The Eye of Anubis: Book Eight

[yalenusveler]

Andre remained quiet, trying to read the litany of denial coming from the horde of imprisoned men. On one hand, it was entirely likely that they were pirates. On the other hand, it was entirely likely that they weren't and something terribly sinister was going on. On the third hand, it was entirely likely that they WERE pirates, and something terribly sinister was going on anyway.

It was the sort of situation that makes a man think two things. One, why do I keep coming up with worst case scenarios, and two..where in the hells did I get a third hand?!

OOC:19 on the sense motive on the "pirates"

[DocBeard]

Tomas waits another moment, his eyes remaining cold as he judges the inflection in so many accented voices. He misses, for a moment, when the only accent he had to worry about was from the next village over.

And then his foot moves like lightning, smashing into the ground! He grinds his heel into the ground, eyes narrow with righteous fury, teeth grit, as though he were snuffing out one of the maggot-larva of Hell.

There's nothing there.

"I apologize, Herr Abbot." Tomas notes, feeling ashamed of himself. "And please believe me when I say that I found the way to this place entirely by accident. If they would lie to a man who would bleed and shed blood in their defense, they would cause the sort of trouble that would force you to keep them in confinement." Tomas turns, then, to the doors. "I was going to beg you to give them a chance at redemption, to use a resource and enlist their aid in the defense of the Monastery, that even forced labor is preferable to death. But now I am fairly sure you tried that, Herr Abbot, and had your trust betrayed."

"Even when I do kill whatever's hiding here, there will always be evil that festers in the shriveled hearts and tiny minds of weak men." Tomas concludes, perhaps the stress of being in the psychic presence of such a significant force of spiritual entropy finally getting to him. He looks up at the ceiling, suddenly and horribly enraged, seeming more like a murderous Dominian inmate than his usual, boisterous self. "Do you hear me?! The last time I met one of your miserable kind, it couldn't shut up about how doomed we were, how it was hopeless to resist, how it was only letting us live for the novelty of it: And we are still here! We pathetic mortals survive, and rebuild, over and over, while your immortal machinations and natural superiority produces nothing! So this is your last damned warning! Just stop, before someone else gets killed, because if that happens, I'm not resting until one of us is dead, thing! You hear me, parasite?!" Tomas concludes his rant with a savage punch to the wall itself, struggling with, well, whatever imaginary thorns are trying to stick into his hand. Finally, he rips his hand free!

And then, he's Tomas again, bowing his head meekly at the Abbot. "My apologies for interrupting your private time, Herr Abbot. The fault is entirely mine. Once accounts are settled, I will repay any debt that remains through labor. Excuse me."

[lostboy]

Khalil keeps his expression neutral, although a tick in his eye shows that something is happening behind his blank face.

Had he had Tomas' conviction he might have made a stand for the rights of all men, but well life is too short and every man needs to find his own path. If these idiots got themselves caught thats their problem, Khalil muses keeping his eyes on the stick thin figure of the abbot.

Besides I have better things to do than become a martyr for them. He thinks eyeing the rightuous fury that appears to be rollign out of other memebers of the party.

Still information is information afterall, and these fools may know more than their appearance and intellect suggests, a pity talking to them may prove difficult... He thinks with a sigh.

"May I ask how you came to be in the care of such as these?" he asks the Abbot.

[NeoTiamat]

Somewhere?... The Monastery of Stilled Nightmares, Sebua
July 17th, 761, 5:27 PM; Day 122 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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Kuzan turned his gaze up to the faceless Abbot. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, "It is not something I enjoyed either."

No one should.

What is the nature of this shrouded statue, kept in a place of death?

A relic of a bygone time, one that I have yet to manage to destroy. I find it safer to keep it well-guarded and where I can keep an eye on it.

"May I ask how you came to be in the care of such as these?" Khalil asks the Abbot.

Coming through the Ruse entails a certain amount of... confusion, usually. The Abbot said softly, the whispers of his thoughts in your mind quiet. The monks know how to travel quietly through this terrain, and we have numbers, speed, and training on our side. And a few... tricks. It is not difficult, usually.

