Brandon Rivers was a long way from home. The gentle pastures and clear, blue rivers of Cormyr were many leagues and many years behind him, and sandy dunes and an endless, shimmering horizon had taken their place. The locale was really the only thing that seemed to change, at least in any worthwhile sense. People were people no matter where you traveled, and a few things would always ring true. Money talked, no matter what language was spoken, and nothing was free. Growing up in a monastery, it had taken Brandon some time to get used to the accommodations typically afforded to "adventurers," a demographic which Brandon would only admit he now belonged to under pain of death. If he wanted someplace to sleep, he needed coin, and to get coin, he had to work for it. It was degrading, being reduced to a mercenary after years of loyal and pious service to the realm, but at least he had escaped Cormyr with his life. Others, such as the skull dangling at his hip, had been less lucky.

Still, he had to work if he wanted to eat or sleep, and so Brandon found himself following dubious leads and cavorting with unscrupulous characters. As far as mercenary work went, Brandon was quite discriminating; he was not an assassin, he would not kill individuals for money. Combat in the field was an entirely different story, as was bodyguard work, both of which he had dabbled in. His bread and butter so to speak involved the extermination of fiends and undead, which Brandon was more that proficient in, and he enjoyed work that still felt like providing a service to the public. He had become adept at navigating tombs, crypts, caves, and other dark places beneath the earth, as these were where evil beings most commonly congregated. With that in mind, when Brandon saw a missive advertising a foray into a lost ruin, he considered that it might be a task worthy of his skills and experience.

That all led him before this man, Jakeem Kalil, and in the presence of a handful of other eccentric strangers. Brandon preferred to work alone if he could, so that he wouldn't have to split the payment, but for now he would wait and see what these others brought to the table. After their prospective employer addressed them, guards at the ready, Brandon stepped forward. He was barefoot, his draconian talons clicking against the cool stone of the marble floor, and carried his halberd pointed straight up, like a loyal and dutiful sentry. His armor was dirty, tarnished, rusted in places, shot through with holes, and its heraldry had been blasted off by the sun and blowing sand, making him a less than resplendent figure. However, he was easily the largest person in the room, standing a foot taller than the most robust of Kalil's guards.

"I am Sir Brandon Rivers, Knight of Cormyr, of the Order of Lathander." He adressed Kalil in his scratchy Dragonborn voice, banging his scaly fist against his breastplate in salute. He didn't kneel, or bow, as Brandon reserved such acts of supplication for his king, and this man was surely no king.

---

---

After the golden dragonborn, the next one to step forward was the woman veiled in crimson silks. She had not come to the estate in the same way of the others. She had not come on foot or horseback, nor by beast of burden, she had arrived at the doors of the House el Kalil in covered palanquin, carried at each corner by a collared slave. Her name was Samira, better known by some as the Golden Widow, or the Witch Whore.

From the moment she had alighted from the litter (pausing only just for a moment to reapply a quick charm with a few muttered words and arcane waves of the hand), there had been many eyes had following her. There was something about her, even when her face was covered, that just demanded the attention of others. Be it subtle sway of her sultry hips, or the way you just make out how her neck arched behind the almost transparent veil she wore, or the strange spiced musky scent of the exotic perfume that she wore upon her skin.

Or perhaps it was something else, ineffable and immaterial, that made her influence so beguiling to those who saw her.

She reached up with one painted hand, its fingers dressed in a full set of glittering clawed ring settings, to pull aside the veil and reveal the shimmering glory of her visage. Perfectly proportioned, with high wide cheekbones and full luscious lips. Her amber eyes sparkled brightly, even in the cool shadows of the entrance hall. She smiled coyly at Jakeem, and in contrast to Sir Brandon, she chose to curtsey deeply, dipping her brilliant gaze to the marble floors.

"Greetings, most exalted Pasha Jakeem el Kalil." She spoke he flawless Alzhedo, her words sweet and honeyed, making appropriate use of the annuv symbol to politely indicate that she had skipped some of Jakeem's titles. "I am Massatyra-Armalatu Samira yr Sadhara el Hakkam yi Athkatla, it is my deepest pleasure to make your acquaintance, and can I just say how eager and... willing... I am to serve your every need."

Her eyes spoke of her deference, her devotion, her longing to serve a man that she could respect and her desire that it might just somehow become something... more.. between the two of them.

Samira had done her homework, she knew what was at stake here, and she would have to distinguish herself from these northern barbarians and dahyarif if she wanted to claim the prize for herself. She did not have much time left. She would smile and simper for this lowly Pasha, for this fool of man until he gave her what she wanted... what she needed... and then?

Then she would get rid of him, like she had all the others.

---

---

It had been awhile since Sira had stepped foot in Calimport, but no matter how much time had passed she would always remember her home. While for some it should have been comforting, the familiar sights, sounds, and smells of their home, for Sira it just brought back unpleasant memories. She could still see her mother on her deathbed, wearing the face of her familiar human form all the way up until she drew her last breath. She’d watched as the woman's hair, skin, and eyes went completely colorless. She sat there staring at her mother for a long time until she grew hungry and knew she needed to leave. There had been nothing else she could do for her mother at that time and, although she was young, she knew she had to go on. Tears had definitely been shed as she knew she was alone in the world now and she’d likely never meet someone else that would truly understand her, understand what it meant to be a changeling.

