The world beyond Darkness

Welcome to the Hauntings
** GMs Update **

The Hauntings Inn

August 13, 1892

Our companions attended a small gala to meet a few of the patrons, and one of the heads of another lodge. However, on their way back to the lodge they encounter an old gypsy woman…and a Hyde!

(A message found on the Hyde)

Hyde and Seek
DK Graypartridge

I have a feeling being a members of The Rippers is going to be a very good thing for me. Tonight I attended a dinner party and could actually explain the odd mumbled conversations I had to those that expressed curiosity. It was refreshing, even though and even among this group of believers, there was doubt and even horror in their eyes. It was nice to be able to pat my grandfather’s hand as it rested on my shoulder and not be afraid of being committed. Thankfully I’m a clever girl and can listen to my mentors and skewed my explanation to sound as if it was only Pop Pop who followed me around. I hate it when I am treated like a parlor trick… “is Aunt Mabel with you? How is she liking the afterlife?” I shudder to think.

It really was after the party that I realized I was with the right people. A small group of us newbies were walking back to The Hauntings (where I am now staying… although Pop Pop does not approve). It was a short walk across the parklands between, a pleasant enough night but fog was rolling in, my company of new friends was pleasant if a little quiet. There is another woman but she is short of words. Quick to action and very decisive, but I fear we will not wile away any hours over some stitching, tea and light conversation. But I natter. Out of the fog came two figures, one large and male supporting a smaller, older female. A gypsy woman it turns out who offered to tell our fortunes. Gypsies and Tinkers are two folk you never act unkindly to, so I paid her some coin and let her tell me things I already knew. But she didn’t. She told me to beware the man with two fathers… as I was puzzling over this, a man ran out of the dark and knocked her over. He continued on into the darkness along with the man who was walking with her, her son as it turns out. While I helped the old gypsy woman the others jumped into action and went after the miscreant. She bid me go, go help her son, but again to beware the man with two fathers. I ran after, catching up to them all as the fighting broke out. Adrianna had pulled out a pistol, while the American chap, Dirk was attempting fisticuffs with the man… or creature… it was hard to say. It all happened so fast, and it was dark and there was fog… but the thing. I cannot really call it anything else, was huge, grotesque, insanely fierce and strong… but then it shrunk back to man size and did very man like things such as pull out a revolver and attempt to shoot us all. He succeeded with me. One of his bullets tore through my shoulder. I have never felt anything that hurt so much. Even Pop Pop was silent with fear. But. Addrianna’s cool head and Dirk’s bravery prevailed. The thing was downed and dead before I knew it and we hid him in the bushes to keep casual passersby from finding him before we could send others from Rippers who would know what to do with the thing. They gypsy woman’s son was a lost cause, dead and growing cold there was nothing we could do for him. His spirit hadn’t even lingered.

Back at The Hauntings others were dispatched to deal with the body of what they termed as a Hyde. My shoulder has been treated and I rest now with a tot of brandy to steady my nerves. It will take a little processing to get my head around this. You’d think it would be easy for someone who knows that spirits live on and inhabit the world around us. But a man with true ripper tech serums to change their physical form really walking around intending us harm and not just part of some story meant to keep children in line? That requires a little more work

** Dirks Update **

Curt, this is my interlude.Man in unit always talking to his imaginary girl like she was with him. We knew he had lost his farm cause there was always something off with everything he did. He was always going on about how beautiful she was and how she always new what he was thinking. We later learned it was his horse back home. For some reason I’m feeling very at home with this group.

Black Shuck?
** GM Update **

Aug 13, 1892

The party of Rippers, with another new member, head to Hopton-on-Sea, where there has been a report that a farmer killed Black Shuck. Normally this would be put down as a wild dog, but another has supposedly appeared. They travel to the small seaside village, and while eating supper, there is a horrible ominous howl, resulting a fight with a huge armored black dog!

