The Eye of Anubis: Book Four

[Nathan of the FoS]

Charles debates whether to approach the two Women of Mystery, as he has mentally christened them, immediately, or to hold off until a more propitious moment presents itself; then his attention is distracted by a name appearing in the History of the Anubis Cult, his first book chosen for perusal. Now interested and taking notes in earnest, he spares only an occasional glance for the veiled pair, although he notes with interest (and relief) that the initial meeting seems to have gone off smoothly.

[Kaitou Kage]

Kuzan looked around the bazaar with a growing smile. More and more, the place reminded him of the markets in Tvashtri. Bustling, full of loud merchants and busy people, just add water and he'd be right back home! It felt good to find nostalgia in a place so far away from home. And apparently, the city had a huge lake.

"I wonder if they let people swim and sail their lake," he mused aloud.

His train of thought abruptly changed tracks when Faruq and Michel greeted each other.

"Pleasure to meet you," Kuzan said, grinning and dipping his upper body in a somewhat awkward bow, "I'm Kuzan, of Tvashtri. Michel tells us you're quite a salesman."

[The Whistler]

"My lords, my ladies!" Faruq turned to the rest of you. "A thousand greetings, for I am One-Eyed Faruq, the pawnbroker, seller of secrets, marketer of marvels, provider of prophecies, auctioner of artefacts..."

"Delinquent of debts," Michel interjected with a devilish smirk.

"Effendi..." Faruq said with an exaggeratedly offended slowness. "Let us not quarrel over trifles!"

Mordentish--yes! And *dang* if he doesn't know how to lay on the patter with a trowel...where I'm from, you use that much alliteration and you get fined.

Hm...can't go toe-to-toe with him on the "exotic wares-peddler" bit, and he's a friend of a friend...so you play it straight, at least until the haggling starts. Let's see you smile, Herr Schultheiss...

The gunsmith grinned broadly and stepped in for a firm handshake.

"A pleasure, sir--always it is good to meet a fellow man of business! Otto Schultheiss, of Schultheiss Firearms in Lamordia: finest gunpowder weapons in the northwestern Core. Currently, I room with this rapscallion here--" He quirked a smile and cocked his head at Michel "--as the group of us plan to be journeying across the Wastes; Michel is telling me that you are the man to supply us."

"Now, I in person would have interest in anything of relation to my profession--" He pats his peacebonded pistol; indicative, not threatening "--but anything involving desert travel would be of use, to both me and my friends. Perhaps we might see these marvels you market, yes?"

[steveflam]

Ulsaon bows deeply to Faruq. "Well met, sir. I am, well, how to say this. I am in search of scrolls and perhaps to trade an item. Might you be the person I need to speak to?"

[DocBeard]

"I wouldn't know!" Tomas continues to be cheerful. Almost aggressivly cheerful, as if this wasn't a potentially deadly encounter, but just a misunderstanding.

"The way I see it, though, if I was hearing things, it's a simple mistake. If I was not hearing things, then people could need help." Tomas shrugs, "I'm willing to risk needing to apologize over letting someone suffer. Excuse me, honorable Confessor."

[yalenusveler]

"See, I told you we wouldn't get COMPLETELY lost!" Andre proclaimed as he came upon the market place group, Lily in tow...well more he was in tow to Lily carrying any purchases of hers which required carrying. "I'm sorry if we've missed introductions. But we strolled by a rug merchant...course, turns out his knot work is shoddy, but ah well. Only the Prophet's judgment is infallible." Andre's voice showing good cheer...which was a fairly unusual thing.

[NeoTiamat]

The Library of Phiraz, Academic Quarter, Phiraz
May 22nd, 761, 3:02 PM; Day 66 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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"My, how interesting," Lia says. 'Hold on,' she thinks to herself. 'Several of those subjects come awfully close to what we are searching for. I wonder --? Could this be --?' "Yes indeed, a subject with much opportunity for study," Lia goes on, trying to sound as pleasant as possible. "What are you studying specifically? And are you a student at the University? Are you writing a book report?"

At Lia's barrage of questions, the veiled girl smiled again, shaking her head slightly as if amused by the number of questions her fellow conversationalist asked. Deftly book-marking and closing her book, the dark-eyed young woman took out another tome, flipping open to a page and reversed it, pushing it towards Lia.

