Within are to be writ the tales of daring and adventure of those who have placed themselves on the path of glory. Share your exploits with other Castlers & Crusaders!
Sun Dec 17, 2017 10:46 pm
A bloody frost, the ice of blood, a Rouge taint on the white of snow. Such tinctures stands out starkly against the white expanse, the blueish transparency of ice. Contrary to conventional wisdom, blood can freeze quickly. In mid-drop even, pouring fitfully from the broken bodies buried beneath a gun carriage spilled into the snow. It was another battle, one more in the incessant hit and run attacks the Russians inflicted on the tattered shreds of France's Grand Armee. That once-great force that staggered westwards towards the Vistula river in 1813 and possible safety. Yet Jean-Claude didn’t remember the battle. Did it matter? One of many, dozens in that campaign alone, if watching an army have its entrails spread across its march could be considered a campaign. Only the blood remained in his memory. Icicles of blood hanging like crimson teeth before the gaping maw of the dislodged cannon, a void of blackness that seemed to invite the French lieutenant to be its next victim. Were those eyes in the icy fangs? Eyes that gorged on death, on suffering? Eyes that came for one and all…
With a start, Jean Claude jerked awake. His right hand had already formed into a gauntlet of ice, his frozen blade already beginning to rise from his fist, as well as a hilt of blue crystal frost. Jean-Claude caught his breath, and willed the frost away. Another moment, and only wafts of mist remained in the sitting room of the suite General Alcide Rodin had reserved for his use while his security was in question. Yawning, the Frenchman pulled a pocket watch from his vest and saw that it was already morning. ‘Curious.’ He thought to himself with some surprise. None of his erstwhile companions had come to inform him of danger, nor had the General called upon him. Unless… No, with a glance Jean-Claude saw across the walkway, Rodin enjoying a breakfast with Pierre in the nearby breakfast nook. ‘No dangers here tonight, for a change.’ Still, Jean-Claude couldn’t bring himself to relax. None of his new comrades at the Matthews house had sent a note nor another of his fellow SuperMankind to relieve him. That could mean things are well, or things are worse than the Chevalier of Cold could imagine. He made his apologies to Alcide Rodin and left for the lobby of the club. With luck, a courier will be there to carry a message for him. If not, perhaps a nearby telegraphy could send a missive. Whistling to himself, he took the stairs two at a time.
Sun Dec 17, 2017 11:28 pm
Still, Jean-Claude couldn’t bring himself to relax. None of his new comrades at the Matthews house had sent a note nor another of his fellow SuperMankind to relieve him. That could mean things are well, or things are worse than the Chevalier of Cold could imagine. He made his apologies to Alcide Rodin and left for the lobby of the club. With luck, a courier will be there to carry a message for him. If not, perhaps a nearby telegraphy could send a missive. Whistling to himself, he took the stairs two at a time.
By the way, my vote is 'or things are worse than he could imagine'
Tue Dec 19, 2017 10:14 pm
It is a curious thing to witness a life end. I have seen children, men, and women alike be claimed by illness's that even my abilities could not fight. Watched elderly bodies fail after decades of life, held their hand as their heart slowed, felt the heaviness in my own eyes as they slowly closed theirs. Registered the creeping numbness ease the ache of their too old bones until I once again felt only my own heart beat, my own pains... I am no stranger to death, but I am no friend to it either.
I had never had a hand in causing one before. I did not do the deed, nor do I judge my fellows for their hand in it either, but nonetheless I feel it is important to reflect upon it. I went into the scenario a bit blindly, only focusing on mitigating the threat the man presented and did not spare a thought to what came after. If I had I wondr if the man would still be alive now. Perhaps he could have given us information that would have saved other lives... or perhaps it would have only granted him enough time to end us as he had been trying to all day. Again, I understand why what happened came to pass, but I feel accountable nonetheless. I, who fancy myself a Doctor, who can recite the Hippocratic oath from memory and dream of a future where I might one day be allowed to recite it to a group of my peers... I allowed a man to die today.
What do I do with this knowledge? I think that the only reasonable thing for me to do is to resolve to do better in the future to advocate for mercy when I can do so in good concience. Upon reflection I cannot say if this would have been the right time for mercy, but I am not able to say that it wasn't either.
Roger says that we need to "raid" a certain consulate to find more evidence against the enemies of the French General, and Roger's Queen. This will call for stealth and Roger has noted how effective our group is working together. He would prefer to have us. I agreed to be there only if I was allowed to wear a disguise. Jean-Claude and Roger may have the blessings of their governments, and Liam is in it for the money... But I am an American, and my nation has no interest in a war with the Turks, we are still dealing with the powers on our own continent as it is. I cannot afford to make this into an act of war from my people.
I do not know of Faith's feelings on this matter either. I will have to ask her on our way to the rendezvous point with the others. I will not be doing this as myself, I will not wear my mask either. I will just be another gentleman who has been caught up in this scheme. If we are caught I have to do everything I can to protect my father from the enemy, and minimize the repercussions for my home. I can't help but laugh at myself a bit, when did I decide to go fight a shadow war? How easily these choices seem to make themselves.
I wonder how things would have looked in the shadows if I had opened my eyes. Roger traveled into them with me twice today, once to cover ground quickly and the other to help protect me. Do the shadows worry Roger because of how different they are from our world? Or are they terrible because they look so much the same? Do the shadows show us our worst nightmares, or do the people Roger shows them to only scream because they see his? I do not know if it is common sense or just fear the prevents me from finding out.
Fri Dec 22, 2017 12:49 am
Dec 18 2017
The Secretary of North American branch of The Secretory of Foreign Affairs frowned as he put that last communique down, on the ever growing stack, and rubbed his for head … What had Roger gotten himself involved in, what hornets’ nest had he kicked there in Chicago….
Mister Purdy, Roy my good man, a drink please, and I think we will need it to be a stronger than a spot of tea.
Master Roy Purdy blinked in surprise at the request, but couldn’t hold back a slight smirk, as he poured the drink with his back turned to his boss, at the thought of Roger causing enough mischief to force The Secretary of North American branch of The Secretory of Foreign Affairs to request his normal sip of post dinner gin at 1500.
The Secretary of North American branch of The Secretory of Foreign Affairs again looked at the stack of messages … Rogers last telegraphs including the latest from from 2 nights ago, the transcript of the interrogation of the Turkish assassin by the British consulate in Chicago’s - showing a wider spread network going at least back to the Turkish embassy in New York, replies form the home office and various consulates, and lastly the 2 form … well somewhere above the home office in London … referencing ‘The night Phantom’, a ‘Cheshire cat’, in Chicago’ and the request by (Galahad) on information, then the notification that the situation is being ‘monitored’ by The Queens Knights
Without realizing it The Secretary of North American branch of The Secretory of Foreign Affairs had already downed his first glass of Gin and absently mindedly waived for a 2nd
What has Roger done …
Roger finished the tea and scone (still not even sure if he had taken it off someone else’s plate) and quickly explained his plan
I am known and my mind is tied by ‘The Night Phantom’ he knows my plans and my history, and knows where I move as I move … He will know my instinct is to go to my safe house, get a communication out to ask for assistance from … Well, ask for assistance, and … . He will expect it, if I do that he may miss other movements.
Liam, Miss Faith, along with Jean Claude, your attacks can be from a distance, Damon, you can bampf from roof top to ground in an instant. You can all be arranged to ambush. Miss Alexandra, you are restricted to a touch to harm anything so it will be needful for you to be next to me. Galahad, is the most resilient of us and can fly, so if he can be close by Miss Alexandra it may be helpful. Plus, he could be a distraction to lure the bastard French bomber to me if he hesitates.
I know the perfect alley for the ambush, just behind my 3rd safe house, Damon, would you be so kind and go ask Jean Claude, and Galahad if they will leave his French General friend and go with you to the rooftops by the alley? Liam, can you escort Miss Faith to the address, you should be safe enough to go more direct as the bomber will be paying attention to my movements. Miss A will you escort me on a stroll through the streets till we are close enough for me to shadow walk us to the alley? And, be careful anytime I am forced to bring you into the shadows with me, do not look around, do your best to keep your eyes closed.
Soon enough all had left the café and made their way to the alley way, as the British aristocrat spy and the Chicagoan healer meandered through the afternoon crowded streets. At the right time, Roger tightened his grip on Miss A’s arm, “Ready?” … and then a step into the shadows … In his fear excitement and caution, Scima did not even attempt to partake in the excursion.
Walking through the shadows traversing alley and building into the alley designated as the ambush.
Then, a step from the shadows realms into a dingy shadow filled Chicago slums alley way. A quick glance around show all in place, and Galahad, seeing them step from the shadows readies to act as a mugger as part of the bait for the French assassin. However, before the English Automaton could take more than 2 steps, the French assassin steps out of the Ether.
Roger, ready now for an attack easily moves Miss Alexandra (the assassin’s target of this specific attack) out of harm’s way, and as surprise crosses the French Assassin’s face, Roger spins him around and grapples him.
In quick succession, a shot rings out (Liam finally getting to use the captured Turkish sniper rifle) and Miss Faith lashes out with a mental blast. Thin Miss A reaches out and forces the skin and bone of the assassin to grow, twist, warp, and then meld to the bomb, then she stumbles backward grimacing at the pain in her hands from this.
Roger, now seeing the bomb is firmly affixed to the assassin, but busy keeping him grappled and held, yells for someone to push the button to trigger the short countdown on the bomb. Again in a tangle of actions, someone pushes the button, another shot, a brick of ice forms around the assassin’s warped and malformed hands, and then Galahad has the bomber in his grip and is lifting him into the air. Roger releases the bomber and tumbles to the ground.
Each flap of the construct’s wings takes the assassin and his bomb higher. Knowing the explosion will be nearby, and Miss Aleksandra being in danger from it, Roger again grabs the healer’s arm and pulls the 2 of them back into the shadow realm. Knowing the healer is ill used to violence and war he (more forcefully than planed) tells her “Close your eyes, DO NOT LOOK”
After flying above the roof tops, but still over the alley, the Frenchman envelops himself in the Ether, with the construct releasing him just before he is pulled into the ether along with the Frenchman.
Roger blinks in surprise as the Frenchman becomes more distinctly visible in the shadow realm (with its overlapping and nearness to the Ether) and begins to fall.
For once, Roger and Schima are fully in agreement as they watch the assassin tumble 10 20 30 feet through ether space and then the bomb detonates … A smile flashes across the British aristocrat / shadow bender’s face as the Frenchman that hounded them with cat and mouse tactics all day vanishes into a fine red mist.
Not wanting to expose the healer to much of the shadow realm’s nightmare scape Roger lingers only for a moment at the destruction of the assassin, and then returns the 2 back to the realm of sun light.
A deep sigh and roger admits “Well, that went better than I thought, we do work well together do we not”
Soon enough all are gathered together and the discussion turns to there being more than one attacker, do we set and guard the General and passively wait for the attack, or do we raid (sneak and pilfer instead of frontal assault) the local Turkish consulate and see if more information can be gathered on who the 2nd bomber may be, if there are more than 2 and what else may be found at the Turkish safe house.
Miss A and Miss F quickly returned to the Dr’s house to better dress for the evening’s raid, and send apologies to the patients not seen due to the afternoon’s attack (and to put a bowl of cream and a thank you note out for the Cheshire cat that warned Miss A earlier in the day).
The rest returned to the General and informed him of the death of the one bomber, but the likelihood that there was at least 1 more attacker, one able to remain invisible, and cautioned his regular military security to remain vigilant.
Then the group headed to the rendezvous a few block away from the Turkish consulate.
Fri Dec 22, 2017 11:23 pm
I really enjoy these, Thanks for continuing to write them.
Sat Jan 13, 2018 2:22 am
08 Jan 2018
Somewhere along the eastern seaboard of the US, in a nondescript office of a trading company (used as a front for the British Secretory of Foreign Affairs operating in those United States of North America). A codded telegraph message is decoded an passed to the office manager/station chief
Life-threatening opponent in Chicago (stop)
Extremely powerful mentalist (stop)
Able to read thoughts (stop)
Plant thoughts in others (stop)
Cause fratricide (stop)
Mask reality (stop)
I have been utterly compromised (stop)
Take all further communications from me with care (stop)
Suspect one who ordered [Galahad] to attack French General also compromised (stop)
Need assistance against mentalist forthwith (stop)
Or remove British assets away from Chicago (stop)
Is beyond my ability to effect mentalist (stop)
Master Roy Purdy frowned as he finished translating the messages. He may hate Roger Mosby, and his entire family and their peers, but the thought of a mentalist able to compromise the ariscotatic spy - and at least one other of Her Majesties subjects – was troubling. The secretary for the American section of the British Secretory of Foreign Affairs would not enjoy getting this message
Roger looked around the group gathered across the street from the Turkish consulate and nodded at the collective plan. He and Damon would use their skills and abilities to sneak into the consulate, go through the offices and see if they can find any information about the other super(s) hired to assassinate General … and any proof of Turkish involvement. The others would wait here in case there was trouble.
