Forced to stop by Jossems grip, Richard turned, eyes wild.
Thats bloody well the intent Jossem! The man all but admitted to doing whatever left the Father and Tommy looking like they did! And now hes getting away!
He tore himself free, running backwards.
I cant just stand by and let it happen...not again!
Then he turned to kept running.
Roland continued his pursuit, slightly ahead of the others, and ducking instinctively as another shot rings out in the night. Hearing the others he hisses in an angry tone, "Well then by God, HIT the man! The Constables will only see a crazed man swinging a gun if they find us without him!" With that he takes up the pursuit again, quickly glancing down alleys as they pass them and turning south down Shepard after the strange man.
Ang is just a few steps behind the detective trying to see past him and to their quarry.
Jossem runs after Richard, cursing. He follows the others, clutching his cane and looking around for any sign of the man.
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With the others running off in pursuit of the odd man in the tall hat, Father Paidraig contemplates his next action.
Steeling himself to the horror within, Father Paidraig knows that he must try to understand what happened to the woman - what the Ripper did to her. The pattern was too intricate to be the inhuman violence of a lunatic. There is something there...
With a mumbled prayer, the priest enters the room again and tries to examine the carnage from a detached, scholarly perspective.
While it matches no religious ritual or pattern the priest is familiar with, a certain reverence seems to be evident to the results of the work. This is in violent contrast to the work itself--the cuts were hasty, the work of an over-eager and under-trained hand, not the work of a skilled butcher or the like.
The scene however, is too much to bear again for too long-- Paidraig finds himself propelled back into the alleyway on still-weak knees, revulsion driving him away from the site again.
Outside, the fog is ever-thicker, mists swirl along the cobblestones. Even the mouth of the alleyway in which he stands looms as little more than dark, indistinct shadows.
Following the sound of the fleeing figure is simple enough, he makes no move for stealth, merely relying on speed--and getting quite a bit out of the reliance.
Pursuing south past side alleys and over cross streets, the figure, barely distinct in the still-thickening fog...
As the chase grows closer to the Thames, thick gray mists swirl around the cobblestones. The buildings on either side of the street become little more than indistinct shadows. Tommy, lagging behind the group, still sickened by the sights, is little more than an vague outline to the rest.
The figure has all but vanished in the mists, but the sounds of his footsteps continue, a persistent percussive sound keeping maniacal time for the chase.
Roland slows as the figure continues to outdistance them, "Fast bastard, isn't he?" he mutters to himself and comes to a full stop, breathing heavily. He waves the others to stop as well, letting Tommy catch up. After catching some breath, "We'll never get him like this, he's much too quick for the likes of me. I say we head back to help the Father." If no one objects, Richard begins to walk back the way they came, headed for where they left Father Paidraig. He looks quickly at Tommy, and then quickly away again, "Tell me Tommy, how bad was it?"
Jossem is gasping for air when Roland calls for a stop. He can barely manage words. <gasp>, Did you <gasp> get a <gasp> look at him?" He looks down at his dirty trousers. "Not made to <gasp> chase criminals in."
He follows Roland as they walk back to Father Paidraig. He leans on his cane for support and looks at Tommy as he begins telling them about the murder.
The sound of the Priest's footsteps too echo strangely, then grow faint. A few moments later, the swirling mists being to recede, and the man notices that the ground beneath his feet is no longer cobblestones.
Looking up, the looming buildings seemed to have given way to a looming forest. Thick deciduous trees surround the man, and he stands on a well-worn path.
* * *
Tommy finally catches up, seemingly puzzled as the sound of his own footsteps fades. The once percussive cobblestones seem to have softened beneath their feet. The others notice as well, as the mists that hover at waist-level seem to recede. Looking down, they notice that the ground below is no longer cobblestone, but a worn path of bare earth.
Glancing around and upward, they notice that the looming buildings have been replaced by a looming forest. Thick deciduous trees surround them.
* * *
A plaintiff song calls out from somewhere nearby, the language seems to be Romanian, or some dialect of it.
