The Eye of Anubis: Book Ten

[NeoTiamat]

Muhar, Har'Akir
August 26th, 761, 2:53 PM; Day 162 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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"Complications?" The Lieutenant frowned. That sounded rather ominous. "Well, regardless, you will see Ambassador-Kommandant Vedarrak in a few minutes. You can explain all events then."

[Nathan of the FoS]

Charles reacts to the Falkovnians in the way a single Nova Vaasan hunting hound might react to being confronted by a dozen plains cats--a initial surge of instinctive aggression followed by the embarrassing realization that indulging himself will get him killed pretty quickly.

He comes very close to losing his composure again at the name of Vedarrak, but iron laws of courtesy (and self-preservation) keep him quiet even at this extraordinary new provocation.

All the same, he doesn't trust himself for the first several minutes. When he's sure he'll be able to endure provocations, he ventures an answer to this last question. "We've had vicissitudes, Lieutenant," he says, in a reasonable approximation of a polite tone. "You've seen no sign of other members of our Expedition?"

[The Whistler]

Otto remains silent; tight-lipped. Apparently, if there is an emotional Venn Diagram with "maintain decorum" in the top circle, "continue to nurse a principled grudge against your southeastern neighbors" in the right one, and "hope against hope that nobody guts you with a halberd" over on the left, the Lamordian gunsmith has staked out the center as his own turf...and he's not budging an inch.

Might be dangerous once he actually has to *walk* somewhere, come to that. As it is, the good Herr Schultheiss looks rather as if he would shatter in a high wind.

[DocBeard]

It takes Charles being nervous for Tomas to really start getting worried. He quietly squats down, offering Lia a hand or shoulder up, whichever she prefers. (He's betting on 'punch him in the gob' personally.)

"If you are not minding my asking." Tomas thickens his accent a little, mostly out of raw nerves. "Why is the Muhar...unsafe? I had thought it something of an Oasis in the Amber Waste, to forgive the cliche..."

[Rock of the Fraternity]

'Probably the natives have not been 'properly pacified' yet,' Lia replies to Tomas' question in the privacy of her mind. She says nothing out loud, however; hunched over her saddle as if her stomach pains her, or as if a great weight is pressing down on her shoulders, Lia rides along without saying a word.

In her mind, the spell formulas seem to have almost taken on a life of their own, whispering for priority, hissing their uses to unleash slaughter on Drakov's men. 'Scorching Rays to puncture a large group, scattered as they are. Greater Invisibility to cloak myself from their eyes before I start killing them. Black Tentacles to fix them in place and slowly batter and crush them into paste. So, so many ways to kill ...'

Hunched over like a vulture, Lia tries to focus very hard on not saying anything, lest the words she speaks be Words of Power. Anger thunders along her veins like blood, and she is gripping her saddlehorn very tightly, indeed.

[NeoTiamat]

Muhar, Har'Akir
August 26th, 761, 3:19 PM; Day 162 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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"We've had vicissitudes, Lieutenant," Charles says, in a reasonable approximation of a polite tone. "You've seen no sign of other members of our Expedition?"

"Nein." Lieutenant Lebrecht shook his head as you rode into Muhar. The village was deathly still, without even a whisper of sound as you passed. You could feel the eyes of the populace following you, however. Following you, and noticing your presence with Falkovnians. "You are the first of the Expedition that we have encountered, though we have only been here a week now ourselves."

"If you are not minding my asking." Tomas thickens his accent a little, mostly out of raw nerves. "Why is the Muhar...unsafe? I had thought it something of an Oasis in the Amber Waste, to forgive the cliche..."

"The locals have been unruly, attacking foreigners and anyone not 'pure' these days. There was a rather terrible massacre four days ago." Lebrecht said. He gave Tomas a rather twisted smile. "It was tragic, really. Simply tragic."

"Lieutenant, do you know a merchant named Announ?" Professor Marchand-Renier said as you rode in. The Richemuloise professor had mostly recovered from his temporary poisoning and starvation, though he was still very quiet. Quiet and... polite. He was polite now to Lieutenant Lebrecht. "I met him in Dementlieu some years back."

You entered the villae square of Muhar. It was a small place, more a triangle than a square, and flanked by three main buildings of importance. Two of them were temples, and from the looks of it, quite abandoned. The third was a noble's estate, a large, luxurious compoundthat had once been the home of some village luminary. Now, it was absolutely crawling with Falkovnians, guards out front, guards on the compound walls, guards with crossbows on the roof. There were also stakes out in front of the compound.

They were occupied.

Lieutenant Lebrecht gestured to the stakes.

"Ah." Professor Marchand-Renier said after a moment, finding the body of his one-time acquaintance. He was saddened, but not, you thought, surprised. "Thank you."

"I shall take you to see Kommandant Vedarrak now." Lebrecht said. It wasn't a suggestion.

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

Ambassador-Kommandant Marcos Vedarrak was found in the main audience chamber of the occupied manor house. At one time, it had belonged to some local leader, probably the Muhar equivalent of a mayor or some such. Now, it served as headquarters for the Falkovnians.