The British aristocrat and spy waited for the blue furred Prussian acrobat to bamph to the roof of the consulate. Once he saw Damon appear on the roof, he wrapped himself in shadows and shadow walked into the consulate.
Once he was in the building he began searching room by room to see if there was anyone other than low level guards in the building and then to see if there were notes of any kind. Eventually he made his way to the 2nd floor where Damon was rifling through the office to see if there were any notes there.
Upon seeing the acrobat … Roger had the feeling he was an enemy that needed to be captured … without thought, the spy called forth his shadows to entrap the new found opponent. Bamph, the acrobat appears outside the consulate, across the street on another roof top. Roger gritting his teeth at the lost quarry, shadow walks to follow him, only to be lost and out ran by the repeated bamphng of the acrobat.
Eventually, Roger shakes his head, confused … attack a friend, that is an alien thought, … Scima … no, Scima loves the shadows and the dark freedom they offer, but is not malicious … never an outright attack even at Scima’s worst. Something else, someone else … and powerful.
Roger makes his way back to the rendezvous point, carefully checking (in the shadow realm and out in the real world of light) to see if he could spot the new threat. Nothing, whatever it was, was either invisible, or attacking from a distance. Either way it was more powerful than Roger could contest with.
More than ever, he had to find something out, who is the attacker, where are they, why are they …
When meeting the group, Roger holds his hands up, looking at the angry worried acrobat, saying his mind was influenced by someone else, and they all need to be careful, watchful.
Again they talk and plan … there must be information in the consulate. Roger knows that the house’s basement has not yet been searched – the place most likely to house the safe/safe room.
It is too dangerous for others to go with him, he was compromised and unreliable, and a danger to his allies, so Roger decides to go again, but alone this time.
Carefully, walking through the shadows, being stealthful even in the shadow realm. Into the building, and down into the basement. Quick enough he finds a false wall, with a room bared from him due to its utter darkness. Yes, what he looked for a safe, no bigger, a safe room perfect. However, it complete darkness in the room kept the British shadow walker at bay.
Stepping from the shadows, Roger quietly opened the false wall, and smiled at the safe door, 3 locks … not easy, time consuming, but doable for the spy …. Click …. Click …. Click … and the door swings open.
Knowing the danger of being stuck inside in the complete dark, the spy jams a char back into the safe’s hinge to keep the door open, and clicks on the safe room’s overhead light, and begins searching. Row after row stack after stack of locked boxes … nothing … in the back a stack of boxes , … cloths, shoes, … and accessories … everything needed to give disguises to lackeys, guards, and spies.
Click, the light is off and the door is shut … without a sound … Roger curses and fumbles in the box of accessories , yes a new kerosene cigar lighter, … wrap a shirt around one of the umbrellas, and he has a torch … well if the know I’m here, no need to be quiet till they come and open the door.
Pulling his knife, the trapped spy begins prying open one of the locked drawers, as it opens
“You there, stop moving or we will shot” in a thick Turkish accent
The door is open and the light flashes to life. … again without a sound … something is wrong here …
4 Turkish guards stand in the door rifles readied.
The British spy smiles slides the knife back into his belt and raises his empty hand slowly. Turning with a sly half smile …. And tosses the make shift torch back into the boxes of cloths.
The Turks react in surprise, one running in to put out the fire before it spreads to other more valuable boxes and secret records, as he nears the spy, Roger reaches and grabs him, … boom, … boom boom … 3 shots ring out in the basement. One bullet grazing the spy’s leg, hardly drawing blood and doing no real damage.
Expertly, the spy has the 4th guard in his grip and turned as a shield for the other 3 riflemen. Slowly pushing the fighting guard forward, as the other Turks back away and go toward the sides of the door. As the spy, with his human shield, walks toward the door, and under the safe room’s light, the British spy draws his pistol and fires up into the light. As the light pops and goes out, the safe room is filled with shadows from the basement light …
A push sending the Turk guard into the basement and shadows wrap around the smirking spy
Soon enough, he stalks through the shadow realm towards his friend, knowing there is a powerful opponent hunting him.
He looks up to see a statuesque, attractive, scantily clad, red-headed, fantastical lady standing in the shadow realm
“I have sooooo enjoyed our little game, and I look forward to playing with you more” With a distinctive American accent (but one that can plant thought, mask sight, and appear in the shadow realm can easy enough fake their appearance in the vision they are making and change the accent one hears in the vision)
And she vanishes from sight.
Roger reemerges from the shadows into the alley near his friends.
A quick warning of the powers and abilities of their foe and his lack of success in gathering evidence or intelligence, even the consulate’s safe room, and the group readies for the rest of the night, and the spy went to send an emergency telegraph communicate to the British Secretory of Foreign Affairs operating in those United States
Tue Jan 23, 2018 5:04 am
From Faith's journal:
The strangest turn of events occurred to-day. I was drinking my tea with my friends (so much tea of late!) when I felt the furry nuzzling of a kitten against my leg. I do confess I looked around the table to see if it was one of my companions taking undue advantage, but thankfully it was not.
It was a small cat-man, such as my companions had been discussing, and he introduced himself as Felix, and he was a perfect gentleman. My companions did not know to whom I was addressing my side of the conversation, and Felix said it was because he was appearing specifically to me.
He said I have a good heart. Bless him for saying so. I have known him a short time but I like him very much.
He is from another world (Calyxia!), where the dominant race possess a form like his.
Immediately upon meeting him, he offered me a drink. He is very well bred in this way. The drink turned out to be a vial with which I might make mental contact with the Queen of Spades, who is the one who has been wreaking havoc upon our group, and who wishes to dispense with the General. For mere money. She is a simple mercenary, after all. Disappointing. Though her skills are formidable. She seems to have mastered illusion and telepathy. She is accustomed to the finer things, which may turn out to be a weakness.
Felix said perhaps the potion could make me her equal in terms of telepathy, but it would require his help to exceed her power. But that path comes with great risk. We could both lose our identity and become a single abomination.
We discussed the problem of Roger being a direct line to us, and began coming up with ways in which we could find her and/or screen our minds from her. It came to pass that Felix offered to create a potion to help protect us from her (he is a skilled brewer of potions), provided we had a lab of sufficient quality. Alexandra's lab came to mind, though it did mean we'd need to bring Roger back and possibly lead her to us and have her observe all we were doing.
We toyed with the idea of drugging or even freezing Roger, but he did not like this idea in the least. I suppose I cannot blame him. He is very brave under normal circumstances but threatened with the possibility of such an ignominious end, he becomes rather more circumspect in his actions.
So we headed back to Alexandra's home, and there we began to plot in earnest, and I served to translate Felix's thoughts to the group.
Felix has a heightened sense of smell, and he could possibly find the Queen of Spades by scent alone, given proper proximity (50 feet.) He possesses other attributes of the feline as well, sneaking, leaping, and certainly delivering vicious bites (he bit off the Queen's nose soon after her arrival.)
We had some good fortune. While perusing the local fishwrap Roger found news pertaining to an actress with a wounded nose.
She contacted Roger and Damon not long after. They are quite in her pocket by now I fear. She said she would be here in 30 minutes. She must have a fearful countenance, lacking a nose!
She had the audacity to ask Felix to stay out of her sight, and he agreed. Miss Alexandra insisted that no hostilities take place under her roof. She has such a medieval view of hospitality, but I suppose it reflects upon her honor.
Roger then began talking to himself. I believe the Queen is in his mind.
Once she arrived, she had quite a presence, dripping with elegance and the appearance of wealth, save for her mutilated face.
Sonja Fergus is her name, a burlesque dancer. She came with terms: she will terminate her contract with the general, promise no further hostilities, no contracts against us, if we repair the damage to her face. I know this is something of which Miss Alexandra is capable. She seems willing. I don't trust her. Felix seemed to have reason to dislike her.
In any case, she claims to be the only Super who was offered a contract on the General, so it would contribute greatly to his safety if she were out of the picture.
Galahad does not seem very good with shades of gray, so perhaps a case must be made to him to spare her, lest he fulfills his duty perhaps too efficiently.
She offers to manipulate her employer to redirect him to a new target. I should hope it would not be an innocent.
She claims to be an opportunist, but is not sadistic or evil. A protector of children, no less. I am not certain what the distinction might be, but she seems convinced of it. Perhaps that counts for something. She wants to be better friends with Alexandra. I don't understand her aims.
She made two threats against my new dear friend Felix. I was incensed. Then Roger suggested she tutor me in my telepathy! That threatener-of-cats in my mind? I will need to discuss her further with Felix. Would she keep all of these promises? Is she making them solely to save her vanity?
I am embarrassed to say I said unkind words to her. I do perhaps believe her self-interest gives me some idea of how far our trust may go. I must control my impulses. I shall never be controlled by someone again, but I mustn't project that fear.
I spoke with Felix about her. She was in contact with his enemy from Calyxia, and that is one reason he distrusted her so. We will continue to watch her closely.
Thu Jan 25, 2018 3:11 am
We had some good fortune. While perusing the local fishwrap Roger found news pertaining to an actress with a wounded nose.
Fish wrap NICE ... I remember a book (set back in the pre-civil war time) and the traveling tinker and trader purposely wrapped some goods for a family in news paper that would get them involved in the main plot . So, nice historic touch in your write up.
Mine, welllll it will be delayed . One of my coworkers has had issues over the last few weeks and today had a 'melt down' . Sad to say I know it is her trying to set it up where she can't be fired, and is trying to game the VA system to get 100% and isn't her truly having deep end mental issues ... Oh well that is between her and God ...
That said, we are having to split up her work and prep for her hearings next week , so I'm behind on my normal write up . I'll get it asap, but it will be some time next week at the earliest.
Fri Jan 26, 2018 1:50 am
<!@#$ connectivity issues!>
So, dare I ask where Jaque Frost was during this...?
Sat Jan 27, 2018 5:23 pm
<!@#$ connectivity issues!>
So, dare I ask where Jaque Frost was during this...?
He was the decorative Ice Statue in the room...
Mon Jan 29, 2018 5:42 am
22 Jan 2018
“Do we trust him ? Remember his last communique telegraph said he could not be trusted, that he had been “utterly compromised” and that the mentalist could read thoughts and place thought in her target. Now he asks us to meet him in person here in the New York central station. When he arrives, he gives us a report face to face that say the mentalist that had him near panic had offered a ‘treaty’ . …
Master Purdy trailed off at the look from The Secretary for the American section of the British Secretory of Foreign Affairs.
The head of the British spies in America, and his secretary, watched as the young tired eyed British aristocrat spy and shadow bender hoped back onto the train pulling out from the Central rail station to Cincinnati and then Chicago. A return train trip mirroring the trip that the spy had taken over the previous night.
Yes, Purdy, we trust him … to a point. He did this for a reason. He wanted me to see him face to face as he gave his report. And there is more information that we need to know than what he could have included in a telegraph.
We now know he was compromised, but it is at an impasse. We know at least 1 other of Her Majesty’s agents has also been compromised, and likely doesn’t know it. We know who the mentalist is, what she is like and how she behaves. We can track back from where she is in Chicago now to where she has been. We can track which of our agents have crossed paths with her in Chicago, or in her past travels.
There are what, 3 maybe 4 of Her Majesty’s servants that use the code he uses – Purdy rolled his eyes at his boss’ underestimation knowing that actually 9 agents use the same codec for their reports that Roger knows and has allowed the mentalist to learn when she invaded his mind – begin the process of changing the codes used.
The train whistles its way out of the station on the return trip to Chicago. Minutes later the British spy nods off into exhaustion and oblivion.
Roger sets stunned and bordering on defeat as he finish telling of the mentalist and her powers.
The conversation swirls around the group as they discuss options. Then the spy notices Miss Faith absently minded petting a cat at her feet … a cat not there. Then the young one time charlatan and now healer begins speaking to herself / the cat that isn’t there.
Back and forth the conversation between the 2 continues, and the spy picks up bits of information … Queen of Spades … Sonja Fergus … a facial injury, a nose bitten off … vanity and life of wealth … a potion to strengthen Miss Faith’s powers … the cat and Miss Fait still not stronger than the queen of Spades’ powers … a plan to drug or knock out those that she had dominated – none noticed the panicked look in Rogers eyes at the thought of being incapacitated with Ludlum … the thought of that with the temptation of Scima, the nightmares of the shadows, and the mental invasion of The Queen of Spades causes the hands of the British spy’s to tremble a moment .
