The Eye of Anubis: Book Four

[lostboy]

Khalil stares rather miserably at the dark water, his mind full of things he rather not think of, like say oh, how about his cowardice that led to the death of yet another member of the expedition....

He is almost tempted to jump right into that dark, cold water let in subsume him, and wash the pain and self-loathing away. There will be a reckoning soon, he thinks, but for who...

Caught in his thoughts and frankly keen to be away form this oppresive place dully he nods to Charles and turns back to leave this forsaken ruin of a building, one that will haunt him for nights to come.

[NeoTiamat]

The Muzeavh, The Academic Quarter, Phiraz
May 24th, 761, 2:44 AM; Day 68 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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"So..I'm assuming we inform the prophet, then return to the Embassy?"

"If you desire, I shall speak with His Holiness." The Judge spoke up for the first time since the fight, coming out of his unpleasant shock, having spoken briefly with Charles. Criminals were one thing, but even the worst murderers could not compare to Cavendish. Still, the man was a dutiful one, and it seemed a considerate one, for all that he wore the white-robes of a Confessor.

"You can take your companion with you to the Embassy, that she be given the rites of your people." The Judge continued. "And I shall do the same for the poor unfortunates above."

"Prophet guide your path. Barring unforseen events, I shall accompany you on tomorrow's excursions, and bring some guards of a.... better.... quality."

The Dementlieuse Embassy, The Foreign Quarter, Phiraz
May 24th, 761, 2:44 AM; Day 68 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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As before, two of the Expedition guards were on night-watch when the sadly reduced company arrived at the Dementlieuse Embassy. Edmund, the captain of the Expedition guard, and Michel were on duty that night, and as usual, the Dementlieuse man was attempting to cajole the over-professional Mordentishman into saying or doing something interesting.

"And so you must ask yourself, what is the purpose of Mordentish food? You have the most peculiar names for the most common-place of dishes. What, pray tell, is a 'Toad-in-the-hole'?" Michel was in fine culinary form.

"Sausage in batter." Edmund was not.

"Hello, you're back!" The Dementlieuse man, for all his foppish behavior, was a good enough guard to have a hand on his pistol when the explorers returned. "Is everything all---- Oh Lady in the Mists..."

De Angelis paled as Tomas carried Ulsaon's sadly tattered corpse in. Edmund stood also, and after a moments pause, sketched a salute to Ulsaon.

"What happened?" The Mordentishman, like Carter, was a no-nonsense kind of man. "Is anyone else hurt?"

Michel took another look at Ulsaon's body and drew the shield of Ezra over his heart, still looking decidedly wan.

[yalenusveler]

"Cavendish happened. I'd almost rather what we faced was a demon. At least their evil is somewhat explainable." Andre said bitterly. "More undead, more tragedy. Barovia all over again."

[DocBeard]

"Is there somewhere to place her?" Tomas asks, mildly, the whole process of carrying a corpse starting to show its effects on him.

[Kaitou Kage]

Sometime between the time of Kuzan's revelation and the time they got back to the embassy, he pulled Carter gently aside. "Let me speak with the others about it," he said quietly, "I...would rather do so myself."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Back at the Embassy...

Kuzan had been quiet most of the trek back, remaining close to Lia. The only thing he'd really mentioned was that, given a day or two, he could enable some people to breathe water for most of the day. Almost a day and a half if he borrowed Lia's rod.

When they arrived and the others explained what happened, Kuzan finally spoke up.

"If you wish," he said softly, tiredly, "I will preside over her funeral in the morning."

[Nathan of the FoS]

At the Muzeavh

As he steps back from the water's edge, Charles catches Judge al-Shirazi's attention and calls him over for a private word. "Reverence, when you inform your authorities of this matter," Charles says, "I beg you, first tell the Vizier, and, if possible, His Holiness, and not the High Confessor."

Al-Shirazi blinked, snapped out of his brooding by Charles's voice. "And why is this, Dhimmi?" He said sharply. "An unusual request."

"It is," Charles says, nodding. "As you have seen, our adversary is a very powerful magician, and we have, in the past, seen him use dark arts to subvert figures in authority to his own ends. This morning, when we were in the presence of His Holiness, I observed that your superior the High Confessor was ensorcelled, and I fear this creature Cavendish has enchanted him."

