The Eye of Anubis: Interlude

[NeoTiamat]

The Vistani Caravan, The Misty Border
May? ??th, 761, ??:?? PM?; Day ?? of the Menetnashte Expedition
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There was something timeless, about the Mists. Grey and swirling, they had come up not long after you left the Nisanci Estate, surrounding the Vistani caravan and engulfing the Expedition. How long ago that was, however, no one could say. It might have been mere minutes, and all this was happening in your heads alone. Or perhaps you've been walking for days now, not feeling hunger, or thirst, or fatigue, just the slow, steady walking through the Mists. Your watches were wild, the hands of the Tomas's pocket watch spinning wildly at times, while standing stock still at others.

And all around you, the featureless, fathomless, eternal Mists. They roiled and shifted, carried by some unseen, unfelt wind, and looking into them, one felt one could see the fate of worlds, if only one could understand. It was hypnotic, the movement of air and mist, the dullness of sound. Your senses were untrustworthy, sight growing monochromatic, hearing distant and soft.

Even the Vistani were somber, plain, practical shapes with dusky skin and dark locks, riding or walking beside you, silent within the mystery of the Mists. Only the persistent squeaking of a Vardo's wheel pierced the silence, and even then it added to the otherwordly quality.

Perhaps you were dead, and this was the afterlife, and this would be your fate for eternity. Perhaps it already has been for an eternity. Somehow, all your concerns seemed distant, difficult to grasp.... Cevdet Tarik, Cavendish, the Anubite, all seemed small, insignificant, compared to the alien grandeur of the Mists. Basler, Nizam, Marilena, were all so far away, so undeniably distant. Even those of you, such as Kuzan, who had traveled the Misty Border before felt the oppression, greater now, more intimate. The Vistani traveled the Mists, but it meant that the Mists traveled with the Vistani.

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A few hours... or a few years... after you entered the Mists, Aishe came up to where the Expedition rode, near the Vistani caravan, and yet aside from it. The young, dainty woman walked quietly, to the point that you did not hear her at all until she spoke, and even then, there was a ghostly quality to the Vistana.

"Madame Florica would have speech with some of thee." Aishe said formally, her voice soft, turning to Samael. "If you desire it, consider it a partial payment of our debt for the return of Dani."

Even now, even in the Mists, the thought of the returned boy could not help but move Aishe's lips to just a tiny smile. She turned from one Expedition member to the next, intoning Madame Florica's invitation in words that struck strange chords of memory. "Madame Florica invites..."

"The Young Spider," Aishe turned to Charles, dapper and perhaps just a bit chilled by the Mists, "That you may learn what webs you have yet to weave."

"The Desert Wasp," Khalil, his black armor shaded to grey by the strange, unnatural light of the Mists, "That your sting does what it must."

"The Guardian Beetle," Aishe turned to Tomas, bowing her head politely, "That your valour protect you again."

"The Poison Moth," This was to Lia, who stood in her veils, seeming more a creature of Mist than matter, "That truth guide your quest."

"The Night Butterfly," And this was Ulsaon, standing slightly aside from the rest, "That vengeance be within reach."

"The Searching Fly," To Andre Aishe now turned, holding his eyes for a moment, "That what you seek may be found."

"The Hidden Ant," Aishe turned to Otto, who probably thought this was all mildly ridiculous, "That your work is worth the cost."

"The Two-Souled Skimmer," And this, final, calling was to Kuzan, his sky-blue robes turned light grey by the Mists. "That your travels take you further yet."

Aishe bowed her head again, and waited, her dark eyes unreadable, but undoubtedly serious. The young Vistani woman waited, arms clasped, as the group listened to this. "Do you accept Madame Florica's invitation?"

[Nathan of the FoS]

"Madame Florica invites...The Young Spider," Aishe turned to Charles, dapper and perhaps just a bit chilled by the Mists, "That you may learn what webs you have yet to weave."

Aishe bowed her head again, and waited, her dark eyes unreadable, but undoubtedly serious. The young Vistani woman waited, arms clasped, as the group listened to this. "Do you accept Madame Florica's invitation?"

"But of course," Charles replies, bowing politely. In the back of his mind he thinks, Again in the role of the spider...how did they know?

But, somehow, the Vistani always do; a jest made late one night in Port-a-Lucine echoes even here, in the Mists, outside of space and time. "I would be honored to accept her invitation to speak."

[Kaitou Kage]

The Two-Souled Skimmer, Kuzan thought. He shuddered a little bit, the memories from before reaching back to him. Was it really that bad? Was he faced with that much of a duality in his very being? He pursed his lips in thought for a moment.

Then, he stepped forward and nodded to Aishe.

"I accept her invitation," he said.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"Of course," comes Lia's reply. Her voice echoes weirdly in the Mists; just as her form seems to waver in and out of sight, her voice sometimes seems to come from multiple directions ... or even from all directions, dopplering off of the caravan's vardos and dying away into distant sighs and echoes.
The young Mordentishwoman, who has been strangely distant since the expedition entered the Mists, who has spent her waking hours and eaten alone, and only emerged from her cart to tutor Ulsaon in the arts arcane, now comes forward to approach the Vistana.
"I shall be honored to hear Madame Florica's words," her alien-sounding voice hisses out of the Mists that cling to her.

