"...How are you feeling?"

...like she has become something greater than Pilar was, stronger, more vigorous, just walking through the street feels like she's dancing, the world around her filled with things to see, understand, a driving force behind her that will never leave her now.  Like life is water, and she has drunken so much of it that she is swollen with it to bursting.

"Oh, I'm doing fucking great."

"How do you manage to make even that sound like whining?"

"Ready to get Plane Shifted back?  I don't mind if you want to hang around and do some shopping."

"Ione, I have a real question and I'd really appreciate a real answer about it.  When am I supposed to put on the artifact headband?"

"If the future goes as foreseen, you decide to do that, at some point, and it's not too early or too late when you do.  If the future goes astray, I expect Snack Service will poke you about it."

"I can't tell you about the future when it's something you're supposed to decide, it obviates -"

"Yeah, I fucking get it.  Just walk around carrying an artifact headband thinking about how I could decide at any time to put it on.  Is there a reason I shouldn't do that literally now and get it over with?"

"Common sense about how you just got +5 to all abilitystats, and should give yourself longer than five minutes to get used to that and grow into the new you, before putting on the artifact headband?"

"I hate that you're right."

"Okay, you know what?  Yes, I'll stick around and continue shopping in the City of Brass.  I've still got a large city's annual budget's worth of 'spending money', there's probably some genuinely interesting stuff for sale, and I'm not actually going to have more fun wandering around on Golarion waiting for Snack Service to get me into trouble again."

(Translation from +5 Wisdom:  Pilar is terrified of being left on her own to think, doesn't actually want to be alone right now, everything is scary and at least Ione Sala sometimes answers her questions.)

They go about looking for two more 5-Wisher sets for Ione, for her Strength and Dexterity.  But those businesses are not many, and all that they find already have Keltham's or Carissa's Arcane Mark writ on the street somewhere nearby; their search-regions have expanded and overlapped.

While they're looking, Ione shops, and shops, and buys expensive things that no sane person would use.  When she runs out of money, she finds a noble Efreet and sells more of "Doomlord's hoard" and emerges with yet more money.

Even Pilar cannot help but be caught up in the manic energy of it.  Pilar doesn't know how Ione can call this Good?  Or maybe Ione doesn't, and in that case Pilar absolutely doesn't want to stop her; Ione should come back to Evil where she belongs, so they can be allies again.

They find a sneering merchant who offers, as though reluctantly, Belts of Physical Might and Belts of Physical Perfection.  Pilar buys a +2/+2/+2 Belt of Physical Perfection just to feel even lighter and more graceful on her feet, and a +4STR/+4DEX Belt of Physical Might for when she wants to be even stronger and more graceful for a lesser time of endurance.

And a +6 Belt of Giant's Strength just in case she wants to show that off; and a +6 Belt of Mighty Constitution so that she can be tortured for longer; and a +6 Belt of Incredible Dexterity if only to complete the set.

Why shouldn't she?  Ione has money and has threatened that if Pilar doesn't spend it Ione will probably just spend it on Good.

Pilar buys a Hat of Disguise.  When she finds better at another shop, she buys a Greater Hat of Disguise; with hardly a twinge of horror for the money spent earlier, it's a sunk cost anyways.

They've wandered the city for a time, and shopped there; Ione now has Dexterity about herself, but lacks Strength to complete it all.

After so long shopping, the two oracles decide to tarry and rest a brief while; they call upon a restaurant that serves one customer-party at a time and demands magic items in trade.

Ione gives the restauranteurs an item that's worth more than their most expensive demand listed, and commands them bring forth their best food for humans, and their best entertainment for mortal heroes at least one of whom is Good.

The Azer slave who is majordomo there bows, and there is brought for them course after course after course of food finer than Pilar has ever tasted, in small dishes meant to be eaten with even tinier bites and savored.  Bards sing for them, performer-magicians show them miracles while their Detect Magic sees no spellwork.  Oiled men wrestle wearing only loincloths that are sometimes shoved aside in the heat of their contest.  There's an enchantment about the place, by which mortals may consume thrice as much food as the most they can consume and not pain their bellies, and dish follows dish in endless succession: this is the hospitality of the Efreet, if you can afford it.

There are wines, in small cup after small cup, to go with the small dishes.  Ione sips it sparingly as though only to appreciate the taste.

Pilar after some many sips of her own does feel, then, as though something wound very tight inside her is relaxing; it is pleasant.  She does ask Ione, then, Pilar does not know from where the impulse takes her to ask, if Ione happens to know of foreknowledge whether it will turn out well and not harm Asmodeus if Pilar drinks a little more.

