Play@YSDC

Chapter 3

A few weeks later...

The going had been easy, until now.

The Frenchmen (Private Paris and Sgt LaForge) were seasoned soldiers, and whilst not possessed of the skills of an explorer, were fit and hardy, and rarely complained. Dr Wessex had lifted from his normal grumbles a little when he declared he had discovered a new species of moth, and had started chewing over names for his discovery.

A couple of baboons had given some light comedy relief, an evening of posterior-showing to be precise.

The expedition had curved around Lake Victoria's shores, and the still developing maps of the region had been updated by the expedition - which in itself would be of some modest glory.

Somehow, as the southern shores were reached, and the prospect of the Toad people drew near, things had become more tense. Something in the air, maybe. The smell of disease, the twisted shapes of trees. Tricks of the mind, no doubt.

The two Crocodile people, the young strong Shatterspear and the canny huntress of missing fingers, Nighteye, had become nervous and had muttered to themselves about bad omens, and the sorcery of the Toad People.

But of all of the expedition the young lad Scar was most affected; he seemed to withdraw into himself, like a zombie heading towards its final death, to scared to even shudder.

Everything has been going Percy's way for this stretch of the journey. He has spent a lot of time talking with the Crocodile People, as he has become one of them and has taken it to heart. He picks up more of the Bantu language in the process, learning more all the time.

OOC,I got a natural 1 on my Luck roll! :shock: Are you using the optional rule from the rulebook where you get to exercise and possibly increase POW when that happens?

During the journey Burton went through, in his head, the rituals seared into his mind by Kotep in the Great Pyramid.

"We ought to have scouts," he said to Carstairs and Baxter, "so we have warning of any Toad People?"

Halting for a moment to wipe the perspiration from his forehead with a large spotted silk handkerchief, a present some weeks ago from the now deceased Emillia, Baxter turns to Burton, "Excellent idea old boy, who do you suggest?"

"Shatterspear and Nighteye," replied Burton. "Carstairs," he called, "and Mr.Baxter, how best to proceed?"

"Agreed, they are skilled scouts," says Percy. "They should explore ahead while we follow some distance behind. They can drop back and report to us should they find anything of interest."

It was agreed then; the bold Crocodile people clutches spear and knife and headed off to the Jungle, due East, to see if they could pick up the Toad people.

Meanwhile, camp was made as the sun set. Darkness would be a good cover for the two hunters, particularly Nighteye, who had an uncanny sight even in the blackest of nights. But it also made the Jungle more dangerous.

Private Paris had got to work lighting the camp fire and putting up tents. The Frenchmen said little, having only a small grasp of English. Seargent LaForge was more talkative, and spent his time servicing his rifle.

"It pays to keep one eye open, even in when asleep!" he said with a wink at the Englishman. Poor Dr Wessex was not best pleased with the whole business.

"I say, we came here to map the territory, did we not? And I found my little moth, little Wessex Wessexium. What the devil are we doing in the middle of a tribal war?"

"Calm your belly, Doctor!" snapped back Seargent LaForge. "Normally I would not care about tribes hurling spears at each other, but this is another business. The madness of the Toad people, it is spreading!"

"The Toad People may also one day pose a threat to British - and French - interests in Africa," adds Percy. "Remember how much trouble the Zulu caused not so long ago, Doctor. Better to nip it in the bud before it gets that bad."

"Yes," agreed Burton between mouthfuls, dropping his fork into a mess of pork and beans, "I lost a good friend at Islandlwana. As Carstairs said, better to deal with the Toad People now.

"Let's follow LaForge's advice, and post sentries tonight. I'll take the first watch?"

"All right, I'll take last watch," says Percy. "I'm a bit of an early riser anyway."

"Hmmn" says Baxter, "I guess that leaves me somewhere in the middle" He checks his pistol, takes a large swallow from his flask and wanders towards the others in search of a little relaxation. "Wessex old boy fancy a game of cards?"

One game of cards and a sunset later...

The order of the nights watch was complete, with Burton on first, and Carstairs on last (with Wessex, the Frenchmen and Baxter inbetween). Nobody quite trusted the Ashen faced Scar to stay on watch. He was too young and in any case he looked like he wasn't sleeping to well anyway. Nightmare induced mumblings escaped his lips every time he closed his eyes.

