The Eye of Anubis: Book Four

[Nathan of the FoS]

Phiraz is a great city, no question about that; but Charles has seen great cities before. He's seen many a building that's a marvel of architecture--for one thing, the architecture and mathematics colleges of the University meet together for historical reasons--and he is familiar with the Opera of Port-a-Lucine and the Great Cathedral of Levkarest, among many other notable edifices. He has, on occasion, rubbed shoulders with the great and powerful--he has had his cheek pinched by Othmar Bolshnik, he has spoken (very briefly) with the Red Wizard Hazlik, and (slightly more at length) with Jacqueline Renier; he has met all the members of the Council of Brilliance, not to mention an acquaintance with hosts of lesser luminaries.

None of it prepares him for the Palace of Purity, or the Prophet.

He stares at his surroudings like a farmer with the hay still in his hair, and doesn't particularly care if anyone notices. It's so beautiful! Confessors notwithstanding, it's a little hard to believe that an evil man could have produced something so awe-inspiring.

The sight of the Prophet, armored and...winged?...is, however, subtly jarring. He's too beautiful to be human (not to mention the wings)...and that, in itself, is not only disconcerting but, somehow, frightening.

Collecting himself, he steps forward at the Prophet's invitation, bows as deeply as he has ever done, and says, "Charles Augustus Renaud Martel, your servant, Your Holiness."

[steveflam]

Ulsaon has seen many big cities in the Forgotten Realms, but nothing prepared her for the sight before her. The Palace of Purity was absolutely the most beautiful place she had ever visited in her short life. That was until she set her eyes upon the Prophet. He was so beautiful! Never had she seen one as beautiful as he. Bowing in respect to the Prophet, she introduced herself Pharasian "Ulsaon Lowbane, your holiness, at your service."

[yalenusveler]

It was...difficult. On one hand, being the scholar that he was, Andre was somewhat prepared for the vision before him, at least on an intellectual level.
On an emotional and spiritual level however, it was utterly impossible to be prepared. Not a day before, he had bemoaned that one had so much proof of the existence of hells, but so very little of the existence of heaven.

And now it stood before him, asking for an introduction. It was...odd. So much of his work was based on rationalizing faith, making the mysteries of the divine into something easily understood. Miracles and myth into directed will and mere parable. In an odd way, it was rather Lamordian of him.

But now...now confronted by a living example of the very thing he alternately bemoaned the lack of or doubted the existence of, he found all his theories, all his scholarly knowledge of which he had been so proudly smug, unto the world like a droplet of water in a great vast ocean.

Never had being humbled so been so utterly terrifying, fascinating, and in a weird way, uplifting. And most certainly never the three all at once. It actually took the others speaking for him to remember that, oh yes, he HAD requested an introduction, and wasn't just here to be gaped at like some utter peasant.

Switching into Pharazian Andre spoke, trying to hide the utter awe in his voice, and doing a poor job. "I am Professor Andre Theroux, oh most Radiant Voice of the Heavens. And although I am a scholar of this world's faiths, I swear unto you that I have not proclaimed the truth of any faith but the true faith of Phiraz while within its borders. " He finished, finally moving from what had been a position of nigh supplication as he spoke, and trying to rejoin the group, unless the Prophet bade him to do otherwise.

[lostboy]

Khalil had heard many things but it was worse, infintley worse. The being into whos presence they had been ushered, with all the pomp and ceremony of an audience with Anubis himself, is beautiful, power incarnate, with the aura of the divine about him.

Khalils jaw drops slightly as he examines the being seated beofre him, is it a man, or a god, or most disturbingly a djinni in human form? Yet the beauty is undeniable, and this being holds their lives in its hand, he relaises with a sinking feeling noting for the first time the armed confessors linign the walls.

Taking a deep breath he bows lightly, enough to convey respect, and speaks in his best Pharazian: "I am Khalil, son of Annazir, grandson of Myrsus, born of the wastes of Har' Akir, and known as the Dragoman."

[NeoTiamat]

The Palace of Purity, Phiraz
May 23rd, 761, 10:27 AM; Day 66 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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The rest of the Expedition gave their introductions as well, their reactions a testament, perhaps, to their varied personalities and views.

"Professor Jean-Jacques Pelletier, of the University of Dementlieu, and head of the Menetnashte Expedition." The elder professor managed to restrain his perpetual cough, looking not impressed so much as.... intrigued.

"Seigneur Sebastian Marchand-Renier of Richemulot, if it please your Holiness." The linguist said in his best Pharazian tones of nobility, the Richemulose scholar's sarcasm somehow drained by the surroundings.

"Thomas Carter, archeologist." Carter's face seemed positively alight with possibilities, adventure and excitement and awe all commingled.

