Ch3: The Madness

[Supercape]

Baxter may have been drunk, but the Gods of fate rolled strange dice that night. Out of the trees, a scream, and a baboon (with a most rosy posterior) fell out of the tree, squealing death throes. It has a mad look in its eyes, which bulged for a second before they closed forever.

By now the entire night camp had woken, some with a start, some (like Private Parish) with a bleary shuffle towards wakefulness. Guns were drawn and tempers hot.

"Catching us supper, Monsieur?" sneered Sergeant LaForge, his revolver in hand, as he poked the dead simian.

Scar seemed terrified. "Mad monkey...Mad monkey..." he whispered to himself.

[Mr. Handy]

"I'd say the threat has been dealt with," says Percy. "That baboon will never menace anyone again."

[Priest]

With a loud hiccup, and a gentle swaying motion, Baxter eyes the result of his firing, "Damn beast, I swear he was watching us, in particular the lady" On his third attempt his pistol is returned to its holster, "Well it won't be watching us any more".
He turns to the distraught Scar, "Calm down man, the mad monkey is dead"

[Tabs]

A baboon watching us? Impossible! Burton dismissed the thought from his mind. "I hope the enemy toads didn't hear Baxter's shot. Let's treble the guard? And where's our Crocodile trackers?"

[Supercape]

Alas, the Crocodile trackers would not return that night. Instead, the night would proceed with heat and humidity, the moisture in the air clinging to skin and throat like a fever. Rustles and calls of animals would pepper the dark hours. Scars mumbling nightmares would grow increasingly disturbed and unsettling.

Castairs had the last watch, that early morning when darkness still washed the jungle, but the faintest of blue could be seen on the horizon...

[Mr. Handy]

Percy doesn't hear a thing. The jungle is eerily silent.

OOC,Listen roll (57% skill) on watch: [dice]0[/dice]

[Supercape]

Carstairs heard nothing, and saw only too late...

A wiry figure, with glinting white eyes, leapt from the Jungle, cackling. He could make out it was a dark African, and a woman. Her eyes fixed and wide, scars and mottled patches all over her body. She jumped from silence, out of the trees, wiry steel hands grasping at Carstairs....all the time mumbling and whispering some strange language...

[Mr. Handy]

Percy tries to call out, but the woman's hands around his throat reduce his scream to a mere gurgle. He almost breaks free, but her grip is just a little too strong.

OOC,Dodge roll (14% base skill) to avoid being strangled: [dice]0[/dice] Other Language: Nilo-Saharan (1% base skill) to understand the words: [dice]1[/dice] Resistance Table roll: STR 13 vs. attacker's STR 10 (65% chance) to break free: [dice]2[/dice] Damage from being strangled: [dice]4[/dice] Sanity roll (current level 76) for being attacked: [dice]3[/dice]

[Supercape]

The woman was close enough now that Percy could count her teeth - and she did not have a full set. Those that were left were rotten, and many black. Her breath stank a sickly sweet, and mottled, sweating flesh writhed as she cackled madly.

And then, the woman started drooling all over him. Her tongue, unnaturally long and wet, fell from her jaw and started licking his face, trying to suckle his mouth, all the while her hands around his throat...

[Mr. Handy]

Now that the shock has worn off, Percy has a surge of adrenaline and easily breaks the woman's death-grip, throwing her off of him and at her companion. "Help!" he calls, backing away and fumbling for his rifle. "We're under attack!"

OOC,Resistance Table roll: STR 13 vs. attacker's STR 10 (65% chance) to break free, round 2: [dice]0[/dice]

[Tabs]

Hearing Carstairs' cry Burton jumped up, pistol in hand. "I'm coming!" he roared, and, "Munshi, sic 'em, boy!" (Of course, if it had been Baxter who cried out Burton would have rolled over and gone back to sleep.)

[Supercape]

The mad woman, bathed by moonlight, stopped a moment, on all fours. She was naked bar a few rags and and tattoos, none of which could be described as strategically placed. She was twitching, hysterical, and dribbling. Her eyes seemed whitest of all, and her tongue drooled like a dogs. Something was odd and ugly about her face.

With a cackling laugh she rolled backwards and started off back to into the Jungle...

[Mr. Handy]

While Percy is sure he could shoot the fleeing woman in the back with his rifle, he is equally certain that that would kill her, and a live prisoner would be of inestimably more value. He rushes after her and throws a haymaker at the back of her head in an effort to knock her unconscious, but his fist just brushes through her hair, missing her skull by an inch.

OOC,Fist/Punch roll (60% skill) attempting to knock out the woman: [dice]0[/dice]

[Tabs]

Burton fired his pistol at the madwoman, but aimed at her legs.

[Priest]

Oblivious to the noise of scream and gunshot alike, Baxter sleeps on his dreams fuelled by alcohol.

[Supercape]

Burton's aim was true enough, aided by a little luck.

The woman shrieked into the night, a shrill horrible scream, and stumbled, rolling, her leg giving under her. The canny of hearing would have caught the splintering of bone. The sharp of eye would have noticed the blood, black black blood by moonlight.

The woman did not stop screaming, although it was of a hysterical quality, mixed with gasps of laughter. She rolled around, clutching her knee and yelling in an odd dialect.

Spoiler:

If anyone has Nilo-Saharan language skill (of more than 01%) or can make a difficult EDUx3% roll they will recognise it as an odd corrupted form of Nilo-Saharan. In addition, if anyone listening can make a Nilo-Saharan language roll they can interpret the screaming

[Mr. Handy]

"I'll go fetch Dr. Wessex," says Percy quickly, before someone else does. He hurries off to the doctor's tent, glad to be away from the crazed woman.

OOC,EDU x 3 roll (42% stat) to recgonize the language: [dice]0[/dice] Nilo-Saharan roll (1% base skill) to understand the screaming: [dice]1[/dice]

[Tabs]

Burton and Munshi grabbed an arm apiece and dragged the madwoman back into camp.

"Stand-to!" he ordered the French soldiers. "Baxter! Baxter! where are you, you damn drunk?

"Ah, Dr. Wessex, calm this bitch down, morphine or whatever."

[Priest]

At the sound of Burton's raised voice, Baxter emerges from his tent eyes still blurred from sleep and red-rimmed from an overindulgence of Gin. "Whass up chaps, dont tell me another bloody monkey is attacking the camp?" With a determined effort he reaches for his holstered pistol, opening the holsters flap too reveal - not his pistol but his capless flask. A look of terror flashes across his face, "What happened, where's my gin?"

[Supercape]

Dr Wessex stumbled into the field, sleepy and bleary eyes.

"Gods! what happened?" he mumbled, pulling open his medical bag and taking out some laudanum. It was a precious drug but the madwoman, laughing hysterically, clearly needed something and was, thanks to Burtons keen aim, in considerable pain. Or at least, should have been. The way she laughed and screamed it was hard to tell.

"What's wrong with her?" he asked. Singh and Burton held her down, with Baxter and Carstairs helping. A few ribs and shins were bruised from her lashing, but nothing serious. She was of thin, emaciated build but something about her gave her a ferocious wiry strength.

Wessex applied, with some difficulty, a torniquet to her leg, and then between them, mindful not to loose any fingers to gnashing teeth, a healthy dose of laudanum to quieten her. She wailed and screamed for several more minutes before her breathing shallowed and eyes slumped. She was still conscious but was not far from slumber.