An increasingly close vote, with perhaps the need for a final push, so... Time to resort to propaganda! Only have the wiki and faint recollections of details of IRL ancient Egyptian history to work with, so forgive the inaccuracies!
Dreams
Pahtsekhen of Lahmia had, at one point in his life, been a Prince and so was accustomed to pageantry. Not only this; he was also a former adherent of the Mortuary Cult and so was accustomed to preparing said pageantry for others. The celebration of the new exhibit commemorating the known world's many traditions of undeath, neatly coinciding with the tenth anniversary of the museum's opening (and just coincidentally highlighting the oh-so-wonderful and oh-so-awe-inspiring work of the Pirate King in establishing what must surely be a definitive new seat of power for the immortally inclined), would thus be as grand and glorious as the event had any right to be. The great and (questionably) good of Awakening would come to observe what was in a very real sense their history and because such a monument to their patron demanded obeisance lest their loyalty come into question, and the great and (entirely self-assured of their) good amongst the Citadel would come to study a chronicle of a tradition at once unfamiliar to them and sprung from their direst foe – and for the partying and politicking, naturally.
It was all very impressive and exactly nothing that he hadn't seen before. So, once the speeches were given and the toasts were made and the guests had all ingressed to peer at the displays, or politely pretend to peer at them in amongst their conspiratorial mutterings, and once he had privately congratulated his staff for the first part of a job well done to raise morale for the incoming inanity of shepherding said guests, he wandered. Took it all in. A remarkable achievement, this assemblage, the story it told. More to do, of course, far more, with so many threads to pull upon. The origins of necromancy in the dark magics of the Druchii – how far could those be traced? In the other direction, what of the lost bloodlines of Harakhte and Maatmeses? Pahtsekhen hummed. Many mysteries to follow, certainly – perhaps enough that he might one day divide this assemblage in half, one for Nagash's art, one for dear Neferatem's – but for now, this would be enough. Though, even then, it itched at him. Something was missing here, he knew…
"Woah!"
Pahtsekhen turned swiftly at the voice. Craning to look up at a pedestal was a girl in fine clothes, tightly-braided tresses falling down behind her neck. Were she human, he would reckon her at around ten years – and, indeed, he sensed no winding of Dhar or even Shyish within her that would suggest otherwise. Adopting an indulgent smile, he ambled across. "You have discerning taste, young lady."
The girl turned, eyes shining with excitement and frustration in equal measure. "It's so pretty! But… But I can't read what it says it is," she said, folding her arms, glaring at the offending plaque.
"That is because it is written in true High Nehekharan hieroglyphics. You will have only been taught to read the simplified form used by the scribes, yes?"
She nodded, frown bunched-up across her face. "Mhm…" Then something in her sparked. "But you can tell me!" A tilt of the head, a hopeful, pleading widening of the gaze - oh so familiar… "Can't you?"
Pahtsekhen chuckled. "This, my dear girl, is the ritual vessel in which Queen Neferatem of Lahmia first concocted her famed Elixir of Life… Or a replica of it, anyway." Even if his recollection had been perfect, it had taken much searching to find the craftsperson who could do such a piece justice. "See the black glass it is made of?"
"Mhm!"
"That is obsidian, a famous insulator of magic. It keeps the wrong energies from entering the liquid held within. Normally a vessel like this would have been used for preparing healing draughts or embalming fluids, though of course Neferatem had a different purpose in mind." He traced a finger in the air, past the ruby red hieroglyphs that marked its golden rim. "On such a vessel, these would be marked in shining blue faience and invoke the gods of Nehekhara." He smiled down at his young tutee. "Can you guess who these invoked instead?"
"Hmm…" That expression of frustrated focus came upon the young girl's face again – and vanished into the joyous cry of sudden understanding. "It was Nagash, wasn't it? I heard people talking about him early on in the exhibit!"
"Well, aren't you a clever one!" Pahtsekhen grinned. "You are exactly right – who better to invoke for such a purpose than the father of necromancy? Neferatem dreamed of replicating and surpassing his efforts, though scholars still debate whether she worshipped him outright or simply admired his work." He wasn't entirely sure himself, so deeply had W'soran sunk his claws into her in those days. He sighed. "To explain all of the intricacies of the binding process would take such time, and I cannot linger too long today, but if you were to return on another I would gladly –"
"Oh – oh, yes please!" The girl practically jumped up and down in her excitement. "I would love to – this is all so fascinating!" She stuck out her hand. "I'm –"
Pahtsekhen closed his eyes and cleared his mind.
The trouble with an overactive ba was that, even for one sufficiently suffused with the energies of one's own soul that he would never need the relief and reconnection that sleep provided, it was so easy for the spirit to drift of its own accord regardless. All too often, especially for one as long-lived as he, that drift was towards one's ren.
And yet… There was truth to it, no? How many eager and willing students had come to him on his reputation alone, even when he had to be cautious of how much was spoken about him? A gathering of the paraphernalia of the vampiric and undead and the magics they wielded, with no such need for subtlety, would surely bring many, many more to his doorstep, all delighted to learn how fascinating the world's workings truly were and how much might be accomplished by them…
Not yet.
But so close to his grasp. Just a few steps to take.
Pahtsekhen walked on.