** Adriana **

My husbands past was very interesting. He spent a lot of time away from home and I am only just now
beginning to understand why. I spend most of my down time while riding in the carriage going though his letters discovering new and interesting creatures and beings that he has faced and killed and in the end was killed by. Now I can see the importance of my training. Why he insisted that I keep it up and put so much into it. These are the things that have taken everything from me. My family, my life anything and everything that has ever been important to me. I must help those out there that cannot help themselves or don’t know how to protect themselves. Most people cannot imagine the things just outside there door. They ignore it or anything they can do to not think about it. But I have to. I must kill them all.

Since I am so caught up in the letters I don’t realize that I am walking and reading at the same time. I trip over something and fall down. When I try to get up, I find that my left ankle has taken most of the weight and hurts a lot. I’m now limping and in great pain but I continue on reading because I can’t pull myself out of it. I have to learn anything and everything form my husbands past.

The Waterstop Tinker
DK Graypartridge

Somewhere, in the depths of Norfolk we stopped to tank up on water. The sign read Lakenheath, which seemed apropos yet I saw no lake nor any heath, but it was a heavy day, wet and gray and warm. Too still to stay in the car without the movement of the air streaming past us I disembarked and strolled along the platform. It wasn’t much of a platform but anything was better than staying in that hot, muggy car shoulder to shoulder with the wall and the gentleman sat next to me. I’d strolled the length up and back several times when I turned for what became my final lap to behold a tinker hunkered down beneath the eaves of the station office. Ragged in his layers of cast off finery, moisture dripping off the brim of his wide felt hat he flashed me the most beautiful smile and wished me the most delightful and polite good day. Before I could respond in kind he continued with his greetings to the gentleman behind me. I had not been aware that one of the other passengers had been strolling along behind me so I turned to see who it might be, only to discover that no one was there. It was then that the tinker responded to the greeting the gentleman in question had replied and I realized the “gentleman” the tinker had been speaking to was my dear, departed grandfather. My companion in childhood, my confidant, tutor and nanny up until the day that his physical body gave out and died. My constant companion still in spirit watching, teaching, entertaining and causing me no end of trouble. I often and frequently forget that Pop Pop is dead and that no one but me can see or hear him. Most people tend to steer clear of me the instant they see me mumbling or laughing at a conversation they cannot hear. Most people are very intolerant and very blind.

But I natter. This tinker could see Pop Pop, and while they had a lovely conversation about the genteel things men speak about I took the opportunity to look at the trinkets laid out on his tiny Turkish rug. Many of the brooches, embroidered ribbons and beaded hair pins had voices attached to them. Voices I knew no one else could hear, so instead of picking each up to examine them like any other curious shopper might do, I focused on each and listened to the spirit attached to them. There was one, a cameo pin with a beautiful and unique profile who’s voice was loudest of all, a voice that seemed to slide over all the others, silencing them with ease until the tinker casually reached out and placed his hand firmly on top of it, palm down, as if he were placing his had over the mouth of a loud, rude child. I took my hint and moved my attention elsewhere, a shiver running down my spine at the thought of the malevolence I had felt for that brief moment the cameo had my attention. In the end I settled on a lovely hat pin with a dainty beaded rose on the end. The voice of the pin was quiet and sad and in desperate need of a friend. The tinker winked and smiled at me, beaming his quiet approval of my choice. I paid him three times what it was worth remembering my Pop Pop’s advice for dealing with true tinkers… what is given unto them is returned three fold…

The pin is now a gay spot of color on my dove grey hat. The voice of Rosalind is still sad, but no longer full of longing and lost hope. The best friends are the ones gained through acts of kindness.

The Terrible Tribulations of Travel

Dirk Johnson

I’ve never been one to travel but this voyage has been especially taxing. I don’t seem to feel so exhausted when I’m the one driving. Maybe it’s just my inexperience in being transported like cargo. Either way, there’s no replacement for riding on the plains. I’ve even been known to nod off for a spell while in the saddle. All that in mind, this carriage seems fancy enough but I wasn’t able to catch single wink. Don’t know if it was the constant bounce, the awkward silence, or just nerves but I think I lived this ride 4 times over. Maybe I’ll get a good nights rest tomorrow. It’s been a long time since I’ve been this restless. I just hope this isn’t as ominous as the last time. The Cherokee attack wasn’t necessarily well planned or executed. Finding the scalped remains of Corporal Hanson the next day on the other hand was more effective than anyone would admit. Though it was my first week on post, it set a resolve in me that I’d never be taken alive.

