Dark Worlds

Fiction detailing the ongoing events on the Homeline and numerous parallel Worldlines.

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Dark Worlds

Post by arcanus » Wed Oct 26, 2011 10:46 pm

Smoking Mirror - 2011
Divergence Point: Date unknown, a Dark reflection of a Homeline Echo.
Theorised to be a sub-realm attached to a main Worldline, a sub-realm permeated with dark supernatural energies and creatures.
“For now we see through a glass darkly, but then face to face; now I know in part, but then shall I know even as also I am known.”

The hospital room had drab grey painted walls, covered in a layer of grime, the low autumn sun kept at a respectful distance by utilitarian starched white drapes,
bird droppings littered the window sill. All in all a very depressing place.

He looked over at the frail form laying in artificial peace brought about by powerful sedatives and a ventilator, he’d often sit here for an hour at a time, deep in thought.
The likelihood was that she’d never regain consciousness, the Doctor had said this would be a kindness, for whom he thought.

His visits brought a hollow sort of feeling, but also perspective, in reality visiting The Smoking Mirror was something that both fascinated and repulsed him.
Of all the places he’d visited, there was nothing more unnerving that looking upon a dark reflection of your own world and your own life.

Standing Vincent stood squeezing her hand, he stopped short of placing a kiss upon her forehead that would cross a line, a step too far, he stopped at the door and
looked back at the bed.
He’d considered the wisdom of visiting many, many times, the wisdom of coming to see this Worldlines version of his wife,
but it always came down to the same thing, she had nobody else.

Stepping beyond the door he took a deep breath and thanked the fates for his own wife, a woman healthy and well at home, wiping the tears from his face
he drew his cloak around him and left.

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Dark Worlds

Post by arcanus » Thu Nov 03, 2011 2:58 pm

Smoking Mirror - 2011
“If you don't know where you are going, any road will get you there.”
Lewis Carroll

He entered the dark streets, within the Smoking Mirror its Shadows longer and twilight almost perpetual, amidst the hustle and bustle of early evening he sensed the predators awakening.
Still not able to venture out in plain sight for the last of the days sun, but soon, he’d often thought that they could sense him as something different from the normal cattle.

However Vincent was under no illusions, for to them he was still an odd specimen of cattle, with that his pace quickened.
He could feel it coming on, like a migraine sufferer sensing their aura, imagery started to flow across the surrounding buildings walls, mixtures of Aramaic, latin and gangster graffiti in headache inducing psychedelic colours, the edges of his vision hazing.

He arrived at the steps to the museum, it was always took him by surprise to see the doors boarded up, watching the setting sun he loosened the planks, pushed the smaller staff door open and quickly closed it once in.

Despite their being no lights, the stairway hall was as bright as day, Roman calligraphy crawled up the walls, relaxing a little he trudged up the stairs, along the upstairs hall and into his alternate study.
This room was somewhat more dilapidated than the one back home, ramshackle but it served its purpose, stepping into his warding circle. The visions started to flow, a coloured man singing, a man walking down a corridor, or rather he could only see the mans legs, a fresco of old maybe ancient hieroglyphs, fish, a great shoal of silver fish, some kind of Londonesque city from a writers wildest imagination.

Vincent had never needed drugs, his vision spells brought the same intensity and euphoria as a Laudanum trip, as the room span, a thread of clarity shot into his head.
“Ouch” he grunted, the man in the corridor, he recognised it, it was a corridor in this building, panic would have gripped him had it not been for the room swimming again.

Stars swam before is eyes, looking down, his skin was inscribed with the chaos graffiti, the colours bleeding into each other, ‘Here we go’ his jumbled thoughts arranged themselves ‘Going’, ‘Too’, ‘be roughhhhhhhh’

The predator stepped into the doorway, the office door slowly swinging open, it snarled its seemingly human face a rickus of bestial expression as the ward burned it, its red tinged eyes widening as the curious meat faded into half light and then vanished.

The strange light that had illuminated the corridors vanished and searing pain wracked its form, finally the predator stumbled onto the sidewalk almost ablaze, howling in pain and outraged surprise.

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Dark Worlds

Post by arcanus » Fri Nov 04, 2011 4:56 pm

Smoking Mirror - 2011
Divergence Point: Date unknown, a Dark reflection of a Homeline Echo.
Theorised to be a sub-realm attached to a main Worldline, a sub-realm permeated with dark supernatural energies and creatures
Portland, Maine, Fall.
Heavy rain blew in across the City of Portland from the Gulf of Maine, the variety of rain to quickly infiltrate clothing and make a person uncomfortable for the entire duration of drying out.
A powerfully built figure stood upon the top of one of Portlands downtown towers, clad in an archaic almost centurion like tunic and armour, the rain appeared to boil from his form, burned away by rage and anger.

Below the night was illuminated by the hurried flashing lights of a convoy of police cruisers, responding to the latest gruesome murder to grip the city, the Media pundits were having a verbal feeding frenzy on the wave of gang violence sweeping New England, New York State and Illinois.