Even as the young woman's hands held the edge of the tome, Lia looked down, her eye attracted by a slight shimmering in the words. Quickly, the Mordentish student read the page opened to her, her throat going dry as she took in the old, dusty words.

• ...The ancient Akiri peoples were extremely concerned about desecration and grave-robbery, seeing is as a crime far worse than even murder... The Akiri believed that when a person was slain, he was reincarnated, physically, within the afterlife, with all of his funereal goods and posessions. As such, while a murderer could hurt you only in this world, a desecrator or tomb-robber could harm you for eternity....
  
  ...Desecration was always seen as an ecclesiastical crime, and punished by the priests of the various death-gods, notably Osiris, Nephtys, and Anubis... An entire array of punishments were created, quite horrific, which were doled out according to the circumstances of the crime and the whim of the presiding ecclesiastical judge-executioner.
  
  ...One of the more lenient forms of death was the triple-slaying... after the poison was ingested, the miscreant was dealt a non-lethal stab-wound, usually upon the chest. Otherwise, their wrists were slit lightly. ...Finally, the would-be tomb-robber was hanged... Performed properly, the goal was to create a situation where the guilty died simultaneously of poison, blood loss, and asphyxiation...
  
  ...In severe cases, the desecrator was tortured before death. Hot irons, knives, and scourges were often used, although inventive priests sometimes used exposure to the desert or the attentions of various animals or insects... the most skilled ecclesiastical judge-executioners used magics which inflicted immense pain upon the mind but left the body unharmed....
  
  ....The most severe punishment possible, the "Torment of a Thousand Tears" was invoked only in the case of the desecration of the highest priests of one of the death gods. Not even the royal Pharoahs were protected by this curse.... carried out perhaps once a life-time, the Torment of a Thousand Tears was an immensely powerful phantasmagoric illusion.... the criminal was forced to watch all that he loved and believed in destroyed before his eyes, again and again, his loved ones debased and murdered, his friends executed and torn apart, all that he had worked to create destroyed.... And believed that it was entirely his fault... uniquely amongst the great punishments, the Torment of a Thousand Tears was not fatal and remarkably short-lasting, although the time-dilation of the illusion made it seem an eternity. After an hour, the illusion was dispelled and the miscreant allowed to go free....
  
  ....In every recorded case, the criminal comitted suicide within twenty-four hours....
  
  ....Only the greatest of ecclesiastical judge-executioners were capable of creating the Torment of a Thousand Tears, and as a badge of honor, they were granted full-faced masks which they wore when they carried out their duties... green face masks for the priests of Nephthys or Osiris, and black jackal-masks for the priests of Anubis....such priests were also forbidden to speak, except to utter the holy phrases of their magics....

As Lia finished reading, she found the young (or not so young?) girl looking her in the eyes, her rich, dark-brown eyes mysterious, her smile a little sad. They were fathomless eyes, eyes that seemed so calm, and so trusting, and perhaps a little tragic, eyes that swallowed up the world...

Suddenly, the text shimmered very briefly once more, and a new line, an ornate hand that Lia could not help but recognize from long ago, asked clearly in High Mordentish.

• Do you understand?

The Grand Bazaar, The Merchant's Quarter, Phiraz
May 22nd, 761, 3:02 PM; Day 66 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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"Pleasure to meet you," Kuzan said, grinning and dipping his upper body in a somewhat awkward bow, "I'm Kuzan, of Tvashtri. Michel tells us you're quite a salesman."

"Effendi, have you been telling these kind people tales?" The black-robed Pharazian said with a oratorical glance at De Angelis, who merely grinned. "For I must still be after making a living!"

"And here I always thought you were interested in making a killing." Michel commented snidely. Faruq gave him a exaggeratedly hurt look.

"And now my lords, my ladies, I am most pleased to meet you, and yet I think you shall be most pleased to meet me, for when it comes to the finest, the most amazing wonders of the Amber Wastes, there is no greater merchant than I. Please, come with me to my shop."

As the group of shoppers followed the rakish Pharazian, Faruq continued his spiel.

"Well met, sir. I am, well, how to say this. I am in search of scrolls and perhaps to trade an item. Might you be the person I need to speak to?"