"Oh corb negru, de ce zboară?
Creșterea ridicat deasupra capului meu
Eu nu am de gând să cer încă
Nu, corbul negru, eu nu sunt mort"
"Mai bine zbura înapoi spre patria mea
Du-te pentru a vedea draga mama mea
Spune-i, oh Raven draga mea
Pe care le-ați văzut pe fiul ei pe moarte"
Oh black raven, why you flying?
Soaring high over my head
I'm not going yet to heaven
No, black raven I'm not dead
Better fly back to my homeland
Go to see my dear mom
Tell her, oh my darling raven
That you've seen her dying son
This song bears striking resemblance to a Russian Gypsy song, titled 'Oh Black Raven'
As the mists slowly recede into the forest, Paidraig is visible some sixty feet down the path, looking equally confused as the rest.
A light comes into focus among the trees, and it seems that the singing is coming from that direction.
Several voices join in to what must be the chorus of the song:
"De ce zbor, oh, corbul negru?
De ce vizează capul meu?
Nu vedeți prada viitor aici?
Nu, corbul negru, eu nu sunt mort."
Why you aiming at my head?
Do you see your future prey here?
No, black raven, I'm not dead.
Roland stops, noticing the ground has changed, and then looks up, "Aah!" he shouts in surprise, stumbling back a few feet. His head whips from side to side, and he closes his eyes tightly -rubbing them furiously with both hands. After a moment he opens his now-reddened eyes again, disbelieving. He takes a few cautious steps to one side, placing a hand on the rough bark of a tree, feeling the grooves and natural roughness with his own hands, "Dear God." He looks over at the men nearby, a breathless, "What...?" is all he can manage for the moment.
The detective cocks his head to one side, the sounds of the song breaking through his stupor, "That's just like a song I used to know... A Russian Gypsy song, if I remember correctly, 'Oh Black Raven'."
"Yóu shén zài tiāntáng hé dìyù de èmó, wǒmen zài nǎlǐ?"
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With wide eyes, Father Paidraig looks up at his surroundings. Turning in a full circle looking up at the trees he prays:
"Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae..."
As he turns he sees his companions and seems to relax a bit. He calls out loudly, "I thought I might have passed onto the next life, but if you are all here then... I... I don't know what to think."
The priest then walks quickly towards his companions, looking around as he walks, examining his impossible surroundings.
Roland feels more than a little relief as the Father approaches, his clergyman clothing in stark contrast with the forest around them, "Don't be too sure Father, maybe we're all dead together." He looks askance at some of the others, "Interesting company for heaven though. Think we ought to find the singing?"
Jossem whirls around, looking at the pines trees towering above them now. "What on earth happened? Where are we?" He looks at the others. "If this is heaven, I think we've done something wrong."
He nods at Roland about finding the source of the singing. "Gypsies are bad news, but at least maybe they can tell us where we are." He tries to determine the direction of the singing.
Roland points off in the direction he heard the singing, "I believe it's that direction." and takes a deep, cleansing breath. "This reminds me a little of being in the woods with my Father when I was a young boy. I do wish I had my pistol about now."
Richard looked around in shocked silence, pistol hand falling to his side. Luckily, everyone else seemed to be seeing the same thing he did, so either he wasnt going crazy, or they all were.
Tommy, what was in those pints? Whatever it is its some fine product I must say.
He walked about on the road, spinning around himself, arms spread wide.
Its amazing! Its like im really here! And that singing, what is that, faeries?
Tommy staggered after the others, trying not to retch, all his concentration focused on keeping up as they seemed to vanish in the fog. Until he took a deep breath of air that tasted strange. There was no stink of masses of humanity and a river full of filth, just clean air and woodlands. He took a deep breath and felt the sick feeling leave, and a moment later he caught up to the others.
"Russian gypsies?" he said, hearing the song and Roland's explanation of it. "What in the name of God are Russian gypsies doing in London?"
As the words left his mouth, it struck him that this did not look like London. Not at all. He took a deep breath and clenched his walking stick tight. He swallowed and turned to the only man who he had ever been able to look to for guidance.
