"Most unseemly. Perhaps she is someone important where she's from and expects such preferential treatment here?"
"She's Taldan, yes."
Rich and varied as his grousing of the great nation of Osirion was - entirely justified, thankyouverymuch - Luke wasn't above critiquing his home country.
"From the way she talks, it's hard to call any dealings with her as cooperation." Senemheb shakes his head.
"Foreigners..."
And to attend a party with anyone would be uncomfortable for Senemheb, and a party with rude outlanders would be unbearable. He rather spend his time among the dead, after all...
He turns to Djedefre to answer the cleric's question.
"Unfortunately, I have only heard of the name. A temple abandoned during the Plague. That's all."
On hearing Senemheb's response, Djehuti shrugs. "We can discuss it once we are in the Necropolis." The elf gestures at the gates. "Is everyone ready?"
Djehuti nods. "That is never a bad thing to have available. Unfortunately we don't have enough information to make any kind of judgment calls on what these things could be. Something small and winged- perhaps beheaded of some kind? While shadows are a kind of undead it could just be shadows being cast by humanoid creatures."
"Yeah, shut up, you," the other Taldan concurred, not sparing the poor priest a glance in dismissing him. Luke didn't have the most favorable impression of the madame, but he was infinitely more interested in this supposed treasure trove of hers than the Pharasmins' impotent 'rules'. What were the god botherers going to do? Report the pharaoh's money-spinners to the pharaoh? Yeah, right."That isn't legal-" The Taldan's handler wrung his hands helplessly.
"Nowhere in the rules does it state adventuring parties cannot exchange information." Hypaxes glares at the Pharasmins around them...
Jolánka's gasps and glares at Luke again, tracing the Pharasmin spiral on her chest.
The Court is able to procure as many vials of holy water as they desire and can afford, the 20% discount from the Pharasmins applying here. Looking at the updated map, the Court sees while the House of Pentheru is opposite their first site it is closer to the necropolis gates by less than half the distance, on a slight rise in the nicer part of Old Wati.
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Amal gives Djedefre a bit of a bemused look. "Anything that'd work on bones or flesh...?"
"If there are specters or shadows, regular weapons won't do. We'll need magic." They seem surprisingly well-informed - although, now that you've met his father, it seems a little less surprising.
"That's why I suggested holy water. I thought perhaps one of your martial background might know of something else that a lowly trained cleric of Ra. Although I have been blessed by Ra to call upon his power to strike at the undead!"
Djehuti shook their head. "Theoretically, if you could blend minerals with some sort of an infusion crafted from the ectoplasmic remains of destroyed incorporeal undead you could create a metal that can damage otherwise untouchable enemies."
"My meagre dabblings with magic have little to help with the spirits of the dead." Senemheb gives an apologetic look. "But scrolls to make weapons magical are quite affordable."
”Eh, I guess some holy water would be worth lugging around,” a somewhat reluctant Luke conceded at the magic men’s conference on the noble art of killing that which had no body. He wasn’t particularly eager to spend his hard-earned gold. What was the point of these ventures if every coin won was sunk into the next foray? But his was a practical soul. They’d convinced him. Better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it, right?
”You,” he barked in stopping the nearest Pharasmin in their duties. ”Fetch us some holy water. And make sure it’s the good stuff, yeah? None of that tepid pond water some spotty acolyte crossed their fingers over, probably still full of crocodile muck. If a saint doesn’t recognize it as their own sweat, I’m not buying it.”
Putting these holy men to work would probably do them some good. It was just this thought, however, that added to the Taldan’s hesitation to fritter away any more than he had to on precautions like these. Because should the group encounter any spectre, he frankly expected Djedefre to handle it! Luke was perfectly willing to tangle with any and all threats the Court roused as part of their expeditions. Well, within reason, anyway. That was his role on the team and he accepted that. But ghosts? Phantoms? Apparitions without hearts to stab, heads to bludgeon?
Not his department. Spirits were the responsibilities of the spiritual guy. Let the angel-spawn earn his keep! Yes, fine, the foreigner granted within his own quiet mind in navigating Wati’s streets: Djedefre’s curatives alone were worth his weight in gold. But the point still stood!
Djehuti frowns at Luke's continued disrespect for the priests. They uncharacteristically look up at the Taldan, their pale eyes covered by their dark sun-spectacles. Speaking in their well mannered Taldan, they say "You understand they control the rewards we receive for our finds, how much they may charge for healing or divine magic, and obliquely through their opinion how much we may need to pay for goods throughout the city, don't you? They are a powerful force you antagonize, even if they don't react in an obvious manner."
"Hm. They would that do that, wouldn't they? Try to get back at me through underhanded means rather than actually confront me, the cowards... A finger scratched at the stubbly chin. "Fine. You're right. No reason to jeopardize my pay for their sake."
Djehuti nods at Luke. "Perhaps we should move out of this square and get on with our assignment? We can go get the holy water ourselves before entering the Necropolis."
Marwanun is willing to take your coin to provide vials of blessed water. A satchel of however many you desire is provided promptly.
The party, acquiring any last few things, head east towards Vizier's Hill. The neighborhood was once fully walled, but time and ruin have knocked holes in these walls. If the walls were whole, then you'd have to go along Vizier's Hill eastward for an hour before you reach the gates to the Hill. However, a crack wide enough for a horse lies northwest of the House Pentheru that the Court sees and can utilize as a shortcut.
