The Eye of Anubis: Book Eleven

[Kaitou Kage]

Puppets. Pawns. Kuzan kept glancing at Harris, as if the sleeping man offered him something. And he kept jerking his head away as if he couldn't bear to look at him. He could see the others being caught up with this. All their Core politics, all their maneuvering, all their backstabbing and manipulations. But why him? He was a priest from a land far removed from all of the mess these people dwelt in regularly. Even with his tie to Menetnashte's reign, his stake here was so small. So insignifcant. Why should he be involved in this game at all? What was the point? Even if they knew about his past, what's the point? His part in this mess ended a thousand years ago. He could've lived just fine without ever having come to this gods-forsaken desert and this hells-blasted tomb.

Kuzan felt numb. Completely numb. He'd kept everyone alive only to let them stay as parts of this stupid game.

And to think most of this could've been avoided if people on the bloody Expedition hadn't decided to play these games.

The priest shouted in rage and, in his fury, kicked a nearby urn. The metal object flew up into the air and landed in a pile of coins and gems on the other side of the chamber. Then, he sat down again, landing unceremoniously on the floor. He rested his head on his arms and sighed, too tired to do much else.

"I...can take some of the treasure in my satchel," he offered quietly, "If that is the plan, though, I would like to take some back to Sri Raji with me. I have...plans."

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"As do I," Lia notes quietly. "There is something I need to do before we leave."

The wizard withdraws a notebook and a pen from her pack, and approaches the nearest wall of the tomb with a determined air about her. "Andre," she calls out in a quiet tone of voice, "will you please assist me? Rubbings. Copies. Of the inscriptions.

De Casteele may have sent us to be stalking horses for the likes of Cavendish, but we originally came out here to preserve the mysteries of the past. And there is an off chance that we might find some useful tidbit among these writings, if we can get them copied in a hurry."

For a moment, Lia glances over her shoulder at Lily. "Did you bring Monsieur Lessard's daguerrotype equipment with you this far, or did you dispose of it after leaving the monastery?"

[Isabella]

The Tomb of Menetnashte
August 30th, 761, 1:36 PM; Day 165 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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Lily shrugged. "If it was in his pack, it's probably with the camels, at the base of the cliffs," she said.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"Bother," Lia sighs. "Fine. I've noticed you have a fair hand at writing. Please assist me. If the ancient priests left any clues as to the spells and other techniques that bound the fiend in the heart of Menetnashte for an occasion such as this, they might be here. As many of you as are able, please. What information we can salvage may wind up being crucial. And if not ... I suppose you can make names for yourselves in the scholastic community for rescuing priceless knowledge of the past."

[DocBeard]

Tomas has been pondering an important question. Being something of an engineer, he finally comes to a solution.

Stepping fiercely on Ivorsen, Tomas's makeshift leaver snaps forward, forcing the glowing green gem out of its home and into Tomas's waiting hands. It bounces a few times, but for once Tomas manages to have all the manual dexterity of an adult with working thumbs, catching it! Eisenwald meets the boring gaze of the Eye with his own glare, feeling an irrational dislike of the thing-and, well, it seems like feelings are mutual.

After realizing he'd been losing a staring contest to a rock for a good couple of minutes, Tomas roughly shoves the Eye into his sack, hefts the sack over his shoulder, and lets a breath out. Nothing exploded.

[lostboy]

What sin weighs down the soul more than avarice?"

"Wrath? I am gulty as any" Sascha says getting to his feet and giving Khalil a look wihtout malice. "In light of our endeavours I feel no compunctiion for hate of you, circumstances dictated, yet each has shown his valour in this past hour, you as much as anyone. I forgive your actions in the past, let memories remain there" he adds holding out a hand.

"I...can take some of the treasure in my satchel," he offered quietly, "If that is the plan, though, I would like to take some back to Sri Raji with me. I have...plans."

but we originally came out here to preserve the mysteries of the past. And there is an off chance that we might find some useful tidbit among these writings, if we can get them copied in a hurry."

Whether Khalil takes the olive branch or not, sascha raises his voice and addresses everyone.

"So do what you must in this place, whether that is retriving riches or knowledge, each to their own, I care nothing for any of this,.... For my part there are two relements of impoprtance here; firstly Captain Harris, and secondly the thrice cursed demons eye. Both need to be conveyed from this place, safely and with respect. Do as you wish with the contents of the tomb but do it quickly, I have no doubt Vederrak is itching to apply a shaprened stake to someone..."

"Not even heaven will help him if he does" he adds with a grim look.

[Kaitou Kage]

Kuzan winced at Sascha's last comments and began picking through the treasure. It felt odd. He planned to use the money to build his new temple to Garuda and Varuna back home, but it felt almost greedy. And at the same time, the priest still felt numb -- and anxious.

"I will inform Vedarrak when we are ready to leave. Is there anything I should relay to him?"

