Session Overview
The consequences of Haze's nocturnal acrobatics at the Convent of Saint Mary and the Twelve Apostles came due with the dawn. What began as a dressing-down from an irate British commandant evolved into something far more intriguing: an audience with Mother Superior Theodora, a woman who knew far more about the unnatural than any nun should. Between acquiring grave water from dubious antiquities dealers, haggling for dynamite at rickety warehouses, and navigating theological discussions about Nephilim, the team somehow managed to check off their shopping list without starting an international incident. Well, without starting another one.
The Morning After
Hex had been keeping to the shadows since the cave. The traumatic experience had left him questioning what was real and what wasn't, watching his companions plan while feeling distinctly useless. He'd been there in the background during the recent escapades, keeping watch when he could pull himself together enough to manage it.
When the scene picked up again at the convent, Haze cut quite the figure—dishevelled, covered in sand, pottery shards embedded in his clothing, and reeking of jasmine after his attempted infiltration. The creaking door he'd opened would have put Dracula's coffin to shame, revealing the Mother Superior herself: a small, seventy-year-old woman whose sharp eyes promised she'd seen far too much in her time.
"This is a house of God," she said simply, her penetrating gaze fixed on the intruder. "What are you doing here?"
Haze assessed the situation with professional detachment. Could he dodge around her, grab the sheets, and flee? Probably. The mother superior was just a normal human, after all. He'd already fallen off a bloody roof tonight—enough was enough.
When she grabbed his wrist (surprisingly strong for an old lady, though easily breakable), he pulled away and went for the bed anyway. Smart enough not to speak—revealing his American accent would confirm everything—he simply took what he'd come for.
The mother superior watched him flee with the sheets, calling after him: "You could have simply asked for whatever you wanted."
As Haze escaped, he heard her addressing someone else in the convent: "Sister Marguerite, we will have a long discussion about your vows in the morning."
That poor nun was going to have a very uncomfortable conversation.
Regrets and Revelations
When Haze found his companions, he looked absolutely miserable. "I'm never doing this again," he declared, drawing a firm line for future endeavours. "Never. Again."
"But you got the sheets," Hanover pointed out with maddening practicality.
Haze passed them over with a warning that there would likely be uproar in the morning. Hanover confirmed they'd need to extract dust from the sheets, ticking off another item on their increasingly bizarre shopping list.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," Hex observed.
"I'm currently hurting from falling off a roof," Haze explained. "It's more pain than ghosts."
"We heard some sounds," Hex continued. "Sounded like a Saturday morning comedy show."
"I didn't think I had lines, but I'm drawing one now. Never again."
Hex couldn't resist: "Might be vampire nuns, you know."
"I think I only bumped into normal nuns," Haze replied with more hope than certainty. "Not vampire ones."
"Somewhere in the convent," Hanover mused, "something really weird is going on."
"The nuns tried to guilt trip me at the end," Haze admitted.
"Guilt tripping sounds like normal nun behaviour," Hanover said reasonably. Haze agreed—abnormal nuns would probably be more murdery.
The discussion turned practical. They still needed water passed through graves of the dead and mercury passed through copper (methyl sulfate). The good news? Omar knew someone who might help—a cousin with an antiquity shop. They had a copper token that would grant them access to the real inventory, not the tourist tat.
But it was the middle of the night, and they'd pushed their luck quite enough already. Time to retire and hope the consequences caught up with them slowly.
The Commandant's Displeasure
The night passed uneventfully. Morning brought coffee, tea, and a young runner bursting into the canteen with an urgent summons: "The base commandant sent me to fetch those bloody yanks immediately."
The runner confirmed the commandant was angry. Very angry. A lady all in black had come to see him.
"Coptic nuns wear all black with no white?" Hertz asked hopefully.
The GM confirmed the classic black and white habit. So that's who had visited.
"I might sit this meeting out," Haze suggested weakly.
"Your extracurricular activities were less stealthy than expected," Hex noted.
"If I could stealth properly," Haze admitted, "we wouldn't be in this situation."
They debated their strategy outside the commandant's door: see what he knows first, play dumb, maybe claim they needed dust from virgin sheets for... reasons? Or say it was a bet? The group knocked before the discussion could spiral further.
"Come in," barked a voice that promised unpleasant things.
