H131, Day 120, 7 AP (John, Open)

[Stix]

"We've been expecting you, sir," says the desk clerk with the gentle, melodic voice. "In Changing Room C you will find attire more suitable to treatment. All expenses have been paid in advance."

A well-muscled bariaur leads the way, pushing open the heavy wooden door to the small private chamber. A broad, open wardrobe holds dozens of bleached-white cotton robes on hangers, and twenty or so pairs of matching slippers in various sizes sit displayed on a shelf beneath.

John has little trouble finding appropriately-sized footwear and robe. The same bariaur escorts him down the hallway, hooves clacking softly on the cool white marble. The passage opens into a circular chamber with a domed skylight; the place's patrons mill about making quiet small talk, all wearing the same white robes and slippers (except for those who have disrobed for their baths). A large pool sits in the center, surrounded by several therapeutic baths. John is escorted to one in particular: a bubbling, softly-glowing bath with a faint sweet scent to it.

"The Pool of Radiance," the bariaur announces softly in a smooth basso voice. "Waters from the depths of the Oceanus, warmed by the light of the Quasielemental Plane of Radiance. Soak for as long as you like; when you are through, someone will escort you to your steam rub. With a polite nod, he dismisses himself.

[john]

John's expression is one of disdain concealed behind a mask of grim passivity. A faint twist to his lips as he puts on the white cotton robes, which are a definite change from his usual serviceable but stained clothing, always sweaty under his armor. He puts the slippers on his hardened, callused feet with a grunt, behind over far more than he normally has to.

If any other patron approaches he tries to deflect small talk with a withering glare, but without his vulture-mask, his homely, rather dull-looking face makes him look more like he's constipated than hateful, at the moment.

Bulky with muscle, but short in stature, the Taker disrobes as per instructions, and lowers himself gingerly into the baths from the pool of radiance, unsure if they're about to put a salt-water sting into his minor cuts and still-healing wounds like the seawater he encountered on one of his recent expeditions away from Sigil.

He grumbles to himself, "This place is more suited to fishy than me, but if Ghour recommended it, I suppose I'll have to do it to keep my sponsor happy."

John lowers himself back, resting in a sitting position in the bath,a nd looks at the ceiling, searching for any sort of art or things of interest above him. Grime and sweat wick off him into the bath, making a faint, oil-slick like sheen appear around him as he does so.

[Stix]

No one spoils John's attempt to relax by interacting with him unless approached. He is free to recline and contemplate the colored glass of the domed skylight while the bubbling, self-purifying water soothes his every ache, scrape, and cut. Over time, the filmy layer on the surface recedes and washes away to nothing.

Once John has dried off and clothed himself, he finds himself approached by a tall aasimar wearing diaphanous blue and white layered robes. As he walks, seeming to float just above the floor, the curious garments mimic the appearance of shifting cloud patterns across a many-hued sky. His mane of strawberry-blond hair is disarrayed and windblown, but his face is serene, and his every motion calm and deliberate.

"Welcome. My name is Iarmid. This is my establishment, and I make an effort to meet every new guest." The corners of his mouth turn up in a hint of a smile as he gestures toward one of the treatment rooms. "Shall we move on?"

[john]

John moves on as suggested, and he moves slightly more casually at this point. "M'John", and nods his head, about all he generally offers by way of conversation unless the aasimar says more. John is more comfortable with tieflings than those touched by the upper planes, perhaps because of his rearing, or perhaps simply because he can't understand a predilection towards nobility or positive actions at all.

[Stix]

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, John," Iarmid says with a serene smile. "If there is anything that can be done to make your stay more enjoyable -- a meal or refreshment, perhaps? -- ask and we will accommodate."

The aasimar opens the door to the private chamber at which they've arrived. Within, a mephit with a bulbous nose dozes on a chair in one corner, its pinkish skin emitting faintly-hissing steam from its pores. A long, broad table dominates the room; its surface is made from what looks like a giant sponge contoured to cushion a human body. "Make yourself comfortable. Who would you like for your steam rub?"