As the slumbers began, Burton found himself alone on his watch. That is, alone with Scar who was unable to sleep and kept looking around as if he was to be hung drawn and quartered by every movement of plant and beast. The night drew in, with only embers to see by. Rustles and animal noises rumbled quietly across the jungle.

Burton's watch flew by. There was an incident with a terrifying arachnid trying to use his trouser leg as a burrow, but otherwise all was quiet, so to speak, if one ignored the howling monkeys and sundry jungle nighttime noise.

Then came Baxter's watch. It started well with all the concentration and professionalism that was expected of such a veteran of Africa. Then the boredom set in even the restless stirring of the native animal life did little to asuage the boredom that Baxter felt, it seemed he was alone in the midst of many.

The Frenchmen, showing a degree of military elan that Baxter saw as pointless, refused to join in an attention diverting game of cards, so it was not long before he began taking sips from his ever present hip flask. And with each sip his intake of the fiery gin grew larger, until after a couple of hours the flask was almost emptied.

It was then it happened, what it was that Baxter thought he had heard, no one knew. However it was sufficient to rouse him to discharge the full load of his pistol in a westerlyish direction...

Percy springs awake instantly at the sound of gunfire, fumbling for his rifle. "What are you shooting at?" he asks, poking the barrel of his rifle out of the opening of his tent and peering into the darkness.

"There...to the west...in the treetops, do you see it? Black against the black of the sky" Baxter nods in the direction as he attempts to reload his pistol, and maintain his balance, "Quick man pot the blighter"

Percy scans for a target in the indicated direction, though the darkness doesn't make it easy. "I can't see a bloody thing!" he exclaims.

"Are we under attack?" said Burton, wild-eyed and breathless. He clutched his pistol with one hand and swept his sleep tousled hair away from his eyes. "Where are they?" he was more collected, "Christ! Baxter, have you been swigging your booze?"

Baxter stares wide eyed at Burton, "Over there by that tree" he gestures in a wild direction, "In the name of God man can't you see it? Carstairs you're closest shoot the damn thing man".

In a sudden burst of activity Baxter drops his unloaded pistol and the handful of cartridges. With a short scream of terror he falls to his knees and starts searching for the dropped bullets. But from his intoxicated groping this looks like it might be a long job.

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.

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

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"

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?"

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...

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

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

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...

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]

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...

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]

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.)

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...

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]

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

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

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.

"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]

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."

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?"

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.

Baxter, now fully awake if not fully alert, helps subdue the woman for the doctor to administer his fix. As she quietens he looks around, "Did anyone make sense of what she was saying?" Sensing rather than hearing any negatives he continues, "Someone fetch the boy Scar, maybe he will be able to make some sense of her words. Although from the way she was eyeing up Carstairs, and the saliva marks on his somewhat embarassed looking face, I doubt she has anything to say worth listening too"
He finishes his words with a dirty laugh and a wink at the younger man.

"Good idea about Scar," said Burton. "Doctor, do you think she is on some kinda amphetamine?" He looks around for Sergeant LaForge: "Tout va bien, sergent?" ("All okay, sergeant?")

"I'll go find him," volunteers Percy, seizing at another excuse to leave the scene.

Scar was trembling, eyes fixed and distant, a cold sweat on his ebony skin. His eyes looked so white, in the moonlight.

"Its....its them...." he said, in Bantu, over and over again.

"Please, Mr. Carstairs, Sir...please....we should not be here....they are mad....possessed....I remember...." he gurgled.

"Too right they're mad, Scar," says Percy, rubbing his injured throat. "The woman we captured is quite, quite mad. I don't want to be around her any more than you do, believe me. But we have to find out what she knows if we're to stand a chance of defeating the Toad People. She's an invaluable source of information. Yes, whatever she says is bound to be twisted by her insanity, but we can still find some diamonds in the rough. Though this be madness, yet there is method to it. I'm sure what you know will be of great help as well. Tell me, what do you remember of them?"

Burton listened in to Carstairs, and awaited the doctor's opinion on the madwoman.