Many things had changed since that day, but every event is what led her to grow stronger. Led her to become the woman she was today and that was a woman she felt like she was proud of. Was she proud of her? She’d made lots of mistakes and life wasn’t easy, but now she was the captain of a wonderful and loyal crew. That was worth something, right? These were often questions that plagued her as she wanted to be someone that would have made her mother proud. She wanted to be someone that made herself proud. Perhaps she’d feel better about herself once she accomplished her real goal.

Now Sira stood inside the reception hall of the estate of Jakeem Kalil. Silently she scanned the room, noting every exit, every guard, every person in that room. She wasn’t fond of being in a closed room with people she didn’t know and no easy way to escape, but she swallowed her discomfort as she watched the Dragonborn and the woman introduce themselves to Jakeem. Her gaze lingered on Samira for a bit longer as she felt she knew the woman, but couldn’t quite place her. She seemed to be native to Calimsha as she seemed to know how to properly greet a pasha, not to mention how the woman arrived at the estate. It was driving Sira a little mad that she couldn’t quite figure out where she knew the woman from, but she decided she’d think on it later as there were more important things right now. She turned her attention back to Jakeem as she decided it was now her turn to introduce herself.

She stepped forward with a confident swagger, but then dipped low and dropped her gaze to the floor as well. ”Peace be upon you, great Pasha. I am Sira Hezrihd, your humble servant ready to serve you however you need.” She kept bowing deeply as she spoke, but as she finished she briefly glanced sideways at Samira. She was trying to get a better look at the woman’s face, but was also giving her a small smirk as if to say “You’re not the only one who’s willing to use flattery here.”

The general hubbub of conversation had faltered slightly as the lid of a barrel at the mouth of an alleyway shuddered, a thud coming from within. Even early in the morning, the bazaar was bustling with a kaleidoscope of colors and fashion as haughty coinpushers and lavish nobility conducted morning business over thimbles of trika and a beautiful orange-purple sunrise. One in particular, dressed in light brown and green silks, took an interest in the sudden thud from the nearby barrel. Removing its lid, he was buffeted with the sickly-sweet smell of rotted fruit. Deducing that there must be a rodent within, he gripped the rim with calloused hands and heaved, but found the barrel weighed astoundingly more than he anticipated. A few more fruitless tugs, and the merchant resigned to merely flagging down an amlak- or at least someone armed and more willing to deal with whatever oversized vermin had made this barrel its home. Zasheir will never forget the look on that merchant's face as he burst forth from beneath the fruit, yawning loudly and stretching his arms, dripping in rancid juices and putrid pulp. The bewildered merchant had run off in surprise, and seemed willing to keep his distance as Zasheir gingerly stepped out of the cask and stretched his bare arms, legs, and torso, a cacophony of pops and snaps singing as he did so. He blinked as he looked towards the sunrise, and his stomach dropped as he realized he had been in there all night. He had used his last bit of opium and clamored in there in search of insight the night prior, but sadly seemed to have dozed off. Retrieving his soaked tunic and boots from the depths of the fruity viscera, Zasheir's mood only soured further at the sight of his empty flask. He was without insight, and now without coin, as well.

Zasheir pulled the reeking robe over himself and cinched it at the waist with his rope-belt. The confused onlookers were now back to conducting their businesses, and Zasheir merely sat by the road next to the barrel, unsure of what to do next. He glanced at those around him as pitifully as they glanced back at him- the Monk hated the wealthier sabbans and drudachs like the one he now found himself in. Though, perhaps "disappointed" was a more apt descriptor, he pondered. Hate often implied a level of desire to see or cause something's end. Zasheir wished not to see these people exterminated, but liberated. As he looked around he saw lost, chained people, their jewelry reminiscent of shackles. He wondered how many were truly happy and real.

"Well, if you know anyone, we implore you send them to the esteemed Pasha Jakeem el Kalil's estate," the loud conversation perked Zasheir's ears.

"That goes for you, as well," the armed and armored man proclaimed to another merchant on the other side of the road. "If you've a good arm and steel resolve, Pasha Jakeem el Kalil has an offer for you." He repeated, waving his hand in an annuv. He gave Zasheir a squinting look as he stormed past and absorbed into the growing crowd of the marketplace.

---

And so it was that Zasheir now found himself outside a prestigious looking estate of one Jakeem el Kalil. The only thing that burned more than the Monk's lack of coin was his desire for "material wisdom" as fingers drummed on the pipe tied to his belt. He largely resisted withdrawal symptoms, unfortunately, but the inner yearning for more reminded him of his old ways, when he was blinded by pride and wealth. For now, all he could do was sate it; perhaps with enough practice he would one day extinguish that, too, and he could finally be truly free and imbibe without worry.

Zasheir was told to wait in the courtyard- after a few stern shakes from guardsmen that forbade him taking a delightfully uncomfortable seat in a bed of thorny flowers, he resigned to merely lying supine on the hard and hot cobbled road. He had nearly dozed off once more when an attending guardsman suddenly yanked him to his feet by the collar of his tunic- a guest of renown had arrived, and the guard stood at a respectful attention as she stepped off the slave-driven palanquin; Zasheir felt a gauntlet-clad fist nudge his flank in a bid for him to follow suit, but the Monk merely continued staring. Shortly thereafter, more guardsmen escorted Zasheir and the others gathered at the courtyard inside.

