You bid farewell to Cedric and board the tramp steamer 'Bremen' to Mombasa in Kenya. It leaves from Port Said to travel through the Suez Canal, and lays over for several days at Aden. The journey to Mombasa takes about three weeks, giving you ample time to recover from your underground ordeals and prepare for the next part of the adventure.

You review Jackson’s notes on the Carlyle Expedition and the tragic massacre that occurred in Kenya. According to his notes, Jackson arrived in Nairobi on July 23, 1924, having followed various leads across Africa regarding the Cult of the Bloody Tongue. Curious as to whether the cult could have any connection to the loss of the Carlyle Expedition, he spoke with Roger Corydon, Colonial Undersecretary for Internal Affairs in Nairobi, who furnished him with the standard account of the massacre. Unwilling to accept the official story, Jackson visited the site himself, noting the barren earth and how the local tribes avoided the area.

Jackson interviewed Johnstone Kenyatta in Nairobi, who told him that the Carlyle murders may have been performed by the Cult of the Bloody Tongue. He also talked with Lt. Mark Selkirk (since deceased), leader of the men who actually found the remains of the Carlyle Expedition—he partially confirmed the official story, but eventually admitted that no white corpses were actually found among the dead. The intrepid author then ran into a 'Nails' Nelson at the Victoria Bar in Nairobi, who claimed to have seen Jack Brady alive in Hong Kong. Elias followed this lead, departing Mombasa and Kenya on August 16, 1924.

During your stay in Cairo, you have kept in touch with Jackson’s friend in New York, Johan Kensington, and informed him of your progress so far. Dismayed by the horrible events in the tunnels under the pyramid, Kensington contacted your old friend, Dr. Arthur Digby, and asked him to meet up with you in Mombasa. He also recruited another person to meet you there and offer his assistance.

Mombasa is Arabic, with famous narrow and redolent alleys, elaborately decorated balconies, mosques and minarets, muezzins, and veils. This famous merchant city and former slave-trading center is only a few centuries newer than Cairo. About 30,000 people live here on the edge of the Indian Ocean, combining aspects of Arab, African, Indian, Portuguese, and British ways of life. Pre-colonial traders built Mombasa on a coral island just offshore, for purposes of defense. A railway causeway and foot-traffic ferries now connect island and continent. The eastern district, known as the Old Town, is a maze of alleys and traditional thatched, mud-brick houses of Swahili construction. Islamic design is in evidence, alongside the more modern British Colonial architecture. Mombasa became a British Protectorate in 1887.





This message was last edited by the GM at 21:38, Wed 22 May 2019.

You step off the gangplank and take in the sights and sounds of Mombasa Port. Above all, the weather is hot and humid. The climate comes down on you like a wet hot blanket.

You spot your old friend, Art, and another, younger man approaching you. "So, I heard you need help with Nyarlathotep?" says the newcomer.

Johan tips up his hat, raises an eyebrow to the man and rests his hands on his cane...should it be needed.

"My name is Tristan Julius Richardson, but my friends call me TJ. I am a professor of English at Miskatonic University," says the man with a smile.

“Help is putting it lightly,” adds Art. “We could use a miracle. Kensington sends his regards, a cigar, let us hope we make it far.”

"Nice to see ye again, doctor. Coulda used ye the last few weeks!" Dermot Murphy lays a hand on Art's shoulder before directing his attention to the newcomer. "Kensington sent ye, did he? Well anyone Art gets along with can only be half bad. Name's Dermot."

TJ chuckles. "Yes, well, he said it's urgent that we meet up with you folks. Can you inform me what happened?"

As he speaks, TJ sees a portly man, dressed in a businesslike manner hobbling closer. He has a cast on his right arm and left leg. bandaged on top of his head, using crutches and has a bit of trouble breathing. He extends his left arm to Art and addresses him in a slightly accented English. “As you can see, we could have used you a couple of weeks ago! 3 bullets in me and I am still alive. Good Bavarian stock!”

Gustav clasps his hands on the shoulders of the Irishman. “This sour potato got us out of the rocks again! Hahahaha cough cough”.

He turns his attention to TJ. “TJ is it? If you don’t want to look like me, I suggest you go back to your books. You look too young for this line of work.

TJ looks curiously at Gustav... "No worries, sir. It's not about the age, but the experience. And wouldn't you find it odd that someone younger like myself is called?"

You talk further amongst yourself and decide to find a place to have dinner. Mombasa has several larger hotels that cater to European visitors. The labyrinthine Manor Hotel is reputable, clean, and affordable as well as new, and surrounded by well-kept gardens. The Manor Hotel is also renowned for its giant pet tortoise, Liza.

Less assuming is the Metropole Hotel (on MacDonald Terrace); with similar amenities, but further from the town center. The Metropole has links with the Norfolk hotel in Nairobi. The 18-room Cecil Hotel also on MacDonald Terrace is opposite the High Court.

Once you settle on a place, you discuss your next step. The people Jackson talked to can all be found in Nairobi. There is a daily train to there, and the trip takes from 15 to 18 hours.


This message was last edited by the GM at 20:15, Thu 23 May 2019.

“Well chums, is there anything we want to see before heading to Nairobi?” asks Dermot once you’re all seated around the table at the Manor Hotel.

Gustav asks TJ about his specialization and his experiences with the occult. And what does he know about Nyarlathotep?

"Ask no questions and I'll tell no lies," replies TJ. "All I can tell you is that I have some experience with occult. It had been a particular interest of mine."

Leaning over to Gustav, Dermot whispers, “This guy’s a looney....”

Art announces that he will research what vaccines and medicines you may need to take Nairobi. “I imagine I might as well stock up on tourniquets, antibiotics, bandages, and morphine based on the history of our adventures and well... (looking at Gustav) your recent misfortunes. Gents have you all had your penicillin shots?”

“Gustav’s had plenty of shots!” snickers Dermot.

“Ayyy my man, good to see these shenanigans haven’t dampened your "Spirits", grins Art.

“My dear doctor, Dermot Murphy’s been dampened by a wide variety of spirits, wines, and ales, but that’s never kept him from imbibing yet!”

"Well, I'll keep some penicillin in the bag to help with any delights Nairobi might have in store for us,” replies Art.

“Yes, my companion Dermot does not discriminate on his form of drink....”  Johan drinks a fine German brew from a rather large stein. “However our recent misadventures have been....taxing on the mind...”

"What do you mean by that Johan?" asks TJ.

Johan turns to Dermot “Perhaps you know a good toast? I believe drinks are in order if we are going to retell our journeys...”

Dermot raises a pint o’ the black stuff and intones a toast: "Here's to a long life and a merry one. A quick death and an easy one. A pretty girl and an honest one. A cold pint-- and another one!"

He drinks. “At least, one outta four ain’t bad!”

Art raises his glass as well: “Hear, hear!”

Gustav coughs. “I’ll drink to that cheer! Hear, hear!”
He looks at Rachel and hands her a pint. 'We're still alive, that’s something to cheer about no?'

"A-alive... yes. Of course. Alive." Rachel mutters, eyes darting around suspiciously as she accepts the pint.

Dermot looks at Gustav and stage-whispers, “Better pass her two, boyo!”

"W-Why? I only need one. Why? d-do I seem on edge?"

Johan nods to Rachel, “a toast from the lady then!” Johan takes the next stein he had out.

Gustav gives a small worried look at Rachel before leading another toast. 'How do I even top a toast from an Irishman?' but in jewish - L'Chaim to life - with a slight nod to Rachel, and in German - Genieße das Leben ständig! Du bist länger tot als lebendig! - enjoy life! you are longer dead than alive!"

“Sláinte,” replies Dermot to the toast.

Gustav continues. “I hope the doctors here in Cairo plugged my holes real good. I have a feeling ill get more holes in me before we end THIS or THIS ends us.”

“So where do we begin our tale...”. Johan fixes his coat and sits leaning his cane. His stein are nearby and seem never to be completely full. “Shall we start with our recent engagement...Egypt...”

Art nods to Gustav. “Gustav, let me take a look at your wounds and tell me about this cough I hear on you.”

Rachel quietly downs her drink and resumes biting her nails absently.

Johan continues. “So we arrived in Egypt, following leads from other discussions we could have. We were ...unprepared for what happened. We toured the Capital of this quasi-territory of the great British Empire. Our investigation led us too an excavation. We followed a rather moronic son of a British parliamentarian into a recent find. ....He, it turns out, was a member of certain cult bent on raising its long deceased master...  This parliamentarian’s son led us into a trap....which we broke out of and escaped with our lives....but I fear we failed to stop the aims of the cult....”

“Some of our numbers were hurt in the process...  Johan nods to Gustav and  raises his stein (one of them) to his injured comrade and again nods to Rachel.
Rachel glares at Johan. "I'm fine. The question is how we're going to avoid those... mishaps in the future."

Gustav looks at Rachel sympathetically and looks at his newest bullet scars. 'and where do we go from here?'

Johan leans forward. “Please forgive my own concern that we failed you... but you are right, we must move forward and stop those who threaten our world. ”

"I'm fine. We shan't speak of it anymore." Rachel says as she finishes her drink. "I for one propose a lot of firearms and weapons, and I might as well spend for it since I can't take my wallet to the grave."

Johan raises his stein, “Mögen unsere Feinde wissen, dass wir kommen und sie werden wir sie aufhalten!”

"By the way, do you have any documents or any items that you still have that can tell me what happened with you guys?", asks TJ.

"Some things are better left undocumented.... But we did leave some bizarro masks with Bromley....", replies Dermot.

Gustav snickers. “Glad we now have dark sense of humor.”
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:30, Fri 24 May 2019.

Begun in 1896, the railway traverses 600 miles (965 km) and climbs 3,800 feet (1,150 m). The sleepers are made of steel, as termites would consume those constructed of wood. Thirty-two thousand workers were shipped in, mostly from India, to build the railway. By 1899 the railway reached a water hole where, perhaps due to sheer exhaustion, it was decided that the main railway station should be established. Thus, Nairobi was born.

On this line, seating is by class and by color. The flatcar, directly behind the locomotive and its tender, is left for baggage, light freight, and poor people; the third-class car is mostly left for Asians and Arabs, better-off black Africans, and poor whites. The last car, the one furthest from the smoky, smelly engine, is reserved for white people, as well as Arabs and Asians of wealth, at the discretion of the conductor.

The dining car serves Asian and Arab passengers once between Nairobi and Mombasa (the tablecloths are removed and the nice china and silver jealously hidden — reflecting the racist attitudes of the day). Black Africans on the flatcar have to stay there; there is no way for them to get to the dining car. In those days it was perfectly normal to encounter deliberate racism. Rare protests against it were taken by authorities to indicate tendencies toward idiocy, bomb-throwing, and criminal madness.

The train to Nairobi is arranged in the following order. There is no Pullman-style sleeping car.

The journey from Mombasa to Nairobi takes 15 to 18 hours. After climbing out of a narrow coastal belt of open forest and dense brush, you can see the wide plains of Africa. The temperature is still hot, but the air is less humid. Though farms can be spotted, exotic animal life is much in evidence: elephants, rhinos, giraffes, lions, hyenas, herds of various herbivores, and so on, are all seen at one time or another from the train.

The land is gentle and rolling, broken occasionally by precipitous ravines and canyons. Dry grass spreads everywhere, interrupted by thorn and baobab trees, their bulbous trunks grayish and shiny. The rainy seasons center on April and November; travelers during those seasons probably see verdant green plains, and may imagine that they are in Eden, if religiously inclined.

The line climbs steadily. Halfway along, a great snowcapped peak can be seen to the west: Mount Kilimanjaro looms high in the sky, though it is 50 miles (80 km) distant. As the train winds away to the west or east for a few minutes, glints of more great white mountains may be seen far off to the north.

Long after sunset, less than an hour from Nairobi, you hear screams and shouts of astonishment from your fellow passengers in the first-class car. Outside, like two living stars, two small fiery sparks hover in the night just outside the windows, then drifts down the length of the train. Once these swirling, flaming apparitions are near you, the walls of the coach begin to buckle, discolor, and smoke as the merciless things burn their way in…

[SAN roll, please; 0/1D4]



This message was last edited by the GM at 21:43, Fri 24 May 2019.

“What in the bloody blazes?!” cries Colonel Whiffinton-Smythe, who has been boring you with his hunting stories during the long trip.

As the side-wall near him buckles and melts, he pulls out his service revolver and fires several shots at the closest spark. The bullets pass harmlessly though it, but it changes direction and alights in the Colonels hair, quickly setting it on fire.

Roaring like a mad bull, the Colonel flails and tries to extinguish the conflagration on his head.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:41, Fri 24 May 2019.

