“I looked, and there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death, and Hades was following close behind him. They were given power over a fourth of the earth to kill by sword, famine and plague, and by the wild beasts of the earth.”
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Co-OPed by Bingellia
If you are interested in joining this RP, feel free to make a character app in the IC or join the Discord to discuss your ideas!
Co-OPed by Bingellia
December 1918:
The Great War has come to an end, but the world seems as much on a precipice as it did a year ago. The Russian Czar and his family have been executed by Bolsheviks while the flames of revolution have spread to Germany as well; only a few days ago, German soldiers in Brussels mutinied against their officers and briefly tried to convince the civilian population to join them in setting up a Communist Government.
Even where the stories aren’t doom and gloom, change is afoot. In Great Britain, suffrage has been extended to women over the age of thirty, along with the right to stand in Parliamentary elections.
Behind all of this a deadly disease stalks Europe, killing people faster than the bullets ever did in the war.
Against this backdrop, you have received a mysterious letter inviting you to a meeting of the ‘Order of Saint Thomas of Canterbury’ at the Four-Horse Club in London. Apparently, someone has recommended you to them, though who that was, is a mystery…
Chapter One: The World Above and Below
Tuesday December 10, 1918
Co-written by Dyelli Beybi, Lessoni, Bingellia and Demencia
"There are no beautiful surfaces without a terrible depth."
The red, two-storey tram chugged its way across Westminster bridge, heading North past the houses of Parliament and the towering gothic-revival clocktower that was rapidly becoming an iconic symbol of the Empire’s capital. Under the bridge the Thames slid by, dark and sluggish on the last leg of its journey across the English countryside to the sea. Not that you could see it in the gloomy, dun coloured fog that hung over the city, causing buildings and monuments to loom up suddenly before slipping away again into the haze. The tram squealed as it came towards the end of the bridge, breaking to a stop to let some of the passengers off and an equal number back on.
There was an almost deflated air to the city now that the war was over, almost as if the reality of peace hadn’t quite sunk in yet. Yes, there had been elation in the first few days, but while the guns had stopped in Flanders, most of the troops were still over there. There had been no treaty signed, no victory parade, no great moment to mark the end of that brutal chapter of human history… on top of which Germany, the once great power on the continent, was reduced to an powder keg of restless discontent and there was no guarantee what tomorrow would bring in that Country. When the men were home again and the parades had been and gone, perhaps the city would feel like it was truly at peace again. For now though, it hung like a soul in limbo trapped somewhere in between peace and war.
Nelson’s column surrounded by his lions, loomed out of the fog before being lost again as the tram slid through the gloomy city, passing long rows of indistinct white fronted Georgian era buildings before turning right down Oxford street, letting it’s passenger off to walk the last few yards to James Street.
By all accounts the Street had at one point been the site of many of London’s most fashionable Gentlemen’s clubs, though it now had something of an air of faded grandeur and the once bright Regency facades had taken on a somewhat soiled quality. The Four-Horse Club was no exception; deep layers of grime had engrained themselves in the entry columns, though the doorman by the door was immaculately presented in a top hat and long dark overcoat buttoned up against the winter chill. He gave the newcomer a thoughtful look. It wasn’t quite judgemental, “May I help you Sir?”
London. It was not a city the traveller expected to find himself in at all during his, hopefully long, life. Wasn’t his style, too subdued, and he certainly had never expected to be invited to some stuffy club. Still, it wasn’t an offer one could turn down. He felt a slight apprehension upon seeing the building, though the doorman put him at ease. At least they could afford a good uniform. “How ya doin’, name’s Jesse, Jesse Dredlen. Do believe I was invited, ‘less I got da wrong address. ‘Dis da Four Horse Club, correct?”
"Yes Sir, it is," the doorman confirmed, though he made no move to let Jesse in, "May I see your invitation Sir?"
“Ain’t no problem, none at all,” said the sharply dressed gambler as he pulled the slightly crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket, handing it to the doorman.
The doorman looked at the invitation, then handed it back, "Ah, one of those invitations," he stepped back to open the door, "You must pardon me Sir, but we don't have too many new faces for the Saint Thomas Club, though Mr van der Valk had said a number were expected today. Take the hallway to your left and follow it to the end. You will find a drawing room with a small library to entertain yourself while you wait. I would strongly recommend Edward Gibbons' History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Though I would suggest you start on the Seventh volume. Also, do keep the invitation on your person as you will certainly need it.”
“Tank you kindly, friend.” The peculiar instructions didn’t much phase Jesse. He hadn’t been expecting anything normal, for certain.
