Author Topic: The Barker Street Irregulars side stories  (Read 6856 times)

Stella Gaslight

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The Barker Street Irregulars side stories
« on: June 17, 2015, 09:48:37 am »
Since I am working on how Celia met Toby I thought I would put this up to encourage me to finish it.  This is where any side stories should end up.
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walking stick

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Re: The Barker Street Irregulars side stories
« Reply #1 on: June 17, 2015, 11:27:21 am »
I'm working on Beety's backstory, hope to have something readable soon.


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Re: The Barker Street Irregulars side stories
« Reply #2 on: June 17, 2015, 04:07:03 pm »
The End -First of the Diaries of James Purcell.
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Ranger Reid

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Re: The Barker Street Irregulars side stories
« Reply #3 on: June 17, 2015, 04:18:29 pm »
Thanks, I will make an origin short,  my novel is about 70% finished.  Have a company offered to do a proof and edit, and possibly publish it for me............. We will see.

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Re: The Barker Street Irregulars side stories
« Reply #4 on: June 17, 2015, 05:30:36 pm »
Same here
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Re: The Barker Street Irregulars side stories
« Reply #5 on: June 24, 2015, 11:26:41 pm »
This is the opening few chapters of my book  WildWood Ranger.    It is about 70% finished.

A cold breeze sliced down the side of the mountain like an icy blade.  Three men huddled closer around the campfire, drinking in the radiant heat.

They were a rough looking lot.  Cowboys weren't known for their fine clothing or fancy ways.  These men had been out for a while, so whatever airs they might put on for the women in town were completely hidden beneath the dirt, sweat, and resolve it took to ride herd in the Colorado outback.

Except for the crackle of the fire and the soft rattle of the wind in the pines, there was no sound.  Their nerves were already on edge, and the smothering silence pressed in on the men from all sides.

In the distance was a mournful howl.   “You hear that?” Ask Tom, the youngest.  “Now tell me again that you think that's a 'yote!”
One thin and haggard looking cowboy tilted his hat back, and answered “Calm down boy.  It is what it is.   Far away from us.”
“Easy for you to say Ike.”  replied young Tom,  “You are about to get married and start staying at the ranch.   Whatever that is will likely haunt me all summer.  Even iffin it don't, I still hain't gonna rest at all tonight.”

The line boss, Robert, finally spoke “Then that means you can take the watch all night, and we can both turn in.  If you change your mind, get one of us up.”

Chuckling at their cleverness, the two older men rolled out their bedding and climbed in.  As things in the camp settled down, there was another howl, this time noticably closer.

As Tom sat with his back to the fire, staring out into the black night, a voice pierced the void.  “Hey Camp!  Can I come in and share your fire?”
Like a flash, all three men were on their feet, weapons drawn, scanning the darkness.
Ole Robert took the lead “Come close enough to be seen and keep your hands in front and empty.”

On silent feet, a tall slim man slowly walked in from the East.  In the flickering firelight, they could see a western hat, a duster cloak, and boots.  But as to the man's features, there were too many shadows, and the light just seemed to draw away from the man's face.  As he stood there, the light glanced across something metal on the man's back.  It might have been a slamblaster, or a heat-rod, but it seemed too thin to be a conventional weapon.
The boss spoke, “Friend, you can come in a little closer, but move slow and deliberate till we see what manner of man you are.  What's your name?”

“Reid!  I am a WildWoods Ranger.”  The man slowly came a little closer.  A flare of light finally revealed Reid's face to be that of a person who had seen adventure.  Hard cut features, leathery skin, and a small scar above his left eye all spoke of a life of risks and hard times.  This is a man who would never be considered “handsome” or pretty, but he had the look of a person who could walk into a hurricane and come back unscathed.

Robert continued to be the only one of the group who spoke, though now the other two had started scanning the darkness watching for more intruders, and paying a little less direct attention to Reid.  “A gov'ment Ranger you might be, but you ain't on no federal reserve right now.  You're on a private ranch, and I wasn't told to expect no ranger.” said the man.

Instead of answering right away, Reid simply stood there staring at the three men.  As the silence stretched into the night, it became clear that he didn't intend to explain himself any further.

“I mean, we didn't even know there was a ranger in the area.” continued Robert.  “And, don't you guys mostly bust trail and stuff?  Whatchu you a doing away out here?”

Again there was a long pause, but finally Reid answered “Trackin.  Somethin been killin down in the valley, and Oscar asked me to find it.  It left his ranch and came up here.”

Tom blurted “I bet it was that thing we heard howling!”   “Hush boy.” Said the line boss. “Well, I shoulda figured Ole Oscar to go running to the gov'ment at the first sign of trouble.  You got gear Ranger?”

