With some effort you manage to open the trapdoor. A body rolls to one side – it is that of a skinny old African man, wrapped in a red blanket-like robe. His head is halfway split open from a machete cut.

Close by you see Art lying on the floor. You’re not sure if he’s alive or dead.

Rachel and Dermot rush to check on Art. He’s alive but very dazed and groggy. There’s a small bloody puncture wound on his neck.

“Bastard shot me with some sort of dart,” he groans. “Don’t know where he came from. He thought I was knocked out, and he closed the trapdoor. Snuck up on him and gave him what for!”

With that, he falls unconscious.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:29, Mon 03 Sept 2018.

You leave the horrors of the Ju-Ju House behind as swiftly as possible, and head back to Rachel’s house with the evidence and photos you obtained. Gustav has to call in a lot of favours and make some deals, but he’s able to organize a small surprise raid on the location by his own precinct.

Bromley and Gustav call in the friends of Hilton Adams and together they wait near the shop for the officers to arrive. Soon, four police vans show and about 20 cops pile out. The lead officer salutes Gustav and asks for details on the target. The cops prepare their weapons and smash in the door to the shop, quickly searching the place and then descend into the basement, followed by Gustav, Bromley and the four former Harlem Hellfighters.

The cops spread out and starts examining the basement, unceremoniously lifting the dead and burned cimbiis and carting the off to the morgue for tagging.  Two of the cops start to work the winch, slowly lifting up the heavy stone slab.

As the slab is lifted, horrible shrieks fill the room, coming from the dark pit that is revealed. The two cops peek into the depths and start screaming with terror! One of them empties his service revolver into the pit while the other stumbles back, his face white with shock.

In reply to GM (msg # 86):

Gustav, upon seeing this, shouts.

"Get those officers off this place, no one opens that lid until we have secured the place properly"

He then pulls over a rookie officer, theb instructs him. "Call on internal affairs, we have to raid the harlem district, make sure captain robson does not escape"

Gustav also instructs the other police officers present to comb through the list of the ledger to see any more police officers in the harlem precinct who is taking bribes.

Before the slab can be lowered again, Bromley peeks over the edge and into the pit.

An enormous and horrid thing squirms around at the bottom of the pit. It is composed of dozens of human faces set into a thickly cylindrical, worm-like mass of sickly, purple veined muscle. The faces weep, shout, and cry out with great woeful feeling. One of the faces looks directly at Bromley, silently pleading for help. He recognizes the face from a newspaper article on the recent disappearances - a young woman who went missing a few months ago. As he reels back in shock, the cops hurriedly lower the slab again.


This message was last edited by the GM at 18:10, Wed 05 Sept 2018.

In reply to GM (msg # 88):

Dermot Murphy doesn’t see what horrors lurk in the deep pit. Seeing the reaction of the officers, he’s all right with that. Before Bromley can suffer from any further shock, Dermot carefully helps him upstairs and back to the safety of Rachel’s abode, where he treats both of them to a dose of whatever libations are available.

Gustav orders the pit closed and the entire shop cordoned off until the detectives from his precinct can arrive. A squad car is sent to arrest Captain Robson, but there is insufficient evidence to tie him to the horrors of the Ju-Ju House, so he is released again after a few hours. Returning back to his house, he is assaulted by a mugger and fatally stabbed. The murderer is never caught.

Lt. Poole arrives at the Ju-Ju House and is shocked to discover the activities that have occurred there. He orders the chamber sealed off and conducts a house-to-house search of the entire neighborhood for further evidence. Several people are arrested and there is an article in the papers the next day with the following cover story;



The lawyer Bromley has hired is very pleased with all the photographic evidence that Rachel obtained, and informs you that there is a very good chance that Hilton Adams will be freed shortly.

[You each get 2D10 SAN back for solving Jackson’s murder, exonerating Hilton Adams, stopping the cultists and defeating the cimbii]

Erica Carlyle is the sole heir to the Carlyle fortune since the Kenyan courts declared her brother Roger dead and the New York state courts concurred. She now manages the family interests in transportation, munitions, and international trade, proving far more competent than her wastrel brother.

