Drhoz

Huxley, Alex and Flo arrive at Venice’s Stazione di Venezia Santa Lucia, and do their best to get off the platform and onto a motor launch before Maximillian von Wurtheim can find them again. 
 
Unfortunately, they run up the back of another party who has somebody waiting for them - the bereaved young woman and her maid, that they saw boarding in Milan. There are six Blackshirts and a pudgy and unpleasant man in a suit waiting for her. The man, one Rossini, offers insincere and sweaty condolences for the woman’s loss, and is apparently trying to steer her onto a government launch. That’s when a younger, handsome man in a worker’s shirt and pants gets involved, loudly, and is promptly menaced by the Blackshirt thugs while the woman begs for this Georgio not to get involved. Huxley gets involved, and Flo gets her camera out - photographic evidence of Blackshirts roughing up an unarmed man and throwing him in the canal would probably be welcome in some paper or other.
 
Huxley OoC: I still have some left-over bravado from that Dreamlands business. Excuse me gentlemen, is there a problem?
 
Rossini and his goons are amazed that anybody would dare intervene in what is clearly Fascist business, and Flo further derails them by pointing them in the direction of von Wurtheim, who is waving at them from the other end of the crowd and trying to get their attention. She describes him as a stalker, although the Blackshirts don’t seem to care beyond a muttered comment that is probably far from complimentary. Rossini certainly takes an interest in the investigators, wanting their names and their hotels, although the party have not yet actually arranged any accommodation in Venice. Just as well it’s the off-season. Georgio slips away. 
 
The young woman - Maria Stagliani as they’ll learn soon enough - clings to Florence’s excellent Italian as though she’s a life-vest, hurried introducing her and the other PCs as friends of her late mother, so of course Signor Rossini would understand why she rather travel with them back to her home? Florence and Huxley decide to play along, and as they leave on a gondola (leaving a baffled von Wurtheim on the dock) Maria explains that the repellent Rossini has been trying to get her hand in marriage for years, but she wants nothing to do with him. Her maid, Bice, explains that the other man, Georgio Gasparetti, has also been seeking Maria’s love, but he’s a worker, and, worse, a unionist. The recently late Prof. Stagliani had denied him, as well, but since he fell in the canal and caught a fatal chill, there’s nobody to protect Maria from either man.
 
Bice gives the party directions to a rental agent who can arrange a pensione flat for them at no notice (especially if they mention the Staglianis) so at least they’ll have somewhere to stay the night before they go find their friend Capt. Antonio Masiero, the Italian airman they sent ahead to commence the Italian legwork.
 
Masiero has had very little luck in that regard - Professor Smith had told them the Leg of the Sedefkar Simulacrum had been brought to Venice by Napoleon’s soldiers at the end of the 18th Century, and that it may have ended up in the possession of the reputed sorcerer Alvise Gremanci, but all he’s found out since arriving in Venice is that Alvise was once brought in front of the Council of Ten and accused of using puppets to attack his rivals (he was acquitted) and that during the Napoleonic occupation of Venice he, some very high-ranking Catholic priests, and even a pair of rabbis, were arrested by the authorities after a day of riots. He doesn’t know what happened next. Certainly, none of the living Gremancis that he’s talked to know anything about any magical legs left to them in his will, for example. It’s all been very frustrating, which may be why he’s been relaxing with the help of some of the beautiful women of Venice. There’s two of them in his bed when Florence and Huxley come knocking at his door. 
 
Capt. Masiero: I hope it isn’t another husband
 
Masiero: Lt. Huxley! 
Huxley: Nice to see you haven’t flown into a mountainside.
Masiero: What are you doing in Venice this soon, my friend?
Huxley: Ah, we had to leave Milan in some haste. 
 
Florence: For God's sake, get some pants on. 
GM: Yes, you’re making Huxley feel inadequate.
 
Florence and Huxley don’t comment - much - about the two women in his suite. 
 
Florence: I see you’ve been enjoying the local produce.
Masiero: The local vintage is very good.
Huxley OoC: I was about to say ‘I scored too’, then I remembered it was in Dreamlands
GM: Your Canadian girlfriend.
 
Women One: He is a man of …. enormous heroism.
Florence: And great endurance too I’m guessing?
Woman Two: *purrs* Inexhaustible. 
 
GM: It’s not exactly surprising that women are interested in a dashing airman and hero of the Italian military. Also, they’re sisters
Masiero: Good! That way I only have one place to drop them off.
 
Once he’s got rid of them, Florence and Huxley can bring him up to speed on everything that’s happened since he saw them last, in London. 
 
Masiero: … Why do you bring me all these terrible stories?
 
Florence: Oh, and I forgot to mention we met the Diva Cavollaro.
Huxley: Did you read about her disappearance?
Florence:  Yes, we were involved with that. But we didn’t kidnap her. When you read about the uproar at la Scala, that was us. We may have have caused a man to get lynched, but he was a very bad man and had it coming. 
 
Among the other things they have to do today is get a doctor to make a house call for Alex and Huxley - their injuries from Milan are now keeping Alex in bed, and Huxley’s chest wound is clearly infected. And then, of course, check for messages and mail at the post office, and hit the libraries and civic records to find out everything they can about the missing Leg, and look up the Devil’s Simulare manuscript which apparently describes the Simulacrum, and Sedefkar, and the Fourth Crusade, at some length. 
 
Remi Vangeim’s promised letter is waiting for them. Apparently some ‘Turkish Scholars’ came to the Bibliotheque Nationale, seeking everything they had on the Sedefkar Simulacrum, and Remi was introduced to them as somebody who had helped with that exact request not a month previously. But these Turks didn’t have letters of introduction from another library or institute of higher education, and were politely shown the door. Less politely, they were waiting to assassinate Remi when he finished work, and he was very lucky to escape with his life. 
 
That’s a good opportunity for Huxley and Flo to list everybody that is apparently hunting the party and the Simulacrum down. Although it’s possible that the various groups involved are also targeting each other, now. On the other hand, the list now includes the authorities in at least three countries, and includes that police detective in Milan who told them to report to the authorities in Venice when they arrived.
 
Florence: He didn’t specify which authorities.
Masiero: I have been told.
Huxley: Technically we talked to the blackshirts.
Florence: And I’m sure those two young ladies consider Antonio an authority.
 
The first day at the Biblioteca Marciana is not particularly helpful - there’s a lot of stuff about the French occupation, and documents in French as well as Italian, but the only thing that might be relevant is a serious outbreak of disease in the city between May and December of 1797. The occupying troops were highly concerned by the effect it was having on the garrison. The main symptom was crippling leg pain, and the epidemic only retreated, according to at least one letter, after a special mass ordered by the Pope. 
 
Huxley enquires after the Devil’s Simulare as well, which was apparently in the collection of the church of San Maria Celeste, but the librarian at the Marciana tells them that the church burnt down - in 1569. Perhaps some of the books were rescued, and are still regarded as part of that church’s library even after they were dispersed to other collections. He’ll make some enquiries.

Civilla’s player: I grabbed a wand of Decompose Corpse.
Rajira’s player: Why? You already have instant disposal methods
Ayva’s player: cheaper than the potions
Rajira’s player : But more expensive than frogs.
Civilla’s player: The frogs cost me several pool points. It also works on Huge corpses, which I can then use the frogs to finish up.
 
The Victocora estate is indeed for sale - with the exception of the gardens which have been set aside for construction of a public park, by order of Thrune. And he’s willing to exert influence to ensure that the pool with the soul anchor inside it doesn't end up controlled by any of the local families. 
 
There’s still no news about the whereabouts of the half-elf opera star Shensen, who vanished after her shop got burnt to the ground on the Night of Ashes. The only rumour Terzo can find is that she was taken into the Opera House, now Thrune’s domicile, and murdered, but the same rumour gets said about everybody. 
 
Terzo: I wouldn’t blame her if she’d fled town, but NOBODY has heard a peep from her since, and given the opera connection and the fact that she’s a vocal critic of Chellish diabolism…Let’s just say I’m concerned that Thrune took a personal interest. 
 
Rajira has been investing heavily in a public meeting place.
 
Civilla’s player: You are going to have so much Influence…
Terzo’s player: There’s a reason so many European monarchs regarded coffeehouses with suspicion.
Civilla’s player: Well yes. They’re where the Enlightenment happened. And glaring at people who come too close to your private conversation, until they f*** off,  is normal coffeehouse etiquette.
 
Civilla’s player: And Terzo could invest in a beer garden. It’s not banned. Yet. 
 
Civilla has also initiated another arm of the rebellion, that closely fits her position as a daughter of the nobility. The Candlemark Parlour - a tea circle that are actually highly influential rumour mongers.
 
Civilla OoC: Oh, and I can Summon Planar Ally now. Which I don’t do while Terzo is around, even though they’re not REALLY demons. 
Terzo OoC: I imagine half the conversations you lot have, you don’t have when I’m nearby. My sad and hurt expression might make you feel bad.
Rajira OoC: Just like my slitting throats isn't necessarily evil.
Ayva OoC: There’s a lot of contextual variation.
 
Civilla does a bit of magical meditation, in order to ask her goddess for advice. The response she gets is one word - ‘Blosodriette’. Slightly baffling. She also seeks an answer to the question ‘Does Shensen still live?’. The answer to that is ‘Neither’.
 
Civilla: oh F***. Ah, I thank you, Redeemer Queen. Mr GM, I think I’ve done the brainchip thing again, because bits of info are coming together and we need to research how to kill vampires then resurrect them.
Ayva: *sigh* I’ll fast-track the cauldron. At least we already have the Philosopher’s Stone Elixir. 
Civilla: Also I think I know the password to read the Secret Page now. 
 
Ayva also wants to brew a potion that will make our blood unpalatable to vampires. 
 
GM: The downside is you stink of garlic. 
 
The GM is quite glad we’re finally doing something with the Secret Page that Rajira has been keeping between two slabs of lead and far away from our rebellious activities. Apparently keeping it secured has derailed a few major plot developments. Civilla does take a few precautions first, which include making a contract with that Scrivenite entity we met a while back.
 
Civilla: Yilliv the Scrivenite, I call you to aid me with the secrets of this page! Yilliv the Scrivenie, I call you to aid me with the secrets of this page!
Yilliv the Scrivenite: You only had to say that once.
 
The Secret Page is the Contract for one Blosodriette the Imp, who appears in a puff of sulfurous smoke.
 
Blosodriette: F***!
Civilla OoC: How many problems did we avoid by not having an imp hanging around our lair?
GM: At least the death of an entire rebellion team.
 
It’s quite fortunate that we kept the page nowhere near our lair. The contract also binds the Imp to the Sarini family, or in the event of the death of all the Sarinis, whoever has the contract, and she has to stay within 100 feet of the contract. At least hanging around Civilla’s apartment got more interesting when she brought that evil sentient kukri home.
 
Civilla: I could be a real prick here… by gifting the contract to Yilliv. How have you been amusing yourself before we found your contract, Imp? I don’t suppose it was YOU who opened that portal to Hell?
Blosodriette: What? No!
Civilla: You telling the truth?
Blosodriette: I have to, you hold the contract. It was Merindius Sarini who opened the portal, and he got eaten.
Civilla: Of course he did, he opened a portal to hell. 
 
Yilliv: I’d keep the contract secure in my Library.
Civilla: How would you like that, Imp?
Blosodriette: I would much rather you torched the thing.
 
Instead, Civilla offers the creature a job, that will let her thumb her nose at more powerful devils.
 
Blosodriette: Do I really have a choice?
Civilla: You’d have to pledge yourself to my Queen.
Shimza: *shows the Imp her symbol of the Redeemer Queen, the former Demon Lord*
Blosodriette: Oh S*** yeah, this changes things! OK, I’m in!
Civilla: You’ll truly pledge yourself to the Path of Redemption?
Ayva: If she DOES join us, the fairy dragon and the imp are going to get on like a house on fire.
Civilla: Probably literally.
 
Blosodriette is quite a powerful Imp, further up the Descending Hierarchy than Civilla initially thought. 
 
Civilla: I owe you an apology.
 
Civilla gets an unexpected visitor - it’s someone in the uniform of the Chellish Navy.
 
Lieutenant Elia Nones: Good afternoon! I represent the captain of the Scourge of Belial! I seek those responsible for freeing a certain group of Hellknights!
Civilla: I have no idea what you’re talking about.
GM: …. You better have a good Bluff.
Civilla’s player: I do. I’m also thinking ‘Why don’t you say that a bit louder, B****, and I’ll show the OTHER 4th Level Spell I just learned’.
 
Although she didn’t use the phrase Her Infernal Majestrix’ Warship Scourge of Belial, which is the proper pronoun for a warship of the Chellsh Navy. And rumour has it that Capt. Cassius Sargaeta is no fan of Barzillai Thrune. 
Lieutenant Elia Nones: My Captain requests your assistance in a sensitive matter. I advise you to accompany me - not many people get to see my master’s restraint. 
Civilla: As long as he doesn’t hold my family name against me. 
Lieutenant Elia Nones: My captain prefers to consider the actions of the individual.
 
Civilla agrees to get the others together, and meet this very unsubtle woman at the wharf where the Scourge is docked. She sends out a coded message in the formal invite to the other party members. Precautions include having some of our minions and relatives lurk nearby, just in case, and using various disguise options we now have. Terzo, for example, uses his new Hat of Disguise to appear as an ancient sailor with a beard down to his knees.
 
Terzo: Psst! It’s me!
Civilla: PLEASE, show up as somebody we’d actually like to be seen with!
Ayva: Use the Hat of Disguise to disguise yourself as yourself - that way if anybody is looking for illusions they’ll think somebody is pretending to be Terzo.
Civilla: Oh, that’s clever.
 
The ship is currently having the rudder replaced. Apparently that kind of damage is an ‘amusing’ signature of Civilla’s distant cousin the pirate admiral. Elia warns us that the Captain has been in a less than stellar mood lately. 
 
Capt. Sargaeta: I admit my disappointment. I expected something more - towering giants of myth. But this is what the waves bring to my shore. Something more… grandiose. Have some fruit. Still, I require your services, and your discretion. Lord-Mayor Thrune’s proclamations have, shall I say, impacted my interests in the city. I cannot venture onto land to take care of... well, let’s call it a ‘personal matter.’ I could send my crew to attend this, but I would much prefer sending someone with whom I have plausible deniability, should they fail in their task. Can you help me send a message?
Civilla: Would this message be metaphorical, or a threat?
Capt. Sargaeta: No, an actual message. Would you be interested in providing me with aid? I daresay that people in your position could stand to benefit from having a captain in the Chelish navy owe you a few favors, hmmm?
 
Captain Sargaeta’s task for the party is a covert one—he wants the PCs to deliver a message to a friend of his who lives in the Greens. This friend is one Marquel Aulorian, scion of one of Kintargo’s older noble families, and a family increasingly supportive of Thrune. Captain Sargaeta bluntly describes Marquel’s father as “a grasping little prig currying favor with the new leadership in a most unseemly manner.” He’s grown worried that his friend might be in danger, due to complicated “political views,” and the letter he needs delivered to Marquel must be delivered to his hands alone, preferably without his father’s knowledge of the delivery. Once the message is delivered, Captain Sargaeta asks the PCs to return to him and deliver the recipient’s reply—verbatim. In return, he promises his friendship and support, as best as he can give it.
 
Marquel is currently confined to his room in the Aulorian mansion. Any one of us could probably get the letter to him - Rajira and Blosodriette especially - as long as there is no actual trouble at the other end. But there’s no point assuming everything will go smoothly. Combining Rajira’s existing and new skills with Terzo’s Hat of Disguise will give her MASSIVE bonuses, even if she is playing someone of a different gender, species, or size.
 
Ayva: ‘I’m a gnome’ ‘You’re two meters tall!’ ‘I’m a grower’
 
It all devolves to a very basic plan - "dress up as a servant and walk right in". We just have to pick the best target to impersonate first, and pickpocket her keys when she goes out to the market.
 
Civilla OoC: We’re Shadowrun players, of course we’re going to case the joint first.
 
The Aulorians have a guard dog.  A skinless three-headed 300-pound hound.
 
Civilla: it’s so cute!
 
Unfortunately Cerberii are extremely good at locating and immobilizing even the magically sneaky. Unless you have some alchemical Scent Blocker. Which we can make. Pickpocketing the keys and impersonating the servant are equally simple.
 
Civilla: One last thing - here’s a thunderstone. If there’s trouble, THROW IT.
 
Staff: Miss Maudlin, did you forget something?
Rajira: Yes, yes I did -  just need to pop upstairs for a moment.
 
Marquel Aulorian: Are you here to clean my room, Miss Maudlin?
Rajira: No, I’m here to give you this message and await your reply.
 
Marquel Aulorian: Yes, yes, but how are you going to get me out?
Rajira: Ah, I wasn’t contracted to do that, but I strongly suspect I’m going to be. Just bear in mind I wasn’t given the contents of the letter.
Marquel Aulorian: It says I can trust you to escort me to safety.
Rajira: I SEE.
Civilla: I guess we’re going off script.
 
Just as well Rajira brought an invisibility potion with her. Although the scent blocker has worn off.
 
Marquel Aulorian: There’s the west gate, but I believe it’s locked.
Rajira: Just as well I still have Miss Maudlin’s keys too then.
Civilla’s player: Have we just done it again?
GM: Yes, you’re free and clear. *sigh*
Ayva’s player: The campaign gave us six invisibility potions, what did they expect us to do?
Rajira’s player: Use them ourselves?
Civilla player: Why? Potions only last a few minutes, Disguise lasts for hours.
 
Ayva: Now we get him into an alleyway and disguise him.
Rajira: Hat.
Civilla: Hat. 
 
Then we just have to get the keys back to the real Miss Maudlin before she comes back.
 
Civilla: Excuse me miss! I believe you dropped these!
 
Sargaeta sits at his desk, sipping tea and reading poetry by lamplight. He looks up as the party enters, clearly puzzled by the extra member he doesn’t recognise, but a dramatic removal of the Hat of Disguise reveals the truth. Marquel speaks first, rushing into Sargaeta’s arms. 
 
Marquel: Here’s your answer, Cassius!
 
The two embrace and exchange a tender kiss, Sargaeta actually weeping. Terzo finds it all very sweet.
 
Capt. Sargaeta: Ah, my darling! Marquel, my sweet impulsive boy!
 
Capt. Sargaeta: Well, I’m a man of my word! Drop this teacup.
Ayva: *does. It bounces, intact* 
Capt. Sargaeta: Ah. Well, I’d meant to owe you as many favours as there were pieces. Well, try again, perhaps with a little more force this time.

The teacup shatters into a much more amenable 8 fragments, this time.

Capt. Sargaeta: I will assist in any way I can, short of open treason against the queen - just write your request on a scrap of paper and wrap it around a shard of the cup. You have my gratitude and friendship!
Civilla: We value nothing more.
 
It’s interesting to note that the Poisoned Pen of Kintargo, an anonymous and prolific critic of Thrune, is suddenly producing a lot of screeds again, after we got Marquel out - we can probably make an educated guess exactly what the young man’s political views were. 

Huxley, Alex and Flo arrive at Venice’s Stazione di Venezia Santa Lucia, and do their best to get off the platform and onto a motor launch before Maximillian von Wurtheim can find them again. 
 
Unfortunately, they run up the back of another party who has somebody waiting for them - the bereaved young woman and her maid, that they saw boarding in Milan. There are six Blackshirts and a pudgy and unpleasant man in a suit waiting for her. The man, one Rossini, offers insincere and sweaty condolences for the woman’s loss, and is apparently trying to steer her onto a government launch. That’s when a younger, handsome man in a worker’s shirt and pants gets involved, loudly, and is promptly menaced by the Blackshirt thugs while the woman begs for this Georgio not to get involved. Huxley gets involved, and Flo gets her camera out - photographic evidence of Blackshirts roughing up an unarmed man and throwing him in the canal would probably be welcome in some paper or other.
 
Huxley OoC: I still have some left-over bravado from that Dreamlands business. Excuse me gentlemen, is there a problem?
 
Rossini and his goons are amazed that anybody would dare intervene in what is clearly Fascist business, and Flo further derails them by pointing them in the direction of von Wurtheim, who is waving at them from the other end of the crowd and trying to get their attention. She describes him as a stalker, although the Blackshirts don’t seem to care beyond a muttered comment that is probably far from complimentary. Rossini certainly takes an interest in the investigators, wanting their names and their hotels, although the party have not yet actually arranged any accommodation in Venice. Just as well it’s the off-season. Georgio slips away. 
 
The young woman - Maria Stagliani as they’ll learn soon enough - clings to Florence’s excellent Italian as though she’s a life-vest, hurried introducing her and the other PCs as friends of her late mother, so of course Signor Rossini would understand why she rather travel with them back to her home? Florence and Huxley decide to play along, and as they leave on a gondola (leaving a baffled von Wurtheim on the dock) Maria explains that the repellent Rossini has been trying to get her hand in marriage for years, but she wants nothing to do with him. Her maid, Bice, explains that the other man, Georgio Gasparetti, has also been seeking Maria’s love, but he’s a worker, and, worse, a unionist. The recently late Prof. Stagliani had denied him, as well, but since he fell in the canal and caught a fatal chill, there’s nobody to protect Maria from either man.
 
Bice gives the party directions to a rental agent who can arrange a pensione flat for them at no notice (especially if they mention the Staglianis) so at least they’ll have somewhere to stay the night before they go find their friend Capt. Antonio Masiero, the Italian airman they sent ahead to commence the Italian legwork.
 
Masiero has had very little luck in that regard - Professor Smith had told them the Leg of the Sedefkar Simulacrum had been brought to Venice by Napoleon’s soldiers at the end of the 18th Century, and that it may have ended up in the possession of the reputed sorcerer Alvise Gremanci, but all he’s found out since arriving in Venice is that Alvise was once brought in front of the Council of Ten and accused of using puppets to attack his rivals (he was acquitted) and that during the Napoleonic occupation of Venice he, some very high-ranking Catholic priests, and even a pair of rabbis, were arrested by the authorities after a day of riots. He doesn’t know what happened next. Certainly, none of the living Gremancis that he’s talked to know anything about any magical legs left to them in his will, for example. It’s all been very frustrating, which may be why he’s been relaxing with the help of some of the beautiful women of Venice. There’s two of them in his bed when Florence and Huxley come knocking at his door. 
 
Capt. Masiero: I hope it isn’t another husband
 
Masiero: Lt. Huxley! 
Huxley: Nice to see you haven’t flown into a mountainside.
Masiero: What are you doing in Venice this soon, my friend?
Huxley: Ah, we had to leave Milan in some haste. 
 
Florence: For God's sake, get some pants on. 
GM: Yes, you’re making Huxley feel inadequate.
 
Florence and Huxley don’t comment - much - about the two women in his suite. 
 
Florence: I see you’ve been enjoying the local produce.
Masiero: The local vintage is very good.
Huxley OoC: I was about to say ‘I scored too’, then I remembered it was in Dreamlands
GM: Your Canadian girlfriend.
 
Women One: He is a man of …. enormous heroism.
Florence: And great endurance too I’m guessing?
Woman Two: *purrs* Inexhaustible. 
 
GM: It’s not exactly surprising that women are interested in a dashing airman and hero of the Italian military. Also, they’re sisters
Masiero: Good! That way I only have one place to drop them off.
 
Once he’s got rid of them, Florence and Huxley can bring him up to speed on everything that’s happened since he saw them last, in London. 
 
Masiero: … Why do you bring me all these terrible stories?
 
Florence: Oh, and I forgot to mention we met the Diva Cavollaro.
Huxley: Did you read about her disappearance?
Florence:  Yes, we were involved with that. But we didn’t kidnap her. When you read about the uproar at la Scala, that was us. We may have have caused a man to get lynched, but he was a very bad man and had it coming. 
 
Among the other things they have to do today is get a doctor to make a house call for Alex and Huxley - their injuries from Milan are now keeping Alex in bed, and Huxley’s chest wound is clearly infected. And then, of course, check for messages and mail at the post office, and hit the libraries and civic records to find out everything they can about the missing Leg, and look up the Devil’s Simulare manuscript which apparently describes the Simulacrum, and Sedefkar, and the Fourth Crusade, at some length. 
 
Remi Vangeim’s promised letter is waiting for them. Apparently some ‘Turkish Scholars’ came to the Bibliotheque Nationale, seeking everything they had on the Sedefkar Simulacrum, and Remi was introduced to them as somebody who had helped with that exact request not a month previously. But these Turks didn’t have letters of introduction from another library or institute of higher education, and were politely shown the door. Less politely, they were waiting to assassinate Remi when he finished work, and he was very lucky to escape with his life. 
 
That’s a good opportunity for Huxley and Flo to list everybody that is apparently hunting the party and the Simulacrum down. Although it’s possible that the various groups involved are also targeting each other, now. On the other hand, the list now includes the authorities in at least three countries, and includes that police detective in Milan who told them to report to the authorities in Venice when they arrived.
 
Florence: He didn’t specify which authorities.
Masiero: I have been told.
Huxley: Technically we talked to the blackshirts.
Florence: And I’m sure those two young ladies consider Antonio an authority.
 
The first day at the Biblioteca Marciana is not particularly helpful - there’s a lot of stuff about the French occupation, and documents in French as well as Italian, but the only thing that might be relevant is a serious outbreak of disease in the city between May and December of 1797. The occupying troops were highly concerned by the effect it was having on the garrison. The main symptom was crippling leg pain, and the epidemic only retreated, according to at least one letter, after a special mass ordered by the Pope. 
 
Huxley enquires after the Devil’s Simulare as well, which was apparently in the collection of the church of San Maria Celeste, but the librarian at the Marciana tells them that the church burnt down - in 1569. Perhaps some of the books were rescued, and are still regarded as part of that church’s library even after they were dispersed to other collections. He’ll make some enquiries.

Huxley, Alex and Flo arrive at Venice’s Stazione di Venezia Santa Lucia, and do their best to get off the platform and onto a motor launch before Maximillian von Wurtheim can find them again. 
 
Unfortunately, they run up the back of another party who has somebody waiting for them - the bereaved young woman and her maid, that they saw boarding in Milan. There are six Blackshirts and a pudgy and unpleasant man in a suit waiting for her. The man, one Rossini, offers insincere and sweaty condolences for the woman’s loss, and is apparently trying to steer her onto a government launch. That’s when a younger, handsome man in a worker’s shirt and pants gets involved, loudly, and is promptly menaced by the Blackshirt thugs while the woman begs for this Georgio not to get involved. Huxley gets involved, and Flo gets her camera out - photographic evidence of Blackshirts roughing up an unarmed man and throwing him in the canal would probably be welcome in some paper or other.
 
Huxley OoC: I still have some left-over bravado from that Dreamlands business. Excuse me gentlemen, is there a problem?
 
Rossini and his goons are amazed that anybody would dare intervene in what is clearly Fascist business, and Flo further derails them by pointing them in the direction of von Wurtheim, who is waving at them from the other end of the crowd and trying to get their attention. She describes him as a stalker, although the Blackshirts don’t seem to care beyond a muttered comment that is probably far from complimentary. Rossini certainly takes an interest in the investigators, wanting their names and their hotels, although the party have not yet actually arranged any accommodation in Venice. Just as well it’s the off-season. Georgio slips away. 
 
The young woman - Maria Stagliani as they’ll learn soon enough - clings to Florence’s excellent Italian as though she’s a life-vest, hurried introducing her and the other PCs as friends of her late mother, so of course Signor Rossini would understand why she rather travel with them back to her home? Florence and Huxley decide to play along, and as they leave on a gondola (leaving a baffled von Wurtheim on the dock) Maria explains that the repellent Rossini has been trying to get her hand in marriage for years, but she wants nothing to do with him. Her maid, Bice, explains that the other man, Georgio Gasparetti, has also been seeking Maria’s love, but he’s a worker, and, worse, a unionist. The recently late Prof. Stagliani had denied him, as well, but since he fell in the canal and caught a fatal chill, there’s nobody to protect Maria from either man.
 