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Dark Worlds

Post by arcanus » Mon Nov 07, 2011 10:33 pm

Smoking Mirror - 2011, Portland, Maine.
One shaft of light that shows the way,
No mortal man can win this day,
It's a mind of magic,
The bell that rings inside your mind,
It's a challenging the doors of time,
It's a kind of magic,
The waiting seems eternity,
The day will dawn of sanity,
It's a kind of magic,
There can be only one,

Queen – A Kind of Magic

Vagrants and even gang members fled Drummond Corner in Portlands East End.
The fight had erupted in a broken down quarter, surrounded by torn ring fencing, spilled its psychic aggression across the area.
A dark figure sped from the shadows its movement immensely faster than any human,
its quarry countered its charge by spinning and finishing with a downward swing of his oriental broadsword.
The blow severed the creatures head from its shoulders and immediately provoked an explosion of white hot ash, another swing threw a second creature into the garbage of the alley.

Lars Wolfvenhiem turned to regard the larger nightstalker that lumbered from the shadows, the true opponent, he countered the remaining humanoid sized stalker, slicing up through her midriff, enchanted Persian steel flashing gold in the twilight.
He grinned at the eight foot tall monster, watching its greyish skin twist and run like macabre play dough, fangs extending to inhuman length, contorting its once human face, its eyes now dull and lifeless those of a shark.
Practiced hunters knew better than to underestimate a large stalker, their size certainly did not inhibit their speed and this one was no exception, blurring at Lars.
He met the charge with a sideward movement and a swipe, however the beasts flesh seemed to contort sliding around the blade and suffering little in the way of meaningful damage.
Instead it delivered a backhand blow that send Lars reeling, sensing a weakness the creature twisted and was upon the hunter. Lars allowed himself to tumble backwards, bringing his feet beneath the monster and throwing it over his head, scrambling to his feet.

If he’d had time Lars would have mentally admonished himself to his lack of reflex, however he didn’t, the beast literally reappeared in front of him as he regained his stance, four inch talons tearing down through his armoured vest and inflicting burning 18 inch wounds across his torso.
Lars stumbled back, wincing with the pain, the stalker grinned hungrily and moved in.
Lars was in that place of shock and bewilderment, as he watched his fate approach, he hissed a prayer, as a flash of orange acrid fire erupted from the stalkers back.

The beast turned, the flare burning into its back, it staggered as a salvo of tri-bore shotgun shells tore into it, upon the roof of a neighbouring building a second figure released a further volley, before hopping onto a dumpster.
The beast turned from Lars and ambled painfully towards its new greater foe, the figure didn’t follow Lars tactics instead blowing the stalkers legs off below its knees.
Allowing the shotgun to fall onto its sling, the figure unclipped an ornate tube, flicking it and releasing a gleaming silver net, enshrouding the stalker which promptly began writhing in agony.
Drawing his own silver scimitar the figure stepped up to the fallen stalker and removed its head. Without ceremony the figure stepped up to Lars and painfully stuck a hypo-injector into his neck and emptying the chamber.
Lars grimaced as alchemetic fluids burned through his system.

Lars looked up at his rescuer, a look of distain upon his face.
“Norri” he said flatly “I didn’t know you were in Portland?” he grunted in his thick Norwegian accent, as he did so he uncapped his own flask and rubbed a golden paste into his chest wounds.
Samuel Norri merely smirked, “You’ll need to Dawn Burn those, too deep!” he commented nonchalantly
Lars didn’t respond, frowning at the other hunter, both turned to regard the appearance of further figures entering the waste ground.

Priscus Stafford regarded the two Sabbatorians, he glared at Lars for allowing the stalker to gain the upper hand, Norri due to his status as an outcast within the order.
The Pricus allowed his stern gaze to pass across the several dozen Wisp Shades eagerly feeding upon the negative psychic energy of the place, extending his grace several of the closest silently dissipated.

Followed by his guards the Pricus stepped up to the two Hunters, expectantly he looked at Lars, “Your grace, I beg your forgiveness”, Stafford nodded.
He looked toward ‘Norri’ who merely smirked, “Respect is due when you address the pricus, abominance!” barked one of the Praetorians guarded the Pricus.
“Fuck you” Norri squared up, meeting the guards withering gaze
Several of the Praetorians started forwards, but a raised hand from the Pricus stopped them
“What is it you fucks call me, a necessary evil” with that Norri flipped the group the bird and strode off.

Some hours later Norri welcomed the suns rays, sat upon the spired roof of St. Lukes Cathedral, across the blocks he heard Lars’s roar of pain as he exposed his infected wounds to the Dawnlight!
‘Shouldn’t be so fucking careless’ thought Norri uncharitably

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Dark Worlds

Post by arcanus » Sat Nov 26, 2011 6:35 pm

Smoking Mirror - 2011
“Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle; be our defence against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray.
And do thou, O prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God thrust into hell Satan and all evil spirits who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls.
Lord in Heaven Protect this house. Amen”
-The Prayer to the Arch Angel Michael

“Extraordinary” breathed the visitor, Father Myceon smiled and took in the vista.
“And you say that nothing of Darkness can enter” he continued
“Yes, it is nothing short of a miracle” responded the priest finally
“It’s about time”
“Have faith Paul, have faith” the priest patted his friend on the shoulder

Despite the old museums power having been cut years ago, the scripture covering the walls glowed with a faint luminance, a pastiche of the written word
from prehistoric languages to graffiti. The broken grey paintwork and plaster, had turned a burnt yellow given the impression of antiquity, it was a marvel.

