The Eye of Anubis: Book Twelve

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Lia turns her eyes on D'Honaire for a few moments, and appears to consider his words. "There was companionship," she finally allows, "and there were interesting people. However, there was also much hardship, and the death of valued companions. I doubt you would have enjoyed it overly much, sir."

Lia next leans over to Tomas, and mutters something in his ear: "How are you holding up? There was something I wanted to say, after our little chat with our 'friend'. He was wrong, at least in part. If you stop caring, you wouldn't be you. Losing yourself is not acceptable compensation for effectiveness in combat."

[lostboy]

Catching a snatch of Lia's word's Sascha breaks his silence and leans across so both can hear. "Milady is correct." He syas wth a polite nod in Lias direction. "that path leads to hell itself" a haunted look clouds Sascha vision for a moment...... "trust an old man who has been there."

With a serious glint in his eye Sascha clasps Tomas wrist, "You are a better man then I, herr Eisenwald...... you will do what is right."

Settling back in his seat he adds in a mutter so only Lia can hear "So will you I trust, Milady, I think I am perhaps not the only one who wishes vengance upon those deserving."

[NeoTiamat]

Guignol Auditorium, University of Dementlieu, Port-a-Lucine, Dementlieu
September 18th, 761, 2:00 PM; Day 184 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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"Well, Mademouselle, I am sure you are an expert in your own field." The Councilor inclined his head politely. "I would not presume to instruct you in it. Still, it does set the heart racing?"

"To travel the world, to see new sights. Even danger can be a heady rush. I fear I've only ever been exposed to danger of the political kind." D'Honaire continued, looking on Lily with an appreciative gaze. "I would never dream of arguing with you about the companionship, however. If this lovely rose survived the desert, then perhaps there is hope for that land yet."

"Keep your diseased hands off her, D'Honaire." There was a sudden, too-loud growl. Guy had stood up, his hunter's gold eyes burning with hatred and loathing too deep be contained. The circle of nobility around D'Honaire fell silent, watching as Guy committed social suicide.

"I'm sorry." D'Honaire said with chill politeness. "I don't believe I know your name. Have we met?"

Benoit snarled like an animal held at bay, and for a moment there looked the possibility that he would leap upon D'Honaire right then and there. The two gendarme bodyguards tensed.

Then he turned and stormed out of the auditorium. The gathered nobility and academia made a path for him, no one wishing to be tainted by Guy's actions.

[Kaitou Kage]

Kuzan remained quiet, though hardly unnoticed. In a cage full of ravens, Kuzan was the lone jay. He wore something very similar to the first time he'd been here -- ornate gold-and-silver jewelry and sashes in assorted blue colors that left most of his chest bared. The only reason he got away with it here was because it was official priestly garb. That and to most of these nobles and intellectuals, he was probably little more than a foreign savage. He preferred to stay silent during the proceedings -- as far as he was concerned, his official part on the Expedition was done. The rest was up to the professors and other University members that came along.

The priest cringed at Guy's outburst and he felt a knife twist in his gut. He wanted so badly to help Guy, and accepting that he couldn't was very hard to come to terms with. So many people needed something, and the priest still wished he could give it to them, that he could do more than knit their wounds and mend their broken bones.

He watched, crestfallen, as Guy stormed out, and then settled uneasily back into his chair, desperately wishing for this mess to be finished quickly.

[Nathan of the FoS]

Charles glanced at d'Honaire, nodded, and left, returning a few minutes later. Shrugging and shaking his head at the Councilor, he took the notes of his speech and ruffled them, looking out over the audience with a distracted expression.

[NeoTiamat]

Guignol Auditorium, University of Dementlieu, Port-a-Lucine, Dementlieu
September 18th, 761, 2:05 PM; Day 184 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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"I'll go and find Guy." Michel said quietly after the other man stormed out of the auditorium. He looked down the aisles at Guy's retreating back. "He needs a friend right now."

Michel left not long after Charles. Unlike Charles, however, he didn't come back.