Bice gives the party directions to a rental agent who can arrange a pensione flat for them at no notice (especially if they mention the Staglianis) so at least they’ll have somewhere to stay the night before they go find their friend Capt. Antonio Masiero, the Italian airman they sent ahead to commence the Italian legwork.
 
Masiero has had very little luck in that regard - Professor Smith had told them the Leg of the Sedefkar Simulacrum had been brought to Venice by Napoleon’s soldiers at the end of the 18th Century, and that it may have ended up in the possession of the reputed sorcerer Alvise Gremanci, but all he’s found out since arriving in Venice is that Alvise was once brought in front of the Council of Ten and accused of using puppets to attack his rivals (he was acquitted) and that during the Napoleonic occupation of Venice he, some very high-ranking Catholic priests, and even a pair of rabbis, were arrested by the authorities after a day of riots. He doesn’t know what happened next. Certainly, none of the living Gremancis that he’s talked to know anything about any magical legs left to them in his will, for example. It’s all been very frustrating, which may be why he’s been relaxing with the help of some of the beautiful women of Venice. There’s two of them in his bed when Florence and Huxley come knocking at his door. 
 
Capt. Masiero: I hope it isn’t another husband
 
Masiero: Lt. Huxley! 
Huxley: Nice to see you haven’t flown into a mountainside.
Masiero: What are you doing in Venice this soon, my friend?
Huxley: Ah, we had to leave Milan in some haste. 
 
Florence: For God's sake, get some pants on. 
GM: Yes, you’re making Huxley feel inadequate.
 
Florence and Huxley don’t comment - much - about the two women in his suite. 
 
Florence: I see you’ve been enjoying the local produce.
Masiero: The local vintage is very good.
Huxley OoC: I was about to say ‘I scored too’, then I remembered it was in Dreamlands
GM: Your Canadian girlfriend.
 
Women One: He is a man of …. enormous heroism.
Florence: And great endurance too I’m guessing?
Woman Two: *purrs* Inexhaustible. 
 
GM: It’s not exactly surprising that women are interested in a dashing airman and hero of the Italian military. Also, they’re sisters
Masiero: Good! That way I only have one place to drop them off.
 
Once he’s got rid of them, Florence and Huxley can bring him up to speed on everything that’s happened since he saw them last, in London. 
 
Masiero: … Why do you bring me all these terrible stories?
 
Florence: Oh, and I forgot to mention we met the Diva Cavollaro.
Huxley: Did you read about her disappearance?
Florence:  Yes, we were involved with that. But we didn’t kidnap her. When you read about the uproar at la Scala, that was us. We may have have caused a man to get lynched, but he was a very bad man and had it coming. 
 
Among the other things they have to do today is get a doctor to make a house call for Alex and Huxley - their injuries from Milan are now keeping Alex in bed, and Huxley’s chest wound is clearly infected. And then, of course, check for messages and mail at the post office, and hit the libraries and civic records to find out everything they can about the missing Leg, and look up the Devil’s Simulare manuscript which apparently describes the Simulacrum, and Sedefkar, and the Fourth Crusade, at some length. 
 
Remi Vangeim’s promised letter is waiting for them. Apparently some ‘Turkish Scholars’ came to the Bibliotheque Nationale, seeking everything they had on the Sedefkar Simulacrum, and Remi was introduced to them as somebody who had helped with that exact request not a month previously. But these Turks didn’t have letters of introduction from another library or institute of higher education, and were politely shown the door. Less politely, they were waiting to assassinate Remi when he finished work, and he was very lucky to escape with his life. 
 
That’s a good opportunity for Huxley and Flo to list everybody that is apparently hunting the party and the Simulacrum down. Although it’s possible that the various groups involved are also targeting each other, now. On the other hand, the list now includes the authorities in at least three countries, and includes that police detective in Milan who told them to report to the authorities in Venice when they arrived.
 
Florence: He didn’t specify which authorities.
Masiero: I have been told.
Huxley: Technically we talked to the blackshirts.
Florence: And I’m sure those two young ladies consider Antonio an authority.
 
The first day at the Biblioteca Marciana is not particularly helpful - there’s a lot of stuff about the French occupation, and documents in French as well as Italian, but the only thing that might be relevant is a serious outbreak of disease in the city between May and December of 1797. The occupying troops were highly concerned by the effect it was having on the garrison. The main symptom was crippling leg pain, and the epidemic only retreated, according to at least one letter, after a special mass ordered by the Pope. 
 
Huxley enquires after the Devil’s Simulare as well, which was apparently in the collection of the church of San Maria Celeste, but the librarian at the Marciana tells them that the church burnt down - in 1569. Perhaps some of the books were rescued, and are still regarded as part of that church’s library even after they were dispersed to other collections. He’ll make some enquiries.

Horror on the Orient Express - The Dreamlands & Milan - Facts In The Case
 
February 1923, At Least In Some Dimensions
 
In Which The Investigators Investigate One Brutal Murder, Plan A Second, And Are Investigated For A Third
 
The three investigators share a compartment in what is nominally the fifth car of the Dreamlands Express, but the dimensions and layout of the train are... flexible. The dreamlands are weird. Internal walls between compartments can be removed at Henri’s whim, to suit the passengers requirements. Current passengers on the train, en route to Aphorat and beyond, are Waking World residents Huxley, Alex and Flo, the arms dealer Karakov, the government courier Mackenzie, an eyeless lunatic restrained in the baggage compartment, and the dancer Zsuzsa (who knows about the Waking World, at least, but doesn’t like talking about it). Dreamland natives on the train are delegations from Ib and Sarnath and the servants of the latter, the Sarrubian wine merchant Mironim-Mer, and several dozen cats from Ulthar.
 
The investigators don’t know who is changing bed sheets, or cooking the meals, since Henri is the only staff they’ve seen on board. 
 
Mironim-Mer and Karakov have the single compartments to the rear of the investigators, and Madam Bruja in front. Zsuzsa, Mackenzie and the Sarnathians and their servants occupy the 6th car, and the Beings inside the body of the 3rd Train Beast. 
 
Blackjack was last seen just after the train left Zar, as most of the passengers were in the banquet hall eating lunch, and was probably exploring the train as he had previously been seen to do.
 
One of the Beings of Ib had been glued to the ceiling outside their compartment for an unknown length of time (such charming people, the Sarnathians), between leaving Zar and Alex and Huxley returning to the compartment after lunch.  Florence did not return to the compartment, and instead went straight to the cat’s compartment at the end of the train. Alex heard a Meow and a thud in the next compartment, but there was nobody in that compartment when she checked, and no-one outside in the corridor. The door of the compartment was unlocked, and nothing seemed out of place at least as compared to her own.
 
Huxley had a brief conversation with Henri about the madman secured in the baggage compartment, and while that was happening noted Karakov returning to his own compartment, nursing an injured hand. Karakov refused assistance.
 
Huxley and Alex departed for their afternoon's entertainment - Zsuzsa in Huxley’s case, and the thagweed hookahs in the men’s lounge in Alex’s. Alex saw Mackenzie in the men’s salon for some portion of that time, Huxley saw quite a lot of Zsuzsa in her compartment, and Flo spent her entire post-prandial relaxation playing with the kittehs. 
 
Alex’s memories of the afternoon might not be the most reliable, as their speculations about the fluid nature of reality were being thoroughly encouraged by thagweed use. Huxley was quite thoroughly distracted, but at least he and Zsusza can be quite sure where the other was all afternoon, and indeed can itemise which items of furniture they were on. Florence could be vouched for by the cats. 
 
Blackjack had been stabbed, three times, but the wounds indicate a weapon more like a letter opener than a proper blade. The exact time of death is uncertain, as Huxley has little experience of rigor mortis in small animals. 
 
Of course, the first thing the investigators do is get all the suspects gathered in one place, under the murderous gaze of the cats. That makes the investigation so much easier, even if the Sarnathians immediately imply that the Beings of Ib must be responsible, and Karakov nearly gets himself flayed alive by the cats by refusing to explain where he got the hand wound. Huxley does, however, determine that the injury is from a serrated blade, not whatever was used on the kitten.  
 
The investigators, aided by cats, start searching the train for evidence, weapons, grappling hooks, clues, and hopefully no monsters (dreamed into existence or otherwise). They find suspicious scratches on the outside of their pavilion, and bloodstains in Mironim-Mer’s compartment, along with evidence that somebody tried to hide the blood and scrub it away with shampoo. 
 
Alex: Somebody with hair did this.
 
They start questioning people. Huxley learns how the voiceless Beings of Ib communicate, by using a small squeaking creature that translates for them. Huxley has a few questions - who do they think is responsible, and why don’t they fight back when the Sarnathians glue them to the ceiling? The diplomat personally suspects the Sarnathians, since they’re making it abundantly clear that they’re capable of anything, and the Beings are confident that if the Sarnathian delegation continues to demonstrate what scum they are, King Kuranes’ judgment will favour Ib. Especially if Huxley testifies to that effect.
 
Meanwhile, Florence has taken the misandrist Madam Brujah to the Ladies Parlor, to interview her in private. It’s not like she’ll talk to anybody else. Flo eventually gets her to open up a bit, and asks her if there’s a particular reason she distrusts men so much (apart from all the obvious reasons any woman would). 
 
Madam Brujah: I had a daughter, once.
Florence: Was this in the Dreamlands, or the Waking World?
Madam Brujah: Does it matter?
 
Her daughter married a much older sorcerer, apparently, because he wanted to satisfy his appetites. Unfortunately, he couldn’t satisfy hers, and when the sorcerer caught his new wife with her lover, he burnt them both alive. But Madam Brujah did arrange a suitable revenge that would ensure the sorcerer would never find peace in that life or afterwards - although she doesn’t specify what the revenge was. 
 
She also gives Florence a few tips on how to increase her Dreaming skill, by focusing on her dedication to the truth, and meditating on the truth of the pen her parents gave her when she went off to become a journalist. It’s also evidence that Madam Brujah is a lot older than she looks, or is from a much earlier time, since she talks about quills instead of pens. Florence doesn’t quite get the knack of it, but with practice or urgent necessity maybe she will. 
 
Huxley also notes that Mironim-Mer might LOOK relaxed, he’s actually very tense. But before he can investigate that, Alex finds a cavalry saber hidden in Karakov’s room. They confront the arms dealer about it, and he does not take it well.
 
Karakov: Does a man not have the right to defend himself? Do COUNTRIES not have the right to defend themselves?
Huxley: Please calm down, we’re all friends here.
Karakov: Friends? You think that the lands of dream are safe, even after the events of today? The war has followed me - even here I still hear those accursed guns!
 
Huxley asks some questions about these guns, and more about Karakov’s health in the Waking World, and makes a diagnosis - very serious heart disease. The thump of artillery is his own heartbeat. He attempts to be sympathetic.
 
Karakov: You think you understand me? Do they say you earned a pound for every man that died in the trenches? It was your role to put men back together - what do you think my role was?
Alex: I know at the very least you are not a cat-killer.
 
Alex goes to get a stiff drink for Karakov, and gets waylaid by Mironim-Mer, who is out of patience - he needs to know where Florence took Madam Brujah. And then climbs out the window. And turns inside-out into a giant elongate crustacean-thing when Huxley attempts to intervene. It crawls off towards the train-beast carrying the Ladies Parlor, and snips the ropes holding the bridge that connects them. 
 
Flo is rather startled when a man-sized mantis shrimp bursts into the room, but she and Brujah defend themselves with improvised weapons, and a sword that the journalist Dreamed out of a cake-slice. It seems focused entirely on Madam Brujah, and the valise she’s carrying, but Florence stabs it a few times to get its attention away from the old woman.
 
GM: I’m sure that as a journalist you’re well used to being annoying. 
 
Huxley leaps the gap between train beasts (on his second attempt) and rushes in to be all heroic and saber-waving and swashbuckling, while the creature is dropping Florence in one of the ornamental fountains. It retaliates by mangling his sword arm, and hurries off in pursuit of Madam Brujah, only to get into a massive pile-up with Henri, two of the Sarnathians, and Mac. The Sarnathians are armed, to little effect.
 
GM: These Sarnathians can’t be guilty of spearing Ib babies, they can’t hit a thing. 
 
It appears the combined weight of four men and one Australian sheepfarmer’s daughter is enough to pin the monster in place, at least long enough for Brujah to reach the dining pavilion. By the time the creatures wriggles free, every cat in the dining car is out for blood, Zsusza is screaming her head off, Karakov is backed against a wall and as white as a sheet, the Beings and servants have made themselves scarce, and Brujah is laughing her head off at the monster’s distress - at least until it snatches the heart-shaped valise off her and tears it open. 
 
It’s empty. 
 
Brujah: *laughing even harder* He’ll never find it! NEVER!
 
The red glow in the creature's eyes fades, and it backs against the wall, entirely subdued, and doesn’t struggle when Henri agrees it should be restrained with the eyeless madman until it can be handed over to the authorities. Nobody asks the madman his opinions about this. 
 
The investigators collapse in exhaustion after all the excitement, and wake up back in the train station in Milan. Huxley’s dream-mangled arm is quite sore, and his chest injury from the bullet that grazed his ribs the other night is aching, and probably infected. Huxley and Flo stretch their legs, and are heading back to the waiting room when they spot a familiar face - Max von Wurtheim, the associate of the evil Duc back in Lausanne. He’s talking to one of the Orient Express staff, sticks his head into the waiting room, visibly starts, and starts coming back up the concourse. Huxley and Flo attempt to conceal themselves, but Max spots the lieutenant trying to stuff himself behind a kiosk, and Flo trying to hide behind a handful of postcards. His expression transitions rapidly from surprise, to calculation, to a wide and clearly false smile.
 
Maximilian: Lt. Huxley! And the ravishing Miss Braxton! I am so glad to have found you!
Huxley: Ah, Mr. von Wurtheim, how very surprising to see you here. What brings you to Milan?
Maximilian: Ah, it occurred to me that I had been an absolute cad to Miss Braxton, and I had to make amends.
Florence: Apology accepted. Goodbye.
Maximilian: At the very least let me take you to lunch! Milan has many excellent restaurants!
Huxley: Ah, I’m afraid our schedule doesn’t permit it. We’re leaving for Venice soon.
Maximilian: *Taking a visible mental note of this* Ah, what a shame. Perhaps brunch?
 
Florence is rapidly approaching Stabbing Point again. Huxley changes the subject, to the fact that Maximillian has one arm in a sling, and a hand that appears to be shriveled and burnt. Huxley suspects the Duc is responsible, but even mentioning the name makes Max go quite pale. Huxley suggests medical attention, or at least something from the pharmacist, but Max just presses some cash into the lieutenant's hand, clearly intending to stay with Flo.  
 
GM: If looks could kill, you wouldn’t even make it to the chemist.
Huxley: Ah, maybe you should come with me, Mr. von Wurtheim.
 
While they’re away picking up medical supplies, any messages from Professor Smith, and some newspapers, Flo warns Alex that Max is in town, and warns the Orient Express staff not to let him in the waiting room again, on the grounds that he’s a serial harasser. Max suggests a few nice hotels in Venice (not that Huxley intends to follow any advice Max offers) but then hurries on some errand of his own.  
 
There are no messages from Prof. Smith, but there is a telegram from Remi Vangeim in Paris.
 
REGRET DELAY WITH BOOK STOP TURKISH SCHOLARS TOOK OFFENSE AT LIBRARY RULES STOP WILL WRITE TO VENICE BUREAU DE POSTE
 
There’s also a rather interesting article in the local paper, which might explain a little more about what happened at la Scala after the investigators fled back to their hotel to pack. Or perhaps not.
 
Florence: What people say and what actually gets reported in the papers are two different things.
GM: I hope that doesn’t describe your own journalism.
Florence: Oh no, mine are all of the utmost fidelity.
 
LOCAL BUSINESSMAN MURDERED
 
  Police revealed this morning that prominent Milan businessman Arturo Faccia was last night the victim in a bestial slaying, in a seemingly isolated incident.
 He had been at La Scala with friends for the opening night of Aida and had gone backstage to congratulate performers when he became separated from his companions.
 His mutilated body was discovered late yesterday by workmen on the roof of our cathedral. An official at the diocese stated, “It is impossible for anyone to get up there at night. This is the Devil’s work.”
 Milan police would not describe the wounds sustained, repeating merely that they seem the work of a deranged degenerate. Residents of the city are warned to exercise caution at night.
 Signor Faccia was a widower, without children. He had recently returned from a business trip to Turkey.
 
That’s a bit worrying, but doesn’t actually explain what happened at the Opera House after they left? Of course, it’s possible the paper is covering up the truth.
 
Florence: Would Milan WANT reports of an enraged mob of opera-lovers rending him limb from limb in their paper?
 
Maximilian has returned with flowers, and is quite put out that the staff won't let him into the waiting room - it wouldn’t be proper, after all, since he’s not a passenger.  
 
Maximilian: Very well! I’ll buy a ticket!
 
If they were trying to avoid him, it backfired badly. They might also want to avoid the police detective that’s tracked them down. It’s the same detective that was so helpful after the death of Conti. Huxley makes himself scarce, but Alex and Flo reluctantly agree to an interview in the stationmaster’s office, with one of the Orient Express staff there as a witness. It now occurs to the investigators that they didn’t get their story straight, and have no idea what happened after they left. The detective, on the other hand, is aware that the investigators were variously accused of being communists, injured in the fight with Faccia and his goons, and actually appeared on stage as an extra. He’s also heard that an old woman is claiming to be the missing Diva, and that Faccia vanished from an upstairs office at la Scala while he was waiting for his lawyers. So it’s not surprising Florence and Huxley (when he returns) give two contradictory stories about the evening, each downplaying their involvement as far as possible. 
 
Detective: I hope you sought medical assistance after you were hurt, Miss Braxton-Hicks?
Alex: Oh no, it was nothing really. 
GM: Only slightly stabbed.
Florence: Nothing more than you'd expect from a good night out in London.
 
The detective was also aware that Alex was wearing a suit at the Opera House.
 
Detective: What do you know about the political affiliations of your companions, Lt. Huxley?
Huxley: Upstanding supporters of king and country.
Detective: I see, I see - and where did your companions purchase their dresses? Milan is a city of fashion, you understand. 
 
So the detective is certain that the investigators were involved somehow, and makes some pointed hints that they report to the various authorities in Venice when they get there, but the disappearance, mutilation and death of Faccia is inexplicable enough that he’s not entirely sure he wants to dig deeper. He’ll probably kick it up the chain, and let the Fascist government take an interest in the party. 
 
The other passengers start to arrive - among them a young woman in obvious mourning, and an old man wrapped up to the eyebrows, in a wheelchair, with a young man as his caregiver. The latter, pale and anxious, requests medical assistance for his grandfather while the train travels to Venice. He explains to Huxley, in babbled and broken English, that he’s taking his grandfather (still rugged up with only his eyes showing) to the hot springs in Sofia for his health. Huxley commences a medical examination, but returns to his compartment after recommending whiskey and warm water. The old man must be more vigorous than his apparent infirmity suggests. 
 
Venice, in warmer months, is one of the most beautiful and romantic cities in Europe, but in winter the city is foggy, and wet, and frozen, with ice crackling in the canals. At night you can walk for hours and see nothing but pools of lamplight, and hear nothing but the sad slap of water on tethered boats, the clang of buoys in the lagoon, and the boom of steamers further out.  In Venice, on a foggy winter’s night, it feels like day will never come.
 
The train arrives at 5.05PM, and it is already dark.

Horror on the Orient Express - The Dreamlands & Milan - Facts In The Case
 
February 1923, At Least In Some Dimensions
 
In Which The Investigators Investigate One Brutal Murder, Plan A Second, And Are Investigated For A Third
 
The three investigators share a compartment in what is nominally the fifth car of the Dreamlands Express, but the dimensions and layout of the train are... flexible. The dreamlands are weird. Internal walls between compartments can be removed at Henri’s whim, to suit the passengers requirements. Current passengers on the train, en route to Aphorat and beyond, are Waking World residents Huxley, Alex and Flo, the arms dealer Karakov, the government courier Mackenzie, an eyeless lunatic restrained in the baggage compartment, and the dancer Zsuzsa (who knows about the Waking World, at least, but doesn’t like talking about it). Dreamland natives on the train are delegations from Ib and Sarnath and the servants of the latter, the Sarrubian wine merchant Mironim-Mer, and several dozen cats from Ulthar.
 
The investigators don’t know who is changing bed sheets, or cooking the meals, since Henri is the only staff they’ve seen on board. 
 
Mironim-Mer and Karakov have the single compartments to the rear of the investigators, and Madam Bruja in front. Zsuzsa, Mackenzie and the Sarnathians and their servants occupy the 6th car, and the Beings inside the body of the 3rd Train Beast. 
 
Blackjack was last seen just after the train left Zar, as most of the passengers were in the banquet hall eating lunch, and was probably exploring the train as he had previously been seen to do.
 
One of the Beings of Ib had been glued to the ceiling outside their compartment for an unknown length of time (such charming people, the Sarnathians), between leaving Zar and Alex and Huxley returning to the compartment after lunch.  Florence did not return to the compartment, and instead went straight to the cat’s compartment at the end of the train. Alex heard a Meow and a thud in the next compartment, but there was nobody in that compartment when she checked, and no-one outside in the corridor. The door of the compartment was unlocked, and nothing seemed out of place at least as compared to her own.
 
Huxley had a brief conversation with Henri about the madman secured in the baggage compartment, and while that was happening noted Karakov returning to his own compartment, nursing an injured hand. Karakov refused assistance.
 
Huxley and Alex departed for their afternoon's entertainment - Zsuzsa in Huxley’s case, and the thagweed hookahs in the men’s lounge in Alex’s. Alex saw Mackenzie in the men’s salon for some portion of that time, Huxley saw quite a lot of Zsuzsa in her compartment, and Flo spent her entire post-prandial relaxation playing with the kittehs. 
 
Alex’s memories of the afternoon might not be the most reliable, as their speculations about the fluid nature of reality were being thoroughly encouraged by thagweed use. Huxley was quite thoroughly distracted, but at least he and Zsusza can be quite sure where the other was all afternoon, and indeed can itemise which items of furniture they were on. Florence could be vouched for by the cats. 
 
Blackjack had been stabbed, three times, but the wounds indicate a weapon more like a letter opener than a proper blade. The exact time of death is uncertain, as Huxley has little experience of rigor mortis in small animals. 
 
Of course, the first thing the investigators do is get all the suspects gathered in one place, under the murderous gaze of the cats. That makes the investigation so much easier, even if the Sarnathians immediately imply that the Beings of Ib must be responsible, and Karakov nearly gets himself flayed alive by the cats by refusing to explain where he got the hand wound. Huxley does, however, determine that the injury is from a serrated blade, not whatever was used on the kitten.  
 
The investigators, aided by cats, start searching the train for evidence, weapons, grappling hooks, clues, and hopefully no monsters (dreamed into existence or otherwise). They find suspicious scratches on the outside of their pavilion, and bloodstains in Mironim-Mer’s compartment, along with evidence that somebody tried to hide the blood and scrub it away with shampoo. 
 
Alex: Somebody with hair did this.
 
They start questioning people. Huxley learns how the voiceless Beings of Ib communicate, by using a small squeaking creature that translates for them. Huxley has a few questions - who do they think is responsible, and why don’t they fight back when the Sarnathians glue them to the ceiling? The diplomat personally suspects the Sarnathians, since they’re making it abundantly clear that they’re capable of anything, and the Beings are confident that if the Sarnathian delegation continues to demonstrate what scum they are, King Kuranes’ judgment will favour Ib. Especially if Huxley testifies to that effect.
 
Meanwhile, Florence has taken the misandrist Madam Brujah to the Ladies Parlor, to interview her in private. It’s not like she’ll talk to anybody else. Flo eventually gets her to open up a bit, and asks her if there’s a particular reason she distrusts men so much (apart from all the obvious reasons any woman would). 
 
Madam Brujah: I had a daughter, once.
Florence: Was this in the Dreamlands, or the Waking World?
Madam Brujah: Does it matter?
 
Her daughter married a much older sorcerer, apparently, because he wanted to satisfy his appetites. Unfortunately, he couldn’t satisfy hers, and when the sorcerer caught his new wife with her lover, he burnt them both alive. But Madam Brujah did arrange a suitable revenge that would ensure the sorcerer would never find peace in that life or afterwards - although she doesn’t specify what the revenge was. 
 
She also gives Florence a few tips on how to increase her Dreaming skill, by focusing on her dedication to the truth, and meditating on the truth of the pen her parents gave her when she went off to become a journalist. It’s also evidence that Madam Brujah is a lot older than she looks, or is from a much earlier time, since she talks about quills instead of pens. Florence doesn’t quite get the knack of it, but with practice or urgent necessity maybe she will. 
 
Huxley also notes that Mironim-Mer might LOOK relaxed, he’s actually very tense. But before he can investigate that, Alex finds a cavalry saber hidden in Karakov’s room. They confront the arms dealer about it, and he does not take it well.
 
Karakov: Does a man not have the right to defend himself? Do COUNTRIES not have the right to defend themselves?
Huxley: Please calm down, we’re all friends here.
Karakov: Friends? You think that the lands of dream are safe, even after the events of today? The war has followed me - even here I still hear those accursed guns!
 
Huxley asks some questions about these guns, and more about Karakov’s health in the Waking World, and makes a diagnosis - very serious heart disease. The thump of artillery is his own heartbeat. He attempts to be sympathetic.
 
Karakov: You think you understand me? Do they say you earned a pound for every man that died in the trenches? It was your role to put men back together - what do you think my role was?
Alex: I know at the very least you are not a cat-killer.
 
Alex goes to get a stiff drink for Karakov, and gets waylaid by Mironim-Mer, who is out of patience - he needs to know where Florence took Madam Brujah. And then climbs out the window. And turns inside-out into a giant elongate crustacean-thing when Huxley attempts to intervene. It crawls off towards the train-beast carrying the Ladies Parlor, and snips the ropes holding the bridge that connects them. 
 
Flo is rather startled when a man-sized mantis shrimp bursts into the room, but she and Brujah defend themselves with improvised weapons, and a sword that the journalist Dreamed out of a cake-slice. It seems focused entirely on Madam Brujah, and the valise she’s carrying, but Florence stabs it a few times to get its attention away from the old woman.
 
GM: I’m sure that as a journalist you’re well used to being annoying. 
 
Huxley leaps the gap between train beasts (on his second attempt) and rushes in to be all heroic and saber-waving and swashbuckling, while the creature is dropping Florence in one of the ornamental fountains. It retaliates by mangling his sword arm, and hurries off in pursuit of Madam Brujah, only to get into a massive pile-up with Henri, two of the Sarnathians, and Mac. The Sarnathians are armed, to little effect.
 
GM: These Sarnathians can’t be guilty of spearing Ib babies, they can’t hit a thing. 
 
It appears the combined weight of four men and one Australian sheepfarmer’s daughter is enough to pin the monster in place, at least long enough for Brujah to reach the dining pavilion. By the time the creatures wriggles free, every cat in the dining car is out for blood, Zsusza is screaming her head off, Karakov is backed against a wall and as white as a sheet, the Beings and servants have made themselves scarce, and Brujah is laughing her head off at the monster’s distress - at least until it snatches the heart-shaped valise off her and tears it open. 
 
It’s empty. 
 
Brujah: *laughing even harder* He’ll never find it! NEVER!
 
The red glow in the creature's eyes fades, and it backs against the wall, entirely subdued, and doesn’t struggle when Henri agrees it should be restrained with the eyeless madman until it can be handed over to the authorities. Nobody asks the madman his opinions about this. 
 
