Arcanepath.net

The Royal Alexandrian Railroad was a busy route trailing the northern Egyptian coast from west to the ancient port.
(21:34:52) (Chiddingfold): The rattle and rumbling of the carriage did little to help the Englishman get any sleep. Artie head lay under a copy of the newspaper 'The Colonial Echo' and every jolt of the carriage made his head violently shake.
(21:36:31) (Chiddingfold): The heat and humidity was truly staggering, and even though he had acclimatised over the last six months it still had the ability to make him sweat profusely.
(21:38:03) arcanus: Sleep was however the last thing on Chiddingfolds mind, his senses had detected the minutest of changes, a gradual acceleration combined with an increased rattle and rocking, a sense that control was slipping.
(21:43:19) (Chiddingfold): From experience of using this line, is this quite a hilly part of it? Hence the acceleration? As he is content to stay lying down, even with the discomfort.
(21:43:47) arcanus: (Make an IQ roll?)
(21:46:47) (Chiddingfold): (IQ 11)
(21:54:52) arcanus: The surrounding terrain is hilly, however the locomotive a British Railway Consortium Phantom IV Doublestack is still accelerating downhill.
(21:55:26) (Chiddingfold): Dangerously fast I'll wager?
(21:55:57) arcanus: It is worrying him
(22:02:00) (Chiddingfold): With an exasperated sigh, he tears the newspaper from his face and stands up. Brushing down his battered Army field dress down he drags the threadbare curtains across and peers out of the open window.
(22:02:17) (Chiddingfold): (Perception of 11)
(22:04:52) arcanus: The train is hurtling down a canyon track, the line running along the side of a canyon wall, looking out of the window Artie could see several hundreds of feet until terminating in a small speck of a river
(22:06:47) (Chiddingfold): Quite a drop then. Does there seem to be any commotion within the train?
(22:14:29) arcanus: Artie knew the engine was one of the new models, multi-chambered with an extended crown, capable of pulling large loads or lots of passenger cars, and equally capable of reaching high speeds which it seemed to be doing now on a downward egress
(22:15:31) (Chiddingfold): OOC : I am trying to look for military actions in Egypt at this time but I can't seem to find it at short notice.
(22:18:58) (Chiddingfold): He is a member of the Royal East Kent Regiment.
(22:20:34) arcanus: The other passengers a mix of Eqyptians, Europeans and black servants seem untroubled by the rocking and motion
(22:21:28) arcanus: (Second Anglo_Ashanti War 1863 to 1864, however bearing in mind this is an alternate world anything goes)
(22:21:48) (Chiddingfold): How about 1882 for the year? It was the Anglo-Egyptian War (1882)
(22:22:20) (Chiddingfold): Sure mate, we'll go with yours
(22:22:25) arcanus: Okay lets go for 1882
(22:22:38) (Chiddingfold): ha ha ok
(22:23:12) (Chiddingfold): It mentions Alexandria directly
(22:24:02) (Chiddingfold): 1st Battalion, The Buffs (East Kent Regiment)
(22:24:43) arcanus: Just looking at it now
(22:27:01) (Chiddingfold): They wore the red uniform
(22:28:07) (Chiddingfold): http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ang" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;​lo-Egyptian_War_(1882)
(22:29:54) arcanus: (How does his clairsentience work?)
(22:29:56) (Chiddingfold): Railway – During the build up to the battle at Tel-el-Kebir the specially raised 8th Railway Company RE operated trains carrying stores and troops, as well as repairing track. On the day of the battle they ran a train into Tel-el-Kebir station at between 8-9am (13 September) and "...found it completely blocked with trains, full of the enemy's ammunition: the line strewn with dead and wounded, and our own soldiers swarming over the place almost mad for want of water…" (extract from Captain Sidney Smith's diary), Once the station was cleared they began to ferry the wounded, prisoners and troops with stores to other destinations.[5]
(22:31:12) (Chiddingfold): It can work like a 'spidey sense', but he can use it specifically if he wants to.
(22:32:49) (Chiddingfold): Actually, disregard the uniform
(22:33:46) (Chiddingfold): He is incognito as obviously he is no longer in the army.
(22:34:14) (Chiddingfold): We need a reasoning to why he is entering Alexandria
(22:34:36) arcanus: All will be revealed
(22:34:54) (Chiddingfold): Ah, it could be he has some shady contacts or Egyptian friends.
(22:35:19) arcanus: Depends on the Month if its before July, they haven't occupied the city yet
(22:37:31) (Chiddingfold): His ability almost works like a sudden burst of astral projection, like sonar.
(22:38:17) (Chiddingfold): Almost like he is 'pinging' and from it he attains his 360 perception.
(22:39:07) (Chiddingfold): But from it he can centre the perception and attain more information.
(22:39:44) (Chiddingfold): And direct it.
(22:39:56) arcanus: Noise came flooding in, causing Artie to shudder and his muscles to tighten, something was occurring on the top of the train
(22:40:40) (Chiddingfold): Footsteps? Lifesigns?
(22:40:54) arcanus: Lifesigns
(22:41:11) (Chiddingfold): I take it that the train isn't full?
(22:41:41) arcanus: Fairly full
(22:42:06) (Chiddingfold): So there aren't passengers on top of the train then?
(22:42:29) arcanus: No there shouldn't be any
(22:43:43) (Chiddingfold): Artie raises his hand to touch the train ceiling, and centres his ability to attempt to see what is going on.
(22:44:37) (Chiddingfold): Magery: Centering : 9
(22:45:10) (Chiddingfold): Magery: 9
(22:46:20) (Chiddingfold): As I mentioned, the power almost acts like a lightspeed astral projection, a pulse of his whole being.
(22:46:44) (Chiddingfold): So in essence he is out of his body for a nanosecond when he uses it.
(22:49:34) ChatBot: (Chiddingfold) rolls 3d6 and gets 2,1,4.
(22:49:48) (Chiddingfold): forgot you can do that!
(22:49:58) ChatBot: (Chiddingfold) rolls 3d6 and gets 5,1,3.
(22:50:21) (Chiddingfold): So... Magery: Centering : 7
(22:50:40) (Chiddingfold): And....Magery: 9
(22:52:13) (Chiddingfold): You still there mate?
(23:01:40) arcanus: On the edge of his vision the great Dharmic energies swirl, the strange twisting of his inner being from having had another entity dwelling within his body. His senses dislocated, flicking from where he stood to the roof of the train, taking everything in and then snapping back into his body.
(23:02:46) (Chiddingfold): What did his vision within a vision see?
(23:04:25) (Chiddingfold): Is there more than one person on the top of the train?
(23:05:24) arcanus: His mind immediately assembled the jumble of images and sounds a deep Ommm Ommm yogic hum rising within his throat, a slightly ragged man with a short top hat, scruffy clothing wielding a pistol, firing towards the front of the train.
(23:06:53) ChatBot: (Chiddingfold) rolls 3d6 and gets 4,1,5.
(23:07:33) (Chiddingfold): Observation: Who or what was he shooting at?
(23:08:02) arcanus: Looks like the coal carriage or locomotive

