The Eye of Anubis: Book Eight

[NeoTiamat]

The Cloister, The Monastery of Stilled Nightmares, Sebua
July 19th, 761, 6:12 PM; Day 124 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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"Anything happen while we were gone?"

"Not much. We buried Pell yesterday, didn't quite dare wait for Kuzan to wake up. The Abbot said a prayer over the grave." Michel said somberly, shaking his head in sorrow. And perhaps a little fear. "Samael's been looking high and low, but he hasn't figured out who the killer is yet."

"Ruse went quiet an hour ago." Guy added laconically. "Not sure what that means yet."

"Anyways, come on, let's go get you something to eat." Michel said, changing the subject brusquely. "I'll go see if I can cook something up. These monks were kind enough to share some of their supplies with us, and I've been having some ideas..."

"I believe we were not so much 'kind' as 'evicted from our kitchens'," The Venerable Tharivas corrected. "Regardless, I go to report to the Abbot."

The Dining Room, The Monastery of Stilled Nightmares, Sebua
July 19th, 761, 7:31 PM; Day 124 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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About an hour later, the whole lot of you finally reached the dining rooms of the Monastery of Stilled Nightmares. It was... strange. For the first time ever, you actually managed to travel through the building without getting lost two or three times. Moreover, it wasn't even dark. Rays of light were breaking through the wooden slats of the roof, though you wouldn't call it bright by any means. Just... dim. Not pitch-dark.

When you arrived, everything was taking on the appearance of a regular party. There was a more cheerful note in the voices of the monks, a relaxation of tension that was easy to mess, but undeniably there. People filed in an out of the dining room, coming and going as their duties took them.

Michel, for his part, had out-done himself. He had whipped up some food in high Pharazian style, though where in the world he had gotten meat for kebabs was a curious question. There was a slight salty flavor...

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"Here you go. Genuine kobideh!" Michel grinned, putting the wooden plates of ground meat kebab before you. A few thin beads of perspiartion dotted his forehead, though you had to imagine it was quite warm inside the kitchens.

"Grmgrh..." Jervis grunted, prodding at the length of meat before him. He did not appear to be impressed.

"Er... you like it?" Michel asked, smile fading away. For certain understandeable reasons the Dementlieuse expatriate was not comfortable around the hulking mercenary. The fact that Jervis was currently wearing what appeared to be a bandolier made of Bodak-skin was one of these understandeable reasons.

"Yes." Jervis muttered, tearing into the... presumably a kobideh.

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"It must be so exciting being a reporter. I mean, you get to do so many interesting things, and talk to people all the time." Mary Collins said in a bubble of excitement, not really touching the food in front of her. "Was it hard becoming a reporter?"

"Well..." Lily considered the question. Ever since she'd joined the Expedition, Mary had been curious about the other woman's career, never having really considered the possibility seriously before. "It was hard. But I had some help doing so."

"Oh? Did your father help you get the job?" Mary asked. Lily just chuckled richly.

"I'm afraid not. An old employer gave me some recommendations. That let me get my foot in the door." Lily favored the younger woman a charming smile. "Why, are you considering journalism as a career?"

"Well... it beats getting married off, doesn't it?" Mary said, a dreamy look entering into her eyes. "Go off, have adventures, have to answer to no one, just be yourself..."

"Yes... except for little things like deadlines, editors, and office politics..." Lily said. "Not too many adventures to be found in reporting."

"You mean like traveling the desert to find some ancient tomb while being harried by hordes of undead and evil monsters?" Mary said innocently.

Lily gave her a very sharp look. "You might be a better journalist than I thought..."

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"There you are." Andre was interrupted from his food by a familiar, cool voice. "You will be pleased to know that the Abbot will be joining us shortly, and he is rather impressed."

The Venerable Tharivas sat across the table from Andre and placed a small, wooden box, about the size of a shoebox, in front of the professor. The elf opened it, revealing an assortment of ceramic jars and pots nestled in a mass of rags.

"I collected a sampler of some compounds from days when I was younger and stupider." Tharivas said with a small smile. "You mentioned you were interested in such things?"

[OOC: Amongst the more regular narcotics, there are also some powders or compounds with interesting effects. Specifically:

• -A compound that is chewed that functions as a Potion of Heroism (2 doses)
  -An injected compound that acts as a Potion of Neutralize Poison (2 doses)
  -An inhaled narcotic that functions as a Potion of Bear's Endurance (3 doses)
  -A liquid that functions as a potion of Resist Acid (30) (1 dose)

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"You are a very strange man." Sarari said bluntly, watching Professor Marchand-Renier as he cut slices of kebab off and ate as though he were in a fine sidewalk cafe.