“Gear and a little coffee.” came the answer.

“Coffee!”  Robert's voice suddenly held more warmth and cheer.   “Well, I guess you might be alright.  Come on in to the warmth.”  At this the men parted to allow the fourth man entry to their circle around the glowing campfire.

The ranger did bring his gear in, unrolled his blanket, and offered a small sack of coffee to Robert.  As the coffee pot bubbled and the scent filled the air, Rob decided to dig a little deeper into this business of a killer animal on his boss's ranch. “Ranger, what exactly are you tracking?”
The only answer from the bedroll was a soft snore.  “Huh.  He didn't even wait for a cup of his own coffee,”  he observed.

The next morning, Ike was the first of his group to stir, and as he sat up, he saw the ranger quietly rolling up his bedroll.  “Tom?  You still awake?”
The ranger quietly answered for him “He nodded off about two hours ago.  I heard his breathing change, and figured I could finish the night watch for you since you shared your fire with me.”

“Thanks ranger.  You gonna need any help with that..... what did you say you were trackin again?”  Ike asked as he leaned down to stir the fire to life.
“Don't know yet.” Reid answered in a soft voice.

“Don't know what it is?  Or don't know if you need help?” Ike queried.  Getting no answer, Ike turned back to the ranger, but only saw a glimpse of his hat and the metal thing on his back as he disappeared in to the brush. Reid was walking briskly away.

“That is one odd feller.” Ike mused.
“I'll say”, answered Rob.  “He didn't even drink his own coffee, and he left the rest behind.”  
“He probably just forgot it.” Ike offered.
“No, Ike, I figure a feller like that don't forget much.” Observed Robert.  “I doubt he even drinks coffee.  Get that kid up and let's get on with our work.”

A few hours and several miles later, Reid slowed to survey the ridgeline he was on.  His thoughts were simple and focussed “It has to be somewhere on this side of the pass.  With the winds last night, they wouldn't have even heard it if it had dropped over to the west side.”

Reid pulled out his canteen and took a long slow drink.  “Now.  Where would my beastie live?”  As he stood there Reid was drinking in the shape of the land, the feel of the wind channeling up the draw, and the mark of the flow of water down the slope.  

From his pack, he took out a small leather journal marked “Beasts” on the cover.  The worn pages had a small fine print, and a few occasional sketches.  The ranger flipped through till he found a page headed: Lox.   “Hmmm.  Seems to fit, but it shouldn't be this far west.  That is odd.”  He mused.

As he considered his notes, Reid returned to surveying the land.  “There.  Near water, but close enough to the pass to cross over if things got bad.”  The ranger observed,  “If I was hole up near here, I would be right down there in that little chimney.   Bet I find a cave.”
He began to climb down the slope, placing each boot deliberately and slowly.

At the bottom of the little draw was a small cluster of pine.  They barely hid a cave opening, about 20 feet away was a small creek.
The ranger circled the slope, working his way around till he was directly over the cave opening.  Then he took out a small pair of brass binoculars, similar to the kind fancy ladies held up during the opera.

Reid muttered under his breath “Alright,  no natural tracks, but somethins been coming in and out.   And I know that smell.  Oil, grease, steam.   This is another rouge mechanical.   I wish it HAD been a Lox,”  Reid paused then darkly laughed to himself,  “or a bear.  Or a mountain lion.”

Deep in the cave, a low throaty growl began to rumble.  “Okay, you know I'm here” the ranger whispered in reply.  From his back harness, he slowly drew out a katana.  The blade seemed to shine with a light golden glow of it's own.    “I wonder how long that will last.”  Reid asked no one in particular.

In a strong voice, the ranger called out “Here, kitty kitty kitty!”  And dropped off the ledge, landing in a forward stance.  He stood facing the cave, sword held in high ready position.  A small cloud of dust swirled around his feet.   Reid held still, waiting.  He looked like a statue, even seeming not to breath.

Suddenly the cave mouth exploded as a huge, metal, wolverine looking beast came bounding towards the ranger.  There was an immediate crash, like a steamcar slamming into a brick wall.

After the first impact, in the swirling dust, the sound of steel on steel rang out three times.  The air was split with a deadly howl full of rage, hate, and pain.  And then a series of thumps sounded as several heavy items fell to the ground.

When the dust cleared, the ranger stood bleeding from his forehead, sword tip down in low position.  At his feet lay four pieces of broken machinery.  Together, they would have resembled a giant wolverine or Lox after all.  