If you have done anything to them, Vedarrak, Kuzan thought, If you do anything to them...Then I pray Kali has mercy on your soul.

He shook the thought off. Nobody is going to die.

"Sascha is right," he said, "We should hurry. Will someone who knows more about the value of these things help me gather what we're taking? My pack can only take so much."

[The Whistler]

Otto sagged a bit, peering about the room with tired eyes. Despite the catharsis of the battle, despite the rapprochement with the Conspiracy, despite being surrounded by enough gold to singlehandedly unbalance the Lamordian economy...

...The gunsmith *liked* closure. It was tidy. This did *not* feel tidy.

Then again, you've had more than your fair share of closure for the day.

He sighed. "I would perhaps be helping with the evaluation of modern trade goods, but this...I am not sure that I would be of much use at all. Still, I am to do what I can."

He bent down to help Kuzan with the task; not entirely by accident, this involved a glance towards Tomas, holding the eye.

At least *that's* something to be thankful for.

[Nathan of the FoS]

"This entire expedition..was supposed to be a ruse. A sad joke at all our expenses to draw out cranks and lunatics like Cavendish. When it started to go well...drastically wrong. Or too right, depending on how one wishes to see it...they decided to send along help. He was honestly amazed we were still alive."

Charles gives Andre an odd look, and then looks at Fassahd. "How were they expecting to find the place?" he asks. "Or did they just overestimate their abilities along those lines?..."

"So...we emerge, we demand our comrades, we hand over the Eye, we let Vedarrak get well away, and then we follow him, looking for our chance to regain the Eye and destroy it. Yes? And then we devalue the Dementlieuse currency, and perform other insidious operations...not very poetic, that...we'll work something out."

[Isabella]

The Tomb of Menetnashte
August 30th, 761, 1:40 PM; Day 165 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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The hunched jackal-man kept his eyes on the emerald until the very last. When Tomas had finally stuffed it away and secured the bag, Fassahd stood up, slightly. The towering creature padded its way toward the statue where the eye had been, picking the simple traveler's pack he had carried with him into the Tomb. He picked it up in one oversized hand, the cloth sack looking like a child's marble pouch in his paw. Then he moved behind one of the room's central statues, seeking what little privacy he could behind something that barely reached up to his waist.

There was a horrific crunching noise as a fourteen-foot jackal transformed into a five foot man, the entire shift taking all of three seconds. The slim Akiri came out from behind the statue, a simple linen cloth wrapped around his waist, and sighed.

"Wrath? I am gulty as any" Sascha says getting to his feet and giving Khalil a look wihtout malice. "In light of our endeavours I feel no compunctiion for hate of you, circumstances dictated, yet each has shown his valour in this past hour, you as much as anyone. I forgive your actions in the past, let memories remain there" he adds holding out a hand.

Khalil hesitated slightly, before taking Sascha's hand and gripping his arm firmly. "You are a strange man," he said. "A more forgiving one than myself, and I thank you for it."

"There are many things in the past I have yet to confront," he continued, quietly. "And I thank you once more that my deeds against you shall not be one of them."

"Sascha is right," he said, "We should hurry. Will someone who knows more about the value of these things help me gather what we're taking? My pack can only take so much."

"Don't take anything you can't hide. If Vedarrak catches us hoarding things from him, it will be unpleasant," Sam said, picking up a handful of priceless treasures and sifting through it. "We can get away with some small things. Mists, he'll expect small things. Satchels of treasure are not small. If he gets suspicious he'll find ways to search us. Can't let that happen. Go for unmarked things. Gems. Things without Akiri markings. You can say you had it before you got to the tomb. If he doesn't want a fight, we have to keep the benefit of the doubt on our side. If he does want a fight, nothing we do will matter anyway." Sam gave a slightly unhinged laugh at that.

Sam unfolded another one of the enchanted bags, starting to shovel coins inside. "We'll have to fill these up and turn most of them over," he said, bleakly. "Otherwise he'll get suspicious. We'll hand 'em over. Jervis, grab some of those statues. We'll weigh him down. Too much gold and he won't get home in any decent time. He doesn't want the gold, anyway." Sam paused to reflect on that. "Well, he might. But what really matters is he doesn't think we're trying to pull anything past him. Let him think he's in control of everything."

Sam looked over at where Edmund lay, trying to speak for a few seconds before actually succeeding. "We could carry him out, but it wouldn't be terribly comfortable." Sam stared at some of the golden funeral biers in the corners. "No, we can't take him out on that. He's... he's not dead. Too heavy anyway. Best to make something to put him on."

Guy pulled a few ceremonial spears from the wall, untouched by Time's caress. With no regard for the priceless artifacts of a lifetime he held in his hands, he snapped the metal spearheads off, casually chucking them onto the floor. Micheal gathered up some of the ceremonial garments, and they started trying to cobble together a stretcher. From the looks of it, Guy had done this before, although his materials at the moment were less than optimal.