Eventually, a decision is made, return to Miss Alexandra’s home, Miss Faith the cat, and assisted with Miss Alexandra would work on a potion to blunt The Queen of Spades’ powers.
Roger, knowing information would be vital, and expecting the link between his mind and Sonja’s would feed her information, avoided the basement work room in which the 3 worked. However, old habits die hard, so the spy habitually read the newspapers … and the pieces of the puzzle began to fit … a report in the society paper a few months ago, a local entertainer, a burlesque dancer, locally renowned and acclaimed, stopped preforming and canceling her shows due to an unfortunate accident … “I have you now … I WILL hunt you down and I will “
A voice break into the spy’s mind, along with Miss Alexandra and Damon, a sultry voice … “We need to talk, I offer a truce and a trade. Will I be given safe passage for the parlay ? I will arrive in 30 min, if you agree.
A debate spread through the group , but eventually they agree.
Galahad, if you would be so kind, post yourself outside to watch. If she arrives or leave by the front door, follow her, she can’t bend you mind. Follow her to her lair, then we can hunter her. I WILL put a bullet into the back of her pretty red head.
“I can hear you, as you think it” … Sonja blurts in
“Yes I know, and I will” replies roger … “Unless there is a change and you offer more than I expect. However, despite my desire to end you and erase what you know of my secrets and Her Majesty’s secrets from your mind, I will abide by the promise of safe passage and safe talk”
In the 30 min, as Miss A orders a formal lunch be prepared, Roger retires upstairs to change and dress properly … it has been so long since he had dressed for lunch. Old, good memories from England flood in reminding him of the time before shadows.
As he walks by the dining table as the servant carefully adjust the silver ware and the glasses, he carefully and ceremoniously takes a single rose from the nearby flower arrangement, and lays it in the middle of the table. A house maid reaches to a crystal vase but stops at the look from the British spy. As he walks away mumbling about roses and thorns and an old phrase ‘under the Rose’
The Queen of Spades arrives through the tunnel – avoiding the danger of Galahad blindly following old orders – and a meal is shared, and an agreement is hammered out .
She will cease her domination of the 3 here, she will not knowingly attack or allow her … hired assassins … to directly or indirectly attack them. She would stop her attack on the French General. She would redirect the one wishing the General dead to a different target –Roger counters that with giving them information to lead them to the attacker – She doesn’t give the name bit drops the hint that the group had already met him – Roger begins to mentally list possibilities – a few other points. All for the cost of a new nose, perfect unflawed, to replace and repair her damaged face
Roger isn’t completely satisfied at the offer, but outside of a fight he can see nothing better. An imperfect deal but a start.
I didn't realize it, but with some research I saw that at that time the direct train route from New Your to California was 3 days ,,, so From Chicago to New York in a night is believable. It fits the narrative soooo I ran with a direct overnight train ride for Roger to go in face to face to see his boss and a direct day trip to get him back in less than 24 hours
Mon Jan 29, 2018 10:50 pm
I still say Pierre was the evil mastermind behind it all.
I'm back in TX, and tested my Skype on the desktop. It works fine, so it was either A) My dad's crappy connection, B) The settings on my laptop are whacked, or C) all of the above.
Mike, hoping to game next week!
Wed Feb 21, 2018 6:07 pm
Today, Herr Roger was searching for new safe houses, as his have all been compromised. Herr Jean Claude recommended the establishment of one H.H. Holmes, as he had a room there himself. Herr Roger asked me to accompany him as an extra set of eyes. I gladly went with him.
Once we entered the building on South Wallace and 63rd Street, Herr Roger began speaking to Herr Holmes about renting a room. Herr Jean Claude and I ventured up to his room on the third floor. I was paying extra care to my surroundings, as Herr Roger wished to know if the hotel would make for a good safe haven. However, as we were approaching Herr Jean Claude's room, I noticed three separate and well-hidden, secret doors.
As Herr Holmes was busy on the first floor with Herr Roger, I was able to open the doors and investigate their passages. Herr Jean Claude stood guard as I investigated.
The first passage had a steep chute, I choose to wait to investigate that further.
The second hallway ran a short distance and ended at another secret doorway. I did not open it, as I heard someone moving on the other side and did not want to scare anyone. It also contained peep holes into the rooms on the other side of the walls. I looked, one room was occupied by an attractive young woman.
The third passage also had peep holes in it, but all the rooms were empty. This passage, however, split into a tee. I could tell that these side passages were on the exterior wall of the building. Both passages went a short distance then ended. There were also peep holes looking into empty rooms.
I returned to the first passage with the chute to investigate it. It was very steep, but I was able to scale it easily. The chute was made out of metal plates. About ten or twelve feet down the chute, there was an uneven seam. It had some kind of fabric caught in it. I could not make out what it was so put it in my pocket for later examination. A few feet further on, the chute turned into a vertical shaft and dropped beyond my sight. I continued to scale down the shaft Several feet below, I guessed I was below the second floor level, another chute entered my shaft. I decided to go to the bottom of the shaft, some additional thirty or forty feet, before exploring any other side passages.
Once I reached the bottom of the shaft, I saw what appeared to be a table directly below the shaft. I cautiously looked around the room from my perch in the shaft. I did not see or hear anyone in the chamber, but I could smell the sewer. I located three exits from the room. One was an open archway, the other two were closed doors. I made my way across the ceiling until I was away from the table, then dropped to the ground.
I inspected the table without touching the rough cloth covering it. I could see the legs underneath. They appeared to be metal and the table was constructed like the medical tables in Fraulein Alexandria's house. I crept to the archway and could feel the air moving out from the chamber and the smell of raw sewage got stronger. I moved down the short hallway until it ended at, what was indeed, the sewer.
I quickly returned to the chamber, were I noticed two other tables below two other shafts. I examined the closed doors exiting from the room. Both were locked on the opposite side and behind the second door, I heard muffled voices.
I began to develop an uneasy feeling about the chamber, so returned as quickly as I could to Herr Jean Claude. We went to his room, where I described all that I had seen and gave the fabric to him to examine. He pondered if his room was under surveillance and I went to check. I discovered his room, indeed, was, but was unable to discern the location where the peep holes might be located in the room. When I returned to Herr Jean Claude's room, he told me that the fabric was not cloth, but a patch of skin and hair.
We immediately went in search for Herr Roger to inform him that this location would not be desirable as a safe house and to discuss our findings. He was lounging in the drugstore with a beverage and we indicated that we would like to go for tea. We took a cab to a local tea house and told Herr Roger all that we had discovered. He became concerned and suggested we returned to Fraulein Alexandria's house to have her examine the patch of skin and to discuss with our friends what our next steps should be.
Fri Feb 23, 2018 3:20 am
19 Feb 2018
From Scima – stop
Ruse successful – stop
Flushed out traitor – stop
Genera’s secretary had hired assassin – stop
Attempted to arrest for interrogation – stop
Traitor resisted – stop
Gun play – stop
Traitor killed – stop
Successful misdirection, no ties to operatives - stop
Rebuilding operations in location – stop
The Section Chief of American Operations of the British Secretary of Foreign Affairs smiled and flipped through the pages of The Chicago Tribune and the Chicago Herald. 2 of the 5 main Chicago news papers ,and both with articles on pages 3 or 4 that boiled down to the same information
“Pierre, the secretary of a French dignitary – Famous French General and war Hero General Alcide Rodin – was killed; shot in an alley. Reports and eye witnesses – an Irish American native to Chicago, and 2 street urchins and beggars – show the secretary happened onto an attempted mugging and heroically intervened. His actions stopped the mugging but at the cost of his life. The mugger is believed to have ties to the Ottomans, and may be involved with the anarchist bombing (which killed 2 local police officers and injured innocent men women and children – near the fashionable Diogenese club.
Roger Mosby crossed the street from a lecture and discussion with Master Charles Dyer and Master Dixon . Smiling a bit after the discussion and debate with the young seminary students. He may have hired him to help Jon and his fellow beggar boys, but the after tutoring discussions with the man of learning and faith, and his friends, in many ways were helping the shadow haunted British aristocrat spy reconcile himself to his own demons.
2 days ago Roger and his associates attempted to arrest the traitorous Frenchman,, the man that hired ‘The Queen of Spades’ and her employees to murder General Rodin. The attempt to arrest him and turn him over to the general turned into a gun fight. A fight the Frenchman lost. However, a dead Frenchman did cause problems, but previously bribed bobbies and inspector sergeants, and use of Liam and 2 of the beggar boys to provide a report to police and reporters that negated any questions and deflected interest in Roger, Miss A Miss F, Damon, Liam Galahad and Jean Claude
However, reality quickly negated the smile. All 3 of Rogers safe houses were compromised, one even destroyed by “The Night Phantom” and his rampant use of bombs.
As Roger talked with his new associates, Jean Claude mentioned he had a room in a local hotel, a hotel that may suffice as an acceptable safe house in an emergency. Accepting and to a point embracing the fact that he was no longer alone, Roger agreed to go with J C to the hotel, to check and make sure it was acceptable as a safe house.
As Miss A heard the discussion, the name of the hotel and the hotel owner – Mister / Dr H H Holmes - she mentioned he supplied her and her father with pharmaceuticals and other ‘necessities’ for the healer and her surgeon teacher father.
He, having gained respect for the Prussian Acrobat over the last week, invited Damon to come along to act as an extra set of eyes in checking out the hotel.
Leasing a room for a few nights was easy enough, and a quick story of being a world traveling son of an English merchant who had befriended JC was a quick easy cover story.
In the walk up to the room, and a quick walk through of the room , Roger spotted one oddity that required investigation, but Damon spotted 3 … Roger was glad he invited the Prussian acrobat along. The spy knew there would be a danger to exploring the auditees but not keeping an eye on the hotel owner, so he went back to the first floor and struck up a conversation with Mr …, the owner of the hotel and the various shops that fill the first floor.
A short enough conversation, that gained little real information about Master Holmes , and then time to read local newspapers and drink a cool soda beverage.
Some 30 minutes later, Damon and Jean Claude walked through the lobby and nodded for Roger to follow. By the time Roger paid for the drink and made his way to the street, Jean Claude had already flagged a cab .
As the driver steered the one horse cab through the streets back towards a favored tea shop, Damon pulled out what he found in a steel shoot . Rogers’ analytical eye easily verified it was human hair, dark auburn, probably female. Roger glanced at the cabbie, to make sure he had kept his attention on the crowed street, as Damon returned the hair to his coat pocket.
At the tea shop, Damon went into detail on what he saw in the hotel. Not only was it not a possible safe house, it was a probable murder house.
Time to talk to Miss A and the rest, and time for Roger to talk with his police contacts.
Tue Mar 20, 2018 2:42 pm
After speaking with Fraulein Alexandria and the other, Herr Roger went to speak with his contact at the police station and Herr Jean Claude reviewed the newspapers to peice together the mysteries that we uncovered at Herr Holmes' hotel. Once Herr Roger returned, we fomulated a plan to investigate further and to safe gaurd the young woman I had seen through the peep holes.
Herr Roger, Herr Liam, and the Automaton would go to Herr Roger's room for an evening of cards. Herr Jean Claude and Fraulein Alexiandria were to pretend familial relations and Fraulein Faith would accompany them as they visited in Herr Jean Claude's room. I was to enter the hotel without being seen.
Once in the hotel, Herr Jean Claude stood look out and I re-entered one of the secret passages to wait for whomever came. While there, I thought to check on the young lady, but she was not in her room. I became worried that she might be on one of the tables in the basement below, so I returned to Herr Jean Claude's room, the others (Herr Roger, Herr Liam, and the Automaton) had joined them. I suggested that I climb down the shaft and investigate. All were in agreement.
As I approached the bottom of the shaft, the metal gave way and I crashed to the floor. The metal was crumpled and pinned me inside. I began to panic, but I could see the wall out the top of the shaft and could hear someone shuffling toward me. I translocated to the wall, in a crouching postion, and ready for, as I thought, anything.
But nothing could prepare me for the horror that awaited my eyes. It was a monstrosity made from the parts of a man. It stretched from the floor to the ceiling. It walked on two legs, but it had three bodies and three sets of arms. The face was dull and lifeless. But the abomination shuffled quickly and slammed me with it's fists. I heard my ribs crack. I translocated to the far side of the room and drew my new rapier. As the creature turned toward me, I translocated to the entrance of the sewer hall, hoping to escape. The horror charged me and slammed me again. I began to see spots as pain laced throughout my body. I feeblely sliced it with my blade, but no blood came from the cut. As the foul creature raised it's fists up to strike me again, Herr Roger and the Automoton materialized out of the shadows. Herr Roger then wrapped the thing's head in a web of shadows and the Automaton shot an electric ray from it's hand toward the horror. I sank back against the wall and kept an eye out for any other assailants.