Both men stood within the yellow lit staircase heading up to the offices above, looking across the amazing fusion, all of which fitted together in a wonderfully chaotic order.
“What caused it” asked Paul Carter, breaking the silence
“I don’t rightly know” replied Father Gordon Myceon, the destitute tell me a curious man occasionally visited, he must have been a magician of some description.
Paul turned and regarded his companion “Magic, you” he exclaimed
“Well how would you explain this” the Priest replied
“I would have thought a miracle would be more palatable” he watched as the man of the Church gently moved past him and proceeded up the stairs
“In these times I’m happy to take what ever help we can get!”
Carter smiled at his brother in arms and followed him upstairs, to further explore the new unexpected place of sanctuary.

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Dark Worlds

Post by arcanus » Sun Sep 09, 2012 9:25 pm

Stamford, Near Grantham, Lincolnshire, England - 1961
A kind of magic,
One dream, one soul, one prize, one goal.
One golden glance of what should be.(It's a kind of
One flash of light that shows the way,
No mortal man can win this day. (It's a kind of magic)
The bell that rings inside your mind,
It's challenging the doors of time. (It's a kind of
The waiting seems eternity, yeah,
Queen – A Kind of Magic

The woodland was of a dark twisted variety, gnarled trees barely a decade old, a damp musty smell pervaded everything.
The original RAF warders of the base had prudently cleared the surrounding area of foliage to prevent its former residents from having any cover should they escape.
It seemed their MOD successors weren’t so concerned or arrogantly sat in their own veils of secrecy, the thick lightless interior of the woods was disturbed by shimmering flickers of light.

Each appeared like a cluster of suspended droplets of water, rippling as they moved in total there were six clusters each converging upon the clearing that lay between the chain link perimeter fence of the former Stamford POW camp and the woods.

The droplets faded away, revealing eight black clad figures, all of which had melted into the shadows.
For a good twenty minutes the figures watched the camp, observing the scant movement of guards and curiously geese.

Two of the figures stealthily moved over to a third, the face of each painted black.
The first figure who had remained in position was a native of this World, US Army Sergeant Major Steve Riggs, within the shadows of thicker foliage and the trees he was joined by Rory Flemming and the somewhat mysterious figure of Mr Frost.

“Your thoughts Sergeant Major?” whispered Flemming
“Very few guards and Geese and chickens!” he said derisively
“The Romans used Geese rather than Guard Dogs!” replied Flemming, who turned to Frost
“From what I’ve observed of your Country Mr Flemming, trust nothing living” observed Frost quietly, Flemming grimaced
“In that case gentlemen proceed with caution” he said
Frost turned and nodded into the darkness, another black figure broke cover sprinted to the fence and in a single bound vaulted over it.

Minutes passed before the figure returned and began to cut the fence, this was a quick affair the figure using some form of miniature circular saw, however curiously it made very little sound.
The figures broke cover and rapidly moved through the gap and into the camp, Riggs gestured figures breaking left and right, each carrying a silenced Uzi distinctly technologically ahead of the MODs weaponry.

Frost immediately sensed danger, gesturing to Riggs the pair broke to the left side of the camp, moving around the first building they came across two downed guards and one of their own down, a flock of chickens mobbing him.
Riggs backtracked firing orders via hand gestures, signalling toward the main building, Flemming and the men advanced then stopped as guards emerged from the building itself.

Frost opened fire spraying the fowl upon the ground, having returned Riggs charged into the remaining birds and starting hacking with his bayonet.
As the Sergeant Major finished the final birds, he found the man to be alive but severely slashed, Frost took a moment to examine the birds, despite being female birds he noted that they all bore leg spurs akin to that of cockerel.
“Nasty World” he muttered quietly, looking up he spotted that the Sergeant Major had moved the fallen man back to the fence.

The four guards were cut down rapidly by silent automatic fire, Flemming turned to see one of his men slammed to the ground by an enormous dog like creature, training kicked in a silenced Walther PPK in both hands he put half a dozen rounds into its head.
Unperturbed the beast lunged at another man, tearing into his leg, eventually combined fire brought it down.
Flemming looked into the beasts first victims eyes, horror etched across his dead face his throat a red mass, unmoved he made for the open door to the main building.

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Dark Worlds

Post by arcanus » Sat Sep 22, 2012 10:28 pm

Smoking Mirror - 2011
Divergence Point: Date unknown, a Dark reflection of a Homeline Echo.
Theorised to be a sub-realm attached to a main Worldline, a sub-realm permeated with dark supernatural energies and creatures.
“PATER noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra.
Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo.

The Lord’s Prayer in the Language of the Most Holy See.

Downtown Portland, Maine
The rooftop garden overlooked Monument Square from an elevation of 16 stories, the weather was icy with the pea gravel crunching underfoot.
Sitting upon an elegant garden seat was a woman of almost predatory beauty, the kind of beauty that captivated a male Prey Mantis shortly before losing his head.
Her escorts snarled and withdrew to the ledges of the roof, guttural inhuman snarls, the source of their impotent aggression a black clad man, his attire actually a combination of a cassock and antiquated cloak.
Antiquation tailored by Giorgio Armani, as he strode across the roof space the plants themselves seemed to perk up and bend in his direction, his very presence seeming to banish the night itself.
The woman sighed and grimaced in slight discomfort, but did not move, she did however snarl subvocally at her minions.

