Nathaniel chuckles. "I warned you it could be jarring." He leans down, and makes sure everything arrived with them. "I hate the baggage handlers, occasionally the mess up and leave something behind."
     A moment ago he seemed drugged. Now, he is sharp as ever. "Okay, everything appears to be here." He then glances around. "If I calculated right, it is about midnight here. We have a couple days until the next beduin tribe comes through, we should be out of here by then. They won't appreciate our presence."

     Bedouins. Great. Cesare doesn't seem surprised at the idea, just the fact of it. "Right," he affirms, glad to have someone else in charge for once. He looks around, moving his feet to reestablish his connection to the world. "By the way...you've got to show me how to do that." Just as an aside.

     "Huh?" Nate says, "Oh, right, that." He stubs the cigarette out and puts the remainder in his pocket. "I don't think it would mix well with your normal way of doing things."
     He then points. "Down there, you probably can't see it from here given the dark. The shaft is only partially covered. Some robbers made a stab at it yesterday, but were chased off. So the hard work is really done for us."

     Cesare moves around, trying to see something in the right direction. "And...why did the robbers have a problem?" A magical problem, perhaps? "Gah. I didn't bring rope," he observes, his mood already lifted.

     Nathaniel leans down and picks up some rope. "I left reservations for the desk to have some rope laying around."
     "I'm not entirely sure. Magical, perhaps, or maybe just the locals. I encountered one of them after the fact. Very incoherent."
     He smiles. "I'm sure everything will be just fine. Though I probably should have brought a toy or two."

     "Toy?" Cesare queries, fishing for a flashlight. It would be easier to simply cast light, but why burn the energy? "Ah, there," he murbles, beginning to head in the ascribed direction. But then, he stops. "Um, unless you planned on expressing us there?"

     "Nah, The Ogilvie Express isn't very good for short hops. At least, it just isn't worth the drawbacks to use for short jumps."
     "And, for that matter, sand feels good between the toes."
     He starts walking. Nathaniel obviously knows where he is going. Maybe he has been here before. "Well, I didn't figure to get us into danger or anything, so I didn't bring anything that might help in such a situation."

     "Good idea," Cesare says, but he came prepared all the same. Maglite out, he points out a bright path ahead of you, sure to keep one from tripping over anything. "I don't think I've been to Egypt in...a while."

     "Technically, this would rate as my earliest trip to Egypt." Nathaniel shrugs. "It hasn't changed much since my last visit." There goes those tenses again.

     Cesare nods, tromping along. "Um...guess this means you don't know what's going to be in this tomb, si?" Pack is adjusted on his shoulder, and boots sound loudly on the sand. Not that anyone will hear, mind you.

     "Oh, someone big and powerful. Its the final resting place of one of the middle-late pharoahs... perhaps their queen. Not sure."
     "I know what won't be there. But not what will be. That is the problem."
     His own sandals shift in the sand as he walks. He didn't dress right, that is obvious, but he doesn't seem to notice the desert night chill.

     "Well, let's put it like this," Cesare's wry humor showing, "...apparently, we won't die, right?" He chuckles faintly, coat swaying the breeze. His blue eyes glance up at the stars, as if posing the question to them, too.

     "Well, I won't. Because I do things later on. Don't know about you, as you are properly aligned at the moment."
     This doesn't seem to bother Nathaniel. "But then, what is an adventure without risk?"

     Oh, wonderful. Cesare half-pauses, but then shuffles on, shrugging it off. "You have a point," he says, catching up. "But, if there's anything weird in there, I reserve the right to set them all a blaze." Cesare laughs at himself, rather amused at the image.

     "No fire." Nathaniel says adamantly. "There were no burn marks when this place was found."
     He points to the side of the cliff. "There, can you see the cave entrance?"

     Cesare looks at you, not sure what to do with that information. He'll not argue for now, but a man used to caring for himself will certainly defend himself, when and if the situation calls for it. But, no reason to argue the point.
     Looking over where you indicate, Cesare points the flashlight, "Yeah, faintly," he nods, sighing tension away. Alright, no flames. Smarter head realizes what you're trying to say.

     Nathaniel leads towards the cliff face, sandles sifting through sand. The slope up towards the cliff, where debris has fallen for centuries, is something of a scramble but not difficult.
     "Through here" A cleft in the rocks. Then a pause from Nathaniel. "Looks like someone came before us. Strange. I don't remember that."

     What do you mean 'strange'? Cesare's eyes slide over to you, skepticism there. "Alright," he whispers, adjusting the pack on his shoulder. The light is reattached to his belt, and Cesare makes a concerted scrabble through the cleft, slowing once part of him arrives inside. Once there, the light is unattached once more.

     "It wasn't in the literature." Nathaniel's only response to Cesare's comment. "Unless I got the wrong location --" A glance at the sky, then to his hand "-- No, this is the right spot."
     Nathaniel looks back to check on Cesare, briefly, before vanishing into the darkness of the rock cleft. His last glance set his eyes aflame like the moon, and sun, followed soon by "Come on Cesare, don't want to have been late." Then his voice, too, is gone into the shadows.

     "Late? What do you mean late?" his Italian comes. The light flicks back on and Cesare catches up with a galloping pace. "Late for what?" he eagerly whispers your direction, not sure if you're hearing hm.

     "For our arrival." There is a chuckle from the darkness up ahead. "Not that it matters much, I guess. Being off by a minute or two, this way or that. Ah, here we are."
     Further down this tunnel than you might expect, Nathaniel sets fire to the darkness with a flashlight. A great sandstone door blocks the passage, or would if someone hadn't already broken through it. Intricate, delicate, engravings shattered into pieces on the floor.