A single woman, Miss Carlyle is often the subject of speculation in society pages. In practice, she is largely uninterested in romantic attachments as they prove a distraction from her work. Despite this, she attends a near constant stream of galas, dinners, and cocktail parties in order to maintain her business contacts. Whether out on business or attending a social function, Miss Carlyle is usually accompanied by her bodyguard, Joe Corey. She is quick to call upon his talents of dissuasion to deal with people who irritate her.

Erica is a natural beauty, and uses her looks to intimidate rather than beguile. Her skin is clear and pale, accentuated by carefully applied makeup. Her clothes are always fashionable, favoring European designers. She wears her blonde hair in stylishly short cropped curls.


This message was last updated by the player at 15:23, Sat 08 Sept 2018.

Back at home, Rachel sifts through what material they have with regards to Elias' murder. With Hilton Adams' exoneration underway, they could further their original investigation. The idea that some of the members of the expedition might still be alive was fascinating, and could surely be of interest to Erica Carlyle. She makes a few calls to get herself in contact with Erica Carlyle and sets up an appointment.

She spends the rest of the afternoon copying every single evidence they've come across (well, the documents at least, not the flyers, cards, etc), in her own personal journal.

In reply to GM (msg # 90):

Gustav shares a drink with Art Mills and the rest of the harlem hellfighters in the underground speakeasy. By now, He and his companions are considered friends of the community and can freely come and go.

Gustav, A little drunk but otherwise in high spirits, is in the stage platform, singing together with the night's performer followed by shouts of 'Alles Gute!'

After a couple of songs, Art Mills retrieved him and set him down together with the others. Banters of crude jokes about Gustav's signing, alcohol constitution and Art Mill's general facial features that only his momma will love ensued.  Later on, Art Mills and the harlem hellfighters tells him that Capt. Robson was stabbed last night and no one is crying a river over it.

"Well I'm not as well, he let everything happen because he took the bribes, endangered all sort of people, almost sending someone on the electric chair. I say good riddance to him!"

"we'll have Mr. Adams out soon, may he live a very long life with his wife!"


A couple more hours and dinner completely refreshed Gustav. He bids everyone farewell, promised to keep in touch with Art Mills, retrieved a package from under the table containing chocolate babka he bought on the way here, then proceeded to West Village to meet the others.


10:14, Today: Gustav Schmidt rolled 12 using 2d10. recover sanity.

In reply to Gustav Schmidt (msg # 93):

After the events of the last few days, Bromley retires to his hotel to write to his wife and sister about the events. Seeing the fruits of their labours, Bromley is invigorated. Despite the horrors he has witnessed, he is invigorated and feels alive like never before.

Bromley Aveline-Edgeware rolled 15 using 2d10.  Sanity gain.

His curiosity was piqued regarding the Penhew Foundation of London. He telegrams his household in London and requests that they gather as much information as possible without being obtuse. He also requests that the guest bedrooms be prepared as likely they will soon be playing host to his companions.

The Westchester County estate is half an hour north of New York City, on the Hudson River. Motoring investigators catch an ominous glimpse of Sing Sing Prison not too far away. The Carlyle estate consists of an elegant three-story mansion and five acres of superb grounds, all guarded by a 3.5 m high iron fence topped with sharpened finials.

There are always two armed gatekeepers. More armed men with guard dogs routinely patrol the grounds. One or more bodyguards, including Joe Corey, accompany Miss Carlyle when she ventures off the estate. Numerous faithful and capable servants staff the house. Such protection is not unneeded. Shortly after Roger Carlyle’s supposed murderers were hung in Nairobi, cultists broke into the library of the Westchester estate, stealing items of great interest to them.

Rachel and Bromley show up at the arranged time and are guided through the enormous house to a lavish reading room. In the room are easy chairs, tables and reading lamps, ashtrays and spittoons, an elaborate High Victorian iron fireplace, a magnificent teak and slate billiards table, and several thousand volumes protected within locked glass cases along the walls. There are leather-bound complete editions of Trollope, Dickens, Bulwer-Lytton, Mrs. Radcliffe, Francis Parkman, Ralph Waldo Emerson, the earlier works of George Washington Cable, and other fosterers of culture during the previous hundred years.