"This isn't London, is it, Father?"
Roland gives the Father a dry look, "And perhaps a bit of prayer is in order." and he starts to head in the direction he thought the singing came from.
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"I would say so detective... Considering what we are all witnessing I think there is little doubt but the Holy Ghost has intervened in our lives for some significant reason."
As the priest walks with the group, you can see him fingering a rosary in one hand as his lips move in a quick but muted fashion.
Ang walks around the clearing, touching the trees, feeling the grass and examining the dirt for any clues as to where they might have be 'whisked' to.
Survival:
Knowledge-Nature:
A little ways up the path, a cluster of colorful wooden wagons, with high walls and arched tops, circle a large, roaring fire. A lively tune kicks up as the party approaches, and violin, guitar and tambourine beat a frantic tune. Figures twirl and dance around the fire, casting hectic shadows across the painted facades on the caravan walls.
A solitary, dour looking man watches the approach, leaning against a tree. When he catches notice of the party he stands attentively, drawing forth a massive, and rather ancient looking musket. He holds it across his body and watches the group.
Richard started to lightly skip along as the music became clearer, giggling lightly under his breath. As he spotted the dancing he broke into a full twirling dance of his own, a rampant mixture of Irish and Middle Eastern dance steps. It soon carried him several steps ahead of the group. Nearing the guardsman he called out in a jolly voice.
What a fantastic tune! Why not join in the fun old fellow, I know I want to.
He danced up to the man, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder, still skipping in place, motioning for the man to dance with him.
"Dick, I don't think..." Joss's voice trails off. "Ah, screw it. it makes about as much sense as anything else happening." He walks up behind Richard to speak to the man.
Joss bows his head slightly in deference. "Hello, good sir. We're a bit lost. Could you tell us where we are? Somewhere out neat Dover perhaps. Or up in Scotland?" He turns as a beat in the music seems vaguely familiar.
Tommy stares is horror as Richard approaches what seems to be a gypsy and attempts to dance with him. There's no doubt that the music is lively and bright and the dance seems delightful, but too much strangeness has led them here.
Too much strangeness for me may be an ordinary day for him, if he's as far gone as I fear. He sees Father Paidraig counting beads and praying to himself, and finds himself unable to follow suit. He's never let the Lord interfere with his business before, though he counted the priest as a friend. To start praying for help now would be like trying to hustle God. First, he'd have to deserve God's help.
"Excuse my friend," he says, waving to the old man. "We find ourselves lost in these woods and we heard the music. We mean no harm."
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As it becomes apparent that Richard is intoxicated, Father Paidraig attempts to gently restrain him from approaching the grim figure holding a musket.
"Richard, it is polite to wait to be invited before dancing with strangers..."
[/ooc]Regardless of his success at disuading Richard.[ooc]
To the musket-bearer, the priest says, "Greetings, it appears my companions and I have become lost can you tell us where we are and where we might find the nearest town?"
Ang follows warily behind the others. Looking so very different from them may either be a blessing or a boon, but at the moment he is not sure wich, so stays close.
The man takes a step away as Richard closes, leveling the musket. He speaks in clumsy English.
"You are all talk at me at once! Such manners." He gestures with the musket. "Stay back. Stay quiet."
He turns his head slightly then, and hollers at the campsite.
"Giorgios! Proști pierdut vin din negura! Nu le-am trimis departe?
"Lost fools come from the mist, Do I send them away?"
The man is not necessarily threatened or threatened, but has no interest in having his space invaded by the drunkard/madman he clearly regards Richard to be
Richard sobered up for a moment, stopping his dance and leaning away from the musket. Then he looked back at the others with a grin.
Feisty one isnt he.
He started to lightly tap his feet on the ground, clearly having a hard time containing his enthusiasm.
Jossem gently pulls Richard back away from the man. "Not so close, Dick. Don't crowd the man." He looks to the others. "It sounds Eastern European with hints of Slavic. Romanian, probably. Or very dirty Italian. I think he wants to send us away."
