Victorian Nocturne

In a neighborhood to the northwest of Whitechapel, there sat a two-story home, quite ordinary among its company, a row of homes owned by families of moderate wealth. It was brick and boasted dozens of windows that looked out on the street. Four chimneys jutted towards the sky. A row of low trees lined the property, as well as a wall at waist height. It was a stately place, but a few details kept it from being the envy of its neighbors. Only a rickety gate gave access to its yard, and inside, the house was well-appointed with sturdy furnishings and a piano, but little artwork covered its walls.

The Taylors once owned the property, but they had gone out of country on family-related matters and become gravely ill while away. After their deaths, the house stood empty of inhabitants. Dust cloths draped the furniture and the curtains were drawn tight. A demon, attempting to pass into this world from another, became trapped in the home. Forced to take up residence there, it dwelt in the physical structures of the house, unable to leave without a human host. Unfortunately, the original owners of the house could not return, and the conditions of the demon's release were so specific that brief visits to the house would not do.

Faced with an indefinite wait, the demon, a being eager to escape and wreak its brand of havoc upon London, decided to lure people to the property and keep them there. On one particular Saturday, passersby began to experience hallucinations. Some heard children crying. Others, screams for help, the scent of a delicious meal, or a familiar face calling their name from the front door.

Once inside, the door slammed shut and they were caught in the confines of a house that had become impervious to harm. The windows wouldn't shatter. People on the street heard no cries for help. Nothing burned in the fireplaces. The doors wouldn't open or be torn down.

Upstairs in the hallway, an oval mirror hung on a wall. Since the demon inhabited the entirety of the house, the mirror was no particular point of suspicion, and no one had reason to guess at the danger it represented. The mirror was the demon's portal out of the physical realm of the house and into a host, if a victim could be goaded into saying a particular string of words within sight of the mirror: 'Is anybody there? Make yourself known.' It was a simple phrase, but surprisingly difficult to match in its entirety.

Of course, the demon would do its best to inspire it from the guests...



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5 October 1891
The Royal Oak

The Royal Oak was a public assembly hall, often used for dances and gatherings. On this occasion, a private room had been reserved for the Inquisition's special use. Situated in the rear of the building, the stately room boasted a separate entrance, a fully stocked sideboard, and an oval table with chairs. The walls were wooden and hung with oil paintings. The air smelled of tobacco. Such meetings traditionally took place aboard the Whitechapel, unless Apprentices or informants were in attendance. Tonight, a small group of Inquisitors would gather, speak amongst themselves of recent occult developments, and then invite two recruits to enter. It was hoped that they could determine how the gentlemen might fit within the organisation. They also hoped to give Mr. Jack Doyle and Mr. Alistair Musgrave a better idea of the colleagues they would join, should they allign themselves with this arm of the Crown.

[Thread: Open immediately to Michael West, Sir Henry Armitage, Elspeth Fry, and Fr Verdoux. Open later to Jack Doyle and Alistair Musgrave]

There was perhaps no worse time than this: a Saturday on the third night of the full moon, with the weather unseasonably cool and clear, and the moon partially obscured by clouds. Gas and lunar light illuminated Whitechapel. An hour before midnight, music jangled from taverns. Everywhere on the cobbled streets, people journeyed by carriage, horseback, or foot, or lingered on the doorsteps of inns, shouting as neighbors went past. Between the curtains of some windows, faces peered and watched the hubbub in the warmth of home.

From the southwest, near the river docks, came an other-worldly howl. Only those with sensitive ears heard the primal noise. Fewer still recognized it. Whether by accident or plan, someone loosed a pack of beasts from the bowels of a ship. Neither man nor wolf, they were something in between. They gobbled up the distance to Whitechapel on all fours and then stood on muscular hind legs to take the air's scent. Pronounced snouts dripped saliva.. Dark, matted fur concealed them when they crouched in the shadows, stalking and growling and pawing the cobblestone, pouncing if a meal came near.

Later, people would speak of the beasts that attacked the Effingham Saloon on Whitechapel Road, ravaged the patrons at the Pavilion Theatre on Whites Row, lurked near the old church and ragged school on Colchester Street, and surprised the injured that fled to the London Hospital at Turner Street. But just past eleven o'clock, all was well in Whitechapel, and none could predict the coming chaos.


[Thread: Open to all characters. Please establish their placement and activity before narrating the chaos of an approaching beast. You may use the ideas above or create your own! Feel free to join an existing mini-thread below!]


