Introduction
.
.
It is the 20th September 1882. This is the year that Queen Victoria survived her eighth assassination attempt, the Married Women's Property Act enabled wives to own their own property and earnings for the first time, Egypt became a British protectorate and the great naturalist Charles Darwin sadly died.
Oh, and the undead took over the East End...
The plot
"...confusion as to possible willing participation in the act. Indeed, it was discovered that one 'victim' of the cannibalistic attack had not succumbed and succeeded in vacating Petticoat Lane police station upon rousing from unconsciousness. One police officer, a Constable Higgs, was mildly injured in an altercation during the escape. Attempts are being made to track down the sole survivor who is reported to be suffering from significant wounds to the left arm and neck. She is a woman of approximately twenty-five years of age, fair and wearing a well-tailored dress in burgundy. Members of the public are urged not to approach the lady but to..."
- 'Victim of cannibal attack escapes police custody' 5th September, 1882. The London Informer
It began with a single attack that, in the next few days, was echoed across east London. Mindless killings where the victims were often found dead, partially consumed. Occasionally there was the odd survivor but within days they were driven to an insanity that seemed peculiar to these incidents; they would grow drowsy and seem to slip quietly into a sleep so deep it was a sort of death. When they awoke hours later they were no longer themselves and were consumed with an irresistible lust for flesh. From then onwards, they were impervious to pain, to their own bodies as they rotted away, to people they once called family, friends and lovers.
Eight days later, the army was called in and a state of emergency declared. A huge swathe of east London was barricaded off, the people inside sacrificed to save the rest of the capital. A quarantine, the government called it, to protect the city from a new and deadly disease. But any attempts to quell the tide of rumour, speculation and outright panic were in vain; like its animated counterparts, the word 'UNDEAD' was unstoppable and it was soon printed on the front page of every newspaper in the country.
It took only another three days before the first reports of attacks beyond the barricades. Many of those who had the means started to leave London. It was widely printed that Queen Victorian was already in Balmoral. We join the story here, as the city begins to succumb.
This is the general premise. I heartily encourage all manner of OOC discussion, plotting etc. and I'm very happy for you to discuss character development and minor subplots with each other to keep everyone else unaware of what's coming. Having said that, any major changes or developments to the overarching storyline need to be run past me.
The setting
"...lounging at the doors of the shops, smoking evil-smelling pipes. Women with bare heads and with arms under their aprons are sauntering about in twos and threes, or are seated gossiping on steps leading into passages dark as Erebus. Now round the corner into another still gloomier passage, for there are no shops here to speak of. This is the notorious Wentworth Street. The police used to make a point of going through this only in couples, and possibly may do so still when they go there at all. Just now there are none met with. It is getting on into the night, but gutters, and doorways, and passages, and staircases appear to be teeming with children. See there in that doorway of a house without a glimmer of light about it. It looks to be a baby in long clothes laid on the floor of the passage, and seemingly exhausted with crying. Listen for a moment at this next house. There is a scuffle going on upon the staircase - all in the densest darkness..."
- An Autumn Evening in Whitechapel, Littell's Living Age (1881)
This is Victorian London, the greatest city in the world, but a city of contrasts, where the poorest of the poor may live only a few hundred yards away from aristocracy, where people from every continent come to seek a new life, for better or for worse. It is a place rife with crime and poverty but also of innovation, invention and industry. Where the smoke from factories by the docklands in the east may drift dispersed, past the icons of military strength and grandeur; Trafalgar Square, the Crystal Palace and the Houses of Parliament. And beneath them all, the ever-expanding Underground rumbles as if the very earth itself was intaking breath. Ironically, if nothing else, London could be described as alive. But not, perhaps, for much longer.
A huge amount of expertise of the setting is not needed- I'm not a historian and I'm not expecting you to be either. But everyone can use Wikipedia and Google Maps so try and familiarise yourself with the period and the place. I'm open for discussion about the incorporation of a few mildly steampunk elements but for the most part the technology should be consistent with the mid-1880s. Any questions, please ask!
The undead
"...alveolar dysfunction, though some respiratory effort. Perplexed. Some combination of the usual and direct diffusion in the manner of Annelida (worms)? Might explain propensity for rapid decomposition- estimated lifespan (excuse pun) estimated at six months. Brainstem reflexes intact- grasp, doll's eye etc. (no higher function), unable to communicate- doubtful that cerebral function intact enough to allow this. Acuity subpar but somewhat intact. However, motor function- walking, running, climbing- curiously preserved, though clumsy. Traumatic destruction of brainstem disables subject permanently. Reports (see pg. 25) that contact of bodily fluids with deep subcutaneous flesh necessary for inoculation e.g. via bite, existing injury. Incubation hours to four days maximum. But immunity exists?? Dr. K access to one patient with significant exposure ten days ago..."
- Notebooks of Dr Alfred Winters, Royal College of Physicians.
A little on our zombies-: they are fast but relatively unintelligent, relying on a combination of poor eyesight and hearing to track down their prey. Infection occurs via primarily via bites although contamination of any deep wound with bodily fluids could have the same effect. However, not everyone who is fatally injured at the hands of the undead will be reanimated- most will simply die. A small percentage of the population, around 2%, are also completely immune but it is currently impossible to determine who. The victim, will suffer only from the physical effects from the manner of inoculation for hours to days after which they become drowsy, finally succumbing to death before reanimating minutes later. Zombies can survive for about six months before they decompose completely and can be destroyed only by obliterating the brainstem.
Zombies are NPCs for the most part (unless they are integral to the plot at a certain point in the RP) so I'm happy to give people free reign over their control. I would ask that everyone be realistic (within the confines of the story, at least!); if you're trapped in a building with no way out and fifty zombies surrounding you, you're probably going to die. Don't get too attached to your characters. The odd death spices up an RP, I find. New characters are free to join at any point, as and when the plot allows.