Miss Carlyle greets Rachel with air kisses and exclaims “Rachel, darling! Simply fabulous to see you again. And who is your handsome companion? Have a seat and let’s chat.”

Also present in the room is a tall, solid man with a Mediterranean complexion; he wears an aura of threat like a pungent aftershave. His wavy black hair is neatly swept, and his nose has been broken so many times that it lacks any real shape. This is Joe Corey, the bodyguard.

The last person is introduced as Bradley Gray, Erica’s confidant and lawyer. He is a slender, slightly foppish man with dark, wavy hair that is graying at the temples. His otherwise fine features are marred by worry lines around his eyes and mouth.

In reply to Gustav Schmidt (msg # 93):

As Bromley seems to have recovered marvelously from his hideous shock, Dermot turns to the selection of books. He's not particularly interested in ancient history, but this leather volume looks alright. It never hurts to have a line of verse on the open sea, and there's plenty of sailing to be done yet!

While the high society folks schmooze with Ms. Carlyle, Dermot suggests to Gustav that they pay a visit to their injured assailant. He's held up well through all the trauma, and he's determined to see this investigation through.

"I'll be surprised if they've straightened him out enough to talk to us, but let's give it another go. If all else fails, I'm sure he could use another beating."

(Adding Amongst the Stones to my inventory.)
This message was last edited by the player at 18:44, Fri 07 Sept 2018.

In reply to GM (msg # 95):

No stranger to moneyed social engagements, Bromley adopts his familiar London airs: "Miss Carlyle, the pleasure is all mine"

After being given the families background by Rachel and assessing his surroundings, Bromley is reasonably comfortable he can 'read the room' so to speak.

After introductions and pleasantries are disposed of, Bromley adopts a grave expression and, leaning forward slightly, earnestly says:

"Miss Carlyle, I'm afraid our visit carries a little more weight than a social call. Through a recently deceased friend of ours we have uncovered some information concerning your brother. More specifically, concerning his disappearance."

At the mention of this, Erica turns a sour look - Bromley instantly understands; his father and uncles fought viciously over the family holdings before he was born and the stories still conjure bitter memories. He gives Erica a sympathetic look. She obviously finds this distasteful but continues to listen.

"It seems that your brother fell in with some rather nefarious company. Malefactors, criminals and, not to mince words, occultists in some cases. A dear friend of ours, the recently deceased Jackson Elias, had been investigating your brothers ill-fated expedition and uncovered some information we felt is in your best interest to know; there exists a possibility that some if not all of your brothers party may well still be alive. We have our own reasons for interest in this affair, but any insight you could provide would be greatly appreciated"

As Bromley guessed, Miss Carlyle does not look happy with this news. “That is quite a startling statement, Mr. Aveline-Edgeware,” says Mr. Grey. “Miss Carlyle was personally informed by the Colonial Undersecretary that her brother and his companions were the unfortunate victims of savage killers. I would very much like to see this information that you claim to have.”

“Yes, Bradley, thank you,” interjects Erica with a frown. “I honestly do not know what to say. I would of course be thrilled if there were survivors, but I must admit to being dubious. You are a friend of Rachel, and I know her to be levelheaded and not given to associating with madmen, so there is that. If you tell me more about this Mr. Elias, I will tell you what I know of my brother’s ‘expedition’.

She leans back in her leather chair and explains how her brother Roger nearly bankrupted the Carlyle estate with his careless character and wild parties. This was confirmed when Carlyle fell under the influence of a mysterious East African woman, a self-styled poetess named Nichonka Bunay. Rumors of debaucheries and worse circulated among police, journalists, and others whose business it is to know the backgrounds of public personalities. During this period, Carlyle began to drain great sums of money from family interests, which prompted vicious arguments between himself, Erica, and their executives.

From the beginning, Erica knew that Roger’s African expedition was much more than just another of his foolish whims—she believes that some secret fascinated and worried him. “That Negro Woman caused Roger’s obsession,” she says icily. Erica’s attitude towards her brother’s relationship with Bunay is quite clear; in her mind, Roger’s entanglement with an uneducated African woman only helped underline how depraved his tastes had become.