[DocBeard]

Strangely distant, back to normal, it's a subtle line.

Tomas, who has largely been spending his time being large and awkward looking, along with playing the occasional game with the kids if he's allowed-he certainly won't impose if the Vistani seem uncomfortable or offended, however-blinks, kind of suprised at being invited. A fortune telling. A free fortune telling.

"Auch!" Uncle Stonegarter gaks, slapping Tomas upside the head. "What did I and I tell ye about the gypsies, boy! It tain't the coin, it's the respect they care about! No newphew a'mine's gon'get his toes fallen off cause he acts like every moron peasent you read about in the stories, by Glodson! If she looks like she wants some change, give it to the woman! And if she dun, dun affend her by saying witchway she should act! And clean the attic, gaaarrrgh!"

"I'm, uh, honored!" Tomas says with the sincerity of the actually suprised. He forgets if Vistani bow or shake hands, so he tries to do both at the same time, ending up with a kind of squatting curtsey, "Does, the, um..." Tomas pauses, pauses again, and reddens, "I'm so sorry, I have entierly forgotten what you call someone of Madame Florica's position, and I don't want to be saying it wrong. Better to be embarrased a little than ignorant forever, ja?"

[steveflam]

Night butterfly, hmmmm. I think I like it! Something about vengeance? Of course I'll go converse with Madame Florica.

"I accept the honor to be priviledged to converse with Madame Florica, Aishe. Tell her so." Ulsaon smiles to herself and reaching under her cloak retrieves her familiar. In one of her many pouches on her armor she takes out some rations. "Here you go, Allikhain. Have some food. You've been a good girl not complained a once during our trip thus far. Oh I am going to meet Madame Florica and even have the chance to talk with her! Isn't that exciting?" The rat squeeked back and merely contented itself with eating the rations Ulsaon had given it.

[lostboy]

Khalil looks up form wher he sat with Karsh and Small-star. The Hawk and wolf were creatures of nature and the unnaturalness of the surroundings made them boith uneasy. Neither would leave Khalils side for more than a few moments, which hadnt gone down well with Fassahd who wasnt altogether keen to be sharing sleeping space with a wolf.

If he was honest Khalil was no happier with their surroundings. He had travelled the mists several times but it didnt become easier to deal with nor did it help that it brought painful memories to the surface either.

The gypsies voice breask his thoughts and he focuses on her words.
Desert Wasp! he thinks, I wonder the meaning behind this particular turn of phrase?

Intrigued he dips his head slowly in a gesture of acceptance towards the Vistani woman.

[NeoTiamat]

Madame Florica's Vardo, The Vistani Caravan, The Misty Border
May? ??th, 761, ??:?? PM?; Day ?? of the Menetnashte Expedition
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Aishe watches as the last of the acceptances are spoken, then nods politely to the rest of the Expedition, her face as serious and alien as it was before. "Thank you. Please, come with me."

Madame Florica's vardo was the largest of the Vistani's wagons, a beautifully decorated construction of wood and paint and small, stained-glass windows. A bright, cheerful yellow all over, tiny painted designs were etched in the stained glass windows, a variety of flowers. Foxgloves and orchids, violets and posies and roses, and darker plants such as the black lotus and the nightshade.

"Enter, and may wisdom be your reward." Aishe opened the door to the vardo formally, gesturing inside. Even then, as Tomas passed, the young woman could not quite resist and impish aside, "And she is called a raunie, noble beetle."

And as the last of you entered the capacious vardo, Aishe closed the door, a certain finality to the sound.

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In a bizarre, yet strangely comforting way, Madame Florica's wagon-home reminded you of the cottage of Old Marilena, back in Barovia. In a similar fashion, the vardo was over-stuffed with things, overflowing and spilling from all side the wonders of the Vistani life.

In a glass-display case, dozens, hundreds of tiny glass flowers, no greater then your thumb, were arranged, delicate treasures of blown glass glazed soft pink, and yellow, or sky-blue. A perfect botanical garden in glass.

Beside the display case, a small set of shelves were nailed to the wall, and dozens of small, clay bottles were carefully arranged, only wisps of colored silk tied around the bottlenecks telling what was inside, thought the what of it you could not begin to fathom.

Jewelry and scarves hung haphazardly from a dresser towards the back of the vardo, bright, scarlet scarves of sheer silk, golden bangles that glinted wildly in the night, tiny rubies sparkling. Everywhere you looked, fabric softened the walls or hung in makeshift bunting from the ceiling.

Soft incense stroked your nostrils, myrrh from distant, or perhaps not so distant, Phiraz. A stick of it burned in a small brazier that hung from a crossbeam in the wagon's roof. Strangely, the vardo was warm, the brazier's heat flowing into you despite the damp, cold, cheerless chill of the Mists.