The investigators collapse in exhaustion after all the excitement, and wake up back in the train station in Milan. Huxley’s dream-mangled arm is quite sore, and his chest injury from the bullet that grazed his ribs the other night is aching, and probably infected. Huxley and Flo stretch their legs, and are heading back to the waiting room when they spot a familiar face - Max von Wurtheim, the associate of the evil Duc back in Lausanne. He’s talking to one of the Orient Express staff, sticks his head into the waiting room, visibly starts, and starts coming back up the concourse. Huxley and Flo attempt to conceal themselves, but Max spots the lieutenant trying to stuff himself behind a kiosk, and Flo trying to hide behind a handful of postcards. His expression transitions rapidly from surprise, to calculation, to a wide and clearly false smile.
 
Maximilian: Lt. Huxley! And the ravishing Miss Braxton! I am so glad to have found you!
Huxley: Ah, Mr. von Wurtheim, how very surprising to see you here. What brings you to Milan?
Maximilian: Ah, it occurred to me that I had been an absolute cad to Miss Braxton, and I had to make amends.
Florence: Apology accepted. Goodbye.
Maximilian: At the very least let me take you to lunch! Milan has many excellent restaurants!
Huxley: Ah, I’m afraid our schedule doesn’t permit it. We’re leaving for Venice soon.
Maximilian: *Taking a visible mental note of this* Ah, what a shame. Perhaps brunch?
 
Florence is rapidly approaching Stabbing Point again. Huxley changes the subject, to the fact that Maximillian has one arm in a sling, and a hand that appears to be shriveled and burnt. Huxley suspects the Duc is responsible, but even mentioning the name makes Max go quite pale. Huxley suggests medical attention, or at least something from the pharmacist, but Max just presses some cash into the lieutenant's hand, clearly intending to stay with Flo.  
 
GM: If looks could kill, you wouldn’t even make it to the chemist.
Huxley: Ah, maybe you should come with me, Mr. von Wurtheim.
 
While they’re away picking up medical supplies, any messages from Professor Smith, and some newspapers, Flo warns Alex that Max is in town, and warns the Orient Express staff not to let him in the waiting room again, on the grounds that he’s a serial harasser. Max suggests a few nice hotels in Venice (not that Huxley intends to follow any advice Max offers) but then hurries on some errand of his own.  
 
There are no messages from Prof. Smith, but there is a telegram from Remi Vangeim in Paris.
 
REGRET DELAY WITH BOOK STOP TURKISH SCHOLARS TOOK OFFENSE AT LIBRARY RULES STOP WILL WRITE TO VENICE BUREAU DE POSTE
 
There’s also a rather interesting article in the local paper, which might explain a little more about what happened at la Scala after the investigators fled back to their hotel to pack. Or perhaps not.
 
Florence: What people say and what actually gets reported in the papers are two different things.
GM: I hope that doesn’t describe your own journalism.
Florence: Oh no, mine are all of the utmost fidelity.
 
LOCAL BUSINESSMAN MURDERED
 
  Police revealed this morning that prominent Milan businessman Arturo Faccia was last night the victim in a bestial slaying, in a seemingly isolated incident.
 He had been at La Scala with friends for the opening night of Aida and had gone backstage to congratulate performers when he became separated from his companions.
 His mutilated body was discovered late yesterday by workmen on the roof of our cathedral. An official at the diocese stated, “It is impossible for anyone to get up there at night. This is the Devil’s work.”
 Milan police would not describe the wounds sustained, repeating merely that they seem the work of a deranged degenerate. Residents of the city are warned to exercise caution at night.
 Signor Faccia was a widower, without children. He had recently returned from a business trip to Turkey.
 
That’s a bit worrying, but doesn’t actually explain what happened at the Opera House after they left? Of course, it’s possible the paper is covering up the truth.
 
Florence: Would Milan WANT reports of an enraged mob of opera-lovers rending him limb from limb in their paper?
 
Maximilian has returned with flowers, and is quite put out that the staff won't let him into the waiting room - it wouldn’t be proper, after all, since he’s not a passenger.  
 
Maximilian: Very well! I’ll buy a ticket!
 
If they were trying to avoid him, it backfired badly. They might also want to avoid the police detective that’s tracked them down. It’s the same detective that was so helpful after the death of Conti. Huxley makes himself scarce, but Alex and Flo reluctantly agree to an interview in the stationmaster’s office, with one of the Orient Express staff there as a witness. It now occurs to the investigators that they didn’t get their story straight, and have no idea what happened after they left. The detective, on the other hand, is aware that the investigators were variously accused of being communists, injured in the fight with Faccia and his goons, and actually appeared on stage as an extra. He’s also heard that an old woman is claiming to be the missing Diva, and that Faccia vanished from an upstairs office at la Scala while he was waiting for his lawyers. So it’s not surprising Florence and Huxley (when he returns) give two contradictory stories about the evening, each downplaying their involvement as far as possible. 
 
Detective: I hope you sought medical assistance after you were hurt, Miss Braxton-Hicks?
Alex: Oh no, it was nothing really. 
GM: Only slightly stabbed.
Florence: Nothing more than you'd expect from a good night out in London.
 
The detective was also aware that Alex was wearing a suit at the Opera House.
 
Detective: What do you know about the political affiliations of your companions, Lt. Huxley?
Huxley: Upstanding supporters of king and country.
Detective: I see, I see - and where did your companions purchase their dresses? Milan is a city of fashion, you understand. 
 
So the detective is certain that the investigators were involved somehow, and makes some pointed hints that they report to the various authorities in Venice when they get there, but the disappearance, mutilation and death of Faccia is inexplicable enough that he’s not entirely sure he wants to dig deeper. He’ll probably kick it up the chain, and let the Fascist government take an interest in the party. 
 
The other passengers start to arrive - among them a young woman in obvious mourning, and an old man wrapped up to the eyebrows, in a wheelchair, with a young man as his caregiver. The latter, pale and anxious, requests medical assistance for his grandfather while the train travels to Venice. He explains to Huxley, in babbled and broken English, that he’s taking his grandfather (still rugged up with only his eyes showing) to the hot springs in Sofia for his health. Huxley commences a medical examination, but returns to his compartment after recommending whiskey and warm water. The old man must be more vigorous than his apparent infirmity suggests. 
 
Venice, in warmer months, is one of the most beautiful and romantic cities in Europe, but in winter the city is foggy, and wet, and frozen, with ice crackling in the canals. At night you can walk for hours and see nothing but pools of lamplight, and hear nothing but the sad slap of water on tethered boats, the clang of buoys in the lagoon, and the boom of steamers further out.  In Venice, on a foggy winter’s night, it feels like day will never come.
 
The train arrives at 5.05PM, and it is already dark.

Hardlight has investigated the PSI-mooks equipment, and happily none of it was rigged to explode if dismantled. It includes some rather nifty autoheal stuff.
 
Hero Shrew: Smart supervillains don’t piss off the Goonion. 
 
Hero Shrew: You could always patent the Goo Gun and sell it to police departments across the country - what are the inventors going to do, complain?
Flux: Do you want to get sued by evil lawyers? Sorry, evilLER lawyers.
Magus: How much do you want to bet that they did patent it, and it got ‘stolen’. 
 
GM: The gun only worked for Scooter because he’s always thinking violent thoughts.
Flux: ‘I could murder a mealworm bar’?
GM: He’s also thinking happy thoughts, and it’s not an imbalance, just weird. 
Hero Shrew: “Do I contradict myself? / Very well then I contradict myself, / (I am large, I contain multitudes.)”
 
GM: I don’t know where Hardlight got the idea this equipment has organic components.
Hero Shrew OoC: Well, don’t blame me.
Flux OoC: Yes, it’s not a Scooter Filter problem this time. 
 
Hero Shrew’s player: *to the cats* You two, behave yourselves!
Flux’s player: That's a perfect impersonation of Fireflash when she finds out what we have planned.
 
GM: As a reminder as to how you got involved with the clinic, that's because it's run by E-G Employment, the subdivision of Erikson-Gulsvig Logistics GmbH. The corporation you're setting Loweltech to sue so you can progress the Moreau issue. They’re providing the Moreau the suit will focus on. I’m resisting the impulse to make them a lamb. Or goat.
 
Getting the financial records of the company turns out to be more difficult than we might have anticipated - the clinic never applied for charity status so the records aren’t easily available. We eventually get the records anyway - which are sent over in hard copy. Hundreds of thousands of pages. Including huge amounts of irrelevant material. 
 
GM: At least they didn’t do the old trick of non-standard formatting as well. But it’s still three whole semi-trailers of loose paper. 
Flux: We’re going to need office space.
Hardlight: We’re going to need a warehouse. 
 
Even with a team of accountants from LowellTech and a device Flux invents to digitise it all, it’s still going to take weeks to go through it with a fine tooth comb and find anything that might interest the District Attorney. Beyond the factory that was making psi drugs instead of destroying pharmaceutical waste. 

Hero Shrew: Circular economy.
Hardlight: What?
Hero Shrew: Make powerful drugs, sell the pharmaceutical waste to this company, who make different powerful drugs. 
 
Sending over all the records in paper form isn’t an admission of guilt, but it’s certainly evidence that Erikson-Gulsvig Logistics GmbH is annoyed with us. It almost certainly means they won’t want to help with the Moreau situation anymore. We hand the investigation off to the FBI.
 
GM: They have people that get off on going through this kind of paperwork.
Fireflash: Remind me next time - don’t ask, just break into their system. 
 
At least we’ve put a major crimp in PSI operations. There’s not many places they could hide manufacturing on that scale.
 
Magus finally gets a copy of The Whispered Paths, although the person that found it for him was so annoyed by the experience they’re going to charge any future mystic customer double. Unfortunately it’s in Fucine, an extinct language once associated with witches. Someone was very upset that somebody was after the book, and increasingly upset the closer it got to Edge City. The bookhunter tells the Magus that for free, because he didn’t try to stiff her, which is apparently a problem with mystic types. 
 
GM: There’s apparently a book that can help you translate Fucine to Latin, but it’s rare, because why would anybody need to read Fucine?
Magus: Well, I’ll try Amazon first. It seems I’ve embarked on Book Hunt 2.
Hero Shrew: Now there’s a phrase you need to pronounce carefully. 
 
Although the author of the journal, P. Lanzo Geovanny Renzo Aberto Geomar Alfredo Pasquale Conti, is best known for going completely mad. 
 
Flux: That’s never a good sign. 
 
Flux: To be fair all penguins are man-eating, they just don’t often get the opportunity.
 
Magus: I have a nasty suspicion who has the journal.
Fireflash: If it’s who I’m thinking of we did deal with their local cult.

GM: You have to be a special kind of wrong when even the Descending Hierarchy of Hell wants nothing to do with you.
Flux: ‘We’re evil - but YOU are CRAZY’
 
APPARENTLY, a copy is in the possession of septuagenarian antiquarian Angilia Eleonora Dubois, who is old Monterey money. It’s highly suspicious that such a rare book is present in a city that someone wanted to keep The Whispered Paths far away from.
 
Hardlight: Are we pulling a heist? I'm all for a heist.
Fireflash: I am entirely against doing a heist! I’ll just ask her if we can borrow the book for a few days, for the public good.
 
Dubois’ entire family were killed in the disaster that turned Monterey into Edge City, so Fireflash turns her attention to the Dubois family lawyer. Said lawyer points her towards the collection’s curator, Liberty Kendra Brown. 
 
Hero Shrew OoC: You might want to assure her you’re not letting me anywhere near the collection.
 

 

 
Dubois is in her 70s, but barely looks it. Apparently she came out as a mutant 20 years ago. . She has pointed ears and a slightly lengthened lifespan. Some of us suspect elf ancestry.
 
GM: Do any of you have Architecture skills?
Hero Shrew: I do! *looks at building* Yep, that’s architecture.
Flux: He’s eaten enough of it. 
 
Her house is original Spanish, by the look of it.
 
Flux: I’m impressed it’s survived this long.
Magus: Any building over 60 years old has survived three alien invasions.
GM: Dude, this one survived a zeppelin assault!
 
Ms. Dubois: No need to be so formal, people keep forgetting I was a young woman in the 60s. 
 
She doesn’t remember the journal at first, but recalls the auction she acquired it at. And starts seeming a little concerned as Fireflash and the Magus explain their interest. She needs to make a phone call, and has Liberty take them through to the densely packed library.
 
GM: She has one of those old-fashioned phones.
Magus: One with a cord?
GM: Thanks for that, now I feel old. 
 
As Fireflash and the Magus make digital copies of the journal, Hardlight waits out in the car, since he felt weird about going in in costume. One of the staff brings out refreshments.

Fireflash: These days if you scan a demon into the internet it’s back 30 minutes later, whimpering and asking to be put back in the book.

GM: ‘I tried the worst things I could think of and they kept suggesting improvements!’
 
Flux gets a phone call on his Chris Jones phone, from Bob in accounting.
Bob: Hey, Chris, have you been making some strange friends lately? This jacked surfer-looking guy came in asking questions. Wanted to know if you’d made any new friends lately. Have you?
Flux: Not really, you know what my social life is like.
Magus: Funnily enough ‘good-looking surfing dude’ is a good description of me, when I’m not wearing other faces. 
 
When we get back to the base, we’re very glad we uploaded the images already, because the new camera we used to take the images has mysteriously vanished. 
 
Hero Shrew: Well, if the book deletes anything that it’s copied onto, we probably shouldn’t have uploaded the images to the internet. 
 
On the other hand, if somebody else wanted the contents of the book, there didn’t seem to be much actually stopping them raiding the collection directly. 
 
Flux is cautiously checking his apartment, just in case the jacked-surfer-dude is a threat.
 
Flux: It’s a bit embarrassing, I’ve been successfully kidnapped once, and we failed to get Fireflash kidnapped twice. 
 
Fortunately he doesn’t need to rely on the Mk.I Eyeball. Whoever was hanging around is magical, but not a flavour he’s familiar with. But his apartment is so small that sending more than one of us in to check is honestly difficult. There are other issues too, of course. 
 
Flux: Maybe don’t have two or three costumed superheroes STANDING AROUND OUTSIDE MY SECRET ID 
Fireflash goes in disguised as a civilian, instead of wearing her usual string bikini. She gets comfortable and uses Retrocognition.
Flux: Ah. It’s just occurred to me that this is my personal living space.
Fireflash: Fortunately it's vague and unclear and that is very small so we don’t have to worry about it. 
Flux: I really have to stop asking my friends for help. 
 
Whoever was here seemed very interested in the traces of Flux’s magic, and entered and left through the wall. 
 
Hardlight: Maybe they were just here to recruit you into some kind of magical school?
Flux: I’m allergic to owls. 
 
Magus tracks the magic back to Little Haiti, then loses him in the magical hotspot there. But it would appear from there it leads straight to, and into, Lake Effinger. 
 
Magus: Ah. I wonder if it’s whoever rang me, after I left my number there. 
Hardlight: You left your phone number on the Tesseract???
Magus: Of course not. I left it on the outside of the cave the Tesseract was in, after we sealed it. 
 
The jacked-surfer-dude is indeed at the cave, with waterproof bag and swimtrunks. He’s just ignited a torch. Underwater. 
 
Fireflash: That’s a neat trick.
GM: That’s Atlantean fire magic. 
Atlantean: *cheerfully* Magus! 
 
He surfaces to talk to us. 
 
Atlantean: My apologies for intruding on your private identity. 
Flux: In future, I have an email address, a phone number, and a doorbell. 
 
The Atlanteans didn’t MAKE the tesseract, but they do consider it their responsibility. 
 
Fireflash: *sigh* What are the odds we’re going to have to go through it before we can shut it down?
Atlantean: My people did try to sense what lay beyond it when we first discovered it. We detected only fear and death. So hopefully not?
Magus: The thing’s the drain for most of the magical energies in the city, so that can’t be good. 
Flux: Why did Magus get a phone call?
Atlantean: He left a card. 
Flux: Note to self - graffiti more walls.
Atlantean: Please don't.
Flux: ‘For a good time call’
 
The explosion that created Lake Effinger WAS intended to create a dimensional breach, although given the ‘fear and death’ aspect it might not have been the original intended destination. 
 
Hardlight: At least we don’t have to get hit by a truck if we decide to Isekai.
Magus: We could build a Dimensional Damage field into the Quadraphibious Qruiser.
GM: Please don’t. 
 
GM: Well, that went much more peacefully than I expected.
Magus OoC: ‘What, there were no misunderstandings? Bulls***, what is this comic!’ ‘And then they talked like adults about it and went home’
 
GM: There’s one thing protecting Captain Planet from a reboot is that it was created by Ted Turner.
Hero Shrew’s player: So it won’t be so much resurrected as recolourised.
 
Flux’s player: Buy Demolition as a skill.
Hero Shrew OoC: People keep telling me not to do that.
 
GM: I had this picture I was going to use a neat stadium, then realised it was from Pokemon. And I don’t want to put Hero Shrew in a pokemon arena. ‘What do you want me to do?’ ‘Beat up this cock-fighting seizure monster’ ‘ Well, OK'.
Flux OoC: ‘You weren’t supposed to eat it!’
Hero Shrew OoC: I don’t want to speculate what Scooter would evolve into.
 
The organisation that's monitoring Fireflash’s superhuman metabolism has a problem regarding the Moreau medical analysis program they are involved in with Allanah, but it's not something they want to worry her about until they’ve dealt with it themselves.
 
Fireflash: Well, that’s a sentence guaranteed to make me worry. 
 
Some of the biosamples they’ve been taking of her are going missing. The samples are all supposed to be destroyed, but the residue numbers aren’t adding up. And the security about the samples is enough that it has to be some kind of superhuman stealing them. 
 
Hardlight: Biotechnology isn’t my strong suit - what could somebody malicious do with these samples, if they had them?
Hero Shrew: Make an army of clone soldiers? We’ve already had that one. 
How can we do our own security inspection without giving the culprits time to hide the evidence?
GM: At least you know if it looks like they’re hiding evidence, it’s evidence their security organization is compromised.
Flux: ‘oh look, somebody fled the building a minute after you told security you were coming’.
 
Hero Shrew’s player: Back, what did I miss?
Flux’s player: Firelash’s player brought up Dimetrodon and broke the internet. It was probably punishment for all the puns. He didn’t SAY any but was probably thinking them.
Flux’s player: Their audio sounds like GladOS dying. I know it’s disrupting the game but it’s hilarious - like GladOS and SHODAN  having a conversation about Dimetrodon in the background. 
GM: HoWWWWs my -a—--DIO nooooooooooWWWwwwW
Flux’s player: Still GladOS having a stroke.
Hero Shrew’s Player: And now you sound like someone using a taser on a Cybertronian. 
 
Fireflash’s Retrocognition reveals the fact that a known shadow-manipulating and teleporting superhuman, Ghost Shadow of the Six Teens, messing about on the site. It looks like he’s stealing a bunch of feline samples now.
 
Magus: And now you have to go apologize to Security for being kind of a d*** when you showed up.
Fireflash: Sorry, we’ve been dealing with all sorts of aliens and psychic shapeshifters for the last few months, we've got kinda paranoid.
Head of Security: Psychic shapechangers? Now I’M going to be paranoid.
Fux: Try not to think about it too much - they’ll know.
 
Hardlight is a bit uncomfortable about the big greenhouse dome in the middle of the facility.
 
Magus: He was once stuck on a flight where the only entertainment was Biodome starring Pauly Shore, and it had a lasting effect.
 
One suggestion we have for security is blinds on the inside of the warehouse windows, to stop our teleporter friend easily getting in and out.
 
Hero Shrew: Are we going to have to go into the big glass dome they’ve been pumping mutagens into?
GM: What?
The Magus: There probably aren’t any mutagens, no.
Hero Shrew: Oh good, so I don’t have to retroactively ask for today off.
GM: How did you get the idea that the dome is full of mutagens?
Magus: He saw a suspicious biotech company with a big greenhouse. Hero Shrew is the kind of person who bases his understanding of science on Saturday Morning Cartoons.
Hardlight: Are we going to have to worry about cat-themed supervillains now?
Hero Shrew: Maybe he just wants to make a pet for his girlfriend?
Magus: The only cat-themed supervillain I can think of works for Teleios, and he wouldn’t need the help.
Although Flux does recall one Lynx, who works for the Overbrain. She’s also a huge anime nerd.
Magus: Probably explains how she knows Ghost Shadow.
GM: They probably met at a convention. ‘That’s a really good Ghost Shadow costume.’ ‘Costume? That’s a really good fursuit.’ ‘Fursuit’?
 
We determine that the samples are being stolen in-between sampling and destruction, while they’re in the queue until there’s a full load for disposal. So Ghost Shadow must have access to the full schedule on the disposal chain, since he’s going straight to the right canisters, and we already know the Six Teens have good tech savvy, since the first time we met them they were ransacking a server. Hopefully he hasn’t noticed we've been to the site yet, and we can plant some samples that Flux and the Magus can track and wait in ambush.
Ghost Shadow is well-known enough to us that we know he claims to carry his own ‘internal shadow’ as a power source. 
 
Magus: Any chance we can go beat up Black Paladin and steal his sword?
Fireflash: ‘Now you don’t HAVE a shadow, Bwahaha.’
Fireflash: Do you have any more of those tracers, like the ones they stuck into me?
Magus: We know their group has a tech expert as well as a magic user.
GM: The Black Warlock?
Magus: Hmm. Well, if we ever meet him I’ll try to refrain from any comments about being a proper warlock. 
Hero Shrew: So, this Overbrain, does he have a humanoid exosuit?
GM: No? He doesn’t need one, he has minions.
Hero Shrew: Sorry, still thinking about mutagens and Saturday Morning Cartoons.
 
Hardlight: Well, we still need to make this fake sample. Scooter, pull up your shirt.
Flux: Let’s NOT give them a sample of an actual biological superhuman, ok?
Fireflash: For one thing we don’t know what they’ll do with it.
GM: Indeed - Steiners are rare, as well as having innate psychic abilities.
Magus: Scooter is innately capable of determining what the people around him are thinking and knowing exactly the wrong thing to say. 
 
Magus: So let's set up our trap
Fireflash: And hope it doesn't turn into a cat-astrophe.
Hero Shrew: I’ve got a bad feline about this.
 
We track Ghost Shadow and a single other person, to a makeshift lab in an abandoned warehouse.
 
GM: Supervillain Hideout #3
 
And the other person is a Moreau that Scooter recognises - a Moreau that never needed to be caged back at the Genesys labs. A Moreau that helped the scientists. The one the other Moreaus called Lab Rat. Scooter is not happy about this. Of course if we are going to grab him, we have to deal with the teleporter first. Flux Flashes them, and the Magus and Hardlight try to bubble them. To the GM’s shock, this works.
 
Hardlight: Flawless Plan!
Magus: Feels wrong, doesn't it?
 
Unfortunately Lab Rat hit a panic button. More unfortunately, Scooter grabbed and shook Lab Rat, who goes limp after an audible crack. Magus hurried heals him, while Fireflash hurls much deserved abuse at Scooter.
 
Flux: World of cardboard, Scooter, world of cardboard!
Fireflash: If you keep doing this Scooter you’ll kill somebody and end up in prison.
Magus: And I’m neither fully aware how nor entirely willing to heal death.
Ghost Shadow: *hacking away ineffectually at the walls of the bubble* F***!
Flux: Oh, sorry, I forgot you were there.
 
Flux manages to stop the harddrives being overwritten, as well as stop the countdown to some other kind of precaution. We call in the ECPD, and do a quick search of the building for anybody else. We’d better be fast - it turns out that Hardlight’s bubble will be exhausted in under a minute, unless he drops everything else he’s doing, including moving around.  
Ghost Shadow: We were trying to help a friend. And the ragdoll over there was the only Moreau with the skills we needed. Your bat friend is capable, but she’s not a geneticist.
Another problem is that it’s not Lab Rat doing the bulk of the work - Lab Rat was just doing the preliminary work for Dr Steinbeck, the creator of Moraeus with superpowers. Who wasn’t in Edge City.
 
Fireflash: It would be incredibly unwise of him to be in Edge City.
Ghost Shadow: Or incredibly clever. I don’t think he’d want to be far from his children. 
Magus: I hope you don’t mean that literally.
Ghost Shadow: What? EW. EW.
Fireflash: We do know another geneticist that might help. But we still want to know why you need the help. 
Ghost Shadow: Like I said, I just want to help a friend.
Magus: Is it Lynx?
Ghost Shadow: What. How did you kn-- No, of course it isn’t!
 
He admits it’s her. Apparently the Overbrain has screwed up her enhancements, and his control of Lynx leaves something to be desired too. Fireflash offers to help, if she hands herself in.
Ghost Shadow: Why do you heroes always go this route? Why can’t you just tell me if you know another geneticist?

Fireflash: We do - it’s Allana?
Ghost Shadow: She does know genetics? Cool! See ya! *teleports out of the bubble*
 
Allana the bat moreau might well offer medical help anyway, regardless of whether they’re a hero, civilian, or villain, but that won’t stop her throwing people through walls if it becomes necessary. Lab Rat gets handed over to the authorities before Scooter glares him to death, and hopefully without any other Moraeus finding out. 
 
Duty Officer: Lab Rat? Lab Rat? Wait, THE Lab Rat?? Oh hell, Duty Detail, NOW. Get him into one of the high security cells and sit on him, and do NOT take him past the Kennels - I mean the Moreau cells. 
 

Weldun is winding up the Return to Edge City campaign. Alas, we will never learn the secrets of Undersconscin, or visit the Grimdark and Coffee Shop Alternate Universe versions of the city. And, of course, he was finding it quite difficult to come up with challenges that we wouldn’t either breeze through, or be curb-stomped by.
 
GM: If VIPER even shows its head anywhere in town you lot will drag it out by its tail and beat it senseless.
Hero Shrew: O whacking day, O whacking day, Our hallowed snake-skull cracking day-

Weldun is winding up the Return to Edge City campaign. Alas, we will never learn the secrets of Undersconscin, or visit the Grimdark and Coffee Shop Alternate Universe versions of the city. And, of course, he was finding it quite difficult to come up with challenges that we wouldn’t either breeze through, or be curb-stomped by.
 
GM: If VIPER even shows its head anywhere in town you lot will drag it out by its tail and beat it senseless.
Hero Shrew: O whacking day, O whacking day, Our hallowed snake-skull cracking day-

Hardlight has investigated the PSI-mooks equipment, and happily none of it was rigged to explode if dismantled. It includes some rather nifty autoheal stuff.
 
Hero Shrew: Smart supervillains don’t piss off the Goonion. 
 
Hero Shrew: You could always patent the Goo Gun and sell it to police departments across the country - what are the inventors going to do, complain?
Flux: Do you want to get sued by evil lawyers? Sorry, evilLER lawyers.
Magus: How much do you want to bet that they did patent it, and it got ‘stolen’. 
 
GM: The gun only worked for Scooter because he’s always thinking violent thoughts.
Flux: ‘I could murder a mealworm bar’?
GM: He’s also thinking happy thoughts, and it’s not an imbalance, just weird. 
Hero Shrew: “Do I contradict myself? / Very well then I contradict myself, / (I am large, I contain multitudes.)”
 
GM: I don’t know where Hardlight got the idea this equipment has organic components.
Hero Shrew OoC: Well, don’t blame me.
Flux OoC: Yes, it’s not a Scooter Filter problem this time. 
 
Hero Shrew’s player: *to the cats* You two, behave yourselves!
Flux’s player: That's a perfect impersonation of Fireflash when she finds out what we have planned.
 
GM: As a reminder as to how you got involved with the clinic, that's because it's run by E-G Employment, the subdivision of Erikson-Gulsvig Logistics GmbH. The corporation you're setting Loweltech to sue so you can progress the Moreau issue. They’re providing the Moreau the suit will focus on. I’m resisting the impulse to make them a lamb. Or goat.
 
Getting the financial records of the company turns out to be more difficult than we might have anticipated - the clinic never applied for charity status so the records aren’t easily available. We eventually get the records anyway - which are sent over in hard copy. Hundreds of thousands of pages. Including huge amounts of irrelevant material. 
 
GM: At least they didn’t do the old trick of non-standard formatting as well. But it’s still three whole semi-trailers of loose paper. 
Flux: We’re going to need office space.
Hardlight: We’re going to need a warehouse. 
 