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"Ladies and gentlemen." Lord Balfour de Casteelle said warmly, his magically-amplified voice echoing throughout the chamber. "Let me welcome you to this ceremony, this celebration of learning. Let me welcome our honored guests, the Council of Brilliance, without whose support this could not happen. Let me welcome my fellow scholars, whose knowledge made this all possible."

"But most of all, let me welcome the Menetnashte Expedition! Who have traveled to the farthest reaches of the Amber Wastes to bring us so much knowledge, and so many artifacts." Lord de Casteelle stepped away from the podium, to the roar of applause. A podium upon which a few choice treasures of the Expedition were displayed.

Including the Eye of Anubis.

"Welcome, and perhaps a few words from the members of the Expedition?"

Step right on up and say a few words. No need to worry about precedence, consider a post sufficient. Come on, your chance to eulogize the Expedition now.



Key:
Red - PCs
Green - Expedition NPCs
Black - Fraternity of Shadows (Balfour de Casteelle, Markos Vedarrak, Lars Lorenz, Pierre Lacomte, Eonarda Roeccha, Armand Dupin)
Blue - Council of Brilliance (Dominic D'Honaire, Helen deSuis, Josephine Chantreaux, Jean-Pierre Theroux, Claude Lagrange)
Gold - Lord Adrian Ramsey
Purple - assorted nobles, academics, and guards.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Lia rises from her chair and ghosts up onto the stage, casting a Sybilline gaze on the gathered audience.

"When we left on this expedition," she says, her cold voice carrying through the room, "we did so in the name of knowledge and curiosity. Adventure ... Depending on one's definition, we definitely found it.

Over the course of this adventure, we have had to endure the death of two comrades and the slaughter of uncounted innocents at the hands of a monster. The same monster, though it used different means to attack. This has not been a voyage of adventure in my eyes. Rather, it has been a battle, a running battle over who would reach the tomb of Menetnashte and its plunder first."

Lia's eyes do not rest on Adrian Ramsey specifically, nor do they touch the members of the Fraternity in the hall with any great emphasis. Rather, they come to rest, broodingly, on the Council of Brilliance.

"We are honoured here today for our scholastic efforts. Two who went out to aid us in what was to be a journey of scholarly effort, but turned into a running battle with soulless evil, have not returned. Their remains now lie in Barovia and Pharazia, and who will honour them? Uncounted people who had nothing to do with this expedition have been murdered, and who will honour them? Would honouring them make things right? We return triumphant, yet the one who tried to beat us to the tomb -- and thankfully failed to do so -- is still at large. Look well on the fruits of our labour, for they have come at a great cost. Not merely the cost of money, which has been spent on mundane supplies and paraphernalia. These treasures come sliding down to you today on a river of blood.

Today, we are honoured. I ask that the university and the council also honour those who contributed to the expedition and can no longer be with us. I ask that it honour those who fell under the wheels of progress and the malice of a monster. I ask that the reports we brought back of our journey, all the events that transpired and have been documented, be entered into the official historical record and shared with the other great universities of the Core.

Let not these events, nor the lives they touched upon, be forgotten. Let not the slain, those who paid the price so you might see before you what you do, be forgotten. Honouring them may not make things right. But it is better that they be honoured, than that they be swept into the dust of time and contemptuously forgotten and ignored."

Without waiting for response, Lia departs the stage and returns to her chair.

[DocBeard]

Tomas sits away from the others, apparently determined to brood in the aftermath of dinner last night. He is dressed a little nicer than usual, wearing the pendant Anubis gave him openly, Ivor's white ring on his finger, shirt pressed, boots cleaned. He still looks like a peasant but at least he's not a stanky peasant. This is mostly to ease Charles's state of mind and so that the Professors will not be humiliated-he is only an assistant and a graduate student at that, but Lucine politics. He sends a false smile to Sascha and Lia, mostly so that they will not worry about him. Tomas doesn't want that-Sascha has been nothing but kind to him, and Lia has become a friend in spite of both of their eccentric personalities.