The Monk smiled as he looked around the shaded reception room and the finery that decorated it. It had been a long while since he was near such luxury, and he was satisfied that his now trained resolve resisted wholly its allure. Indeed, as he had in the marketplace, Zasheir felt a pang of pity of all things as his gaze came to rest on the lustrous occupant of a padded throne- Jakeem Kalil. Zasheir watched as Brandon introduced himself, and quietly huffed at Samira and Sira's affectations.

"Greetings, nadhar Jakeem," the Monk loudly blurted in Alzhedo, placing one fist on his hip in lieu of performing an annuv, "I am Zasheir, but call me Lumal." He, too, bowed slightly, but only for a moment towards his underarm to ensure he was properly odorous.

---

Being in Calimport was so much more exciting than Triel. For starters, there was a whole lot more sand. She had gone into a desert and she had been elated to see the stretches of sand. It reminded her of being along the coastline. Being in a different environment was very interesting to the young half-elf, as it was her first journey. She had commented to herself aloud that she did very so like desserts better than deserts, but it would do.

On that note, she got a little distracted asking the townspeople where she could find something sweet to eat as thinking about desserts got her in the mood, but then she recalled she needed to hastily find her way to this Jakeem Kalil or she'd be late for her adventure. She was standing and drifting off in her thoughts as a shopkeeper rattled on, attempting to answer her question. If they went without a glorious cleric such as she, then what would they do when the clutches of danger outreached their hands toward them? If she was late, maybe they'd replace her.

Her eyes widened and she impulsively slapped her hands on the table between them. The shopkeeper jumped and stared back at her with a frightened expression. Arrora noticed a few berries in the woman's hand as she tried to stretch her arm back out towards her from a recoiled position. She beamed at her and took them in her hands. "Amazing! I will remember this forever, sweet maiden!" Arrora had taken off with that, leaving the woman a little perplexed.

A little later on, Arrora had found herself waiting outside the estate of Jakeem Kalil, just making it on time. The others had all already been there and sort of distanced from each other but she had waved to them all with a smile regardless. Leaning her head back, she marveled at what was before her, nearly missing the cue to go inside. Picking up her speed, she hurried after the others and nearly tripped on her way in, loudly stumbling a bit.

Arrora quickly remedied her clumsiness and stood up straight, compensating with another smile. Jakeem was awfully kind and began to welcome them. She began to mentally prepare as the others introduced themselves, noting that everyone seemed really interesting. She had not met people quite like the folks she stood with. When it finally came to her turn, she cleared her throat unnecessarily before speaking, "Sir Jakeem Kalil of the Guild Arcane, I am Arrora Darwalyn of Triel! Greetings! I come before you with vigor and spirit!" She went to give him a curtsy and accidentally started to drop the few berries she had in her hand. Nourishment was quite important before embarking on a quest, so she took a moment to kneel down and hastily try to grab them all. "Sorry," She spoke in a hushed voice with a tinge of embarrassment. She resumed her position soon after and awaited further instruction.

The wealthy pasha watched and listened as the entrants introduced themselves. The largest of the group, a towering Dragonborn, was the most capturing at first glance and the first to address him. Even as weathered as he seemed he was impressive in his own way, bestial and intimidating and yet seemingly civil. The titles “Brandon” shared were unfamiliar to the pasha and frankly he did not care enough about titles of those not from Calimshan to even feign an impressed look. Still, a Dragonborn knight would definitely be useful in what was to come. This was enough to earn a nod from the pasha, a slight one. While he found such beings as useful in their own way they were not his equals and he would spare them the barest of courtesy for business affairs alone.

The second to address Jakeem was far more impressing upon him. A woman endowed with the finest wares of the nobility of Calimport, silks and jewelry, and not to mention such a seizing countenance behind the veil she shed away. Her skin and face was that of a Calishite and yet golden hair lochs of a northerner billowed down past her face and shoulders. Obviously a halfbreed, or perhaps magic? Little mattered in truth, Jakeem sensed she was a refined woman and well cultured, thus proven when she spoke annunciating herself and bowing before the pasha, greeting him properly to custom. There was something alluring about her and it was not simply her smoldering beauty. The markings on her skin, the grace she carried in the simplest movement, her voice like melted caramel, she was wondrous. But Jakeem was a restrained man and had more than enough experience dealing with fine women, offering her a more obvious nod and a bright smile. A sorceress? An enchantress…?

The third was another woman, mind you far less polished than the marvelous specimen whom had just exchanged with him. Her clothing, the crude tattoos, even her weapons, Jakeem knew her type before she even spoke, her plain addressing of him asserting that she was a typical uncultured roguish wanderer having made her way here in search of coin. Like the Dragonborn all she received was a simple nod lacking a smile.