Afterwards, a mental probe confirms their guilt or innocence, and those beyond help come here. The Abbot shrugged in his shadows. Not the best system, but it is what is necessary.

"Do you hear me?! The last time I met one of your miserable kind, it couldn't shut up about how doomed we were, how it was hopeless to resist, how it was only letting us live for the novelty of it: And we are still here! We pathetic mortals survive, and rebuild, over and over, while your immortal machinations and natural superiority produces nothing! So this is your last damned warning! Just stop, before someone else gets killed, because if that happens, I'm not resting until one of us is dead, thing! You hear me, parasite?!"

It's been tried. The Abbot said, his mental voice sounding tired and resigned. Mostly, it sounded old. Very, very, old. It's been tried a half-dozen times over the years, and I'm tired of spending lives on it.

And yet... The old Abbot's voice turned soft, and thoughtful. Hopeful, perhaps. If any could do it, perhaps you can...

And then, he's Tomas again, bowing his head meekly at the Abbot. "My apologies for interrupting your private time, Herr Abbot. The fault is entirely mine. Once accounts are settled, I will repay any debt that remains through labor. Excuse me."

There is no need to apologize, Tomas. The fault is at least partially mine. I do not speak of this aspect of our Monastery unless necessary, and the monks do the same out of respect for my wishes. Few who pass by would be comforted by it. But it also paves the way for these mistakes.

If you so wish, we can go to my office in the north of this building. I will tell you what I know of the Beast Ronove. The Abbot's mental voice turned very grim, very serious indeed. But only upon one condition. If you think it too dangerous, if you think that you might not succeed, then you will do nothing, and merely continue on your journey.

I am tired of martyrs.

So. Shall we depart to more pleasant venues?

[Nathan of the FoS]

"Er...jolly good," Charles says, reappearing a few yards from the Abbot and laying his mask on the table. "Terribly sorry, Your Reverence. One does get a bit carried away at times--we've had so many bad experiences that one's imagination does tend to run along the lines of the worst possible scenario. Better safe than sorry, and so forth. If you would care to tell us more of this Ronoph, we would certainly be glad to hear what you have to say."

[yalenusveler]

"I am afraid that at this point, doing nothing isn't an option we've the luxury of taking." Andre said, settling out of a ready to unleashing reverberating destruction stance. "And since Martyrdom doesn't suit my temperament, success is our only option. Good for you and yours, isn't it?"

[NeoTiamat]

Somewhere?... The Monastery of Stilled Nightmares, Sebua
July 17th, 761, 5:30 PM; Day 122 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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"Er...jolly good," Charles says, reappearing a few yards from the Abbot and laying his mask on the table. "Terribly sorry, Your Reverence. One does get a bit carried away at times--we've had so many bad experiences that one's imagination does tend to run along the lines of the worst possible scenario. Better safe than sorry, and so forth. If you would care to tell us more of this Ronoph, we would certainly be glad to hear what you have to say."

My own fault. The Abbot said graciously, as the mask levitated from its position on the table and floated over to the strangely emaciated figure. The Abbot pressed the mask into the shadows of his cowl, reaching into the back to pull it down over the reast of his head.

In a few moments, the bronze-masked Abbot of Stilled Nightmares was as you had seen him before. Well, let us proceed. I'll tell you what I know of Ronove, though it... is not much.

"I am afraid that at this point, doing nothing isn't an option we've the luxury of taking." Andre said, settling out of a ready to unleashing reverberating destruction stance. "And since Martyrdom doesn't suit my temperament, success is our only option. Good for you and yours, isn't it?"

...Andre, I believe it is? The Abbot said with a small chuckle. [color]I do believe you remind me of someone. Myself, perhaps, many decades younger.

That wasn't a story that ended terribly well. But perhaps you'll succeed where I didn't.[/color]

The Abbot's Office, The Monastery of Stilled Nightmares, Sebua
July 17th, 761, 6:06 PM; Day 122 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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It was a fairly quiet crew that wound its way through the labyrinths of the Monastery. Perhaps because the Abbot was with you, or maybe you were just getting used to the place, but it wasn't long till you reached it.

