am one who walks in the sun."
"Please!" The man beckons to Nephthys, Ophelia, Satina, and even (especially) to Zephirah. "Join me. Yes, you too, my dear!" He beckons Nephthys. Pausing a moment while those who wish claim a seat, or to gather nearer the rustic table, the man, a human, regards each of you in turn. His eyes linger on each, like a jeweler scrutinizing a gemstone, and finding it flawless. You can see at this range that those eyes are amber flecked with gold, and nearly glow as they reflect the light. His demeanor exudes an effortless confidence, his presence commanding yet measured, as if he holds secrets that could reshape the world. His voice is deep and velvety, carrying the weight of wisdom and the subtle menace of someone who knows the cost of failure. He never rushes—his words and steps are deliberate, each action calculated like a scribe penning destiny onto papyrus. "My name is Lord Menkaure Al-Saqqara. And I am in need of adventurers."
Please make a single History check to recognize his name. If you roll high enough, you are privy to the disclosed information.
History DC 10:
Ah, that name is familiar! An eccentric archaeologist, Lord Menkaure Al-Saqqara, known as the Jackal of the Sands, offers a hefty reward for anyone brave enough to retrieve artifacts. A man of enigmatic charm and unparalleled wealth, Lord Menkaure Al-Saqqara is a well-known Osirian archaeologist, collector, and rumored sorcerer. Menkaure is as much a scholar as he is a collector. His piercing amber eyes, said to glow like the desert sun, hold the weight of countless discoveries—some best left forgotten.
Histor DC 12:
Born into an aristocratic lineage, Menkaure has spent his fortune funding perilous expeditions into the lost tombs of gods and pharaohs. His private collection of relics, housed in the halls of his grand estate in the city of Wati, to the southeast, is whispered to contain many mystical artifacts—scrolls that speak, amulets that burn with ancient power, and even a sarcophagus that hums with a heartbeat not of this world.
History DC 15:
While many see him as a benefactor of knowledge, others whisper of darker ambitions. Some say he seeks not just history, but immortality.
History DC 20:
Some of his rumored, notable possessions include The Eye of Wadjet, a golden monocle that reveals hidden hieroglyphs and concealed passages; the Staff of Anubis, a blackened scepter, carved from an unknown metal, capable of awakening the spirits of the dead; and the Whispering Papyrus, a cursed scroll that only speaks its secrets under the full moon.
“Deep in the shifting sands of the Parched Dunes, the pyramid has emerged. They say it is the lost tomb of the Pharaoh of Sphinxes, whose true name is unknown. Much is shrouded in mystery. The Scroll of Eto, they are calling it, is incomplete. It was taken to the city of Tephu and is being studied in the great library there. But I obtained a fragment of the scroll. Just a small piece, but enough to procure the services of a diviner in the city of Wati. If such things are to be believed, and I am a believer, the pyramid is a tomb of an ancient sorcerer-king who sought the counsel of sphinxes. I realize that may not be much of a revelation, given that the Scroll of Eto tells us as much. But as a collector, I am immensely interested in what may lie in that tomb."
A smile tugs at the corner of Zahara’s lips—small, knowing, almost amused. “Then you must know that the sun does not favor all who walk beneath it,” she counters smoothly. “Some it burns. Others it blinds.” She tilts her head slightly, as though weighing the man before her. “And some… it reveals.”
As he continues, speaking of the Parched Dunes, the Pharaoh of Sphinxes, and the Scroll of Eto, Zahara listens in silence, absorbing the significance of his words. A lost tomb. A fragment of the scroll. A diviner’s insight. Her fingers rest lightly against the polished wood of the table, but her mind is already working.
The name Menkaure Al-Saqqara stirs something in her memory, but the recollection is faint, veiled in the shifting sands of time.
With practiced subtlety, she shifts her posture, exhaling softly. A whisper of celestial warmth unfurls within her, subtle as her fingers trace a divine pattern. The motion is unassuming, but beneath the surface, she draws upon her connection to the divine.
The spell Guidance takes hold, threading divine insight through her thoughts like silver filaments. To an outsider, it is imperceptible—just a breath, just a touch—but to Zahara, it is a gentle, knowing hand upon her shoulder, an unseen force peeling back the layers of history like parchment unfurling before her mind’s eye.
And then—clarity.
Zahara’s eyes flicker back to Menkaure’s, their golden depths measuring him anew. “The lost tomb of a sorcerer-king,” she murmurs, as if tasting the words. “The Pharaoh of Sphinxes.” A glance toward the dark-haired woman and her feline companion. Coincidence? She doubts it.