Mon Mar 26, 2018 3:22 am
19 Mar 2018
Miss Elsia Boice Mosby , the youngest of the Mosby children and a fair haired blue eyed pale beauty of a lass, wrinkled her nose at the dust floating in the air, and in annoyance at having to skulk into the dormitory’s basement for a few moments of privacy. Carefully moving through the servant’s stairs into the dark gloom below where any young lady of proper station would ever be allowed to wander. But, it was a perfect place to be alone, read letters from her family, far flung on Her Majesty’s business, and news papers that found their way into the school
Mistress Trent, the “mother” of the dormitory’s lady students while in attendance at the school kept a strict – but loving – watch on the girls in her care. Monitoring all for safety and to give proper guidance. However, Miss Elsia, like her older brothers and elder sister, tended to balk at such loving watchfulness. Despite the good intentions, self assuredness, and an independent spirit lead the Mosby children into some time rebellion and into skulking in dark places.
Miss Elsia sat in the darkness and relaxed, the music from the servant’s rooms above filtered into the basement – fiddle guitar and squeeze box – something irish scotish and mixed with other influences , relaxing comforting yet calling to the girl to tap her toes and sway to the music in the darkness.
However, the lass had no trouble seeing to walk in the near pitch black, and when she sat to read the light needed to read and reread her letters was there – no longer surprising the girl – without thought she brushed away a cob web that drifted onto her arm. Then at the feel of the spider that spun the web crawling across the same arm, a quick flick of the finger and the arachnid was knocked to the ground. Then … a flash of focused sun light turned the spider into a black smear.
Letters from home, London, Italy, the Far East, and news papers from places near and far. One even – let to her by a new student from the America’s mid-west – from Chicago. As she read the stories from the American edge of civilization and frontier something tickled her memories from a few weeks ago … Chicago, hide and go seek , … Roger, … something she can’t remember.
Soon enough the lass, seeing through the gloom that hid other’s sight, and stalking like a seasoned cat burglar, was back to her room. None, but her 2 roommates – Laure St James her best friend, and the other Tina the daughter of an American socialite recently married into a noble (but impoverished) noble British family – the wiser. The 3 whispered themselves to sleep. Excited about the coming class trip into Scotland. A month away from school, 25 young lady students, 10 mistresses of students (keeping a watchful eye on the lasses) and 4 teachers – one Master Hugh … favorite teacher of the whole school (and a friend of her paternal grand mother)
Mosby smiled at the inspector sergeant and slid a bottle of local whisky to the police detective. A small price for a time alone in the police records room. Glancing through a few months of reports looking to find the hidden threads on missing persons – some outliers, but there are some that fit … late teen to mid 20s, female, rural origins, not much but enough.
Now back to the good Dr’s home and a talk with the rest of the group.
Soon enough the group was in the hotel, whether walking in, in open plain sight going to rented rooms, of appearing in through open windows, of snuck in through the shadow realms.
Now, time for the group’s skulkers to prove their worth.
Mosby keeps watch, Damon sneaks back through the secret passages, Liam remains as protecting to the other less combat skilled member. Nothing, … However, the lone girl in 3 F is not there … it is better to be safe than sorry, so Damon goes down the chute once more to make sure she hasn’t become the latest victim.
Mosby curses when he hears the muffled thump and crash , and rushes back to Jean’s room where the others watch nervously. Then the wet sound of a body being hit and hit hard.
Galahad begins to do something ( the spy not wanting to find out what) grabs the construct and takes them both into the shadow realm. Then dropping through the shadows floor by floor into the basement.
Stepping out of the shadows to see Damon battered and bruised doing his best to avoid a monstrosity from Mrs Shelly’s nightmare. Walking on 2 legs like a man, but an enlarged elongated torso, with 6 arms, and a man’s head. The beast pulls back it’s arms to batter the German acrobat once more.
Roger smiles, forgetting that Scima may be lurking at the edge of his thoughts, and unleashes the shadows on the beast. Shadows wrap and entwine . grabbing the arms engulfing the head and halting the monstrosity.
A blast for Galahad burns into the abomination, and Damon bamphs behind the 2, gritting his teeth at the ponding he has received.
Roger, trusting to the mental link by Miss Faith, thinks a scream of “HELP we need a Dr NOW”, and prepares to use the shadows to befuddle the beast’s senses.
Mon Apr 02, 2018 10:42 pm
Argh. I FINALLY get into combat, and I might not be able to make tonight. A major weather front has moved in (from 79 degree high to 44) and Im in major pain. I'll throw back drugs and vodka and try to make it, but fair warning.
Tue Apr 03, 2018 9:41 am
(wrote this pretty late, please forgive my sentence structure, I will likely be editing it later)
It had been several years since Dr. Matthews had gone into the attic, and even longer since he had gone through any of the belongings that were stored up there. Even now he couldn't bring himself to go to the northwest corner where his wife's belongings still in wait for Alexandra to go through when she was ready. He swallowed, turning away from those bittersweet memories towards the toy chest that had drawn him to this dust laden room in the first place.
He set down the oil lamp beside him so he could open the trunk that held his interest. He couldn't help but smile at the different mementos it held, and few stuffed toys, and wooden carvings made up the majority. Finally he spotted the piece that he was looking for, Alexandra's most beloved doll. Most girls took great care with their dolls, especially ones as articulated as this model, ball jointed dolls were a specialty item and Dr. Matthews could still remember the look on the artisans face when he had requested one so detailed and true to life. The face the artisan made when Dr Matthews also requested that it be able to dissembled and reassembled relatively easily was even better.
Alexandra had spent hours learning how to take it apart and put it back together, and even had one of her nannies sew a small patient outfit for it so it would look the part for the mock surgeries Alexandra would perform on it. Dr Matthews ran his fingers over the knee joints where the paint had chipped from being removed and replaced so many times. Perhaps Alexandra would enjoy seeing this again. Dr. Matthews closed the lid to the trunk and picked the lantern bag up intent on getting the maid to clean the doll up and perhaps sew an updated surgical robe for it so he could place it in Alexandra's room.
Alexandra's Journal May 15th
When I last felt the need to organize my thoughts we had been about to break into a consulate. It feels like so much time has passed since then, even though I know that was only a few days ago. When we found out it was a powerful mentalist that was to blame for most of our ills with the Turks it felt like it was going to be a near insurmountable enemy to fight. Oddly enough though, once the Queen of Hearts became aware of our group and what our abilities were she decided to back off.
Apparently looking into Damon's mind was too much of a burden on her and she nearly lost herself to his memories. I think that speaks well of Damon's resilience in the face of adversity throughout his life. We also had the luck of meeting an adversary of hers, Felix, and it was through his actions when he had last fought her that made the Queen of Hearts so keen on negotiating a truce.
Faith was very much against such a thing, she took to Felix quickly and seemed to adopt many of his feelings toward the Queen of Hearts for herself. I do not blame Faith, the Queen is not a good woman by most definitions of the word, a paid assassin who looks out for mostly only herself and lives in luxury... She is the antithesis of what a Victorian woman should be- other than beautiful and fashionable of course. I don't find myself minding too much.
It is hard for me to see much difference between her and some of the men in my group of associates. Not to be uncharitable to them of course, but it again gives me great pause about continuing to associate with them. How much of this is due to my previleged boredom? Are they truly the group of champions I would like to imagine them being, or am I merely lying to myself so I can continue to justify my own thrill seeking behaviors? This is an answer that perhaps the Queen of Hearts could have given me, but I did not ask.
She needed help, and after the... sudden and complete destruction of her associate The Phantom at our hands I balked at the idea of having a hand in another death so soon. I instead took her on as a client and repaired what damage had been done to her in return for her "convincing" the man who hired her to cancel the contract. The details were ironed out by Roger and others, though I remember Faith's pronounced frown during the negotiations. For a moment I felt guilty for ignoring her feelings about the Queen so resoundingly, especially when I had been so gung-ho about asking her opinions on every other matter. I am grateful for the new client however, and not having to worry about further bombing attempts on my home.
I had a few days to catch up on clients and test some pharmaceuticals before this next matter came to light. Roger had been looking for new safe houses since all of his others had been compromised and both Jean-Claude and myself were happy to point him towards the World's Fair Inn run by H.H Holmes. I knew him as a reliable business man for my Father's and I's needs and Jean-Claude had been staying in the hotel his entire stay in Chicago.
In their inspection Roger and Damon had come across some rather nasty business in the Inn. With the degraded scalp they brought me and the other evidence they found it became clear that Mr. Holmes could be a chronic murderer. More investigation was needed to confirm everyone's suspicions so we arranged a well coordinated plan to get all of us into the building without arousing interest. That part of the plan went smoothly, our disguises and other gifts lending themselves nicely to it's execution. Unfortunately, it very quickly went south after that when one of Holmes chute's that led to the basement collapsed with Damon inside of it as he went to make sure no victims had been recently acquired by Holmes.
It took several moments for Faith, Liam, and I to reach the basement where Damon had fallen and the rest had gone down to so quickly. Hurried talk telling us of a fight before Roger and the others had gone ahead of us was all we had to prepare us for when we opened the door. Liam seemed to freeze after quickly setting Faith down so he would not drop her. His reaction is perhaps the most reasonable one out of all of ours. I know Faith went about healing the already hurt members of our group rather quickly but in truth I was distracted by the shambling corpses that threatened them.
I wish I could say it was horror that distracted me rather than fascination and curiosity, but it is important t be honest with oneself about such things. I immediately went over to one of the corpses in front of Jean-Claude and reached out to it. I remember how determined I was to grasp it, if it's flesh was not already so bruised I wonder if my hand print would have been left on it's shoulder. I gripped it so tightly as I allowed my power to assess and disassemble the construct in front of me.
It has been the aim of many a scientist to study reanimation and the defiance of death, and after a moment of feeling the lifelessness of the nerves and the milky white of the corpses eyes it became obvious to me that these things were no creation of science. Something else as at work here as these bodies moved without a heartbeat, and without the electricity of life. I am not normally a woman of mysticism, but every scientific understanding of how the body works does not seem to apply to these dolls of flesh, and that leaves only the supernatural to consider.
I became aware of Jean-Claude's muttered curses as he struck at one of the dolls attacking him with his rapier and was immediately thankful for the reminder of our objective. There would perhaps be more time to study later, right now they needed me to help them fight. What came next is a bit of a blur for me, I remember the voice of Galahad as he summoned lightning from his hands to smite a shambling monstrosity of limbs and Jean-Claude's armored form raining down blow after blow on our foes as the sound of gunshots echoed through the chamber. I focused on breaking down the constructs in front of me. The first one seemed to take the longest, it was oddly satisfying to see it broken down in front of me, still twitching but unable to truly move. I knew in the back of my mind that I could put her back together if I wanted.
Faith screamed, but I could not go to her, the dead had realized I was a threat to them and had begun attacking me as well as I internally took them apart. I am grateful Jean-Claude was there, I would not have been able to handle so many on my own and even with help from the others I could not deny I was feeling the pain from so many blows.
Jean-Claude and I got down to the last normal looking construct when it just stopped moving and the rest of the room became quiet. It took a few minutes but the others informed Jean-Claude and I that Holmes had come down the stairs and attacked Faith. Damon, Roger, and Faith then worked together to take him down as quickly as possible before he could succeed in whatever he was trying to do with his attacks against Faith and later, Roger. Once Holmes went unconscious all of the constructs stopped moving. It seems undeniable that he is the one responsible for their creation.
Galahad and I went about completely breaking down his creations while Roger and the others recovered and tied and blind folded Mr. Holmes. Now we have to decide, what do we do with him?
Wed Apr 04, 2018 6:12 pm
I love seeing how what I describe is envisioned by the group. I hope to get to read some more perspectives!
Thu Apr 05, 2018 2:30 pm
The fight was chaos. I rested behind Herr Roger and the Atomaton as they dealt with the six armed monstrosity keeping an eye out for any other assailants. A few senconds passed and I did spy several man shaped creatures and another of the six armed creatures rushing toward us from the sewers.
Just then Herr Liam, and the Frauleins came bursting through a door on the far side of the chamber. And Herr Jean-Claude made a grand entrance in sliding in on a sheet of ice. I warned Herr Roger and the Atomaton and translocated near Herr Jean-Claude. Fraulein Faith healed some of my wounds.
The man shaped creatures, four women and a man, all naked, charged past Herr Roger and the Atomaton to follow me. The six armed beast joined the fray with it's twin.
Herr Jean-Claude encased the male creature in a tomb of ice and I, I'm ashamed to say, fled back to the sewer opening and hid.
From my vantage, I say men of our group engage in combat with our assailents. Even the Frauleins showed more bravery than me.
When Herr Roger's shadows disappated from the creatures head, I resolved to be a better man and moved back into the conflict. The creature again conected a solid blow on me and all of Fraulein Faith's efforts where for naught.
