Session 18: Secrets Unlocked

Madame Zorba, her once-glamorous facade now showing signs of wear, woke with a start. Her dreams had been an impenetrable maze of shadows and whispers, leaving her feeling older and frailer. The cursed Fez had taken its toll, and today was another battle against its insidious influence.

“Mr. Myers,” she murmured to herself, recalling the gaunt and aged figure who had become an unwilling pawn in their grim game. She made her way to his compartment, where Ellie greeted her with a weary nod.

“He’s the same,” Ellie reported, her voice tinged with despair. “Gaunt and aged, just like yesterday.”

Zorba offered a reassuring smile. “We’re meeting with colleagues who might help him,” she said, though the words felt hollow. Ellie’s gratitude was a fleeting comfort.

Zorba found Per Oskarson in the dining car, a serendipitous encounter that spoke to the alignment of their fates. They exchanged terse greetings and immediately delved into their task. Per, ever the skeptic turned reluctant believer, broached the subject of the Persian text they needed to decipher.

“Have you had any luck with it overnight?” he asked, hope flickering in his eyes.

Zorba shook her head. “No, I haven’t,” she admitted, the frustration evident in her voice.

Together, they sought the assistance of Henri, a staff member, who returned with a Persian to English phrasebook. They settled in the salon car, a place of relative comfort where tea was served and the whispers of the Fez seemed less oppressive. Clinton Lake, ever the opportunist, enjoyed a leisurely breakfast in the dining car, the aroma of freshly baked rolls offering a brief respite from the pervasive dread.

Zorba and Per’s attempts at deciphering the book were met with resistance, the whispers from the Fez growing agitated around the hieroglyphic sections. Zorba’s revelation that she could hear these voices added a layer of urgency to their work.

“The Fez is the gate and the key,” they discovered, unraveling the cryptic phrases that foretold doom for its wearer. Zorba’s confrontation with Menkaph had confirmed her as the master of the Fez, but mastery came with a price. They learned of spells that could temporarily halt the wearer’s decline or drain power from others, echoing the malevolent methods Menkaph had likely employed.

As they pieced together the horrific mechanics of the Fez, the investigators contemplated the dreadful implications. The draining of power from others, the creation of acolytes, and the possibility of summoning dark forces through blood rituals were all woven into the fabric of their grim reality. Per’s insights, bolstered by Zorba’s assistance, revealed that the Fez wearer could control thralls and manipulate the arcane energies bound within the cursed item.

Their research took a toll on their sanity. Zorba, overwhelmed by the full understanding of the Fez and its spells, felt her grip on reality weaken, while Per’s resolve was tested by whispers that sought to mislead him. The hieroglyphs, particularly despised by these malevolent voices, hinted at the secrets to destroying the Fez.

In their moments of respite, Zorba and Per gathered their comrades to share the fruits of their labor. The group’s discussion was a somber affair, laden with the weight of their discoveries. The potential for Mr. Myers to become a monstrous abomination loomed large, and the threat of the Fez’s insidious influence hung over them all.

Clinton and Clyde, ever vigilant, noted the eerie transformation of Zorba’s shadow into the shape of a jaguar. Their sanity checks, though successful, left them uneasy. The group’s humor, a fragile defense against the encroaching horror, provided fleeting relief. They joked about shadow monsters and the paradoxes of time, but the truth was inescapable: they were dancing on the edge of a precipice.

As the day wore on, Zorba made a fateful decision. She would cast spells to drain power from Scott Myers and arrest her own decline. In the privacy of her cabin, she performed the dark rituals, gaining power but losing fragments of her sanity. The connection to Myers through the Fez was palpable, and Zorba felt his dwindling sanity as if it were her own.

Attempts to command Myers to cast a spell were futile; his mind was too far gone. Zorba and Per’s discussions about the nature of power and its role in casting spells underscored the peril they all faced. The loss of power, they concluded, would lead to a loss of self and perhaps madness.

The day ended in an uneasy truce with the darkness that surrounded them. The group’s meals were punctuated by nervous glances and whispered speculations. As night fell, they were acutely aware that Mr. Myers’ transformation would progress at midnight. The urgency of their mission to Constantinople pressed upon them, and the spectral whispers of the Fez promised no respite.

The investigators settled into an uneasy sleep, their dreams haunted by the knowledge they had gained and the horrors yet to come. The Orient Express hurtled through the night, a vessel of dread bearing them inexorably towards an uncertain future. The Blood Red Fez, with its malevolent whispers and dark promises, remained a constant reminder of the abyss that threatened to consume them all.