As the two floating sparks cause havoc in the first-class cabin, you look around for ways to extinguish them.

There are fire buckets and ashtrays in the passageway filled with sand, and large metal pitchers in the toilets each contain nearly 4 liters of water. There are nearly 180 liters of drinking water available in the dining car. No fire extinguishers, but there are two seltzer bottles nearby.

Art quickly grabs a small bucket of sand and throws it on the bluish spark in hopes of suffocating it. [Causing it to lose 3 HP]

Johan grabs a thin sheet from a sheet and pours water over it, attempting to cover the red spark. [It loses 2 HP]

Rachel also grabs a bucket of sand and flings the sand towards the red spark but misses and instead throws the sand over Miss Persephone Lovett, a wealthy socialite, causing a shriek of outrage.

The red spark zig-zags towards Dermot, quickly closing the distance!  [Dermot, Dodge roll please or take 5 damage from burns]

TJ, taken aback from seeing these apparitions, runs towards the dining car, intent of finding something to defeat them with.

https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Afk...0/Fire%2BVampire.jpg" data-lightbox="images-msg-6">https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Afk...0/Fire%2BVampire.jpg" alt=''>
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:10, Sun 26 May 2019.

"Oi Shillelagh!" hollers Dermot as he hops away from the charging spark. "Keep at it, boys!"

Art mixes the sand buckets with some water and throws it on the blue spark again, while Johan continues his towel borne attack.

Meanwhile, Dermot gets behind his bucket-wielding companions and surveys the dark landscape. He's looking for any distant lights or signs of magic, anything that could be related to these sparks, but he fails to spot anything out of the ordinary.

Art begins to feel the familiar dread he felt in Peru and England when he faced encounters with the group. "This seems to be too targeted to be coincidental, I dare say the forces at play here are sending us their welcome party, rolling out the red and blue carpet if you will". "Indeed, doctor," replies Dermot, and squints harder

Seizing that moment, the blue spark veers towards Rachel, while the red spark attacks Dermot again. He dodges, and Rachel spritzes the red spark into oblivion!

TJ finds himself in the dining car - there's a small, fairly well-equipped kitchenette. He begins looking for baking powder and soda to defeat the sparks.

The blue spark, glowing less intense now and radiating less heat, hovers up towards the ceiling of the first-class car, hesitating a moment, before diving down towards Johan. He uses muscles that hasn’t used since the Great War and jumps aside. Rachel tosses Gustav the seltzer, and he douses the blue spark.

Pausing to gather your breath, you survey the damage. It looks fairly chaotic, with two large burnt holes in one side of the cabin. The colonel managed to extinguish the fire, but he's badly burned. Art manages to calm the colonel and give him something for the pain.

Rachel apologizes to the lady she covered in sand, while Gustav helps the other passengers in the coach. He quips 'Well well well, did we pay extra for a side show?” He then proceeds to check the other passengers for any injuries after making sure with a quick glance, that Ms. Katz is not hurt in any way.

Tj returns from the dining car, having failed to find any baking soda and vinegar. Art mixes some drinks for the group with what's left of bar and says "Down the hatch everyone, doctor's orders"

The conductor arrives, drawn by the noise. He sternly chastises you for carelessness with your cigars and threatens you with a bill for damages.

I'm sorry… STERNLY CHASTISES US FOR BEING CARELESS WITH CIGARS! fumes Rachel, tempted to throw the seltzer water at the conductor.

"Let's just get to Nairobi in one piece. Down the hatch!" says Dermot and kicks back his drink.

Art turns to the conductor "My apologies, sir, but I do believe most of these burn holes were here prior to our arrival, but of course we will be very careful not to burn holes through the steel train with our cigars…"  He raises glass at the conductor and says "Down the hatch"

Rachel secretly thinks, "I still have the 17 inch knife somewhere in my purse..."


It is nearly midnight when the train finally rolls into Nairobi Railway Station: a dusty and hot building, built of stone with a tin roof.

NAIROBI
Nairobi is a conscious attempt to create a British city in an African setting. The settlement is not yet three decades old in 1925. Perhaps 10% of the population is European (mainly British) with a third being from India (this group is usually called “Asian” by the whites), and the remainder being natives. In appearance Nairobi is a town of wooden or corrugated iron buildings, interspersed with more important brick or stone buildings. From the mid-Twenties onwards a more permanent architecture prevails and officially sanctioned town planning is introduced.

Nairobi is a town of several parts. The oldest part of Nairobi consists of the railway station, workshops, and quarters in the south. Government Road forms the backbone of Nairobi’s central business and civic area. Asian settlement is permitted to the east of Government Road. Male Africans are not officially allowed to live in the town, but do so, especially in Kibera to the south. There is no restriction on female Africans living in Nairobi, other than their race and their wealth. European settlement is segregated by class. Railway staff live around the station, civil servants live in Parklands, the middle class in Westlands, richer settlers live in the hills to the west and Kilimani.

HOTELS
Unlike New York or London or even Cairo, the selection of hotels is unsurprisingly more limited in Nairobi. The finest establishment is the Norfolk Hotel, which sits on the edge of town and commands an impressive view of the local countryside. The hotel’s fine bar is a social hub for Nairobi’s white community and is a good place to make helpful friends. The members of the Carlyle Expedition, as well as Erica Carlyle later, stayed at the Norfolk.

The New Stanley Hotel, sitting in the center of town, lacks the society cachet of the Norfolk, but makes up for it as a meeting point for Nairobi society.

Torr Hotel on Sixth Avenue is Nairobi’s third notable hotel. Its bar doesn’t close until 2:00 AM, and attracts Nairobi’s cafe elite after other hotel bars and clubs have shut. Due to its late opening hours, the Torr also attracts police custom. With its Swiss chef and fashionable bands, the Torr is the place to access influential people.

Other hotels include the Avenue Hotel on Sixth Avenue, the Central Hotel (formerly the
Victoria) on Victoria Road, and the Hurlingham Hotel on Hurlingham Road.





This message was last edited by the GM at 17:45, Mon 27 May 2019.

"Well, that was a tiring journey,” says TJ, looking back at the rest of the group. “You guys have any idea where we should check in this late in the night?"

There are plenty of guides clamoring for your attention, each claiming to know the best hotel at the best rates, even at this hour.

"Due to the lateness of the hour I suggest we find lodging,” replies Art. “Perhaps something that will put us among our at least close to the locals so as to allow us to get information from them. Based on our previous ordeals, the higher in the social ladder the more they have to lie about and the more incredulous they are about the forces at play here. A shower and a night of shut eye should do me some good."

Johan nods. “Ahhh yes...a shower and scrub might get the burning smell out”

You arrive safely at the Norfolk and manage to book some rooms. Gustav announces that he would prefer to stay here. He feels like he’s not that 100% and would take this opportunity arriving to take a rest. He won’t be drinking tonight.

"I think you've been body-snatched," states an incredulous Rachel.

The rest of you take a couple of motor taxis to Torr's Hotel bar. It’s one of those places where the elite 'drank champagne and pink gin for breakfast, played cards, danced through the night, and generally woke up with someone else's spouse in the morning.' There are plenty of shady character around, as well as several well-dressed gentlemen and ladies, and the ever-present and very loud flappers. A jazz band is playing. The bar is thick with smoke and conversations in different languages.

TJ listens in on a few conversations and overhears lots of talks about safaris, the political situation, society scandals, sports. Nothing untoward but he keeps his eyes and ears open.

“Well my friends,” says Johan. “I would imagine that if we were to speaking one of these establishments of interest in the expedition or more directly of the people that we are looking for ...that they would come to us.”

Dermot looks around for a poker game and soon spots a likely opening, as one player leaves a table. There is an Egyptian, an Englishman and a Belgian left. The Englishman explains the rules. “It's Five Card Stud, with One Down, Three Up, One Down/1-3-1.”

“Nobody's more of a pushover than an Englishman, except maybe a Belgian. This should be a piece of cake,” thinks Dermot to himself.

Art leans over to talk to Johan. “Would you advise we buy some drinks so as to blend in and mayhaps inquire for anyone with information about the Bloody Tongue?"

“Indeed,” replies Johan. “I’m suggesting such but first we would need to make that we are in control the ground we choose to bring them too”. Johan sits, requests two stouts from the help whenever they come by, fixes his coat and hat, nods to Art and when the pints arrive gives one to Art. “Now, who do we know who get extremely intoxicated, loose on the lips, and will not mind being bait....”

Art buys a drink at the bar and makes his way toward the likeliest of the likely prospects and eaves drops until he can find a natural opening to engage him. The man, a quite drunk minor government official, happily chats with Art for a while but yields no useful information.

Rachel hangs back and just listens to conversations. She overhears one man talking about a Colonel Endicott, and how guests at his game lodge have been killed and partially eaten. She also overhears the name Jomo Kenyatta mentioned, along with disdain for his campaigning for African nationalism.

It is getting to around 2 AM in the morning, and the bartender loudly calls for last orders.


Typical patrons at Torr's Hotel bar


This message was last edited by the GM at 15:54, Tue 28 May 2019.

Stifling a yawn, Rachel shakes her head, refusing the call for a last order. Instead she continued to sit at the bar, watching Dermott's game absently, politely turning down any drinks offered.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:27, Tue 28 May 2019.

In reply to Rachel Katz (msg # 9):

Being the lowlife that he is, Dermot manages to win a few hands at the poker table and bring in a tidy sum of pocket change. He hasn't gained any information when the last call rings out from the bar, so he drops some bait.

"Well gents, I'd say I'm sorry to clean ye out like a foreign expedition by tribal Africans, but I've got my sights set on a Harley, ye see."

The Belgian scoffs. "Harley. Hah! You should get a FN 285TT. Great Belgian quality!"

"I'll consider your advice at the dealership. Perhaps the Belgians make better mechanics than gamblers."

"Like takin candy from a wee babe," thinks Dermot as he scoops up his winnings.

With no information to show, he heads back to the Norfolk with his companions.

Dr. Arthur Digby arrives back at the majestic Norfolk hotel shortly after 03:30 in the morning. The grandeur and beauty of the building likely a benefit from its proximity to the less than regal places of business around it. Walking into his room, he notices a slight drop in the temperature, with some the African heat remaining outside his door waiting for him on his departure. Placing his keys down by his bed, he slowly removes his footwear, stretching out his toes and legs. He finds a small mirror in his bag and holds it at arm's length by his side so as to see the reflection of his lower back in it. Carved into his back are several small crosses in differing states of healing. The skin tissue on one of the more prominent scars is wholly scarred over with new more recent cuts placed hurriedly and erratically over it.
Cold sweat begins to bead on his forehead, and the mirror in his hand starts trembling, the memories of Peru and England tearing again at his psyche.
If God real, then WhY?!! If God not real but dark Gods Real, THEN wHY?!.
Arthur hoped that some time apart from the group would make the memories less real and bring back his sanity, but the primal fear that he now carried in his soul always seemed to linger just slightly out of reach of his control.
The mirror shatters as it falls from his now shaking hands, the glistening shards of glass glint as they catch the light in the room. Arthur grips one of the shards and begins to slowly trace over two of the crosses on his back, the pain making him wince and grunt. He shoves a handful of the bedsheets into his mouth to muffle his screams and continues to carve. Tears roll down the side of his cheeks, his eyes red and puffy.
Why did I come? I had to come back. I must be here to end it, to stop it. I know it's real and so do my friends. I can't survive this alone, and they deserve the best chance to beat it and if that means me facing the horrors of the night once again then so be it.
His hands slowly cease to shake, the shard makes a loud clack sound as it hits the ground. The pain from the cut no longer a discomfort but a soothing reminder that he should not be afraid of being hurt because he already is hurt.
Walking over to his medicine bag, he treats his cuts to prevent infection and contain the bleeding. While the depths of the cuts are only superficial, the process allows Arthur the illusion of control and a way for him to remain grounded in a world whose rules he no longer understands. He showers and gets some rest knowing full well that tomorrow he must present a strong and composed and façade in front of his friends. He does not know how all these horrors have affected them, and he was glad to be able to join them again since it was only together with them that he had survived. He did not want them to think less of him if they discovered the state his mind had sunk to.
The afternoon sun wakes Art, outside his window, a Palm tree slowly sways back and forth in the wind.
Me too old boy, me too.
Collecting his equipment and grabbing his keys, he heads out the door. The African heat welcomes him back as soon as he steps outside of his room. He makes his way down to meet his friends rushing and slightly worried that he has overslept. He runs into Rachel and TJ who inform him of their plans to follow up on a lead they obtained the night before. He joins them, wincing a bit as the cuts on his back become agitated by a slight bump from his bag.
“Onward then my esteemed colleagues let us seized what's left of this day.”

