"Hmmm, good." Krakan rubs his belly and makes a big smile, clearly enjoying the coffee in addition to listening for anything out of place as well. He leans over to the barista conspiratorially, saying "I betcha there is a lot of money in spices like that... that they would be highly sought after. I wonder if anyone has cornered the market on spices in town... have your prices been going up or down for your ingredients? And where are all of the spice merchants located, who sell this sort of thing, d'you know? Hey, d'ya like tattoos? I've got a really neat one right here on the inside of my forearm..." He flexes his wrist and his muscles bump and move along with the tattoos like waves, he gives a big grin as he watches the ocean on his forearm himself.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
"The prices are higher than ever that I know for sure. You can find the merchants at the Bazaar. I don't know anyone specific the owner handles purchases." says the Barista who then gives Krakan an appreciative nod for the moving tattoo "Thanks for the show"
Krakan stands with a stretch, saying “I agree. Let’s head there now. I am curious, however, to learn more about these spice merchants…”. After his long stretch and sigh, Krakan is ready to depart.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
The scent of the sea clung to the air like old silk, heavy with salt, tar, and the faint sweetness of date syrup spilled from market stalls. You made your way down the stone-paved lane that sloped toward the harbor, the sun a sinking coin melting behind a forest of lateen sails and creaking wooden masts. Along the dockside, gulls shrieked their last quarrels of the day, and sailors—bare-armed and oil-skinned—unloaded crates under the barked orders of foremen. The harbor water glimmered orange and blood-red, rippling with the last warmth of day. You stepped aside as a fishmonger passed with his handcart, dripping brine, the scent of sardines trailing behind like a curse.
The buildings here leaned over the street, weatherworn and sun-bleached, their wood beams and peeling plaster catching the final rays. Lanterns were being lit along the road—small brass ones, their yellow glow flickering in the rising breeze. A boy darted past you barefoot, a ribbon of laughter behind him, and from an open window above, the distant trill of a ney flute twined with the azan curling like incense smoke over the rooftops.
The bathhouse stood at the edge of a narrow alley where the sea met the city. Its domes—rounded like smooth stones left in the sun—glowed faintly in the fading light. A low arch framed its entrance, tiled in deep blues and greens that shimmered like fish scales. Beneath it, the heavy cedar door was half open, warm steam curling outward to greet the cool night. You passed beneath the arch and entered.
The heavy cedar door creaked open beneath the scalloped archway tiled in worn cobalt and emerald mosaics. Just inside, sheltered from the sea breeze yet still carrying the scent of salt sat the clerk’s station—a low, carved wooden counter polished smooth by decades of palms sliding across it. Inside, the clamor of the street faded into hush and water-song. The light was dim, filtered through colored glass lanterns that cast pools of amber, rose, and blue on the mosaic floor. The air smelled of sandalwood, citrus oil, and the faint mineral tang of hot stone. On the counter rested a small wooden box carved with intricate arabesques—inside, neatly stacked, were slender strips of parchment tickets, each marked with the day’s fees in elegant calligraphy. Beside it, a brass basin held water scented faintly with rose and mint, a cloth folded nearby for quick, practiced wiping of hands and coin. A tiny brass bell sat at one corner, used sparingly to summon attendants or signal closing time.
Behind the counter, the clerk himself was a broad, round figure, his ample belly pressing comfortably against the folds of a rich, saffron-colored robe embroidered with subtle gold thread. His face was flushed with health and good humor, framed by a thick beard flecked with silver, and crowned by a simple embroidered cap that sat slightly askew atop his glossy black hair. His dark eyes twinkled with sharp wit beneath heavy lids, and when he smiled, the deep creases around his mouth spread wide, revealing a row of uneven but well-cared-for teeth.
He spoke in a voice deep and warm, like a hearth’s glow, “Welcome to Bayt al-Hamman. Your place awaits. Gentlemen pray, give me your name, and I shall see you to your proper chamber.”
