In 1880, Africa is yet to be fully explored. The source of the Nile, Lake Victoria, has been discovered, but much of central Africa is a blank map, ripe for exploration. The motives are many; scientific fame, economic exploitation, or even spreading the word of the Lord.
Sir Archibald Winston-Smythe is a venerable emeritus professor of anthropology and history at the British Museum. Part of the first wave of explorers he is now far too infirm to travel again. And yet he has heard tales and talk from others who have carved deep into the Jungle. Rumours of depraved tribes and horrible cults cannot escape his notice.
In good standing and influence, he has commissioned another expedition into the very heart of Africa, past Lake Victoria and to the root of these strange stories, ostensibly for the progress of science and understanding, but also to determine the truth or otherwise of the stories of such locales. This hidden agenda is only alluded to, for the full horrors that bubble underneath are not for the ears of the brave men (or women) who will go boldly where no civilised man (or woman) has gone before.
Percy has slept well, all things considering. He hadn't overdone it at the feast, unlike at least one of his companions. He goes to visit the Chief to see how he is doing this morning and to help Burton convince him to give them more help against the Toad People.
" 'Whasup chaps' ?" repeated Burton, "I must say, Mr. Baxter, you are a disgrace to the white race." He is still a little peeved about his aborted seduction of fair Britt; when he returned to her, after quieting the partying chief, he found her gone to bed. "Percival Carstairs and I," he says haughtily, "are garnering support for our trek to the Toad People's village."
Last edited by Tabs on Wed Oct 07, 2015 8:18 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"Indeed" mutters a somewhat disheveled looking Baxter, you can tell by the way his eyes keep narrowing and widening as if in pulse to some unheard rythm, that he is somewhat the worse for wear, "My back hurts as though Satan himself was roasting chesnuts back there" he turns his head in a ill advised attempt to look over his shoulder, with a piteous groan he clutches at his bandaged head. "I say Burton old bean, have a look and see whats up"
We do not see things as they are, we see things as we are.
- Anais Nin
The Chief was ill disposed. Wessex feared the worst.
"He is a dying man, alas. I fear that Baxter's Gin has hastened his end, but there is solace of a sort in alcohol" he conceded. "Although it seems the Crocodile people have stronger narcotics than that" he explained. Wessex had been seen trying some local herb the night before and had passed out with a smile on his face soon after.
The Frenchmen, both the thin and harsh Sergeant LeForge, and the big, powerful Private Paris were somewhat hungover too. Neither jumped at the chance to fight the Toad People. Sergeant LaForge however did recognise that the matter was serious. Perhaps it needed official permission, but the matter could not be delayed; Chief Chippedtooth was on his last days, and should he die, the support of the Crocodile people could not be assured.
Private Paris was no coward. He would do his duty.
So the Frenchmen agreed to come. Alongside them, Chief Chiptooth sent two of his scouts to lead the way. They seemed capable enough, a young man named Shatterspear who was strong and nimble, and an eagle eyed woman, slightly older, called Nighteye. Both had their fair share of scars, and Night Eye was missing two fingers. Whilst their spears were strong and knives sharp, their clothing, if it could be called that, was spartan at best.
Scar was most reluctant to come; and yet something pulled him too. Like a moth to a flame, the young lad was wide eyed with dread, but the memories of years ago had some magnetic grip on him.
