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Message: <blockquote data-quote="spyscribe" data-source="post: 1068990" data-attributes="member: 5808">Part the Very SeventeenthIn which: readers may judge for themselves the nature of al-Assal’s establishment.(as recorded by Fajitas)     The House of al-Assal, much to the party’s surprise, is actually tasteful.  It is a large building with an open courtyard in the center, and also boasts extensive grounds outside the house itself—hidden from view by a great hedge growing around the property.    The party follows the walkway to the entrance, where a well-groomed slave waits patiently.  He offers to inform the Master of the House of the party’s arrival, and gestures them inside.    The entry hall is a spacious, marble room.  Elaborate and tasteful mosaics are splayed on the walls.  A pair of slaves plays delicate music in one corner.  There are couches and divans a plenty, upon which a number of patrons lounge.  Servants bring them plates of fruit.  The air is thick with a perfumed smell.      “This seems a fine change from the bulk of the city,” Anvil remarks.    “Look again,” Cyrus says, and points to the alcoves.    Along the walls at regular intervals are a series of alcoves.  In each are… well, people.  Men and women, clad in scanty, flimsy gauze that leaves little to the imagination but gives it quite a kick-start.  They sit very still, three or four to an alcove.    “What are they…” Thatch begins, but trails off as a well-dressed man who has been perusing the alcoves stops.  He takes the hand of one of the women, who stands up and follows him.  Another slave gestures them through a doorway and out of sight.    Indeed, all around the room, men and women select people from the alcoves and lead them towards the back.    “Um,” Thatch says.  “Um. Um um. Um.”    “Indeed,” Reyu says, glancing around.  She notes with outrage that one alcove contains four elves.     Thatch positively goggles.  Anvil sidles up next to him.  “It may be best not to look around.”    “Is that a dwarf?” Thatch whispers.    “Steady, lad,” Cyrus says.    “Gosh! Whaddaya think of this town now?” Hue asks.    A figure emerges from the back, a well-tanned man with a shaven head.  He is dressed in a fine, red wraparound robe, decorated with beads and sequins.  His approaches the party and bows with a deep flourish.  “Welcome, weary travelers, to the House of al-Assal,” he says, steepling his long fingers, “the finest pleasure palace in all the Halmae.  I am Adar al-Assal, and I am at your service.”  He bows again.    “Pleasure palace,” Cyrus says.  “I thought this was a slave house.”    “And so it is,” al-Assal answers smoothly.  The man oozes a well-practiced charm; it’s an obvious affectation, but he’s extremely good at it.  “A pleasure palace, a slave house, a house of chance, a place of rest, and the finest dining in Dar Aego.  All this and more.  We cater to every whim and need, every dream and desire.  We can stimulate the body or the mind, and provide any diversion you should seek.  This, my friends, is the House of al-Assal.”    “Um,” Thatch says.    “You have elves here,” Reyu says coldly.    “Indeed, we do.  Or dwarves, if that is your pleasure.  Alas, due to their rarity, female dwarves are available only by appointment,” he adds apologetically.  “We do cater to all tastes.”  His eye falls on Hue.  “Now you, my small friend, I’m quite sure a unique individual like yourself would be… very popular in this establishment.  Would you perhaps consider an offer?  Not as a slave, of course, simply a contracted hire.”    “Really?  Gosh,” Hue says, and he actually considers it for a moment before noticing the incredulous looks the rest of the party is giving him.  Even the Ferret doesn’t look like he can find an angle on this one.  “Uhh, I think I have to pass,” Hue says, sheepishly.         “Ah well.  The offer is open, any time you change your mind,” al-Assal sighs.  “Now, on to business.  Unless, of course, there is anything you desire after your long journey?  A wash?  A massage?  A refreshing drink, perhaps, or some other concoction?  You will find no fresher Blackroot distillate within the city walls.”    “No, thanks,” everyone responds, though Thatch lags half a beat behind the others.        Al-Assal bows again, smiling.  “Very well, then.  To business.  I was, of course, shocked to hear of these terrible circumstances.  I am, quite frankly, appalled to have played even so small and unwitting a part in it.  We at the House of al-Assal hold ourselves to the strictest of standards.”    “No doubt,” Anvil says.    “I have here,” al-Assal continues, presenting Anvil with a rolled up parchment from his robes, “the sales records for the individuals you seek.  They include the names and last known addresses of each of the buyers.  It should be quite easy for you to track them down from there.”  Al-Assal looks rather apologetic.  “I do hope the young lady is all right.  She had quite an… independent streak.  I fear that rather extreme efforts were required to instruct her on her proper place.  You will extend my sincerest apologies, won’t you?”    No one really knows how to answer that.  Hue says, “Sure!” but no one else even tries.    “Then you have my gratitude,” al-Assal says with another bow.  “And now, if there is anything else you require?  The House of al-Assal is open to you.  You are welcome to stay here as my guests, free of charge, for the duration of your visit to our city.  You will find the other accommodations in town more expensive and less… accommodating.”    Thatch’s eyes bug, but Anvil says, “Thank you, but we have contacts at the Temple of Justice.  They will provide us with lodgings.”    “As you wish,” al-Assal says.  The smile has never left his face for an instant.  “If there is anything else I can do for you during your time here, you have but to ask.”  With a final bow, al-Assal backs away and leaves the entry hall.    “Do we, um, have to stay at the Temple?” Thatch asks in a small voice.    “Yes,” several party members inform him, and, grasping Thatch firmly by the elbows, they exit the House of al-Assal.</blockquote>

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