II Starter for @ericbrandonrp
The moment Richard Mayhew was sent-- Well, not so much sent, but more of kicked out-- of The Library a sense of resolve and even courage stirred in the young librarian. However, after a week of being as far away as he could even begin to fathom from London, and two days completely lost in the jungle of Cairo, Richard’s intrepidity was beginning to wane. It seemed that nobody knew of, or nobody was willing to speak of Hamunaptra; and those that did would react to Richard as if he himself were carrying the plague. “That place has bad business, sir, you don’t want to be going there.” “Please, I know nothing of this place.” “That place is nothing more than a fairytale. A story to encourage foolish foreigners, like yourself, to travel out into the middle of no where and starve or die of thirst of both.” These were but a few phrases that the Scotsman heard constantly within the last two days. Yet, he couldn’t give up. Even if nobody wished to talk about it, or even if nobody believed in this ancient city, how could anybody even begin to explain the map, book, and photograph of one of the past groups of excavators that Richard had come into possession with. As much as he wanted to give up, something in his gut told him to keep looking. He needed a guide.
Just as Richard’s gut told him to keep looking, his gut also alerted him to the many dangers of Cairo. As picturesque and elegant of a city as it was, Cairo’s corners held many dangers. Although this was Richard’s first time in Egypt, he was aware of all of the stories regarding theft, kidnapping, murder, and, apparently, stalking. As another day drew to an end and Richard made his way back to his hotel, the hairs on the back of his neck began to stand upright. He didn’t know why, but the librarian felt a pair of eyes on him. It felt as if somebody, somewhere, was watching his every move.-- No. This was just his imagination. It had to be. It seemed Richard’s imaginings became real that night. The young man’s eyes flashed open to the sound of his suite’s front door creaking open. At first, he was about to shrug it off as nothing more than the play of the wind. However, as Richard listened to, what was supposedly to be the silence of the night, he caught wind of something else. Something that somebody else would have shrugged off as nothing more than a mouse scuttling about. Footsteps. Now, Richard wasn’t a fighter. He wasn’t somebody who was that good with conflict. Yes, he had gotten into a pub brawl here and there (and lost) but that was about it. Still, if this thief, stalker, or whatever the hell you wanted to call them wanted the map and the book, then it’d have to be over his dead body. Grabbing his pistol, Richard slinked to the main area of his suite to find a tall figure hidden in the shadows. Sneaking up behind him, the librarian raised his shivering hand and pressed the tip of his gun against the figure’s back. “I think ye’ migh’ have the wrong room.-- I don’t wanna hurt ye’, but I will pull the trigger if ye’ try anythin’ funny.”