Jomo Kenyatta lives on Marianna Street, though most of the time he can be found in the office of the Kikuyu Central Association, a black African organization devoted to gaining black representation in the colonial government. Anyone in the area, Kikuyu tribesman or not, can direct you to the KCA offices.

The Kikuyu Central Association, is a political organisation in colonial Kenya formed in 1924 to act on behalf of the Gĩkũyũ community by presenting their concerns to the British government. One of its greatest grievances was the expropriation of the most productive land by British settlers from African farmers. Most members of the organisation were from the Gĩkũyũ tribe.

At the KCA office, you wait for a short time before Mr. Kenyatta comes out from an office. Despite the heat in the building, he is dressed in a suit. His beard is short and tidy, and his English is excellent.


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https://i.ibb.co/TcVcVxz/Capture.jpg" data-lightbox="images-msg-12">https://i.ibb.co/TcVcVxz/Capture.jpg" alt=''>

 In reply to GM (msg # 12):

As soon as Mr. Kenyatta steps out of his office, Rachel rises to greet him.

"Rachel Katz. And this is my companion, TJ Richardson and Dr. Arthur Digby. Thank you for taking time off your schedule to speak to us." She says, and waits for him to hopefully offer his office so they can talk privately.


Once there, Rachel immediately gets to the point. "Mr. Kenyatta, I've been informed that you have extensive knowledge about The Cult of the Bloody Tongue up in the mountains of Nairobi. Could you tell me about them?"
This message was last edited by the player at 00:50, Wed 29 May 2019.

Kenyatta studies you all intently and then invites you into an adjacent room, “Where it is more private." He closes the door to the room and offers you a drink. "I may indeed know of such things. What is your interest in this, if I may ask?

"The Carlyle Massacre." Rachel says flatly. "You came highly recommended."

Kenyatta studies you all intently. "Are you detectives perhaps?" he asks. "This is a subject that is not spoken of in public."

"Nothing of that sort," Rachel waved, suddenly glad Gustav wasn't around. "Private researchers."

"We came here, as a favor per se." TJ says.

"Favour?" replies Kenyatta

Rachel raises an eyebrow at TJ and motions for him to answer the gentleman's question.

"Well, in my case, I'm just here to accompany these folks out of a favour," TJ gestures at everyone. "But I wonder how you can help us."

Art chimes in "We are doing follow up on the Carlyle murders we believe the Bloody Tongue is involved and that they are responsible for the murder of our friend Elias Jackson”

"Our research led us to you a highly regarded local figure, who we believe may be able to help us on our venture”

"Murder?!" exclaims Kenyatta. "I'm so sorry. I had a feeling he would meet a violent end. The cult has eyes and ears everywhere."

“It is a deeply saddening and heartbreaking turn of events which is why in his memory we arrive here in search of answers”, says Art.

"'I would, he said, always have a place in Nairobi,' is what I believe Jackson said," Rachel added. "Now we'd like to know if that offer still stands. We need your help to understand this better."

“Please, says Kenyatta. “Tell me how you come to be here. And let's drink to his memory. I will of course help you as best I can.”

“The exquisite and lovely Rachel can better fill you in on the full details, my good sir” replies Art.

Rachel tells him the short version of events, cutting out the more hair-raising parts, worried that it might scare Kenyatta before he could tell them what they need. "With all this, you can understand why time is of the essence. What is the Cult of the Bloody Tongue? Why do the tribes fear it? Where did it come from, if this god of theirs isn't from Africa?"

“These old ways are cruel,” says Kenyatta, “and my knowledge of them imperfect. More than 20 years ago I fled my home where I heard many such stories, for my grandfather was a great murogi, a diviner. I have tried to leave that world behind, and to enter yours. How ironic that, as I strain towards your heritage, you reach towards mine.”

He thinks for a while. “Much of what you say I do not understand, and even more of it I find hard to believe. But I perceive something about your group. Perhaps traces of my grandfather cling to me. If you are willing, you should meet the great Bundari. It is from him that I learned of the Bloody Tongue. I did not send Jackson Elias to him, for Jackson seemed doomed to me, and I could not burden my friend with such a difficult gift. But your destinies are unfinished; perhaps you have great victories to live for. Or, perhaps, you will undergo tragedies as terrible as can befall mortal man.”

Rachel nods. "We'd like to meet up with the great Bundari. Where is he?"

"Please excuse me for a moment," says Kenyatta and rises from behind the desk. "I will need to make arrangements. it will only be a minute."  He leaves the room.

Rachel stands up, pretends to admire a photo near the door, while putting her hand in her bag, gripping her knife tightly. She glances out the door to check if she can see Kenyatta from where she stands.

Kenyatta appears to have left the building but returns after a few minutes. He's together with a remarkably tall black man in white shirt and pants but without shoes.

Rachel relaxes, but doesn't let go of the knife in her bag, waiting for Kenyatta to introduce his companion.

Kenyatta returns, saying, “A friend waits for you outside. You must follow him at a distance. He will make sure you are not left behind. If he stops and waits, then you also must stop and wait. The door he enters will have yellow paint; that door you will enter also, swiftly and without hesitation. I am glad to have met you.” He holds out his hand to each of you.

The tall black man does indeed wait for you outside. He smiles and turns to walk away, as Kenyatta motions the investigators to follow the tall man, and calling out, “Good day, my friends.”

"I... didn't think we'd meet him so soon. We have companions that will have questions for him. Is it possible to call them?" Rachel asks, surprised. She finally lets go of her knife, slipping her hand out of her bag quickly.

"That's a good thing, right?" asks TJ of Rachel.

"Ah, of course," says Kenyatta. He speaks a few words to the tall man who nods. "He will be here waiting for you to return."

Rachel looks at TJ uncertainly. On one hand they could be walking straight into a trap. On the other hand, perhaps the man had the answers to their questions. Thankfully, she was saved from conveying her doubts by Kenyatta.

"We had better call the rest." Rachel calls the hotel and gives Gustav a quick update and insist they come quickly.

"Can you pick up some sort of gift for this great Bundari?” she adds. “I'm sure the hotel has something there."



This message was last edited by the player at 02:33, Wed 29 May 2019.

While you wait, Art turns to Rachel and TJ. “While this gentleman seems very forthcoming, a healthy bit of caution might do us well to prevent us from walking into an unwanted situation. This is, however, the first bit of progress we've made so good on us so far. Now if we can just avoid a double cross, gunshots, and the horrors that prey in the night, then we might make out of this one yet.”

"Yes, I do agree. If we stick with a safe plan, what can go wrong?" smiles TJ, still kind of shaken by the appearance of the tall, black man.

"WHY?" Rachel says a little too loudly and a little too high-pitched. Glancing around to make sure Kenyatta, your guide, and everyone else was out of earshot, she lowers her voice quickly. "Why? Do you think this might be a trap? Did you see something we didn't? What do you know?" Rachel whispers rapidly as her eyes darts around the place furtively.

”I have developed an unshakable bout of suspicion whenever someone in our adventures outside of our party is helpful,” says Art. “I have no real reason to suspect foul play, and I do look forward to meeting the great Bundai however let us remain ever vigilant we are far from home in a world that grows queerer with each passing day.”

"Y...yes..yes, of course, that makes sense," Rachel agrees absently, biting her thumbnail once more, fidgeting. Gustav and Dermott had better be along soon.

After about an hour, both Gustav and Dermot have arrived, and you all follow the tall man through Swahili Town. As you make your way, it dawns on you that your guide is mindful of your surroundings; he seems to be watching for people following you while leading you to… who knows whom?

This part of Nairobi is poor, but its people are cheerful and have not given up hope. Most of the houses are one-room, mud-wall buildings, roofed by bundled grasses and broad leaves. Occasionally, the larger home of some entrepreneur makes a striking contrast. Prosperity is mostly judged by how well one’s roof sheds water; roofs made of shingles, tile, or amalgams of packing crates and hammered-out metal sheets have higher status than those with moldy straw bundles.

Eventually, your guide stops before a yellow painted door, turns to look at you, and then steps through. When you follow, you find yourself in a small shed, beside a high-wheeled, yellow Rolls-Royce roadster of indifferent condition. Your guide holds open the door and motions you to sit in the car. In a few minutes, you are bouncing along a dirt track several miles outside of Nairobi, scattering bicycles and animal-drawn carts as you go, and leaving a long cloud of dust in your wake.

After an hour or so in the hot and stuffy interior of the car, you drive into a remote village and stop just beyond a circle of huts. The guide gets out, but motions for you to remain in the vehicle. A young, delicate looking man approaches, and he and the guide talk at length. While the conversation cannot be heard, it appears that your guide is speaking in persuasive tones, attempting to convince the delicate-looking man of something. While the conversation plays out, village children gather around the car and peer inside, their bright round eyes polite but curious. If you wave or speak, the children giggle and whisper; some of the less brave may even run away.

Your deal apparently concluded, the guide haltingly introduces you to the young man: Okomu, who asks, in passable English, why you wish to speak to Old Bundari.

Art eyes up Okumo and signs not relishing having to convince yet another person of their good intentions but still, he understands some can never be too careful they are arranged here after all

”Pleased to meet you, Okumo. I am Dr. Digby, and my friends and I are here to try to resolve the murder of our friend Elias Jackson. Our journey has led us here, and it seems the bloody tongue is responsible. Mr. Kenyatta believes that our destinies are unfinished; and that perhaps we have great victories to live for. As such, he has sent us here to seek wisdom from the great Bundai. As a doctor, if I may assist with anyone ailments that any of your townfolk may have I humbly extended my services and will do what I can to try and help them.”

After listening to Art, Okomu accepts that you are worthy to speak with his master. He asks you to exit the vehicle and follow him to Bundari’s hut.

From the outside, Bundari’s home has the smooth curves of a Maasai hut, although it is larger and constructed in a different fashion to the conical mud dwellings of the rest of the village. A gated fence surrounds it and the door is a simple curtain. The house is formed like a snail’s shell: the entrance passage winds all the way around the outside of the single central room before opening into it. The way is unlit but everyone sees fetishes, signs, masks, and so forth arranged on both the inner and outer whitewashed walls of the passage.

In the central room, more signs and symbols can be seen, carefully arranged into arcane patterns. Across from the interior door is a small old man, sitting so still that he seems to be dead. As you enter, Okomu goes to the man and unfolds one of his legs and rubs it (to restore the circulation), then folds it back to its original position.

Okomu explains that as Bundari worked to strengthen himself, the magician had to become more conjoined with the Other Sides. The presence of the great magician is now in flux between this world and many others. It is Okomu’s job to guard this reality for Bundari and to protect his shell (his body). Bundari has other (unimaginable) assistants who perform similar functions at the loci of his presences on the Other Sides.

Okomu directs you to sit, saying you must wait patiently for the old man’s attention to focus on this reality. The process could take hours. If you wish to speak with him, you must sit beside Bundari’s shell or the great one may not be drawn out of his meditative state for days.

You are invited to sit across from Bundari and wait. During this time, Okomu offers unshelled peanuts, baked plantain, and milk, but warns that you must not converse, for that would “too rapidly” draw out Bundari from his interdimensional voyages.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:32, Fri 14 June 2019.

In reply to GM (msg # 17):

Dermot can't help but be impressed by Art's persuasive demeanor. He gratefully accepts the snacks and sits back to wait, chewing quietly and thinking his own thoughts. The place is calm. Even after waiting several hours, Dermot isn't startled when Old Bundari's body flushes back to life. Now, to see what they can learn....
This message was last edited by the player at 00:57, Thu 30 May 2019.

"By your great wisdom, o Great Bundari, do you know why the Bloody Tongue is making a sacrifice?" asks TJ.

"We're told this Tongue god is not of Africa,” adds Dermot. “Is it more powerful that the African gods, or does Ngai have some success against it?"

Three. Whole. Hours. Rachel shifts in her seat a little bit. She rifles through her notes before asking, "What did the Carlyle expedition find that led them here? What reason did they have to be here?"

In his soft whisper, Bundari speaks, and Okomu translates a terrible story;
The Cult of the Bloody Tongue was responsible for the massacre of the Carlyle Expedition. Unnatural beasts were summoned from the Other Sides to kill and carry off the victims. Those carried away were brought to the Mountain of the Black Wind, a terrible place shunned by everyone.

The Mountain of the Black Wind is so called because a dread god inhabits it. Others know the mountain as Mount Satima. Even the greatest of spells cast against the mountain have no effect. Once per year, the Black Wind is unleashed, which brings plague, famine, and disaster.

