Easily one of the grandest structures in all of Sabata, the bathhouse is a welcome contradiction to the hot and dusty sands of Terra Incognita. About as big as any temple complex in Tazlure, it is the center for deal making and breaking within the city. Reflecting imperial taste, cool white, marble pillars gracefully adorn the outside of the building, while the inside is a wonder to behold.
A dense forest of trees, unfamiliar to all but the most seasoned traveler, grow directly out of the floor. The canopy of branches allow sunlight to filter through the open roof, creating an almost ethereal atmosphere. No one knows how these trees survive in the harsh sunlight, but it is rumored that they are sustained by the magic brought back by the bride of Darian Boroda, the bathhouse's current proprietor.
At the center of the "forest" lie two baths, one cool and one warm. This is where the general population can come to relax and talk about whatever their hearts desire. It is here where race and rank are put aside, if only for a few marks, for the sake of relaxation. Occasionally bards will wander over from The Barbed Poet and entertain whoever happens to be in the baths.
Surrounding the pool are various rooms. Two rooms are set aside for changing, with various storage areas for any belongings. Four of the rooms are set aside for massages. This is where the finest masseuses will knead away all of your troubles. Each of these rooms are adorned with various mosaics depicting a momentous event from Tazlure's history. Various scented candles are burned to create a pleasant smelling, relaxing atmosphere.
The remaining rooms are the private warm baths/saunas, which are reserved for aristocrats and their guests alone. It is here, in these private rooms where business of all sorts is conducted. Aristocrats and their guests can come and relax, while talking politics and negotiations, away from the prying eyes of the public. Slaves heat the temperature to that which the nobles desire, and can add any variety of oils or potions to soften the noble's skin.
--
A noble looking male slave bowed to Roland and approached him. One could tell that he was in charge, at least while the owner was away. "How may I assist you Sir?"
The Bathhouse ~ Roland (Samheen 24 MT)
Moderator: Mods
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Roland Mekaraz
Roland only just heard the slaves query, overawed as he was at the grandeur of the Bathhouse. However, in this exotic new city it was a feeling he was becoming used to.
He was dressed in his usual attire, the clothing he knew best and fitted him like a second skin. For two days he'd ambled round Sabata, no purpose or destination but simply a desire to explore, familiarize. If Harkhebi was true to his word, Roland could be here for a while.
"Boss" Harkhebi, his employer, his superior officer now. In charge of keeping the peace but employing any expendable swordsman fresh into town to stir up trouble... but for who? And why?
Roland didn't know, but he could guess. This Ramessu, Harkhebi's "master", was the man pulling the strings here. Roland thought he knew what to expect: rich, powerful, influential, and above all respectable. The really dirty ones always were...
But for the last couple of days he'd put those thoughts partially out of mind. Much of his time had been at the Dragon, sampling more of the plentiful White Mist available there and taking in the shows, the sights, the sounds... but not the people. Not yet.
Harkhebi's small purse of coins hung deep in his pockets. Roland hadn't spent much of it, just enough, no large purposes. First he wanted to see how far up the local food chain he was getting, then he'd relax into retail.
Speaking of the food chain...
He turned to the slave and gave a half-smile of greeting. "You may indeed. I need to see a Mr Ramessu. I believe he's expecting me."
OOC: I know you'd prefer me to interact with the other Crying Dragon clientele but for now I don't want to. However, once I've delved a little further into what you have in store for me with Ramessu, I'll start my interaction (promise!).
P.S: I'll send you a PM on "White Mist" sometime this week.
He was dressed in his usual attire, the clothing he knew best and fitted him like a second skin. For two days he'd ambled round Sabata, no purpose or destination but simply a desire to explore, familiarize. If Harkhebi was true to his word, Roland could be here for a while.
"Boss" Harkhebi, his employer, his superior officer now. In charge of keeping the peace but employing any expendable swordsman fresh into town to stir up trouble... but for who? And why?
Roland didn't know, but he could guess. This Ramessu, Harkhebi's "master", was the man pulling the strings here. Roland thought he knew what to expect: rich, powerful, influential, and above all respectable. The really dirty ones always were...