** GM Update **

August 14, 1892

Our rippers have spent the night at the Turnstone, a carriage house in a common room. Today, they have begun investigations of the appearance of these unusual Black Hounds. They go to meet the Widow Jones, and go to speak to the new brother at St Margret’s.

She see’s dead people. Really that’s what she said. So how is it that she can be around me and not say she see’s anyone? I’m sure I have a long line of people behind me. Jake, mom, dad and Tommy if you are there be nice. D.K seems like a good person even if we just met. She stopped to help the old gypsy lady and was caring to the widow. Don’t force her away by doing something stupid, just be yourselves. Maybe someday once I know her better I will ask her if anyone is behind me. But not right now. This other guy we are with, I just don’t know about him yet. After watching the Hyde, or whatever that strange thing was, blow by us and kill a man he goes at it with his fist. Really is that all you got? But then again I might be the only one out there that never feels safe and always has all my weapons on me at all times. Even when I sleep they are right next to me. You can never be to safe. I was glad to see him actually pull a weapon, or two, out when we fought the hound. I was beginning to think I was the only one with any fighting experience. But at least Dirk was nice and gave me the Hyde’s gun. So far we all seem to get along pretty well. We each seem to bring our own talents and abilities to the group. Hopefully no one will mind the fact that I don’t talk much. They will find that I speak my mind when I need to. For right now my contribution to the group will just have to be my gun. I’ll let my abilities speak for themselves. Luckily D.K. seems to be able to take care of the talking for us. Which is better then all three of us coming at people to get information. I feel so bad for all the people in this town. They have seen so much devastation in the past few months. Hopefully we will be able to figure out who or what is behind all of this and let this town go back to normal.
Dark little village by the sea
DK Graypartridge

Something evil runs deep in this village.

Our arrival was late, the trip on the whole, uneventful. However. The Black Shuck didn’t wait long to make an appearance… more appropriately I believe I should say A Black Shuck… We weren’t halfway through our most welcome hot dinner than a horrible howling commenced outside and Adrianna jumped up and ran to the door. A large, snarling black dog was outside the door and he appeared to want in very badly. It took far too many bullets to put it down. I captured its image in glass, its aura not of the natural kind, but there was nothing else to indicate just what it might be.

In the morning conversations and questions lead us to the church and its new parson and alter boy. Never a more odd pair have I seen. The boy’s reputation is reprehensible, yet he put on a truly wounded and woe-is-me aire. The pastor isn’t even ordained yet and a more radical revelations-end-of-world believer I have never met. I cannot help but believe that these two are directly involved or responsible. The Black Shuck showed up around the time of the new parson, who just happened to be preaching devil hounds and brimstone fire.

But. We still have no real lead as to who, what or why. Retiring to the inn we rest now until dark. We must needs find these evil black dogs and who controls them.

The others rest, but I feel impotent. I have nothing but my camera. No tools, no gadgets, not even a place where I might fabricate something… even if I knew what sort of gadget would be helpful. I have spent time in meditation and opened myself to the spirits of the area. There are hundreds. They all clamor for attention, but not one of them can agree on where the root of the problem lies. Even Pop Pop shrugs his shoulders and can’t pick out a thread from the cacophony.

What I need is something to to divine the trail. No. What I need is something to focus my energies… a hat… no… a lantern… something that will change color when the aires and vapours change… Ah but for a workshop.

But never mind. I should rest now, like my new friends. My new friends who seem refreshingly free of tagalongs. Perhaps those who are drawn to this business don’t collect tagalongs… too pragmatic perhaps?

Quiet mind. Quiet. Sleep is what is needed.


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