“And tell me, Lord Menkaure,” Zahara continues, “Does your interest lie solely in the collection of relics, or is it the power within them that draws you?”
The young dark-haired woman with her blue sphinx companion nods and takes a graceful seat at the table, her curious dark brown eyes studying the others, as does the wise eyes of the winged feline on her shoulder. She seems unimpressed as the man explains he is a lord and his name tells her nothing, but then again she has been a desert-dweller for the most part and the desert pays no heed to titles and blood. She doesn't quite consider herself an adenturer but she was certainly looking for some herself. A smile tugs at her lips as the man explains he needs adventurers to enter the lost tomb of The Pharaoh of Sphinxes. The gods truly had blessed her this time. She would simply have to offer her services as an adventurer. Whether this lord would end up with exclusive right to the secrets within was another matter entirely.
The young dark-haired woman glances over at the tiefling. She herself was admittedly a simple creature and was most often lost when Thoth and others didn't speak plainly but she was used to that. If it was important Thoth would most likely make sure she was fully informed on what had been said. For now she stays silent and listens, taking another sip of her golden drink.
Satina prefers to remain standing, but motions to Zephirah and others to take a seat. Her face shows a faint sign of recognition as the man reveals his name. Allowing Zahara to make her question, she then speaks to add her own. "Is your intention then to hire us to explore this new tomb? How would you help us and what would you want from us?"
Even as she is speaking, she starts to look about at the women gathered here together. 'Us? I don't even know most of these people! Has he mistaken us for some other group?' she wonders. Despite the doubts though she considers - she knows her own strengths, and Zephirah. This Zahara has clearly shown signs of some magics. The dark-haired woman has a sphynx-like creature on her shoulder - she must be knowledgeable about things such as this tomb! And the one with the beautiful violet eyes? She has no idea, but she would not be disappointed to have her with them.
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Liivi Orav, Barbarian || Vanizi, Warlock || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi ||
Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric || Roxana Raincrest, Rogue || Satina Cindermark, Fighter || Meira Dheran, Rogue
Despite her unfocused eyes and winding, wandering mind, Ophelia finds that the man with the golden-flecked amber eyes has a name that tickles her memory, albeit less than it likely does for the others. An archeologist? A jackal? And searching for the tomb of the Sphinx-King...
Pulsing, pulsing, the call in her mind. He could feel it too! Of course Ophelia would go. They would all go.
She gazes at Lord Menkaure, then glances once more at the little Sphinx accompanying the human woman with the scholarly voice. An uneasy voice seems to whisper inside Ophelia's head and she raises her hand to her temple.
Somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle...
From behind, Ophelia nods slowly as if agreeing with the horned tiefling, though as usual, her mind walks in twisted paths in response, murmuring,
"Aye, it is so in my dreams. Shimmeringly, shimmeringly inevitable... In the black water with the sun burning at midnight, the strangling fruit shall come ripe and in the darkness of that which is golden, splitting, splitting open to reveal... to reveal... the revelation of the Sphinx-King... but whether it decays under the sands or far away on green fields, or out to sea or in the very air, all shall come to revelation... and to revel, in the knowledge of the strangling fruit, and the hand of the sinner shall rejoice, for there is no sin in shadow or in light that the seeds of the dead cannot so patiently, patiently forgive..."
Inge(Barbarian2):Krayveneer's After the Fall| Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1):Uhtred's Windward Isles| Xarian(Fighter1):NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric4):Vos' Beyond the Veil| Soren(Druid5):Bartjeebus' Ravenloft| Nivi(Rogue4):Raiketsu's CoS| Ophelia(Sorcerer3):Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(Fighter6):NotDrizzt's Simple Request| Toa(Barbarian6/Fighter4):MrWhisker's Dark Lord's Return| Sabetha(Monk3):Bedlymn's Murder Court
The young dark-haired woman is almost relieved to hear the plain and straight questions from the heavily armoured one. It was still unclear if and how the others at the table knew each other but her own presence didn't seem to bother anyone so she assumed any offer the man would give was directed at her as well. She listens attentively as the elf with the strangely shimmering violet eyes shares her dreams. She herself was no stranger to having revelations that others would scoff at so she assumes these dreams are just as true and relevant to her mission as any of Thoth's tedious lectures. Again she is quite lost in the vagueness of it all but she had a feeling things would make more sense to her in time.
The tiny bluish sphinx too listens attentively to what is said, wise eyes studying the speakers, processing the information shared, comparing it to it's own extensive knowledge on ancient Osirion and it's rulers.