"Do tell." The Richemuloise linguist quirked a brow.

"You are not a strong man, nor a fast one, nor do you wield magics of any sort, not of the gods nor of men. And yet I do not think you have been afraid a single time on this journey." Sarari frowned, her dirty blond brows coming together as she thought. "And this is very strange."

"My young lady, after a lifetime amongst academics, ghouls are no terror." Sebastian smiled drily. "In fact, they show a commendable forthrightness of purpose."

"I think you are not telling the truth." The elf said. Her golden eyes were grave.

"Perhaps." Professor Marchand-Renier gave his erstwhile inquisitor a wintry smile. "A man should maintain some mysteries about himself, after all."

[Nathan of the FoS]

"Perhaps." Professor Marchand-Renier gave his erstwhile inquisitor a wintry smile. "A man should maintain some mysteries about himself, after all."

"Hear, hear," Charles seconds, seating himself. "Lovely stuff, mystery, at least for the mysterious one. For those not in the know, not always quite so pleasant. Such as with the questions surrounding the loss of Professor Pelletier."

Half-smiling at Professor Marchand-Renier, he says to Sarari, "For my part, I have seen the Professor discommoded on one occasion, m'selle. Even a man who faces down ghouls with aplomb may be put about by a dinner party. Truth to tell, I've felt that way myself at times. The advantages of having a straightforward enemy with intelligible aims can't be understated; fighting shadows is far more disruptive of one's mental equilibrium."

[NeoTiamat]

The Dining Room, The Monastery of Stilled Nightmares, Sebua
July 19th, 761, 7:34 PM; Day 124 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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Half-smiling at Professor Marchand-Renier, Charles says to Sarari, "For my part, I have seen the Professor discommoded on one occasion, m'selle. Even a man who faces down ghouls with aplomb may be put about by a dinner party. Truth to tell, I've felt that way myself at times. The advantages of having a straightforward enemy with intelligible aims can't be understated; fighting shadows is far more disruptive of one's mental equilibrium."

"One can choose one's friends, but relatives are the burden we bear." The linguist said amiably, though a dark look flashed in his eyes. It was brief, unexpected, but there was a moment of such cold fury it was hard to understate. Then it passed, and all was as it had always been. A trick of the light?

"As far as the late Professor Pelletier, murder will out, after all." Professor Marchand-Renier gave a smile that was even more ironic than usual. "After all, with all the dedicated talents on this Expedition, I doubt the murderer will remain free too long."

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"Head feeling better?" Michel asked lightly, passing along a skewer of roasted ham to Guy. The tone was flippant, like much of what De Angelis said, but there was a real concern in his voice for his friend.

"I'll live." Guy said shortly, tearing off a piece of the meat and tossing it to Loup. The huge Alsatian caught it in mid-air and swallowed it down instantly, not pausing to rip it apart. Loup proceeded to give Guy a look that said quite clearly Ham? What ham. It must have been your imagination, you never gave me any ham. You should fix that lack now.

Guy gave him a look and said, "No."

Loup was disconsolate.

Michel snorted as he watched this little drama. Then he returned back to the original topic of conversation. "Well, next time you won't charge any shadow-monsters. There are limits to what even your hard head can stand."

"Next time I fight a giant snake made out of living shadows, I'll keep that in mind." Guy said, his tone of voice not changing one iota.

Michel snorted again and leaned over to ruffle Loup's fur, who took the indignity with the patience of one who knows that there will be ham at the end of this.

He was right.

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"You seem young for one to have travelled so far."

Dieter looked up from his gleeful devouring of Michel's kobideh. He recognized the speaker. It was the older warrior some of you had seen before, the surcoat-clad knight with his greying hair and weather-beaten face.

"Well, I've had help, of course." Dieter said in between mouthfuls. One could take it as a testament to Michel's cooking. Or it could be taken as a testament to Dieter not yet being twenty, and thus perpetually hungry.

"Allies make many things in life simpler." The older warrior nodded in understanding. "Nevertheless, one must deserve them."

"Well, they haven't kicked me out yet, so I s'pose it works." Dieter said uncertainly, then shrugged and grinned. "So what's your name? I'm Dieter Haulfstead, by way of Lamordia."

