17303/Iaru-Weyet: Damian and Tim

Iaru-Weyet: Damian and Tim
Date of Scene:	02 March 2024
Location:	Iaru-Weyet, Border of Egypt and Sudan
Synopsis:	Damian and Tim make a trip to Iaru-Weyat, the village of Phoebe's birth. What they find complicates Phoebe's situation, after a 'Concerned Relative' directs them to the church
Cast of Characters:	Phoebe Beacon, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne

---

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    The location of Iaru-Weyet had been kept secret for centuries, given its secretive population of Homo magi and worshipers of primordial gods who dwelled within. It was the last bastian for so many, and now a necropolis, a ruin, and memorial all to its people.

    The shield that had protected the village from intrusion has failed. Wind coming off Lake Nasser has kept some of the sand from piling up along the few buildings that remained intact. The pergola that had covered the central well -- which Tim knows leads to chambers elsewhere -- appears to have been hit by a vehicle at one point.

    The hospital has been marked up with sharpie.

    Distantly there is an unusual rumble of thunder; a storm isn't out of the question for this time of year, but it would hamper any searching that may go on should it be accompanied by a sandstorm.

    The church and meeting house stands defiant to death and ruination, having played host to the most tragic in the village twenty years ago.

    How do our heroes arrive?

Tim Drake has posed:
    And up above Iaru-Weyet, a plane hovers. They'd gone supersonic over the Atlantic, naturally, to cut the travel time down, but it's still a bit of a trip, so as the cockpit beeps to alert the occupants that it has reached its final destination, the one in the pilot's seat stirs.

    Tim's tired. He's been tired since he found out about Phoebe's death, since they'd gone on the warpath for vengeance, and since her rebirth. He can't remember the last time he'd gotten a full night's sleep.

    "We're here," he announces unnecessarily, then shakes his head after realizing there was no point in saying it. Given the plane isn't moving, after all. He stands from his seat, cape shifting behind him, and makes for the back of the plane, where they can repel down safely to the sands below.

    As his boots hit semi-solid ground, Tim looks around, at the state of the now-vulnerable settlement. Even from this distance he can see the vandalism of the hospital, and a sigh echoes from his lungs. But that is a later-Tim problem. Right now, he makes immediately for the well.

Damian Wayne has posed:
There were alternating shifts of piloting as needed, and Damian is settled into the co-pilot sleep. He had left Goliath behind to keep an eye on Phoebe - at least a little bit, hopefully - after Joshua had found her. But it has been a time, and Damian's feeling it just as much as Tim is.

Arms folded across his chest as they arrive, he glances over at his older brother. "Thanks for humouring me on this." he comments finally. "I don't know if we're going to find anything, but if there is any change here, maybe we can figure out where to go next."

That, after the announcement of their arrival. Dropping from his seat, he heads to follow Tim down as the pair of them hit the sand.

"It's only been a few weeks since I was here..." he grunts, as the desert air dries his lungs and he looks around. "...apparently someone's been here." Later Tim and Damian problem. He was going to head to the church, but when Tim starts for the well, he falls into step. "What's down there?" Something he missed last time.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Something Phoebe hadn't shown Damian, because Phoebe was taught to plan. And planning sometimes means dividing.

    The well has a couple of boards from the pergola over it. THere's cool air rising up from it, from the sheltered water below. Blink and you'll miss it, there is a slightly -- very slightly -- warmer signature that passes through the water, long and lithe, like a sight hound -- but it might just be a trick of the currents.

    There are already changes through the village. It doesn't feel alive anymore... it feels more like a graveyard. It feels like the energy in the area was ebbing away, rather than a 'hum' beneath their feet.

    The waterline has not receeded -- it's probably safe to jump.

Tim Drake has posed:
    "The heart of the village," is Tim's, perhaps vague and unfulfilling, answer. But he's seen it with his own eyes, felt it, and he knows what's what it is.

