Johan stares at the black stain in his garden. At the place he came to nearly 4 years ago after returning from the expedition, the place where he piled his library, and then set it ablaze. He had already read them of course, but these books contained a truth too dark to share with the rest of the world. After he lit the match and the flames danced across his face with a seductive heat, he wept. Not for the books he had destroyed, but for the three he clenched in his hand that he could not bear to throw into the flames. Over the next four years he would return to this place, still clenching the three books, hoping that on one such trip he’ll find the strength to set them ablaze as well, but that strength never came.

The books are locked away where one keeps such things and he moves on with life, taking the riches he has earned and invested in the business of antique and curio trade, a business to which he can satisfy his curiosity, and avoid most people. This allows him to lead a rather reclusive lifestyle where he trains physically to keep up his health and read. Of course, now he reads literature and other fluff, normal books he thinks. But everything he lays his eyes on are bitter fruit now that he knows that darker things hide behind life’s curtain.

It is morning now, and Johan has spent yet another sleepless night trying to find peace. As he steps downstairs, he sees his breakfast laid out with the morning paper and the mail. His eyes dart to the telegraph on top. Words from Jackson bring comfort to him. The books he’s sent to Johan are the only non-fiction he has brought himself to read. He feels reinvigorated at the thought of seeing Jackson and perhaps some of his old adventuring companions. He must make the necessary arrangements...
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:33, Wed 22 Aug 2018.

Hotel Chelsea

Located in the Manhattan neighborhood of Chelsea, the Hotel Chelsea can be found on West 23rd Street, between Seventh and Eighth Avenues. The twelve-story redbrick edifice with its magnificent staircase was built as an apartment building in 1884, but reopened as a hotel in 1905. A significant number of the guests are still long-term residents, and the hotel is popular with artists, writers, and musicians, lending it something of a bohemian reputation. Although many hotels of the time did not permit African-American guests or visitors, the Hotel Chelsea has a far more enlightened attitude and welcomes all within its doors.

It is a relief to move away from the icy, freezing streets to the warm and cozy atmosphere of the lobby. There is a roaring fireplace and comfortable leather chairs to take the chill out of your bones.

The receptionist informs you that Mr. Elias is residing in room 410.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:41, Wed 22 Aug 2018.

In reply to GM (msg # 11):

Mr. Murphy has had a phenomenal four years of business. With the significant proceeds of his expedition treasure from Peru, he’s been able to finance some legitimate shipping business to serve as a front for his expanded black market activities. Jackson Elias had some surprisingly good contacts for selling artifacts, but Murphy’s own fences had managed to find some buyers if exquisite taste in less open markets. Why should the government get a cut of something they were never involved with? Tariffs are just a tax on the people, right? Perhaps smugglers are the unsung heroes of international trade... ha!

Regardless, Dermot Murphy has done quite well for himself. Not one for close personal friendships, he hasn’t kept up closely with much of the Peru expedition. He’s been thoroughly occupied on the open sea, after all, and he doesn’t like to have his whereabouts broadcast openly enough for either telegrams or guards to reach him easily. He has exchanged messages with Elias over the years, mostly responding to the messages received and divulging little about himself. He’s posted to Gustav once or twice, against his better judgment. He may be a guard, but he seems to keep his nose where it belongs.

Only top business contacts know how to reach Murphy’s isolated hideaway somewhere on the coast of Maine, and it is thusly that Jackson Elias managed to reach him just after his return from an Atlantic voyage. As the destination is New York, Murphy takes his personal motor yacht down the coast to dock in the city. While he’s wary of any more trouble on the order of Larkin and kharisiri, he figures there’s profit to be made somewhere along the way.

He alights from his showy rented motorcar sporting a knitted Aran wool sweater, which is almost completely obscured by his favorite peacoat, whose double breasted front is buttoned tightly against the bitter cold and snow, along with a thick woolen cap. He’s not unhappy to see his former companions, and after warming for a moment in the lobby, he gladly accompanies them toward the room allotted to Elias.

You are standing in the dimly lit corridor of the hotel. Ahead of you is a hotel room door bearing the number 410. As you knock on the door, you hear a muffled cry and movement within...