He stopped at a distance sufficiently close to cause discomfort but no great harm.
“Camille” he stated his accent carrying a hint of Italian, leaving her title of Lady
“Stafford” she replied mirthfully and then waited demurely
The Priest frowned, “What brings his eminence to the ceiling” she chided
“Be cautious temptress, wrath can easily be manifest”
“Says the mortal who foolishly ventures into the dark alone” hissed one of the shadowy bat like figures from the shadows
Stafford smiled his hard eyes remaining on Camille, her eyes hardened, the priests hand raised a beam of faint light shone from his outstretched palm and the bat figure dissolved into ash

Camille rolled her eyes in a bored way “Have you finished Priscus, some of us have things to do?” from behind her the remaining bat things hissed, “SILENCE” she snarled at them, suddenly her eyes shone and her teeth had sprouted into fangs
“So difficult to get the staff these days” Priscus Stafford smiled one eyebrow raised
Camille her face having returned to human, returned a hard look but remained silent
“Would you walk with me Lady Camille?” he asked a little more reasonably
She seemed to consider this then nodded, the bat things dropped away from the rooftop, seemingly dismissed

“Courage or stupidity” she asked as they strolled along the roof terrace and onto lower levels, to a section containing a pool
“I beg your pardon!” he responded after awhile
“Coming here alone”
He scoffed “I have no fear for your kind” he responded
“Your power is a rarity, very few of you possess the light” she purred
He stopped by the pool turning to look at her “Your monsters become more numerous within the city boundaries”
“I’m sure you’ll waste little time in destroying them” she replied
“I was under the impression that your council was dedicated to their destruction”
“They threaten our existence and our Veil” she replied
“Then we may be able to assist each other” said the priest
Camille frowned, the Order was the Wrath of God, committed to the destruction of anything beyond the natural order, anything not of gods grace, she noticed the Priscus had diminished his Grace.

“Go on” she responded after some thought
“A Federal Para-unit is arriving in the City, I am in the position of directing their attention!”
“And your suggesting that this attention is cast upon the Striloi”
“Yes, you need them culled and I want the vermin away from the flock!”
“There’s more to this than you wanting some beasts put down, what do you really want Priscus!”
He smiled “We need access to Diamond Island, you have the influence to make this happen!”
Her features grey hard “The Island is governed by a Truce, a Pact”
“Yes between Monsters, however we’re people and men of God to boot, however I’d prefer to visit unmolested without having to wade through gore!”
“What concern do you have with the Island?”
“Is that any of your concern” he replied
“Very well, before the event there was a small Chapel upon the Island, it dates back to the Civil War and contains records that if there are of value”
Looking beyond the pool and out to the still busy city below, Camille considered this, she then turned and started to walk away “I’ll let you know Priscus”
As she did so she felt the tingle of his Grace slip across her back “Thank you Lady Camille”

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Dark Worlds

Post by arcanus » Mon Oct 15, 2012 11:59 am

Stamford, Near Grantham, Lincolnshire, England - 1961
Doctor Clive Turner scrambled to access the files on the BBC Computer in the systems room, although it had been silent the facility had been compromised and procedure was to burn everything.
The gall of the situation compromised on their native soil, still there was nothing to say that it wasn’t another faction from the Ministry.

“Come on come on” he hissed at the green screens slow progression from one screen towards its destination, he thought he heard something behind him “Come on come on!”
Pain tore through his lower back, searing hot blinding pain, he stumbled his hand reaching for his injured back by reflex, his fingers revealing warm blood.
The next silenced shot caught him between the eyes, Flemming didn’t wait for the body to fall he spun and fired both his silenced Walther pistols into the darkness, a slight smirk of satisfaction crossed his face as a figure staggered out before sinking to his knees.

The gaunt man raised his head through an enormous effort of will, his dying eyes widening slightly as he took in his executioner “Flemming” he rasped, “You bastard!”
“And you were all so merciful” he replied coldly before putting a bullet through the mans face.
Flemming looked at his watch almost completion time, he had to find the rest of the team and with that he disappeared into the shadows.

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Post by arcanus » Mon Oct 15, 2012 9:04 pm

Stamford, Near Grantham, Lincolnshire, England - 1961
The containment area was made up of a long row of sturdy iron bars, separated by individual concrete walls, this jail like setup ran one hundred feet along the left wall.
The room was then divided into two by a series of raised technological dais, surmounting each a large rectangular tank containing a creature.
The right side of the room filled with laboratory tables and huge 1960s computers.

The inhabitants of both of the tanks and cages now dead, the acrid almond tang of cyanide gas still lingered in the room despite the air vents drawing the deadly stuff away.
Frost looked down at the corpse of Sergeant Major Riggs and took in the fallen figure of one of the US Soldiers, neither had succumbed to the gas, rather precision bullet wounds to their heads.
It was fairly safe to assume that the entire company had met the same fate, he smiled as the assailant tried to enter unnoticed.

