The Scoop is a weekly tabloid specializing in printing stories about gory murders, sex scandals, and weird happenings. The offices of The Scoop are easily found on the third floor of a shabby building in Fleet Street, not far from Ludgate Circus. The editor of the Scoop, Mickey Mahoney, is a red-haired, cigar-smoking, and grubby looking journalist of Irish descent.

He squints at you suspiciously as you enter the busy office, but leers at Rachel. “What can I do for you fine folks?”, he inquires, waving away a foul-smelling cloud of cigar smoke.


This message was last edited by the GM at 21:59, Thu 13 Sept 2018.

Rachel hesitated, wondering if they had the address wrong. Unfortunately, based on the stack of newspapers in the office, they had indeed found The Scoop.. It was hard to believe Elias would work with such a newspaper, if she could call it that. The corners of her mouth curled in distaste as they approached the editor, who seemed the very embodiment of The Scoop. Rachel sighed.

"Mr. Mahoney, we're friends of Jonah Kensington from the Prospero. He told us you might have information on what El-- a friend of ours was working on?" Rachel said, looking around suspiciously.

In reply to Rachel Katz (msg # 2):

An avid newspaper reader, Bromley feels a sense of dread walking into the offices of The Scoop.  He knows all too well the salacious scandals published in this rag. Occasionally he will find a well thumbed copy hidden away at the stables when attending the races. He is also keenly aware how damaging it could be if his peers ever found out he was here.

Still, after setting eyes upon this Mr Mahoney, Bromley feels a small pang of relief; If there is one thing he thinks this man understands it is money - And as long as Bromley can offer a whiff of it, this man should stay well clear of his affairs.

Plus, after the events of New York, Bromley is singularly convinced that what he has become embroiled in is a much greater concern than ending up in a flash-in-the-pan scandal.

“Your friend?” replies Mahoney. “And who might this be?”

“His name was Jackson Elias, a travel writer from the States”, says Art, picking up a print plate and tutting at the pictures of the nearly naked girl on it.

“Ah, Jackson! Damned sorry to read about him dying. He was a character alright. Good bit of craic! Well, can’t tell you that much. He was recently in London and promised me a story about an evil cult operating in the heart of the city. He hinted that the cult might be well connected but didn’t provide any hard proof. I never got the story but would love to have it.”

He opens a drawer and picks up a bundle of money, counting off a small portion of it. “I can go all the way up to fifteen quid* if you can bring me the full details!”

“Oh!” he adds. “Another thing... Mr. Elias also browsed through our back issues and picked out some stories that caught his eye. Got them here somewhere…. Ah yes, here they are, the little buggers. Not sure who wrote them originally. I often rewrite stuff I find in other papers, to give ‘em that little extra whoosh!”

He produces three newspaper articles for you. “I don’t know if Mr. Elias followed up on any of these stories, but he was very interested in them. He seemed rushed and desperate, and left soon after for New York, like the divil was chasing him.”

*$75 in 1925 - or $1000 today


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This message was last edited by the player at 12:32, Tue 11 Sept 2018.

In reply to Mickey Mahoney (msg # 1):

Dermot greets his compatriot.

"How's she cuttin'?"

In reply to Dermot Murphy (msg # 5):

Mahoney grins. "An Ulsterman for sure! I'm grand, thanks."

He takes in Dermot's somewhat rough appearance and prosthetic hand. "Looks like you've seen your fair share of action. If you're ever after wanting to tell your stories, I'd love to hear them. Sorry about your mate, he was a good lad."

His expression darkens. "Too many shenanigans going on at the moment. I know it sells newspapers, but people are getting jumpy. Mate o'mine lost his son. If you need any help, let me know. I've got the dirt on nearly everyone."
This message was last updated by the player at 12:33, Tue 11 Sept 2018.

You leave the sordid office of the Scoop and travel the relatively short distance to the headquarters of the famous New Scotland Yard, on the Victoria Embankment. The desk sergeant welcomes Bromley and Art and ignores the rest of you.

“Inspector Barrington is a busy man, Sir,” he says to Bromley, “but I will see if I can arrange a meeting. Please have a seat.”

You take a seat in the crowded waiting room. The air is loud with the indignant cries of boisterous street walkers and arrested winos from nearby holding cells.

After a short wait, you are led to a small office, filled with paperwork, where Inspector Barrington greets you. He is a thin, weathered and seasoned policeman, dressed in a shabby suit. He has a clipped mustache and weary eyes.

In reply to Mickey Mahoney (msg # 6):

"Much obliged, Mahoney. I’ll take y’ope on that yet."

Replacing the glove over his prosthetic hand, Dermot follows the rest toward the Yard. He’s happy to hang around outside or maybe have a smoke and a pint in a nearby pub.