The characters
"Let him who expects one class of society to prosper in the highest degree, while the other is in distress, try whether one side ;of the face can smile while the other is pinched"
-Thomas Fuller, clergyman and author
Characters can come from any strata of Victorian society but this is where I expect you do to a little research. Choose an appearance, level of education and occupation suitable for your character's class and sex. Consider how they would think and talk, what sort of life they have been exposed to, what their knowledge of others and the world around them might be. But it's nothing you can't find out having read the odd contemporary novel or with a spot of internet research. I'll be putting up handy resources in another thread at some point in the future.
Please use the following character sheet. Feel free to include as much or as little as you wish or leave out whole sections if necessary.
Character applications are still open.
The opening
"Departs Farringdon Station at five minutes past the hour precisely, calling at Chancery Lane for Lincoln's Inn, Procter Street, the junction of High Holborn and Drury Lane..."
- A Traveller's Guide to London Transport, Selfton Books, 1879.
At approximately eleven o'clock a member of the undead finds its way onto a horse-drawn omnibus in Holborn, attacking the driver and causing the vehicle to crash into an on-coming carriage, overturning in the middle of Farringdon Road, east-central London. Our characters may be occupants of the omnibus or carriage, onlookers walking down the street nearby or others drawn to the scene. Moments later, a band of around twenty undead will emerge from St John's Gardens, having somehow made it through the barricades a half-mile to the east.
I'll set up the introductory post and we can go from there.
.
It is the 20th September 1882. This is the year that Queen Victoria survived her eighth assassination attempt, the Married Women's Property Act enabled wives to own their own property and earnings for the first time, Egypt became a British protectorate and the great naturalist Charles Darwin sadly died.
Oh, and the undead took over the East End...
The plot
"...confusion as to possible willing participation in the act. Indeed, it was discovered that one 'victim' of the cannibalistic attack had not succumbed and succeeded in vacating Petticoat Lane police station upon rousing from unconsciousness. One police officer, a Constable Higgs, was mildly injured in an altercation during the escape. Attempts are being made to track down the sole survivor who is reported to be suffering from significant wounds to the left arm and neck. She is a woman of approximately twenty-five years of age, fair and wearing a well-tailored dress in burgundy. Members of the public are urged not to approach the lady but to..."
- 'Victim of cannibal attack escapes police custody' 5th September, 1882. The London Informer
It began with a single attack that, in the next few days, was echoed across east London. Mindless killings where the victims were often found dead, partially consumed. Occasionally there was the odd survivor but within days they were driven to an insanity that seemed peculiar to these incidents; they would grow drowsy and seem to slip quietly into a sleep so deep it was a sort of death. When they awoke hours later they were no longer themselves and were consumed with an irresistible lust for flesh. From then onwards, they were impervious to pain, to their own bodies as they rotted away, to people they once called family, friends and lovers.
Eight days later, the army was called in and a state of emergency declared. A huge swathe of east London was barricaded off, the people inside sacrificed to save the rest of the capital. A quarantine, the government called it, to protect the city from a new and deadly disease. But any attempts to quell the tide of rumour, speculation and outright panic were in vain; like its animated counterparts, the word 'UNDEAD' was unstoppable and it was soon printed on the front page of every newspaper in the country.
It took only another three days before the first reports of attacks beyond the barricades. Many of those who had the means started to leave London. It was widely printed that Queen Victorian was already in Balmoral. We join the story here, as the city begins to succumb.
This is the general premise. I heartily encourage all manner of OOC discussion, plotting etc. and I'm very happy for you to discuss character development and minor subplots with each other to keep everyone else unaware of what's coming. Having said that, any major changes or developments to the overarching storyline need to be run past me.
The setting
"...lounging at the doors of the shops, smoking evil-smelling pipes. Women with bare heads and with arms under their aprons are sauntering about in twos and threes, or are seated gossiping on steps leading into passages dark as Erebus. Now round the corner into another still gloomier passage, for there are no shops here to speak of. This is the notorious Wentworth Street. The police used to make a point of going through this only in couples, and possibly may do so still when they go there at all. Just now there are none met with. It is getting on into the night, but gutters, and doorways, and passages, and staircases appear to be teeming with children. See there in that doorway of a house without a glimmer of light about it. It looks to be a baby in long clothes laid on the floor of the passage, and seemingly exhausted with crying. Listen for a moment at this next house. There is a scuffle going on upon the staircase - all in the densest darkness..."
- An Autumn Evening in Whitechapel, Littell's Living Age (1881)
This is Victorian London, the greatest city in the world, but a city of contrasts, where the poorest of the poor may live only a few hundred yards away from aristocracy, where people from every continent come to seek a new life, for better or for worse. It is a place rife with crime and poverty but also of innovation, invention and industry. Where the smoke from factories by the docklands in the east may drift dispersed, past the icons of military strength and grandeur; Trafalgar Square, the Crystal Palace and the Houses of Parliament. And beneath them all, the ever-expanding Underground rumbles as if the very earth itself was intaking breath. Ironically, if nothing else, London could be described as alive. But not, perhaps, for much longer.
A huge amount of expertise of the setting is not needed- I'm not a historian and I'm not expecting you to be either. But everyone can use Wikipedia and Google Maps so try and familiarise yourself with the period and the place. I'm open for discussion about the incorporation of a few mildly steampunk elements but for the most part the technology should be consistent with the mid-1880s. Any questions, please ask!