Marcos Vedarrak behind a desk in the audience hall, reading a paper from what appeared to be a journal as you entered. You vaguely remembered him from the dinner party the first night of the Expedition, six months and a lifetime ago. He looked up as you entered, while the guards at the door stood at attention.

The Falkovnian ambassador was a man of average build, but strongly muscled beneath the chainmail shirt he wore, a man clearly accustomed to weapon's practice. His face was battered, with his nose having been broken in the past on at least two occasions, but nevertheless, there was something about Vedarrak. His pale, blue eyes were icy-cold, and there was a presence about him. This was a dangerous man. An intelligent man, but a very dangerous one.

And the ring he wore about his finger, an onyx ring depicting a serpent biting its tail, made him more dangerous yet.

"Ah, Professor Theroux, M'sieu Martel, greetings." Vedarrak said pleasantly as you entered. "We've been expecting you for some time. I was actually just re-reading your article on the social foundations of Osiris-worship in Har'Akir, Professor Theroux. Fascinating work, I must say."

"Well, to business." Vedarrak closed the academic journal with regret. He looked at the Expedition, and did a quick mental count. You could follow his eyes, noticing that Pelletier was absent, noticing how there were far fewer guards, noticing that a stranger, Sascha had appeared. You also noticed that the Anubite was nowhere to be seen, and you weren't even sure when she had disappeared. "I was expecting a rather larger Expedition."

"What happened?" Marcos Vedarrak asked, eyes curious.

[lostboy]

If anyone had asked Sascha to describe his worst nightmare, well this was pretty damned close. The sight of the stakes outside turned his stomach, not just for the innocent lives needlessly and callously taken here, but for those lost to the past. Kamarn-Quse had been evil but here was evil personified within the frail flesh of man.

And now they stand helpless and surrounded before the epitomy of such a man, with his veil of politeness, masking a black soul of the damned within him. It is all the knight can do to keep his face blank, and not leap over the desk and deliver the redemption that is due.

Patience a voice repeats like a mantra in his mind.

[DocBeard]

That smile...

...as much as Tomas wants to fly off the handle, he forces himself to look at everyone else. Lia's practically on fire. Sascha looks more ferocious than usual, which Tomas didn't even know was possible. Evil, as unapologetic as the demon-keeps they've endured, is staring you in the eye, Tomas...

His sword is currently useless, so he tries to battle the wickedness of the world with a little decency. Tomas sticks by Lia, hoping that her stance will be taken as weakness instead of a threat because of his awkwardly kind presence. Eisenwald takes the witch's hand, giving her his best 'It's all going to be okay.' smile. It probably won't work, imaginary cynical Tomas says, the girl has social armor thicker than a plate suit, but it beats being miserable.

[Nathan of the FoS]

At the words "Tragic...simply tragic," Charles just about loses his hard-won composure; if any of the Falkovnians had been paying close enough attention they might have seen the momentary glint of sunlight on adamantium at Charles' left wrist before he recovers himself. By the time they pass the stakes and enter the compound he has passed from red-hot rage to white-hot fury to a clear, crystalline, strangely calm hatred.

"Kommandant Vedarrak, what a surprise," Charles says, bowing. "I see you have made yourselves right at home. We've had troubles on the road, to be sure. A few weeks ago the erstwhile manager of the Expedition and his cronies murdered Professor Pelletier and fled--probably hoping to reach the Tomb and loot it at their leisure."

[yalenusveler]

It was likely a very good thing that certain enchantments made reading Andre's mind a nigh impossibility, otherwise they would be seeing the "good" ambassador as one of the Falkovnian casualties of the Dead Man's Campaign, rising up and slaughtering his own. It brought a small inner smile to Andre to say the very least.

"Charles hit upon the most of it. Ultimately it comes down to a simple truth. One does not hire a Disilnya to plan one's wedding, or to arrange one's security." Andre said, a touch flippant, yet at the same time rather accurate.

"As for my paper on Osiris worship, honestly I consider it one of my less insightful works. I'm preparing a paper on Sebuan native divinities before Sebua adapted Akiri culture, including what is likely an example of undiluted Sebuan language. But we've more important things to discuss than my soon to be rising academic prestige, even if I can't fathom what they could be."
It was arrogance in rare form, but then again that had been part and parcel of Andre's delightful personality back at university.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

If Lia was stronger than she in fact is, Tomas might have found the grip that answers his to be bone-crushingly tight. As it is, it is ... uncomfortable. Lia's fingers are bony things, and her nails, though blunt, prick the knight's skin through her gloves. The Mage is hanging onto him as if she's about to be swept away by a raging flood, and he's the only anchor in reach.

Lia is quivering, has been quivering since the group was picked up by the Falkovnians, but more intensely the further they've come. Right now, in the office Vedarrak has commandeered, Lia is practically vibrating. As close as Tomas is to her, he can hear a faint sussurrus coming from behind her mask; snatches of whispers, almost too faint to hear.

