Play@YSDC

Baxter, having finished reloading his pistol, holsters it and looks around as if hoping that someone else will volunteer for the distasteful task. Then with a resigned shrug and a narrowing of his eyes, he moves towards the headless body, "I don't think this is a job for for one".

Stooping towards the familiar, yet now unfamiliar body of the woman who had so recently been the object of his affections, he stops in mid flow, "A little assistance perhaps?".

A most unagreeable job, yet a strange code of honour demands that he must do this thing.

Munshi Singh offered to help, clearly upset. The large man had little difficulty in hauling his end of the body, although he made some mild protestations against the method of disposal. He would have preferred a cremation, as per Hindu custom, or burial, failing that. But despite his faith, Munshi was a man of the world and broad enough in spirit to be flexible.

The body floated an uncomfortably long while, whilst the head, retrieved from tooth and maw, sunk quickly.

A short walk later...

With Riverturns testament, the four men were proclaimed members of the tribe. Sven and Britt were upset to hear the death of the woman, and Sven started to rant about primitive cultures, fuming at the barbarism of the initiation. The Frenchmen were both impressed with the hunt and saddened at Emelia's death. Scar was phlegmatic about the whole matter.

The Chief was willing to hive his help, after a feast of crocodile flesh that night, complete with dancing, singing, and ceremonies which sounded exotic to say the least.

Percy doesn't feel that much like celebrating after Emilia's death, but he does participate in the feast, extracting a small measure of revenge by eating part of the creature that had killed her.

Burton, leaning upon Singh's shoulder, limped into the tribes' village. He was gently placed beside the missionary. "You are right to be upset, Sven, but these people are literally barbarians, what can one expect from them? I'm glad you and your daughter didn't witness the killing of the crocodile or the death of Emilia . . ." Burton paused, was it emotion? He shifted to one side, further away from his injured buttock. "Perhaps you would say a prayer at the riverside?"

Baxter, armed with several buxom female natives and one of his seemingly never diminishing botles of Gin, lurches past in a drunken attempt at a tribal dance, "Hurrah! Burton old chap...hic...great party? Later I am having a tribal tattoo etched on my back." he raises the bottle and takes a large swig, "Speaking of backs...Hows the old derriere? No hard feelings old boy"

The line of grimacing females sways slightly to the left, a movement that has the drunkard stumbling and almost falling. However with an amazing display of dexterity he manages to keep his feet. Then as the group begins to move off he raises the bottle in a salute, "How about you Sven? When you've finished bothering God, maybe you'd like to indulge?"

Say what you like about the Crocodile people, they made great crocodile steak. The one-armed chef, Meatgut proclaimed proudly, and accurately, that it was a fine feast. A few of the feasters cracked tooth on lead, but this was considered by all a sign of good luck.

Sven stomped off to the Riverside. "She deserves a Christian burial. And no, I will not indulge!" he said, angrily. Britt looked away, almost shamefully. The big Swede, anger inflamed, would not be stopped. Even Munshi gave way to him.

"I do hope you will forgive his Passion. Rome was not built in a day, and neither is the faith of these people. He only see's barbarity. I think there is some beauty and nobility in them too..." she said, wistfully.

Sergeant LaForge was partying hard with the Chief and Baxter, refusing Gin and plying cheap french wine. The poor chief could not decide which poison was finer, but soon formed the opinion that being drunk was most agreeable whichever road was taken. Alas, he would be of different opinion in the morning. But for now, his high spirits and intoxication had made him most agreeable, and he had sworn solemn vows, on his own crocodile teeth no less, that two of his hunters would guide the expedition to the infamous Toad People.

LaForge raised a toast to Baxter.

"Damn savages! But I confess the Chief is a merry old drunk, and that was a heroic story, Mr. Baxter! I dare say Camp LaForge will be doing good trade now!" he said happily, as the Chief finished a bottle of wine, smiled vaguely, and burped.

A bare breasted beauty of flawless skin and wide hips put a pendant of crocodile teeth around Carstairs neck, informing him that the teeth where his, and giving an enigmatic smile.

The Chief rolled and staggered to Burton. "Whatever you want, you shall have! Today, you join our people! May you slaughter a hundred of the toad-people!" he roared, joyously.

"A man with his liver should not be drinking..." whispered a nervous Wessex into Burton's ear.

Percy smiles at the woman, trying to look at her face and not below. "Thank you," he says. "All of us hunted the crocodile. May I ask why you've chosen me?"

Burton, with a straight face, said to Sven: "Baxter has taken the loss of Emilia, his--er--maid, very hard, poor chap."

No hard feelings old boy"

"None taken," responded Burton to the old sot. Sven storms off leaving Burton, sat on a soft, wicker stool-thing, beside Britt.

A bare breasted beauty of flawless skin and wide hips put a pendant of crocodile teeth around Carstairs neck,

"Hmmm, interesting," he mused, wondering what Carstairs would do next. "I do understand your father's passion, Miss Lindstrøm,*: he is a fine christian man."

*,what was Britt's surname?

"A man with his liver should not be drinking..." whispered a nervous Wessex into Burton's ear.

"Who?--Baxter or the chief." He turned to Britt, and spoke confidential-like, "That devil Baxter shot me. It's very painful. . . ."