Zephirah gracefully took the seat Satina had indicated, offering her friend a brief nod of appreciation. Folding her arms delicately, she cast a slightly sardonic gaze toward Menkaure, her voice deceptively sweet yet edged with gentle sarcasm. "How fortunate we are that your lordship summoned us from our evening's pleasantries, something of such importance that it could not possibly wait until the morning," she remarked not so lightly. "Artifacts, tombs, the Pharaoh of Sphinxes… undeniably captivating—but hardly groundbreaking. Tell us truly, Lord Menkaure, does your interest genuinely lie in these ancient relics, or are we simply assembled here to flatter a nobleman's vanity with eager ears and ready hands?"
Her golden eyes glittered with thinly-veiled amusement as she continued, leaning back comfortably in her chair. "With such boundless resources at your disposal, surely your ambitions extend beyond mere collection. Is it power, perhaps? Immortality? Or perhaps you find the living so thoroughly tedious that you've chosen to personally brave the pyramid alongside us? Admirable, truly. Such bravery, inspiring. Do correct me if I've misunderstood your intentions—clarity is always appreciated, and guessing the ambitions of enigmatic men quickly becomes tiresome."
Waiting for the response, Zephirah leaned back, absently plucking at her lyre. The melody started softly, almost idly—yet soon, the notes grew confident, playful. “Da-da-daaa-daaa… da-da-da! Da-da-daaa-daaa… da-da-da-da-da!” Her golden eyes flicked up toward Lord Menkaure, a faintly amused smile curling her lips as the familiar tune danced teasingly through the air.
|| Oriace - Halfling Bard - Dragon Heist || Valerian - Pallid Elf Rogue - Wildnis || b'Reh - Stig Order Cleric - Humblewood || Rowan - Halfling Giant Path Barbarian - Runewarren || Shaephina - Half-Drow Blood Cleric/Wizard - Murder Court || Ianjin - Gallus Open Hand Monk - Mad Empiricist || Khazela - Spiritfarer Dervish - Tribute Court || Arista - Human Frost Giant Sorcerer - The Old Keep ||
As he is challenged, Menkaure's golden eyes shift subtly side to side before refocusing on you. He peers around the tavern and drops his voice to a whisper.
“Ah, the indulgent comforts of this tavern are undeniable, but what I propose offers even more excitement, still! And even now, as we speak, plans are being laid, and the wheels of fate set in motion. Explorers prepare their provisions, their minds set upon the vast and unforgiving desert, drawn by the lure of discovery and the promise of the unknown."
"But I see that my reputation precedes me. It is well. I am an unfurled scroll. No… what is the expression… an open book! You see, I seek the ruby-jeweled skull of the pharaoh’s sphinx—” he casts a glance at Nephthys and her companion “—an artifact of untold splendor, a discovery most worthy of our illustrious Pharaoh, the Ruby Prince. With this item in my grasp, I shall earn his favor. He does not bestow his blessings lightly, but a relic of such grandeur will surely turn his gaze upon me. Imagine the prestige, the honor, the doors that will open when I present him with the Jeweled Skull of the Sphinx. Such a gift is not merely treasure—it is a key to destiny."
“Many are apprehensive to venture into the Parched Dunes, yet I have divined the swiftest path to the pyramid. The locals, steeped in superstition, refuse to tread there, for the pyramid lies deep within the desert, ninety miles west-southwest of this very place, beyond the towering expanse of the Pillars of the Sun.”
"That desolate land is a crucible of peril—its sands scorched by an unrelenting sun, its shadows prowled by beasts, brigands, and those who have forsaken civilization. A cursed place, some would say. But for those bold enough, fortune beyond measure awaits.”
"And so I say again, I seek adventurers—fearless souls willing to brave the dangers of the dunes. If you will bargain with me, I shall grant you my knowledge, leading you to the pyramid. Every treasure within shall be yours to claim… save for one. The Jeweled Skull is mine. Bring it to me, and let us both claim our share of destiny."
Common Knowledge of the “Ruby Prince”: Ruby Prince Khemet III, the Forthbringer, is the current ruler of the nation of Osirion. He is known for instituting a radical new policy for the nation, in which he has begun to open Osirion's many ancient tombs to explorers from throughout the Inner Sea region. His reasoning is that foreign adventurers who travel here are most likely to sell any artifacts they find to local markets in order to make an immediate profit, which in turn will provide a valuable boost to the Osirian economy.