    He pulls the boards free and sets them aside carefully so they won't be lost to the sands, and then he throws down a line. Probably safe to jump, yes, but it won't do either of them any good to take an unnecessary risk out here, so far from medical assistance, especially down in a well. So he goes the safe route.

    He also gestures for Damian to hold back as Tim himself goes down first. They're a match in height, now that Damian has done some growing up, so there's relatively little difference in that regard. At this point it's only because Tim's been here before and isn't as worried about losing his footing as he would be for Damian.

    Within a moment or so he's vanished over the lip of the well and disappeared down into the dark.

Damian Wayne has posed:
As Tim makes that off-hand comment, Damian makes a soft 'Tt' noise. He brushes it off quickly enough to listen to make sure that Tim has made it down securely. And there's a glance towards the church before he swings his legs over the lip of the well. "Coming down!" he warns.

And with that, he heads down into the well. Yes, he's all tall and lanky now, but he's still more than capable of being agile when he needs to be. Turning on a flashlight on his belt, he descends into the darkness as well.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    There are some soft splashes as some of the sandstone loosens on the way down.

    The two brothers will find themselves suspended over water. Further in, there are eight figures carved of black stone. Illuminating them would find their lapis lazuli eyes aglow in return, like cat's eyes. The male figures have frog heads, the females have snakes. Primordial Khemet gods, the Ogdoad, who parted the waters of Eternity and aided Creation in myth. Styluses and pots are now scattered at their feet instead of in their arms, as they were last time when Tim visited here.

    The air here is much cooler than above, by as much as thirty degrees. It's comfortable, without being too clammy.

    A little antechamber with a platform is off to one side.

    There is an additional detail, though, that was not present last time. There are holes in the rockwork around them. Peering into one of the holes would show scribbles in the 'cursive' form of Heiroglyphic, in Greek and Latin. ADJVVA NOS, one says.

    Help Us.

    The Wall of History sprawls forward into the dark, showing the stylized history of the village, starting with an exodus out of the old capital of Lower Egypt.

    The continual sound of water, filtering through rock and coal, tumbling on the far side of the statues is all the sound they may hear, other than the amplified sound of their own breathing.

Tim Drake has posed:
    It's a gentle drop into the water rather than a massive splash that lands Tim finally at the bottom of the well, and soon enough he's climbed up onto the platform off to the side. Like Damian he activates a light on his utility belt, and his domino mask automatically readjusts, dropping night vision in favor of simple enhancement of the darkest parts of his sight outside the scope of the light's beam.

    "I'm not sure we can," he says, of the note on the wall. He has no doubt that no translation is needed on Damian's part, so he doesn't give one. Instead he starts to trace the walls with his eyes, the wall that shows the history of the village.

    His breath echoes in his ears, and soon enough the sound of his own heartbeat has joined it. At his side, Tim's hands form into fists. "Things have changed, since I was here. I don't think for the better."

Damian Wayne has posed:
"I didn't see this place the last time I was here. I guess Phoebe didn't want me to see it for some reason." Damian admits as he lands, following after Tim, glancing at the words on the wall and he shakes his head. No, no translation needed.

"I'm wondering if it's reacting to either a new Spark holder - or the abscence of the Spark completely." the youngest Bat offers as he keeps his footfalls quiet.

His eyes are following over the history of the village, as he asks Tim. "What's different. First time here, going to need to rely on you to tell me what's changed. She took me to the church when we were here."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
The long gallery has the history of the village enscribed on it in heiroglyphics and pictures. Constructing the first village, a small temple.

Colorful depictions of people dancing, different figures with animal heads, and one male that has what look like touchdown hands on top of his head, surrounded by smaller people, dressed colorfully, though all of them are holding what looks like a star in their hands. Daily life selections. Someone with the star held in their hands cleansing rivers. Another with blood dripping down in a fight.

And on the opposite wall there's a VERY confused man in a World War One-looking Armoured Car.

WWII with planes and marching Nazis rendered in traditional Egyptian style, along with other soldiers with British, American, French flags. King's speech in front of the Lincoln Memorial.

Something that appears to be Woodstock.

The fall of the Berlin Wall.

