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Wild Beasts of the Earth (Gothic Horror|IC|Open)

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Dyelli Beybi
Negotiator
 
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Founded: Antiquity
Civil Rights Lovefest

Wild Beasts of the Earth (Gothic Horror|IC|Open)

Postby Dyelli Beybi » Thu Jul 09, 2020 1:26 pm

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“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.”


OOC | Discord

Note that we are sharing a Discord with some other RPs from the same creators... purely to make it possible to administer.

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.
Last edited by Dyelli Beybi on Thu Jul 09, 2020 1:29 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Demencia
Envoy
 
Posts: 219
Founded: Sep 12, 2010
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Demencia » Thu Jul 09, 2020 2:18 pm

Quinn O'Hearn
Disbelief


Quinn leaned backwards slightly upon hearing the woman's explanation. "Oh.. this is one of those clubs." she said. "Right... well... You can keep playing pretend all you want, but there must have been some mistake because this isn't really my whole deal." She glanced between the man and woman she came in with to try and gauge their reaction to this. "You must have meant someone else with the same name, classic mistake. It's a common Irish name, happens all the time, now if you don't mind I'll just be going, I think I left the kettle on at home and it'd be a shame to let it go to waste." She took a step back towards the stairwell, but still faced the trio in the room. "If you want, I'll tell the doorman off for the whole book hint thing."

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New Udonia
Envoy
 
Posts: 232
Founded: Sep 06, 2018
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby New Udonia » Thu Jul 09, 2020 3:38 pm

Cowal F. Mulloy
Anticipated Interruption

It had been over three days since he had returned home to find a letter that had been slipped under his door while he was away. He didn't understand why he could have received an invitation to a London club, but there was no reason to avoid accepting it. Giving his notice to his employer of four years, he packed his case and left. He rode on the packet ship from Dublin-Liverpool before traveling the rest of the way to London by train.

Although he felt an urge to explore his new environment, he had decided that his to-be hosts would appreciate his punctual arrival. He had rented a room at an inn for the night, and he left for his destination immediately after his first English breakfast. While he had taken an early start, it wasn't until late afternoon when he had finally navigated the metropolis.

The doorman's greeting and tip immediately put him at ease, as did the drawing-room. Reclining on the empty sofa, he followed the man's instructions and waited patiently. A few minutes passed and he began to fill the chill, which spurred him into perusing the bookshelf. Remembering the book which had been recommended to him, he reached for it, only to find that it wouldn't budge. He was about to pull harder when he hesitated for fear that doing so might make a mess of the organized shelf. Ultimately he decided to go for it, and to his surprise, a secret panel was revealed. "Hellou?" No response. Well, tis now or never. He went back for his case and began to ascend the stairs, pausing briefly as the panel closed.

Halfway up the stairs, he recognized that some music was playing, but he didn't recognize the song. Human voices soon overtook the music, but before he could understand the trail of the conversation he had already reached the top. Curiously, the first word he heard was Irish once he had caught his breath.

Looking ahead his eyes immediately were drawn toward the four individuals in front of him, rather than the grandeur furnishings. Two men and two women, and one of the men seemed to be leaving. He waited for him to finish his sentence before he dared speak, interruptions were rarely welcomed, if not tolerated. "Right, I'm not late am I?"
The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy. - MLKJ
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Voxija
Diplomat
 
Posts: 891
Founded: Jan 17, 2019
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Voxija » Thu Jul 09, 2020 4:42 pm

Victoria E. Wasserman
New Opportunities

A black car pulled up to the Four-Horse Club, sputtering out gray smoke. The driver was Victoria Wasserman, here because she had received the invitation. Ever since she had found it, wild possibilities had been roaming around her mind as to what it was, ranging from a secret high-society hangout to a "lady's club". Now she was about to find out.

Victoria replaced her driving cap with a rather large hat and walked out of her car. Victoria's old-fashioned clothes weren't suited for the 20th century woman at all, but Victoria didn't mind drawing attention.

The doorman gave Victoria directions and the tip, and she walked down the hallway into the library. Victoria considered pulling out a good book and reading, but she considered that there must be more to this. Victoria had encountered a number of secret rooms and booby traps in her far-off adventures, after all.

The book the doorman suggested popped into her mind. History of the... too long. Gibbons's Roman Empire book, seventh volume. Seventh volume? Victoria liked reading herself, and it was rare to start on the seventh. Victoria pulled at the seventh volume, and a section of the wall creaked and twisted to reveal a secret room with a staircase. Victoria's most mundane hypotheses were immediately quenched, and she felt excited at this new adventure, but also nervous. She didn't used to be nervous, but something... supernatural had happened when Victoria visited Jerusalem, and that was the last time Victoria had gone adventuring.

Victoria Wasserman hitched up her skirts and scrambled up the staircase, awaited whatever waited at the top with apprehension. A popular song was playing, but Victoria didn't really pay attention to the trends of the now. Victoria followed behind a young man who looked Irish and stepped into the library.

The grand decorating caught Victoria's eye first, but what she wanted to know was why she, and apparently two other women and three men were here. The young Irishman said what Victoria wanted to say, since it appeared that a meeting had just ended. Victoria really wanted to know what was going on, so she followed the remark with, "Neither am I, am I?"
Last edited by Voxija on Fri Jul 10, 2020 2:40 pm, edited 1 time in total.
The Republic of Voxija (pronounced: Voshiya)
I'm female.
Oddly Jewish. Trying to learn French and failing. An American who wishes the US would switch to the metric system. Secret pyromaniac? I will never make an OOC factbook!

my politics are confused and muddled
Most of my grammar errors are on purpose. Sppeling errors, tho...
I'd rather be fishing. | Author of Issues 1324 and 1346.
I think that by now I've created more lore for my nation than most real-world nations have.
I actually don't speak Basque. I just think it's a cool language.

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Lessoni
Diplomat
 
Posts: 636
Founded: Nov 24, 2018
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Lessoni » Thu Jul 09, 2020 4:52 pm

Dyelli Beybi wrote:“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?"


Jesse Dredlen

At her final words, Jesse grew quiet, the cocky grin he liked to wear sliding off in a flash. He suddenly liked this lady, and this place, a lot less. It wasn't that he thought she was spouting hooey, it was that he knew she wasn't. He knew that things he didn't care to think about were more than real. He knew that he'd had a run in with one of those things, one he didn't think he'd survive. If someone else wanted to go traipsing off in search of things like that, that was fine, but he was a gambler, and he knew what odds to play; odds of walking away from something like this intact weren't ones he was gonna play twice. But, he'd humor her. If nothing else, he might just figure out what he'd run into. He ignored the newcomers. To him, this was all that mattered was what was right in front of him.

"Well, dat' cuppa tea sounds a lot less appetizing if you gone go an' spoil my stomach like that, bringin' up tings best left untouched. Bringin' that up, I got halfa mind to walk out dis' club right now, but I ain't nothin' if I ain't a gentleman. I got questions, sure, but they can wait."

He turned to the newcomers, his easy smile reappearing with an eerie speed.

"As fo' da pair of you, I believe you right on time. Name's Jesse, Jesse Dredlen, pleased ta make your acquaintance, and may I say how well this light suits dat pretty face of your darlin'."
Just a teenager with too much time on his hands seeing how bad he can mess up a country

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Illegal Planets
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 434
Founded: Jan 24, 2018
Ex-Nation

Postby Illegal Planets » Thu Jul 09, 2020 5:00 pm



Sakai Tetsuo
First Impressions




“Seventh volume, he says.”

Tetsuo scoffed as he browsed the shelves for the books the doorman had referenced. He was a learned man, with a particularly keen interest in history, and knew that there was no seventh volume to The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. The doorman was a fool, and Tetsuo was so far unimpressed by the Four Horse Club. He shook his head as he located them, running a finger over each as he counted.

“One, two, three... four, five, six... seven?”

Squinting through his bifocals, Tetsuo made to gently remove the book from the case and was surprised when it caught, and bewildered when part of the wall swung open to reveal a secret passage. He chuckled, feeling sorry that he had thought ill of the doorman.

“Clever. Very clever.”

Maria lurked nearby, ever sullen and somber. He held her gaze for a moment. She was always present now, appearing a few weeks after the incident which had nearly destroyed his life and will to live. Tetsuo had been preparing to hang himself when it happened. She looked gruesome, just as she had when she died, and didn’t speak, only stared. The sight of her terrified him, but he took it as a sign from God to turn back before, perhaps, he met with a similar fate. But she never went away, and over time Tetsuo began to believe he was being punished.

