Play@YSDC

"I'll get Dr. Wessex!" calls Percy, already running to fetch the doctor again.

Doctor Wessex did his duty, lumbering to the injured woman and sweating profusely. He looked ill, white, pale.

"I never signed on for this!" he complained. "Madness! Madness!"

He brought out his doctors kit, and to the grinding teeth of Night-Eye, he cleaned and stitched the wound. The worst was over, although she would need rest and recovery.

"They are not far..." explained the brave woman. "I could not count how many...a few dozen...in their village, of sorts. It is rotten, diseased, cursed. They are dancing, eating, sleeping, fornicating..." she explained, although in more uncivil terms.

"Praising the Toad King who is to die!"

She paused, wincing.

"I tried to see what was happening, but I was spotted. Shatterspear was caught, but I escaped. Not before we brought down six of them!" she said, proudly.

"Well done!" says Percy, applauding Night-Eye's courage and skill. "Now that we know where their village is, we have them! We need to gather all of our forces and weapons, then hit them before they have time to prepare. They already know where our camp is, so we can't stay here anyway. Our boomsticks and the advantage of surprise will give us the edge we need!"

"Hear, hear!" said Burton, and gave an appreciative pat to Night-eye. "A bit of planning: our French soldiers on our flank to catch these Toad scum in a crossfire--something like that, and we'll win through!"

Baxter, looking a little red faced, returns from his tent, refreshed, groomed with pistol in hand and his refilled flask securely held in a button down pocket of his jacket. He looks at the state of the woman wounds, spits on the ground and nods at Burton's words.
"Well said, well said. Gentlemen shall we hunt some toads?"

Percy collects his rifle and other gear. "View halloo!" he shouts. "Let us avenge Shatterspear - and your lost gin!"

The rest of the day was taken weaving through the thick jungle. The heat was oppressive, and clawed at the skin. Somehow, the trees and roots seemed more gnarled and odd. Doctor Wessex, sweating more profusely than ever, ventured than the flora looked of odd form. The fauna did not bear thinking about.

Twice the group weaved past a noisy group of toad people, wailing and intoxicated. On a third time, they stumbled into a pair of them, with mottled and diseased flesh, full of sweat and skin. The Frenchmen had the lead at the time, and wasted no bullets. Knives were drawn and not sheathed unbloodied.

And then, as the sun (somewhat mercifully) started to descend, growing large and swollen, they came across the centre of the revelry. Fires dotted the jungle, and strange, sickly sweet smells from herbs and fever lingered in the air.

A chant rose and fell, many voices singing and screaming.

OOC:   If you are able to make a Niro-Sawalan roll, Spoiler: it is a corrupted dialect praising the Toad King, Spawn of Tsuggathoa. He will die and live tonight (in that order!)

There were between two or three dozen of the Toad People, in various states of singing, intoxication (with the herbs that burned into the air), fornication, dancing, or even violence. Probably no more than half would be capable of doing much more than standing. Clothing was spartan, with scars, disease, and feverish sweats on proud display. The carnal acts were unnatural and varied, the dancing was mad and to unheard, uncommon rhythm. A few spears and knives lay around, but if the toad people were to fight, it would seem done mainly by teeth and hand, or perhaps by the intoxicating fumes in which they bathed.

In the centre of the flesh and embers stood a wooden structure, a hut of sorts, half buried in the ground. Strange emblems, scrawls, and figurines littered its walls, and a central hole in the roof let loose a pungent, aromatic smoke.

OOC:   If you make an Anthropology roll you can recognise the fetishes and symbols Spoiler: They represent death and fertility symbols

To one side, a wooden cage swung slightly, twisting on vine. Inside, a skeleton with only a few rags covering its bones.

Percy gapes wide-eyed at the horrible scene before him, but he barely manages to steel himself. "It's amazing they haven't killed each other already," he whispers to the others. "What now? I'd like to burn the lot of them, but the fire would spread through the jungle, and we're in it right now."

OOC,Nilo-Saharan roll (01% base skill): [dice]0[/dice] Anthropology roll (01% base skill): [dice]1[/dice] Sanity roll (current level 75): [dice]2[/dice]

"What a rum lot," muttered Burton. "Those fetishes are about rebirth--I wonder if some kind of shamanic magic is meant to transform that skeleton into the new Toad King? Anyway, I bet there's something nasty in that hut. I say have the Frenchies and Wessex cover us from the flank as we burn the hut, risk of jungle fire or no, Mr. Carstairs?"

