Turn 5 Action Phase, space 16
Action 1: Rest, gain 1 Health and 1 Sanity.
Action 2: Focus.
Mandy held her burnt hand up in front of herself and examined the palm’s scorched skin, she could only just make out the life lines beneath puckered and angry flesh; they criss-crossed each other creating a weird geometric pattern. She closed her fingers and examined her chipped fingernails, I’m not gonna make it through this.
“‘One finds also (at Memphis) a temple of Serapis in a spot so sandy that the wind causes the sand to accumulate in heaps, under which we could see many sphinxes, some of them almost entirely buried, others only partially covered; from which we may conjecture that the route leading to this temple might be attended with danger if one were surprised by a sudden gust of wind.’ So said Strabo,” explained the (fake) fakir. “And like the great man’s discovery of the Serapeum we will reveal a beautiful jewel, uncovered recently in Cairo, at a banquet to be held here at the Romonav’s palace!”
Mandy was so interested in the huge underground necropolis for the sacred bulls that the lure of what she might see at the banquet was too much, she must attend.
To the sponsor’s utter embarrassment, he was unable to produce the jewel. A disappointed Mandy left early; the cloakroom attendant, a portly Cleopatra, handed over her fur stole as she exited the palace. But Mandy paused on its marble steps. Unconsciously her hand went to her throat, then it drifted lower and she felt a lump next to her collarbone, searching the mink Mandy fingered a rock: the fabulous jewel! Immediately, she went to return it but stopped when a whispering voice praised: You are so beautiful, like me. Keep me, together we will wield unimaginable power!
“You are false,” exclaimed Mandy, “false!” and then intuitively, “You can’t be the real artefact.” [By unlucky chance it had been recovered earlier in the game by another investigator.]
Turn 5 Mythos Phase
Mandy felt that she must continue on, so she travelled across the Black Sea to Istanbul, throughout her journey she sensed hostile eyes everywhere. She roomed overlooking the Hagia Sophia. A walk beside the Bosphorus would be lovely she felt, but a recurrence of her infection kept her inside and prevented any sight seeing.
Mandy sat on the end of her bed, feeling worse with each breath. To her distress every orifice began to haemorrhage: her nose, ears and mouth, and the bed sheets became unpleasantly damp. This is it, she thought. Mandy determined that she would venture outside after all, to feel the sea breeze upon her cheeks and hear waves lapping on the shore once more. Well wrapped, despite the warm day, she wandered outside.
A man sat down beside her and, like Mandy, he stared out over the water. She was so self-conscious that when he greeted her with “Iyi günler” she could barely reply.
“You are Mandy Thompson?” he insisted.
“Ye–yes, I am,” she stuttered, confused that he knew her name and that he spoke in English. He nodded and whistled; two other men appeared.
“His resurrection cannot be prevented,” said the man, “will not be prevented, by anyone, Miss Thompson.” They looked into each other’s eyes, her’s were bloodshot and her lids flickered from weakness, his pupils were wide, drug crazed, and their black depths were empty and merciless. The three men began to beat her, brutally and without respite, and when she collapsed to the ground they kicked her unceasingly.
Mandy Thopson is defeated.