He turns back to the man. "Our apologies for speaking out of turn. We are lost and excitable. Please, we need help."
"I am not being the one making the choice..." he says.
A moment later, four large men approach from the campsite. They bear clubs, one has a sword, and one another ancient musket.
They look rather angry about the disturbance as they approach.
But a moment later, an old woman speaks from behind them
"O parte, oameni fără minte!"
And the men part, still appraising the group of strangers.
An ancient looking woman pushes through the muscle. Though time has worked its ravages upon her, she shows no signs of relenting. Her gaze is steely and her back is unbent. She is dressed in garish colors, with shining gold necklaces and cloth tied in her long, iron grey hair.
"Welcome, mist-walkers, welcome. You are tired, yes? Lost, yes? Come, you will be safer among us for the night." she gestures expansively.
The men stare at her, flabbergasted at the invitation.
One of the them: the elder of the males, begins to argue with her, but the woman raises a finger, and shoots the man a look heavy with authority and unspoken command. The man falls silent and looks away.
"Am văzut acest lucru în Tarokka. Nu mă îndoiesc."
The man nods and the woman beckons again.
She leads the group through the camp; the music stumbling to a halt as she does so. Men, women, children stare openly at the guests as they are lead through the camp. The crone ignores them all.
"Come, come, I make tea." she says. Reaching the back of the largest wagon among the train, she pushes open the door and gestures again.
"We talk, come."
Tommy sighed and looked into the eyes of the four men who had first approached them. The one holding the sword in particular. Tommy had never fought a man with a sword before, but now that he faced one, it seemed a grand thing to have a big, steel blade to settle your enemies with. The old woman had shown then and spoiled their fun, but he still gave the swordsman a wide grin and a nod.
Then he followed the old woman back to her wagon, walking past the four with the cocky swagger of a street thug, but frowning when he saw the women and children. This is their turf. They've every right to make a show of strength when a half dozen strangers come pouring out of the woods, haven't they? His swagger lessens as he thinks. How am I going to take over the East End if I start respecting other people's turf?
As his surroundings became ever more mundane and realistic, Richards enthusiasm slowly trailed off, dissapearing completely as the music stopped and people stared at him. This is no drug addled fantasy, but what else could it be? You just ran into a gypsy forest in the middle of London!
He met the stares with a shaky smile, raising his hand out of his pocket to wave as he walked by, leaving the revolver to rest in the folds.
The hand was shaking.
Im not supposed to be here, I have things to do. he hissed at the others, wiping his forhead. Wont be long before it starts go get really bad! And you dont want that Richard, oh no, you dont want that.
Finally. A bit of civilized hospitality. Jossem moves quickly to follow the woman. He nods to one of the men and smiles, hoping to engender a bit of friendliness. As they walk through the camp, Joss tries to smile at the men and women. Especially the women were quite fetching in their bright clothing and jewelry. He could tell by some of their movements that they were graceful dancers. Seeing a slim dark-haired girl with large eyes, he winks at her as he passes.
Reaching the last wagon, He bows to the old woman and enters the wagon.
Ang continues to trail the Englishmen. The jabber the other men make sound angry and he readies himself to fight. But then an old lady comes forward and invites them in for tea. Where in the 1000 hells have these damned Englishmen dragged him??
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Father Paidraig says, "Thank you madam, tea would be perfect. And forgive Richard here, is is a bit touched in the head at times. Ang, can you help poor Richard along and make certain he doesn't disturb our hosts?" The last is said with a glare at Richard and a nod of the head at Ang indicating that Ang should follow the addict closely.
Ang gives the priest a flat look, then takes Richard by the arm.
"It will be alright sir. Lets just take a seat and let this nice woman serve us some tea."
A sense of relief washes over Roland when the addled Richard decides to give the musket-bearer some space, and he lets out his breath slowly. While still unable to decide if he's awake or asleep, he decides to go along quietly with the group, hands slowly clenching and relaxing with pent-up tension.