The commandant was an imposing man in his early fifties, graying temples and an impressive moustache, dressed in immaculate 1940s British army garb. A swagger stick rested on his desk like a warning.
"Gentleman, lady," he said with words that dripped sarcasm. "Perhaps one of you might explain why I was roused from bed this morning by an irate nun."
"What you do in your own barracks is your business," Hanover replied with impressive sass, implying the nun had visited him personally.
Also in the room, looking considerably worse for wear, was Pendleton. Gone was the pristine British officer they'd first met. Now he had stubble, worn clothes, red eyes—looking less like military intelligence and more like someone who'd stared too long into an abyss that stared back.
The commandant explained the situation: someone had blundered around the convent at night and stolen the mother superior's bedsheets. The nuns thought it was someone from this base.
"How unusual," Hertz commented with maximum sarcasm.
"None of my men are stupid enough to break into a nunnery," the commandant declared. "So it must be one of the new Americans foisted upon me."
"Middle of the night seems like a good time to break into a nunnery," Hanover interjected.
Hex challenged the bias directly: "Are you saying Americans aren't upstanding enough to avoid such silliness?"
After some back-and-forth—during which Hanover attempted to argue that anyone could put on an American accent and suggested tracking down their fellow countrymen—the commandant had had enough.
"The mother superior," he said through gritted teeth, "has requested that I show grace in this matter. The culprit should visit her at a more appropriate hour to discuss the situation."
He couldn't give them orders, he emphasised, but the nuns commanded considerable local respect. Their opposition would make military operations difficult.
"We can visit the nunnery and smooth things out," Hertz assured him.
"We'll prevent the nuns from turning against the military presence," Hanover promised, "and apologize on behalf of our errant countrymen."
The commandant dismissed them by turning to Pendleton to discuss bazookas.
Shopping Lists and Strategies
Outside the commandant's office, the team assessed the damage.
"We've changed tactics from pursuing the bazooka route," Hertz observed. "May have soured the commandant's attitude towards us."
"The commandant is a British officer with a war to win," Hanover countered. "Her attitude is likely already sour."
"He's also the person who signs off on disposal of military hardware," Hertz pointed out.
The good news? They were on day three of their five available days in Cairo. Time remained, barely.
The remaining shopping list was manageable: grave water from Omar's cousin, copper piping, and methyl sulfate. Visiting the nuns wasn't essential but would help get back in the commandant's good graces. Though after causing such a headache, Haze doubted they'd get the requested military hardware anyway.
"What happened to Pendleton?" Hex asked.
The observation was spot-on. Compared to their first meeting, Pendleton had deteriorated significantly. He looked like he'd hit some kind of breaking point. Giving him the cult book might have been... unwise.
"We should get an update from him," Haze suggested. "He was organizing our transport and plane logistics."
There was an unspoken understanding in the group: if Pendleton had learned too much, if he'd become a liability, they'd handle it. As necessary. For the greater good.
But first: shopping.
Omar's Cousin and the Real Merchandise
The bazaar sat in a different part of Cairo, built into old Egyptian buildings with thick, heavy walls and a souk-like atmosphere. The outer shop area immediately registered to Hanover's experienced occultist eye as filled with obvious fakes—hieroglyphic tablet copies and recently-made Coptic jars designed to appeal to tourists who didn't know better.
"Very nice trinkets," Hanover said diplomatically.
The shopkeeper appeared, pitching a hieroglyphic tablet as "very powerful, very rare, very dangerous."
"We're hoping to see something rarer," Hanover replied, preparing to show the copper token.
The shopkeeper's demeanour shifted immediately upon receiving it. He recognized them as serious collectors and invited them to see his rare stock in the back.
The interior was oppressively dark after the bright exterior—small, densely packed, containing a stuffed crocodile hanging from the ceiling, what appeared to be a mummified head, and other unidentifiable parts that were probably best left unidentified.
"We're looking for water of the dead," Hanover explained. "Specifically, water that has passed through the tombs."
The shopkeeper dove behind his counter, searched through bottles with the enthusiasm of a sommelier selecting a vintage, and produced a vial of luminescent water. "This flows through tombs thousands of years old!"
"How much?" Hex asked.
"Priceless!" the shopkeeper declared dramatically. "But for you... twenty British pounds."