Baxter tries to make sense of the chant, but distance and lack of knowledge defeats him. At Carstairs words on fire he nods slowly, a gesture that becomes more vigorous with Burtons idea. Then as quickly as he nodded in agreement he thrusts one hand into his jacket pocket forming a protective cradle around his flask. "Please Burton, old boy, no more burning the gin", he pleads.

Nilo-Saharan,[url=http://orokos.com/roll/351737]Nilo-Saharan language: 21%[/url]: [u]1d100[/u] [b]34[/b]

Percy nods too. "All right, let's do it," he says. "Only...maybe we should peek inside the hut first, in case they have prisoners in there or something."

Burton nodded his agreement to Carstairs: "Okay, let's check the hut first," but he readied his box of Swan Vesta matches all the same, and added to Baxter: "We may need your gin, old boy, needs must and all that!"

The four men (including Singh) crept through the sides - if there were any sides - of the revelry. Much was to be observed, which would make even a hardened anthropologist blush or come over quite queasy. Or, if so inclined, aroused in a gentleman's fashion.

The smell hit them most, however. Sweat and disease, sickly sweet, but on top a powerful odour. Smoke and scent burned in heated bowls, strange oils giving of an aroma and a hazy smoke. It was enough to make one quite light headed.

As they approached the hut in the centre, a group of fornicating toads people caught sight of them, but paid them no heed. One yelled out an obscure chant, another just giggled and reverted to studying his nether regions with great enthusiasm, the rest just carried on, in a trance.

Singh hissed to his master; "I...feel unwell..." before stumbling left and right. He started sweating, and took out his sabre, cutting the air left and right. "I am seeing things...awful...horrible black eyes! EYES!" he hissed.

Percy creeps up to the tent, his rifle in his hands. He has his handkerchief wrapped around his lower face to help ward off the fumes. "Someone take a quick look inside," he whispers. "I'll cover you."

Baxter, used to the excesses of primitive life, smiles at the antics, but concentrates on the job in hand. However he has to take quick avoiding action as Sigh starts swiping at the air with his sword, "Damn it Burton old boy, control your chap. Singh pull yourself together man!" he hisses.
Then with a quick glance to where Carstairs watches grimly over the sights of his rifle, he creeps towards the tent, pistol held unshakingly before him.

Outside the central wooden tent, strange markings and bones littered the wooden walls. Neither Baxter or the others could make head nor tail of them, other than the shrunken corpse head, dangling by a thread, no bigger than a fist. Baxter had the uneasy feeling that despite the size, it was a human head, and the yellow tinged eyes followed him somehow from their sunken sockets.

There was a door, of sorts, that creaked slightly as he opened it. Inside the tent, the pungent smoke and odour of the burning oils was strong. It was hard to make out what was inside, the light was poor and the air thick and heavy.

The glimpses he took were horrible and ghastly. There seemed to be an old woman, drugged and soporific, like a floppy doll, flesh most mottled and diseased. And wrapped around her...

Glimpses, glimpses...

Something horrible, larger than a man, with grey sunken, wet flesh, webbed fingers, slithering all over her...

A flash of the things face. Human, but wide, flat, ugly beyond anything Baxter had seen, black, black eyes and webbed, decaying flesh.

Burton placed a restraining hand upon Singh. "Steady-on, old chap."

He stood beside Carstairs, his pistol drawn. "What d'ya see inside, Baxter?"

For a few heartbeats Baxter feels the inside of the tent swim, as his rational mind dealt with the unholy vision he was being subjected too. The sudden voice in his ear had the effect of drawing his mind back from the gulfs of insanity. "You may not want to look Burton old chap. This goes way beyond the boundaries of good taste". Baxter finishes his sentence with several dry retching noises as he points his revolver at the blasphemous creature that has entwined itself over the parody of a female form.
He pulls back the hammer of the pistol and screams "Now, for God's sake burn the thing before it is too late!!"

Burton doesn't need to be told twice. He sets the hut on fire.

Percy lights the end of a "fuse" consisting of a trail of gin leading to the doused hut, then readies his rifle and prepares to get out of there.