But for the last couple of days he'd put those thoughts partially out of mind. Much of his time had been at the Dragon, sampling more of the plentiful White Mist available there and taking in the shows, the sights, the sounds... but not the people. Not yet.
Harkhebi's small purse of coins hung deep in his pockets. Roland hadn't spent much of it, just enough, no large purposes. First he wanted to see how far up the local food chain he was getting, then he'd relax into retail.
Speaking of the food chain...
He turned to the slave and gave a half-smile of greeting. "You may indeed. I need to see a Mr Ramessu. I believe he's expecting me."
OOC: I know you'd prefer me to interact with the other Crying Dragon clientele but for now I don't want to. However, once I've delved a little further into what you have in store for me with Ramessu, I'll start my interaction (promise!).
P.S: I'll send you a PM on "White Mist" sometime this week.
-
Guest
The slave bowed and tried to look uninterested, like he heard requests such as Roland's every day, although there was a curious glint in his eye as he straightened up and looked and looked at Roland.
"Right this way sir, although I'm not too sure if Master Ramessu will receive you at the moment. He is conducting important business right now."
With that, the slave sauntered towards the end of the baths, into one of the very last rooms. The slave rapped on the door several times, until a loud shout bid the slave to enter. Roland could hear murmuring drifting out of the room, with the slave exiting the room a few moments later and gestured towards the room. "Master Ramessu bids you to enter. You are very fortunate that he is in a pleasant mood today."
An exotic and heady blend of flowers drifted from the room into the hall enticing Roland to enter. From within, a strained laughter bubbled, the kind of laugh one can hear when a not so funny joke has just been told, but you have to laugh anyway, for fear of repercussions.
Three men sat in the room, two very obese and obviously uncomfortable men, and one tall, swarthy looking aristocratic man. The latter glanced sideways, without actually looking at Roland and said, "Greetings, young master. What brings you to this noble establishment today?"
"Right this way sir, although I'm not too sure if Master Ramessu will receive you at the moment. He is conducting important business right now."
With that, the slave sauntered towards the end of the baths, into one of the very last rooms. The slave rapped on the door several times, until a loud shout bid the slave to enter. Roland could hear murmuring drifting out of the room, with the slave exiting the room a few moments later and gestured towards the room. "Master Ramessu bids you to enter. You are very fortunate that he is in a pleasant mood today."
An exotic and heady blend of flowers drifted from the room into the hall enticing Roland to enter. From within, a strained laughter bubbled, the kind of laugh one can hear when a not so funny joke has just been told, but you have to laugh anyway, for fear of repercussions.
Three men sat in the room, two very obese and obviously uncomfortable men, and one tall, swarthy looking aristocratic man. The latter glanced sideways, without actually looking at Roland and said, "Greetings, young master. What brings you to this noble establishment today?"
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Roland Mekaraz
Roland felt a little uneasy in the presence of these men. Well, not the fat ones, they looked for uncomfortable and out of place than he right now, looking to their aristocratic liege with awe and fear. They looked like merchants or businessmen, their greed made real by their gross size, but they did not have a look of power about them.
Roland knew instantly that the otherman was the one who really ran the show: Mr. Ramessu.
Everything since he'd steeped into the baths had convinced him of it. The way the slave tried to cover his curiosity, the forced laugh of a man who fears to be the last one amused by his master, and the feel of this haughty blueblood before him. This man had power.
Roland notice the way he half-looked at Roland, as if he was a fly that had errantly buzzed into his fragrant baths. But Roland took a breath and steadied himself for what was to come. Master of this town or not, Roland had been sent here for a reason, and he had to find out what.
He gave a military half-bow, formal but not necessarily denoting respect. A bow given to show one recognizes the stature of another.
"I was sent here, sir, by someone close to you. Someone I did a service for... a few days ago on the Harbour-" he let the words sink in, ambiguous as they were but he was sure not missed by Ramessu- "... and now he bids me speak with you."
Roland knew instantly that the otherman was the one who really ran the show: Mr. Ramessu.