"Yes, my lady, I am after possessing many curious and arcane writings, from the highest scholars in Phiraz! For you see, there is a lonely scribe there, and for a scribe, that is not a career given to great deeds and heroic gestures. But then he met One-Eyed Faruq! Now this scribe is married to the daughter of the Universities Master, and in gratitude, he did give me a thousand and one scrolls of power, such as are the envy of all the Wastes!"

"Now, I in person would have interest in anything of relation to my profession--" He pats his peacebonded pistol; indicative, not threatening "--but anything involving desert travel would be of use, to both me and my friends. Perhaps we might see these marvels you market, yes?"

"If it is the to cross the desert you are seeking, seek no further, Effendi!" Faruq said with a waggle of his beetle-black brows. "For in my shop, I have wonders most worthy, marvels most magnificent! I have a flower of soft, pink jade, such that when it is thrown to the ground it forms a great fountain, with cool, icy water even in the most unceasing of suns!"

"I recieved it from a nomad prince, one who had trouble with a pesky desert djinn. Never did the djinn cease to trouble him, wailing and gnashing his teeth in the night. But no sooner than this nomad prince used the enchanted lamp of my shop," Faruq made a swift gesture with his hand, "Then, fwoosh!, the djinn was sucked into the lamp, and thus I have the rare traveling fountain of the nomads, a gift from the prince of the desert ones!"

"You will see, my lords and ladies, that One-Eyed Faruq does not lie! Many are the mysteries of my shop, and for but a few shekels you may recieve the great power that you seek!"

Michel rolled his eyes, but forebore comment.

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Faruq's shop was a lot like the man himself, a large, dark building huddled between a tea shop and what looked suspiciously like a high-class bordello. A flamboyant sign in Pharazian script proclaimed it the demesnes of One-Eyed Faruq, and no fewer than eleven locks warded the front door. Taking out a ring of keys, Faruq opened the door and herded you all inside.

"Feast your eyes, my lords and ladies, upon the greatest collection of unique artefacts in Phiraz! If One-Eyed Faruq does not have it, it does not exist!"

To a certain extent, you could believe it. The shop was huge, and if there was any kind of organization there, you suspected it would take an archeological trip like the Menetnashte Expedition to discover it. Tables, shelves, open chests, huge boxes with mysterious writing were everywhere, draped with a plethora of rugs, shawls, curtains, covered by statuettes, old swords, music boxes and little glass bottles. A scent like incense carried through the air, and if there were any doubts of the nature of the neighboring establishment, the sounds carrying through the thin walls dispelled it.

Michel looked up at a stuffed crocodile hung from the ceiling above the door. Full twenty-feet long, it was an intimidating beast, no argument there, with an open jaw full of shiny, sharp ivory teeth.

"You still have this thing?"

"Effendi! Do not dismiss the crocodile! It is a most honorable beast, with a history that stretchs back many years! That is Mustali the Dragon, slayer of a hundred men upon the Simurgh! Not until the hunters used a spear from One-Eyed Faruq were they able to defeat it. So grateful were they, then they did give me the creature's hide as a trophy!"

At this point, Faruq was interrupted by a slight moan from the neighboring establishment. Michel raised an eyebrow, but Faruq continued with perfect aplomb.

"Discount any sounds that you hear, for it is the nomad prince's desert djinn seeking escape." The pawnbroker, looking almost like a stock character from a Dementlieuse penny dreadful, waved his hands around the voluminous room. "Search, my lords and ladies, for all the wonders of Phiraz are gathered here!"

[OOC: Okay, here's the deal. Basically, Faruq quite realistically has probably whatever you need, or at least whatever you specifically decide you need. You can search for it yourself, or ask Faruq about it and he'll find it.

All prices are 20% higher than standard! However, if you can succeed at haggling with Faruq (an opposed diplomacy check), you can get the item for 20% lower!

Also, in the interests of people with weapons and armor, Faruq also sells added enchantments that can be put onto blades (so he can enchant someone's sword to make it go from a +1 to a +2, or what-not). This is represented by armor or weapon fixtures like a new set of greaves or a new pommel stone, and this is so that our token warriors have a decent shot at buying stuff.

Lastly, even for those people who aren't presently here, they can come by later and we can RP out the shopping. Tarlyn, you've already sent me what you want, give me a bit of time and I'll get back to you when I'm not inundated with papers.]