So many world events that the village had seen, partaken in. Some with the people with the stars held on their hands, or over their heads. Others with no such markings other than their names rendered in cartouches, encircled with rope.

And at the end of the hall, the door to the Shield Room was open, drifting slowly back and forth as if there were a breeze. The room is illuminated with differing colors of small lights.

Blink and you'll miss it, briefly there might have been the shadow of a long-eared canine, tail curled over its back -- and then it too disappears.

Tim Drake has posed:
    "The statues aren't the same. Pieces have fallen off. And there wasn't the cry for help, on the walls. Or the holes they're in."

    Tim checks each picture on the wall, comparing it against memory, but nothing that jumps out immediately to him as different. And it's not as if he knows how these were originally enscribed; it's entirely possible there simply isn't any mechanism to further the story, now that the village is empty. Or maybe new pictures join as time marches forward.

    Magic's funny like that. No way to know.

    He holds his breath as he crosses the threshold of the Shield Room, eyes catching the movement of a shadow but not quite fast enough to recognize it as anything more than an amorphous shape on the wall. He tilts his head to look up at the lights flitting about. "I wish I had an answer," he tells Damian, the lack of one the only true answer he has for his brother at the moment.

Damian Wayne has posed:
Magic is something that Damian doesn't understand as well as Tim does. But they're all detectives. "I don't think someone comes down here and puts these here..." he comments as he follows the trail - and he's currently looking to see where Phoebe's part of the story begins on the wall.

The flash of the shadow is caught, and the young man frowns. "That's what we're here for." he offers to Tim, trying to offer something in the way of encouragement.

"Come on Idu..." he whispers to himself. "Show us the way."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    The Shield Room. It feels like passing through lukewarm jello as you make your way through, a thin sheet separating this place from any other, encircled by worked stone, and a massive stone sarcophagus in the middle, bearing the visage of the figure in paintings with the 'touch down' hands. There is a crack in it, as if someone had tried to open it.

    It was still closed.

    Above the brothers as they enter there are lights -- mostly blue, though here and there gold ones were interspersed through. They look like fireflies, though they tend to fade in and out slower than the little lightning bugs.

    They begin to draw down, some drifting towards Tim, others towards Damian, investigating the two with some hesitancy.

    To touch, they feel like the sensation of your foot being asleep, that buzzy, staticky feeling on skin as fingertips pass through them.

    One golden one seems to be a bit more active. It flits towards Tim first, and then circles around his head in a lazy orbit -- and then repeats the action around Damian's.

Tim Drake has posed:
    There's something about the Shield Room that is unsettling to Tim. Nothing about itself, really, just that it represents an unknown that he will never know. A mystery that Tim can't unravel. So his goosebumps are just as much a product of that as they are the static, tingling touch of the flitting lights.

    "That seems like a sign," he says as his eyes follow the circling light behind his domino mask, but a sign of what, he isn't sure. Tim watches as it moves over to Damian, before he turns away, frowning at the crack in the sarcophagus.

    He knows better than to touch it, but he does get in close, scanning it with his domino as he examines it by eye.

Damian Wayne has posed:
As he steps through the thin membrane, Damian's eyes narrow behind his domino mask, the young man taking it in, as he shivers a little at the touch, the younger Bat glancing at the sarcaphegous. He makes his way forward, the lights dancing around him.

Once he reaches the case, he's got his domino mask running a full spectrum analysis on the damage, even as the little gold mote comes to float around his head and there's a slight glance up at it. "We're here to help." he says to it. Just in case.

"I'm hoping it means that she's damaged, but we may still have a chance to make her whole again." he offers quietly to Tim, a chuff of breath. "I found the man who did it." he says simply.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    The huge casket is damaged, but it looks like just surface damage. The cracks don't go down very far, but definitely appears to be some sort of impact.

    The golden light remains orbiting the two slowly, at closer proximity than the others.

    "I would say it's a sign, but that seems rather dramatic, doesn't it?" comes a voice.