The undead
"...alveolar dysfunction, though some respiratory effort. Perplexed. Some combination of the usual and direct diffusion in the manner of Annelida (worms)? Might explain propensity for rapid decomposition- estimated lifespan (excuse pun) estimated at six months. Brainstem reflexes intact- grasp, doll's eye etc. (no higher function), unable to communicate- doubtful that cerebral function intact enough to allow this. Acuity subpar but somewhat intact. However, motor function- walking, running, climbing- curiously preserved, though clumsy. Traumatic destruction of brainstem disables subject permanently. Reports (see pg. 25) that contact of bodily fluids with deep subcutaneous flesh necessary for inoculation e.g. via bite, existing injury. Incubation hours to four days maximum. But immunity exists?? Dr. K access to one patient with significant exposure ten days ago..."
- Notebooks of Dr Alfred Winters, Royal College of Physicians.
A little on our zombies-: they are fast but relatively unintelligent, relying on a combination of poor eyesight and hearing to track down their prey. Infection occurs via primarily via bites although contamination of any deep wound with bodily fluids could have the same effect. However, not everyone who is fatally injured at the hands of the undead will be reanimated- most will simply die. A small percentage of the population, around 2%, are also completely immune but it is currently impossible to determine who. The victim, will suffer only from the physical effects from the manner of inoculation for hours to days after which they become drowsy, finally succumbing to death before reanimating minutes later. Zombies can survive for about six months before they decompose completely and can be destroyed only by obliterating the brainstem.
Zombies are NPCs for the most part (unless they are integral to the plot at a certain point in the RP) so I'm happy to give people free reign over their control. I would ask that everyone be realistic (within the confines of the story, at least!); if you're trapped in a building with no way out and fifty zombies surrounding you, you're probably going to die. Don't get too attached to your characters. The odd death spices up an RP, I find. New characters are free to join at any point, as and when the plot allows.
The characters
"Let him who expects one class of society to prosper in the highest degree, while the other is in distress, try whether one side ;of the face can smile while the other is pinched"
-Thomas Fuller, clergyman and author
Characters can come from any strata of Victorian society but this is where I expect you do to a little research. Choose an appearance, level of education and occupation suitable for your character's class and sex. Consider how they would think and talk, what sort of life they have been exposed to, what their knowledge of others and the world around them might be. But it's nothing you can't find out having read the odd contemporary novel or with a spot of internet research. I'll be putting up handy resources in another thread at some point in the future.
Please use the following character sheet. Feel free to include as much or as little as you wish or leave out whole sections if necessary.
Character applications are still open.
- Code: Select all
[center][img]PICTURE URL GOES HERE[/img]
[i]ONE SENTENCE SUMMARY/QUOTE GOES HERE[/i][/center]
[b]Name[/b]
[b]Age[/b]
[b]Occupation[/b]
[b]Appearance[/b]
[b]Personality[/b]
[b]History[/b]
The opening
"Departs Farringdon Station at five minutes past the hour precisely, calling at Chancery Lane for Lincoln's Inn, Procter Street, the junction of High Holborn and Drury Lane..."
- A Traveller's Guide to London Transport, Selfton Books, 1879.
At approximately eleven o'clock a member of the undead finds its way onto a horse-drawn omnibus in Holborn, attacking the driver and causing the vehicle to crash into an on-coming carriage, overturning in the middle of Farringdon Road, east-central London. Our characters may be occupants of the omnibus or carriage, onlookers walking down the street nearby or others drawn to the scene. Moments later, a band of around twenty undead will emerge from St John's Gardens, having somehow made it through the barricades a half-mile to the east.
I'll set up the introductory post and we can go from there.
- 32 posts here • Page 2 of 2 • 1, 2
The Story So Far... Write a Post » as written by 6 authors
Rebecca said nothing at first as the group began to follow her inside. Her mind was too busy trying to understand what was going on and the things she had seen. She felt flushed and ill but there were now guests in her home and she would play the part of hostess before all else.
In the courtyard her father was trying to deal with the arrival of the rag tag group of people. He was flustered and red cheeked with anger.
Jonah was helping the elderly woman as she slowly recovered and tried to disembark. Mr Huntington and his man servant rushed to where Lady Huntington was shakily stepping onto the cobblestones.
“What is the meaning of this?” The Lord and Lady conversed in hush whispers.
Jonah turned to the blonde woman. He offered her his arm and escorted the clearly fragile woman inside. She thanked him and Jonah shook his head. “I could not in good conscious leave a woman out there. It was nothing and I am glad to see you are recovering.”
Rebecca walked the length of the entrance hall. There were plush throw rugs under their feet and a maid came to take Rebecca’s shawl. Rebecca waved a hand to indicate the others. “See to our guests coats as well please.”
The young woman turned and faced the group. Her eyes scanned them all, taking in their appearance fully for the first time.
Rebecca looked over the young woman who questioned her about the walls of the manor. She was not much older than Rebecca though they clearly came from two very different worlds. The woman’s features were somewhat severe. Her hair was pinned up and it would have been quite neat and pretty if they had not just gone through such chaos. Now, a few strands had come loose.
Just down the hall two men were arguing. The older gentleman was well dressed. The younger was quite grey and it was difficult on a first look to tell that he was in fact younger. Rebecca had to look closely at his face to see his true age.
The door was closed as a final pair and her parents entered the house. The pretty blonde was being escorted and watched by the man who had burst into their carriage. He was responsible for these people now being in her parent’s home.
Rebecca’s hands folded in front of her as she stood straight backed. Her eyes went to the first woman. “Yes there are stone walls surrounding the whole manor house. There is the front gate for guests and a small side gate for the servants.”
Rebecca took a deep breath and tried to stifle the bile that was rising in her throat.
“Perhaps we should retire to the parlour and sit.” Her eyes fell on the two arguing men. She was doing her best to stay calm and not panic. Panic was unbecoming in a young lady and in a hostess.
