The Eye of Anubis: Book Twelve

[Nathan of the FoS]

Charles stands by Sarari, his expression somber. "That body and spirit may find rest, and remain at peace until the day when the Scheme is complete..." he says under his breath as they place roses--his white, hers red--on the coffin.

Sarari gives him a questioning look. "Part of the prayer for the dead," Charles elucidates. "He fought the good fight, and has a hero's reward: the honor and love of his fellows."

"You think it should be you," Sarari says quietly, her gold eyes unblinking. "That you should have died."

Charles sighs and loses just a bit of his military posture in a dejected slump. "I don't know. Perhaps..."

After a moment he says, "No, that's not it exactly. I do envy him so noble a death...and somehow, I didn't expect to live. From the moment I saw the Anubite on the roof, I more than half thought...that my story would end like Sascha's has. On the field of battle. And I hoped it would, because I felt so trapped by my past. And by my ancestors. It seemed the only way out."

"You found another way," Sarari says, half-questioning, half-asserting.

"Yes, I did," Charles says, turning to smile at her. "As it happens, my story isn't over yet. And I'm glad." Taking her hand, he looks once more at the coffin, and then out to sea, as if to watch the future unfold into a limitless sky.

[DocBeard]

Tomas has had time to recover, and the long and, frankly, totally gross task of cleaning an elemental's worth of blood out of his armor has given Eisenwald the solitude he's needed to come to terms with the death-for the most part, at least.

Still, it's a solemn day, and the swordsman stands quietly as words are said, until finally his ears perk at the mention of the Anubite. "Have we seen whatever happened to her, anyway...?"

[Kaitou Kage]

Kuzan wore white. He stood out among the somber, black-clad Corelanders like a shining beacon. But then, he always stood out from the others. Whether because of his clothes, his mannerisms, or his preferred diet, he was distinct from the rest of his companions. Even more, he learned he was a thousand years older than everyone else. And yet, over the course of the Expedition he'd come to fit right in. He'd forged bonds of friendship and companionship, bonds that would last a lifetime. It saddened the priest to know that he'd be parting ways from most of them soon.

He looked up at Tomas's question, gold eyes flat under the cloudy sky.

"Gone, I imagine," he said softly, "Gone to her final rest. We did what she wanted us to do..." He bit his lip.

If she was gone, then Ed would never wake up again. The priest felt his heart wrench. He still hadn't gotten up the courage to give the Mordentishman a final good-bye. He'd hoped once they finally dealt with the Eye that Ed could wake up, could be alive again and live out the rest of his years normally. The priest looked down at his feet.

"I pray your souls find happiness in your next lives," he murmured in Rajian, bidding a small farewell to Sascha, Ed, and the Anubite.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"I have not seen her," Lia replies with a shrug, "but then I have been a bit preoccupied since ... Since our night at the Opera."

The Mordentishwoman coughs, as if she is feeling embarrassed. "I will be returning to Mordent soon," she announces. "To settle some family affairs. I have been told that I am certain to get my degree from the archaeology department, and I will have to return to Dementlieu for a musical matter" -- here, Lia nods to Marchand-Renier -- "but for now, I have to go ... home.

I would like to invite anyone who wants to come to join me. There is a university in Mordent, though it is not as famous as the one here. But it has the distinct advantage of lacking the de Casteele family as its leaders." This last comment is pitched only for the ears of the group which has managed to survive the expedition and the following battle.

"I hope I will be able to get a foothold there by presenting some of my case notes on dimensional interplay and its effects ... There is a history of the true events of the reign of Menetnashte, which I would be more than willing to share with any of you who wish to contribute ... Maybe Mordent is a better environment in which to publish the events of our journey and have them actually read and appreciated than Dementlieu ... And if they have a good faculty for the fine arts, especially music, perhaps I will not need to return to Dementlieu as soon as all that, after all. So ... would any of you care to join me for one more trip, though it will probably be a much shorter one than we have just made together?"

[yalenusveler]

"I just wished there was another way." Andre said finally, looking down at the grave and the coffin within. "Stupid, foolish hope, I know..but still. I suppose it's only fitting that the last death that abomination was responsible for took him out of the picture as well." Andre sighed, and shook his head.

"I wish I had gotten to know Sascha better. I wish there was another way to resolve all of this that didn't leave quite a few good people dead. I wish I had done a lot of things differently. But then, if wishes were horses, we'd put the Nova Vassans to shame." Andre shrugged, a gesture that somehow found a way to straddle the line between disappointment and optimism like a tightrope walker over a pit of knives.