After waiting to see if anything else came out of the cave, Reid knelt down to the closest piece of the monster.   Sheathing his sword, he took out his small dagger, and began to pry off part after part.  When the chunk he was kneeling on had been sufficiently torn apart, Reid moved to the next closest one.  The second pile went to pieces like the first, and the ranger showed no sign of stopping.  Finally, as he was tearing in to the third piece of debri, Reid stopped and picked up a small broach shaped like a dragonfly.  

The ranger sighed alloud  “I knew it.  I wonder whose machine this was before he took it over.”

Reid looked up, then held his hand towards the weaking sun.  “Need to get my gear, and set up for the night.”  

Suddenly the ranger froze.  Slowly his left hand slid up to his right hip.  In one quick move, Reid drew his dagger, spun and threw it.  Like a streak of quicksilver it flew and burried to the hilt in a small tree, inches above the head of the young teenage boy creeping up.

“That was a lot closer this time.”  Said the kid.

“One day I won't miss.” replied the ranger.  

“You never miss.” quipped the boy.

“I thought I gave you the slip down in town.”  Back and forth, the ranger and the boy fell into a familiar banter.

“You did.” replied the younger man, “I had to back up and start from scratch, had to ask about ranchers with predator troubles.”

“I should have just left and let you come up here alone maybe.”

“Not till you learn me how to fight, ranger.  Then I will chase monsters too.”

“Boy.  I don't teach.  Now if your staying, then get camp together.  I'm hungry.”


Far away, in an office building in Washington D.C., a telephone is ringing and ringing.  Sitting behind a desk is a man in a fancy three piece suit, reading a report with laser focus.  Finally, he lays it down, and notices for the first time the telephone still buzzing away.  “Bureau of Wildlands and Woods, Pritchart speaking.”

“No sir, I am reading the most recent report now.”

“Sorry sir.  I know sir.”

“I will offer an opinion after I finish reading it sir.”

“No sir.  I trust his judgement sir.”

“Well, sir, you KNOW what happened with the President.”

“Yes sir.  I have told you before.  I was there.  It happened exactly like the report said.”

“Yes,  I will let you know when he updates me.  I will let him know you still want to send in your man.”

“Thank you sir.  Good day.”

As he put the telephone back in it's cradle, Pinchot placed his face in both hands.
“Reid.  Please figure this out soon.”

Right then, the telephone began to ring again.  “Bureau of Wildlands and Woods, Pritchart speaking”
“Reid!  I was just defending you to the Paulson again, he is insiting on sending in one of his Teslas.  What have you found out?”

“Really?  Another mechanical?  I guess we have to invite them in.  Yes, if it were normal monsters I would leave it to you.  But this is different.  They are the ones with the authority to make an arrest.  We still don't have that kind of power.”

“I will let them know.  Maybe you could meet their man somewhere.  Fort Collins?  Okay.  Make your way there.”

Pritchart dials the telephone.   “Mark?  Gilbert.  He just called.  You were right.  Have you any commission agents near Fort Collins?   Can you still keep our man in the loop?  Alright.  Have your guy meet him there.   I don't know, but he won't be hard to find.”

It was dry and windy in Fort Collins when the dirigible arrived.  The locals all stopped and stared as it came in.  “Ahoy the ground!  A voice echo'd.”  
The local sheriff answered “Ahoy yerself!  You ain't landing that here!”  
A rope dropped down, and the voice called out again “Not landing!  Dropping off!  Hold the rope!”  Stunned the sheriff held tight the line with both hands.  A very feminine form flipped over the rail and slid down the rope.   Landing lightly on her feet, the young lady arranged her clothing, smartly replacing her bustle and corset, and knocked dust off of the hem of her high necked dress.  “Oh, thank you good sir!  And where might I find the local constable?”  Without letting go of the rope the sheriff looked at the pretty young girl, then pointedly looked down at his own chest where a badge was pinned.

As recognition hit, so did the baggage, burying the sheriff under several large trunks, bags, and chests.
“Oh, My goodness, constable, I am so sorry!”  The girl stooped to lift the pile of bags off of the befuddled lawman.  As laughter rolled out on the street, the embarrased Sheriff looked up, and said “Ma'am, please stop helping me, and tell me who the hell you are!”
“Tiffany Potts, sir.  You should have been expecting me.”
“Ma'am, the only person I am expecting is a federal agent named Potts......” Without finishing his thought the sheriff froze.  He looked at the girl in her refined dress, high corsett, and parasol, high white boots with glistening leather spats, and suddenly started laughing.  Roaring with laughter, wiping tears from his eyes, the bedraggled officer climbed slowly to his feet, literally choking on his mirth.
“Sir!  What exactly has you so amused?” she asked.
“I am just thinking about a meeting.” he answered,  “Two people will be sitting in a room with absolutely nothing to say to each other, and I want to be there to see it!”