Hex countered with five pounds. The haggling began in earnest, Hex pulling himself together enough to use his considerable persuasive skills without losing more of his tenuous grip on reality. He barely succeeded, rolling just over fifty-five.
"Ten pounds," Hex offered, "plus a pyramid trinket."
The shopkeeper agreed, shaking hands on the deal. "Would you like anything else? Mummified cat hair? A mummy's kidney?"
"Cats and I don't get along well," Hex declined.
Mission accomplished. They'd acquired grave water without upsetting any nuns. Progress!
"There's still time to upset the nuns," Hertz quipped.
Lunch and Logistics
As they stopped for coffee, hookah, and sweet pastries layered with rose water and honey (because even Delta Green operatives need lunch), Haze kept alert for anyone following them. His alertness check confirmed they were clean.
But he overheard something interesting: background chatter in broken English about their nighttime escapade at the convent. The news had spread throughout the city and was now the main topic of gossip.
"The commandant said the nuns are popular," Hanover observed. "That explains why the news spread."
"We're the talk of the town," Hertz said dryly.
No one was pointing at them or giving them side-eye—it was just what everyone in Cairo was discussing today. The Americans who broke into the convent. Lovely.
The conversation turned to their remaining needs: copper piping and explosives. Haze suggested trying Pendleton first—his mind wasn't all there, so he might not question why they needed explosive components.
"We could try the black market," Hex suggested, "but that could lead to other questions."
They debated approaches: steal or purchase? Legal channels through the Ministry of War? Find a dodgy supplier?
Hertz attempted the official route first, making a persuade check at the Ministry of War. It led to a dead end—officials just pointed him to forms he'd already tried to fill.
"Let's ask Ahmed," Haze suggested. "Omar's cousin who we went on an adventure with. He might know where to get explosives and already trusts us."
Dynamite and Archaeology
At the dromedary yard, Ahmed recognized them immediately. "Hello! Where do you need to go today?"
"We don't need to go anywhere," Hex explained. "We wondered if you know where we could get dynamite."
Ahmed didn't know what methyl sulfide was, but he definitely knew where to buy dynamite. He provided an address. Hex gave him a few coins for the help.
The address led them to the outskirts of Cairo, to a large, rickety wooden warehouse that looked like a strong breeze could knock it over.
"We need a convincing story," the GM warned. "They don't just sell dynamite to anyone."
After brief debate, they settled on posing as American archaeologists again. Hanover was wearing jodhpurs, so she looked the part. Hertz volunteered to make the pitch, with Hanover supporting using anthropology.
Hanover's anthropology roll went... poorly. She provided no assist bonus whatsoever.
But Hertz pulled it off anyway, his persuade roll succeeding despite Hanover's faltering attempts to show any comprehension of Egyptology. The warehouse clerk bought their story about cataloging antiquities and agreed to sell them a crate of dynamite.
Shopping list: nearly complete.
The Mother Superior's Wisdom
With most ingredients acquired, one task remained: dealing with the mother superior's invitation to discuss their souls. Or more accurately, to discuss why someone broke into her bedroom at night.
Haze stated firmly that nunneries were his line—he wouldn't go into one unless the group convinced him. They settled on a compromise: Hanover and Hex would return the sheets during daylight, while Haze and Hertz waited outside as backup.
Their cover story was simple: their friend was foolish, what he thinks is funny isn't always funny, and they sincerely apologize. If the nuns turned out to be vampiric, they'd run for daylight.
In early afternoon—the hottest part of the day—they made their way to the squat two-story limestone building in the old quarter. A nun greeted them at the entrance, recognized their American accent, and said Mother Superior Theodora had been expecting them.
She led them through hallways smelling of beeswax and incense to a room covered in icons. Mother Superior Theodora—a tiny, weathered woman in black with sharp eyes—gestured for them to sit.
She looked at Hex and stated simply: "You are not the man who was in my quarters last night."
"No," Hex confirmed. "We apologize on behalf of our friend. He's slightly touched—what he thinks is funny isn't always funny to others."
"Why did he seek my bedsheets specifically?"
Hanover and Hex explained they didn't think it was her specifically, just that she was in the area, and he was mumbling about dust.
"Some say such things hold strange power," the mother superior mused. "May be used, though it's probably superstition."
