On the 'Laconia', you are lucky enough to encounter Mr. Wilberforce Lake, an experienced traveler. He kindly gives you some pointers on what to expect in Egypt;

When you first arrive in Egypt, you will make landfall in Port Said, which is on the east edge of the Nile Delta at the entrance to the Suez Canal. The first thing you will notice is the heat, followed closely by the throngs of people crowding any new arrivals. The port will be full of people trying to get their baggage, trying to hire guides, trying to be hired as a guide, or just trying to pick pockets. The harbors also reeks of rotting fish as fishermen work to offload their cargoes.

Customs inspections in Port Said are rigorous, and a passport is required of all entrants. You will also need to acquire a visa and register as aliens, ostensibly so that your consulate can provide assistance if needed. You will be pleased to learn that not only firearms, but also explosives, are legal for import, if you have the appropriate permit. Lacking the proper permits for weapons can result in time spent in a small, hot prison cell and copious physical punishment if you press the issue.

Port Said itself is very different from Cairo. Built in 1859 to support the administration of the Suez Canal, it is laid out on a grid and lacks any ruins that archaeologically minded investigators would enjoy. There are, however, British and American consulates, should you run into any issues with the law. It is worth noting that passengers do not disembark from their ship straight onto the pier at Port Said. The shallow harbor renders it necessary to have small boats ferry passengers from liners to the shore. It costs 4 piastres per person and 1 piastre per trunk to take advantage of this necessity (100 piastres = $5).

The journey from Port Said or Alexandria to Cairo is usually made by steam-powered train. The British created an extensive network of rail lines when Egypt was part of the Empire, and the Egyptians maintain them. It takes 4 hours 15 minutes on the express from Port Said to Cairo; about 5 hours for the standard train. It is 135
Piastres for first class or 75 piastres for second class to take the Express to Cairo. The standard train is 30 piastres cheaper for both first and second class.

The tracks from Port Said follow the route of the Suez Canal, with its first major stop at Qantara. At the 48-mile marker, the train turns inland and southwest to Ismailia, the home of a British garrison. After Ismailia the train follows a major canal through the Wadi Tumilat. There is lush irrigated farmland on either side. However, the arid desert is not far beyond this. The line again passes through fertile farmland when it joins with the train line from Alexandria and then terminates at the Cairo Central Railway Station.

Once in Cairo, getting around can be difficult, especially if you do not know the language. Many points of interest are in the Old City, a twisting maze of alleys and self-styled streets that can change when a vendor decides to put up a stall, blocking an alley, or a house burns down, opening a new street. The easiest solution is to hire a dragoman, or guide. These guides generally know English and will work for negotiated rates, although most require 20 piastres a day in Cairo.



This message was last edited by the GM at 23:17, Tue 29 Jan 2019.

In reply to GM (msg # 1):

Gustav, definitely not accustomed to warm weather such as this, is starting to get uncomfortable in his suit. Moving to customs, he presented his badge, his assorted armaments (.45 revolver, .32 concealed revolver, shotgun, brass knuckles) and made arrangements to register in the American consulate. He also writes a letter to his superiors in New York, detailing his exploits (not the mythos) and requesting more time to fully conduct his investigation. He would also write a letter to his young cousin but this time, it will be full of inquiries about his health and his studies, he will also ask for more sausages and tell Gerhard that he will be in Cairo, Egypt and will send him an address as soon as possible.

He would also vouch for his party and would tell the customs that he is here on an official investigation and that these people are his companions.

At the American consulate, he will ask who will be the most trusted guide that they can hire going on to Cairo and beyond.

I inquiries about a man named Omar al-Shakti will also be made.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:11, Wed 30 Jan 2019.

After making appropriate preparations, Dermot consents to ride in style, buying first-class passage on all transports land and sea. After being struck by lightning, he feels the need for a vacation. Perhaps not in the manner of Gustav, that parody of a tourist; but a little relaxation is definitely in order. Not that Dermot's Irish pride would have it any other way. He is, after all, a successful businessman and adventurer. He spends the cruise eating well and conversing with seamen, keeping his pipe lit through the majority of each day. He ponders the cosmic import of the Ghoul's Manuscript he read previously, and considers himself to have achieved some basal understanding of an incantation within. Would he ever resort to attempting dubious dark magic of unknown consequence?

Once at port, he lets Gustav do all the talking his German tenacity requires him to do. In reality, he sees that we're in the linguistic wheelhouse of the scholar Johan. They don't have a particularly strong relationship, but Dermot's always found him to be level-headed, if perhaps superstitious. Though after all the party has been through, could any of them afford not to suspect macabre and violent presences lurking around every blind corner? Yes, Dermot Murphy is prepared to discover just how much Johan really knows about the strange, infinite world around them all.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:10, Wed 30 Jan 2019.

In reply to GM (msg # 1):

While Johan is pleased that his linguistic aptitude will no doubt be an asset to his colleagues, he wonders will a degree of trepidation what's around most any corners they come upon in this city. The things they have already seen in the so called civilized world...what sights will the ancient world bring? Although his mind is a bit more calm after the uneventful journey to this ancient land....and it is quite nice being away from that British weather....

Johan has the means and will use them to travel with a degree of accommodation that hopefully does not stand out too greatly but that mimics largely that of his friends.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:44, Thu 31 Jan 2019.

Asking around at the US Consulate, Gustav learns that Mr. Omar al-Shakti is a wealthy plantation owner, an honest citizen, an astute businessman of impeccable manners, and reputedly a lesser son of a fine family long powerful in Egypt. He speaks English fluently, as well as many other languages, including Mandarin Chinese. His home is in the small town of Gezira Mohammed, some 10 km north of Cairo along the west bank of the Nile, near his largest plantation.

As for guides, the consulate official shrugs. “Pick anyone but be careful. A lot of them are unsavory fellows, only looking to ambush you and steal your money.”

You board the noisy and crowed train to Cairo. The tracks from Port Said follow the route of the Suez Canal, with its first major stop at Qantara. At the 48-mile marker, the train turns inland and southwest to Ismailia, the home of a British garrison. After Ismailia, the train follows a major canal through the Wadi Tumilat. There is lush irrigated farmland on either side. However, the arid desert is not far beyond this. Then at last you see Cairo, glimmering through the growing dusk; a twinkling constellation which becomes a blaze as the train halts at the great Gare Centrale.

As soon as you step onto the platform, you are accosted by a crowd of men—some in Western-style suits, others in the traditional djellaba—all waving flyers for their favored hotel or guest house. One young man, distinctly taller and with a shock of unruly brown hair, approaches you; in contrast to most of the other barkers, he is very smartly turned out in Western clothing.

Bowing slightly, he addresses you in virtually flawless English; “Good day to you all, and welcome to Egypt. My name is Ibi Moussa. If you have yet to arrange your accommodation, may I suggest the Hotel du Sud? Please, permit me to take care of your luggage for you.”

Without waiting for you to reply, the well-dressed man motions for a gaggle of boys to grab your bags and, as a group, with Ibi at the head, they begin to set off into the confusion of the crowds.


This message was last edited by the GM at 15:17, Thu 31 Jan 2019.

In reply to GM (msg # 5):

“It seems a man of taste has found us directionless,” Dermot announces, half-seriously. <DarkBlue>“Let’s get after him, then, as there’s nothing for it.”

He trudges along after his luggage. Catching up to Ibi Moussa, he asks, <DarkBlue> “In the hotel business, are ye? The name’s
Murphy. I do my share of trading and traveling, but Cairo’s a new scene. Been in business here long?”

In reply to Dermot Murphy (msg # 6):

With a shrug, Rachel allowed one of Moussa's boys to carry off her bag to their ride.

"How is Cairo as of late? Can the hotel recommend us any guides while we are in Cairo?" Rachel asked, falling into step with Moussa & Dermot.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:46, Fri 01 Feb 2019.

In reply to GM (msg # 5):


Gustav shrugs.

'Well, as good as any I guess.'

Gustav, who grew up in and around New York, knows a thing or two about pickpockets and other sorts of shenanigans that separates men from their wallets. he whispers to everyone

'Careful with your money and passports. these are amateurs compared to the best of New York, but I wouldn't want to walk around Cairo with a missing passport or what else'

Gustav keeps an eye on his belongings, his luggage and his party.

You follow Ibi and the five boys carrying your luggage to the hotel. Attempts to engage him in conversation reveals that he seems to know very little English, apart from a few memorized phrases. He shrugs politely and smiles at your questions.

Standing in what must once have been a relatively prosperous area before the inhabitants moved on to bigger and better things, the Hotel du Sud has obviously seen better days. The paint is peeling, and the curtains faded, although the windows are clean, and the step freshly scrubbed. Overall, the guesthouse exudes an air of faded grandeur.

Inside the lobby, decorated in a style that hasn’t really been tasteful for the last 40 years or so, a slender, middle-aged woman of European extraction stands behind the reception desk. She is elegant, in a faded sort of way, with good quality clothes that have been carefully maintained over the years. Her sandy brown hair is kept fastened into a tight chignon, and a pair of spectacles perch on the bridge of her nose. She greets your arrival with a brittle smile and a “Bonjour!”.

Ibi introduces you to the woman as “honored guests.” Mme. Patenaude, the hotel’s manageress, proceeds to check you into your rooms, unless you object. Your luggage is by the desk alongside Ibi and the boys, who wait expectantly for a tip. If you decline, Mme. Patenaude sighs and Ibi looks forlorn.

Provided you accept the offer of bed and board made by Mme. Patenaude, Ibi shows you up to your rooms on the upper floors. Despite apparently being the only guests, your rooms are not adjacent to each other and two of the rooms are on a different floor.

The rooms are as tired-looking as the rest of the hotel, although they are very clean. Apart from a bed and a washstand, complete with porcelain bowl and jug, the only other pieces of furniture in each room are a wicker chair, a large wardrobe, a chest of drawers, and a bedside table on which sits a rather battered-looking electric lamp.

The noise from the street and the call of the muezzins to evening prayer is somewhat muted, but still audible.

The next morning, after a delicious breakfast at a nearby restaurant, you head back to the train station to find the French Embassy. There is already a long queue of Egyptians waiting outside, but the armed guards wave you all inside. Here you spend quite some time dealing with red tape and indifferent clerks, before finally learning that Warren Besart’s current address is listed as The Red Door, Street of Scorpions, in the Darb al-Ahmar (the Red Alley). The Red Alley is another bazaar located along the Sharia al-Muizz in the Old City.

The clerk you obtain this information from strongly suggests you hire a competent dragoman if you are going to the Old city. He calls over to a young man in his early twenties, who introduces himself as Saleem Naziz. Saleem is wearing the traditional djellaba and speaks English, French and German. “Salaam-Alaikum,” he smiles. “I will help you find this man.”

Saleem suggest that a tram would be the quickest. The trams connect many regions of the city, running at intervals of 6 or 12 minutes depending on the route. Each tram is numbered and color coded to make finding the proper route as easy as possible for the literate and illiterate alike. Most hotels also have a tram guide available for free. Saleem leads you to a waiting tram, and soon you are rattling through the sounds, sights and smells that are Cairo, eventually arriving at the Old City.

This is the true heart of Cairo, the section of the city where the traveler can experience all that it has to offer. Here are the bazaars and the craftsmen, the spice merchants and the animal sellers. Here there is a mosque on almost every corner and the call of the beggar is punctuated only by the call of the muezzin that summons the faithful to prayer five times a day. Storytellers ply their trade on most streets, surrounded by children and adults alike. They recite the ancient tales of heroes and djinn, of prophets and martyrs, of princesses and caliphs, and all for a sparse handful of coin. Water sellers move among the crowds carrying overflowing water jugs; some merely ask the traveler to drink in favor of the rich merchant that has paid for them to pass out the water in his hope of gaining favor with Allah, while others charge whatever they think the thirsty can pay.

Most of the streets in this quarter are too narrow for carriages or vehicles. The traffic is largely pedestrian, with the occasional donkey or mule carrying impossibly large loads pushing through the crowds. Shops spill out into the street, the wares for sale often occupying more space in the street than is possible inside the tiny cubicle that has been run by the vendor's family for ten generations or more. Friends of the stall keeper are invited to sit on cushions or stools alongside the shops; a boy is sent running to a nearby cafe to bring back thick strong coffee, and the argeeleh (or hookah) is lit and passed around. Women in the streets are usually covered from head to toe, their faces invisible behind opaque veils. The wealthy are accompanied by large bodyguards; the poor travel in groups for protection from infidels. Beggars and urchins ply their trade in most streets; small children make foot travel difficult by flocking around foreigners that are foolish enough to give money to anyone. Tourists may feel small hands searching in pockets, and any loose objects disappear into the throng of giggling faces. Serious robbery and assaults are rare but not unknown.

With the help of Saleem, you find the Street of Scorpions. The sole red door along the street opens into a clothing shop, but the owner, one Abou Udhreh, denies that Besart lives there.




This message was last edited by the GM at 15:55, Sat 02 Feb 2019.

Dermot hands over modest tips to any of the boys who approach him. At the desk, he asks for the best room available. He's still washing away the strains of conflict, even as he delves into the Mythos with new eyes. When he arrives at the proffered room, he squints at it in amused resignation. This'll have to do for now.

At the red door, Dermot asks whether this man knows any Besart at all.

At the hotel, Dermot ask for the top room and then squints at it when he gets there. "Guess that's it then,' he says as he puts away his clothes. He notices that the back of the closet seems very flimsy. It is easy to discover a sliding panel in the back of the wardrobe, which leads through the wall and into a wardrobe in a vacant room next door.

Suspecting some dodgy scheme, he keeps the majority of his money to hand, leaving a small sum in an obvious position on his bed as an experiment. Mentioning the wardrobe to the others, they all discover the same setup in their rooms.

At the Street of Scorpions, the shopkeeper fires of a string of rapid Arabic, which Saleem translates as having never heard of any 'Besart', nor ever having anything to do with foreigners.

[Johan, Gustav and Rachel; you can try Psychology here]
This message was last updated by the GM at 17:21, Sat 02 Feb 2019.

Johan, easily spotting the shopkeepers lies, barks a few choice words in Arabic, and the man shrugs and lifts the heavy curtain to the back room.

The room at the back of the shop is tiny, nearly filled by a foul bed, two filthy cushions, and a worm-eaten low table. A wreck of a man, presumably Besart, is lying on the bed, glaring up at his visitors with wild eyes. The smell from a hashish pipe fills the room.


This message was last edited by the GM at 18:32, Sun 03 Feb 2019.

In reply to GM (msg # 13):

Dermot addresses the shopkeeper. “Is he well?” As he assumes this man to be an ally, Dermot hopes Besart to be merely intoxicated with hashish.