    Someone steps out of the shadows. He adjusts himself. He's wearing light clothes, somewhat old fashioned. His hair is stand-up and a bit all over. He adjusts a pair of round glasses, and white inkwork can be seen on the back of his hands before he draws on a pair of gloves.

    Beside him a sighthound, a bit larger and more bulky than Idu and black as night opens his eyes, and yawns, showing all his teeth.

    "I hope you're not referring to Heka as a 'she'." he states, looking at the stone box. "Though really what is gender to someone who is literally just magic?"

Tim Drake has posed:
    Immediately, Tim stands up straight. He doesn't draw weapons but his arms move in a very deliberate way, so that if he needs to, his staff or shuriken would be in his hands in an instant.

    At least at first, until he gets a read on the guy, and then his head cocks to the side. "We're not talking about Heka," he says, though that's all the information he cares to give at the moment. The sighthound gets a long, lingering look, before Tim turns, just slightly, towards Damian.

    Whatever they're going to do here, it should be as a united front, so he holds off on saying anything further.

Damian Wayne has posed:
As Tim reacts, Damian's motions echo the movement. A half step to the side, away from Heka. Tim's doing the talking, the other Robin's hands drop to his sides. Not really in a relaxed posture, but it's the quickest to hit the releases for the birdarangs.

But nothing comes from Robin, his eyes warily focused on the man and his sight hound, a breath drawn in and released slowly. Calm. Don't go on the attack. Tim's got this.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Said with the same conviction as Not Talking about Bruno." the man states. He doesn't appear too much older than Tim. He's got bangles on his wrists, and moves around the armored brothers.

    "And then the whole village indeed talks about Bruno... very mysterious." he mumbles, half attentive to the brothers Bats.

    The gold-eyed, dark-furred canine slowly draws towards them. "Speaking of mysterious, you know that only certain families were allowed down here." he looks over his shoulder, with a small smile. "Which means you were invited, I would wager by one of them." the figure states, motioning to the golden motes of light, some of which are curiously orbiting Damian.

Tim Drake has posed:
    Tim's mouth opens, then closes, and then opens again to ask, "Are we really talking about a Pixar movie right now?" He sounds flat, which is how he's sounded for a while now, but at least there's a bit of a rise of... perhaps incredulousness to his voice.

    There's no need to confirm who invited them down here or how they are here, as this person seems to know enough already. And giving him any more information might just be dangerous, so Tim looks at Damian, a minute shake of his head the only confirmation that what Damian is doing right now is the right of it. Keep quiet. People like to talk to fill the silence, and they want to keep this guy talking.

    The dog's approach gets a wary look. This isn't Idu, so he has no way of knowing if he's dangerous or not.

Damian Wayne has posed:
Tim's always been the chatty one. Almost as bad as Dick. Damian... is not. He possibly also has no idea who Bruno is and why anyone is talking about him. Her's name's Phoebe, not Bruno. But, while Tim continues the conversation, Damian is doing something else.

He lowers down slightly. No threatening motions, no drawing of weapons. Instead, his domino mask is locked on the sighthound, and he's making gentle, slow motions. Non-threatening. He's probably perfectly aware of the sighthound's sentience, but at the same time, it is an animal, and the young man has an affinity for it.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    The dark sighthound looks at the motions Damian is making, and then lopes silently after the man with the bangles. Not today.

    "She says you have enough death about you." the man states to Damian, and he pauses in his examination of the lid of the sarcoughagus.

    "I'm guessing something happened to 'her' which prompted two outsiders to come to the village, but this is not your first visits." the man explains, and he sets down a small canvas bag. "Why don't you two fill me in?"

Tim Drake has posed:
    "I don't know you." Tim looks over at Damian, then his frown deepens, making his forehead furrow. "We don't know you."

    That's all he says to the man. No trauma dumping, no big story about how Phoebe died and was brought back, nothing. He just lifts his chin semi-defiantly and waits.