Then she addressed Hanover directly: "We live in strange times. The firmament grows thin in places."
Hanover made a Human skill check and determined that Mother Superior Theodora suspected they knew more than they were letting on. She was trying to gauge their knowledge.
"The Germans are probing in places that are best left untouched," the mother superior continued. "And then a man appears in my bedroom determined to steal my bedsheets. Perhaps these things are coincidence. Perhaps there is a divine hand at work."
She spoke of Nephilim—the corrupted offspring of fallen angels, a religious framing of the unnatural. Of things in the world that should not be here, that hide from the Lord's light.
"Any who would bring His light to those places will find succour at Saint Mary's," she promised.
"What advice would you give to people trying to stop the Germans?" Hanover asked carefully.
"Have more faith in those of good meaning," the mother superior replied. "Look for allies rather than potential foes. Someone aligned against disturbing such creatures would be worthy of support."
When she pressed them on where they really heard the phrase about virgin's bedsheets, Hanover attempted to lie about the source. Her persuade check critically failed, revealing her deception to the mother superior's sharp gaze.
"Do not mistake me for a fool," the mother superior said, eyes narrowing. "The Lord offers aid to those who accept it willingly."
"Soldiers in war do not willingly involve or endanger civilians more than necessary," Hanover explained apologetically.
The mother superior laughed—actually laughed. "You think nuns are soft civilians? We tend to those harmed by supernatural threats. We are all in this war."
She reached into her desk and produced a small wax-sealed vial containing blessed oils from saint's bones. "Give this to your friend. It provides protection against certain evils."
As they prepared to leave, Hanover made an alertness roll and critically succeeded, noticing something crucial: a map behind the mother superior showing crosses with dates marking where people went and didn't return. Three crosses clustered at a location marked as the Oasis of Whispers—1923, 1931, and 1942 with a question mark.
"What's the significance of the map?" Hanover asked.
The mother superior looked at it with sad eyes. "We pray for those who venture into such places and mark where they don't return from."
"The 1942 question mark?"
"Whether that date will be added is yet to be determined."
"Then you should pray for anyone intending to go to that location," Hanover said quietly.
"We will pray," the mother superior promised. "And if you fail, flee west into empty places where nothing can follow. Not north towards the Nile—the creatures are drawn to water and life."
Debriefing and Deductions
Outside, they reunited with Haze and Hertz.
"What did you do to the nuns?" Hanover asked immediately.
"I didn't do anything!" Haze protested. "Just scared a few nuns."
"Who's Sister Marguerite?"
Haze claimed not to know at first, then remembered she was the one getting reprimanded. "She's crazy. But the mother superior is forgiving—she forgave me potentially twice."
Hex handed him the vial of anointed oils. "The mother superior gave you this. Protection."
Haze accepted it with visible discomfort, tucking it away. "If you believe in that sort of thing."
The group consensus: they'd been pumped for information, but the mother superior gave more than she took. She wanted to help. She knew about active sites where people failed to return. She'd told them where to run if things went wrong.
And she'd been tracking expeditions to the Oasis of Whispers for at least two decades.
"Might be worth looking through old paper records," Hanover suggested. "See what happened around those dates."
"Omar's cousin Ahmed guides expeditions," Haze noted. "He might know about parties that didn't return. Such events would be noteworthy."
But first: Pendleton. They needed to check on him, see about their transport, and gauge his mental state. You didn't need to be a psychotherapist to see he was suffering. If he was painting symbols, that would be a red flag requiring... decisive action.
Hedgehog
At the base, they found Pendleton in his office, still dishevelled and red-eyed. He turned to the arriving agents with a radio message slip in his hand.
He said simply: "Hedgehog."
To be continued...
Current status: Shopping list complete, nun diplomacy surprisingly successful, Pendleton potentially compromised, and one very ominous code word delivered. The team has managed to acquire virgin bedsheet dust, grave water, and dynamite without causing an international incident (much). Haze's relationship with the Convent of Saint Mary and the Twelve Apostles remains... complicated. And somewhere in Cairo, people are still gossiping about those Americans who broke into the nunnery.
Bodies left behind: Zero (nuns merely scandalized, not harmed)
Alliances formed: One order of surprisingly well-informed nuns
Times Haze swore "never again": Multiple