"Goodbye Sascha..I'll recite the appropriate parts of the Akiri book of the dead for you, just to be on the safe side...maybe even some of the odder parts, but why you'd need to transform into a water lily in the afterlife is beyond me." Andre almost, almost smiled. Horribly inappropriate, yes..but the thought of an armored, raging water lily was the sort of thing that at least got one to have to fight down the urge to smirk.

"Say hello to everyone else we've lost. Let them know we bought the world at least a little more time."

[NeoTiamat]

Leon Cemetery, Port-a-Lucine, Dementlieu
September 23rd, 761, 5:02 PM; Day 184 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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"What to say?" Carter sighed to himself, leaning on his shovel. "What can be said?"

"Old man tried to stab me with a sword once," Dieter said, as if it were a good thing. "He really had some great spirit."

Marchand-Renier slowly walked over to join you, gazing down into the open grave. He had no flowers to place upon the casket, he merely stood and bowed his head. "You three saved my life," he said, in a quiet, low voice. "I am sorry I will never repay that debt, Sir Dzemianovitch. ...Thank you."

Carter shifted slightly in the silence that followed. "Well," he said, stirring himself, "I suppose we should get back to work."

"One minute, sir, if you please," Remy said. He was looking back over his shoulder at the stranger in the graveyard, having caught her staring over one time too many. "Excuse me..."

The woman looked more and more awkward as she realized that Remy was walking her way, and there wasn't really anywhere for her to hide. Eventually she resigned herself to standing where she was, putting on a slightly strained smile as the student raised his hand in greeting. She shyly returned the gesture. She was a pleasant looking woman, perhaps in her early thirties, with brown hair and clear blue eyes. Much like you, she was dressed in black.

"Excuse me, madame," Remy said, looking perfectly earnest. "Was there something you wanted?"

"Oh!" She said, with an embarrased laugh. "Oh, no. No. I was just out for a stroll in the- yes."

Remy even gave a small laugh at that. The woman looked over at the gravesite, obviously uncomfortable with approaching. "It just seemed so private. I didn't want to intrude," she said.

Remy looked back at the others. Dieter and Devereux both looked at Carter. Carter gave a small shrug. Remy offered his hand to her. She took it, nervously allowing herself to be led back to Sascha's grave.

"I guess I had a mask on when we met before," the woman said, holding a blue iris in her hands. "I don't expect you to recognize me. I couldn't even see him, through the mists, I only heard his voice. I don't understand what he meant. I only know he stopped that madman."

"I'm... writing a book about it," Devereux said, brightly.

"Charles," Marchand-Renier softly interrupted. "I need to talk to you about that."

The woman ignored both of them for the moment, instead bowing her head in awkward embarrasment. "I'm sorry if I'm intruding," she said. "I just owe all of you so much. I owe him so much. And I never even got to see his face."

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"Would you like to?" Lia asks, simply. "No, I am not suggesting we open the lid," she says before anyone can react. "I could conjure his image."

[Isabella]

The woman looked around at all of you, finally ending with Remy, as if she was seeking permission. Remy glanced over at Lia, then gave the woman a small nod of encouragement.

"If it's not too much, if I'm not- please," the woman said, nervously.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Lia makes a brief, sweeping gesture with one hand and mutters the words to a spell: "Fantasma magna."

The air briefly swirls, about four feet away from the grave, then darkens. Particles of colour materialize out of nowhere, a rainbow-coloured fog that condenses into an image of Sacha Dzemianovitch the way he was in life. It is the Vos knight as he was at his best, during the time that he was with the Expedition. There are no visible wounds, he is clean and well-groomed. His equipment is clearly well-cared for. His eyes are clear.

Sascha Dzemianovitch. Or rather, an image of him. An accurate one, but also a dignified one.

[DocBeard]

Tomas, who had been doing his best Sascha impression for the entire funeral, finally starts to act like himself again when he snorts.

He aborts the laughter before it gets out, however, holding his mouth shut and looking embarrassed. "I'm sorry." Tomas admits, rubbing the back of his head and looking like Tomas instead of the strange armored man who'd been looming behind them before. "I was just picturing Sascha actually posing for a picture, and..."

Tomas shakes his head, and grins a little at the woman, after giving her a moment of peace with the picture. "I'm sorry, but I never caught your name." He offers a hand to shake.

[NeoTiamat]

Leon Cemetery, Port-a-Lucine, Dementlieu
September 23rd, 761, 5:05 PM; Day 184 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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The woman looked at Sascha for a long while, still very nervous, unsure of what to do. Lia's image was truly a marvelous thing. Had it not sprung up out of mid-air, it could have been mistaken for the real man. For just a moment, it was as if Sascha was back among you.

The woman dropped into a very deep curtsy, bowing her head in highest respect.

"Thank you so much, monsieur," she said, her lip trembling slightly. "Thank you..."