[Submitted by Moderator]

Unused to civilian life after such a long time on an army base, Joachim preferred to dine among other military personnel when he could, and he had already realized that many of the clubs in the city would doubtlessly refuse to allow him entry. Officer or not, he was a brown man among much paler faces, and it hindered his digestion to be gawked at. The greeter at the door of the Army and Navy Club courteously saw him to a table, then left him to his own devices.

The Major ordered the braised lamb and a cup of tea, adding two cubes of sugar to the cup once it arrived. The night before he had slept halfway decently for a change, but he suspected the nightmares simply had yet to catch up with him here. Such things were not recovered from overnight. Never mind, though. As long as his heart continued to beat, he could muddle along until he was beyond this.

( Sharing a table )

"Truly the best theater in all of London!" Charles Nielson enthused, gesturing around at the complex stage. The back was full of ropes and pulleys for various backdrops and props, while the front had trap doors and risers to allow for actors to magically appear or disappear from the stage.

"The Savoy is no longer the only theater with electric lighting or numbered seats!" Nielson continued "We have more seats and better facilities for the intermission."

Henry nodded, looking at the vast array of seats visible from the stage. A few of the cast and crew from the play currently showing at the theater were sitting in the front row, chatting before the daily rehearsal due to start shortly. "Truly an impressive facility Charles, I'm sorry I haven't had the opportunity to inspect it before now." Nielson was an old acquaintance, a performer turned theater owner that he'd first met in Austria years before. Henry had helped him get started in running his own theater about a decade ago with some seed money, and the other man provided box seats for free whenever Henry felt the desire to attend the Opera or see a play.

( Introductions )

Many of these venues were largely theatrical affairs. Kingdom's Variety, however, catered to a broader market than most, with ticket prices set at relatively affordable rates. On the upper level, boxes existed for discerning customers to get a good view of the stage. Down below, various tables were set with chairs around them, instead of the rows of bench-like seating reserved for more formal theatres. Over to one side of the hall, a bar was open, allowing customers to get beverages while the entertainment was on show.

This evening's treat was to be a magician, the Great Alfonso, who would be preceded and followed by song and dance routines.

Add alcohol and a pleasant air of merriment, and a good time should be had by all...


[Group Thread: Open to All Characters]

Muted conversation. The quiet rattle of forks on plates. Music from the string quartet that played in a discreet corner. Men and women in their best evening clothes. Irina's gloved hands lifted the cup of tea to her lips for a sip of the dark liquid within the delicate china. She'd been sifting through her invitations, the ones that had been gathering in her hallway since her arrival in London, and picked this one at random. The host was the Earl of Something-or-Other, she'd forgotten the location already, but she'd remember later when she bid the man goodnight. If she'd been in any mood to husband-hunt, this was where sh would have done it.

And even if the evening was a bit dull so far, she was at least getting the opportunity to practice her English, which was improving in fits and starts. And she was more or less in her element regardless, amid the high society of the city. She was currently discussing the latest novel by a famous writer with the Earl's wife, perched on a small couch as she and the other woman conversed. Interesting talk was something she had missed since Pyotr's death. As old as Husband had been, he'd been of the belief that women could be perfectly intelligent creatures given the chance, and although she loved Anna and Sergei neither of them read much or were interested in affairs of the world.

( A New Acquiantance )

It was a rare day that found Henry Armitage still asleep in his bed past eight A.M., but they did occur from time to time and this happened to be one where he'd slept in very late indeed.

The scholar turned inquisitor had arrived at the Whitechapel late the previous evening, and the debriefing on the mission had lasted to a late enough hour that he had gone ahead and slept in the cabin assigned to him rather than make the trek back to his townhouse in the city. He hadn't returned to the land of the living until nearly eleven the next morning, when hunger roused him to wakefulness.

After taking just long enough time to wash with the towel and basin provided in his cabin, Henry dressed and made his way up to the open air dining facility aboard the ship. It was a warm day for London and he'd been able to see the sun shining from the porthole of his cabin, so it seemed perfect weather for dining outside.

Beneath the brim of a hat, Elspeth held up her silverware to the mid-day sun and inspected a spot. The cutlery had been polished to a shine recently, but the last washing cycle had left specks behind. Mildly put off, she set the fork down and put her hands in her lap. It was difficult to overlook such details. In her childhood home, she was coerced into sitting alongside a household cook and helping polish the inherited set of utensils, ostensibly so she'd know how to do so herself, or direct another in the proper way. Thankfully, she was never required to put her hands in the dishwater. The bits of soggy food floating at surface made her stomach lurch.

( Making Do )

( Powerful Spirits )

( Holy Perfume Spritzer? )

( Return to base )