“Agent Flemming” he said without turning round
For some reason the agents usual instinct to have shot by now had been delayed, Frost smiled.
Flemming fought the confusion within his mind, bringing his PPK to bear, he barely took in the blurred movement from his right, until his wrist was savagely yanked the wrong way resulting in an eye watering crack.
Before Flemming could counterattack two darts stabbed into his ribs, followed by a body wide jolt that left him shaking violently on the ground as he did so his attacker removed his other pistol.

“Very professional Flemming, I take it that all of the staff and your own soldiers are dealt with?” asked Frost pleasantly, “Very tidy” he added as if discussing the weather
“Who the hell are you!” Flemming snarled, through the froth in his mouth
Frost frowned “I thought we’d cleared that up, Department 13”
“No suuuch thing” he gibbered in reply
“Oh there is” the other man said with infuriating pleasantness “However we’re very secretive and definitely not local” Frosts attention however was drawn to noises from one of the cages.
Drawing his own pistol he slowly made his way toward the source of the sounds, Flemming was starting to get his body under control, his attention took in the other man in the Unit who had arrived with Frost, the freak who’d cleared the wire fence in a single jump.

As the man’s attention wandered over too Frosts cautious approach, he shakily drew a pen, steadying himself he aimed the nib at the man, trying to stop his thumb from uncontrollably twitching in order to depress the clip.
“Watch him” said Frost without looking round
The man glanced back, Flemmings eyes widened as the man pressed the trigger of the curious gun like contraption, a clicking noise accompanied a further burst of searing pain, locking his muscles and sending the pen flying.

Frost peered around into the cage, he flinched as a guttural mix of a growl and a mew challenged him, in the shadows of the filthy cage he could barely make out the form of a boy.
No ordinary boy, a mix of cat and boy, perfectly blended unlike the dead monstrosities in the other cages, impotently the cat-boy hissed and clawed the air, although Frost had little doubt that its claws would leave a mark.

Satisfied that the creature was secured by its chains, although puzzled that it had somehow survived when everything had been killed by the cyanide, he turned back to their would be assassin.
The latest bout of convulsions had subsided, Frost checked his watch time was ticking.
He crouched at a safe distance, Flemming struggling to see Frosts eyes beneath his sunglasses, it occurred to the agent that he’d never seen Frost without them on.

“Agent Flemming your former masters will soon descend to reclaim their territory and punish transgressors with extreme prejudice, so to business, I have no intention of killing you, however if you persist in trying to kill us then I’ll put you down like the murderous dog you are!”
“What do you want” Flemming mumbled
“I have what I came for” he replied
The penny dropped “You wiped the computers!” Flemming spat
Frost smiled “Destroyed them would be a more accurate description”
Flemming visible snarled, but pain seemed to overcome him, the Dept 13 man stood taking the taser from his companion, who disappeared out of the menageries doors.
Frosts face had become once again stoic, as Flemming recovered he sent another burst of current into him, while the CIA agent writhed around the floor he disengaged the weapon and vanished out of the door.

Flemmings world remained one of pain and disorientation for several long minutes before he was able to roll on his side and vomit, having purged himself he slowly pulled himself up onto his knees and then eventually his feet.
He didn’t have long British Intelligence would be here imminently and his mission was a failure, that bastard Frost had ensured that.
He staggered across the chamber, heading for the north door, before he made it a low growl caught his ear, he shuffled to the cage every nerve ending in his legs riddled with pins and needles.
The cat-boy hissed at him, drawing several darts he put two into the creature who snarled its annoyance, it took a further five before it began to grow sluggish and finally collapsed.
He hurriedly broke the chains open, hoisted the creature up and ran from the complex, once ensconced within the twisted woods he saw the approach of a cavalcade of black vehicles.

His attention was drawn to a flash of light from deeper in the woods, his limbs were responsive enough for him to ignore the residual pain, although his broken wrist was considerably harder to shut out.
He moved to the tree line, peering through he saw a circle made up of wire, fluorescent lights and curious devices, the air was heavy with ozone, a deep thrumming noise pervaded the clearing and bright light pulsed from the machines.
From within the light he could just make out two forms, which faded away, moments passed before the wires retracted pulling the devices into a large unit at the centre which had been hidden by the light, the device itself flickered and then vanished.

Flemming snapped his attention back from the surreal, binding his captive creature and then the pair disappeared into the night, as the MOD helicopters began to scour the surrounding land.

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Dark Worlds

Post by arcanus » Sun Mar 10, 2013 9:58 am

Parallel Minus 2XB5
Stuart Street, Bay Village – Boston 2011

For a welcome change bright sunlight shone though the big sitting room bay window, bringing a more cheerful spin on the day.
It was set to be a good day, a day off and excitement for their forthcoming visitors, Rod Easterman looked around the room with its pastel off white walls, mock colonial landscapes, rosewood furniture and bookcases and smiled.

As yet another car trundled to a stop outside, Debbie Easterman leap out of her seat and went to the 2nd story window, fourth time lucky as she literally hopped on the spot and clapped her hands.
“Their here” she said with delight
He smiled and grinned, twenty years of marriage and it still made him chuckle when she got excited “Really” he joked.
The buzzer chimed and after the obligatory mock who’s there she buzzed them in, opening the main door to the apartment as she did.

