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.