Pre-Game story

 (Professor O'Bannon version)

   The fall and rise of the unending sea no longer makes you feel seasick but instead wants to gently rock you to sleep. You put your head down on the salt-crusted rail and think about returning to your cabin but you know you’d only be restless for the night. But what else was there to do on the steamer? Conversations had died after 3 weeks of chatting - there was nothing else left to say. Some of the members of the expedition you now know better than your own family. You quietly snort to yourself. How on earth do you end up half way across the South Atlantic Ocean with such an odd bunch of people? You look down at the depths, your vision focusing on the past. It seems like a lifetime and another world ago...  

   It was one month ago, in London , when you received the letter asking for your services. The Royal Archaeological Institute needed your help and, more importantly, they were willing to pay for it. As to what help and why, you found out only on the day of the meeting. The cab ride through London to the Institute was swift; no one ventured out much these days. Everyone was scared. The New Ripper murders they called it, the newspapers hawking about the latest victim and the gory details of the death. But it was always the same. The heart, it was always the heart that was taken. And not one single witness in all nine attacks. It was as if the shadows were coming alive to claim the innocents.

   Through the visitor entrance of the building you walked until you were shown the private chambers where ancient artifacts sat bundled in protective wrappings waiting to be cleaned, catalogued and studied. The dusty air tickled your nose but you dared not disturb the absolute silence - it seemed like sacrilege. You passed through until you felt you were in the bowels of the Institute. A room marked Private stood before you and you gingerly entered, wondering if it was some sort of odd trick being played. Inside, instead of the bare storeroom you had been expecting, was a luxurious boardroom. Paneled walls of walnut circled a long oak table where 8 people sat, looking at you and each other in bemusement. Somehow, you had the feeling you weren’t alone in wondering what was going on.

   A man with thinning hair and gaunt looks stood up at the end of the table and gestured for you to sit down. “Good, we’re all here. We can start. I apologise for all this cloak and dagger nonsense but the Institute would like to keep everything I’m about to tell you out of the papers as we have tied ourselves with The Times. I’m sure the other papers will be far too busy with this awful ripper business anyway but the Institute still doesn’t want any negative publicity – it makes it very hard to secure sponsorship, don’t you know. Tea anyone?” Some of the group took him up on his offer but most, including yourself, were vocally eager for an explanation.

   “Of course, my apologies,” said the man, adjusting his glasses. “From the beginning: My name is Professor Tarquin Garwood, head of Egyptology and archaeological acquisitions. On September the 14th 1922 an Egyptologist by the name of Professor Edward Shannon came to see me about funding an expedition. Shannon has a good reputation, the man is well known for his remarkable insights - I believe some of you know of him as well - so I listened. I thought he would ask to go back to the temple near Luxor where he had been working but instead he asked to lead a group into Brazil, which surprised me greatly as I know that his one and only passion was Egypt and its past.”

   Professor Garwood leant closer. “When I questioned Shannon he looked excited. I tell you, he was giddy like a schoolboy! He nearly leapt out his chair. ‘I have found a link, Garwood!’ he said ‘the cultures, thousands of miles apart ... knew each other! I have evidence that the ancient Egyptians traveled far further than we ever thought but I need proof, and that proof is in South America ’.”

   You cough in disbelief. “I’ve heard this theory before. It’s poppycock!”

   Garwood nodded and took a sip of his tea. “O’Bannon, I know your field of expertise is Egyptology and you’ve probably heard all sorts of stories and rumors about the ancient Egyptians. But Professor Shannon was not one for flights of fancy, plus if his theory was correct it would be the find of the century and I wanted that find to be British. So I gave him his funding and his team. I chose five good men: Professor Stephen Wilson, Doctor Henry Jackson, Joseph Thompson and Thomas Cavanagh. The expedition set off for Brazil in early December.”

   The professor slurped more of his tea. “In January they had reached the site and everything seemed well. A report was sent back containing confirmation that the remains of an ancient building had been found and enclosing a sealed jar of Egyptian design, dated to the Third Dynasty. We all became excited at the sight of it, wondering what it could contain. When we opened it we found ordinary ash and a slip of papyrus inscribed with hieroglyphs, which appeared to be some kind of prayer.”

   “What did it say, did you translate it?” one of the other men asked. His English was tinged with a German accent.

   “We did, Professor Von Lieberman. It read: ‘Hapimen, Osiris keep thee within and forever stay as dust’.”

   The german frowned. “What an odd prayer.”