In reply to Inspector James Barrington, (msg # 7):

Gustav shakes the inspector's hands and presents to Inspector Barrington his credentials and a brief background of what they had experienced in New York (omitting the parts about the ciimba and the well). He talks about the circumstances surrounding the disappearance of the people in the harlem district and about the death of Mr. Elias, the party have reasons to believe that they are connected.

"With all due respect, we would want to provide assistance to your agency in getting to the bottom of this. Our motivation might be quite personal - a death of a dear friend is nothing but personal - but I assure you as a full detective of the New York Police department, we shall do our best under the law, to solve these murders and have the killers brought to justice."

"If you can give us any information, any leads, anything at all, please tell us"

In reply to Gustav Schmidt (msg # 9):

Listening forlornly to Gustav, Bromley looks to Inspector Barrington after he has finished. With his most grave (and sincere) stiff upper lip adds "Any information you can provide would mean a great deal to us... to me. Mr Elias was indeed a great friend and gifted author, but this whole affair is a blight upon our fair city"

Dermot chose not to come with the rest of the group into the Scotland Yard for some reason, so he is waiting outside.

“Yes, Sir,” says Barrington to Bromley with a practiced neutral expression on his face. “We have made some progress and are turning up new leads all the time.”

He carefully studies Gustav’s credentials and nods, satisfied. “Welcome to London, Detective Schmidt. I would certainly appreciate any assistance you and your friends have to offer. Since you have vouched for them, I can tell you what we know so far. Please, sit down and make yourselves comfortable.”

What Barrington says about Jackson Elias
• Elias talked to him briefly, saying that the murders were ritual killings conducted by an organization known as the Brotherhood of the Black Pharaoh, which Elias described as an Egyptian death cult.

At this, Art makes a strangled noise. Noticing your worried looks, he explains that the book he read on the ocean voyage mentions the Brotherhood of the Black Pharaoh as the cult that the author joined.

• Following the tip presented by Elias, Barrington got in touch with the Penhew Foundation, an organization with connections to Egypt, to see if they could corroborate Elias’ information. Barrington met with Edward Gavigan at the Foundation, who confirmed a society calling themselves the Brotherhood of the Black Pharaoh had once existed but that they had no modern-day equivalent, as they died out hundreds of years ago. Gavigan did, however, think the method of murder imitated those of the ancient cult. Barrington also discovered that Elias had previously been in contact with Gavigan, who remarked that Elias was a sensation-seeking profiteer and unlikely to be a reliable source of information.

What Barrington says about the murders
• A total of 19 murders have 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.

• A witness, who came upon a dying victim after hearing a commotion, said the victim cried out “Hotep!” Barrington mentioned this word to Edward Gavigan, who confirmed it is an ancient Egyptian word meaning “rest” or “peace.”

• All of the victims were killed by sharp force trauma, each victim dying from a metal spike like instrument piercing their heart. In addition, each victim suffered both blunt and sharp trauma to the head and torso, possibly a wooden club with nails driven through it. While Barrington initially believed a single murderer was behind the crimes, forensic reports suggest some of the attacks were committed by people of differing heights, leading the inspector to assume a gang is responsible.

• Barrington interviewed a number of people with connections to Egypt. The vast majority had little to offer, although a spice dealer named Zahra Shafik interested him. Shafik had worked with the Penhew Foundation in the past. She recognized the name but also denied that the Brotherhood of the Black Pharaoh still existed. Something about her gave Barrington the impression there was much she was not saying. He had her tailed for a few days, which confirmed she frequently went to the Blue Pyramid Club but little else.

• The Blue Pyramid Club in Soho is often frequented by both resident and visiting Egyptian businessmen. Many of the victims had frequented the club. Barrington looked into the club and had the place under surveillance but learned nothing before the men were pulled away to attend to other police work.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:33, Wed 12 Sept 2018.

Once he gets a chance, Art digs out 'Life as a God' (the only copy of a diary by English artist Crompton, who came to Egypt in 1805 and became a minor priest of the Brotherhood of the Black Pharaoh) and quotes a few passages to you;

The man standing before me was of swarthy complexion, but with a haughty bearing befitting an Emperor. He reached out a hand to touch my cheek, my wound shrieking in agony until he brushed it, washing away my pains. He spoke to me, in low tones, with a voice like a mother to an infant babe. He spoke to me of his grand design which would unseat the rule of Man for the rule of the true Gods, and how I might serve him. I knew in my truest heart that this was the purpose I had so long sought, that in His service, I would be made whole and pure and that those who had wronged me so greatly would be brought low. I wept in joy and promised I would serve him gladly.


