Guignol Auditorium, University of Dementlieu, Port-a-Lucine, Dementlieu
September 18th, 761, 1:56 PM; Day 184 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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It brought back memories.
Here was where you sat, half a year ago, when Lord de Casteelle had spoken the words that heralded this journey into madness and malevolence. It had been on March 14th, 761, late in the evening, as the man had sent you off into this abyss.
- “…And so let me be the first to say to the world that Knowledge shall triumph...
And he
knew. Lord Balfour de Casteelle, President of the University of Dementlieu, Father of the Fraternity of Shadows, had known exactly what he was doing as he sent you off into the desert. You were a ruse. You were a decoy. He sent you off with a lunatic leader and a treacherous second-in-command, fully expecting you to die at the hands of Cavendish or some other horror. Lord de Casteelle had sent you to die.
There he stood, Lord de Casteelle, talking to Pierre Lacomte about some last-minute preparations. Ambassador Vedarrak lounged casually nearby, gleaming in formal dress, with a sword of office by his hip. The other three serpent-ringed men sat or stood about the auditorium, chatting, talking, relaxing... waiting.
Of course, you had survived the De Casteelle's journey. Not perfectly, of course.
- “…And so let me be the first to say to the world that Knowledge shall triumph, that the vile canker of ignorance shall be cured by elixirs of understanding...!”
Allikhain hadn't survived. Nor had Ulsaon. Nor Pelletier.
Not that you had escaped without a scratch. Charles's arm itched in the presence of dark magic, a bloodthirsty little present, courtesy of Ronove. Edmund lay in a coma, a curse-induced sleep from which he would never arise. Andre...
An older man entered the auditorium a few minutes before the ceremony was due to begin. In his sixties, you would hazard did you notice him, a wiry, still spry gentleman who dressed in outmoded clothing. He sat in the last seat of the far row, the sun flashing briefly off of the golden sunburst medallion on his chest.
The time for endings had arrived.
- “…And so let me be the first to say to the world that Knowledge shall triumph, that the vile canker of ignorance shall be cured by elixirs of understanding, and that this expedition, the Menetnashte Expedition...
Lord Adrian Ramsey sat in the third row of the auditorium, behind the assembled dignitaries and behind the Expedition, along with the other University worthies. De Casteelle was a villain, but he was not the only one.
Ramsey held a book in his hands, an old, leatherbound volume with faded letters in gold along the spine. He was tense, this much was obvious to anyone, resting one hand upon the book, the other tapping nervously on the arm-rest of his chair.
He was John Lancaster Cavendish, the Bishop of the Tarokka. And from the thin smile on his lips, from the cold gleam in his ice-blue eyes, his part in this game was far from done. John Lancaster Cavendish had not yet reached the final act of his play.
- “…And so let me be the first to say to the world that Knowledge shall triumph, that the vile canker of ignorance shall be cured by elixirs of understanding, and that this expedition, the Menetnashte Expedition, shall be victorious in its quest for the truth.”
There was a lightning flash from outside. It wasn't raining yet, and above the University of Dementlieu the sun still shone. The rumble of distant thunder, the flash of brilliant light, all this would come to the University soon. It couldn't be avoided. But over the city the thunderstorm raged, the fury of the heavens lashing out across Port-a-Lucine.
Or perhaps better to say, the fury of Menetnashte. The lightning which raked across the city of Port-a-Lucine with steel-melting claws was blue-black in color, a dark, negative lightning. The Anubite's lightning. She was near, and she was gathering more power than cared to imagine. The very air hummed with power.
There was a storm brewing.
- “…And so let me be the first to say to the world that Knowledge shall triumph, that the vile canker of ignorance shall be cured by elixirs of understanding, and that this expedition, the Menetnashte Expedition, shall be victorious in its quest for the truth. Brave explorers, seekers of wisdom, I and all of Dementlieu salutes thee!”
You had traveled through blood and madness, through burning sands and the grip of fiends beyond imagining. The very air quivered with magical power and raw tension. The Anubite's storm was moving in. Something would happen. You were sure of it. Cavendish was sure of it. Lord de Casteelle was sure of it. This was the chosen place.
Meanwhile though, you got to sit through a series of dreadfully dull speeches and speeches delivered by yourself, hopefully not at the same time, followed by a cocktail reception with pompous professors and chattering socialites.
Someone Up There had a very twisted sense of humor.
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"I must say, you make me quite green with envy." The speaker turned around in his seat to look back at you, raising a single brow over his deep-set eyes to look at you. The woman seated next to him relaxed in her seat, just a touch. "Why, if I were only a few years younger, I'd wish to go with you myself."
You knew this man. You could hardly
help knowing him, considering that the only people given precedence over you in seating here were the University president and the Council of Brilliance. Councilor Dominic D'Honaire scanned the Expedition, searching for Charles, perhaps?
"It must have been quite a journey." D'Honaire's eyes rested upon Lily, the green-eyed reporter still dutifully taking notes. She looked... well, beautiful was too faint a word for it. Ravishing, magnificent, a vision to stop the pulse. Her smile was polite, and nothing more. D'Honaire's smile was polite, and something more. "Such excitement, such beauty, such companionship."
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