But the sooner they can get this over with, the happier Tomas will be. He has a fight to win.

The idea of his going up to speak is kind of crazy to Tomas's mind, but there Lia goes-no matter what she says, Tomas still figures the opinionated young woman is distantly related to Mordentish nobility, simply because not even Charles Martel is as good at sounding like a queen on her thrown disguising commands as opinions. He knows she doesn't mean it, not really, that her social skills are as abysmal as they are because it was the only way for her to survive her upbringing, but he still worries, a little, that she will be abused by these silver tongued monsters all around him.

[The Whistler]

It was a tragically impolite thing to "sneak out to use the bathroom" under false pretenses, when the ceremony was ostensibly for you. Unfortunately for Otto, several multi-carat rubies happened to be burning a hole in his vest pocket at the moment--and bribery was, presumably, an allowable offense when the fate of the world was at stake. Muttering a vague apology to the assembled spectators (he had chosen a seat on the end of the row), the gunsmith sidled out of his chair, breaking into a swifter jog only upon having left the building. The chapel bell was just striking two.

The area between the auditorium and the chapel of Ezra was clear... surprisingly so, given the importance of both events and people within. Still, clear it was, without a soul in sight - including the one Otto had come to meet. Still, it stood to reason that his unlikely informant might have chosen somewhere less visible to place himself, and Otto hadn't received a crossbow bolt through the eye to inform him the deal was off.


Well. If there was anything that the last few months had taught Otto, it was to beware of snipers. Keeping his hand at a non-suspicious but reasonable distance from his ceremonial pistol, the gunsmith coughed once, scanning the church windows and grounds for his contact.

Otto was fairly certain he had scanned every nook and cranny of the courtyard, from the highly obvious belltower to the nook behind the statue in the garden. He became a little less certain when he heard the audible click of a steel repeating-crossbow from behind him. Yellow eyes glinted at him from behind a trail of cigarette smoke. "Afternoon, chief."

Otto smiled, shaking his head slightly. "You, sir, are good at what you do. So!" The gunsmith clapped his hands together in an unthreatening yet business-like manner. "Upon my person is the merchandise; around me, as you will see, is not a living soul; and within you, one presumes, are a great many answers. While I shall do you the service of pointing out that there is currently an auditorium of people who shall be very cross if I do not return...I believe our stage is set, yes?"

James grinned. "'We'll make a spy of you yet, Guv. Dosh on the ground beside you, and then a few steps back, be a luv." He gestured Otto backward with his crossbow, never once moving it to where it wouldn't fire a lethal shot if he squeezed the trigger.

Otto had a money belt. Of *course* Otto had a money belt. It was discreet; more of an under-the-jacket shoulder holster than anything else, but it was swiftly removed, dangled rather enticingly over the grass of the couryard, and tossed a few feet forward. "Rubies. Five of them. Square cut; nearly flawless; entirely too many carats. You may feel free to purchase some gold settings upon your own time. Now: supposing you are to tell me how, when, and where Cavendish plans to steal the Eye?"

James allowed himself an amused whistle. "You might be a bit of a cabbage, Guv, but you sure have the goods." The yellow-eyed man casually made his way forward, using his crossbow to enforce Otto's retreat away from the money. "As for when the boss is planning for the Eye... I dunno, quite. I'd say about twenty minutes or so."

"Using what tactics, and where does he plan to take it?" Short, and to the point, now.

The werejackal smiled as he continued. "It's a bit funny, ain't it? See, you'd prolly find out faster sittin' about inside the hall than out here. The boss has some kind of mystic malarky goin' on I don't quite know the whole off, but when it goes off, the auditorium goes into chaos, he pops the eye, says the magic word - and poof, Bob's your uncle. He's got the eye, and teleports out of there." James smiled as he hefted the crossbow, enjoying himself a little too much. "So I could just shoot you here, and at the end of they day, no one'd much notice you were missing. 'Course, that'd make me a right bit of a tosser, wouldn't it?"