Even with a team of accountants from LowellTech and a device Flux invents to digitise it all, it’s still going to take weeks to go through it with a fine tooth comb and find anything that might interest the District Attorney. Beyond the factory that was making psi drugs instead of destroying pharmaceutical waste. 

Hero Shrew: Circular economy.
Hardlight: What?
Hero Shrew: Make powerful drugs, sell the pharmaceutical waste to this company, who make different powerful drugs. 
 
Sending over all the records in paper form isn’t an admission of guilt, but it’s certainly evidence that Erikson-Gulsvig Logistics GmbH is annoyed with us. It almost certainly means they won’t want to help with the Moreau situation anymore. We hand the investigation off to the FBI.
 
GM: They have people that get off on going through this kind of paperwork.
Fireflash: Remind me next time - don’t ask, just break into their system. 
 
At least we’ve put a major crimp in PSI operations. There’s not many places they could hide manufacturing on that scale.
 
Magus finally gets a copy of The Whispered Paths, although the person that found it for him was so annoyed by the experience they’re going to charge any future mystic customer double. Unfortunately it’s in Fucine, an extinct language once associated with witches. Someone was very upset that somebody was after the book, and increasingly upset the closer it got to Edge City. The bookhunter tells the Magus that for free, because he didn’t try to stiff her, which is apparently a problem with mystic types. 
 
GM: There’s apparently a book that can help you translate Fucine to Latin, but it’s rare, because why would anybody need to read Fucine?
Magus: Well, I’ll try Amazon first. It seems I’ve embarked on Book Hunt 2.
Hero Shrew: Now there’s a phrase you need to pronounce carefully. 
 
Although the author of the journal, P. Lanzo Geovanny Renzo Aberto Geomar Alfredo Pasquale Conti, is best known for going completely mad. 
 
Flux: That’s never a good sign. 
 
Flux: To be fair all penguins are man-eating, they just don’t often get the opportunity.
 
Magus: I have a nasty suspicion who has the journal.
Fireflash: If it’s who I’m thinking of we did deal with their local cult.

GM: You have to be a special kind of wrong when even the Descending Hierarchy of Hell wants nothing to do with you.
Flux: ‘We’re evil - but YOU are CRAZY’
 
APPARENTLY, a copy is in the possession of septuagenarian antiquarian Angilia Eleonora Dubois, who is old Monterey money. It’s highly suspicious that such a rare book is present in a city that someone wanted to keep The Whispered Paths far away from.
 
Hardlight: Are we pulling a heist? I'm all for a heist.
Fireflash: I am entirely against doing a heist! I’ll just ask her if we can borrow the book for a few days, for the public good.
 
Dubois’ entire family were killed in the disaster that turned Monterey into Edge City, so Fireflash turns her attention to the Dubois family lawyer. Said lawyer points her towards the collection’s curator, Liberty Kendra Brown. 
 
Hero Shrew OoC: You might want to assure her you’re not letting me anywhere near the collection.
 

 

 
Dubois is in her 70s, but barely looks it. Apparently she came out as a mutant 20 years ago. . She has pointed ears and a slightly lengthened lifespan. Some of us suspect elf ancestry.
 
GM: Do any of you have Architecture skills?
Hero Shrew: I do! *looks at building* Yep, that’s architecture.
Flux: He’s eaten enough of it. 
 
Her house is original Spanish, by the look of it.
 
Flux: I’m impressed it’s survived this long.
Magus: Any building over 60 years old has survived three alien invasions.
GM: Dude, this one survived a zeppelin assault!
 
Ms. Dubois: No need to be so formal, people keep forgetting I was a young woman in the 60s. 
 
She doesn’t remember the journal at first, but recalls the auction she acquired it at. And starts seeming a little concerned as Fireflash and the Magus explain their interest. She needs to make a phone call, and has Liberty take them through to the densely packed library.
 
GM: She has one of those old-fashioned phones.
Magus: One with a cord?
GM: Thanks for that, now I feel old. 
 
As Fireflash and the Magus make digital copies of the journal, Hardlight waits out in the car, since he felt weird about going in in costume. One of the staff brings out refreshments.

Fireflash: These days if you scan a demon into the internet it’s back 30 minutes later, whimpering and asking to be put back in the book.

GM: ‘I tried the worst things I could think of and they kept suggesting improvements!’
 
Flux gets a phone call on his Chris Jones phone, from Bob in accounting.
Bob: Hey, Chris, have you been making some strange friends lately? This jacked surfer-looking guy came in asking questions. Wanted to know if you’d made any new friends lately. Have you?
Flux: Not really, you know what my social life is like.
Magus: Funnily enough ‘good-looking surfing dude’ is a good description of me, when I’m not wearing other faces. 
 
When we get back to the base, we’re very glad we uploaded the images already, because the new camera we used to take the images has mysteriously vanished. 
 
Hero Shrew: Well, if the book deletes anything that it’s copied onto, we probably shouldn’t have uploaded the images to the internet. 
 
On the other hand, if somebody else wanted the contents of the book, there didn’t seem to be much actually stopping them raiding the collection directly. 
 
Flux is cautiously checking his apartment, just in case the jacked-surfer-dude is a threat.
 
Flux: It’s a bit embarrassing, I’ve been successfully kidnapped once, and we failed to get Fireflash kidnapped twice. 
 
Fortunately he doesn’t need to rely on the Mk.I Eyeball. Whoever was hanging around is magical, but not a flavour he’s familiar with. But his apartment is so small that sending more than one of us in to check is honestly difficult. There are other issues too, of course. 
 
Flux: Maybe don’t have two or three costumed superheroes STANDING AROUND OUTSIDE MY SECRET ID 
Fireflash goes in disguised as a civilian, instead of wearing her usual string bikini. She gets comfortable and uses Retrocognition.
Flux: Ah. It’s just occurred to me that this is my personal living space.
Fireflash: Fortunately it's vague and unclear and that is very small so we don’t have to worry about it. 
Flux: I really have to stop asking my friends for help. 
 
Whoever was here seemed very interested in the traces of Flux’s magic, and entered and left through the wall. 
 
Hardlight: Maybe they were just here to recruit you into some kind of magical school?
Flux: I’m allergic to owls. 
 
Magus tracks the magic back to Little Haiti, then loses him in the magical hotspot there. But it would appear from there it leads straight to, and into, Lake Effinger. 
 
Magus: Ah. I wonder if it’s whoever rang me, after I left my number there. 
Hardlight: You left your phone number on the Tesseract???
Magus: Of course not. I left it on the outside of the cave the Tesseract was in, after we sealed it. 
 
The jacked-surfer-dude is indeed at the cave, with waterproof bag and swimtrunks. He’s just ignited a torch. Underwater. 
 
Fireflash: That’s a neat trick.
GM: That’s Atlantean fire magic. 
Atlantean: *cheerfully* Magus! 
 
He surfaces to talk to us. 
 
Atlantean: My apologies for intruding on your private identity. 
Flux: In future, I have an email address, a phone number, and a doorbell. 
 
The Atlanteans didn’t MAKE the tesseract, but they do consider it their responsibility. 
 
Fireflash: *sigh* What are the odds we’re going to have to go through it before we can shut it down?
Atlantean: My people did try to sense what lay beyond it when we first discovered it. We detected only fear and death. So hopefully not?
Magus: The thing’s the drain for most of the magical energies in the city, so that can’t be good. 
Flux: Why did Magus get a phone call?
Atlantean: He left a card. 
Flux: Note to self - graffiti more walls.
Atlantean: Please don't.
Flux: ‘For a good time call’
 
The explosion that created Lake Effinger WAS intended to create a dimensional breach, although given the ‘fear and death’ aspect it might not have been the original intended destination. 
 
Hardlight: At least we don’t have to get hit by a truck if we decide to Isekai.
Magus: We could build a Dimensional Damage field into the Quadraphibious Qruiser.
GM: Please don’t. 
 
GM: Well, that went much more peacefully than I expected.
Magus OoC: ‘What, there were no misunderstandings? Bulls***, what is this comic!’ ‘And then they talked like adults about it and went home’
 
GM: There’s one thing protecting Captain Planet from a reboot is that it was created by Ted Turner.
Hero Shrew’s player: So it won’t be so much resurrected as recolourised.
 
Flux’s player: Buy Demolition as a skill.
Hero Shrew OoC: People keep telling me not to do that.
 
GM: I had this picture I was going to use a neat stadium, then realised it was from Pokemon. And I don’t want to put Hero Shrew in a pokemon arena. ‘What do you want me to do?’ ‘Beat up this cock-fighting seizure monster’ ‘ Well, OK'.
Flux OoC: ‘You weren’t supposed to eat it!’
Hero Shrew OoC: I don’t want to speculate what Scooter would evolve into.
 
The organisation that's monitoring Fireflash’s superhuman metabolism has a problem regarding the Moreau medical analysis program they are involved in with Allanah, but it's not something they want to worry her about until they’ve dealt with it themselves.
 
Fireflash: Well, that’s a sentence guaranteed to make me worry. 
 
Some of the biosamples they’ve been taking of her are going missing. The samples are all supposed to be destroyed, but the residue numbers aren’t adding up. And the security about the samples is enough that it has to be some kind of superhuman stealing them. 
 
Hardlight: Biotechnology isn’t my strong suit - what could somebody malicious do with these samples, if they had them?
Hero Shrew: Make an army of clone soldiers? We’ve already had that one. 
How can we do our own security inspection without giving the culprits time to hide the evidence?
GM: At least you know if it looks like they’re hiding evidence, it’s evidence their security organization is compromised.
Flux: ‘oh look, somebody fled the building a minute after you told security you were coming’.
 
Hero Shrew’s player: Back, what did I miss?
Flux’s player: Firelash’s player brought up Dimetrodon and broke the internet. It was probably punishment for all the puns. He didn’t SAY any but was probably thinking them.
Flux’s player: Their audio sounds like GladOS dying. I know it’s disrupting the game but it’s hilarious - like GladOS and SHODAN  having a conversation about Dimetrodon in the background. 
GM: HoWWWWs my -a—--DIO nooooooooooWWWwwwW
Flux’s player: Still GladOS having a stroke.
Hero Shrew’s Player: And now you sound like someone using a taser on a Cybertronian. 
 
Fireflash’s Retrocognition reveals the fact that a known shadow-manipulating and teleporting superhuman, Ghost Shadow of the Six Teens, messing about on the site. It looks like he’s stealing a bunch of feline samples now.
 
Magus: And now you have to go apologize to Security for being kind of a d*** when you showed up.
Fireflash: Sorry, we’ve been dealing with all sorts of aliens and psychic shapeshifters for the last few months, we've got kinda paranoid.
Head of Security: Psychic shapechangers? Now I’M going to be paranoid.
Fux: Try not to think about it too much - they’ll know.
 
Hardlight is a bit uncomfortable about the big greenhouse dome in the middle of the facility.
 
Magus: He was once stuck on a flight where the only entertainment was Biodome starring Pauly Shore, and it had a lasting effect.
 
One suggestion we have for security is blinds on the inside of the warehouse windows, to stop our teleporter friend easily getting in and out.
 
Hero Shrew: Are we going to have to go into the big glass dome they’ve been pumping mutagens into?
GM: What?
The Magus: There probably aren’t any mutagens, no.
Hero Shrew: Oh good, so I don’t have to retroactively ask for today off.
GM: How did you get the idea that the dome is full of mutagens?
Magus: He saw a suspicious biotech company with a big greenhouse. Hero Shrew is the kind of person who bases his understanding of science on Saturday Morning Cartoons.
Hardlight: Are we going to have to worry about cat-themed supervillains now?
Hero Shrew: Maybe he just wants to make a pet for his girlfriend?
Magus: The only cat-themed supervillain I can think of works for Teleios, and he wouldn’t need the help.
Although Flux does recall one Lynx, who works for the Overbrain. She’s also a huge anime nerd.
Magus: Probably explains how she knows Ghost Shadow.
GM: They probably met at a convention. ‘That’s a really good Ghost Shadow costume.’ ‘Costume? That’s a really good fursuit.’ ‘Fursuit’?
 
We determine that the samples are being stolen in-between sampling and destruction, while they’re in the queue until there’s a full load for disposal. So Ghost Shadow must have access to the full schedule on the disposal chain, since he’s going straight to the right canisters, and we already know the Six Teens have good tech savvy, since the first time we met them they were ransacking a server. Hopefully he hasn’t noticed we've been to the site yet, and we can plant some samples that Flux and the Magus can track and wait in ambush.
Ghost Shadow is well-known enough to us that we know he claims to carry his own ‘internal shadow’ as a power source. 
 
Magus: Any chance we can go beat up Black Paladin and steal his sword?
Fireflash: ‘Now you don’t HAVE a shadow, Bwahaha.’
Fireflash: Do you have any more of those tracers, like the ones they stuck into me?
Magus: We know their group has a tech expert as well as a magic user.
GM: The Black Warlock?
Magus: Hmm. Well, if we ever meet him I’ll try to refrain from any comments about being a proper warlock. 
Hero Shrew: So, this Overbrain, does he have a humanoid exosuit?
GM: No? He doesn’t need one, he has minions.
Hero Shrew: Sorry, still thinking about mutagens and Saturday Morning Cartoons.
 
Hardlight: Well, we still need to make this fake sample. Scooter, pull up your shirt.
Flux: Let’s NOT give them a sample of an actual biological superhuman, ok?
Fireflash: For one thing we don’t know what they’ll do with it.
GM: Indeed - Steiners are rare, as well as having innate psychic abilities.
Magus: Scooter is innately capable of determining what the people around him are thinking and knowing exactly the wrong thing to say. 
 
Magus: So let's set up our trap
Fireflash: And hope it doesn't turn into a cat-astrophe.
Hero Shrew: I’ve got a bad feline about this.
 
We track Ghost Shadow and a single other person, to a makeshift lab in an abandoned warehouse.
 
GM: Supervillain Hideout #3
 
And the other person is a Moreau that Scooter recognises - a Moreau that never needed to be caged back at the Genesys labs. A Moreau that helped the scientists. The one the other Moreaus called Lab Rat. Scooter is not happy about this. Of course if we are going to grab him, we have to deal with the teleporter first. Flux Flashes them, and the Magus and Hardlight try to bubble them. To the GM’s shock, this works.
 
Hardlight: Flawless Plan!
Magus: Feels wrong, doesn't it?
 
Unfortunately Lab Rat hit a panic button. More unfortunately, Scooter grabbed and shook Lab Rat, who goes limp after an audible crack. Magus hurried heals him, while Fireflash hurls much deserved abuse at Scooter.
 
Flux: World of cardboard, Scooter, world of cardboard!
Fireflash: If you keep doing this Scooter you’ll kill somebody and end up in prison.
Magus: And I’m neither fully aware how nor entirely willing to heal death.
Ghost Shadow: *hacking away ineffectually at the walls of the bubble* F***!
Flux: Oh, sorry, I forgot you were there.
 
Flux manages to stop the harddrives being overwritten, as well as stop the countdown to some other kind of precaution. We call in the ECPD, and do a quick search of the building for anybody else. We’d better be fast - it turns out that Hardlight’s bubble will be exhausted in under a minute, unless he drops everything else he’s doing, including moving around.  
Ghost Shadow: We were trying to help a friend. And the ragdoll over there was the only Moreau with the skills we needed. Your bat friend is capable, but she’s not a geneticist.
Another problem is that it’s not Lab Rat doing the bulk of the work - Lab Rat was just doing the preliminary work for Dr Steinbeck, the creator of Moraeus with superpowers. Who wasn’t in Edge City.
 
Fireflash: It would be incredibly unwise of him to be in Edge City.
Ghost Shadow: Or incredibly clever. I don’t think he’d want to be far from his children. 
Magus: I hope you don’t mean that literally.
Ghost Shadow: What? EW. EW.
Fireflash: We do know another geneticist that might help. But we still want to know why you need the help. 
Ghost Shadow: Like I said, I just want to help a friend.
Magus: Is it Lynx?
Ghost Shadow: What. How did you kn-- No, of course it isn’t!
 
He admits it’s her. Apparently the Overbrain has screwed up her enhancements, and his control of Lynx leaves something to be desired too. Fireflash offers to help, if she hands herself in.
Ghost Shadow: Why do you heroes always go this route? Why can’t you just tell me if you know another geneticist?

Fireflash: We do - it’s Allana?
Ghost Shadow: She does know genetics? Cool! See ya! *teleports out of the bubble*
 
Allana the bat moreau might well offer medical help anyway, regardless of whether they’re a hero, civilian, or villain, but that won’t stop her throwing people through walls if it becomes necessary. Lab Rat gets handed over to the authorities before Scooter glares him to death, and hopefully without any other Moraeus finding out. 
 
Duty Officer: Lab Rat? Lab Rat? Wait, THE Lab Rat?? Oh hell, Duty Detail, NOW. Get him into one of the high security cells and sit on him, and do NOT take him past the Kennels - I mean the Moreau cells. 
 

Hardlight has investigated the PSI-mooks equipment, and happily none of it was rigged to explode if dismantled. It includes some rather nifty autoheal stuff.
 
Hero Shrew: Smart supervillains don’t piss off the Goonion. 
 
Hero Shrew: You could always patent the Goo Gun and sell it to police departments across the country - what are the inventors going to do, complain?
Flux: Do you want to get sued by evil lawyers? Sorry, evilLER lawyers.
Magus: How much do you want to bet that they did patent it, and it got ‘stolen’. 
 
GM: The gun only worked for Scooter because he’s always thinking violent thoughts.
Flux: ‘I could murder a mealworm bar’?
GM: He’s also thinking happy thoughts, and it’s not an imbalance, just weird. 
Hero Shrew: “Do I contradict myself? / Very well then I contradict myself, / (I am large, I contain multitudes.)”
 
GM: I don’t know where Hardlight got the idea this equipment has organic components.
Hero Shrew OoC: Well, don’t blame me.
Flux OoC: Yes, it’s not a Scooter Filter problem this time. 
 
Hero Shrew’s player: *to the cats* You two, behave yourselves!
Flux’s player: That's a perfect impersonation of Fireflash when she finds out what we have planned.
 
GM: As a reminder as to how you got involved with the clinic, that's because it's run by E-G Employment, the subdivision of Erikson-Gulsvig Logistics GmbH. The corporation you're setting Loweltech to sue so you can progress the Moreau issue. They’re providing the Moreau the suit will focus on. I’m resisting the impulse to make them a lamb. Or goat.
 
Getting the financial records of the company turns out to be more difficult than we might have anticipated - the clinic never applied for charity status so the records aren’t easily available. We eventually get the records anyway - which are sent over in hard copy. Hundreds of thousands of pages. Including huge amounts of irrelevant material. 
 
GM: At least they didn’t do the old trick of non-standard formatting as well. But it’s still three whole semi-trailers of loose paper. 
Flux: We’re going to need office space.
Hardlight: We’re going to need a warehouse. 
 
Even with a team of accountants from LowellTech and a device Flux invents to digitise it all, it’s still going to take weeks to go through it with a fine tooth comb and find anything that might interest the District Attorney. Beyond the factory that was making psi drugs instead of destroying pharmaceutical waste. 

Hero Shrew: Circular economy.
Hardlight: What?
Hero Shrew: Make powerful drugs, sell the pharmaceutical waste to this company, who make different powerful drugs. 
 
Sending over all the records in paper form isn’t an admission of guilt, but it’s certainly evidence that Erikson-Gulsvig Logistics GmbH is annoyed with us. It almost certainly means they won’t want to help with the Moreau situation anymore. We hand the investigation off to the FBI.
 
GM: They have people that get off on going through this kind of paperwork.
Fireflash: Remind me next time - don’t ask, just break into their system. 
 
At least we’ve put a major crimp in PSI operations. There’s not many places they could hide manufacturing on that scale.
 
Magus finally gets a copy of The Whispered Paths, although the person that found it for him was so annoyed by the experience they’re going to charge any future mystic customer double. Unfortunately it’s in Fucine, an extinct language once associated with witches. Someone was very upset that somebody was after the book, and increasingly upset the closer it got to Edge City. The bookhunter tells the Magus that for free, because he didn’t try to stiff her, which is apparently a problem with mystic types. 
 
GM: There’s apparently a book that can help you translate Fucine to Latin, but it’s rare, because why would anybody need to read Fucine?
Magus: Well, I’ll try Amazon first. It seems I’ve embarked on Book Hunt 2.
Hero Shrew: Now there’s a phrase you need to pronounce carefully. 
 
Although the author of the journal, P. Lanzo Geovanny Renzo Aberto Geomar Alfredo Pasquale Conti, is best known for going completely mad. 
 
Flux: That’s never a good sign. 
 
Flux: To be fair all penguins are man-eating, they just don’t often get the opportunity.
 
Magus: I have a nasty suspicion who has the journal.
Fireflash: If it’s who I’m thinking of we did deal with their local cult.

GM: You have to be a special kind of wrong when even the Descending Hierarchy of Hell wants nothing to do with you.
Flux: ‘We’re evil - but YOU are CRAZY’
 
APPARENTLY, a copy is in the possession of septuagenarian antiquarian Angilia Eleonora Dubois, who is old Monterey money. It’s highly suspicious that such a rare book is present in a city that someone wanted to keep The Whispered Paths far away from.
 
Hardlight: Are we pulling a heist? I'm all for a heist.
Fireflash: I am entirely against doing a heist! I’ll just ask her if we can borrow the book for a few days, for the public good.
 
Dubois’ entire family were killed in the disaster that turned Monterey into Edge City, so Fireflash turns her attention to the Dubois family lawyer. Said lawyer points her towards the collection’s curator, Liberty Kendra Brown. 
 
Hero Shrew OoC: You might want to assure her you’re not letting me anywhere near the collection.
 

 

 
Dubois is in her 70s, but barely looks it. Apparently she came out as a mutant 20 years ago. . She has pointed ears and a slightly lengthened lifespan. Some of us suspect elf ancestry.
 
GM: Do any of you have Architecture skills?
Hero Shrew: I do! *looks at building* Yep, that’s architecture.
Flux: He’s eaten enough of it. 
 
Her house is original Spanish, by the look of it.
 
Flux: I’m impressed it’s survived this long.
Magus: Any building over 60 years old has survived three alien invasions.
GM: Dude, this one survived a zeppelin assault!
 
Ms. Dubois: No need to be so formal, people keep forgetting I was a young woman in the 60s. 
 
She doesn’t remember the journal at first, but recalls the auction she acquired it at. And starts seeming a little concerned as Fireflash and the Magus explain their interest. She needs to make a phone call, and has Liberty take them through to the densely packed library.
 
GM: She has one of those old-fashioned phones.
Magus: One with a cord?
GM: Thanks for that, now I feel old. 
 
As Fireflash and the Magus make digital copies of the journal, Hardlight waits out in the car, since he felt weird about going in in costume. One of the staff brings out refreshments.

Fireflash: These days if you scan a demon into the internet it’s back 30 minutes later, whimpering and asking to be put back in the book.

GM: ‘I tried the worst things I could think of and they kept suggesting improvements!’
 
Flux gets a phone call on his Chris Jones phone, from Bob in accounting.
Bob: Hey, Chris, have you been making some strange friends lately? This jacked surfer-looking guy came in asking questions. Wanted to know if you’d made any new friends lately. Have you?
Flux: Not really, you know what my social life is like.
Magus: Funnily enough ‘good-looking surfing dude’ is a good description of me, when I’m not wearing other faces. 
 
When we get back to the base, we’re very glad we uploaded the images already, because the new camera we used to take the images has mysteriously vanished. 
 
Hero Shrew: Well, if the book deletes anything that it’s copied onto, we probably shouldn’t have uploaded the images to the internet. 
 
On the other hand, if somebody else wanted the contents of the book, there didn’t seem to be much actually stopping them raiding the collection directly. 
 
Flux is cautiously checking his apartment, just in case the jacked-surfer-dude is a threat.
 
Flux: It’s a bit embarrassing, I’ve been successfully kidnapped once, and we failed to get Fireflash kidnapped twice. 
 
Fortunately he doesn’t need to rely on the Mk.I Eyeball. Whoever was hanging around is magical, but not a flavour he’s familiar with. But his apartment is so small that sending more than one of us in to check is honestly difficult. There are other issues too, of course. 
 
Flux: Maybe don’t have two or three costumed superheroes STANDING AROUND OUTSIDE MY SECRET ID 
Fireflash goes in disguised as a civilian, instead of wearing her usual string bikini. She gets comfortable and uses Retrocognition.
Flux: Ah. It’s just occurred to me that this is my personal living space.
Fireflash: Fortunately it's vague and unclear and that is very small so we don’t have to worry about it. 
Flux: I really have to stop asking my friends for help. 
 
Whoever was here seemed very interested in the traces of Flux’s magic, and entered and left through the wall. 
 
Hardlight: Maybe they were just here to recruit you into some kind of magical school?
Flux: I’m allergic to owls. 
 
Magus tracks the magic back to Little Haiti, then loses him in the magical hotspot there. But it would appear from there it leads straight to, and into, Lake Effinger. 
 
Magus: Ah. I wonder if it’s whoever rang me, after I left my number there. 
Hardlight: You left your phone number on the Tesseract???
Magus: Of course not. I left it on the outside of the cave the Tesseract was in, after we sealed it. 
 
The jacked-surfer-dude is indeed at the cave, with waterproof bag and swimtrunks. He’s just ignited a torch. Underwater. 
 
Fireflash: That’s a neat trick.
GM: That’s Atlantean fire magic. 
Atlantean: *cheerfully* Magus! 
 
He surfaces to talk to us. 
 
Atlantean: My apologies for intruding on your private identity. 
Flux: In future, I have an email address, a phone number, and a doorbell. 
 
The Atlanteans didn’t MAKE the tesseract, but they do consider it their responsibility. 
 
Fireflash: *sigh* What are the odds we’re going to have to go through it before we can shut it down?
Atlantean: My people did try to sense what lay beyond it when we first discovered it. We detected only fear and death. So hopefully not?
Magus: The thing’s the drain for most of the magical energies in the city, so that can’t be good. 
Flux: Why did Magus get a phone call?
Atlantean: He left a card. 
Flux: Note to self - graffiti more walls.
Atlantean: Please don't.
Flux: ‘For a good time call’
 
The explosion that created Lake Effinger WAS intended to create a dimensional breach, although given the ‘fear and death’ aspect it might not have been the original intended destination. 
 
Hardlight: At least we don’t have to get hit by a truck if we decide to Isekai.
Magus: We could build a Dimensional Damage field into the Quadraphibious Qruiser.
GM: Please don’t. 
 
GM: Well, that went much more peacefully than I expected.
Magus OoC: ‘What, there were no misunderstandings? Bulls***, what is this comic!’ ‘And then they talked like adults about it and went home’
 
GM: There’s one thing protecting Captain Planet from a reboot is that it was created by Ted Turner.
Hero Shrew’s player: So it won’t be so much resurrected as recolourised.
 
Flux’s player: Buy Demolition as a skill.
Hero Shrew OoC: People keep telling me not to do that.
 
GM: I had this picture I was going to use a neat stadium, then realised it was from Pokemon. And I don’t want to put Hero Shrew in a pokemon arena. ‘What do you want me to do?’ ‘Beat up this cock-fighting seizure monster’ ‘ Well, OK'.
Flux OoC: ‘You weren’t supposed to eat it!’
Hero Shrew OoC: I don’t want to speculate what Scooter would evolve into.
 
The organisation that's monitoring Fireflash’s superhuman metabolism has a problem regarding the Moreau medical analysis program they are involved in with Allanah, but it's not something they want to worry her about until they’ve dealt with it themselves.
 
Fireflash: Well, that’s a sentence guaranteed to make me worry. 
 
Some of the biosamples they’ve been taking of her are going missing. The samples are all supposed to be destroyed, but the residue numbers aren’t adding up. And the security about the samples is enough that it has to be some kind of superhuman stealing them. 
 