With surprizing agility, the lawman stood, and started off at a fast walk down the main street.   “Come along ma'am.  I well send someone for the bags!”

With no other options Special agent Potts followed in his wake.  About ten minutes of brisk walking later, the sheriff stopped in front of the Hotel Alexandria.  “Ma'am, you should go up to room three and announce yourself.  And on second thought, I do NOT want to go with you.”
Turning briskly on his heel, the High Sheriff of Fort Collins made haste to what he considered a safe distance.

Ms. Potts stood in the sun for a few minutes before closing her parasol, and strutting inside as if she owned the entire building.   The desk clerk greeted her immediately and asked if he could get her a room.   Without responding, she continued to the stairs and charged up towards the rooms above, eyes rivetted on one particular door with the number 3 emblazoned on it.


Ms. Potts raised her fist to knock on the door when a youthful voice inside said “Come-in!”  Unruffled, she opened the door and stepped in.  There sat the ranger at a table by the window, a dusty unlabelled bottle in front of him and two glasses.  A small Oscillo-fan was blowing in the corner of the room.  A young man stood up from the foot of the bed.  He nodded at the refined young lady, “Ma'am.”
“Go.” rumbled from Reids chest.  Without hesitation, the kid jumped up and ran out the door.  “'scuze me ma'am!  bye Ma'am!  I will see to your room and bags ma'am!”   His words echo'd down the hallway as the boy ran.

“Sit!” Reid barked.
Ms. Potts decided to face this head on “Now see here!  I do NOT cower like your young manservant.  You will speak to me like a......”  
“SIT!” Roared Reid.  With a squeak, the special agent of the Tesla Rouge Experimentation Commission decided that she would be the more mature person and make an attempt to compromise by following the order immediately.
She fairly well flew to the chair and sat down.

“I was told to get here as quickly as possible!  So I commondeered that ship!  No one told me to enter with stealth.  Now, if you are the wildwoods ranger, then I have read your basic reports.  Someone is adding devices to normal automatons, causing them to malfunction.   If you have nothing further to show me,  you may go.”

“I.... may... go.”

“Yes,  I have it from here, unless you want to give me any more information that wasn't in your reports, then I think it best if you leave it to me.”

Reid stood and slowly walked towards the door, where he paused with his back to the room.  “Ma'am.  I do believe I should give you a quick orientation as to the nature of the.... what did you call it?  Malfunction?  Afterwards, then, yes, I will certainly leave it to you.”  Reid slipped his hand into the pocket of his cloak hanging on the back of the door.  He then turned to the fan, and tossed a small metal dragonfly towards it.  With a metallic clank, the tiny piece stuck to the side of the fan.  Reid stepped out the door and shut it behind him.

From inside the room there was a roar and a scream, followed immediately by the sound of crashing furniture.   Within seconds there was a loud impact of air that actually bowed the door, and then silence.   Reid opened the door back up to see Ms. Potts in complete disarray, her hair draped across her eyes, her cumberbund was out of her dress and on the ground, but in her hand was a small sonic-tong, still steaming vapor from recent use.  And embedded in the far wall was the remains of the fan, now shaped like a metallic vulture with fangs and claws.

She lay there for a moment, her eyes wide like fancy china plates.  Then she attempted to salvage her dignity and continue.  “Ahem... Well.  Thank you for bringing me up to speed.  So.... I wonder if you might like to stay around for a few days to ummm assist me with local geography?”

Reid just looked at her.  He quietly thought, at least she can take a little heat.  But rather than admit that to her, he replied “If you like, ma'am.  You can take this room.”

Ms. Potts looked around at the trashed room, and then back to the ranger, and said “Gee.  Thanks.”

Ranger Reid

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Re: The Barker Street Irregulars side stories
« Reply #6 on: June 24, 2015, 11:29:08 pm »

As Ms. Potts tried to reclaim order in the room, she thought about the reports she had been reading.  Straightforward and no wasted words.  Pretty consistent with her new partner.  But some of the details of how the beasts were stopped had seemed pretty fantastic when she first read them.  Who fights monsters with a Samurai sword?  Then again, the ranger seemed like the type to get into a fistfight with a hurricane.

A soft knock sounded on the door.  “Come in” she said.  As the door opened, the young man from before came in dragging some of her luggage.  “Ma'am, I am glad you decided to work with the ranger.  He may be rough around the edges, but I have seen him do some amazing things.”

“I bet you have, um, tell me young man, what is your name?”

“Well, the ranger never has called me by name, but if you like, you can call me William.”

“Alright William, now how about you tell me what the ranger won't.  If he is so amazing, why does he need me?”