"I had guessed as much." The older warrior said with a twinkle in his eye. "Sascha Dziemianovitch, of Vorostokov."

"Vorostokov? That's a long way from Sebua." Dieter said, only a little obviously.

"Sometimes one makes journeys for one's duty." Sascha said simply.

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I hope I'm not too late for everything? The soft, mental voice that was slowly becoming familiar whispered through the dining room. One of the advantages of telepathy was never needing to shout, it seemed.

Every monk in the room stood as the Abbot slowly made his way, trailed by a few levitating packages and pouches. A tall, emaciated figure dressed in black and face covered by a deformed mask of bronze, but the Abbot was accepted by his people. Loved, in fact.

Excellent, I haven't. Forgive the delays, but I was... preparing a few things. The Abbot gestured towards his entourage of objects, which floated over to land beside their respective patrons. I will not say much, for there is little to be said. You have succeeded where too many have died, too many have failed, where I had lost hope. Somehow, you survived the darkness, somehow, you have defeated the nightmares. You have freed us from fear.

Thank you.

[DocBeard]

Tomas crosses his arms, having eaten with the quiet intensity of a large, armor wearing man who hadn't had any food in a few days and subsequently been a little bashful about pigging out. He'd like to light a pipe up, but it'd be inappropriate among so many other people.

Standing up, the swordsman smiles a little. "Told you we would." Deep down, Tomas was proud; he was, for a few brief moments, worried that he might finally break a promise. Looks like his record's clear for another day. He clasps the abbot's shoulder...

...and abruptly pulls the man into a burly hug instead of the usual handshake! "Good luck, now that the thing's gone!"

[lostboy]

Khalil eats ravensously of the food, mainly because it was excellent, but also because taking a dip in acid certainly seemes to promote an appetite.

He frowns as that thought crosses his mind and looks down at the new scars and burns on his armour, and pokes a finger through a hole in his trousers that didnt survive the acid quite so well.

Feeling a wet nose push against his thigh he throws Small-star the last piece of two of the kebab, whihc she eats as if racing Loup for some kind of medal in swallowing.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Lia comes ghosting into the dining hall a few minutes after the Abbot. Funny thing, how she managed to leave for a bit without attracting too much notice ... And yet, here she is again, sedately resuming her place at the table. Her expression remains safely inscrutable behind her mask, of course, but her vision wanders from side to side.

[The Whistler]

Otto looks up from his plate and catches the package mid-float, unwrapping it in such a way as to not tear the paper--giftwrap's in short supply in the middle of the desert, after all, and it's always best to be prepared. Birthdays, you know. Or:

Damn, do these guys do presents on Solstice? Come to think of it, we're something like a month overdue on that anyway...stupid complicated religious calendars.

Paper neatly folded and levered into a corner of his pack, the graduate student holds the newly revealed chain shirt up to the light.

Wow...not my field, but *somebody* here knows their metalsmithing. Thing's light, breathable...didn't know you could *work* mithril this fine, let alone source the stuff this far out in the sticks. These folks really spared no expense...

Otto levers himself to his feet and moves towards the Abbot for a handshake--only to be pre-empted by Tomas' bear hug. Regardless, his "thank you" is no less sincere for having waited in line.

[NeoTiamat]

The Dining Room, The Monastery of Stilled Nightmares, Sebua
July 19th, 761, 7:39 PM; Day 124 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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...and abruptly pulls the man into a burly hug instead of the usual handshake! "Good luck, now that the thing's gone!"

...!?! Even an Abbot who may or may not be some sort of inhuman monstrosity can be taken by surprise by a large Lamordian giving him a hug. The Abbot gave a strance sort of vocalization, sounding a little like the popping of a bubble, accompanied by a burst of mental static as he is enfolded by Tomas's strong arms.

....Ah, yes... thank you, Tomas. The Abbot returned the hug as best he could. It was a strange sight. The Abbot was likely a foot taller than Tomas, and probably weight half as much. I have hopes that now this Monastery can thrive

Worming his way out of the hug, the Abbot bowed briefly to the rest of you. It has been quite an honor to have you here. So long as you desire, you will have a place in this Monastery.

"Won't be too long, I imagine." Samael said quietly, rising from his seat further down the table. "We've already spent too long here. With your holiness's permission, I think we'll leave for Muhar come morning. This alright with everyone?"

Very well then. Go with my blessing.

