spittingimage
hawwwk-ptui
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- Sep 21, 2018
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Link to OOC thread.
Our intrepid heroes are are London ne'er-do-wells living in a British Empire that occasionally faces French necromancers, Austro-Hungarian undead and the odd incursion by Things From Outside. They handle it all with true British grit and, of course, Dr Gatling's marvelous invention.
Right now London isn't a healthy place for them to be seen, so they're lying low in the care of their old mate Horseshoe Bill Wickham, former bareknuckle champion of East End and current head gardener to Lord and Lady Glencoe of West Farthing. He got them all no-questions-asked jobs working on the Glencoe estate grounds and in return he keeps half their wages. It could be worse: he has a still set up in one of the outhouses. The booze may not be good, but there's plenty of it. He's promised to show them how he won his title if they steal from the house, but there doesn't appear to be much to flog anyway. The Glencoe forturnes are at a low ebb. Apart from the PCs and one halfwit from the local village, all the servants are in their fifties or older. It's dull here. Very very dull. Until early one morning...
A bellow from the shrubbery brings everyone in earshot running. The last time Colonel Glencoe was caught unawares by the magnolias, it took days for the house to settle down. This time the colonel is leaning on his cane and gesticulating at a door in the brick wall that wasn't there yesterday, while his unflappable butler Brunton looks on. "Blasted fairies. If they're after the chickens again, I'll give them a taste of rock salt!" The colonel brandishes his duck gun, which has the effect of overbalancing him. He begins a slow topple sideways until Brunton puts out a steadying hand and pushes him upright again.
"--there you are, Lily. Your dog's just jumped through there, little bugger. (Pardon my French.) Look at it. 'Ynn by way of Colonel Glencoe's shrubbery'. How do you say that -- 'Yin'? 'In-in'? 'Yibberty-gibberty'? People will think we've had one of those Italian architects redo my mother's garden! They'll think we're... fashionable." The way he says 'fashionable' ought to curdle the air itself.
"Calm down, Wallace," Lady Glencoe pleads. "Think of your problem."
"Lily, I am perfectly calm. I've never felt more calm than I do right now!" His face is bright red and a vein throbs in his forehead.
"You don't even like Montmorency," Lily adds.
"I feed that mongrel m'dear, and that gives me the right to detest him. I won't have bloody fairies, excuse my French, swanning in here and abducting him without so much as a by-your-leave. It's a liberty, is what it is!" He swings around to face the gathered servants. "A pound note and a pint of ale for every man who'll step through that door and fetch the blasted dog back!"
The PCs are given free reign to plunder the great hall for ancestral armour and young master William's fencing gear for weapons. Cook sullenly puts together a package of sandwiches for you each. Bill mentions that if you manage to bring back a live fairy, he knows a sideshow promoter who'll pay top dollar to take it off your hands. You step through the portal and see...
Neat rows of garden beds, with straight brick paths separating them, enclosed by high brick walls. You're alone here, it's just you and the plants. No sign of Lady Glencoe's dog. There's evidence of birds -- all the high spots have had nests built on them and the paths are liberally splattered with bird crap. There are none present at the moment. Each row of plants has a sign on a stake giving their name and date of planting in a neat cursive hand, along with either medicinal, non-medicinal or culinary. There are several squat brick buildings with barn-style doors.
Gambon and Flim -- some of these plants look very similar to herbs you've worked with in the past. If you take the time to examine them closer, you might learn more.
Our intrepid heroes are are London ne'er-do-wells living in a British Empire that occasionally faces French necromancers, Austro-Hungarian undead and the odd incursion by Things From Outside. They handle it all with true British grit and, of course, Dr Gatling's marvelous invention.
Right now London isn't a healthy place for them to be seen, so they're lying low in the care of their old mate Horseshoe Bill Wickham, former bareknuckle champion of East End and current head gardener to Lord and Lady Glencoe of West Farthing. He got them all no-questions-asked jobs working on the Glencoe estate grounds and in return he keeps half their wages. It could be worse: he has a still set up in one of the outhouses. The booze may not be good, but there's plenty of it. He's promised to show them how he won his title if they steal from the house, but there doesn't appear to be much to flog anyway. The Glencoe forturnes are at a low ebb. Apart from the PCs and one halfwit from the local village, all the servants are in their fifties or older. It's dull here. Very very dull. Until early one morning...
A bellow from the shrubbery brings everyone in earshot running. The last time Colonel Glencoe was caught unawares by the magnolias, it took days for the house to settle down. This time the colonel is leaning on his cane and gesticulating at a door in the brick wall that wasn't there yesterday, while his unflappable butler Brunton looks on. "Blasted fairies. If they're after the chickens again, I'll give them a taste of rock salt!" The colonel brandishes his duck gun, which has the effect of overbalancing him. He begins a slow topple sideways until Brunton puts out a steadying hand and pushes him upright again.
"--there you are, Lily. Your dog's just jumped through there, little bugger. (Pardon my French.) Look at it. 'Ynn by way of Colonel Glencoe's shrubbery'. How do you say that -- 'Yin'? 'In-in'? 'Yibberty-gibberty'? People will think we've had one of those Italian architects redo my mother's garden! They'll think we're... fashionable." The way he says 'fashionable' ought to curdle the air itself.
"Calm down, Wallace," Lady Glencoe pleads. "Think of your problem."
"Lily, I am perfectly calm. I've never felt more calm than I do right now!" His face is bright red and a vein throbs in his forehead.
"You don't even like Montmorency," Lily adds.
"I feed that mongrel m'dear, and that gives me the right to detest him. I won't have bloody fairies, excuse my French, swanning in here and abducting him without so much as a by-your-leave. It's a liberty, is what it is!" He swings around to face the gathered servants. "A pound note and a pint of ale for every man who'll step through that door and fetch the blasted dog back!"
The PCs are given free reign to plunder the great hall for ancestral armour and young master William's fencing gear for weapons. Cook sullenly puts together a package of sandwiches for you each. Bill mentions that if you manage to bring back a live fairy, he knows a sideshow promoter who'll pay top dollar to take it off your hands. You step through the portal and see...
Neat rows of garden beds, with straight brick paths separating them, enclosed by high brick walls. You're alone here, it's just you and the plants. No sign of Lady Glencoe's dog. There's evidence of birds -- all the high spots have had nests built on them and the paths are liberally splattered with bird crap. There are none present at the moment. Each row of plants has a sign on a stake giving their name and date of planting in a neat cursive hand, along with either medicinal, non-medicinal or culinary. There are several squat brick buildings with barn-style doors.
Gambon and Flim -- some of these plants look very similar to herbs you've worked with in the past. If you take the time to examine them closer, you might learn more.
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