“Well ma'am, I don't know if I should just come out and say this, but..... how good are you with machinery?”

“I have completed my studies at New Philadelphia College, and am rated a Master Tinker, third grade, why?”

“Ma'am, I had to turn on that fan for the ranger earlier.  I don't know if the he doesn't know mechanicals or doesn't like them, but other than his own gear, I don't know when I have even seen him touch metal, much less try to tinker.”

That evening an uncomfortable after dinner war council began.  As the plates were removed from the table, Reid spilled several papers, and looked at Ms. Potts.  “I hate to admit this Ma'am, but I am at a loss from here.  I can keep responding to each new transformation, but that doesn't bring me any closer to catching who is doing this.  So, you are the agent from the Tesla Commission.  Where do we go next?”

Ms. Potts was both flattered that she would get a chance to prove herself, and thrilled that she would be able offer some insight.

“How far away is Panguitch, Utah?”  She asked.

“Panguitch?  Why in the he......ahem, why there Ms. Potts?”

“Because, after your demonstration with the fan, I took that nasty little device apart.  And there is a crystal powering it that shouldn't be there.  That is, it shouldn't be out here at all.  Last I heard, they were still trying to make a stable version of them in New York.   So I sent a wire to my boss, and he pulled a name from his file.   Jean Michael Foucault is the leading tinkerer this far west, he has previously been consulted on the crystals, and he has a home in Panguitch.”   At that Ms. Potts smiled triumphantly. 

Reid nodded his head thoughtfully.  “Well done.  Maybe we can get ahead of this thing before another attack.   Be up early tomorrow.  I will have the horses ready.”

“Horses?” replied Ms. Potts (with none of the confidence she had just been enjoying.)


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Re: The Barker Street Irregulars side stories
« Reply #7 on: June 25, 2015, 06:48:01 pm »
He was due to be one of the great professors, James Purcell is a specialist in the subject of Mythobiology. Prodigy of the eminent professor Isaac Theologian and due to be married to the professor's daughter Eleanor Theologian, life was looking great. On the night that they were to celebrate the engagement, the young couple are attacked by a monster and Eleanor is killed. With no other witnesses, the police suspicions fall towards him. Disowned by the professor who believes him responsible for the death of his daughter, James Purcell returns home to rejoin a life he had left behind. Unable to explain what really happened that night, James must live with the knowledge that unless a miracle can happen he will have to face a one way trip that no one has ever returned from. In the shadows, other forces stir eager to restore a past believed to be nothing more than horror stories. Is James' life his own to live or is he nothing more than a pawn of a darker power.


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Re: The Barker Street Irregulars side stories
« Reply #8 on: June 25, 2015, 08:00:28 pm »
The pride of the city, they were. Huge brass-and-wooden constructs of beauty and utility, the aetheric locomotives of the Underground did their jobs with admirable and unerring efficiency, the carriages that they pulled carrying their human cargo in comfort and relative safety - until a locomotive broke down. Then, crews of repair personnel would be called out, a new locomotive called up and attached, and the broken one shunted off to the roundhouse for repair. Or so it should have been.

Instead, Old Number Nine suddenly sprang to life with a golden flash under her drive trucks, and was suddenly off again, giving her passengers a jolt, and leaving the repair crew standing at track's edge, surrounded by onlookers, including passengers who had disembarked to gawk at the stricken machine- and suddenly yelling and running after the last carriage as it slid past.

The head mechanic turned to his apprentice, and said, "Get on th' 'orn, an' call 'ead office! Tell 'em wot 'appened, an' Get Th Knoights on it pronto!

"Knights, Bob?"

"yeah, kid, no toime ter explain, jus' do it, y' hear?"

Meanwhile in the tower of Big Ben...

It wasn't a huge discrepancy, or didn't seem to be, but in a clockwork like that of Big Ben's device, reknowned as it was for it's accuracy (well, within normal parameters, anyway), and more than capable in its less-known role of maintaining the time vortices that kept London from sinking into the riverside ooze that it was built upon, not to mention preventing Bacon-era magickal "indiscretions" from inpinging on the present, it was a discrepancy that could have ... well, "interesting" consequences.

So it was that Marley Whippett, Professor of Magitemporal regulation, came to the conclusion that there was a problem with the City's metaphysical field that needed looking into. Then came a letter from Sinclair Mollesley, Grand Master of the Knights Temporal, to lowly Marley Whippett, Lieutenant of the Linnaeus Guards (an outwardly ceremonial unit, but somewhat secretly, one that oversaw matters pertaining to the protection of the city's temporal and metaphysical fields). It was at first glance merely a request for an appearnce of the Guards at the impending Rivers ceremony, but with a skip in his heartbeat Marley noticed, fairly buried in all the heraldic gobbledegook in the Grandmaster's embossed seal, the sigil for "Emergency Assignment."