     "Well, all this is right, I guess. Tragedy, I'm glad we didn't have to do it. I would have felt horrible."

     "Who's here?" he surmises and asks, coming to a halt at your shoulder. Cesare reaches for his automatic again, suddenly doubly-fisted. "Well, whoever they are, they managed to break this," eyes looking around the opening. "And no blasting..." he wonders aloud, peering at the surfaces.

     Nathaniel sets the flashlight down, facing the door, and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. "Want one?" Offering, as he lights one for himself.
     He reaches over and touches the rough outline of the hole, running fingers along the edge. A few puffs from his cigarette in silence, then "They battered it. Iron poles and prybars. No wonder its so unprofessional looking."

     There's a nod as Cesare takes the cigarette absently, it lighting almost instantly. "Grazie," he murmurs, bending and then looking up at you for permission to pick up a strewn piece of stone. "It's alright to pick up?"

     A nod. "There shouldn't be anything on it. If there was a ward on this door, it took affect on those that opened it."
     "I think."

     There's a nod on wards. Those...he can deal with. Good old static -- well, hopefully it's the same. He doesn't seem too worried that the stone would be an issue, and he picks up a hand-sized chunk of stone, twisting it around at various angles. The cigarette is placed precariously on his lip, so both hands come available.
     "Um..." he blinks, "...when did you say this was? Is?" Whatever.

     Nathaniel turns his attention to the glyphs upon the door. Fingers trace along the bottom of each image, each line of hieroglyphics, as his lips form silent words.
     "People just don't seem to realize the damage they are doing when they open doors like this. Not just culturally, or what have you, but to themselves and to the location." He says at length. "Yes, there was a ward, it --"
     But Cesare has begun to speak. "Eleven-oh-eight, I think. And I don't think I had said. January 16th if it matters."

     Eleven-oh-eight. Okay. Twelfth century. He blinks and looks at the stone in his hand again, still seeming confused. Tendrils of smoke float around his head, and then Cesare spies you once more, as if unsure about the information.

     "-- The ward is a bit imprecise, I think. Or perhaps the magic wasn't carried in the words." Nathaniel continues from where he stopped. "Please forgive my egyptian, its been a while since I've been conversationally fluent in it."
     "May those who would disturb the rest of Nepher-Heka, King of Heaven, Son of Osiris and Isis, King of the Upper and the Lower, Lord of the Passage through the Underworld, live forever in the halls of heaven as his servants until the end of all time." Nathaniel intones in an exaggerated voice. "Sounds pleasant."

     Cesare twists and stares at you, frowning openly now. Conversational Egyptian? Alright. He rolls his eyes and puts the stone back down on the floor, just about where he found it.
     "So, a ward of protection, with perhaps a small punishment with it?" This is nice.
     "You haven't said what we're looking for? Sarcophagi? Masks? Ooh. I like death masks," he nods, suddenly affirmed in all of this. Maybe something good will come out of it.
     "I know, I know. I can't take anything. I hear it now..."

     "Actually, this place gets looted long before modern archaeology gets to it. I don't think it would matter much if you felt like taking a momento." Nathaniel casually mentions.
     "I'm not actually looking *for* anything. I'm here because I've never been in an Egyptian Pharoah's tomb before, and this dynasty was particularly interesting."
     A few more puffs from his otherwise ignored cigarette, before he butts it out and places it back into the package. "God, this things will kill you if your not careful."
     "Do we want to do the British thing, and have lunch or tea before going in, or shall we be American and charge in guns blazing?" His smile makes it plain that Nathaniel finds all this to be good entertainment, and nothing much more worrisome than that.

     Cesare smirks, then makes a skewed face at the idea of cigarettes killing. "They were your idea," he reminds, not so quick to stamp his own out.
     A sigh. "Well, can we be semi-British and loot after I get a few samples?" Always the alchemist...especially since apparently there's nothing here to worry about. "Do we have time?" Ah. Time.

     "Well, I'm expecting that Bedouin tribe to be back sometime after dawn. However, that doesn't have to be for a while yet." So very casual about Time.
     "Shall I go in first, or do you wish to?"

     "Eh, I can," Cesare says off-handedly, as if he's had to do it before. He filches out a small bag, and after a quick bend, scoops up some dirt and funnels it into the plastic. "Okay," he exhales, rolling the bag up and shoving it into a zippered pocket. "All set."
     The cigarette is put out and shoved into the same pocket. Cesare exhales, letting the smoke float around him as he extracts light and Browning. "Wish me luck," he chirps, snickering afterwards as he steps around and head of you, across the broken rocks.

     Whispers rise up from the silence, into Cesare's ears, as he passes the threshold of the doorway. A cold, ancient, dry shiver passes through his bones. The feeling of something settling in, the feel of someone sneering at Cesare from across the vast expanse of eternity.
     And then the antechamber beyond.

     Stagnance. Not the stagnance of decay, the slow deliquiescence of life, but the stagnance of eternity. You feel it in your bones: This place does not, can not, will not change. Ever.
     Across glittering walls run the frescoes of ancient egypt. Animals, birds, people and places rising out of the mists of history to greet the observer. Each glyph and image glows with its own life, the torch light of so many centuries past. No other illumination is needed here, nor is it useful. The brightest spotlight adds nothing to the room.
     Towards the four corners of the room -- aligned to the cardinal points -- retreat shadows. They creep and crawl amidst the nooks and crannies of great gold statues. The gods of Ancient Egupt. Isis, the protector. Anubis, guardian of the dead. Thoth, guide to wisdom. Horus, the warrior sun.
     Upon the floor, curled in agony and frozen for eternity, is a man out of place with this tomb. No breeze moves his cotton robes, and light only barely glimmers of his steel jambya knife.
     Arabian, perhaps beduoin, this man's face is locked in a rictus of pain. His eyes stare open, screaming for release. He looks alive. At any moment he might even take a breath. Yet he doesn't. To the touch he feels like glass. Skin, clothing, hair, all of glass. Yet it is glass that has not cooled entirely, for he is warm like a living being.
     Unlike the brilliant frescoes, light seems not to touch this man properly. As if it was dark when he feel, and thus forever he will be in darkness.