The sun was high in the sky, bright, hot and unforgiving.
As the tall man stepped out of the doorway onto the open deck everything seemed as though it had been washed with brilliant white making the man squint and shield his eyes against the glare.
The heat was tremendous, like a tangible barrier.
His journey here had been spent in the dark, musty heat of the boiler room, shovelling coal into raging furnaces.
It struck the man that he was now merely swapping one form of oppressive heat for another.
No, he reconsidered. The boiler room was dark, humid from the steam and the sweat of his fellows, the air thick with dust that caked the nostrils and coated everything else.
This new heat was dry, dust free and smelled predominantly of salt and as the ship that had sailed from Cyprus was now moored alongside the jetty, the scent of spices and animals and cooking food wafted on the gentle breeze, enticing the man’s senses and causing a rumble in his belly.

Hefting the large duffle bag he carried with him over his shoulder he ventured across the deck and down the brow.
As he stepped from the wooden gangway his boots crunching on the dusty sandstone blocks of the jetty he reminisced on his last visit to this ancient city.

It must have been nearly twenty five years ago, his father leading his mother, sister and a much younger version of himself through the bustling traders that still crowded around the wharves and jetties. He remembered the fawning hands holding out silks, fruit, wooden carvings, whatever they were vending trying to get these white strangers to part with their money.

Under the shadow of the faded leather wide-brimmed hat he wore he chuckled as he trod the exact same path as he had done then. Only now the traders looked at his threadbare, grubby clothes, his unshaven face still smeared with coal dust and the long staff he had strapped to the bag he carried and decided that he wasn’t worth bothering with.
He knew that if he turned down one of the narrow alleys that led off from the main avenue, then he would have Egyptians trying to entice him into bars and brothels, or both.