Then came the fourth and perhaps the most most undesirable of the lot, or so the pasha hoped. He looked to be little more than an elderly beggar, ragged clothes stained and reeking. He had no sort of weapons other than the ropes tied about his wrists and forearms which Jakeem assumed perhaps to relate to a form of martial art. The man’s entire appearance was unsavory in itself and his informal greeting just made Jakeem not like him that much more. The guards on either side were looking slightly around half expecting the order to have the old street rat removed. It did not come. The pasha merely grumbled slightly and managed a half nod. Even as rank as this man was Jakeem had learned that with adventurous types as these - social inferiors as they were - not to let their appearances fool him. That didn’t mean he had to like them of course.

Stifling a slight gag Jakeem breathed into his hand as the fifth arrival approached. A dainty elven girl armed only with a staff. She was oddly energetic compared to the others and while seemingly polite she was still an uncultured dahyarif in the end. The bow for what it held was soured by her dropping her berries all over the floor, to which Jakeem slightly gritted his teeth.

The final member of this ragtag collection approached. A Drow man, heavily armed and armored. Elves always proved hard to gauge but Jakeem figured this one to be rather experienced and rather aged. ”Greetings Jakeem el Kalil,” the dark elf made a proper annuv and bowed deeply, keeping his head low as he spoke ,”I am Altonas.” He stood upright after a moment, saying nothing else, merely clasping his hands behind his back and standing firm and straight. Jakeem didn’t much care for Drow, typically they were devil worshiping thieves and cultists. This one seemed amiable enough, but Jakeem learned long ago not to let one polite smile endear you to an entire people. Much less such an ill reputed race as the Drow. But a Drow would be useful in various ways diving into the depths of an ancient ruin.

Jakeem took a moment to consider the entire lot. The Dragonborn and Drow - Brandon and Altonas - were both very well armed and presumably veterans of extensive combat. Zasheir - or “Lumal” - was an uncertainty as was the elven girl Arrora, but both were surely capable of taking care of themselves and were at least two extra pairs of hands for the expedition. The other two women were undoubtedly able enough as well, Jakeem had no doubt about that.

Jakeem cleared his throat, partially to expel the lingering smell of body odor that seemed to radiate from Zasheir.
“It is good you have come. No doubt you all have heard tell of the expedition I am planning, and you know I seek able bodied individuals to aid me in my pursuit.”

“Do not forget the high pay.” Altonas interjected with sudden abrasiveness.

Jakeem snickered slightly, reaching to twist at his goatee, “Yes, Drow, never forget the high pay. Do not worry you will be rewarded, all of you. But not now. I do not give reward in advance. If that bothers any of you then leave.”

The pasha expected one or two of the group to turn on their heels and stride out, but happily none did. He saw a few irritated looks but overall they all seemed obliged to stay and hear him out. “Excellent,” Jakeem said, a leery smile crossing his face, “then I shall further explain. We will be traveling out of the city across the desert to an ancient ruin. I have already had my men secure it properly, but I need… ‘skilled’ individuals willing to brave these ruins in search of a very specific relic that I seek. I cannot risk sending a large force into the ruins, far too heavy of hand. You seem the capable bunch, if you work together you should have no trouble. Besides, no one person can dare that place alone.”

“What exactly is this place?” Altonas asked, beating anyone else to the question.

Jakeem smiled, “It is an ancient sanctuary from an age long past. It is ridden with traps and… vermin, if you will. It holds valuable treasures as well as a certain item I desire. I will tell you more after we depart. The day is wasting away and I very much am anticipating reaching the ruins, if we leave now we will arrive just before sunset. I will have camels saddled for those of you without a steed of sorts. I suggest you fill your flasks, the desert is an unforgiving beast.”

---

---

Jakeem had done as he said and provided camels for those who had no mount of their own. Well fed and well rested, the camels were a fine choice in riding out over the unforgiving Calim desert. Accompanying them were a dozen of the pasha’s best men as well as a handful of scouts who could be seen shadowing their small caravan at a distance, crossing over nearby dunes and ridges watching for trouble.

Six of Jakeem’s men rode ahead by two’s with Jakeem behind them on his own mount, two more men at his back. The six hire-on’s all rode together more or less, Jakeem’s other four men at their backs spread apart in a loose formation. While the desert was mostly calm there was enough of a breeze to lift the sands to the air forcing the pasha to cowl his face, his men meanwhile shielded by the iron masks they wore.

One of the scouts had approached them a short while ago informing them they were nearing the ruins to which Jakeem expressed relief, eager to be out of the sun and dust to and sheltered within his tent. He was unsure on where the others stood on encroaching on the ruins tonight, but if he had his way they would be convinced to do so. If not, well, he had waited this long.

Business in the house of Jakeem proceeded as more prospective hires filtered in. Brandon immediately noticed the subtle favor their imperious employer bestowed on the others that stooped and toadied to him, favor not given to Brandon himself. This was nothing new, dealing with humans. They saw him as a useful beast of burden at best, and Brandon had to suppress a snort of laughter at the fact that he would probably have to save this sneering human's life before this mission was through. Still, he said nothing, a statue of gold and steel, as the others said their piece and were judged by the Pasha in turn. Brandon tried to guess at which would be the first to die in their little expedition. Probably the elf-girl, he reckoned.