He then adjusted two of the lenses on swingarms attached to his spectacles and re-read the letter.
Marley, proceed with all haste to King's Cross Airdock, and Board the Linnaeus. bring any detection gear you may need, and trace the field disturbance that is causing locomotives to operate withiout aetheric-electerical current."

Ys, Mollesly
Marley railsed an eyebrow. The "Your Servant" at the end bothered him. The Chief never bothered with that kind of thing unless something  was really botheirng him. I wonder if Celia's in it again? he mused..Yes. Yes, that might explain the weird "hop" in Gear 23, not to mention Occidental Rhomboid 9's odd behavior over the past three hours....
« Last Edit: July 27, 2015, 06:23:01 pm by MWBailey »
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Stella Gaslight

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Re: The Barker Street Irregulars side stories
« Reply #9 on: June 26, 2015, 12:49:57 am »
This Is the first part of Celia's story but I thought I would go ahead and post it because it describes the goblin market.

There were some mornings, Celia decided looking out at weary waterlogged London, that it was not worth it to be a responsible adult. She has been the records keeper and Ballast of London for almost 15 years now.  Ever since her grandmother had passed on leaving her very formidable shoes to fill.  Most of the time Celia liked to think she rose to the occasion and kept things moving smoothly. Then here were  days like today were she drug her feet and generally wanted nothing to do with the world outside her cosy club. Today was going to be hard but others put in her and she could not let them down.  Sighing she went down to breakfast hoping for a warm dry spot by the fire.

Dealing with goblins was never her favourite thing mainly because they stole anything not bolted down and some things that were if given enough time.  They were never bothered if said thing was vital to keep the city from erupting except for making her pay through the nose to get it back.  Granted none of the money was realy hers, she only got a stipend for food clothes and supplies never anything like a salary, but it was the principle that mattered. Most of the other magical species knew not to try her patience bit the goblins seamed purpose built for just that and this time they had gone too far.  No one had ever bothered old man river for good reason. Of all the elemental of the city he was the most powerful and the most likely to
swallow you whole on a whim.  And those little green idiots had gone and stolen his pride and joy. The pearl tie pin given to him by Ocenana herself at their first meeting.  The goblins had the audacity to expect him to come in person and haggle to get it back.  Well if this rain kept up they would get their wish.  She had not seen the sun in almost a month and the only thing keeping the rivers in their banks was a promise she gave to restore the pearl no matter the cost.  Celia put on her waterproof boots and rain cape  She had lost seven umbrellas to the hard winds and had pretty much given up on them.  Grumbling to herself she finished her tea and set out in to the storm.

There had always been a goblin market in London.  It moved and changed with the times but it was there. just like the club she reflected and then frowned the dark edges of her city were of course needed but it didn't stop her from wanting to clear them out every now and then.  But Grandmother did always say that one cold not know light without the darkness but that did not mean Celia had to like it.  She called on the city but only let in a trickle of power.  Anything more would be seen as an act of aggression on the goblin's sovereign ground but a little boost to her eyes to part the veils so to speak was necessary for her to even find the sprawling wooden gate behind the overpowering glamours the goblins plied everything with like cheep perfume.

You could always tell when goblins built a place. Their style was very much what would happen if you gave a magpie a hammer and the vaguest idea of what a building looked like. it towered over the two roe houses beside it and glittered even in the thick morning gloom with thousands of light catching fragments.  It was a horrible tawdry display but not the worst she would see today.  The goblins were beyond ostentatious and only considered themselves prosperous if they were draped in spangles so heavily they could barely move. Celia made a quick set of movements with her hands to dull her non magical senses and prepared to step through the gate.  Even with the magical equivalent of a very bad head cold the dazzle of the goblin market hit her like a hammer.  Celia tried to look unaffected and let it roll like water off a ducks back but it took effort.  All around her were most delicious smells and beautiful music but with her true eyes she could see the hooks for the unwary threaded in to every possible surface.  She held her chin high and tried to pretend she wasn't a long tailed cat walking through a room full of bear traps.
« Last Edit: June 26, 2015, 12:56:28 am by Stella Gaslight »


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Re: The Barker Street Irregulars side stories
« Reply #10 on: July 01, 2015, 07:39:47 pm »
The old lycan was tired, he was now over 600 years and had travelled back from the 2500 AD after earth had been turned into a waistland.
It had taken him ages to find the Last gateway into the vail, but he had found it hidden in a cave. He stopped and looked in the dirty glass window at his scar covered reflection. The 3 scars on the left side of his face had never healed and were now crisscrossed with other fresh scars.