Ione says yes, it is safe for Pilar to drink a little more.

And Pilar does.

When Pilar emerges from the restaurant there is a flush about her, a brightness, she is wearing her +2 Belt of Physical Perfection and is 7 abilitypoints greater in every physical abilitystat.  It feels like there's a great waterwheel turning inside her and powering her, pushing her to do more, more, more before this day ends.

She wants to dance like Abrogail Thrune did in her ballroom, though she never learned how; would her curse let her if it was for a party?  She wants to be as pretty as Abrogail Thrune, or at least pretty enough that people look twice.  She wants to put on her Belt of Giant's Strength, and challenge a man to a fight, and punch far harder than a wizard girl should; and rouse his wrath, and lose to him, and be forcibly taken by him and several of his friends in retribution.

She wants to be hurt, hurt until she screams, hurt until she stops thinking, hurt until she stops being so pathetic, punished and ground into the dirt.  There is some terrible dire fate that waits for her and she is tired of fearing it, tired of whining about it, if she can't just face it right away.  Her superiors did tell her that there was some defect in her Asmodeanism, related to seizing things that she wants and having the pride to be more than a golem; maybe she is finding a little of that pride now.

In a half-drunken decision Pilar buys a +4 headband of Splendour, as should not be too much, her Sevarwrought +6 headband might be too much, but she can deal with 3 points more of Splendour than she ever had before; Pilar puts it on herself, and the will that burns through her lifts her up like a hawk taking wing.

Then Pilar calls on her curse's power: and guides herself and Ione to a shop not meant for mortal customers: a merchant Efreeti who honed their fleshcraft through ages long even for Fire, and who now perfects the most cherished slaves of other Efreet.

His craft is a painful one, and Ione shies from it and refuses.

Pilar submits herself to it, to the Efreeti's slight surprise.  She is held down with chains like any other subject, and things done to her that make her scream for real.  It does not quench the thirst inside her, only feeds it.

Ione finds some temporary shelter in a great library while all this is going on; Ione's own Constitution is also Wish-raised and Belt-buffed and she is not tired, but Ione's curse does still hold sway over her.  It's unlikely Ione will be able to attune herself, to this library, and borrow from it, for she does not have time to truly dwell there and learn its stacks; but there is no library book that Ione cannot read, now.

When the Efreeti is done, Pilar is just the same shape as before and nothing about her is larger or smaller, nor would anyone fail to recognize her face at a glance (except maybe Keltham).  But a thousand subtle imperfections are burned away, and her hair is a truer copper-pink than she made it in Ostenso. She is not changed away from herself, she is herself perfected, for the Efreet know this to be Art in the crafting of slaves.

Pilar calls on her curse's power: she finds two bards, a singer and a harp-player, a brother and a sister, two Drow who fled the chaotic darkness for Law and Fire.  They are slaves, but only for their own safety in the City of Brass, with a master they chose themselves and so permissive that they might nearly be free.  There is a Drow art of playing music which harmonizes with screams, and they know that art.

Pilar finds a skillful whip-mistress, again a slave but a hireable one, who bears a whip more expensive than the price of her own person.

Pilar buys appropriate garments for herself, and bright jewels.

Pilar rents a pavilion whose price for one night's rental is a thousand platinum coins.

Pilar calls on her curse's power, then: she assembles six noble Malik out of the City of Brass for a revelry.

In Disguise of a cloaked male slave she goes to six residences and importunes their masters, telling them that a rare entertainment and challenge does await them.  Ignan, the language of Fire, has come to her tongue from somewhere, and she speaks fluently in the graces of Fire, saying, "O noble Malik of the Efreet."

There's a mortal girl who delights in pain as few mortals ever do, not a trained slave but a born one.  Let them do come and witness her dance, and if she fails to entertain then her life is forfeit.  Let them come and witness the dance of a born slave, and someday if that woman becomes a goddess they can brag that they saw her dance when she was mortal.  Tonight shall be born a legend of the City of Brass, though none of the six must speak a single word of these events for a year and a day (as is scarcely any time at all).

Are the six Malik suspicious?  How could they not be?  But the messenger does not bid them follow on the spot, only assemble in a meeting-place they know but have not visited, a small intimate pavilion whose price for one night's revelry is famously a thousand platinum coins.  Even in the City of Brass where Efreet and Malik do vie to show their pride and wealth, it is a significant expense.  With twenty such nights you could buy a Wish-diamond, even at its fair price in Brass from one Efreeti to another.

