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Startup 60: Schmoozing
Rova 13 dusk
Rowe’s hips swayed as she walked through the marketplace, inspecting the tools and parts on display. Perhaps it was the magic, or perhaps not. The way she bent at the waist so she could look closely at something was definitely a motion he recognized, so it was entirely possible Conchobar had simply never noticed that particular quirk of hers. It wasn’t as if he normally spent a lot of time staring at Rowe’s ass when it wasn’t at his eye level. There just wasn’t a lot more for him to do at this moment, except watch and think.
He stood near the semi-permanent tent full of metalworking tools, Rowe’s latest destination. She leaned forward, resting her crossed forearms on the counter as she craned to look at the goods. Conchobar honestly wasn’t sure if Rowe realized that she was shoving her cleavage into the human shopkeeper’s field of view, but it was probably helping her case.
“You will give me a forge!” She commanded, “I am very important and have money, so I get what I want.”
“I’d be happy to help a lady, of course,” the human said, leaning in, “A good forge is hard to find on short notice, but I’m sure we could work something out. If you’d like, you could come inside and have a look around. I’m sure I could offer you a great deal, if you’re interested.”
Conchobar listened in, fairly sure that the human was full of shit. He wasn’t approaching this like a sale, for one thing. He kept asking questions, and never once seemed like he had anything concrete to offer. No merchant who had a product worth selling would spend this long flirting if he was serious. Even if he was planning on selling it cheap for a good time, he’d want to show off to secure the sale.
“D’ave, we should go.” Conchobar said, cringing internally at her choice of name, “Unless you see something you want to buy, he’s wasting our time.”
Rowe straightened up at that, turning to flash Conchobar a smile. She scanned the shelves once, then shrugged and turned to walk off.
“Yes, chamberlain.” She said, “This human is beneath my notice. I could theoretically live a thousand years so I don’t respect people who die normally.”
“What’s the big idea, pipsqueak?” The stall’s owner asked, angry.
“We don’t have a lot of time in port,” Conchobar said, “that’s all. I don’t get the impression you have a ship forge in stock.”
“What?” The human asked, “She wanted to set up on a ship? She should have led with that! What are you, her interpreter?”
“Something like that.” Conchobar said, shrugging, “She’s not gonna sleep with you, and wasn’t trying to flirt. Do you have what she needs?”
“No,” the man sighed, “try Zaxel’s stall. He can probably help you with that.”
“Thanks.” Conchobar said, putting a copper coin on the counter.
As he hurried to catch up with Rowe, another man tried pinching her ass. It was of course quite rude, but he probably didn’t think she’d care. The catcalls from other men, some quite crude indeed, didn’t even warrant a response of any kind.
She responded by jabbing the stock of her shotgun into his ribs and punching him in the throat. He fell to the ground and she pointed her gun at his head.
“I’m too fancy and important for you.” She said, smiling brightly. “I’m in charge, you see, so I can do anything I want.”
She leaned down, eyes sparkling, to press the barrel of her gun against the man’s navel.
“Now say ‘sorry, Mistress D’ave.’” She said, her pearly white teeth exposed by a smile that was far too large.
“S- sorry, Mistress Dave.”
She jabbed her gun forward, making the poor lech shriek in terror.
“D’ave.” She shouted. “Like you have a stutter! I have a stupid name that sounds like you forgot to talk halfway through!”
The lech tried to apologize, but he was so tongue tied that he couldn’t string the words together properly. Even in a town as apathetic as Dragonsthrall, this was getting too dramatic to ignore. Conchobar suspected that they’d have gotten less attention if she’d actually just shot him in the stomach.
“D’ave!” Conchobar barked, “Stop that! You are wasting time. Follow me, I got directions.”
She smiled at him again, then sashayed over to Conchobar. Even after the excitement, her swaying walk attracted attention. Conchobar didn’t notice the walk however, because her bright smile was focused entirely upon him.
“Yes, Conchobar.” She purred, “I believe you are right. I shouldn’t waste time on that man even though I have so much of it. Being an elf, you see.”
Conchobar almost regretted taking the lead, but he kept his head high. There were too many eyes on him; he needed to pretend to be in control of the situation, to put on a performance. After all, the other option was falling apart at the seams.
••••••••••
The moon was high in the sky by the time that we were allowed into the circus-sized tent. The hordes of kobolds in front of us had mostly dispersed, either because they’d run off to tell their friends of their success or because the guards had hauled them off for obstructing the path with their tears. I squeezed Syl’s hand and we stepped forward through the flap, into furnace heat.