"I am Samael Aurelius Maleagant, your Excellency," The Borcan added, his voice a near-whisper even as the man glanced from side to side. He was nervous, yes, but hid it well, though you had to wonder why he was so nervous.

"Miss Lily D'Envers, with L'Interrogateur." Unlike most of the others, Lily met Diamabel's eyes directly, cat-like green eyes meeting fathomless blue ones. No one could ever say Lily lacked for brass.

"Uh... Remy Lessard, your holiness." The graduate student's eyes were wide with taking in all the surroundings.

"F-f-fassahd al-Muharin, Effendi." The Akiri bent nearly double, prostrating himself before the Prophet of Phiraz. The

"Captain Edmund Harris, MM."Harris saluted, back straight, projecting Mordentish practicality and the 'stiff-upper-lip', even through the undeniably local robes.

"Sarari." The elf stood unbowed, but there was a tenseness in her body, a faint quiver in her form.

"I'm Guy Benoit." Without Loup, who had been left behind in an antechamber, Guy looked uneasy, although the intensity of Diamabel's presence seemed to throw the man off-balance even more.

"Michel De Angelis, son of Marquise Jacques De Angelis, the former Ambassador to your land, your Holiness." Michel covered his awe with the practiced ease of a diplomat, though guard he was.

"Um... Dieter Haulfstead, sir." Dieter barely stopped gawking at everything, up to and including Diamabel, to give this brief introduction.

"Jervis." You weren't sure, but for a moment it seemed as though Diamabel looked the mercenary in the eye, though perhaps it was a trick of your mind.

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Diamabel watched the many introductions, his beautiful, angelic brow unclouded, his smile friendly and easy. The Prophet of Purity swept his heavenly blue eyes over each and every one of you, and you thought, just for a moment, that he paused his gaze over Tomas and Jervis in particular, though why a graduate student and a mercenary was quite beyond you.

"How notable... I try to welcome all such notable incursions into my land, though I fear I did not learn of yours till late last evening, too late." The Prophet sighed, a brief visage of grief passing his noble brow. "Perhaps then this could have been avoided. Bring out the prisoner, High Confessor."

The stern-visaged man beside Diamabel raised a hand, and from a nearby alcove two Confessors led Prof. Devereux out. The lanky professor looked tired, and was slightly bruised, although that was something of a standard state for Devereux, but otherwise unharmed.

"Now let me see here..." The angelic being atop the mother-of-pearl throne lowered his eyes to briefly gaze at a parchment. "I believe this man is accused of enchanting a Confessor in the course of his duties, and directing the man to..."

The Prophet raised his magnificent head to look directly at the pot-bellied old man beside him, frowning momentarily. "Is this quite correct?"

"Yes, your excellency." The old man bowed briefly. "The foreigner did indeed direct your servant to recite nursery rhymes, including Frere Jaques, regarding a foreign priest, to the youth of Phiraz."

"I see..." The Prophet shook his head briefly, a vague look of confusion on his face. He turned back to the Expedition."Does anyone care to explain?"

[Nathan of the FoS]

"A foreign priest?" Charles repeats, honestly confused at the news this extremely impressive interview appears to center around recital of a nursery rhyme. "Forgive me, your Holiness, I had always thought the nursery rhyme was simply about the singer's brother...of course, I do have a brother named Jacques myself, which may explain it."

Whether or not Devereux has really enchanted a Confessor is a question Charles would prefer to leave unexamined; somehow he doubts that that particular charge can be explained away by variant interpretations of a children's rhyme.

[DocBeard]

There's a flicker of fear as he's Looked at, but Tomas shakes his head, marshalling his courage and taking a step forward. "Yes, sir, I do. The fault is mine. Thank you for allowing us to explain our side of the story."

A brief pause, as Tomas's raging mind tries to calm itself down, fighting off the surge of panic and the terrible certainty that the best he can hope for is not getting his friends and mentor killed along with him. "Professor Deveraeux, Mister Benoit, and myself were touring the city, hoping to see some of the archetectural marvels before the expadition was finished restocking supplies and ready to continue our journey. Loup, Mister Benoit's dog, started acting oddly-he has led us to people in danger before, so I thought it prudent to listen carefully. I heard the faint sound of screams from beneath the street and let Loup lead the way, knowing his keener senses would do a better job of finding the source of the turmoil."

"Herr Professor and Mister Benoit did not hear what I heard, but followed me anyway." Tomas pauses, swallowing. "We ran, briefly, and then ran into the Confessor in question. He asked us where we were going, and I explained the situation to him. He did not seem to believe me, and mentioned arresting me. I blame myself for improperly communicating the urgency of the situation, but I did not resist arrest. This is when the Professor took his watch out, using a technique he learned from his celebrated career battling the undead to distract the Confessor, taking his attention for a time. Mister Beniot and myself decided that someone potentially being tortured took priority, and that if we happened to be wrong, an honest apology would be better than ignoring the cries if they happened to be right."