Rachel was glad to step out of the cold, despite the mink coat she had tightly wrapped around herself. Stepping into the lobby of the hotel Chelsea, she pulled off her gloves, looking around furtively if any of their other companions had arrived. A familiar figure stood a little way into the lobby, Rachel took a second glance to make sure she wasn't wrong.

"Mr. Murphy," Rachel greeted, catching up to him, "It's good to see you."

The receptionist at the desk was kind enough to allow them to head upstairs. They were almost at the door when she caught wind of something.

"Did... you hear that?" Rachel asked her companions, hesitating for a second. Surrounded by her companions in Peru, Rachel couldn't help but feel a sinking sense of de ja vu fall over her. There was something about the room number that nagged at her immensely, as though there was something she was supposed to remember but couldn't quite put a finger on. Filled with a sense of urgency, Rachel tried the door. As she twisted the knob and pushed the door open, the memory of that morning at the hotel in Peru became clearer.

As Art sees Rachel try the door knob to no avail, he moved to the door and raps his knuckles loudly on it.
"Mr Jackson!" he calls out, "Elias!"

_{If there is no answer, Art will try to shoulder barge the door down}.

In reply to Dr. Arthur Digben (Art) (msg # 15):

Gustav sensing danger, readies is reliable service revolver, shouts

"New York Police! open up!"

Then proceeded to shoulder block the door with the revolver at the ready


09:23, Today: Gustav Schmidt rolled 18 using 3d10, unique dice ((9,2,7)). 27 (Hard Success)

You quickly force open the door and burst into the room, where you see a horrific sight; you dear friend Jackson is lying dead on the bed! His chest is torn open and his intestines have been ripped out. On his forehead is carved a bloody symbol – the same symbol you saw tattooed on Larkin’s chest those four years ago.

You also see three machete-wielding men. They all wear what looks to be ceremonial headpieces, with a strip of red cloth dangling down in the front. Two of them appear African-American, the third is Caucasian.

The window is open and the Caucasian man is out on the balcony, near the narrow, icy fire escape ladder. The other two are still in the room and turn on you as you enter and raise their cruel-looking machetes to strike!


This message was last edited by the GM at 01:51, Thu 23 Aug 2018.

Rachel stepped out of Gustav's way as the policeman barreled through the door. The sight that greeted her was not what she had expected--there was blood everywhere. Rachel wasn't sure if she had managed to scream, or if she had just thought she had screamed--but in the next moment, she was running towards the nearest fire exit, heading for the lobby.

In reply to GM (msg # 17):

Gustav tries to apprehend and restrain the suspect for the murder of Mr. Elias, but the suspect was able to successfully sidestep Gustav's jumping at him and use a knife to impale him in the abdomen.

Gustav is now in the floor writhering in pain but otherwise is still aware of his surroundings.

As Art watches the man wieldy slash at Gustav his hand instinctively whips around to his revolver tucked into his bag pocket. Pulling it out and dropping the bag in one swift movement he fires three shots into the assailant. All three center mass, just like he was trained, but two go wild.
It only took one though, as the man slumps forward, still riding his momentum from attacking Gustav, but now his legs seemed to be made of jelly as he falls to the ground with a grapefruit sized hole in his chest.

As Rachel headed for the fire exit, a glint caught her eye. On the wall, there was an emergency kit, right next to a chair and a table with a vase on it. Behind the glass was an axe. In a fit of panic, Rachel grabbed the chair and haphazardly flung it at the emergency kit, squeezing her eyes shut to avoid any shards getting in her eyes.

Crash! The glass shattered, and Rachel grabbed the axe, hurrying back to the others, shoving the axe to the nearest person she could see--Johan.

In reply to Rachel Katz (msg # 21):

Hearing gunshots and screams Bromley pokes his head around the corner of the hotel room. He sees utter pandemonium; Injured friends, dead strangers and the window being clustered by a number of people unloading their weapons.

Aiming to cut any escapees off, Bromley bursts through the fire door and speeds down the stairs. As luck would have it, he bursts through a doorway into an alley and sees a large black car. Running up to it he shouts at his friends to stop firing as he makes it to the driver side. He yanks the door open and wrestles the culprit onto the ground. Already heavily injured the man puts up little fight.