Zahara’s golden eyes remain steady on Menkaure, unblinking as he weaves his tale. He is eloquent—maybe too eloquent. He speaks of explorers and fortune, of destiny and prestige, yet something lingers beneath his polished exterior. A hesitation, a subtle shift of his gaze before he meets hers once more.
Something unspoken lurks in the spaces between his words.
Her fingers trace idly over the polished wood of the table, a slow and thoughtful movement. As she listens, she breathes in, deeply, exhaling through her nose as though merely contemplating his proposal—but she does not waste the moment.
With a whisper of will, the air shifts. From between the slats of the table, where dust and forgotten crumbs might collect, a bloom emerges. A delicate desert lily, its petals the color of sun-bleached bone, unfurls beneath her touch. It is a small thing, easily overlooked—just another flower born of the desert’s mysteries. Yet its meaning is known to her alone.
A desert lily—a flower that thrives in barren, inhospitable lands. A sign of life where none should be. A whisper of something hidden beneath the sands.
She brushes a finger over the fragile petals as Menkaure speaks of the Ruby Prince and the Jeweled Skull of the Sphinx, but her mind lingers on his earlier words. Other adventurers are preparing. He had said it plainly, yet his avoidance of further detail is telling. If he is truly an open book, why turn the page so swiftly?
“How fortunate you are, Lord Menkaure,” she says at last, voice smooth as desert silk. “That fate so favors you, revealing the path to riches while others stumble in the dark. That you alone have divined the swiftest route.” She plucks the delicate lily from the table, turning it between her fingers. “Tell me, then, how many others seek the same fortune? You say the desert is a crucible—surely others prepare to brave its flames. You have spoken of the dangers,… but what of them?”
She lets the question settle between them, the weight of unspoken meaning pressing against the edges of her words. Others are searching. Others are moving.
Who are they, Menkaure?
She lifts the lily to her lips, breathing in its faint fragrance. “And this Jeweled Skull…” she muses, golden eyes gleaming. “A gift to the Ruby Prince, you say. A key to destiny.” Her smile is faint, enigmatic. “Yet keys do not only open doors. Sometimes, they lock them.”
She places the flower back upon the table, letting it rest between them like an unspoken challenge. Then, with a tilt of her head, she smiles.
“Tell me, my lord—what is it that you do not say?”
Zephirah leaned forward slightly, a playful but piercing gleam in her eyes as she regarded Menkaure. "A compelling narrative, my lord, truly. Yet one small detail continues to puzzle me," she began, her voice smooth yet lightly edged. "If the Jeweled Skull truly offers such unparalleled prestige, would it not shine even brighter if personally reclaimed by your hand? Surely the Ruby Prince would favor most the one who braved the desert himself, who walked boldly among those scorching sands rather than simply waiting safely within city walls."
Her fingertips lightly tapped the table's surface, each gentle strike punctuating her subtle challenge. "Tell me honestly, Lord Menkaure—what is it that keeps your esteemed self from venturing directly into the heart of danger? After all, bravery speaks louder than any gift… does it not?"
|| Oriace - Halfling Bard - Dragon Heist || Valerian - Pallid Elf Rogue - Wildnis || b'Reh - Stig Order Cleric - Humblewood || Rowan - Halfling Giant Path Barbarian - Runewarren || Shaephina - Half-Drow Blood Cleric/Wizard - Murder Court || Ianjin - Gallus Open Hand Monk - Mad Empiricist || Khazela - Spiritfarer Dervish - Tribute Court || Arista - Human Frost Giant Sorcerer - The Old Keep ||
Satina nods as she hears Menkaure lay out his offer. "You are giving us knowledge of the path to the tomb. In return, you get the priceless ruby skull. All the work - and exposure to considerable danger - is done by us. As explained so far, this deal sounds very lopsided. You give up little, while we risk much."
She shifts impatiently as she stands next to the table, her weight shifting back and forth from one side to the other. She is clearly not appreciative of all the flowery words - and even an actual flower! - that are being spun about in this conversation. Finally, she adds, "I do see the need for haste if there are others. I presume though we could not be ready until morning." She pauses, "Assuming we all come to a proper agreement."