Erica has no idea how Roger came to meet her, but even before Bunay came to rule Roger’s life, he’d begun to have strange dreams in which something seemed to beckon him and call to him that something be done. Roger would wake up screaming, but absolutely refused to discuss his dreams beyond that; with her, at least.

In an attempt to help her brother, Erica recommended that Roger visit Dr. Robert Huston, just then the lion of Erica’s social set. She believes that Huston talked Roger into the expedition (undoubtedly with Bunay’s collusion), and feels guilty about introducing them, but is convinced it was all Bunay’s fault that Roger ultimately lost his grip on reality. Her brother began to disappear for days, then suddenly turn up wild-eyed and crazed, saying only that he had been to Harlem.

Roger said that Bunay was ‘queenly, a priestess’, and that she held secrets which he must have. For a while Erica encouraged the African expedition, supposing that eventually Roger would come to his senses and see that Bunay and her tales were mumbo-jumbo.

For the other members of the Carlyle Expedition, Erica has the following thoughts;

• Sir Aubrey Penhew: Erica knows nothing of him and does not know why he accompanied the expedition. “Perhaps Sir Aubrey needed money—everyone else around Roger certainly did.”

• Dr. Robert Huston: a suave and handsome man whom Erica had found extremely sensitive and perceptive. Huston supposedly went with Roger in order to continue his treatment

Hypatia Masters: Erica had met her occasionally and was unimpressed. Roger dated her a few times, inconclusively. She was a good photographer; perhaps that was the reason she went along.

• Jack “Brass” Brady: he was fanatically loyal to Roger, and someone whom Roger could always trust. In California, Carlyle’s lawyers had saved Brady from certain conviction for murder; this occurred while Roger spent a semester at USC (having before then been thrown out of Harvard, Yale, Princeton, Miskatonic, and Cornell in quick succession).
This message was last updated by the player at 15:23, Sat 08 Sept 2018.

In reply to GM (msg # 98):

With a sigh, Rachel gives Erica a quick rundown of Elias' accomplishments. "..his last book, 'The Hungry Dead'-- I partially funded that expedition myself. In this case, Elias died looking to unearth the truth about what happened, and we intend to find out why this merited his murder." Rachel finished, leaning into her chair as she carefully watched Erica. She had an idea what it was like to watch a man waste his fortune and say nothing, and what it was like to have to clean up after them.

"We're trying to get any information we can on this subject, and that's why we came to you. If you can help us, I can personally keep you updated with anything we might uncover. Did Dr. Huston write to you to update you about Roger's state, while they were on the expedition?"

Erica takes it all in with a stoic expression, asking Mr. Grey to call for refreshments as the story unfolds. "Roger's medical history would have been between him and Dr. Huston of course. I would not presume to ask for details."

She takes a sip of tea and turns to Mr. Grey. "Bradley. I would like you to stay in touch with Ms. Katz and Mr. Aveline-Edgeware, and render them any assistance you can in this matter. I am sure there will be times when this could occur."

She turns back to you. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have another appointment which I am already late for. Rachel, could I have a word in private, please?"

After the others have left, Erica leans forward towards Rachel and speaks in a low voice. "I don't know what is going on here. My brother could be alive? Can you imagine the havoc he could cause if he comes back? And the scandals? May God forgive me for saying this, but some things are better left alone.

I heard some... things about how your husband died. And from what you've told me, some of your friends have some talents for being discrete. Perhaps we can ensure that the status quo is preserved? It would mean a lot to me..."
This message was last updated by the player at 15:23, Sat 08 Sept 2018.

Gustav is brought to see Dr. Norris, the medical examiner. He's an older gentleman, dressed in a crisp suit and with an air of authority.

"Detective Schmidt, good day to you. I hear you're inquiring about Mr. Doyle? Yes, sadly he succumbed to his injuries, most likely from a fall - although there was also many signs of repeated blows to his face and upper body. The cocaine addiction most likely did not help. I did notice a tattoo on his chest. I have seen such a symbol a few times before, most often on cadavers from the Harlem area. The deceased did not appear to have any family, so he's being buried in Potter's Field this week."