     Cesare enters, scanning the room with weapon and light. He quirks as the light seems unncessary, and lowers it as he tries to find the source of illumination.
     And then he stops his forward progress, seeing the man upon the ground.
     After a pause, and nothing having jumped out, Cesare remarks coolly, "Okay, I am going to presume he did that," body twisting to point at the door behind.
     Nathaniel follows, aftering hearing no screaming or other sounds of unpleasantness. Liquid movements pull him through the opening, though he stops briefly right on the threshold. Eyes distant, presumeably feeling the same odd sensations that accosted Cesare.
     "Peculiar. Wonder what that is?" He says distantly, before finally entering into the room. "Whoa." Eyes fall to the man on the floor, the frescoes, and gold statues. "I guess that would be our tomb robber, yes. That doesn't look pleasant. Remind me not to do whatever he did." And yet still, Nathaniel is casual. Too casual, perhaps.

     "Yeah," Cesare draws out, "...um, but part of what he did...was to come inside here." He hehs after that, looking back at the man. "You don't happen to figure this was all set up by some insane mage of a Pharoah, would you? I mean --" Cesare laughs sarcastically, "...you know how magic-users are." No sense of humor, really. Not the really scary ones.

     "Nepher-heka?" Nathaniel chuckles. "Oh, he was one strange cookie, let me tell you."
     He walks towards a glimmering wall, feet sliding along flat stone, to bring fingers to the glyphs. "Beautiful, are they not? The Egyptians believed that the soul resided within the images of the person until it could find egress to the lands of Heaven. To them, the greatest desecration was to destroy the image of a man, for then he could never attain heaven. He would simply cease to exist."
     A finger traces a large figure of a man in royal garb "This would be our tomb inhabitant, Nepher-Heka. Position sizing --" His voice trails off into a variety of terms, archaelogical and art historical. "-- This would be his primary wife. Those their children. I note one child has had its face removed." finger to lips, tapping. "Someone got written out of the will."

     "Parents," Cesare wryly grumps, moving around the man and more centrally into the tomb. "So, wait, I thought Nepher-Heka was the god, son of Isis and Osiris," names rolling easily from him. Those, he knows. "He's a mage too?" he wonders. "Oh, well, sure, I mean, as much as any god can do anything. But," gun slants, "...he set his own wards?" Now that's the interesting bit.
     Shuffling around towards you, Cesare stares at the glyphs and makes a low whistle at the statues. "There are no poor gods, let me tell you," he finishes, coming to stand near your right shoulder.

     "Pharaohs were gods to the Egyptian people." Another off hand remark. "Though, I guess, if one is also a sorcerer then you can act much of the part as well."
     "I don't know if he set his own wards. Wasn't there for the ceremony. Though I find it unlikely that they built this tomb before his death. That wasn't the way of things in the later Kingdom."
     Another moment of pondering. "Unless he was buried alive?"

     Huh? Cesare is confused now. Something pricks at the back of his head, but it continues to find difficulty in expression.
     "Well, if he was buried alive...well, why would they do that? Unless he did something that he wasn't supposed to...and how can a pharoah do something he wasn't supposed to?" That makes no sense. They can do anything. "It wasn't like he could have broken a rule."

     "Politics is a horrible thing." Nathaniel replies "But then, this is all speculation. The writing, here, details a largely uneventful reign. The typical propaganda you might find in a royal tomb." He points to one section "And, as usual, some of the hieroglyphs are unfinished. Which means that the later king decided to cancel the project, or something happened to the sribe, or what have you."
     A step back into the middle of the room, and a long exhalation. "I really don't know. What I do know, is that there should be a door. Or at least false doors. This room has none, or none I can see."

     Cesare spies around, going quiet suddenly. He bends and picks up a little bit of dirt, and blows into his fist. Some quick divination to be sure. Once done, he looks at the walls again, each in turn.

     The dust and dirt settle to the floor, blown into the air by Cesare. To Cesare's eyes they stretch and snake across the floor, searching amidst the walls. Something here interferes, Cesare can sense that. The dirt and dust move with a mind of their own, gathering at the base of three of the three walls.
     Then they inch upward, shivering twists of dirt climb the walls and outline three doors. Yet no seams reveal themselves, merely flat fresco.
     But more, some faint remainder draws out a great rectangle upon the middle of the floor as well.

     Nathaniel watches, not wishing to interrupt. Doing so can have disasterous consequences.

     Cesare frowns a little, as if he didn't like the answer. "I am not too worried about the doors that seem to be here," he points, "...here and here." The other two. He licks his bottom lip, then says, "The one that frightens me, is the one here," as finger points downward to the floor beneath you both.
     "Well, actually," he peers at one of the frescoes, "I'm not quite sure about those," he motions at the frescos. "I will guess, there are levers somewhere or some sort of mechanism." Eyes drop to the ground again.
     "I really do not want to find out what's beneath."