The Academic Quarter, Phiraz
May 22nd, 761, 3:02 PM; Day 66 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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"The way I see it, though, if I was hearing things, it's a simple mistake. If I was not hearing things, then people could need help." Tomas shrugs, "I'm willing to risk needing to apologize over letting someone suffer. Excuse me, honorable Confessor."

"I see... foreigners gallivanting around the city in search of ephemeral screams." The Confessor said with a heavy sarcasm. The white-robed man continued. "I hear nothing, and it is not the place of dhimmi to be investigating such things. I think... I think that my superiors would be pleased to speak with you, for such actions as you may want to confess."

Guy exchanged a look with Tomas. These words did not exactly bode well. Up ahead, behind the Confessor, Loup was turning in circles, pointing his muzzle towards the gates to the next district but unwilling to go ahead withou the others.

And then Devereux did something which left both Guy and Tomas blinking.

"Er... excuse me...." The gangly, long-limbed professor cleared his throat, his nervous hemming and hawing made worse by the obvious confusion of the situation, though now that he heard Tomas's explanation, the professor frowned. "Maybe....er....maybe I can help?"

"What is it?" The Confessor asked, turning to gaze sharply at Devereux.

"It's just....well...." The professor opened his violet jacket and reached into an inside pocket, bringing out a silver pocket watch with tiny ticking hands. "Well.... maybe... if we just took a moment to think about it...."

The professor's voice continued, and Tomas thought he detected some strange notes in the normally nervous, reedy voice. "Just that....well... if we all just took some time... to calm down..."

Slowly, Devereux began to swing the watch back and forth, idly playing with it as he spoke. The Confessor glared, waiting impatiently for the Dementlieuse historian to get to a point, any point.

"I mean.... we all have time....? Just look at the watch.... er.... it tells time.... and its going back....and forth...." The Confessor narrowed his eyes even as Prof. Devereux's voice went a notch deeper. "Just.... back....and forth.... back.... and forth...."

The Confessor's pupils followed the watch along its pendulum-like path, even as he nodded along to Devereux's words.

"It's alright.... really it is.... we can discuss this.... please? Just stay and talk.... while the watch.... goes back.... and forth.... no need to get upset... maybe.... just wait? Just wait.... while the watch.... goes back.... and forth.... back.... and forth.... back..... and forth....."

Noting the white-robed man's somewhat glazed look, Devereux cast a quick glance at his two companions. The Confessor just nodded along, even now that the professor had stopped speaking.

"Hurry!" Devereux hissed. "I...er.... didn't expect this to actually work. Not sure I can keep it up long."

Up ahead, Loup whined and pawed at the cobblestones.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Lia stiffens, her hands curving into claws on the tabletop as she stares at ... You! Here? Now?'

Akiri: "It has been a time," she speaks in a language she learned before she even heard the name 'Menetnashte', her voice low and ... dark, "since we were last face-to-face. Of your courtesy, I would ask to know your name. Calling you 'Anubite' or 'sand cleric' smacks of childish name-calling, and I respect you as a powerful individual, at the very least."

'Blast you, Charles, get over here!' Lia thinks, though she does not break eye contact with the woman opposite her. To those sensitive to such things, the feeling of arcane power building around her is almost tangible. She makes no hostile moves, but the tension in her shoulders and the crackling feeling of energy are sure signs of ... readiness.

"I understand you are threatening me with dire things, should I desecrate Menetnashte's sepulchre," Lia continues. "But desecration is not my purpose. Nor is theft. Consider, some miserable little sand rat found the tomb, might have picked it clean if he had not come to Dementlieu for whatever unfathomable reason. If Menetnashte's tomb is, however, moved wholly to the University of Dementlieu, it would be protected by the full power of its faculty. Menetnashte's name would ring down the ages in our histories and treatises, while his properties would be kept safe from true thieves. That is the only reason why I would go to a man's grave and empty it out: to preserve it from actual thieves, who would see grave goods as nothing more than a way to make money.

You are the protector of the dead, but we are - I am a protector of the knowledge of the past. I am a guard against oblivion."

'Pistol: peace-bonded. Dagger: peace-bonded. If I start hurling magic around in here, that Confessor will be upon me, if he has any power of his own, be it physical or magical. Besides, this woman has strong magical powers of her own. I might win. And yet, I might not.'

