The Eye of Anubis: Book Seven

[DocBeard]

"I'll accompany the Professor." Tomas says, giving Devereaux a look before standing by him, crossing his arms and resuming not being all that talkative. Strategy outside of 'cut the mother' has never really been his applied skill.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"Khalil poses a good question," Lia says. "But such a casting would require focus. If we time the undead's assault properly, they might attack when Cavendish has too much going on already to concentrate on controlling enemy undead."

[yalenusveler]

"Lia is correct" Andre said, his voice shifting into more of a tone associated with a lecture than anything else. And he was politely ignoring the comment about his sanity by the Vechorite.

"It is far easier to control undead you yourself have produced, as their very existence is somewhat based upon servitude at that point. He could theoretically usurp control of the forces we brought to bear against him..or he could just annihilate them with other spells, entirely dependent on what he's chosen to prepare." Andre looked to the group, and thought a moment.

"If we sent all three groups of undead against him at once, in the chaos and confusion he would have a much more difficult time usurping control. He is one man, though a truly evil man. That much going on, it'll be difficult for him to get his bearings and prioritize targets. Of course, this runs the risk of him eventually getting "reinforcements" during the fight, but that's a risk that would be inherent in any use of the undead against him."

[The Whistler]

Otto clapped his hands together briskly.

"Good. Then at least the generalities of the plan are outlined--and I am knowing my first priority within it. I had best begin before any more time has passed...retaining of daylight is essential. Ianthe--" With a small grin, he bowed politely toward the monk, hoping that she wouldn't think to ask *why* a pudgy shopkeeper-type was uniquely suited to solo espionage missions.

"--A pleasure. I am looking forward to working with you, yes?" The gunsmith turned toward the center of the Ruse, shielding his eyes against the sunlight. "I shall meet all of you at the Death-Ship later in the day, with my full report."

And like that, he was gone.

OOC: Ran the solo mission yesterday; I'll give the full lowdown once you guys get to the ship.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"I have but one concern with unleashing undead against Cavendish, quite apart from the moral contamination of dealing with such ... filth," Lia mutters. "The safety of the hostages. We can not count on rampaging flesh-eaters to spare the lives of anyone who gets in their way. Once the attack begins, we need to either extract the monks swiftly somehow, or they have to extricate themselves. Either way, it will be difficult."

[DocBeard]

"And the rest of this is being easy, ja?" Tomas offers, grinning a little because he can't cry if he's laughing. "I'm just worried that the necromancer'll be able to steal control of the beasts. Plus, you know, horrible desecration of the corpses."

Tomas may be more spiritually inclined than most, but he's still a Lamordian, and still grew up with a body being a hunk of meat without a spark of life instead of something sacred.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"Not easy, no," Lia replies with a careless shrug. "But the other factors we would bring to bear are more controllable. What Cavendish does is out of our hands by definition, so I excluded it from my concerns. It is a given."

[Kaitou Kage]

Kuzan began walking around, picking up scraps and pieces of wood. "Will one of you get a bunch of sailcloth?" he asked, "We can make a sled tonight at the death ship that will help us ferry exploding powder kegs tomorrow."

Please don't forget to check out this post right here, yes, this one for a compiled dump of all the information we know to date. Make sure to pipe up if I'm missing a tidbit or if I have something wrong.

Also, make sure you weigh in at each major update of the plan. If you have an offer, make it.

If you have nothing to add except that you agree with the plan so far, then PLEASE SAY SO. This way we all know we're on the same page.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Lia jabs her cane through the straps of her pack, and starts gathering up sailcloth for Kuzan's use. "I suppose this means I have Fireballing duty again," she muses out loud. "I wonder whether I will actually have the pleasure of burning that murderous clown this time ..."

[Nathan of the FoS]

"Er, right," Charles says, turning to gather cloth himself. "M'selle Ianthe? Is it possible to teleport into the monastery, or does it have some kind of protection against that kind of entry? Or!" Here a happy thought strikes him. "Perhaps you have some way of contacting him from here? It would be very useful to have just a few words with him--let him know what we intend so we can co-ordinate efforts, at the very least, or perhaps even get his advice on dealing with the various un-dead who have been resident here for a long while."