Hardlight: Biotechnology isn’t my strong suit - what could somebody malicious do with these samples, if they had them?
Hero Shrew: Make an army of clone soldiers? We’ve already had that one. 
How can we do our own security inspection without giving the culprits time to hide the evidence?
GM: At least you know if it looks like they’re hiding evidence, it’s evidence their security organization is compromised.
Flux: ‘oh look, somebody fled the building a minute after you told security you were coming’.
 
Hero Shrew’s player: Back, what did I miss?
Flux’s player: Firelash’s player brought up Dimetrodon and broke the internet. It was probably punishment for all the puns. He didn’t SAY any but was probably thinking them.
Flux’s player: Their audio sounds like GladOS dying. I know it’s disrupting the game but it’s hilarious - like GladOS and SHODAN  having a conversation about Dimetrodon in the background. 
GM: HoWWWWs my -a—--DIO nooooooooooWWWwwwW
Flux’s player: Still GladOS having a stroke.
Hero Shrew’s Player: And now you sound like someone using a taser on a Cybertronian. 
 
Fireflash’s Retrocognition reveals the fact that a known shadow-manipulating and teleporting superhuman, Ghost Shadow of the Six Teens, messing about on the site. It looks like he’s stealing a bunch of feline samples now.
 
Magus: And now you have to go apologize to Security for being kind of a d*** when you showed up.
Fireflash: Sorry, we’ve been dealing with all sorts of aliens and psychic shapeshifters for the last few months, we've got kinda paranoid.
Head of Security: Psychic shapechangers? Now I’M going to be paranoid.
Fux: Try not to think about it too much - they’ll know.
 
Hardlight is a bit uncomfortable about the big greenhouse dome in the middle of the facility.
 
Magus: He was once stuck on a flight where the only entertainment was Biodome starring Pauly Shore, and it had a lasting effect.
 
One suggestion we have for security is blinds on the inside of the warehouse windows, to stop our teleporter friend easily getting in and out.
 
Hero Shrew: Are we going to have to go into the big glass dome they’ve been pumping mutagens into?
GM: What?
The Magus: There probably aren’t any mutagens, no.
Hero Shrew: Oh good, so I don’t have to retroactively ask for today off.
GM: How did you get the idea that the dome is full of mutagens?
Magus: He saw a suspicious biotech company with a big greenhouse. Hero Shrew is the kind of person who bases his understanding of science on Saturday Morning Cartoons.
Hardlight: Are we going to have to worry about cat-themed supervillains now?
Hero Shrew: Maybe he just wants to make a pet for his girlfriend?
Magus: The only cat-themed supervillain I can think of works for Teleios, and he wouldn’t need the help.
Although Flux does recall one Lynx, who works for the Overbrain. She’s also a huge anime nerd.
Magus: Probably explains how she knows Ghost Shadow.
GM: They probably met at a convention. ‘That’s a really good Ghost Shadow costume.’ ‘Costume? That’s a really good fursuit.’ ‘Fursuit’?
 
We determine that the samples are being stolen in-between sampling and destruction, while they’re in the queue until there’s a full load for disposal. So Ghost Shadow must have access to the full schedule on the disposal chain, since he’s going straight to the right canisters, and we already know the Six Teens have good tech savvy, since the first time we met them they were ransacking a server. Hopefully he hasn’t noticed we've been to the site yet, and we can plant some samples that Flux and the Magus can track and wait in ambush.
Ghost Shadow is well-known enough to us that we know he claims to carry his own ‘internal shadow’ as a power source. 
 
Magus: Any chance we can go beat up Black Paladin and steal his sword?
Fireflash: ‘Now you don’t HAVE a shadow, Bwahaha.’
Fireflash: Do you have any more of those tracers, like the ones they stuck into me?
Magus: We know their group has a tech expert as well as a magic user.
GM: The Black Warlock?
Magus: Hmm. Well, if we ever meet him I’ll try to refrain from any comments about being a proper warlock. 
Hero Shrew: So, this Overbrain, does he have a humanoid exosuit?
GM: No? He doesn’t need one, he has minions.
Hero Shrew: Sorry, still thinking about mutagens and Saturday Morning Cartoons.
 
Hardlight: Well, we still need to make this fake sample. Scooter, pull up your shirt.
Flux: Let’s NOT give them a sample of an actual biological superhuman, ok?
Fireflash: For one thing we don’t know what they’ll do with it.
GM: Indeed - Steiners are rare, as well as having innate psychic abilities.
Magus: Scooter is innately capable of determining what the people around him are thinking and knowing exactly the wrong thing to say. 
 
Magus: So let's set up our trap
Fireflash: And hope it doesn't turn into a cat-astrophe.
Hero Shrew: I’ve got a bad feline about this.
 
We track Ghost Shadow and a single other person, to a makeshift lab in an abandoned warehouse.
 
GM: Supervillain Hideout #3
 
And the other person is a Moreau that Scooter recognises - a Moreau that never needed to be caged back at the Genesys labs. A Moreau that helped the scientists. The one the other Moreaus called Lab Rat. Scooter is not happy about this. Of course if we are going to grab him, we have to deal with the teleporter first. Flux Flashes them, and the Magus and Hardlight try to bubble them. To the GM’s shock, this works.
 
Hardlight: Flawless Plan!
Magus: Feels wrong, doesn't it?
 
Unfortunately Lab Rat hit a panic button. More unfortunately, Scooter grabbed and shook Lab Rat, who goes limp after an audible crack. Magus hurried heals him, while Fireflash hurls much deserved abuse at Scooter.
 
Flux: World of cardboard, Scooter, world of cardboard!
Fireflash: If you keep doing this Scooter you’ll kill somebody and end up in prison.
Magus: And I’m neither fully aware how nor entirely willing to heal death.
Ghost Shadow: *hacking away ineffectually at the walls of the bubble* F***!
Flux: Oh, sorry, I forgot you were there.
 
Flux manages to stop the harddrives being overwritten, as well as stop the countdown to some other kind of precaution. We call in the ECPD, and do a quick search of the building for anybody else. We’d better be fast - it turns out that Hardlight’s bubble will be exhausted in under a minute, unless he drops everything else he’s doing, including moving around.  
Ghost Shadow: We were trying to help a friend. And the ragdoll over there was the only Moreau with the skills we needed. Your bat friend is capable, but she’s not a geneticist.
Another problem is that it’s not Lab Rat doing the bulk of the work - Lab Rat was just doing the preliminary work for Dr Steinbeck, the creator of Moraeus with superpowers. Who wasn’t in Edge City.
 
Fireflash: It would be incredibly unwise of him to be in Edge City.
Ghost Shadow: Or incredibly clever. I don’t think he’d want to be far from his children. 
Magus: I hope you don’t mean that literally.
Ghost Shadow: What? EW. EW.
Fireflash: We do know another geneticist that might help. But we still want to know why you need the help. 
Ghost Shadow: Like I said, I just want to help a friend.
Magus: Is it Lynx?
Ghost Shadow: What. How did you kn-- No, of course it isn’t!
 
He admits it’s her. Apparently the Overbrain has screwed up her enhancements, and his control of Lynx leaves something to be desired too. Fireflash offers to help, if she hands herself in.
Ghost Shadow: Why do you heroes always go this route? Why can’t you just tell me if you know another geneticist?

Fireflash: We do - it’s Allana?
Ghost Shadow: She does know genetics? Cool! See ya! *teleports out of the bubble*
 
Allana the bat moreau might well offer medical help anyway, regardless of whether they’re a hero, civilian, or villain, but that won’t stop her throwing people through walls if it becomes necessary. Lab Rat gets handed over to the authorities before Scooter glares him to death, and hopefully without any other Moraeus finding out. 
 
Duty Officer: Lab Rat? Lab Rat? Wait, THE Lab Rat?? Oh hell, Duty Detail, NOW. Get him into one of the high security cells and sit on him, and do NOT take him past the Kennels - I mean the Moreau cells. 
 

You see a Mexican Indian dressed in historical garb including a red cape. He says, "My name is Kentlclarkl, but you may call me Super Mayan."

Opening the session with a long conversation that started with giant river otters, detoured through the convergent evolution of dagger-faced felinoids and the Cold War’s contributions to continental drift, and ended with the mammal-like reptiles of the Permian.
 
GM: Shall we begin then?
Rajira’s player: Let us. And possibly tomato. 
 
The lower levels of the slavers’ lair is entirely flooded - fortunately we prepared some methods to deal with underwater tunnels early. Unfortunately the tunnels are inhabited.
 
Civilla’s player: We might not know what Skum are - which knowing this party is an interesting sentence. 
Civilla OoC: I believe I can speak their language - and am no doubt disappointing Terzo by knowing languages that are only spoken in dark places.
Rajira OoC: I’m probably just confirming his opinions about me.
Terzo OoC: Actually… hanging around in dark places and learning a secret language isn’t ENTIRELY unheard of for Terzo, for reasons he is keeping to himself.

GM:... You may have just skipped the entire dungeon.
Civilla: By not being murder-hoboes and actually behaving like civilised beings?
 
Civilla: If you have no ill-intentions towards the land-dwellers we have no ill-intention towards you. We have more problems with the maker of stupid laws - have you HEARD the stupid laws?
 
Since we seem agreeable and seek peace, they offer to take us their chieftain.
 
GM: There’s a lot of inscriptions you can’t read unless you know Aboleth.
Civilla: …Um. I’m sorry, but once you run out of dead languages that actually make sense you start looking into the weirder stuff. 
 
The carvings on the wall are written in the eerie language of the aboleths, relating various observations of human activity in Kintargo over the past several months—this is how the leader of the skum scouting tribe has kept notes on their observations. The name “Menotheguro” is mentioned several times in cadences of awe and respect, but the messages do not make clear what this creature is. Also, the fame of the Ghosts of Kintargo has even spread down here.
 
Terzo: I’m feeling mixed emotions about this - I’ve dreamt of this kind of fame and now I can’t even use my name. 
 
Civilla notes that among the Stupid Laws Thrune has enacted, is one that would give the Skum a lucrative opportunity to ship materials and messages from ship to shore, without risk to the ships’ various captains. The Skum seem cautiously diplomatic, despite their suspicion about overlanders.
 
Chieftain: How do you feel about.. Well, it’s probably easier to just show you.
Civilla OoC: OK, now I’m getting nervous.
 
There’s a Drowning Devil in the next chamber. Very unpleasant.
 
Shurshogot: *telepathically* Ungol-pagh! What have you brought me today?
Ungol-pagh: *in Undercommon* These adventurers may be able to help you, sir.
Rajira: *in Infernal* It’s certainly possible - if we have good enough reason.
Shurshogut: *in Infernal* Finally someone I can talk to!
 
The negotiations are even more cautious than they were earlier, not least because some of Civilla’s patrons would be annoyed with her making deals with a Devil, but Shurshogut was bound here by the Grey Spiders and he offers us some boons if we can get find that contract, destroy it, and set him free. Civilla will make sure that the new contract she negotiates includes the order that it immediately returns home as soon as our business is done. 
 
Civilla: It CLAIMS that it wants to go home, but it might be lying. 
 
Civilla actually has quite a few advantages over your average Chellaxian diabolist - for one thing she’s more flexible about where she looks for power. 
 
Shurshogut does offer some potentially interesting information - somewhere in Kintargo is a corruption in the River of Souls. A Soul Anchor. That someone could theoretically use to retain their memories after they die, and become a lingering genius loci. 
 
Rajira: Pharasma won’t like that.
Civilla: Pharasma doesn’t like immortality, period. 
Shurshogut: May I suggest ‘Not return to the Material Plane for a year and a day’? 
Civilla: Acceptable.
Shurshogut: I mean I don’t WANT to stay, but everyone always wants it in writing.
 
Civilla OoC: Under most versions of contract law, the Little Mermaid had an out on her contract. 
Ayva OoC: Hmm?
Civilla OoC: She closed her eyes and looked away when she signed. Although there’s a limited pool of arbitrators that could contest it for her. King Triton is out of the question, of course.
 
Shurshogut: The guildmaster that bound me here went into his strongroom, closed the door, and didn’t come out. 
Rajira: So he’s probably hungry.
Shurshogut: Or dead. 
Rajira: I was assuming dead, as well as hungry. 
Ayva: We have that kind of luck. 
 
After we’re well out of telepathy range of the devil, Terzo speaks his mind.
 
Terzo: We REALLY need to figure out exactly what Thrune is doing in the opera house.
Civilla: Oh, you think? But why is the Soul Anchor HERE?
Rajira: There’s a lot we don’t know about Kintargo.
 
Civilla explains where she actually gets her power - by making small deals with a wide variety of eldritch beings.
 
Civilla: I do favours for them, they do favours for me.
Terzo: *nodding approvingly* Good social networking.
 
Unfortunately the traps on the strongroom door are quite vicious, and poor Rajira nearly gets bisected like the Skum that tried earlier. 
 
Terzo: *patching her up* Watching you trying to pick that lock wasn’t doing my blood pressure any good, but it doesn’t seem to have done yours any good either.
Civilla: That is a REALLY good lock.
Ayva OoC: Just so you know, we’ll be stealing the door and taking it home. And hanging it up as a trophy.
Civilla OoC: Are you kidding? We’re going to set it up as the entrance to our base under the old livery. 
Rajira OoC: Inside a small anti-magic field. 
Civilla OoC: ‘sure you found the secret entrance, sure you come down the ladder, now you come around a corner and find a big F*** OFF door.’
 
The Grey Spider’s strongroom contains three heavy iron chests sit against the north wall of an otherwise empty room—empty, that is, save for the desiccated corpse of a human woman with eight long spidery legs protruding from her back, and the shambling, continually bleeding, skinned skeletal corpse of Guildmaster Baccus, his eyes rolling in his head as he seeks his prey. It would nice to get more opponents like Thrune's late, unlamented, rumoured-to-have-fled-the-city-i-have-no-idea-who-starts-these-rumours bodyguard. She went down with one stab. This thing is considerably more of a problem, but eventually succumbs, and indeed has the devil's contract on its person. 
 
Civilla’s player: Does Pathfinder have stats for a falx?
Terzo’s player: This isn’t D&D and Gygax listing every kind of pole-arm.
Civilla’s player: Glaive, Guisarme, Glaive-guisarme, Guisarme-voulge, Bill-guisarme -
Terzo’s player: Spam, spam, spam, spam -
 
The Drowning Demon tells us that the Soul Anchor is at the bottom of a lake. That lake with the apparent nuclear reactor on the grounds of the Victocora estate. Civilla’s letter to her family, weeks ago, to buy up the estate before anybody else can is suddenly much more important than we knew. Apparently there's been quite a bidding war over the remains of the estate, not that any of that would stop Thrune just stepping in and seizing it if he needs to. 
 
GM: And you have all that loot to carry home.
Rajira’s player: Just as well we have more hands now.
Terzo’s player: Minions are good for that. 
 
It’s nice to have a new potential lair and hideout - especially with live-in security in the form of the Skum. Unfortunately, we all also receive personal invitations from Barzillai Thrune. A very public invitation for us to join him before the Kintargo Opera House, to receive honors for their outstanding service in promoting safety on the streets of Kintargo, and for rescuing a pair of young men from a group of kidnappers!
 
Ayva: We need to decline this honour.
Civilla: We can’t.
Ayva: We need an escape plan.
Civilla: We can plan one, but we still can’t avoid this. It will also put a spotlight on Terzo for the first time in a long time. 
Terzo: True true, there is that bonus.
Civilla: It’s not a bonus. Terzo, you need to understand, you’re on the stage playing a role, and that role is ‘sneaky bastard’, not ‘flamboyant git’.
 
We dress in our best outfits - although avoiding Thrune’s Proclaimation about embroidered clothes in public - and take care to carry no more weapons then decorum insists upon. After the bells on the Church of Asmodeus toll once for each of us, Barzillai emerges into the plaza with full entourage, and studies us with an intensity that belies his political smile. He’s looking a bit more haggard than he was when he arrived in Kintargo.
 
Civilla notes that Thrune’s symptoms are those of somebody who’s been the personal blood bank of a vampire for a while. Rajira points out that those are also the symptoms of prolonged stress. 
 
Terzo: Can’t imagine what has him so stressed.
Civilla: Maybe all those rumours about his bodyguard fleeing the city.
Terzo: Or the ‘Let Dogs Beware’ graffiti on his front door.
 
Thrune: Well done, well done! Would that more of the citizenry were as keenly observant and helpful as you intrepid citizens! I’ll have my eye on you, trust in that, for I have no doubt you have great works still ahead of you. Perhaps you may again be of service to your government. Please take these gifts from the city of Kintargo as Thrune’s thanks to your services rendered, and please continue to work to ensure, as I do, this grand city’s safety and proud legacy.
Civilla’s player: … and now come the Bluff checks.
Terzo’s player: Yes, or my face will be going through some interesting contortions.
Rajira: Master Thrune, thank you for this honour. Please call on us if there is anything we can do for the city.
Thrune: Perhaps I will, but for now I must return to my other duties.
 
The gifts are stat-increasing belts and headbands. They're not cursed, and they’re not marked with any symbols of Asmodeus. What they DO have are symbols of ravens, done in silver. 
 
Civilla: IDENTIFY
 
Barzillai might have suspicions. Especially if he has access to the same kind of spells that Civilla has been using in her own activities. 
 
Terzo: Maybe he’s hoping we’ll panic.
Civilla: So let’s not. 
 
The raven sigils could certainly be used as a target in a Locate Object spell, but Civilla is confident that won’t help him find our safehouses. Locate Object is blocked by sufficient amounts of soil, rock, or metal.
 
Civilla: So we’re going to get these gold-plated. 
 
And some cloth-of-gold to use as a sash over Rajira’s new Belt of Dexterity.
 
Civilla: You know that Murder Kit I came up with? As cute as it is, I want to include Oil of Decompose Corpse. That way I can melt the flesh off Huge corpses and reduce them to a skeleton in minutes. Much easier to compact and dispose of. Although the skeletons will be a bit juicy. Although you can get everything for the basic Murder Kit is a small village. 
 
Terzo: If Thrune is so busy, we really need to know what he’s actually up to in the Opera House.
Rajira: The bigger question is ‘How Do We Find Out’?
Terzo: We still have no idea what happened to the previous Mayor or the Songbird of Kintargo.
Civilla’s player: That reminds me, GM, are you ready to cry? I have an ability called ‘Planar Contact’
 
Rajira has also recruited a team she’s calling the Dacoits. It’s unclear just what she intends to do with a gang of armed robbers. 

Hardlight has investigated the PSI-mooks equipment, and happily none of it was rigged to explode if dismantled. It includes some rather nifty autoheal stuff.
 
Hero Shrew: Smart supervillains don’t piss off the Goonion. 
 
Hero Shrew: You could always patent the Goo Gun and sell it to police departments across the country - what are the inventors going to do, complain?
Flux: Do you want to get sued by evil lawyers? Sorry, evilLER lawyers.
Magus: How much do you want to bet that they did patent it, and it got ‘stolen’. 
 
GM: The gun only worked for Scooter because he’s always thinking violent thoughts.
Flux: ‘I could murder a mealworm bar’?
GM: He’s also thinking happy thoughts, and it’s not an imbalance, just weird. 
Hero Shrew: “Do I contradict myself? / Very well then I contradict myself, / (I am large, I contain multitudes.)”
 
GM: I don’t know where Hardlight got the idea this equipment has organic components.
Hero Shrew OoC: Well, don’t blame me.
Flux OoC: Yes, it’s not a Scooter Filter problem this time. 
 
Hero Shrew’s player: *to the cats* You two, behave yourselves!
Flux’s player: That's a perfect impersonation of Fireflash when she finds out what we have planned.
 
GM: As a reminder as to how you got involved with the clinic, that's because it's run by E-G Employment, the subdivision of Erikson-Gulsvig Logistics GmbH. The corporation you're setting Loweltech to sue so you can progress the Moreau issue. They’re providing the Moreau the suit will focus on. I’m resisting the impulse to make them a lamb. Or goat. 
 
Getting the financial records of the company turns out to be more difficult than we might have anticipated - the clinic never applied for charity status so the records aren’t easily available. We eventually get the records anyway - which are sent over in hard copy. Hundreds of thousands of pages. Including huge amounts of irrelevant material. 
 
GM: At least they didn’t do the old trick of non-standard formatting as well. But it’s still three whole semi-trailers of loose paper. 
Flux: We’re going to need office space.
Hardlight: We’re going to need a warehouse. 
 
Even with a team of accountants from LowellTech and a device Flux invents to digitise it all, it’s still going to take weeks to go through it with a fine tooth comb and find anything that might interest the District Attorney. Beyond the factory that was making psi drugs instead of destroying pharmaceutical waste. 

Hero Shrew: Circular economy.
Hardlight: What?
Hero Shrew: Make powerful drugs, sell the pharmaceutical waste to this company, who make different powerful drugs. 
 
Sending over all the records in paper form isn’t an admission of guilt, but it’s certainly evidence that Erikson-Gulsvig Logistics GmbH is annoyed with us. It almost certainly means they won’t want to help with the Moreau situation anymore. We hand the investigation off to the FBI.
 
GM: They have people that get off on going through this kind of paperwork.
Fireflash: Remind me next time - don’t ask, just break into their system. 
 
At least we’ve put a major crimp in PSI operations. There’s not many places they could hide manufacturing on that scale.
 
Magus finally gets a copy of The Whispered Paths, although the person that found it for him was so annoyed by the experience they’re going to charge any future mystic customer double. Unfortunately it’s in Fucine, an extinct language once associated with witches. Someone was very upset that somebody was after the book, and increasingly upset the closer it got to Edge City. The bookhunter tells the Magus that for free, because he didn’t try to stiff her, which is apparently a problem with mystic types. 
 
GM: There’s apparently a book that can help you translate Fucine to Latin, but it’s rare, because why would anybody need to read Fucine?
Magus: Well, I’ll try Amazon first. It seems I’ve embarked on Book Hunt 2.
Hero Shrew: Now there’s a phrase you need to pronounce carefully. 
 
Although the author of the journal, P. Lanzo Geovanny Renzo Aberto Geomar Alfredo Pasquale Conti, is best known for going completely mad. 
 
Flux: That’s never a good sign. 
 
Flux: To be fair all penguins are man-eating, they just don’t often get the opportunity.
 
Magus: I have a nasty suspicion who has the journal.
Fireflash: If it’s who I’m thinking of we did deal with their local cult.

GM: You have to be a special kind of wrong when even the Descending Hierarchy of Hell wants nothing to do with you.
Flux: ‘We’re evil - but YOU are CRAZY’
 
APPARENTLY, a copy is in the possession of septuagenarian antiquarian Angilia Eleonora Dubois, who is old Monterey money. It’s highly suspicious that such a rare book is present in a city that someone wanted to keep The Whispered Paths far away from.
 
Hardlight: Are we pulling a heist? I'm all for a heist.
Fireflash: I am entirely against doing a heist! I’ll just ask her if we can borrow the book for a few days, for the public good.
 
Dubois’ entire family were killed in the disaster that turned Monterey into Edge City, so Fireflash turns her attention to the Dubois family lawyer. Said lawyer points her towards the collection’s curator, Liberty Kendra Brown. 
 
Hero Shrew OoC: You might want to assure her you’re not letting me anywhere near the collection.
 
https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/215759724728156160/967384043790430228/unknown.png

 
Dubois is in her 70s, but barely looks it. Apparently she came out as a mutant 20 years ago. . She has pointed ears and a slightly lengthened lifespan. Some of us suspect elf ancestry.
 
GM: Do any of you have Architecture skills?
Hero Shrew: I do! *looks at building* Yep, that’s architecture.
Flux: He’s eaten enough of it. 
 
Her house is original Spanish, by the look of it.
 
Flux: I’m impressed it’s survived this long.
Magus: Any building over 60 years old has survived three alien invasions.
GM: Dude, this one survived a zeppelin assault!
 
Ms. Dubois: No need to be so formal, people keep forgetting I was a young woman in the 60s. 
 
She doesn’t remember the journal at first, but recalls the auction she acquired it at. And starts seeming a little concerned as Fireflash and the Magus explain their interest. She needs to make a phone call, and has Liberty take them through to the densely packed library.
 
GM: She has one of those old-fashioned phones.
Magus: One with a cord?
GM: Thanks for that, now I feel old. 
 
As Fireflash and the Magus make digital copies of the journal, Hardlight waits out in the car, since he felt weird about going in in costume. One of the staff brings out refreshments.

Fireflash: These days if you scan a demon into the internet it’s back 30 minutes later, whimpering and asking to be put back in the book.
GM: ‘I tried the worst things I could think of and they kept suggesting improvements!’
 
Flux gets a phone call on his Chris Jones phone, from Bob in accounting.
Bob: Hey, Chris, have you been making some strange friends lately? This jacked surfer-looking guy came in asking questions. Wanted to know if you’d made any new friends lately. Have you?
Fluxt: Not really, you know what my social life is like.
Magus: Funnily enough ‘good-looking surfing dude’ is a good description of me, when I’m not wearing other faces. 
 
When we get back to the base, we’re very glad we uploaded the images already, because the new camera we used to take the images has mysteriously vanished. 
 
Hero Shrew: Well, if the book deletes anything that it’s copied onto, we probably shouldn’t have uploaded the images to the internet. 
 
On the other hand, if somebody else wanted the contents of the book, there didn’t seem to be much actually stopping them raiding the collection directly. 
 
Flux is cautiously checking his apartment, just in case the jacked-surfer-dude is a threat.
 
Flux: It’s a bit embarrassing, I’ve been successfully kidnapped once, and we failed to get Fireflash kidnapped twice. 
 
Fortunately he doesn’t need to rely on the Mk.I Eyeball. Whoever was hanging around is magical, but not a flavour he’s familiar with. But his apartment is so small that sending more than one of us in to check is honestly difficult. There are other issues too, of course. 
 
Flux: Maybe don’t have two or three costumed superheroes STANDING AROUND OUTSIDE MY SECRET ID 
 
Fireflash goes in disguised as a civilian, instead of wearing her usual string bikini. She gets comfortable and uses Retrocognition.
 
Flux: Ah. It’s just occurred to me that this is my personal living space.
Fireflash: Fortunately it's vague and unclear and that is very small so we don’t have to worry about it. 
Flux: I really have to stop asking my friends for help. 
 
Whoever was here seemed very interested in the traces of Flux’s magic, and entered and left through the wall. 
 
Hardlight: Maybe they were just here to recruit you into some kind of magical school?
Flux: I’m allergic to owls. 
 
Magus tracks the magic back to Little Haiti, then loses him in the magical hotspot there. But it would appear from there it leads straight to, and into, Lake Effinger.
 
Magus: Ah. I wonder if it’s whoever rang me, after I left my number there. 
Hardlight: You left your phone number on the Tesseract???
Magus: Of course not. I left it on the outside of the cave the Tesseract was in, after we sealed it. 
 
The jacked-surfer-dude is indeed at the underwater cave, with waterproof bag and swimtrunks. He’s just ignited a torch. 
 
Fireflash: That’s a neat trick.
The Magus: That’s Atlantean fire magic. 
Atlantean: *cheerfully* Magus! 
 
He surfaces to talk to us. 
 
Atlantean: My apologies for intruding on your private identity. 
Flux: In future, I have an email address, a phone number, and a doorbell. 
 
The Atlanteans didn’t MAKE the tesseract, but they do consider it their responsibility. 
 
Fireflash: *sigh* What are the odds we’re going to have to go through it before we can shut it down?
Atlantean: My people did try to sense what lay beyond it when we first discovered it. We detected only fear and death. So hopefully not?
Magus: The thing’s the drain for most of the magical energies in the city, so that can’t be good. 
Flux: Why did Magus get a phone call?
Atlantean: He left a card. 
Flux: Note to self - graffiti more walls.
Atlantean: Please don't.
Flux: ‘For a good time call’
 
The explosion that created Lake Effinger WAS intended to create a dimensional breach, although given the ‘fear and death’ aspect it might not have been the original intended destination. 
 
