Victorian Aegis 4

The horses began to run, driving into the open patches within the crowd.  Those on foot feel back fearing being trampled under hoof, other coachmen started shouts that feel short.  Seeing the mad devil Jack at the lash halted there words and breath.  Wonder and fear gripped the street.


Johansen struggled to stay top the coach with the Jack carving a crazy course that often battered into coaches and building alike.  The Swede grabbed at the devils arm but it recoiled and hissed finally becoming aware of the big man.  A knife flashed out, slashing wildly at Johansen.  He fell back grasping for anything that would keep him atop the coach. 


Fragonard did his best to follow on foot cutting through the retreating crowd while keeping his eyes on the conflict on the cab.  His attention locked on the devil he batter full into another struggle on the street.  Fragonard gasped "But How", his arms bracing the space in between himself and the devil; now on foot.  His eyes falling back to the cab, yes it was there as well.  "There are two?"

Victorian Aegis 3

Honoria's cab slowed drawing her ire. "Driver proceed!" she called out annoyed but there was no movement. "Lady, the street it is stopped." replied the groom wary of her ill mood.  Lady Algor insisted on impecable service or her temperment changed to intolerable. "Then make them move."


The horses began to rear as a pair of men raced across the street.  The large man show a glance backwards.  His steps slowed after crossing, but his fellow wheeled backwards upending them both.  There pursueor now emerged from the very alleyway they raced toward.  His face a horror mask still cackling as he bounded over the two.


In seconds the groom was thrown from the cab by the devil.  It began at the reign, lashing the horses forward.  Honoria cried out for help which boolstered the large man's humors to rage.  Grasping at the coach as the horses began to run he felt himself in motion.  Strong arms pulled his big body to met the devil in the coachman's seat.

Victorian Aegis 2

The pair remained silent approaching a recently covered paupers grave.  Fragonard's eyes shot about, as whispers crept to his ears from all directions.  At times he wondered if his life had brought him too close to the dead or if chemicals had left their mark on his mind.  Johansen looked at him confused, wondering at direction a moment before the doctor pushed on.  Their movement halting from tree to tree measured and fearful.  Fragonard revealed a bundle of tools hidden near a tree trunk.  Passing a shovel to the Swede and igniting a lantern, the doctor motioned forward.


Life had fallen hard since France for the doctor.  Where he once maintained an obscure but respected medical museum he now procured specimens for others.  His clothes once fashionable where now archaic and threadbare.  Still this path allowed for further understanding of his craft, which was his utmost concern.


Johansens' shovel cut the earth again and again.  The big man quickly progressed at the task, though there were sounds that disturbed him ;odd snaps and scampering worrying.  His spade drove deeply into the ground when a cackle erupted behind them.  Fragonard wheeled the lantern to see who had set upon them, thou he saw he did not understand.  Was it a man, a devil conjured from his mind?  Wings Black bounded from the dark, and that hideous face. Johansen push his shovel at the thing shrinking back. 


It menaced them a moment before it belched sickly emerald flames at the men who fled in headlong fear. Its maniac laugh haunting their retreat.  They passed through a hole in the churchyard gate still in full sprint.  Johansen cast his eyes back to see it bound, as if spring heeled, fully over the gate.

Victorian Aegis 1

Chill grew from the fog, strength to strength a'gainst faces weary.  Opaque air beget ice to metals and strange swelling to the wooden doors.  Fragonard stalked about a fire waiting for the whaler.  He was uncertain of the evening.  Would the man hold true to the commitment and would their work complete undisturbed.


The doctor clad himself dark, hoping to not be seen and if so not recognized.  The whaler Johansen was instructed to be similarly attired.  The nights work, illegal, carried a capital punishment.  Removal of corpses from the grave was a lucrative endevor but Fragonards need was for research.  Johansens conscent was strictly a financial matter.


The night drawing dark about the city streets the doctor began to consider abandoning the work.  Though he troubled himself to hide shovels in a nearby crypt, which would require retreaval.  Soon though he heard queer sounds of paddling from the river.  The termination came with steps and drips from a nearby docking.  The huge Swede soon emerged from the dark, watery clothing plastered to his frame.