Everything since he'd steeped into the baths had convinced him of it. The way the slave tried to cover his curiosity, the forced laugh of a man who fears to be the last one amused by his master, and the feel of this haughty blueblood before him. This man had power.
Roland notice the way he half-looked at Roland, as if he was a fly that had errantly buzzed into his fragrant baths. But Roland took a breath and steadied himself for what was to come. Master of this town or not, Roland had been sent here for a reason, and he had to find out what.
He gave a military half-bow, formal but not necessarily denoting respect. A bow given to show one recognizes the stature of another.
"I was sent here, sir, by someone close to you. Someone I did a service for... a few days ago on the Harbour-" he let the words sink in, ambiguous as they were but he was sure not missed by Ramessu- "... and now he bids me speak with you."
-
Guest
Steam poured lazily from the room and all eyes moved toward Roland. The swarthy man that Roland had assumed was Ramessu nodded toward his corpulent cronies. With a great heave of folded flesh, the men rose and pulled their towels as tightly as they could around their wide waists. With an annoyed but curious glance the gentlemen departed out a separate entrance.
Ramessu watch his companions leave and then back to Roland. He regarded Roland slyly. He rose and pulled a robe from a hook and moved to join Roland in the hall.
"Ah, yes, Mekaraz wasn't it? That was bold connecting yourself to the harbor," noted Ramessu, moving deeper into the establishment. The man's tone was overly even, neither admiring or admonishing. Roland found his voice unsettling.
They turned a corner and Ramessu placed his hand on the tiled wall. A door, expertly concealed, swung open to reveal what appeared to be a private sitting room with a balcony overlooking the magical copse of trees sprouting from the center of the bath house. He bade Roland sit and poured two glasses of coppery liquid.
"It would be well to learn the value of discretion sooner in life than lighter my young friend,†advised Ramessu as he sat opposite Roland. He looked absently over the fantastic garden below him and sipped at his drink.
“Doubtless, you are wondering why I asked you here. Mostly, I wanted to meet you and determine if you are truly a man I want working with me.†He smiled a cold, thin smile. Behind him, a curtain that had seemed almost invisible parted and a slender, dark haired woman appeared. She wore a fine, willowy outfit of delicate silk the color of the deepest ocean. It contrasted only slightly with her dark hair so that when she stepped the ripples appeared as if on her very skin. She kept her head lowered demurely but Roland could see her gaze rise slightly to meet his.
“Meet Samira, Roland.â€
Ramessu watch his companions leave and then back to Roland. He regarded Roland slyly. He rose and pulled a robe from a hook and moved to join Roland in the hall.
"Ah, yes, Mekaraz wasn't it? That was bold connecting yourself to the harbor," noted Ramessu, moving deeper into the establishment. The man's tone was overly even, neither admiring or admonishing. Roland found his voice unsettling.
They turned a corner and Ramessu placed his hand on the tiled wall. A door, expertly concealed, swung open to reveal what appeared to be a private sitting room with a balcony overlooking the magical copse of trees sprouting from the center of the bath house. He bade Roland sit and poured two glasses of coppery liquid.
"It would be well to learn the value of discretion sooner in life than lighter my young friend,†advised Ramessu as he sat opposite Roland. He looked absently over the fantastic garden below him and sipped at his drink.
“Doubtless, you are wondering why I asked you here. Mostly, I wanted to meet you and determine if you are truly a man I want working with me.†He smiled a cold, thin smile. Behind him, a curtain that had seemed almost invisible parted and a slender, dark haired woman appeared. She wore a fine, willowy outfit of delicate silk the color of the deepest ocean. It contrasted only slightly with her dark hair so that when she stepped the ripples appeared as if on her very skin. She kept her head lowered demurely but Roland could see her gaze rise slightly to meet his.
“Meet Samira, Roland.â€
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Roland Mekaraz
Roland was unsettled in the sudden change of surroundings, but tried not to let it show. He was quickly realizing that the man now offering him a glass of... whatever, was a very powerful one.