As the door opened he felt another shudder and a slight rush of blood to his head, he looked around ‘I’ll get to the bottom of it’ he mentally promised and switched his attention to the small figure appearing at the top of the outside landing stairs.
“GRANPA” shouted the small figure with delight, having stood he now knelt and embraced his granddaughter, “Hi Suzie” he said warmly kissing her on the crown of her head.

His youngest daughter Kate appeared in the doorway and hugged mum with one hand, while holding their youngest grandchild baby Charlie in his carrier, Debbie immediately starting cooing and relieved her daughter of the baby.
Last but not least followed son in law Dan, squeezing Susie’s shoulder he stepped across gave his daughter a hug and shook Dan’s hand, Debbie had by now relieved them of their coats and was already taking drinks orders all the while still cooing over Charlie.

Rod for his part winked at his children and grandchildren, he was glad that his assignment this round was to a peaceful open Parallel.
Obtaining Trans-world visitor permits for his family had been surprisingly straight forward, especially considering his employers almost acute paranoia about ‘The Secret’, so far they thought this a safe World, that said Katie and family had only been authorised for a two day visit.

As they settled in the sitting room he shuddered again, grimaced to himself and smiled at Katie
“You’re looking really well dad”
“Thanks sweetheart, yeah it’s not a bad gig, airs clean and a nice neighborhood” he nodded
“It’s lovely around here” his daughter replied
Rod winked at Suzie who was eagerly trying to show him a game on her tablet, “Yeah, hardly any traffic and really quiet at night, your mom sleeps like a log” he replied looking at the game
“Wow that’s great honey, aren't you a lucky girl” he said looking at the device, he tried to score some points on the game but sent the character the wrong way “Aw grandpa your rubbish”
Rod rolled his eyebrows at her “Old folks huh!”
“How’s the new role Dan?” he asked without taking his eyes off Suzie's frantic playing of the game
“It’s going real well Mr Easterman, can definitely feel myself getting somewhere now”
“Good stuff” Rod replied smiling at the pair of young adults
Debbie appeared with a tray of coffee and soft drinks, “So dad” said Katie conspiratorially
“Are you allowed to tell us about your assignments?”
He smiled in response, especially at Debbie’s tutting, conversation was turning to work talk already, however Katie had always been fascinated with her parents cross-world adventures
“Yeah sure, I know you two think your folks are secret agents but it’s quite boring really “
“Dad you get sent to other Worlds, take cover identities and have secret missions” replied Katie drily
“Yeah that cover ID is a psychologist and strangely enough I’m a psychologist, your moms the one with the secret ID” he winked
Debbie rolled her eyebrows at him “Don’t listen to him honey”

After lunch the family ventured out, visiting Boston Public Gardens and the harbor before dining at The Cape Cod Restaurant on the bay, it was late evening before Suzie and Charlie were fast asleep tucked up in bed.
Curtains drawn the adults sat nursing a cup of hot chocolate “Dad” said Katie “Is this World safe?”
“Sure honey, why do ask?” Rod replied
“Dan and I read that there’s lots of crime here, murders” she said looking worried
Debbie smiled maternally “Hon theirs danger everywhere, Homelines no safer”
Her daughter however didn't look convinced, “Katie there’s nothing to worry about, they've put us up in a real nice neighborhood , I get to look at communal psychology, while your mum researches visions”
“Visions” said Dan a little too quickly
It was a father in laws prerogative to chafe his son in law and Rod’s eyes twinkled “Yeah you know Dan ghosts and The Virgin Mary”
“Dad” chided Katie
“Sorry Dan” he lent forward “This Worldline has a strange kind of general depression, every bodies a bit down, could be an evolutionary trait, chemical imbalance or deficiency, which does seem to lead to higher levels of domestic and street violence.
The other slightly hinky thing is that people seem to see lots of visions or hallucinations, your mom thinks this is further evidence of an chemical problem, however it could be something else!”
“Plus we get to work together” chirped Debbie
“They never used to be allowed” added Katie for Dan’s benefit, who just nodded in understanding

Kat seemed to relax and Debbie seized upon the opportunity to turn the conversation to Katie, Dan and the kids.
Rod relaxed content to listen to how their lives were developing, the one thing his 25 years of working for Infinity hadn't taken away was the amazement he felt at seeing his children’s lives take their own path.

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Dark Worlds

Post by arcanus » Sun Mar 10, 2013 3:05 pm

Somewhere in Time
The silty sand and Cheval de fries defenses blurred, serpentine trails of yellowy light stretched out towards him.
He allowed himself to fall, a thousand images bombarded his psyche before he regained his sight.
The sky of course was grey, the usual malaise prevalent, he trotted up the wide stone steps, unlocked the heavy wooden door and entered.

The mansion was build in the style and fashion of some great Grecian or medieval keep, yellow sandstone walls, mock antiquated woodwork and Mediterranean tile floors.
He had met its owner Gordan Tremaine at a number of museum functions, a slightly annoying man of considerable business acumen, but relatively harmless.
On the other side of the mirror Tremaine started, looked up from his armchair and amusingly shouted that any ghosts were trespassing and to keep the noise down, he was trying to read.
Vincent smiled actually he quite liked Tremaine, there seemed to be a sense of humor, perhaps it was the businessman’s solitary nature, four wives later it seemed that he preferred his own company.