The Confessor paused for a long moment, digesting this information from Charles. "....Have you any proof?" He said in a softer voice.

"No," Charles says frankly. "But I know what I saw. I know you are a man of the Faith and can see truth through your obedience to the law of Purity; you may be able to detect the signs of it in him yourself. I cannot blame you for doubting me, but I urge you to find the truth for yourself. If this Cavendish were to be informed by him of all our plans...the result could be most dire. In fact, it may be well to tell him our plans are other than they are--if he should be controlled, it may put our enemy off the scent."

There was another pause as Judge al-Shirazi mentally readjusted his thinking once more. Slowly, "Very well Dhimmi... I shall deliver my message direct to the Prophet, if such is at all possible."

Charles nods. "I am most grateful. I hope this will end well, and you will be rewarded by His Holiness for your diligence and your courage; we are very grateful for your assistance."

"I hope so also," al-Shirazi replies. "I believe I shall arrive on the morrow with two of my best men, to aid you against this magus."

Charles bows slightly and gestures toward the company in a mute invitation to rejoin their company. "Again, we thank you."

***
At the Embassy

"We may not need to go into the water," Charles says, almost to himself. "Surely, he took them down into the water so he could take them to the Necropolis without having them go through the city--the Necropolis is surrounded by the Ousserd, after all. We should probably look for signs of them there."

At the mention of the funeral he shakes himself. "Right, funeral," he says. "Yes, that will be best. I'm sure she would be happy to have you give the service, Kuzan." Shaking his head, he says, "Well. Until then, good night, sleep well, pleasant dreams, see you in the morning."

It is not quite clear whether this is deliberately ironic; whether it is or not, Charles promptly suits words to deeds by departing for his room.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"Perhaps I might recommend a cremation, rather than a funeral?" Lia says in a soft voice. "If Cavendish escapes us again, well ... I would hate to face Ulsaon one day as an undead blight sent to murder us. And on that note, I need to reveal yet another little horror from my past to you all. In the morning, perhaps.

But before you leave, Charles," she calls out to the Mordentishman, "let me tell you all of my familiar's exploits this night."

Grimmric comes crawling from Lia's hood and perches on top of her head, where he starts to chitter and squeak. Lia speaks at the same time, her voice monotonous, as if she is making a military report: "These events started earlier today, when I sent Grimmric out to make contact with the local bats ..."
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After receiving his marching orders, so to speak, Grimmric shoots into Phiraz' night sky, searching for the telltale chittering and fluttering of other bats.
For all that, the bats of Phiraz were not too difficult to find. Although the desert was not the most supporting of life, the city was home to a vast network of bats. Fruit bats feasted on the outlying farms, fish-bats snagged glistening silver bodies off the surface of the Ousserd, and the insect-bats helped themselves and others.

Grimmric seeks out the meat-eaters first, the ones most likely to be susceptible to the offer of a meal that does not need to be hunted down. He tries to find nests, or else large clusters of moving hunters, and cautiously makes contact.
It was nearly nightfall as the small bat found a suitable collection of his brethren, a huge roost of Tomb-bats, the most common kind of Phirazia. There must have been thousands of the small, mouse-sized animals, all close together, ready to take wing on their nightime hunt
Grimmric hovers on the edge of the roost's airspace, squeaking out a polite greeting.
<Who goes strange-sound-bat?> The chorus of voices responded, a chittering so low that a human ear would have heard nothing.
"I, Grimmric," Grimmric replies, though the identification in bat-speech is more like 'I who is the I who was from land of trees and fog, travelling with powerful master'. "In the name of my master, I come with a request and an offer."
This provoked a certain amount of discussion amongst the bats. On the one hand, Grimmric was a bat. On the other hand, he was a strange bat, with a differently-shaped wing and longer ears than the round, fuzzy tomb bats. Still, it couldn't hurt to listen. <Speak Grimmric, we listen.>
"Master wants to know what happens in the human-dwelling-place at night," Grimmric chitters, settling cautiously onto an available surface. "Master knows, unnatural things are hunting humans, killing humans, taking souls. Master wants to know where, when, where do the unnatural things go. If bats fly and spy, then tell master through Grimmric, master offers a whole side of beef, cut up small for bat's mouths."
<Humans kill humans lot.> The bats noted, meanwhile feverishly calculating how much meat that worked out to per-bat. <How tell natural things that kill humans from not-natural things that kill humans?">
"Thing is covered in lights, circle-lights," Grimmric replied. "Lights that scream with faces of the dead. This thing is <wrong>. You know this thing?" In this case, <wrong> was the closest Grimmric's variant of bat-speech could come to 'unholy'.
By and large, bats are decidedly lacking in religion. Still, they all agreed that this <wrong> was a very serious thing, at least as much as a thousand bats can agree on anything. But lights that screamed could be found. <We do this.>
"Good-good!" Grimmric chitters, clearly elated. "Come. You smell me, you hear my voice, you know me. You fly tonight, as all nights, but now also spy. Look at big, stone human-dwelling-place. See the thing, see where it goes, when it is, come tell me, I tell master. Tomorrow, beeeefff ..." Careful not to be too intrusive, Grimmric flutters forward so the Tomb Bats can catch his scent. "Good? All ready?"
The proimise of food clearly over-came a lot of the tomb-bats hesitancy. They would look, they would see and hear, and if they sensed the screaming lights, Grimmric would know. <All ready>
"Good-good!" Grimmric chitters. "Much thanks." He shoots away into the night sky. Next were the bug-hunters, his own kind. The master had given him a good idea on how to move them, if he could find some.