Baxter, eyes squinting no doubt from the effect of the alcohol, looks around the campsite, "Any sign of the scouts, you know Shatter-what's-it and Poke-in-the-eye?"
Slowly he makes his way back to his tent in search of his pistol, studying the ominous jungle as he goes.

Percy manages to get Scar to come back with him.

OOC,Nobody has the Psychoanalysis skill at higher than 1% because the skill does not exist yet at this point in time. Psychoanalysis roll (1% base skill) to get through to Scar: [dice]0[/dice] APP x 5 roll (50% stat) to get Scar to come with me: [dice]1[/dice]

Baxter halts staring into the darkness of the deep jungle, was that movement he had seen from the corner of his eye?

Spot Hidden,[url=http://orokos.com/roll/343214]Spot Hidden: 56%[/url]: [u]1d100[/u] [b]28[/b] Posted on the discussion thread, copied here in case it was missed.

"What do y'see, old boy?" said Burton.

As Scar, in a daze, like a sleepwarker in a cold sweat, stumbled almost blindly towards the mad-woman, Baxter catches a glimpse into the forest.

Movement, slow and dark. A glint of an eye. Two eyes.

Not animal, he judged, but human. Wide, blood shot eyes on a bald dark head, on a wiry emaciated frame...another of the Toad people. His eyes were vacant and faraway, fixed on the expedition from the undergrowth as if in some catatonic fugue state...

"Over there, on the edge of the forest... See him? We have another unexpected guest and this time not some sex crazed harridan...I hope" Quickening his pace Baxter rushes towards the spy.

"How shall we capture this one?" said Burton quickly to those round him, "The blighter will escape into the jungle if we simply chase after him." He paused, thinking. "Can we outflank him--where's our guides?"

The two glinting eyes continued to stare at nothing or everything. open and unblinking. The body shuffled slowly, oh so slowly, backwards. The face was mottled and drawn, almost skeletal...

OOC:   Make an knowledge roll if you look at the eyes... Spoiler: It looks like Shatterspear, one of the croc people guides, if he had lost all his hair and half his body weight...

Percy looks at the eyes, but they don't look the slightest bit familiar.

OOC,Know roll (70% stat) looking at the eyes: [dice]0[/dice]

Burton could not fathom anything from the spy's eyes. He follows Baxter.

Fortunately, the shaking Scar did not peer into the darkness of the jungle. The eyes, unblinking, on a skeletal thin skull, kept open. It was entirely possible that what was gazing out of the jungle was a dead body, for the eyelids did not move one bit. Just a pair of motionless whites, staring, on top of a motionless head, on a motionless, mottled, and thin body.

Scar started conversing with the madwoman in some obscure and corrupted form of Nilo-Saharan. The conversation did not appear to go well, for Scar grew paler and feverish with sweat, and the woman seemed to grow more mad with insane laughter.

"Sir, Sir..." whispered a hoarse Scar, pulling on Carstairs linen shirt. "She...is ill...in head...I cannot understand...she speaking of toad-king about to die and be born again...the toad people celebrate with big group...singing...dancing...drugs...and..." he gulped, going red as well as pale, and indicated with his hands a variety of carnal acts. "She say we joining in, or be eaten, or be made zombie..."

"I say, none of those options appeal to me," says Percy, suppressing a shudder. "We'll just have to stop them first. Finding out where exactly they are would be a good start. Can you find out where they live? Where this 'toad-king' of theirs is? You might have to pretend you're interested in...joining in."

Baxter continues his headlong rush towards the observer, any attempt at subtelty dismissed. He has but one aim, to get close enough to launch himself upon his target..,

OOC,What happens,what do I need to roll?

Twisted flora whipped at Baxter as he charged into the jungle. The eyes were probably little more than a dozen yards away, and the light was dim. Baxter crashed onwards.

Up close, the man was standing, slightly stooped, unmoving. His eyes fixed, glazed, unmoving. His flesh was mottled and patchy, and laid over a body that was barely more than a skeleton. Too say the man was emaciated would be an understatement. By rights, the man should have been dead.

Dead.

The head of the man turned, slowly, to face Baxter. It was little more than a skull. Up close Baxter could recognise him...

Shatterspear, one of the Crocodile people scouts.