"Why, yes. Yes it would. I imagine, however, that they would rather take *issue* with such behavior, in the long term. You will recall that there are rather a *lot* of them. In such a case, in fact, I should imagine that your newfound 'tosser'-ship would constitute quite a poor bet, upon your part." Otto backed up: slowly, steadily, never blinking. "I ask you again. To where does Cavendish plan to teleport."

"I ain't too concerned, Guv," James said with a bit of a wink. "Boss is headin' for the Opera House. I don't mind saying, even if I hadn't told you that, I expect you'd know right quick. He's expecting you to be up for joining him."

"Ah. Most helpful. Has he prepared any *particular* surprises for us, in this location? This being apart from his stellar company, of course."

"Depends on what you mean by surprises," James replied. He ducked and picked up the money pouch, never taking his eyes, or crossbow, off Otto.

"Ach...traps, arcane effects, reinforcements; the like. One should be apprised of these things. Specifics would be most pleasant." Otto almost sounded nonchalant.

"The boss had me paintin' some mystic malarkey all over the stage. Blimey if I know what it all does," the werejackal shrugged. "The Opera House still has people in it, so 'e hasn't redecorated the place too much yet." James grinned. "Bit lucky for the poor blighters there, once the boss gets in. See, he needs some way to tell you all where to go, so 'e's gonna put on a right show for them. And the real lucky ones get to stay after the curtain falls, to meet all of you. He figures it might keep you all in line a bit."

"The oldest ideas are, indeed, occasionally the most effective." Otto deadpanned. "Occasionally. Now, correct me: I am expecting one to several large cat skeletons to make an appearance, in this finale. Your employer has facility with such things--the re-use of the deceased, we are saying. Should I expect *further* company, in this regard? And of what type, and amount?"

"Wish I could tell you, mate," James said, not really sounding remorseful at all. "The boss tends to make his own company, if you get what I mean."

"I see. And: of curiosity. Do you, yourself plan to make an appearance?"

James' grin turned somewhat feral. "Ah, you got a right good loaf on you, Guv. 'Course, that leaves me with a bit of a decision. You're hedging your bets on your friends all being alive at the end of the day, and I got my money on them not." The crossbow recentered itself right around Otto's neck. "The boss ain't exactly someone you say 'no' to, so I have to wonder, what benefit is it for me not to just shoot you here and not have to deal with you later?"

"Ah." No change in the tone of voice. "Well: I may think of several. The first: I am armed. I am a very quick shot. While I may not emerge the ultimate victor in such a situation, you may be being left with some rather unfortunate *evidence* of this meeting, the which, though I should not be around to witness it, I should truly enjoy to see you explain to Cavendish."

Pause.

"Not enough, you say? I move to the second: My friends have rather a track record against your employer. Four instances, to my memory, and Cavendish is being driven off in each. Were I within your position, I should think it a rather wise decision to consider the odds--and perhaps to be rather a more distant spectator than usual, overall."

Pause.

"Which brings me to my third. Have you uncovered, in your researches, the *reason* for my...'condition'?"

James began to move his way casually backward, as if to make his exit... or, perhaps, to make he way closer to the church door, and the more advantageous sniper position in case he decided to carry out his threat. "I suspect you're gonna tell me either way, if I keep mum. So what is it, chief?"

Otto smiled, and spread his hands. "A short meeting with a certain member of the Fair Folk, in Barovia--a being with a very *specific* expertise. Now, sir, if a man comes to you in good faith, bearing gifts, and with no prior aggressive intent--you might well shoot this man down, for no other reason than to provide yourself of a small convenience. Now, sir, I ask you: if that man was the emissary of the Shepherd of the Wolves, and as such the guardian and protector of all lupine-kind--and *his* employer was rather prone to grudges--would you be shooting him all the same?

Pause.

An honorable meeting rather somewhat later, on the prearranged field of battle--this is a different story. I leave it to you."