I couldn’t help myself; I paused halfway inside to gape. I’ve compared a lot of things to a lot of animals since coming to Golarion. The Esobok had been around the size of a Saint Bernard. Kelizar was on the large end of bear. Aashaq, however, shattered that entire system of measurement with her sheer immensity.
She was bigger than a bus. She was bigger than some houses I’d seen, even curled up like a cat. Her rust red scales shimmered and warped in the overwhelming heat that she gave off, distorting her exact shape. My skin beaded with sweat that turned to vapor in seconds in the dry heat. A single slitted eye bigger than Rowe focused upon me, its owner hardly bothering to acknowledge my presence.
“You may now make your presentation!” Cried a shrill kobold with red scales, standing upon an elevated podium. “State your name, purpose, and offering! Praise be to Aashaq!”
I shook my head and stepped forward into a large ring that did absolutely nothing to dispel the impression of a circus tent. I gently placed down the backpack and bowed deeply. Behind me, Syl joined me in the bow.
“Greetings, I am Emrys of House M’Dair.” I said, “I wished only to present a gift to glorious Aashaq and be allowed into her presence.”
I reached into my pouch and pulled out three small white tokens, carved hastily from the bone coral. I focused upon them, practicing my own magical control with the simple focus items, and commanded their paired constructs to exit the bag.
Three tiny white mannequins, roughly carved from white coral and dressed in silk ponchos, crawled out of the bag. Each carried a double bladed sword, freshly harvested from a thoxel demon, which they raised high over their heads. I shifted control over to Autopilot, mentally commanding the puppets to dance with the blades before presenting the weapons as if they were knights before a king.
“My modest gift, which I hope pleases Aashaq, is a trio of poppets.” I said, “The blades are masterwork, of Abyssal make, but meant only to serve as props to show their quality.” Diplomacy 17+13=30 Success!
Aashaq the Annihilator’s disposition towards Emrys M’Dair has been improved by one stage.
“That is all?” The kobold said, his voice strident with offense, “This tripe should have been brought to the warehouse, not presented before the Queen of Dragons! Guards! Guards! Escort this man and his servant out and take his trinkets to the proper clerk.”
“No, little one.”
I felt Aashaq’s rumbling voice like a truck speeding past. It shook the ground, and the terrible focus she laid upon me pinned me to the floor. Then her entire body, the massive living hill made of scales and flame, flared up like a pad of flash paper. I squinted against the light and when I looked back the giant lizard was gone. In her place was a stately woman nearly half a foot taller than me in red robes, her ebony skin glistening in the firelight.
“If this handsome young man wishes to meet me, then he may meet me.” She said, her voice clipped, “One turn of the minute glass, I think. Once he kisses my ring, of course.”
She held out one hand, which was crusted with gold and ruby jewelry. It was a clear invitation, if not a command, so I nodded at Syl and strode forward to meet the now half-elven woman. When I got closer, I realized the problem. The furnace heat wasn’t something the kobolds were doing to keep a woman who liked to sleep in volcanoes comfortable. It was her; her body itself radiated incredible heat. As such, my approach became painful some time before I was even within arms reach of Aashaq.
The fiery heat played across my skin as if the air itself was a hot skillet gently pressed against my arms. The brass cufflinks on my nice maroon outfit radiated scorching heat only a few inches from my wrist. When I got even closer, my whole body felt like I was in an oven.
I stopped when Autopilot warned me.
You are about to enter Aashaq the Annihilator’s aura of flame.
The woman in question stared at me, her arm lifted forward in lazy invitation. Her eyes sharpened when she saw me stop, but the danger was great enough I was automatically thrown into combat mode. I took a breath, and risked the peril. Only after reading how the hell this constituted a successful diplomacy check, of course.
Diplomacy 17+13=30 Success!
Aashaq the Annihilator’s disposition towards Emrys M’Dair has been improved by one stage.
Aashaq the Annihilator is now unfriendly instead of hostile. She will no longer expend effort to kill you.
Great. Fucking great.
••••••••••
Conchobar and Rowe continued shopping in the marketplace, settling into a rhythm. Rowe drew far more eyes than Conchobar would have preferred, but it seemed like he’d just need to get used to it. Rowe just wasn’t built for subtlety, though she was thankfully receptive to advice.