Burton came up behind Baxter.

"Good God!" he exclaimed when he saw the emaciated state Shatterspear was in. "Watch this one, Baxter; careful, man!" He drew his pistol.

Baxter slides to a halt, sweat suddenly flooding his vision, "Jesus Christ, what the hell is going on?"

There was not a drop of sweat on the skeletal frame of Shatterspear. He was naked, spent. His eyes fixed and open, his head slowly turning to meet the two explorers but no word from his lips. Even in the darkness one could see a gaping wound.

A gaping wound through his chest, ribs crushed, cracked and dried blood, and no signs of life within!

Percy hangs back, not wishing to get any closer. "Shall I fetch Dr. Wessex again?" he calls, though deep in his heart he knows that it is too late for that.

Burton gasped, shocked by Shatterspear's gaping wound. "I don't think he needs a doctor," he shouted to Carstairs.

"What do we do, Mr. Baxter, somehow tie up the fellow--nets and ropes?" he added, "Can't let it escape, what?"

Baxter eyes the remains of the scout with a mixture of horror and disbelief, "Tie it up? And just who do you suggest get close enough to tie it up? Nets might be better but given the amount of foliage there is little chance of netting the blighter"
He glances around the jungles shadowed edge trying his best to avoid the strange stare of the scout, "Anyway, where is the other one, the female scout, Blackeye or whatever her name is? And somebody shut that flaming boy up, his drivel is beginning to annoy me".
Baxter turns and sends a vehement stare back towards Scar.

Percy claps a hand on Scar's shoulder, turning him away from the grisly scene. "Come on, Scar," he says. "Let's see if the madwoman knows anything about this...atrocity."

Scar hardly moved, frozen and frightened.

"Zombie...." he whispered, barely audible.

The madwoman only laughed at the universe, in some kind of degenerate rapture, her body convulsing with pleasure. "Zombie! Zombie! Zombie!" she yelled, mimicking Scar in some trance like echolalia.

She garbled again in her corrupted language. Scar gulped.

"She said they sacrificed Shatterspear. Killed him. Then made him their slave. A zombie. Who lead the woman back here!"

"So that's how the blighters found us!" says Percy. "Is there any way to put a zombie to rest? It's the least we can do for Shatterspear."

"Take its head off?" wondered Burton.

Baxter nods agreement to Burton's words and glances around lloking for Singh, "Perhaps your man would do the honours, Burton old chap?"
Standing severl yards from the hideous parody of a human being was, to Baxters mind, close enough, Even this close he could almost smell the aroma of death and decay.

"Singh!" yelled Burton, "Decapitate the thing, if you please."

"With pleasure" bowed Singh, drawing his heavy sabre. The Indian whipped his blade through the air, his face full of disgust and his thick arm full of rage.

The head fell of the body uncomplaining. There was no blood, just cold dead flesh.

After rolling a few more feet, the head came to a stop.

Its eyes still slowly turned towards the Indian, and its mouth opened and shut, croaking something inaudible...!

Thankfully, Percy can't see much detail from where he stands, but it's disturbing enough. "I say, that didn't work out so well," he says. "Perhaps the body needs to be burned."

"Good God alive!" said a surprised Burton. "Yes, Mr. Carstairs, I'll burn the damn head." He grabs Baxter's flask, and pours the gin over the head, then strikes a Swan Vesta match and sets it on fire.

With a scream of horror Baxter is suddenly jolted from his stupour by Burton's action, "Not my gin!!!" His eyes roll in terror as he watches the gin burst into flames, then several small tears roll down his face. Somehow the assembled group does not think he is mourning the poor Shatterspear.

"If it helps, Baxter," says Percy, "think of it as giving a last drink to a dying friend."

Tears coursing freely down his cheeks, Baxter turns and begins heading for his tent and the pistol within. "Bastards! Fancy making a man waste good Gin. I'll fetch my gun and then it..." he jerks a thumb to where the old crone mews and giggles like a mad thing, "...can lead us back to where she came from and they can bloody well pay for the loss of good gin".
With a final yell of "Bastards!!" he disapears back within his tent.

The head and body burned well enough. The flesh was dry and lit up. A crisp smell filled the air.