Not an inch of the vardo's space was wasted, not a centimeter of wall undecorated. Where curtains and swatchs of silk weren't present, woodcuts abounded, or else display cases with yet more exotic wonders of the Vistani's life. Across the back of the vardo, a red curtain hung, and it is from behind it that Madame Florica came.

If she had been beautiful before, now she was beautiful and ancient. The Vistana Raunie was not young, nor was she old, but she was both, in the way that a goddess or spirit may be both young and old. Ezra may have looked this way, or Kali, a figure of young, lithesome beauty combined with eyes that spoke of a world's knowledge, or perhaps more than that.

"Please, sit down..." Even Madame Florica's throaty voice seemed at once seductive and powerful, a summer storm held within a breath. "I cannot thank you enough for saving Dani. And so, as Raunie, I, Madame Florica Camolomescro of the Vatrashka, thank you and hold you as friend."

From against the side of the vardo, Madame Florica pulls a small, circular table and chair, pulling them to the center of the vardo and gesturing for the rest of you to arrange yourselves. It took a bit of pushing and shoving, but eventually, all could gaze at the small table where the raunie spread a length of red silk cloth, crimson as blood, on the table.

Madame Florica sat on the cushioned chair behind her worktable, smoothing out the silk and waiting for a few seconds, to see if all is in readyness. Satisfied, the Vistana took from a pocket of her dress a small blue silk bag, a multitude of symbols embroidered in gold upon it.

"And so, as friend of the Camolomescro, so you shall have a friend's reward." Madame Florica spoke softly, her sultry voice filling the vardo with easy. "You go on a long journey, a great journey, and mayhap the cards can guide your way when all else fails."

Out of the black silk bag the raunie drew a deck of cards, their backs an exquisitely detailed black design, and began to shuffle them, muttering beneath her breath as she did so, ritual phrases so old and so well-worn that their meaning was lost to the Mists. They were brightly colored, the fronts of the cards, vivid reds and blues and greens and golds, the most vibrant colors in the vardo, enough to make the all the rest seem drab and dead by comparison.

Satisfied with her shuffling, the Vistana held forth the deck of cards in a single, outstretched hand to you, her golden bangles rocking back and forth on the slim, narrow wrist.

"Touch the Tarokka, and dream of your soul, of who you are and what you have been. A simple touch, but a bit of wisdom imbued." Madame Florica smiled, a strange, fey, taut smile that would not have looked out of place on the most frightening faerie. "And then, we shall see what the cards have to say."

[Nathan of the FoS]

Charles reaches out and taps the deck with his right hand in one practiced gesture--the gesture of a gambler hoping for a good hand. Sitting back on the bench where he had found a spot, he glances around the faces of his companions, as if to gauge their reactions to the scene. He, himself, is calm, the smallest of smile quirking his mouth beneath his mustachio.

[steveflam]

Ulsaon was about to reach and tap the deck, but refrained, not sure how the expedition members would react to her going first. After Charles taps the deck and sits back, she gathers her courage and whispers to Charles. "Mind if I go next?" She asks in an excited voice.

[Nathan of the FoS]

"I don't think the order is particularly important," Charles replies, glancing at the raunie. "I am sure Madame Florica would have told us if she felt it mattered."

[Kaitou Kage]

Kuzan looked around the vardo with wide-eyed awe, pausing to stare at the glass forest in the cabinet. Each flower and plant was exquisite, beautifully perfect in every way. He thought back to the lush, verdant jungles of Sri Raji, and how full and green they were. It was almost a moment of homesick nostalgia. He smiled a little at the thought.

And then Madame Florica interrupted his reverie. He turned, listening to her instructions and, following Charles's lead, reached out to tap the deck gently. Then he stood back, watching with a rapt expression, ever curious what would happen next.

[steveflam]

Ulsaon shrugged and leaning forward she raps the deck as well.

[DocBeard]

"Your graciousness is humbling, raunie." Tomas says as reverantly as he can-sure, he's afraid, but he's also relieved to be in a situation that is strange and alien to everyone, instead of just the rube from Lamordia. Plus, it's true. "Thank you." It's also something of a big deal to be given a reading without being charged, and invited by the reader at that, if Tomas remembers his stories properly.

While his agnostic background makes visualizing his soul a little tricky Tomas, perhaps, works around the problem by just reaching out and gently touching the deck, acting impulsivly once he's determined what he hopes is the right thing to do. If you can't philosophise about your soul, you might as well show it.

[yalenusveler]

Andre was quiet, almost unnaturally so for him. It wasn't disrespect, even he wasn't that foolish. More of just a silent almost awe from the young scholar. Needless to say, being invited into the raunie's Vardo was a bit of a surprise..never mind being beckoned as a fly.

Spend enough time around the dead... he thought, as he entered, and found himself a seat. It was hard not to find the new surroundings astounding both for their clutter, and their beauty. Needless to say, to think of one's soul when touching the cards...that was a bit of a shock.

A stained thing..I wonder if all the water of both seas could wash it clean.. the only thought nagging at his mind as he reached out, and carefully rested his fingertips on the cards for the briefest of moments, as if suddenly fearful of what they might have to say.