Damian Wayne has posed:
As the bag is set down, Damian watches the sighthound retreat, but his own hand moves back slightly towards a different patch. Grapple gun. Tim can probably tell exactly what he's thinking - he's calculating if he's fast enough of the draw to get the grapple out and snag that bag before the strange mage can react.

But again, there's silence for the most part, Tim's got this. He's the muscle. The smaller muscle. But still.

Okay, fine, Tim's kicked his ass in the past too. But he's had time to practice!

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    The golden light that was orbiting Damian returns to orbiting Tim, pausing at his mask, as if investigating it.

    "Then perhaps I'll fill you in with what I know." the man states,

    "Something around eighteen years ago, a young woman from this village was deposited in an alcohol and spirits store in Gotham City by her uncle, a man by the name of Marius Sabrey, but went by the name of Hassam. He was the lead of a blood lab working with the Gotham City, thinking that the city's inherant darkness would help hide something referred to as The Shard, attached to his niece's soul. You see, the store had the oldest door, least technological, easiest to work an enchantment over as he dumped her inside, but then was pulled out and -- well. I suppose considering the state of the village above you can take a guess what happened to Marius." he states, taking out some tools as he begins to work.

    "Some years after that, after an Earthquake, a Tidal Wave, several falls off buildings, one stomach puncture injury during a gangland fight, and other adventures including becoming a close friend and sibling to someone whose grandfather and mother repeatedly seem to cheat death on the regular --" the man states as he pauses, and he looks over to the pair.

    "... something happened and she fell out of Sight. She doesn't have a mimisi and the village cannot see her." he states, and then with a CRACK the stone lid seems to reverse the damage.

    "Now. Merit Sabrey. What has happened to her? I have a *very* vested interest in it."

Tim Drake has posed:
    That's a lot of information for him to know. And Tim doesn't like that, not one bit. Even if it means he must be someone close to Phoebe, close does not equal trustworthy. They all know that, from various instances in their own lives.

    "Who are you?" he asks, point blank. His hands ball into fists, once again, by his sides. He's given up on being defensive, not sensing that particular kind of antagonistic vibe from this man, but Tim will always be suspicious to a fault.

    It's not paranoia if they're really all out to get you, and the Bats have too many enemies not to think that way.

    "Maybe I'll fill you in, but you have to tell me who you are first." His body language shifts to indicate, at least to Damian, that he's working this out somehow, that maybe snagging the stranger's bag won't be necessary. But a quick tilt of his head also suggests that Damian should stand ready, just in case. Because Tim didn't miss that mention of Damian's heritage.

Damian Wayne has posed:
Damian didn't miss it either, and the young man's hands tighten. He's right there on the verge of saying something, but he swallows it down. Tim's making headway, and doing way better than Damian probably would be doing at the moment, with his hair trigger and all.

And hey, Tim's asking all the questions he would anyway! So that's all good. His posture only relaxes a little, a small chuff of breath as he gets more information, and his feet shift slightly.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    The man gives a kind smile, and reaches up to adjust his glasses.

    "A concerned relative." is how he introduces himself, and he holds his gloved hands up.

    "And not one who should be here, in fact, but like I said, vested interests and unfortunately not much time." he states apologetically. "You may call me Asim."

Tim Drake has posed:
    "The only concerned relative she's ever known tried to kill her," Tim points out, then he looks over at Damian. An intake of breath later, and he's decided.

    He runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends, definitely stressed out by the implications of who this man is. "A concerned relative." His voice is strangled. His tongue presses to the roof of his mouth to stave off a wave of nausea. "She's alive, but she wasn't for a while there. I won't tell you how but maybe you have some idea already." He'll let whoever this is connect the dots between Damian's relatives and the resurrection of Phoebe. "But something's wrong. And we need to know how to make it better."

    Here, he looks at the mysterious stranger. "Do you know how we do that?" he asks.

Damian Wayne has posed:
As Tim seems... off his game, Damian is listening, the young man's lips are pulled into a thin line. However, Tim covers the main base. She was dead. Now she's only... somewhat dead? Maybe she needed more than fifteen minutes for the miracle candy to go to work?