     Nathaniel's gaze drops to the ground. "Uh, yeah. Where is the edge, I don't want to be standing on it?"
     "Never mind" He says, quickly, as he gingerly approaches one of the walls. Getting quite close to it, hoping that he is off the "door."
     "So there are doors?" Hands press to the plaster. "Feels like plaster." Eyes close, and Nathaniel suddenly feels very distant as Cesare becomes aware of yet more magic filling this room. "I can't feel beyond the plaster. Let me try the others." As he speaks, the scent of Hashish drifts from him, along with dragon curls of whitish smoke -- without source.

     Not a bad idea. He was just going to suggest it.
     Cesare moves to a side with you, looking back into the room. He tries to keep himself off the wall as well, in case something odd like...oh...touching...would trigger something.
     He is quiet as you work. He stares, a little surprised that you did not see the doors yourself. Certainly your abilities are far beyond his own, he often thinks. But now that you know where they are, he lets you sort out the rest.

     Nate drifts along the walls, in a dream-like state. "I should have brought Rachel." He murmurs at one point. "She is better at this than I." Fingers never break contact with the wall, as he makes a complete circuit.
     Returning to where Cesare stands, his eyes open and he once again seems to be where he is standing. "No, I can't see past the plaster. I don't see stone, or brick, or anything. It is like there simply *isn't* past the wall." Nathaniel bits his lip for a moment, in thought, obviously finding this less like entertainment now. "I'm going to assume a ward against scrying. Opinions?"

     There's a quiet moment as Cesare thinks. "Against scrying, I can see. Hence, my doing the spell with sand...that allowed some semi-physical outline. So, I'll take that as authoritative. I figure the sand knows the Truth." A chuckle for that. "But nothing behind it." A sigh again. Alright, if the room says so.
     "First opinion," he finally says, "I don't like it. Just for the record," palm comes upright. That done. "Second -- what if...there isn't anything behind the walls." Eyes slant your direction again, as if sharing a conspiracy. "What if...there are 'doors'," the haziness of the term in his voice, "...but said doors...aren't really physical ones?" He's not sure what it all means, but he takes a stab at it.

     A furrowed brow, rubbing of temples. "So, we crossed into an other space while we weren't looking, and there are portals instead of doors?" A sigh, its obvious he doesn't like the term 'portals'. "Possible I guess, but that pushes the scary-meter of Nepher-heka up a few notches."
     Scary-meter? Is that some sort of official term?
     "If there are doors, of whatever sort, I could get some help and uncover them. If instead there are holes into nothingness, then opening them might be bad."
     A look down at the floor. "On the other hand, I didn't check the floor."

     "Bah -- what do you mean you didn't check the floor," Cesare spurts. He smiles a little, shaking his head. "Okay, that's the scary one," he repeats. "I dunno. Maybe we should just leave Mr. Scary-Heka to his own devices." Eyes wander to the man on the ground. "Between you and me, that guy is not dead," finger pointing to the man on the floor.
     A sudden pause. Cesare listens to himself. "Wait. You may have a point. If we're somewhere else, then..." he looks at the man again, "...maybe he is alive?" Okay, that's too complicated. Complicated. Cesare taps his cheek, seeing a challenging puzzle here. "So, what if he...is alive. And he...is in another state?" No, that's not right. "Time. Like you said. We are in another space, he is in a different space and they're not the same? And the doors aren't doors..." his eyes moving left and right, "...but go to other spaces?"
     A roll of his eyes follows. "I should stop hanging out with you." It's rubbing off.

     "Then this is one hell of a Sanctum Sanctorum." A shake of his head. "I envy the ancients. You can't set up things like this anymore. At least, not until you have stupid amounts of power at your disposal."
     A tilt of his head. "Unless he is linear. Then its just really a matter of spending the time to learn the requisite spells." He rubs his temples.
     Then a grin. "I should stop hanging around you, you make me think along different paradigms."
     A brush of his hand to the floor, and hashish smoke curls from the contact. "No, more nothing just a few inches in. But the stone feels different." He hunts for the word. "Unhappy. I guess. I don't want to go down there."
     "So, decision time. Shall I get this portals, or doors, or what-have-you opened or shall we call it a day and return to Italy without the puzzle solved?"

     Cesare laughs, then stifles it, fearing to wake the dead. He coughs and says, "That is not much of a choice...return to Italia without the puzzle solved?" Come on, his look says. "Besides," he looks down, "I hate the idea of unhappy stone. Is there...like...someone there? And what about him?" finger points again. "That can't be good."
     "So, I really have no need to meet Mr. Heka or any of his friends," he suddenly chimes, so you won't think he's insane. "But...now...I'm a bit distressed."

     "Alright then. The doors get opened."
     He takes a deep breath, and shakes his arms to loosen them. "Don't get freaked out by anything you see, okay?" A smile, and wink. "This is might get a bit strange."
     Walking to an open area, but wary of the door in the floor, he takes out a cigarette. But this cigarette has brilliant orange tabacco. If it is tabacco at all. With its lighting, sweet scented smoke drifts into the room. Vanilla. Peyote. Cinnamon. Honey. More different perfumes than should be possible in such a thing.
     The smoke drifts about Nathaniel, and the feeling of power within the room swells to a raging torrent. It hammers at the temples, and screams at the back of the mind to run away.
     The edges of Nathaniel's form grow hazy, indistinct. You swear you can vaguely see some other place just around him.
     "Rachel? Hi! How are you?" A nod. "Yeah, I'm fine, don't worry. Just working on the Sonnefield affair. Damned Zigg'raugg'lur, yeah. Anyway, I need a couple of your heart charms. I've run into a couple sealed portals of some sort that I can't access."
     Another nod, listening to someone. 'Yes, I can return in a week. The box isn't going anywhere. Yeah, sealed in my sanctum."
     "Yeah, have a good night."
     The feeling of time passes around Nathaniel.
     "Rachel? Heya, how are things? Oh, no, still working on the Sonnefield thing. Did you manage to get those charms made? Thanks!" He smiles, and holds out his hand. Two shining crystals fall into it from no-where. They seem equally indistinct as Nathaniel. "Yeah, I will, no worries."