Her father was flustered still, her mother pale and complaining. One maid was joined by another as they stared wide eyed at the group, unsure if they should try and take coats or canes. One maid was eyeing the implements in disgust. Rebecca realized there was blood and other fluids on the canes. Her hand went to her mouth, her stomach lurching momentarily.
“I think it best if we sit. Tea to calm our stomachs and some conversation about what is occurring.”
She turned and walked down the rest of the hall. She entered a room on her right. Rebecca paused just inside the doorway and waited for her guests. The parlour contained plush chairs and settee. Paintings and bookcases lined the walls. She gestured to them to enter and waited patiently.
What she wanted to do was run and hide in her room but she could not leave her parents to handle the group.
Jonah stayed quiet. He watched the pair of men argue, understanding the fear and frustration. He kept his focus on the blonde. With a gesture towards the parlour he waited for her to pass by him. He approached the men.
“We should try and calm down. I don’t know what is going on but we must be strong for the women, we must protect them.”
Jonah moved to the parlour. “I have heard stories but I didn’t imagine that...”
Rebecca shook her head. “I have been away I do not know anything that is going on. Do you know what those things are? I would welcome someone to explain what has been going on if that is possible.”
In the courtyard her father was trying to deal with the arrival of the rag tag group of people. He was flustered and red cheeked with anger.
Jonah was helping the elderly woman as she slowly recovered and tried to disembark. Mr Huntington and his man servant rushed to where Lady Huntington was shakily stepping onto the cobblestones.
“What is the meaning of this?” The Lord and Lady conversed in hush whispers.
Jonah turned to the blonde woman. He offered her his arm and escorted the clearly fragile woman inside. She thanked him and Jonah shook his head. “I could not in good conscious leave a woman out there. It was nothing and I am glad to see you are recovering.”
Rebecca walked the length of the entrance hall. There were plush throw rugs under their feet and a maid came to take Rebecca’s shawl. Rebecca waved a hand to indicate the others. “See to our guests coats as well please.”
The young woman turned and faced the group. Her eyes scanned them all, taking in their appearance fully for the first time.
Rebecca looked over the young woman who questioned her about the walls of the manor. She was not much older than Rebecca though they clearly came from two very different worlds. The woman’s features were somewhat severe. Her hair was pinned up and it would have been quite neat and pretty if they had not just gone through such chaos. Now, a few strands had come loose.
Just down the hall two men were arguing. The older gentleman was well dressed. The younger was quite grey and it was difficult on a first look to tell that he was in fact younger. Rebecca had to look closely at his face to see his true age.
The door was closed as a final pair and her parents entered the house. The pretty blonde was being escorted and watched by the man who had burst into their carriage. He was responsible for these people now being in her parent’s home.
Rebecca’s hands folded in front of her as she stood straight backed. Her eyes went to the first woman. “Yes there are stone walls surrounding the whole manor house. There is the front gate for guests and a small side gate for the servants.”
Rebecca took a deep breath and tried to stifle the bile that was rising in her throat.
“Perhaps we should retire to the parlour and sit.” Her eyes fell on the two arguing men. She was doing her best to stay calm and not panic. Panic was unbecoming in a young lady and in a hostess.
Her father was flustered still, her mother pale and complaining. One maid was joined by another as they stared wide eyed at the group, unsure if they should try and take coats or canes. One maid was eyeing the implements in disgust. Rebecca realized there was blood and other fluids on the canes. Her hand went to her mouth, her stomach lurching momentarily.
“I think it best if we sit. Tea to calm our stomachs and some conversation about what is occurring.”
She turned and walked down the rest of the hall. She entered a room on her right. Rebecca paused just inside the doorway and waited for her guests. The parlour contained plush chairs and settee. Paintings and bookcases lined the walls. She gestured to them to enter and waited patiently.
What she wanted to do was run and hide in her room but she could not leave her parents to handle the group.
Jonah stayed quiet. He watched the pair of men argue, understanding the fear and frustration. He kept his focus on the blonde. With a gesture towards the parlour he waited for her to pass by him. He approached the men.
“We should try and calm down. I don’t know what is going on but we must be strong for the women, we must protect them.”
Jonah moved to the parlour. “I have heard stories but I didn’t imagine that...”
Rebecca shook her head. “I have been away I do not know anything that is going on. Do you know what those things are? I would welcome someone to explain what has been going on if that is possible.”
Anger flared in Sam’s eyes, narrowed to slits as he looked up his long, straight nose at the other man. The fabric of the old man’s collar was scrunched so tightly in either fist that his knuckles were white. The old man’s voice was a threatening whisper, perhaps to contain the episode to the close circle in which the two of them stood, rather than involving the others. Sam had no such considerations.
"Unhand me now!" The whisper became a roar that seemed to penetrate the deep quiet of the manse. Each word was spoken with the clear, educated tone of a man wealthier than he would ever be, but Sam was glad to see that at least the calm facade the well-dressed man had been maintaining was finally shattered. "Now you piece of filth or so help me I will break -"
“Break what?” interrupted Sam angrily, shaking the other man by his lapels.
The brown haired woman had insinuated herself nearby and Sam could see from the corner of his eye as she took in the quickly escalating confrontation. “Perhaps we should retire to the parlour and sit.” Her voice rang like a bell through the foyer, but Sam didn’t turn to look at her. He gave the older man a contemptuous stare and released him, but there was a look in his eyes that spoke volumes. We’re not through here.
He didn’t belong here, Sam thought, hanging back. His stained, calloused hands were shoved deeply into the pockets of his best and only suit, subconsciously hiding his dirty fingernails and the bony joints that had evolved from years of digging graves. Even in his good coat, with his gray hair slicked smartly to the side, he looked like a pauper next to the rest. It would be best to part ways with them as soon as possible, he decided. He looked at the brown haired girl and made a quick assessment. Used to getting her way, he decided, judging from the way she naturally asserted herself within the group. Whatever was going on out there, she and her family would probably think they could buy their way out.
