We left our heroes recovering from a battle with Dalgroom's minions, but
nagged by a remaining trace of their presence -- a line of dimensional
disturbance running from Barrow Hill, in Regent's Park, to the
Braithwaite house where the whole mess presumably started. This was
first discovered by Greywolf, then verified using the Map of Here.
We ask Mr. Chassan to take a late-morning stroll in the park with us, to
inspect. He comes, accompanied by most of us, expect Katrina, the cat,
and the nephilim. He has no trouble at all feeling the ickiness
resident at Barrow Hill.
What the rest of us see is a pleasant morning in the park. True, there
is some construction work or somesuch going on at Barrow Hill. But the
longer we look, the less this all seems right.
For one thing, the construction work is filling in the hole left when
demons erupted out of the hill to intercept a falling Cantrel. That was
months ago, local time. And they still haven't managed to fill in a
simple hole?
Also, when we first investigated the situation, it was two absent
members, Chris and Sophie, who did so. Sophie used the cover activity
of making sketches of the local scene. Chris accompanied her, strumming
a guitar, to make it all look like a nice, mundane little outing.
Well, now, there's a fellow over on that bench, trying
to tune a mandolin or some such stringed instrument, and a lady making
sketches a few yards off. Like the area was subtly urging people to
replay events on or about that time of catastrophe. When it doesn't
just repel them. (For we notice that there aren't as many people here as
you'd expect.)
Daphne notes some trees in root-bundles, awaiting planting. They don't
look in great shape. She tries to examine their life-forces, but fails.
Salimar succeeds, though, and determines that something more than
dehydration is afflicting them, though she can't tell what.
Tom sends a clairvoyant viewpoint into the hill. It passes down the
hole, through some dirt, and into some rough stonework, presumably the
chamber at the heart of the original barrow. Then --
pop -- the viewpoint gets snuffed. Tom probably got
off lucky.
Salimar tries. Her viewpoint gets peeled off into some zone of gray
mist. She withdraws it, not wanting to attract attention.
We decide to bring in the nephilim. They're not on our usual telepathy
net -- contacting them is rough. So Robbie reaches out for Braeta's
personal computers. This is not as convenient as it would be in a
setting with a public comm network, but by using some simplified
signaling that would get him fined in our home era, he raises her palm
top. Eventually, he gets back, "Robbie, is that you?" in plain ASCII.
He asks her to come out and take a look. She agrees.
While we wait for her, Salimar does a retrocognition, watching the
eruption of the demons out of the hill and their capture of Cantrel. She
notes the way both demons and Cantrel appeared to be
sucked back into the hill.
Robbie saunters over to the lady artist. She's a large woman, whose
figure will soon be in fashion when hourglasses are "in." But she holds
her sketch pad too close for Robbie to see it. Normally. With a little
glamour-cover from Tom, Robbie pops an eyeball out of his head and spies
on her.
She's working very busily on a sketch of the hill. But demonic faces
and falling figures keep showing up in the clouds she draws, causing her
to scribble over the sketch, flip a page, and start over. She also
draws in a monument, in some versions, which is no longer there. Memory,
or something else?
She gives up on the hill and tries to sketch the hole. It comes out
looking much more cave-like, with vague figures in the shadows. She
shakes her head.
Next, she tries to sketch the fellow with the mandolin. It's a very
evocative image, but it makes him look heart-broken, while in reality he
just looks a shade melancholy, or maybe that's just how his face is.
Robbie now walks over and starts up a conversation with her, asking if
he might see the sketches (as if he hadn't). He learns she's primarily
a sculptor, and a professional one with works on exhibit at a gallery
and a museum here in London. She gives him cards for the two
institutions. They discuss the heart-broken image of the
un-heart-broken man, and she admits to being something of a romantic,
painting according to her feelings and intuitions. She likes mythical
and legendary subjects (Several of us being choosing our best sides.)
and the exhibit at the museum is of sphinxes. An Egyptian gentleman
advised her. One Abdul Hasad. He was hoping to recover a valuable
artifact for his country, and has since returned.
On hearing this over the telepathy net, Tom steps aside and asks Mr.
Chasan if he's heard of Mr. Hasad. Oh, yes. Hasad got the English to
return his artifact to a museum in Alexandria. Nothing to do with
Chasan's quest directly, apparently, but the example encourages him.
Even though things got violent...
Meanwhile, Robbie's conversation with the artist is suddenly cut off.
She stares into the distance and starts to sketch like fury. Following
her gaze, we see Braeta and Greywolf approaching, arm in arm, trying to
look normal and failing. They look larger than life, as usual, and
twice as vital.
Robbie and Salimar fill Braeta in on the events and effects at Barrow
Hill. Tom remarks that she'd probably make the artist's day by just
smiling straight at her for a few seconds. Braeta obliges and the
artist's pencil smokes as it flies over the paper.
Feeling around the texture of the world here, Braeta agrees that
something here needs to be fixed. Maybe tonight, without witnesses. It
resembles the problem at Southwick House, of course, but there is some
additional influence, something that the basic problem is tangled up
with. (Perhaps the inherent magic/whatever that was in Barrow Hill
before the Eye of Dalgroom showed up in London?)
Well, the basic problem started at Braithwaite's house. Taking a couple
of cabs, we travel a few blocks and get out there. The place looks
deserted. Like Barrow Hill, it hasn't been attended to as much as you'd
expect in the time allotted. Braeta and Chassan both get the
whim-whams. Makes you glad to be mundane.
Salimar extends her multi-dimensional clairvoyance into the house and
takes a look at the local hyperspace--
--and gurgles, and has a really hard time holding onto
her solidity. We've occasionally referred to Salimar as our own friendly
extra-dimensional, amorphous horror. Well, what she
just saw really was an extradimensional horror, and it
wasn't "friendly," and it was just as indescribable as Lovecraft always
said it was.
None of the other clairvoyants want to try anything after that, and
we're not keen on physically entering. Not before we have to. So
Robbie sends an eye down a chimney.
He sends the images to Braeta's palm-top. It's an effort. Braeta and
Gannar look over the situation and note that Robbie's transmission
protocols now resemble the old-fashioned ones patterned after organic
nerve impulses, used in 21st-century cybernetics. Robbie's not please.
The eye pops out of a fireplace into something like a fun-house room.
Imagery is distorted. None of the corners are square. Navigating the
eye is hard, since gravity is off plumb. Steering out into a hall, he
finds more of the same. Telepathically, Tom guides Robbie down a flight
of stairs, to a door that ought to lead to the basement.
The door's been ripped off its hinges, and there's an arrow in it. One
of ours, from our last visit. The geometrical distortions are getting
worse and worse. Peering down into the erstwhile basement, the eye sees
a surface of mud or water. Tom says that he supposes this is near the
center of the "rip" in reality. Robbie tries sending his eye in for a
better look, but it suddenly vanishes.
Braeta says this is different (as well as much worse) than either Barrow
Hill or Southwick House. Southwick House was just getting trouble.
There was an otherness at Barrow Hill that was getting corrupted. But
there is something ... terrible going on here.
We decide to go home. Salimar wants to nip back to the home continuum
and call KaiSen.
Updated: 7-Oct-06
©1984, 1994, 2005 Earl Wajenberg. All Rights Reserved.
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