"You threaten me with this death of a thousand tears, I understand. It is your duty as a guardian. But I will not have you calling me a thief. I am a scholar! If I could take the knowledge inherent in that tomb without carrying away a single object, I would. I would! My goal is preservation of the past, not despoiling it!"

Clearly upset now, Lia has half-risen from her chair, her voice coming faster, though she still speaks in a low tone of voice:
"For a time, I believed that sailor who died back in Dementlieu might have been the victim of that swine Cavendish, who intends to lay his hands upon the Eye of Anubis. It aggrieves me to learn you are his killer. Whatever a man's crimes, his corpse should not be made into a bloody carrier pidgeon! Were you also the killer of that wretch Stefan? Have you harried Cavendish yet, or are we your only targets? What was the point of sending me into the arch, when you now threaten my existence and my sanity?

You may give me sad looks all you like, but I do not accept such reprimand from a woman who already attacked me with lightning once. If you want me away from the tomb of Menetnashte ... why not simply tell us what there is to know about it? Save us the trip and remove this 'threat' you perceive, though no threat is intended."

(OOC: I am hoping the non-Akiri words 'Anubite', 'Cavendish', 'Dementlieu' and 'Stefan' will attract Charles' attention and warn him ... ^^; )

[DocBeard]

"Maybe you do not understand the very reasonable words I am saying. Neither of us are speaking in our native tounge, so misunderstandings are to be expected." Tomas's voice has gained that strange, strained tone he aquired when facing down Cavendish, where it almost seems like something wanted to escape the Lamordian, to crackle out of his fists and fly screaming down at whatever wicked thing stood in his way...

...and then, well, gosh.

"...I understand, sir." Tomas looks at his mentor for another heartbeat, and rushes forward, following Loup, trying to find what it is the dog is trying to get at...

...man, it'd be funny if this is all over a misunderstanding, Tomas thinks to himself, because that's just one of the twisted, depressing things about being human in a situation like this.

[lostboy]

Khalil looks around in barely restrained wonder at the interior of the ... shop didnt do it justice, but it was amazing. His gaze swept over the place alighting on several items that piqued his interest. Still Khalil kept his face unreadable, he had the feeling this man would fleece them for all they were worth unless they keep their wits sharp.

"Indeed your shop is most well stocked as you say Affendi." He says with a short nod to the Pharazian.

[Nathan of the FoS]

Charles is distracted from his perusal of the "History of the Anubis Cult" by Lia's low, angry voice. Oh dear, he thinks. That didn't last long.

Standing, he makes his way over to where the two veiled women sit--well, Lia is no longer sitting, instead being crouched over the table as if about to attack. As he approaches and is about to speak a few calming words (he hopes the other woman speaks Draconic--Lia seems to be speaking Akiri, but despite his months of practice his own Akiri is still of the "I is good to be seeing you," sort), he gets his first look at the woman's face.

Even veiled he recognizes it immediately. It is a face he will never forget, masked or not. Only a lifetime of manners drilled into him keeps him on his feet, although his face pales noticeably. And yet, somehow, it is not a surprise...something about her, her silence, her grace, her hidden face had warned him on a subliminal level.

"Madame," he says in Draconic, bowing very deeply. "What an unexpected pleasure."

[steveflam]

"Your shop is most impressive, Effendi" Ulsaon says as she looks around in awe. "Everything here but perhaps the kitchen lavabo!"

[yalenusveler]

"No, i think I saw one over there..." Andre says, wandering about the shop and generally being all but touristy. "You..deal only in goods, or Information too?" The young scholar says, almost casually, looking over some bits of bric a brac that at one point, might've been Sebuan.

[The Whistler]

Otto pushed his spectacles down on his nose, taking in the store with detached, yet interested appraisal. A small, appreciative smile; somewhat restrained.

"Impressive. You run a good shop, yes." Disorganized as all get out, yes, but still…

He turned toward Faruq with a decisive air, counting off items on his fingers. "Now, sir, if you are not minding, I shall need: a pistol, good make and quality; thirty count in bullets; two waterskins; a means of mixing alchemical substances--" (gesturing a small box with his hands) "--compact; ...and some manner of improving a suit of leather armor."

There’s the setup. Now let’s see how you play it.