     With a snap Nathaniel is once more here and now. The power fades with passing heartbeats. Somewhere, in the intervening moments, Nathaniel had slumped against the wall, breathing hard. Two thin rivulets of blood course down from his eyes. Tears of blood. "Ow. God its painful going across the barrier of centuries. I envy you linear types."

     It's hard to stand against a wall and not. Cesare looks down at the floor, then to Nathaniel, brow furrowing. Envy? "Stop doing it?" Cesare suggests, not meaning to overstep his bounds. But really, there is a solution.
     "I will let you know," he pants, moving to stand near Nathaniel again, "...I have not seen such spells or incantations in any of my readings. Well, that's not true," Cesare restates, Italian coming rushed now, "...just not to that extent." Don't expect such high-falutin' magics from me, no sir. Warning given.

     "Door one, two, or three? Or floor?" he motions again. "Oh, but I guess I should move him first," he thinks aloud, waiting for agreement while pointing at the bedouin on the floor.
     Nathaniel pulls himself up carefully, one hand against the wall to steady himself. White silk shirt stained crimson, as he dabs the blood from his eyes. "Its a different path, Cesare. Western Hermetic, versus Sahajiyan." He attempts a smile, "Perhaps I'll show you some basic principles some time."
     Glowing crystal in his free hand recaptures his attention. "Well, any door really. But we only have the two charms. So we need to make sure we really want to open the doors we choose."
     Then a glance to the poor man on the floor. "I don't know if there is anything I can do to help him."

     "It's alright," Cesare whispers, not knowing himself, really. He reaches into one of the many pockets in his clothing, pulling out a small stone. "We'll just..." he murmurs, rolling the stone across his knuckles in a fluid motion, "...set him aside, in case." Just in case the floor caves in. Just in case...well, if whatever's 'just in case' does happen, maybe the man's position won't really matter. But it's the principle of the thing.
     Cesare quiets, allowing the stone to move across his rapidly cascading fingers. Soon enough, the man's body starts to rise from the floor, angling to the side of the tomb's blasted opening.

     And yet, despite movement, the man's form does not change. No ripple in cloth. No wisp of hair.
     "I'll give Scary-Heka credit for a truly creepy place of rest." Nathaniel, watching, seems to regain his strength with passing moments. "Don't be envious, Cesare, of my abilities. They come at cost measurable to their strength."
     But back to the problem of the doors. His fingers go back to the plaster. "You'd think that if the builder made doors, he might give some sort of clue to their existence. I hate to use this sort of power-mad tactic to get passed people's defenses." The crystals shiver, of their own volition, in Nathaniel's open palm.

     The man is set down, certainly in a way so that he does not block the opening to a hasty retreat. Cesare sighs a little when the weight comes to a halt upon the floor, a little disappointed that the man's externals didn't move as well.
     The stone gone, Cesare watches Nathaniel. He was going to respond to the comment on envy and cost, but once the crystals shiver, he keeps his counsel for now.

     Nathaniel points to the doors in sequence "One, two, three" And down to the floor "Four. Which door do we think big cash prizes are behind?"

     "Lottery is behind...." Cesare looks left and right, "...the one with the most elaborate fresco," he suggests. "Floor," voice firm, "...leads to other levels, but nothing directly beneath of any interest. There may be corridors beyond it. It would be strange, no, to have portals at your feet?" Definitely a question. No reason to think that Nepher-Heka was ~sane~, now is there?
     "Pick a wall," he suggests, making sure he remains close to Nathaniel. The 9mm comes out again, and Cesare snorts at the weapon as he prepares himself. "Two," he finally says, pointing the barrel at it.

     "Big money, big prizes." Nathaniel voice like the sound-over of some early-90s video game. A smile and wink to Cesare, and he opens his hand.
     "Blessed are the sons of Ganesh, destroyer of obstacles, breaker of gates, giver of wealth." Eyes like sun-and-moon close, as light catches them, and the two crystals glow like embers.
     Then, without fanfare, one crumbles and with it the plaster and stone of wall 'two'.
     Beyond: a hallway stretching into glowering shadow. There, just behind where the plaster stood, a statue holds forth a plaque of hieroglyphics.
     All is silent. Nothing moves.
     Nathaniel takes a breath. Relief.

     Cesare's exhale comes simultaneously. Narrowed eyes now arch open, since nothing's leaping out.
     "This means I go first, right?" The big, strong type with gun. "Or..." he grins at Nathaniel, "...you can read at a distance, yes?" laughing a little at the idea. There's always a time for safety through magics.
     "But then again, I remember being told," he steps forth, putting Nathaniel behind himself, "...not to read anything that you do not already know. But then again," yes, he's rambling now, "...I don't read Middle Kingdom Egyptian," a twist to see his companion with humor and accusatio, "...so I can't get us into trouble by going in and looking, right?"

     Nathaniel rolls his eyes, and chuckles. "I guess I can bend a few brain cells to the task, sure. And, I guess, I can also bear the weight of any curses that befall us, given I brought us here." He smiles and shrugs.
     Stepping forward, and past into the hallway. "The home of Heh and Hauhet opens to intruders. That is certainly an odd statemnt."
     "Heh? Hauhet? Abstract personifications of unmeasurable infinity?"
     "Any clue what this might mean, Cesare?"