Hardlight: At least we don’t have to get hit by a truck if we decide to Isekai.
Magus: We could build a Dimensional Damage field into the Quadraphibious Qruiser.
GM: Please don’t. 
 
GM: Well, that went much more peacefully than I expected.
Magus OoC: ‘What, there were no misunderstandings? Bulls***, what is this comic!’ ‘And then they talked like adults about it and went home’
 
GM: There’s one thing protecting Captain Planet from a reboot is that it was created by Ted Turner.
Hero Shrew’s player: So it won’t be so much resurrected as recolourised.
 
Flux’s player: Buy Demolition as a skill.
Hero Shrew OoC: People keep telling me not to do that.
 
GM: I had this picture I was going to use a neat stadium, then realised it was from Pokemon. And I don’t want to put Hero Shrew in a pokemon arena. ‘What do you want me to do?’ ‘Beat up this cock-fighting seizure monster’ ‘ Well, OK’
Flux OoC: ‘You weren’t supposed to eat it!’
Hero Shrew OoC: I don’t want to speculate what Scooter would evolve into.
 
The organisation that's monitoring Fireflash’s superhuman metabolism has a problem regarding the moreau medical analysis program they are involved in with Allanah, but it's not something they want to worry her about until they’ve dealt with it themselves.
 
Fireflash: Well, that’s a sentence guaranteed to make me worry. 
 
Some of the biosamples they’ve been taking of her are going missing. The samples are all supposed to be destroyed, but the residue numbers aren’t adding up. And the security about the samples is enough that it has to be some kind of superhuman stealing them. 
 
Hardlight: Biotechnology isn’t my strong suit - what could somebody malicious do with these samples, if they had them?
Hero Shrew: Make an army of clone soldiers? We’ve already had that one. 
 
How can we do our own security inspection without giving the culprits time to hide the evidence?
 
GM: At least you know if it looks like they’re hiding evidence, it’s evidence their security organization is compromised.
Flux: ‘oh look, somebody fled the building a minute after you told security you were coming’.
 
Hero Shrew’s player: Back, what did I miss?
Flux’s player: Firelash’s player brought up Dimetrodon and broke the internet. It was probably punishment for all the puns. He didn’t SAY any but was probably thinking them.
 
Flux’s player: Their audio sounds like GladOS dying. I know it’s disrupting the game but it’s hilarious - like GladOS and SHODAN  having a conversation about Dimetrodon in the background. 
GM: HoWWWWs my -a—--DIO nooooooooooWWWwwwW
Flux’s player: Still GladOS having a stroke.
Hero Shrew’s Player: And now you sound like someone using a taser on a Cybertronian.
 
Fireflash’s Retrocognition reveals the fact that a known shadow-manipulating and teleporting superhuman, Ghost Shadow of the Six Teens, messing about on the site. It looks like he’s stealing a bunch of feline samples now.
 
Magus: And now you have to go apologize to Security for being kind of a d*** when you showed up.
Fireflash: Sorry, we’ve been dealing with all sorts of aliens and psychic shapeshifters for the last few months, we've got kinda paranoid.
Head of Security: Psychic shapechangers? Now I’M going to be paranoid.
Fux: Try not to think about it too much - they’ll know.
 
Hardlight is a bit uncomfortable about the big greenhouse dome in the middle of the facility.
 
Magus: He was once stuck on a flight where the only entertainment was Biodome starring Pauly Shore, and it had a lasting effect.
 
One suggestion we have for security is blinds on the inside of the warehouse windows, to stop our teleporter friend easily getting in and out.
 
Hero Shrew: Are we going to have to go into the big glass dome they’ve been pumping mutagens into?
GM: What?
The Magus: There probably aren’t any mutagens, no.
Hero Shrew: Oh good, so I don’t have to retroactively ask for today off.
GM: How did you get the idea that the dome is full of mutagens?
Magus: He saw a suspicious biotech company with a big greenhouse. Hero Shrew is the kind of person who bases his understanding of science on Saturday Morning Cartoons.
 
Hardlight: Are we going to have to worry about cat-themed supervillains now?
Hero Shrew: Maybe he just wants to make a pet for his girlfriend?
Magus: The only cat-themed supervillain I can think of works for Teleios, and he wouldn’t need the help.
Although Flux does recall one Lynx, who works for the Overbrain. She’s also a huge anime nerd.
Magus: Probably explains how she knows Ghost Shadow.
GM: They probably met at a convention. ‘That’s a really good Ghost Shadow costume.’ ‘Costume? That’s a really good fursuit.’ ‘Fursuit’?
 
We determine that the samples are being stolen in-between sampling and destruction, while they’re in the queue until there’s a full load for disposal. So Ghost Shadow must have access to the full schedule on the disposal chain, since he’s going straight to the right canisters, and we already know the Six Teens have good tech savvy, since the first time we met them they were ransacking a server. Hopefully he hasn’t noticed we've been to the site yet, and we can plant some samples that Flux and the Magus can track and wait in ambush.
 
Ghost Shadow is well-known enough to us that we know he claims to carry his own ‘internal shadow’ as a power source. 
 
Magus: Any chance we can go beat up Black Paladin and steal his sword?
Fireflash: ‘Now you don’t HAVE a shadow, Bwahaha.’
Fireflash: Do you have any more of those tracers, like the ones they stuck into me?
Magus: We know their group has a tech expert as well as a magic user.
GM: The Black Warlock?
Magus: Hmm. Well, if we ever meet him I’ll try to refrain from any comments about being a proper warlock. 
Hero Shrew: So, this Overbrain, does he have a humanoid exosuit?
GM: No? He doesn’t need one, he has minions.
Hero Shrew: Sorry, still thinking about mutagens and Saturday Morning Cartoons.
 
Hardlight: Well, we still need to make this fake sample. Scooter, pull up your shirt.
Flux: Let’s NOT give them a sample of an actual biological superhuman, ok?
Fireflash: For one thing we don’t know what they’ll do with it.
GM: Indeed - Steiners are rare, as well as having innate psychic abilities.
Magus: Scooter is innately capable of determining what the people around him are thinking and knowing exactly the wrong thing to say. 
 
Magus: So let's set up our trap
Fireflash: And hope it doesn't turn into a cat-astrophe.
Hero Shrew: I’ve got a bad feline about this.
 
We track Ghost Shadow and a single other person, to a makeshift lab in an abandoned warehouse.
 
GM: Supervillain Hideout #3
 
And the other person is a Moreau that Scooter recognises - a Moreau that never needed to be caged back at the Genesys labs. A Moreau that helped the scientists. The one the other Moreaus called Lab Rat. Scooter is not happy about this. Of course if we are going to grab him, we have to deal with the teleporter first. Flux Flashes them, and the Magus and Hardlight try to bubble them. To the GM’s shock, this works.
 
Hardlight: Flawless Plan!
Magus: Feels wrong, doesn't it?
 
Unfortunately Lab Rat hit a panic button. More unfortunately, Scooter grabbed and shook Lab Rat, who goes limp after an audible crack. Magus hurried heals him, while Fireflash hurls much deserved abuse at Scooter.
 
Flux: World of cardboard, Scooter, world of cardboard!
Fireflash: If you keep doing this Scooter you’ll kill somebody and end up in prison.
Magus: And I’m neither fully aware how nor entirely willing to heal death.
Ghost Shadow: *hacking away ineffectually at the walls of the bubble* F***!
Flux: Oh, sorry, I forgot you were there.
 
Flux manages to stop the harddrives being overwritten, as well as stop the countdown to some other kind of precaution. We call in the ECPD, and do a quick search of the building for anybody else. We’d better be fast - it turns out that Hardlight’s bubble will be exhausted in under a minute, unless he drops everything else he’s doing, including moving around.  
 
Ghost Shadow: We were trying to help a friend. And the ragdoll over there was the only Moreau with the skills we needed. Your bat friend is capable, but she’s not a geneticist.
 
Another problem is that it’s not Lab Rat doing the bulk of the work - Lab Rat was just doing the preliminary work for Dr Steinbeck, the creator of Moraeus with superpowers. Who wasn’t in Edge City.
 
Fireflash: It would be incredibly unwise of him to be in Edge City.
Ghost Shadow: Or incredibly clever. I don’t think he’d want to be far from his children. 
Magus: I hope you don’t mean that literally.
Ghost Shadow: What? EW. EW.
Fireflash: We do know another geneticist that might help. But we still want to know why you need the help. 
Ghost Shadow: Like I said, I just want to help a friend.
Magus: Is it Lynx?
Ghost Shadow: What. How did you kn-- No, of course it isn’t!
 
He admits it’s her. Apparently the Overbrain has screwed up her enhancements, and his control of Lynx leaves something to be desired too. Fireflash offers to help, if she hands herself in.
 
Ghost Shadow: Why do you heroes always go this route? Why can’t you just tell me if you know another geneticist?
Fireflash: We do - it’s Allana?
Ghost Shadow: She does know genetics? Cool! See ya! *teleports out of the bubble*
 
Allana the Bat Moreau might well offer medical help anyway, regardless of whether they’re a hero, civilian, or villain, but that won’t stop her throwing people through walls if it becomes necessary. Lab Rat gets handed over to the authorities before Scooter glares him to death, and hopefully without any other Moreaus finding out. 
 
Duty Officer: Lab Rat? Lab Rat? Wait, THE Lab Rat?? Oh hell, Duty Detail, NOW. Get him into one of the high security cells and sit on him, and do NOT take him past the Kennels - I mean the Moreau cells. 
 

Opening the session with a long conversation that started with giant river otters, detoured through the convergent evolution of dagger-faced felinoids and the Cold War’s contributions to continental drift, and ended with the mammal-like reptiles of the Permian.
 
GM: Shall we begin then?
Rajira’s player: Let us. And possibly tomato. 
 
The lower levels of the slavers’ lair is entirely flooded - fortunately we prepared some methods to deal with underwater tunnels early. Unfortunately the tunnels are inhabited.
 
Civilla’s player: We might not know what Skum are - which knowing this party is an interesting sentence. 
Civilla OoC: I believe I can speak their language - and am no doubt disappointing Terzo by knowing languages that are only spoken in dark places.
Rajira OoC: I’m probably just confirming his opinions about me.
Terzo OoC: Actually… hanging around in dark places and learning a secret language isn’t ENTIRELY unheard of for Terzo, for reasons he is keeping to himself.

GM:... You may have just skipped the entire dungeon.
Civilla: By not being murder-hoboes and actually behaving like civilised beings?
 
Civilla: If you have no ill-intentions towards the land-dwellers we have no ill-intention towards you. We have more problems with the maker of stupid laws - have you HEARD the stupid laws?
 
Since we seem agreeable and seek peace, they offer to take us their chieftain.
 
GM: There’s a lot of inscriptions you can’t read unless you know Aboleth.
Civilla: …Um. I’m sorry, but once you run out of dead languages that actually make sense you start looking into the weirder stuff. 
 
The carvings on the wall are written in the eerie language of the aboleths, relating various observations of human activity in Kintargo over the past several months—this is how the leader of the skum scouting tribe has kept notes on their observations. The name “Menotheguro” is mentioned several times in cadences of awe and respect, but the messages do not make clear what this creature is. Also, the fame of the Ghosts of Kintargo has even spread down here.
 
Terzo: I’m feeling mixed emotions about this - I’ve dreamt of this kind of fame and now I can’t even use my name. 
 
Civilla notes that among the Stupid Laws Thrune has enacted, is one that would give the Skum a lucrative opportunity to ship materials and messages from ship to shore, without risk to the ships’ various captains. The Skum seem cautiously diplomatic, despite their suspicion about overlanders.
 
Chieftain: How do you feel about.. Well, it’s probably easier to just show you.
Civilla OoC: OK, now I’m getting nervous.
 
There’s a Drowning Devil in the next chamber. Very unpleasant.
 
Shurshogot: *telepathically* Ungol-pagh! What have you brought me today?
Ungol-pagh: *in Undercommon* These adventurers may be able to help you, sir.
Rajira: *in Infernal* It’s certainly possible - if we have good enough reason.
Shurshogut: *in Infernal* Finally someone I can talk to!
 
The negotiations are even more cautious than they were earlier, not least because some of Civilla’s patrons would be annoyed with her making deals with a Devil, but Shurshogut was bound here by the Grey Spiders and he offers us some boons if we can get find that contract, destroy it, and set him free. Civilla will make sure that the new contract she negotiates includes the order that it immediately returns home as soon as our business is done. 
 
Civilla: It CLAIMS that it wants to go home, but it might be lying. 
 
Civilla actually has quite a few advantages over your average Chellaxian diabolist - for one thing she’s more flexible about where she looks for power. 
 
Shurshogut does offer some potentially interesting information - somewhere in Kintargo is a corruption in the River of Souls. A Soul Anchor. That someone could theoretically use to retain their memories after they die, and become a lingering genius loci. 
 
Rajira: Pharasma won’t like that.
Civilla: Pharasma doesn’t like immortality, period. 
Shurshogut: May I suggest ‘Not return to the Material Plane for a year and a day’? 
Civilla: Acceptable.
Shurshogut: I mean I don’t WANT to stay, but everyone always wants it in writing.
 
Civilla OoC: Under most versions of contract law, the Little Mermaid had an out on her contract. 
Ayva OoC: Hmm?
Civilla OoC: She closed her eyes and looked away when she signed. Although there’s a limited pool of arbitrators that could contest it for her. King Triton is out of the question, of course.
 
Shurshogut: The guildmaster that bound me here went into his strongroom, closed the door, and didn’t come out. 
Rajira: So he’s probably hungry.
Shurshogut: Or dead. 
Rajira: I was assuming dead, as well as hungry. 
Ayva: We have that kind of luck. 
 
After we’re well out of telepathy range of the devil, Terzo speaks his mind.
 
Terzo: We REALLY need to figure out exactly what Thrune is doing in the opera house.
Civilla: Oh, you think? But why is the Soul Anchor HERE?
Rajira: There’s a lot we don’t know about Kintargo.
 
Civilla explains where she actually gets her power - by making small deals with a wide variety of eldritch beings.
 
Civilla: I do favours for them, they do favours for me.
Terzo: *nodding approvingly* Good social networking.
 
Unfortunately the traps on the strongroom door are quite vicious, and poor Rajira nearly gets bisected like the Skum that tried earlier. 
 
Terzo: *patching her up* Watching you trying to pick that lock wasn’t doing my blood pressure any good, but it doesn’t seem to have done yours any good either.
Civilla: That is a REALLY good lock.
Ayva OoC: Just so you know, we’ll be stealing the door and taking it home. And hanging it up as a trophy.
Civilla OoC: Are you kidding? We’re going to set it up as the entrance to our base under the old livery. 
Rajira OoC: Inside a small anti-magic field. 
Civilla OoC: ‘sure you found the secret entrance, sure you come down the ladder, now you come around a corner and find a big F*** OFF door.’
 
The Grey Spider’s strongroom contains three heavy iron chests sit against the north wall of an otherwise empty room—empty, that is, save for the desiccated corpse of a human woman with eight long spidery legs protruding from her back, and the shambling, continually bleeding, skinned skeletal corpse of Guildmaster Baccus, his eyes rolling in his head as he seeks his prey. It would nice to get more opponents like Thrune's late, unlamented, rumoured-to-have-fled-the-city-i-have-no-idea-who-starts-these-rumours bodyguard. She went down with one stab. This thing is considerably more of a problem, but eventually succumbs, and indeed has the devil's contract on its person. 
 
Civilla’s player: Does Pathfinder have stats for a falx?
Terzo’s player: This isn’t D&D and Gygax listing every kind of pole-arm.
Civilla’s player: Glaive, Guisarme, Glaive-guisarme, Guisarme-voulge, Bill-guisarme -
Terzo’s player: Spam, spam, spam, spam -
 
The Drowning Demon tells us that the Soul Anchor is at the bottom of a lake. That lake with the apparent nuclear reactor on the grounds of the Victocora estate. Civilla’s letter to her family, weeks ago, to buy up the estate before anybody else can is suddenly much more important than we knew. Apparently there's been quite a bidding war over the remains of the estate, not that any of that would stop Thrune just stepping in and seizing it if he needs to. 
 
GM: And you have all that loot to carry home.
Rajira’s player: Just as well we have more hands now.
Terzo’s player: Minions are good for that. 
 
It’s nice to have a new potential lair and hideout - especially with live-in security in the form of the Skum. Unfortunately, we all also receive personal invitations from Barzillai Thrune. A very public invitation for us to join him before the Kintargo Opera House, to receive honors for their outstanding service in promoting safety on the streets of Kintargo, and for rescuing a pair of young men from a group of kidnappers!
 
Ayva: We need to decline this honour.
Civilla: We can’t.
Ayva: We need an escape plan.
Civilla: We can plan one, but we still can’t avoid this. It will also put a spotlight on Terzo for the first time in a long time. 
Terzo: True true, there is that bonus.
Civilla: It’s not a bonus. Terzo, you need to understand, you’re on the stage playing a role, and that role is ‘sneaky bastard’, not ‘flamboyant git’.
 
We dress in our best outfits - although avoiding Thrune’s Proclaimation about embroidered clothes in public - and take care to carry no more weapons then decorum insists upon. After the bells on the Church of Asmodeus toll once for each of us, Barzillai emerges into the plaza with full entourage, and studies us with an intensity that belies his political smile. He’s looking a bit more haggard than he was when he arrived in Kintargo.
 
Civilla notes that Thrune’s symptoms are those of somebody who’s been the personal blood bank of a vampire for a while. Rajira points out that those are also the symptoms of prolonged stress. 
 
Terzo: Can’t imagine what has him so stressed.
Civilla: Maybe all those rumours about his bodyguard fleeing the city.
Terzo: Or the ‘Let Dogs Beware’ graffiti on his front door.
 
Thrune: Well done, well done! Would that more of the citizenry were as keenly observant and helpful as you intrepid citizens! I’ll have my eye on you, trust in that, for I have no doubt you have great works still ahead of you. Perhaps you may again be of service to your government. Please take these gifts from the city of Kintargo as Thrune’s thanks to your services rendered, and please continue to work to ensure, as I do, this grand city’s safety and proud legacy.
Civilla’s player: … and now come the Bluff checks.
Terzo’s player: Yes, or my face will be going through some interesting contortions.
Rajira: Master Thrune, thank you for this honour. Please call on us if there is anything we can do for the city.
Thrune: Perhaps I will, but for now I must return to my other duties.
 
The gifts are stat-increasing belts and headbands. They're not cursed, and they’re not marked with any symbols of Asmodeus. What they DO have are symbols of ravens, done in silver. 
 
Civilla: IDENTIFY
 
Barzillai might have suspicions. Especially if he has access to the same kind of spells that Civilla has been using in her own activities. 
 
Terzo: Maybe he’s hoping we’ll panic.
Civilla: So let’s not. 
 
The raven sigils could certainly be used as a target in a Locate Object spell, but Civilla is confident that won’t help him find our safehouses. Locate Object is blocked by sufficient amounts of soil, rock, or metal.
 
Civilla: So we’re going to get these gold-plated. 
 
And some cloth-of-gold to use as a sash over Rajira’s new Belt of Dexterity.
 
Civilla: You know that Murder Kit I came up with? As cute as it is, I want to include Oil of Decompose Corpse. That way I can melt the flesh off Huge corpses and reduce them to a skeleton in minutes. Much easier to compact and dispose of. Although the skeletons will be a bit juicy. Although you can get everything for the basic Murder Kit is a small village. 
 
Terzo: If Thrune is so busy, we really need to know what he’s actually up to in the Opera House.
Rajira: The bigger question is ‘How Do We Find Out’?
Terzo: We still have no idea what happened to the previous Mayor or the Songbird of Kintargo.
Civilla’s player: That reminds me, GM, are you ready to cry? I have an ability called ‘Planar Contact’
 
Rajira has also recruited a team she’s calling the Dacoits. It’s unclear just what she intends to do with a gang of armed robbers. 

Did you ever notice all the prehensile hair types are female? Does nobody want to see long haired men? Call him Handlebar, maybe give him a mulletpower of various tricks...

The game is Magical Kittiws Save the Day (nit a word from anyone! I was invited to play, and the length of time since I was a _player_ in a face-to-face game can be measures in decades at this point, so I jumoed at it).
 
The kitty Haunauka Jones has the lowest possible intelligence score, and the player works it to the hilt.
 
"Well, maybe we can find out if we eavesdrop at the Library-"
 
Jones: "to the Library!  I _crave_ the shrimp!"
 
Jones: "stealing a car is _easy!'  All we need is a human with keys and a large brick..."
 
At the sandy beach along the river, in total awe:  "thank you!  Thank you _so much_ for inviting me!  But...  I dont think I will live long enough to poop in the whole thing...."
 
 

Horror on the Orient Express - Dreamlands - Dylath-Leen to Aphorat
 
February 1923
 
In Which The Investigators Take A Break From Vivisection And Graduate To Genocide And Child Murder
 
The three investigators are currently holed up in a waiting room in Milan’s Stazione Centrale, keenly aware that the authorities in at least three cities can connect them to a series of grisly deaths, even if they weren’t actually responsible for them. 
 
Alex: Well, that makes another city we can never come back to. I got into this because I thought it would be fun, but it’s not being much fun. And where’s the booze? I should never have let Flo drag me into this. Not that I recall much actual dragging. 
 
Florence might not be nursing any injuries, but she has another problem - if she reports the events at La Scala accurately, and Alex’s father realises that Alex was the foreigner that was ‘injured in a fracas at the Opera House’, he’s going to blow a gasket. Their mother would too, of course, but since she’s dead it would be freaking out from beyond the grave.
 
Alex OoC: Quite possible - she always said she’d be looking down on me. 
 
Huxley, on the other hand, has an entirely different problem - he’s still in denial that magic exists, so obviously that old woman that was trying to tear the larynx out of Faccia’s throat with her bare hands can’t possibly be the missing Diva. He reluctantly concludes that the Signora must be dead, and her organs stolen by the same lunatic that transplanted the automotive worker’s lungs. It might even become his default hypothesis whenever somebody goes missing - they’ve been kidnapped and vivisected.
 
Buried under a small mountain of blankets thoughtfully provided by the staff of the Orient Express, the exhausted investigators fall fitfully to sleep, and wake up in one of the luxurious pavilions of the Dreamlands Express. Huxley even has the tiny black kitten Blackjack snoozing on his chest. 
 
The Dreamlands Express’ creator and conductor Henri Peeters is immediately aware that the investigators are still stressed by events in the Waking World, and arranges some relaxing draughts and a light meal to settle their nerves. The train beasts will soon be arriving at the port of Dylath-Leen, to pick up passengers and swap cargo. Until then, Peeters listens sympathetically to Huxley’s tale of events in the Waking World, and how favorably the Dreamlands compare. 
 
Huxley: The whole place was wrong - everybody was so miserable and on edge. Nothing like the Milan in the travelogs.
 
Florence spends most of the time playing with the kitten.
 
The new passengers are one Mironim-Mer, a wine trader with solid yellow eyes, delegations from the cities of Sarnath and Ib on their way to appeal to the wisdom of King Kuranes, and at the last minute the dancer Zsuzsa, just ahead of her pursuit by the Prince of Dylath-Leen’s secret police. She’s certainly quite taken by Huxley, although she just as clearly doesn’t like talking about the Waking World. 
 
Dylath-Leen might not be the most salubrious locale in the realms of Dream, but given how well-appointed the train-slash-caravan-slash-gelatinous-tentacle-monsters-carrying-palatial-pavilions is, is not like you actually have to get off the Dreamlands Express to have a good time.
 
Florence: Five stars, would travel again.
 
She probably won’t get the choice - apparently you can only ride the train all the way to the end of the line once. She should probably just make the best of the trip. Alex certainly is - for one thing they actually have a male body here. Unfortunately their first opportunity to shave goes disastrously, and they cut themselves badly.
 
Huxley: Maybe this will give you a rugged bad boy look
Alex: Oh, go impress your flibbertigibbet. I’m just going to let it grow next time, I swear.
 
Huxley certainly hopes to impress Zsuzsa, and goes to breakfast dressed as dapperly as possible. Maybe that’s why the Sarnathian delegation decide he’s the only one of the investigators worth talking to, and rudely invite themselves to the shared meal despite the fact they were noisily partying all night. After they realise that the King George and the British Empire that Huxley was a soldier for are in the Waking World, they ask more questions. They seem a bit surprised that the Waking World is so miserable that the Dreamlands are a restful delight by comparison, and Huxley has to explain about the Great War. That puzzles them even more.
 
Sarnathian delegate: But you were on the winning side! Your enemies defeated, and therefore subhuman and beneath contempt! Take pride in your victory!
Huxley: …
 
By lunchtime, the train has reached Zar, the Abode of Unformed Dreams, and not a place restful for dreamers. Which may explain the screaming, eyeless lunatic that runs up to the train, and that has to be subdued by Henri, Huxley, and the tentacle beasts. The Sarnathians find the struggle quite entertaining. Henri is reluctant to have the madman on board, but Huxley persuades him to have him restrained in the baggage car, until then can get him into the care of somebody better suited.
 
The Sarnathian delegates hope Huxley wasn’t insulted by their laughter at his scuffle with the madman, and invite him along for some harmless entertainment. The harmless entertainment is ambushing one of the flabby, frog-like Beings of Ib, and holding them against the wall until they stick. Huxley wants no part of it, and helps the silent and passive Being down afterwards. 
 
Huxley: You know, I think I know why you're sending a delegation to this King Kuranes - These Sarnathians are cads.
 
Karakov, the arms dealer from the Waking World, can confirm that there’s very bad blood between Sarnath and Ib, although everybody was extremely surprised when the Beings showed up again, since the extermination of their kind happened a thousand years ago. Karakov acknowledges that a lot of the history might be propaganda by the winners, but does not appreciate the comparison to the Armenian Genocide AT ALL. But then, he was an arms dealer to the Turks, and many others. Huxley does note that Karakov seems guilty under the ire, however. 
 
After lunch Florence heads off to spend time with all the cats from Ulthar, Huxley goes to spend the afternoon with Zsuzsa in her compartment, and Alex has to go scrub their hands after they find another Being of Ib stuck to the ceiling outside their compartment. 
 
Alex: You might have warned me to grab a towel before I tried to help them down. 
Huxley: I don’t understand why the Beings don’t fight back. 
GM: If they call you in as a witness in the court of King Kuranes, you can accurately report it was the Sarnathians that started everything. 
 
While Alex is cleaning up, they hear a startled Meow and a thud from the next compartment, but it’s empty when they go to check. They do tell Huxley what they heard, before they head off to the afternoon’s entertainment - Zsuzsa in Huxley’s case, and the men’s saloon for Alex. 
 
Huxley: You thought you heard a puddy tat. 
 
Zsuzsa surprises Huxley with the heat of her ardour, and he enjoys an athletic and surprisingly flexible few hours. But then even the Waking World Express has a reputation for romance.
Huxley: What happens in the Dreamlands stays in the Dreamlands.
 
Alex’s afternoon is pretty enjoyable too - there are thagweed hookahs provided for the gentlemen, a large rack of various alcohols, and an entire sideboard of sandwich ingredients for when they get the munchies. The diplomatic courier and wannabe poet Mackenzie is already there preparing a snack. 
 
GM: This is certainly becoming a theme with you - try a new recreational drug of the Dreamlands, pass out.
Alex OoC: Well I am here to enjoy myself.
GM: Although in this case it’s not so much pass out as grin goofily and sit staring at your hands. “My fingers… they can touch everything except themselves”
 
It’s Huxley that returns to the compartment first, needing a fresh change of clothes. So it’s him that finds the corpse of Blackjack the kitten, hidden in his trunk. He’s been repeatedly stabbed.
 
Huxley: … oh dear. 
Florence’s player: DRHOZ! He’s a BABY!
GM: In retrospect I should have already had chocolate here, by way of apology, since I knew this chapter predicated kitten murder. Although it’s hardly the first Cthulhu module to have the brutal death of children in it. 
Alex’s player: It’s not not supposed to be cute furry animals, just humans.
 
