TOPIC: Horror on the Orient Express - All Rotations

Sorry lads unless my cold improves won't be at club, Thursday , will post if I'm coming.

VIII THE SHORT VERSION


Friday 22nd February 1923
The spy in our midst
An assassination plot revealed
An invitation to meet The Prince
Making a deal with the devil
Fetch me the statue and scrolls and I won’t slaughter you all

The spell of Detransferance
Back on the carriage roof
Cartwright slips and almost falls from the train
Helmut slips and is gone
Gunfight in the fourgon
No Simulacrum and no scrolls. Deeply disappointing.
One more fourgon to try.
At least we haven’t had to face Makryat yet.

VIII THE LONG VERSION

Friday 22nd February 1923

No stopping
The train flashes through Lausanne without stopping. It fails to stop at any station as it rushes at excessive speed through Switzerland. Everyone reunites in the restaurant car. The acceleration can be felt as we stand in the train. The train vibrates causing fixtures and drinking glasses to rattle. Referencing the mysterious carriage joined to the end of our train, Pierre reminds everyone we’ve seen the gothic structure before—the abode of ‘The Prince’ in Dream Lausanne.

Costanza. Elena Costanza.
Elena Costanza approaches. She looks suddenly sincere. Her accent slips from her fake Spanish lilt to a distinctly British dialect. Ludwig asks if her hangover has cleared. She smiles. Her hangover was as fake as her accent.
“I’ve witnessed many strange things on this train,” she tells us. “And it seems much revolves around you. People have left this train. Some have simply disappeared. Senor Martinelli left the train wrapped in a bed sheet. I saw this from my window. Not a pretty sight. Was this you?”
Ludwig puffed out his chest. It made his rash itch. “What are you implying? This is outrageous!”
Again Elena smiled. “We may have shared interests.I work for the British government. I’m what you might call, a spy.”

Blood of a Prince
"I am on the trail of a miscreant named Makryat. An associate of an heretical group: The Brothers. Do you know him? He is planning to assassinate the King’s son.”
Ludwig muses. “Edward? Oh, mein Gott. The blood of a prince!” He looks at the others. “You recall from the diary of Professor Smith? Leeds and Nisra. For their diabolical ritual, to call forth a terrible entity from beyond-they required the blood of a prince!”
Elena asks us. “Can you help me? Can you find Makryat?”

Stranger Things
We tell Elena that we believe Makryat is indeed on the train. There is an object on this train that he would not abandon. But he’s a master of disguise. He could be masquerading as anyone. Right in front of us. We ask if Elena has warned her seniors in England of Makryat’s coming and of his plans. Of course she has. Pierre asks Elena what strange things she has witnessed. She shudders as she recalls seeing creeping flesh making its way through the Calais Coach in the early hours.

You can’t handle the truth
Elena asks us straight. Did we murder and dispose of poor Luigi Martinelli? We assure her that although it was us who had to dispose of him before awkward questions might be asked, it was Makryat or an ally of his who did the murdering. As to how Makryat can disguise himself and wander freely to murder, Cartwright adds the shock factor: “He’s a demonic monster who murders and skins his victims so that he may assume their identity by wearing their skin." Elena reels and feints on the spot. Cartwright searches her before Ludwig and Mika employ smelling salts to bring her around.

An Unexpected Invitation
An androgynous looking young man with a shaved head and dressed in middle-eastern silks interrupts us. He gives a polite bow. He announces that The Prince invites us to an audience. He awaits us in his carriage. We are in danger for sure. But The Prince (or The Duc as we also know him) was a keen collector of scrolls. Maybe he’ll have the scroll that reverses our afflictions? It’s worth a meeting. We probably have no choice anyway. Ludwig is overcome by anxiety. He rubs at his shrivelling scars and recalls his last meeting with The Prince. When we fobbed him off with the fake Scroll of the Head and Ludwig received his disfiguring scars from The Prince as a thank you.

Welcome
We follow The Prince’s emissary. We seamlessly step from the Calais Coach to the gothic carriage, as if passing through a portal from one world to the next. The grandeur of The Prince’s carriage eclipses the luxury of the Orient Express. We stand in a great hall that must be several times larger than the carriage ought to be. We feel no pull or rattle of excessive speed. The whole of our opulent surroundings seems to exude a feeling of quiet eternity. There is no rush here. On a small dais, before a backdrop of exquisite woven tapestries is a gem-encrusted throne. Up the throne sits a regal figure—The Prince. He wears nothing but a loin cloth, revealing a body pieced together from the parts of many others. We recall he had an alternative title—The Jigsaw Prince. And now we know why.