     He rolls his eyes too and grins. He had no intent on you getting injured either. Cesare steps up, keeping the 9mm in his hand.
     "Abstracts --" he winces, as if rifling through an index...this one in his mind. "I am drawn to think of mathematics," of course, "...Trismagistus. Pi. Some abstract Euclidians," he rattles off, sure that Nathaniel would know of these things. No need to explain. "Light, too," he waves the gun off-handedly. "But no direct references come to mind."
     "Personifications," Cesare adds. "That is...none of what I mentioned are personifications, though. Symbols, constants, equivalents, abstract representations..." but not personifications per se.

     "Well, beyond being frog-headed husband and wife, I can't remember anything these two actually did." Nate chuckles. "I certainly never chatted with them."
     "I guess it can't harm us too much to continue, unless you want to try another door?"

     "No, go on, I guess," Cesare suggests. "Might as well stick to what you know?" That won't hurt you, that is.
     "Into the breach, men!" Nate intones and marches in. Perhaps his standing on the threshold of centuries has unhinged him somewhat.
     Walking into shadows, all illumination fades. Cloying, clinging darkness. It flutters against the skin, slips past the ears with a breathy hiss, and gathers at ankles and wrists.

     Cesare meeps, dashing to follow. Yet once the darkness becomes palpable, he pauses and says, "Nate, stop. Back up," almost as if giving orders.
     There's a rustling, and what seems like a click. An attempt to turn the flashlight on once more.

     Dusty light pierces curtains of palpable shadow. The flashlight only weakly provides, like trying to illuminate the night sky.
     Further down the hall, then Cesare might have expected, Nate stands amidst the curtains. He drags his hands through them, sending ripples along their length. "This certainly isn't natural, Giancarlo."

     "No kidding," Italian humor quips, albeit without laughter. "Think a basic light spell would help?" Cast away unnatural shadows with unnatural illumination. Seems like a good counter. "Or, we could see what's behind another wall?"
     "Come back this way some," he suggests, "I don't want you too far where I cannot reach you, amice," Cesare murmurs, looking around the hall.

     Nate walks backwards up the hallway. He keeps looking down into the darkness. "The fluttering certainly makes it seem like it is crawling up towards me."
     This comment doesn't seem entirely pleased.
     Eventually he has returned to Cesare's side. "I should get a sample of those, sometime. I bet they would make a great accent on a canopy bed." Yes, Nathaniel does seem to think in non-sequiturs sometimes.

     What? Oh. Fluttering darkness. Cesare looks at Nathaniel oddly for a moment. "I think I understood you," he says, backing up towards the main room again. "Come," he says, touching Nathaniel's arm as he returns.

     "Right door one, three or four." Nate says, seemingly forgetting the oddness down the first hallway. "I wonder what abstract principle's homes will be open to us down our next choice.
     "I'm thinking Heka is likely dead, given we haven't met anything remotely chatty yet. As I remember him, he liked being chatty."

     Cesare's eyes look left and right to the remaining frescoes. Then, he glances to make sure the bedouin has not gone so far.
     "How about you pick this time. My last choice was highly successful," he grumbles, preparing gun and flashlight now.
     "So," Cesare picks up, "...you had met him, this you said before, and that he was an 'odd cookie.'" Not a real Italian idiom, but it will do. "And he was chatty, yes? So...what was important to him? Would those things be here in his tomb?"

     Nate waves his hand grandly in response. "Eternal life. Dominion over the earth. Humanity as his slaves." Nate chuckles. "Oh, boy, did he want his slaves." He shrugs. "Did have a fine choice in bedside servants though. So he couldn't have been all that bad."
     "Well, besides that corpse fetish of his. But, that is long ago in the past now."
     "So, I chose door number four. Sounds fun." Nathaniel smiles, and holds forth the crystal. He whispers the same prayer to Ganesh as before, and again the crystal glows and crumbles. The wall crumbles with it.
     Beyond this portal, a near identical hallway. A statue holding forth a plaque of different hieroglyphics. A hallway descending into darkness, though not as extreme as before.

     The wince comes again and Cesare shudders. He opens his mouth to reply, but instead jolts back to the present when the wall crumbles. Light from the flashlight spirals into the corridor.
     "Here, I will go first," Cesare offers, stepping past Nathaniel and over the crumbled stones. "Unless the plaque says something like, 'he who enters here first will be frozen.'" That gets a grin, and he stands at the stone, just inside the door, checking with his light.

     Walking to the side of Cesare, past the edge of the room. "Well, no, not frozen." He smiles weakly.
     A glance towards Cesare. "So, into the breach, old chum, or shall we try a bit more caution. Perhaps a ward against falling chunks of ceiling?"

     "Where'd that come from?" Cesare blinks, looking aside. "Maybe Light and a ward or twenty is good -- were you serious about that?" the frozen bit. Cesare puts the gun away, figuring it will be useless. But he watches Nathaniel's response, eyes narrowing again. You were serious.

     Another shrug. "Babi's lust will fall on those whose feet pass this portal."
     "Decidedly more unpleasant than visiting an abstract concept at its home. Go on, we've already passed the portal, we might as well continue."

     Cesare nods, keeping the flashlight in hand for now. He pulls something from his pocket with his free hand, perhaps getting a spell prepared.
     "Who's Babi?" he asks idly, peering the light forth as he walks ahead.

     "Babi is the quite busy semi-deity," comes a perturbed voice... from the heretofore still statue, "...who can't be seen without an appointment. Do... you have an appointment?" And the airy voice of an Eternal Bureaucrat settles its emphasis on the two intruders. Eyes open and a stony eyebrow lifts angular. And skeptical.
     "It doesn't really matter," the scroll is rolled up in animate hands, "I'm sorry," no he's not, "...but I'm afraid that Babi the Great simply can't see you today. He's booked solid." Says it right here in hieroglyphics. Booked solid.