Stretching out a length of sailcloth and inspecting it--Mists know what for, it's not as if he's a sailor--he says, "I can embark on negotiations with our potential temporary allies, of course...either in support of one of the professors or on my own account, although in the latter case I'm not quite sure how I'll prevent them from eating me. Or doing whatever it is they do."

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"Would you like my company?" Lia asks, stopping briefly to eye Charles. "In extremis, I could airlift you out of danger."

[Nathan of the FoS]

"Would you like my company?" Lia asks, stopping briefly to eye Charles. "In extremis, I could airlift you out of danger."

Charles purses his lips. "Yes, I think that would be very helpful." Raising one eyebrow, he looks at her in a way that conveys a volume of information usually conveyed by conversations--long conversations. "To every player his part, as they say. And mine is to promote the flow of conversation. And, occasionally, to provide punctuation." As he says this last the adamantine dagger gleams for a moment in his hand before disappearing again, and he gives a surprisingly good villainous grin.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"I do not care to speak with the walking dead in any case," Lia replies, her voice an unfeeling blast of frost. She continues gathering up sailcloth and turns her back on Charles as she does so.

[NeoTiamat]

South-Eastern Jackal's Ruse, Sebua
July 14th, 761, 2:57 PM; Day 119 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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"I'll accompany the Professor." Tomas says, giving Devereaux a look before standing by him, crossing his arms and resuming not being all that talkative.

"Er... thank you Tomas." Devereux blinked once, slowly, then checked in his the pockets of his rather large and rather colorful coat for something. Finding it there, the professor nodded to himself, Adam's Apple bobbing. "Er... no time like the present... um... right?"

"Er, right," Charles says, turning to gather cloth himself. "M'selle Ianthe? Is it possible to teleport into the monastery, or does it have some kind of protection against that kind of entry? Or!" Here a happy thought strikes him. "Perhaps you have some way of contacting him from here? It would be very useful to have just a few words with him--let him know what we intend so we can co-ordinate efforts, at the very least, or perhaps even get his advice on dealing with the various un-dead who have been resident here for a long while."

"What the Abbot wishes to know, he will know." Ianthe said placidly, scrambling up some of the ship's rigging and sawing through the ropes holding up the sails with a long, rather unpleasantly curved knife. "The Monastery of Stilled Nightmares is sovereign against all magics not of his making, but if it is necessary, he will aid us. This I know."

The Darkonian Graveship, The Jackal's Ruse, Sebua
July 14th, 761, 7:02 PM; Day 119 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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When you finally arrived at the Darkonian Graveship in the evening, there was a tremor of excitement in the air, alloyed with the subtle, sinister feeling that this was not going to be as easy as it looked. On your side of the balancesheet, you had the elements of surprise, potential allies, and the wonders of modern explosive technology along with your own not-insignificant skills.

But on the other side... A single one of the Smilers was enough to kill Ulsaon only a month ago, and now you were facing a half-dozen. There were over a dozen vampires, creatures that needed no introduction, and zombies by the score. And there was Cavendish. The Necromancer was a lunatic and a madman, but underestimating his twisted intellect or arcane powers was likely to be the last thing you ever did.

The Graveship, in its own way, was a representative of this tension. A huge, lumbering scow when it had been built, it was now a beached thing that lay in the sand like the carcass of a whale. From the first instant you entered this nautical wonder, you felt the unnatural vitality, the slightly rancid air that spoke of damp, growing things, of fungus and molds and lichens that were unmistakeably alive, but not in a comfortable way. The Graveship was as much a violation of the Ruse as the taint.

But if this fungal vitality was unpleasant to you, it was likely anathema to undead. So it was that you decided, at least, and not a moment too soon, for only a scant quarter hour after your arrival four great bats shot into the air above the Ruse. Cavendish had his own system of security.

With luck, it would be the bat's last night above the Ruse, for on the morrow their time would be ended. If you weren't lucky, or had the wrong kind of luck... well then, your time would be ended.

A cheering thought, that.

[UPDATED] Given the number of people with fairly good Strength scores (or really good strength scores in the case of Jervis and Ishaq), you can carry a total of two tons of gear per trip to the supply ships. Due to the fact that the sledge is huge and slow, you're limited to one trip per day from the supply ships to the Ruse. Between Khalil, Dieter, Kuzan, Jervis, Ishaq, and Ianthe, however, you can carry enough barrels on a second, quicker, walking trip to make up the requisite 5120 and get the coveted 64 barrels, 20d10 damage, and 160 foot blast radius.