“I’d ‘eard stories about some virus and the people going crazy,” said Sam, leaning against one of the pillars supporting the arched entryway into the room they’d entered. “But those people back there, they didn’t look sick. They looked dead.”
"Unhand me now!" The whisper became a roar that seemed to penetrate the deep quiet of the manse. Each word was spoken with the clear, educated tone of a man wealthier than he would ever be, but Sam was glad to see that at least the calm facade the well-dressed man had been maintaining was finally shattered. "Now you piece of filth or so help me I will break -"
“Break what?” interrupted Sam angrily, shaking the other man by his lapels.
The brown haired woman had insinuated herself nearby and Sam could see from the corner of his eye as she took in the quickly escalating confrontation. “Perhaps we should retire to the parlour and sit.” Her voice rang like a bell through the foyer, but Sam didn’t turn to look at her. He gave the older man a contemptuous stare and released him, but there was a look in his eyes that spoke volumes. We’re not through here.
He didn’t belong here, Sam thought, hanging back. His stained, calloused hands were shoved deeply into the pockets of his best and only suit, subconsciously hiding his dirty fingernails and the bony joints that had evolved from years of digging graves. Even in his good coat, with his gray hair slicked smartly to the side, he looked like a pauper next to the rest. It would be best to part ways with them as soon as possible, he decided. He looked at the brown haired girl and made a quick assessment. Used to getting her way, he decided, judging from the way she naturally asserted herself within the group. Whatever was going on out there, she and her family would probably think they could buy their way out.
“I’d ‘eard stories about some virus and the people going crazy,” said Sam, leaning against one of the pillars supporting the arched entryway into the room they’d entered. “But those people back there, they didn’t look sick. They looked dead.”
"Break what?" the man began pulling on Basil's lapels.
"Perhaps we should retire to the parlour and sit," spoke a women in a clear voice, at that the man let go of Basil and backed away. His eyes bore into Basil - seething with rage before he turned to follow the young lady.
Basil's hands shook slightly as he smoothed his jacket and took a deep breath. His older body could not deal with rage like he used to. Basil followed the rag-tag group into the parlour where he waited briefly for the women to find their seats before sitting himself on a plump armchair just off in the corner. The angry, short man stood on the edges of the room with a mean expression as his eyes passed over the rest of the group. He lingered on a moment at the young women who had spoken earlier and Basil made his own assessment of her - she appeared fine and upstanding but with an alarmingly fierce expression for a young women.
"“I’d ‘eard stories about some virus and the people going crazy," spoke the man in a harsh, ugly accent “But those people back there, they didn’t look sick. They looked dead.”
Silence fell on the group for a moment and Basil tried to think of what to say. He pushes away his first thoughts and tried to find something more reasonable to say; perhaps he should insult the man's obvious lack of education, maybe his dirtiness ... No. Basil had taken an instant dislike to the man but he could never make such idiotic comments to simply hide his fear. No sick - or even living for that matter - man could survive being torn in half. He returned to his invasive thoughts. He could personally see no further explanation. Basil stopped his panicking thoughts as a young servant wandered in holding a silver tray with a beautiful china tea set. The smell of freshly brewed Early Grey was enough to distract Basil's thoughts from the eerie silence that now took over the group.
Basil leant forwards and poured himself some tea in an attempt to calm his stomach. His hand began to shake ferociously but he quickly held it still, hoping no-one would notice and begin pity him for his age. He quickly wiped the splash of tea and took a long drink of the piping hot drink. He cleared is throat and set down the tea cup this time he managed to control his shaking long enough to set it down. He could feel his nerves and stomach begin to calm and the hot drink worked it's way through his body.
"I do belief our little gamin here is correct and," Basil began," The sick we could easily heal but this ..."
He cleared his throat then spoke in a clear voice as though he were dictating:
"Many of them that sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake, some to everlasting life," he pauses, "some to everlasting contempt."
He leant back with a sigh, he closed his eyes and let that sink in mainly for his benefit rather than the other's. This is it. We are facing the end times. The fact he was still here gave Basil a moment to pause, he had spent his life believing he was one of those who God Himself would choose to save. He never thought he would see this. Hell on earth.
In the moment of clarity (to Basil's mind atleast) he saw nothing to look forward to but a quiet death and some tea.
"Perhaps we should retire to the parlour and sit," spoke a women in a clear voice, at that the man let go of Basil and backed away. His eyes bore into Basil - seething with rage before he turned to follow the young lady.
Basil's hands shook slightly as he smoothed his jacket and took a deep breath. His older body could not deal with rage like he used to. Basil followed the rag-tag group into the parlour where he waited briefly for the women to find their seats before sitting himself on a plump armchair just off in the corner. The angry, short man stood on the edges of the room with a mean expression as his eyes passed over the rest of the group. He lingered on a moment at the young women who had spoken earlier and Basil made his own assessment of her - she appeared fine and upstanding but with an alarmingly fierce expression for a young women.
"“I’d ‘eard stories about some virus and the people going crazy," spoke the man in a harsh, ugly accent “But those people back there, they didn’t look sick. They looked dead.”
Silence fell on the group for a moment and Basil tried to think of what to say. He pushes away his first thoughts and tried to find something more reasonable to say; perhaps he should insult the man's obvious lack of education, maybe his dirtiness ... No. Basil had taken an instant dislike to the man but he could never make such idiotic comments to simply hide his fear. No sick - or even living for that matter - man could survive being torn in half. He returned to his invasive thoughts. He could personally see no further explanation. Basil stopped his panicking thoughts as a young servant wandered in holding a silver tray with a beautiful china tea set. The smell of freshly brewed Early Grey was enough to distract Basil's thoughts from the eerie silence that now took over the group.
