In Leagues of Adventure the characters are all middle and upper class Victorians who go on wild adventures in response to wagers, handsome payments from rich patrons, invitations from adventuring leagues, or
simply out of sheer boredom. Opportunities abound to thwart dastardly deeds, discover lost cities, mingle with new cultures, and plumb the darkest depths of the globe.
Number 27 Avenue Road, Primrose Hill is a large Victorian house, set back from the road. A short drive cuts through a well manicured lawn. Adjacent to the main house is a large outbuilding. Its double doors are wide open...
We do not see things as they are, we see things as we are.
- Anais Nin
"Indeed" mutters Wellington showing his disaproval over Klevendon's haste.
However the double doors being wide open affords a good view of the interior of the building wher a figure dressed in a white coat can be seen crawling across the floor towards the doors.
We do not see things as they are, we see things as we are.
- Anais Nin
At Klevendon's cry of humanity, the crawling figure looks up. Blood can be seen matting a section of his wild hair, even at distance it can be seen that he has suffered a mishap of some sort.
“Oh my, what happened? Who are you people? What…what has happened to my machine?! You thieves!” he cries in a reedy, nasalish whine that verges on the edge of panic. He rises, with effort, somewhat shakily to his feet. “My life’s work stolen! Stolen Police! POLICE!” He blinks owlishly as if attempting to focus on you.
We do not see things as they are, we see things as we are.
- Anais Nin
Nellie follows Klevendon seeing that the figure in the hallway is indeed in some distress. "Calm yourself Sir, we mean you no harm and will assist you in contacting the local constabulary should that be your wish."Nellie says as she guides the man to a chair, as he looks none to steady on his feet. "Let me see to your wound.."Nellie starts to tend to the head wound .. utilising another of her makeshift bandages. "We're looking for Professor Nightingale do you know where he is?" Nellie asks almost sure that this is the Professor.
The white coated gentleman allows himself to be led to a nearby chair, where Nellie performs the necessary administrations in a most professional and medical manner, worthy of the great Florence Nightingale herself. Within moments the wound is cleaned and a suitable dressing is applied. The wound seems superficial, looks worse than it is. Whoever struck him meant to do him no permanent damage.
Previously Nellie said: "We're looking for Professor Nightingale do you know where he is?"
For a second the white coated gentleman looks at you goggle eyed, "I of course am Professor Nightingale. Who, may I enquire, are you? What do you want? And more to the point, where is my machine?" He is beginning to get agitated again, especially when Klevendon asks,
Previously Klevendon said: " 'Thieves'! Are they still around?"
Again, eyes rolling as if in response to what he feels is a particulary stupid question, he answers, one hand reaching out to grasp Klevendon's wrist in a grip of steel. “I… I… I have no idea. There were two of them, actually. Called earlier this afternoon. They said they were from my patron and asked if the machine was ready yet. I replied yes, bar a few minor adjustments to the temporal calibration matrix, and then everything went black.”
The look of terror that the memory had obviously awakened in his mind, is quickly replaced by one of anger. "Who are you? And who sent you?"
We do not see things as they are, we see things as we are.
- Anais Nin
"I am Mr. Klevendon, sir, and your tone is objectionable in someone who has been rescued. No one 'sent us,' we are investigating a dinosaur egg and have ended up here. Now it is our turn: Who is your patron? and what has been stolen?"
Wellington has been watching the progress of the others from the sidelines, examining what he can see of the house, brining his powers to bear on the situation at hand. It seems that the Professor had been assaulted and something of value stolen, the mystery was unravelling but Professor Nightingale wasn't the ultimate perpetrator.
"I would encourage you to answer my colleague Professor while we may not be the Police we are investigating some very serious criminal activity. It would appear that the villains that we are tracking have stolen something from you... the questions is what and why. So, Sir, what machine was stolen and by whom...."
Nightingale looks at his inquisitors with a steely gaze, which is lessened by the fact that he keeps blinking like a suprised owl. "If one of you would be so kind as to find my spectacles, I will be more than happy to answer your questions"
Roxborough looks around and spots a pair of discarded spectacles near a much used workbench, "Are these they?"
The professor favours him with a particularly vile look, as if acknowledging a particularly stupid species of life, "Of course they are" he snaps grabbing the spectacles and settling them on his face.
He blinks twice and refocuses, "Now" he says looking at the detective, “My dear chap, I have worked over half my life on the greatest machine ever created—a time portal. Not a fully-fledged time machine, of course. No, that is impossible, despite what Mr. Wells might contend. My machine creates a gateway across time, linking the past with the present. Alas it currently has a slight flaw, in that it only joins our modern age with the time of the dinosaurs...perhaps if I adjust the fluoro-oscillating aethereal flow coils to account for the temporal displacement fluctuations caused by the Earth's gravitational field...as to who stole it, I have absolutely no idea. Perhaps a rival? Maybe that Mr. Wells has grown tired of his repeated failures and sought to steal my glory! Why I should call him out and accuse him at the next meeting of his foolish society!”