Failing to stabilise the man Bromley sees Dermot burst out the same doorway and calls for help. He manages to stop some of the bleeding and the two drag the man into the hotel amidst the unfurling chaos.

This is what you found in Room 410;

Letter: addressed to Roger Carlyle from Warren Besart. The text is in a neat, precise hand.



Business card: for one Edward Gavigan, elegantly engraved



Matchbook: from the Stumbling Tiger Bar in Shanghai



Photograph: blurry and grainy. It shows a large steam- or diesel-powered yacht beyond some Chinese boats (“junks”). Part of the name of the yacht is visible: the first three letters are “DAR.” In the dim background is a building with a large tower.



Business card: for Emerson Imports, printed on ordinary stock. Jackson has written the name “Silas N’Kwane” on the back of the card.



Typewritten letter: without envelope, from Miriam Atwright, a Harvard University librarian, addressed to Jackson in care of his publishers



Small sheet of paper: It is an ordinary handbill, to be posted publicly or passed out on the street, advertising Prof. Cowles’ guest lecture at New York University.



Jackson Elias’ forehead: symbol cut into the skin, similar to the tattoo found on Larkin.

• The Penhew Foundation is in Central London on Tottenham Court Road. It is a High Victorian building, of fewer stories and greater ceiling height than the buildings to either side, and altogether grander in scale.

• Public records show the Foundation was established in 1890 by Sir Aubrey Penhew, a renowned Egyptologist. As director of the Foundation, Sir Aubrey oversaw and funded a number of expeditions to Egypt.

• Sir Aubrey was a leading figure in the Carlyle Expedition of 1919 and was among those murdered in Kenya. Currently, Edward Gavigan is the Foundation’s director.

• The Foundation issues grants to scholars undertaking the study of Egyptian history and antiquities. Its work also includes negotiating permits with the Egyptian authorities, assisting with planning expeditions, travel itineraries, and the hiring of local labor.

• The Foundation’s building in London serves to house Egyptian artifacts recovered from the sands of time, as well as acting as a repository of information concerning Egyptian history and the numerous expeditions undertaken in northeastern Africa.

• Roughly 20 digs in Egypt have been supported by the Foundation, with ten of these happening since Sir Aubrey’s untimely death. Unfortunately, many of the sponsored digs
have been overshadowed by tragedy while in Egypt; a number of people (20 in all) have died. A few were suicides, but the rest appear to have been murdered by locals.

• Currently, the Foundation has one dig underway near Cairo, led by Dr. Henry Clive, which was excavating on the Giza plateau.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:03, Thu 23 Aug 2018.

Gustav is quickly driven to the hospital and treated for his wounds [recover 1D3 HP], and is able to move about cautiously. Rachel checks into a nearby hotel and sends the photos to her photographer friend to be developed as quickly as possible.

About 10 PM, a hard-nosed NYPD homicide detective from Precinct 7a, Lt. Martin Poole, arrives with two cops to question Gustav. He takes notes of what happened and carefully writes down the names of those who were present.

Poole informs Gustav that this is the ninth murder victim of this kind in the last two years. The victims had no apparent connections; they were poor, wealthy, and middle class, both black and white, and from all over the city. All the victims had the same marks on their foreheads. Dr. Mordecai Lemming, an eccentric Manhattanite and folklorist, linked the sign to an African death cult, but has otherwise offered no useful information.

The investigation came to a close when Captain Robson of the 14th Precinct in Harlem arrested a local black man, Hilton Adams, who had been found at the scene of one of the murders. Now that another murder has taken place, Poole is concerned that Robson got the wrong man.

“Between you and me, I’m pretty sure Robson is on the take. If not, he’s just incompetent” says Poole in a low voice.


This message was last edited by the GM at 23:45, Thu 23 Aug 2018.

In reply to GM (msg # 25):

The windows in the room where Detective Gustav Schmidt is currently interned is surprisingly homey, with pink wallpapers and decorative white swans drawn on the walls and sky blue paint in the ceiling, the room overlooks the magnificent and sprawling East river bordering brooklyn, its waters busy with different kinds of ships. The doors are designed with an arching ionic greek resembling pillars and open glass windows encircle the room. The only thing distorting this picturesque scene is the sound of pain from the other patients room but otherwise, it is generally a pleasant hospital to be in.

