The SS TPK (and what a fine ship she is too!)

Here I am, attempting to avoid counting down the days until I finish working at British Sugar - and I find myself yet again with nothing much to do. That means, of course, that it is time to perform my honour-sworn duty as scribe for the brave English Gentlemen currently trapped in 1879 French Algiers.

I might also add that since it is distinctly possible that John will be unable to attend the next (and final!) wednesday night of gaming and debauchery, this will likely be my last session of Call of Cthulhu. Next week Mark has promised us a taster session for his upcoming D&D 4E campaign - which I have volunteered to roll up cannon fod.... er... characters for.

When we last left off, the party of beleagered English sorts had just been chased through the town streets, taken several wrong turns and ended up - quite by accident, I might add- aboard the ship that claimed the lives of our last party (Affectionately dubbed the SS TPK). We hit the deck, quite literally, and stay low as a rabble of Arabs gathers on the docks and starts shouting and pointing in all different directions. Nathaniel, toting a shotgun, takes up position by the makeshift boarding ramp and waits. Lady Petra hurries below deck in search of a first-aid kit and promptly finds herself in a conversation with an Arab who is skulking around below decks in one of the cabins. Quite fortunately, she speaks Arabic and somehow manages to convince the fellow that she is from a lesser known islamic-germanic sect, and hurries off with some bandages to help the Sergeant Major.

By the time she returns, though, the stubborn bastard is already back on his feet - a little sore (1 hp from unconsciousness!) - but ready to have another go. Now, for the first time we takes stock of what is on deck around us and find several dead arabs fallen around a group of dead white men. We assume this is the place we're actually supposed to be, and Steven volunteers to head below decks to search around for the statue we're supposed to be retrieving.

The Major takes up a lever-action Aut 6 and starts to gather up loose rounds from the deck to load the weapon.

Then we notice the pile.

Its a big pile.

Of bodies.

Arabs, in fact.

Apparently killed by some small stabbing implement.

Oh, and there is a french flag planted on the top.

In a stroke of sensibility, we agree that it is probably better to hide the bodies and take the flag down, lest we draw the attention of the knot of Arabs still milling around the docks district hunting for us. The Major and Petra start to drag bodies down off the deck whilst Nathaniel keeps watch. It is a hard job, but they get it done eventually.

Unfortunately we're not particularly good at this whole 'low-profile' thing (or maybe John just likes to watch us suffer... he does have a large pile of character sheets behind that screen). Just as we finish up, we hear the sound of gunshots below deck and Petra and Fairbrass hurry to investigate. They find Steven propped up against the door-frame of a cabin, wheezing away (Con of 4, remember...) with a pistol in hand. He appears to have been redecorating the cabin with the brains of some unfortunate rag-head who "Came at me with a knife."

Well, we already know that the gun-shots will give us away, and so the Sergeant Major shoulders his rifle and hurries back up to the deck to assist Nathaniel with a last stand; too stubborn and English to abandon a comrade. Petra and Steven, on the other hand, have other plans. They scarper to the engine room in search of somewhere to hide.

Fairbrass arrives at the top of the stairs onto the main deck just in time to see Nathaniel (brandishing his spent shotgun like a club) be disarmed by an Arab with a scimitar, and then brutally run through by another. Calmly Sergeant Major Fairbrass (barely conscious here... remember!) raises his rifle and shoots one of the Arabs in the chest, but fails to take him down. The two charge; prompting Fairbrass to toss aside his rifle (no time to reload) and draw his sabre to join in a clash of blades. The sound of steel on steel can be heard even in the bowels of the ship.

Sergeant Major Fairbrass - an expert sword-fighter in his own right - ducks and weaves and parries. He fells one man with a slash to the throat, and then drops the other with a single neat thrust through the gut. Pulling his sword free, he stands ready to take the next wave - stoically refusing to give up the stairs to the Arabs. Two more of the angry locals appear, this time one of them with a pistol. Fairbrass refuses to back down, and the coward shoots him rather than engage in combat (probably sensible seeing the two dead men at his feet). Though the shot only clips him, it is enough to drop the barely conscious soldier, and he tumbles backwards down the stairs and knows no more.