Bells rang out and he pulled his mind from his reflection, The Goblin market was suddenly a worle of action and he was glad that lycan's, even though they were rare, were aloud to walk around. He had to be careful, the younger him stood waiting outside the white chapel gates and iff they ever came into contact, the wasteland would happen earlier then it should have. The party was close and so was his target and he had to remain hidden from both until he could safely make his move.


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Re: The Barker Street Irregulars side stories
« Reply #11 on: July 27, 2015, 06:49:42 pm »
Quoth The Raven

Approximately Six Years Prior to the Crowned Panic case...
It was one of those mundane cases, or so it appeared. Sinclair Mollesley, Grand Master of the Order of Knights Temporal, sat in his office in Whitehall (wherein he was installed for secrecy's sake as a mid-level ministry functionary, attached to the Office of the Prime Minister). A communique had just crossed his desk that made him want to sigh. Diplomatic and  conversational gobbledegook written for the eyes of prying-minded unauthorized readers (which tend to abound in any government establishment) aside, what it said was that somebody was  dabbling in transformational magic and botching it, apparently all for a caper involving the Tower of London. Certain threats to lines and nodes of future causality presented by the individual or organization responsible made it the business of the Knights Temporal.

The reason for the sigh was that such cases routinely were just some dabbling fool  messing with magical energies, unwittingly in one or more places where doing so was not a terribly safe thing to do, either for themselves, or for London as a whole. Usually the outcome to be avoided was not as dire as the Powers That Be had decided it was, but sometimes...

"Blazing Hells. Alright, then. BLEDSOE!" Mollesley thuindered for his assistant.

"You bellowed, sir?" Bledsoe, a whip-thin yong man in his mid-twenties appeared at the door, in his usual manner (meaning just at the safe side of what sounded and looked like derision but couldn't be proven thus) The nephew pof a court functinary, Bledsoe cold be bellowed at, threatened, and demoted (as long as one promoted him back up again before he could conplain to "Uncle"), and would still do his job. They actually had a very good rapport and working relationship, did Mollesley and Bledsoe - they were feared throughout the government by those who had crossed them in just the wrong way in times past.

"Yes, I did, you scamp. Get on the horn and get That new fellow, the Linnaeus Guards leftenant, er, Whipley -

"Whippett, sir."

"Alright, blast it, Whippett then. Get Whippett on the horn and tell him to gather a squad and be here by one o'clock sharp; we have a raid for hin to conduct, and a possible timepiece  glitch to be fixed."

"I see, sir. Sir means a Guns and Wrenches Squad, I take it."

Yes, definitely. See to it, will you?"

(To Be Continued Soon)
« Last Edit: July 27, 2015, 06:59:26 pm by MWBailey »


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Re: The Barker Street Irregulars side stories
« Reply #12 on: August 08, 2015, 02:53:38 am »
Quoth The Raven

2. Clocks and Dabblers/Gathering the Squad and Storming the Slum
It was an oddity of the Order of Knights Temporal that it's members were practitioners of both the applied science of horological mechanics and watch and clock making, also well as adepts in the black and white arts of magick, as well as either experienced travellers in time or theoretical geniuses of the  field - and often only secondarily skilled men-at-arms. Sooner or later they had to fight in some capacity or other, however, so such skills were pre-requisite for membership - hence the tendency to glean members from the ranks of those who had distinguished themselves militarily as well as mechanically.

Earl Lt. Sir Marley Whippett, Professor of Divinity and Horology (and secretly Professor of Temporal Regulation) was thus hard at work, as usual, keeping the gear trains of the clock of Big Ben running smoothly. This was a vitally important job, not only because the huge clock was seen and relied upon by thousands of people each day, but also because of the actual purpose of the monstrous machine. It not only told time, you see; it also, by virtue of the scientific and thaumaturgical routines within its massive train, kept not just one but three of the major time-loop "eddies" upon which rested the very fabric of the security of London and England as a whole against collapse and general annihilation by the vagaries of the forces of nature.

Spells, cast and recast by both humans and the machines (the big clocks) they built for the purpose, helped to keep the massive Vortex Clocks, as they were called, in time with one another and the multiverse in which they existed. Dabblers in magic were tolerated; after all, they, rather than the degreed professionals and need-to-know politicians who denigrated them, were usually the ones who invented new magicks, cantrips and spells simply by flubbing about in the shadows. Unfortunately, they were also, because of that same process, a massive source of disorder, which was also the worst enemy of a timepiece. Thus, it was occasionally necessary to crack down on dabblers whose poorly-informed, or haphazardly-thought out and/or executed thaumaturgy threatened the integrity of the regulatory matrix which was the interplay of the vortex clocks.