To satisfy their god, the cult abducts villagers and sacrifices them. After the sacrifices, the god appears in all its terrible glory, attended by creatures not of this earth. As tall as the mountain itself, the god has no face; only a blood-red tongue hangs down from where the top of its head should be. The mere sight of this hideous god drives men mad. The god’s priestess is called M’Weru. She lives in the mountain. It was she who prophesied the coming of a child of the god, a part human monster, who is soon to soak the land with blood.

Ancient tales speak of a great sign, the Eye of Light and Darkness, which could forever chain the cruel god within the mountain. No one knows what the sign might be. Some farseeing magicians say that the sign existed until a few years ago, when the god tricked men into destroying it. If the sign can be found, perhaps it can chain the god once more.

[Please roll INT, all of you]

Rachel and TJ remembers seeing seen the name M'weru mentioned before - in one of the documents you found in England. Roger Carlyle referred to his Kenyan lover as M'weru at one point.

"Typical of men to be besotted with a 'child god', 'part human monster', prophesied to soak the land with blood." Rachel scoffs lightly, shaking her head when she realizes why the name M'Weru is familiar.

A light bulb slowly comes on in Dermot's head. His heart nearly skips a beat when he remembers a particular item gained under similarly mysterious circumstances. A chill comes over him as he reaches deep into his garments to pull out...  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.

Rachel lets out a low whistle. "Well now, isn't that lucky."

With a smirk that borders on a grimace, Dermot addresses the sage. "I have to ask: is this half the Light, or the Darkness?"

Bundari's smiles at the sight of the stone slab and he addresses Okumu. The young man translates. "It seems to be a fragment of it, indeed! My master wishes to meditate on this. To find out how to use it. Do you wish to wait here again?"

Dermot glances around the room at his companions. "I'm sure your insight will be well worth the wait. I'll stay."  TJ gives a thumbs up.

Rachel nods. "Well, I think this is the longest I've gone without being shot at, stabbed, or anything of the sort. I'll stay and watch."

"Don't worry. I can tell that we'll be safe here," TJ assures everyone.

Gustav has brought food for the group, including biltong made from springbok or wilderbeast, very gamey in taste. Great with beer. He also presents Bundari with a fruitcake he bought in Nairobi. He sits down next to Rachel and eats quietly.

Art eats some of the provided foods while quietly remaining attentive

It is several hours again before Bundari stirs. He blinks and sighs as he comes out of his trance, and takes a big bite of fruitcake before speaking.

Okomu translates that Bundari has journeyed far to uncover the secrets of the sign you have found. “The stone you have brought me is one half of a whole. Sadly, the spell that was in it was rendered useless when the ward was broken. The other half is held by a man of brass, who is in the far East.”

Bundari says he talked with a mystic and scribe, who also lives in the Far East, who has written seven books of forbidden, but essential, knowledge. The mystic is named H’san, who knew of the ward and captured its magic within one of his seven books.

[You can all try a Cthulhu Mythos here]

The old man shakes his head sadly. “It seems the ancient tales are not always right. The broken ward is but a sign, showing you what you must do. The child-god here is a threat of course, but I sense an even fouler intent behind the events you have seen so far. The man of brass holds the key and the knowledge you need to stop the Old Ones from eating this world.”

Bundari has one more thing to say to you before you leave. “If you seekers have courage, you may achieve much. You must hurry. The child-god will arrive soon. Okomu can help make the arrangements you need. But he cannot do what I can: I have gifts for you.” He then bestows upon you two things; a curiously carved fly whisk, and a strange-looking lizard in a cage.

The fly whisk has an ebony handle carved with Kikuyu symbols. In many African cultures, the fly whisk is thought of as a defense against evil spirits, for such spirits often take the form of flies. Such magicians invariably have whisks among their paraphernalia. Bundari explains that it can find and resist evil.

In a small wooden cage is a strange looking reptile: a warty, gray-brown lizard with three horns sticking forward from its forehead. Two features distinguish it from a regular chameleon; the first is that its mouth is on the vertical axis rather than the horizontal. The second is that each of its forelimbs divides into two at the elbow joint, so that each forelimb has two “feet.

“This is my friend, Who-Is-Not-What-She-Seems. I found her in a faraway place. You may call her “Who” for short. Take her with you and feed her well and daily with flies. You need but open her cage and free her for her to be of service to you. But remember, do not let her out until you reach the Mountain of the Black Wind, when you are in need of a friend.”


This message was last edited by the GM at 15:40, Fri 31 May 2019.

Art heads inside his room at the Norfolk along the way he has managed to trap some flies by baiting them with the leftover food from the meeting with Bundai. Once inside his room, he places Who on his nightstand and takes a deep breath. Alone again, he begins to replay the events of the last few years in his head. Feelings of guilt wash over him, and the voices of his dying comrades from the great war fill his thoughts. The urge to find solace and comfort in self-inflicted pain begins to consume him. He reaches for his medical bag to find objects to achieve this aim when he hears Who make a small sound as it eats some of the files Art collected for it. Art eyes Who and remembers the advice and guidance the party received from the Great Bundai. He drops his bag and sits next to Who admiring the small creature and letting his mind wander at what journey this little being must have lived through to end up as part of this big noble venture it now was a part of. He found himself projecting his own journey on to the small creatures life. As the night wore on, Art feels his tension and stress diminishing, and as the wear of the day finally takes its toll, he collapses into a deep sleep. He is saved from his own self-torture for one night.

After meeting with Bundari, you all feel a sense of peace you haven’t felt in a long time. The tall, silent man drives you back to Nairobi and your hotel.

The lobby of the Norfolk Hotel is quite crowded this evening. Lots of guests are trying to book rooms. Most are African, but you hear voices in many languages, clamoring for attention. Thankful that you already have accommodations, you share an evening meal and head to bed.

The next morning, you head to the office of the Nairobi Star, in order to learn more about the fate of the Carlyle expedition.

The publisher of the Star, Natalie Smythe-Forbes, along with a typographer, and several printers are at work in the moderately-sized building. Ms. Smythe-Forbes is tall and slender and wears her hair in a bun.

“How can I help you?” she asks in a brisk tone. Lying on her desk is yesterday’s copy of the one-page news sheet that is the Star, showing the headline ‘Fire on the Mombasa train!’

In reply to GM (msg # 22):

Dermot picks up the paper to see whether they bought that careless cigar line. Keeping his eyes on the story, he addresses the lady.

"We're looking for some information. A colleague of ours had been researching the fate of the Carlysle Expedition last year. Spoke with a man by the name of..."

He meets her eyes for the first time.

"Sam Mariga?"

Dermot discreetly scans the news sheet. The story reports that a large portion of the first-class car on the Mombasa to Nairobi train was burned by glowing sparks, probably from a lit cigar. It mentions Colonel Whiffinton-Smythe, who is now resting at the European Hospital with burns to his face and scalp. A picture of the train carriage shows two charred holes where the sparks burned their way in.

“Sam, yes. I know of him,” replies Ms. Smythe-Forbes. “He’s a gardener, works for the railway. I love the gardens around there. So peaceful.”

She invites you to sit down and serves you tea and scones. Once you have spent a few minutes with her, you find that her brusque demeanor mellows quite a bit. In reply to your questions, she collects some of her older newspaper sheets and summarizes what they say;

The Arrival of the Carlyle Expedition
The Carlyle Expedition was mounting a trek to confirm data gathered in Egypt, concerning the followers of a religious leader who migrated southward into Kenya. While in Nairobi, the Carlyle principals stayed at Hampton House. The expedition also dealt with Dr. Horace Starret and Mr. Neville Jermyn, a barrister . A departure photo shows Sir Aubrey looking exceptionally young, and Hypatia Masters looking rather dumpy, perhaps pregnant. Art takes one glance at the photo and nods. Indeed pregnant.

The Discovery of the Bodies
The newspaper report gives credit to Lt. Mark Selkirk and a squad of men for finding the remains. A later report describes the capture of five Nandi men, who were tried and found guilty for the murders; an accompanying photograph shows the grisly scene of the men swinging from five ropes.

About the Carlyle Expedition
“The Carlyle people were a strange, rather unhealthy lot. Hypatia, poor dear, was sick some of the time. Indisposed in the mornings, I think. Pregnant, perhaps? Carlyle I scarcely saw—quite a nervous young man who liked his whiskey. And Sir Aubrey, though attractive and virile, had dealings with people not at all of his station. I especially recall that Taan Kaur, a slimy little woman, was at Hampton House a lot. A mere tea-peddler, associating with a peer! She’s still in Nairobi. Perhaps she would tell you what they talked about—I’m sure I don’t want to know. The doctor, Huston, was very aloof.”

Mrs. Smythe-Forbes also remembers Jackson Elias as a strong-willed, rather rude man of genius. She suggests talking to Roger Corydon at Government House, and also to Captain Montgomery of the African Rifles.



This message was last edited by the GM at 18:40, Sun 02 June 2019.

As you are talking to Ms. Smythe-Forbes, you hear the sounds of a loud discussion from the other office. Moments later, a man dressed in a brown suit charges into the room. He is about 6’ 4”” tall, with a brick-red face and a bristling mustache (all of which make him a sight to behold). He has a strong smell of whiskey on his breath, and carries a large elephant gun, which he proceeds to discharge at the ceiling!

After flinching at the sound of the powerful discharge, Dermot looks hard at the man. "Can I buy ye another, sir? Maybe something a bit stronger?”

“Colonel Endicott?” squawks Ms. Smythe-Forbes in surprise.

The colonel casts one bleary eye on Dermot before turning to Smythe-Forbes. “What is this bloody nonsense you’ve been printing in your rag?” he rants, spittle spraying from his mouth. “Saying that unnatural things are happening at my lodge? Everyone knows there is nothing so natural in the bush as violent and bloody death. Are you trying to ruin my business? People are staying away in droves!”



https://i.ibb.co/WnDxSJH/3colu...tory-jpurdey-jnr.jpg" data-lightbox="images-msg-25">https://i.ibb.co/WnDxSJH/3colu...tory-jpurdey-jnr.jpg" alt=''>
This message was last edited by the player at 20:53, Sun 02 June 2019.

The blast ringing through her ears, Rachel hits the deck, hands over her nape. Shouting. Dermot offering the man a drink. Johann talking calmly. Slowly opening her eyes, Rachel stands up, glaring at the man with the gun, as she dusted herself off.

"What is the matter with you?" Rachel screeched in an increasingly high-pitched tone. Fear slowly turned into anger, as Rachel sat back down, completely irritated. "Perhaps it's not the unnatural occurrences that are keeping people away from your business," Rachel snapped, eyeing colonel slowly up and down, with pure spite in her eyes.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:08, Tue 04 June 2019.

Johan fakes a light cough and fixes his mustache. “Colonel Endicott, your reputation precedes you. Thank you for joining us. Although I must apologize that we did not speak with you first on this topic. Your colleague here is not disparaging your business but rather responding to a line of inquiry from my associates and me. You see we are on a hunt of our own."

Rachel’s outburst seems to have caught the Colonel’s attention. “Frightfully sorry, old bean. Didn’t mean to startle you there. I do tend to get a bit carried away sometimes. Heh!”

He snaps the elephant gun open and removes the cartridge. “Well done, Mrs. Carruthers,” you can hear him mutter to the gun.

The sight of the gun reminds Rachel of something. "Gimme back my gun, Gustav."

"Belay that, I'd prefer to go on livin' another month at least," exclaims Dermot.

"It's my gun, Dermot. I swear I won't shoot him." says Rachel.

"I'm more worried about myself, to be honest...." Dermot flashes back to every incident with Rachel and her gun since Peru.

Gustav grins. “I also prefer to have the lady have a gun.” He opens his bag full of guns and shows it to Rachel. “Take your pick!”

Rachel smugly takes a sleek colt .38 revolver and slides it inside her bag, turning her attention back to the colonel.

“What’s this about a hunt, eh?” he asks, seemingly calmer. “I can recommend my game lodge for all your hunting needs. Well-equipped, so it is, by Jove! What are we hunting? Elephants? Lions? Perhaps a nice rhino?”

In reply to Colonel Endicott (msg # 27):

Rachel's jaw slacks open in shock, working, but no sound comes out. Her hand scrambles for the gun but her shock at being called 'old' causes her to drop her bag on the floor. Huffing, Rachel turns to fix the bag instead of shooting the colonel.

“Colonel Endicott! You will have to pay for the damage to my ceiling!” snaps Ms. Smythe-Forbes. “You know perfectly well my newspaper is not trying to ruin you. I believe that the deaths were caused by a rogue lion and that you are entirely innocent. Nevertheless, it is my duty is to warn visitors of the danger in the area.”