The corridor the doorman had mentioned was long, poorly lit, wood panelled and seemed to lead away from the sounds of convivial conversation emanating from within the building. A thick, if slightly worn red pattered carpet on the floor muffled any sound of footfall. At the end, there was, there was, indeed, a drawing room. There was a slightly worn paisley-patterned sofa and chair, both of which looked plush and comfortable though the fire in the room had not been lit and the chill from the outside made it a place you would not want to stay for an extended period. A grandfather clock ticked against the far wall, its pendulum swinging in time with the passing moments. Next to it was a bookshelf, with a variety of books, both fiction and non.
Jesse paused to survey the room. The place creeped him out slightly, dimly lit and cold as it was. The ticking of the clock only added to the atmosphere. If he was less brave, he might have chickened out. Instead, he approached the bookshelf, which, sure enough, did include Gibbons’ massive work on the Romans.
The book didn't actually come off the shelf, as it turned out, though it was connected to a mechanism, that once pulled, caused a section of wall panneling to swing inwards with a groan, revealing a spiral staircase tucked behind. It was as poorly lit as the corridor from before, though at least it went up, presumably towards sunlight, rather than down into the bowels of the earth. Also glimmering dimly in the poor light were a series of strange etchings in the frame of the hidden doorway. They would not be familiar to Jesse, or anyone else invited to the meeting for that matter, and seemed like they glimmered with an unnatural light all of their own. Though it could have just been a trick of the light.
"Well, that's rather curious," a feminine voice commented from the doorway. "What a club these Saint Thomas people must have." Seemingly unphased by presence of a secret room, Jesse found himself joined by a dark-haired, well-dressed young woman, her scarlet, velvet coat keeping warm despite the chill in the room. Turning to the man in the room, she offered him a smile but chose not to introduce herself.
To Jesse, she had a voice like music, though to be fair he’d rather listen to any woman’s voice over the sweetest song. “Well, ain’t choo a beaut’. What a girl like you doin’ in a club like dis’, ey?”
The young woman coyly chuckled at Jesse's question, seemingly finding the man's accent quaint. "I was invited, though I must confess that it's first time in quite some time that an invitation didn't come with an offer."
So, Jesse though, she’d been invited, like him, and apparently not as the entertainment Jesse had half expected. “Buncha old stuffy men wanna girl in they club, whaddaya know? Well, I believe we may get some answers up dese’ here stairs. Normally I’d say ladies firs’, but sumpin’ tells me I should lead on dis’ one.”
"After you, mister," the woman gestured to the stairs, though before either of them had a chance to move they were joined by a third person.
Quinn saw the strangers ahead of her and kept her hand inside her jacket, near the grip of her revolver. It seemed, however, based on what she managed to overhear that this duo weren’t the ones that sent her the letter, instead also being recipients of mysterious parchment. She casually started to just scratch her chest to play it off, and returned her hand to her side and swapped her cane back to her right hand. "You too?" she asked, putting on a slightly deeper than natural voice. "Frequent guests or first timers?"
Jesse looked at the new arrival, a smaller man with a heluva nice cane in hand. “Well, anudda fella joins our jolly little party. I do believe we both first timers, ‘less this little lady has some cards to her chest. If you care to join, we was just ‘bout to get some answers, up these stairs right here.”
Quinn's eyes flickered between the two. The man had an accent that was vaguely familiar from the Army, meaning he was American, but the woman was clearly not. It didn't seem like they knew each other and were putting on an act, but she preferred to be cautious. "So it would seem. Bit strange of a club to advertise to seemingly random people, unless you two already know each other?" she asked walking forward to join the man at the front of the stairwell, stepping over the threshold to join the other two.
There was a slight sensation of cold as the trio stepped past the symbols in the doorframe but before anyone had a chance to reconsider their options, the door swung shut with a definitive thump as Quinn stepped past. There was no obvious mechanism that controlled the movement, though more concerningly, it seemed to have deliberately chosen to close when all people in the room were through, trapping them all together with nobody left to pull the lever to open it again. There was, without a doubt something unnatural about this place, though at this point, the only option left to the trio was to ascend the stairs.
Jesse nearly started as the door swung shut, but controlled himself. His nerves may have never quite recovered, but he was still a man, a man with a reputation to protect. “Well, dat ain’t ideal. Looks like we goin’ up,” he said as he began ascending the stairs.