Regarding schedule, I need.... Andre, DocBeard, and Nathan&Rock to contact me. In order to keep this moving along, I am going to set a deadline of Thursday for the last of the Undead-talking expeditions, and I want to start the battle on Friday. Whistler should have the map and scouting report up soon, at which point I'll allow a few more Knowledge checks, and that will be that for information gathering.

Sound like a plan?

[The Whistler]

The sky was darkening by the time Otto finally approached the distant outskirts of the Ruse's center. The misshapen, ugly bulk of the Monastery dominated the skyline, as did the tall plume of smoke rising from the center of the Eye of the Ruse. The gunsmith breathed out, thanking the Fates that he hadn't been spotted yet.

Good to be lucky, I guess...but this'll take some doing. Get up, reprobate. Your turn.

Roger. This'll be fun...

Choking back the howl, the gunsmith experienced a rather eventful five seconds...and, just after, stole towards the center on four legs.

The Ruse was.... different.... in wolf form. For one thing, the entire area looked wrong. There was a faint charnel scent in the air, a feeling of decay that Otto hadn't felt even in the Necropolis of Phiraz. The angles of the ships were subtly out of place, the colors just not quite right. The Faerie part of the Lamordian, the part that dwelled in green places and with living things, knew it was an interloper here. The natural world was not welcome.

Were Otto a human at the moment, the hair would have stood up on the back of his neck...as it was, he had a lot *more* hair, so the point was more or less moot.

Give it one pass around the eye, as much as you can manage in the time we have. Priority is getting close to the monastery without tipping off hostiles; second priority is scoping out the Vaasi ship, if it's close.

You and your *needs*...all right.

As near as Otto could tell, there were three ships around the Eye of the Ruse, all mostly intact, forming a kind of partial enclosure around the eye. Cavendish had chosen a fairly defensible place for his…what was that?

Now, in certain ways, human senses are as good as canine ones. Color vision, for example. When Faerie-augmented senses come into play however, they allow all sorts of things. Such as Otto's noticing the faint, otherworldly outline of a warding spell in front of him. It was more of a spot-spell, a discrete mass some fourty feet in diameter. What it did, Otto hadn't the foggiest.

Man...of all the times to have your notebook melded uselessly into your body.

Hey--don't knock the body, bucko.

Pipe down. Now evade that sucker and get further in.

Keeping one eye on the spell-cloud, and wishing he had the capacity to detect arcane effects when he had the capacity to tell other people about it, Otto skirted the ward and moved closer to the center of the Ruse. Geography-wise, his earliest guess was correct. The ruse was an open area surrounded from the north by the monastery, from the northeast, northwest and southwest by huge, wrecked ships, and from the southeast by another ship... one with gunports, it seemed. Atop the ship to the northwest, there was the hint of something very skeletal and very big. The only ingress that the Lamordian canine/human could see from this angle was from the west, and from the bits of movement he could see in the distance, getting through it would be difficult.

Hmm...not much for climbing over all the ships right now, too little time to scrounge around for other entrances given the limits on the wolf-form, and definitely don't have the wherewithal to *power* through our potential baddies through the west… Sneaking in through the shadows on the side of the ingress should work in a pinch, though. At least some of our party's probably going to use that passage tomorrow, and I need a decent view of the interior...

It was extremely fortunate that Ianthe was correct, and most undead are not particularly observant. So it was that when Otto fell off a sandbar and rolled for six feet in the sand, no one noticed. Hanlon's Razor, really.

The main entrance to the eye of the Ruse was quite large, a good thirty feet or so wide, and guarded by a considerable quantity of undead. Up front, there were a good dozen zombies, as well as four of the large, black-armored undead.

Up inside, Otto noticed quite the collection of images. Closest to the entrance was what appeared to be a collection of statues: five... six.... seven all together. The three closest seemed to be of corpses, with a skeleton with... (intestines?) beside it. Behind them, a huge, half-skeletal bird was carved roughly in stone, and an amorphous cloud behind it, also in stone. A seventh, humanoid shape was behind it. All of them were scaled somewhat larger in size than normal—and apparently guarded by two more armored knights. Otto squinted at them appraisingly.