     "Oh, you know, a demon god that sustains itself by consuming the entrails of sinners. Notably the hearts of those consigned to hell." Nathaniel is decidedly offhand with this. "I'm sure its nothing you can't handle." A pause. "You have dealt with ancient, dead, and vengeful gods before, right?" That was humor. Probably.
     Then the statue speaks. And Nate's jaw drops.
     "Oh. Babi is busy. What a pity." Nate stumbles to find something to say. "How about his excellency, Pharoah Nepher-Heka?"

     "Um," Cesare blinks, looking at the statue and then glaring at Nathaniel. What? What, what?
     "No, no," Cesare swivels to speak at the statue - why am I speaking to a statue? - light training on it. "No, we are not interested in the Pharoah," let alone say his name right now, "...in fact, we're not interested in Babi either," he notes for the record. Elbow nudges Nathaniel. Back up. We are so gone.

     "Nepher-Heka?" the voice is incredulous. "You wish to see Nepher-Heka." A pause. "Have you brought the requisite gifts and tribute, I assume? All gifts to Nepher-Heka must be signed in, initialed and inspected before appointments can be made. You're new at this, aren't you..." stylus bouncing on the end of the stone papyrus. "... Well," exasperated sigh, stone eyebrows ticking upward. "...let's see them. Proffer gifts please..."

     Oh, this really is too much. Nathaniel's glance to Cesare carries that thought. Then he draws himself up, into a royal stance if ever there was one.
     A touch to a ring, and a glamour of magic falls like a curtain around Nathaniel. Too those nearby he assumes the dress of some ancient Egyptian nobility.
     "I am Nen-djaen-djed, brother to Isetemkheb, first wife and consort to his most majestic, divinity Pharaoh Nepher-Heka. I require no gifts to visit my Lord, and Cousin."
     Well, we'll see if this petty bureaucrat buys this line anyways.

     Cesare looks at the statue-bureaucrat, then feels the prick of magic. He glances to see Nathaniel, and the changed view causes Cesare's eyes to widen.
     Was I not just attempting to get us out of here?
     Cesare looks down at his own clothing, then to the flashlight, then to the bureaucrat again.

     "Nenny!" A piercing feminine squeal, capable of shattering eardrums, can be heard. "Is it really you? Oh, most excellent day of days!"
     A wraithlike figure drifts through a wall, towards the statue, then solidifies. Well, somewhat. Red hair, and a figure that can be only described as 'magnificent', and clad only in loose garments designed to reveal more than they conceal, with full lips and very slightly buck teeth, sleepy eyes and a slightly prominent nose - evidently, the world's first Jewish princess is buried here.
     "I've been simply dying of boredom for eons, you know. - No offense, bubelah," she says across to the statue. "But let's face it, what were we going to talk about again? The lack of weather patterns in a tomb?"

     Cesare simply stands, feigning invisibility. In fact, how about we do that spell, right now? But it would involve moving. Brown eyes look at Nathaniel, wondering about his composure and acting. Why aren't we leaving, his gaze seems to say.

     The stone statue purses its lips. Oh. Really. The stylus is lifted, taps the bureaucrat's stony chin. Tap - tap - tap. But then That Voice. Oh, that woman! Eternity I have to spend with That Woman. Was I not a good servant? Was I not the most excellent of servitors, Pharoah? You once told me you favored me, and then you consigned me to hell. "If. You. Don't. Mind," comes the exacting voice of the rigid statue, rigid in demeanor that is beyond the rigidity of his form, and the statue straightens, rolls its eyes. "I am questioning the ..." a quirk of an eyebrow, "... royal guests. Nenny," he repeats dryly -- if a statue's intonation may be said to be anything but dry -- and his jaw drops a moment, "... as you so call him, is requesting to move past. Without gifts," the bureaucrat looks down to his papyrus, "...even though he is only a cousin to His Magnificance. What is an ant to the majesty of a sphinx I ask you, but," the stylus of stone taps again, "... who am I to question his request. If he wishes to face the furor of his God Cousin, bringing no tribute, it is on his head, not mine..."

     Nathaniel has, at the arrival of the ghost, lost his composure. He actually looks like he is going to laugh.
     But then, what else do you do, when talking with a bureaucrat statue, in a tomb out of time, and a dead jewish red-head?
     This lack of concentration, naturally, releases the glamour of his clothing, causing it to ripple back to italian silk and tailored pants.
     To make matters worse, the red head seems to be speaking to him. "I am most in awe of your arrival," Nate replies tentatively. A glance to the Statue, then to Cesare as if to say 'What is her name?' "I am honoured you would disturb your rest just to speak with me."
     I think. It is unspoken, but obvious.

     Your sister? He mouths, taking a wild stab. At this point, he's totally lost. Cesare's lips thin as he decides he should perhaps remain quiet. Well, maybe not.
     "Aren't we late for an appointment?" he tosses out, then immediately shrinks, wishing he hadn't.

     The spectral woman flutters her eyelashes at Nathaniel in a most decidedly coy fashion. "Oh, Nenny," she coos, "you know I'd do anything for you. Well. Except give up my day job. Or eat pork. Or... well, anyway," she decides, moving right along, "what seems to be the problem, blockhead?" She looks at the statue, one hand on her hip. And you all can recognize The Voice.
     This is the Voice... which has carried through generations of Jewish women, to the present day and beyond...
     This is the Voice... which commands whole families into action. It is the firm, convincing voice, which orders and expects to be answered. Well... at least it's not the martyred voice. Yet.
     "Yeah, so? And if His Bigshot Majesty," there's a definite pout there - he doesn't have time these days for -her-, first of his concubines though she was in life - "isn't pleased, he'll have you moved over to the west side of the tomb. If he can, anyway," she adds, thoughtfully. "But he probably can, or my name's not Khede- Khede- Khedebneithireretbeneret. Sutekh's balls," she swears. "Why couldn't he just leave me as Rivke, anyway?"

