The Eye of Anubis: Book Four

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"Thank you," Lia says, sounding surprised but pleased, tucking the scroll case safely away. "I wish I'd gotten you something ... ahh, there may be something I can get you tomorrow, after a little sidetrip. Thank you again, priest."

[yalenusveler]

"Um, did you completely miss where I gave Sam a sending stone?" the priest asked, bewildered by Andre's cluelessness, "I only spent a day and a half making the set."

"I'm sorry Kuzan...just with the Anubite being about..and well, potentially a Demon...had a bit of a mental hiccup...I'd like to..well, discuss you trying to arrange a meeting between me and her. During the daytime, of course." Andre added at the end, still trying to work out the face thief twitches.

[steveflam]

Ulsaon had remained quiet ever since the Demon was mentioned. I so am not ready for a Demon! It would probably eat me and spit me out without a second thought. I do remember some things about demons, but I bet the rest of the party knows more than I do. Plus they probably have more experience than I do in such matters. I might ask just in case.

"Do we know anything about what kind of demon does these foul acts? I'm not very experienced in these matters, but the more we know, the better we will be prepared. Unless of course I'm wrong."
Ulsaon appears to be unnerved by the demon.

[yalenusveler]

"That's the problem with Demons...no one knows much about them, because encountering them tends to lead to a terminal case of death. So in fact, It's more the case of "The more we know, the faster we'll know what to avoid, so we can properly make a hasty exit" " Andre added, with no real humor in his voice.

[steveflam]

Ulsaon shudders as she thinks about Demons. "It's not that fact that bothers me. The fact that a Demon is nearby really scares me to the point of being afraid of evejn breathing, Mr Andre. If it's one thing I've learned, is that Demons are not to trifle with. I won't be much use against a Demonas I've no experience and I'd rather be elsewhere than face one, personally."

[NeoTiamat]

Dementlieuse Embassy, The Foreign Quarter, Phiraz
May 22nd, 761, 6:41 PM; Day 66 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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"Demons..." Samael grumbled as he heard this latest bit of news. "Not our problem. We've got maps, we're getting supplies, and then lets vamoose. Setting up a watch is good idea, however. Edmund, see to it."

"Yes sir." Harris nodded at this latest order.

"And here we are." Samael said as the group walked up to one of the stranger-looking buildings in the Phiraz. Tall, but narrow, the tower-like structure was surmounted by a clock-tower, of all things, and cover in places with odd religious murals, the purpose of which seemed to be primarily to glorify the Prophet.

A small, neat-looking man if a checkered black-and-grey waistcoat came out to greet you, looking over the Expedition as though they were a batch of creditors.

"Oh dear... rather a lot of you." The neat-looking man bowed. "Emmanuel D'Abigne, at your service. The Ambassador is away, dining with Vizier al-Mustafa, but he shall return shortly. Shall I escort you to your rooms? The local help will provide meals."



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Emmanuel was talking briefly about the history of the Dementlieuse Embassy in Phiraz, established in 724 following an edict of Diamabel's that allowed foreigners to have more rights in the city, when the Confessors rode up.

There were several of them, actually, and from the way the residents of the Foreign Quarter made way, this cavalcade was an unusual one. Seven Confessors, all riding upon seven of the Pharazian light horses, rivals to anything Nova Vaasa produced.

For a moment, you paused at the mere sight of the seven white-robed men, until it occurred to Charles and Lia that they recognized the leader of the seven.

"The Peace of the Prophet be upon you, young ones." Judge Jalil al-Shirazi said with a dry smile. "It seems that we meet again most quickly, but this task required one of my rank."

"What's all this?" The clerk, Emmanuel, asked. "We've all the paperwork filled out and fees paid."

"Silence, Dhimmi." Judge al-Shirazi snapped. "This concerns you not, but your guests."

The white-robed Confessor withdrew a scroll and consulted it, then read aloud in a formal, sonorous voice, one that reverberated along the entire street. Something told you he had been trained as a herald once. Or whatever the local equivalent was.

• "It is the will of the Prophet of Purity, the Ruler of the World, the Caliph of the Eastern Lands, Guiding Star of Heaven, Monarch of Phiraz and the Outlying Regions, The Divine Representative upon our soil, that the Foreigners under the auspices of the University of Dementlieu, known as the 'Menetnashte' Expedition, are to be presented before the Prophet of Purity tomorrow at the second hour past dawn, to discuss the matter of certain crimes and high misdemeanors of which accusations have been made and substantiated."

For a moment, it took you a moment to figure out just what Judge al-Shirazi had said. Then you understood. The Prophet wanted to speak to you, and not in a good way.

"Wait..." Professor Carter asked curiously. "How do you know the name of the Expedition?"

"We have our sources, Dhimmi." The Confessor said with an undeniable bit of smugness. "The Prophet shall expect you to appear at the allotted hour, and my men will be here to escort you thence. I shall warn you that flight will be looked upon most poorly."