She nearly gave the gnome a heart attack at one point when she walked into the path of a draconic sorceress wearing the livery of Aashaq. The towering orcish woman brushed Rowe to the side with one muscular, scaled arm. Rowe stiffened, hand on her gun, and fell into character. It was almost a disaster. Conchobar wasn’t entirely sure what came over him, but he needed to stop her before she did something extremely dangerous. He grabbed her by the wrist on her gun arm.
“You will stop by my command!” He said, using Goblin to get out his explanation as quickly as possible. “You were about to act like a pup burning the chief, and we are not in our territory. The chief doesn’t want war and I am here to oversee your behavior!”
It came out sounding like an improvised song, and thankfully Rowe restrained herself. The sorceress continued, uncaring, and eventually Conchobar’s heart stopped pounding. He turned to apologize, but the words died on his lips. Rowe didn’t appear offended by his tone. If anything her half-lidded eyes implied that she was very happy.
“Pearlteeth,” she said, low and intimate, “you sounded like a chief. When did you find that voice? You should use it more.”
She brushed her nails, which were much rougher under the illusion than they looked, across his cheek. She was gentle, tender, and presenting her chest to his eye level as she bent over to whisper in his ear. Conchobar’s pants tightened.
“Would you like to go back to the ship, D’ave?” He croaked out, “You got most of what you needed, right?”
“I don’t know.” Rowe said, straightening up and playfully switching back to common, “I have a lot of time to consider things so I take forever to make decisions.”
“We are going back to the ship.” Conchobar said, switching back to goblin, “I want to go to my chambers. I want you to come with me.”
It was easier to fake confidence in goblin. So many of the emotional cues in that language were very specific tonal shifts. He could sing a confident song in a steady rhythm, and that was close enough. It was enough for Rowe, at least, as he heard her fall into line as he turned and headed back towards the ship.
••••••••••
I paused at the edge of the invisible field of heat. I didn’t really know exactly how dangerous her aura would be, but I suspected that turning her down flat would be a bad idea. I took off my maroon jacket and tossed it to Syl so that it wouldn’t get damaged if anything happened, using the brief moment to cast Infuse Self. (Opposed Sleight of Hand 13+13=26) I chose to become a Suli, infused with an even dose of all four primary forms of elemental energy. My skin darkened a shade, but I was otherwise unchanged by the transformation of the subtlest kind of genie kin.
I couldn’t reasonably delay any longer, so with a body newly inured against the power of fire I stepped forward into the aura. It was like opening an oven; Aashaq didn’t just radiate heat, she somehow wrapped herself in a shell of it.
You have taken 5-5=0 fire damage from Aura of Flame
0 damage? Alright, maybe this won’t be so bad.
Time stopped, and I belatedly realized that my menu considered this to be a combat situation. I walked forward and, as prompted, kissed the ring on her finger with a quick peck. It stung like kissing a stovetop, the heat staying in my lips because it had nowhere colder to go.
You are roasted by the Aura of Flame, taking 9-5=4 fire damage
28 hp. 9 turns left. Ok. That could be bad. That’s at least potentially 36 damage over the next minute. What do I have that might help?
A pair of kobolds brought out two ceramic wing back chairs, which were placed a few feet from one another. Aashaq sat down and looked at me as time stopped once more. While I scrambled to find a solution on my character sheet, she spoke to me with an accent I couldn’t quite place. Clipped, precise, and utterly confident.
“So, I’m curious,” she said, idly, “what madness possessed you? Surely someone enamored with me would know my expectations.”
“I hoped that you’d be gracious, with a smaller gift, if I asked nothing in return.” I said honestly, then weakly tacked on a joke. “You could call it a calculated risk, though my math may have been off.”
Be charming, damn it. She might let the pointy eared monkey off with a warning if he’s amusing.
Weather control failed. Current ambient heat beyond your power to manipulate
You are roasted by the Aura of Flame, taking 8-5=3 fire damage
25. 8 turns.
“I see.” She said, arching one eyebrow, “I suppose you were partially correct. Do you know how many people I’ve killed while they stood right there?”
She vaguely pointed at Syl with her whole jewel encrusted hand.
“No, I’m afraid not.” I said, feeling the grime of flash dried sweat accumulate on my forehead. “How many?”
You are roasted by the Aura of Flame, taking 7-5=2 fire damage
You have cast Infernal Healing.