Rabbit Sebrica, Sorcerer || Skarai, Monk || Lokilia Vaelphin, Druid || Liivi Orav, Barbarian || Vanizi, Warlock || Britari / Halila Talgeta / Jesa Gumovi ||
Neital Rhessil, Wizard || Iromae Quinaea, Cleric || Roxana Raincrest, Rogue || Satina Cindermark, Fighter || Meira Dheran, Rogue
The conversation draws an amused smile to the lips of the so far quiet young dark-haired woman. She had barely begun her own search and the gods had shown her a path, but furthermore she was now also blessed with the scene of these horned women challenging a lord of the land. A part of her worried he might withdraw his offer but for now she was much too pleased with having him squirm for a while longer. "If you want us to be the ones to find this bejeweled skull and bring it to you, you would do well to be as open as you claim to be about what you know about our competition. Do they know what you are about to share with us? Should we expect others to find the pyramid?" The dark-haired woman finally chimes in, her voice soft and melodious, reasoning and curious rather than accusing.
Menkaure's gaze lingers approvingly on Zahara’s desert lily, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. He clasps his hands upon the table, fingers steepled, as the glow of the lamplight glints off his serpentine ring, making it seem almost alive—coiling, shifting, watching. As the questions unfold, he lowers his eyes in contemplation, the silence stretching as he carefully selects his words.
"I should expect you to be shrewd," he says at last, his tone edged with quiet amusement. "It is a trait that will serve you well on this journey, after all. I will be frank—venturing into the Parched Dunes is not a necessity for me. That is what adventurers are for. I am a man of influence, a weaver of fortunes, a hand that moves unseen within the walls of cities. I possess the luxury of commissioning individuals of exceptional skill to procure the relics I desire.” He leans back, the flickering light casting shifting shadows across his features. "As for your reward, the wealth of the tomb lies before you. Thanks to the generous decree of our great Pharaoh, any treasure you unearth is yours to claim and sell as you see fit. I deem it a most equitable exchange."
A pause. A knowing look. Then, with a faint sigh, he continues, "I will confess something further—you are not the only adventurers to set your sights upon the tomb. Nor are you the first to whom I have made this offer. Days ago, I struck a similar bargain with another band of seekers. But the Parched Dunes are merciless, and they did not survive." His voice lowers, threading with something unreadable—regret, or perhaps calculation. "Yet I have faith in you. Fortune will favor you where it did not favor them. I can provide you with camels, along with ample water and provisions for the journey. You need only supply your… talents."
"Do you accept this proposition? Will you set forth at first light?"
Zephirah leaned forward slightly, resting her chin upon her hand, golden eyes glinting with quiet cunning. "Let me ensure I understand clearly, Lord Menkaure," she began smoothly, her voice light but precise. "The great Ruby Prince has decreed that any treasures found within these ancient tombs belong freely to those brave enough—or foolish enough—to claim them. Thus, these treasures are already promised to us by royal decree, not by your generosity. The only true commodity you offer us is information. Directions across the sands, details to find a place that—let us be frank—may well hold nothing but sand, bones, and disappointment."
She allowed a brief pause, long enough for her words to sink in, before continuing gently yet pointedly. "Our arrangement, then, is quite simple and far less ambitious than you've presented. You provide us with the precise location and route to this lost pyramid. In return, we endeavor to locate and secure the Jeweled Skull for you—assuming, of course, that it is still there, has not already been taken, or does indeed exist in the first place. What you have offered us thus far are merely promises and whispers, no more substantial than desert wind. I suggest we deal plainly: we agree to seek the artifact, but we promise nothing beyond the attempt itself."
Her lips curved slightly, her voice taking on a faintly playful edge, though her gaze remained carefully shrewd. "Surely, a man of your obvious wisdom and influence sees the fairness in trading words for effort, rather than guarantees built upon little more than rumor and hope?"
Zephirah let the silence stretch just a breath longer, her fingers drifting lazily across the strings of her lyre in a low, syncopated rhythm—casual, almost hypnotic. A sly smile played at the corner of her lips as she leaned ever so slightly toward Menkaure, her voice barely above a whisper, carrying only to those closest. "Roll the bones…" she sang softly, the words curling through the air like smoke. "Why are we here? Because we're here…" The melody settled into the space between words and breath, a gentle, teasing push—a reminder that chance favored the bold, and sometimes, the gamble was the only path forward.
(Deception for masking her true intent to water down the agreement to the point that it does not include actual delivery: 24)
|| Oriace - Halfling Bard - Dragon Heist || Valerian - Pallid Elf Rogue - Wildnis || b'Reh - Stig Order Cleric - Humblewood || Rowan - Halfling Giant Path Barbarian - Runewarren || Shaephina - Half-Drow Blood Cleric/Wizard - Murder Court || Ianjin - Gallus Open Hand Monk - Mad Empiricist || Khazela - Spiritfarer Dervish - Tribute Court || Arista - Human Frost Giant Sorcerer - The Old Keep ||