Questioning this wreck of a man is also far from straightforward. The rambling, shambolic figure seems far distant to the authoritative agent hinted at in his letter to Carlyle. As he relates his story, his English alternates from precise to incomprehensible; sometimes he lapses into French or even gutter Arabic. Throughout, his voice is empty of emotion, as though his soul had long since fled. At other times he pauses to puff on a small, acrid-smelling pipe. Occasionally, Besart completely forgets what he is saying. Near the end of his tale, he begins to sweat profusely.

“A lawyer contacted me. I agreed to act as purchasing agent for Mr. Roger Carlyle of the United States, who was represented to me as a wealthy American. On written instructions from Mr. Carlyle, I purchased certain artifacts from Faraz Najir, an antiquities dealer, and illegally shipped them out of Egypt to Sir Aubrey Penhew in London. I know the artifacts were ancient, but nothing more.

When the Carlyle Expedition came to Egypt, I arranged for all their equipment and permits. Their main site was at Dhashur, in the area of the Bent Pyramid. One day at Dhashur, Jack Brady came to me and told me that Carlyle, Hypatia Masters, Sir Aubrey, and Dr. Huston had entered the Bent Pyramid and then vanished. Brady was excited and suspected foul play, since the diggers already had fled the site and work had come to a stand-still. We did not know what to do, so we drank.

The next morning, Carlyle and the others reappeared. They were excited by some tremendous find, but what it was, they would not say, nor did I learn, for Sir Aubrey was a fiend for secrecy. All of them had changed in some inexplicable way, and a way not for the better; I did not ask further.

That evening, an old Egyptian woman visited me. She said that her son had been one of the diggers. She said the diggers had fled because Carlyle and the others had consorted with an ancient evil, the Messenger of the Black Wind. She said that she could recognize that the souls of all the Europeans but Brady and myself were lost. If I wanted proof, I should go to the Collapsed Pyramid at Meidum at the time when the moon is slimmest—the night before the dark of the moon. God help me, I went!

I took one of the trucks, pretending to leave for a night in the pleasure quarter of Cairo. But instead I drove the twenty miles south to Meidum, and secreted myself where she advised. There in the midnight blackness I saw Carlyle and the others disport themselves in obscene rituals with a hundred madmen. The very desert came alive, crawling and undulating toward the ruins of the pyramid. To my horror, the stone ruins themselves became a skeletal, bulging-eyed thing! Strange creatures emerged from the sands, grasped the dancing celebrants, and, one by one, tore out their throats, killing all until only the Europeans and one other robed celebrant remained.

Something more loomed out of the sand, the size of an elephant but with five separate shaggy heads. Then I realized what it was—but it is madness to speak it! I saw it rise and in a great ravening swallow as one all the torn corpses and their hideous murderers, leaving alive only five people amidst the stench of the blood-soaked sands.

I fainted. When I recovered, I wandered into the desert. There further horrors awaited me. Stumbling up a rise before dawn, I saw beyond hundreds of dark sphinxes, rank upon rank drawn up and waiting for the hour of madness when they will spring to devour the world! I fainted again, and this time I left the world for many months.

A man found me; for two years he and his mother cared for me—me, a man mindless and returned, I came back to Cairo. But I began to dream! Only hashish helps now, or opium if it can be found. My supply is low again, and my life is intolerable without it. Will you gentlemen please contribute? Only strong drugs keep me from insanity. Everything, gentlemen, everything is lost. There is no hope for any of us. Everywhere they wait. Perhaps you will join me in a pipe?”


https://i.ibb.co/wBhKk9G/wer.jpg" data-lightbox="images-msg-15">https://i.ibb.co/wBhKk9G/wer.jpg" alt=''>

In reply to GM (msg # 15):

Johan does what he can to translate the parts of Besart's tale for his companions.

"Rest now my friend" (in Arabic).

Besart eagerly clutches the $50 that Dermot offers him and stuffs them under his mattress with a litany of thanks. "You have my eternal gratitude, Sir. This will dull my brain for a long time."

The Frenchman struggles to recall the name of the woman who warned him, then took him under her roof after his encounter with the army of sphinxes. Eventually, he remembers that she and her son lived in the town of Al Wasta, near Meidum, and that her name was Nuri. Al Wasta is around 120 km south of Cairo, a trip that will take most of a day by train, car, or steamer.


This message was last edited by the GM at 16:37, Mon 04 Feb 2019.

You leave the broken remains of Besart to his hashish, and Saleem leads you to the Street of Jackals. Unfortunately, once you find the street, you learn that Faraz Najjar’s former shop is now a burned-out, rubble strewn hole in the ground. Locals invoke Allah each time they pass the spot, and no one in this enormously crowded quarter wants to rebuild on the site. According to local gossip, five or six years before, a hideous demon descended on the shop and set it aflame.

However, all is not lost. As you question the shopkeepers on the Street of Jackals, you discover that, although his shop was destroyed, Faraz Najjar survived but was horribly burned. He has since opened a new shop in the Khan el-Khalili, an ancient marketplace off the Sharia al-Muizz. Liberal offerings of money help pry this information from the shopkeepers. Everyone you question speaks of Najjar in hushed tones, believing him to be cursed, and all make warding gestures against the evil eye whenever his name is mentioned.

You make your way to the Street of Potters. In the midst of a dozen pottery shops is a door and window clearly marked “Faraz Najjar” in Arabic, “Curios” in English, and “Magasin des Antiquités” in French. Several stories of tenements tower above. Pushing open the door reveals a store packed full of merchandise. There is a curtained door towards the rear of the premises.

The shopkeeper is portly, and badly scarred on one side of his face. He wears a traditional Arab djellaba and a turban. He hovers expectantly over the new arrivals, encouraging you to examine his “magnificent and ancient wares” more closely, all the while attempting to keep his scarred face turned away from you.


This message was last edited by the GM at 00:01, Tue 05 Feb 2019.

Najjar is obsequious and gracious to begin with, but at the first mention of demons, his eyes bulge and he begins to splutter and choke. He takes a beautiful jeweled scimitar from a case and shakes it at you, cursing loudly in Arabic about your relation to a diseased camel (كان والدك جمل مريض - no language roll required — his tone of voice is enough to convince everyone present that what he’s saying is far from pleasant or complimentary, even if you can’t make out the exact meaning).

Gustav says “No no, I don’t mean to cause trouble. I don’t believe it either. It’s just rumors. I have heard that you have the best curios in all of Cairo!”

But his pleas fall on deaf ears. Najjar runs to the doorway and shouts for help, crying out that these accursed foreigners are trying to rob him! A sullen, hot-eyed crowd of local residents appears almost instantly.

Gustav flashes his badge and states that he is a police officer, but that seems to incite the crowd even more. They close in on you, muttering and cursing...


This message was last edited by the GM at 20:57, Tue 05 Feb 2019.

With a mix of honeyed Arabic words, a persuasive tone, and a large sum of coins, Johan manages to defuse the situation somewhat. The crowd eventually disperses, but some remain outside the shop, glaring at you.

Najjar wraps up a tacky statue of Bast that you have somehow managed to buy, and says in a low voice. “I cannot talk here. I will go for tea and prayer at the al-Hussein Mosque in an hour. You can meet me there if you wish.”

Najjar meets you at the side of the mosque and leads you through several short hallways to a quiet room. According to Najjar, Roger Carlyle sought information about the Black Pharaoh, whose reign was supposedly ended by Sneferu, the first pharaoh of the Fourth Dynasty. Najjar had come into possession of a number of items related to the Black Pharaoh, which he offered to Carlyle through his agent, Warren Besart. Even though he’d done work for Besart many times before then, he has not spoken to the Frenchman since he handed over the artifacts and does not know where he can be found.

Amongst the items he sold to Besart were an ancient scroll detailing the entrance to a hidden room in an unnamed pyramid, within which the Black Pharaoh was supposedly entombed; a bust of the Black Pharaoh, a small drum (a tambour) bearing odd symbols supposedly of mystical power; and a strange circlet set with a large zircon, which was said to be the crown of the Black Pharaoh and the key to his triumph over death.

Inquiring about the artifacts, Najjar eventually admits that he stole them from the house of one Omar al-Shakti, a local businessman. Najjar had heard rumors about the existence of such items after Warren Besart approached him on Roger Carlyle’s behalf. It wasn’t until later that he discovered that al-Shakti was also involved with the Brotherhood of the Black Pharaoh in Egypt. He’d heard of the cult but never believed in such nonsense until they came after him and a terrible demon burned his shop.

While he does his best to stay away from the Brotherhood, Najjar claims that fresh rumors have reached him that the cult was involved in the recent theft of a mummy from the Clive Expedition, which is currently digging at Memphis. This expedition is sponsored by the Penhew Foundation.

Najjar has also heard that the Brotherhood wants an item located in the Mosque of Ibn Tulun, but he does not know what it is or why the Brotherhood wants it. It can’t be for any noble purpose, that’s for sure.

“If you really want to know more on occult matters related to the Black Pharaoh and his cult, I suggest that you seek out an old wise woman called Nuri. She lives in the town of El Wasta, close to the pyramid at Meidum. I am fairly certain that her son also worked for the Carlyle Expedition during their time in the region, although the man’s name escapes me.”
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:21, Wed 06 Feb 2019.

In reply to GM (msg # 21):

Gustav is relieved, that situation with the mob could have easily cost his life and the life of his companions. Gustav will take it easy for now and let the more... diplomatic ones in the group to lead.

Gustav will also start to look for clothing appropriate to the local crowds of Cairo.

"No fancy shiny jewellery outside the costumes OK? if I learned anything from my time as an undercover cop from Red Hook, is that you gotta look the part first and foremost. we'll try to blend in as much as possible from the outside."

You book passage on the Thomas Cook & Son Nile steamer Thebes. It departs from Cairo in the morning and will take three days to reach the province of Beni Suef.

It is a leisurely trip, with stops on the way to visit Memphis, Sakkara, and Minya. The steamer carries 48 passengers in relative luxury, ranging from earnest students of archaeology and history to the idle rich bored with the night life of Cairo, from the highly placed government officials entertaining visitors to Egypt to the nearly bankrupt gamblers attempting to make their fortune at the roulette wheels each night.

On the third day, you finally dock at Al Wasta. It is not so much a village as it is a large area dotted with small farms and houses. On arrival, asking around identifies that there are too many Nuris in town for that name to be significant. The right Nuri is almost impossible to find without adequate Arabic and a systematic search. Careful questioning in Arabic throughout town, mentioning the fact that the Nuri you are seeking once looked after a foreign guest for a prolonged period a few years ago, at last leads you to a tiny hovel, where you find the woman you are searching for.

As you ask around for Nuri, you learn that her son, Ubaid, died last year. Apparently, he just wandered into the Nile and drowned himself. His right arm and shoulder and the right side of his face had been gouged away by some unknown beast, and his mind damaged.

Nuri looks extremely old. Her jaw and both of her hands have been burned away. As soon as you enter the hovel, her eyes light up. She makes awful gurgling noises, and points with her stumps to a corner of the hut.




This message was last edited by the GM at 14:01, Fri 08 Feb 2019.

Dermot asks Saleem to make the proper and polite greetings. He assumes that Nuri wants you to sit down. Nuri shakes her ruined head as you begin to sit down. She once again gestures to the corner of the hut. In the corner, amidst blankets, pots, and other brica-brac, is a rush basket painted with a red symbol.

Dermot looks from the basket to Saleem. “Is she... offering us food? Or does she want us to examine the basket?” Saleem looks freaked out by Nuri. He shakes his head. "I do not know, sir."

Dermot reaches out a hand as if to touch the basket, and looks inquiringly back at Nuri, who nods. Dermot casts a sweeping glance at the party that says something like “here goes nothing”. He’s slightly unsettled but he’s no pansy. Within the basket is an 18 × 23 cm slab of white stone several inches thick. Its irregular edges make it apparent that it was broken from a larger piece of worked stone. On its surface is inscribed a strange symbol which appears to be remarkably similar to the Eye of Horus combined with, possibly, the head of an inverted ankh.

Nuri silently pleads for Dermot to take the stone. Dermot gazes into those pleading eyes for several long seconds. Then he reaches in to take the shard and shows it to the rest of the group.

Rachel studies the stone. The incisions are many centuries old, and such limestone was used as a facing on many pyramids. Examining the stone in greater detail reveals yet more information. The stone fragment is not white or even creamy white but has a pinkish cast—a facing color used only on the Red Pyramid at Dahshur, as any good Egyptologist knows. The fragment is half of a warding symbol that is sometimes worked into the capstone of a pyramid. This ward is known as the Eye of Light and Darkness.

As you examine the stone, Nuri seems to have fallen asleep on her reed bed. Gustav moves over to check on the old woman. She is dead...

Dermot covers her face with some cloth and crosses himself. Saleem mutters a prayer in Arabic. “Amen to that,” says Dermot, not understanding Arabic. “The Blessed Mother guide your tortured soul.”

https://i.ibb.co/FXKsqny/hjg.jpg" data-lightbox="images-msg-24">https://i.ibb.co/FXKsqny/hjg.jpg" alt=''>

You leave the village and decide to head back to Cairo. At the train station, two Egyptian men seem to observe your every action. They also get on the train, on second class. Dermot spots one of them wearing a small inverted ankh symbol around his neck.

In your first-class cabin, you discuss how to deal with your new problem and decide to hop off at the next stop. This is at the village of El-Aiat, on the banks of the Nile. A few people get off at the station, including you - and your two shadows. They hang back and mingle with the dozen or so people here, covertly glancing in your direction.

You wander down the dusty streets of the small village, looking for a qahwa (small coffee shop) and soon locate it. From the outside it is drab and unannounced; inside it is tiled with Arabic calligraphy in the Fatimid style in bright and vibrant colors. A central courtyard filled by a large spreading tree gives a sense of calm and greenness to the whole establishment. Fragrant sawdust on the dirt floor absorbs the inevitable spills and the thrown coffee grounds before the cup is refilled.

On the counter at the back of the main room the large brass sarabantina (similar to a modem espresso machine) heats the water for the coffee. It is polished to a high gloss and is the pride and joy of the owner as it belches steam into the air. The continuous bubble of water acts to hide the exact words of conversations; many illegal acts are planned near the main counter, but only lip-readers are privy to the secrets. Here, over sweets and tiny cups of thick Turkish coffee, pleasantries are exchanged, gossip spread, and jokes told. Here also are the games of chance and skill, from checkers and the Egyptian game of rnankalch, to cards (kutschina), backganunon (tawla, or tric-trac), and dominoes.