The blood of devils heals you for 1 hp
24, 7 turns.
Aashaq raised her eyebrows, as if surprised.
“Why would I ever bother counting that high?” She asked rhetorically. “They weren’t important.”
I laughed at her joke. She didn’t. The linen on my undershirt darkened in the heat, like a toasting marshmallow.
Weather control failed. Current ambient aridity is too high for you to influence.
You are roasted by the Aura of Flame, taking 7-5=2 fire damage
The blood of devils heals you for 1 hp
23, 6 turns.
“I haven’t failed to notice your kind scurrying around my island.” Aashaq said, eyes boring into me. “I tend to notice elves more than most sapients; they last long enough for my kind to get attached to. So what hole are you all crawling out of?”
“We have a community on the mainland.” I lied, “Well, under it, near Port Peril. You know Drow. We don’t care for visitors so we keep it hidden.”
A wave of heat poured off of Aashaq, more intense than before. I winced, unsure if she’d noticed my fib or if I was just unlucky. Black spots appeared on my sleeves and the edges burst into flame.
You are roasted by the Aura of Flame, taking 11-5=6 fire damage
You are on fire. 2-5=0 fire damage
The blood of devils heals you for 1 hp
18, 5 turns. Ok. Do not piss off the dragon lady.
I panicked, casting disrobe upon myself. The burning clothes flew off in random directions, smoldering and smoking on the scorched earth. Aashaq watched, inspecting my body with a disinterested expression. She inspected her nails, almost certainly an affectation.
“I tried taking on elves as my primary work **** once.” She said idly. “Much smarter than kobolds, and more ambitious. At the time I thought those were positive qualities in a servant. I even sired a few families of sorcerers.”
The kobolds nearby, her closest attendants, listened in without a shred of offense. They seemed only curious about this irregular conversation, checking the egg timer that slowly trickled away sand and which would determine my fate. I didn’t get the impression that Aashaq talked to most people that offended her.
You are roasted by the Aura of Flame, taking 9-5=4 fire damage
The blood of devils heals you for 1 hp
14, 4 turns. This could be bad.
I stood awkwardly in front of Aashaq for a few moments, shrouded in the smell of burnt body hair, then sat back down. She wasn’t done with me. I belatedly checked my character screen and confirmed that the mission succeeded. I took the last point of experience to level up, gaining a magnificent 2 hp immediately. I was also suddenly holding a dark neckcloth that would look very good with my suit. For now, it was put to work protecting my modesty, its charisma boosting enchantment serving to make it fireproof.
“So. Uh. What happened?” I asked. “To the elves, I mean.”
“Some forgot their place. They thought that because they carried my blood they were equal to dragons.” Aashaq said, cracking her neck. “I allowed Dahak to judge them. He found them wanting. The rest left or asked to serve more distantly, like most of my children. A shame, really.”
You are roasted by the Aura of Flame, taking 8-5=2 fire damage
The blood of devils heals you for 1 hp
12, 3 turns.
“Why is it a shame?” I asked, “Isn’t it good for a hatchling to leave the lair?”
“Indeed, in most cases.” Aashaq said, “It creates difficulties elsewhere, however. Besides, I do not trust sorcerers when I can’t see them. They make me uncomfortable. Especially elven ones.”
You are roasted by the Aura of Flame, taking 9-5=4 fire damage
The blood of devils heals you for 1 hp
8, 2 turns.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” I said, “You have nothing to fear from me, at least. I already found you very impressive before I met you.”
“Indeed, young one. You can withstand more than some, but you are no threat.” She said, dismissively. “Your people, however, seem concerning. Perhaps I truly am an old woman; all I think of is how I might set my mind at ease.”
You are roasted by the Aura of Flame, taking 6-5=1 fire damage
The blood of devils heals you for 1 hp
8, 1 turn.
“I’m not sure what you mean.” I lied. “What threat could a small trading port be to you.”
“The mayflies, they think only of themselves and perhaps their children.” Aashaq said, “it’s rare to find one who can consider the next twenty years seriously. We will both live far more than twenty years, and I know how your people treat their mates. It is best for me to have the farsighted among the Shackles on a short leash.”
A bell chimed, and I stood up, trying to not seem too eager to leave.
“Think on it,” Aashaq said, “what it would be like to be first among your people instead of last. All you must do is tell me a single secret.”
I quickened pace, trailing smoke, and left Aashaq’s presence.
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