The "old crone" was still high on Laudinum, less violent, sleepy. She still giggled and laughed and writhed. Scar was able to ask her questions, but to little or no avail. She blabbered about the Toad King, his death, his birth, and an orgy festival for an hour or so and intimidation and pain were of no use in extracting information. Her mind, it seemed, was quite gone.

Frustration would be ended as dawn broke. Night-Eye, the Crocodile People warrior, stumbled back into the camp, naked as the day she was born, without thread or spear or tooth. She was battered and bruised, and collapsed at the explorers feet, clutching a gaping wound in her arm.

"I...I...found them..." she said, almost passing out in front of them.

"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.

The flames spread wide and fast, although the heavy air of strange sickly perfumes and wispy smoke hid the fire, at least for a few valuable moments.

Then, the hut was ablaze. As some of the toad people became aware of it, crack, crack! came the sound of the two French soldiers opening fire. They were fair shots, and the targets were easy. Soon the sound was of screaming, and the ground slick with blood.

From the hut cam a most horrible scream, and then, an awful crashing and wailing - something was trying to get out, and it would hardly be stopped by flimsy burning wood...

"Quick, back to the cover of the jungle," hisses Percy, already moving. "If anyone gets out, we can shoot them from there."

Still coming to terms with the blasphemy he had witnessed within that hut of evil, Baxter slowly, and carefully retreats towards the jungle' edge. As he moves he takes the opportunity to take several shots at the confused natives. Three in fact whether they hit or not he is not bothered to note, firing the heavy revolver is just an act of sanity in an insane situation.
Each of the three loud reports is accompanied by a whispered exclamation, "Not my bloody gin again".

Again Burton tugged at Munshi Singh, together they followed Carstairs. "Unhealthy to linger, man. Quick! follow the sot Baxter."

All hell broke loose. The toad people may have been fierce, sadistic warriors, but they were drugged and feverish. Some fell to their knees in a trance, screaming strange names "Cootooloo...Tsagottha...." some rushed the three gentlemen who stepped between the chaos. All the while, the French bullets took a bloody toll, and none of the Toad cult could see where from.

A man rushed Burton, only for his skull to explode over the explorers linen, thanks to the accurate aim of one of the French soldiers.

But the numbers were on the sides of the Toad people. As the explorers started to reach the perimeter, danger lurked, as spears and knives started to be drawn, and some limited semblance of orientation seeped into the tribe.

Behind them, a horrible roar was heard. A gurgling, inhuman scream. Something crashed from the smouldering and flaming hut in the centre...

A Toad Person rushes at Percy before he reaches the edge of the jungle, but he levels his rifle at him at fires. His aim is true, and the tribesman goes down.

OOC,Rifle roll (56% skill) shooting at a Toad Person: [dice]0[/dice]

Burton fired his pistol at a Toad woman blocking his path, she looked like a deuced angry scarecrow.

[dice]0[/dice]

But (dare I say) he panicked, missed, and tried to sidestep her instead.

Dodge 26% [dice]1[/dice]

The poxy bitch scraped her claws down his back.

[dice]2[/dice]

"Christ! Unhand me you--you---" and Burton kept on running after Carstairs.

Body wracked by sobs over the scandalous misuse of gin, and his gin at that, Baxter points the pistol at a Toad person who, unlike the majority, seems to have pulled himself slightly together.

Pistol,[url=http://orokos.com/roll/363232]pistol: 40%[/url]: [u]1d100[/u] [b]20[/b]

And has the satisfaction of seeing the bloody headed native smashed aside by the heavy calibre bullet.

"GIN!!" he screams and continues his run for the treeline, without a backward glance. Pausing momentarilly to throw a vicious headbutt at a glassy eyed mewling female.

Headbutt,[url=http://orokos.com/roll/363237]Headbutt: 35%[/url]: [u]1d100[/u] [b]37[/b]

His hastilly thrown attack misses its intended target conjuring forth a strange scream from the female, somewhere between one of anger and unfullfilled desire.