“Leave me alone, damn you. Cursed woman.”

He made the sign of the cross and turned to look into the passage, his eyes studying the inscriptions on the threshold. Clutching his briefcase, his satchel slung over his body, Tetsuo moved tentatively inside, covering his mouth and nose with a handkerchief while waving the briefcase in front of him to clear any cobwebs. He turned to take a final look behind him just in time to watch the door swing shut. Maria was gone, which was certainly out of the ordinary.

This should have pleased him, but instead it made him nervous. He turned to look up the spiral staircase, hearing the soft sounds of music and muted chatter. Carefully, Tetsuo proceeded to climb until he emerged into the large hall, tripping over the last step. Mildly embarrassed now, he straightened and adjusted his suit before executing a short bow to those gathered.

“My name is Tetsuo, but I would ask that you refer to me as Mr. Sakai.”

His English was fair, but his accent was thick and he sometimes had to search his mind for the appropriate words to use. Awkwardly, without waiting for a reply, Tetsuo crossed the room to study the objects which truly interested him: the books along the north wall. Setting his briefcase aside at the base of the ladder, he turned to cast his gaze around the room. Still no sign of Maria. He thought of the strange inscriptions over the entrance of the secret passage and made a mental note to take a close look at them when he had the time. Then he returned his attention to the books, and made as if to climb the ladder, thought better of it, instead opting to shuffle from one foot to another while casting sideways glances at the others.
Last edited by Illegal Planets on Thu Jul 09, 2020 5:13 pm, edited 2 times in total.
MDE never dies

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Lavan Tiri
Powerbroker
 
Posts: 7586
Founded: Feb 18, 2014
Democratic Socialists

Postby Lavan Tiri » Thu Jul 09, 2020 5:31 pm

Kazamir Durnovo III


"Gah, what the fuck."

It was very bright. Too bright. It was supposed to be 11 PM for God's sake, why was his room filled with this pale grey radiance?

Kazamir groaned and swore, burying his face beneath his pillow, as the ghosts of last night's--whisky? vodka?--cackled from the corners of his eyes.

"Go'way," he commanded the light, and when it did not, he snarled a curse in the mother tongue and hurled his pillow away, staggering to his feet atop the fluffy, unmade bed. With a savage motion, he gripped the curtains and flung them open.

The watery light pierced his eyes, and Kazamir fell backwards onto the bed with a cry of pain. Unfortunately, his aim was a little off and his momentum a little too comically perfect, so instead of flopping gracefully, he wound up half-on and half-off the bed, his long hair puddling on the floor.

"It's fucking noon. Shob tebe deti v sup srali, Sun. Gah."

And so, with a great deal more groaning and cursing, Kazamir heaved himself mostly-upright. He stood, wavering, glaring at the clouds hiding the yellow bastard, for several minutes before hunger overtook him. With a sigh, he headed downstairs to the kitchen, where Maria, the housekeeper Svetlana had retained, was preparing breakfast. As he entered, Maria glanced over at him, swore loudly, and covered her eyes.

"Master Kazamir, we've talked about this!"

"What? Maria, it is my house. I shall be naked if I wish."

"Not," the housekeeper said, turning over the bacon she was undercooking, "if you want your breakfast and your correspondence!"

"My what?"

"You got a letter, you slow boy. Go, get dressed!"

She waved the greasy fork at her employer, eyes resolutely covered. Kazamir, with a heavy sigh, went back upstairs and retrieved his clothes.

By the time he'd come back downstairs, outfitted in his best Western suit (a somber charcoal grey, with a smart black bowler hat, a deep green bowtie, and black shoes), Maria had finished her cooking and laid a platter of bacon, eggs, toast, and strawberry jam on the table, as well as a massive mug of black coffee. Kazamir sat heavily and stared at the middle-aged woman until she sighed, reached into her apron, and laid an envelope on the table.

"Your breakfast and correspondence, sir," she said, voice heavy with sarcasm. Kazamir took the envelope with an exaggerated flourish and a sneer, before using his old dagger to slice it open.

"Well?," Maria said, sitting down across the table from him, "what's it say?"

"I've been invited to some meeting at the Four-Horse Club in London. Blah, blah... I've nothing else to do. I suppose I shall attend."

Maria grinned viciously at him. "Aren't you glad I made you get dressed?"

"If I knew how to cook I'd fire you."




The white car bounced up the street and executed a sloppy turn, narrowly avoiding slamming into the back of a black automobile. Kazamir jumped out, hangover nearly forgotten as he strode confidently into the club.

The doorman checked his invitation, and told Kazamir to check out the Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire, seventh volume.

Kazamir was quite sure there was no seventh volume in that particular series, however, his investigations of the library seemed to prove him wrong. Curiously, though, he appeared to be fully correct, since the book was not a book, but a release mechanism for a secret wall.

"These fucking Englishmen," he muttered, ascending the dark spiral staircase. At the top, he came into a room, where several others--strangers--were assembled, engaged in light conversation.

"Zdraste!," Kazamir called as he entered, eyes sweeping the room. "Where is the party?"
Big Jim P wrote:I like the way you think.

Constaniana wrote:Ah, so you were dropped on your head. This explains a lot.

Zarkenis Ultima wrote:Snarky bastard.

The Grey Wolf wrote:You sir, are a gentleman and a scholar.

Renewed Imperial Germany wrote:I'm not sure whether to laugh because thIs is the best satire I've ever seen or be very very afraid because someone actually thinks all this so.... have a cookie?


Rep. Jason Evander (R-South Dakota)
Gov. Russell Long (D-Louisiana)
Sen. Kimberly Dunbar (R-Kansas)

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My pronouns are they/them
MARIANNE 2020
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Sarderia
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Founded: Jun 26, 2019
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Sarderia » Thu Jul 09, 2020 6:59 pm

    Frank P. Martelli
    Enter the Four-Horse



Actually, Frank was somewhat reluctant on the idea of travelling to London. The gunsmith in Birmingham, where he was a manager, is currently experiencing a boom in antique orders - and creating that kind of crafts was his speciality. Although given his former profession as an Army mechanic, those skills has somewhat waned, but still was enough to satisfy most, if not all, the United Kingdom's upper class. Frank would say after the Great War, he had the grace of normal life, and Birmingham reminded him of Rhode Island. He had a steady, high-ranking job already, a fiancee, and plans to buy a home in the West Midlands farming regions. Frank preferred moving into somewhere around Wyoming or Colorado, though - Catherine wouldn't let it. And then came the letter. He thought the anonymous letter was from someone, preferrably one of the House of Lords politicians coming up to his office dask the earlier day. As usual, oftentimes clients would leave a tip for him courtesy of the ornate guns. However, the letter was different.... no ordinary client would expect him to come to London, much less attending a suspiciously shady meeting. He was widely known as an engineer and gunsmith in Birmingham; there was people who wanted to hire him out of Webley. Things like forced work occassionally crossed his mind, but Frank's curiosity brought him to London anyways.

The black Renault hackney, famous as an icon of London, cruised silently through the city. London was surprisingly quiet this day, against his expectations. Frank guessed that the air of victory over Germany has subsidized with the reality of daily life. Not to mention the increased number of people dying from the disease every day... if Birmingham's morgue had been overwhelmed, he shudder on the thought of London's morgues. Catherine worked as a nurse in the Birmingham General Hospital, so Frank rarely saw here these days - it's only after a hot tub and Finnish steam sauna they're allowed to meet safely. Londoners, he thought, has no such privilege. The neighborhood the hackney passes now seemed very poor, the flats and houses cramped with one another.

Frank's driver dropped him on the intersection between Mayfair and Marleybone, in Oxford street. he left a 20-pound tip on the car's back seat, and checked the letter again, confirming the address. James street, he thought, is the epitome of a London shady place - the street very narrow and cramped, even a car couldn't get in, and most importantly all the buildings covered in grime. There was a sign with words "Four-Horse Club" plastered upon it; the building may have been one of the most beautiful clubs in London ago, but sadly now it looks like it's going to crumble anytime. Frank folded his letter and knocked.
Last edited by Sarderia on Thu Jul 09, 2020 7:00 pm, edited 2 times in total.
    So comrades, come rally,
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Endem
Minister
 
Posts: 3008
Founded: Aug 19, 2018
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Endem » Thu Jul 09, 2020 9:00 pm

Rémy Battier
Four Hourse Club
London


It seemed Rémy arrived late, as several cars have already been parked before the building, he tipped the good man who drove him all the way to the club before going towards the building, slower than most men due to his cane. He was appropriately greeted by the doorman after showing the invitation, and was told to check a book, 'the Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire', volume seven, he was sure that there were only 6 volumes, but he was no librarian.