Fragments of words in a number of languages: High Mordentish, Balok, Vaasi, Akiri, Sebuan, Draconic, Vistani. The inattentive listener might mistake it for prayer. Might. And then, Tomas, who stands so close, might hear one word clearly.

Lia continues to hold on, silent, shivering as if in the grip of a fever, muttering to herself.

[DocBeard]

Tomas lets himself be used as an anchor; it's about all he can do, since he figures that Lia's small library of issues would make something warm and human like a hug or ruffling her hair or some other instinctual comfort would not really make things better.

Pondering a good answer in case Lia's chanting gets them noticed, Tomas gently circles her cold hand with his thumb, hoping to at least give her a little warmth, if nothing else. "It's going to be okay..." Tomas murmurs, occasionally, otherwise standing sentry over the malfunctioning mage.

Malfunctioning mystic marvel? Something alliterated.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Slowly, woodenly, Lia lifts her head to look Tomas in the eye. She looks away again immediately, but her hand squeezes Tomas's with all the strength in her. The look in her eyes had been wild, almost feverish. And it is no match for the seething chaos of Lia's thoughts.

How can thoughts be, at the same time, cold as winter and hot as an erupting volcano? How can reality be so fluid, when always before it seemed solid and unyielding? How can the dead be screaming for justice? How can a living man be a pillar of ice, a billowing tower of ashes, a screaming stick figure aflame, and worse things in the same blink of an inner eye? Why do spells and rage whisper and cajole, saying "Come flow with us, come kill with us, come destroy with us" over and over again, when such things are meant to be silent?

Surely a man like this deserves to die. Surely all the men with him deserve to die. Delay is unconscionable. Delay is unconscionable! And yet the anchor-man, the white knight, must be held onto. The dead scream for justice, scream with the voices of thousands upon thousands murdered in a cruel fashion, and yet the anchor must be held onto. Delay is unconscionable. But we are here to protect the others, first. Delay is unconscionable. And delay is necessary.

Lia shivers and whispers, staring at the ground, body doubled over as if she were in pain. A black vulture, its face an unlovely mixture of fox and hyena.

[NeoTiamat]

Falkovnian Headquarters, Muhar, Har'Akir
August 26th, 761, 3:26 PM; Day 162 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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"Maleagant murdered Pelletier?" Vedarrak's brows rose. "You have had an interesting journey than we did."

"A moment." The Falkovnian ambassador leaned in over his desk and glared at it briefly, eyes scanning the haphazardly scattered documents and papers. After a moment, he reached in and took out a sheaf of transcripts, pulling out a pencil from an inside jacket pocket at the same time. The Falkovnian muttered under his breath, "Here it is."

He glanced back up at you, eyes shifting towards Lia briefly. "Would you care for some refreshments? The young lady appears to be in some distress."

Before you really answered, Vedarrak tapped a little bell-ringer on his desk, and scant moments later a woman carrying a tray entered the room. Well, not a woman really, scarcely more than a girl, a young, dusky-skinned Akiri girl, perhaps sixteen or seventeen years of age. She was a gawky, long-legged colt of a girl, all knees and elbows beneath her off-white robes. She was carrying a tray with a number of cups and a kettle.

"Tea?" Ambassador Vedarrak offered, taking one of the cups from the tray as the girl poured. "Thank you Mandisa."

"You should try it, it's quite good." The Falkovnian said mildly. "I believe Mandisa can also make coffee, if you prefer."

The girl, Mandisa, nodded shyly, sneaking glances at you from the corner of her eyes. She acted as though she had never met such a motley assortment of strangers before. Given that the first non-Akiri she had ever met were likely the Falkovnians, a rather homogenous group, this was probably the case. You noticed her hands were shaking slightly as she poured the tea.

"Well, back to business." Vedarrak sipped the tea, then put it down on a coaster and collected his sheaf of papers. "Now, if you wouldn't mind, go over what happened on your journey, in detail. Maleagant is a Dilisnya who murdered Pelletier is certainly interesting, but a more elaborate explanation would be appreciated."

[Kaitou Kage]

Kuzan frowned. Clearly, something was going on that he was unfamiliar with. Core politics, it seemed. Things that the priest, being from the rich jungles of Sri Raji, had no idea about. Something about this particular man really set the others off. It wasn't even very subtle. He could feel the hatred and the anger radiating off his companions. Even Charles -- cool, collected, diplomatic Charles fought to contain some kind of inner fury. The priest's eyebrows knitted further. Perhaps he was better off not knowing.

And most assuredly, even with the tension from the others, it might be better if he let someone else talk. Kuzan didn't know how to deal with Falkovnians, and if he opened his mouth, he might say something really dumb (it happens sometimes). Better to let someone more familiar with these blond-haired, blue-eyed men deal with them. He sighed and shook his head in mild exasperation.

Besides, Vedarrak was at least being somewhat polite, even if it was all a cover. The least they could do is be cordial in return, right?