I again translocated away from the creature, but took up a position by Herr Liam, Fraulein Faith, and Herr Roger, who had joined them at some point in the melee. I did not notice the man standing in the doorway for several seconds, the I saw Herr Holmes and resloved myself to face him.
I translocated behind him and used my rapier, but to little effect. He was fighting a shadowy Herr Roger and Frauline Faith on the other side. Then the six armed beasts charged to protect him and the Shadowy Herr Roger was beside. We exchanged a few more blows with Herr Holmes, then Herr Roger gave him a blow to the head and he slumped to the ground.
The creatures all became rigid and stopped moving. That's when I noticed Herrs Liam and Jean-Claude and Fraulein Alexandria dispatching the last of the man sized creatures.
Mon Apr 09, 2018 10:46 pm
April 02 2018
David stood in the shadows watching the street full of passersby headed to the fair. So many pockets to pick so many money bags to lift. A glance around the street showed his friends were in position. However, from the last 3 weeks of lessons, a pang of gilt made the street urchin pause. Then, the full stomach, provided by the English aristocrat and his lady friend, took the pressing need to steal away from the boy and his friends.
A sigh and a shrug of the shoulders was as close to pilfering as the boys would get this evening. However, the English blue blood did expect the boys to be of use and remain skilled in sneaking watching and listening without being seen. The thought of that roguish game returned a half smile to the boy’s dirty face. A nod to the boys and the game was afoot. Sneak, follow, snoop, listen – and a coin or 2 just for practice’s sake & to keep hands nimble of course – see which of the boys could find the juiciest information. Oh such a fun game !
Sometime later, David, following a well to do gentleman doing his best – and failing utterly – to hid the fact he was on his way to a rendezvous turned the corner in an alley way. There behind an upper-class dance hall and gentleman’s club stood a beauty smiling at the wealthy man headed to the door. Pale skin, red hair, ravishingly beautiful. This WILL be a secret to find out. The boy continued up the alley, safe in his anonymity as one of thousands of nameless faceless street orphans of Chicago.
The lady’s green eyes scanned the alley way passing over the urchin, but then … the eyes blinked in recognition. A memory, a face, a thought, stolen from a young British man by the dancer. David froze in his tracks
Soundlessly the lady mouthed “Boy, David, yes that is your name, you’re a friend of Roger, you are a pup at the edge of a lioness’ den. Go now before you find a secret you’ll wish to forget” … soundlessly whispered, but the boy heard the words in the back of his skull
The gentleman, unaware of the soundless warning to the boy, scrambled up the steps to the red headed dancer, kissed her hand and tried to kiss more, tried but failed, and was ushered into the private box of the dance hall.
David stood in the shadows for an untold time, nearly as afraid of the whisper as he was of Roger’s shadow
Roger felt the monstrosity struggling in the shadows, breathed and opened up the shadow realm to the mind of the beast. It may not cause fear or terror to the abomination, but it should at least stun and bewilder the thing. … Nothing .. no pause not change …. This is not good. At least the beast was wrapped and entangled in shadows unable to act or move against the German acrobat, the construct, or the British spy.
Moments later, Jean Claud slid down the chute and fell through the hole in the ceiling, the Frenchman now encased in ice armor and holding a frost bladed sword. Then from the hole in the sewer, 4 more creatures rush in. all nude, all bruised, all dirty, all cadaverously colored, all rushing to attack, none with eyes focused on the world.
As the rest of the group rushed into the basement from the stairs, and Faith rushed to help the badly beaten Damon, another “Handy Man” emerged in from the gloom of the sewer. Like the monstrosity encased in shadows the abomination stood near 9 ft tall, had 6 arms (3 a side) and blank staring eyes.
Then confusion as an attack on one brute became a fight for all their lives in the basement. Ice flew to encase some of the zombies or to pierce or slash them, Roger’s revolver blasted out time and again, at times hitting the mark other times missing, Damon’s rapier cutting out of the shadows, Galahad trading blow for blow with one and then both of the ‘Mr. Handy man’, and Miss A stepping forth to grab the zombies and warp their moving unalive flesh, and Miss Faith using her mental blasts to daze and confuse the monsters (which repeatedly had no effect) or heal the injured members in the fight – which was critical to the survival and continued fighting of the group.
Roger seeing Damon’s attacks for the shadows remembered his own powers, and again wraps himself in shadows – becoming invisible –to better fight the beasts. Slowly, one then another of the zombies fall to the basement floor, still moving and twitching but unable to attack.
Then, in fear for her life and seeing she had no effect on the walking cadavers with her mental blasts, Miss Faith turns to run out of the basement and nearly collides with a man, Mr Holms. Before she can react he smiles and …. Faith screams at the attack, but is able to ward off the effect.
At the scream, Roger turns, still wrapped in shadows – invisible to the naked eye - and rushes toward the Lady. Firing his revolver as he runs and Damon bamphs up the stairs, behind the new opponent. At the same moment Galahad pushes off from the 2 monstrosities and flies to her aid (blocking Rogers’s next attack with his trusty cavalry saber). Roger is halted in his tracks as some force from Mr. Holm’s wraps around the British spy and attempts to rip the very soul from his body. Luck not skill keeps the English aristocrat alive and fighting.
Freed from their battle with Galahad, the 2 “Mr. Handy Man” rush forward battering all in their path.
Roger yells to Galahad, “This man I can handle. Only you can face those 2 brutes” and the construct nods turns and leap toward the monstrosities. However, they, sensing the danger to their master, they rush forward blocking Mr Holms from any attacks from Miss Faith or Roger.
Miss A and Jean Claud continue to fight the remaining normal sized zombies, and Galahad again turns to jump back into the fray with the 2 hulking beasts
Roger smirks at the defense and steps into the shadows and walks ‘through’ the beasts to behind the master of these walking dead abominations.
Damon slash at Holms, who has to dodge and focus on the Prussian Acrobat’s attack, and misses the British Spy stepping from the shadow. A slash at the man back stops him in his tracks and then (resisting the urge to stab with all force into the exposed back) the hard brass hand guard slams into the back of the ‘hotel manager’s head.
A stumble, then limply collapsing to the ground, Holms falls unconscious. A moment later, the remaining undead follow suite, and are soon cut apart.
Roger, hands shaking at the knowledge of how close to death he was slumps against the wall to catch his breath.
Noises from behind, down in the basement bring his thoughts back to focus, the noise of the rest of the group dismembering the walking dead that had so recently been so vicious opponents.
Roger pushes from the wall and steps to the collapsed Mr. Holms
“There you know the place just below and to the center of the left shoulder blade. One quick thrust, in out, and it will be done” Scima whispers to the exhausted spy
Nodding, “Yes I know that spot”, the cavalry saber comes up as Roger knees next to the prone opponent. Then down, as the brass handguard strikes the spot at the base of the skull … “I know it and may others”
The blow will not be fatal, but the prone opponents will be unconscious for some time, and when he awakes he will have a splitting head ache.
Mon Apr 09, 2018 10:51 pm
NICE, great intro & great tie with your wooden doll to the flesh dolls we fought. Great way to explain them
The fight was chaos. ..., I'm ashamed to say, fled back to the sewer opening and hid.
From my vantage, I say men of our group engage in combat with our assailents. Even the Frauleins showed more bravery than me.
..., I resolved to be a better man and moved back into the conflict. The creature again conected a solid blow on me and all of Fraulein Faith's efforts where for naught.
I again translocated away from the creature, but took up a position by Herr Liam, Fraulein Faith, and Herr Roger, who had joined them at some point in the melee. I did not notice the man standing in the doorway for several seconds, the I saw Herr Holmes and resloved myself to face him.
.... We exchanged a few more blows with Herr Holmes, then ....
Nice, love the progress from cowardly hiding in the shadow to the resolve of standing toe to toe with Holms !
Again, epic fight !
Tue Apr 10, 2018 5:48 pm
‘Mon Dieu!’ Jean-Claude thought as he slid down the snow and ice caked chute. ‘This is not how I envisioned the evening progressing!’
It had seemed a relatively quiet mission. The ‘Matthews Gang’, as Jean-Claude had begun to think of them, had realized something wasn’t quite right in the hotel that Jean-Claude was staying at. Some information regarding missing young women came to the fore, and the group had decided a reconnaissance was necessary. The gentlemen would explore the hotel, and the ladies would join later while pretending to be friends and relations of the Frenchman. A nice, simple look around and then with luck a pleasant dinner with the attractive young ladies. Yes, this appeared to be a fine evening for Jean-Claude. How could he have known that Jacque Frost would be needed instead?
Investigations had revealed secret passages, snooping eye holes, and suspicious chutes to the basement. While investigating the lower levels, his new friend Damon had been assaulted by a six-armed monstrosity! Jean-Claude and the ladies, engaged in pleasant chit-chat, were informed by supernatural means of Damon’s plight, and while the ladies took the stairs and the long way to the basement Jean-Claude spread snow and ice down the chute and slid directly to the basement. He summoned his armor and icicle-blade during the brief trip, and in short order slid into the basement and onto his feet; ready for anything.
Or so he thought. Seeing the monster trying to strike down his friend, Jean-Claude, now in his Jacque Frost persona, shouted “Merde, he must be the Hotel’s handyman!” Alas, it appeared that the creature couldn’t appreciate Jacque Frost’s humor. Its eyes were dull, and it moved in a jerky manner; as if in a trance. Still, Jacque Frost prepared to engage the creature when the shadows rippled, and the Le Anglaise” Roger emerged and threw ebon tentacles at the head of Damon’s assailant. It was quickly bound, but then more figures emerged from the nearby sewer gap in the wall. There were four of them, one a man and three women, all naked. This wasn’t as enjoyable a sight to the Frenchman as it might have been, since the ladies were discolored and moving in the same fast yet jerky manner as the ‘Handyman’ bound by Roger’s powers. Gritting his teeth, Jacque Frost threw himself into the fray!
As his other comrades arrived, the basement was soon a scene of chaos. Jacque Frost’s ice blasts and cutting ice blade was joined by Roger’s pistol shots, Damon’s rapier, and even the ladies entered the melee. Lady Alexandra, in her disturbingly male form of Asclepius, used her supernatural powers to disassemble the walking corpses, leaving only the two female bodies fighting Jacque Frost.
“Fear not for my safety, good Asclepius, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to deal with two naked women!” With a chuckle at his own joke, he drove his icicle blade into the chest of one of the zombies before him.
Carnage reigned in that subterranean room of horrors. Before Jean-Claude knew what was happening, his foes suddenly collapsed before him. There had been some fighting at the upstairs doorway, but he had been too engaged in his own fight to notice or give assistance. ‘Never leave a job half done, Jean Claude.’ He thought wryly to himself as he and Asclepius took the now unmoving corpses apart in their own unique ways.
Wed Apr 11, 2018 3:47 am
‘Mon Dieu!’ Jean-Claude thought as he slid down the snow and ice caked chute. ‘This is not how I envisioned the evening progressing!’
Or so he thought. Seeing the monster trying to strike down his friend, Jean-Claude, now in his Jacque Frost persona, shouted “Merde, he must be the Hotel’s handyman!” Alas, it appeared that the creature couldn’t appreciate Jacque Frost’s humor.
.... There were four of them, one a man and three women, all naked. This wasn’t as enjoyable a sight to the Frenchman as it might have been, since the ladies were discolored and moving in the same fast yet jerky manner as the ‘Handyman’ ...
“Fear not for my safety, good Asclepius, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to deal with two naked women!” With a chuckle at his own joke, he drove his icicle blade into the chest of one of the zombies before him.
Sooooo that is where the 'handy man' came from. I missed the original comment it came from.
Wasn't an enjoyable sight ... Fear not ... not first time I've had to deal with two naked women ...
NICE all I can say is NICE
Fri Apr 20, 2018 3:39 am
16 Apr 2018
In a nondescript office of a trading company (used as a front for the British Secretory of Foreign Affairs operating in those United States - presently united is used loosely - of North America). A codded telegraph message is decoded an passed to the office manager/station chief.
Inconceivable opponent (stop)
Mass murderer creates M Shelley like monsters (stop)
4 normal human size (stop)
2 exceptional sized (stop)
Parts of numerous cadavers preserved (stop)
Puppetmaster able to attack soul (stop)
Captured and detained (stop)
Crossed path with US Home Office Agents (stop)
They took opponent’s note book on process to make puppets (stop)
Took puppet master (stop)
Mister Purdy smiled at the decoded notes. Roger Mosby entangled with the local agents of The US’ Home Office. That plus interest (from reports from London) by Her Majesty’s The Queen’s Knights is bound to make being a spy operative difficult.