Greetings
“Ah. It is good to see you again,” The Prince states in monotone voice. Pierre bows low in deference. Ludwig rubs his scars. The Prince continues: “First things first. I forgive you for your past transgressions against me.” He smiles. “I want the statue. Get it for me.”
Pierre bows again and replies: “We are physically tainted by it, my Lord. Do you have the scroll that would relieve of us of the sufferings it burdens us with?”
“Ah, yes” answers The Prince. “Thank you for reminding me. I want the scrolls too. You will get them for me along with the statue. Now go. Do as I bid.”

The Deal
But what about Makryat? He will guard it against us and we do not know where he is hidden. The Prince has a solution. He’ll teach us a spell. The Spell of Detransferance will reveal Makryat to us. It must be cast on an individual we suspect is Makryat. Each casting will exhaust the caster. So use the spell wisely.
“But how will we know when to cast it? Makryat is a master of disguise. He could be anyone.”
“Not my problem,” exclaimed the Prince. “Now. You have made the deal.”
“The deal? We haven’t agreed to a deal.”
“Of course you have. You will do my bidding and fetch what I want or you all die. That’s the deal.”
“Oh. That deal!”
“But we’re already dying,” interjects Cartwright.
The Prince squeezes Cartwright’s larynx by the power of thought.
Cartwright tries to reply with a defiant “Fuck You”. But his throat emits no sound except a strangled gurgle.
Cartwright relents and along with Pierre and Letty agrees to learn the spell. Ludwig rubs his scars and politely declines. He wants nothing to do with any magic The Prince wields. Father Mika believes this black magic is an affront to God and refuses outright. He refuses to make a deal with the Devil.
“Helmut. If you step out of this carriage alive. Believe us. You’ve made the deal.”

MORE TO FOLLOW

Continued.....

Forming the Plan
The Prince gestures and a portal back to the Calais Coach appears to us as a door. That’s our invitation to leave. As we step back into the Calais Coach we feel the acceleration of the train once more. Time and motion, it appears, operate differently between here and The Prince’s domain. We decide to tool up for a raid on the first fourgon, the most secure. If we locate the Simulacrum then surely we won’t need to find Makryat. He’ll come to us. Besides, The Prince didn’t say he wanted Makryat. Our priority is the Simulacrum—and if luck is with us—the scrolls.

Executing the Plan
It’s just shy of midnight. Time to get moving. We climb to the carriage roof once more. Not something we imagined we’d have to do again. Mika puffs out his cheeks in dread of the very thought of repeating the feat. If possible, the train felt as if it was speeding faster than before. A trail of smoke billowed from the engine and the freezing winds whipped around us, threatening to blow us clean off the roof. Every step was a supreme effort to make. Clearing the gap between two carriages, Cartwright slipped and had to catch his balance to avoid falling and being lost. Relief washes over us as we reach the fourgon at the front end of the train. We clamber down one by one in the knowledge that the padlock has already been undone.

Gone with the Wind
Mika was last to attempt the descent. His foot slipped before he could even step down to the first of the iron handholds fixed to the side of the car. There was a scream; hardly heard over the rush of the wind. With the train thundering along the track at incredible speed, to slip now would mean certain death. Mika is nowhere to be seen.
“Helmut! Helmut! Where are you?”
“It’s no use. The old fool lost his footing. He’s gone!”

Fourgon Number One
The sound of the wind was cut off as the door was slammed shut behind us. The noise of our entry would surely attract the guards. Sure enough footsteps approached to investigate. Ludwig peeked around the corner into the gangway. Two guards, guns drawn, quickened their pace toward him. “Arrêt! Stop or we shoot!” they shouted as without hesitation they started shooting. Ludwig dived backward for cover. Pierre replaced him in the gangway and returned fire. Letty did the same, until her gun jammed.

Gun Fight at the O.K. Fourgon
Bullets flew in the carriage. The fire-fight continued until finally both guards were incapacitated. Luckily, of the investigators, only Ludwig was hit. Just a graze. He unwound a small bandage he had in his pocket and held it to his bleeding head. A frantic search of the entire fourgon ensued. To our dismay, there was no Simulacrum and no scrolls to be found anywhere amongst the cargo in the carriage. “Scheisse! All this for nothing!” uttered a dismayed Ludwig. But there was still one more fourgon to be searched. Once more we clambered up to the roof, and with the rush of wind at our backs this time, we retraced our steps by one carriage.

A Miracle
Father Mika summoned the last of his strength to haul himself up level with the carriage roof. By chance, his overcoat had caught on some protuberance to prevent his falling to otherwise certain doom. He stopped to take in a breath and uttered a prayer of gratitude for the undoubted miracle that he’d been sent. His strength began to wane. Unable to heave himself up any further he was in dire need of aid. “Err. Gentlemen. A little assistance if you please. Meine Herren? Wo sind sie? Kӧnnen sie mir behilflich sein? Gentlemen?!!”


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