The dark-robed Pharazian listened closely, stroking his chin before swooping like a bat to a nearby mountain of gear. "Well Effendi.... the waterskins, that can be done, for here there are two of fine leather, for only a gold piece the pair I shall give you."

Stay agreeable near the beginning. This is small change, so build him up while you can.

"Done, sir."

"Now for the box of the chemicals,” Faruq continued, “that was from the estate of a professor of the University of Phiraz, and has many strange and eldritch potions within. For no less than a hundred gold can I let it pass from these doors, else his spirit shall give me no rest."

Kill the rhetoric and the price is still fair. Go for it; stay frosty, though...

A small grin from the gunsmith. "With such a pedigree, you sell this?" He took the alchemical kit, looked over the various vials, sniffed one. "Excellent. This too I shall take."

"It rends my heart, Effendi," Faruq smiled apologetically, "But times are tough, and the bread comes but slowly."

"Hooh...the firearms trade similarly. Wait a week, sell a pistol, wait a week, sell a pistol..."

You understand then, Effendi." Faruq smiled, and Otto had a mental image of a grinning wolf. "But I fear the pistols and bullets are not nearly so common as to sell one a week here within Phiraz...."

"Oho, no, I certainly expect not..." Otto returned the grin, similarly wolfishly—a facial expression that, incidentally, he’d gotten better at lately. It was obvious that he had just as good an idea what was coming next as the Pharazian merchant did, despite the friendly surface patter.

"Aye, Effendi, the art of gunpowder is not one much loved in Phiraz, where sword of steel and bow of horn are the weapons of choice. If there are but a double-handful of the exploding weapon in the City, t'would be only through the Prophet's Grace." Faruq spoke with utmost seeming sincerity.

"Well, as the Prophet's Grace is vast, so too I hope that your selection is fine, yes?" Otto spoke, for all the world like an eager handgun enthusiast buying his first piece. A grin. "Let us see what you have in stock."

"Well, it may be possible, perhaps possible, that I may be able to find one such armament, but it would not be easy, Effendi." Faruq said with an oily smile. "And yet, I may know the one... a promised weapon for Bey al-Felim, an enthusiast of the Mordentish ways."

Slippery bastard...probably a ploy, but the accent's throwing me off. Play this by ear.

"I see..." Otto tapped a finger to his chin. "Mordentish firearms, eh? ...The nationalism inclines me against it somewhat, but...I am interested. Tell me more."

"You shall not be disappointed, Effendi." Faruq swooped away to the back of the shop, returning presently with a case; inside, a wheel-lock pistol with small inlays of shiny brass and intricate scrollwork along the barrel. To Otto's eye, it seemed more a nobleman's toy than a proper weapon.

"Mm.....pleasant, yes." The 'Pleasant' carried a distinctly dubious tone. "If you do not mind..." The gunsmith gestured indicatively.

Of course, Effendi..." Faruq opened the case, handing the long-barrelled weapon to Otto. There was the enchanted peace-bonding upon it, but otherwise seemed the classic Mordentish weapon.

The Lamordian hefted the gun, sighted along it; checked the spring mechanism and the flint for misalignment. Frowned, slightly. "Wheel locks...I shall not lie: not my preference. Too many moving parts, and fouling of powder becomes *such* an issue in the wet..." A sigh. "I suppose, though, that it shall *have* to do..."

"Effendi, forgive me, but wet shall not be a concern for you within the desert." Faruq said with a smile.

The corner of Otto's mouth quirked upward. "Point, sir." ...And then downward. "How much."

"Well, my lord, the Bey will be most put out were I to sell his weapon." Faruq rubbed his chin again. "And yet, for a friend of a friend, though that scalawag still owes me ten shekels.... twelve hundred pieces of gold sounds fair, does it not? For then I may yet mollify the Bey.”

Otto smiled, thinly. ...And, close it.

"It is certainly a *good* weapon, and I am sure the Bey is having only the finest of tastes..." He lets the sentence hang in the air for a few moments. "...Which is why--forgive my concern--I simply *cannot* allow him to purchase a Mordentish pistol. In fact..."

An idea seemed to dawn on him, as if out of the blue. He whipped out a small notebook and pencil, scribbling down a few sentences. Tore it off, handed it to Faruq.