("Who would you like" being an inquiry of race/gender preference.)

[john]

John just shrugs when offered a meal or refreshment and says, "Honestly, I'd like to know why Ghour sent me here. This doesn't seem like the kind of place I'd expect him to be."

"Human female, I suppose." he shrugs, his muscle-roped shoulders adding an extra level of expression to this evidence of uncertainty. He doesn't particularly like to be touched by anyone.

[Stix]

"After Ghour received treatment for the first time, he began to send some of his fighters in semi-regularly, the better to refresh the body and calm the mind."

If John has no other questions, Iarmid adds "I'll send for Riatta, and see you for your chiropractic therapy later."

[john]

John nods and says, "My curiosity is satisfied." He flops over on the table without much modesty or thought to it, quietly surveying the room from a tactical standpoint in case he needs to make a sudden egress.

[Stix]

Iarmid excuses himself, shutting the door softly behind him. John is left alone for a few minutes with the faint airy hiss of the dozing steam mephit.

The door opens again to admit a petite brunette human, carrying a basket filled with various lotions and cosmetic products. "Good evening," she says softly. Like everyone here, her demeanor is calm, unobtrusive, and polite.

She quickly sets to work, opening two bottles and resting them on the edge of the table. "Your choice, sir." She drops a dollop of lavender lotion on his right hand and begins to massage. It cools and soothes, smelling faintly of salt air. "Coral Gel," she announces, "or...." Riatta pours from the second bottle into his left palm a thin oil that at first stings, then tingles, warms, and invigorates his flesh as she massages it in. "...Firewater Blend?" she inquires.

[john]

"Coral gel. It reminds me of a friend." John husks, and then stares blankly at a wall. He grunts at the sensation, despite it being more or less soothing, his battered, scarred form being touched by someone other than him or the relatively rough clothes he wears.

[Stix]

The steam rub is so relaxing that John nearly finds himself drifting out of consciousness. Sinuses clogged by decades of dirty Sigilian air are cleared. After all's said and done, John feels more refreshed than he's ever been outside a good night's sleep on Arborea.

After she's packed up her remaining belongings, Riatta asks, "Are you ready to move on, sir, or would you like to rest for a while?"

[john]

"Move on. Rest is for the dead." John rolls off the table, getting his bearings for a moment after a short moment of dizziness.

[Stix]

(I haven't been free to post often enough to keep this moving as quickly as I'd hoped, so I'll just fast-forward a chunk.)

John similarly receives pampering at expert hands during a hand and foot massage, then is brought to another treatment room to meet with Iarmid for what the aasimar refers to as a "body stretching". The chiropractic treatment is at times uncomfortable, but overall leaves every joint in John's body from neck to toe relieved and better able to move than in many years.

Last of all is the full-body deep tissue massage, nicknamed the "reave rubdown." One of the four-armed beings welcomes John to the final treatment room, dressed in the uniform cotton robe with the addition of a hood and cowl. Before now, he'd never seen a reave up so close; in addition to four arms, they also have four eyes (an additional one on each temple).

The masseuse tenderizes every thew in John's body, leaving his muscles blissfully refreshed. The calming atmosphere of the place has quieted his mind to a state of comfort he's only ever known with a sword in hand.

(John receives a +1 to skill checks and saves for the next 24 hours.)

Iarmid has returned to the room by the time John is ready to leave. "How do you feel?" he asks with genuine interest and a smile.

[john]

"Like I could fight the whole blood war by myself. Impressive work." John nods, the extremely rare compliment coming grudgingly to his lips.

[Stix]

"Very good," the aasimar says, pleased. "I hope to see you here again."

As John is exiting, Riatta approaches the room. "Iarmid?" she asks tentatively. "This was left in a changing room...." She holds out her hand, passing it through the archway to show the object within to the Cipher proprietor just as John is also crossing the threshold.

In an instant, the dormant portal in the doorway flares to life. After a sudden ripple of energy, Iarmid and Riatta both find themselves staring dumbly in surprise at the now-empty space where John had stood....