"I broke the door down, and saw..." Tomas trails off here, obviously struggling to keep his composure. Eisenwald looks...conflicted, as if part of him wants to let out a sob, and another part wants to let out a primal scream of rage; hands shaking, Tomas takes a deep, cleansing breath, and strides on, "...something terrible. A family of three, murdered, hung from the ceiling, and their...their faces removed. Their bodies were treated like a sailor handles a salted side of meat. Hoping to find whomever could have done such a thing, we searched the room as quickly as we could...eventually, I found a few footprints, which I followed until they...stopped, at a wall, as though the walker had vanished."

"Realizing that we were too late to do anything, we paused only to put a shroud over the bodies, before rushing off to recover the Professor. He was gone, and this is the first time we have seen him since." Tomas pauses, again, recovering from reliving the memory for a second, "Sir, they followed my hunch, and acted to help me, because I thought I could help a few people in pain. I cannot, in good conscience, apologize for trying to help those people, even if I was too late, but I can apologize for involving my friends in this. I...I have sometimes been able to see things men do not normally see, sir. Ghosts, spirits, that sort of thing. In retrospect, something that...traumatic, could have left...echos, that Loup and I picked up on. I should have thought of that before rushing off."

Tomas holds his head up, daring to look the Prophet in the eye. "Please, sir, if someone must be punished in order to make this right, then I am the guilty party. I submit to the judgement of your city, and your laws, confident that the Prophet will not punish everyone else for my own failures."

[The Whistler]

Otto had walked through the various rituals and introductions half-dazed; there was a familiar look on his face, and it bespoke focus. Sheer, unadulterated attention, moderated by fascination; as if seeing the Prophet through a lens that sharpened lines, vivified colors, enhanced sensations. He looked, as if looking were his entire self, all circuits in concert.

...What IS he?

Tomas' words intersected his conscious mind seconds after the sounds hit his ears, and his attention hiccuped, for just a moment.

By the... Selfless. *Too* selfless? Does selflessness even have meaning, in the presence of this...?

Keep your head clear.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

'Devereux made a confessor do what?' is Lia's first thought on hearing the full charges. 'Are these people morons, ignorant or setting us up on purpose?' is her second, her eyes narrowing dangerously behind her mask.

'We probably would not make it out of here alive if we try fighting our way out of this place,' she considers, looking around at the Confessors and the splendidly appointed room. 'Who knows how many hidden archers and traps there are here that I can not see? This man is called king of the world, there is no way this setting can be even as innocuous as it looks. Can we somehow persuade this prophet, mollify him so as not to have Devereux skinned alive, or whatever it is they do to people who proclaim a foreign faith around here?'

And then Tomas holds his little speech, and Lia has some trouble staying upright. 'Hell's Bells! A good man, a very good man, but -- yet I can't talk, not when I -- no, comrade, must not -- broken three laws that even I can see, and I am unfamiliar with this Pharazia -- hunt a demon and will it hunt you in return? Wait. Wait.'
Eyes narrowing, Lia glances down at the floor, rather than at the radiant prophet. 'Wait. This prophet speaks of us as a notable incursion. He did not know about us until last night. That's not good. That's not good at all. Did they actually trump up charges, just to get us in here? I mean, with so many foreigners about, surely someone must have heard that blasted nursery rhyme, 'Frere Jacques', before. This is not good at all!'

[yalenusveler]

"A..although yes, Frere Jacques does refer to a foreign priest, oh most holy in all the world...It refers to him being either too lazy to rouse from slumber when the morning bells are ringing..or depending on which country it is sung in..being dead from plague." Andre added, finally finding his voice again. "Both two things that would not occur with the clergy of this city of wonders, and showing the failings of faiths other than your own."

Andre hoped that this would mitigate things a bit..sure it was spin...but it was accurate spin. As for the actual hypnosis...yeah, that would be a bit more difficult to handle.

[NeoTiamat]

The Palace of Purity, Phiraz
May 23rd, 761, 10:33 AM; Day 66 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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The angelic Prophet of Phiraz ignored Charles's attempts at diplomacy, concentrating instead entirely upon the Tomas's admission. The heavenly face betrayed nothing but a focused interest, a curiosity centered entirely upon Tomas.

"I see..." Diamabel was motionless for a few moments, seeming to be nothing more than a statue of alabaster and gold. Then the Prophet spoke again. "High Confessor, Vizier, your views on the matter?"

"Enchantment of a Confessor, tampering with a crime scene, and flouting the laws of Phiraz are no laughing matter, My Lord Prophet, particularly for Dhimmi." The harsh-faced Confessor spoke softly, a hard, unbending fervor underlying every syllable. "A flogging ought to make them pay more attention to their obligations. The control of the mind through spellwork or foreign techniques is a most serious crime."