The Abbot's office was a small, clean room somewhere in the north of the building. Inside was a large desk, probably appropriated from some rich merchant's ship, and several... well... they were couches, basically. A few paintings hung on the walls, only slightly water-damaged, while the Abbot sat himself down in a luxurious rocking chair behind the desk. It seemed the scavenger's life in the Ruse had its perks.

Behind the Abbot, however, was a glass container display case on the wall... containing a long, wavy-bladed knife, some eight inches long, and with a slightly pistol-shaped grip. The blade was dark grey, and the handle seemed to be made of bone...

In truth, though I have he has been my unwelcome neighbor for decades, I know less of Ronoph than I would like. I presume you found some mention of him in the library? I usually keep an eye on his books, but sometimes they... wander...

Regardless, I know that he has been called Ronoph, Reynav, Ronefe, Ronove, and similar names. I believe he is a demon associated with the old city of Kamarn-Quse and the Cult of the Jackal, based on my readings, though I may be off. There used to be a cult here, between, until the start of the 6th century Barovian, that worshipped it.

I know that this cult had a rather emphatic scorpion motif, and that Ronoph was frequently depicted as a scorpion-human of immense size. He also controlled dreams and nightmares, though in a not completely logical fashion.

I believe that Ronoph is in hibernation or somehow bound. At any rate, it isn't active on a large scale, and seems to have differing levels of wakefulness. The Abbot gestured towards Kuzan. You participated in a ritual I've developed to try and keep Ronoph down. About as harmful as a good workout to participants, but it keeps the demon inactive.

Beyond that, I know little. I believe Ronoph attracts minions of some sort to him, or else has defenses even in his dreaming state. Unfortunately, the only way to kill Ronoph is to do so in the realm of dreams, and none of the attempts to do so have been successful.

The last try I allowed was in 716 The Abbot said, his mental voice turning tired and slightly muffled, as if heard inclearly. The experience shattered the minds of three monks instantly. The fourth regressed to childhood and died in 742.

[Sense Motive DC 25]

[DocBeard]

Tomas lets out a breath, looking sheepish as always when his visions of the invisible world start to get to him. There's a queasy feeling in his stomach as he watches another beetle skitter just along the corners of perception. Eww, he's not going to be able to eat anything for the rest of his stay here, isn't he?

"Sorry." Tomas adds, meekly, after the information. "I...well, these hallucinations that are not always hallucinations, they have been my problem my whole life. It's been a bad couple of days-usually I'm better at tuning that kind of thing out." So, what, Tomas thinks like his little flip out in the jail all the time, but just keeps from saying it out loud?

Rubbing his face, the Lamordian blinks down at..., "Goodness, I didn't even change out of the suit of armor I used for training. -I guess my point is being, Herr Abbot, that I am used to the idea of not being well, mentally. I failed Professor Peteller, I have to try and make that right." Tomas looks towards the others, perhaps wanting to say something before looking back at the ground.

[Kaitou Kage]

"Speaking of Pelletier," Kuzan murmured to the Abbot, "Do you have any idea what happened to him?"

[yalenusveler]

Andre certainly wasn't the abbot, but he had an answer for Kuzan's question. The fact that it was a muttered "Nothing he didn't deserve." Well..that raised all sorts of lovely questions that could be answered after ensuring a dreaming demon thing didn't get to wake up and raise havoc.

"I'm guessing the dreamspawn would be guarding him. I doubt they'd be amenable to having their doorway messed with. Oh, and Abbot..the fountain that radiates magic..what's going on there?" Apparently, Andre had transitioned on to something other than speaking ill of the dead.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"If this monster needs to be defeated in the world of dreams," Lia mutters, "how should we go about such a thing? I do not know any technique of directing my dreams, nor of working together with others in that state."

[NeoTiamat]

The Abbot's Office, The Monastery of Stilled Nightmares, Sebua
July 17th, 761, 6:06 PM; Day 122 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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"Goodness, I didn't even change out of the suit of armor I used for training. -I guess my point is being, Herr Abbot, that I am used to the idea of not being well, mentally. I failed Professor Peteller, I have to try and make that right."

