WTF, D&D: Cthulhu 90s Solo Project – Straight Out of Coptic (Part 2)

The year is 1993. Kurt Cobain is off in the desert looking in his heart-shaped box and Lisa “Left Eye” Lopes is doing some Tone-policing back in the USA. Meanwhile, Eazy-E and Station have traveled to Egypt to investigate a crashed Arcturian meteor, only to find the meteor has gone missing. Clues seem to suggest the mysterious and cannibalistic men from Leng are behind the disappearance, absconding with the meteor to their fabled plateau. E has decided to fly coach to Turkmenistan to seek out the plateau rather than go first class through the Dreamlands. But when E arrives in Leng, he just might find, to paraphrase a fellow friend with attitude, that he has 99 problems, and residents of Leng do not count among this number.

Steve: Do we need to do one of those summaries of what happened last time?

Zack: You should know by now that these second parts always start with a summary.

Steve: Yeah, but for me, what happened? Keith called in sick and I had to work a double shift at the video store so my brain is sort of fried.

Zack: You’re Eazy-E. Courtney Love asked you and Station to go to Egypt to find a meteor with strange properties. The meteor was gone and you were attacked by a short little dude with a paper in his pocket that suggested he was from Leng. You could have gone there in the Dreamlands, but instead you are going to Turkmenistan, with Station, to the Plateau of Leng.


Steve: Right. So I’m in Turkmenistan?

Zack: You and Station entered Turkmenistan by truck the day before. According to your information, derived from forbidden texts and half-burned maps, Leng can be reached by a tortuous path through the Burrekh mountains in eastern Turkmensitan. To this end, you have traversed the lesser Burrekhs and are now just arriving in the high altitude village of Korpent.

Steve: Hell yeah Korpent. Gonna put some flyers up and pass around my demo. Get the word out, you know?

Zack: Ancient stone buildings meld with the cliffs and winding roads. A few Soviet-era buildings stand out for their artless design among the centuries-old structures. The only other hint that you haven’t traveled back in time a thousand years is the occasional satellite dish mounted above a thatched roof. It is dark when you arrive in the town. There are few people on the street, but you see one of the larger old buildings has light coming out of its open door. A yak-shaped sign outside the door seems to indicate this is a tavern. A number of green military trucks are parked outside. The Soviet-surplus truck you’ve been driving around won’t look out of place.

Steve: I’ll pull up and me and Station will get into our disguise.

Zack: I don’t even want to ask.

Steve: I’m a deliveryman and Station is going to hide in a refrigerator crate on a dolly. Don’t worry, I’ll poke air holes in it so he can breathe.

Zack: So you’re going to wheel him in there and pretend he’s a refrigerator?

Steve: I mean, obviously. You’re asking like you’re trying to make me sound stupid. But what else am I supposed to do with a giant green tentacle frog?


Zack: Leave him in the truck.

Steve: E is not leaving Station in a truck. That’s inhumane. People get arrested for doing that.

Zack: You put on your disguise and load Station into the crate. He’s heavy, so it’s difficult for you to wheel him up a gravel path to the front door of this place. There are some soldiers in green fatigues and red berets standing around outside smoking cigarettes. They are swarthy men and they’re carrying AK-47s. Many of them are sporting a bushy mustache. They seem quite surprised to see a black man struggling to pull a huge refrigerator towards the door.

Steve: Hey, don’t offer to help or nothing, guys.

Zack: They ask you something in a language you can’t understand.

Steve: Are you so sure about that dude? E is multilingual.

Zack: What languages does he speak?

Steve: English, Latin, some Yithian and the Elder Script of Hyperborea.

Zack: Yeah, they are speaking Elder Script of Hyperborea what are you even talking about Steve. No. These guys are not speaking any of those languages. They are speaking the language of pissed off as they start coming towards.

Steve: “Refrigerator delivery!” E says. “Just bringing a new fridge for the yak bar or whatever this place is.”

Zack: They start crowding around you. One of them takes your cap. Another one is looking for a way to open the crate.

Steve: Hey now, guys. This isn’t cool. Unless one of you is *looks at clipboard* Yurblek Oskivarp.

Steve: How many of these guys are there?

Zack: There are four of them. They are all armed, three with AKs slung over their shoulders and one with a sidearm.

Steve: Time for plan B.

Steve: “Hey, look, you guys can check out my crate, but you’re not going to be happy about it.”

Steve: And then when one of them starts looking at the crate again, I am giving my friend Station our pre-arranged signal of three knocks to bust out of that thing and straight up eat these dudes. And E will be all, “I hope you understand that language. The language of the streets.”