Sure enough, his suspicion was confirmed, as the 7th book after being pulled out from the shelf revealed a secret mechanism, a hidden staircase of all things, unfortunate considering his predicament, but it seemed the only way to understand why a staircase was hidden was to climb it.

His arrival was announced by his cane before Rémy could even had a chance to reach the door, but eventually he reached it, taking a quick glance at the room, trying to remember the faces he just saw, Rémy saw fit to say something.

"Bonjour mes amis" he started in French, before promotly switching to English "I am sorry for my lateness, I am afraid my left leg is not as good as it was before the war" He then made a subtle motion towards his cane.

"Can I sit somewhere?" He asked.
Can't be bothered to have anything of note here.

I guess I'll just list my political opinion.

Radical centrism.

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Europa Undivided
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Founded: Jun 18, 2019
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Europa Undivided » Thu Jul 09, 2020 9:34 pm

Narek Ashjian | Yerbek’ mi morrats’ir - Never Forget

"Indz hangist mi t’voghek’, Narek."

As the night sky crept over the darkened city of London, a lone figure stole through the cobblestone streets. He was clad in a black trench coat that reached down his knees, whilst a cloth hood shrouded his face from passersby. A quick look at his hands would show that he is not from around here; at least, he wasn't an Englishman, of that, there was no doubt.

He stopped in front of one of the London Metropolitan Policemen, who was on patrol tonight. The Englishman gave the foreign looking individual a cursory look; he didn't seem to be very pleased to be disturbed at the line of duty. Still, it was still his job to help anyone that was lost.

"Hello, sir.", the man said to the police officer with a distinct Armenian accent, which gave a good hint as to where he came from. "Where is the... umm... Four Horses Hotel?"

The London policeman looked at him for a few moments, collecting his thoughts as he looked at the Armenian with some aloofness before pointing to the street that was nicely tucked between two larger buildings that led away from the main road. "The Four Horses Hotel goes that way, mate."

Narek Ashjian nodded to the policeman, saying a quick thank you to him before quickly walking towards the direction he was pointed towards.

The last few days have been rough. No, the last few months, actually. His workload at the hospital had been heavily exacerbated by the massive influx of soldiers that have returned from the front in a maimed condition, not to mention the new pestilence that was afflicting all of Europe and the Americas. From what Narek had observed, the new and mysterious disease affected the young and strong with its worst effects, leaving the old and infirm alone. It was a puzzling thing indeed; naturally, the stronger the immune system, the less susceptible they are to illness whilst the old are easily the most vulnerable subset of the population. But no, this new flu was different. It was a terrible pestilence, and a great one at that.

Narek kept walking, recollecting and reminiscing the past. He remembered the genocide against the Armenian people, the one in which he lost just about everyone he knew in that side of the world. Those... Turks... they will pay. One day-

oof

There was the sound of a suitcase tumbling on the ground, and then a pained groan. Narek hadn't been paying attention to the street, so much so that he managed to bump someone, sending them to the cold, hard cobblestones of the streets of London.

Narek quickly apologized as he helped the man he had just bumped up to his feet. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it..."

He froze, as the man had one blind eye, whose retina was almost white, and the signs of trauma were quite clear on it. He looked rather clean and well groomed... well, except for the one eye that couldn't see. The war just ended, though, so he probably got it from battle.

The man sighed and panted as he picked up his glasses from the ground, putting them on. "No, no, don't say sorry. It's alright, really." He then took his suitcase from Narek, who had picked it up for him. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"I think I need to go...", the one eyed man said as he went towards... the same direction that Narek was headed. Maybe...

"Hey, uh... you also going to the Four Horses Hotel?"

The man of a singular ocular organ paused, and looked back at the Armenian. "The name is Dragoslav Carapic. From Serbia. You?"

"Narek. Narek Ashjian. I'm... Armenian."

"Well...", the Serb shrugged. "Let's go then."




When the two of them arrived on the door with the signage of the Four Horses, there were already a bunch of people inside. Dragoslav stepped in first, setting his suitcase on the ground before taking a seat. Narek was next, putting his hood down as soon as was inside. The Order has a lot of recruits, it seems.
Futurist ~ Reformed ~ RPer~ #WritingCommunity ~ Asian ~ Trad
When they tell me death has come for those I love, you will find me at the frontline, las-rifle in hand. There is no place else for me but to guard my home. For as long as the Imperium stands so do they I love. Should I sell my life then it would be the least I pay.

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Dyelli Beybi
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Founded: Antiquity
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Dyelli Beybi » Fri Jul 10, 2020 4:23 am

Eleanor Martin

Demencia wrote:
Quinn O'Hearn
Disbelief


Quinn leaned backwards slightly upon hearing the woman's explanation. "Oh.. this is one of those clubs." she said. "Right... well... You can keep playing pretend all you want, but there must have been some mistake because this isn't really my whole deal." She glanced between the man and woman she came in with to try and gauge their reaction to this. "You must have meant someone else with the same name, classic mistake. It's a common Irish name, happens all the time, now if you don't mind I'll just be going, I think I left the kettle on at home and it'd be a shame to let it go to waste." She took a step back towards the stairwell, but still faced the trio in the room. "If you want, I'll tell the doorman off for the whole book hint thing."


The display by Quinn drew an exasperated sigh from Eleanor, "You are the person the invitation was intended for and that nonsense about leaving a kettle on is about as convincing as Doctor Crippen's defence lawyer. I could tell you exactly how I know you are the right person, but out of courtesy to you and to avoid a scandal, I will not."

She took a step into the middle of the room, hands on hips in the same belligerent posture she had taken before, "You are, of course, free to leave whenever you want, though I'd have thought after the scene you've made, hand on your weapon like you suspect me of being a German spy, carrying on and demanding to be told, immediately, why you've been given an invitation to be here, that you'd at least have the courtesy to stay to greet the gentleman responsible for the invitation," Eleanor was offended and not shy of showing, though with the arrival of others in the room, she either calmed down or, more likely, pulled on genteel mask of composure, lowering her voice, "You are, of course, free to leave if you wish, though I would suggest that, before you do, you ask yourself what you are afraid of? If we're just a band of lunatics camped out in an attic, then you aren't in any danger, you can take your tea and leave with a story to tell later."

She spun on her heels then, apparently ready to let Quinn decide whether they were coming or going, though there was still the problem of getting past the door at the foot of the stairs which did seem to like to close of it's own accord... "Welcome to the 'Order of Saint Thomas of Canterbury', she said to everyone else, with a pleasant smile, "I am Miss Eleanor Martin, the Librarian here, and it is a pleasure to make all our your acquaintance. If you would care to take a seat, I am sure some of you have been travelling for quite some time. There will be tea in a moment."

As she finished, she had turned in the direction of Tetsuo, "Mister Sakai!" she called, to get his attention as she approached, moving to stand with one hand on the ladder rail, her dark eyes sparkling with concern, "Do feel free to browse the books down here, though I would advise climbing the ladder. Some of the volumes up there are truly wicked."

The ones on the lower floor seemed to be written in any number of languages and some appeared quite old, with no shortage of texts held together with heavy wooden boards though there were also a fair number with legible titles on the spine. Most seemed to deal with one supernatural topic or another, with the glaring exception of the copy of 'Ivanhoe' that was sitting on a nearby chair.

She lowered her voice further, making sure that nobody else would overhear them before adding, "I think Mr van der Valk will be speaking soon, but make sure that you and I have a conversation before you leave, whether or not you decide to heed Mr van der Valk's request. I think I can help you with a certain matter."




Sarderia wrote:
    Frank P. Martelli
    Enter the Four-Horse


...Frank's driver dropped him on the intersection between Mayfair and Marleybone, in Oxford street. he left a 20-pound tip on the car's back seat, and checked the letter again, confirming the address. James street, he thought, is the epitome of a London shady place - the street very narrow and cramped, even a car couldn't get in, and most importantly all the buildings covered in grime. There was a sign with words "Four-Horse Club" plastered upon it; the building may have been one of the most beautiful clubs in London ago, but sadly now it looks like it's going to crumble anytime. Frank folded his letter and knocked.