Huxley dithers for a bit, then goes to find the conductor. Henri is understandably distressed, even before Huxley asks how the death will affect the agreement the Express has with the sacrosanct Cats of Ulthar. And what will they tell Blackjack’s mother, Sophie. Huxley basically blurts out the situation to Flo, in front of the entire carriage-full of cats. 
 
Henri Peeters: That was not tactfully done, Monsieur.
 
At least the three investigators have pretty solid alibis for most of the afternoon - Florence was buried in pussies, Huxley enjoying one singular, and Alex so completely blazed on thagweed that they probably couldn’t walk in a straight line.
 
GM: Even if certain historical assassins are famous for both their deadliness and their drug use. 
 
Henri asks the three investigators to wait in the banquet car, while he tracks down the distraught mother cat and tries to deal with the situation. Huxley collects Alex.
 
Alex: *waggling their fingers at Huxley* Have you got some of these as well? 
Huxley: Yes, at least twelve.
Alex: Do you know why they can’t touch each other? You’re a medical man
Huxley: … I should probably sober them up.
Alex: I'm a him! I can show you.
 
Florence consoles herself with strong drink, Alex slowly becomes aware that something serious is happening, and Huxley tries to figure out what caused the wounds - they’re too big for Being of Ib claws, and more like a letter-opener than a proper knife. Eventually Henri ushers the rest of the passengers, delegates and their servants, and a large number of very angry cats, into the banquet pavilion.
 
Henri Peeters: Ladies and gentlemen… I have grim news for you. There has been a murder on the Dreamlands Express. 

HORROR ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS - MILAN - A NIGHT AT THE OPERA

Jan 1923
 
In Which The Investigators Enjoy Opera At Its Finest And Other Mental Disturbances
 
Lt. Huxley has made his stage debut at la Scala, which is certainly something to be proud of, and a big step up from the amateur dramatics he was involved in back at school. Of course, at Greyfriars he didn’t have to contend with dangerous lunatics in the audience, or trying to smuggle an evil artifact out of the building in front of thousands of opera-goers. 
 
He also has to hold off doing anything until the next scene change - the old man with the Diva’s voice has no such reason for delay. The old woman that was with them is also on the move, but at a much slower and confused pace. The cultist and his minions hurry out of the building and around to the side door, followed by Alex, who sees the goons beat up the doorman and enter the backstage area. Both goons and doorman do seem rather off-put by the old man’s young, and female voice. Alex returns to fetch Florence. 
 
Huxley takes the first opportunity he can to grab the Torso of the Simulacrum, snap off the wooden base, and hurry for the side exits - just in time to run into the cultist and his goons. He flees upstairs, stuffing the Torso into a hiding spot and attempting to hide himself, but to no avail at least for the last bit. He is forced to topple a stack of props to slow down the pursuit. By the time Alex and Florence catch up (after recommending whiskey as a cure-all to the brutalised doorman) the Lieutenant has left quite a mess. 
 
Alex: I think we know what klutz made that.
GM: Indeed - you can see him at the end of the corridor, still dressed in sandals and loincloth, pursued by two of the goons.
Florence: Yes, that's our klutz.
 
But where can Huxley be going? 
 
Alex: Where can you go in a loincloth?
Florence: There’s clubs for that
GM: Whatever party the lead tenor has planned.
 
The two two investigators can either pursue flat out, or proceed over the pile of props at a more moderate velocity. They choose the latter.
 
Florence: A safer speed would be better in these shoes.
 
And just as well, since it gives them the opportunity to spot the Torso where Huxley hid it. They wrap it in a drape, and head upstairs to leave via the costume department’s fire escape, with the assistance of a helpful stagehand. Unfortunately they run into the old man and one of his other minions coming the other way. The older man is too preoccupied to notice what the investigators are carting, but his bodyguard is more observant. The resulting scuffle on the stairwell goes on for some time, even after the old man draws a knife and injures Alex, and even after Flo escapes with the Torso, and despite all the yelling of “Pervitito!” by Florence. 
 
Alex OoC: We always have such fun on holiday!
 
Meanwhile Huxley has escaped his pursuers and intends to change back into his day clothes, and return to where he stashed the Torso. Admittedly he’ll have to do a loop of the entire building and go up and down three different floors, but backstage la Scala is a maze. It’s also unfortunate that a furious stage director spots him and frogmarches him back to the changing rooms to get back into costume, no doubt uttering dire threats to the other spear-carriers if they let him wander off again. He does spot the older woman wandering around with an expression of deep confusion and deep concentration, but his fellow extras have orders to keep him planted where he is, even when the scuffle above the stage is clearly visible to the cast members. 
 
Florence doesn’t seem to have the Lt.’s Bump of Direction, and gets herself quite lost trying to find the costume department, and has to barricade herself into a storeroom when she’s spotted by some of the goons. By the time a badly wounded Alex finds them, and comes back with some help, the old man and the other minion have also found Florence’s hideyhole, and they’ve already shot out the lock and half bashed in the door. At least the first goon through gets himself brained with a chairleg. 
 
The goons also seem reluctant to open fire on the opera staff - the one with the gun even puts it away in a hurry - despite the shrieked orders from the old man. Not that he’s shrieking for long, because the old woman has caught up and launches herself at the man’s throat. Alex takes the opportunity to put the boot in - they’re probably going to have to get a new tuxedo now this one is so full of knife holes and bloodstains. 
 
Old woman: *in an old man's voice* GIVE ME BACK MY VOICE!
 
THAT gives Florence an opportunity to drop the old man in the s***.
 
Florence: He cursed her! That’s the Diva! Stregoni!
 
And since some of the opera patrons coming out of their boxes to see what all the commotion is recognise Signora Cavollaro’s jewelry, and the old man tries to defend himself with the Diva’s unmistakable voice, the growing crowd on the third floor has a excuse for some peremptory justice. Some of the staff patch up Alex and check that Florence is OK, then hurry off after the rest of the mob.
 
GM: If there’s going to be a lynching, they don’t want to miss it.
 
Not that any of this has affected the performance much - the Show Must Go On! In fact Huxley doesn’t get to make his escape until Alex comes looking for him, and the first thing he does is check Alex’s bandages. They’re a bit insulted by his dismissal of their first aid skills, even if he is the professional medic of the party. 
 
Alex: I got all my Girl Guide badges you know.
 
At least Alex got a souvenir - the old man's knife, which to Huxley's eye seems better suited to delicate work than to your average stabbing. Flo, struggling under the awkward weight of the Torso, still hasn’t found the fire escape, and ends up out on the terrace overlooking the plaza. Where every hair on the back of her neck stands up, as she’s overwhelmed by the same primal terror of a small animal that KNOWS a large predator is somewhere very close, and getting closer. She hurries back inside, badly shaken. The Torso, if anything, is getting harder to carry, in much the same way cats seemingly get heavier at will. 
 
Florence: Don’t you realise we’re trying to get you back together????
 
The statue seems to get more cooperative, and before too long she's tottering along the edge of the plaza like she’s merely twelve months pregnant.
 
Florence: Good girl. Good statue.
 
That’s where Huxley finds her, while everybody else is distracted by the police cars pulling up at the opera house. She doesn’t want to tell him what happened, because she’s still thoroughly wigged out by the fear that gripped her on the terrace. 
 
Florence: We need to get this out of sight... There’s something around.
 
Might still be, too - somebody is watching them from the balcony. Huxley doesn’t recognise them from this distance, at night, but they’re tall, slim, and have unfashionable long hair if they’re male. And they’re looking. Right. At. Florence. And. Huxley. Florence is quite glad to get back their rooms at the Galleria, bolting all the doors and windows, and dumping the Torso next to the Arm. 
 
Florence: See? See, I told you, there’s your arm. *gives the Torso a friendly pat*
 
Nonetheless, she insists they get out of Milan as soon as possible - for one thing staying literally just across the road from la Scala is asking for trouble. The trio pack up in a hurry, and intend to wait at the train station until the next Orient Express leaves for Venice - which won’t be until after lunch. At least the Compagnie Internationale des Wagons-Lits provides an excellent waiting room for passengers on their train. The Orient Express staff may well wonder if the investigators got AM and PM confused, but they're far too polite to actually say so.

Horror on the Orient Express - Dreamlands - Dylath-Leen to Aphorat
 
February 1923
 
In Which The Investigators Take A Break From Vivisection And Graduate To Genocide And Child Murder
 
The three investigators are currently holed up in a waiting room in Milan’s Stazione Centrale, keenly aware that the authorities in at least three cities can connect them to a series of grisly deaths, even if they weren’t actually responsible for them. 
 
Alex: Well, that makes another city we can never come back to. I got into this because I thought it would be fun, but it’s not being much fun. And where’s the booze? I should never have let Flo drag me into this. Not that I recall much actual dragging. 
 
Florence might not be nursing any injuries, but she has another problem - if she reports the events at La Scala accurately, and Alex’s father realises that Alex was the foreigner that was ‘injured in a fracas at the Opera House’, he’s going to blow a gasket. Their mother would too, of course, but since she’s dead it would be freaking out from beyond the grave.
 
Alex OoC: Quite possible - she always said she’d be looking down on me. 
 
Huxley, on the other hand, has an entirely different problem - he’s still in denial that magic exists, so obviously that old woman that was trying to tear the larynx out of Faccia’s throat with her bare hands can’t possibly be the missing Diva. He reluctantly concludes that the Signora must be dead, and her organs stolen by the same lunatic that transplanted the automotive worker’s lungs. It might even become his default hypothesis whenever somebody goes missing - they’ve been kidnapped and vivisected.
 
Buried under a small mountain of blankets thoughtfully provided by the staff of the Orient Express, the exhausted investigators fall fitfully to sleep, and wake up in one of the luxurious pavilions of the Dreamlands Express. Huxley even has the tiny black kitten Blackjack snoozing on his chest. 
 
The Dreamlands Express’ creator and conductor Henri Peeters is immediately aware that the investigators are still stressed by events in the Waking World, and arranges some relaxing draughts and a light meal to settle their nerves. The train beasts will soon be arriving at the port of Dylath-Leen, to pick up passengers and swap cargo. Until then, Peeters listens sympathetically to Huxley’s tale of events in the Waking World, and how favorably the Dreamlands compare. 
 
Huxley: The whole place was wrong - everybody was so miserable and on edge. Nothing like the Milan in the travelogs.
 
Florence spends most of the time playing with the kitten.
 
The new passengers are one Mironim-Mer, a wine trader with solid yellow eyes, delegations from the cities of Sarnath and Ib on their way to appeal to the wisdom of King Kuranes, and at the last minute the dancer Zsuzsa, just ahead of her pursuit by the Prince of Dylath-Leen’s secret police. She’s certainly quite taken by Huxley, although she just as clearly doesn’t like talking about the Waking World. 
 
Dylath-Leen might not be the most salubrious locale in the realms of Dream, but given how well-appointed the train-slash-caravan-slash-gelatinous-tentacle-monsters-carrying-palatial-pavilions is, is not like you actually have to get off the Dreamlands Express to have a good time.
 
Florence: Five stars, would travel again.
 
She probably won’t get the choice - apparently you can only ride the train all the way to the end of the line once. She should probably just make the best of the trip. Alex certainly is - for one thing they actually have a male body here. Unfortunately their first opportunity to shave goes disastrously, and they cut themselves badly.
 
Huxley: Maybe this will give you a rugged bad boy look
Alex: Oh, go impress your flibbertigibbet. I’m just going to let it grow next time, I swear.
 
Huxley certainly hopes to impress Zsuzsa, and goes to breakfast dressed as dapperly as possible. Maybe that’s why the Sarnathian delegation decide he’s the only one of the investigators worth talking to, and rudely invite themselves to the shared meal despite the fact they were noisily partying all night. After they realise that the King George and the British Empire that Huxley was a soldier for are in the Waking World, they ask more questions. They seem a bit surprised that the Waking World is so miserable that the Dreamlands are a restful delight by comparison, and Huxley has to explain about the Great War. That puzzles them even more.
 
Sarnathian delegate: But you were on the winning side! Your enemies defeated, and therefore subhuman and beneath contempt! Take pride in your victory!
Huxley: …
 
By lunchtime, the train has reached Zar, the Abode of Unformed Dreams, and not a place restful for dreamers. Which may explain the screaming, eyeless lunatic that runs up to the train, and that has to be subdued by Henri, Huxley, and the tentacle beasts. The Sarnathians find the struggle quite entertaining. Henri is reluctant to have the madman on board, but Huxley persuades him to have him restrained in the baggage car, until then can get him into the care of somebody better suited.
 
The Sarnathian delegates hope Huxley wasn’t insulted by their laughter at his scuffle with the madman, and invite him along for some harmless entertainment. The harmless entertainment is ambushing one of the flabby, frog-like Beings of Ib, and holding them against the wall until they stick. Huxley wants no part of it, and helps the silent and passive Being down afterwards. 
 
Huxley: You know, I think I know why you're sending a delegation to this King Kuranes - These Sarnathians are cads.
 
Karakov, the arms dealer from the Waking World, can confirm that there’s very bad blood between Sarnath and Ib, although everybody was extremely surprised when the Beings showed up again, since the extermination of their kind happened a thousand years ago. Karakov acknowledges that a lot of the history might be propaganda by the winners, but does not appreciate the comparison to the Armenian Genocide AT ALL. But then, he was an arms dealer to the Turks, and many others. Huxley does note that Karakov seems guilty under the ire, however. 
 
After lunch Florence heads off to spend time with all the cats from Ulthar, Huxley goes to spend the afternoon with Zsuzsa in her compartment, and Alex has to go scrub their hands after they find another Being of Ib stuck to the ceiling outside their compartment. 
 
Alex: You might have warned me to grab a towel before I tried to help them down. 
Huxley: I don’t understand why the Beings don’t fight back. 
GM: If they call you in as a witness in the court of King Kuranes, you can accurately report it was the Sarnathians that started everything. 
 
While Alex is cleaning up, they hear a startled Meow and a thud from the next compartment, but it’s empty when they go to check. They do tell Huxley what they heard, before they head off to the afternoon’s entertainment - Zsuzsa in Huxley’s case, and the men’s saloon for Alex. 
 
Huxley: You thought you heard a puddy tat. 
 
Zsuzsa surprises Huxley with the heat of her ardour, and he enjoys an athletic and surprisingly flexible few hours. But then even the Waking World Express has a reputation for romance.
Huxley: What happens in the Dreamlands stays in the Dreamlands.
 
Alex’s afternoon is pretty enjoyable too - there are thagweed hookahs provided for the gentlemen, a large rack of various alcohols, and an entire sideboard of sandwich ingredients for when they get the munchies. The diplomatic courier and wannabe poet Mackenzie is already there preparing a snack. 
 
GM: This is certainly becoming a theme with you - try a new recreational drug of the Dreamlands, pass out.
Alex OoC: Well I am here to enjoy myself.
GM: Although in this case it’s not so much pass out as grin goofily and sit staring at your hands. “My fingers… they can touch everything except themselves”
 
It’s Huxley that returns to the compartment first, needing a fresh change of clothes. So it’s him that finds the corpse of Blackjack the kitten, hidden in his trunk. He’s been repeatedly stabbed.
 
Huxley: … oh dear. 
Florence’s player: DRHOZ! He’s a BABY!
GM: In retrospect I should have already had chocolate here, by way of apology, since I knew this chapter predicated kitten murder. Although it’s hardly the first Cthulhu module to have the brutal death of children in it. 
Alex’s player: It’s not not supposed to be cute furry animals, just humans.
 
Huxley dithers for a bit, then goes to find the conductor. Henri is understandably distressed, even before Huxley asks how the death will affect the agreement the Express has with the sacrosanct Cats of Ulthar. And what will they tell Blackjack’s mother, Sophie. Huxley basically blurts out the situation to Flo, in front of the entire carriage-full of cats. 
 
Henri Peeters: That was not tactfully done, Monsieur.
 
At least the three investigators have pretty solid alibis for most of the afternoon - Florence was buried in pussies, Huxley enjoying one singular, and Alex so completely blazed on thagweed that they probably couldn’t walk in a straight line.
 
GM: Even if certain historical assassins are famous for both their deadliness and their drug use. 
 
Henri asks the three investigators to wait in the banquet car, while he tracks down the distraught mother cat and tries to deal with the situation. Huxley collects Alex.
 
Alex: *waggling their fingers at Huxley* Have you got some of these as well? 
Huxley: Yes, at least twelve.
Alex: Do you know why they can’t touch each other? You’re a medical man
Huxley: … I should probably sober them up.
Alex: I'm a him! I can show you.
 
Florence consoles herself with strong drink, Alex slowly becomes aware that something serious is happening, and Huxley tries to figure out what caused the wounds - they’re too big for Being of Ib claws, and more like a letter-opener than a proper knife. Eventually Henri ushers the rest of the passengers, delegates and their servants, and a large number of very angry cats, into the banquet pavilion.
 
Henri Peeters: Ladies and gentlemen… I have grim news for you. There has been a murder on the Dreamlands Express. 

Horror on the Orient Express - Dreamlands - Dylath-Leen to Aphorat
 
February 1923
 
In Which The Investigators Take A Break From Vivisection And Graduate To Genocide And Child Murder
 
The three investigators are currently holed up in a waiting room in Milan’s Stazione Centrale, keenly aware that the authorities in at least three cities can connect them to a series of grisly deaths, even if they weren’t actually responsible for them. 
 
Alex: Well, that makes another city we can never come back to. I got into this because I thought it would be fun, but it’s not being much fun. And where’s the booze? I should never have let Flo drag me into this. Not that I recall much actual dragging. 
 
Florence might not be nursing any injuries, but she has another problem - if she reports the events at La Scala accurately, and Alex’s father realises that Alex was the foreigner that was ‘injured in a fracas at the Opera House’, he’s going to blow a gasket. Their mother would too, of course, but since she’s dead it would be freaking out from beyond the grave.
 
Alex OoC: Quite possible - she always said she’d be looking down on me. 
 
Huxley, on the other hand, has an entirely different problem - he’s still in denial that magic exists, so obviously that old woman that was trying to tear the larynx out of Faccia’s throat with her bare hands can’t possibly be the missing Diva. He reluctantly concludes that the Signora must be dead, and her organs stolen by the same lunatic that transplanted the automotive worker’s lungs. It might even become his default hypothesis whenever somebody goes missing - they’ve been kidnapped and vivisected.
 
Buried under a small mountain of blankets thoughtfully provided by the staff of the Orient Express, the exhausted investigators fall fitfully to sleep, and wake up in one of the luxurious pavilions of the Dreamlands Express. Huxley even has the tiny black kitten Blackjack snoozing on his chest. 
 
The Dreamlands Express’ creator and conductor Henri Peeters is immediately aware that the investigators are still stressed by events in the Waking World, and arranges some relaxing draughts and a light meal to settle their nerves. The train beasts will soon be arriving at the port of Dylath-Leen, to pick up passengers and swap cargo. Until then, Peeters listens sympathetically to Huxley’s tale of events in the Waking World, and how favorably the Dreamlands compare. 
 
Huxley: The whole place was wrong - everybody was so miserable and on edge. Nothing like the Milan in the travelogs.
 
Florence spends most of the time playing with the kitten.
 
The new passengers are one Mironim-Mer, a wine trader with solid yellow eyes, delegations from the cities of Sarnath and Ib on their way to appeal to the wisdom of King Kuranes, and at the last minute the dancer Zsuzsa, just ahead of her pursuit by the Prince of Dylath-Leen’s secret police. She’s certainly quite taken by Huxley, although she just as clearly doesn’t like talking about the Waking World. 
 
Dylath-Leen might not be the most salubrious locale in the realms of Dream, but given how well-appointed the train-slash-caravan-slash-gelatinous-tentacle-monsters-carrying-palatial-pavilions is, is not like you actually have to get off the Dreamlands Express to have a good time.
 
Florence: Five stars, would travel again.
 
She probably won’t get the choice - apparently you can only ride the train all the way to the end of the line once. She should probably just make the best of the trip. Alex certainly is - for one thing they actually have a male body here. Unfortunately their first opportunity to shave goes disastrously, and they cut themselves badly.
 
Huxley: Maybe this will give you a rugged bad boy look
Alex: Oh, go impress your flibbertigibbet. I’m just going to let it grow next time, I swear.
 
Huxley certainly hopes to impress Zsuzsa, and goes to breakfast dressed as dapperly as possible. Maybe that’s why the Sarnathian delegation decide he’s the only one of the investigators worth talking to, and rudely invite themselves to the shared meal despite the fact they were noisily partying all night. After they realise that the King George and the British Empire that Huxley was a soldier for are in the Waking World, they ask more questions. They seem a bit surprised that the Waking World is so miserable that the Dreamlands are a restful delight by comparison, and Huxley has to explain about the Great War. That puzzles them even more.
 
Sarnathian delegate: But you were on the winning side! Your enemies defeated, and therefore subhuman and beneath contempt! Take pride in your victory!
Huxley: …
 
By lunchtime, the train has reached Zar, the Abode of Unformed Dreams, and not a place restful for dreamers. Which may explain the screaming, eyeless lunatic that runs up to the train, and that has to be subdued by Henri, Huxley, and the tentacle beasts. The Sarnathians find the struggle quite entertaining. Henri is reluctant to have the madman on board, but Huxley persuades him to have him restrained in the baggage car, until then can get him into the care of somebody better suited.
 
The Sarnathian delegates hope Huxley wasn’t insulted by their laughter at his scuffle with the madman, and invite him along for some harmless entertainment. The harmless entertainment is ambushing one of the flabby, frog-like Beings of Ib, and holding them against the wall until they stick. Huxley wants no part of it, and helps the silent and passive Being down afterwards. 
 
Huxley: You know, I think I know why you're sending a delegation to this King Kuranes - These Sarnathians are cads.
 
Karakov, the arms dealer from the Waking World, can confirm that there’s very bad blood between Sarnath and Ib, although everybody was extremely surprised when the Beings showed up again, since the extermination of their kind happened a thousand years ago. Karakov acknowledges that a lot of the history might be propaganda by the winners, but does not appreciate the comparison to the Armenian Genocide AT ALL. But then, he was an arms dealer to the Turks, and many others. Huxley does note that Karakov seems guilty under the ire, however. 
 
After lunch Florence heads off to spend time with all the cats from Ulthar, Huxley goes to spend the afternoon with Zsuzsa in her compartment, and Alex has to go scrub their hands after they find another Being of Ib stuck to the ceiling outside their compartment. 
 
Alex: You might have warned me to grab a towel before I tried to help them down. 
Huxley: I don’t understand why the Beings don’t fight back. 
GM: If they call you in as a witness in the court of King Kuranes, you can accurately report it was the Sarnathians that started everything. 
 
While Alex is cleaning up, they hear a startled Meow and a thud from the next compartment, but it’s empty when they go to check. They do tell Huxley what they heard, before they head off to the afternoon’s entertainment - Zsuzsa in Huxley’s case, and the men’s saloon for Alex. 
 
Huxley: You thought you heard a puddy tat. 
 
Zsuzsa surprises Huxley with the heat of her ardour, and he enjoys an athletic and surprisingly flexible few hours. But then even the Waking World Express has a reputation for romance.
Huxley: What happens in the Dreamlands stays in the Dreamlands.
 
Alex’s afternoon is pretty enjoyable too - there are thagweed hookahs provided for the gentlemen, a large rack of various alcohols, and an entire sideboard of sandwich ingredients for when they get the munchies. The diplomatic courier and wannabe poet Mackenzie is already there preparing a snack. 
 
GM: This is certainly becoming a theme with you - try a new recreational drug of the Dreamlands, pass out.
Alex OoC: Well I am here to enjoy myself.
GM: Although in this case it’s not so much pass out as grin goofily and sit staring at your hands. “My fingers… they can touch everything except themselves”
 
It’s Huxley that returns to the compartment first, needing a fresh change of clothes. So it’s him that finds the corpse of Blackjack the kitten, hidden in his trunk. He’s been repeatedly stabbed.
 
Huxley: … oh dear. 
Florence’s player: DRHOZ! He’s a BABY!
GM: In retrospect I should have already had chocolate here, by way of apology, since I knew this chapter predicated kitten murder. Although it’s hardly the first Cthulhu module to have the brutal death of children in it. 
Alex’s player: It’s not not supposed to be cute furry animals, just humans.
 
Huxley dithers for a bit, then goes to find the conductor. Henri is understandably distressed, even before Huxley asks how the death will affect the agreement the Express has with the sacrosanct Cats of Ulthar. And what will they tell Blackjack’s mother, Sophie. Huxley basically blurts out the situation to Flo, in front of the entire carriage-full of cats. 
 
Henri Peeters: That was not tactfully done, Monsieur.
 
At least the three investigators have pretty solid alibis for most of the afternoon - Florence was buried in pussies, Huxley enjoying one singular, and Alex so completely blazed on thagweed that they probably couldn’t walk in a straight line.
 
GM: Even if certain historical assassins are famous for both their deadliness and their drug use. 
 
Henri asks the three investigators to wait in the banquet car, while he tracks down the distraught mother cat and tries to deal with the situation. Huxley collects Alex.
 
Alex: *waggling their fingers at Huxley* Have you got some of these as well? 
Huxley: Yes, at least twelve.
Alex: Do you know why they can’t touch each other? You’re a medical man
Huxley: … I should probably sober them up.
Alex: I'm a him! I can show you.
 
Florence consoles herself with strong drink, Alex slowly becomes aware that something serious is happening, and Huxley tries to figure out what caused the wounds - they’re too big for Being of Ib claws, and more like a letter-opener than a proper knife. Eventually Henri ushers the rest of the passengers, delegates and their servants, and a large number of very angry cats, into the banquet pavilion.
 
Henri Peeters: Ladies and gentlemen… I have grim news for you. There has been a murder on the Dreamlands Express. 

Pathfinder : In Hell’s Bright Shadow : All Dead, All Dead
 
Civilla’s player has been statting out members of her future coven - it includes an NPC that can use fire as healing magic. That includes fire in the form of Incendiary Runes.
 
Civilla's player: "And here's some that I prepared earlier."
Ayva's player: It doesn't even damage the item so pages of "Stop getting injured you dumbass" would stack
 
GM: I see no issues with her, or her inclusion in the party. An aquatic changeling with a phoenix bloodline is a bit "Who the hell were her parents", but it's mechanically sound.
 
The lack of a cleric in the party is a serious problem for us - we still have nothing that can reliably hurt those Wretchghosts (let alone all the other undead down here) and no way to drive them off for good. And our investigations may have given them access to the surface, so we can’t just go find a priest.
 
Terzo OoC: Well we CAN just wander off and deal with it later, we just have to find a way to blame it on Thrune.
 
Civilla: One of us opens the door and the other one has a Readied Action to close it again depending on how bad it looks on the other side.
Terzo: Another dozen Wretchghosts.
Civilla: *sob*
Ayva: In that case we come back with a priest and a holy flamethrower.
 
It’s actually a room with dead bodies and some brightly coloured paving stones.
 
Rajira: *sarcastically* Oh GREAT, it’s a colour trap, those are always fun.
 
Light weights don’t trigger anything, and Detect Magic doesn't reveal anything on the floor, walls, or ceiling. Civilla Summons a lemur to stand in for a Minefield Sheep.
 
Terzo OoC: Prosimians being expendable, of course.
Avya’s player: A man-sized lemur would be terrifying.
Terzo’s player: They used to be.
Rajira's player: Until quite recently - well into historical times.
 
Something alarming and very far from humanoid or prosimian emerges from the floor and reduces the lemur to tasty nuggets. Rajira suspects she’s figured out the key to crossing the room safely.
 
Civilla: Although that assumes the same key works for whoever goes in next.
Terzo: After you.
 
Terzo: How much do you bet we have to use the other key coming back?
Civilla: No bet.
 