"We resent the imputation that we have comitted any crimes, or that we would see to flee the city." Professor Pelletier said in his best professorial tone. "May we ask what crimes we are accused of, and what evidence?"

"As you would, Dhimmi, it is not my concern." Al-Shirazi shrugged. "Some of you are accused of spreading the worship of foreign gods, and of circumventing the will of the Prophet. I believe we have one of your fellows in custody, caught in the act."

There was another short pause, after which point you heard Samael say, rather distinctly, albeit in Balok, "I'm going to strangle Devereux...." Switching to Mordentish, the Borcan continued. "Guy, Tomas, where did Devereux go?"

Guy cast a slightly unnerved look at Tomas, then at the Confessor. "Later."

"Any more questions, Dhimmi?" Judge al-Shirazi asked. "If not, I shall see you upon the morrow."

[Nathan of the FoS]

Charles bows and offers a polite smile to the judge, a smile which is replaced by the appropriate look of shock and concern at the news of his reason for coming. At the news of Devereux's arrest for--heaven knows what, the charges could mean anything, although it's hard to imagine Devereux as a street preacher for Ezra--he sets his mouth firmly. And again, charges for one apply to all. It's like the Council's Musketeers...all for one, one for all. I wonder if the Musketeers ever get tired of that?

[Rock of the Fraternity]

'Hell's bells,' Lia swears to herself, even as she tries to hide herself a little behind some of the other members of the expedition. 'So now we're going to be in front of the Pharazian prophet, up on charges, no less. I thought we messed up, but whatever Devereux' party got up to seems to be so much worse. I should take a good, long look at my spellbook before retiring and decide on a good selection for tomorrow.'

[Kaitou Kage]

Kuzan's breath reflexively caught in his throat when the crime was stated. For some reason, he expected to be the one accused of the preaching. I hadn't done anything, he reassured himself, Really. I haven't talked about my faith once since entering the city.

When it was revealed to be Devereux, the priest breathed a little more easily. The last thing he wanted was to be persecuted as a heretic in a foreign land. At the same time, the mess looked like it wasn't going to bode well for any of the party. Why, he wondered, were the rest of them expected to show up and answer for those crimes.

Still, Kuzan kept silent, hanging near the rear of the group like Lia, until the Confessor took his leave.

[lostboy]

Despite the demon revelations, and the rather *determined* nature of certain Pharazian merchants, Khalil was enjoying this recent sojourn in Phiraz. That is until the group were accused of heresy..

The desert guide keeps silent throughout the Confessors speech, although he had never seen the Prophet nor had much inkling what happened at these audiences, he had heard enough stories and rumours to be very wary.

Once the Confessor turns away to leave he raises his eyes breifly to heaven in exasperation at this expeditions ability to land in the middle of Anubis-alone knows what kind of trouble.

[DocBeard]

Tomas has grown...

Quiet. He's been quiet the whole time, not even checking in with his side of the story-he doesn't stop Guy from doing so, but for now...

...well, he hasn't said anything stupidly optimistic all afternoon. He just waits until it's time to go.

[NeoTiamat]

The Palace of Purity, Phiraz
May 23rd, 761, 10:21 AM; Day 66 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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The night passed unremarkably, although it was remarkably nice to finally sleep in what felt like a transplanted Dementliuese hostel. It was early the next morning that your Confessor escort arrived, only a quarter hour after the curfew had ended. There were six of them, this time, and Judge al-Shiraz was not present.

As such, it was a very silent company that approached the great stone-causeway that led to the island in the middle of the Ousserd. For all that the bridge could easily support a small army, there were only a few people on it, primarily servants and Confessors. Still, the swift breeze raced across the surface of the Ousserd, picking up moisture and cooling you nicely. For the first time since arriving in Phiraz, it was not beastly hot.

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The Palace of Purity itself was a sight, another of the beloved marble colossi that Pharazians created. And yet, this one was something different..... something.... unique. Whereas the other buildings of Phiraz were heavy, dour even, but the Palace reminded you of nothing so much as the Cathedral of Levkarest, a domed confection of air and light.



Robed servants escorted you quickly into the Palace itself, and conducted with ease the ceremonies required of those who would meet the prophet. Your hands and faces were washed with scented water, and you were led in a brief prayer to the powers that be, to Purity. A draught of wine was granted, which all of you but the Professor Marchand-Renier accepted, although the servants looked at him askance at this. Finally, white robes of sheer silk were provided for you, as supplicants of a sort, and you were led into the throne room of Diamabel, the Prophet of Purity.

You quite nearly gasped aloud when you saw the throne-room itself. Walls, floor, columns, even the ceiling were constructed of marble, but not the stark white stone of much of the city. No, this was a rainbow-like confection of color and light, marble white, black, green, red, and more unique colors as well, interspersed with furnishings of solid gold.

A choir of a dozen youths sang hymns of praise to the Prophet from an alcove, while white-robed Confessors stood along the walls, with spears and whips at ready. A throng of supplicants, religious leaders, merchants, noblemen alike gathered along both sides of the aisle you were led up, even as at the far end, sat the Prophet on a throne that looked as though it was carved from a single vast pearl.