This time, Grimmric's task was somewhat more difficult, as now night had fallen, and the bats were out on the hunt. Nevertheless, the principle stayed the same. Go where there are bugs, and there you will find bug-hunter bats. And so, it was along the bridges of the Lower Quarter, near the docks, that Grimmric found the several-hundred insect-hunters, flying to and fro, catching the bounty of the night.
"Attention-attention!" Grimmric chitters loudly, his voice pitched high so only bats would hear him, not any humans passing by. "I, Grimmric, bring request and opportunity from powerful master! Attention!"
<Speak, we listen> Half a hundred voices sounded in response.
"Master knows, <wrong> thing hunts in city at night," Grimmric chitters as he flies to and fro, passing from bat to bat. "Thing in circles of light, that scream. Thing that steals souls. You go where light is, where bugs come. You go near humans. You know of this murdering already, yes? Bats clever-clever; of course you know, yes?"
<Fewer humans out, we saw light-thing, it hit humans and juicy flies come> The bats agreed.
"Master hunts this thing," Grimmric says. "Master wants to know when it comes, where it goes. Bats see this, yes? Bats fly and spy. If bats fly and spy for master, good opportunity for food, tomorrow. Interested?"
<Food? Food is good. We do this.> The bats agreed amongst themselves. <We tell where light-thing swims>
"Swims?" Grimmric repeats.
<We still get food if answer?> The bats questioned, another few dozen voices, the others collecting insects from the skies.
"Master sends me to big bats, the meat-eaters," Grimmric chitters. "Tomorrow, master brings beef to place where she dwells. Beef is cut up. Bugs will swarm. Come soon, come early, to place Grimmric will tell you. Come before the meat-eaters and you can feast on bugs. Good?"
The bats chittered at this plan. It would need a lot of meat and a lot of bugs, but the idea was enticing. <Good. Light-thing swims in earth. It goes up, hits humans, goes down into earth again>
"Master brings whole side of beef," Grimmric promises. "Fresh from market. Bugs will come. Bugs will come. Be early. Tell more things to Grimmric, to tell to Grimmric's master. She will be happy. Maybe make more good deals. Good-good?"
<Good-good. What more want to know?>
"Where does thing appear? How long does it stay? Where does it go? Are there things it does not kill? Listen to its screams, follow it if that is safe," Grimmric replies.
<Appear all over, stay thousand chitter (two minutes), goes underground. Screams we will follow. Come morning, we tell if we hear>
"Good-good!" Grimmric enthuses. "Meet Grimmric at" - he squeaks coordinates in bat-speech. "Tomorrow-dusk, master brings beef to roof. Feast on bugs, Maybe tell master more you hear from other bats. Meat-eaters also speak to master. Much knowledge for master, she is happy. Find her kill, find her kill. Master happy. Maybe leave much meat on roof as gift to you and the meat-eaters before she goes. Good-good?"
<Good good!>
Grimmric shoots off again, this time in the direction of the fruit orchards. It was time to visit the last group of bats in town, to 'complete the picture', as his master had called it.