In reply to Erica Carlyle (msg # 100):

Rachel almost spat out her tea when Erica mentioned her husbands. Glancing around, she checked if the others were well out of earshot, before leaning in.

"Where did you--Never mind--you can't just ask me to go around--doing--" Rachel sputtered through gritted teeth. She glanced behind her again to ensure that no one was around before continuing.

"But I understand. I'll take care of it." Rachel said, reaching over and patting Erica's hand reassuringly, "And for that to happen, you'll want me to find him first, so if you know anything or if anything turns up about any people from the expedition, you let me know."

In reply to Rachel Katz (msg # 102):

Erica seems very relieved at Rachel's response. "Thank you, darling! I wish you and your friends every success in your endeavors. And I'll be sure to come visit your gorgeous shop soon and buy some new artwork for my house. I trust you have some pieces that will be absolute berries!"

Rachel gave Erica a wry smile as she gathered her things, leaving her contact number with Erica and Bradley, and bidding them to send word if anything comes up. She also informs Erica that they're going to be heading abroad soon, and she'll send an address where she can be contacted, before catching up with Bromley on the way back to New York.

Before you leave New York, you are contacted by Jonah Kensington, Jackson’s friend and publisher. He suggests that you get in touch with a Mr. Mickey Mahoney, the editor of The Scoop, a London newspaper. Jackson was investigating a number of stories mentioned in The Scoop, and perhaps you can find some leads there.

Art sneers at the mention of The Scoop. He explains that it’s a tabloid newspaper, full of odd, saucy, or gruesome stories, and photos of cute models in their underwear (with such accompanying stories as “Her Cornish Holiday”).

Jonah also suggest contacting Inspector James Barrington of Scotland Yard. He has been the lead detective in charge of the ‘Egyptian murders’, a total of 19 murders which been carried out over the last three years, each having a similar modus operandi. The “Egyptian murders” are so called because 17 of the dead were Egyptian nationals, a fact the press quickly caught on to.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:11, Sat 08 Sept 2018.

‘We should try out that mask’, says Bromley as he studies it. It is a carved wooden African mask with four hideous faces perched atop a thick, corded neck with a basket-like reed, feather, and fabric collar that hides the wearer’s face. No straps, ties, or handles hold this unsightly mask to the face. As soon as the mask is placed on Bromley’s head, the collar constricts around his face, holding it tightly in position, his agonized grimaces clear to all onlookers…

"Who saw that coming?", sighs Rachel. She finds a letter opener and hands it to Gustav. "Cut it off him!”

Bromley claws at the mask, trying to remove it, and you hack and pull at the reed, but it is impossible to remove. After a short period of struggle, Bromley stops moving and just stands there, his hands closing and opening, closing and opening....

Rachel pulls out her gun and aims it at Bromley. "Hold him down, we've got to get it off him!"

Suddenly the mask loosens and drops off... Bromley's pupils are fully expanded, showing only darkness... he gasps for air, his body convulses and then relaxes

Bromley manages to sit up under his own strength and although he is feeling exhausted tells everyone he is quite alright

"I... I need a drink... And I don't recommend anyone wear that... that thing"

Bromley knocks back the drink Rachel hands him and offers belated thanks. He also strongly suggests that the mask be locked away somewhere safe.

After calming down, Bromley feels very strongly that he needs to tell everyone what he saw: "This will sound insane I know, but I saw the ruler... ruler of the gods. I couldn't comprehend it, but I knew what it was... There was also music... like nothing you'd ever heard before... Except I had, we had, in Peru. You'll likely think me mad - But I know what I saw"

"You're telling us that these cultists are working for the ruler of the gods?” says Rachel. “For my sanity's sake, I'm going to disbelieve you-- I would not like to think we're up against the ruler of the gods!”


This message was last edited by the GM at 21:19, Sun 09 Sept 2018.

In reply to GM (msg # 105):

Dermot sits sullenly in a corner of the room as the party finishes going through all the strange artifacts from the Ju-Ju House.

It's been a wild ride so far, what with all these bogeymen and cultist murderers, and there that fool Bromley goes putting on the mask! After the shock he had only hours ago, ye'd imagine the lad would learn his lesson, but no! Seems he's intent to drive himself insane for the sake of a thrilling experience. Youth is wasted on the young, as they say!