As they made motions to leave, Brandon politely declined the offer of a camel. He doubted that such a beast could bear his armored weight, and made a space near the stables to conduct a small ritual. He raised the golden skull at his hip to the searing desert sun, the gilding of the macabre totem refracting the light into a thousand dazzling rays. He called on the holy light of Lathander to bless him with a steed that would bear him through the unforgiving desert, so that he might spread His glorious light, drive out the darkness, and slay what lurked within it. The usual supplications out of the way, a ray of sunlight shot down, and materialized in the form of a robust, powerful beast.

It was, at a glance, a rhinoceros, but in truth it was so much more. Its leathery skin was chalky white, and a flaxen mane spilled over its head, elegantly braided and threaded with golden blossoms. Its eyes were milky orbs that glowed with etheral light, and its two proud, curving horns seemed to carved from glimmering crystal rather than from keratin. Its saddle-blanket was a gorgeous, complex tapestry of rainbow-colored yarns and silks, and the polished leather of the saddle was the color of bone. The creature even smelled pleasant, a fragrance like morning dew and honeysuckle wafted from it.

As it finished materializing, the beast spoke, "Hail, Sir Brandon!" It had a man's voice, hearty and full of good cheer, though with a somewhat otherworldly, ethereal quality. "It is good to see you again, my friend. What quest calls forth both Drakehammer and the mighty Bicorn?"

Brandon leaned in close to the beast, speaking quietly into its huge, white eye, "I thought I told you to quit this 'Drakehammer' business. I have quite enough stupid nicknames, thank you. Let us get through this as quickly and painlessly as possible."

The rhino snorted derisively, "As you command," it said, a note of condescension sneaking into its voice, "If I am ever summoned, and I find that you are in good spirits, or heavens forbid you crack a joke, I will know that I have been called by an impostor and will trample him on the spot."

Brandon mounted the rhino with a single, swift motion, and said, "Good to know."

---

Brandon rode at the head of their small party, his gaze never leaving the back of his employer as the man swayed to and fro on camelback. While his own mount was not as high a perch as a camel, Brandon's height ensured that he was still seeing eye-to-eye with those that rode the beasts offered by the Pasha. Mounted on the celestial beast Bicorn, Brandon's more disheveled appearance contrasted with the rhino's pristine condition, but together the two were a walking siege engine; a tower of gold, horn, and steel.

The heat and sand didn't bother him; Dragonborn were hardy creatures, born of extreme climates and harsh conditions. The wind-blown sand buffeted harmlessly across his scales, and the heat was almost comforting, like a thick and heavy blanket laid over him. The fire inside of him, the furnace of dragonflame that burned in his heart, was quieted by the oppressive heat, and Brandon savored the feeling of calm and emptiness this brought. Obviously the Bicorn was even less concerned with the conditions of their journey, being a celestial creature borrowing the form of an earthly beast.

Some of their outriders returned, informing Brandon and the other mercenaries that their destination was approaching. This was not much of a relief to Brandon, as he turned west and saw the sun, a fat red orb, sinking lazily behind the horizon. He pulled on the Bicorn's reigns, bringing him closer to where their employer rode ahead of them.

"We should stop for the night." He called ahead, his projected voice harsh and guttural. Once he knew he had someone's attention, he continued, "I don't know what 'vermin' lurks in this ruin of yours, nor do I know what will emerge at night in the open desert. What I do know is that I do not wish to be caught between the two. If we make camp we can move onto the ruins at daybreak."

---

---

Samira was not oblivious to the various looks being passed around the hall in the wake of her introduction.

She returned the smile that Jakeem offered to her, a small kernel of self satisfaction growing within her as she did so. She could still bend men to her will, her powers in that regard did not seem to be wane. She was sure that with a little more time she could have the Pasha wrapped around her fingers, though she had to be careful, this man was a member of the Guild Arcane, he would likely know if less... subtle... arts were used against him. So for now, the only spell she cast was with that alluring smile and the delicate flutter of her kohl covered eyelashes.

To the other reactions she received from the assembled seekers, her response was quite different. Sira, the swaggering swashbuckler who smirked at Samira as she too made her bow to Jakeem, received a momentary look of barely concealed venom which swiftly transition into a pleasant, polite, smile. Samira was not entertaining the possibility of rivals for the pasha's favour, this man was her prey, and she wasn't about to lose to some roughnecked strumpet who had just wandered up from the dockside still smelling of salt and sweat.

She did not appreciate the huff given by the lowly beggar that had somehow been allowed to enter the Pasha's hall. This muzha-dahyarif was clearly low-born, rude, stinking, and worst of all, he was ugly and he was old. Those were two things Samira hated more than anything else. So she did not even pretend to hide the scorn her look bore for him. Surely the Pasha would not entertain taking this disgusting slave into his good graces?

The next one was of little interest to Samira. She was pretty yes, but she was a foreigner, a northern barbarian, and seemingly guileless for that matter. It was difficult for her to restrain a laugh as the half elf girl split berries across the floor of the hall. Gods, had there ever been a time in her life when she had been as unpoised as this 'Arrora'? It was hard to believe. This one would not be any threat to her she decided then and there.

And lastly there was the Drow. You rarely saw them on the surface, rarer still that they would tolerate the harsh blazing sun of Calimshan. But she had seen at least one before... her first husband had bought once... many years ago. She swallowed at the thought of that memory, mouth suddenly dry. Her hand went for the mirror that she allows carried with her. She opened the jewelled clasp and studied her face in it covertly.