The proprietor (qahwagi) sits at a large table near the door, greeting all who enter and scowling at the day's crime figures in the local newspaper. He looks up in surprise as you enter, unused to European visitors. Saleem greets him politely and explains that you merely wish to sample his famous coffee. He grins and shows you to a corner table. The other patrons of the qahwa gawk at you as you sit down.

https://i.ibb.co/Mkt3ywb/1870-...ers-coffee-house.jpg " data-lightbox="images-msg-25">https://i.ibb.co/Mkt3ywb/1870-...ers-coffee-house.jpg " alt=''>
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:01, Sat 09 Feb 2019.

In reply to GM (msg # 25):

As Rachel and Johan head over to the counter with Saleem, Dermot confers with Gustav. They take up a post near the door, across from our corner table, such that you’d need to look one direction for the table and roughly the opposite direction for the two of us. Assuming a casual air, Dermot leans against the wall and makes small talk with Gustav.

“So I say to her, I say, ‘That’s a cute hoor, chattin up the knackered lad for a bite and a pint, but he’ll think you’re a floozie if ye don’t get a move on!”

Johan and Rachel take a seat. Moments later, the two men enter cautiously. Gustav discreetly aims his gun at them and motions them towards the table. They look surprised - even more so when Dermot also produces his gun, which he promptly drops. It clatters loudly to the floor, landing at the feet of the coffee-shop owner. All eyes are on Dermot.

Dermot clears his throat. “Saleem, please announce to the fine patrons of this establishment that all food and beverages will be on me for the next hour.” Keeping his eyes on the two, he squats down slowly and retrieves his Webley.

The two men sit down at the table with you. They both seem unconcerned with the situation. One is middle-aged, with a grey beard, the other a younger man, with one milky dead eye. "Been having a nice stroll, have we?” chides Dermot. “Exploring Egypt by train? Wonderful weather, once you account for hundreds of miles of dry barren wasteland. Or maybe you had another purpose?".

Rachel pulls out a knife, but after a moment’s hesitation puts it away again, while Gustav goes in police mode, addressing the middle-aged man with two simple questions. “Who sent you? Why are you following us?” He aims his gun directly at the man’s crotch.

Saleem translates the questions into Arabic. All eyes in the coffeehouse are still on your table, and the room has fallen silent, apart from the bubbling of the sarabantina.

The middle-aged man smiles and leans back in his chair. He speaks in Arabic, which Saleem translates; “You talked to the old woman, and now she is dead. You are all very nosy, and you will pay the price.”

He raises his voice to address the entire room and speaks in Arabic. "Qutil hula' alnaas , 'aw al ikhwan sayamisu hadhihi al qaryat min al tarikh!" The men at the tables turn pale and then slowly and reluctantly begin to get up. Some draw knives and one pulls an old pistol from his djellaba.

Saleem gulps. “He just said – Kill these people, or the Brotherhood will erase this village from history!”
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:12, Sun 10 Feb 2019.

In reply to GM (msg # 27):

Looking around, Rachel slid her hand into her messenger bag, finding the hilt of her knife. She frowned, as Gustav asked his questions-- how was he sure the man could understand him? Nevertheless, the questions did coerce some form of a reaction from the man--and a cold chill fell over Rachel as out of the corner of her eye, she saw the patrons of the place slowly turn towards them, rising up and pulling out weapons.

She stood up to head out, but the next thing she heard were three shots fired, and blood splattering allover the table as Dermot fired three rounds into the younger man. Looking down, she saw blood gurgling from the holes the bullets made, and without thinking, Rachel drew her knife and tried to stab at the man to finish him off quickly.

[09:20, Today: Rachel Katz rolled 48 using 1d100.  Brawl (Knife).
Used 3 luck to make it a success]

In reply to Rachel Katz (msg # 28):

Gustav was setting up the middle aged man for a chat when he suddenly heard Mr. Murphy discharge his weapon and Ms. Katz attempting to shiv the younger one. With alertness and alacrity honed through the years as a police officer in Red Hook, Gustav interpret this signal in a millisecond before he burst out 3 rapid shot of his own against the middle aged man. In one swift motion, Gustav stood up and aimed his revolver menacingly at the crowd with a gun.

"Would you dare?"

realising his language, he then told Saleem to translate.

"better not get involved with the brotherhood's business" in the most threatening tone Gustav can offer.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:03, Mon 11 Feb 2019.

Looking around, Rachel slid her hand into her messenger bag, finding the hilt of her knife. She frowned, as Gustav asked his questions-- how was he sure the man could understand him? Nevertheless, the questions did coerce some form of a reaction from the man--and a cold chill fell over Rachel as out of the corner of her eye, she saw the patrons of the place slowly turn towards them, rising up and pulling out weapons.

Dermot immediately pulls the trigger of his Webley and fires a round into the younger man. There is a click as the second round jams in the gun.

As Rachel stands up to leave, the next thing she heard is a shot fired, and blood splattering all over the table as Dermot shoots the younger man. Looking down, she sees blood gurgling from the hole the bullet made, and without thinking, Rachel draws her knife and stabs at the cultist to finish him off quickly. The blade plunges into his neck, and he collapses over the table.

Gustav was setting up the middle-aged man for a chat when he suddenly heard Mr. Murphy discharge his weapon and Ms. Katz stabbing her knife into the younger one. With alertness and alacrity honed through the years as a police officer in Red Hook, Gustav interpret this signal in a millisecond before he burst out 3 rapid shot of his own against the middle-aged man. In one swift motion, Gustav stands up and aims his revolver menacingly at the crowd.

"Would you dare?" Realizing his language, he then told Saleem to translate. "Better not get involved with the Brotherhood's business" in the most threatening tone Gustav can offer.

Shocked at the sudden display of savage violence, the patrons of the coffeehouse slowly sit down again. The proprietor approaches the table and bows his head respectfully. With a shaky voice, he speaks in Arabic, translated by Saleem. “Please good people. I beg of you, leave. We will dispose of these men so that they will never be found. Our village must be safe.”

In reply to GM (msg # 30):

Dermot makes a similar gesture of respect and says, through Saleem, "I'm sorry for violating your fine establishment with blood. Go and do as ye say, quickly and thoroughly. Please accept this meager restitution for your trouble."

Dermot, ATM that he is, pulls out another $50 and hands it to the proprietor.

"Friends, I believe we'd better catch the next train."

The next morning you head to the famous Egyptian Museum, a staggering storehouse of Egyptian antiquities. It is not far from the Nile and the Kasr el-Nil Bridge. The building’s large ochre dome is a prominent landmark in the city. This former palace houses an ever-growing collection of everything precious to the Egyptian past, and is open to visitors from 9 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. The museum has a large collection of Egyptian occult material, much of it hieroglyphics on papyrus scrolls.

Rachel asks for Dr. Kafour’s office and you are shown there. Dr. Ali Kafour is a short and thin older man, who has never lost his love for the occult. When he grows excited in conversation, his excess energy spills out as a characteristic set of fidgety movements. He stands from behind his cluttered desk and greets Rachel with a smile. “Ah, Ms. Katz! Delightful to finally meet you in person. Please, take a seat. You gentlemen as well. Now, how can I help you?”

In reply to Dr. Kafour (msg # 32):

"Dr. Kafour!" Rachel greeted, extending a hand for him to shake and engaging in small talk with regard to the current trends in the antique trading world.

"We do not wish to waste your precious time--we are here gathering information about the Clive Expedition...among other things. But we can start with that. What do you know of it?"

“Hmmm, well. Let’s see. It is of course lead by Dr. Henry Clive. He has four associates with him. There used to be another team member, a Dutchman, but I believe he was let go for some reason. They are financed by the Penhew Foundation, and Dr. Clive and his party have been in Egypt for the last five months or so. They are currently excavating at Memphis, having left the Giza plateau following the theft of a mummy of an unknown female from Mycerinus’ pyramid, the smallest of the three Great Pyramids.”

Dr. Kafour adds that several authorities have speculated that the mummy is that of Queen Nitocris, a mysterious figure of the Sixth Dynasty. However, before tests could be carried out or the mummy unwrapped, the heavy sarcophagus and its contents disappeared, much to the bewilderment of all concerned. Considerable efforts by the police have turned up no leads. The site was well guarded and only one entrance to the secret chamber existed.

According to Dr. Kafour, the unidentified mummy recently stolen from the Clive Expedition at Giza was undoubtedly the remains of that beautiful and evil ruler. She had been buried alive, but no trace of her was found until the Clive Expedition uncovered a secret room in the smallest of the Great Pyramids. How or why she was stolen he does not know, but he thinks that the theft relates to the prophesied return of the Black Pharaoh.

Dr. Kafour also believes that the Carlyle Expedition uncovered a secret pertaining to a sorcerer called the Black Pharaoh and that the discovery somehow led to their slaughter in Kenya. Sir Aubrey Penhew had long studied the Black Pharaoh, and Kafour and Penhew had discussed the topic several times and traded information about that subtle presence.

When last he came to Egypt six years ago, Sir Aubrey did not seek out Kafour, and when Kafour visited the expedition dig near Dahshur, Sir Aubrey rudely rebuffed him. Kafour vividly recalls marked changes in Sir Aubrey—physically the man seemed younger, and emotionally he was withdrawn, aloof, and curiously malicious.

“I can tell you of the Black Pharaoh if you wish?” he adds.


This message was last edited by the player at 15:52, Tue 12 Feb 2019.

At the end of the Third Dynasty, a man known as Nephren-Ka came to Egypt. Nephren-Ka was a powerful sorcerer; he brought madness and death to his enemies at the flick of a finger. The stories say that he came from an ancient city in the deserts of Arabia, whose name was Irem, the City of Pillars. This place is mentioned in Al Azif. All who knew of it held it in dread.

Nephren-Ka revived the worship of an old, foul god: the Black Pharaoh. Soon Nephren-Ka and that god were interchangeable in the minds of the people, and the sorcerer became known as the Black Pharaoh. Now, no one can distinguish between their deeds and legends. For many years, the Black Pharaoh fought with Zoser’s successors of the Third Dynasty for control of the land; so great was the power of the Black Pharaoh that no record of them now remains. For a time, Nephren-Ka ruled the Nile and its peoples. At last Sneferu rose and founded the Fourth Dynasty and, with the aid of the goddess Isis, thwarted the evil magic and slew Nephren-Ka.

Remarkably, a pyramid was built at Meidum, by Sneferu’s command, to contain the sorcerer’s body. Kafour speculates that this, perhaps, insulated Egypt from the still-potent magic within the corpse; however, the Meidum pyramid collapsed and a second, which was already under construction, was hurriedly repurposed. This second pyramid is now known as the Bent Pyramid at Dahshur. Records imply that Nephren-Ka’s corpse was removed from Meidum and placed within the Bent Pyramid, but exploration of the site has discovered no trace, despite rumors of a hidden chamber within. Another pyramid at Dahshur, the Red Pyramid, is also attributed to Sneferu; this pyramid is said to guard Dahshur, lest Nephren-Ka rise from the dead.

Upon his triumph, Sneferu ordered all traces of the Black Pharaoh stricken from the land. Nevertheless, worshippers of the Black Pharaoh remained and schemed for the evil one’s return. In time, the worshippers were driven south, out of Egypt and into the hideous swamps beyond the Sudan. In the Sixth Dynasty, the cruel Queen Nitocris was thought to be in league with a new cult of the Black Pharaoh; though the proof of this is subjective, Dr. Kafour believes it to be true. In an aside, Dr. Kafour casually mentions that the Black Pharaoh is sometimes called by the name Nyarlathotep.

Some say the Black Pharaoh was one of a pantheon of abominable deities more ancient than the gods of Egypt. These old gods were utterly inhuman and dedicated to chaos and madness.

• Nephren-Ka was said to possess a huge beast, of which the Sphinx at Giza is but a small, inaccurate representation.
• The voice of Nephren-Ka is said to have been carried throughout the land upon a black wind, a wind which destroyed at his whim.
• One prophecy implies that the Black Pharaoh will arise “fingers and toes after the Great Good One,” a reference which many have taken to mean 20 centuries after Jesus. A new age then begins, destined to end the dominance of mankind, and bringing “freedom” and “stark truth” to the Black Pharaoh’s followers.
• Man-like but inhuman worshippers of the Black Pharaoh were said to lurk underground in the deserts, occasionally waylaying innocent passersby.
• The Great Sphinx at Giza is said to have had an important function in hideous rituals held by Queen Nitocris.

Dr, Kafour believes the Black Pharaoh and Nephren-Ka existed, as do the pantheon of gods of which the Black Pharaoh was a part. He calls these entities the “Outer Gods,” and says they are led by the demon sultan Azathoth. Dr. Kafour has seen servitors of these gods in the desert, and knows for a fact that the Brotherhood of the Black Pharaoh exists in present-day Egypt, though he knows nothing of its organization, leadership, or activities. He also suspects that worship of the Black Pharaoh is growing in other parts of Africa. For example, he has heard of a cult, called the Bloody Tongue, in Britain’s Kenya Colony. The cult worships a monstrous god, which he believes is another aspect of the Black Pharaoh.


This message was last edited by the player at 17:12, Tue 12 Feb 2019.

As Dr. Kafour describes the dark secrets of Egypt, Gustav interjects and respectfully asks dr. Kafour about Omar al-Shakti.

The doctor nods and shoos his pet cat down from a shelf, where it has been watching proceedings with interest.

"A very wealthy and influential man. I have no doubts he is somehow connected with the Brotherhood. You would be wise to watch your step around him. I said as much to Mr. Elias when we met."


This message was last edited by the player at 21:01, Tue 12 Feb 2019.

In reply to Dr. Kafour (msg # 36):

"Why should we watch our step around Omar al-Shakti? Have you met him yourself? What sort of business does he run?" Rachel pressed. After a moment, she added, "Is there anything else you can tell me about Sir Penhew?"

Johan does a double-take as Dr. Kafour casually mentions the ‘Al-Azif’. He recognizes the name as another name for the dread Necronomicon, written by the mad Arab Abdul Al-Hazred (Abd al-Azrad). Only four copies of this blasphemous book are rumored to still exist. This would be another, hereto unknown copy, and its value would be immense.

Dr. Kafour always respected Sir Aubrey Penhew (who he now believes to be dead), as well as director Edward Gavigan, and the efforts of the Penhew Foundation in London. However, since Sir Aubrey’s death, there have been ten Foundation expeditions to Egypt, and among them there have been at least 20 deaths, numerous disappearances, several suicides, and one certified case of madness. Most have followed the same pattern of paranoid secrecy, erratic excavation, and bizarre incident that was set by the Carlyle Expedition.

You guardedly reveal a few short descriptions of what you have encountered so far. Johan watches the professor carefully as he listens. The man seems genuinely interested and not at all shocked by your stories, nodding often and scribbling notes.

“You have certainly done great deeds already!” Dr. Kafour says. “If what you say is true – and I have no reason to doubt this – the Carlyle Expedition got involved in some very dark magic and met with a terrible fate. It feels as if various shadowy entities are gathering their forces for some sort of cataclysmic event. What it could be, we can only speculate.”