As Bromley struggles to regain breath and  begins to ramble about seeing gods, Dermot rolls his eyes and stands up to leave.

“Now I’ve seen AND heard everything. I don’t know who helped Bromley into Harlem’s finest opium den, but that person had better be sure my weeklong voyage not be filled with such lunacy. I’ll see to my boat and book my second class room.”

He scowls to himself on his way out the door.

And the money's wasted too! he thinks.

Dermot takes a car down to the docks to pay for an extended stay for his personal vessel. He tips the dock worker reasonably, but not extravagantly. A young boy runs out from behind a pile of mooring rope.

“Daddy,” he says, “Another boat to work on? I want to learn how! Will you teach me, please?”

The dock worker glances back to see Dermot’s eyes narrow in contempt. He replies, “Run along now, son! Daddy’s with a customer.” As the boy toddles away, the man says, with some abashment, “The boy wants to play on every boat. I try to keep him away, but he gets around when the dock’s busy. What can ya do?” He shrugs.

"Do see that he doesn't," Dermot replies as he turns to leave. An idea occurs to him though, and he turns quickly around to face the man. Pulling off the glove from his false hand, he leans in close. In a whisper, “Do ye want ta know how I lost this hand?

The man blinks once, twice. Dermot continues, “There was a man much like you working a dock just like this in Boston. He may have been a bit younger. Not that it matters now. One day I came back to my yacht earlier than anticipated, and his boy child was having a little exercise on my vessel. I didn’t like that one bit. That boy was coincidentally eaten by sharks after he fell into the sea as the tide went out. I wager he couldn’t swim at all.”

He pauses to let the man soak this in. After an uncomfortable silence, the man stutters, “B-but, your hand?!”

With a grimace, Dermot Murphy concludes the story. “Ah, that I lost while holding the father under the water. The sharks were overeager.”

Dermot leaves the man trembling by the docks. Stifling a cruel smile, he whistles a sea shanty on his way to the ticket office....

In reply to GM (msg # 107):

Gustav spent the time in the ocean liner in a joyful mood. he went to explore the attractions if there are any. spent a little time gambling and generally just walked around the entire ship exploring or finds himself in a cigar room to enjoy a good cuban.

On the second night, he started reading the The Pnakotic Manuscripts. he read and read like a madman possessed and found out things not normally meant for mortal eyes before blacking out.

He finally came to his senses around noon, to find his entire room ransacked as if a tornado ran passed it. Most of his belongings are scattered across the floor and in the ceiling, while his passenger luggage are full of knife stab holes, and the service firearm of Rachel aimed painfully at his temple.

He was able to move it unconsciously just in time before he pulled the trigger and the bullet hit the decorative figurine of a dolphin which also served as a mini chandelier in his room. the base of the chandelier falling squarely below his knife holed luggage and impaled itself on the middle. Audible ripping of clothes are heard.

Gustav stares blankly the the dolphin, at Rachel's gun, and his luggage.

later on Gustav walked into the dinning room with his yellow suit pajamas now with a large hold in the abdomen area and cuts in the legs and arms. looks at the doorman and growl in a very foul mood 'Dont ask'
This message was last edited by the player at 02:29, Mon 10 Sept 2018.

The loud blasts of the steam ship's horn was deafening, but the salty air was a welcome change to the freezing cold of New York.

Gin and tonic in hand, Rachel leaned against the table of the vanity in her cabin, looking at the thick book she had volunteered to read--Africa's Dark Sects. The book brought back horrors of the Juju House-- in truth, she would've preferred to wine and dine with the ship's patrons, perhaps find a new husband. It would've been nicer, heading off to London with a new beau, instead of tracking down crazy murderers, but there she was, cooped up in her cabin instead.

With a sigh, Rachel picked up the book, settling down into a chair, flipping through the book. To her surprise, in the same way America vanished from their sights on the boat, so did the horrors of New York, slipping like water through her fingers. By the end of the journey, Rachel had half a mind to go back to New York--they were on a wild goose chase that would end in nothing. She figured she would spend a few days with the others in England, perhaps enjoy the sights and sounds, before telling them that it was time she went back home.