[hr][h1][center][color=goldenrod]S A M I R A[/color][/center][/h1][hr]

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. 

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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.

[color=goldenrod]"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."[/color] She paused and fixed Sir Brandon a saccharine smile, malicious gears whirring slowly in her mind. [color=goldenrod]"Of course, if you would prefer to camp above, I would be more than happy to venture below by myself, Sir Brandon."[/color]