Bullets carved through the Toad people who seemed unable to rally themselves. A few started hacking and stabbing each other. One man mounted a woman, intent not on fornication but in gouging her eyes out, both of them screaming hysterically, or was it laughing?
Singh's mighty arm and sharp sabre took a man's head clean off in a fountain of blood. He pressed on, but was distracted by the sound of something screaming and moving behind him. Something that broke free from the burning hut and was in pain and in rage.

He turned around to look. One would have not expected the Indian, roasted by the African sun, to possibly go that white of colour. But manage it he did, with eyes and jaw wide open.

"No! Mercy! It cannot be!" he whispered, and turned to run as fast as he could.

The four men reached the perimeter of the Jungle. There was no sign of Scar or Wessex, and the French Soldiers, still firing and decimating the chaotic tribe, seemed shocked and frightened.

"Zut Alors! DId you see it! In the smoke?" said Sgt LaForge, gripping Burton's arm tightly. "It's coming this way!!!"

Private Paris shot off one more round and his gun was empty. He gritted his teeth and pulled out his knife in defiance.

"I've still got some bullets left," says Percy. He turns around and takes aim with the rifle, taking in the monstrosity in all its horror. However, he manages to stay collected enough to fire at it, hitting the flaming thing in square in the chest!

OOC,I just realized that I still have one point of damage on me from before. Shouldn't [b]Dr. Wessex[/b] have had a chance to treat that before we moved ahead? Sanity roll (current level 75) for seeing the monster: [dice]0[/dice] Sanity loss for seeing the monster: [dice]1[/dice] Rifle roll (56% skill) shooting at the monster: [dice]2[/dice] That was so close to being an impale... How much damage do our rifles do again? I've seen conflicting things. At one point it was said to be 1d6+2, but against the croc I think we did 2d6.

Baxter crashes into the trees with a sick smile, for a few moment as he reloads his pistol he keeps repeating a single word "GIN!!" while slowly shaking his head. At Percy's yell about bullets he pulls himself together and glares around him,
"Where is Wessex and the boy? Look for them quick we cannot leave without them".

At the jungle's edge he looks back toward the monster.

Burton's Sanity check [dice]0[/dice]

He gets a delicious, spine tingling, chill.

Sanity loss [dice]1[/dice]

"What's the plan, fellas?"

OOC:   Burton will reload his pistol's chambers. How far away is the thing? and who's got what weapon?

The smoke concealed the worst of the sight. The thing was burning, black. It was at least ten feet high, human in shape and form, but with vast sails of sagging skin that looped over endlessly on limbs and torso. Its head was horribly broad, and flat, with wide spaced black eyes that protruded. It was squat in form and movement.

Still smoking, burning, and screaming, it lolled this way and that towards the expedition...whilst the Toad King was burning and deflated, and by any reasonable estimation in pain, Carstairs shot just seemed to sink into its sagging skin.
The horror was not far away, but the stench of sickly sweet fumes was overpowering. Like the burning oils of the festival they had come too, but a hundredfold stronger...
Singh started sweating, and yelled out, in Punjabi, that they should shoot the snakes...the snakes!, although for now his increasingly fragile psyche seemed to remain intact. Both the Frenchmen rubbed their watering eyes.

Merde! I feel peculiar! complained LaForge as he tried to focus on his shot...

Percy is completely overcome by the fumes. "That's no toad, it's a bleeding chameleon!" he cries. "Look, it's changing colours!"

OOC,I would have preferred to roll the damage myself, especially after seeing what you rolled. ;) You never answered my question about healing. CON x 2 roll (28% stat) to not be affected by the hallucinogen: [dice]0[/dice] Sanity roll (current level 73) from the hallucinogen: [dice]1[/dice] Sanity loss from the hallucinogen: [dice]2[/dice] Idea roll (65% stat) to avoid temporary insanity - failure is good: [dice]3[/dice]

Con x2 [dice]0[/dice]

Sanity [dice]1[/dice]

"Pull yourself together, man!" barked Burton unsympathetically at Carstairs. He shouted at LaForge to take-up Carstairs' rifle, and levelled his own pistol at the Toad King.

Baxter, still trying to spot the errent doctor and the young native, winces as the bullets seem to have little effect on the onrushing monstrosity. "I think we are going to need bigger guns, or maybe some explosives. Did we bring any?"