Meanwhile, back down in the engine room: Petra and Steven are frantically searching for a hiding spot. They try to back into a gap between two boiler vessels, only to be met by a polite cough and a ragged man with three weeks worth of beard already hidden in their chosen corner. He wrings his hands around a cross that hangs from his neck and looks up at them in slight confusion.

Lawrence (Me, again): "Oh, er, hello. What's going on here?"
Petra: "We're trying to hide."
Lawrence: "Hide? Why, whats happening?"
Steven: "There's Arabs on the ship, old boy."
Lawrence: "Arabs? My goodness, why? Where are we?"

This carries on for several moments in confusion before the conversation is rudely interrupted as a drunk Frenchman staggers out of the shadows and grabs Petra's behind. Everyone starts to argue for a moment, with Steven trying to calm us down. In the tight confines and the confusion Petra bruises Steven's nose and blackens Lawrence's eye as she whirls to strike Pierre Le Cough directly on the nose, breaking it painfully!

It quickly becomes apparent that Pierre can't actually speak any English... and we are forced to ask Petra to translate. Unfortunately for us all, apparently her French isn't that great... and the message gets somewhat 'lost' in translation.

Example:
Pierre (in french): "You filthy protestant pig!"
Petra (to me): "He says you have nice teeth."

At the sounds of approaching footsteps, we quickly agree to argue later, and hide. Two Arabs poke their heads inside, and eventually decide not to both investigating any further. On their way out, they make mention about sinking the ship.

Petra:"They're going to sink the ship."
Pierre (in french): "Perhaps they will open the seacocks."
Petra: "He's talking saucy french-speak!"
Steven: "Just say the word, old girl, and I'll take the matter in hand."

Eventually we scrabble out of our hiding place. Steven goes off in further search of the statue, whilst the rest of us poke around the engine room. We have a brief encounter with what looks like a coal-dusted whippet (whom speaks english, but only Petra can hear...) and then head out after Steven. We find him lying in a heap on the floor, wheezing again, but clutching a heavy briefcase with the statue in it (you should have seen how many spot hidden rolls he failed in the evening before he finally found this thing... the look of victory on his face was priceless).

We skulk around below deck for a while, since we can still hear voices up on the main deck (an Imam proclaiming war on the white man etc etc etc). Eventually they seem to get bored, and sod off as night falls. With the help of Petra we all dress ourselves up in the clothes of the dead arabs spread throughout the ship, and sneak up onto the main deck.

John (to Mark): "Give me a spot roll."
Mark: "Yep, I make it. Ooh, can I make a spider sense roll?"
John: "Er..."
Mark: "I get a 14."

Sometimes I wonder what happened to my last marble...

Anyway. So, we're disguised. We sneak off the ship and manage to hurry back through the streets towards the embassy unmolested (relatively speaking). The english representative of the gentlemen's club is sitting on his balcony, and calls for a rifle to shoot at 'the locals' when he sees us approaching in disguise. We're forced to run to avoid getting shot at, and manage to get under the balcony and to the front door without any further damage to the party.

After some misunderstandings with the doorman about passwords and our identities (and the loss, or rather; the misplacement of Paul and the bath-chair on the ship), we manage to get the front door opened for us.

Doorman: "So... er... the others?"
Steven: "Well, we got into a bit of a firefight."
Doorman: "Firefight?"
Steven: "Yes... you know, with guns. They came second."
Doorman: "Oh. And Paul? Did he come second too?"

We spent the last ten minutes of the game trying to explain away the presence of the Frenchman. Unfortunately, with only Petra to dubiously translate, the conversation was a little butchered. The following is a very small exerpt.

Doorman: "Is he a dirty, thieving type?"
Petra (in french): "He says would you like to meet his sister?"
Pierre (in french): "Does she have a moustache as good as his?"
Petra (to doorman): "No."
Doorman: "Good."
Petra (in french): "Yes, but it is elsewhere-placed."

We finally got inside, though, and called it a night!