Civilla: Over here, Terzo, I need something to hide behind.
 
GM: Kudos for checking every door for traps, like a good adventurer.
 
The next room has some interesting portraiture, although some Prestidigitation (Cleaning) and Mending will be necessary before we can loot them.
 
Ayva: Civilla’s Cleaning Service.
 
She also finds a Dagger of Venom.
 
Civilla: Rajiiiiraaaa… how would you like a self-envenoming dagger?
Rajira: I’d prefer a self-envenoming kukri but I’ll take it.
Ayva: I can always duplicate the enchantment if we have the original.
 
We also find ledgers, records, blackmail info, lists of enemies, and maps of secret routes the Grey Spiders used to traverse the undercity. Handy. And a poem by a halfling poet recently banned by Thrune. It seems likely it’s a clue to a suspiciously valuable-looking statue and capstone in the next room. Which has multiple bodies piled up around it, which Ayva’s Deathsight immediately pegs as undead. Fireballs would appear to be in order.
 
GM: Well, there WERE six ghasts in that room.
 
Unfortunately it also triggers the big trap, and releases the creature under the capstone. Biologically, it’s pretty interesting, but not if you’re remotely phobic about certain vermin. Or at all vulnerable to some remarkably nasty venoms. Rajira’s Dexterity ends up reduced to merely human levels.
 
Rajira: I’m… NORMAL
 
There is indeed a lower tunnel revealed on those maps we found - unfortunately it’s completely flooded. Consulting our allies, Lictor Octavio can provide us with a Wand of Water-breathing.
 
Civilla: Well, if it’s only a loan we don’t have to pay for it.
GM: The shrine wants a donation of 250GP per charge.
Ayva: ‘Donation’.
 
Happily Ayva can use her abilities to cast it on us herself, without actually knowing the spell first - or, for that matter, combine her abilities to turn it into a magical tattoo.
 
Civilla's player: Yes, I know a lot about the Bishōjo Senshi Sailor Moon lore.
Avya’s player: Yes, that’s why we have the start of a Sailor team.
Terzo's player: Does that make me Tuxedo Mask?
GM: “My Job Here Is Done” “But You Didn’t Do Anything”
 
Terzo's player: Of course I’m the only one with a transformation sequence.
Ayva's player: There’s half-a-dozen Archetypes that can give you a transformation sequence. Isn’t Magical Girl an official Pathfinder character type?
Civilla's player: Yes they’re a kind of Vigilante. That’s why I suggested we all play Magical Girls. Instead we’re playing three young women and Terzo, so we're paying magical girls anyway. Argh.
 
Rajira thinks we need to meet her cousin Mahat, a Vishkanya Slayer. He’s a bit of a shock.
 
Civilla: Wow, really, you didn’t know? Rajira isn’t human. Didn’t either of you know?
Terzo: I may have noticed her unusual eye colour, but I was too polite to comment.
 
Civilla: I should introduce you to my friend Shimza. My good… friend… Shimza.
Rajira: Are you sleeping with her?
Ayva: Rajira, you can’t just SAY questions like that - you just burst into their bedroom in the middle of the night when you think you hear something.
 
Shimza is a Witchborn Brine May of Varisian descent and Blood Arcanist with the Phoenix Bloodline. Ayva has a friend that might be useful, too - Portia Underbough is an Inquisitor-Infiltrator of Irori.
 
Civilla's player: Wait, Portia is a Changeling too? FFS, that makes three in the party.
 
It’s certainly an interesting mix of religious beliefs in the party - it’s going to be a full-time job for Terzo to keep the friction at a minimum.
 
Ayva: Revenge isn’t the only domain of Calistria
Rajira: So I’ve been told but we’re first cousins so we’re avoiding that.
Civilla OoC: Yes, Rajira and Mahat have not been written by GRR Martin.
 
Civilla's player: There you go, Terzo, you’re not as outnumbered as you were.
Terzo's player: Yes, but if I’m Tuxedo Mask what does that make Mahat?
Ayva's player: …. I’ll get back to you.
Civilla's player: One of the Sailor Stars.
 
GM: How many of you can breathe underwater?
Terzo OoC: I did get some compliments on my ability to hold my breath when I was a much younger man.
GM: Oh dear.
 
Perhaps the flooded tunnels connect to the ones that Civilla discovered under the Victocora estate that lead to the Hall of Records. Not that she ever told us about that, and probably won’t until her family has finalized the purchase of the ruins.
 
Ayva: Here you go, Terzo, this enchanted mithril shortsword is for you.
Terzo: Ta muchly.
GM: And no It doesn’t glow in the presence of orcs.
Terzo: But does it glow in the presence of accountants?
Civilla: You know, there’s a spell that’s used to identify members of your own faith - you could use that as the basis of, for example, lighting up the sword when followers of Asmodeus are nearby.
Rajira: But in Kintargo that would mean it goes off all the time.
 
Shimza is wearing an Ornate Corset of Black Silk, Silver Brocade with Azurite insets.
 
Terzo: Ah… I have to inquire, young lady, if that is entirely appropriate attire for our expedition?
Shimza: Oh, absolutely.
Civilla: For one thing you can quite easily represent the symbol of Nocticula, the Redeemer Queen, with the inserts.
Terzo: … Ah.
Civilla: As arcanists, we have to cheat.
 
The new assists from Mahat, Portia, and Shimza will hopefully prove invaluable against the Wretchghosts, although do lead to one pant-wetting moment, because nobody told Ayva about the way Shimza’s burning flames actually heal.
 
Portia: I hit them, I hit them!
Civilla: What?! How?!
Portia: I think it’s because I *really* need a smoke right now!

Pathfinder : In Hell’s Bright Shadow : All Dead, All Dead
 
Civilla’s player has been statting out members of her future coven - it includes an NPC that can use fire as healing magic. That includes fire in the form of Incendiary Runes.
 
Civilla's player: "And here's some that I prepared earlier."
Ayva's player: It doesn't even damage the item so pages of "Stop getting injured you dumbass" would stack
 
GM: I see no issues with her, or her inclusion in the party. An aquatic changeling with a phoenix bloodline is a bit "Who the hell were her parents", but it's mechanically sound.
 
The lack of a cleric in the party is a serious problem for us - we still have nothing that can reliably hurt those Wretchghosts (let alone all the other undead down here) and no way to drive them off for good. And our investigations may have given them access to the surface, so we can’t just go find a priest.
 
Terzo OoC: Well we CAN just wander off and deal with it later, we just have to find a way to blame it on Thrune.
 
Civilla: One of us opens the door and the other one has a Readied Action to close it again depending on how bad it looks on the other side.
Terzo: Another dozen Wretchghosts.
Civilla: *sob*
Ayva: In that case we come back with a priest and a holy flamethrower.
 
It’s actually a room with dead bodies and some brightly coloured paving stones.
 
Rajira: *sarcastically* Oh GREAT, it’s a colour trap, those are always fun.
 
Light weights don’t trigger anything, and Detect Magic doesn't reveal anything on the floor, walls, or ceiling. Civilla Summons a lemur to stand in for a Minefield Sheep.
 
Terzo OoC: Prosimians being expendable, of course.
Avya’s player: A man-sized lemur would be terrifying.
Terzo’s player: They used to be.
Rajira's player: Until quite recently - well into historical times.
 
Something alarming and very far from humanoid or prosimian emerges from the floor and reduces the lemur to tasty nuggets. Rajira suspects she’s figured out the key to crossing the room safely.
 
Civilla: Although that assumes the same key works for whoever goes in next.
Terzo: After you.
 
Terzo: How much do you bet we have to use the other key coming back?
Civilla: No bet.
 
Civilla: Over here, Terzo, I need something to hide behind.
 
GM: Kudos for checking every door for traps, like a good adventurer.
 
The next room has some interesting portraiture, although some Prestidigitation (Cleaning) and Mending will be necessary before we can loot them.
 
Ayva: Civilla’s Cleaning Service.
 
She also finds a Dagger of Venom.
 
Civilla: Rajiiiiraaaa… how would you like a self-envenoming dagger?
Rajira: I’d prefer a self-envenoming kukri but I’ll take it.
Ayva: I can always duplicate the enchantment if we have the original.
 
We also find ledgers, records, blackmail info, lists of enemies, and maps of secret routes the Grey Spiders used to traverse the undercity. Handy. And a poem by a halfling poet recently banned by Thrune. It seems likely it’s a clue to a suspiciously valuable-looking statue and capstone in the next room. Which has multiple bodies piled up around it, which Ayva’s Deathsight immediately pegs as undead. Fireballs would appear to be in order.
 
GM: Well, there WERE six ghasts in that room.
 
Unfortunately it also triggers the big trap, and releases the creature under the capstone. Biologically, it’s pretty interesting, but not if you’re remotely phobic about certain vermin. Or at all vulnerable to some remarkably nasty venoms. Rajira’s Dexterity ends up reduced to merely human levels.
 
Rajira: I’m… NORMAL
 
There is indeed a lower tunnel revealed on those maps we found - unfortunately it’s completely flooded. Consulting our allies, Lictor Octavio can provide us with a Wand of Water-breathing.
 
Civilla: Well, if it’s only a loan we don’t have to pay for it.
GM: The shrine wants a donation of 250GP per charge.
Ayva: ‘Donation’.
 
Happily Ayva can use her abilities to cast it on us herself, without actually knowing the spell first - or, for that matter, combine her abilities to turn it into a magical tattoo.
 
Civilla's player: Yes, I know a lot about the Bishōjo Senshi Sailor Moon lore.
Avya’s player: Yes, that’s why we have the start of a Sailor team.
Terzo's player: Does that make me Tuxedo Mask?
GM: “My Job Here Is Done” “But You Didn’t Do Anything”
 
Terzo's player: Of course I’m the only one with a transformation sequence.
Ayva's player: There’s half-a-dozen Archetypes that can give you a transformation sequence. Isn’t Magical Girl an official Pathfinder character type?
Civilla's player: Yes they’re a kind of Vigilante. That’s why I suggested we all play Magical Girls. Instead we’re playing three young women and Terzo, so we're paying magical girls anyway. Argh.
 
Rajira thinks we need to meet her cousin Mahat, a Vishkanya Slayer. He’s a bit of a shock.
 
Civilla: Wow, really, you didn’t know? Rajira isn’t human. Didn’t either of you know?
Terzo: I may have noticed her unusual eye colour, but I was too polite to comment.
 
Civilla: I should introduce you to my friend Shimza. My good… friend… Shimza.
Rajira: Are you sleeping with her?
Ayva: Rajira, you can’t just SAY questions like that - you just burst into their bedroom in the middle of the night when you think you hear something.
 
Shimza is a Witchborn Brine May of Varisian descent and Blood Arcanist with the Phoenix Bloodline. Ayva has a friend that might be useful, too - Portia Underbough is an Inquisitor-Infiltrator of Irori.
 
Civilla's player: Wait, Portia is a Changeling too? FFS, that makes three in the party.
 
It’s certainly an interesting mix of religious beliefs in the party - it’s going to be a full-time job for Terzo to keep the friction at a minimum.
 
Ayva: Revenge isn’t the only domain of Calistria
Rajira: So I’ve been told but we’re first cousins so we’re avoiding that.
Civilla OoC: Yes, Rajira and Mahat have not been written by GRR Martin.
 
Civilla's player: There you go, Terzo, you’re not as outnumbered as you were.
Terzo's player: Yes, but if I’m Tuxedo Mask what does that make Mahat?
Ayva's player: …. I’ll get back to you.
Civilla's player: One of the Sailor Stars.
 
GM: How many of you can breathe underwater?
Terzo OoC: I did get some compliments on my ability to hold my breath when I was a much younger man.
GM: Oh dear.
 
Perhaps the flooded tunnels connect to the ones that Civilla discovered under the Victocora estate that lead to the Hall of Records. Not that she ever told us about that, and probably won’t until her family has finalized the purchase of the ruins.
 
Ayva: Here you go, Terzo, this enchanted mithril shortsword is for you.
Terzo: Ta muchly.
GM: And no It doesn’t glow in the presence of orcs.
Terzo: But does it glow in the presence of accountants?
Civilla: You know, there’s a spell that’s used to identify members of your own faith - you could use that as the basis of, for example, lighting up the sword when followers of Asmodeus are nearby.
Rajira: But in Kintargo that would mean it goes off all the time.
 
Shimza is wearing an Ornate Corset of Black Silk, Silver Brocade with Azurite insets.
 
Terzo: Ah… I have to inquire, young lady, if that is entirely appropriate attire for our expedition?
Shimza: Oh, absolutely.
Civilla: For one thing you can quite easily represent the symbol of Nocticula, the Redeemer Queen, with the inserts.
Terzo: … Ah.
Civilla: As arcanists, we have to cheat.
 
The new assists from Mahat, Portia, and Shimza will hopefully prove invaluable against the Wretchghosts, although do lead to one pant-wetting moment, because nobody told Ayva about the way Shimza’s burning flames actually heal.
 
Portia: I hit them, I hit them!
Civilla: What?! How?!
Portia: I think it’s because I *really* need a smoke right now!

The complex under the Lucky Bones is decorated with images of Mahathallah, the Dowager of Illusions, and one of the few female entities to have achieved much recognition in Asmodeus’ grossly misogynist realm. It’s also not abandoned.
 
Mook 1: Got any Fours?
Mook 2: Go Fish!
 
At least they have the advantage of being attractive women, so Rajira doesn’t immediately stab them. The rest of us block the obvious exits while Rajira gets their attention with some hostage-taking. 
 
Rajira: Keep. Your weapons.  Sheathed.
The Women: *drop their cards and look surprised* Okay… and what are you doing here?
Rajira: I seek the twins Angus and Phennio Shellet.
The Women: You'll need to be quick then, for Mahathallah’s chosen will soon spill the blood of those twins on the altar, and the Whore Queen herself will descend upon you!
Terzo: Ah. Well, that answers one question anyway.
 
Unfortunately the combat doesn’t wake up the other guards. Unfortunately for them, that is, because after she’s finished off the first two Rajira can go room to room and cut their throats as they sleep. 
 
GM: For a party of non-murder-hobos, Rajira is exceptionally skilled at murder.
Civilla OoC: There’s nothing murder-hobo about her, she’s a murderer. An assassin.
Ayva OoC: And getting very well-paid for it.
Rajira OoC: No I’m not - it's one of the things I’m disgruntled about.
 
The devotees of Mahathallah certainly seem to like decorating with razor-sharp pieces of metal. Doesn’t seem to be doing the mood of the locals any good though - the Bearded Devil sitting behind the desk looks very bored. Rajira hurriedly signals for assistance.
 
Bearded Devil: More cutists... Whadya want? They’re not ready yet. Honestly, waiting for the cusp of adulthood to sacrifice a soul is a bloody waste of time! souls are souls regardless of how long they’ve been lodged in living flesh… Luculla Promised me the Thirteenth soul, what are we at now, five? 
Rajira: Can we at least check on them? The boss is getting antsy and she’s taking it out on us.
Bearded Devil: They’re over there.  I can’t believe I have to wait for eight more of these before I get mine.
Civilla: That hardly seems fair - you’re doing all the.. Work.
 
Two young men, both thin and disheveled, cower in the southeast corner of the otherwise bare chamber. Faces dirty and streaked with tears, both teens are bound hand and foot by manacles chained to a single ring set in the stone floor. Scratches on the stone walls from desperate fingers attest to the fact that these twins are not the first of this room’s recent prisoners.
 
Civilla: Well, there’s only five have come in through THIS office…
Bearded Devil: Are you implying… No, I know if Luculla was trying to stiff me. As you can see  they’re perfectly fine and will be alive for whatever you cultists have planned. And tell them to get some more, I want this to be OVER.
Rajira: I don’t have much interaction with the catch teams, but I’ll do what I can. Oh, but I do have something else to give you. It’s important. *STAB*
 
It’s not a one-stab-kill, but we do kill the devil and get the kids out. Will do find a set of iron doors, sealed and marked with a dire warning by the Order of the Torrent. Probably NOT worth opening. The temple we find next, decorated with images of a number of unpleasant entities, also has a few interior decorators who remain oblivious of Rajira and the celestial leopard until Too Late. The aforementioned Luculla, unfortunately for us, is alert enough to Summon a Giant Fiery Wasp from Heck. Unfortunately for her, Civilla can substitute any summoned monster with one of hers and replaces it with a Shadow Chicken. A very confused Shadow Chicken. 
 
Civilla’s player complains that the symbols for most of the Pathfinder gods are too complex.
 
Ayva’s player: I wouldn’t want to be a cleric of on of those religions - ‘Holy s*** a vampire - give me 20 minutes.’
 
Whilst the Order of the Torrent certainly sealed off part of the complex down here with assorted dire warnings, they appear to have missed a secret door down a pit.
 
GM: Rajira and Civilla go around the outside of the pit.
Civilla’s player: Two trailer park girls go round the outside, round the outside… sorry. 
 
GM: You find the hidden switch to disable the traps around the pit.
Ayva: Part of me wants to add a label - ‘ pull for light’.
Terzo: So, do you need me to stay up here as an anchor for the rope?
GM: I don’t think you want to try and jump the spike pit, Terzo.
Terzo: We COULD just drop all the tables, beds and mattresses down the hole. 
GM: …
Civilla OoC: We got everything we needed in the earlier rooms - oh my god it’s a reverse Gygax dungeon.
 
The rooms beyond are cold. Unnaturally, dead-of-winter cold. And it certainly sounds like there’s plenty of dead down here to go with the cold. And suspicious pale yellow fungus, which we set on fire from a cautious distance. We find ourselves not far from the doors the Order of the Torrent sealed.
 
Civilla: Yeah, real secure guys.
Rajira: Oh, be fair, they didn’t know about the secret door.
 
It’s just as well that Ayva has Deathsight, so we aren’t surprised by the ghost of the halfling woman we soon encounter. 
 
Ghost of the Gambling Halfling: A wager? A game? Oh, I’ve waited so long! These bones are lucky tonight! Care to wager part of yourselves, to earn my secrets?
Civilla: Can we specify which part?
Ghost: Just part of your lifeforce.
Civilla: Then no. 
Rajira: So, what’s the game?
 
She wants to play Odds or Evens, a very simple dice game of pure chance. 
 
Ayva: We’d better get to use our own dice.
Civilla: I should hope so, she’s certainly going to insist on using hers. 
 
Rajira wins the first round, and the ghost cheerfully answers her question about the other residents - we were right, there are quite a few other undead. Unfortunately, for the next round someone else has to roll, and Terzo can’t inspire his own skill in Sleight of Hand. Happily he doesn’t have to. 
 
Terzo: The Lady appears to be with me this evening, madam. You said yourself there are no other gamblers down here - is there any way we can help you go on to wherever you might find others of your proclivities? Hobby? Profession?
Ghost: You want to help me Move On! Such kindness from those I would have considered prey in life! I do miss the sunlight - you could see to it the dawn touches my bones. 
 
Ayva wins the next round too.
 
Civilla: I’m looking around for a hidden shrine to Desna (Goddess of Luck).
Ayva: I certainly owe her a big favour.
 
Ayva: Tell me all the secrets down here.
Ghost: That’s a touch broad - how about ‘A river runs beneath us, you know, and its dark currents have brought in new visitors below our feet…’ - there, that’s suitably vague. 
 
Civilla: Before I roll, there are things I need to know. What if you can’t answer?
Ghost: Well, I’m hardly omniscient - I was just the old Guildmaster. ‘I don’t know’ is a legitimate answer, Oh wait, I just told you something about myself! You’ll have to play twice. 
Civilla: I don’t think so. 
 
Civilla loses, but the ghost wasn’t cheating.
 
Ghost: I do try to play fair. Now hold still, this won’t hurt a bit. I just want some of your memories.
GM: Take 3 CON damage.
Civilla OoC: Oh thank god, I thought you were going to say 6 Negative Levels.
Ghost: Such wonderful memories!
Civilla OoC: Are you sure about that? Every night for a Changeling is nightmares, dreams and visions sent by our Hag mother.
 
So it might be a matter of some concern that a lot of the people that we’ve been killing down here are also probably Changelings.
 
Civilla: Dammit, I need to play another round - there’s an answer I NEED to know.
 
She loses again. And has to risk a third round.
 
Civilla: Those of us that wish to escape our pasts must do so on their own, as the Redeemer Queen did. Did the Changelings we killed here have the same mother?
Ghost: Indeed! And you killed her. 
Civilla OoC: Hmm. There’s a head I need to collect.
Terzo OoC: Am I going to regret asking?
Civilla OoC: Probably - there’s a magic item you can make from the shrunken heads of evil hags, used by witches who want a coven but don’t want to associate with evil hags.
Terzo OoC: I was right, I do regret asking.
Ayva OoC: The heads are still animated, incidentally. 
 
Terzo happens to know that the Redeemer Queen was the first succubus, but has become a goddess and rejected Chaotic Evil. Which has him looking at his student with an odd expression. The Guildmaster’s ghost hopes we’ll actually follow through on putting her to rest, but there’s still more of the complex to explore.  And Wretchghosts, which are what happens to very unfortunate addicts. And who can inflict the same addiction on the living. 
 
Terzo: Don’t let them touch you!!!
Wretchghost: Firssst Onnnne Freeeee!!!!
 
This is very, very bad for us - Civilla (already badly weakened by the ghost earlier) promptly succumbs, Ayva isn’t much better, and Rajira has nothing that can hurt them - apart from that intelligent Kukri which would be a move of utter desperation. Desperate retreat is in order, until they stop following us.

HORROR ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS - MILAN - A NIGHT AT THE OPERA

Jan 1923
 
In Which The Investigators Enjoy Opera At Its Finest And Other Mental Disturbances
 
Lt. Huxley has made his stage debut at la Scala, which is certainly something to be proud of, and a big step up from the amateur dramatics he was involved in back at school. Of course, at Greyfriars he didn’t have to contend with dangerous lunatics in the audience, or trying to smuggle an evil artifact out of the building in front of thousands of opera-goers. 
 
He also has to hold off doing anything until the next scene change - the old man with the Diva’s voice has no such reason for delay. The old woman that was with them is also on the move, but at a much slower and confused pace. The cultist and his minions hurry out of the building and around to the side door, followed by Alex, who sees the goons beat up the doorman and enter the backstage area. Both goons and doorman do seem rather off-put by the old man’s young, and female voice. Alex returns to fetch Florence. 
 
Huxley takes the first opportunity he can to grab the Torso of the Simulacrum, snap off the wooden base, and hurry for the side exits - just in time to run into the cultist and his goons. He flees upstairs, stuffing the Torso into a hiding spot and attempting to hide himself, but to no avail at least for the last bit. He is forced to topple a stack of props to slow down the pursuit. By the time Alex and Florence catch up (after recommending whiskey as a cure-all to the brutalised doorman) the Lieutenant has left quite a mess. 
 
Alex: I think we know what klutz made that.
GM: Indeed - you can see him at the end of the corridor, still dressed in sandals and loincloth, pursued by two of the goons.
Florence: Yes, that's our klutz.
 
But where can Huxley be going? 
 
Alex: Where can you go in a loincloth?
Florence: There’s clubs for that
GM: Whatever party the lead tenor has planned.
 
The two two investigators can either pursue flat out, or proceed over the pile of props at a more moderate velocity. They choose the latter.
 
Florence: A safer speed would be better in these shoes.
 
And just as well, since it gives them the opportunity to spot the Torso where Huxley hid it. They wrap it in a drape, and head upstairs to leave via the costume department’s fire escape, with the assistance of a helpful stagehand. Unfortunately they run into the old man and one of his other minions coming the other way. The older man is too preoccupied to notice what the investigators are carting, but his bodyguard is more observant. The resulting scuffle on the stairwell goes on for some time, even after the old man draws a knife and injures Alex, and even after Flo escapes with the Torso, and despite all the yelling of “Pervitito!” by Florence. 
 
Alex OoC: We always have such fun on holiday!
 
Meanwhile Huxley has escaped his pursuers and intends to change back into his day clothes, and return to where he stashed the Torso. Admittedly he’ll have to do a loop of the entire building and go up and down three different floors, but backstage la Scala is a maze. It’s also unfortunate that a furious stage director spots him and frogmarches him back to the changing rooms to get back into costume, no doubt uttering dire threats to the other spear-carriers if they let him wander off again. He does spot the older woman wandering around with an expression of deep confusion and deep concentration, but his fellow extras have orders to keep him planted where he is, even when the scuffle above the stage is clearly visible to the cast members. 
 
Florence doesn’t seem to have the Lt.’s Bump of Direction, and gets herself quite lost trying to find the costume department, and has to barricade herself into a storeroom when she’s spotted by some of the goons. By the time a badly wounded Alex finds them, and comes back with some help, the old man and the other minion have also found Florence’s hideyhole, and they’ve already shot out the lock and half bashed in the door. At least the first goon through gets himself brained with a chairleg. 
 
The goons also seem reluctant to open fire on the opera staff - the one with the gun even puts it away in a hurry - despite the shrieked orders from the old man. Not that he’s shrieking for long, because the old woman has caught up and launches herself at the man’s throat. Alex takes the opportunity to put the boot in - they’re probably going to have to get a new tuxedo now this one is so full of knife holes and bloodstains. 
 
Old woman: *in an old man's voice* GIVE ME BACK MY VOICE!
 
THAT gives Florence an opportunity to drop the old man in the s***.
 
Florence: He cursed her! That’s the Diva! Stregoni!
 
And since some of the opera patrons coming out of their boxes to see what all the commotion is recognise Signora Cavollaro’s jewelry, and the old man tries to defend himself with the Diva’s unmistakable voice, the growing crowd on the third floor has a excuse for some peremptory justice. Some of the staff patch up Alex and check that Florence is OK, then hurry off after the rest of the mob.
 
GM: If there’s going to be a lynching, they don’t want to miss it.
 
Not that any of this has affected the performance much - the Show Must Go On! In fact Huxley doesn’t get to make his escape until Alex comes looking for him, and the first thing he does is check Alex’s bandages. They’re a bit insulted by his dismissal of their first aid skills, even if he is the professional medic of the party. 
 
Alex: I got all my Girl Guide badges you know.
 
At least Alex got a souvenir - the old man's knife, which to Huxley's eye seems better suited to delicate work than to your average stabbing. Flo, struggling under the awkward weight of the Torso, still hasn’t found the fire escape, and ends up out on the terrace overlooking the plaza. Where every hair on the back of her neck stands up, as she’s overwhelmed by the same primal terror of a small animal that KNOWS a large predator is somewhere very close, and getting closer. She hurries back inside, badly shaken. The Torso, if anything, is getting harder to carry, in much the same way cats seemingly get heavier at will. 
 
Florence: Don’t you realise we’re trying to get you back together????
 
The statue seems to get more cooperative, and before too long she's tottering along the edge of the plaza like she’s merely twelve months pregnant.
 
Florence: Good girl. Good statue.
 
That’s where Huxley finds her, while everybody else is distracted by the police cars pulling up at the opera house. She doesn’t want to tell him what happened, because she’s still thoroughly wigged out by the fear that gripped her on the terrace. 
 
Florence: We need to get this out of sight... There’s something around.
 
Might still be, too - somebody is watching them from the balcony. Huxley doesn’t recognise them from this distance, at night, but they’re tall, slim, and have unfashionable long hair if they’re male. And they’re looking. Right. At. Florence. And. Huxley. Florence is quite glad to get back their rooms at the Galleria, bolting all the doors and windows, and dumping the Torso next to the Arm. 
 
Florence: See? See, I told you, there’s your arm. *gives the Torso a friendly pat*
 
Nonetheless, she insists they get out of Milan as soon as possible - for one thing staying literally just across the road from la Scala is asking for trouble. The trio pack up in a hurry, and intend to wait at the train station until the next Orient Express leaves for Venice - which won’t be until after lunch. At least the Compagnie Internationale des Wagons-Lits provides an excellent waiting room for passengers on their train. The Orient Express staff may well wonder if the investigators got AM and PM confused, but they're far too polite to actually say so.