In fact, the lumbering horror was burning to death. It looked ill, shrunken, with sails of loose skin under each arm and between its legs, as if an obese giant had lost all its fat and all that was left was bone and far too much skin. And the burns were awful, smoke and red flesh.

Whilst it lumbered towards them, bullets from the company thudded into it. They appeared to be little more than slaps to its horrible flesh, but by the time it had reached not a dozen yards from the company, it fell to its knees. It got up, but its will had gone. Two more steps, and it fell flat on the ground. It groaned out a few gasped breaths, then stopped completely. Its flesh seemed to fall apart all the more, slowly crumbling and turning to ash.

And there was much lamination and screaming from the remnants of the toad people. Fear, anger, and...rejoicing?

Percy's eyes goggle as he sees things nobody else can crawling out of the Toad King's charred corpse. "Of course!" he cries. "They wanted their king to die so he could rise again, and now he will!" He scurries up the nearest tree.

OOC,Hallucinations it is. It's a +5 bonus to Cthulhu Mythos for the first Mythos-related temporary insanity. Each incident after that is +1. May I roll Cthulhu Mythos now as well? Idea roll (65% stat) for insane insight. [dice]0[/dice]

Carstairs' scream of anghuish makes Baxter leap with momentary fear. He quickly studies the burning remains of the thing but fails to see any of the things Percy is screaming about. "Pull yourself together man, it's bad form to lose your self respect in front of the natives. Not British you know"
Reloading his pistol, he snaps the cylinder shut, "Stay alert chaps, this may not be over"

The toad people had largely scattered. The odd wail, the odd insane laugh, the odd dance, these were just fodder for the guns of the French and English. The rest were either asleep or so intoxicated as to be as good as.

Unfortunately, along with many of the toad people, Scar and Wessex had ran. Scar was understandable; he was traumatised by the toad people and had simply fled into the Jungle. Wessex had stayed but a minute before slinking off. It was not clear if he was simply a coward or had been affected by the drugs in the air.

The smoke in the air was unpleasant, and the smell more so. A few toad people had been roasted, and the smell of cooked human flesh was in the air.

The wooden cage still swung above them, suspended from a high tree. Closer now, they could see a skeleton inside, with a rotting French soldiers uniform, almost nothing but tatters, wound over the bounds.

In the centre, a heap of smouldering and burning wood where the Toad King had come from. The smell was appalling.

"Why are you lot still standing around down there?" Percy calls from up in the tree. "Can't you see them coming?"

Burton looked at Baxter and then up at Carstairs. Shaking his head he inspects the melted carcass, holding a handkerchief to his nose.

The melted carcass was a horrible thing indeed, all burnt and red skin....the fumes were still sickly and pungent, and Burton was in the thick of it. His handkerchief was all that kept him from the potent gas.

OOC:   Idea roll for Burton Spoiler: You notice that the Toad King seems to be emaciated. The corpse also had no genitalia, either it never did or it has dropped off, so to speak

Sanity check[dice]0[/dice] lose 1 San

Idea [dice]1[/dice]

"I say, chaps, Mr. Toad's got no knob!" said a stressed Burton.

Baxter looks toward the slightly queasy looking Burton, breaking free from the contemplation of throwing bits of smouldering nasty at the tree where Carstairs lurks.
"Really? I would definately have thought that some form of genitalia was required for the act it was indulging in before we toasted the blighters ass". He switches his gaze toward the hut in which they had first encountered the monstrosity, "Perhaps it dropped the thing back there, or maybe its partner ran off with the article?"

The smoke was starting to clear, and the screams beginning to die. Many, many toad people lay dead - or at least, seemed to. No doubt a goodly proportion of them had fled to the jungle, but it would be a fair estimate that the madness and fire had decimated the tribe.

The Toad King seemed to shrivel before their eyes. He was barely skin and bones when he had lurched out of his hut. Now, even his skin and bones seemed to emaciate in front of them.

From the central hut, now ashes, came a scream, and out of it tumbled the young woman Baxter had seen with the Toad King. Her eyes were dilated and fixed, staring but not seeing. Her body had been burnt in several places. A few rags, charred, lay on her body and did little or nothing to hide modesty.