Gustav replies "I would have the same conclusion based on what little information I have Lt. Poole, nine murders with the same markings and MO? The crime going on for two years and it is still not solved? I should have had myself transferred here than in precinct 76."

"No matter, will it be all right for you, as one detective to another, have me take a peek on the other nine murder casefiles, I want to see if our good Captain Robson deliberately missed anything. I can work in my hospital bed perfectly fine.



10:31, Today: Gustav Schmidt rolled 28 using 1d100. Law (50%/25%/10%): bring paperwork to hospital.
10:30, Today: Gustav Schmidt rolled 16 using 1d100. Psychology (47%/23%/9%): insight on LT. Poole.
10:28, Today: Gustav Schmidt rolled 3 using 1d3. Healing from hospital.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:49, Fri 24 Aug 2018.

Whether it had been adrenaline crashing down, or perhaps she had been subconsciously ready for crazy things to happen around Elias, Rachel had surprisingly slept well that night, and Alice had brought her everything necessary in the morning.

On the way to the hospital, Rachel racked her brain for any reason she might send her household away for awhile--she was quite sure that all of the cultists that had seen them were dead-- save for the one that Bromley and Dermot ran off with. She wasn't sure how to contact them, but hoped they would find Gustav at the hospital at least.

Policemen were milling about the hospital when she arrived. It wasn't too hard to find Gustav's room, but it did take a bit of convincing the officers to let her in. Thankfully, they had taken their names the night before, and she had at least accompanied Gustav to the hospital last night.

She was a bit surprised to find him with another inspector.

"Ah. Good morning. Rachel Katz. I was with him at the... incident last night," Rachel introduced herself as she set down a paper bag with a  sandwich she had grabbed from the hotel restaurant before leaving, and set it down near Gustav's bedside table. "I'm not entirely sure your doctor will like this, but I figured anything's better than hospital food."

In reply to Rachel Katz (msg # 27):

Gustav opens the paper bag. "Núrnberger bratwurst with seuerkraut in ciabatta, thanks." Gustav visibly glows in delight

When the other investigator left, Gustav shares to Rachel what Lt. Poole talked about before, the related murders, shared occult symbols, Dr. Lemming and Capt. Robson.

He then asked "How is everybody doing?  Everything was a haze after I got stabbed."

"Well, want to look at the case files of the other murder victims?" Gustav gestures to the brown manila envelops neatly sealed and stacked on the table.

"Lt. Poole said Capt. Robson might be corrupt, if he is covering up something, there's gotta be some missing links here in the casefiles."

"Would also be nice to get pictures of Mr. Elias' crime scene. Damn what happened to him, getting gutted like a fucked up swine. pardon my french."

Later on, Gustav nonchalantly asked "How are you doing?" He stopped what he was doing and tried looking Rachel in the eyes. "still having those nightmares?"
This message was last edited by the player at 14:45, Fri 24 Aug 2018.

"This has been going on for two years?" Rachel shuddered, suddenly keenly aware that she had spent more time in New York than else where in the past year. Their victims had no connections--it seemed as though they just picked anyone off the streets. It sent a chill down her spine. She thought she had left Peru behind, and the thought of all these murders in New York, with that symbol on them, shook her to the core. Hearing about Captain Robson didn't help one bit.

"Johan axed a man in half." Rachel blinked, looking up to answer Gustav's question, shaking her head. It had been a haze of blood. She quickly filled Gustav in on what she could remember. She took the files Gustav offered and leafed through them for a bit. She took a deep breath-- Elias would just be added to the list of victims now. "Nine murders. And now Elias. Gustav, we've got to stop this somehow."

"Oh, right. I hope I don't get arrested for this, but," Rachel said as she pulled out a brown envelope of her own and handed it over to Gustav. "I just... I just thought Elias might want us to be the ones...I don't know, to handle his stuff after his.. after what happened. I took it from the crime scene and took photos of everything. I have a discrete friend who develops all the photographs for me, so at least we already have copies before you hand these over to the police."

The envelope contained all the scraps and pieces of paper she could find in the room. "I also took one of the stupid headpieces they had, but I left it at the hotel."