Rgr gasping for breath from the fight sheathed his trusty cavalry saber and slumped to the wall. Looking down at the unconscious Mr Holms. It would be so easy, and Scima’s words echoed through his mind. Feeling a tingle in his hand, the British spy looked down to see the shadows coalescing in his hand to form a gray saber . A weapon made of the stuff of shadows and darkness, Scima chucking softly at the British aristocrat’s surprise . Oh it would be soooo easy.
“Miss A, well I guess now it is Asklepios , do you have any Ludlum or opium or the like. Something to fog this monster’s mind for at least a few hours ?”
When the lady (who now appears like a man) face bender and healer returned – seeing the liquid opiate in her hand Roger/Scima turned and walked away (just seeing it and knowing the nightmares it would unleash is to close for comfort for the English spy). But, moments later, Mr Holms was drugged and lost in the opium haze.
Rgr seeing Miss A stand from administrating the opiate but then hesitate and stand in place, smiled . After such a gruesome fight, it is to be expected.
A flask from the spy’s boot, and a sip for himself, and Roger hands the flask to Miss A, or attempts to. She stands seeming in a daze after the combat. Roger gives some words of comfort and places the flask in the lady’s (who still looks like a man) hands. Then heads toward Miss Faith, who also is in near shock form the fight with the walking flesh puppets and the 2 goliath like ‘handyman’ monsters.
A yell from Damon & Liam, down exploring the sewer and attempting to locate where the flesh puppets came from, and assumedly Mr. Holms’ laboratory. The yell was of disgust not panic, and was not follow by sounds of another fight, so Roger remained in the basement to keep an eye on Mr Holms, the 2 ladies, and Galahad – who seemed more than willing to outright kill the unconscious and drugged Holms.
As soon as the British spy was sure there was little danger of another attack, he went up to the first floor and out to the street. A quarter hired a runner to go to the police sergeant detective – conveniently on the British spy’s pay – and have him come with enough Bobbies to secure the area.
Settling down in the top of the stairs to the basement, he waited – and contemplated the newest manifestation of his shadow powers. A blade of shadow assumedly as damaging or more damaging than the cavalry saber hanging from his belt.
Soon enough the police inspector sergeant with 4 or 5 Bobbies arrived, as did 2 others. Agents of the US’ Home Office. Arrogant and demanding, they could be nothing other than federal agents.
A heated argument between the English spy and the 2 agents followed, with Scima urging the use of the new power on the 2, but after a moment of pride and weakness the British aristocrat and spy remembered his place and relented.
The 2 agents interviewed those remaining in the basement – Damon, Liam & Galahad having decided it is best to not be there, and having heard the argument between Roger and the agents were able to hide out of sight further back in the sewer. Then the 2, along with Miss A – still in the appearance of a man – went to Mr Holms work shop.
Roger, giving into Scima and temptation, controlled the shadows in the work room enough to further intensify the gruesome scene.
Eventually, the 2 agents left with Mr Holms, still befuddled by the opiates, in tow, and a note book Miss A handed to them as they had talked.
Roger frowned as they left, .. what secrets are in the note book. What does the Office of the Foreign Secretary need to see that is in it … Scima urged action. No, not worth the ramifications of a British spy attacking 2 US Federal Agents.
After they left, Roger took the time to search Mr Holms’ first floor office. Finding nothing exceptional (unlike the nightmare work shop below) but finding more cash, business notes and deeds to various properties, and 3 separate marriage certificates. 2 of which were for local ladies. Luckily, the addresses for the 2 were easily found.
Roger nodded as he read the addresses, “Looks like I have 2 social calls to make tomorrow“ speaking to no one other than himself (and the ever present Scima).
As the others headed to Miss A’s house, Roger made his way to the telegraph office to send the coded messages back to Boston.
The British Aristocrat’s smirk slowly changed to a frown … “I still don’t have any locations for new safe houses … “
Sun Apr 29, 2018 10:38 pm
The dust settled in the streets of Toter. Horses – not the local over grown ponies good Arabians, Camels – not the single humped Arabians but the local cold adapted 2 humped, and pack mules – common the world over, milled around the ancient streets. Sadly, as Frances Edmond Mosby looked at the caravan, there was less than a 3rd of the number that had departed from these same streets some months ago here in the streets.
2 out of 3 men, officer, solder, and porter alike – though the local porters fared better than the European officers – dead in the deserts of Skamo. Men and beast dead. Hard travel, yes, brutal lands definitely, dangerous peoples, undoubtedly, all taking their toll.
A ride out to survey to tribes to the west of the Great Wall, see if there are any Khans drawing any tribe of Mongol or Turk to their banner. Any danger to China, Russia, Turk or Europe brewing from the lands that have so often spawned danger and destruction to civilization (east or west). If so report, if not see if any are valuable for trade or as hired men.
2 out of 3 dead, but it could be worse, should be worse. Frances, the eldest Mosby son, led the caravan after Colonel Alison’s disastrous start. Surprisingly, Mosby seemed to know which water hole was viable and which was poisoned. Which path were safe and which were watched or ambushes, when a storm would pass harmlessly and which would blow dust covering the horizons for days. Then, time and time again, a brutal warlord defiant and ready to war (with such a small weakened force of foreigners) slowly relenting and eventually bending a knee.
Totar would be a relief and respite for some or days, while messengers rode back to the wall and then back to the Capitol. A good bath, a good bed, but first a telegraph but not for eyes in China …
Roger woke, violently.
“No rest for the weary, … and Roger we are wicked aren’t we” Scima hissed as the nightmare faded.
The kitchen boy jumped as the tea kettle whistled. Normally, awake by the sound of a mouse, but some how the good Dr’s and his daughter’s strange British guest had been silent in entering the kitchen, stoking the fire, and getting the water to a boil.
Roger sat out on the back porch and watched the sun rise. In its light the remainder of the nightmare faded. A deep exhausted breath. Started the day.
As the rest of the house woke and made their way to breakfast Roger put on a smile and hid his exhaustion. “Jean, my French friend, if you would be so good. Would you ride with me and help find these 2 wives of Mr Holms. I hope there is nothing to see with them, but I fear ….”
A few hours later the 2 returned to the Matthew’s house, relieved. Live ladies, live children, and neither the wiser about the other and both unaware of their husband’s activities. Roger even avoided informing them of the previous night’s activities and Mr Holm’s arrest.
After Roger and Jean Claud returned the group decided to relax and take in the sights of the fair. It seemed like a life time ago that the group had first crossed paths there at the fair through it had only been a few months.
While wandering the fair and looking into booths, Roger noticed a sign, a reminder of home. Just like the familiar London sign, Hunter & Hunter, English purveyors of unique and exceptional items. Armor reinforced clothing, items of defense (and offense) disguised as umbrellas, spectacles with special modification, and numerous other items for sale.
With the $500 he had lifted from Holm’s office safe, and with his operating expenses paid by Her Majesty’s Office of The Foreign Secretory. That would be plenty to buy the entire group at least reinforced armored cloths, and umbrella shields for the ladies. Unfortunately, due to the increased sales from the fair, the local Hunter and Hunter retailer did not have the vests and coats to the correct sie and style, so it would take 3 week for the order to arrive from London.
The net morning, as Roger read through the local papers he noticed a report about an odd bank robbery. Some one or some thing busted through the back wall of the bank and ripped open the vault. Specific details were conflicting in the various reports, but it did sound like something that needed to be looked into. Something(s) able to blow open wall and rip open a safe sounded more exceptional than the average wild west bank robber.
Plus, it may be a way to further annoy Smith and Jones if Roger et al were able to capture the robber before the 2 agents of America’s Home office.
Over the next 2 days roger did some digging and investigating, with help from his “Baker St Boys” and was able to talk to the bank manager and bank employees.
From the 2 days work he had found that:
It was one individual or thing
Standing between 8 and 9 ft tall
Heavy enough to crus rock into dust
Entered and exited the area via water way – from the lake bank
That there are 11 other banks in the area of similar size and located close enough to the lake bank and peers to bear watching
And the bank had been cased by an individual for a few days before the robbery by a person – most defining characteristic was a long thin hooked nose.
It was a start, but not enough.
Who in the area would know about someone able or willing to do this.
Liam’s Irish contact knew nothing, and the “Baker St Boys” had been valuable for getting the chase started, but any other more specific information would need to come from someone other than ‘The Street’
Someone that knows the local talent, those with exceptional abilities or unique contraptions, who would be skilled enough or well-funded enough.
Or maybe, she doesn’t know and would appreciate a kind warning and gift of information to continue the show of good faith .
Liam, Jean Claud my friends, … I think we have worked hard enough and earned an evening out as fine gentlemen. I hear a dancer and entertainer has recently returned to the stage after an absence. I think it would do us some good to be out, and pay her our complements” Said in a devils own impishness
“Yes Liam, I already have your tuxedo tailored, thanks to Miss A’s preferred tailor. It is hung neatly ready for you”
“I wonder, will ‘The Queen of Spades’ respond more kindly to my note if it is delivered with a red rose, a white rose, or a yellow rose”
The basement of Miss A’s house fell silent at the mention of her name and looks of shock were passed as Roger smirked at the looks as he turned to climb the stairs
“Yes Scima, even I at times am wicked … “
Fri May 04, 2018 1:35 am
The display outside the window was a lovely view, much nicer than the view from Jean-Claude’s hotel window. Wide cobblestone roads, pleasantly shaded sidewalks and greenery abounds. Even the sight of a couple of tenacious journalists ostensibly waiting outside the Matthews home couldn’t sour the elegant ambiance of the neighborhood. What their appearance meant however; that was more complicated.
The Frenchman sighed and turned back to the room. The only other resident was the lady of the house, Miss Alexandra Matthews. She was taking tea at one of the long reading tables that adorned the library; providing a sanctum of dark oak wood panels and leather-bound books emblazoned with gilt lettering filling the walls. Jean-Claude smiled at the book Miss Matthews was studying while drinking tea, a book on anatomy and the effects of trauma. Certainly not the usual reading of young ladies, especially not those who looked young enough to be enjoying her season on the social circuit. Then again, like most of her house guests, appearances were quite deceiving.
“What is on your mind today, Monsieur du Orleans?”
She hadn’t looked up from her book, but seemed quite aware of Jean-Claude’s eyes upon her. Did she have eyes on the top of her head? A comment meant facetiously with anyone else, but with this young woman (and her powers) it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility. With a traditional Gallic shrug, Jean-Claude responded. “Mademoiselle Matthews, I have a proposal for you.”
This did cause her head to rise, with one elegant eyebrow raised above a cynical face. “Indeed? Such behavior might be appropriate on the continent, but not here in America I assure you.”
A flash of white teeth was Jean-Claude’s reply, but after a few more seconds he relented. “Alas, I am too old for such pastimes, despite your obvious youth and beauty.” Both eyebrows were up now, but the Frenchman knew his appearance did not begin to show his years. Another secret he would keep from her and his colleagues, at least for now. “But you misunderstand.” He continued. “My proposal is purely monetary. I ask if you or your father would be willing to purchase the Worlds Columbian Exposition Hotel.”
Alexandra sat up, a brief flash of surprise and uncertainty washing over her features. In truth she’d thought of that idea days ago, but when she brought it up to Roger Mosby he dismissed it immediately. Now Jean-Claude seemed to be thinking along lines similar to her. Yet the problems were real enough.
“What? I can’t see that it would be a good investment. Especially if Dr. Holmes’s activities in the building becomes common knowledge. Once that happens, you won’t be able to pay people to stay there. Not even the housing shortage caused by the fair would make people risk such a residence.”
“I think you underestimate Monsieur's Smith and Jones.” Jean-Claude replied, now sitting at the table across from the young lady. “I will be quite surprised if his activities ever become more than a local Chicago legend. I think your government will want to keep Holmes as secretly as they can.”
She leaned forward, her chin in her hand as she regarded her French comrade. The age comments she dismissed as easily as his flattery. She’d been flattered most of her life, especially since reaching adulthood and while he was suave she’d been complimented by much better. The age comment intrigued her, for Alexandra knew how much of the body’s conditions could be changed or reversed by supernatural powers. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking though, and instead concentrated on his…proposal.
“Very well, I see your point.” She said, not breaking eye contact with the man who went by the name Jacque Frost. “This doesn’t answer the question of why I or my father should purchase such a white elephant as the hotel.”
Jean-Claude smiled again and raised three fingers. “I can give you three reasons, Mademoiselle. First,” He dropped two fingers and left one up, as if noting the presence of the ceiling. “…the building has secret panels, rooms, and passages; this would be invaluable to people like us and our…professions.”
The second finger came up. “Second, and I admit this is purely selfish, I haven’t been able to find other lodging in Chicago despite my best efforts. As you appear to be full to the bursting here at the stately Matthews manor, my only choices seem to be the hotel or Miss Addams’s Hull House for the indigent.”