[yalenusveler]

Andre was rather busy taking rubbings and impressions...translations would likely prove useful in reverse engineering bindings and the like, and serve as potentially useful primary sources in finding some way to destroy the cursed treasure that was the Eye. "I don't know. Follow the trouble magnet group?" He responded to Charles' question with something of an almost sigh.

"I've really no clue..I could ask the ambassador again, though considering last civil chat I had with him involved having my heart mystically removed as insurance, because he couldn't quite believe Samael had a conscience..probably not the best track to take. Oh, and if it does come down to a confrontation with him..be EXTREMELY wary about targeting him with magics. Through spell or trinket, he can reflect spells onto their caster. It's how he took down Snefru."

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"One wonders whether this talent only relates to spells aimed directly at him," Lia says out loud, while continuing her rubbings, "or that he could protect himself from area spells in this manner as well ... No matter."

[Isabella]

The Tomb of Menetnashte
August 30th, 761, 1:47 PM; Day 165 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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"Best we don't give him any more reason to antagonize us, then," Samael said, staring miserably at the gold coins he held in his hands. "Hurry up with those statues, and let's go."

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scritch scritch scritch

The thick, unnatural mists that poured forth from the tomb door had melted away, leaving only more thick mist beyond. You stumbled through the unfamiliar hallway, unable to see more than five feet in front of you. The conspiracy glided in and out of your vision, like wolves in the fog; even had you asked it, and even if they had agreed, it would have been impossible for them all to stay in your sight. Up in front of you, the dull blood-red of Jervis' bandanna just barely stood out from the grey. Samael walked behind him, his porcelain face invisible against the white backdrop.

You didn't recall passing through this hallway on your way here - there had only been an eternity of darkness, and the feeling of it swirling around your body, as if seeking some way inside. Now the feeling remained, as you walked down a corridor, the mists clinging to your skin as you pressed onward. You could hear sounds echoing around you as you kept walking, see flashes of figures lurking around you: a flash of blazing emerald eyes - Khalil's, most likely; a dark shadow, standing out against the fog - Samael, in his black clothing. There was, almost certainly, no one else in this forsaken place, aside from yourselves... and, perhaps, the one shade that remained unaccounted for.

scritch scritch scritch

The first thing you noticed, upon entering the room, were the shining violet eyes. They didn't truly glow, merely reflecting Lily's lamplight with an eerie luminescence of their own, yet the light seemed to seep into the fog around it, giving the impression. Upon looking closer, you could make out the rest of Professor Devereux, sitting hunched on a simple stone altar. But the first thing you noticed was the eyes.

The second thing you noticed was that the room was not the one you had left him in. The copper, the lamps, the metal altar had all fled, perhaps with the darkness that had clogged the passageway behind you. You could make out little through the mists, but found yourself standing upon a floor of simple stone tiles, tall pillars lining the edges of the room.

The third thing you noticed was that Professor Devereux was missing his frock coat. If he had taken it off and set it aside, there was no sign of where he had put it. He looked rather different without it; the psychedelic dash of purple seemed to create an emptiness in your minds now that it was missing. One of his shirt-sleeves seemed wet, somehow - a spiral of dampness that crawled up his arm, as if a wet rope had been tied around it, but perhaps it simply remained from the pool of water the Tulpa had been guarding.

scritch scritch scritch

The fourth thing you noticed was the book Professor Devereux was writing in. The Terrible Tombs of Har Akir, last anyone had checked, was a book that sat firmly in the possession of Professor Andre Theroux, and Devereux had never asked for it to be returned to him. Yet there it was, balanced on Devereux's lap, while the professor carefully wrote in it with a black fountain pen. Blowing on the pages slightly for them to dry, he snapped the book shut, capping the pen and putting it in his waistcoat pocket.

"Welcome back," he said.

[DocBeard]

"Professor." Tomas is cordial, if somewhat exhausted from the massive fight from earlier. The swordsman assumes that the Professor knows damn well what he is carrying in that heavy sack, and doesn't feel the need to mention it.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Lia comes to a halt next to Tomas, and very gently places one hand on his arm. It looks perfectly innocent (unless one is of the inclination to ascribe romantic undertones to the relationship between the knight and the mage), but Tomas can feel the tips of Lia's claws dimpling his skin through the gloves and the fabric of his sleeve. A silent warning?

"Professor," she echoes the paladin's word. And then: "My goodness, you seem to have gotten wet! Hmm, amusing, is it not? Getting wet in the middle of a desert? Reminds me of something ... an amusing story ... Just like in that book of yours, Andre," she says, giving professor Theroux a glance. "Do you still have it? I might like to do a little light reading tonight."

(OOC: In other words: Tomas, please don't go near Devereux yet. Andre, do you have Devereux' book in your pack, still, or has it gone?)