She turned her glassy eyes at the expedition, gasped, and fell to the ground, unconscious.

"We ought to help her," said Burton; humanitarian notions aside, he had the germ of an idea for his next book, to do with what Baxter had seen inside the hut. . . .

"As you say, old chap. Yet having seen her cavorting with that...thing earlier I have no desire to get too close". Baxter turns and looks towards the tree in which Carstairs had sought refuge, "You help her and I'll see if I can coax our heroic journalist down from his hideaway, and see if you can find our brave doctor", he glances around at the dead and dying, "There might be a few that could use his services about now"

"Of course," replied Burton. He goes to the unconscious young woman.

The young woman was badly burnt, weeping sores and black, ghastly flesh. Even a medical novice would recognise that she was gravely ill, and very probably mortally injured. She looked horrible, like a nightmare. How she was even alive was difficult to fathom.
Her skin, the little left unburnt, was african but pale, drained. The light in her eyes was burning fierce but blind. She uttered not a word, but collapsed into Burton's arms, caking him with burnt oozing flesh.

The Jungle itself was quiet. Baxter nor Castairs could see the good doctor, or Scar. Perhaps, if they went off deeper, separately...

Percy sheepishly climbs down from the tree once he realizes that the army of toad-spawn he had seen were a mere figment of his imagination, but he still looks around at the jungle nervously in case they are hiding there. "I say," he says, "where has Dr. Wessex gone off to? We could use him about now. And where's Scar?" He looks around for any tracks.

Percy cannot find any trace of either of them.

OOC,Track roll (10% base skill) looking for [b]Dr. Wessex[/b] and [b]Scar[/b]'s tracks: [dice]0[/dice]

Burton's Sanity check [dice]0[/dice] --he loses 1 Sanity.

"This one's half-dead," said Burton with distaste, holding the woman at arm's length. He is very disappointed-- that is his book idea scuppered. "Unless we find the Doc. there's little we can do."

Burton tracking [dice]1[/dice]--but he does not have the slightest clue as to where Wessex had gone.

Seeing that neither Burton or Carstairs seem to have the first clue about tracking, Baxter applies himself to the task. Carefuly studying the ground for any indications as to where the doctor had gone.

Track,[url=http://orokos.com/roll/379477]Track (10%)[/url]: [u]1d100[/u] [b]32[/b]

However from the perplexed look that continues to cross his face, it is obvious he has nothing to offer.
"I have no idea as to where the doctor went. What about the boy Scar? He ought to be able to track one useless white man"

"He could," says Percy, "if he hadn't disappeared himself. Perhaps he went off looking for Dr. Wessex. If we're going to find them, we have to go into the jungle."

"The tribe is decimated," said Burton looking around at the carnage. "This was our task. Let's go home. Wessex, useless bugger, can shift for himself?"

Baxter considers Burton's words carefully for a few seconds. Secretly he wants to agree with him and would like nothing more than to 'bugger off' as Burton puts it back to civilisation. Ruefully he eyes his dwindling supply of gin, "Sadly we can't do that. Wouldn't look to good if Wessex wandered back to civilsation and started whining about being abandoned in the jungle. Not the done thing old chap"
He listens as Carstairs points out the disapearance of the boy, Scar, as well, then shrugs, "Hmm, well maybe one of these Frenchies can track the bugger then?"

"Good thinking," says Percy. "They'll have better tracking skills than we will." He looks around for the French soldiers.

The two Frenchmen kicked about the dirt, flora, and embers, but little could be seen. Of course, many obvious tracks lead away from the scene of madness and destruction, but who could tell which of the several dozen belonged to their companions? The toad tribe had fled in all directions. If one listened carefully, one could still catch the odd scream from the Jungle.

In the ground, the remains of the Toad king hissed and bubbled, dissolving slowly into the earth.

The blotchy, diseased young woman with glazed eyes started babbling, in a variety of different tongues...

OOC:   Nilo-Saharan and Bantu roll success...

"I can't understand a bloody word she's saying," says Percy. "Of course, it probably wouldn't make a lick of sense even if my Bantu were better."

OOC,Other Language: Bantu roll (15% skill) to understand the woman: [dice]0[/dice]