He turns his gaze to Klevendon as if suddenly aware of his presence, "Oh, how rude of me, what did you ask? Oh the egg... How on earth do you know that? I discovered it during one of my sojourns into prehistory. When I heard Hawthorne talk about a basilisk I thought whatever was in the egg might be helpful. I was under strict instructions not to talk about the time portal, so I mailed it to him anonymously. Was the creature of any use in helping with the rats? As for the identity of my patron...well sir I'm not sure I should name him, even were I able”
We do not see things as they are, we see things as we are.
- Anais Nin
Klevendon is reminded of his cherished Hollow Earth theory which had been swept from his mind by all the recent drama--dinosaurs, etc. " 'Calling out' Mr. Wells, now I would like to witness that," he mutters, curious about the Professor and his time portal but wary of his spiky temperament. "So Hawthorne had . . . problems with a basilisk before you sent him the egg? And, no, it didn't help with the rats--too many of 'em I guess."
Nightingale glares at Klevendon, "No, old chap, let me put it simpler for you, as you are obviously having problems with your brain" he tuts in a most disagreeable manner, "Hawthorne was giving a lecture...I suppose one could call it that...concerning the advantages of having a legendary basilisk loose in the sewers to cull the rodent population. As the basilisk is nothing more than a classical legendary creature, I imagine that he was over indulging his imagination...those trained in the classics and the history of those times often do...However having seen all manner of creatures during my trip through the portal, and being aware that many of the creatures seen in the age of the dinosaurs might suffice. I merely retrieved an egg and mailed it to him anonymously. I am sorry that it did not help" he shakes his head in mock sadness.
"As for that fool Wells, if he or any of his sychophantic readers were behind the theft of my portal...I assure you sir I will do more than merely 'call him out'"
We do not see things as they are, we see things as we are.
- Anais Nin
Roxborough clearly irritated by the self-important pomposity of Nightingale busies himself looking for clues or tracks of the assailants and thieves.
Roxborough thinking: What a pompous arse! Really!
Still - a time machine, of sorts. Hmm the possibilities! Diplodocus steaks! Bronosaurus Bourgignon! Triceratops stew! Poached Pteradactyl eggs meurette!.
Oh what culinary wonders.
I need to find that machine!
A loud gurgle punctuates the brief lull in conversation and Roxbourough unconsciously taps his belly.
OOC: tracking 6 -[dice]0[/dice]
Yeah, well, sometimes nothin' can be a real cool hand.
Roxborough studies his surroundings with the critical eye of a hunter. He sniffs the air, hoping for a hint of a scent. He stares hard at the floor of the outbuilding but sees little other than some obvious marks that speak of a large, heavy, object having been dragged to the double doors. However outside there is no further indication of passage. And other than a small pool of blood which had come from the professors scalp wound, no evidence of any assailants.
With a disgruntled mutter of inaudibility, he returns to where the interrogation continues, visions of huge blood rare steaks turning to ash before his eyes.
We do not see things as they are, we see things as we are.
- Anais Nin
"So, your assailants identified themselves as being sent by your patron, I assume that they did do by name... Then one can deduce that they were sent by the person who was underwriting your work to obtain your machine. It seems that your so called patron had his own motive for his sponsorship and once you had a working machine he acted, sending lackeys to spirit your work away and this person must also have been responsible for the attack that we foiled at the London Electric Company." Wellington[/b[ ponders before continuing "How large was your apparatus Professor, you say two men assaulted you.. could they have easily carried it away?"
"How would Nightingale's patron know to send ruffians to obtain the ledgers..." the detective thinks... filing this away in his mind as another facet to explore after the matters in hand have been dealt with.
Seeing Roxburgh return and by the slope of his shoulders and look on his face deduces that the hunter cannot find any tracks. "No luck picking up their trail, old boy?" he asks.
Previously Wellington said: "How large was your apparatus Professor, you say two men assaulted you.. could they have easily carried it away?"
Nightingale consider Wellington's words,
"How large?...More than large enough to need more than two to move it. Then they would need some means of transport, unless they chose to drag it to someplace else" from his expression it is obvious what he thinks about 'dragging' the machine. "Imagine a device as large as a full length mirror and that is but the portal, then there is a large amount of machinery to be considered...delicate machinery...my device is a thing of wonder and beauty, unlike the hideous thing which Wells tries to sell the ignorant. No it would need more than two to move it, if it was expected to arrive safely at its destination"
As you listen a rather portly, balding man in an expensive, if tired looking, morning suit puffs towards the outbuilding from the nearby house. "Sir, sir, such comings and goings" he stops speaking as he sights the hastily applied bandage, and favour you all with a suspicious look, "Are you okay sir? Should I call for a constable sir?"
We do not see things as they are, we see things as we are.
- Anais Nin