The High Confessor glared directly at Andre as he finished. "And no amount of false flattery and honeyed words changes that."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, honored colleague. Flattery is always nice. Nevertheless...." The pot-bellied Vizier bowed briefly as he spoke. "Fact the First: No long term harm is done, especially considering that the rhyme is in a foreign tongue, and a beastly difficult one to prounounce to begin with."

"Fact the Second: These people are, as you have mentioned, Dhimmi, and so you can't really expect them to know all the ins and outs of the legal system, now can you? Ignorance is no excuse for not following the law, but the fact that they didn't act out of malice is to be noted."

"And Fact the Third and Most Important: The Dhimmi were trying to help. Granted, they have odd-ways of showing it, but again, no malice was intended. Give them fine and send them on their way."

The High Confessor glared at the little pudgy Vizier, who spoke with a practiced and polished oratorical tone, despite his unassuming appearance. Diamabel motioned both of them to silence as he thought, then delivered his judgement.

"Certainly one of the more unique cases in recent history." The angelic being noted dryly. "But I must agree that my High Confessor, Bey Farashin, is quite correct. Enchantment of a Confessor and the breaking of a Confessor's Seal atop a crime scene is a serious charge. Therefore, both the foreign professor and his student are to be given thirty lashes of the scourge."

"However... My Lord Vizier al-Mustafa is also correct. Therefore, both of you are being placed on probation for the duration of your time in Phiraz, and the punishment deferred until further notice."

"Any questions?"

[Nathan of the FoS]

Charles comes near to swallowing his tongue as Tomas' account of yesterday's events, consisting as it does of several outright confessions of law-breaking plus a mention of his possessing unusual sensitivity to the metaphysical. The Lamordian is transparently honest and seems to have acted from the highest motives throughout his adventures, but...well. It's not at all clear whether that will carry much weight with the Prophet.

Seeing him stand forth to divert attention from Devereux (and the rest of the Expedition, by implication) to himself gives Charles a strange feeling...as if he's seen or heard of a scene like this before. After a moment's puzzlement he realizes it's not the scene that's familiar--it's the persona. This Lamordian, who is so proud to announce himself a graduate student, who so consistently puts his foot in his mouth, with his slightly obtuse and provincial Lamordian morals and more than slightly provincial manners, is a true knight, in the tradition of Percival and Lancelot and the others who populated Charles' storybooks growing up.

That's what I wanted to be like, Charles thinks to himself, and feels a jolt of shame go through him. Lost in his thoughts (and unable to understand the conversation in Pharazian) he snaps out of his reverie at the mention of thirty lashes--painful but not crippling, at a guess--and quick relief at the news of its deferral. We're getting off easy...now, to see if, by Ezra's grace, we can avoid any further incident. We'll need it, the way our luck has been running.

[DocBeard]

Tomas does his very best to keep his face impassive; it helps that, on some level, he knows that the High Confessor has a point. He broke the law. That crime might go unsolved because of him. His friends might die because of his recklessness. The least he can do is be a man about this.

The final conclusion is...well, Tomas would lie if he didn't admit to feeling the pit of his stomach fall open when the Prophet first makes his judgement. He closes his eyes, taking a slow, cleansing breath in order to keep his composure. Even as he hears that it's "just" the lashes, Tomas is releaved because Guy isn't being punished...he couldn't save the Professor, but at least there's that.

And then, salvation. The cynic in Tomas's head, the one that sounds just like Andre, is telling him that this is a set up, but all Tomas can do is grin in naked relief. "I...I see. Thank you. All of you." Tomas bows, as he would to a ruler, "Is there anything else I may do to help make amends for my recklessness?" Again, focus on how it's his fault, not the Professor and Guy's.

[Kaitou Kage]

Kuzan exhaled the breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding. That could've gone worse. A LOT worse. The priest actually did offer a silent prayer of thanks to Purity that the Prophet was amenable to mercy when mercy was required.

Andre was starting to irritate him, in much the same way that the High Confessor was annoyed. The flattery, kowtowing, and obvious attempts to kiss up were pretty sickening.

All things considered, probation and deference of the flogging were MUCH more preferable than prison sentences or worse.

Kuzan kept his head bowed, though. He had no questions of his own, and he knew better than to speak to a deva unless addressed.

[lostboy]

Noble, very noble, Khalil thinks as he watches Tomas, however sometimes in order to survive situations it was best to take the punishment and not tempt fate further.

The Desert Guide surreptitiously lays a hand on Tomas arm, and shoots him a look that pretty much says Dont push your luck, lets get out of here before the prophet decides Lamordian heads on pikes make nice ornaments for his palace.