“Poppycock!” growls the Colonel. “There are no rogue lions at my lodge. The deaths are the result of wild animals meeting careless tourists, nothing more.”

“Twelve deaths in six years?” asks Ms. Smythe-Forbes acidly. “That sounds a bit excessive to me.”

The colonel turns to Johan. “I would hire your services, good Sir. Come to my lodge and hunt, and see that everything is safe. And I will help you with your hunt in return!”
This message was last edited by the player at 21:19, Wed 05 June 2019.

In reply to Colonel Endicott (msg # 29):

A wry smile crept on Rachel's lips, tempted to take the Colonel's offer and see if he was indeed up to taking up their sort of 'hunt' afterwards.

Glancing around her colleagues, Rachel sighed and shrugged.

"While the offer is tempting, are any of us equipped to go 'rogue lion' hunting?"

"I will of course supply the necessary equipment for the tour," adds the colonel. "It's a mere four hours drive from here. Out in the proper African wilderness. Yes, indeed!"

"Oh, by the way, colonel," says Ms. Smythe-Forbes. "These good people were asking about the Carlyle expedition. Didn't they visit your lodge as well?"

After some hesitation, you all agree to the Colonel’s offer. "Splendid!" exclaims the colonel. "You will probably need to get organized. Meet me at the Hampton House bar in an hour, yes?"

“We’ll be right along,” says Rachel. "Wait-- before you go, tell us exactly what's going on, so we know what we have to bring. Exactly!" Rachel calls out.

"No need to worry, miss", barks the Colonel. "All will be provided. Perhaps bring some sort of hat for the drive."

"I'll bet that's what you told the people that died there too," Rachel mutters darkly beneath her breath.

Art is also a bit suspicious of the colonel it seems like it could be a “hunt the humans” kind of scenario

Rachel turns to Mrs. Smythe-Forbes. "Could I have a copy of that article you wrote about the incidents?"

“Please, call me Natalie,” smiles the editor. “I certainly wish you luck with the Colonel. Folks around here either love or hate him. Please, take notes of your experiences – and perhaps some photographs. I would be happy to print your story when you get back.”

She finds a few articles that summarizes what she already told you. There is also a timeline of events;

22nd July 1919: the Carlyle expedition arrives in Mombasa, Kenya.
3rd August 1919: the expedition makes final preparations to depart Nairobi and trek north the following day.
4th August 1919: The Carlyle expedition leaves Nairobi at first light.
15th October 1919: word reaches the outside world of the disappearance of the Carlyle Expedition.
11th March 1920: Erica Carlyle arrives in Kenya to search for traces of the Carlyle Expedition.
20th May 1920: mutilated remains of the Carlyle Expedition are found.
19th June 1920: five Nandi tribesmen executed following a short trial.
23rd July 1924: Jackson Elias arrives in Nairobi, Kenya
16th August 1924: Elias departs Kenya.
2nd April 1925: today's date.

About an hour later, you meet up with the Colonel at the nearby hotel bar. He has had a few whiskeys and offers to buy you all a round to celebrate ‘finally bringing an end to this bloody nonsense of killer lions.”

The Colonel’s game lodge is situated due southwest of Nairobi (in what will one day become the Nairobi National Park). The Highlands contain the Aberdare Ranges, Mount Kenya, and Nairobi. Dominated by savanna and forest, the area around Nairobi is especially fertile, as well as being more temperate in climate (thus, more suited and attractive to Europeans).

Since Nairobi is that rarity—a city on the fringe of wilderness—the Colonel has taken advantage of this feature by building his lodge where wealthy, indolent tourists can view wild animals and feel as though they are “roughing it” after a mere four hours’ drive from the city.

The Colonel has his own truck, which seats three in the front and two more, with rather less comfort, in the back. He has also arranged for a smaller, additional truck. The drive to the lodge is rough on both vehicles and passengers, but the vast vistas, distant mountains, and exotic wildlife are welcome distractions.



This message was last edited by the player at 15:25, Fri 07 June 2019.

Art rides in the truck and looks out the window while cradling the small cage that houses Who. The wind provided soothing reprieve from the heat subsides a bit when the truck slows down to take a turn. Art turns to the group and says
”A hunt for wild lions huh, a pity. We encroach on their territory and then kill them when they attempt to take back what they called home. With so many more pressing dangers in this world, it feels almost trivial to kill these beasts for the sake of sport. However, the arrowhead gets no say in the matter once the archer releases the bowstring, and in this world, we are not even the arrowhead we are the arrow shaft.”
Art becomes a bit self-conscious about his small, sad depressively pensive rant. He remains quiet for the rest of the trip to the lodge.

There was something strangely relaxing about going off to hunt for lions amidst all the mysterious and alien things they had encountered. Rachel sat up front, right next to the colonel, to her dismay. It was most comfortable, and she had never been one for window seats.

Her hat in her lap, she kept her eyes on the road, frequently realizing that she was gnawing on her thumbnail. She would stop, put her hand in her lap, then repeat the cycle later on over and over again. After Art's small rant, Rachel looked over at the doctor, raising an eyebrow at his bleak rant, before turning to the colonel.

"So, tell us about yourself--when did you move to this charming inn of yours, and why has twelve people died in the last six years?" Rachel said in a chipper tone that didn't quite match the question.

Colonel Sir Henry Endicott (KCGB, MBE, DSO, DSC, etc. … modesty forbids more) is pre-occupied with avoiding potholes and deep wheel ruts, so he mostly grunts and mutters in response to questions, but you do manage to learn the following;

He arrived in the area in 1918 to set up his hunting lodge, accompanied by his wife, Susan, and Augustus, his son aged 10. After a few months, both Susan and Augustus fell ill and died (the disease was not identified).

Since 1919, twelve deaths have occurred. Ten were tourists (four English men and six Americans, all guests of the Colonel’s), while two were servants employed to work at the lodge. All the guests were on safari around the vicinity of the Colonel’s lodge when they died. The remains of the corpses had been partially eaten. The bite radius of some wounds were tiny, like those of monkeys.

The Boyoyva tribe, in whose territory the lodge and viewing platform are found, have long said that travelers should avoid the area, because of the many jackals and big cats found there. Legend recalls of an “evil” tribe in the Boyoyva area, said to have been wiped out by neighboring tribes centuries ago.

After a harrowing drive, you arrive near the game lodge at sunset. The scenery here is breath-taking, and the Colonel enjoys your reaction with pride. “Not bad for Africa, eh?” he beams. “Now, let’s get you lot settled in.”

An elderly black man comes out from the lodge to take your bags and other equipment. His lined face wears the resigned expression of one who has grown tired of life. “This is Joe,” says the Colonel. “He doesn’t speak, but he can hear well enough. If you need anything, just tell him.”

The lodge is close to a water-hole and game trails, so that visiting tourists can watch animals not far from the comfort of permanent lodgings—this is especially necessary for night viewing, which can be dangerous. The lodge is comprised of a main house, where the Colonel and his guests reside, some outbuildings, and the viewing platform, which lies a few miles distant from the main compound.

The main house is a classic safari lodge, with animal heads mounted on the walls, zebra and lion rugs, and lots of guns gleaming on gun racks (eight in all, ranging in size all the way up to an elephant gun). The house is composed of a long sitting room and study in its front half, with kitchen, bathrooms, and servants’ quarters at the back. Six bedrooms can be found upstairs. The level of comfort is high, with water available out of a pump, and food cooked by Silent Joe. A number of outbuildings include a workshop, garage, water tank, all surrounded by a thick thorn-bush fence and gate.

Game in the area includes zebra, gnu (or wildebeest), impala, giraffe, black rhinoceros, lion, cheetah, leopard, warthog, and ostrich. Elephants are rare but do occasionally appear. Crocodiles and hippos bask in the pools of the Mbagathi-Athi River, not far distant.

After putting your luggage away, Silent Joe heads to the kitchen, and soon the delicious smell of a rustic meal makes your stomachs growl.



This message was last edited by the player at 23:38, Fri 07 June 2019.

In reply to Colonel Endicott (msg # 32):

Dermot elects to ride behind the trucks on his brand new motorcycle. The now-black Harley purrs like a kitten when it's not roaring like a lion. The trucks take a reasonable speed on this worn-down road, and so Dermot has no trouble dodging all the same potholes on his sleek two-wheeler. His new goggles keep out the dust and dirt of the African plains. He alternates his riding time between watching the people in the trucks and surveying the wild landscape, enjoying the breeze running through his hair the whole way.

At the game lodge, Dermot parks his bike in the garage and heads inside to enjoy a hot meal and help plan their safari. As an Irishman, Dermot will be glad to take home an ostentatious prize. Some ivory would be perfect, though the image of a lion- or zebra-skin rug runs pleasingly through his mind. Single hand notwithstanding, let's just see if he can find a way!

"Well then, what'll we hunt?"

Because of excessively eating the food served at the Bundari's place, TJ got a bad case of stomachache, which caused him to puke and have the constant desire to go to the restroom. As they travel to the lodge, he was puking, hurling with his head out the window.

When they arrive at the lodge, TJ asks weakly, "Do you have any medicine for my stomach?"
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 01:33, Sat 08 June 2019.

In reply to TJ (msg # 37):

Art looks in his medicine bag for anything that can help TJ and comes up dry. he turns toward TJ, and with a defeated and sad frown says
"I'm ashamed to say that I do not have any such medicine at this time. Perhaps you should stick to liquids and small bits of bread for the time being."


22:17, Today: Dr. Arthur Digby (Art) rolled 90 using 1d100.  Medicine (76%/37%/15%)

Silent Joe, after observing TJ’s distress, soon returns with a ginger tea and a few other reliable remedies for an upset stomach. After an hour or so, TJ feels more normal again.

"Well then, what'll we hunt?" asks Dermot once you’re all settled in after the sumptuous dinner.

“It’s getting rather late now, dear chap,” replies Colonel Endicott. “But we can head out tomorrow, to see if we can perhaps bag this rogue lion those bloody newspapers are yammering about. I can take you out to the viewing platform as well. It’s a few miles from here.”

He leans back in his comfortable leather chair, incongruous in the African wilderness, and lights his pipe. “Let’s have a few drinks and tell a few stories, eh? You lot look like you’ve seen some things.”

You spend a relatively pleasant evening swapping tall tales with Colonel Endicott. He has fought in numerous wars all over the globe, and hunted many rare and dangerous animals, all of which he shares in gristly details. The only subject he avoids is his wife and son.

The next morning, those of you who wish to go hunting find that there are plenty of options. The Colonel takes you out into the wilderness in his car and gives you pointers.

[You can add your Stealth to a gun skill to see if you manage to hunt successfully].

Around noon, Colonel Endicott offers to take you to the viewing platform. “It’s only a few miles away,” he says.

After a few hours of hunting – with lesser or greater success - the Colonel drives you to the viewing platform: a small, three-room hut built on stilts close to the banks of the Mbagathi-Athi River. It’s in a strikingly beautiful spot.

The platform contains seven cot beds, dried food and water for three days, two pairs of binoculars, and a case of Glenlivet whisky (from the Colonel’s own private stash). Two Lee-Enfield bolt-action rifles, a Webley pistol, and 100 rounds of ammunition for each of the three weapons are secured in a locker.

The platform is reached by a badly secured ladder that creaks with age — an accident waiting to happen.

"This is a spiffing place to watch the wildlife, wot wot?" exclaims the Colonel.



This message was last edited by the GM at 00:48, Mon 17 June 2019.

In reply to GM (msg # 41):

Seeing the ladder, TJ becomes worried. "Are you sure the ladder is safe? It seems it's not maintained well."

Looking around, he admits the view is suitable, despite the ladder's condition.

In reply to TJ (msg # 42):

Dermot is glad to have had some small success in the hunt. He’s having a grand old time with the blustery huntsman. Hearing TJ’s concern for the stability of the ladder, he scoffs.

“Haven’t ye got a sense of adventure, lad? We’re out in the African wilderness hunting exotic game, and yer worried about a rickety ladder? These young children don’t come out like they used to, tell ya what! ‘Is it safe?’ He asks....”

In reply to Dermot Murphy (msg # 43):

"I'd rather that we climb without risking getting hurt," TJ replied. "I'm all up.for adventure, but safety first is my concern."

In reply to Colonel Endicott (msg # 35):

Tiny...monkey-like bites... Rachel wrote down in a little notebook. With TJ's retching at the back of the car and the bumpy ride, Rachel decided to drop the subject and try to sleep off the rest of the ride. She'd mention the teeth marks to Art later on, if she remembered.