   “That’s what we thought,” Garwood shrugged. “It was about then that we received word that when the supply boat had arrived to pick up the report and artifact from Professor Shannon, Cavanagh had been waiting with an injured Thompson, who had been attacked by some wild animal. Thompson was taken back to a religious mission that was on the supply route but unfortunately he ... he died from his wounds a few days later. A terrible waste, he was a decent man.” The professor shakes his head at the tragedy before continuing. “The supply boat was sent again on its three week journey but it returned with news that no one was waiting from the expedition. Our man there sent it again but still there was nothing.” Professor Garwood drank the rest of his tea and carefully put down the cup and saucer. “Now you know why you are all here: We’re sending a rescue mission.”

   The ship cutting through a wave jumps you out of your reverie and you look at the group. ‘Find the missing team. Find out what Shannon had discovered’ Garwood had asked, and paid, you to do. Could you and these people achieve this? There was Doctor Travers, who had already been a lifesaver with his seasick pills; Major Francis Edmington-Stanway, an army man who seemed a little too close to his weapons; Sarah Simpson-Smith, nurse to the Major, which worried you why the major needed a nurse; Gillman Carter, a journalist for The Times, whose paper had been granted exclusive rights to Shannon’s expedition; and Edmoud Augustine-Smith, or Smithy, a photographer working with Carter.

   Near this group, and nearer to the bar, sat the rest. There was Jonathan Hewlett-Packard, who apparently held as much knowledge as yourself on Egyptology but seemed more interested in drinking, the ladies, and playing cards. Talking to him was the German, Professor Otto Von Lieberman, who was an old hand at expeditions by the sound of his experiences; and listening to both of them was Captain Jack Jackson, expedition leader and all round nice bloke.

    You look around, trying to find Lady Jocelyn Castlemain. She was a mystery. She had arrived just as the ship was about to set sail - the gangway was already in the air - demanding in a loud voice that she be let onboard. You thought the ships Captain would ignore her but when she added a large amount of money he suddenly found a room for her. You imagined that would be the end of that but then she had accosted Captain Jackson, demanding she be allowed to go with the group, adding she would pay her own way. Jack stood his ground for a while, pointing out that it wasn’t a picnic they were going on, but the woman’s sharp tongue soon had him giving up trying to convince her. But no matter what anyone said or asked, she wouldn’t reveal her reasons for insisting on coming. You eventually spy her standing against the opposite rail, staring out to sea. How she was going to get on with the trek in the jungle being that heavily pregnant you’ll never know.

   Suddenly one of the stewards emerges in a hurry and leans close to Capt. Jackson, murmuring words. Whatever he said, it has a quick effect on everyone nearby who spring from their seats and follow the steward. You rush from the rail to join the group.

   “What’s going on?” you ask Carter as you join them.

   “Someone’s turned over yours and the Major’s rooms,” the journalist calls over his shoulder. “I thought we were on a high class ship but it looks like thieves use it as well!”

   Both rooms are in disarray; contents thrown wildly about, the sheets slashed, pillows ripped open and even the carpet pulled up. You quickly look through the piles of smashed equpiment, pulling out a wallet of cash. “Odd, nothing’s missing.” You pause to consider for a moment then run down the corridor to the others outside the Major’s room. Your heavy footsteps causes everyone to start and you shrug your apology. “My room, it’s a mess but-”

   “Nothing’s missing,” finishes Dr. Travers. “Same here. Did either of you forget to tip the steward or something?”

   Nurse Smith nudges the torn carpet with foot. “They were looking for something.” She nods at the ripped pillows. “Something they assumed you’d hide well.”

   “But what?” asks Smithy. The room falls silent. Eyes look from the Major, to the you, then at each other. Suddenly the boat feels draped in a sinister veil.

-----

   It proves to be the only excitement on the rest of the journey, and soon you see the welcome sight of Brazil , then Soa Paulo where the rumbling of the ship’s engine finally ceases. You hurry down the gangway to the dock and enjoy the feeling of solid ground again. “Where now, Jackson ” you ask the Captain.

   “We’re supposed to meet someone called Tepp-” he starts to say but suddenly Lady Castlemain shouts “Neil!” and rushes to embrace a man standing by the docks.

   “Hello cousin,” he hugs back, “I couldn’t quite believe your message that you were joining this little expedition as well, not in your condition-”

   “I have to find him.”

   “I know, I know. I remember quite how stubborn you can be about listening to advice-”

   “Excuse me,” Jackson interrupts, “I don’t suppose you happen to know a man called Tepp by any chance? He’s supposed to meet us here and...”

   The man extends a hand. “Neil Arthur Tepp, at your service. You made good time getting here. Good journey?”

   “Just an incident with an upset steward, nothing much. Have you had any more news from the Shannon expedition?”

   “Nothing. No word from any of the members.” He looks at Castlemain. “No word from Wilson .”

   The lady’s eyes fall.

   “Excuse me,” says Lieberman. “I was told you were arranging everything.”

   “That’s right.”