If it's a trick or a trap, it's an expensive-enough one that it would be dishonorable not to spring it, to leave their enemy forlorn at the altar after such grandiose preparation that honors them by this expense.

So six Malik come then, to an expensive pavilion that hosts but a single party.

Six Malik do enter into a chamber anointed in every aspect with decor to match, if only about this small volume, the wealth per cubic meter of the palace of the Grand Sultana Ayasellah Mihelar Khalidlah II.  Tonight these six Malik are as close to being royalty as they will ever be, unless they conquer the City of Brass for true a thousand centuries hence; a fleeting taste of grandeur that the true royalty permits their lesser kind, so they can seethe inside with envy of the true Lady of Flame and desire her favor.

And Pilar calls on her curse's power:  She puts on her belt of Dexterity and Strength, and dances for the noble Efreet on a pavilion of mithril, though she doesn't know how to dance, her movements all perfect and sensuous as though in a dream or granted wish, veils falling from her and jewels staying bright.

When enough of Pilar is exposed, the real dance begins.  The greatest mortal whip-mistress of the City of Brass flicks about a whip that sears hot enough to burn through Pilar's Planar Resistance and make her scream; but unlike the usual and cruel form of this dance, where mortal slaves must dodge and whirl about the searing whip and never miss a step or cease to sway, Pilar Pineda does lean into the whip's kiss.  And her sensuous cries do mix with the music of the bards and match it.

When it is done the six noble Malik of the Efreet, all of whom came intending to judge strictly and put this slave to ice on the least of excuses, can none of them say with honor that she should be slain.  They stamp their mighty feet in appreciation, honor given by Malik to a mortal slave, when the dance is done.  A fire is lit that they did not know was in them, and they lust for the victim of the dance.

They do inquire as to the purpose of this revel.

And Pilar Pineda tells them that she means to yield herself to one of them:

Let the six fight, by any contest that does not slay them, she will not be accused by the Sultanate of being a foreigner come to sap their city's strength.  Six shall fight, and one shall win her without cost; and the five losers shall do her sister-oracle Ione Sala a small secret service, that shall not risk their life nor exhaust their wealth nor harm their reputation, and take but a little of their time.

And he who proves himself strongest and most cruel among the noble Malik of the Efreet, may not slay her in his victory; nor take her wealth from her or allow it to be taken.  But aside from that he may do utterly as he wishes with her, for the length of a mortal night; even give of her to others, does he will, so long as he protects her.

And she does swear that none of this is a plot aimed at any of their number, but only a contest for her own amusement, for which insolence she must be made to pay.  Come then, battle one another for the right to make her pay, if they are not cowardly.

Then Pilar Pineda conducts them to that pavilion's small arena of wrestling, and lets Azer servants bind her, clothed only in bright jewels and a magical belt and headband, in chains whose key is set aside from her, making her an offering and a prize.

From the place of her binding Pilar Pineda watches six noble Efreet battle for her, with the lidded eyes of a mortal in lust.

In the end a victor comes from their mighty contest, it is Befutig Safiza Uj-alet who triumphs and whose name passes into this fable.  Pilar Pineda heals him as she is healed herself, and he bears her away for the night.

As for the other five, an Oracle of Nethys does come to lay hands on them, healing them somewhat if not wholly.  She tells them of their forfeit, five Wishes to be cast for Ione's Strength, out of five Wish-diamonds that she bears.

And the five do honor the fairness of the forfeit: there is a floor-price set by the City's Laws, but services fairly gambled against services do not violate it.  Not one Malik of the City of Brass could say this night's gamble was anything but fair.

Then Ione Sala takes herself home to the Prime Material, with something of a sigh: for it seems to her that, somehow, Pilar lives in a more interesting universe than she does.  Sometimes Ione wishes that she lived, if not quite in that exact universe, some universe which was at least that interesting.  There is probably a version of herself like that, if Ione dared ask Nefreti about it, but Ione Sala dares not ask.

But for Pilar Pineda her night is only beginning.  She is cradled in the arms of a noble Efreet who would still be stronger than herself even if she girded herself with +6 Strength belt above +5 Wished; she'd match him pound for pound then, maybe, but he has many more pounds.  She is giddy and glorying and does not know to what extent she's drunk on extraplanar wine or drunk on the new life and strength in her.