Basil leant forwards and poured himself some tea in an attempt to calm his stomach. His hand began to shake ferociously but he quickly held it still, hoping no-one would notice and begin pity him for his age. He quickly wiped the splash of tea and took a long drink of the piping hot drink. He cleared is throat and set down the tea cup this time he managed to control his shaking long enough to set it down. He could feel his nerves and stomach begin to calm and the hot drink worked it's way through his body.
"I do belief our little gamin here is correct and," Basil began," The sick we could easily heal but this ..."
He cleared his throat then spoke in a clear voice as though he were dictating:
"Many of them that sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake, some to everlasting life," he pauses, "some to everlasting contempt."
He leant back with a sigh, he closed his eyes and let that sink in mainly for his benefit rather than the other's. This is it. We are facing the end times. The fact he was still here gave Basil a moment to pause, he had spent his life believing he was one of those who God Himself would choose to save. He never thought he would see this. Hell on earth.
In the moment of clarity (to Basil's mind atleast) he saw nothing to look forward to but a quiet death and some tea.
"Just who are you calling a gamin?" Sam hissed. "And that's just fine of you, isn't it? Sitting there- drinking your tea and quoting the bible at us, but I think you know more than you're lettin' on! I know a quack when I see one."
There was sharp accusation in his voice, and his eyes were narrowed with contempt for the man who'd belittled and embarrassed him. "It's your lot that comes into the graveyards at night, digging up the dead so you can... cut them up... destroy their bodies... do experiments on them. Doctors have no respect for the dead! And now the dead are comin' back up from the grave. Well, if I was a betting man, I'd put my money on it being a doctor at fault."
There was sharp accusation in his voice, and his eyes were narrowed with contempt for the man who'd belittled and embarrassed him. "It's your lot that comes into the graveyards at night, digging up the dead so you can... cut them up... destroy their bodies... do experiments on them. Doctors have no respect for the dead! And now the dead are comin' back up from the grave. Well, if I was a betting man, I'd put my money on it being a doctor at fault."
Jonah watched as the others entered and found seats. He moved to a window, glancing out at the neatly kept back garden and sitting area. I need to get home, to check on Miss Liza and Miss Helen. What if those things have gotten to them? His eyes scanned the room, stopping on the women. I can’t leave them though. He was torn.
Rebecca waited until all of her ‘guests’ had entered the parlour. She took a seat on a settee. Her back was straight, hands in her lap. She looked over at the man who was leaning on the pillar in the doorway. Her head nodded slightly. She understood what he was saying and it made sense yet she was having a hard time coming to terms with the idea of dead people who had been in the streets and attacking those they came across.
No one said anything, not another soul uttered a thought about the idea of walking corpses. Rebecca maintained her composure, her face a mask of civility and grace though inside she was a cauldron of fear and panic.
“Thank you Cecile.” Rebecca nodded to the maid as she placed a tray with tea down for all the guests.
Jonah scoffed at first. Tea? This doesn’t seem like the time for tea. As the aroma filled the room however he found himself thinking that a cup might go far to calm the women and perhaps the tempers of some of the men. His eyes moved between the pair who had been arguing.
Rebecca blinked away her surprise as the elder gentlemen openly insulted another of the group. She had assumed they were together considering their climb into her carriage. However, as she sat now and gave them a more thorough look she realized that they were certainly not travelling companions.
Her throat was cleared with a small noise. “So you believe..”
Rebecca was cut off by the leaning man. Her eyes went wide as he accused of the older man of knowing something. She grew pale as he talked of graveyards and experiments. A delicate hand went to her mouth, stifling a rather unladylike noise of horror.
Jonah took three strides towards the main body of the group. “Gentlemen! Please, think of the ladies. There is no need to be so...grotesque. Perhaps we should step outside and discuss this?” He watched the brunette, their unwitting host pale where she sat.
Rebecca regained herself enough to wave Jonah’s suggestion away. “There is no need I assure you. Now please, everyone sit. Perhaps introductions are necessary before we go wildly accusing each other or insulting each other. Neither are needed in a civilized group.”
Just need to settle everyone down. Turn talk from dead things for a moment until we are a bit more level headed.
“Since you have all found yourselves in my family’s carriage I shall go first. I am Miss Rebecca Huntington. It is a pleasure to meet you all despite what seems to be rather vulgar and unpleasant circumstances.”
She offered them all a polite smile. “Can I offer anyone else a cup of tea?”
Jonah bowed slightly to their now named hostess. “A pleasure Miss Huntington. I am Jonah Powell. No one of any importance. Humble dock worker and at the risk of offending the ladies, amateur boxer. I am fortunate to have stumble onto the omnibus’ unfortunate accident and was able to lend aid to the men. Your carriage dear lady happened to be our best chance to get away from the um...afflicted.”
Rebecca’s smile strained a little at the term afflicted. Afflicted with death and yet walking around the streets. A shiver ran through her body.
Rebecca waited until all of her ‘guests’ had entered the parlour. She took a seat on a settee. Her back was straight, hands in her lap. She looked over at the man who was leaning on the pillar in the doorway. Her head nodded slightly. She understood what he was saying and it made sense yet she was having a hard time coming to terms with the idea of dead people who had been in the streets and attacking those they came across.
No one said anything, not another soul uttered a thought about the idea of walking corpses. Rebecca maintained her composure, her face a mask of civility and grace though inside she was a cauldron of fear and panic.
“Thank you Cecile.” Rebecca nodded to the maid as she placed a tray with tea down for all the guests.
Jonah scoffed at first. Tea? This doesn’t seem like the time for tea. As the aroma filled the room however he found himself thinking that a cup might go far to calm the women and perhaps the tempers of some of the men. His eyes moved between the pair who had been arguing.