Passing through, you see sandstone walls ten feet tall around the estate, affording those who once lived inside some privacy. A two-story stone house is visible beyond the walls, adjoining the rear wall of the property. In the center of the estate’s southern wall stands a pair of tarnished bronze gates hanging partially open. A pair of statues flanks the gate, depicting two men of regal bearing in loose, short robes and traditional head cloths. Dusty hieroglyphs are carved into the wall at eye level to the left of the gate.
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Djedefre notices something at the base of the statues: hieroglyphs!
And, thanks to the training from the more learned members of the Vulture Court, he knows what they mean.
"Look at the base of the statues. Hieroglyphs, worn from time, identify the men as Pentheru the Elder and Pentheru the Younger. We're in the correct location and I have the permission from the Church so we're safe - legally anyway."
"Even all their money could not buy them walls that could stand the test of time." Senemheb notes, sliding his hand against the cracked wall. "But their misfortune is our fortune, saving us an hour walk." he adds, and pushes through the crack.
"Well spotted, Djedefre. Good to know we're in the right place."
Djehuti nods and casts a minor spell, murmuring under their breath.
"Look at the base of the statues. Hieroglyphs, worn from time."
"So there are," Luke nodded, looking to the worn pictograms. By his moving lips, it was obvious he was trying to spell his way through them - with some difficulty. Giving up, the eyes panned up to take in their next site instead.
"It might not be a proper grave like the old general's..." he assessed, "but this place is something of a mansion. Plain folk don't flank their gates with statues of themselves. These Pentheru guys were men of no small means."
Which boded well for the Vulture Court. Assuming it hadn't been ransacked in centuries prior, this dwelling could make for a tidy payday. Lady Luck was still with them. Walking up to the dilapidated bronze doors, yawning open like broken jaws, the Taldan peered through. While he didn't cross the threshold, waiting until the others were ready, Luke was keen to peruse the site.
Luke peers through the bronze gates, seeing the signs of an underprepared siege upon the ancient, time-and-abuse warped metal. Within, dust and sand cover the ground of this small courtyard. To the east and west stand pairs of columns, once brightly painted and now bleached from the sun, which support stone archways leading to other sections of the property. Tarnished bronze gates hang open under both arches. To the north, a small flight of steps leads up to a pair of ornate doors in the south wall of the house between another set of columns.
"...What's this all about?" More so wondering aloud than asking anyone in particular, the Taldan ran his fingers down, through and within the dents, crags and pits of the battered bronze. "Cruel though he might be, this damage wasn't done by Father Time. These doors look more like they've served at Lastwall. As if someone tried to batter them down."
A siege? On a private residence? The bright eyes looked up to the statues looming above. "Who did you two tick off?"
It seemed a fair question, especially as it related to his own purposes here. If some group or another forced their way into the place however far back, they'd likely helped themselves to whatever valuables hit upon. Or so it seemed to Luke. Then again, the inner doors appeared perfectly intact. Perhaps the invaders, whoever they were, hadn't gotten so far.
Queries that wouldn't be answered unless the group stepped in to investigate. Waiting for the OK from an inquisitive aasimar, he entered the compound, choosing to slip through what space the yawning doors afforded over pushing them open. No telling whether the old things wouldn't just collapse if forced.
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"We have to be careful. I heard stories about people who tried to get in, only to be chased by ghosts. Rotten flying heads, if you can believe it." Amal shrugs. "I'm not sure I do; but there's definitely something in there. Let's hope it's something a bit less immaterial."
Clearly, they're not ecstatic at the thought of having to fight off something that would resist their blade.
Djehuti nods at Amal. "I've heard stories that this estate is haunted, stories of flying heads, monstrous beasts and vermin, and a haunted gate."
Luke, as he crosses the the threshold, he hears a woman's voice attempting to be commanding as a mirage fills his vision: "H-Hold the gates! Don't let the infected into the compound!" An older woman gestures to the gates, and a small group of servants and family members, armed with tools rather than weapons, rush to the gate as it is struck repeatedly, warbling eerily.
Djehuti, having followed Luke into the courtyard, moves to dodge out of the spectral mob's way.
Jolánka follows and listens silently, drawing and sketching until she steps into the courtyard.
"Hmm," she says nonchalantly. "Residual haunting. You have these all over the place in Ustalav. A psychic imprint of a moment when emotions ran high. Panic in this case, most likely. I think you're right Djedefre. This place was under siege."
"Yes," Jolánka replies. "Like I said, residual haunting. Likely harmless."
She shrugs and continues sketching.
Luke might have commented on the Dame's unerring ability to make her homeland sound like the very worst of tourist destinations. He might have if he'd heard her. Because as soon as the young man stepped over the gate's threshold, his ears were assaulted by a singular clamour, it sneaking up on him like a tiger from the grass. And with roughly the same impact too. Without warning, the world was rent by the clatter of metal and screams of the desperate. He whirled about, uncomprehending, in drawing his sword.
"Get away from the gate!" was all he could shout, knowing - as the fever stricken know their delusions - that a maddened crowd was inches away from toppling the whole thing over them. Wide eyes searched for some escape, feet backing away as the frantic mind behind both tried to grasp what in the world was going on.