Secret rooms in the city's most exclusive bathhouse?
Total control over local merchants, power conveyed in a mere glance?
Most of all, the icy, even tone and feel of a man who had grown accustomed to having the power of life and death over all he met.
This is not someone you want to annoy, Roland, remember that.
Roland bowed once again, lower for the woman, a streak of gentlemanly politeness bred into him from his life in Dragonskeep.
"My pleasure, Samira."
With that Roland turned his attention back to Ramessu, taking the seat opposite him and meeting his cold, aloof gaze. He decided that he would have to choose his words carefully... it was likely his life in Sabata depended on the outcome of his conversation.
"I've seen all I believe I need to see, Mr Ramessu. Your power and influence in this town is more than obvious, if I may say so. The patronage of a man such as your self is something I would greatly value."
Roland reached out and took a generous sip of the liquid in the glass, hoping to show trust in his would-be boss. It was a strong ale not known to him, obviously intoxicating but filled with rich Sabatan flavour. A native brew, he surmised, and admittedly fine.
"I'm not a man of speeches, Mr Ramessu. I'm a soldier, I thrive on action, immediacy, order. Now I am a soldier without a leader, and have been looking for a man whom I could pledge my sword to-" he cocked a knowing eyebrow at the impassive Ramessu- "although I am sure a man such as yourself would have plenty of swordhands at his command."
Roland took another sip, and let his eyes stray again to Samira. She was enchanting, he had to admit. Roland hadn't been interested in the opposite sex since he arrived in Sabata, probably before that. He had neither the time nor the immediate inclination. But, then again, rare in Dragonskeep was a desert flower such as this.
He swallowed the coppery liquid down and placed the glass on the table, meeting Ramessu's gaze once again, this time with steel in his eyes. Time to take the last step.
"I am your man, Mr Ramessu. Command me."
Secret rooms in the city's most exclusive bathhouse?
Total control over local merchants, power conveyed in a mere glance?
Most of all, the icy, even tone and feel of a man who had grown accustomed to having the power of life and death over all he met.
This is not someone you want to annoy, Roland, remember that.
Roland bowed once again, lower for the woman, a streak of gentlemanly politeness bred into him from his life in Dragonskeep.
"My pleasure, Samira."
With that Roland turned his attention back to Ramessu, taking the seat opposite him and meeting his cold, aloof gaze. He decided that he would have to choose his words carefully... it was likely his life in Sabata depended on the outcome of his conversation.
"I've seen all I believe I need to see, Mr Ramessu. Your power and influence in this town is more than obvious, if I may say so. The patronage of a man such as your self is something I would greatly value."
Roland reached out and took a generous sip of the liquid in the glass, hoping to show trust in his would-be boss. It was a strong ale not known to him, obviously intoxicating but filled with rich Sabatan flavour. A native brew, he surmised, and admittedly fine.
"I'm not a man of speeches, Mr Ramessu. I'm a soldier, I thrive on action, immediacy, order. Now I am a soldier without a leader, and have been looking for a man whom I could pledge my sword to-" he cocked a knowing eyebrow at the impassive Ramessu- "although I am sure a man such as yourself would have plenty of swordhands at his command."
Roland took another sip, and let his eyes stray again to Samira. She was enchanting, he had to admit. Roland hadn't been interested in the opposite sex since he arrived in Sabata, probably before that. He had neither the time nor the immediate inclination. But, then again, rare in Dragonskeep was a desert flower such as this.
He swallowed the coppery liquid down and placed the glass on the table, meeting Ramessu's gaze once again, this time with steel in his eyes. Time to take the last step.
"I am your man, Mr Ramessu. Command me."
-
Guest
Ramessu eyed the mercenary and a sly smile slid onto his face.
“Excellent, Roland. You have no idea how pleased I am to hear you pledge your service,†said the Councilor, his tone honeyed and hinting of poison.
He reached down behind his seat and withdrew an ornate dagger. The weapon gleamed, catching even the dim light from the alcove’s hidden lamps. Ramessu admired the weapon, turning it his hand. It was obviously ceremonial with a bone handle trimmed in gold and bejeweled pommel, yet the blade was curved wickedly and the edge appeared keen.