Rebecca blinked away her surprise as the elder gentlemen openly insulted another of the group. She had assumed they were together considering their climb into her carriage. However, as she sat now and gave them a more thorough look she realized that they were certainly not travelling companions.
Her throat was cleared with a small noise. “So you believe..”
Rebecca was cut off by the leaning man. Her eyes went wide as he accused of the older man of knowing something. She grew pale as he talked of graveyards and experiments. A delicate hand went to her mouth, stifling a rather unladylike noise of horror.
Jonah took three strides towards the main body of the group. “Gentlemen! Please, think of the ladies. There is no need to be so...grotesque. Perhaps we should step outside and discuss this?” He watched the brunette, their unwitting host pale where she sat.
Rebecca regained herself enough to wave Jonah’s suggestion away. “There is no need I assure you. Now please, everyone sit. Perhaps introductions are necessary before we go wildly accusing each other or insulting each other. Neither are needed in a civilized group.”
Just need to settle everyone down. Turn talk from dead things for a moment until we are a bit more level headed.
“Since you have all found yourselves in my family’s carriage I shall go first. I am Miss Rebecca Huntington. It is a pleasure to meet you all despite what seems to be rather vulgar and unpleasant circumstances.”
She offered them all a polite smile. “Can I offer anyone else a cup of tea?”
Jonah bowed slightly to their now named hostess. “A pleasure Miss Huntington. I am Jonah Powell. No one of any importance. Humble dock worker and at the risk of offending the ladies, amateur boxer. I am fortunate to have stumble onto the omnibus’ unfortunate accident and was able to lend aid to the men. Your carriage dear lady happened to be our best chance to get away from the um...afflicted.”
Rebecca’s smile strained a little at the term afflicted. Afflicted with death and yet walking around the streets. A shiver ran through her body.
Upon hearing the man, Jonah, say he was an amateur boxer Basil immediately perked up. As Jonah finished speaking Basil found himself rushing to finish his tea just to speak,
"And I am Basil Howard, " he set down his empty cup,"I was an amateur boxer in my day - if you'd believe it. pleasure to meet you Jonah. And you too, Miss Rebecca."
Basil quickly went to pouring himself another cup of tea and made the conscious effort to ignore the gamin. He scooped in generous amounts of sugar before stirring. He smiled at Jonah before leaning back, he wandered idly if he'd ever seen Jonah box and made a note to ask him, he could owe him for winning or losing a few games. For now their were more pressing matters:
"I am not as our 'friend' suggested involved with the Afflicted roaming our home, I do have to agree with him that they did look very dead," Basil paused for a moment as his thoughts traveled but he quickly snapped out of it, "Do any of you know anything at all about the Afflicted apart from the fact they seem to be cannibals?"
As Basil watched everyone for a reply he quickly realized that thought may have been best left to himself.
"And I am Basil Howard, " he set down his empty cup,"I was an amateur boxer in my day - if you'd believe it. pleasure to meet you Jonah. And you too, Miss Rebecca."
Basil quickly went to pouring himself another cup of tea and made the conscious effort to ignore the gamin. He scooped in generous amounts of sugar before stirring. He smiled at Jonah before leaning back, he wandered idly if he'd ever seen Jonah box and made a note to ask him, he could owe him for winning or losing a few games. For now their were more pressing matters:
"I am not as our 'friend' suggested involved with the Afflicted roaming our home, I do have to agree with him that they did look very dead," Basil paused for a moment as his thoughts traveled but he quickly snapped out of it, "Do any of you know anything at all about the Afflicted apart from the fact they seem to be cannibals?"
As Basil watched everyone for a reply he quickly realized that thought may have been best left to himself.
Jonah gave Basil a friendly nod. Under different circumstances the men might have engaged in a few stories about their respective matches or various opponents. Right at this moment however it did not seem appropriate.
“Nice to meet you Mr Howard.” Jonah felt ill at ease with the pleasantries.
We need to figure out a plan. Figure out what is going on and what we are going to do. This isn’t tea time.
His hand ran through his hair and he turned to look at the other man. “Do any of you know what is going on exactly or is it all speculation and accusations?” Jonah looked back at Basil. “Do you have any actual knowledge of what was going on? Because anything that could help us make a plan would be helpful.”
Jonah crossed his arms, he looked to the men knowing that they would have to lead the women to safety. “And I do not think talk of..” He cleared his throat. “Cannibals is a subject to discuss in present company.”
Rebecca smiled politely. She watched the men converse. While she understood her place in society this was still her house and they were all guests despite the circumstances she found this whole thing frustrating.
Basil Howard, as the man introduced himself did not seem to know anything more than the rest despite the other man’s accusation that doctor’s were behind it. She stared at the lean man for a moment. He seemed to know things.
“May I suggest that perhaps we sit, relax and enjoy some tea? Dinner shall be along presently.”
Rebecca stood and crossed the room. “We seem to be dealing with something beyond our comprehension. I will speak to my father. He is sure to know more than any of us. He was called to the city to deal with something. I would hazard a guess that they are connected.”
She rang a bell. A maid appeared promptly. “Dinner and room set for our guests please. Also could you ask my father to join us for a few moments?”
The maid gave her a small curtsey and left the room.
Rebecca smiled and looked at the rest. “See all shall be sorted soon. Would anyone like to wash up or take a stroll on the grounds before dinner. I assure you it is quite safe.”
The days excitement and morbid talk was fading from her memory as she focused on her duties as hostess.
Jonah frowned. “Yes a stroll. Gentlemen should we stepped outside?” He looked to Basil and the man who had yet to introduce himself.
“Nice to meet you Mr Howard.” Jonah felt ill at ease with the pleasantries.
We need to figure out a plan. Figure out what is going on and what we are going to do. This isn’t tea time.