He leans back in his chair and takes a sip of tea. “I am an old man and I cannot leave Cairo, but if I can offer assistance in any reasonable way, it would be my pleasure. I have a few contacts here in the city that might prove useful.”

‘If you are curious about the Clive Expedition, they are currently at Memphis. As for Mr. Al-Shakti, I have heard rumours about people going missing or dying of mysterious diseases after crossing him. He is careful to keep a benign public persona, but I sense corruption behind the mask.”

Asked to elaborate on his extensive knowledge of the Mythos, Dr. Kafour looks uneasy and hesitates before answering.

“Back when I was a young man, I was one of the guides on an expedition to the Rub' al Khali desert – the Empty Quarter. We were looking for Iram of the Pillars, the Nameless City, and to my sorrow, we found it. We descended to the tunnels under that lost city in search of knowledge, but instead found crawling horrors and burrowing monsters. Many died and many more were driven mad. I was one of the only ones to make it out alive, although I can never sleep easy at night, knowing the truths I learned there…

I carried with me some ancient scrolls I found, and took them to this very museum to get them read. I found others like me, who knew the truth of the universe – and I have worked here ever since, to learn more of these uncaring Gods and their designs on this world.”

Asked who these other people are, Dr. Kafour smiles slightly. “You will forgive me if I do not mention names at this early stage. One must be careful these days. Some are here in the museum, others around Cairo – and even some outside of Egypt. I would however urge you to visit a friend of mine in relation to your mission; the nazir, or holy man, at the Mosque of Ibn Tulun. You mentioned this place from your meeting with Mr. Najjar, and how the Brotherhood are hoping to obtain something from there.”

Dermot produces the stone you got from old Nuri and shows it to Dr. Kafour. "What can ye tell us about this symbol, this shard?” asks Dermot. “We acquired it recently under strange circumstances, and we suspect it holds some clue that could be vital to our mission."

The professor leans forward and studies the stone with interest. “A part of a capstone. From a red pyramid. Hmm… the symbol seems familiar. A protective sign of some power, I think. I would need to consult some of my resources. Can you leave it with me? Or allow me to take a rubbing of it?”

https://i.ibb.co/FXKsqny/hjg.jpg" data-lightbox="images-msg-40">https://i.ibb.co/FXKsqny/hjg.jpg" alt=''>

In reply to Dr. Kafour (msg # 40):

Dermot nods to Dr. Kafour. "A rubbing will do nicely, Doctor. We appreciate your help."

Dermot feels this is a man who can be trusted. Not that Dermot trusts anyone completely. He allows the historian to take his time making the rubbing. Afterward, he returns the fragment to his pocket (or whatever the equivalent in Egyptian garb).

Regarding his companions, Dermot makes a suggestion. "Well then, what do ye say we pay this holy man a visit?"

The mosque is about a kilometer due west of the Citadel of Saladin, and near due south of the Ezbekiya Gardens. The windswept wilderness of the City of the Dead begins less than a kilometer south of the mosque. The easiest way for you to get there is by hired car, which Salaam easily arranges.

The oldest complete mosque in the city of Cairo, Ibn Tulun is less ornate than many of Cairo’s later holy places. Traditional mosque design imitates the courtyard of Mohammed’s house in Medina, where the prophet first taught. Originally, Ibn Tulun was a walled court, open to the sky, with shade along several sides; however, since the middle of the 19th century the mosque has been converted and used as an asylum for the infirm and insane, rather than as a place of worship. This is evidenced by the shrieks and wails coming from within the building.

The nazir, Ahmed al-Dhahabi, is a busy man with a lot on his mind, and is uninterested in chatting with “tourists and gawkers,” whether they are local, foreign, Christian, or Muslim (or anyone else, for that matter). He is reluctant to see visitors but when you mention Dr. Kafour, one of the holy men leads you to a building adjacent to the mosque, which the old scholar uses as an office away from the noise and insanity of the asylum. al-Dhahabi has a lined and careworn face framed by a long, white beard. He wears a traditional white taqiyah (skull cap). He frowns at the presence of a woman at this holy place, but does not pursue it further.

“How can I help you?” he asks in Arabic.




This message was last edited by the GM at 17:42, Sat 16 Feb 2019.

In reply to GM (msg # 42):

(In Arabic) "I assure you we are many things, but we are not tourists.  We come at the suggestion of Dr. Kafour.  He says that you are a man who is wise, can be trusted and that might be knowledgeable in certain areas.  Is there somewhere private we can talk?"

The nazir nods. “This office is safe. No one can hear us. Here we spend our time meditating on the wisdom of the Prophet and guarding the secrets of the past. Tell me, why should I help you?”

In reply to GM (msg # 44):

Dermot doesn't know the precise manner of address for this religious figure, but he forges ahead in a serious tone.

"It seems, sir, that there here in the desert lies a growing threat to our world. We seek to extinguish an ancient evil of legend which is steadily rising toward a renewed reign of horrible darkness. Have ye heard of the Black Pharoah and his Brotherhood?"

Saleem translates for Dermot, and something in the smuggler’s tone seems to resonate with the old cleric.

“We are of course aware of these infidels,” he sighs. “They recently attacked this very mosque, seeking a relic that we have been guarding for millennia. Our brave warriors were able to drive them off with little effort. The Girdle is safely guarded from all comers. The evil ones shall not have it. In’shallah.”

In reply to GM (msg # 46):

"I'm glad to hear they caused you no extreme difficulty. If I might be nosey, what is this Girdle you speak of? We'd heard the cult was after something here, but we know nothing more."

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
Note to self: remember to ask about cult tactics and to show him the fragment.

---

This message was last edited by the player at 03:11, Mon 18 Feb 2019.

“It is the Girdle of Nitocris,” replies the nazir. “Worn by that evil Queen herself. It is said that when she wears all of her regalia, the Crown, the Necklace and the Girdle, she will walk the earth again. This will never happen!”

The old man stands from behind his desk, with a proud look in his eyes. “In fact, I will show you! Come, my friends. Come and meet our holy warriors, who guard the Girdle day and night!”

The Girdle rests beneath Ahmed al-Dhahabi’s office in a guarded cellar. The only entry is through an iron door at the back of the office, which is kept locked at all times. Behind the door, stairs lead down 25 feet (7.5 m). Here, it is cool and dry; the very conditions which have preserved so much of Egypt’s heritage. The nazir leads you down the stairs, which end at another locked iron door. Beyond is a bare room, 20×15×10 feet high (6×4.5×3 m), with walls of thick stone. A small chest sits in the center of the room.

Six men, all old and all armed with scimitars, sit or lie in alcoves along the wall, but they spring to attention as you arrive. The nazir explains that the lives of these men have concluded except in their zeal for Allah. Here, shut off from the world above, they testify, expound, and contemplate, waiting for death or a final chance to prove the temper of their faith.

Nessim Efti, 90 years old and the chief of the guards, stands ready with the Sword of Akmallah, an enormous scimitar, to defend the Girdle, or die trying.

In reply to GM (msg # 49):

Dermot is taken aback by the advanced age of the guarding force. He keeps a straight face ad he searches for a tactful way to satisfy his curiosity. He gives a slight bow in another attempt to imitate Saleem's gestures of respect.

"These men must be great in valor to hold off the cult forces. Tell me, did they not employ any supernatural measures in their invasion here?"

This latter question is directed more toward the chief guard, though he's happy to hear a response from the nazir alternatively.

Saleem is in the middle of translating Dermot’s question, when suddenly there is a great rending sound, and a tear appears in the very air above the chest. Impossibly, an enormous ropy and winged being appears from the crack and hovers below the ceiling, almost filling the room with its bulk.

It is a great viperlike creature, which has a curiously distorted head, and grotesquely great clawed appendage. It is supporting itself with ease by the aid of black rubbery wings of singularly monstrous dimensions.

It speaks in an unknown language with a great harsh voice, as the old men cry out in alarm and draw their swords…

[SAN roll please; 0/1D10]

In reply to GM (msg # 51):

At the appearance of this hideous beast of shadows, Dermot Murphy has finally seen too much. Deep within his fracturing psyche, Dermot catches a glimmer of the truth of the universe. Time and space seem to simultaneously unravel and contract around him. Behind the fragile mask of this apparent universe lie energies and entities too hideous for any whole human mind to comprehend and remain whole. Dermot's sight begins to blur as he staggers backward, weeping softly but openly.

Nearly falling over backward, his mental vision comes to a focus, of sorts. Dermot knows what he must do. Everything in this world is a sham. No one can be trusted. Nothing is real.

EVERYONE MUST DIE.

These thoughts are his own, and yet not his own. At least, not those of the Dermot Murphy he thought he knew, who clearly can't exist as he thought he did. Sweet oblivion he judges to be the only action now. He will cleanse this place of a handful of fakes and lies.

Dermot levels his gun at the second in a line of guards whose backs are turned, they facing this horrible and clarifying beast from another plane. He prepares to gun down a man he's never spoken to, and never will speak to.

In reply to GM (msg # 51):

Johan grabs a torch from the wall and moves toward the horror before him, point the light of the flame before him with as much of pace as he can muster.

Johan screams "mashael!...TORCHES!!!  Grab a torch!"

Rachel felt her heart sink to her stomach as a great, writhing creature rose above them. At Johan's screaming, she took a step towards the nearest torch she could find, but not before noticing that Dermot had a strangely calm look on his face. She saw him raise his gun towards one of the men.

Ah, shit! Someone else would have to take the torch. Rachel ran towards Dermot, trying to wrench the gun away from him.

12:34, Today: Rachel Katz rolled 40 using 1d100. Fighting Brawl. Regular Success.

Three guardians slash with their swords at the monster. Two misses, and the other powerful blow fails to even damage it. There is an audible snap as the man held by the monster's tail has his legs broken

Johan waves the torch at the hovering beast and it recoils ever so slightly from the light, but otherwise there is no effect.

Dermot manages to free his knife hand but instead of striking Rachel, he stabs himself during the melee (losing 5 hp).

Nessim, the old guardian, lifts his sword, almost as tall as himself, and brings it down on the monster. It screeches as the scimitar wounds it badly, and angrily bites the head off another guardian.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:10, Tue 19 Feb 2019.

Crap. Rachel stared as Dermot took out a knife--and proceeded to stab himself. A quick glance at the creature told her that it was preoccupied at the moment, but they didn't have much time.

"Gustav! Johan!" Rachel shouted as she decided that Dermot could be handled more easily if he had a knife stuck to his leg. Grabbing his arms best she could, she tried to drag him towards the staircase.


07:47, Today: Rachel Katz rolled 71 using 1d100. Fighting Brawl.FAIL

In reply to GM (msg # 55):

Gustav, surprisingly, was not surprise by a sudden entity that flew in and swept inwards, attacking the old guards. In fact, He has seen some illustrations of this monster and the memory filled his mind during that long voyage from New York to London. He instinctively knew that it is weak against sources of light.

As he was about to grab a torch, he heard Ms. Katz shout both of him and Johan's names, then turning to see her trying to wrestle a knife away from Mr. Murphy as he plunged the knife deep in himself.

Flashbacks of a time in London where the memories are still fresh when Gustav set his revolver on Ms. Katz, Gustav acted fast and pulled his brash knuckle to knock out his friend. Due to the confusion, he might have missed and proceeded to help Ms. Katz dragged the deranged Mr. Murphy out of the room. Grabbing Saleem as well.

'Johan! We have to run!'

Wisely deciding that discretion is the better part of valor, you grab Saleem and the cursing Dermot and quickly retreat from the room, closing the door behind you. There are a few more moments of screeching and screaming, and then only silence.

As you cautiously open the door again to peek inside, you see a scene that most closely resembles an abattoir. The walls and floor are red with blood and the bodies of five dead warriors. There is no sign of Essim Efti, his mighty sword – or the small chest that rested in the middle of the room…

You eventually manage to calm Dermot down and stop the bleeding from his wound. The nazir, who ran away when the Hunting Horror appeared, cautiously returns to the stairway again and looks in shock at the blood-spattered room.

“Allah be merciful!" he cries. "The winged djinn has taken the Girdle and slain my warriors. All is lost! Nitocris will walk the earth again.” He leans against the cold stone wall and weeps. “Go home to your loved ones. Spend time with them, for soon darkness will cover the land.”


This message was last edited by the GM at 15:30, Mon 25 Feb 2019.

In reply to GM (msg # 59):

Once Dermot is snapped out of his insanity and bandaged, he makes a feeble attempt to regain his composure. This attempt , naturally, has very little success. He manages to change into a fresh set of clothes before heading to the nearesr pub to drown his sorrows in whiskey.

After a couple days’ rest, or what must only pass as such after such a harrowing ordeal, Dermot weakly suggests hitting up the Clive Expedition to continue the investigation. For the first time in a long time, he’s unsure and afraid. This brotherhood must be stopped at all costs.

In reply to Frau Specht (msg # 61):

Gustav joined Dermot on the pub partly to make sure everything is all right with his friend, partly also to swallow up the most recent ordeal they had faced. After making sure no one was following them back to their hotel, Gustav settled to the comfort of the bottom of his mug.

"Not our better days herr Dermot?"

Gustav spends the night drowning in alcohol and whatever merry exotic music  playing in the background


A few days later, when everyone was stocked and ready, the group headed to the Clive expedition in Memphis.

Memphis, city and capital of ancient Egypt and an important centre during much of Egyptian history, is located south of the Nile River delta, on the west bank of the river, and about 24 km south of Cairo. Closely associated with the ancient city’s site are the cemeteries, or necropolises, of Memphis, where the famous pyramids of Egypt are located.

The Clive Expedition’s dig site at Memphis is impressively guarded. It lacks only minefields and machine guns to be up to the defensive standards of the Great War. Anyone with experience of archaeological digs knows that this level of defense is unusual but not unheard of in countries where there is political or civil unrest.

You are stopped near the entrance to the dig by armed guards. After a short while, a young woman strides up to the checkpoint. She has a well-honed physique and a golden tan. She wears jodhpurs and a close-fitting tailored shirt, and keeps her blond, wavy hair in a ponytail.

“Was geht hier vor?” she snaps at the guards. “Who are these people?”

The members of the Clive Expedition are: Dr. Henry Clive, Martin Winfield, Agatha Broadmoor, James Gardner, and Johanna Specht. The rest of the expedition consist of overseers, diggers, water boys, guides, cooks, etc. There was a fifth member of the expedition, Janwillem Van Heuvelen, but he is no longer affiliated with the group.

Dr. Henry Clive, 58: The expedition’s leader, Dr. Clive is an excellent archaeologist.

Martin Winfield, 24: The well-connected second son of a British Member of Parliament, Winfield is also a skilled archaeologist.