He handed it to Roland and bade him take it.
“But hearing, my friend, is not nearly as powerful as seeing. Do you know what I want you to do with that, Roland? I think you might.†he mused.
“I want you to kill Samira,†he said simply.
At his words the young, voluptuous woman did not stir as Roland might expect. She stood almost motionless, drugged into submission.
“Excellent, Roland. You have no idea how pleased I am to hear you pledge your service,†said the Councilor, his tone honeyed and hinting of poison.
He reached down behind his seat and withdrew an ornate dagger. The weapon gleamed, catching even the dim light from the alcove’s hidden lamps. Ramessu admired the weapon, turning it his hand. It was obviously ceremonial with a bone handle trimmed in gold and bejeweled pommel, yet the blade was curved wickedly and the edge appeared keen.
He handed it to Roland and bade him take it.
“But hearing, my friend, is not nearly as powerful as seeing. Do you know what I want you to do with that, Roland? I think you might.†he mused.
“I want you to kill Samira,†he said simply.
At his words the young, voluptuous woman did not stir as Roland might expect. She stood almost motionless, drugged into submission.
-
Roland Mekaraz
OOC: Christ this is getting Shakesperean!
IC: Time seemed to stop for Roland, still seated and almost not believing what his ears were hearing. A little voice in his head mocked him, told him he should have seen this coming. What better evidence would a man such as Ramessu want of loyalty? What was the death of one woman to him?
Roland you fool...
He met Ramessu's indifferent gazed, searched for some hint of mirth or flaw. He found none. This man was serious, hand proffering the knife like it was a gift. To Ramessu it probably was.
Roland slowly stood up and took the blade from him, feeling the weight of it in his hand, shifting it into stabbing position. He took his eyes of Ramessu's, face emotionless.
Roland turned to Samira, a peered sadly into her eyes. Nothing either. The poor girl, she probably didn't even realize what was about to happen... what he'd have to do.
He took two steps forward, and raised the knife. Roland could feel Ramessu's icy eyes on his back, watching his every move with confidence, with expectation.
Roland could feel Samira's soft scent waft over his as he raised the blade high above his head and bought it slamming down....
No.
.... into the table next to Ramessu. The impact of the strike embedded it deep into the wood but not damaging it, the beautiful handle and razor-edge unblemished.
Roland met Ramessu's eyes again over the hilt of the blade, eyes on fire with cold anger, indignant fury. How dare this man presume to order him to murder? How dare he try to purchase what only a warrior could attain?
Roland let go of the blade and straightened up, looking Ramessu in the eye. Fearless. Furious. His face suddenly calmed and he gathered his green cloak around his body.
He spoke, voice measured but dripping with cold anger:
"I think you misunderstand what a soldier is, Mr Ramessu."
With that he turned and made for the door, not caring if this twisted aristocrat called him back or not. He had made his position clear, and now the ball was with Ramessu.
IC: Time seemed to stop for Roland, still seated and almost not believing what his ears were hearing. A little voice in his head mocked him, told him he should have seen this coming. What better evidence would a man such as Ramessu want of loyalty? What was the death of one woman to him?
Roland you fool...
He met Ramessu's indifferent gazed, searched for some hint of mirth or flaw. He found none. This man was serious, hand proffering the knife like it was a gift. To Ramessu it probably was.
Roland slowly stood up and took the blade from him, feeling the weight of it in his hand, shifting it into stabbing position. He took his eyes of Ramessu's, face emotionless.
Roland turned to Samira, a peered sadly into her eyes. Nothing either. The poor girl, she probably didn't even realize what was about to happen... what he'd have to do.
He took two steps forward, and raised the knife. Roland could feel Ramessu's icy eyes on his back, watching his every move with confidence, with expectation.
Roland could feel Samira's soft scent waft over his as he raised the blade high above his head and bought it slamming down....
No.
.... into the table next to Ramessu. The impact of the strike embedded it deep into the wood but not damaging it, the beautiful handle and razor-edge unblemished.