Another quick smile, and then the third finger. “Finally, I think you would feel better if your collection of strange SuperMankind were residing somewhere other than your home, eating food, causing sleeping issues, and of course those ‘Yellow Journalists’ that constantly follow your every step.” Jean-Claude gestured to the windows behind him. “I think I saw one of them with one of those new Kodak cameras that you can carry anywhere and is only slightly bigger than a hatbox. Photographs, I believe, are the last things you wish in the papers. Photographs of strange men coming in and out of the home at odd hours? A gentleman from Britain, a German, an Irishman, and a Frenchmen…” He gestured modestly to himself and went on. “…not to mention the automaton Galahad. All these combine to give considerable scandal to a young woman’s reputation, does it not?”
Alexandra leaned back, looking speculatively at the Frenchman. She knew the second point was a red herring. Oh, he probably was having difficulty finding lodging, but a man with Jean-Claude's skills would have little trouble finding somewhere to sleep. No, it was mostly the last point and the first only reinforced it. “It will be expensive…” She began, but Jean-broke in. “With Dr. Holmes nowhere to be found? Pshaw!” He waved his hand dismissively into the air. “Either or even both of his wives would be glad of the money, and unless Holmes challenges their sale in 90 days the hotel would be yours free and clear.” Now it was Jean who leaned forward. “Monsieur Mosby and I went to visit the wives early this morning. They seemed like good honest women just looking to raise their families. It might be good to have Miss Faith view their minds, but I agree with the British spy’s instincts that say they knew nothing of Holmes’s powers or predellections. In fact…”
“Nevertheless.” Now Alexandra broke in on the conversation. “It will cost enough money that I would want father’s lawyer to investigate and ensure free title before putting money towards the building. Who would run the hotel, anyway?”
“We would.” Jean-Claude’s roguish smile returned. “That is, we happy few, we band of brothers…and sisters.” Alexandra snorted at the misquotation of Shakespeare’s Henry V. “The rooms could be modified to hold SuperMankind prisoners, especially the ones with peepholes in them.” Another Gallic shrug, then he remarked idly. “Unless you wish to give any supernatural creatures we encounter to your Monsieur Smith and Jones?”
‘Not likely.’ The woman thought to herself with asperity. She didn’t know enough about those men to trust them very much. Which was why she’d kept the books from Holmes’s laboratory and didn’t hand them over to ‘The Authorities’ along with Holmes himself. She sighed, then gave in. “All right Jean-Claude, I will speak to my father on the subject. I will even support the idea. If nothing else, I think he’ll be glad to be rid of the lot of you.” She smiled, to take the sting out of the remark. “Everyone besides Faith of course, she’s going to need more treatments and wants to assist father and I in our practice. We’ll need to find contractors with some discretion to do the repairs on the place but that’s not unsurmountable. Liam might be able to help with that, I suspect.”
Jean-Claude nodded graciously, apparently not a sore winner. He smiled slyly at Miss Matthews and said “But of course, your father is the proper one to make the decision. It wouldn’t be proper for a young lady to make such a decision all on her own. Women’s brains can’t handle that sort of responsibility, you know.” The glare he recieved from the other side of the table caused Jean-Claude to burst out laughing. His merriment only seemed to make the glare more intense.
“Oh come now, Miss Matthews.. Alexandra.” All humor had left the Frenchman, and his gaze was steady at Alexandra Matthews. “If I, or anyone else in our merry little band, really felt that way we wouldn’t still be here. Well, Galahad might but who knows what thoughts click around in that mechanical brain of his.”
On that they could both agree wholeheartedly, and they did.
Fri Aug 17, 2018 11:22 pm
13 Aug 2018 recap (well 1 & the game before too)
Miss Elsia Boice Mosby crouched in the shadow filled alley behind the small public house of a nameless Northern Scotch village. Holding her had up behind her to the 2 panic eyed school girls, frinds all three, cowering behind her. Looking around for any other ruffians, thugs kidnappers.
“What happened? What was that light. What …” a girl’s voice with a decidedly American accent (Chicago to be specific)
“Shhh” the fair haired blue eyed Mosby cut her more recent friend and school mate off. So easily, and naturally slipping into the mode that her older brothers and sister had taught her in numerous games of hid and seek. Use shadows, look listen think and look again before you move. Hear notice don’t listen or see … Such a fun child’s game, played often in preparation of not child games but life critical moments.
“You killed him, how!?! Was that a gun, was …”
“Shhhh, there are others in the dark …” Elsia cut off her oldest (and very English) friend.
A creak of a step from the back of the alley alerted the 3 school girls that at least one of the kidnappers were not only in the dark, but in the dark behind them. Thugs hired to kidnap the American lass, the daughter of a Chicago socialite, daughter of the recent wife of Duke Grafton, granddaughter of a very wealthy North American Industrialist.
Miss Mosby pushed the 2 other girls from the hiding spot in the alley toward the farrier’s cottage across the road.
The 2 running girls slid to a stop and screamed as out of the shadow a hulking thug stepped from the alley the 2 girls were running toward.
Sometimes it takes a rabbit (or 2) running to call out a wolf
A beam of light, lightning bright and pencil thin, shot from the youngest Mosby’s pointed finger.
Breath, slowly, calm, aim small miss small … Time and time again a Mosby (whether father or elder brother) had whispered to her as she learned to fire rifle and then pistol. However, with her inner light, there is no need to worry about proper trigger pull. A much easier shot
The kidnapper crumpled in the road, a hole smoking in his chest, gasping
Elisa failed to hold back a shriek of her own when a callused hand clamped down on her shoulder, … don’t forget the enemy behind when you fight the enemy in front …
A flash, brighter than sunlight brighter than lightning, blinded the thug, and awoke the yeoman asleep in the farrier’s loft.
The last kidnapper stood back into the shadows blinded and sunburnt. The last , and less brave, thug seeing 2 other thugs laying in the dirt around the farm house the girls had been staying, another in the street, and now another blinded and stunned in the alley, turned and ran into the dark Scottish night.
Miss Elsia Boice Mosby glanced around the now empty street and smiled as she looked up at the sign swinging over the public house “The Tilted Sunflower” … Yes, sunflower … that fits. Not a fair haired pale skinned English lily … She grabbed the 2 school friends crouching in the road way and the 3 friends ran to the safety of the farrier’s
Roger smiled, swirled the brandy in the crystal sniffer and took a sip of the thick purple black elixir. A sideways glance to his left showed the Frenchman, as expected comfortable in the fine suit and in the highbrow surroundings, a glance to the right showed, also as expected, the Irishman uncomfortable in his new tailored suit and the highbrow surroundings.
Comfort, discomfort in the same setting …A whispered ‘yes, like us. same, but opposite’ echoed through the English spy’s head.
One of the evening’s entertainers stepped onto the gentle mans’ club’s stage. A red head burlesque dancer and temptress. Red headed, and recently returned from retirement due to an unfortunate accidental injury (if you call having your nose bitten off by an alien mentalist cat an accidental injury)
Her lack of surprise when she glanced across the room and spied the 3 setting at the table disappointed the Englishman. Then he remembered, of course she wouldn’t be surprised. She, with the merest of thought could feel Roger’s presence anywhere in the city, possibly even in the furthest corner of these United States.
She knows us, she sees us in our shadows, she commands us … strike, kill free us now
A sip of brandy pushed Schima to the background thoughts. A cooler head must be in control
The evening passes and the Queen of Spades allows the 3 to rondivious with her after her performance.
Information is exchanged about a new threat, as walking monstrosity able to batter down brick wall and rip open steal bank vaults, and escape into the lake’s depths.
She had no knowledge at hand … She could not search off such limited knowledge.
The next day, as Roger continued to ply his skills and direct his ‘Baker Street boys’ along with their wider street contacts, Liam had a breakthrough
Where the English spy failed to gather more information, the Irish prior Marine and son of the Chicago Irish ghetto found a name, a history, a family’s flat.
Liam talked to the family, an older gentleman and his wife, about their son, his failed business, his past, and rented a room from them for the week – a rent happily paid for by the English spy and his queen’s gold.
While in the apartment he needed information or something helpful. Something like a personal item of the bank robber (or the one designing and maintaining the robber’s armor) to help ‘The Queen of Spades’ focus her viewing … a child hood baseball … perfect
It will be too risky for Liam to steal it (he has his uses and strengths, stealth and deception are not his). Roger smiles, a little game of hide in plain sight, hide and sneak, and don’t get caught.
In common street cloths, the English aristocrat filter through the street crowed outside the apartment building, all day watching but unnoticed. Unfortunately, the old man and his wife never left the flat. Sunset, 1 hour, 2 hours, 3 hours, finally the old couple went to sleep and Liam gives the signal all is clear and leave the flat (no reason to draw suspicion to him if Roger is caught).
Blending into the common labors milling around the apartment building, Roger makes his way into the building and up to the flat. Easily the locked door is opened, and silently Roger is in the room, across the flat, and hand on the baseball.
Footsteps, sleepily faltering and unsteady, from the old couples bed room, to the water clause and a slow incremental use of the piss pot. The English spy freezes, smirks and steps back into the shadow (no need to risk Schima for an old man with a full bladder) and goes unnoticed.
As the old man sleepily returns to bed the English spy quietly leaves the flat, closes and relocks the door, and walks out onto the street, whistling and tossing the baseball into the air, blending into the crowd of common workers and street urchins.
2 blocks away from the apartment building, Roger hails a cab and tosses the driver a few tarnished silver bits – enough for a ride to a cross street 4 blocks away from ‘The Queen of Spades’, a location the rest of the group would head to as they saw Roger leave the apartment building, a small but acceptable tip for the cab driver.
A short nap as the cab made its way through the muddy Chicago streets (it will be an interesting night and Roger doubted he would get any rest later in the evening). Soon enough, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the English spy step from the cab and headed towards ‘The Queen of Spades’ apartment where the rest of the male members of the group were headed.
Walking into the well-appointed apartment (with a growl from Schima echoing in his consciousness) Roger smiled and wordlessly tossed the old worn baseball to the red headed temptress mind bender.
Jean Claude, smiling, filled the silence “Mademoiselle, I believe that is a token that is needed to aid you in your viewing of our quarry [Sorry Mike I can’t remember exactly what you said, but it was fitting and properly French and witty].
Setting at a small table with the accoutrements of a gipsy seer (all for show, all present knew her true power and the fact she had no need for such baubles, but they were useful for appearances), the red head’s eyes went blank as she began to focus, mumbling
Now, she is elsewhere. She does not see us, she can’t feel us, she can’t control us. Strike !
Roger smiled at the echo as Schima in the back of his mind. The treaty would eventually be broken, but not tonight.
Some 10 minutes later, they knew the maker of the armor was operating in an old abandoned factory less than a block away from the lake front, with 2 assistants, and was partners (seemingly junior partner, and afraid of the Sr partner) with the sharp nosed man that Roger had heard described as the one casing the bank. ‘The Queen of Spades’ saw the armor in the basement of the factory, standing silent immobile unoccupied against the wall. Also, she warned the sharp nosed man was exceptional himself, and was tied to water
Roger took the ball and headed back toward the apartment, a short nap on the cab ride was a little more rest.
In the late night/early morning, Roger again with no difficulty opens the lock, sneaks into flat and places the ball carefully back on the end table.
Footsteps, a yawn, another old man’s night trip to the water closet … absent mindedly Roger watches
The shadows around the old man coils , snaking toward the old sleepy man. Roger stops them with a thought
Let us play … we will not harm, … a soft caress in the dark is all … Schima chuckling in Roger’s mind
Roger feels Schima pout as the old man finishes and returns to bed, none the wiser that a shadow cloaked English spy was again in his flat.
Galahad took flight to search the lake front, but, despite his exceptional robotic eyesight, he was only 1 searcher and it is a large lake front.
Roger, with his network of ‘Baker St boys’ and their network of street urchins, was many searchers. In a little over an hour, Roger knew the location of the factory.
A short note, carried by David, the default leader of the ‘Baker St boys’ request Miss A and Miss F to meet the rest of the group a few blocks away from abandoned factory.
As the group skulked to the building, with Roger in the lead keeping hidden and keeping quiet watching and listening, Galahad scanned the building with his robotic vision. At least the ground floor was clear and uninhabited.
Roger and Jean Claude snuck to the building, checking doors, and Jean Claude freezing the doors to the basement closed. As Roger walked to the side door of the factory he noticed … water, standing water puddles – more water than justified by recent rain and even the nearness of the lake. ‘He has a tie to water’ … a silent shake of the head no and a point up to the factory roof let the rest know that the door was not safe and that all would have to enter from the roof.