All was right. All was well.

She closed the mirror, pushed the memories away, banished the ghost of her past, and set her mind again to task at hand. Her smile returned as Jakeem talked of the expedition, and the ruins they would go to. And it grew wider still as he began to speak of the specific artefact that he desired.



The heat of the desert did not bother Samira.

She had dismissed her slaves and the palanquin, they were not suited to fast travel over rough and wild ground like the Calim desert. Still, even atop camelback she somehow contrived to look elegant and completely unphased by the burning sun. She did not even bother with the parasol that she carried with her, and yet nary a bead of sweat could be seen on the noblewoman's skin. Her veil she wore still, to keep the worst of the dust from her face. Some might suppose it was the native Calishite blood that flowed in her veins that granted her resistance to the heat, but she alone knew the true source of her resilience.

The sorceress noted that she was not the only one that this was the case for. Sir Brandon, the great gilded dragonborn atop his equally flashy mount seemed non afflicted by the sun's rays. Samira was familiar with the summoning of creatures from planes other than the material, but she had not expected the Dragonborn warrior to be capable of such a feat. He must command considerable magics as well as his evident marshal abilities. It simultaneously made her respect him more, and more wary of him at the same time. The fact he could hold his own in the desert was also another factor in his favour. She wondered how the others were fairing in the heat, especially the northern barbarian girl and the dark elf.

News came from one of Jakeem's outriders that they were approaching the ruins, just as nightfall approached them. Sir Brandon seemed to be of the mind to stop for the night. But Samira was inclined otherwise. She had waited long enough, and her time was precious. Besides she slept seldom enough these days as it was.

"I would humbly suggest that we press on the ruins, Pasha Jakeem. Day or night, it makes little difference once we are beneath the sands." She paused and fixed Sir Brandon a saccharine smile, malicious gears whirring slowly in her mind. "Of course, if you would prefer to camp above, I would be more than happy to venture below by myself, Sir Brandon."

The heat of the desert was particularly unforgiving to Zasheir, and coupled with the dull aches of his legs and shoulders, it was downright sublime. He lumbered along at the back of the group, near the Pasha's rearguard, reins of the camel gripped tightly in one hand as he walked and led it behind him. He and the perhaps confused animal companion had spent the entire journey just so, Zasheir only taking cursory moments to seat himself on its back, only so that the soreness from an inadequate rest would amplify the discomfort from the hot sand and the general difficulty of traversing it on foot. The monk was of mind that the others did not mind him lagging a bit behind, as a fresh layer of sweat and travel grime only furthered his stench. He spent a majority of the journey reveling in his self brought agony, and used the time spent staring at the footprints in front of him to reflect.

He had received quite a few less-than-desirable looks at the Pasha's estate, which was good. An admirable first impression from one who sought to offend all the senses- but he reminded himself that this excursion needed to ultimately be successful, lest the pipe on his belt continue to merely decorate it. Whatever the vain Jakeem sought, Zasheir was certain in his desire to obtain it for him. He'd be set for months- perhaps years.

The draconic knight was clad and tempered, and not just in his armaments. He seemed disciplined in his oath, but Zasheir's own experiences with guardsmen over the years led him to conclude these were frailer than they may appear. Still, he was clearly of a mind to complete this expedition as quickly as possible, which, given the circumstances, Zasheir could appreciate. Besides, the last time Zasheir witnessed someone call a hulking riding beast down from the sun, he awoke days later holding pieces of a hookah and nursing a ravaging headache that didn't go away for a week. Good times. "Real," he concluded to himself.

Then there was the roguish woman. At the estate she was one whom offered the Pasha an abundance of pleasantries and ego-stroking- she seemed exactly the type to answer such inquiries of the rich on the promise of coin, and exactly the type that Pashas are often interested in hiring, but perhaps shouldn't. The monk sensed an ulterior motive; exactly what, he couldn't say. And when he looked at her, something would gnaw at his mind. Like something was off. Regardless, he was of a mind to speak with her later- of everyone, she seemed to be the most likely to have material wisdom to share. "Almost real," he thought to himself.

Then came the cleric. She reminded Zasheir of a child; wide-eyed, callow, a world of experience and development waiting to be turned on its head over and over as impressions grew into solid beliefs. Perhaps Zasheir would offer advice- he wondered if she truly realized who she was in the company of. Her manners at the estate suggested an inkling of vanity when she offered apologies, and her general demeanor painted her as a people pleaser to Zasheir, but she wasn't too far gone. Of everyone, Zasheir considered her the least dangerous. "Real, but lost," he decided.

The drow was an enigma to him. He was almost overly polite at the estate, but tempered it with a bit of abrasiveness that the Monk appreciated. He carried himself with utter confidence- an elf of sound judgement, perhaps? He spoke little. "Perhaps real," Zasheir elected.

Finally came the most dangerous among them- the one garbed in vestments of silk and gold. Her words wove a tapestry of silver to the Pasha and Zasheir's mere presence seemed to gnaw at her. The monk hated that she reminded him of himself; of his old ways. She was swaddled in her vanity, avoided discomfort, and her mere gaze reminded Zasheir of a pit viper. Dangerous as she was, Zasheir couldn't help but spin a thread of optimism around her; he was once nobility, after all, and look where he was now. He was around her age when he was stripped of his possessions and made better for it. Perhaps there was a lesson, somewhere. Still, he couldn't help but sour his emotions when he looked at her, but found amusement in what couldn't be anything less than divine irony that the two of them were working together as equals- at least for one job. "Not real."