Roland met Ramessu's eyes again over the hilt of the blade, eyes on fire with cold anger, indignant fury. How dare this man presume to order him to murder? How dare he try to purchase what only a warrior could attain?
Roland let go of the blade and straightened up, looking Ramessu in the eye. Fearless. Furious. His face suddenly calmed and he gathered his green cloak around his body.
He spoke, voice measured but dripping with cold anger:
"I think you misunderstand what a soldier is, Mr Ramessu."
With that he turned and made for the door, not caring if this twisted aristocrat called him back or not. He had made his position clear, and now the ball was with Ramessu.
-
Guest
If Ramessu was surprised at Roland’s reaction, he did not let it be shown. He stared at the fugitive soldier before him and Roland knew he had angered a dangerous man. But as Roland walked through the door, he heard a whispering chuckle from behind him.
“I find it amusing that you call yourself a soldier, Mr. Mekaraz,†called the Councilor from the darkness. “I always thought a soldier to be one who serves in an army, not one who flees their duty. But, perhaps soldiers in the Western Kingdom have a different sense of honor and duty than the rest of us? That must be it. Apparently, I misjudged you. I so rarely make mistakes. Good bye, Mr. Mekaraz.†he hissed.
An unseen hand closed the secret door and left Roland alone in the hall of the Bathhouse.
“I find it amusing that you call yourself a soldier, Mr. Mekaraz,†called the Councilor from the darkness. “I always thought a soldier to be one who serves in an army, not one who flees their duty. But, perhaps soldiers in the Western Kingdom have a different sense of honor and duty than the rest of us? That must be it. Apparently, I misjudged you. I so rarely make mistakes. Good bye, Mr. Mekaraz.†he hissed.
An unseen hand closed the secret door and left Roland alone in the hall of the Bathhouse.
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Roland Mekaraz
IC: Roland whirled and glared hotly at the bare wall where the the door had been. He was grateful the door had closed before he could act; he might have killed Ramessu right there, and The One alone knows what kind of chaos that would have caused.
"What do you know of honour?"
Roland hissed the words at venomously before turning away. He stalked quickly down the hallway to the Bathhouse entrance, wanting to get out of there and back to The Dragon. His face was set in stone as usual but his mind was once again fuming.
What had he done? Had he made an enemy in Ramessu, or just lost an employer? Roland didn't linger on the latter too long. Men such as Ramessu, who treated human beings as commodities, treated all life with contempt, Roland had never followed. And he never would.
But an enemy? He didn't know. But he would not waster more time on it now. He would need to get back to The Crying Dragon and contact Harkhebi through Gharibu. Although Roland doubted "Boss" would give him anymore help, there was always a chance, even from the connected gharibu himself.
Roland stepped out of the fragrant Bathhouse, scent now corrupted by what he'd just met, and the hot, strong Sabata winds battered his face. He smiled just a little at its strength, its purity of power.
Roland flung up his hood and walked back to The Dragon.
OOC: OK, so where do we go from here G? separate thread or are we continuing this one?
"What do you know of honour?"
Roland hissed the words at venomously before turning away. He stalked quickly down the hallway to the Bathhouse entrance, wanting to get out of there and back to The Dragon. His face was set in stone as usual but his mind was once again fuming.
What had he done? Had he made an enemy in Ramessu, or just lost an employer? Roland didn't linger on the latter too long. Men such as Ramessu, who treated human beings as commodities, treated all life with contempt, Roland had never followed. And he never would.
But an enemy? He didn't know. But he would not waster more time on it now. He would need to get back to The Crying Dragon and contact Harkhebi through Gharibu. Although Roland doubted "Boss" would give him anymore help, there was always a chance, even from the connected gharibu himself.
Roland stepped out of the fragrant Bathhouse, scent now corrupted by what he'd just met, and the hot, strong Sabata winds battered his face. He smiled just a little at its strength, its purity of power.
Roland flung up his hood and walked back to The Dragon.
OOC: OK, so where do we go from here G? separate thread or are we continuing this one?