Victorian Nocturne

Even demons from otherworldly realms had upper limits to their patience. While the inhabitants of the house engaged in plenty of speculation on the 'spirit' and its reasons for keeping them trapped, they were rarely correct, especially as time, exhaustion, hunger, and fear wore on them. Indeed, it did seek to provoke reactions from them, but not for amusement's sake. All it wanted were a few simple words to be spoken in the upstairs corridor... And a host body for its incorporeal form, of course. Quite reasonable expectations, these! Or so it thought.

One day became two. Two became three. Hallucinations, disembodied voices, bangs and screetches, spinning religious artifacts, even scratchings on the walls did nothing to evoke the proper response. Perhaps it overlooked the obvious answer. Rather than expecting frightened people to hold one-sided conversations with a spirit, it could cause ordinary interruptions in the environment... Make a person think a fellow occupant was near. After all, it was not necessary for the words to be spoken to the demon itself, merely aloud and within sight of the mirror.

In the end, the solution was simple. It waited for a person to step onto the threadbare rug that stretched from staircase to bedrooms, then it slammed a door behind them, just as a person might do...

( Unlucky Soul )

[Thread: Open to Participating House Plot Characters. Refer to OOC for Instructions:]

( Thoughts on the thouse: )

Occurs several weeks previous to the Demonic Haunting

( The Confrontation )

( The Resolution )

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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By the late 19th century, public balls had fallen out of favor, with most hosted in private residences by London's elite. However, the public assembly hall retained some of its charm, in that the music was lively and attendance required no invitation. For a nominal fee, anyone could enter. That offer became more enchanting when it was a masquerade...

The Royal Oak was a two-story building. It boasted a large floor for dancing and additional rooms for cloaks, hats, and refreshments. The decor was simple, mostly dark wood and dim lighting, which was probably a blessing. A band of musicians perspired over their instruments at the head of the room.

It would've been an ordinary night, had not a mischievous serving girl stolen potions from her mistress and dumped them in two of the many punch bowls. One brew could cultivate love at first sight; The other, hate. After consumption, the effects took only minutes to appear, but lasted for twenty-four hours. It should make for an interesting evening, indeed!

[Group Thread: Open to All Characters]



[Submitted by Moderator]

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]

( Testing a theory: )