The fruit bats were the most spread out of the group, and at best Grimmric could find a hundred around one apple orchard. All the same, they were the largest bats, the strongest, and the smartest.
"Greetings," Grimmric humbly chitters from a distance. "I approach, yes, no? Bring request from maste, offer of small reward."
"You may approach," the fruit bats deigned to notice the little bug-bat. They were larger, the size of cats, and with intelligent, fox-like faces. Each one was a half-dozen times larger than Grimmric, but thankfully, as was their name, they ate only fruit.
"You fly over city, yes, no?" Grimmric enquires, carefully settling on a branch near one of the fruit bats. "Know of the killings by the <wrong> thing, that screams with voices of its kills? The thing in lights?"
The bats did the chiropteran equivalent of shaking their heads. Unlike the other bats, they spent their nights outside the city, and when the Defacer struck, they were far outside of it.
"Good-good," Grimmric pushes on. "You see strange-men walking around outside city? Human-thing that does not belong?"
The bats considered and consulted this, and no, no one had seen strange-men walking around. Or at least, any stranger than usual.
"No tall-man, wears only black, glass circles on his eyes?" Grimmric specifies, giving a rather good description of John Lancaster Cavendish.
For a few minutes, the bats discussed, and then one regal, red-furred specimen flew up and grasped the branch near which Grimmric sat. "I saw this man. Grey-skinned and with a round thing on his head?"
"Yes-yes!" Grimmric screeches, fluttering excitedly. "<Wrong>-man with the chimneypipe-thing on his head, he makes dead things move! Where and when you see him, please?" Grimmric subsides a little, seeming abashed by his own excitability.
"Was seven days ago, little bat. He appeared from cloud and fog in garden, strode to the city. Roost-mate was curious followed him and has not come back."
Grimmric chitters in a low voice. "Roost-mate ... maybe dead," he says, sounding sad. "Chimneypipe-man makes dead things move and living things ... dead. He enjoys it."
"Have not seen since." The fox-bat was somber. "Is this enough, little bat?"
"In name of master, I thank you," Grimmric says, bowing. "Chimneypipe-man maybe comes back. If so, tell Grimmric at" - again he squeaks the coordinates of the Dementlieuse Embassy. "Grimmric tells master. Master wants to kill-kill-kill chimneypipe-man, or catch him and trap him for ever and ever. Sound good for you?"
"It does. Goodbye Little Bat."
"Thank you," Grimmric says, bowing once more, then flutters off for the bridge. He would hunt with his kinsmen, then return to the master, report his findings and sleep. He felt rather proud of himself; he had mobilised two wings of bats and secured a kind of treaty with a third wing. The master would be so proud of him.

This was, however, presupposing that the master ever saw him again. It was in the fifth hour of the night, as Grimmric saw a familiar face. He had fed well, but now he almost wished he hadn't. The giant, black-red crow was larger, even, than the fruit-bats, and unlike them its stilletto beak and curved talons were quite predatory. The crow was some hundred feet above Grimmric, and he saw the glint in its red eyes as it prepared to dive at him.
Grimmric immediately heads for ground level, seeking out the worst-lit areas. Crows were diurnal birds, this one should not be able to hunt him so well in the dark places where bats thrived. Besides, a big bird like that wouldn't be able to maneuver so well in Phiraz' narrow alleyways.
However, if crows were diurnal, then apparently this behemoth bird hadn't recieved the memorandum. With an aggravated caw, it dove after Grimmric, turning with surprising speed and grace after the bat. The murderous beak was mere feet away as the little bat rushed under the bridge and into the maze-like Old Quarter.
At the first intersection they approach, Grimmric feints shooting forward, then banks hard to the left.
The crow squawked in aggravation, wheeling back and up, flapping its wings to get at the little bat. Over the distance, it was marginally faster, the strong, coal-black wings carrying it further, but the little bat could turn better. It was an eerily close race.
Grimmric zips down another intersection - then shoots straight up towards a rooftop, chittering loudly in bat-speech: "Hate you, hate you! Grimmric hate you, go away!"
The red-black bird beat its wings twice, gaining altitude more easily than the little bat, and dove again at Grimmric, the murderous beak clipping the flap of Grimmric's wings. But now it is below the bat. Grimmric beats his wings as hard as he can, begins spiralling around his foe, actually closing in, rather than making distance. In the blink of an eye, he lands on the crow's face - and slams his wings over the predatory bird's eyes before leaping off and zipping back down to ground level. The dagger-beak lashed out, scoring a brutal, bloody mark along his body for his trouble, but his ruse worked. With a grandly confused squawk, the huge crow rammed into a shuttered window, crashing through and into some unfortunate Pharazian's bedroom.
Grimmric shrieks his pain, then chitters the bat's equivalent of laughter. "Grimmric win, big-stupid bird!" he shrieks as a parting taunt, before rushing down the maze of alleys again. After a few turns, he finds a secure nook, maybe the edge of a roof, to hang from and hides in its shadows, waiting for the sounds of pursuit ... or anything else. He waits, shivering with the excitement and pain of his aerial battle.
Not too much later, the larger bird comes flapping over the area, its beak bloodied even as it surveys the night. It passed perhaps twenty feet away from Grimmric, giving the bat a closer look than he would have liked. Large, but surprisingly dextrous and agile, its black-feathers are tinged with red, and its dull-red eyes glint in the faint moonlight. Black talons curled, ready to strike, and three tailfeathers are missing ...