The Prophet was not what you had expected... He seemed young, perhaps twenty-five, were it not for an ageless wisdom in his ocean-dark eyes. He was tall, but not unusually so, and quite likely the handsomest man you had ever met, with pale, alabaster skin and dark-red lips. Only the brilliant, white-feathered wings that stretched out behind him, or the rune-carved spear that he held as a staff of office told you that this man was not as others.

Beside him, two noblemen, an older, pot-bellied man with a gold chain of office and a younger man with the harsh-look of the Confessors, even if his clothing was more elaborate, stood in attendance upon the Prophet.

"Welcome Mortals." The youth's mellifluous voice carried not through the air, but into your very minds. You couldn't have said what language it was in, save that you understood it. "I believe that certain issues have arisen regarding a comrade of yours. Do you vouch for him?"

"But first, pray, introduce yourselves." The angel said, a hint of a smile on his wine-dark lips.

[Kaitou Kage]

The prayers and rituals came easily enough to Kuzan. They weren't exactly familiar, but they weren't so different from what he was used to -- and he was sure that there was an odd Sri Rajian or two that counted the Pharazian god among those given homage to. Moreover, the nature of his religion was far less restrictive. By giving prayers to the Purity that the Pharazians worshiped, he wasn't about to offend any of the gods he normally prayed to.

It did strike him how grand the palace was, though. Few temples in Sri Raji were so opulent. And then he was led in to see the Prophet.

Kuzan felt his breath leave him. Nobody had said that the Prophet was a deva. In wide-eyed shock, the priest knelt before Diamabel and obeyed the deva's request.

"I-I am Kuzan," he stammered, "From Sri Raji."

He fully expected to be smited any moment by the deva sitting before him.

[DocBeard]

Tomas Eisenwald wanted to believe in the possibility of angels, even if his grim Lamordian upbringing forbade him to really have faith in much of anything. The difference is subtle, but important, and is why Tomas does not gasp openly at this...well...wow. Part of him insists that the man is just a Caliban who got lucky, one of the mutations so common in the Mist-Bound clusters...while another part of him thinks that, golly, the stories were true. nwoditekirtsebtondluohstignorwsignihtemos It's only remembering the nature of the situation, and those faceless bodies, that gives Tomas enough of a jolt to regain perspective.

Stepping forward and trying to ignore the odd gnawing in his gut, Tomas tries to remember what, exactly, he is. Insane? Some crazy kid who hears voices in his head and gets his professors killed? ...no. Crazy or no, he's still, "I am Tomas Eisenwald." He pauses, in the tradition of pulp heroics everywhere, "...graduate student."

Somehow, repeating the old certinty makes it bareable, at least until the Prophet asks for their story. Well, Tomas admits to himself, at least it'll be easy enough to get the others out of this. It's your fault.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

When the servants provide the scented water, Lia calmly, yet adamantly refuses. "My appearance is not such that I would wish to visit it on others," she states with fragile dignity. "You will have to excuse me."
When the wine is provided, she equally firmly turns her back on the rest of the people in the room to sip from it - and sip only. As for the white silk robes, she drapes them over her regular attire, though the added layer of fabric is clearly causing her some mild discomfort.

'This place ...,' Lia ponders as the expedition is being led to see the prophet. 'It is gorgeous. I wonder whether they give guided tours, or that this prophet and his staff keep it all to themselves? The kind of man who passes down laws to keep people from speaking freely about their faith seems the type to keep such splendor private. I wonder -'

And then the expedition is led into the throne room, and Lia catches her first glimpse of the prophet. More than the rainbow of marbles, more than the background music provided by the choir, the appearance of the prophet shakes Lia to her very core. She looks the prophet up and down, her mouth falling open in pure amazement.
'If I recall my tutors lectures at the University correctly and they were right, then ...'
Lia almost - but not quite - shakes her head.
'A mortal being infused with the divine? A heavenly halfbreed? What? I, I never - I never thought that I would see such a thing. I never ...'
A far deeper, colder voice hisses in Lia's mind: 'I never thought I would be exposed to such a creature, being as I am.'

Lia finds herself torn between her admiration of this radiant creature - yes, and perhaps a fleeting spark of adoration - and the realization that she is dressed in her drab greys underneath the supplicant's robes. And underneath her drab greys, there is ...
'Do not notice me,' she thinks at the beautiful creature on the throne. 'Heart beyond the Illusions, do not let him notice me overly much, I implore you!' she prays, a shudder passing through her. 'If he does notice me, if he were to insist ... How could I escape? How could I dissuade such a being? I would rather face Cavendish by myself, speak to the Anubite without backup than to be exposed by such a creature as this! Heart beyond the Sea of Illusion, hide me from his attention!'

The prayer done and gone, Lia sees no other recourse than to drop into a deep curtsy and reply to the prophet's question: "If it please your grace, I am ... Lia Mourneswaithe."
And once that answer is given, she steps back, trying to fade into the background behind the rest of the Expedition members.