The lodge was beautiful, the rest of the night certainly better than the car ride. With the men deciding to join the hunt, Rachel figured there was nothing for her to do if she stayed behind, although she had never hunted anything in her life--except for husbands. It would seem she fared better with husbands than she did hunting animals though, and at some point during the hunting trip, elected to stay in the vehicle having no luck at all.

As they reached the viewing platform, Rachel eyed the huts & supplies suspiciously.

"Are we... staying here for the night?" Rachel asked, trying to keep her voice light and cheerful, although she was almost sure of the answer.

"Is... this where your visitors got eaten? Not that I'm worried or anything," Rachel said dryly, eyeing the ladder. "Perhaps we'd best mend that ladder before we fall and break our necks, don't you think so, Colonel?"
This message was last edited by the player at 13:20, Mon 17 June 2019.

As you reach the viewing platform, Rachel eyes it suspiciously.

"Are we... staying here for the night?" Rachel asked, trying to keep her voice light and cheerful, although she was almost sure of the answer.

"Is... this where your visitors got eaten? Not that I'm worried or anything," Rachel said dryly, eyeing the ladder. "Perhaps we'd best mend that ladder before we fall and break our necks, don't you think so, Colonel?"

Seeing the ladder, TJ becomes worried. "Are you sure the ladder is safe? It seems it's not maintained well." Looking around, he admits the view is suitable, despite the ladder's condition.

Dermot is glad to have had some small success in the hunt. He’s having a grand old time with the blustery huntsman. Hearing TJ’s concern for the stability of the ladder, he scoffs.

“Haven’t ye got a sense of adventure, lad? We’re out in the African wilderness hunting exotic game, and yer worried about a rickety ladder? These young children don’t come out like they used to, tell ya what! ‘Is it safe?’ He asks....”

"I'd rather that we climb without risking getting hurt," TJ replied. "I'm all up for adventure, but safety first is my concern."

“Nonsense!” scoffs the Colonel. “It’s perfectly safe! I have climbed up and down this thing for years!”

He gives the ladder a brisk shake and places his foot on the first rung. No sooner is this done, before the ladder snaps off the top of the viewing platform and swings down towards Gustav. He tries to move aside, but is hindered by his cast, and the falling ladder grazes him as it lands, leaving him with a nasty cut to his head.

Art makes his way to Gustav and tends to his injury, while the Colonel looks at the ladder with dismay.

“Well, bugger me sideways!” he exclaims. “Frightfully sorry about that, old chap! Looks like someone will have to climb up and reattach the bloody thing.” He points at a rope dangling off the other side of the platform.

“Anyone feeling up for a climb, wot? Or I can drive back and get Silent Joe. He’s a great climber!”

This would be a fairly easy climb - with a bonus die
This message was last edited by the player at 18:27, Wed 19 June 2019.

TJ easily climbs the rope. The rest of you lift the ladder up again and you manage to secure it to the platform. Rachel struggles a bit to climb the ladder but soon reaches the top.

After Art finishes patching up Gustav he offers to help him up the ladder if he still wishes to go up. And then Art goes up himself.

Once you're all up on the platform, the view is absolutely stunning. It is late afternoon and you can see for miles. The beauty of the African scenery nearly takes your breath away. "Good, eh?" smiles the Colonel.

"Almost worth breaking our necks for." Rachel agrees wryly.

“May the horrors of the Great War never touch this Eden....” Johan states quietly

"I'll drink to that!" growls the Colonel. "So, this is where most of the accidents have happened. I suspect a rogue animal of some sorts. Any ideas?"

"You mentioned small bites," Rachel says, "I'll defer to Art's medical skills, but I don't think that sounds like lions. What did the bodies look like? At the risk of asking the obvious, what was the actual cause of death?"

"Animals killed them, Miss" says the colonel, opening a large bottle of whiskey. "Gnawed on their bones and ate their flesh. It's the way of the bush. They were careless. Wanted to hunt larger and larger game." He pours a generous shot and sips it slowly, gazing at the wilderness. "Life and death... it's all out there..."

"Can you show us some of the bite marked animals who died?" asks TJ.

"Plenty of animal bones around here, son" says the Colonel. "As for the guests, we've given them Christian burials back in Nairobi."

TJ carefully climbs down the ladder again, and starts to inspect the area around the lodge. Close scrutiny reveals curious prints dotting the sand in places around the platform. There are also remnants of animal bones here and there.

Rachel pressed her lips together, paranoia settling over her once more like the sun over the horizon. Perhaps TJ would have a better chance asking the colonel about the deaths. For someone so concerned about his business' good name, the colonel had given them little to nothing substantial. Her patience had always been short.

Small, monkey-like bites... Rachel mused. Suddenly, she drew a quick, short breath as memories of the Juju house flashed in her mind.

Gustav notices Rachel's sudden change of behavior and quietly, as his injuries allow, approaches her and tries to comfort her with a flask of brandy 'Here, for the peace of mind.'

"No, no. Remember the Ju-Ju House?" Rachel waves off the brandy, meeting Gustav halfway, a little further from the Colonel.

Gustav stops midway when realization hits him. He takes a swig from the offered brandy and looks Rachel in the eye. knowing and comprehension is present as only with people who had shared experiences unique to them.

Memories of the animated ciimbas – and the horror that Bromley saw in the pit, and subsequently whispered of when he was drunk;

‘An enormous and horrid thing squirmed around at the bottom of the pit. It was composed of dozens of human faces set into a thickly cylindrical, worm-like mass of sickly, purple veined muscle. The faces wept, shouted, and cried out with great woeful feeling. One of the faces looked directly at me, silently pleading for help. I recognized the face from a newspaper article on the recent disappearances - a young woman who went missing a few months ago…’

"Just... Just be wary, okay?" Rachel whispers. In all honesty, she could feel herself jumping into conclusions-- she had no solid evidence of anything. Still, she wasn't about to be caught unaware like the last time. Excusing herself, Rachel moves a little way from the group. She pulls out a compact, pretending to check her face, but watches the Colonel through the mirror. When she's sure he's distracted by the others, Rachel pulls out a bottle and a syringe, trying to discreetly fill it with belladonna and morphine.

You are all quiet for a while, speechless at the majesty of the landscape. TJ climbs back up again and joins you. Gradually you become aware of Colonel Endicott talking to himself in a low whisper.

“Perhaps tonight?” he mumbles. “This time they might know me and talk to me again. Ah, Susan… I miss you so much..”
This message was last edited by the player at 01:04, Wed 26 June 2019.

In reply to Colonel Endicott (msg # 47):

TJ, upon hearing this, went near the Colonel. "Who's Susan? And who are 'they' that you want to talk to again?" he asked curiously.

Colonel Endicott, barely acknowledging TJ's question, continues to gaze at the scenery. At long last he replies in a soft voice.  “Susan is my wife, of course. She fell ill and passed away. My son fell ill to the same disease. Then Penhew and Huston came along. Said they could bring them back to me. Did some mumbo-jumbo magic right here. Something came back alright, but I’m not sure it was them.”

As he speaks, the wind picks up, and whirlwinds of dust dance in the air in front of the platform. Bits of bone, combined with dust and debris, rises up from the ground in a mocking semblance of life.

Seven figures form down below, vaguely resembling people dressed in safari gear. One appears female, and next to her is a smaller shape, looking like a young boy. As one, they suddenly begin to move, approaching the platform with startling speed.

“Ah, there they are now!” sighs the Colonel.

Gustav takes out his handgun from his belt and aims it directly at the Colonel’s face. “You have five seconds to tell me who sent you before I blow your brains out. I'm getting tired of this. Scheisse!”

TJ raises his hand as he sees Gustav pointing the gun. "Alright, no need for violence here."

Seeing that the dust monsters are now approaching, TJ looks at the group he is with. Will he risk it? He's not quite sure. It's better for him to get out of here. But they have helped him. And he thinks it's better to fall with his current comrades.

"Ah, fuck this," he says as he pulls out a pendant from around his neck. It is shaped like a pointed egg but with two holes near the top, resembling a pair of eyes. He cuts his thumb with the tip of the pendant, blood now seeping out lightly.

He quickly goes around the platform, writing some runes only familiar to him. They seem to be ancient in nature. As soon as he is done writing, he goes back to the center, facing the dust creatures running towards you. He starts muttering something, language unfamiliar but spoken by TJ as if it was his native tongue. By the end of the muttering, so fast that no one caught a word of it, TJ screams something, which sounds like "Black Man, aid me!"

There is no immediate effect, but then one of the dust creatures approaches the ladder. It begins to climb up but then hesitates, glaring up at you with inhuman hatred. It lets go of the ladder and falls to the ground, dissipating back into a pile of dust and bone.

The other apparitions also attempt to reach you, but one by one they are repelled by whatever protects the platform. The Colonel gives a startled gasp as ‘Susan’ and the smaller figure howl in anger and then return to the dust where they came from.

In reply to GM (msg # 50):

Upon seeing the humanoid dusts crumble, TJ adresses the Colonel. "Now, tell us what's going on here?"

But sadly, a voice familiar to him spoke back. "I thought you don't want my help?"

Talking to the wind, TJ said, "Desperate times calls for desperate measures."

In reply to TJ (msg # 51):

Dermot Murphy has seen some wild things since meeting Jackson Elias years ago. This may just take the cake.

Having seen the creatures approach the ladder, and Gustav drawing his sidearm, Dermot had reached for his own, only to be shocked into silence as the new addition to the party whips out some surprise blood magic. As the monsters crumble into dust, Dermot’s eyes go wide. He shifts his gaze between the colonel and TJ a couple of times before raising his pistol to waist height. He points it directly at TJ.

“WHAT. WAS. THAT?”
This message was lightly edited by the GM at 02:26, Fri 28 June 2019.

In reply to Dermot Murphy (msg # 52):

Johan shaking off the horror of the sight of the unearth abominations. Johan wheels around to join Dermot in confronting TJ and Colonel, "Was zum Teufel!  Someone please start talking before my friend here ends that opportunity."

As the creatures of dust began to rise from the dirt, Rachel heard screaming--and then realized it came from her. She scrambled for her gun, but suddenly, she heard TJ chant with unearthly speed. She found the hilt of her knife and pulled that out instead, watching as the monsters crumble, Rachel's eyes go from the colonel to TJ, darting back and forth between the two.

Quickly, she looks around for the Colonel's pack, grabbing it when she found it, intending to keep him away from anything he could use against them.

Art stumbles back at hearing TJ mumble chants. He begins to think back to all the cultists that they have encountered and grow suspicious of TJ. Paranoia and a cold sweat begin to overtake him. At the sight of the creatures crumbling down, he becomes a little less paranoid and begins to feel a sense of relief. Questions start to fill his head (is TJ one of us? is he just biding his time waiting till when we are vulnerable to attack?). He thinks back to the time he has spent so far with TJ, and he cannot find any sign of any malice. (This world is crazy, and the rules of it are continually changing, may-haps some magic can be a useful thing for us even if it reminds me of the cultists.)

As everyone is focused on TJ after casting his spell, there is a quiet ‘thud’ from below. When you turn around to look, you see the body of the Colonel lying on the ground. He landed next to the pile of dust and bones that was his long-dead family…

Climbing down to check on the body, Art confirms that the Colonel died from the fall - no unusual marking or anything untoward on the body.

"Can we drive back now? I don't fancy staying here tonight. We'll have to report the Colonel's death too. I'd rather deal with him near civilization." Rachel says, motioning towards TJ.

Johan pauses for a moment. “My friends it is definitely a time for answers, but we are exposed here and our quarry might know where we are...we should go somewhere, more private”

TJ, seeing that everyone is on him, sighed. "I'll tell you everything once we are back in town. I will tell you everything."

“We may have to review the strength of our trust in Jonah Kensington. For now, seeing as the lad seems to be helping us....” Dermot lowers his weapon with some hesitation. “Just know I’ve got my eye on ye.”

"I don't suppose forging the colonel's hand writing and bequeathing the lodge to us is an option." Rachel sighs to herself.

“No, but I’ll bet they wouldn’t miss a few pieces of silver if you need the money.” Dermot gives her a dry, sardonic look.

“We all need a pub after this day...” says Johan.

“I’ll drink to that. In fact, I’m sure the colonel won’t miss his spirits either....” Dermot suddenly looks preoccupied.

"Always thinking small," Rachel sighed. "Can we just go now?"

It takes a while to find your way back. Silent Joe comes out to greet you. When he sees the Colonel's corpse, he raises his eyebrows. "What happened?" he asks, in perfectly good English.