Agatha Broadmoor, 67: Miss Broadmoor is a medium, capable of contacting the spirits of the dead by trance.

James Gardner, 40: Gardner is a good archaeologist, one strongly influenced by the theories of Carl Jung. He has written three books concerning ancient Egypt, none of which were particularly well written or well received.

Johanna Specht, age 32: The fourth archaeologist on the Clive Expedition, Fräulein Specht has a formidable ability to sight-read hieroglyphics, and is uncannily good with codes and ciphers of all kinds. As well as having a keen intellect, she is physically very fit, being an ardent enthusiast of physical culture, and rises early most mornings for rigorous exercises and a cold shower.







This message was last edited by the GM at 20:48, Thu 28 Feb 2019.

In reply to Frau Specht (msg # 63):

Dermot has done his homework this time. After so many encounters with horrible otherworldly entities, he feels the need to know what he can to be prepared. And he’s unusually proud to put his knowledge on display, albeit inevitably in a roguish manner.

Dermot strides up to the lady with an unmistakable swagger. He shoots Gustav a wink before making his best attempt at a German accent.

“Good day to you, Fraulein!”

He continues on in his normal voice. “You must be the radiant Johanna Specht from the newspapers. I’ve read that your ability to read hieroglyphics by sight is unmatched by any archaeologist.”

Dermot pauses to make an exaggerated survey of the trenchlike defenses. “Quite the array of armaments you have here. Not abnormal given the dangers around here, and yet....”

Turning his head back, he looks the archaeologist dead in the eyes. “Tell me, was there ‘writing on the wall’ before your necrotic treasure was spirited away, or did it come as a complete surprise in the way the papers make out?” He fights the smug look which threatens to overtake his face, with only partial success.

"Sind Sie verrückt?", she replies angrily. "You come here to insult us? I should punch your face!"

She takes a step towards Dermot with clenched fists. You notice an elder man with a mustache approaching the checkpoint at a leisurely pace.
This message was last updated by the player at 02:29, Fri 01 Mar 2019.

Gustav tries to defuse the situation. "My friend meant no disrespect!" - while giving Dermot a stern look. But his words fall on deaf ears. The women aims a punch at the Irishman, who neatly sidesteps it. She then turns to Gustav and strikes him hard in the face.

[Gustav loses 2 HP]
This message was last updated by the player at 02:29, Fri 01 Mar 2019.

"Now, now, Johanna. What's all this nonsense? Why the fisticuffs?"

Dr. Clive ambles up to you with a slight frown on his face. "What is going on here?" he asks in an exasperated tone.

“Dr. Clive, I presume? I’ve followed your expedition now and then in the papers. Dermot Murphy, at your service. I heard you’d had a fierce setback quite bizarre in nature, and being in the neighborhood I figured I ought to see what my friends and I can do for you.” Dermot uses a more deferential tone with Dr. Clive.

Dr. Clive seems to be taken slightly taken aback by Dermot's glib reply, but nods in approval. "Oh, uhm... yes, indeed. Well, good to meet you, Mr. Murphy. And your companions as well. We should get out from this blasted heat. I believe we can rustle up some tea for you."

Dr. Clive glances with disapproval at the fuming Fraulein Specht. "Johanna, you really must learn to control that temper of yours."

He leads you to a large tent, filled with charts, books and other archaeological paraphernalia, and orders a servant to bring you chairs and tea. An elderly woman wearing a straw hat looks up from the book she's reading and gives you all a friendly smile.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 03:35, Fri 01 Mar 2019.

In reply to Dr. Clive (msg # 69):

Dermot continues his questioning. He acts as though he belongs here, ignoring the confused looks as he probes glibly into the matters at hand.

“And this’ll be Miss Broadmoor, I figure? Pleasure to meet you. What have the spirits got to say about the auld wan’s abduction? She being an ancient monarch and dark priestess and all that.”
This message was last edited by the player at 20:10, Sat 02 Mar 2019.

“Well, Mr… Murphy, was it?” replies Agnes with a sad smile. “We can’t be sure who the mummy was, as the sarcophagus was stolen before we could examine it.”

“Very true, Miss Broadmoor,” adds Dr. Clive as he lights a pipe. “I’ll tell you what I’ve told the newspapers; We discovered a secret chamber in Menhaura’s pyramid, the smallest one of the three at Giza, which contained the unprepared but preserved remains of an unknown Egyptian queen. No hieroglyphs identified the body, but the marvelous funerary trappings convinced me that here rested a great ruler. Preparations for removal of the casket and the mummy were made in conjunction with the Egyptian authorities. We only took an ornate gold coffer containing papyrus scrolls from the chamber.

“Alas,” Dr. Clive says coolly, “all the scrolls were totally illegible, the result of improper sealing when the coffer was originally placed in the chamber.

He continues his tale. “Three nights later, terrible screams echoed from inside the pyramid. When we rushed to investigate, we found that the mummy, the sarcophagus, and the two Egyptian police guards were missing without a trace. The guards have not been found and are presumed dead. It is indeed a mystery as to how the thieves so quickly removed an alabaster sarcophagus weighing several tons; it would have taken my expedition several days, yet from the time of the hideous cry to the time that we entered the pyramid, no more than twenty minutes elapsed.”

In reply to Dr. Clive (msg # 71):

Dermot holds Agatha’s gaze. With a twinkle in his eye he replies,"No indeed, Miss Broadmoor."

He turns to listen as Dr. Clive delivers the PR version of the story. At his bewilderment at the apparent difficulty of the taking, Dermot bows his head for a moment before responding.

"I have an idea about methods which may have been employed here, but there are few sane men with minds open enough to receive my theory."

He winks at Agatha as he says this, since she styles herself as one who could be an exception to this statement.

His eyes drift downward to the open book on her lap. Unfortunately, his German is quite fake, and he knows nothing of this foreign tome. However, his research on the expedition was nothing if not complete. He pauses to allow memories of Mr. Gardner’s work to well up into the top of his mind. A labyrinth, was it? Or even a whole city, beneath the pyramids? That would lend another perspective to these thefts, though hardly the supernatural slaughter Dermot had witnessed days before.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:40, Sat 02 Mar 2019.

"And what theory might this be, Mr. Murphy?" asks Dr. Clive with a slight frown. "What exactly is it that you do?"

While you talk, another member of the Clive expedition enters. He is tall, lean, and blond, with a prominent chin and nose.

"More visitors? Johanna can't even manage to keep the riff-raff away?" he sneers as he sees you. His eyes linger for a long time on Rachel.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:00, Sat 02 Mar 2019.

In reply to Martin Winfield (msg # 73):

Speaking to the mouthy new arrival, Dermot holds a flat expression.

“If you look closely at dear Gustav’s face here, you’ll find it resembles a blind cobbler’s thumb. Some of that’s just that he was born ugly, but the recent damage was done by your spitfire Johanna, who thought it wise to punch a gift horse straight in the mouth. Tis a shame yer such a rawny ponce to leave the equalizin’ to her, as fit a specimen though she may be!”

This indictment serving to punctuate his remarks, he turns back to Dr. Clive.

“Thank ye, doctor, for having us outta the hot sun for a cuppa.”

He sips his tea pensively, suddenly unsure he wants to begin the traumatic narrative. Mercifully, Johan does it for him.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:37, Sun 03 Mar 2019.

In reply to Dermot Murphy (msg # 74):

"Well gentleman, ladies (nodding once to each each of the ladies), and Mr. Winfield..first thank you for your hospitality in a time of great uncertainty and clearly danger.  Let me speak, plainly <lowering voice>...are you familiar with the events that recently occurred in Ibn Tulun? We were there, we saw what happened.

What is in the paper is only half the story and the story has an element of similarity to what happened here.  We are looking for an understanding of what happened to us and though that perhaps a way to understand what happened here.  My friend Dermot although "brash" <saying brash in German for effect> at times, is someone you should listen too."

Winfield narrows his eyes in anger, and is about to reply, when a sharp ‘ahem’ from Dr. Clive stops him. The young man cracks his riding crop sharply against his high boots instead and glares daggers at Dermot.

Dr. Clive frowns at Johan. “The roof collapsed, from what I’ve read. How would that be linked to a mummy disappearing? You were there, you say? In what capacity?”

In reply to Martin Winfield (msg # 73):

With a throbbing black eye, Gustav noticed Mr. Winfield taking a gander at Ms Katz way too long than appropriate and stared at him, then made a gesture to take his attention off and says 'eyes here'

Gustav then turned to look at Mr. Braun, and gave concurrence on his narration on what happened at Ibn Tulun.

In reply to Dr. Clive (msg # 76):

Dermot sighs, the sobering details lingering on the tip of his tongue.

"Any collapse was merely an aftermath of the slaughter that took place. There are wicked forces at work here in Egypt, and they're collecting artifacts in an attempt to resurrect a dark figure or two from centuries past. I shudder to even describe the... creature... that was loosed on us in the blink of an eye. Otherworldly it was, nearly defying rational human description. But there it was. It killed the special guards one by one, easy as you could snap a toothpick. I lost my mind. My friends fled in terror, dragging me along with them, completely insensible as I was. Me, Dermot Murphy, a stout sailor of the Atlantic! When we dared reenter, the cherished Girdle was gone. Disappeared into thin air, just the way the monster came. I tell you, it defies logic, but you have before you four living witnesses. Our dragoman was there too, poor sap. I can't imagine he's doing well now."

Dermot struggles to contain his panic and fear as he describes this scarring memory. He reaches a shaky hand toward his tea, attempting to master himself.

As Dermot recalls the terrible events of the attack on the mosque, Gustav is watching the members of the Clive expedition closely. Winfield looks bored, miss Broadmoor looks shocked, Dr. Clive is listening intently and staring at Dermot, and Fraulein Specht seems intrigued but is trying to appear disinterested.

Dr. Clive takes a long puff on his pipe before replying. “I say, that is certainly quite a tale. And this girdle, you say? Related to Nitocris? I must admit to being dubious about some details, but I have learned that there are many things here in Egypt that cannot be explained by rational minds. I would like to have some further research done into this, and perhaps we can share what information we have?”

Gustav asks Dr. Clive directly if it would be possible to search the area where the mummy was last seen. "If you wish," he replies. "you will probably need permission from the district police at Giza though."

“Got it sealed off as a crime scene, eh?” asks Dermot. “I don’t suppose ye’ve got some fancy telephone or a wire in here?”

“Nothing like that,” replies Dr. Clive. “But how about if I would have young Winfield here escort you? As a member of our expedition, he would certainly open some doors for you.”
This message was last edited by the player at 16:06, Tue 05 Mar 2019.

In reply to Dr. Clive (msg # 79):

"Aye, Nitocris. And that Black Pharoah is wrapped up in all this somewhere as well. Dr. Clive, I would like to emphasize that we believe the cult stole both your mummy and that girdle. We're hot on their trail for reasons of our own, so we'll greatly appreciate any information you can share with us. We hope to help you recover your find and bring the responsible parties to justice."

"Poetic justice, anyway," Dermot thinks to himself, not being a huge proponent of traditional justice.

When Dr. Clive offers to send Winfield, Dermot gives him a glance and suppresses a mirthful smirk.

"We'd very much appreciate that, Doctor. Thank ye."

Laughing inwardly, Dermot says, "We'll be off, then. Winfield, don't be draggin yer feet now. We've miles to go!"

Winfield sputters as he is ‘volunteered’ to join your group, but a quick glance from Dr. Clive brings him to a stop. “Martin, a word please?” says the Doctor, pulling the young man aside. They have a brief whispered conversation.

“I look forward to working with you all on this mystery,” says Dr. Clive. “We have a few trucks here, Martin can drive you all to the Pyramid of Menkaure. Don’t forget to stop at the police station first to get permits to enter.”

The drive from the dig site at Memphis to the police station at Giza is about an hour through the fields and deserts of Lower Egypt. The truck is roomy enough, but you soon wish that you would be able to put more distance between yourself and Martin Winfield. He reveals himself to be an insufferable bore, a letch, an idler and very racist.

Gustav attempts to strike up a conversation with Winfield. “Hey, we got on the wrong foot here, but we're on the same side, is Dr. Clive’s rendition of what happened really all that happened? Or you heard or saw something else? Look, I worked as a police detective in New York all my adult life, with the exception of my time in the army. and I have seen things I cannot understand and accept. but my time here with my friends is something else. Anything you might want to add on Dr. Clive's narration on anything that can help us tract down this cult will help a lot.”

“Yes, that’s what happened,” replies Winfield. “We examined the chamber, and the dust in the corridors was undisturbed except by our footprints and those from the antiquities authorities. Nor were there signs of roller marks, or of wear at inclines and elevations along the corridors where any winches the thieves might have used would need bracing. I would have noticed of course!”

He swerves the heavy truck to avoid a shepherd and his team of oxen, swearing obscenities as you pass. “Bloody useless, the lot of them!” he remarks to Gustav. “This county will to go hell now, mark my words!”

Eventually, you pull up outside the busy Giza District Police station. A few battered and dusty police cars are parked outside, and there’s a line of people waiting for various permits and licenses. Buskers are selling water and snacks, and there’s the general loud chatter and noise of a typical Cairo street.

Dermot is going to hang around outside, on principle. He buys some snacks and water on the street, eating a kebab as he sits down somewhere nearby to watch the people passing by.

Gustav gestures to Mr. Winfield -after you- and enters the police station. As you step inside, you are struck by the chaos inside. Phones ringing, people shouting and gesticulating, prisoners wailing, and harried police officers running around. While you are allowed to bypass the long queue of Egyptians, you still have to sit down and wait. An office boy comes up to you and brings tea and small savoury cakes. Johan thanks the young man in Arabic and provides an appropriate tip.

A bearded man wearing a djellaba walks past the chairs where you’re waiting and then stops abruptly. “Gustav?” he exclaims. “It’s me! Cedric!”
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:16, Sun 10 Mar 2019.

In reply to GM (msg # 82):

Cedric's instincts provided correct. He'd been carefully piecing the details together and it had paid off.

His assignment to investigate the occurance at Ibn Tulun had brought him to the Giz station for further details, and also allowing him to cross paths with what appeared to be the very group of unknown foreigners who were being spoken about on the streets of cairo.

But, more startling was the sight of the one person in the group. Memories flooding back from the war that he'd long thought to put behind him.

Surely though, that was him - the similar mannerisms, looks. Maybe slightly older, but you don't forget someone who saved your life.

Cedric's attire of a local, along with his largely tanned skin, beard and years of blending in to the local lifestyle probably meant Cedric looked nothing like the well-groomed officer that he'd been those many years ago.

Cedric approaches the man he believes to be Gustav.  A smile of knowing comes across his face when he recognizes Gustav. Cedric's hand comes up to the object, tied around his neck, but hidden under the clothers. The feel of the metallic bullet bring back further memories.