The sky outside had turned the deep indigo of crushed plums. The Sun was gone.
(Lucan) Tyrese nearby replies,"Ah...Tyrese is the name. I didn't catch yours though. Maybe we caught you at the best time to use the facilities here? I don't see too many patron or they beat us here."
(Lucan) Tyrese takes the place in looking around nodding marveling at the fine decor and well kept business.
"I'm guessing there are individual and package offerings here to suit all manner of options to help you relax after a long day."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Signature
Levi Flint - DM - Mad Mage; Korvin - DM - Tyranny of Dragons; Player Lucan - The One Breath, Player Gildor Surion - Balder's Gate-Decent;
"I am Basim or Uncle Basim to some. There are plenty of people here, but we pride ourselves on offering private rooms for hard working customers though we also have a communal bathing room as well if you are interested."
Basim points to a nearby sign for the pricing details.
"Hello, good Uncle Basim, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Yes, we are interested in your offerings. What do most of your clients enjoy? Recommendations for a beginner, at your fine establishment? Perhaps... well, it would be too much to ask. Would there be any way to look at some of the list of choices that your customers have made? In the last couple of weeks or so? What say you? It is sometimes my habit to count things, to take tabs and numbers, to let data make the decision of what we choose... would that be allowed?" Krakan gestures toward the wooden box with parchment tickets.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
"I am sorry, but I cannot as I use them for my account ledger. Ah to be burdened with such curiosity, I know the type as my niece is that way too. I can tell you the most popular option is the steam bathing and body scrub. Since you remind me of family, I will offer these services for 4 sp. Now tell no one I have given you this great deal" says Uncle Basim as he gives you a conspiratorial wink.
"Nuttin' too fancy fer me. A dip in yer communal bath will do me fine," Salty says. He wants to be where folks are to listen and hopefully pick up some more information. He is specifically keen on listening for the name of the fellow that found Malik's body, Tallek.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
"The communal bathing will be 1 sp. As a rule, weapons and armor are not allowed in the bathing area. Please head to the changing room and deposit those items in the lockers. An attendant will be there to offer you a towel after you have undressed." says Uncle Basim.
Salty pays the silver to Uncle Bassim. "With the scent o' the sea on yon breeze and yer fine tiles o' blue and green I'm fer feelin' right at home," he says with a grin. Salty doesn't much care for being too far from the ocean. The scent of the the air, heavy with salt and fish, on their walk here has him in a fine mood.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
"I am sorry, but I cannot as I use them for my account ledger. Ah to be burdened with such curiosity, I know the type as my niece is that way too. I can tell you the most popular option is the steam bathing and body scrub. Since you remind me of family, I will offer these services for 4 sp. Now tell no one I have given you this great deal" says Uncle Basim as he gives you a conspiratorial wink.
(Lucan) Tyrese nods and looks over the pricing,"The special you offer sound real nice to me. I think I will try that. I walk so much though a good foot massage sounds nice too."
Tyrese leans in and jingles some coin in his hands.
"I don't have too much coin left, and I still need to save for food and some items. Well, maybe the communal for me too then. I was kinda hoping on a steam, scrub and foot massage though."
"I am sorry, but I cannot as I use them for my account ledger. Ah to be burdened with such curiosity, I know the type as my niece is that way too. I can tell you the most popular option is the steam bathing and body scrub. Since you remind me of family, I will offer these services for 4 sp. Now tell no one I have given you this great deal" says Uncle Basim as he gives you a conspiratorial wink.
(Lucan) Tyrese nods and looks over the pricing,"The special you offer sound real nice to me. I think I will try that. I walk so much though a good foot massage sounds nice too."
Tyrese leans in and jingles some coin in his hands.
"I don't have too much coin left, and I still need to save for food and some items. Well, maybe the communal for me too then. I was kinda hoping on a steam, scrub and foot massage though."