   “You couldn’t possibly show us to our hotel, could you? A bath and shave wouldn’t go a miss right about now.”

   “There’s no hotel. We leave for the mission as soon as everyone is ready.”

   “Now?” gasps Packard. “I wouldn’t have minded a go at the craps table here.”

   Tepp gives an apologetic shrug. “The sooner we leave the better. It’s three days by river to the religious mission alone, then it’s a little over a week to the drop off point, and from there about two days journey on foot. As you can see, there’s a fair way yet to go.”

   “Two weeks by river you say?” winces Dr. Travers.

   “Great,” you moan. “More boats.”

-----

   You soon miss the openness of the steamer as the party is squeezed into two boats along with six pack carriers. The air seems stifled as the jungle closes in and it sucks the energy from everyone. Cries, growls, screams and a general wall of noise erupts from all around, never silencing, making sleep at night a near impossibility and dozing through the day close to uncertainty. The crawling world invades your skin no matter how often you scrape them off, and sweat runs as rivers from your body. Nerves begin to fray and soon everyone is biting their tongue, focusing on just getting the job done.

   At the beginning of the third day you start to smell burning, which confuses Tepp and the pack carriers as to its source. Then your boat floats into view of the mission, or at least you assume it was the mission. Now all that stands is the burnt remains; twisted bones of a framework still smoking.

   “You know you’re in trouble when even God’s buggered off,” you hear Packard mutter under his breath. Tepp brings the boats ashore and slowly walks up the beach, disbelief on his face.

   “Were there people staying here?” asks Nurse Smith.

   “Yes,” Tepp slowly answers. “But as to where they are now...” He gives up with a shrug.

   Lieberman walks through the wreckage, examining where he’s going. “I can’t see any bodies.”

   “Perhaps he knows,” suggests Carter, nodding towards the surrounding jungle.

   There, standing just in front of the bush stands a man obviously a native. You didn’t even see him appear. Neil shouts a greeting to the man in a clicky language who replies in turn. The pair talk rapidly, Tepp pointing at the remains of the mission. The native sings back, gestures once at the burnt building, then in the direction of the river where you have to continue. Neil frowns and motions again. The native repeats his words. Tepp’s frown deepens. “He’s from one of the tribes nearby. He says he saw the smoke rising two days ago and came to investigate and found it pretty much in the same state as us.”

   “What about the people?” asks Travers.

   “Nothing. No sign of them.”

   “You look puzzled, Neil,” says Lady Castlemain.

   He nods. “I am. I asked if it was an accident but he says it was ... was the Na’Shanti.”

   “Who?”

   “The Na’Shanti. But that’s impossible, they don’t exist! Or at least, I thought they didn’t...” Tepp sees your confusion and explains more. “They’re a legend in these parts, like the Yeti or the Loch Ness monster, something to tell children to scare them to sleep. They were an ancient tribe who lived deep in the jungle and were renowned for their savagery. They’re said to hold magic and ancient knowledge, and can wield both with deadly effect. To entangle with them is to invite death...” He shakes his head. “Like I said, tales for children.”

   The native clicks a few words and raises his hand. Tepp returns the gesture, adding something in the language, and the native man blends back into the jungle before your eyes. Not even the undergrowth moves at his passing

   “He says it’s not safe to be here anymore,” says Tepp.

   Jackson gives the jungle a nervous glance. “Neil, if it isn’t the Na’Shanti behind this, who else could it be?”

   “I don’t know, that’s the problem. But I believe him when he says it isn’t safe.”

   Captain Jackson looks at the burnt mission, then at the jungle again. “Back into the boats. Now. We don’t stop until we’re a long way from here!”

-----

   The trip is hard and tiring, and the already frayed tempers are near threadbare after two weeks being so near to each other. But as you reach the makeshift dock your spirits lift and you realise you are finally nearing your goal. The pack carriers sort out the group’s equipment and, despite the extra weight, soon leave everyone trailing as they hike at speed. The remains of a path can be seen but the jungle is already claiming it back, and Jackson and Tepp are forced a number of times to cut the way forward. It is not long before night threatens to arrive early so camp is called. Everyone is tired to the bone and conversations are short, quiet and to the point. After dinner nearly everyone retires to their tents. You pull out a book and start to read. Soon, you are asleep.

A scream wakes you instantly. You leap from your bed: it’s human, you know it. You can hear the others rushing out of their tents, then shouts erupt. A whistling warns you to dive to one side and a spear impales your tent when you had been standing. You launch yourself outside, grabbing a gun. Figures move in the shadows cast by the camp fire. A scream of hatred spins you on your heels, just to avoid a spear aimed at your kidneys. You keep turning, putting all your weight, fear and strength into a punch that lands square on your attacker’s jaw, dropping him cold. The pause gives you a chance to see your attacker: it’s a man, a native of the area, but he is covered in mud and streaks of black, the camouflage working well in the shadows. You want to examine him closer but a hail of arrows embed themselves in the ground before you, forcing you to back away, firing in their direction. You see a fallen log and dive behind it for cover, arrows thudding into the bark in your wake. Nearly everyone is there and in one piece, apart from Jackson who has blood running down his arm.