Frank's enounter with the doorman at the Four-Horse club was no different to what had been experienced by the others. The man, initially, seemed reluctant to give admittance to the property though he was not rude about it, retaining the kind of aloof, unbudging attitude of a boulder, right up until the invitation was received, "Keep that on your person Sir. If you would care to make your way to the drawing room down the hallway to your left," he stepped back, motioning in that direction, "If you are kept waiting, there are books, Sir. I would recommend Mr Gibbons' 'History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire', though the Seventh volume is by far the most interesting," he informed him, giving the same hint that he had given to the other groups.

From his point of view the 'test' that Miss Martin had set up for new order members was foolishly arbitrary and relied on someone either having an extremely keen knowledge of books or becoming so bored that they started to fiddle with things. He did rather suspect it had a lot more to do with providing the young woman with amusement, rather than testing any useful faculties in potential new members... though he did feel for Martin as well. Hers was a rather complicated predicament.




Meanwhile, Upstairs...

While Eleanor was in conversation with Mr Sakai, a man, presumably the butler, had arrived through a swinging door, carrying with a large silver teapot, a smaller pot for milk, sugar, cups, saucers and all the other small accoutrements necessary for Afternoon tea in polite society, though as he began to serve people, another gentleman entered the room. He was a stocky man broad shouldered though no taller than Eleanor, well dressed in a fashionable suit, his greying hair swept back and beard neatly trimmer, though he wore the suit with ill ease, as if it were not his usual mode of dress. He surveyed the room, noting the fact that there already seemed to be some chatter of matters of the supernatural; Eleanor, it seemed, had not been able to keep from saying something, which did not entirely surprise him.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen," he said, his voice was deep, resonant, and cut through the chatter. He had a thick, foreign accent, which some would spot as being from the South African colonies, "My name is Renier van der Valk and I will be very pleased, in a few moments to make your acquaintance individually. Before I do though, I thought I would address you on what it is that this Society, this Order, is all about.

"Our modern world is filled with the wonders of science and it seems scarcely a day goes by without something new and marvellous being revealed to an astounded public, but there are still many things which remain undiscovered to the majority of people, many of which are better left there. One of those matters best left unknown to the public is that man is not the most dangerous creature in this world. There are other things, lurking in the Shadows. This Order's mission is to keep people safe from those. You have been invited here as it is our belief that you would make a good addition to the Order.

"Some of you have already had an encounter with one of these creatures I speak of, some of you have not. Some of you may choose to laugh and leave. That is your choice. What I will tell you without a doubt is that while the surface of the lake we all sit on is calm and beautiful, there are dark and terrifying things beneath the surface hidden by the reflection of the world above the surface. If you are one of the people who has caught a glimpse of something monstrous breaking the still surface of the lake you might be tempted to try to pretend you hadn't and to live a 'normal' life, but you will forever remain troubled by what you saw. If you decide to stay with us, we can give you the knowledge that will help you put that experience to rest and sleep soundly at night."

He paused for a long moment before finishing by saying, "If you wish to leave with your illusions intact, now would be a good time."

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Europa Undivided
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Founded: Jun 18, 2019
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Europa Undivided » Fri Jul 10, 2020 6:17 am

WHAT

Narek had almost dozed off while waiting for business to go down in this place. He was quite tired; verily, in fact, as he had walked the whole way from one end of the city to this end. His parents had been away for some time due to remaining in Edinburgh, where they were keeping watch over their commercial shares in the textile industry. Thus, both the car and the driver were absent from their London home at this time, which meant that Narek had to walk or use public transportation every time he wanted to go around the city... which was almost never, as he spent most of his time either in the hospital doing his job as a physiologist or in his bed room, alone except for the occasional maid that checked on him every few hours. And yet... he was tired. Tired of life, tired of the unfortunate events that have pummeled his world lately. Reports had been coming in from Armenia itself, speaking of the ways that the Ottomans have "purified" the land of Christian minorities. Hearing and seeing these seemed to make Narek's private life increasingly filled with angst, as the cruelty and debauchery that his people had just endured was simply unimaginable.

It was when Mr. Van Der Valk started speaking did Narek suddenly wake up from his stupor. He was a little confused as to his surroundings, but he did best to listen carefully.

At the meantime, the one eyed Serbian that was sitting beside him was rather quiet, just like him. However, Dragoslav had little of Narek's exhaustion, perhaps because he was younger and had less things to think and brood about every night in a spiral of self pity.

But again, he was tortured in a prisoner camp, so who knows what's inside his head




Dragoslav slowly nodded his head at the Boer, seemingly confused and maybe bamboozled. "So the Order... deals with supernatural creatures and the like...", he said whilst trailing off.

The one eyed Serb chuckled, almost laughing "Okay, okay, that seems to be a... little too much. I... I mean, I'm just a humble jeweller with one blind eye and a misshapen gait. Why me, of all people? It's odd that, that I lose just everyone I know, I go to this island for a new life, and when I've finally landed a job, I-I get recruited by a shadowy order that... slays vampires and witches. Or something. It... it's just odd."

"Well, you're also a sniper.", Narek quipped.

"How... how did you-"

The Armenian crossed his arms. "When you dropped your things, thanks to me, I caught a photo with your good self holding a rifle with a scope. Only snipers have that."

Dragoslav sighed. "Okay. Fine. I'm a jeweller that used to be a sniper. But... what's in it for us, really?"

"I concur.", Narek added. "How do we know that all of this is true? Are you... err, sanctioned by the government? Please don't take my questions as skepticism or anything, as I am a man of faith and it is my belief that demons permeate the world in evil, but... I just want to be sure."
Futurist ~ Reformed ~ RPer~ #WritingCommunity ~ Asian ~ Trad
When they tell me death has come for those I love, you will find me at the frontline, las-rifle in hand. There is no place else for me but to guard my home. For as long as the Imperium stands so do they I love. Should I sell my life then it would be the least I pay.

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Endem
Minister
 
Posts: 3008
Founded: Aug 19, 2018
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Endem » Fri Jul 10, 2020 6:59 am

Rémy Battier
Four Hourse Club
London


Rémy settled on one of the chairs and listened to what Van Der Velk had to say, truly, intriguing, to think that there may be a whole new world of fantastical and dangerous creatures, and he would have the opportunity to see, kill and study them first hand, no man with at least a tint of courage and curiosity would pass up such opportunity, and Rémy had both.

He did recall well his encounter with what was seemingly supernatural, that cult in Paris's catacombs, and that man he needed to shoot, that man, he recalled his face well, twisted in his last moments, it was as if something had possessed him, but, Rémy was not troubled by the experience, the priest and the policemen he took along may be, but not him.

Rémy, with some trouble, stood up from the quite comfortable chair, and walked slowly, with some difficulty, towards the Boer man that was the headmaster of the Order of St. Thomas, Rémy begun speaking

"Mounsier Van Der Velk, I will gladly hunt alongside you"

He extended his right hand towards Van Der Velk

"We shall be as Saint George when he slayed the dragon!"

He added cheerfully.
Last edited by Endem on Fri Jul 10, 2020 7:00 am, edited 1 time in total.
Can't be bothered to have anything of note here.

I guess I'll just list my political opinion.

Radical centrism.

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Lessoni
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Posts: 636
Founded: Nov 24, 2018
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Lessoni » Fri Jul 10, 2020 7:43 am

Dyelli Beybi wrote:"Some of you have already had an encounter with one of these creatures I speak of, some of you have not. Some of you may choose to laugh and leave. That is your choice. What I will tell you without a doubt is that while the surface of the lake we all sit on is calm and beautiful, there are dark and terrifying things beneath the surface hidden by the reflection of the world above the surface. If you are one of the people who has caught a glimpse of something monstrous breaking the still surface of the lake you might be tempted to try to pretend you hadn't and to live a 'normal' life, but you will forever remain troubled by what you saw. If you decide to stay with us, we can give you the knowledge that will help you put that experience to rest and sleep soundly at night."

He paused for a long moment before finishing by saying, "If you wish to leave with your illusions intact, now would be a good time."