"Cor, you're terrible at this, snow-boy," James said, shaking his head slightly in disbelief. "You want to be a wolf, you gotta act like a wolf, and the first thing a wolf learns is how big he is and how much he can get away with. No honor among dogs, mate. 'Course, I'm a little different from you blokes. First thing we learns is, you take what you can get when you can get it." The yellow eyes narrowed.

It occurred to Otto that he could now hear what James seemed to be have been hearing for some time - the sound of someone else walking in the courtyard. All it took was a flick of the eyes from Otto to see what it was, and James was gone - not likely to be found again.

The trespasser was Micheal. The expedition cook was looking fine today, in a brand new red vest, but worry was lining his face. Shaking out of his self-imposed cool, Otto spun towards DeAngelis, suddenly stern; desparate. "Did you see that."

"What?" Micheal said, jumping as Otto spoke. Micheal, it seemed, had all the perceptiveness of a rock - at least, if he had seen James at all, he certainly hadn't noticed Otto until the Lamordian had spun toward him. "See what? Did Guy come this way?"

"No. And excuse me." And Otto was *sprinting* back towards the hall.

-------

It was approximately thirty seconds later that the gunsmith sidled back into the hall, looking winded but nonchalant. Took a seat. Passed a rather comprehensive note up the aisle to Kuzan. It is rather difficult to take detailed notes while jogging. It is, however, possible.

[Nathan of the FoS]

One may say a good deal about Mademoiselle Liability Mourneswaith's lack of social polish, inexperience in public speaking, and inability to tailor her message to her audience. All of those things said, the fact would still remain: she's a tough act to follow.

Standing, Charles moves to the podium and looks down on the assembled dignitaries (so many puppets, interspersed with a certain quantity of puppetmasters); on Otto, punctual and discreet, hastening out on his errand; Lia, imperturbable, inscrutable, a dark angel; Tomas, with his comical attempt at fashion lent dignity by his bearing; Kuzan, bone-weary but determined; Sascha, intent and fierce; Andre, the cynicism largely worn away and the man his wife and child knew beginning to appear again. How near they are to the end; but who will reach it?

"To the Council of Brilliance, the distinguished President, monseigneurs et madames of Dementlieu, and last but never least in my affections, my colleagues and companions in adventure, I extend my thanks for this opportunity to speak of the Menetnashte Expedition, which is now in its final hour. Its first hour transpired, of course, within these very walls, and we have therefore come full circle in our wanderings.

On that occasion we did not know what might lie ahead of us, though we received some notice from the Fates as to our lot when that occasion was marred by violence. We were warned then against seeking the tomb and its contents; a warning which we did not choose to heed. Whether we did well or poorly to do so, each must judge for himself; speaking, then, for myself, I think we did well. Much has been learned, much has been gained, much may yet be gained by what we learned, what we saw, what we did, and what remains to be done.

I do not mean to contradict Mademoiselle Mourneswaith's account of our journey when I say so. Blood, fire and horror dogged our footsteps to a degree which many here would consider incredible. However, we have, in great measure, won through those obstacles placed before us. We have done our best to preserve knowledge and life, to protect the innocent and bring justice to the guilty, and, our Lady of Tears willing, we intend to go on as we have begun.

I well recall a conversation I had on that occasion with Mademoiselle and Professor Ramsey, on what the Expedition might hope to find. We spoke then of the Akiri beliefs on the divine; that men might become as gods through the acquisition of knowledge, of the secrets which underpin Creation, of what I think I may term the Grand Scheme. If there is anything I have learned on this Expedition, it is this: that such knowledge, if it can be found at all, can only be recognized and handled on principles of strictest virtue. The divine spark in each of us must be nourished as a purifying flame, or the knowledge we may acquire, and the power attendant on it, are darkness, shadow, death, and despair; and those who make themselves the masters of such powers will find themselves, at last, mastered by them."

Inspire courage on the Expedition members present. +2 morale bonus to saves vs. fear and charm, attack rolls, and damage rolls.

