Sometimes the slightest whiff of an unintended hint is enough to fix an idea in the players' minds, and at other times no amount of cudgeling can make them see what's in front of them.
The investigators began by sort of dilly-dallying for a couple of days, which gave the cthonians time to tunnel underneath the Mosque of ibn Tulun, steal the Girdle of Nitocris, and kill some old dudes. The party was alarmed by this and went to the mosque to see if they could find some information
Sometimes players don't pick up on clues even when they fall into them.
Picking up right where we left off, the group prepared to head to the Mosque of ibn Tulun to see what could be discovered. They were going on Janwillem Vanheuvelen's (God rest) tip about the Brotherhood being very interested in something that was at the mosque, so they actually decided to be on their best behavior (!!!) when they went. I was pretty sure their best behavior wouldn't be all that great, but a Keeper
Sometimes the most fun is had when the least is achieved. This is a truism in all RPGs, not just CoC, but it was really brought home to me in last night's session, when no progress whatsoever was made in the plot but there was a rollicking good time had by all.
Now that the investigators knew the deadline, and that it wasn't immediately pressing, they decided to pause, learn some languages, read some books and scrolls, and generally gear up for the coming confrontations. I decided
One of the great joys of playing an Investigator in CoC is conducting an investigation and thinking you understand what's going on, only to find some clue or have something happen that flips the whole thing on its head and forces you to re-evaluate everything, usually in the face of immediate, horrific danger.
Sometimes the Keeper gets the same experience. Case in point, last night. Having finally gathered enough information that they could move with a definite purpose, the party
At a certain point, the real question becomes, "How low can you go?"
The party tucked the pyramidion fragment into Slick's ever-present steamer trunk and headed off toward the train, painfully aware of the sandstorm bearing down on El Wasta, and even more painfully aware that Slick had to be on the Cairo-bound train before nightfall lest all Hell break loose. They began to hurry back through the narrow, dusty streets of that Nile town toward the station and I described
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