At the mention of the nightmares, Rachel stood up abruptly. "I have to go. I'll try to get a hold of Dr. Mordecai Lemming." The name had been thrown around the social circles. "Do you have a man you can trust around here? If this Capt. Robson is taking bribes, who knows if there are others. You can't stay alone here, not after what happened to Elias. If the others come by, let me know what they found out. I'm staying at the Plaza hotel for now, you can reach me there."
This message was last edited by the player at 08:28, Fri 24 Aug 2018.

Shaken by the gruesome death of your friend, you agree to meet the next day at the Bellevue Hospital where Johan is recovering. You leave word with the concierge at the Hotel Chelsea, so that Bromley and Murphy can find you.

The newspapers all carry the news about the latest of a string of murders, some of them wondering how Mr. Hilton Adams, who is currently awaiting execution in Sing-Sing, could have killed Jackson. One paper mentions that Jackson’s funeral will take place tomorrow (Saturday, January 17), at Cypress Hills Cemetery in Brooklyn, at 2 PM.

Rachel phones the New York University and discovers that Professor Cowles has already left the city and is heading back to Miskatonic University in Arkham. However, the University does keep notes of lectures and sends Rachel a summary;




This message was last edited by the GM at 20:55, Fri 24 Aug 2018.

Dr. Mordecai Lemming lives at Murray Hill Hotel. The double stairway at the hotel’s Park Avenue entrance leads up into the marble-lined reception hall, where the decor has changed little since the hotel’s opening in 1884. A polite clerk at the reception desk greets Rachel and co. and asks if he may be of assistance. He asks you to wait while he calls up to Dr. Lemming to see if he is at home to guests today. Once the clerk has secured Dr. Lemming’s consent, he permits you to climb the stairs.

Doctor Lemming is waiting for you outside his apartment door. He is small, balding, and pale, his clothes are typical of an absent-minded academic, covered in ink and dust with grubby cuffs and various odd-looking stains. He looks delighted to see you, and ushers you into his opulent but overcrowded rooms. Rococo detailing on the walls and ceilings fights for your attention amongst a plethora of books and seemingly random objects from every continent, all with the shared theme of myth and folklore.

Questioning the doctor about Jackson’s death and the other murder victims causes the elderly academic to giggle nervously before taking a medicinal nip of his “nerve tonic” from a silver hip flask. All he can tell you is what he told the police: that he believes the mark to be that of an African death cult or, more likely, someone mimicking the symbol of an African death cult to stir up ill feeling.

Dr. Lemming was aware of Jackson’s work although he never met him and found his books somewhat macabre and sensationalist. He is sorry to hear of his death and is thoroughly perplexed by it. Either the police have the wrong man in prison, or Adams must have been working with an accomplice.

“If you should they wish to know more about such things as African folklore and cult histories, then Mr. Silas N’Kwane, the proprietor of Ju-Ju House in Harlem, may be able to help you. He regularly sends me trinkets and fetishes he knows will be of interest to my studies, and charges a very reasonable price for them to boot. Very charming man.”

Dr. Lemming is in a garrulous mood and glad of his captive audience. He rings down to the hotel kitchen to order refreshments, and proceeds to bend your ears on every conceivable folklore topic under the sun.


This message was last edited by the GM at 19:33, Fri 24 Aug 2018.

EMERSON IMPORTS

The company can be found in a long, narrow building on the edge of the Hudson River, just beyond Hell’s Kitchen. There are loading docks at both ends. The building itself is a warehouse piled high with freight, with a small set of offices upstairs at the front.

Arthur Emerson is tall and well-muscled; now starting to soften physically in his middle age. His brown hair is still thick and neatly groomed. His gaze is direct and his manner bullish. He gives the impression of a man who is used to getting his own way, and one who does not scare easily. Emerson spoke with Elias during his brief time back in New York and is surprised (and saddened) to hear of his death.

Elias had been checking importers to find connections with Mombasa. Emerson is the U.S. agent for the Mombasan exporter Ahja Singh in Kenya, whose only known U.S. account happens to be Ju-Ju House, 1 Ransom Court, New York City. Emerson states that he is sure Elias intended to visit Ju-Ju House to talk with the manager, Silas N’Kwane.

“That guy Silas makes my skin crawl. I told Mr. Elias the same thing.”