Art solemnly answers silent Joe. “He mentioned his dead wife and child while we were on the viewing platform and a short while later we heard a thud and the Colonel’s body was on the ground”

Dermot glares at Joe with a look that says it all. Why does this man suddenly speak?

TJ just shifts uncomfortably as you tell Joe what happened. In the back of his mind, he blames himself. "I didn't mean anything to harm him. I guess he just wants to meet his family once again. I should've let him and didn't let the fear get the best of me," said TJ with remorse. He fiddles with the pendant. "I hate this... this curse I have," he continues, slowly raging.

“Simmer down. We’ll hear your story soon enough.” Dermot wants to avoid any further escalation, and in the event that TJ can be trusted, doesn’t want him to incriminate himself.

Silent Joe nods solemnly at Art. “The Colonel was a good man, even though he had many strong opinions on this country. That is why I chose to remain silent while I was here – it made things easier. I am sorry to hear of his death. He mourned for his family for many years. Now they are finally together again.”

He gestures at the lodge. “Please stay as long as you wish. I have some small savings from my wages and will not be sorry to leave this cursed place.”

[Feel free to add interactions here]

You eventually take your leave of Silent Joe and drive back to Nairobi. The streets and hotels are unusually crowded, and you hear languages from all over the world. There is a strange festive air of anticipation in the air.

It is Saturday, 4 April 1925. You are not aware of any particular holidays this week.

You are gathered at the bar at Norfolk Hotel, discussing your next move. It is really crowded in here and it took quite a while for you to get a table.

As you wait for your food, Gustav glances around the room, as always alert for any signs of illegal activity. His gaze stops at a nearby table. Those two… they look familiar…

A large Arabic-looking man with balding hair is deep in conversation with a slender woman, with long dark hair and green eyes.

In reply to GM (msg # 57):

Gustav notifies the group, with shock and disgust, that the witch and her associate are sitting in this very hotel bar. Gustav expresses an immediate desire to put three bullets into her head on the double. Dermot glances over at the two, who don't seem to have spotted the party.

"Belay that, Gustav. There are other ways to capitalize on the element of surprise. But keep those bullets handy anyway."

Dermot stands up with a casual air. He looks intently at Johan, ever the diplomat.

"What say ye head over with me to pay a visit to our old friends?"

Dermot heads over to sit across the table from the two villains. He slides into his chair without deliberation. He begins to speak in a loud, jovial tone. [If Johan accompanies him, he'll direct some of the speech toward Johan.]

"Lookie here, our auld friends from England! Fancy meetin ye all the way out here! Waiter, a round for the table!"

In reply to Dermot Murphy (msg # 58):

Johan taking a cue from Dermot, fixes his coat and heads over.  With the full intent of being heard, he walks up behind his quarry and after a Dermot speaks...”Guten Tag meine Freunde!” Giving the witch a good tap.

Johan proceeds to take an open chair.  Assuming his drink arrives swiftly he takes a good drink and turns his gaze to the man and woman at the table.  Johan lowers his voice, “ so my friends, what brings you to Nairobi?  Hopefully we can have a...civilized conversation...”.

Switching to Arabic, “if your looking for uncivilized conversation then we can entertain that notion as well my friends”.  Nods to Dermot and switch back to English.  “Now I prefer a good drink and story.  As my side purchased the round, the story falls to you all.”
This message was last edited by the player at 02:43, Tue 16 July 2019.

As Johan and Dermot casually sits down at the table, the man looks like he’s about to have a stroke from anger. “You scum!” he hisses angrily. “You sons of diseased camels! How dare you show your faces here!”

The woman, who you recognize as Zahra Shafik, raises one immaculately sculpted eyebrow in surprise. “Do shut up, Abdul” she says to the sputtering London nightclub owner.

She scans the crowded room for a moment, spotting the rest of the group a bit further away. “My my. You’re all here. Even my friend, the trigger-happy German. Seems that my liaison here in town did a very poor job of taking care of you. Still, I should thank you… killing Gavigan did wonders for my career. What do you want?”


This message was last edited by the player at 17:03, Tue 16 July 2019.

In reply to Zahra Shafik (msg # 60):

"We're resilient that way," Dermot responds flatly. "Terrible of ye to hound a group of tourists like us, out seein' the auld world as we please. Do tell us about yer wee cultie. What drives ye? Is it a twistes sense of purpose, or merely delusions of grandeur?"

Zahra laughs and her eyes twinkle. “Delusions of grandeur? You have come all this way, seen all these wondrous sights – and still you scoff and resist? Amazing.”  She shakes her head in disbelief, while Abdul scowls at you.

“What have you learned while you were here?” she asks playfully. “Have you just been stumbling around and setting things on fire again? Must have been fun to meet Kaur’s fire vampires – pity they did such a poor job.

She raises her voice. “To me, my brethren. Aid me! Subdue these men!”

About twenty men near the table immediately draw daggers and handguns and close in on Dermot and Johan…

In reply to Zahra Shafik (msg # 62):

Johan keeping his cool for the moment, “Dermot,  it appears you were wrong my friend...clearly the frau has no interest in the artifact.”  Turning towards Zahra and speaking in Arabic, “...or do you?”  Johan leans back in his chair and takes a drink.

In reply to Johan Braun (msg # 63):

With an almost imperceptible gesture, Zahra commands the men to back off a bit, but we're still surrounded by cultists of all nations. "Very well", she says. "What artifact?"

Dermot glances at Johan nervously.

“She’s more sensitive than I’da thought....”

As the men back off at a wave of the woman’s hand, Dermot becomes nervous about mentioning the artifact.

He dips his head toward the witch deferentially. “I’ll retract the ‘delusions’ part. Ye’ve got power, that much is clear....”
This message was last edited by the player at 00:59, Wed 17 July 2019.

In reply to Dermot Murphy (msg # 64):

Gustav slips his right hand on his revolver, inside his coat pocket, and glares at Miss Shafik with every vile disgust the German could muster. Wanting nothing more than to put 3 bullet holes in her pretty little forehead.


Holding the pistol provides small comfort with enemies surrounding his friends.


He also keeps a watchful eye on small details around the room: exits, combustible materials, safe hiding spaces and maintains Ms. Katz on the corner of his eyes.


With his free hand he holds up his pint and drinks. holding the glass mug tightly in preparation to throwing it to the nearest cultist if ever a fight breaks out
This message was last edited by the player at 02:41, Wed 17 July 2019.

In reply to Dermot Murphy (msg # 64):

“See Dermot, a little tact can go a long way.”

Addressing Zahra once again and purposely thicking his German accent, “now my lady, if we are to discuss business then perhaps both our respective groups of freunde should go off and have a drink...they do look a tad...tense.  What do say? The four of us, a little drink, some conversation, maybe some light fare, and my friend over there doesn’t have to put some of your friends in the ground.”  Nodding to Gustav.

Zahra laughs again. "By all means, Herr Braun. Wir können uns unterhalten. "

"Stand back, but remain alert," she says in Arabic to men around her. They put their weapons away with sullen expressions and scowl at you. The other patrons of the bar glance uneasily at Zahra, and some make a hasty retreat.

"Come, come! I won't bite!"  Zahra gestures at the rest of the group to come sit down with her.

As you sit down, she greets each of you by name, except TJ. "I do not believe I've had the pleasure, sir." she says to him.

In reply to Zahra Shafik (msg # 67):

"hello," TJ waves to the lady who addressed him. "Professor Tristan Julius Richardson, but my friends call me TJ. I'm a Professor of English at Miskatonic University.. Pleased to meet you, but I prefer to not have any violence here. We can talk with you in peace, can we not? By the way, what's with unnecessary hostilities?"
This message was last edited by the player at 23:39, Thu 18 July 2019.

Summary of your health and sanity;

Art; HP 13/13. SAN 63
Dermot; HP 13/13. SAN 69
Johan; HP 11/11. SAN 37
Gustav; HP 8/12. SAN 84
Rachel; HP 11/11. SAN 39
TJ; HP 11/11. SAN 68

You have in your possession the following;

[Books]
Amongst the Stones (English)
Final Confessions of Gaspar Figuero (Spanish)
Five Scrolls from the Penhew Foundation (Arabic, Egyptian, and Greek)
Life as a God (English)
Sélections de Livre D'Ivon (French commentary on Latin original)
The G’harne Fragments (English)
The Ghoul's Manuscript (English)
The Pnakotic Manuscripts (English)
Ye Booke of Comunicacions with ye Angel Dzyon (English).

[Other items]
The Eye of Light and Darkness (partial)
A Headband of Grey Metal (Ju-Ju House)
The Headdress of Eyes
Three bottles of Plutonian Drugs
A Fly Whisk
The Golden Mirror (a mask from Peru)
The Mask of Hayama (from the Ju-Ju House)
Who-Is-Not-What-She-Seems (caged chameleon)
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:00, Sun 29 Sept 2019.

Recap; You are all in Africa, specifically at the Norfolk Hotel bar in Nairobi, Kenya. The date is Saturday, 4 April 1925. You have learned from Old Man Bundari that a major cult ceremony is to take place soon, at the Mountain of the Black Wind. You recall his words;

The Cult of the Bloody Tongue was responsible for the massacre of the Carlyle Expedition. Unnatural beasts were summoned from the Other Sides to kill and carry off the victims. Those carried away were brought to the Mountain of the Black Wind, a terrible place shunned by everyone.

The Mountain of the Black Wind is so called because a dread god inhabits it. Others know the mountain as Mount Satima. Even the greatest of spells cast against the mountain have no effect. Once per year, the Black Wind is unleashed, which brings plague, famine, and disaster.

To satisfy their god, the cult abducts villagers and sacrifices them. After the sacrifices, the god appears in all its terrible glory, attended by creatures not of this earth. As tall as the mountain itself, the god has no face; only a blood-red tongue hangs down from where the top of its head should be. The mere sight of this hideous god drives men mad. The god’s priestess is called M’Weru. She lives in the mountain. It was she who prophesied the coming of a child of the god, a part human monster, who is soon to soak the land with blood.

In the extremely crowded hotel bar, you spotted two adversaries from England; Abdul Nawisha, owner of the Blue Pyramid night club, and Zahra Shafik, a witch of considerable power.

You approached and confronted them, and Zahra demonstrated that the hotel bar is full of her underlings, who are hovering around and following your every move.

Zahra nods politely at TJ as he introduces himself. “Professor. I sense that you have seen more than most men. I would love to hear details about it. Perhaps later, no?

She turns her attention back to Johan. “You were saying? About an artifact? A mask perhaps?”

In reply to GM (msg # 70):

As soon as the woman mentioned that, memories came flooding back to TJ.

Him reading books on the occult...the time he went to Salem...encountering a coven of witches...being tied up and receiving two slashes on his chest...the sensation of fire licking his flesh...chantings of prayers that turned into screams of horror...and a man.

Or is it a demon? It has horns, but the dark figure is undeterminable. But it spoke to him in a deep, cold voice.

"You were a mere victim. I may look like a demon, but I am willing to help you. I will help you and let you live. But you have to help me as well. I'll give you powers that is uncomprehensible by others. Make a deal, and this will be done."

"Just do it! Please!" he screams for the suffering to be over. And then...it was all gone. The wound he got turned into a scar, shaped like an upside down cross. He was also untied now.

But what he saw scared him. Bodies of the witches were on the ground, crumpled and there are looks of horrors on them ("caused by the demon man?" he thinks to himself). He was still shocked and shaking, but he heard a voice in his head.

"Soon, you will know who I am. You may be a vital piece," it was the same voice who talked to him earlier. He got up and left the place, never wanting to return.

And then, he fainted.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:38, Mon 30 Sept 2019.

Dermot isn’t exactly sure which artifact his companion is offering. While he appreciates the quick thinking, he’s feeling anxious at the revelation that some of these blasted masks may be of value to their enemies. Maybe young Bromley was more than a mere thrill seeker after all....

"Collecting masks, are we? We may 'ave come by one or two on our journey. What are they to you?"

Art nervously adjusts himself into his seat at the bar. The realization that the enemy posses the numbers and initiative to surprise them like this has him on edge. While his fellow adventurers have decided to play it cool, the memories of the dangers this expedition has thrown their way is threatening to override his self control. He keeps his thoughts on his revolver.
How can I help? How, can I, help? Help. He smirks and deflatedly shakes his head side to side as he says the word over in his head.
Against what? The soul less, followers that would die in droves at the mere thought of service to evil so grand and old that it predates the very concept of fear in mankind. And me here placing my ability to help in the mechanical and chemical reactions that will propel small pieces of metal out of my revolver and into the things I can’t explain and those who serve them. Well at least my time in the service has in a very real way prepared me for that.