To Richard in a hushed voice, "None of us are supposed to be here Richard! Lets just see how this plays out, shall we?"
He smiles at the gypsies, "Yes, thank you for your hospitality. I couldn't help but notice as we approached, was that song 'Oh Black Raven'?"
Richard tore his arm away from Angs grip, almost falling over in the process. The violent motion sent several droplets of sweat spraying through the air, his slick hair getting caught in a tangled mass on his forehead, practically glued to the skin.
Dont patronize me Priest! I have every bit as much wits about me as you do! Atleast my dilusions are chemical, not some prepostrous belief in a bearded man sitting on a cloud!
He laughed under his breath, or maybe he was crying, it was hard to tell.
There is no God Father. No God. But the Devil...the Devil...
He had turned pale, the stark contrast between his skin and the shadows on his face making him look gaunt. His eyes flickered from face to face, falling at last on the old woman. Managing to straighten his back and brush the hair out of his face, he made a short courtly bow.
Im terribly sorry madam, ive gone and ruined your evening with my gastly manners...I...I think I will have to enjoy your tea some other time...I...
Please excuse me.
With that he headed off into the forest, making it past the first 3 or 4 rows of trees before practically falling against an oak, leaning into its trunk and bending forward. Keen ears could just barely pick out the sound of retching.
Roland half-moves to intervene when Dick seems to regain some control of his faculties and apologizes. When he staggars into the woods, again he starts to follow him, but a quick listen and glance at the ground Richard walked tells him the man wouldn't be hard to track down. He gives a weak smile in added apology and waits patiently for the gypsies to lead the conversation.
The woman raises an eyebrow, and nods at Roland.
"A keen and learned ear you have. It is a favorite of Grigori, he sings it most nights." she clamors into the trailer. "But his screeching is much to me like that of crows and ravens. Horrid song, Ha!"
When Richard fumbles off, the woman watches him silently. She looks at Ang and the Father, then smiles a largely toothless smile.
"Your friend has no apologies to be making. Bring him, please. My tea will be helping him with his... burdens, and yours."
She clamors into the wagon, beckoning the rest to follow.
"Sasha! Aduceti apa!" she barks before going inside.
The woman takes a seat at the far end of the rectangular cart, behind a small table with a satiny red cloth. The air is thick with incense, candlelight piercing the hazy interior.
She sets a motley, mismatched but appropriate number of tea cups on the table, before the summoned Sasha--the pretty girl Joss had winked at before--enters, bearing a steaming kettle. She smiles at the gentleman and winks back, before the old woman shoos her out.
"I am apologizing. I am called Madame Eva, or Grandmother, or The Crone. The first by strangers, the second by family, and the third by my family when they are thinking I am not hearing them." She laughs at her own joke, the sound ricocheting through the surprisingly spacious wagon.
"You have questions? Ask!" she says as she drops a pouch into the tea kettle.
Once Richard has been retrieved, Roland squeezes into the wagon with the others, murmuring several apologies as he scoots around the table. He eyes the stooping tea happily even as his inquisitive mind forces it's way to the forefront of his thoughts. "Madame Eva, I am Detective.. I am Roland. These men are," and he points out each of the others as he names them, "Richard, Father Paidraig, Mr. Ang, Jossem, and Tommy." He pauses to clear his throat as he continues, "You seem unsurprised to see us, but where are we and why did you call us 'Mist-Walkers' earlier?" His eyes look up as he recalls other questions, "You also said we'd be safer here tonight, what dangers are we facing exactly?" He then looks a little uncomfortable, as if apprehensive to hear the answer, "Perhaps most important, can you tell us how to return to London? Obviously, we are lost and strongly desire to return where we came from. We were chasing a murdering lunatic when we became... lost and found your camp. It is imperative we return directly."
"The most important thing is how do we get back to London?" Tommy says, though he has a feeling that he won't like the answer. The Irish had stories about other places where you could be swept off to on a foggy night, though it usually didn't happen in Whitechapel. In none of those stories did the people who were swept away into faerie ever come back just by asking.
"I suppose that also means we should ask where we are," he says.