[NeoTiamat]

Guignol Auditorium, University of Dementlieu, Port-a-Lucine, Dementlieu
September 18th, 761, 2:16 PM; Day 184 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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The various nobility politely applauded Lia. It was a lovely speech, but to the people of Dementlieu, it wasn't too interesting. The assembled nobility lived entirely in the now. In a few days, the Expedition itself would become old news. There would be no greater mourning for the dead.

To Charles, there was a greater response. It had also been a good speech. The applause was louder, though still more polite than enthusiastic. Thus it was relatively quiet when the next event occurred, albeit one entirely unscheduled by the program.

CRASH!

You heard the window shatter, almost like it had some months ago on your first sojourn to Guignol Hall. One of the window-panes in the massive, Dementlieuse-style windows on the right side of the room had been shattered, covered with a spiderweb of cracks from which pieces of glass periodically fell. There was no corpse through the window, this time, no ominous message. Merely a broken window, through which one could distantly see the belltower of the University's Chapel of Blessed Ezra. For several heartbeats, all attention was focused on the broken window. But then its full import became gruesomely apparent.

Councilor Dominic D'Honaire, personal advisor to the Lord-Governor Marcel Guignol, swayed in his seat. His clever, deep-set eyes glazed over, even as the blood dribbled down the beautiful, starched white shirt, staining it crimson. For a moment, it seemed like Lord D'Honaire would continue applauding Charles, perhaps even say something. But then, overbalanced by the set of his body at the time of death, he fell forward, his corpse sprawling on the wooden floor of the auditorium.

The bullet that had broken the window had, with exquisite neatness, torn through Councilor Dominic D'Honaire's throat.

Then the screaming began.

[Nathan of the FoS]

Charles, always one to keep his head in a crisis, leaps to the fallen Councilor's side and takes him by the wrist. "Get down, there may be another shot!" he cries to the rest of the council. Looking down at the fallen figure, he shakes his head at Kuzan and Andre. "It's no good. He's gone. Watch Ramsey..."

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Lia rises from her chair after the noise and the window shatters. For a moment, even as she starts to move, she has the eerie feeling of déjà vu, of repetition. This hall. Noise. A broken window. A man dead -- or in this case, most likely soon to be dead.

But this time, she does not rush to the body to offer prayers for the deceased. Rather, she passes Remy and Sascha, taking cover at the knight's side. She reaches out to tap the shoulder of Pierre Lacomte, her voice icy cold: "Get your defenses ready. He will go for the Eye, and you know it."

The wizard surveys the erupting chaos in the hall, a determined look in her eyes. "Professor!" she calls to Balfour de Casteele. "Do not allow yourself to be distracted! The Eye!"

[lostboy]

Although a look of horror comes over his face as he stands, there is a part of Sascha that is very grateful for the assasins bullet breaking the tedium of all the back slapping. There si a an even smaller part, a long forgotten hawk shadowed part that rejoices in the sight of D'honaire falling.

But Sascha is a different man now, people need protecting, and thats what he does. Whipping his oddly bulky cloak to one side he pulls the shield out from its concealed place slung across his back, and grasping the strap pulls it in front of Lia and himself.

"Guy!" he hisses to Lia in a very low undertone, his eyes jerking towards the window, "lets hope he feels his job is done."

With the shield up Sascha hazards a look behind him, scanning the room for Ramsay.

[OOC: spot 10 to keep sight of Ramsay in the chaos - guess not then...]

[Kaitou Kage]

Kuzan jumped to his feet as soon as the shot rang out. He turned, saw Dominic collapse, and then his gaze whipped back to Charles. If he's not one of us, don't save him. The words flashed through the priest's mind again and his eyes narrowed with understanding.

You want me to abet your assassination, is that it, Charles? Kuzan thought. His gold eyes flicked briefly to D'Honaire again. Even from here, the priest could see the man was quite dead. The window for using prayer to save him at the last second already passed. Just this once, Charles. And only because Guy deserves redemption.

He cast Charles one more look, a glance that seemed to say, "I understand. I don't like it, but I understand," and then crouched down by his chair. He watched the room, trying to keep an eye on Ramsey and on the Eye itself.

Spot 35