Jesse Dredlen

And now Jesse was faced with a choice, one that he didn't care for at all. Stay, and most likely risk his life killing things he doubted he could kill, or go, and leave the greatest mystery of his life unsolved. Either had its perks, and he was a firm believer in curiosity being a killer of cats, but this wasn't schoolyard gossip or a strange noise in an alley. This was something that he'd never get over on his own, and he knew that. The thing was gone, but it would never be forgotten. Maybe, he could rationalize it, stop being so afraid.

"Now how I s'possed to pass up an offer like da one you got danglin' in fronta my face? Bein' a hero, seein' the world, learnin' a little sumpin new. Count dis' ol' gambler in."

Jesse didn't much like his odds, but something told him the cards were loaded in his favor.
Just a teenager with too much time on his hands seeing how bad he can mess up a country

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Illegal Planets
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Posts: 434
Founded: Jan 24, 2018
Ex-Nation

Postby Illegal Planets » Fri Jul 10, 2020 8:25 am



Sakai Tetsuo
First Impressions




“Mr. Sakai!”

Tetsuo performed a short bow for Eleanor as she approached. Adjusting his bifocals, he gave the librarian a nervous, though genuine smile. He was excited to be here. His life, if you could call it that, in Japan had been more truly akin to the mechanical operations of the machines he worked on. The invitation itself was intriguing, if a bit suspicious, but it also awoke in him a wild desire to flee his former life. He’d sold the house for cheap, as well as most of his belongings, and decided that regardless of what the meeting was about, he would be staying in London.

“Do feel free to browse the books down here, though...”

He quirked one brow at the suggestion that any book could be wicked. Westerners as a rule were an odd, crass people, but this club was truly strange. This made Tetsuo happy rather than put him off. He looked at the wealth of old tomes on the lower shelves, his expression alternating between intrigued and delighted.

“...I think I can help with a certain matter.”

“Of course, I am interested in speaking further, but I’m afraid I am a bit confused on what matter you’re referring to.”

Did she know about the incident? Is that was this was about? Paranoia began to tug at the edges of his mind. He felt his face growing warm. Who were these people? Before he could speak further, his attention was captured by the entrance of a quaint man who introduced himself as the host of this gathering. Tetsuo listened, his curiosity growing more and more as the man spoke. Tetsuo had hoards of questions for both Eleanor and Mr. van der Valk, but he was sold. He was no hunter, and certainly no fighter, but for the chance to study these secret beasts he would stay. Regardless of whether or not they actually existed, there was the library. Still, Tetsuo couldn’t help but wonder how many of his secrets this strange Order knew. He listened as the others asked their questions, deciding to hold his for the moment.
Last edited by Illegal Planets on Fri Jul 10, 2020 8:41 am, edited 7 times in total.
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”My rock and roll is not to entertain, but to annihilate”

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Reverend Norv
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Founded: Jun 20, 2014
New York Times Democracy

Postby Reverend Norv » Fri Jul 10, 2020 11:14 am

Jean-Martin preferred the bicycle to the tram. After so many months lying in a hospital bed, the gentle burn in his legs that came of pedaling through the half-empty streets was a welcome reminder of the strength that still moved inside him. His right hand was steady on the handlebars, controlling the bicycle on its own with tiny precise movements. The night air was damp and chilly, and the fog moved around Jean-Martin as he crossed the Charing Cross footbridge: a cloud of ghosts driven on by the winter wind out of the northwest. He thought of the warmth of the cognac in his flask, the way it would set a glow under his breastbone, and then discarded the thought. I don't know exactly why I chose to go to this club, but it certainly wasn't to show up drunk. For now, at least, that was enough to stop him reaching for the brandy.

There was little traffic, and he made good time. All of this city's young men were still in France, above or below the soil of Jean-Martin's patrie: that country which had taken the Algerian sun from him, and made him unfit to return to simpler days among the olive groves. The white stone facades, grimy with the soot of the factories on the other side of the river, moved by in the doctor's peripheral vision. He wondered if, when the men returned, there would be enough of them left to make the city feel full and busy, or if London would forever hang loose and shapeless on a population too withered to fill it.

The Four-Horse Club was just another grimy facade. The doorman gave Jean-Martin a long, appraising look as the doctor clambered off his bicycle. He asked for Jean-Martin' invitation. The Frenchman handed it over. The Four-Horse Club, he thought. It seems appropriate. Jean-Martin still read the Bible often: a private devotion, a reluctant comfort, an unshakeable hangover from his Huguenot youth. Pestilence and war we have already. The newspapers say that Russia and Poland will know famine soon enough.

And death? The doorman handed the doctor's invitation back, and Jean-Martin looked around. Well, the hollow streets were testament enough to the hoofbeats of that horseman.

The doorman told Jean-Martin to enter the club, take the hallway to his left, and follow it to the drawing room. The man advised reading to pass the time - starting with the seventh volume of Gibbon's famous history. Jean-Martin had never read Decline and Fall: his mother had taken pains to ensure that French authors had pride of place in her son's education, and Jean-Martin's tutors had complied.

Now, the doctor did has he was instructed. The drawing room was small, and the winter chill hung heavy in the air. There was a bookshelf against one wall, and a grandfather clock next to it. Jean-Martin listened to the clock ticking. He realized that he could hear nothing else. The silence was a shroud.

Something here was wrong.

Jean-Martin might not have read Gibbon, but he had read about Gibbon. He knew that Decline and Fall was no light diversion to pass the time. And one never began a history seven volumes in. He scanned the bookshelf, found the leatherbound spine he was looking for, and pulled.

The book wouldn't come off the shelf. Instead, there was a groan of machinery, and when Jean-Martin turned he saw a panel of the wall swing inward. Behind it was a spiral staircase.

Jean-Martin looked around. He saw no one. He closed his eyes and listened hard. He heard nothing but his own breathing: no sound of the street outside, no low rumble of a furnace. An impossible stillness.

A vein pulsed in the side of Jean-Martin's neck. He reached under his coat and drew his pistol from its shoulder holster. He racked the slide by pressing it firmly against what remained of his left forearm, wincing as the motion pulled at the scar tissue beneath his sleeve. He put the gun away, but left the hammer strap off.

He took a deep breath, and stepped through the hidden door. The cold sharpened, and something glimmered in Jean-Martin's peripheral vision: symbols shining with a silvery light, carved into the doorframe. For a moment, Jean-Martin was sixteen again, and he saw ancient painted figures move on the wall of a cave deep in the Atlas Mountains.

Machinery whirred, and the door thumped shut behind the doctor. Jean-Martin startled, shocked out of the past; then he swallowed his fear, and looked up the stairs. He heard something at last, now, something beside his own breathing: voices, and music. The magnetic pull of the sound drew him, step by step, up the spiral staircase.

At the top, he found a spacious room with a roaring fire and comfortable furniture and - thank God - windows. Jean-Martin's sense of dreamlike dread dissipated as he saw the dreary London skyline, and knew that he was still in the same world that he had left upon entering the club. His gaze wandered over the heavy-laden bookcases and the glass display cases filled with ancient artifacts, and came at last to rest on the other occupants of the room.

There was a tall young man who slouched with a sort of louche elegance that identified him immediately to Jean-Martin as American; he stood next to a boyish-looking young man with a shock of bright red hair, who stared about suspiciously and kept one arm close to his body. Armed, like me, the Frenchman guessed. Near them was a very young man - a boy, really - with fair skin and a stubborn jaw and cheap clothes; he stood with the hesitation of a man who did not know quite what to do with himself. A few paces away was his polar opposite: a dark-haired man with expensive clothes and a carefully maintained moustache, whose stance expressed even more swagger than that of the tall American.

Other men in the room seemed to hail from further afield. There was a small, soberly dressed East Asian in eyeglasses; he reminded Jean-Martin of newspaper photographs of the Japanese emperor, with his tailored suits and elaborate uniforms. There was a neatly attired swarthy man - perhaps Turkish or Tatar, Jean-Martin thought - who stood next to a European in shabby clothes wearing dark eyeglasses and carrying a suitcase. Nearby was an older man, perhaps in his forties, with slicked-back hair and an elaborately waxed moustache: Jean-Martin could not shake the conviction that he had to be French. He leaned heavily on a cane.