The beggar was held fast by my brothers and I, eyes tearing with joy, struck him mightily with the sacred club again and again, until he was rendered insensate by the pain and his limbs were useless. Filled with wordless praise for Him who Dwells in the Shadow before light comes, I turned it in my hands then pierced the wretch’s heart with the cunning bronze spike. His scream of agony washed over me and I was reborn as a full Brother and servant of the Pharaoh of Shadows.


Its angles were magnificent, and most strange; by their hideous beauty I was enraptured and enthralled, and I thought to myself of the daylight fools who adjudged the housing of this room as mistaken. I laughed for the glory they missed. When the six lights lit and the great words said, then He came, in all the grace and splendour of the Higher Planes, and I longed to sever my veins so that my life might flow into his being, and make part of me a god!

Bromley leaves his contact details with the inspector, and you all take your leave. Heading out of the Yard, you spot Dermot leaning against the wall of the Red Lion pub, across the street. He waves to you and indicates that he'll join you shortly.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:50, Wed 12 Sept 2018.

The Penhew Foundation is in Central London on Devonshire Street (now Boswell St.), off Theobalds Road (a Bloomsbury address north of Oxford Street and west of the British Museum). It is a High Victorian building, of fewer stories and greater ceiling height than the buildings to either side, and altogether grander in scale. A high iron fence surrounds the Foundation building at the front and rear. A doorman is on duty at the front door, but he tips his hat respectfully and steps aside when he spots Bromley and Art approaching.

Within, the building’s appointments are opulent, consisting of two stories and a basement. The Egyptian Collection is open for viewing from noon to 4 p.m., Monday through Friday. During those times, two guards are stationed in the Exhibit Hall.

The main business of the Foundation is carried out on the first (ground) floor: evaluating scholars and granting them funds, negotiating permits and exceptions with Egyptian authorities, arranging itineraries and schedules, and acting as a physical and informational repository for all things Egyptian, especially Egypt before the Ptolemies.

The windows of the second floor Exhibit Hall are broad and tall, with ventilator openings at the tops via mechanical arms. The surfaces are finished in marble, and the ceiling is 20 feet (6 m) high. Mummies, glass cases filled with pottery and other artifacts, statuary, and so forth fill the hall in tasteful rows. An air of hushed contemplation pervades. The file rooms at the front and back are filled with flat-file drawers containing countless carefully evaluated and catalogued artifacts from Dynastic Egypt.

In reply to GM (msg # 14):

Approaching the main desk, Bromley gives his best 'I'm rich so you're going to help me but I'm being polite anyway' smile. When asked his business Bromley produces the card found in Jackson's belongings in New York - He holds onto this while handing over his own business card. "I'm terribly sorry we couldn't phone ahead, but would Director Gavigan be available?

“Yes, of course, Sir!”  The man practically snaps to attention and picks up a phone. “Good morning, Mr. Kinnery. There are some gentlemen and a lady here to see Mr. Gavigan. A Mr. Aveline-Edgeware and company. Yes, Sir. Immediately, Sir.”

He puts down the phone and smiles obsequiously at Bromley. “Just one moment, Sir!”

A small man in a pinstripe suit, pointed nose, and angular features scurries up to the desk and smiles, showing his bad dentures. “Good morning! My name is Kinnery and I am Mr. Gavigan’s secretary. If you would be so kind so follow me, the Director will see you shortly.”

He leads you along the first-floor corridor to the waiting area outside Gavigan’s office and offers a seat. While you wait, Kinnery sits at his desk writing letters and shuffling papers. Attempts at conversing with him fall flat; he refuses to be drawn into answering questions, saying he is really quite busy and that Mr. Gavigan will be along soon.

After a few minutes, Edward Gavigan strides out of his office. He is slim and superbly dressed, with balding hair, manicured nails, and clean-shaven. As a touch of fashion, he wears a wristwatch, still a relatively new item of personal adornment. He greets you warmly, asking you to join him in his office. Gavigan’s manner is friendly and open. He shows you into his magnificent wood-paneled office. “Ladies, Gentlemen, welcome to the Penhew Foundation! How may I assist you?”

[Please give me a Spot Hidden roll]


This message was last edited by the player at 19:09, Thu 13 Sept 2018.

In reply to Edward Gavigan (msg # 16):

"Good day, Mr. Gavigan. We're here on behalf of a friend of ours. He was..." Rachel looked at the others, unsure. "...writing a book with regards to the unfortunate Carlyle expedition. Knowing that Sir Aubrey Penhew was a part of the expedition, we came here to help finish what he started. We wanted to hear more about the extent of the Penhew Foundation's involvement directly from you, instead of from the papers."