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."