Galahad assisted Roger to the roof, and after a quick search to make sure it was clear, and there was an acceptable place to sneak into the factory (a sky light would be acceptable), the English spy lowered a rope down so the others could more easily climb to the roof.
As those that could not use super powers to get to the roof climbed, Galahad, with his x-ray vision, searched the floor below . Nothing, no one, safe to enter.
Roger dropped down and snuck ahead as the rest of the group, one by one dropped to the 3rd floor. Again Galahad searched the floor below. Again nothing
Roger, quietly carefully, snuck down the stairs to the second floor, and noticed wisps of fog drifting up from the floor below. Frowning and looking back to the rest of the party, Roger waited for the sign from Galahad … all clear on the ground floor. The English spy began moving on toward the stairs and the ever thickening fog.
Let us hunt ! Schima demanded
Roger listening through the shadow filled fog covered corners heard nothing and moved through the fog (now filling from floor to ceiling the ground floor). Galahad seeing below through the floor, 2 men, asleep on cots in the back of the basement
Roger stalked ahead toward the stairs. Halfway down … burning pain, fog becoming acidic.
Roger turned to the group behind him and yell “Out Now FAST”.
Galahad leaped past him into the basement (apparently little damaged by the acid) and pushed the armor from its standing position down to the ground – a turtle on its back is hard to right, hopefully the same would be rue of the monstrous armor. Jean Claude encased himself in his ice armor and grabbed Fait and created an ice path to the nearest window , pulling Faith along
Roger looked at Miss A , ready to envelop her in shadows and shadow walk her to the same window. The wealthy Dr.’s daughter (now wearing the face of a male Greek mask) shook her head no, and turned and ran with surprising speed – knowing she would quickly heal from any damage, Roger let her go.
NOW WE HUNT
The shadows surrounded Roger/Schima and he stepped from the acid cloud into the shadow realm and began the hunt for the sharp nosed man.
Accepting his shadowed self, Roger / Schima smiled in tandem and …
Fri Aug 24, 2018 9:54 pm
<Interlude, before the Factory>
Castle of Monsters
Jean-Claude was surprised to hear his footsteps echo in the basement of the hotel. A hotel once owned by a man named H. H. Holmes, now dead and hopefully resting in hell. Now, thanks to a quiet donation from the Matthew's family, the hotel was now his to do with as he would. “Well, its ours I suppose.” Jean-Claude mused, thinking of the plans for this building.
The hotel was four stories tall, with most of the first floor given over to businesses such as a pharmacy and a café. They still plied their trades, as purchase of the building didn’t invalidate their leases. Well, it could have but neither Alexandra nor Jean-Claude thought that necessary. It might be useful to have such shops close at hand. That is, if their plans for the World’s Fair Hotel came to fruition. He sighed and looked around. The gas jets were lit, and even though the corpses were removed from the basement, stains remained on the stones to give mute testament to the horrors engaged herein.
Which was part of the problem. Jean-Claude, known to Chicago as “Jacque Frost”; at least in the few newspapers that had noticed him, wanted to convert this building from its former use as a place of murder and necromancy to a base of operations for their…group. ‘Who were they after all?’ Jean-Claude thought to himself. They’d not discussed any names or organization. The British Mr. Moseby seemed to have taken the role of group leader, at least most of the time. Even the Irishman Liam took his lead from Roger, which was a small miracle in and of itself.
Yet their club has no name, something that should be corrected. However, who are they? Men? Monsters? Both? Jean-Claude didn’t think of himself as a monster, but he knew many people who would disagree. He laughed to himself. Perhaps they should take the name ‘Gentleman’s Society of Monsters’? Since up to now they’d been acting from the Matthew's mansion, he’d jokingly referred to their group of companions as ‘The M-Men’ but he was certain few of the others found the suggestion amusing.
Jean-Claude sighed as he looked up the chute to the third floor, the very chute he used to enter battle over a week ago. The chute that had originally been designed to move bodies to the basement crematorium; a device that still remained in the cellar. It sat in the corner, its dark mass like a coiled creature, waiting for the time to strike. It is true that horrible things happened here. Yet Jean-Claude was old enough to realize that if one looked for a place on this Earth where horrible things DIDN’T happen; well, perhaps in Antarctica but otherwise it would be a fool’s errand. Horrible things happen. It was Jean-Claude’s reluctant calling to fight such horrors, and despite its prior owner’s diabolical uses the building had value for people like them. Secret passages, transport chutes, steel vaults made into rooms; the possibilities were considerable.
Would the others ever see the building as anything other than a horror show? Jean-Claude hoped so, but only time would tell. He whistled to himself as he returned to his room on the third floor. At the moment he was the only tenant in the building’s upper floor, but perhaps….just perhaps, he could convince his fellow monsters that such a lair would allow them to deal with the greater monsters that plague our world. Whistling a jaunty tune, Jacque Frost returned to his room and a good night’s sleep.
…or did he?
Sun Aug 26, 2018 4:01 am
A young boy stood impatiently at the door, shuffling from one foot to the other. Hand reaching up to pull the rope to ring the doorbell a 3rd time. Before he could yank down on the cord, a stern faced servant opened the door and hissed a warning. A warning that caused the boy to sheepishly, carefully , release it so that the bell remained silent.
A packet of letters, a purse open and coins for cost of postage, and after a moment the servant relented a little and gave the boy a half smile, an extra pennies as a tip for running the letters in the heat of the Chicago late summer, and then a moment more before she handed him a small piece of mint candy and ruffled his unruly – but clean and trimmed –hair.
The boy raced across the street, dodging hackney cabs and the street traffic, and running by 1, 2 , 3 sets of watchful eyes, eyes watching the Mathew’s house nearly endlessly hoping for a bit of gossip (or something to turn into gossip) on the good Dr and his daughter, and the strangers that have recently over the summer taken up residence at the Mathew’s house.
The boy ran past the journalists and gossip mongers, into to other boys, street ruffians thugs and bullies both.
With an oof, and thump the runner landed on his rear sprawled on the wooden raised sidewalk of the fashionable neighborhood. The packet of letters and the few coins not careful griped spilled in the boy’s lap and around his setting form.
A few punches, a few kicks and words – the lady servant, the boys tutor, and Miss M would frown at –and the 3 were in a quick scuffle. Soon enough, with a dirt smeared face and a few bruises , the runner had grabbed the letters, most of the coins and sprinted off. Halfheartedly chased by the bullies – that had quickly grabbed the remaining coins – around the corner of the street and blending into the street traffic of the hot afternoon.
A single letter left, unnoticed by the boys, but not by the gossip mongers …
With the flick of a thumb nail the letter is opened and greedily read
John, Dwight, my friends and associates
…. Introductions pleasantries ….
….. I hope all is well at your school of medicine and surgeons there in the cool green land of England ….
…. I have spent the last 3 months trying to convince the good Dr to agree to come and teach, or at least assist in developing the lessons and instructing the young Drs you have selected as other teachers ….
…. I have had a rival, a Gaulish Frenchman , who represents a similar school outside of Parris ….
… I offer pay, he meets the pay and includes more comfortable accommodations, I offer simple English country living and the pleasantries of an English University town, he offers the entertainments of Parris …
.... The good Dr balks at all offerings ….
….. He has set us against each other in a contest to see is the most willing to aid him and his daughter in their medical duties – treating the wealthy and running clinics and the like for local poor and laborers …
…. I am outmatched, as a perpetual student of history (paid for by my families long standing name) and teacher of history and little more than a messenger for you my friends … The Frenchman was at least a soldier at one time and used to the sight of blood … I have done my best to try, learn, be useful, and represent you and your fine school in this contest …
…. We have both impressed enough that he keeps us around …
The good Dr balks still, he may never agree to our request, …. An option is to contract him and send a few of our better students here to Chicago for a time to reside here and train with him …
…. The Frenchman may be able to convince his school that is an acceptable option also …. May split the cost …. We are looking at a partnership at a recently abandoned hotel to purchase for this
The good Dr’s daughter is active in his operations and clinics. Skilled herself … Reminds me of the Nightingales that saved so many English – and French – lives in Crimea … Impressive but exacting … If you could convince the goodly retired nurse to initiate a correspondence, it may help our cause.
The journalist, gossip monger (hiding the note from the 2 other newspaper men who were slower at grabbing the abandoned letter) wrinkled his brow. Nothing juicy, but still at least good stories here.
The 3 boys watching , well hidden and un observed, from the walk way between 2 residencies across for The Mathew’s house. Just as they had practiced, just as Roger had coached, … Smiled. Now time to run across town to meet their tutor Charle Dyer, and his friend to finish the weeks lessons.
Schima stalked though the shadows, seeing the 2 laborers stirring from their sleep, surprised at the wall of fog , ending some 10 feet in front of them. Not the main target, but a start …
The shadows twisted turned and came alive, wrapping one in their gloom embrace as the Schima reached from the darkness and pulled one into the shadow realm
2 screams filled to basement, one filling the real world of solid light, the other echoing from the shadows connected to Schima’s shadow realm
Pathetic … worse than womanly …. These are pathetic …. Roger and Schima thought in accord.
The screams hid the noise of water a wave, a wall, a tsunami rushing from the lake to the factory.
Roger felt the building shake as the water slammed into the factory, brick and stone walls shaking and collapsing … Roger/Schima look as the water instantly filled the basement and the walls collapsed traping Galahad and Jean Claude in the muddy water
Roger reaches out to try and bring his French friend into the shadows, but to late … Schima stood on the border of the light and dark, water stone mud, churning just beyond the tip of his nose but across the border of light and shadow …. Feeling Roger’s attempt to reach Jaen, Schim tries to push the still screaming worker into the land of the light, into the water mud brick and stone … the border solid and uncross able … interesting … the second worker trapped in the side of light/life struggles … convulses … dies …. the only alive still screams ... pathetic
Roger,Schima begin to question the worker, and are answered by only more screams
Patheitc … Rgoger thinks, pathetic … So be it
“Look, I tell you to truly look and understand” Roger’s commanding voice break through the workers panicked thoughts, cuts to the soul. Commands compels , demands the worker comply …. The screem weakly ends a sob, then a muted numbed voice begins to answer
Pathetic … Schima begins to drag the laborer from the basement up to the street, to a place they are not traped on the shadow side of the reflection
The laborer knows nothing useful but mentions the boss has a house he lives in, the other boss left a few hours ago …
Roger steps from the shadows and pushes the mind dazed worker into the water covered cobble stones around the destroyed factory …
“He is worthless, he is numbed, he will go nowhere, WE have time to do other things and return to finish our talk with him”
Roger nods in agreement to the voice in the back of his head, and looks around
Movement catches his eyes and Dameon (along with another one wearing a trench coat) search the area from a roof top acroos the street – good he is safe … who is that with him ???
Liam runs into an alley – he is safe, good
Galahad lands carrying the battered body of Jaen Claude – injured but alive – good they are safe
Faith, pulled along by a blindingly fast Asklepios/Miss Alexandra – unexpected … completely unexpected, but they are safe too.
Faith stumbles over to the injured Frenchman, and reaches out to heal him, FOG
Dam it to HELL, more fog … all scatter back to more safer locations before the fog changes to acid once more …
Roger returns to Schima’s shadows and begins the hunt again.
Soon the fog swirls moves and becomes a more structured thing instead of a billowing nebulous fog bank … a tube running along the street East to west filling the street building to building , and 100 ft long ..
Roger stalks the edge looking listening … nothing … Dameon (and his new “friend”) bamph into a roof overlook one end, other move around the sides of the fog … Roger shadow walks – safe from the fog’s acid – through the middle … nothing
The sound of retching – as Dameon’s friend turns and sickens of the roof – and the whisper of the creaking and twisting bones – Asklepios changing, but more violent than ever seen before – At least that is something
Roger stalks in their direction looking LISTENING … nothing …
The Fog evaporates and drifts into the night air
Miss Matthew’s voice echoes from below in the sewers, “He was here I glanced him … but he has escaped” … Now can someone Help move this man hole cover ???”
Schima frowns … escaped …
The pathetic ….
Roger walks through the shadows over the lake …
“We will drop you out here … as you swim to shore, the shadows will play cat and mouse. … Pathetic, you are the mouse, WE are the cat! That or you talk, WE listen”
Pathetic… he knew little, but did tell all he knew … Not much.
The cab came to a halt, Roger stepped out with the sobbing historical worker dragged stumbling behind.
A shove and the laborer stumbled to the feet of the police night patrol … “Take him in, arrested, or as a witness under protection, either is fine. The detective Sargent tomorrow will have the statement you need”
A hunt, but WE need more hounds for this quarry … Those annoying Americans from their version of the Home Office … Yes, American curs do make acceptable hunting hounds … Not as refined or well bread as good English Fox hounds, but useful sturdy resourceful …
Yes, WE will use them, need them. They are better than her that controls us and WE hate.
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