And thus it was that Marley's regular work schedule was interrupted. Since he was the Lieutenant often aforementioned Linnaeus Guards, and not their captain , nor their commanding officer (a colonel firmly ensconced in Whitehall whom no one had ever seen outside of ceremonial public rituals), he was therefore required to be the one to respond to the Grand master's request and contact master Sergeant Rourke (not a relation of the celebrated Airship Intelligence operative) and tell her to organize am interdiction squad to apprehend and cease the operations of a group of would-be Raven Singers (actually a group of seriously misguided individuals who had heard of such adepts and had decided to become such without going through the normal channels) whose activities were threatening the flock of Tower Ravens and thus the security of England.

And so it was that Marley reported at the appointed time, with said squad of knights, who in keeping with normal procedure (and in fact necessity) looked like any squad of Royal Air marines, save for the rather ornate Linnaeus Guards badges on their Helmets. They stood before Grand Master Sinclair Mollesley, who strode up and down while telling the group what they could and could not do. He finally came to a stop before Lt. Whippett, and said, "Look here, leftenant. I know you've got a reputation as a bit of a pragmatist, and are a famous for simply marching in throwing a few fireballs, shooting when you have to, and quelling the situation, but you've got to be careful with this lot; they've already downed the Regiomontanus (bloody ship's always the first one to get shot down when things go pear-shaped), so they'll stick at naught most likely to achieve their idiotic aims. be careful of them. Right?"

"Yes Sir!" Marley answered, stoutly. "We'll fly in and get 'em before they know we're there, just like a flock o' ravens!"

I was after they left that Mollesly had a sudden twinge of foreboding...

(To be continued soon)
« Last Edit: August 08, 2015, 03:15:21 am by MWBailey »


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Re: The Barker Street Irregulars side stories
« Reply #13 on: August 14, 2015, 07:26:52 pm »
Quoth the Raven

3. Fast Forward Six Years
"Iss not about jus' up an' floyin' away, Clumsy," Theodore, as the humans had named the Alpha raven of the Tower flock, told Marley, or "Clumsy" as he had been christened by the late Mama Esme during his first stint as a tower raven six years before. "You keeps runnin' into things because you're not payin' attention to yer Raven senses. It'll take toyme, jus' like before, I resckon."

"'e's also troyin' ter take th' kidney pie from th' barracks cook'ouse, 'e is," piped up Jimbo, a young adult who himself had a taste for the delicacy and considered Marley a rival for the acquisition of said pie. "Iss not fair, I tells ya, 'e knows what th' 'umans is thinkin', 'e does."

"Ridiculous!" Marley spat. "As if I could even lift a kidney pie!"

"You gots that magic an' that," Jimbo said. "Like mama Stella* said, you're one 'o them clock knights, what can do magic and travel thriough... through..."

"Time," Marley prompted, "and no I can't right now, I've been stripped of my tools." He spread his wings like a fake jewelry seller spreading his coat,  and added, "No place to put them, you see."

"An' puttin' on them airs loik 'e does," Jimbo said, sounding as if desperate to prove Marley guilty of some crime.

"Them's not' airs, Jimbo," Theodore said, "You're not as one ta know, but 'e was loik that last toime too; it's 'cause uv 'is po-sish-un in 'uman so-sigh-tee. 'E's loik the Tower Guards' Commandant that way, 'ighborn an' all that, an' that's jus th' the way they all talks. 'E's not puttin' on airs, an' whatever he may be or however he flies or ticks you off, 'e's still already proved' 'imself in bat'le agin the cats an' th' swells, 'e 'as, somethin' you 'ave yet ter do."

Marley stettled his feathers. and preened the way it was traditional to do in such circumstances. Getting that bit of ravenish protocol right didn't - quite - alleviate the self-conscious shame he felt for his lost Mama Esme's sake, for running into every obstacle that presented itself. He supposed he's get used to uswing the raven senses again in time. A t least I've figured out some of the magick, he mused, remembering how he'd chased away teh Commandant's tabby, Norman, with a fizzly fioreball when the villain tried to take one of Stella's new chicks for supper. The guards wer estill scratchuingtheir heads over that one and blaming the newfaqngled aether-fed electrical lighting system.

He just wished he knew why the Grand Master had sent him to the tower, beyond the "raven duty" he had  quipped about. Marley was so lost in thought over this question, as he sat on the windowsill of a casement in the second story of the Queen's House, that he didn't quite notice when one of the statues along the White Tower pathway made a noise like millstones grinding against one another, and swiveled it's head up to look at the night sky as a papery fairy flew by...