And strikingly, too, there were women. Jean-Martin had believed that British clubs were all male-only; but now, as he considered the silence of the antechamber and the silver light that had emanated from the carvings on the doorframe, the doctor felt the realization settle unavoidably upon him that this was no ordinary club. One of the women was about Jean-Martin's own age, and simply stood, without fidgeting or shifting, with the practiced grace and confidence of a performer. The second was a few years older than the doctor, dressed in somewhat old-fashioned clothing, with a determined expression. The third was a few years younger that Jean-Martin, tall and slim and quite lovely, and she stood with confidence beyond her years at the far end of the room. Jean-Martin sensed, however improbably, that she was the only in all this crowd who really knew what was going on.

But now, as Jean-Martin watched, one final stranger entered the room. He was stocky, well-groomed and well-dressed, but with a rough face and large workman's hands. He said that his name was Reiner van der Valk. And he explained that Jean-Martin had not been invited to a club. Jean-Martin had been invited to a Society - an Order. It was founded on the recognition that man was not the world's most dangerous creature. The Order's purpose was to keep people safe from those threats. If Reiner's guests would rather keep their illusions, they were free to leave.

Later, it would strike Jean-Martin as remarkable that he had felt not the slightest inclination to walk back out that door. Indeed, when Reiner finished speaking, he was surprised only at how little surprise he felt: at the confirmation, neither a shock nor a relief, that he had indeed touched something unknowable back in that cave in Algeria twelve years earlier. All his grandmother's stories of the Gévaudan, of things older and stranger than electric light - all true, after all. How could this knowledge be a surprise? It was his birthright.

In the end, the only part of Reiner's speech that did shock Jean-Martin was the Afrikaner's declaration that man was not the world's most dangerous creature. It was then, right then, that Jean-Martin knew that Reiner had not fought in the war. All the horrors of midnight were as nothing to Verdun at noonday.

The swarthy foreigner and the man with the suitcase were the first to respond. The latter said that he had one blind eye - that explained the glasses, Jean-Martin supposed - and was merely a jeweler; his companion pointed out that the one-eyed man had once been a sniper, and Jean-Martin suppressed a shiver of revulsion. For his part, the foreigner wanted to know if Reiner's Order was sanctioned by the government. Jean-Martin strongly suspected that the British Parliament was far too bourgeois and respectable to associate itself with anything so gauche as Reiner's crusade against darkness.

Those concerns did not trouble the middle-aged Frenchman with the extravagant moustache, who struggled forward - leaning heavily on his cane - and presented his hand for Reiner to shake. "We shall be as Saint George when he slayed the dragon!" the man announced cheerfully. Jean-Martin shook his head incredulously. A moment later, the tall American likewise accepted Reiner's offer - albeit in some eccentric accent so thick that Jean-Martin, with his copybook English, could barely understand one word in every three.

For his part, the doctor looked at Reiner, and then for a long moment at the young woman who seemed to be his associate. Then Jean-Martin's gaze moved back to the Afrikaner, and he nodded. "I have risked, and lost, a great deal these last four years," he reflected, "for I know not what." The doctor's English was slow, careful, scrupulously grammatically correct. His accent was mostly French music, but around his vowels lurked the guttural traces of the Arabic with which he had also grown up. "It is no great thing to risk what I have left, for better reason than before." Jean-Martin nodded a second time. "You have another soldier, monsieur."
For really, I think that the poorest he that is in England hath a life to live as the greatest he. And therefore truly, Sir, I think it's clear that every man that is to live under a Government ought first by his own consent to put himself under that Government. And I do think that the poorest man in England is not at all bound in a strict sense to that Government that he hath not had a voice to put himself under.
Col. Thomas Rainsborough, Putney Debates, 1647

A God who let us prove His existence would be an idol.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer

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Sarderia
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1771
Founded: Jun 26, 2019
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Sarderia » Fri Jul 10, 2020 11:14 am

    Frank P. Martelli
    A Peculiar Impression



The doorsman was rather friendly to him, and recommended a book - the Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire, volume 7. It was rather peculiar why the book was recommended to him, if anything, he had little to do with learning history. Nevertheless, he thanked the doorsman and entered the club. It was a rather beautiful building on the inside, if quite old. The drawing room was quite the exquisite. Inside, he noticed, there were already people coming in... soldiers here and there, someone who looked like a fellow American, and to his surprise, a Japanese. Frank was curious about what a Japanese has to do in London, much less in a dusty old gentleman's club such as this.

He picked up the book, of which there were numerous copies of the same volume. Glossing over the pages, he encountered familiar names - Constantine, Odoacer, Arius; familiar events such as the Sack of Rome. He remembered those stories Leonardo Martelli used to tell him, back in New Haven when he was a child. Frank's uncle was an avid armchair historian back in Bologna; he kept the hobby still in New Haven's Little Italy. Even when they moved to Providence, Leonardo had brought a full shelf of old Italian tomes with him. The other guests seemed to be talking out loud - not that it matters, of course. Frank was preoccupied with the book.

However, the sudden arrival of a stocky, well-bulit man that Frank would guess a former soldier of sorts, and the one in charge of this whole affair startled him. The man, who introduced himself as Reinier van der Valk - a Dutchman, he presumed, because Frank never met someone from South Africa. But contrary to his expectations, van der Velk began talking nonsense. Other things? Creatures lurking in the shadows? Frank thought he should have guessed this meeting was a sham after all - but no one person would bother inviting a renowned craftsman from Birmingham to London only to lecture him about fairy-tales. So he listened on, and Frank though there might as well a glimpse of truth in van der Valk's words. This wouldn't be the first time he dealt with secret societies, anyway.

"So.. mister van der Valk, this order is a secret society, dedicated to hunt these... creatures you talk of. I am certainly quite intrigued; I have been hearing a lot of things about... supranatural creatures, and I wouldn't pass the chance to study one. You could expect my support. After all, my only experience with the occult, the most noteworthy one that is, was attending a play of Bram Stoker's Dracula on Broadway, Manhattan," he answered. "I have known indeed a lot of secret societies during my tenure as a craftsman in Providence. Most of them are Bostonian college-graduates from those greek letter fraternities, but there were people asking me to engrave the Freemasons' square and compass in their guns. Well, the Governor of Rhode Island certainly was one..."

Lessoni wrote:Now how I s'possed to pass up an offer like da one you got danglin' in fronta my face? Bein' a hero, seein' the world, learnin' a little sumpin new. Count dis' ol' gambler in."


"Feller, do I hear a Southern accent there? Jesus, I would have never expected someone from Dixieland here in London. I concur, and you'll perhaps enjoy the company of a New Englander Yankee."
Last edited by Sarderia on Fri Jul 10, 2020 11:15 am, edited 1 time in total.
    So comrades, come rally,
    For this is the time and place!
    The Internationale,
    Unites the Human Race!

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Demencia
Envoy
 
Posts: 219
Founded: Sep 12, 2010
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Demencia » Fri Jul 10, 2020 1:20 pm

Quinn O'Hearn
Annoyance



Dyelli Beybi wrote:Eleanor Martin


The display by Quinn drew an exasperated sigh from Eleanor, "You are the person the invitation was intended for and that nonsense about leaving a kettle on is about as convincing as Doctor Crippen's defence lawyer. I could tell you exactly how I know you are the right person, but out of courtesy to you and to avoid a scandal, I will not."


Quinn's eyes narrowed more, and she seriously considered her options of getting out if she did shoot the woman like she had planned on when she arrived. The stairway closing was the only thing that made her pause. Instead, her grip on her cane tightened like a claw. "Miss, if you think I'm afraid of you then you're even crazier than I thought. You sitting around a pile of boring books doesn't exactly have the same ring to it as the Hun shooting a field gun at you or a sniper's bullet bouncing off the hatch right next to your head. If you think you know me half as what you say you do then you should know better to oversell yourself."

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen," he said, his voice was deep, resonant, and cut through the chatter. He had a thick, foreign accent, which some would spot as being from the South African colonies, "My name is Renier van der Valk and I will be very pleased, in a few moments to make your acquaintance individually. Before I do though, I thought I would address you on what it is that this Society, this Order, is all about.