And then it was gone, off to wherever the bird spent its time. Something told Grimmric in his magic-augmented bat brain that they would meet again. "Grimmric hate you, big-stupid bird," the little bat mutters to himself. "Tell master on you, boils you like a chicken." Moaning, Grimmric waits another moment, then wearily sets off
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"And that is what happened," Lia concludes. "Tomorrow evening, we shall receive the bats' reports. In the morning, I need to go buy that side of beef -- and a couple of whole chickens to dismember, so insects will be lured to the rooftop. Will anyone join me on that particular mission?"

[NeoTiamat]

The Dementlieuse Embassy, The Foreign Quarter, Phiraz
May 24th, 761, 3:41 PM; Day 68 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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The funeral the next day was a short and somber ceremony in the garden of the Dementlieuse Embassy. Somehow or another, D'Abigne had managed to secure some wood for a pyre, with atypical bureaucratic efficiency, and so the entire Expedition watched as Ulsaon's body was burned to ashes, and then buried in a copper urn within a section of the Embassy's grounds, beside other exiles and expatriates who had died so very far from home.

You wondered if you had ever felt quite so lonely in your lives. Only the Expedition was present, along with D'Abigne and a pair of servants from the Embassy. Each of the professors gave a short eulogy, but the dead silence of the Embassy grounds was unnerving.

The events at the Muzeavh had spread through the city like wildfire, and if before there was a sense of fear, now it was outright panic. Garbled rumors of mass-suicides, risen undead, and black magic now joined the accounts of demons, and it seemed like the city was on the verge of mass hysteria at times.

And revolving in every rumor were the Dementlieuse. D'Abigne and the other clerks had locked the gates in case of a mob, but on the contrary, everyone in the city seemed to avoid the accursed Embassy. Emmanuel D'Abigne was not a happy man.

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The sole person to be absent from the funeral was Samael, and there was a good reason for that. Upon hearing about Ulsaon's death, the Borcan organizer had conferred with Prof. Pelletier for a bit, and in between the older man's coughs, they agreed that Samael would hire another guide, just in case. Being without Khalil or Fassahd in the desert would become very fatal very fast. And with both Allikhain and Ulsaon gone, another guard was needed.

....When the Borcan returned sometime past midday, you wondered if he had decided to replace both Allikhain and Ulsaon in one person. The man he led was huge, well over six feet and sixteen stone. Clad in loose desert robes and with a greatsword, he towered.

[Tarlyn, this is your entrance. Say hello to the nice people!]

[lostboy]

The night before
........................................

Khalil nods with interest at Lias account of Grimmrics activities, and looks with a little concern at the injured bat. "May I suggest that should your little friend be abroad again on an errand, that I send Karsh to escort him, perhaps this crow may think twice before attacking two foes?"


Next morning
................................