Zack: Yes, the language of the streets is being eaten by a giant formless frog creature from deep space that plays music for the blind idiot god Azathoth.


Steve: Not no more he don’t. Azathoth kept putting my boy on backing tracks so now Station come over to Ruthless. He’s full blood NWA now. He’s street. As hell.

Zack: The crate shakes and the men step back and talk excitedly. One of them unslings his AK. They shout at you. The crate shakes more violently. It bursts open and a half dozen tentacles shoot out. Three of the soldiers are caught in Station’s tentacles. He yanks their heads clean off like Mortal Kombat fatalities and pops the third guy into his monstrous maw. The one guy who avoided Station’s attack turns and begins to run. He raises his gun to fire.

Steve: Don’t forget Station is completely immune to physical attacks.

Zack: Hahaha I forgot.

Zack: Okay, this guy blazes a good long burst from his AK and the bullets spatter uselessly into Station’s bulky body. Your tentacled terror of a buddy slurps up the last of the three soldiers and goes chasing after this last guy. The man runs down an alley as Station pursues him out of sight.

Zack: The door to the bar opens, loud conversation and music spilling out into the cold mountain night. Two soldiers come staggering out with a couple bottles of beer. They are drunk and singing. They walk right past you without saying a thing. It’s only after they’ve gone that you notice the two severed heads sitting on the ground.

Steve: Kicking those somewhere out of sight.

Zack: Off the side of the mountain is probably an easy place to dispose of them.

Steve: Drop kicking them.

Zack: It feels really weird to drop kick a face. Weird and bad. You lose one sanity for booting each head and another one for getting these guys killed.

Steve: Feeling a little crazier, but plenty of room to grow. Is Station back from chasing that guy.

Zack: Yes and he looks one person bulkier. He’s barely going to fit in that crate now.

Steve: “Sorry, big man. You know the routine.” Board him back up in the crate, even if I have to push him in it with my foot.

Zack: You’re just getting it boarded back up when you notice an unusual man watching you from the parked trucks. He motions you over.

Steve: I’ve seen some pretty unusual shit, you know, growing up in the hood plus later when I saw cosmic evil and shit. How “unusual” is this guy?

Zack: He has dark hair and a dark mustache. He has a giant head and a big mouth. He looks a little bit like if a cartoon character came to life.

Steve: Guess I’ll go talk to him. Station, you hold down the crate.

Zack: The guy steps into the shadows behind one of the trucks.

Steve: Follow him, but keep my hands near my pistols in case I got to gun this fool down.

Zack: If he is armed he makes no move for a weapon. He seems casual, leaning up against the truck.

Zack: “You’d best be careful. That bar is full of Saddam’s Republican Guard.”

Steve: I knew the Republicans were bad but they working for that friend we fucked up in Desert Storm now? Goddamn. What the fuck is he doing out here?

Zack: “I’m after that answer myself. The name is Farrokh. I’m with the IMIF. The Iranian Mystic Intelligence Force. Near as I can tell, Saddam is after something even higher in the mountains. I believe they’re after an unusual material. There’s another fellow with them. A black man. He’s a dangerous one.”

Steve: That’s a stereotype.

Zack: Something is off as you are talking to this guy. He has a British accent and his voice seems really familiar. His face too. Make a knowledge check. Subtract ten from your die roll since your in the music industry.

Steve: Still failed.

Zack: You think maybe he was in Abba, but no, that doesn’t seem quite right.

Steve: Alright, well, I’ll ask not-Barry Gibb, “Does this have anything to do with that fucked up meteor that landed in Egypt?”


Zack: “Meteor? Yes! I heard them speak of this meteor, but I thought it was a code. They talked about a meteor and about it being guarded by maniacs. I can’t get much more information than that out of the men I’ve interrogated.”

Steve: Yo, check this. The meteor is like this crazy magnet thing that you can hook batteries up to and it flies or some shit. Seems like maybe Saddam wants that for something. WMD? I ain’t got no idea, but these maniacs are probably these fucking little midget dudes that shoot darts called Men from Leng.

Zack: “This explains quite a bit. I’ll need to communicate it to my superiors at the IMIF.” He gestures up the mountain to a large Soviet-era building. “There’s a hotel up the road a bit. I’ll meet you there at sunrise. We can head up to the mountain after Saddam’s lads.”

Steve: For sure. Catch you on the flip side Farrokh.

Steve: Heading back to Station and wheeling him up the mountain to the hotel.

Zack: You make it to the hotel and are trying to manhandle Station’s crate through the door. A black civilian Hummer with tinted windows rolls up next to you.