" Gustav!?  It's me, Cedric! " His voice dropping from a local, middle eastern man and moving to the crisp, upper class Britishness that was always still there.

The fates play a funny game in life sometimes...

In reply to Cedric (msg # 83):

Cedric? Cedric from the god damn awful british army?!

Gustav excitedly stands up and embraced a now very familiar man as memories flood back to him.

'Gott im Himmel! How are you lieutenant? Last time I saw you, we were being towed in a stretcher after you tried to stab me while I carried you back!

'Wait what have you been doing here? Do you live in Egypt now? Oh wait where are my manners?'

Gustav proceeded to formally introduce Johan and Mr. Winfield.

'Tell me lieutenant, what have you been upto these past 12 years?


Gustav proceeded to tell Cedric about him being a police detective in New York, and about a case he is handling now. But leaves the details about the mythos.

'The thing is my friend, We are requiring a permission from the authorities to examine and enter a restricted area in Memphis. You see there had been a robbery of some sort, and me and my companions are helping in solving a case.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:59, Mon 11 Mar 2019.

In reply to Gustav Schmidt (msg # 84):


" Gott im Himmel! How are you lieutenant? Last time I saw you, we were being towed in a stretcher after you tried to stab me while I carried you back! "

Cedric gives off a geuine peel of good natured laughter.

" Well, please forgive me, old friend, at the time I imagined you some bally Hun come to finish me off! "   Cedric winks and grins at Gustav and to his compatriots.

'Wait what have you been doing here? Do you live in Egypt now? Oh wait where are my manners?'

Gustav proceeded to formally introduce Johan and Mr. Winfield.

'Tell me lieutenant, what have you been upto these past 12 years?

Cedric warmly offers his hand to shake to Johan and Winfield.

" Dashed pleased to meet you both, you have one rather special chap here, if not for Gustav, I wouldn't have the pleasure of meeting you "

Moving quickly to a more serious tone, Cedric adresses Gustav's questions.

" My friend, the past 12 years have been some what of a blur, I left ol'blighty to get myself together, I just couldn't settle back into civvie life. Much like yourself, took up a post with the law enforcement, till I was offered this position. Come to Egypt and help fight against the criminal element of this wonderful country "

Cedric pauses and runs his hands through his beard in thought.

Gustav proceeded to tell Cedric about him being a police detective in New York, and about a case he is handling now. But leaves the details about the mythos.

'The thing is my friend, We are requiring a permission from the authorities to examine and enter a restricted area in Memphis. You see there had been a robbery of some sort, and me and my companions are helping in solving a case."

Cedric looks back to long lost compatriot.

" Robbery you say? Does this have anything to do with the horrid goings on at the Ibn Tulun mosque?  My friend... "

Cedric looks to Gustav then also the other two.

" ... my friends! I may be able to assist you with dealing with the local authorities "

Cedric gives a knowing look and a smile.

" Perhaps we can get word Sir Pasha, he is the chief of police for Cairo, and if your investigations are in anyway involved in the matters I am tasked to look into, we may both be able to help each other..."

“Yeah, yeah, yeah… old friends, how lovely” sneers Winfield. “Can we get on with it? It stinks in here.”

It takes quite a bit of persuasion and some bribery, but Cedric manages to get written permission to enter the crime scene at the pyramid. You climb back in the truck, and head towards the Pyramid of Menkaure.

Built for the Pharaoh Mycerinus, Cheops’ grandson, this is the least impressive of the Great Pyramids at Giza. It has a large, vertical scar on its north face, caused when the son of the legendary Muslim warlord Saladin tried to destroy the monumental structure at the end of the 12th century. There are many rumors as to why he attempted this, and why he gave up eight months later. Was he intent on locating and destroying Nitocris’ tomb or, perhaps, was he merely trying to acquire dressed stone for his own building works? Perhaps it was just too great an expense to continue; but, then again, maybe something caused him to change his mind? The record books remain strangely silent on the topic.

The pyramid itself is not easy to get into, and its passageways are steep and claustrophobic. As the theft of the mummy took place a couple of weeks ago, there are only two bored guards outside the tomb, and they sullenly move aside and allow you to enter when you show them your permit.

“Well,” says Winfield. “This is the place. Follow me. And do try to keep up!”  He clicks on a powerful flashlight and strides up to the entrance.


https://i.ibb.co/Y87ctbC/93851...ramid-Giza-Egypt.jpg" data-lightbox="images-msg-86">https://i.ibb.co/Y87ctbC/93851...ramid-Giza-Egypt.jpg" alt=''>
This message was last edited by the player at 20:07, Tue 12 Mar 2019.

In reply to Martin Winfield (msg # 86):

Although Johan does tend to dress a little warm for this climate, he appears to be sweating a bit more than one would think would occur and looking around nervously at the walls of this close quarters area. "Soo...soo Lord Winfield, this tunnel ...does it open up more?"

In reply to Johan Braun (msg # 87):

In the same vein as Johan, Dermot blinks and rubs his neck as he eyes the very large pyramid.

"I suppose it's... stable, after all...." he mutters nervously to himself. Taking a big swallow, he attempts to salvage what's left of his pride as he follows the group into the bowels of the pyramid.

You cautiously follow Winfield into the narrow and claustrophobic passages of the pyramid. The entrance slopes down to a long descending passage, ending in a small antechamber with a ‘false door’ motif.

"False doors", also known as "Ka doors" as they allowed the Ka (an element of the "soul") to pass through them, were common in the mortuary temples and tombs of ancient Egypt from around the Third Dynasty and temples of the New Kingdom. The false door was thought to be a threshold between the world of mortals and the world of deities and spirits. The deity or the deceased could interact with the world of the living either by passing through the door or receiving offerings though it.

From there, another narrow passage leads to a larger chamber (14 x 4 meters), with a sloping passage leading further down. A side passage on the right leads to a chamber with six niches, and further on, a large hole in the wall takes you to the burial chamber. It is 7 x 3 meters, and the ceiling is 3.5 meters above you. The chamber is elaborately decorated with hieroglyphs, and a large dust-free area in the middle of the room shows where the sarcophagus rested.

“Hey, watch this!” grins Winfield and turns off his flashlight. The chamber is immediately plunged into total darkness and you can feel the massive weight of the pyramid closing in on you.

Winfield click his torch on again with a smirk. “Pretty dark, eh?”


This message was last edited by the GM at 15:18, Fri 15 Mar 2019.

“Yes, that was quite dark, Winfield. Now let’s have a look about.” Dermot’s beginning to regard Winfield in the way one might a particularly stupid dog.

Aided by the flickering light of a few flashlights, you begin to examine the ancient burial chamber. The air is stuffy and the feeling of being enclosed begins to wear on you all.

Johan is poking around the side wall with his cane when he spots a small depression near the floor. It looks like a tiny lever, almost invisible behind the dust.

In reply to GM (msg # 90):

"Wait, halt.  There is something here.  Please point a light over here..."  Johan motions to the tiny lever near the floor.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:34, Sat 16 Mar 2019.

"Bloody hell!" exclaims Winfield as he shines his torch on the spot. "How did we miss that? Well, go on. Press it!"

"Allons-y"...Johan pokes the lever. There is a 'click' and a small section of the wall slides back, revealing a narrow sloping passageway, leading down into inky blackness. You imagine you can hear distant sounds of roars and cries of wild beasts.

Johan shudders as he recalls the visions he had that time in Peru, when he touched the Golden Mirror found in Larkin's room;

An ancient stepped pyramid on a plateau breaks apart as greasy white tendrils dripping with huge maggots reach upwards from its remains...

A small man huddled in a corner of a dingy room feverishly painting... something that reminds Johan of his dreams...

Looking out of a train window, sweeping vistas of African plains passing by, accompanied by the strong smell of smoke, then the sound of screaming…

A series of endless, dark tunnels, filled with the roars and cries of wild beasts...
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:49, Sat 16 Mar 2019.

Far below the earth, the silence is ceaseless and oppressive. Above is a terrible weight of suspended stone and earth. Occasional drafts pass along the tunnels, causing candles or torches to gutter momentarily.

The tunnel is of hewn stone, obviously man-made; its floor is generally level, and the tunnel is approximately 8 feet (2.5 m) wide and 8 feet (2.5 m) high. There is no light, except for the occasional glow from livid purple or putrid green fungus—slimy stuff, disgusting to touch.

Branch tunnels and tiny votary alcoves frequently open to either side. Along the main tunnel, loathsome images panel the walls, depicting men with the heads of animals, animals with human limbs, and unidentifiable entities performing cruel, disgusting, and obscene activities.

In the flickering light, you also see alcoves with mummified remains of long dead Egyptians. Some of them are missing their heads, but have the heads of dogs, cats, crocodiles or other beasts sewn onto their necks instead. Others have contorted skeletal faces, screaming in silent agony.

Can I have a SAN roll, please? (0/1D4)



This message was last edited by the GM at 02:57, Mon 25 Mar 2019.

In reply to GM (msg # 93):

Dermot is glad to be in a party full of stout adventurers who laugh in the face of macabre dangers. All but that ponce Winfield. Poor sap, he may be going mad already!

"Winfield? Winfield, lad! Get a hold of yerself! There's no danger to be had just now."

Incorrectly perceiving Winfield to be nearly hysterical, Dermot grabs the man by the shoulders and gives him a good shake.

Hearing what sounds almost like a faint chuckle from a side passage, Dermot stops short. Still holding Winfield by the shoulders, he asks, "D'ye hear something just then?" He peers down that side passage into the darkness.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 19:54, Sat 16 Mar 2019.

"Let go of me, you bog-trottin' Irish bastard!" Winfield curses, and takes a step back from Dermot. He shines his flashlight down the passage and Dermot swears that he sees an unholy shape with the head of a crocodile for a brief second before it disappears from sight...

Dermot's head is spinning. Now ignoring Winfield, he slowly draws his revolver and undoes his sheath hand, gritting his teeth and staring toward the vanished apparition.


This message was last edited by the player at 23:26, Sat 16 Mar 2019.

In reply to Martin Winfield (msg # 95):

The journey into the pyramid wasn't quite the route Cedric intended for his investigation, but he tursted Gustav and, to a lesser extent, his compatriots.

Their obsessive nature to venture into the claustrophobic conditions didn't inspire Cedric... but "stiff upper lip"  and all that. Cedric also had taken a degree of hositlity towards the character Winthrop and his rudeness. There was something not right about him.

Still the others seemed to be a plucky bunch. The irish man taking the lead.

"Let go of me, you bog-trottin' Irish bastard!"

Some kind of ruckus up ahead. Cedric pauses and waits for the others, but makes  a point of checking behind them.

 Cedric shines his own torch in the direction from which they came.

You aim your flashlights down the dark side tunnel, but there is nothing to see.

"I wouldn't go in there if I was you," says Winfield to Dermot. "Could be dangerous. We should stick together." He fishes out a pack of Woodbine cigarettes and lights one, neglecting to offer any to you.

"What are we even looking for down here?" he asks to no-one in particular, leaning nonchalantly against a particularly horrific wall carving. "What have you guys discovered that lead you here?"

In reply to Martin Winfield (msg # 97):

Now ignoring Winfield, he slowly draws his revolver and undoes his sheath hand, grtitting his teeth and staring toward the vanished apparition.

He sucks a breath through his teeth and says slowly and clearly, "It's happening again.... Some beastly abomination was down yonder."

He takes a tentative step in that direction, but stops short of heading down the passage.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:42, Sun 17 Mar 2019.

In reply to Dermot Murphy (msg # 98):

"It's happening again.... Some beastly abomination was down yonder."

Cedric, on hearing the irishman,  turns nervously back around to the rest of the group.

Giving a slight gulp of trepidation, he speaks up:

" What, what exactly do you mean by abomination? "

Cedric peers in the same direction.

( any chance of spotting anything not yet noticed?)

In reply to Cedric Rothwell (msg # 99):

With revolver in hand, and a torch in another, Gustav gestures to get Cedric's attention for a moment.

Ah my old friend, one of these days, if we are lucky enough to reach that point, I shall recount to you our experiences and to why we act like this. That man - points at Mr. Dermot, saved my arsch a couple of times already, and I him, and I feel before everything is over, we shall reciprocate that kind gesture a little bit more.

For now, try to keep your wits together, hold up your revolver, and prepare for anything.

Gustav follows Mr. Murphy forward and tells Mr Rothwell as well as Mr. Winfield to be on a lookout for anything, and keep your weapons at the ready.

You take a few cautious steps down the side tunnel despite Winfield's warning. Shining your torches down the tunnel, you can make out the shadowy forms of numerous silent mummies with bestial heads, standing in alcoves along the walls. They appear motionless. They have the heads of bulls, crocodiles, falcons and even cheetahs.

As Dermot peers down the tunnel, a mummy with a cheetahs' head turns its head slightly so it's looking directly at him, its yellow eyes reflected in the torchlight!

(SAN rolls please: 0/1D6)
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:50, Tue 19 Mar 2019.

Terrified but not unnerved, Dermot slowly raises his revolver to level it at the creature’s feline head. He’ll fire if it moves toward him aggressively. “There’s another one!” he says in a loud whisper.

Gustav looks shaken. "Gah, whats next? All of the heads move?", he mutters.

“Ah, for fuck’s sake!” curses Winfield and fires a shot down the tunnel from his .38 revolver. He hits a mummy with a crocodile’s head and the thing slowly falls to the ground. You hear the creaking joints and nitrous wheezing of five more mummies as they stagger from their alcoves and walk towards you.

Rachel has seen enough. With a terrified cry, she bolts down the main tunnel and is quickly lost in the dark….

In reply to GM (msg # 102):


"Ah, Scheiße! here we go"

Gustav aims for the mummy with the cheetah head and proceeds to gun it down.

"At least this untermenschen had a bright idea" Gustav quips after a volley of revolver fire.

Gustav then looks at Mr. Murphy and Mr. Johan, both of which are reading their respective weapons. He then proceeded to tell the rest of the group to go back as we hold the line.

Gustav shoots the cheetah-headed mummy twice and it goes down. The remaining four mummies are cut down as you put round after round into them, making your ears ring with the din of gunfire in the narrow tunnel. They crumble into dust and brown bones as they die again.

Winfield checks his revolver with a frown. “Down to one round. Wasn’t expecting to spend my day like this, I must say.”

He grins at you as he closes the weapon with a snap. “Still, bloody good fun, eh? What now – we’re going after what’s her name?”

In reply to Martin Winfield (msg # 104):

Dermot can’t decide who makes him more incredulous: Martin Winfield for his sporting nonchalance at gunning down ACTUAL MUMMIES, or Rachel’s hysterical nerves. Either one could get us all killed.