Odd...and if they’re significant somehow, that’s way beyond my pay grade. Never studied this in Intro App.Arc.... Maybe Lia or Andre'll have a better idea. Just make sure you remember all the design details, and give an accurate report.

The next landmark over was even more bizarre. A huge was pit dug into the ground, and surrounded by what Otto recognized as being a really large magical circle, one that glowed with a vibrant, poisonous green color.

Yeah. Don't jump in that.

Thank you, Captain Sensible. Something else to summarize for our magic wonks, though…

Behind the pit, on the far side from the entrance, was something else that was, in its own way, rather easier to understand. An enclosure of wood and stone backed up against the rocks, with close to a dozen men and women in brown robes huddled inside like cattle. Two more black knights guarded the enclosure. Up above them, the great form of a fossilized smilodon reclined on the deck of a ship. Unlike the zombies or black-armored dead, it moved, lashing its short tail-bone to and fro, and shifting it's head from time to time. It was really rather feline.

Hostages. That’ll make things trickier come game day…

the other end of the area was a bonfire, one that belched huge quantities of fire and smoke. Why Cavendish had a bonfire was another interesting question. Maybe he just liked watching things burn. Two more smilodons lay on the ground beyond it.

Odd...not like walking-dead need a heat source. Ceremonial purposes, maybe? Something else to ponder.

Then, Otto noticed the final little oddity, nestled in an alcove in the rock. To wit: a hammock--a rather colorful hammock, actually--strung up between two posts. A smiler sat on the ground beside it. …And in the hammock, a long, black-clad shape reclined, reading an old book and sipping periodically from a long glass of what Otto presumed to be lemonade.

The gunsmith looked at the figure...then looked at the hammock. Hard.

...You tacky motherf--

Eyes on the prize, bucko.

As the gunsmith recalled all of the horrendously atrocious things that the figure in the hammock had done in the past, it was far easier to hate Cavendish for the right reasons again.

Right...this'll do for preliminaries. Now get out; we're on the clock.

Got it.

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Otto arrived at the Deathship ten minutes or so after the rest of the group, harried-looking and dusty but otherwise no worse for wear; his report was comprehensive and exacting, with especially detailed descriptions of the statues and the arcane circle. In a characteristic move, he had somehow managed to draw up a number of informative maps and charts on notebook paper *while* simultaneously navigating his way to the ship *and* avoiding wandering undead. Unfortunately, in *another* characteristic move, the handwriting on those charts was utterly illegible, and Otto was one of the only people you knew who could make a sketch of a battlefield look like a wiring diagram for a lightning-activated howitzer.

…Or maybe he’d just been drawing over something else. It really was difficult to tell.

Regardless, after a bit of explaining—and a larger version of the map hastily scrawled in the sand on the floor—the lay of the land got across clearly enough. Pacing back and forth across the floorboards, the gunsmith segued into tactics. “Our initial goal is to bypass through the warding spells upon the perimeter; since these have been cast as discrete points, as opposed to a full-encircling wall, this is mainly a problem of detection and avoidance. Once through, however, we face a number of options.”

He knelt down and indicated the salient areas on the map. “There are three primary points of ingress to the Eye of the Ruse, at the gaps between the ships: to the East, to the South, and to the West. (Pink circles) Such would best be used for deployment zones for our walking-dead cohort, though which group slots into which zone is a subject for debate. Now: as for the movements for *our* number before the battle is begun, the ships surrounding of the eye may provide effective cover. As such, in these regions (Green areas) we may consider ourselves free to prepare—and to set our explosives.”

The gunsmith rose. “It is the southernmost of these ships that is containing of the cannon; there are ramps to the proper deck. By my estimation, it should take the walking-dead a minimum of ten or fifteen seconds to approach the ship from the positions at which I observed them—and their positions will likely be different tomorrow. Thus, upon us it is incumbent to—how you say—slow them down.”

“One thing I did *not* fathom, let it be said, is the ultimate *goal* of Cavendish; misfortunately, the significance of the statues and of the arcane circle is lost to me. Has anyone guesses?” The gunsmith looked expectantly at Lia and Andre.