He's seen that movie. Loved it.

"It's funny that you're showing up now, when something's wrong, instead of all the times when she could have used your guidance." Finally, the boy speaks.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Why would she need me when she had such excellent guidance in your father." the man states flatly to Damian. And he lets that hang in the air. And then he points to Tim.

    "There is something Very Wrong. Starting out with the 'she died' portion." he states, looking concerned.

    "Very limited time, unfortunately. Not registered int he same manner." he raises his eyes to the glowing mote that's remained on Tim's domino.

    "Something went wrong before. Someone had reason to cause trouble along her line of Fate. Hrm. There was a favor asked, and repaid in a terrible manner." he tilts his head "And who do we know who loves causing trouble?" he asks to the canine.

    The canine's ears flit backwards.

    "No need to call me names." he comments to the dark hound, and then looks to the two.

    "There are two other players in this game. You need to find out who they are, and what they plan to do. I have only limited Sight while I am here. And last time any of the representatives of the gods got involved, I recall it was quite a mess." he considers a moment, and looks to the two.

    "There are parts missing, but I can sense something will be coming, within seven turns of the sun and moon."

Tim Drake has posed:
    Right now, it's a good thing that Tim's domino is recording, because he has neither the mind nor the mood to decrypt a bunch of magical vagueness. So he just blows out a breath and musters a, "Thank you," that sounds vaguely... thankful, yes.

    He turns towards Damian and shakes his head, hoping to discourage any argument. Instead, he asks, "Is there anything else we need to know? Anything from the village that might help her, right now?"

Damian Wayne has posed:
"Giving us puzzles and telling us we only have a week." Damian makes a disgruntled noise as the young man glances aside, when Tim shuts him down and he blows out a breath. "Tt." he murmurs, frustration in his voice as he folds his arms across his midsection.

But, he's back to being silent, he's said his piece for the moment.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "I'd also say 'check the church' for a clue. Unfortunately --" he makes a face. It's very similar to the expression Phoebe makes when she has to give a negative answer "I can't be on the surface of the village."

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    The little mote of light orbits Tim and Damian jointly, and then rests on Damian's head, floating a few inches above it.

Tim Drake has posed:
    "To the church, then," Tim says, and that, as they say, is that. His cape sweeps behind him as he passes by the mysterious stranger, not giving him another second's thought or glance. He proceeds back past the Wall of History, out into the well itself to begin the process of climbing out, only checking once to make sure Damian is behind him.

Damian Wayne has posed:
"Yeah, the church... was in pretty bad shape when we were here. There's this fresco at the front. She said they were the Ogdoad, or Khemenyu. The Primordial Gods her ancestors worshiped. Nu and Naunet, who parted the waters. Hehu and Hehut, the Infinite Ones. Kekui and Kekuit, who held to the darkness, and Amun and Amunet, the Hidden Ones. But Heka... that Heka we saw earlier, had been attacked, and attacked hard." Damian explains as they walk along the path to head up and towards the church.

"There's also the whispers. Echoes of the past, I guess you would call them. You could hear laughter, or murmuring... she was very used to it. He doesn't know what to expect, but he's making sure Tim's briefed at least.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Past the walls showing the history of the village and its people. Up the well, returning to the dry desert daylight, and the sun beginning to sink to the West. There is Time Lost; there is a disconnect between the time they spent down talking to Asim and the dark hound.

    Into the church the brothers go. Last time there were frescos here, done up as if they were Christian Saints, with subtle hints that they were Egyptian Gods. A falcon interrupting the body of a male saint. A woman with a shawl with wings on it holding a child as brilliant as the sun. Lands of reeds and honey and grapes heavy on the vine. It had been beautiful, once.

    And mournful in its emptiness.

    Here, now there were no whispers. No laughter. No growling of dogs or the weeping of women.

    It was deathly silent, and still.

    And upon every fresco the faces had changed, scratched out, pitted and dug out.

    And in the front, where the eight gods and Heka had been, there is now only one figure, glaring back at the brothers.

    Set.