After stowing your gear in the lockers and undressing an attendant will hand each of you a towel.
When you pass through the last linen curtain, a wall of heat greets you—humid, scented with crushed mint, sandalwood, and old soap. The communal chamber is full, its domed ceiling blurred by thick, golden steam.
Twenty men fill the space, their voices low but layered, weaving through the fog like distant chanting. The large, heated marble slab at the center, the göbek taşı, is crowded shoulder to shoulder with reclining bodies, some sitting cross-legged in quiet conversation, others stretched out like seals basking on a warm rock. Their skin gleams with moisture, their hair slicked back, their bodies pale or dark or sunburnt, all equal under the sweat and steam.
Around the edges of the chamber, stone basing flows continuously, their copper spouts gurgling and spilling warm water into smooth pools. Guests kneel beside them two or three at a time, splashing themselves with brass bowls, laughing softly, occasionally grunting as they pour bucketfuls of hot water over their heads and backs. A younger man curses in a foreign tongue as water too hot hits his shoulders, while an older bath-goer nearby chuckles, teeth flashing behind a dripping beard.
Attendants—perhaps six or seven tonight—move through the maze of limbs and mist with ease. Their linen wraps cling damply to their legs as they duck and step between patrons, hands full of soap, towels, and oils. A man stands atop the marble, briskly scrubbing a sailor’s back with a coarse kese mitt. The man groans, half in pain, half in pleasure.
The air thrums with the symphony of shared heat: the rush of poured water, the scrape of flesh, the deep hum of conversation. Someone begins to sing—low, melodic, wordless. A few voices join in, not fully forming a song, just riding the rhythm. Another group shares gossip about a caravan delayed by bandits. Steam swirls around their words, making every sound feel private, intimate, even in the crowded heat.
Salty listens intently but no familiar names are heard.
((Coin removed.))
"Hmmm, good." Krakan rubs his belly and makes a big smile, clearly enjoying the coffee in addition to listening for anything out of place as well. He leans over to the barista conspiratorially, saying "I betcha there is a lot of money in spices like that... that they would be highly sought after. I wonder if anyone has cornered the market on spices in town... have your prices been going up or down for your ingredients? And where are all of the spice merchants located, who sell this sort of thing, d'you know? Hey, d'ya like tattoos? I've got a really neat one right here on the inside of my forearm..." He flexes his wrist and his muscles bump and move along with the tattoos like waves, he gives a big grin as he watches the ocean on his forearm himself.
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
"The prices are higher than ever that I know for sure. You can find the merchants at the Bazaar. I don't know anyone specific the owner handles purchases." says the Barista who then gives Krakan an appreciative nod for the moving tattoo "Thanks for the show"
(Lucan) Tyrese continues, "I like this place. The vibe here is real nice."
Tyrese moves about the place meandering looking at the decor and the spices. He randomly looks over the clients as they enjoy their beverages.
He makes his way back to the others to finish his espresso savoring it until they are ready to move on.
"That was a nice break friends. Are we ready to get going?"
Signature
Levi Flint - DM - Mad Mage; Korvin - DM - Tyranny of Dragons; Player Lucan - The One Breath, Player Gildor Surion - Balder's Gate-Decent;
Salty
"Aye, the bathhouse seems a fine spot fer checkin' next."
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
Krakan stands with a stretch, saying “I agree. Let’s head there now. I am curious, however, to learn more about these spice merchants…”. After his long stretch and sigh, Krakan is ready to depart.
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
The scent of the sea clung to the air like old silk, heavy with salt, tar, and the faint sweetness of date syrup spilled from market stalls. You made your way down the stone-paved lane that sloped toward the harbor, the sun a sinking coin melting behind a forest of lateen sails and creaking wooden masts. Along the dockside, gulls shrieked their last quarrels of the day, and sailors—bare-armed and oil-skinned—unloaded crates under the barked orders of foremen. The harbor water glimmered orange and blood-red, rippling with the last warmth of day. You stepped aside as a fishmonger passed with his handcart, dripping brine, the scent of sardines trailing behind like a curse.