Joss smiles as he sees the girl enter the wagon. She definitely had a grace and air about her. Not the polite air of proper girls he knew, nor the dangerous air of those he wasn't supposed to know. Hers was something different.
Joss watches her go and then snapped back to the conversation. "Where exactly are we, Madame Eva? We were in London one second and here in the forest next. If my ears are right, you speak...Romanian? Either there are more Romanians that I know in London or we're somewhere else entirely."
Emptying ones stomach, when a sickness afflicts the body, usually brings relief, but for Richard it brought nothing but a hollow feeling in his gut and a teeth clattering chill he couldnt shake.
As Roland came to retrieve him, he tried at first to excuse himself and ask to be left alone, but the mans talk of a warm carriage and the warmer tea within got the better of him. As they walked back the short distance he wrapped his arms around himself, trying in vain to shut out a cold that came just as much from within as the night air around him. Roland laid an arm across his back and grabbed his shoulder, bringing his other hand up to take a firm grip on his arm. Richard was sure it was to keep him from performing any more indecent acts, but he didnt really care. It was as close to a hug as he had gotten in a while and he was determined to treat it as such.
Thank you Detective...Roland. If I had my way I would have frozen to death out here. His teeth clattering became louder, as if the very talk of cold made him feel it all the more.
I doubt it has escaped your notice, but im in a bad way...a really bad way. And its only going to get worse. Ive seen what it does to a man...Ive felt it before, but never as badly as now...I...
He reached up to clutch at Rolands hand, pulling himself closer to the Detective.
Please help me keep it from Jossem. I know he probably knowns whats going on with me, hes not stupid. But hes not seen the ugly nature of whats going to happen to me. Before long ill be rolling in my own filth, drooling and blabbering like an idiot!
Dont let him see me like that. If not for my sake, then for his.
-----------
As they entered the wagon to join the others, he sat himself a little off to the side, keeping a bit of space between himself and the otbers, although sitting closest to Jossem. Taking off his jacket he wrapped it around himself like a blankets, holding his cup of tea in both hands close to his chest, as if his very life depended on its warmth.
Heh, must be coming down with something...thats usually the case when I cant keep my drink down.
He smiled meekly at Jossem.
Madame Eva smiles warmly as Richard joins the group, pours and distributes the tea to each in turn.
As the barrage of questions grows ever-stronger, she holds up a withered hand.
"Alas, friends, you have wandered far from home. I know not of this home that the mists carried you from, nor of how you can find your way back, but one passed here not long before your arrival. He did not stay for tea, nor seem interested in our company. He ran on northward and vanished. Perhaps he was your lunatic." Drained by the speech, the woman takes a sip of her tea and seems refreshed by the simple act.
"Our camp is on the outskirts of Port-au-Lucine, in the nation of Dementlieu." She watches the reactions of the group for a moment, letting the alien locations set in.
"We are the Vistani, my young handsome friend. The tongue we speak is that same, and has been called such my whole long life. I suppose if the mists can carry men from city to country with such ease, why not a tongue?"
Roland gripped Richards shoulders all the harder in an unspoken acceptance of the mans plea. "I can make no guarantees, but I will certainly do what I can. I believe we'll all need to rely on one another to navigate this strange situation."
-----------------
The detective pinched his lips together at the unhappy, but not unexpected, bad news about their situation. Allowing the woman to finish, Roland let the unfamiliar names roll around in his mind for several seconds, finally giving up trying to identify them. Sipping the delicious tea and relishing the warmth, he voiced his thoughts, "I am unfamiliar with these places, and the Vistani. It could merely be a cultural difference of phraseology. But let us put that aside for now. Two questions; first, who or what are these 'Mists' you speak of? Surely mist cannot transport one from one place to another, therefore you must mean a group or person perhaps?" There is a serious lack of conviction in the detectives voice, as if he suspects the truth, but logic will now allow him to accept the bizarre theories outright. "Second, the one who passed by earlier and ran northward, was he garbed as us? But with a tall hat upon his head?"