She took the blue iris to the site of Sascha's grave, still looking at all of you, as if still uncertain it would be permitted. With a few nods from the professors, she let the flower go, watching it fall down to join the others on his casket.

Tomas shakes his head, and grins a little at the woman, after giving her a moment of peace with the picture. "I'm sorry, but I never caught your name." He offers a hand to shake.

"Christine," the woman said, before realizing she should probably add a last name. "Ah, Durand." She took Tomas' hand, but did not shake it, looking slightly surprised when Tomas did.

"You're supposed to kiss it, Tomas," Remy stage mouthed from behind her.

================================================

"So this is the fabled Sascha Dzemianovitch. I fear I had previously seen him only from afar." A voice came from behind you, a new intruder into this quiet spot. "And yet, it would seem that we all owe Mr. Dzemianovitch quite a debt."

The speaker was a man whom you had seen before, sitting in a cafe near the graveyard when you arrived. Before that, you recalled seeing this man in the auditorium a few days ago, before D'Honaire's death and Menetnashte's arrival. He'd sat at the back then, seeming as obscure and unnoticed as any other.

He was an older man, his hair silver and considerably receded, but with a trim, wiry physique that would do credit to a much younger man. He was dressed very conservatively, in fashions that had been out of date for at least twenty or thirty years, though his clothing was new and elegantly tailored. There was a slim rapier by his side, and a thick golden chain hung around his neck, coming down to a pendant largely hidden by his old-fashioned jacket.

Of course, all this was secondary in consideration to the black ring on his hand, an onyx representation of a serpent biting its tail.

"Good afternoon. My name is Count Wilhelm von Lovenhorst." The older gentleman introduced himself. "I am very sorry about interrupting at such a moment, but this was the one place I could find all of you together, and I was hoping for at least a brief exchange of words before I return north."

A cold wind blew through the graveyard, even as the shadows lengthened and darkened with the growing afternoon.

[DocBeard]

"Oh, uh." Tomas's face flushes at the faux pas, grinning sheepishly. "Well, pleased to meet you M'selle Durand. ...you don't sing opera, do you? Sorry, just, I'm sure I've heard that name bef..."

Oh hey, a Count! Sinister! Crossing his arms in Teutonic disapproval, Tomas takes a quick look on both the physical and spiritual level, checking the ominous man's immediate area for traps, guards, secret demons, or similar trickery. He also steps back to let Charles, a nobleman, introduce himself first.

[Nathan of the FoS]

Charles gives the Count (and his ring) a polite-but-quizzical look that masks an underlying distaste fairly well.

"Count von Lovenhorst. Charles Martel, your servant, although I suppose it's superfluous for me to introduce myself at this point; you seem to know our names and business already. Can we be of assistance?"

Some might call this way of asking "Why have you been watching us and what do you want?" passive-aggressive; the Dementlieus word would be politesse.

[NeoTiamat]

Leon Cemetery, Port-a-Lucine, Dementlieu
September 23rd, 761, 5:08 PM; Day 184 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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"Want, M'sieu Martel?" The Count seemed genuinely surprised by this question. There was warmth and kindness in his smile as he shook his head. "Why, I only wish to offer everyone the very best of luck on your various journeys homeward, that is all. Given the circumstances, it would be... churlish of me to do otherwise."

"Remy, take Mademoiselle Durand home, please." Professor Marchand-Renier said quietly, steel in his voice. The student made to protest for a moment, then walked over to Christine and said softly. "We'd better go."

"That's all?" Professor Carter said, frowning. He had certainly noticed Von Lovenhorst's ring, and was no gazing at the older gentleman with unpleasant intenseness. "I find that difficult to believe."

"My good man, while I'm certain that in different situations we would all act quite differently, the circumstances at the moment are as they are." Count von Lovenhorst said pleasantly. He tilted his head just a little to you. "So all I wish to do is to extend my very deepest congratulations to Dementlieu's unsung heroes."

"And likely to remain such..." Professor Marchand-Renier said sourly, waiting until Christine and Remy were well out of ear-shot. Then the Richemuloise academic continued, in much the same tones as he generally used when prodding Ambassador Vedarrak, "At least, if we wish to keep our continued health, then it's in our interests to stay unsung heroes."

"On this note, I believe, all reasonable men can agree." Count von Lovenhorst said with a nod and a small smile. "In fact, even our the esteemed Professor Marchand-Renier agrees as such."

"For the time being." Marchand-Renier said.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"Is that all. your grace?" Lia asks, her voice perhaps a trifle cool as she inserts her hands in the sleeves of their opposite. "Only we have goodbyes to say amongst ourselves and a reservation at a restaurant awaits. A last meal together before we part ways, likely never again to meet, I'm sure you understand."