All in all, a probably capable group in their own right, but the monk couldn't help but feel that they would at some point need to get past each other- get past themselves- and in that regard, Zasheir felt he could help. As he trudged through the hot sands, wind whipping his face and scraggly strands of hair, Zasheir concluded he would speak with each of them at some point.

Especially the bicorn.

---

---

The incredibly brief venomous look Sira had received from Samira hadn’t been lost on the woman and, in all honesty, Sira had actually expected it. Nobles seemed to always look down on people like her and this was only proven again as the Pasha gave her little more than a nod. She’d decided long ago that she’d never really fit in with the likes of them, nor did she want to. Sira was much more likely to fit in with the Dragonborn or even the Drow, with or without the persona she wore.

A smell hit her nose, however, she didn’t recoil from it like others did. While, yes, it wasn’t a pleasant smell in the slightest, Sira had smelled similar before. When one spends so much time on a ship in the hot sun, it’s not unusual for many on the ship to begin to stink. She was even willing to admit that she didn’t always smell like roses either, though she would always make use of a bath house when they would bring the ship to berth. So she’d merely given the man a brief look and slight smile.

The clumsy girl Sira had found amusing. She seemed to be trying really hard to impress, however her clumsiness made her attempts quite the disaster. Unfortunately Samira knew the girl likely wouldn’t last. She likely wouldn’t even make it through the hot desert before throwing in the towel and running back to Calimport. Surely the girl’s heart was in the right place, but she likely needed some toughening up before she took on a quest like this.

The Drow man was intriguing to her. He was rather quiet, however when he did speak he was very to the point. Sira could respect that, sometimes it was best not to beat around the bush. She briefly wondered if any of the others would have an issue with having a Drow in the party as so many viewed the Drow as evil creatures. Sira had known a handful of Drow and, while some could be quite crude, she’d never found them inherently evil. In fact, they could be quite fun to be around and quite handy if they were to be in a dark area.

They’d made their way out to the stables and she gladly accepted a camel. The creature was one of the best equipped for traveling the dunes of the desert. Much better than she would be if she were on foot, that’s for sure. Something caught her eye once she was on her mount and that something was whatever Brandon had just summoned. What in the Traveler’s name… She stared at it for a long moment before shaking her head and coming to terms with things. So the Dragonborn had some magic, that was useful to know. With that they made their way into the desert.

While the heat of the sun was quite brutal, it didn’t seem to really bother Sira in the slightest. She almost seemed to soak in the rays, keeping a happy and confident demeanor about her. She had pulled some cloth out of her bag and wrapped it over her nose and mouth to help protect herself from the sand. This was definitely one thing she didn’t miss about this place. Sand always seemed to get everywhere and she was sure she’d be finding it places she didn’t expect for weeks to come.

She didn’t enjoy the silence of everyone around her, finding it quite boring. So she decided to break the silence some and began humming and singing songs in Elvish as they went. She had quite the pleasant voice, almost as if she’d been trained how to sing. It was one of very few skills she’d be grateful for having the opportunity to learn from her past life. She’d often used it on the ship to help keep spirits high and provide some entertainment on long nights. Now she would use it to entertain herself and hopefully some of the others as they traversed this desert.

Night was approaching and Brandon seemed to be the first to speak up, suggesting they stop for the night. Samira spoke next, disagreeing with him and wanting to push forward and even making a claim to go down by herself. ”Well have fun going down into the ruin by yourself then, Samira. I personally agree with Sir Brandon. After a long day of travel I’d rather camp up here and get some semblance of rest since I know more of what to expect up here than down in those ruins. There’s also a likelihood that we won’t be able to rest once we’re in the ruins.” She gave the woman a sweet smile. ”Oh! Maybe you’ll find some traps for us while you’re down there alone too. I can then disable them easier as I won’t have to spend time spotting the trap and figuring out what it does.” She added as an afterthought.

Jakeem made no sort of response as the group of adventurers sounded off their opinions of what to do next, three of them anyway. Samira - the sorceress - seemed to be the only one that preferred to push on tonight. The Dragonborn and the northern woman however made their preference for making camp clear. The other two men, the Drow and the ragged musadhyar stayed quiet which the pasha took as them caring not one way or the other.

Jakeem knew he had to keep the collective somewhat satisfied and content with the conditions at hand, of course knowing he couldn’t satisfy them all at once. Besides there was an obvious point of compromise. The pasha’s men had secured the ruins exterior and set up fortifications nearby, and while the ruins were indeed riddled with danger the entrance was sealed to prevent anything from inside coming out at night. The group could ride on and would reach the main camp as the sun touched down. They then could rest the night and wake up fresh to descend into the depths. All points that Jakeem stated as the group ascended the arch of a dune before them. “We ride on. My men have set up a camp just outside the main structure, it is very well guarded and the ruins are sealed off from the outside. Rest at the main camp tonight and then tomorrow we may penetrate the ruins.”