The buildings here leaned over the street, weatherworn and sun-bleached, their wood beams and peeling plaster catching the final rays. Lanterns were being lit along the road—small brass ones, their yellow glow flickering in the rising breeze. A boy darted past you barefoot, a ribbon of laughter behind him, and from an open window above, the distant trill of a ney flute twined with the azan curling like incense smoke over the rooftops.
The bathhouse stood at the edge of a narrow alley where the sea met the city. Its domes—rounded like smooth stones left in the sun—glowed faintly in the fading light. A low arch framed its entrance, tiled in deep blues and greens that shimmered like fish scales. Beneath it, the heavy cedar door was half open, warm steam curling outward to greet the cool night. You passed beneath the arch and entered.
The heavy cedar door creaked open beneath the scalloped archway tiled in worn cobalt and emerald mosaics. Just inside, sheltered from the sea breeze yet still carrying the scent of salt sat the clerk’s station—a low, carved wooden counter polished smooth by decades of palms sliding across it. Inside, the clamor of the street faded into hush and water-song. The light was dim, filtered through colored glass lanterns that cast pools of amber, rose, and blue on the mosaic floor. The air smelled of sandalwood, citrus oil, and the faint mineral tang of hot stone. On the counter rested a small wooden box carved with intricate arabesques—inside, neatly stacked, were slender strips of parchment tickets, each marked with the day’s fees in elegant calligraphy. Beside it, a brass basin held water scented faintly with rose and mint, a cloth folded nearby for quick, practiced wiping of hands and coin. A tiny brass bell sat at one corner, used sparingly to summon attendants or signal closing time.
Behind the counter, the clerk himself was a broad, round figure, his ample belly pressing comfortably against the folds of a rich, saffron-colored robe embroidered with subtle gold thread. His face was flushed with health and good humor, framed by a thick beard flecked with silver, and crowned by a simple embroidered cap that sat slightly askew atop his glossy black hair. His dark eyes twinkled with sharp wit beneath heavy lids, and when he smiled, the deep creases around his mouth spread wide, revealing a row of uneven but well-cared-for teeth.
He spoke in a voice deep and warm, like a hearth’s glow, “Welcome to Bayt al-Hamman. Your place awaits. Gentlemen pray, give me your name, and I shall see you to your proper chamber.”
The sky outside had turned the deep indigo of crushed plums. The Sun was gone.
Current Time
6:15 PM
(Lucan) Tyrese nearby replies, "Ah...Tyrese is the name. I didn't catch yours though. Maybe we caught you at the best time to use the facilities here? I don't see too many patron or they beat us here."
(Lucan) Tyrese takes the place in looking around nodding marveling at the fine decor and well kept business.
"I'm guessing there are individual and package offerings here to suit all manner of options to help you relax after a long day."
Signature
Levi Flint - DM - Mad Mage; Korvin - DM - Tyranny of Dragons; Player Lucan - The One Breath, Player Gildor Surion - Balder's Gate-Decent;
"I am Basim or Uncle Basim to some. There are plenty of people here, but we pride ourselves on offering private rooms for hard working customers though we also have a communal bathing room as well if you are interested."
Basim points to a nearby sign for the pricing details.
Services
"Hello, good Uncle Basim, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Yes, we are interested in your offerings. What do most of your clients enjoy? Recommendations for a beginner, at your fine establishment? Perhaps... well, it would be too much to ask. Would there be any way to look at some of the list of choices that your customers have made? In the last couple of weeks or so? What say you? It is sometimes my habit to count things, to take tabs and numbers, to let data make the decision of what we choose... would that be allowed?" Krakan gestures toward the wooden box with parchment tickets.