Quinn looked again between the people in the room. They were buying in to this nonsense? Maybe she'd taken a head injury during the war, or everyone else had gone crazy? She'd make a note to ask Lillian about it later, she was likely to know more about delusions than Quinn was. As she glanced across the others, her eyes paused over Viviette. Wait a second... she thought, I know her! She's that singer from Paris. What's she doing here in this mess? She started to remember the show Lillian had taken her to on one of the rare occasions when the two of them both had some downtime during the war. She shook her head trying to push the thoughts away as she felt her face getting warm as she got flustered remembering the night. She'd say something to the woman when she had a moment.
Last edited by Demencia on Fri Jul 10, 2020 1:23 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Lessoni
Diplomat
 
Posts: 636
Founded: Nov 24, 2018
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Lessoni » Fri Jul 10, 2020 2:05 pm

Sarderia wrote:
"Feller, do I hear a Southern accent there? Jesus, I would have never expected someone from Dixieland here in London. I concur, and you'll perhaps enjoy the company of a New Englander Yankee."


Jesse Dredlen

Jesse wasn’t quite sure why he hadn’t been expecting any other of his fellow Americans. Maybe he liked the idea that he was special, the one man in the country this club, or order, or whatever it wanted to call itself thought worthy of joining. His easy grin didn’t fade, but he felt a light disappointment.

“Well, lookee here, anudda yank! Nice meeting ya, if you don’t know the name it’s Jesse, Jesse Dredlen, though I may be repeatin’ myself. Sure hope dis’ da start of a beautiful friendship, yeah? We oughta swap stories sometime, if it pleases ya’.”
Just a teenager with too much time on his hands seeing how bad he can mess up a country

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Voxija
Diplomat
 
Posts: 891
Founded: Jan 17, 2019
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Voxija » Fri Jul 10, 2020 2:35 pm

Dyelli Beybi wrote:"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen," he said, his voice was deep, resonant, and cut through the chatter. He had a thick, foreign accent, which some would spot as being from the South African colonies, "My name is Renier van der Valk and I will be very pleased, in a few moments to make your acquaintance individually. Before I do though, I thought I would address you on what it is that this Society, this Order, is all about.

"Our modern world is filled with the wonders of science and it seems scarcely a day goes by without something new and marvellous being revealed to an astounded public, but there are still many things which remain undiscovered to the majority of people, many of which are better left there. One of those matters best left unknown to the public is that man is not the most dangerous creature in this world. There are other things, lurking in the Shadows. This Order's mission is to keep people safe from those. You have been invited here as it is our belief that you would make a good addition to the Order.

"Some of you have already had an encounter with one of these creatures I speak of, some of you have not. Some of you may choose to laugh and leave. That is your choice. What I will tell you without a doubt is that while the surface of the lake we all sit on is calm and beautiful, there are dark and terrifying things beneath the surface hidden by the reflection of the world above the surface. If you are one of the people who has caught a glimpse of something monstrous breaking the still surface of the lake you might be tempted to try to pretend you hadn't and to live a 'normal' life, but you will forever remain troubled by what you saw. If you decide to stay with us, we can give you the knowledge that will help you put that experience to rest and sleep soundly at night."

He paused for a long moment before finishing by saying, "If you wish to leave with your illusions intact, now would be a good time."


Victoria Wasserman

Victoria listened in rapture to Van der Valk's revelations. Her supernatural experience quickly came to mind. Victoria had been walking in Jerusalem when she found herself at the other side of the city, four hours later in the day, with a gun in her hand. Victoria wasn't sure even to this day, but with a little Kabbalist digging, she had hypothesized that a dybbuk, one of those ghosts of Jewish folklore, had possessed her, used Victoria's body to complete its murderous purpose, and dropped her off in the other side of Jerusalem. Finally, Victoria would get answers, explanations as to what happened to her.

Victoria Wasserman addressed Van der Valk knowing that this was about to change her life forever, and not in a goid way. "I'm in. You will find me another ally, another soldier of your cause."
The Republic of Voxija (pronounced: Voshiya)
I'm female.
Oddly Jewish. Trying to learn French and failing. An American who wishes the US would switch to the metric system. Secret pyromaniac? I will never make an OOC factbook!

my politics are confused and muddled
Most of my grammar errors are on purpose. Sppeling errors, tho...
I'd rather be fishing. | Author of Issues 1324 and 1346.
I think that by now I've created more lore for my nation than most real-world nations have.
I actually don't speak Basque. I just think it's a cool language.

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Theyra
Negotiator
 
Posts: 5443
Founded: Aug 29, 2015
Democratic Socialists

Postby Theyra » Fri Jul 10, 2020 3:11 pm

Aleyn Deyne

London, a place he had not been to in a long time. Aleyn thought as he rode on a taxis to the club. The first time he had been to London was when he was first drafted in the war. Staying at it briefly before departing for the continent. So he did not get a chance to truly enjoy what the city has to offer. The sights, the history and the culture that is different than on the Isle of Man. Which once again he will not do now, he has business in the city and once it is done. He intends to continue his search to find out what killed his family. That takes priority over anything else in his life.

When his taxis finally reached the club, he paid his driver and left the taxis. Aleyn took a look at the club's exterior, it looked shady. Old looking and it seems like from the outside that the club has seen better days. Why has someone invited to this place is beyond him. Who knows they might be useful to him or be a waste of his time. It is a long way from the Isle of Man and he wants this trip is useful. Aleyn simply sighed and took out his flask. Taking a mouthful of gin before putting it away. Let's see what this club is about, Aleyn thought as he made his way inside.

Aleyn had arrived just in time to hear of Mr. van der Valk's speech and stood on the edge of the room. He was surprised to hear that this club or order deals with the supernatural and tried to keep people safe from them. Really, this is happening? He was invited to an order to hunt down monsters and that means they must have heard of the attack on his family. Aleyn actually had a chance to find out what attacked his family and not only get revenge. But, help to stop other attacks on other families and then some. This was most unexpected and kept quiet as the others in the room spoke.

Listening to what the others thought, most agreed to join the order and have started talking to each other. Some Americans, British and other nationalities that were gathered before him. Quite the diverse cast of recruits the order has found. Aleyn wondered how many of them had brushes with the supernatural before this meeting. Or had even had near-death encounters like he did. Though it did occur to him that he has yet to say if he wanted to join the order or not. Taking a deep breath, he spoke to Van der Valk with a Manx accent. "I will take your offer of joining the order and you must know that this is personal for me. If you can help with my quest then I will certainly help you with taking down monsters".

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Dyelli Beybi
Negotiator
 
Posts: 5835
Founded: Antiquity
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Dyelli Beybi » Fri Jul 10, 2020 4:27 pm

Renier van der Valk

The pause dragged on. Van der Valk was relatively new to his senior role in the organisation, though even from a more junior position he had seen these reactions before. There were those like the Frenchman with the walking cane who reacted with enthusiasm, wanting to shake his hand. Van der Valk took it, offering a firm shake in response, "I am glad you are with us... Monsieur Battier, is it not?" He had seen the carefully prepared files on these people, though he had not studied each of them with Eleanor's enthusiasm and he was a little fuzzy on the details of everyone's lives.

There were other reactions in the room as well. The one who kept his... no her, hand on her gun (once you were alert to, and expecting, the deception, it was visible) looked ready to run, though she didn't. Presumably she was sceptical of what he had just said. For many of these people, he probably sounded like a lunatic though, to be fair to those who had never experienced the supernatural, a degree of scepticism was both to be expected and, on investigation, helpful. After all, not every case they investigated turned out to be the result of a some dark force.

Then there were the people who seemed relieved, as if by hearing what he had said they could finally rationalise some experience in their past that they had been desperately trying to pretend was in their imagination. It had not been the reaction he had expected from the man he assumed to be Monsieur de Florac. Had he also encountered one of the wild beasts of the earth? If so, it had not come to the attention of the Order. Perhaps during his younger years? Renier marked that down as something he would need to speak to the man about at a future point.

He let the pause drag on a moment longer, his dark eyes moved back to Quinn, wondering if she would choose to run: she did not. That matched with the character of the person in the file, though he had expected at least one of the group to back out and, at this moment, she appeared the most likely. He, he reminded himself. It would not do to go accidentally revealing that secret, "One of you asked about whether we are sanctioned by the Government," as he spoke again, his rich voice cut across the side conversations that had begun to spring up, "There are few Governments in the world that would openly sanction an organisation such as ours, although a number of the Lords Spiritual and several senior Civil Servants are aware of our existence and have rendered assistance, from time to time. That being said, most creatures of the shadow live in the shadow and we rarely come into conflict with the Crown. This is a preferable arrangement for the Order; we strive to serve humanity, not the whims of any particular state though, as we do live in the world of men, calamities such as the recent Great War, do affect us."