It is a sombre Khalil who watches the funeral from a seated position on the edge of the low roof above. The desert guide had sat up all night in a vigil , his face lit by the light of a candle that burned through the remaining hours of the night. With the coming of the first light of dawn he murmured the final prayers of passage:

[Akiri] "Oh Anubis, Foremost of Wanderers, guide the spirit of this fellow traveller."

"Oh Anubis, Lord of the sacred land, protect and walk with her."

"Oh Anubis, Opener of the ways, admit her to the eternal garden."

"Oh Anubis, The Seeing Darkness, let the light of heaven shine always on her face."

Finsihsing he bows his head in contemplation until the funeral is complete. Descending from the roof he rejoins the others.

[DocBeard]

Normally, Tomas would be acting more like he did back in Barovia, or at least Hazlan. Supporting people, acting as a shoulder to cry on, being a source of warmth and human decency...

...but it's as if the warm, calming candle that was Tomas's soul had gone out, or at least been shuttered in order to keep from being soaked in some sort of rainstorm. Instead, he raps his fingers against his chair-not during the funeral, but before and after it, certainly. He doesn't even make sure to be the first one to greet the new guy.

Something's wrong with me. Tomas thinks, as he stares moodily out of the window, his thoughts mainly on those dead bodies and how people are people everywhere. What matters isn't the truth, or justice, or even mourning the dead, what matters to them is the here, the now, where the next source of trouble's coming from, when the monsters come out, where there's someone to blame for their troubles, stupid, petty, everyday badness needed to survive, or so human beings insist on telling themselves so they can sleep at night. Tomas wants to throw up. This isn't me. But here I am, thinking it.

I'll feel better after the next fight. Tomas concludes, I always feel better after ripping some monster apart. That's probably a bad sign.

[Kaitou Kage]

Kuzan showed up at the funeral in familiar priestly garb. The garments looked clean and crisp, as if they’d not seen much use. In fact, they spent most of the trip sitting at the bottom of his magical pack. Despite officially being the expedition chaplain, he’d never really had any need to throw on the attire and act in official capacity. Most of the expedition members didn’t even really seem to want a blessing pronounced over the meals, though Kuzan was fine with that.

This morning was a special case, though.

So the priest took out his official outfit. A sash looped over one shoulder in lieu of a shirt, brass torcs on his upper arms, loose pants and sandals. Instead of the normal blues and greys, he wore white, a holy color of the Sri Rajians. It symbolized purity and helped the soul of the deceased release its attachment to the body it left.

Kuzan had been busy before the funeral, getting up earlier than the others to have the servants take care of matters for him. And when the funeral came, Ulsaon was presented, her body cleaned and dressed in a red robe trimmed in yellow. Her head pointed southward, which Kuzan explained was the direction of the dead, and lovely arrangements of flowers, mostly roses and jasmine, surrounded and covered her. Around the dais, the priest placed eight brass pots and one clay pot, each filled with water. The cloying scent of incense filled the air, rising from smoking braziers on each side of the half-elf’s body.

The priest circled the body three times, keeping it to his left and sprinkling holy water as he moved. Then, he lit the brazier at her head and turned to face the gathered congregation. The professors gave their eulogies, and then Kuzan pronounced his blessing.

“The wise have said that the Atman is immortal,” he said, “and that the phenomenon of death is merely the separation of the astral body from the physical body. The five elements of which the body is composed return to their source. Our scriptures teach us that just as pilgrims unite and separate at a public inn, so also fathers, mothers, sons, brothers, wives, relations unite and separate in this world. He who thus understands the nature of the body and all human relationships based upon it will derive strength to bear the loss of our dear ones. In the Divine plan, one day each union must end with separation.

“In the Mahabharata, Bhishma says: ‘Develop this attitude based on wisdom: I am alone. There is no one who is mine; nor do I belong to anyone. Even this body does not belong to me. These objects of the world are not mine; nor do they belong to others. Or, all things belong equally to all beings. Therefore there is no need for any mind to grieve over these.’

“We offer our heartfelt condolences and together we offer our prayer: May the gods and the Mother grant strength and courage to the surviving. To all of us may the gods and the Mother grant ability to give comfort each other. May the gods and the Mother grant everlasting peace to the departed soul.”

He turned back to the body and lifted his arms, intoning the mantra of peace and rest to the departed soul.

"Om Aasto ma sadgamaya, tamaso ma jyotirgamaya, mrityorma amritam gamaya, Om shanti, shanti, shanti."