     There's a heave of sound, if not a sigh. "Go in, choose your fate. It is time for my break..."
     And the statue goes silent. Thank god -- or Heka -- for union government employees...

     An appointment? Late? Nathaniel can't be late. As far as he is concerned.
     "How are you my dear Khedebneithireretbeneret?" He speaks the name as a native of the ancient land. Handy, given the tongue twisting selection of syllables.
     "Have you met my dear friend Giancarlo -- though he prefers Cesare -- ? He is from Rome." A pause. "Rome was a power when last we met, right? I'm slightly out of touch these days."
     The statue is silent. Damn. He was hoping it might be able to provide some help in this situation.

     Oh, tell her my name, will you? "Err, buongiorno," Cesare gets out, clearing his throat afterwards. He looks at Nathaniel, as if to say, 'thankyousoverymuch.' "Nice to meet you, your...Grace." he bobs at the spectre.

     A giggle, a toss of red locks, and Khedebneithireretbeneret coos at Cesare as well. "Oh, I'm not a Grace. Just attached to his Godship's everlasting Court..."
     Appointment? She droops slightly, with another pout. "Does this mean you have to go already, Nenny? I was so hoping we could catch up..."

     "Well, it was kind of why we were here, Khedebneithireretbeneret." He pauses. "For my ill-educated, roman friend, do you mind if I simply call you Khede? It is rather informal of me, true, but easier for him."
     He smiles broadly to Cesare. "You did need to get out more. And it is my job to broaden your horizons."

     Horizons? Cesare's frown at Nathaniel is only a stunned look of horror. He manages to get out, "So, this is..." he bobs his head at the spectre again, "...your sister?" I am confused, his look says, but he keeps on.
     "I am sorry, if I am unfamiliar with ... um ... court habits," he apologizes to the spectre. "Please do not take offense." But my insane friend is keeping me here in an attempt to 'broaden' my horizons. Cesare blinks a few times in succession, smiling now.

     "Sister? Listen, honey," Khedebneithireretbeneret tells Cesare, "I love Nenny lots, but not exactly like a sister, if you know what I mean." She pouts at Nathaniel again, and her tone of voice shades subtlely towards Martyrdom.
     "Of course. I understand completely. Don't mind me, I'll just sit in the dark for another thousand years or so until your next visit. Do give the Big Cheese my love and kisses, won't you?"
     She doesn't wait around for a response, moving towards a wall. But you just know she's still in earshot. "I'll just go eat those leftovers in the third urn... Amnet forbid it go to waste..."

     Nate glances to Cesare. "Well, shall we continue. Seems like quite the soap opera already. Can't wait to see what Nepher-Heqa is like."
     Then a pause. Third urn? As in the liver? Hopefully she meant food offerings.
     "Khede, you aren't perhaps an incarnation of Babi in this existence, are you?"

     That's Babi? Cesare nods on continuing, saying at a whisper, "I think I am broad enough for one trip, Nate, grazie." A grin forged of pain spreads at his lips, and as Khedebneithireretbeneret departs, Cesare turns to head out of the corridor as well.

     Following behind. "You don't actually look very broad. Have you considered eating in a healthy manner?" He smiles.
     "Well, I can't actually open any more doors without Rachel's help, and I can't step on that threshold anymore for a while. Nearly killed myself there."

     There's a glance over his shoulder at the comment about eating better. "I think I'm ready for dinner," Cesare tosses out, moving towards the center of the chamber again. He peers down the other open corridor, just in case.
     "Am I the only one worried here? Bah," Cesare waves off, gun barrel doing a 180, "...maybe I am not fit for such ... travels." Or knowledge. Cesare sighs and glances at his watch out of habit.

     "Is this a not-so-subtle tell-tale that you want me to return you to your doorstep?" Nathaniel smiles. "Its not as if we'll miss anything here if we go. I can always bring us back to the moment."
     "But we didn't get any loot." He actually pouts. "A pity. But in all things, I am your servant." where did that come from?

     Cesare looks over his shoulder again, definitely moving towards the exit. "Si," he chimes, giving the bedouin a last look. "I need a rest...yes, I will confess," he flings his hand over his shoulder. You win. I'm a weenie and I'm ready to go home now.

     The feeling of a smile fills the room.
     "As you wish, then, Cesare. Just stop moving around. Makes it harder for me."
     He pulls out that many-times-used cigarette of peyote, vanilla and many other substances. "All aboard, Nathaniel Airlines, next stop, London England." As he speaks, he takes long puffs of the cigarette, which wasn't lit a moment ago. The smoke billows throughout the room, swirling and concealing details.
     For whatever reason, Nathaniel is repeating "There is no place like home" very quietly. He sounds nervous.

     Cesare does stop, turning around to face Nathaniel. The gun is reholstered and he stands there, hands on his hips.
     Wait. I don't live in London...

     And there is a snap as the smoke convulses in the air. A sickening, bone crunching lurch, and the smell of the Thames rises up around the two.
     Nathaniel, for his part, doesn't look very healthy. As if the sudden, shocking motion through time hit him solidly. Collapsed on the ground, breathing -- which is argueably good -- but unconscious.

Posted by rowan at May 25, 2003 12:16 PM