That was all that needed to be said on that topic. There would doubtless be more questions shortly, "We have invited you here as we hope that you will, in time, join the Order. However, before you do, you will want assurance that we are not raving lunatics and we will want assurance that you are competent to carry out a field investigation," he turned momentarily to acknowledge the young woman who had been the only person in the room when they had arrived, "I believe you have been introduced to Miss Martin?" Another woman with secrets. "By good fortune, earlier today, Miss Martin received a telephone call from her Butler in Devon to inform us of something that we will need to investigate and it strikes me as an ideal assignment for you to see if the Order is something you are suited to. The facts, as we understand them, as as follows: On Saturday Morning a Doctor by the name of Steele went to open the Truro Hospital mortuary with the intent of depositing a body of one of the recently deceased. Upon opening the mortuary he discovered the body of the mortician, a certain John Sutherland, who had been working there the evening before. The official cause of death is an animal attack, though there was no sign of an animal in the mortuary and no route by which one could have entered unaided. Similarly, nobody from the evening before had seen an animal of any sort in the hospital."

Van der Valk gave a moment for that to sink in, watching the assembled people closely before he continued, "The local constabulary are perplexed and have reached out for help. They have been told that a team of 'animal experts' will be coming down to look into it," he raised his eyebrows significantly. The team of 'animal experts' were presumably going to be the people in this room, "It would, obviously be preferable if this is a mundane tragedy, but this has the hallmarks of something far worse and, if that is the case, there will be more lives lost if we do not act. This will be the test of your aptitude and, in all likelihood, the evidence that those of you who are uncertain will need to realise everything I have told you is true."

He paused briefly, glancing again at Eleanor, "Miss Martin will accompany you to offer her expertise," he nodded to Aleyn, evidently one of the ones who had had a brush with the supernatural. At that moment Renier could not recall the exact details, though doubtless Eleanor would, "Also, I would recommend that anyone with a personal case speak to her. The first step in any investigation, both the one I have outlined, and your own, is discovering what the beast is, which is where Miss Martin's knowledge will be useful. I will also be present on this case, to observe and assist if necessary. We will, naturally, pay for your train ticket and accommodation and meals in Truro and, if you require it, we will also pay you each a moderate stipend of £5 per week, while you are on this assignment, to cover sundry expenses. If you join the Order following this assignment, this rate will, naturally increase. There is no obligation on you to take the money if you do not wish to."

And that was, Renier judged, all that needed to be said at that moment, though no doubt there would be matters of significance to some of the people here that he had neglected to mention, "Does anyone have any questions?"

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Endem
Minister
 
Posts: 3008
Founded: Aug 19, 2018
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Endem » Fri Jul 10, 2020 5:11 pm

Rémy Battier
Four Hourse Club
London


After the handshake, and confirming his surname is indeed Battier, Rémy retreated back to his chair, to hear the rest of what the Van Der Valk wanted to say, he was disinterested in wherever the Order was sponsored or aligned with the British government, he paid little attention to that conversation.

However, when Van Der Valk spoke of the crime scene Rémy listened closely, it was thankfully related to what he did in Paris, it was of course possible no supernatural phenomena was involved, of course, the first thing you would think about, after what was said in this room is that it may have been some kind of monster which could climb on walls, levitate or pass through solid objects, but there was nothing to confirm it, perhaps it was a man who brutalized the mortician, or perhaps other type of foul play was involved.

"Does anyone have any questions?"


"Oui, Mounsier Van Der Valk, have the constabularies done anything to the crime scene, have they searched the room for fingerprints, objects which could have been used as tools of murder, or perhaps even faults in the construction of the building which would have allowed a animal to pass into it?"

Rémy asked
Can't be bothered to have anything of note here.

I guess I'll just list my political opinion.

Radical centrism.

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Sudbrazil
Chargé d'Affaires
 
Posts: 414
Founded: Jan 14, 2018
Corporate Bordello

Postby Sudbrazil » Fri Jul 10, 2020 6:21 pm

Running Late
Four Horses Club, James st.
A rather foggy night on the 10th of December



Johann Zacharias Uhrman enjoyed the fog. The mist seemed to engulf him, yet it was never strong enough to pierce through the fabrics of his suit, it shrouded London’s imposing visage with a mysterious air, yet comforted him with memories of the Alpine slopes in comparison to which London seemed welcoming and warm. Its gray film yielded as he strode forward, eventually revealing his destination, the entrance to the Four Horses Club.

It was quite shameful to be this late, but the watchmaker was unfamiliar with the region, doubtlessly he had taken the longer way. He had also wished to depart earlier, but his youngest son had begged him for help with his pocket watch all day, a task which, coupled with a heavier than usual amount of orders, made a dent in his schedule. The drawing room was curiously empty, though he caught a glimpse of movement as the bookcase... slid backwards? With much hesitation he examined it, searching for Gibbon’s work. It was doubtlessly a secret passage, akin to those that permeated mystery novels and investigative stories. The seventh volume did indeed feel abnormally rigid and did not wish to come all the way out when tugged at firmly. The opening of the passage still shook him, yet he precipitated himself inside rather recklessly. As it closed behind him, he wondered what wonderfully complex mechanism actuated the entrance, before his senses and back to him and his heart pounded in his chest.

Zacharias doubted whether mingling with the occupants would be desirable or even beneficial to his longevity, but he was beyond the point of return. His arms tightened as if ready to spring into his coat for his pocket automatic, and his legs strode forward despite the protests of his mind. Faint voices echoed through the building, which he followed. As they grew stronger and more distinguishable, so did the large amount of varying accents, revealing that manu of those present were not natives. International smugglers perhaps? But then, why invite him? Did they hope to recruit him? Dear Lord, was his reputation that bad?

Presently, he found himself at the doors of the hall. Silence was made, and a man began to deliver a speech. Something about the spiritual, that which lurked in the shadows. Was the order composed of cultists? No, the order was recruiting investigators. At present, he calmed himself. It was probably that affair with the clock that had taken him here. He stepped into the room and bowed slightly.

“Uh, g-good evening” blubbered the Swiss man before he steadied his slightly accented speech, “I apologise for being this late, but I would appreciate knowing the criteria for selection. I do not see why a humble watchmaker like me would be a candidate for an investigator.”
Last edited by Sudbrazil on Fri Jul 10, 2020 6:22 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Lessoni
Diplomat
 
Posts: 636
Founded: Nov 24, 2018
Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Lessoni » Fri Jul 10, 2020 6:53 pm

Dyelli Beybi wrote:He paused briefly, glancing again at Eleanor, "Miss Martin will accompany you to offer her expertise," he nodded to Aleyn, evidently one of the ones who had had a brush with the supernatural. At that moment Renier could not recall the exact details, though doubtless Eleanor would, "Also, I would recommend that anyone with a personal case speak to her. The first step in any investigation, both the one I have outlined, and your own, is discovering what the beast is, which is where Miss Martin's knowledge will be useful. I will also be present on this case, to observe and assist if necessary. We will, naturally, pay for your train ticket and accommodation and meals in Truro and, if you require it, we will also pay you each a moderate stipend of £5 per week, while you are on this assignment, to cover sundry expenses. If you join the Order following this assignment, this rate will, naturally increase. There is no obligation on you to take the money if you do not wish to."

And that was, Renier judged, all that needed to be said at that moment, though no doubt there would be matters of significance to some of the people here that he had neglected to mention, "Does anyone have any questions?"


Jesse Dredlen

Jesse was filled with a mix of apprehension and excitement. Either this was the greatest con of all time, something the charlatan in him half expected, or the greatest revelation he’d ever have. Either way, it was something worth sticking with, if nothing else than to see the end. He put a hand on the butt of the revolver at his waist, comforted by its weight in the face of a great unknown. It appeared a new chapter in his life had begun, and his only wish was that he’d thrown the dice one more time back home.

“My only question would be where da’ nearest bar is, or whatevah you might call ‘em over dis’ side a’ da pond. Gotta feelin’ we all gonna need a stiff drink aftah dis’.”

He was glad some of the other assembled seemed to be as eager as him. He’d hate if this was a con and he was the only rube dumb enough to fall for it.
Just a teenager with too much time on his hands seeing how bad he can mess up a country

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