After one revolution of the staircase, the dim sound of music began to filter down: Charles Harrison's 'I'm Always Chasing Rainbows'. The popular music was somewhat incongruous, though it didn't change the fact that the only way out was up. After a couple more, the staircase opened out into a surprisingly large and airy hall, which must have taken up two floors of the building. At the nearest end of the room was a large fireplace, thankfully well stoked, along with a pair of three-seater sofas and a collection of matching arm chairs, some of which had been set up to allow conversation with people at the table, while others had been arranged to allow for secluded reading. A series of large windows on the South wall allowed in ample natural light, while the North wall held masses upon masses of books, many of which could only be accessed by a ladder leading up to a balcony level.
Scattered about the room were locked glass display cases holding all manner of artefacts from every corner of the world ranging from chalices and medieval weapons through to what looked like dinosaur bones. Persian rugs were thrown over a well-polished hardwood floor. The furniture here looked a lot more contemporary, though no less comfortable than what had been found on the floor below. And there was an Edison Diamond Disc Phonograph; that explained the music.
The sole inhabitant of the room was a tall, slender young woman in an expensive looking, pleated, white blouse and black skirt. She looked to have been pacing back and forth, watching the dials on a gold watch she wore on a neck chain, though as the group appeared, she stopped, "That was fast!" she exclaimed. She spoke with the polished, crisp accent of English gentry, which matched the clothes, "Oh... don't tell me that doorman gave you a hint? He does get worried about too many people in that room at one time."
This was distinctly not what Jesse had been expecting out of this room. He’d been thinking more of a dark, dungeon type feel, not the near cosy room before him. Add a bar, and he could see it replacing plenty of his usual haunts. “Well, ain’t dis’ a surprise? All dat spooky mumbo jumbo, and our reward is a cosy little haunt and a pretty lady to boot. I will have to remembah’ to tank dat’ doorman, yes indeed. Name’s Jesse, Jesse Dredlen. Might I have da’ pleasure a’ yours?”
"And more importantly," Quinn interjected, "Just what's going on here? I might not have been in London long, but the few clubs I've been to were a lot more straightforward than this."
"Lord, where are my manners?" the young woman's widened in sudden horror, though she quickly righted herself, "Miss Eleanor Martin, how do you do? I am the Librarian here, and know who you each are," she gave Quinn a very slight smile as she said that, so small it might easily have been missed, "The entry is a bit convoluted, but it is designed to test your powers of investigation. Obviously, there are only six volumes in The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire so the seventh volume should be readily incongruous to someone who had done a thorough examination of the room." Obvious to a Librarian, perhaps. There was a very good reason the doorman had dropped that hint... "Please do take a seat. Would you care for a cup of tea?" Eleanor asked, politely.
Something about this lady seemed a little... off. Maybe it was her obvious intelligence, something Jesse didn’t much see or like in a woman, or maybe it was how she’d assumed his intelligence would match. “Well, don’t much believe I’ve read those volumes, but I’m sure dey must be rivetin’. That’s neither here nor dere doe, ‘least not unless you got a couple Romans mixin’ up our tea. Journey here was damn dry, I’d love a little sumpin’ to drink.”
"Sugar and milk with my cup, please," the yet-unintroduced woman from the floor below answered as she took the offered seat. She was content to watch and let the gentlemen she was with do the talking while she soaked in the details of the room… though she'd watch the woman carefully.
Quinn, however, was less impressed by Eleanor. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the smile the woman gave her, and she drew her left arm to press against the holstered sidearm. "I think I'll stand." She said, "Especially since I noticed you didn't answer my question about what the deal is."
"Well, perhaps if you didn't ask so many questions at once you'd get them all answered," Eleanor replied to primly to Quinn, taking a more belligerent stance, hands on hips. The pistol presence of a weapon did not seem to phase her one bit, which was another thing that was unusual about the woman, "As for what 'the deal' is," she added, pausing thoughtfully, "Mr van der Valk can explain that far better than I can and he will be with us shortly to do just that.
“As I said before, I am just the Librarian,” she continued, “but if you must have an answer, right now, the Order of Saint Thomas are hunters of all things magical and spiritual which would otherwise cause harm to the good people of our world. That is to say, we hunt monsters. Had we known you, Mr Dredlen at the time of your recent unpleasantness, we might have found a happier outcome for you," she added to Jesse before switching her attention back to Quinn as she stepped over to a wall alcove, pulling a chain to ring a Butler's bell as if she had said nothing out of the ordinary whatsoever, "Now, are you sure you wouldn't care for a cup of tea?"
There would be others arriving soon, dribbling in as they navigated the strange puzzle the librarian had set for them and then there was the mysterious Mr van der Valk, who seemed to have been the one responsible for the letters everyone had got. He would be making an appearance soon as well, presumably to shed some light on this strange situation.
