Beneath the Fog of London - An Eldritch Horror Quest

It is the year 1887 and path of the world is decided under the thick fog of London. Distinguished gentlemen decide in fancy parlours the fate of people a world away and the stroke of a banker's pen wields more might in these days than the armies of kings did in centuries past. Meanwhile, the engines of the Empire work tirelessly to sate the ever-growing hunger of the great city, bringing goods and people alike to be consumed in it's smoke choked streets.

But not all things unloaded in London's docks are as mundane as Irish grain or Chinese tea. It is the age of science and reason and many of those most exalted men in the world have taken a liking to other treasures to be found in the far-flung colonies. Art stolen from the heart of Africa, the long-forgotten artifacts of Egypt and yet stranger things fill studies and collections, taken with little regard for primitive superstition or the warnings carved into the tombs that kept them for millennia.

The march of science and industry was inevitable, and it had practiced well to ignore the warnings of those who feared where it may lead. Many believed that no secret should be kept from the light of inquiry and no taboo should have been held sacred in the furtherance of knowledge. It was the price of enlightenment to part with such notions and one many were all too willing to pay.

And you were one of them. It was not that you had set out to become a scholar. Far from it. But there was some idle curiosity and as you dove into your studies, that seed found fertile soil. Soon the smell of ink and paper became more addictive than the best laudanum and the library in your small townhome in London grew and grew. It was not the work of your contemporaries that caught your attention though, but of those old masters that had been called dreamers or madmen in their time.

You had read about the wonders of this age. About the work of great engineers and the miracle of electricity, the marvels made by chemists and apothecaries alike. And yet none of it caught your fancy for long. Only in the ramblings held on withered parchment was your curiosity truly sated and soon enough you found kindred minds and spirits as you read about those long dead men's quests for…


[] [Obsession] … power.
An unrefined and brutish goal, fit only for a primitive man of primitive character and not for a proper English gentleman.

[] [Obsession] … longevity.
You were not old by any stretch of the imagination, but you were greying rather early and each such hair in your beard still was an unwelcome reminder of the inevitable march of time. Would it not have been marvellous to deny the reaper? For all their efforts, the doctors of this age could yet only delay the embrace of death, but not turn it away entirely. And yet you knew deep in your bones that something must have existed. Some way to defeat nature once and for all, with nothing short of eternity the price of the struggle.

[] [Obsession] … control.
The ebb and flow of humanity had always baffled you and even more so since you began to all but live in your study. Worst of all were the petty games played by gentry and aristocracy alike. All the rumour mongering and power plays. Would it not have been nice to longer have to play these games? To know the truth of a mans heart by just glancing at him? But if you knew something, then maybe you could even take a step further.

[] [Obsession] … fate.
Of all the secrets of the world, none was greater than that of what came tomorrow. For uncounted years man had tried to unravel it, asking spirits and gods for guidance and looking for it in everything from the movement of clouds to the entrails of fish. And yet, no method had been found and no tool devised to see what the next day would bring. Before you knew it, you are one of them. One of those many men through the ages to lust for the power to predict the future.

[] [Obsession] … prestige.
You had been born with the greatest stain a man of your status could bear. As a commoner. A fairly poor one at that. Something that the peerage and gentry were still snickering about behind your back. So, it was perhaps only natural that your felt kinship to wise men and alchemists of ages past that had to navigate the politics of royal courts to fund their research. But perhaps, like some of them, you too could rise in station. All you had to do was prove your worth to the Empire and they would see that they were in error to dismiss you.


Your studies soon became an ever-growing part of your life, crowding out social gatherings and what little family you had left. The time others spent looking for a wife, you instead spent perusing old books in an antiquary. Instead of organizing grand feasts and dances, you tracked down men who dealt in the obscure. It took most of your time and a considerable chunk of wealth, though luckily you had…


[] [Income] … a small estate in the Midlands.
Inherited from a distant uncle who died without an heir, the manor of Brightford Hall near Birmingham and the surrounding estate have given you a comfortable income, even though you admittedly neglected the place somewhat. So absorbed had you been by your studies that you had yet to actually set foot into the place instead of administrating it by letter and telegraph.

[] [Income] … a stake in a shipping company.
With the stream of goods moving all over the Empire, buying a sizeable share in a shipping company had been a pricey but wise investment. Not only could you live well off the dividends, but your fellow shareholders were quite pleased how little you messed with the companies affairs, baring the odds package you had them acquire overseas for you.

[] [Income] … a sizable coal mine.
The old patch of land near Sheffield that your family owned had almost been sold for a few pounds and it was luck that you could recognize the signs of coal hiding under the hillside on your visit meant so seal the deal. Now there were a dozen mine shafts and even a small stretch of railroad to your name and England's endless thirst for coal would keep you rich for a long time to come.

[] [Income] … an antiquary of your own.
Formerly a much less remarkable tailors shop, you had shifted the small business to peddle curiosities and luxuries to the upper class. At first, most of the items were things you found in your own searches, but for a while now you had hired your own clerks to acquire stock as your own time was spent reading. The income was only modest, though you were willing to accept that for the sake of deriving some income directly from your passions.


Something was about to change in this routine though. In this cold January, as the fog hung thick and cloying over the city, choking the life out of it with its sulfuric smell, you were almost giddy with excitement. Your latest acquisition was nearly there. A belated Christmas gift almost. Only a few references in other texts had set you on the path of the elusive book and on a search that had consumed much time and money.

It had taken nearly a year to find a copy of the manuscript. Hundreds of letters, sent to collectors, scholars, and universities the world over. Many went unanswered. Some came back with advice to give up your search. Yet your persevered, knowing in your soul that there must have been at least one copy left. But finally, it had come. You could almost hear the parcel calling for you from across the city, and you felt the hunger grow to sit down and devour the text.

The work of the medieval Arab philosopher Faisal abd Shadar would soon be in your hands and then you would see if it truly were just the ramblings of a madman, or something much more.

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AN: I have lately found that I miss writing dark fantasy and more character driven stories, so instead of my usual fare of mechanics heavy quests, I'll try something more narrative focused.