"Contact information, for a friend of mine. Kristof Holstmann: widest-ranging *Lamordian* firearms salesman in my business. He is set to arrive in Phiraz only a month from now, if I am remembering. And oh, his product...it is almost as good as what I am making, I am telling you! The Bey will be *most* pleased."

He chuckled a moment, then trailed off.

"Of course, such a reference begs a good deed in return, yes...?" His eyes narrowed. "Eight hundred. Not a penny more."

Faruq pursed his lips, not entirely pleased. "Very well; done."

Check and mate. You’ve still got it, Herr Schulthiess…

Otto was so happy that he let the one-eyed Pharazian talk him into buying a reinforced leather chestplate at markup.

[NeoTiamat]

The Library of Phiraz, Academic Quarter, Phiraz
May 22nd, 761, 4:25 PM; Day 66 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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To those sensitive to such things, the feeling of arcane power building around her is almost tangible. She makes no hostile moves, but the tension in her shoulders and the crackling feeling of energy are sure signs of ... readiness.

Clearly upset now, Lia has half-risen from her chair, her voice coming faster, though she still speaks in a low tone of voice.

The Anubite made no move, drew in no power arcane or divine, did not seem to be made angry or irate by Lia's angry oration. The small, slim Akiri girl just watched the Mordentish magess with the same, dark, liquid brown eyes as before. She did, however, incline her head briefly to Charles as he approached.

As Lia wound down, the Anubite tapped her page again, the words flowing and shimmering like tiny animate pools of ink, forming the following response, in crystal clear High Mordentish:

• Gawked and prodded and ogled by rabble
  Be made a part of scholar's tirades and babble.
  Guarded by old men, hypocrites and liars,
  Become but a part of their twisted desires.
  Twice you've been warned, the third is the charm,
  Turn back now, and come to no harm.

As your eyes came to the end of the short poem, the Anubite rose, the letters of the page fading away into a dull treatise on the formation of sand dunes. Picking up the slim tome she had been reading before, the small, dusky-skinned Akiri woman bowed to you, and began to walk away.

The Grand Bazaar, The Merchant's Quarter, Phiraz
May 22nd, 761, 4:25 PM; Day 66 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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"No, i think I saw one over there..." Andre says, wandering about the shop and generally being all but touristy. "You..deal only in goods, or Information too?" The young scholar says, almost casually, looking over some bits of bric a brac that at one point, might've been Sebuan.

Faruq finished counting out the scrolls for Ulsaon before answering. The black-robed Pharazian did not look thrilled to be dealing with Otto, not very, although the prospect of some other, more easily bilked Lamordian, did appeal.

"Yes Effendi, One-Eyed Faruq hears many strange and exotic stories," The bandit-like pawnbroker grinned. "Would you perhaps like to hear the tale of the Great Horse of the River? Or maybe you are searching for the final epic of Kemustar, for such a story as few have heard. Or mayhaps something a touch more practical?"

[OOC: Okay, Otto and Whistler have done their shopping. Kuzan, Khalil, and Andre, any of you three interested?]

Slaughterhouse District, The Old Quarter, Phiraz
May 22nd, 761, 4:25 PM; Day 66 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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Loup ran onward now, fast as he could, leaving Devereux behind to distract the Confessor. The Quarter now entered was an older, lower-class one, a labyrinth of narrow streets where the buildings on either side clawed up towards the sky. At times, it seemed that you had become hopelessly turned around, and yet, always, Loup ran onward. From time to time, Tomas and even Guy heard the intermittent screaming, a low, piercing wail of pain and loss and sheer agony, but one that moved so quickly. How could anything in such fear and despair move so quickly? And below your feet, at that.

Soon, you reached what you imagined was the slaughterhouse district of Phiraz. The smell of offal and blood was heavy in the air, and flies buzzed in great clouds above heaps of entrails, their low buzzing a constant presence in the heat. You imagined you were at the far west end of the city, so that the westerly wind would blow the stench away from Phiraz.

Suddenly, Loup stopped, pawing at the door of one home. For a brief moment, the screaming grew closer, and you could feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand straight up, even as Guy looked a little pale and Loup whined again. And then it was gone, straight down now.

The rough windows of the home were shuttered down tight, and a waxen seal with crude lettering held the door shut. Sadly, neither Tomas nor Guy could read Pharazian.

Loup whined again, pawing at the door.