He waited until Tremaine had settled back into his book and reached across, as far as he knew only he could reach between, crossing the mirror and interacting with the world of color.
In this case ignoring the sparks that flared over his arm he lifted the decanter of brandy and brought it across, an action he repeated to obtain a glass.
It was good expensive stuff warming as it tickled down, he breathed out, centering himself and banishing the script appearing at the edges of his vision, recently he’d learned some techniques that allowed him to delay their onset.
That crazy elf had proved useful for something, his strange songs had provided some helpful inspiration.

Pouring himself another, he then tensed and pushed the decanter back across the mirror, he winced as the glass chinked noisily on its silver tray, he quickly withdrew his hand the mirror closing back into a grey hazy wall.
Tremaine had risen from his chair, cautiously he approached the drinks cabinet and then looked suspiciously at the brandy “Damn ghosts” he muttered, however Vincent was one of the few who could hear across the mirror.
Standing next to each other Tremaine was in reality a world away, he appeared as a grey smudge bearing the vague characteristics of a person, inhabitants of the dark Smoking Mirror would only see him as such and very rarely be able to affect him.
In most situations the inhabitants of each world saw each other as ghostly blurs, like something from a Edvard Munch painting, only rare individuals had the gift to look through.

From the corner of his eye he saw the grey smudge paintings begin to run, as if the very paint and image contained were flowing into the room, coalescing into a figure.
“You have returned!” it said
“How observant” Vincent replied caustically
“How was your journey” it continued, Vincent noted that the shadowy furniture of this side had started to animate and wander around, which was quite normal
“Many stops, the visions constant” he replied wearily “What of here?” he added
“The walls have been thick, the prowlers howl their frustration, attacks upon the shades have been many, the pale ones have had to hide themselves very well, it has been bad”

Vincent nodded, he hated this place but yet was drawn to it, and for that he hated it, not a day passed where he try to abandon his visits, yet stupid loyalty drew him back.
His respite was travelling to the other worlds at least he could escape the perpetually misery of The Smoking Mirror, the weight of which he felt even on the other side.
He knocked back the second glass and shuddered with the welcome warmth.
“Grandmother wishes to see you”
“The Atwell creature?” he responded warily
“The same” the white shade replied
He silently cursed how had the creature leaned of him, as if hearing his thoughts the shade answered “The museum mirror” it stated
Vincent looked puzzled “What of it”
“You will need to see for yourself” it replied, Vincent moved his leg to avoid the shambling motion of an ambulatory footstool.

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Dark Worlds

Post by arcanus » Wed Apr 03, 2013 10:30 pm

Parallel Minus 2XB5
Stuart Street, Bay Village – Boston 2011

At 2.15am in the morning and due to its lack of traffic the Bay Village was peacefully quiet.
Despite nearing his sixtieth year Rod didn't normally wake in the night, however on this occasion he did, attended to a call of nature and noticed that the spare room where Suzie and Charlie were asleep was ajar.

He smiled and peered into the room, his eyes adjusting to the gloom and he frowned in puzzlement, laid upon the rug was his son in law Dan, ‘strange’ he thought ‘perhaps one of the kids couldn't sleep and he’d fallen asleep settling them.
Rod slivered again, he looked up from Dan towards Suzie’s bed and blinked, stood over her was a smudge, a distortion.
It was like being submerged deep underwater and trying to see something or someone in the dark murky water, as he concentrated he began to make out the blurred incomplete form of perhaps a man.

He flung the door open and switched on the light, less adrenaline might have prompted caution but Rod wasn't sure what he was looking at, in response the blur turned, a distorted mouth seemed to silently shout or roar in anger.
Dan was motionless, the kids didn't stir, Rod grabbed a heavy reference book from the nearby bookcase, charged towards the apparition and swung.

Rod had half expected the book to pass through thin air, a figment of his tired imagination.
Instead the book met with a slight resistance, the same as if pushing your hand through water, again a silent roar, a blur of a distorted arm lashing out at him and then it was gone.

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Dark Worlds

Post by arcanus » Wed Jun 05, 2013 1:23 pm

Homeline - 2027
117A Pulver Avenue, Flint, Michigan State.

Plaster work had fallen away from the wooden wall struts, patches of dampness, grease and animal urine the sources of decay, the tenement like hundreds of others a dilapidated zone of neglect. 117A was also the latest to become a murder scene, although in Flint Michigan unfortunately that wasn't a rare accolade, Officer Hart showed his badge to the cop on the door and slowly entered.

The smell of Vaseline succeeded in overpowering the scent of filth, beneath the petroleum the sickly sweet tang of dead meat, steeling himself he scanned the stairway extending up the wall to the left of the passage, the crime scene officers in the kitchen at the end of the hall, the careful unseen movement in the room to his right.

Satisfied he’d got his bearings and centered himself Hart moved up the stairs to the second floor, the sickly sweet smell grew stronger and despite his years of training he could feel a queasiness in his stomach. Reaching the top of the stairs he stepped through the incident taped door and into the crime scene.

Adena Porter stood at the end of the bed, hers was a willowy frame, thin due to poor diet and a constant lack of quality sleep, her curly black hair kept in a unruly but short bob to avoid unnecessary preening.
Looking down upon the cadaver she shivered uncontrollably, FBI Agent William Nason watched her reaction with interest while the CSI officers carefully made their way around the bare room trying their best to avoid disturbing her.