Steve: Get my hands on my guns and get ready for a drive by.

Zack: The window rolls down and you see nothing. It’s completely dark inside the Hummer. Make a Dex check with a +10 to your die roll.

Steve: Ouch. Failed really badly.

Zack: While the Hummer rolled up on you, someone else was approaching on foot. You feel the jab of a hypodermic needle and then a rush of chemicals sends your mind spiraling into darkness. The last thing you feel is your limp body being dragged into the Hummer.

Steve: So I died on a single failed Dex check? I mean, that’s some Call of Cthulhu shit, but it’s still lame.

Zack: The bag is pulled off of your head and you find yourself tied to a chair in a room that looks like the kitchen of a restaurant. The familiar, heavyset man standing across from you, flanked by two men of the Republican Guard, is none other than your old nemesis Suge Knight.

Steve: You’re workin’ with Saddam now, friend? No friend too low for Suge.

Zack: “That’s right, E. You should’ve signed over Dre when you had the chance. Now I’m gonna make you sign him over, then I’m gonna feed your ass to my dogs.”

Steve: You still got them rottweilers? I ain’t afraid of no dogs. I’ll bust them up.


Zack: “Naw man, these are Tindaloosians. Only hardcore friends who bang corners got these dogs. These things will bite your ass FOREVER. Gnaw your soul out your bones, E.”

Steve: At least tell me why you’re working with Saddam. What’s that about?

Zack: “I don’t work for no Saddam. We all got the same boss. The pharoah. The pharaoh shows the way, friend. I’m a bad motherfucker, E. This motherfucker is a bad motherfucker times a thousand. This is a head-popping, face-melting, eat-your-kids motherfucker. But he’s cool. Like you ain’t, bitch.”

Zack: He shoves a clipboard with the last page of a contract on it into your face. “Sign this, friend.”

Steve: You got my arms all tied up. How am I supposed to sign shit?

Zack: He seems like he’s about to say something else to you when something starts buzzing.

Steve: “Aw shit Suge you leave your butt plug in?”

Zack: He flips you off and pulls out a pager. “Naw, looks like your white boy friend just walked into my operation in Texas. I got to deal with this shit.” He motions to one of his posse guys, a skinny black guy in a Nation of Islam suit. “Brother Abdul, please make this ignorant motherfucker sign this contract so I can feed his ass to my corner dog.”

Steve: Alright fuck this. As soon as Brother Mouzone here unties my hand I am casting a spell.

Zack: What spell?

Steve: What do I know.

Zack: I’m going to say you know quite a few given your Cthulhu Mythos score and your extensive occult resources. However, nothing that requires both hands to cast.

Steve: Oh I know what I’m casting then.

Steve: I call upon He Who Is Not To Be Named. Unspeakable Oath!

Steve: Shouting, “Hastur, my friend, I swear an oath to you! Destroy these bitch ass bustas and I will have your back forever.”

Zack: Brother Abdul looks at you with confusion. The two Republican Guards look around the room as the lights begin to flicker. A sweet-smelling fog rolls in under the doorway. There is a slow, booming knock on the door and with the last pounding of the fist the lights go out and the door is flung open. You see flashes of a robed and hooded figure. He does not seem to move, but in flashes of the overhead lights you see him tears webworks of arteries out of the bodies of the men and slurping them up like spaghetti. They scream silently as their brains liquefy and melt out of their heads. Their bones split from their limbs and break apart like dry wood. Total darkness. A wheezing hiss.


Zack: Agony, like you are being sliced apart. You see the flashes again and Hastur is carving his loathsome Yellow Sign into your chest with a long and ragged fingernail. The lights come back on. Hastur is gone. The room is full of blood and guts and shredded flesh. The symbol fades into your chest, but the pain of it remains. You lose 10 HP and 10 sanity. I’ll give you a pass on a temporary insanity, but I may work on something permanent for E.

Steve: Now I gotta collab with him on my next album. Friend in Yellow. Finish untying myself and get the fuck out of there. See if I can find Suge.

Zack: No sign of Suge. It’s light outside. You find Station gnawing on a Republican Guard just outside the shitty restaurant where you were being held. He sees you and comes flopping over to you to do the equivalent of licking your face. Sliming your entire head and upper body. He sniffs at your chest like he knows what you did.

Steve: Alright, down boy. We gotta get to this hotel and meet up with Farrokh.

Zack: Next time, in the exciting conclusion of Straight Outta Coptic!

Steve: Will it really be exciting?

Zack: I don’t know! Please support our Patreon! If you have any questions about it, email Steve at wtfdndsteve at gmail.