“Bloody Englishmen have some sense of sport, eh.” he mumbles.

Relaxing his shoulders a bit, he ponders the choice ahead. He makes a suggestion.

“I suppose we oughta hunt Rachel down, fool as she is. Any objections? Let’s keep our eyes peeled, in front and back of us!”
This message was last edited by the player at 16:12, Fri 29 Mar 2019.

In reply to Dermot Murphy (msg # 105):

Gustav doesn't wait for any reply when he realised that Rachel was no where to be found. since there was only one way back, he decided to run after her, never waiting for Mr. Dermot or Mr. Winfield for a reply.

"Gott im Himmel! that woman will be the death of me" then with torch at hand, Gustav proceeds into the darkness

Gustav sets off down the main passage at a rapid pace, leaving you no choice but to follow him. You travel through the noxious tunnels for what seems like an eternity, passing fetid side-tunnels and nearly stumbling over piles of rubble.

The endless tunnel feels like a feverish dream; Warm liquid drips from the tunnel ceiling, the stone beneath is slick and red. A violent blast of wind extinguishes all unshielded candles and carries off any loose papers. A shapeless thing is glimpsed in the shadows. Growls, whispers, or screams of pain can be heard in the distance. You feel that the walls of the tunnel are rhythmically moving in and out, like bronchial tubes in the lungs…

A single object can be seen up ahead lying in the middle of the tunnel. It is a small sandal, possibly Rachel’s.

In reply to GM (msg # 107):

Sweat pouring from his brow....walls closing in.   Memories of the trenches.....  Gun fire from Dermont....
Johan attempts to maintain what composure he can  as he does his best to follow Gustav down the tunnel and hopefully towards wherever Rachel is...

Finally, after what seems like hours of walking, you see something other than endless tunnels. On your right, the tunnel opens up to a wide set of steps, leading further down below the ground. The dirt on the tunnel floor bears the mark of many sandaled feet in all directions. The stairs go on even beyond the feeble light from your flashlights.

You cautiously descend the stairs, with Gustav leading the way. From the main tunnel, wide steps lead 100 feet (30 m) down into a massive chamber. The hall is approximately 400 × 500 feet (120 × 150 m), with ceilings soaring more than 100 feet (30 m) high. The hall is so vast that only loud noises echo—ordinary voices are damped by the huge space.

Numerous torches light the way and illumine the vast courts within, reflecting everywhere from the gleaming black marble walls. The floor is of black marble flecked with white. The floor is exceptionally shiny and slick. Numerous ebon pillars support the enormous vaulted ceiling. You shine your torch along the length of the closest pillar, and the top seems to splay out into the tops of a black tree, the branches of which visibly sway to and fro in extra-dimensional winds.

Ahead are stairs (2) leading to a floor (or somewhere...) lower than the hall. They disappear down into a hideous, glowing ruby mist that pours up from below. Occasional ghastly shrieks and moans can be heard drifting up into the main chamber.

A large square pit (3) in the middle of the cavern turns out to be a pool of water, 75 feet (23 m) across and filled to within 8 feet (2.5 m) of the top of its stone wall. This water looks totally black and featureless. A set of narrow and slippery black marble steps without railings leads down into the pool. Tethered beside the steps is a jet-black ceremonial raft.

An altar (4) constructed from white marble stands beyond the pit, about 25 feet (7.5 m) square at the top. From three sides, steps lead 15 feet (4.5 m) up to where a sarcophagus rests. Stone braziers, which burn with a sickly yellow light, are built into the four corners of the altar.

Beyond the altar is another structure: a hideous double throne (5) of vile green, sweating stone, carved with numerous images of violent and cruel acts performed by humans and other horrifying, almost mythical-looking, creatures. The throne’s two seats are designed for human-sized figures. The throne block stands 30 feet (9 m) above the floor. To the front only, facing the hall, a set of narrow and precarious steps leads steeply down to the floor of the hall.

As one faces the hall from the throne, a long bridge leads sideways to the left wall of the hall. Its supports are also carved with disgusting figures and writhing tentacles. The bridge is of the same bilious green, weeping stone as the throne block, and has no railings. Its surface is 30 feet (9 m) above the floor.

A few feet out from the where the bridge joins the chamber wall stands a stele (6). It is very similar to the one you saw at Misr House in England.

In the rear wall of the Great Hall, behind the throne, is an enormous irregular hole (7), about 100 feet (30 m) wide. The hole is pitch black.


This message was last edited by the GM at 18:02, Sat 30 Mar 2019.

Wary but curious about the sarcophagus ahead, Dermot cautiously approaches it, avoiding the pit and the pool on the way. He slowly climbs the stairs to the altar and approaches the stone sarcophagus. The lid is still on, but the sarcophagus is resting on wooden supports, making it fairly easy to move. He moves over to peek inside and catches a glimpse of a wrapped-up mummy inside.

“That’s close enough!” shouts a familiar voice from behind you. Turning, you spot Winfield and six other people approaching you from the main entrance. Winfield is carrying a submachine gun, and one of the cultists is carrying a weakly struggling Rachel, holding a sharp knife to her throat.

In reply to Martin Winfield (msg # 111):

Johan moves toward Winfield with slow pace, "Ahhh...the rich whelp returns.  I must say I'm beginning to wonder how England accomplished what it did in the Great War with stock like yourself." Johan's right hand slides down to the flask on his hip.

"Or are you made of something more? Come here and prove it.  I'm an old man...I'm unarmed. Unless your afraid..."

Johan stares down Winfield.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:10, Sun 31 Mar 2019.

Winfield chuckles. “Unarmed indeed. I’m sure you have some trick up your sleeve. Do you think I’m stupid?”

He pauses for a moment and lowers his weapon slightly. “Look, I have an idea. You must surely realize by now that whatever actions you take, this world will soon be the playground of the Old Gods. Tomorrow night, right here in this sacred chamber, we will awaken Queen Nitocris and let her take her rightful place as ruler of this land. It will be magnificent! I would like for you to see this for yourselves, so that you may recognize Her glory and majesty! I promise you, no harm will come to you.”

His eyes shine with mad glee as he awaits your reply.

In reply to Martin Winfield (msg # 113):

Johan fixes his mustache, straightens his coat and takes a noticeably deep breath, "Mr. Winfield, obviously the viewing the of your Queens rise is something not to be missed. Till then how would you like to proceed....and since we are staying perhaps my colleagues could attend to the lady?"

In reply to Johan Braun (msg # 115):

"Do tell, Winfield. I must admit I'm fierce curious about the whole thing. Why serve, who'd ye call em, the Old Gods?"

Dermot tucks away his handgun.

Dermot is tense at the thought of how a coupla fools could throw a cad like Winfield into a murderous rage. Well, not a rage, exactly. Stupid as he seems, Winfield must possess some nerve. Regardless, Gustav's chivalry and Johan's selflessness are both misguided and could easily get them killed along with their poor comrade Cedric. But Dermot knows how to avoid a scrape, and he'll keep his mind on whichever plan he'll have to put into action, depending. If an ill-fated gunfight does break out, he'll use try to use his outer garment with the brazier to try to set the corpse ablaze before receding into the darkness wherever he dares. But not in a calm moment like this.... There's too much at stake! Dermot's hardly altruistic, buy this world happens to be where he keeps all his things, and we can't have all that hard smugglin work go to waste, now can we?

"For an underground lair, it's awfully hot and stuffy down here." Dermot says. He casually removes his outermost layer of clothing and throws it over his shoulder.

Winfield relaxes his grip on the Thompson slightly and nods. “Very wise of you all,” he smiles. “We do indeed have suitable accommodation for you while you wait. If you will please lay down your weapons and come with me, we can get you settled in.”

With a short command, he sends one of his henchmen up to the altar where you stand. The man is armed with an old army revolver, which he keeps pointed at you as you disarm. [You can try Sleight of Hand to conceal any weapons or other items you don't want to lose]

Satisfied that you have divested yourself of weapons, the man gestures you down the stairs towards Winfield, who is waiting with the rest of the cultists, his weapon held casually by his side.

“It will be such a sight!” he says. “The beginning of the end for the teeming masses of humanity. Those who serve willingly will reap great rewards and be as gods themselves. Ah my friends, I have such wonders to show you!”

He produces a silver whistle from a chain around his neck and blows it twice. A moment later, two large winged things appear from above, flapping down next to Winfield. They are not altogether crows, nor moles, nor buzzards, nor ants, nor decomposed human beings, but something unholy and in between. They are both covered with a thin layer of ice. The cultists nervously step away from the shuffling and screeching horrors, while Winfield coos at them like pets.

“Look!” he says. “Such is the power I have been given. I can command these beings and make them do my bidding. Are they not beautiful?”

[SAN roll for seeing the creatures, please; 1/1D6]




This message was last edited by the player at 03:08, Sat 06 Apr 2019.

Winfield laughs as Johan collapses at the sight of the creatures. He speaks a sentence in an alien language and they flap their massive wings and take off. As they near the ceiling, they seem to wink out of existence.

“If you will follow me, chaps, I’ll show you to your rooms.”  With two cultists in front of you, and Winfield and the rest behind you, you are escorted through the dark and still tunnels. Eventually you pass through an arch into a wide chamber; Winfield's flashlight illuminating the ancient, damp stones of the ceiling and near wall, but the far wall, if indeed there is one, is lost in the absolute blackness. To judge by the echoes, the chamber is very large. You imagine you can hear faint but excited whispering from below.

"Mahmoud," says Winfield, and even he sounds a little uneasy, "the nearest vacant guest room. Hoist the lid. And hurry."

An old Egyptian cultist limps forward, carrying a flaming torch. Twenty feet away he stops and lifts a little metal plate away from a hole in the floor, and squats down, trying to get his head and the torch both next to the hole without setting his greasy beard on fire.

"Nobody home." He sets the torch upright in a hole between the stones, hooks the fingers of both hands around a recessed iron bar in the floor, carefully rearranges his feet, and then tugs upward. A whole stone slab lifts up, evidently on hinges, exposing a circular hole three feet across. The slab comes to rest at a bit more than a ninety-degree angle and Mahmoud steps back, wiping his brow.

"Your chamber awaits, dear guests," says Winfield. "If you hang by your hands and then drop, it's only six feet to the floor. You can either do that or be pushed in."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:03, Thu 11 Apr 2019.

"Nobody home indeed! Either somebody's down there whisperin' or ye've got the most verbose rats a sailor's ever heard! I'm content to cooperate, but I'll not be fed to some mystic talkin' beastie in a stinkin' rathole!" Dermot crosses his arms and feigns a nervous glance downward.

"You'll be fine," scoffs Winfield. "Mahmoud, give him a helping hand." Mahmoud approaches Dermot with an old army revolver in one hand, and gestures towards the hole in the ground.

Demot casually indicates his knife hand. "On that note, I've only got one to hang by... Gustav, me boyo, could ye lower me down?"

As Winfield and his lackeys lower their guard, Gustav takes the opportunity to close in on Winfield.  He grabs his ankle where his concealed weapon is and shoots at Winfield point blank. 'Geh zum Teufel' he yells as he lunges at the Englishman.

Two of the shots hit Winfield and he retaliates by firing a short burst from his Thompson at Gustav, mercifully missing his mark. The noise is deafening.

Three of the cultists have old handguns. Two of them shoots at Gustav, while the third man hesitates. One bullet slams into Gustav, staggering him.

Johan lunges at the cultist holding Rachel with his cane, but hits only empty air. Rachels stomps down hard on the cultist’s foot, causing him to lose his grip and swear in Arabic. Another cultist slashes his dagger at Johan, leaving him with a deep cut on his shoulder.

Cedric slams into one of the armed guards, bringing him crashing to the ground.

With a holler of “Down the hatch!", Dermot charges old man Mahmoud, trying to trip him up and push him into the hole. Unfortunately, he severely misjudges his abilities and falls into the pit instead. He lands hard on a stone floor, surrounded by total darkness.


This message was last edited by the GM at 14:30, Sat 13 Apr 2019.

Below, in the darkness, there is a low noise, only a tiny grating and a clink, but it is startlingly loud in that hitherto silent abyss.

After a moment, Dermot can hear breathing, and then sibilant but indistinct whispering.

As soon as he manages to stand up, Dermot draws his revolver. First, he looks upward in case Mahmoud plans to peer in. Then he attends to the whisperings....

"Friend or foe? Show yerselves, if ye dare!". He is standing just outside the square of light in case Mahmoud peers in, so he can't see him.

The whispering becomes quiet giggles. "Let us in, darling," comes the whisper clearly. "Let my sister and me in."

"We've got gifts for you, darling — gold and diamonds that people lost down the tunnels since the long ago times. They're all for you, in exchange for two things you won't ever need again, like yer toys after you grew up into a man."

"Your eyes!" comes a new, harsher whisper.

"Yes indeed," hisses the first speaker. "Just your eyes, so that my sister and I can each have one, and we'll climb up all the stairs there are and take a trip to the market and dance right under the sun."

"Soon," croaks the other.

"Oh yes, soon, my darling, for the darkness is hardening, like thick mud, and we want to be away when it turns as solid as the stones."

"Not in it," put in the harsh voice.

"No, not in it, we mustn't have my pretty sister and me caught forever in the stones that are hardened night!

"Ye haven't got eyes, ye say?” replies Dermot. “Why don't you come into the light? I'm a businessman and I prefer to do my bargaining face to face. I think we could arrange some eyes for ye, if ye're not overly selective."

There is a pause and then an eager hiss from the darkness. "How many eyes, my darling? You must open the door to our room so we can talk."

"Once my comrades come through, we'll have several pairs to spare from those cultists. Have they kept you down here?" Dermot carefully stashes his gun for a moment and lights a match after taking a few steps closer to the voices.

"A long time, my pretty. A long time indeed. Bonaparte was here where they took away our light. How many eyes do you have?"

"We will take the eyes, but my children also need blood," rasps the harsher voice.

Listening to the gunshots, Dermot says "Plenty of blood too by the sound of it. Your children, you say?"

Gustav fires again at Winfield, smiling grimly as the bullets hit their target and the man crumples to the ground, dropping his weapon next to him.

Two of the guards fire back at Gustav. One misses but one hits, leaving the policeman near death.

Johan swings his cane at the cultist holding Rachel. The blow connects with the side of his head and he drops to the ground, badly wounded.

Gustav grabs the ‘Chicago typewriter’ and hollers at everyone to drop down as he hoses the gun in the direction of Johan and Rachel. With his last ounce of strength, he does his best to hold on and squeeze the trigger, aiming at their general direction.

Johan and Rachel duck down, but the cultist who attacked Johan with a dagger is hit by a burst of bullets, falling like a rag-doll.