The hotel his father had led them to a quarter of a century ago was still there, and once again the man smirked and grunted a cynical laugh. The hotel looked like it hadn’t been touched in all those twenty five years. A forlorn and haggard sight, with weather worn walls and warped ill-fitting window frames. A suitable place for him to spend his first night back in Egypt.
Inside was a surprise. The hotel could never have been accused of being luxurious, however it was clean, tidy and cool, a relief from the midday heat that baked the street outside.

A bespectacled Egyptian man sitting at a rickety old desk started when the staff the traveller was carrying clattered noisily against the top of the doorframe.
The Egyptian scowled at the man for a moment before shrugging whatever he was thinking off.
“Good Afternoon, sir!” the man managed to croak out in broken English.
The traveller grunted, “Mm.”
The Egyptian took his visitor’s money – eager to accept English Pounds, French Francs, Drachma, whatever the traveller had in his pocket. He slid the register across to the traveller who took the offered pencil and signed his name; Cohen Luxx.

The room was as much, or as little, as Luxx had expected; bed, small dresser with a cracked mirror, a wardrobe that bizarrely still contained someone else’s clothes. The little Egyptian pushed his glasses further up his nose as he had frowned at the clothing before explaining that the previous tenant had been killed on the road to Cairo. He told Luxx to help himself.
The room did have a balcony and after dismissing the hotelier and making use of the cold water the man had carried in in a wash basin, Luxx threw open the French doors and dripping with water, stepped out into the blazing afternoon sunshine once more.
Leaning against the low white-washed wall he ferretted in his pocket for his father’s old watch.
It was a quarter to one. That gave him over seven hours.
Back inside the room he kicked off his boots and flopped onto the surprisingly comfortable bed and closed his eyes, letting the sounds of the hustle and bustle from the streets of ancient Alexandria wash over him as he drifted into sleep.

He awoke with a start, his eyes jerking open. There was still plenty of noise coming from outside, but the room was bright and stuffy, the sun had dropped in the sky and now shone in through the west facing doorway.
Luxx checked his watch. It was nearly six.

He spent some time making sure his room was secure then made use of the fresh clothing hanging in the wardrobe and headed out, handing the key to the bearded man who now occupied the reception desk.
Hungry, he turned towards the smell of food and beer.

Two streets back from the busy quayside were taverns and bars where the merchant crews spent their hard eared cash. They were already busy, even at this time of the evening. There were sailors of all nationalities, and also some blue coated marines of the Royal Navy.
Luxx found a booth in one of the busy taverns occupied by a sleeping man sporting an enormous moustache. He ordered food and drink and sat quietly eating and watching the people around him.
A ripple of gunfire suddenly echoed up the street, from some distance off. Heads bobbed up like meerkats straining in the direction the sounds had come from, but upon finding no immediate threat they quickly returned to their own frivolities.
Luxx knew that something was going to happen here at seven…ish. Something significant to him. He just didn’t know what it was so he ate and sipped at his warm beer and made sure that his Webley pistol was close at hand as he waited for whatever was to come.

The engine hissed, belching steam from pistons and smoke from its stack. Wheels squealed against the rails as they clattered and clanged over points taking the black beast and the four private coaches it towed from the main line and onto a siding.
Even as the train juddered to a halt a man in a pale suit stepped from the rear of the last carriage onto the sandstone platform, followed at a respectful distance by two others.
The man, in his late thirties, blond hair neatly cut and sideburns stylishly long, shook hands with another who had been awaiting him on the platform.
This other man was a local, a senior official from the governor’s office, sent to greet the dignitary from England.
Pleasantries and jovial smiles were exchanged in the bright baking Alexandria sunshine before the official led the Englishman to an awaiting carriage.
The Englishman spoke guardedly to his two companions, one of whom passed him a package and then returned to the train, the other climbed aboard the carriage to sit alongside the driver.
Official and dignitary took their places in the passenger compartment, the carriage rocking as the rotund Egyptian hoisted himself up and through the door.
The man that had returned to the train watched the carriage leave and also watched the crowd of local on-lookers that the shiny black train always attracted. His keen eyes observed nothing out of the ordinary, no one seeming to pay any special interest in the departing carriage, no one suddenly rushing away from the station. Satisfied that all was normal, the man turned and began giving orders to the staff and driver. He wanted the train ready for the dignitaries return.