You would, wouldn't you? Even if it wasn't your fault, you'd still think you needed to. The Abbot said thoughtfully, then gave a bit of a mental shrug (well, presumably it was a mental shrug. It felt more like a bit of fog wandering into your mind), and stood from his seat, walking to a sideboard at the back and putting a kettle of water on the fire. Tea? No milk out here, I fear, but I've sugar and even some cinnamon.

"Speaking of Pelletier," Kuzan murmured to the Abbot, "Do you have any idea what happened to him?"

I can only assume that one of the scavengers Ronoph attracts slew him. Such things are rare here, we take precautions, but not unheard of.

"I'm guessing the dreamspawn would be guarding him. I doubt they'd be amenable to having their doorway messed with. Oh, and Abbot..the fountain that radiates magic..what's going on there?" Apparently, Andre had transitioned on to something other than speaking ill of the dead.

The Abbot opened a small cupboard in the back and pulled out a few saucers and tea-cups. Pretty little things, small and elegant, though even here the signs of the scavenger's life was present. Not more than three came from a single set, and most were cracked or chipped slightly by their... rough... arrival.

The fountain is the shell of Ronoph's corporeal form. The Abbot said simply. I am one of those who believes in keeping his friends close, and his enemies closer. Of course, the fountain has been layered by every spell we could place on it over the course of decades, but beneath its appealing shell is Ronoph.

"If this monster needs to be defeated in the world of dreams," Lia mutters, "how should we go about such a thing? I do not know any technique of directing my dreams, nor of working together with others in that state."

There are ways to enter the Realm of Nightmares. I have my own methods, but I fear they would not work for you. The Abbot considered things for a moment. Tharivas, on the other hand, knows how to send you through. You must ask him, or perhaps better I shall...

Once one reaches the Realm of Nightmares, actually slaying Ronoph is a simple enough task. One needs to stab him through the heart with the only weapon capable of slaying him. The Abbot gestured towards the pistol-handled, waved blade on the wall. I've been unable to find the provenance of that blade, but it seems to be the one that would do the trick. It turned up in a merchant's wares some sixty years ago, but it agitates Ronoph something fierce.

The difficulty, of course, is that the moment one steps into the Realm of Nightmares with the blade, it somehow acts as a beacon. Everyone sent so far was swarmed by dozens, hundreds of Dreamspawn and other... less pleasant... parasites. No one yet has managed to reach more than a third of the way to Ronoph.

You looked at the dagger on the wall again, as a sinking suspicion formed in your minds. You had seen this dagger before, or at least a representation of it. Admittedly, at that time it had been crafted of black stone.

But it was identical in every way to the blade the Statue of Beyrath bore.

[DocBeard]

Tomas shrugs at the Abbot's point, because he is right. It's just how Tomas is...his life isn't his own, so he has always felt some obligation to spend his borrowed time decently.

"Here's a thought." Tomas offers, leaning back a little in his chair as he looks up at the ceiling to help himself think. "What if we are to be...how you say... doing it Charles's style? Some way to...like in hunting, when you use something to make the deer think you are another deer."

[Nathan of the FoS]

"My style?" Charles echoes. "You mean, put out a decoy and strike from hiding?" A hint of a shadow passes over Charles' face as he speaks, but it's not reflected in his tone of voice, which is merely politely interested. "If he's as strong as we've been led to believe it's hard to think we can do anything else. Of course, getting him to pay attention to our decoy, and keeping others from doing so, may prove somewhat difficult. Abbot, might it be possible to go to where Ronoph rests and then bring the dagger into the Realm of Nightmares?"

[NeoTiamat]

The Abbot's Office, The Monastery of Stilled Nightmares, Sebua
July 17th, 761, 6:15 PM; Day 122 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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"Abbot, might it be possible to go to where Ronoph rests and then bring the dagger into the Realm of Nightmares?"

Think we haven't tried? Unfortunately, the logic of the Dreamlands is only loosely connected to that of normal materium. You could be sitting upon Ronoph's slumbering form, and still be forced to make a journey of miles to reach him. The Abbot paused for a moment, then added, just in case you thought it a good idea. And sleeping or no, Ronoph's material form is dangerous enough on it's own.