The brutalization was horrific the hands and feet both hacked off, the cadavers torso sliced open and the skin almost peeled open up to the underside of her chin.
Adena shuddered again her eyes not leaving the body, Nason nodded to Hart before turning back to her.
“Such confusion” she stammered, “He’s lost, someway between rage and apologizing”
“This just happened came upon him, no build up just one day the thought came to him”
Nason frowned but refrained from commenting
“This isn’t right, not multiple personalities, a change but not complete, decency hidden beneath the surface, the arrangement of the body, cleaned, fresh sheets among the filth”
It was Hart’s turn to frown, Nason pressed “Why does he kill?”
Her skin was clammy now, sweat beading across her brow “Rage, inner darkness, he needs, wants to show them, show them the darkness” she blinked uncontrollably before continuing “He’s trying to purge it from himself, get it all out” she croaked

Porter composed herself and moved to the back of the room, Nason exhaled and gestured to the CSI to step in before turning to Officer Hart – “You’re the ICop right?”
Hart nodded “Not sure why I’m here though” he replied
“Lewis drive Miss Porter home would you!” another agent dressed in an FBI jacket nodded and followed the nervous woman as she left the room, taking one final look at the body Nason stepped out of the room before turning to Hart.

The ICop looked expectantly at the Fed, Nason cleared his throat “Your aware that Homeland Security run satellite sweeps for Parachronic energy signatures”
“Yeah complete waste of time considering the interference and how many corporate conveyors there are”
“Well HLS passed us some data, an unusual act of cooperation, a Parachronic energy reading in this area at about the time of the killing”
“So your thinking this is a traveler” replied Hart
“Officer Hart I’m not sure what to think, but Porters last reading made less sense than normal”
“She’s borderline behavioral psychosis you know” replied Hart
“Yeah, she runs a fine line, but her empathy is the only thing we've got on our guy so far, which is why I’m guessing your office send you, seeing as you have expertise in behavioral science”
“Not sure how long I can give you Agent? I’m due offworld in 48 hours”
“Nason and I hope to god we catch this one before 48 hours is up, I need you to determine whether this guy is offworld or the satellite sweep is unrelated”
“I’ll need to talk to Miss Porter will she be okay with that” Hart noted
“We can do that in my office tomorrow, she needs to feel safe when meeting people”
Hart frowned in puzzlement “Yet she visits murder scenes”
Nason shook the ICops hand “Yeah, she’s fine with dead people it’s the living that freak her out, see you tomorrow, sleep well” said the agent as he made his way down the stairs
“Fat chance of that” Hart muttered to himself

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Dark Worlds

Post by arcanus » Sat Feb 23, 2019 1:45 pm

Gotha 7
Waltham Forest – The County of Middlesex 1512

Clouds of moist breath snorted from the horses, the sun cast a pale shuttered light fleetingly through the trees, the damp forest emitted no sound just unnerving silence.

Not a bird sang, the great hounds strained restlessly against their muzzles and leash, six armoured figures sat waiting, in the middle of the pack sat the King who bridled with impatience, but his huntsman was the best in the Counties.

Clad in drab slate grey attire the hawkish Elias Cole watched and listened, as silently as the grave (which was apt) he readied his longbow, drew a bead and fired into the shadowy foliage.
The silence was immediately broken as a snarling figure burst from the treeline, stumbling with the arrow shaft firmly impaling its chest it broke into an alarmingly quick sprint towards Cole.

Its features were contorted, any resemblance to the man it had once been gone, its eyes watery, face heavily lined, skin and teeth caked with carrion and filth.
Cole winced as the first Matchlock roared, Compton’s shot flying wild however Thomas Boleyns shot finding its mark exploding through the gaunts jaw and emptying its brainpan.

Sirs Brandon, Carew and Guildford released a volley into the woods stirring the nest as the gaunt mob broke cover, some charging the party whilst others fled.
“YAAAARRR” roared Henry Tudor digging his feet he spurred Governatore into a terrifying charge, at 18 hands Henry’s favoured Great Horse thundered into the slowest gaunts, The King grunted in satisfaction as he impaled two of the beasts on his lance before drawing his mace.

His Lords were now engaged with the braver gaunts as he pursued the escapees, his Knights having waited until blood had been drawn thundered after him, cutting a swathe through the scattering pack. The King raced into the throng swinging his mace alternately from left to right whilst Governatore cantered in a circle preventing the beasts from grappling or dismounting his master.

Minutes of guttural growling and the crunching of bones ended the bloodlust as over a dozen gaunts lay slain, Cole made his way from corpse to corpse ensuring each’s head was severed, once done his retainers dragged the remains to a clearing where they assembled a pyre.

The problem with the gaunts was if you didn’t destroy them utterly, they rose again as reeks.

Cole rose, turned towards heavy hooves trotting toward him and promptly bowed, Henry VIII's ornate Italian plate armour was covered in splattered gore, raising his faceplate hard eyes surveyed the scene and fixed on Cole.
Removing his gauntlet Henry Tudor pulled the cloth mask from his nose and mouth “A good hunt Master Cole!”, the huntsman merely nodded as the king trotted on, this attention turning to mirthfully admonishing Compton on his poor aim.

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