His hand ran through his hair and he turned to look at the other man. “Do any of you know what is going on exactly or is it all speculation and accusations?” Jonah looked back at Basil. “Do you have any actual knowledge of what was going on? Because anything that could help us make a plan would be helpful.”
Jonah crossed his arms, he looked to the men knowing that they would have to lead the women to safety. “And I do not think talk of..” He cleared his throat. “Cannibals is a subject to discuss in present company.”
Rebecca smiled politely. She watched the men converse. While she understood her place in society this was still her house and they were all guests despite the circumstances she found this whole thing frustrating.
Basil Howard, as the man introduced himself did not seem to know anything more than the rest despite the other man’s accusation that doctor’s were behind it. She stared at the lean man for a moment. He seemed to know things.
“May I suggest that perhaps we sit, relax and enjoy some tea? Dinner shall be along presently.”
Rebecca stood and crossed the room. “We seem to be dealing with something beyond our comprehension. I will speak to my father. He is sure to know more than any of us. He was called to the city to deal with something. I would hazard a guess that they are connected.”
She rang a bell. A maid appeared promptly. “Dinner and room set for our guests please. Also could you ask my father to join us for a few moments?”
The maid gave her a small curtsey and left the room.
Rebecca smiled and looked at the rest. “See all shall be sorted soon. Would anyone like to wash up or take a stroll on the grounds before dinner. I assure you it is quite safe.”
The days excitement and morbid talk was fading from her memory as she focused on her duties as hostess.
Jonah frowned. “Yes a stroll. Gentlemen should we stepped outside?” He looked to Basil and the man who had yet to introduce himself.
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Jonah Powell
Dock worker, boxer
Sam Hoxworth
The jolly gravedigger
Maurice Barrington
A devoted young gunsmith, whom constantly seeks the impossible ...
Rebecca Huntington
High society woman
Isabella Turnio
Sir, dinner is served.
Basil Granger
Proud, blunt and old.
Elizabeth Milton
A brilliant emotionally-incontinent suffragette with a penchant for the headshot
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Elizabeth Milton
A brilliant emotionally-incontinent suffragette with a penchant for the headshot
Jonah Powell
Dock worker, boxer
Basil Granger
Proud, blunt and old.
Isabella Turnio
Sir, dinner is served.
Maurice Barrington
A devoted young gunsmith, whom constantly seeks the impossible ...
Sam Hoxworth
The jolly gravedigger
Rebecca Huntington
High society woman
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Sam Hoxworth
The jolly gravedigger
Maurice Barrington
A devoted young gunsmith, whom constantly seeks the impossible ...
Rebecca Huntington
High society woman
Jonah Powell
Dock worker, boxer
Isabella Turnio
Sir, dinner is served.
Basil Granger
Proud, blunt and old.
Elizabeth Milton
A brilliant emotionally-incontinent suffragette with a penchant for the headshot
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The Necropolis
1, 2, 3, 4, 5by NorthernSoul on Tue Feb 19, 2013 8:51 am
- 80 Replies
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- Last post by SkullsandSlippers
on Thu Jun 06, 2013 1:28 pm
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The Necropolis
Most recent OOC posts in The Necropolis
Re: The Necropolis
Have we lost Monroe as well? I've been waiting for them to post something with Sam?
Re: The Necropolis
Alright I finally posted. That was tough and I struggled to put something together as I did not have much to go on.
Anyway there it is.
Anyway there it is.
Re: The Necropolis
I will work on a post today.
Northern is caught up in finals and will be back in a week or so when they are done and things have settled down again.
Northern is caught up in finals and will be back in a week or so when they are done and things have settled down again.
Re: The Necropolis
I was just thinking as I am struggling to move the story along much in my post other than Basil introducing himself, would a small hoard trapping them inside/breaking into the house move this along? I wouldn't write it now but just a suggestion, I will post a short paragraph of Basil introducing himself.
Re: The Necropolis
Yes it is moving slowly but I'd just like to apologise as I don't get too much of a chance to sit down to write. I'm still up for it though, I can try and post tonight. I've not had a chance till now.
Re: The Necropolis
I hate to do this to everyone, but this pace is too slow for me. I'm going to formally withdraw from this game. However, if there are people who still wish to continue, I will stay along long enough for my character to be killed off by zombies.
Re: The Necropolis
I don't see why not :) servants would be NPC's and good hosts would have them coming out
Re: The Necropolis
Just quickly - can I assume their is tea and biscuits etc. out on the table already or mention someone bringing it out?
Re: The Necropolis
I will be posting tonight, I was waiting for others! Just need to proof-read and edit my next post.
Re: The Necropolis
Me too. I was waiting as Northern said they were posting. I imagine things got busy. I shall work on a post. Assuming we aren't the only two still posting.
Re: The Necropolis
*cough*
Anyone? It's been almost two weeks since anyone's posted anything. I'm still on board with this game if anyone else is and wants to focus on a smaller group and work on the dynamics of a small-party plot.
Anyone? It's been almost two weeks since anyone's posted anything. I'm still on board with this game if anyone else is and wants to focus on a smaller group and work on the dynamics of a small-party plot.
Re: The Necropolis
I'll try to get in a post. I've been down with gastric problems all week, so I'll try to get myself off the couch and get something out this weekend.
Ugh, commute on weekends is going to be a pain.
Ugh, commute on weekends is going to be a pain.
Re: The Necropolis
>_< Bless your heart. I'm glad we've got people like you who are willing to do that kind of work. I couldn't do it! I'll stick to prisons, methinks.
Re: The Necropolis
I'm going to post tomorrow- I have the morning off from A&E so will definitely get a post in then...
Re: The Necropolis
So I was waiting to see if anyone else was going to post. If no one does by the weekend I will post.