“I prefer that over having to sleep anywhere in this desert and ride on further tomorrow morning.” Altonas spoke for the first time since they set out from Calimport.

“The desert is not a place to lay for rest.” Jakeem said smugly behind his cowl. “It is not much farther.”

---

---

True to Jakeem’s word it wasn’t much further to the ruins and the campsite nearby. The group made their way over a final towering sand dune, laboring to get up and over the top as the sun peaked just over the far horizon. From atop the dune they all lay their eyes on a small crop of craggy red rocks and cliffs with a sort of rounded gorge at the center roughly the size of a stadium. They could see torchlight and campfires about and the small shapes of men moving through what looked to be a fairly secured campsite positioned amid the natural ravine.

As beautiful as the gorge was - particularly now, illuminated by the red rays of the setting sun - it was the massive structure at the far side opposite of the entrance that was a true marvel.



“There it is,” Jakeem said aloud, lowering the sand coated cowl from his face, “the Sanctuary of Aduzahir.”

Several of the pasha’s men were murmuring at the grand sight before them. It couldn’t be denied that the marvel of the ancient ruin paired with the natural beauty of it’s stoney shroud was an intoxicating visage. All bathed in the red reflections of the eventide sun.

“This place was built thousands of years ago, in the time of the djinn before they were driven out by man.” Jakeem and his men ushered their camels on and began the slow descent down the steep dune towards the campsite below. The adventurers would follow with the rear guard keeping in tow. Everyone had to ride forward slow and careful, especially the Dragonborn and his bulky rhinoceros steed.

Sand rolled down the dune as the party made their way down, the camels lowing and snorting in both irritation and pings of worry as the sand gave way in large clods at certain points. Jakeem’s men all broke file and spread out and one ordered the hire-ons to do the same as to avoid a single animal slipping and falling to cause everyone to go hurtling down the dune. The group managed to reach the bottom without incident and from there rode straight ahead toward the encampment. A makeshift palisade had been constructed with a simple wooden gate. While it wouldn’t stop a horde of goblins or a well armed marauder group it was enough to dissuade any curious passerby’s or other unwanted approachers.

With a shout from one of Jakeem’s leads the gate came creaking open and after a long and grueling journey across the desert they had finally arrived. Jakeem and his men dismounted, slaves coming to round up the camels as the gate slammed shut behind the newly arrived. The evening sun by now gone, the only light in the encampment coming from rows of torches and scattered campfires.

“The slaves will take you to an empty tent of your choice, ask them for food if you wish and they will provide. I would suggest you all try and get some rest tonight, we will speak in the morning as would like to retire now.” Jakeem el Kalil then departed with his men in tow as a handful of slaves waited for any command to be given by the adventurers.

---

---

The smile on Samira's face only grew wider as she listen to the words of Sira Hezrihd, but there was nothing sweet about it anymore. Like the widening jaws of some great and terrible creature, or the fixed rictus grin of a skull stripped of its flesh. There was something truly unsettling about that smile. And then there were her eyes. The eyes of the Sorceress blazed, a sudden and furious rage awoken there. There was hellfire burning in their amber depths.

"And I could disable you easier than you could possibly believe, then I wouldn't have to spend my time listening to the pratter of uncouth children. Now..." With a swish of her wrist, the gilded spikes that tipped the ends of Samira's finger began to flicker with golden flame. "Do not. Doubt. My. Power. Unless you wish t-"

Samira's threat was cut off by Jakeem's compromise on their current... discussion. She glanced around the rest of the group, and saw her position amongst them, hopeless outnumbered, her argument already lost. Reluctantly, she closed her fist, and the dancing flames that had run along it disappeared, quenched in the gathering night.

"Fine, rest if you must. But we are wasting time."

She rode on in silence.



Down in the ravine, Samira dismounted at the foot of the impressive façade of the of the Sanctuary of Aduzahir. It was everything that she had dreamed it to be. There was just the question of getting inside of it now, and seeking the thing that they desired most of all. She could be doing that now if has hadn't been for the damned fools that she found herself stuck with. Did they not know of the urgency of her need?

No... no... of course they did not, no one knew, no one living that was. It just felt that way to her, because it consumed everything else.

Self consciously, she opened the mirror she carried once more and checked her face in it again. What she saw displeased her. It was slipping again. With a flick of her fingers and some hastily muttered words Samira reset the sells and charms and wards about her person until they were all repaired again. There... perfect.

She paused a moment in front of the ruin and whispered something to the open air, too quiet for anyone else to hear. It would have to do for now, she would not go into the ruins tonight, but at least she could ensure that none of the others stole a head start on her. The edge of her lips twitched upwards once more in the faintest glimmer of a smile. She turned her back to the ruins and walked towards the cluster of tents.

As she approached, a slave ran towards her and began to speak.

"Mistress, the great and honourable Pascha Jak-"

"Silence! Do not speak to me unless I have spoken to you, worm. Now, I care not which tent you have set aside of me, I have little use for it. Bring me whatever passes for food out here in this blasted wasteland, oh, and wine if there is any."

The slave bowed and scurried away to fulfil her commands. Samira took at seat at one of her unoccupied camp fires, paying the others little mind. Instead she stared into the flames, and lost herself in memories from long ago.