Text and prayer shamelessly pillaged off a website about Hindu death prayers.

[steveflam]

Ishaq looks at each member of the expedition. They were foreigners as was expected. Before the expedition stands a young man of about 23 years of age with long balck hair and deep blue eyes. Though clad in a loose robe, it was apparent he was very well built and the great sword strapped to his back was suited to him. A greatclub was at his hip. Stepping forward he spoke in Mordentish. "Greetings, I am Ishaq Rafiq. I have been hired to guard this expedition of yours by Effendi Maleagant. I am a native of Pharazia and lived here my whole life. Most of my adult life has been spent guarding caravans for various merchants of Phiraz." He pauses and exhales. It is obvious he is not a man of many words, yet more a man of action.

"It is an honor to be chosen to guard for such a prestigous University as the one on Dementlieu." Bowing he adds "And it is an honor to be associated with you."

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Lia's voice rings out after Kuzan's has fallen silent. She sings -- not very melodiously and she has trouble keeping tune, but there is honest emotion there:

'We know not where the way wends
Know not where our path ends
Or where it once began

We know not where the way wends
But matters not where in these lands
We know one thing

We know not where the way wends
But know that of which I sing
We have to move on without you.

I know not where your path began
Through what heavy waters you swam
To be with us

I know not where your way ends
To what distant shore you now wend
But you go there without us

I know not how we move on
When you from our midst are now gone
But we must.

I can not trust my eyes
I can not trust my ears
I can not trust my tongue
I can not trust my touch
I am swimming in the sea.

I am swimming in the sea
The waves have come between us
Swimming in the sea
Can you see and hear us?

We ache now for the distant shore
Where you wait, we hope, for evermore
The sea demands and deludes us
But we hope for that place of repose
Where we can all, again, be together.'

"Rest in peace, Ulsaon Lowbane," Lia says over the half-elf's body. "I hope we will meet again, when all veils are sundered."

[The Whistler]

Otto was not good at funerals...if it was even possible to be good at funerals. Not religious; not artistic; not particularly good at giving words to complex emotions. Nonetheless, after Lia finished singing, he got up from his bench and walked slowly yet deliberately up to the podium. Reaching into a pouch at his belt, he fished out a pair of cut tulips--one yellow, one orange--paused, looking at the body, then silently placed them upon the altar before walking back to his seat.

Any particularly astute observers would have noticed that the flowers appeared similar to the ones growing in Hazlan's Elazig District, and that, more than a week after they had been cut--more than a week on Otto's person--they were still in perfect bloom.

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Soon after the funeral ended, Ishaq made his appearance; the gunsmith was the first to introduce himself, sticking his hand out for the traditional shake, though his manner was more subdued than usual.

"Otto Schultheiss, of Lamordia. The honor is ours, I ensure you."

[NeoTiamat]

The Dementlieuse Embassy, The Foreign Quarter, Phiraz
May 24th, 761, 4:01 PM; Day 68 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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Samael looked like he'd bitten into a sour lemon for a moment, but it was too late, so no help for it now. It was not long after introductions were completed as D'Abigne briefly entered to say that Judge Jalil al-Shirazi and two compatriots had arrived.

When the three Confessors were lead inside, you had to pause for a moment. Each of the Judge's two lackeys was easily as tall as Kuzan, and not many inches under Ishaq. Grim-faced men in white robes, each had the standard-issue scourge of the Confessors, but also heavy maces at their belts. Strong-looking men, there was no doubt.

The Judge tipped his head to D'Abigne and Prof. Pelletier, and then adressed the explorers. "Greetings, comrades-in-sorrow, Prophet look upon you kindly."

"I have secured a warrant from the office of the Vizier for a visit to the Place of the Dead, and I have reported all to the Prophet." It seemed that Judge al-Shirazi had been a busy man. "And these are my companions, Abdul and Malik. The finest warriors in Phiraz."

"We are honored, Lord." Samael said smoothly. "In fact... Hrm... Ishaq, time for an initiation test. Accompany the Judge to the Necropolis with the others. Also.... Michel, Guy, you two go also."

The two guards nodded, then Guy spoke. "I'll go get Loup."

[OOC: Next post will be the arrival at the Necropolis]