The two cultists still standing take one look at each other and then turn to run away, wailing in terror. Old man Mahmoud also nervously retreats into the darkness of the chamber. In the sudden silence, you can hear Dermot talking to someone in the pit below you…

In reply to GM (msg # 121):

Johan dusts himself off, "Dermot!  Are you ok?  They have fled for the moment, but we likely don't have long..."

In reply to Johan Braun (msg # 122):

Hearing Johan's voice, Dermot flashes a grim smile. "I'm all right, I think," he hollers up. "Find something to haul me up, quickly now!"

To the voices, Dermot says, "Sounds like yer bodies are ready. Now let's negotiate a price. I'm always keen on gold, but I wanna know if ye can help us thwart this cult that's kept ye."
He steps closer to the voices and lights a match to get a better look....
This message was last edited by the player at 02:01, Fri 19 Apr 2019.

Dermot strikes another match which faintly illuminates the room. There is a solid steel door in one wall, with two large deadbolts and a small peephole. The voices come from that direction.

“Are they alive or dead?” asks the first one. “We need living eyes. Dead eyes only show us things we’d rather not see again. If you open the door, and give us new eyes, you can have all the treasure in our home, and we will play with the little people we meet on the way to our dance.”

“Dancing with the handsome men…” sing-songs the other voice. “Such pretty faces for us to wear…”

In reply to GM (msg # 124):

Dermot hollers back over his shoulder, up out of the pit. "Oi, we got any prisoners up there? Don't let 'em die!"

He strides up to the door, undoing one of the two deadbolts. "As long as ye can discriminate between my friends and these awful cultists, I'd say enemy of my enemy and all that. Pray tell me though, what manner of creatures are ye? Oi've had more than enough shock for one week, if ye'll understand me."

In reply to GM (msg # 121):

Johan narrows his gaze toward Mahmoud and starts walking toward him, intent on holding his attention to intimidate him into surrender, holding his attention so that others can act, or coming with range of his cane.

(in Arabic) "So Mr. ...Mahmoud was it? It appears you've been abandoned by your remaining associates.  Weak faith perhaps?  I'm interested in taking my associates and leaving.  How about you, what your plans now?  Perhaps an accommodation could be reached?"

There is an eager scrabbling behind the steel door as Dermot undoes one deadbolt, and what sounds like metal being scraped on metal.

“You don’t have to be afraid of us, darling," says the first voice. “We might have been down here for a while, but we can still turn a young man’s head. Just open the door and let us out.”

“Yessss, let us out. So we can dance under the moonlight.” hisses the other voice.

Above, Johan approaches Mahmoud and speaks to him in Arabic. “I wish to leave here as well,” says the old man with a shaky voice. “I failed Mr. Clive before and if he finds me, he will feed me to the leeches!”

[Johan, try an Intimidate roll with a bonus die]

In reply to GM (msg # 127):

Dermot strikes another match and peeks into the cell via a peephole cut into the door. What he sees sends him into a cold sweat. The eyeless hags beyond the portal had heads like a sack of moldy potatoes, to put it lightly. They were certainly something otherworldly and dangerous. But if they can get him and his friends out of here or even stop this resurrection ceremony, the risk may be worth taking.

Swallowing back his bile, Dermot takes a deep breath before speaking to the monsters.

"Listen, I don't even need the riches so much. Just avoid my friends up there and we've got a deal. There's a dodgy woman, an obstinate fat Kraut (probably injured, knowing him), a guardsman, and an old guy with a great staff. They'll be sticking together. Everyone else is fair game. We understand each other?"

Presuming their nominal agreement, Dermot prepares to shoot back the lock. He calls up loudly to his friends:
"I've got some ugly friends comin up who wanna see old Mahmoud eye to eye! Keep clear of em as long as they leave you alone. If they don't... you know what to do!"
He considers glaring at the hags to carry the threat across, but thinks better of it.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:09, Fri 03 May 2019.

As Dermot opens the door, the darkness seems to grow deeper, and there is a sound like long, stiff-starched skirts sweeping across the floor toward him.

Suddenly something bony pokes at his eye….  “This one still has its eyes—I can feel the wind of them blinking," creaks a voice. “We can take them now.”

“No, dear sister” says another voice. “We made a deal. This one lets us out, and we have sport with someone else. Come, let us leave!”

Above, you hear the muffled conversation and then all of your lights go out! There are shrill, whispered giggles and then the dank air shakes with a buzzing like the vibrating wing-cases of some giant insect.

Mahmoud screams and screams and there is a hideous tearing sound and then more giggles.

As your torches slowly start to shine again, you see a sobbing Mahmoud in the corner, gaping holes where his eyes were – and catch a glimpse of the dwellers from below as they disappear into the darkness.

Johan quietly exclaims “Dermot, what did you do?”.

[SAN roll please – you can add +20 to your chance as it is dark. If you fail, you lose 1D6]


This message was last edited by the GM at 01:37, Fri 10 May 2019.

Dermot cautiously peeks into the now abandoned side chamber. It is very dark, and he can hear chittering and scuttling noises from within. He counts his matches... 23.

Dermot's a brave enough man, but he knows to quit while he's ahead. He shuts the door and locks the deadbolts again. Then he waits for his pals to help him up somehow.

Above, after some searching around the hatch, a short knotted rope is found on the ground.

Dermot is hauled unceremoniously up from the prison room below, and you take a brief moment to take stock of your situation. Several people are severely wounded, and you are all shaken from the recent events. Gustav tried to perform first aid on himself, but ended up making things worse. You will have to carry him between you as you navigate the tunnels.

Dermot announces that he wants to go back to the Great Hall and burn the mummy in the sarcophagus, which brings an anxious whine from Mahmoud.

“No, no!” he cries in Arabic. “Soon the hall and tunnels will fill with people, making preparations for the great ceremony. It would be death to go back. I know a secret way out.”

In reply to GM (msg # 131):

Gustav tried to patch his wounds with a white handkerchief but somehow made the process worst. As blood continues to flow out of him, he tried one last cry for help before finally succumbing to unconsciousness.

His whispers comes out as "Is Rachel all right?".

After some discussion, you agree to follow Mahmoud so you can escape the tunnels. Carrying Gustav between you, you slowly make your way along the dark tunnels, the old man shaking and mumbling to himself as he tries to guide you out. You often hear footsteps, laughter and screams from some of the side tunnels.

Finally, you arrive at a large chamber. The only thing in here is a large stele, covered in hieroglyphs. Mahmoud nods as you describe the room to him. “Yes, this is the way out. One moment.” He bows down in front of the stele and starts chanting.

“Mighty Is the God Whose Breath Brings Death and Whose Form Brings Madness. Nyarlathotep! Iä! Iä!”

Soon, the stele becomes intangible and translucent, though still visible. “We go through here and then we are out!” exclaims Mahmoud.

Dermot tries to discern what is on the other side. He can vaguely see what looks like the area near the pyramids, and the desert behind it. "Nice work, Mahmoud,” he says. “After you."

Mahmoud nods and steps through, disappearing from the room. You can't see him on the other side. The stele is still translucent.

“Once more unto the breach, Dermot?” says Johan, lifting Gustav up and assisting him as you all move towards the stele. “Only breeches for this Irishman, but into this one we go!” quips Dermot.

It is icy cold, totally dark, and strange sensations and smells assault your senses, but only for a split second. Then you emerge on the other side, finding yourself between the stony front paws of the mighty Sphinx looming behind you. Mahmoud is a few meters in front of you, walking unsteadily towards the city.

As you look behind you, the portal closes, leaving behind a stele similar to the one you entered below.


This message was last edited by the GM at 19:27, Sat 11 May 2019.

You make your way back to Cairo and find the best hospital to treat Gustav, Dermot and Johan. The hospital also grudgingly agrees to treat Mahmoud.

Cedric has some contacts with the Cairo police and you send an urgent message to Sir Thomas Wentworth Russell, also known as Russel Pasha, Chief of the British Cairo Police Chief and director of the Central Narcotics Intelligence Bureau (CNIB).

[You will have a 45% chance of a meaningful response, unless one of you has a better skill]

Sir Russel Pasha contacts you back and informs you that he is assembling a small task force to raid the tunnels and apprehend the ‘hashish smugglers’ you told him were hiding there. Cedric decides to leave you at the hospital and join them.

Later the next day, you are informed that Cedric and many other police officers were wounded while fighting smugglers in the sands outside the largest pyramid. A large number of smugglers and a handful of officers were killed.

When you visit the hospital where Cedric is recovering, he is pale and his hair has turned white as snow. With a shaking voice, he tells you that he managed to disguise himself as a cultist and attend the ceremony. This is what he describes;

Present at the ritual were 12 priests, including Omar al-Shakti and Dr. Henry Clive, and around 200 lesser cultists, including 20 children of the Sphinx. The rest of the Clive Expedition were also in attendance: as sacrifices. Nitocris’ body was removed from the sarcophagus and placed directly onto the sacrificial block in readiness for her resurrection. The sarcophagus itself rested to one side.

James Gardner and Agatha Broadmoor were dragged through the chamber to the altar and made to kneel behind the sacrificial block. The gathered throng began to chant and wail, led by al-Shakti. Agatha Broadmoor was forced to use her powers to contact the spirit of Nitocris, while the cultists hurled victims to the leeches in the pit, who animated the fresh corpses so they could join the celebrations. The various priests linked hands, while Clive and al-Shakti sliced open the throats of Gardner and Broadmoor. As their blood drained into the withered mummy on the sacrificial block, its dried flesh begins to rejuvenate, swelling and glowing with life until, at last, the Queen Nitocris rose in all her deadly beauty.

The braziers beside the throne were lit, and Nitocris stepped lightly over the corpses to take her place. A child of the Sphinx brought Nitocris a goblet of fresh blood to enjoy while she gave the command to bring forth the Black Sphinx. Omar al-Shakti, Clive, and the other priests summoned the creature, which emerged from the enormous hole and was unleashed upon the screaming cultists, children of the Sphinx, and remaining sacrificial victims.

Once the Black Sphinx was sated, Nitocris dismissed it, then cast a spell to summon Nyarlathotep in the form of the Black Pharaoh, who coalesced from the blood and gristle scattered by the Black Sphinx’s feeding. He ascended to the double throne and took a seat beside Nitocris, confirming her as his earthly consort. After the leech chorus finished singing Nyarlathotep’s praises, they dissolved back into the pit and the Black Pharaoh vanished. The remaining cultists staggered into the placid Egyptian night, where they were met with gunfire from the police task force.


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Wriggling flat on my stomach, I began the anxious journey toward the foot of the left-hand staircase, which seemed the more accessible of the two. I cannot describe the incidents and sensations of that crawl, but they may be guessed when one reflects on what I had to watch steadily in that malign, wind-blown torchlight in order to avoid detection. The bottom of the staircase was, as I have said, far away in shadow; as it had to be to rise without a bend to the dizzy parapeted landing above the titanic aperture. This placed the last stages of my crawl at some distance from the noisome herd, though the spectacle chilled me even when quite remote at my right.

At length I succeeded in reaching the steps and began to climb; keeping close to the wall, on which I observed decorations of the most hideous sort, and relying for safety on the absorbed, ecstatic interest with which the monstrosities watched the foul-breezed aperture and the impious objects of nourishment they had flung on the pavement before it. Though the staircase was huge and steep, fashioned of vast porphyry blocks as if for the feet of a giant, the ascent seemed virtually interminable. Dread of discovery and the pain which renewed exercise had brought to my wounds combined to make that upward crawl a thing of agonising memory. I had intended, on reaching the landing, to climb immediately onward along whatever upper staircase might mount from there; stopping for no last look at the carrion abominations that pawed and genuflected some seventy or eighty feet below—yet a sudden repetition of that thunderous corpse-gurgle and death-rattle chorus, coming as I had nearly gained the top of the flight and shewing by its ceremonial rhythm that it was not an alarm of my discovery, caused me to pause and peer cautiously over the parapet.

The monstrosities were hailing something which had poked itself out of the nauseous aperture to seize the hellish fare proffered it. It was something quite ponderous, even as seen from my height; something yellowish and hairy, and endowed with a sort of nervous motion. It was as large, perhaps, as a good-sized hippopotamus, but very curiously shaped. It seemed to have no neck, but five separate shaggy heads springing in a row from a roughly cylindrical trunk; the first very small, the second good-sized, the third and fourth equal and largest of all, and the fifth rather small, though not so small as the first. Out of these heads darted curious rigid tentacles which seized ravenously on the excessively great quantities of unmentionable food placed before the aperture. Once in a while the thing would leap up, and occasionally it would retreat into its den in a very odd manner. Its locomotion was so inexplicable that I stared in fascination, wishing it would emerge further from the cavernous lair beneath me.

Then it did emerge . . . it did emerge, and at the sight I turned and fled into the darkness up the higher staircase that rose behind me; fled unknowingly up incredible steps and ladders and inclined planes to which no human sight or logic guided me, and which I must ever relegate to the world of dreams for want of any confirmation. It must have been dream, or the dawn would never have found me breathing on the sands of Gizeh before the sardonic dawn-flushed face of the Great Sphinx.

The Great Sphinx! God!—that idle question I asked myself on that sun-blest morning before . . . what huge and loathsome abnormality was the Sphinx originally carven to represent? Accursed is the sight, be it in dream or not, that revealed to me the supreme horror—the Unknown God of the Dead, which licks its colossal chops in the unsuspected abyss, fed hideous morsels by soulless absurdities that should not exist. The five-headed monster that emerged . . . that five-headed monster as large as a hippopotamus . . . the five-headed monster—and that of which it is the merest fore paw. . . .




This message was last edited by the GM at 15:39, Sat 18 May 2019.

You will each gain 1D4 SAN for indirectly eliminating the cultists, and 1D8 for defeating Winfield. But you will lose 2D6 SAN for not stopping the ritual or preventing Agatha Broadmoor’s death. I can roll for you if you wish. On average you will neither gain nor lose SAN.

It will take about 3 weeks before you are all fully healed. You can check to see if you increase your skills. If you roll higher than the current skill number, or the result is over 95, then you improve in that skill: roll 1D10 and immediately add the result to the current skill points. Skills may rise above 100% by this method. Again, I can roll for you.

These are the skills I have noted for you, and your current SAN. Please let me know if you disagree on anything.

Dermot; Fast Talk 55, Firearms/Handgun 55, Library Use 20, Sleight of Hand 50, Spot Hidden 56. Current SAN 60.

Gustav; Firearms/Handgun 67, Firearms/Submachine Gun 15, Intimidate 38, Psychology 56, Spot Hidden 69. Current SAN 91

Johan; Fighting/Brawl 65, Intimidate 30, Language/Arabic 45, Persuade 45, Psychology 40, Spot Hidden 40. Current SAN 45.

Rachel; Fighting/Brawl 45, Occult 45. Current SAN 39.