Rachel's lips were pressed so tightly together that they disappeared in a tight line as she eyed the other woman. Rachel shook her head when Dermott proposed they approach, not wanting anything to do with her or the club owner. She heard bits and pieces of their conversation--then Zahra suddenly shouted--and about twenty of the pub's patrons leapt to her aid. Rachel's hand went for her knife in her bag, but Art seemed to know what he was doing.

Reluctantly, she joined them, glaring daggers at Zahra. Suddenly, TJ fainted.

"TJ? TJ!" Rachel reached over to check TJ's pulse, shaking him awake.

Art runs over to TJ and begins to perform first aid to try and determine what’s going on. He snaps some smelling salt over his nose in hopes of making him regain consciousness.

(Success) 00:50, Today: Dr. Arthur Digby (Art) rolled 39 using 1d100.  First Aid (70%/35%/14%).

In reply to GM (msg # 70):

Gustav, in his most unnusual self, took the more diplomatic approached and stood quiet and still from where he is. taking into account all the items in his surroundings that can help him escape. He does not even move his hands to his revolvers, sensing the odds against him and his companions.

He nonchalantly looks at the exits, glass bottles that can be turned to weapons, alcohol that can be a catalyst to a fire, volume of the crowd outside the bar.

'The last time I have encountered this woman, I almost killed Ms. Katz, I still have not forgiven myself for that.' he mused as TJ faints in the middle of the room.

Using this distraction, Gustav tries to find an opening for him and his companions to escape.

In reply to Gustav Schmidt (msg # 76):

Noting TJ's fainting and momentary locking eyes with Gustav, before returning his gaze to Zahra.

"Ahhh, yes the fire vampires.  Interesting name, one of many unusual things that we have encountered and here we still stand...well most of us anyway.  I imagine you've seen many interesting items in your time as well. As we have decided to sit peaceful and engage in  a slight repast perhaps while we wait for the waiter... you could regal us with a tale of your journey in this land? Let's us save our business for after the meal like civilized people."  Johan nods to Zahra hoping to keep her gaze and hand grasping his can under the table.

Zahra smiles indulgently as Art revives the unconscious TJ. “I would recommend a nice cup of tea, young man”, she smiles and gestures at a waiter. He hovers nervously around the table, aware of the many eyes on him.

“Drinks all around – and some food, please,” Zahra says to the waiter, and he takes your orders and scurries to the bar, returning shortly with your drinks and assorted snacks.

“Bon Appétit,” smiles Zahra and bites into a samosa. “Yes, I had an interesting journey down here. I stopped in Egypt to pay homage to our new Queen of course.”

Is that the slightest twinge of distaste as she says this?

“I’m glad you didn’t manage to interrupt that glorious event too much. Must be hard to set fire to a pyramid, no?” She laughs. “That seems to be your typical approach to everything. Not surprised the fire vampires didn’t work.”

She turns to Dermot. “Masks? More than one? Interesting…  I was referring to the Mask of Hayama. The one I suspect you found in New York? It would indeed be worth a great deal to me.”

In reply to Zahra Shafik (msg # 78):

“A pint of the black stuff will be grand.”

Dermot does the mental equivalent of counting on his fingers at the repeated mentioning of fire vampires. He supposes that must have had something to do with the disintegration of their strange companions at the hunting lodge. He stows this information away, along with the witch’s knowledge and lack of knowledge about the assortment of masks.

Shrugging casually at Shafik, he endeavors to regain his cool demeanor.

"If we had come across this mask you're asking after, what would it be used for? ...Hypothetically...."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:09, Thu 03 Oct 2019.

Zahra gets a dreamy look on her face. “You can see the Old Ones themselves! Experience their glory in person. The mask opens a link to them.”

She seems almost in a trance for a moment, and then blinks her eyes. “I want the mask. Bring it to me and I will consider being merciful.”

In reply to Zahra Shafik (msg # 80):

After waking up, TJ doesn't want to relive that nightmare again.

But oddly, it is now peaceful compared to earlier. Everyone is eating? And what is this in front of him, ginger tea? It smells like ginger, though he is still shaken by his vision.

Since everyone is eating, he decided to order something as well. He called the waiter and placed an order of steak. He drank the tea and felt a bit calmer.

However, what is this woman talking about? Masks? Does she mean tribal masks? Or something more valuable that she demands of it.

He looked around and everyone of his companion seems to be taken by the mention of this mask. What are they hiding?

More importantly, with all these secrets, can I trust them?, TJ wondered.

In reply to Zahra Shafik (msg # 80):

TJ raised his hand sheepishly. "Sorry, but I'm kind of new to the group. What do you mean by masks? And what do you mean by 'seen more than most men'?"

Then he added, "Have you met the Black Man? And if so, are the masks related to him?!"

He demands answers, for whatever his attachment to the Black Man (whose name he still doesn't know, he just ended up calling him the Black Man) to be cut. He can feel his willpower getting weaker everytime he hears his voice. Yet he remains defiant about it, not giving in to the deep, chilling voice of the entity.

But as long as he is in this mood of anger, he can feel that the Black Man is taking over.

He wants to put an end to this relationship.

In reply to Zahra Shafik (msg # 80):

Dermot suppresses a smirk.

"Sounds like the lady here has a fancy for opium, or something like it. They musta laced the mask with some powerful stuff, eh!"

He nudges TJ with his elbow. Misunderstanding TJ’s concern, he continues to crack wise.

“I don't know about this Negro fascination you seem to have. You should loosen up, spend some time with her, though I can’t imagine she’s much company. But that’s the merit of inebriation!”

He shakes his head, giving an insincere tut-tut. Without waiting for any replies, he spares a glance at Johan before addressing the witch.

"I don't suppose we're left much choice. Where can we find you again? I solemnly swear on my Irish honor not to set fire to the place."

His eyes twinkle with mischief as he raises his hand in scout’s honor type salute.

Abdul nervously makes a strange sign with his hand as TJ mentions the Black Man.

‘Ah yes, the Black Man,” smiles Zahra. “I have in fact met him and seen his majesty. He is the masked one indeed – the messenger. A master of disguises, he walks amongst us mortals unseen and unheard. And he shall put on the semblance of man, the waxen mask and the robes that hide, and come down from the world of Seven Suns to mock…”

She turns her attention to Dermot as he speaks. “You and your companions have actually been of some small benefit to my plans. A great event is about to take place here and I have come to witness it. And of course, next year…”  She stops short, her expression becoming guarded.

“In any case, I will take the mask – and any other items you have come across. At your hotel, I presume? Come, we will all go there and fetch it.”

She stands up and gestures to the men surrounding you. “We go. Follow these persons closely and kill them if they try to run.”

In reply to Zahra Shafik (msg # 84):

Johan remains seated, hand firmly on his cane. His sense of humor clearly has left from the expression on his face.
“Lady Zahra,  sit down please.  Our items, at least not the real ones ...are not at our hotel.  Now while a woman demanding that she come to my hotel room is most welcome....generally, I think not in this case.”

Takes a deep sigh.

“Attempting to kill us will, simply lead to your own death and those of your hunde.  I prefer a less violent approach. ....Now what do you offer?”

Johan raises an eye brow and looks at Zahra.

Zahra pauses as Johan speaks. His words seem to strike a chord in her. With a languid wave of her hand she dismisses her followers. They retreat a bit into the general crowd but are still not far away from their mistress.

“You have a point, Herr Doktor,” she says. “No need for things to get messy. My main interest is the mask. If you truly have it, I will agree to a trade. Take Abdul here along and give him the mask. You are then free to do as you please.”

Her face grows hard. “But if you attempt to trick me, you will know such pain as you could never imagine!”

She nods at Abdul, who has followed the conversation with a nervous expression. “Go with them. Get the Mask of Hayama and return here with it.”

Abdul stands up and attempts to look fierce. "Led me to it, you dogs!" he sneers.

In reply to Zahra Shafik (msg # 86):

“This had better be a good trade if I’m takin his ugly mug back to our rooms. I don’t think he’s Rachel’s type,” Dermot replies with a wink.

In reply to Zahra Shafik (msg # 86):

In reply to Zahra Shafik (msg # 84):

She has also seen the Black Man? TJ asked in his head. So does that mean she is also cursed? Also, are the masks related to the Black Man, because she referred to him as "the masked one"?

This is something he was not expecting. He wants to remove the curse, to cut off the Black Man. And yet, through fate's twisted sense of humor, here he is, doing something related to the entity.

Still, this lady might be the key to removing the curse, despite the looks that everyone is giving her. Bad experience maybe?

He just focused on the trade she was offering. "If we give you the mask, what do you have in mind as an exchange for it?", he asked as he also looked at his companions for help.

Nervously, Rachel stood up from her stool, glancing at the rest silently. Wordlessly, she beckoned at Abdul, heading out, but taking a different direction from their hotel.

TJ hesitates for a moment before you leave the hotel bar, intrigued to know more about the Black Man that Zarah claims to know about, but he thinks better of staying behind to talk to the witch.

You enter the crowded streets of Nairobi, striking out towards Torr’s hotel. You are not staying there, but Rachel doubles back to the Norfolk hotel, and quickly enters the room where the Mask of Hayama is stored. She feels a chill as she touches the vile thing, remembering how Bromley claimed to have seen ‘the Ruler of the Gods’ when he put it on back in New York. The mask seems to squirm in her hands as she wraps a cloth around it and hurries out of the hotel.

As you walk towards Torr’s Hotel, Gustav sidles up to Abdul and starts talking to him. “So, you got us, we're not going anywhere. but what is it that motivates you to do this? Surely, you're not just some lackey of Ms Shafik? A lover perhaps?”

Abdul shakes his head in amusement as he roughly pushes a street vendor out of his way. “Hah! I would not be so foolish. That one has… other appetites. No, I just want to stay alive and be rich. When the final ceremony is done, I will be safe – and all of this rabble will be squashed like bugs. If you were smart, you would join us. The Black Pharaoh welcomes new converts!”
This message was last edited by the player at 01:04, Mon 14 Oct 2019.

In reply to Abdul Nawisha (msg # 90):

Dermot inserts himself into the conversation.

“You’re looking to be on the winning side of history, I see. And just what is it, may I ask, that makes ye so confidant in a favorable outcome? I’ve seen some horrible, powerful creatures on this journey, to be sure, but they seem to be bound or hidden away tightly enough without the meddling witches and cults. Why should we believe there’s anything in motion which can’t be stopped?”

Abdul smirks. It is not a pretty sight. “You haven’t seen anything yet! There is something happening in China next year. I don’t know the details, but believe me, the world will never be the same. You will want to be on the right side when it happens!”

As you slowly walk and talk, you arrive at Torr’s Hotel. Rachel has hurried ahead with the mask and is has miraculously managed to obtain a hotel room. The exhausted concierge directs you to room 304, where Rachel is waiting, slightly out of breath.

“Is that the Mask?” asks Abdul. “Give it to me, and I will take it back to Ms. Shafik.”

“I’m not sure if this is what she had in mind” says Dermot. “I think she mentioned some particular markings on the inside...”. He leans towards the mask just slightly and squints, hoping Abdul goes in to have a look. The mask is a carved wooden African mask with four hideous faces perched atop a thick, corded neck with a basket-like reed, feather, and a fabric collar.

“Yes, very odd markings, very interesting, illuminating if I may humbly add”, says Art. Abdul obligingly leans in closer, and Rachel snaps the mask over his face!

As soon as the mask is placed on Abdul’s head, the collar constricts around his face, holding it tightly in position, his agonized grimace clear to all onlookers.

He staggers back, clawing at the mask frantically, but then collapses to the floor, his entire body convulsing. You can hear him screaming through the fabric of the mask;

Y'AI'NG'NGAH
YOG-SOTHOTH
H'EE-L'GEB
F'AI THRODOG
UAAAH!

Abdul goes limp, and the mask seems to loose its grip on his head, slowly sliding off. He is drooling and staring into space with a blank expression, blood flowing from his eyes. He looks at you but does not seem to register your presence. His mind is gone.

There's a banging on the hotel wall. "Hey, keep it down in there! People are trying to nap!"


This message was last edited by the player at 19:56, Thu 24 Oct 2019.

Rachel tentatively glances around the room a bit, before picking a throw pillow up from a nearby sofa and slowly holding it down over Abdul's face.

In reply to Rachel Katz (msg # 93):

Dermot starts at the sight of Rachel smothering the man, but ultimately does nothing to stop her. When she comes up, he says, <DarkBlue> “Now that ye’ve had yer fill, we’d better get outta here right quick.”