His duty of representing Her Majesty at this evenings lavish party at the Governor’s villa performed, the English dignitary mixed with the other guests who ranged from local and foreign businessmen and to Officers of Her Majesties Army and Navy to an Arabian Prince.
The evening went well and the Englishman was pleased with how things had gone, especially given that tension between Britain and Egypt were high at this time.
Not normally one for becoming involved in British politics, he was more used to helping Her Majesty’s Government enforce their policies, this evening had been a pleasant challenge. But how was he to have refused the task when he had been invited to The Palace and asked outright by the Sovereign to undertake it.
That of course was not all she had asked of him. With her had been several senior members of Her Majesties Secret Service. They too had a task for him to perform.
It was this second task the man now turned his attention to.
Navigating the crowd, slowly making his way towards his quarry he finally made contact with a delegate from the Ethiopian Government and passed on the cryptic message, which even he didn’t understand, but which he had been assured the contact would.

With all his duties complete the Englishman enjoyed the rest of the evening, finally retiring back to his train in the company of a dusky lady from Athens.
Darkness had engulfed the world by the time he arrived back at the station. He dismissed the carriage and escorted the woman across the platform.
A disturbance broke out on the opposite platform. There were two men yelling and shouting in English and the gathered Egyptians eagerly awaiting the next train seemed mystified by the words.
The English dignitary was too far away to be able to hear the words clearly but it seemed that the men were trying to get the passengers off the platform.
Always aware of his surroundings the Englishman stared out across the clear moonlit landscape. He could see the trail of smoke from the approaching train, a grey-white line smeared against the black silhouettes of the hills behind.
As he watched one of the station staff rushed onto the platform and mimicked the actions of the two others, finally getting some, if not much, response from the gathered crowd.
Suddenly one of the men, a tall thin man in a shabby suit, the Englishman noticed produced a handgun and fired a shot in the air. This combined with a terrible screeching noise of the approaching train’s wheels straining against the rails seemed to galvanise the passengers into action.

The woman with him, oblivious to the developing scenario gave a frightened scream at the sound of the gunshot.
The Englishman’s batman had stepped out onto the train’s rear platform to assist his lordship and his guest aboard. He flinched a little at the gunshot and turned to see what the commotion was.
It didn’t take him long to see the approaching danger either.

The second of the men on the opposite platform stepped beneath one of the bright gas lanterns illuminating his ruggedly handsome features, his bohemian style of dress and both the Englishman and the batman shared incredulous glances.

The wind picked up instantly at that point and the approaching train and all the scenery behind was blocked from view and sand and dust whipped in in a sudden storm that blasted against the station and everyone on it.
Both the batman and the Englishman reacted in the blink of an eye, turning their backs on the incoming deluge and stepping in alongside one another, their own coats drawn up over their heads to form a two-man human shield with which to protect their lady guest.

As the storm raged there came the horrendous screeching and squealing of wheels as the train finally entered the station.
The Englishman noted that the sound of the roaring engine, which he had expected to pass between himself and the figures on the opther platform seemed to pass noisily behind his own parked carriages and thunder on until in a cacophony of wind and crashing locomotive the beast of steel destroyed one of the large engine sheds on the far side of the station yard.

The storm disappeared as quickly as it had arrived leaving mounds of sand on drifts against walls and pillars and baggage and the backs of the two men shielding the woman.

Amidst dusty coughs the butler emerged for the rear coach with a look of bewilderment upon his aged face.
“Thank the heavens you are alright, Lord Reynolds,” he said upon spotting the Englishman.
“I’m fine Henry, thank you,” the English lord answered. “Are you alright Sam?” he asked of his batman.
“I’m okay Seb. What the hell was that?” Samuel Brocklesby asked as he stood up straight and brushed sand from his coat and hair.
The butler frowned at the batman’s familiarity. To him it just wasn’t proper.
A faint feminine cough came from the shaking woman.
Lord Reynolds wrapped a consoling arm around her shoulder and ushered her to Henry. “Henry here will take you inside, my dear. I shall be along momentarily. Henry, fix the lady some tea to steady her nerves.”

Old Henry gave an enthusiastic nod supplemented with an, “Of course, Lord Reynolds.”
The two figures on the opposite platform were rushing by now, heading directly for where the run-away engine had crashed and destroyed the shed.
They passed, both close enough for Reynolds and Brocklesby to see them clearly.
“Bloody hell, Sam! What’s he doing here?”
Sam shrugged. “The usual I’d say, sir!” he remarked with a wry smile.
Reynolds sighed heavily. “Indeed. I can’t get involved with just yet, not with Miss Oupollorriss as my guest. Follow him, discreetly, Sam. Let me know what he’s up to.”

Sam quickly darted into the rear coach and emerged a moment later tucking a pistol into his belt.

He disappeared into the darkness and Reynolds straightened his attire before entering the rear coach. “My dear,” he said flippantly, “I was told of the sudden storms here, but that exceeded even my expectations.”