   “Sweet baby jesus! I thought you’d had it them!” Smithy says as he fires his weapon into the unseen archers.

   You join him in his shooting. “You thought I’d had it!?”

   A woman’s scream comes from one of the tents, and Lady Castlemain is dragged out by one of the savages. But as you start to go to her aid she head butts backwards, breaking the assailant’s nose with an audible crack. He lets go in his pain and she kicks him in the groin, dropping him to his knees, and brings an oil lantern crashing down on his head. The lamp breaks, smashing into pieces, spilling oil over his torso. Then a piece of burning wick, a small thread from the remains of the lamp, floats down from out of the surrounding shadows. You watched transfixed as the glowing ember drifts lazily from side to side, gliding on its own heat, until it gently lands upon the man's head, touching his soaked body. Time appears to stop: an age seems to pass in-between two heartbeats. Then he goes up like a roman candle.

   The mud man gives a high-pitched shriek as he leaps up and desperately tries to beat out the flames, but it is futile - all he was doing was spreading the fire even further. Castlemain hurries out of the way to join you. The blazing figure thrashes and waves to put himself out - it is like watching some sort of sick, bizarre dance as the he flails blindly in his wild effort. His screams fades into the night as he runs into the jungle, lighting up the shadows, leaving behind a smoky halo that refuses to dissipate. You turn and look at Lady Castlemain with concern.

    “Well, it serves him right for manhandling me,” she answers back. “I’m a lady!”

   Worried about how insane your companions could well be, you turn to see Carter jump as an arrow misses his hand. “Tepp, who are these people?” he shouts.

   Neil ducks to reload his weapon next to you. “No idea. I’ve never met such ferocity around here!”

   “I suppose talking to them is out of the question,” Von Lieberman offers. He takes a hearty draught on his hip flask then fires a stubby pistol into the jungle.

   “They’re not the Na’Shanti?” ventures Nurse Sarah. She takes one of the shotguns the Major hands her and expertly checks it.

   “They’re bloody dead whoever they are!” declares Stanway. “They can’t do this to us, we’re British! Well, most of us are,” he adds under his breath, glancing at Otto. “Come on, Nursey!” He jumps to his knees and lets both barrels of his shotgun loose, Miss Smith joining him. They both blast most of the jungle apart, then dive back down as a cloud of arrows whizzes into where they had knelt.

   “This is useless!” says Travers. “We can’t hit anything in the dark!” He tugs tight a bandage on Captain Jackson’s shoulder, making him whimper.

   “Sod it, let me try my way,” sighs Packard. In his hand he produces a stick of dynamite. In his other flicks a lighter. “This might be a bit loud.” He lights the fuse. “Dodge this, you mud-lovin’ bastards!”

   He hurls the fizzing stick into bush, where sudden shouts are heard. Then an explosion rips through the undergrowth, blowing apart the remaining foliage and turning trees into splinters. The shock waves lift you, the others, and the log off the ground and displaces you by three feet. Then the noise died down, replaced by the sound of the jungle being woken by the explosion.

    Jonathan Hewlett-Packard lifts his head of the ground. “Got ‘em,” he grins savagely.

   As one you all climb from behind the log, picking bits of tree from your hair. You wince as you expect to see a carnage of remains scattered around the steaming clearing, but all you find is a single body which barely looks burnt. Then you see it. “Good lord,” you breathe, “Look what’s around his neck!”

   “An Ankh?” frowns Carter. “What about it?”

   You throw him a glare. “An Ankh? An ancient Egyptian symbol for life? In South America ?”

   “ Shannon ’s link!” says Travers.

   Otto doesn't look convinced. “Let’s not jump to conclusions, he may have got it from anywhere or anyone.”

   “Like from one of Shannon ’s party,” Lady Castlemain says. The group fall quiet.

   Jackson breaks the silence first. “Let’s get moving. We’ve got a hard journey for the rest of the way - I don’t suppose anyone noticed that the pack handlers have run off?”

   Tepp swears viciously. “And I paid them in advance!”

   “Anyway, let’s pack up the gear and tents, share it out, and move on. It’s too dangerous to stay here.”

   And so you move out of the clearing and slowly make your way along the abandoned path. The moon lights your way but it is still hard going. Slowly, the night fades and dawn breaks. Then you stop for a rest....

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