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
"I am sorry, but I cannot as I use them for my account ledger. Ah to be burdened with such curiosity, I know the type as my niece is that way too. I can tell you the most popular option is the steam bathing and body scrub. Since you remind me of family, I will offer these services for 4 sp. Now tell no one I have given you this great deal" says Uncle Basim as he gives you a conspiratorial wink.
Salty
"Nuttin' too fancy fer me. A dip in yer communal bath will do me fine," Salty says. He wants to be where folks are to listen and hopefully pick up some more information. He is specifically keen on listening for the name of the fellow that found Malik's body, Tallek.
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
"The communal bathing will be 1 sp. As a rule, weapons and armor are not allowed in the bathing area. Please head to the changing room and deposit those items in the lockers. An attendant will be there to offer you a towel after you have undressed." says Uncle Basim.
Samir agrees to join Salty in the communal bath. He pays the 1 sp and will follow Salty to the changing room and bath.
Salty
Salty pays the silver to Uncle Bassim. "With the scent o' the sea on yon breeze and yer fine tiles o' blue and green I'm fer feelin' right at home," he says with a grin. Salty doesn't much care for being too far from the ocean. The scent of the the air, heavy with salt and fish, on their walk here has him in a fine mood.
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
(Lucan) Tyrese nods and looks over the pricing, "The special you offer sound real nice to me. I think I will try that. I walk so much though a good foot massage sounds nice too."
Tyrese leans in and jingles some coin in his hands.
"I don't have too much coin left, and I still need to save for food and some items. Well, maybe the communal for me too then. I was kinda hoping on a steam, scrub and foot massage though."
Lucan Persuasion! 13
Signature
Levi Flint - DM - Mad Mage; Korvin - DM - Tyranny of Dragons; Player Lucan - The One Breath, Player Gildor Surion - Balder's Gate-Decent;
My roll code Lucan Persuasion! [?roll]1d20+1[/roll] without the ?
Signature
Levi Flint - DM - Mad Mage; Korvin - DM - Tyranny of Dragons; Player Lucan - The One Breath, Player Gildor Surion - Balder's Gate-Decent;
Uncle Basim mumbles to himself damn my soft heart "Okay 6 sp for the bath, scrub, and massage. No lower"
Samir and Salty
After stowing your gear in the lockers and undressing an attendant will hand each of you a towel.
When you pass through the last linen curtain, a wall of heat greets you—humid, scented with crushed mint, sandalwood, and old soap. The communal chamber is full, its domed ceiling blurred by thick, golden steam.
Twenty men fill the space, their voices low but layered, weaving through the fog like distant chanting. The large, heated marble slab at the center, the göbek taşı, is crowded shoulder to shoulder with reclining bodies, some sitting cross-legged in quiet conversation, others stretched out like seals basking on a warm rock. Their skin gleams with moisture, their hair slicked back, their bodies pale or dark or sunburnt, all equal under the sweat and steam.
Around the edges of the chamber, stone basing flows continuously, their copper spouts gurgling and spilling warm water into smooth pools. Guests kneel beside them two or three at a time, splashing themselves with brass bowls, laughing softly, occasionally grunting as they pour bucketfuls of hot water over their heads and backs. A younger man curses in a foreign tongue as water too hot hits his shoulders, while an older bath-goer nearby chuckles, teeth flashing behind a dripping beard.
Attendants—perhaps six or seven tonight—move through the maze of limbs and mist with ease. Their linen wraps cling damply to their legs as they duck and step between patrons, hands full of soap, towels, and oils. A man stands atop the marble, briskly scrubbing a sailor’s back with a coarse kese mitt. The man groans, half in pain, half in pleasure.
The air thrums with the symphony of shared heat: the rush of poured water, the scrape of flesh, the deep hum of conversation. Someone begins to sing—low, melodic, wordless. A few voices join in, not fully forming a song, just riding the rhythm. Another group shares gossip about a caravan delayed by bandits. Steam swirls around their words, making every sound feel private, intimate, even in the crowded heat.