The buxom woman who lay crocodile teeth around Carstairs gave a smile, a little coy, a little joyous. "All who have hunted may wear the trophies of the kill" she explained. "It is freely given. Come and enjoy the celebration!" she asked, inviting Carstairs to dance; a rather overtly sexual dance, but the whoops and gyrations of the tribe, fuelled by some European alcohol. She did not exactly answer the question of why she chose Castairs, but did not exactly evade it either, mere suggestion and whimsy.

Britt Loren took Burtons hand. "You are a brave soul, Sir, and a good man too. I fear what you will find. I am not like my father, but still I am a Christian, and wish to spread his love. The stories of these toad people; I fear that they have sunk beyond even God's love..." she explained, worried. "Pray keep you soul safe, and those that go with you..."

She was even more beautiful in the evening light.
Wessex interrupted again, whsipering to Burton. "The chief; he is an ill man, maybe cancer, but certainly with advanced liver disease. The alcohol could kill him!" he muttered, concerned. He wiped his ever moist brow. His armpits were sodden with perspiration from heat and fear.

A large belch announces the reappearance of Baxter, still entwined with his dancing group but as yet tattooless, he nods approvingly as the the buxom female tries to entice the gallant photographer to the shadows. He raises the three part empty gin bottle in a salute, "Go to it young man. View halloo!!" This followed by a burst of drunken laughter that almost seats him on his arse, if not for the alacrity of his entourage disaster might surely have prevailed.

For a few moments he gazes at Burton, Brit and the heavilly perspiring Wessex, trying to focus his eyesight on whether the doctor is whispering to the Captain or trying to lick his ear. "Problem Doc?"

Doctor Wessex was quite flustered at the dancing and the dancers, and the nudity, and kept mopping his brow.

"I believe...if I am not mistaken...that our good host, Chief Chippedtooth, has liver failure. Caput Medusae, mild jaundice. I speculate that it is the sign of cancer. That so, he will be most ill advised to drink, it would cause most upset to his vigour, possibly in lethal!" he blubbered, as the King roared a toast to the tribe, before attacking some of Baxter's Gin.

Baxter himself was being accosted by the tribes tattooist who was attempting to ply his trade on the gentlemans' back.

OOC:   Whilst largely academic, you may wish to make a psychology roll to note that Spoiler: Doctor Wessex eyes seems rather drawn to the male dancers rather than the female ones

Percy rises and joins the woman in the dance, letting himself go a little. He notices something interesting about one of the other participants, but he has other things on his mind at the moment. "My name is Percy," he says. "What's your name?"

"Hells bells!" exclaimed Burton ill-temperedly--he had been about to suggest that Britt apply some oil to his wound. "C'mon, Wessex," he said to the doctor, "Looks as if ol' Chief Chippyteeth is going to rupture something." He made straight for the chief, hauling the doctor along too, "Do you speak Bantu, doctor?"

Wessex bumbled along, not knowing where to look. "Bantu? Er...no my deal fellow. I dare say I speak good French, and I probably remember my Latin, but Bantu is not part of a standard English education!" he said. It was probably fair to say Wessex had picked up the odd word to two, but that was very strictly it.

In the pale moonlight, one could almost imagine the Chief was turning yellow. Whilst in defiantly jovial mood, he had the shade of nausea that comes when the pleasure of alcohol starts to curdle.

"My friend Burton Mad-Leap!" roared the Chief, giving Burton his new name based on his antics. "This Jeeen of Baxter Fire-Ass is a mighty spirit!"

"I say," says Percy, noticing the commotion, "what's wrong with the Chief?" He's my chief now too, he thinks, with no small measure of pride. I'm now one of the Crocodile People.

"Where's Baxter?" shouted Burton above the throng. "Ah, Carstairs! You speak the lingo. Tell the chief that if he doesn't stop partying and rest--er--evil spirits will kill him, say Mad-Leap said so, and to let the doctor here"--Dr. Wessex--"to help him."

"Pardon me," says Percy to his dancing partner. He hurries over to the chief's side and translates what Burton had said into his best Bantu, which isn't very good. "In fact, in my land, we refer to gin and other strong drinks as spirits," he tells the chief. "I'm sure Sven can tell you all about how drinking gin lets all sorts of evil spirits into you. For many people, the spirits just make them act crazy and do things they'd never do otherwise, but in your case the evil spirits are trying to kill you. Mad-Leap said so, and he's never wrong about anything. If you drink any more, or if you exert yourself further, I fear they may succeed. You need to rest and let Dr. Wessex help you."

The Chief was just starting to feel ill, and duly slumped to his rear end, pot belly wobbling. He did not take the news of Dr Wessex kindly, or well, but he did take it, grumbling all the time about pouring cold water on the spirit of the feast. And yet, it appeared the advice was taken in the nick of time; for he was soon asleep, bar one episode of profuse vomiting in the middle of the night.

And so dawn came, with much hangover but with good spirit, the tribe and its guests well fed and proud.

Burton knelt beside Chief Chippedtooth's sickbed with someone to translate his words into Bantu.

"Chief, we journey to the Toad People's village. We will destroy them! But we need your support in our quest--although the gods are with us, I pray, they alone are not enough. Give us warriors from among your brave people?"

To Sergeant LeForge, speaking in French, "Join us, mon ami. We need your courage if we are to confront the Toad People, and rifles!"--Burton grins knowingly--"You, and your men of course, will share in the loot . . . !"

Also, Burton will seek out Riverturn.

Baxter appears in a morning after stagger, his head heavilly bandaged, no doubt from some after dark misadventure, and a strange looking tattoo of something resembling a crocoldile crawling on his back. "Whasup chaps?"