[lostboy]

"A most excellent suggestion, the road we intend to travel is still long and difficult" Khalil concurs at Samaels words, "as long as it is felt our work here is done?" He adds looking over at Lia with a raised eyebrow.

A look that doesnt last long as he fends off an insistent peck at his ear, "too late im afraid my friend" he says placing the now-empty plate down. Then ignoring Karsh's accusatory stare he fishes a piece of dried meat out of a pouch for the hawk.

[yalenusveler]

"We'll leave for Muhar and probably get sidetracked somewhere else" Andre groused almost cheerfully as he looked over his gift of thanks. Nothing quite like a large quantity of money to express one's gratitude for helping free a region from infernal taint and the irruption of the realm of nightmare into the waking world.

"I'm simply glad we were able to help, Abbot. Though I don't believe we ever got your name..or is this one of those title becomes the name situations?" Andre asked, continuing to eat, though occasionally he sneaked tidbits to his cat, not wanting Loup to be the only animal associate member of the expedition to get tablescraps.

[Nathan of the FoS]

Charles smiles a small smile at the Abbot's discomfiture on being manhandled by a large Lamordian. With the best intentions, of course, but the Abbot may still be feeling the results of that bearhug for days.

"Oh," he says, taking the offered gift and unfolding a shirt of silver metal, made of links so fine that the whole flows like silk. "My. How splendid. A princely gift, Your Reverence." Standing, he bows deeply to the Abbot. "We are much obliged to you for your hospitality and your wise counsel. I am very glad we could do so much in return as we have been able to."

[NeoTiamat]

The Dining Room, The Monastery of Stilled Nightmares, Sebua
July 19th, 761, 7:39 PM; Day 124 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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"I'm simply glad we were able to help, Abbot. Though I don't believe we ever got your name..or is this one of those title becomes the name situations?" Andre asked, continuing to eat, though occasionally he sneaked tidbits to his cat, not wanting Loup to be the only animal associate member of the expedition to get tablescraps.

The Abbot had already turned to leave, but he paused at the dining room's door to answer Andre's question. He appeared thoughtful for a moment, though it was hard to tell through the strange, deformed mask of bronze.

It is not that... precisely. Merely that my name is difficult to pronounce. There is no mystery. And the Abbot told you his name. It was not a word, or even a sound, but a strange mental image, all sharp edges and burnished steel, all interlocking blades and piercing edges, something subtly malevolent about it.



I do not use it often. The Abbot said, a soft sussuration in his mental voice the equivalent of an amused exhalation. I shall bid you good night now, I think. I shall see you off in the morning.

The Dining Room, The Monastery of Stilled Nightmares, Sebua
July 20th, 761, 10:20 AM; Day 125 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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You slept the sleep of the dead, or possibly the innocent. Despite your long sleep before, you fell into the beds with heavy limbs and sleepy eyes. It took an effort of will to undress and crawl into the cots in your sideroom. It would seem that trudging through the Realm of Nightmare didn't lend itself well to restful sleep. Or perhaps there were other explanations.

Regardless, you slept through the night without a single dream, waking up late. It seemed that Night Terror's threats of eternal torment were likely a touch overblown. Or perhaps here too there were other explanations.

The sun was higher in the sky when you finally cracked your eyes open, and stray rays of sunshine were filtering into your chambers through chinks in the wooden walls. Beside you, the rest of your little clique was starting to wake up, as was Dieter. Professor Devereux, meanwhile, was still sound asleep, which in itself was a bit unusual, given the academic's early-bird tendencies. Here too, there may be explanations.

One explanation in particular, however, was begging to be found in your sleep-fogged minds.

Where was Khalil? Or for that matter, where was his gear?

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"What the deuce ...?" Lia mutters when she notices the absence of Khalil. She subtly adjusts her mask and looks around at the other members of the group. "Did he say anything to any of you about going for some additional training with the elven protector?" she asks, sounding mildly peeved.

[Nathan of the FoS]

"Took his things," Charles notes with interest. "I do wonder." After a pause, he says slowly, "We never really sat down with him and had it out over how he got that little tracking device the Lorelei disposed of for us. I hope it's nothing to do with that. Or his employer."

[Kaitou Kage]

"Well, we won't find out sitting here," Kuzan said pointedly. The priest gathered up his satchel and headed for the door.

"Let's get looking. The sooner we find him, the sooner we can be on our way. I'll head over to the others' room and see if they will help look. The rest of you, why don't you ask some monks about him, see if anyone's seen him?"