Haddon Hall

Nope cant argue with your common sense being plain, not a bit.

Pettytyrant101 wrote:Nope cant argue with your common sense being plain, not a bit.

The plain and obvious should always be our first point of reference!

Mrs Figg wrote: ...or had felt a sun that had shone 500 years ago on their heads

Really good line Figgy! Also like the silent procession of soldiers. Would like to write but it's past midnight, so will pick it up tommorrow.

What was that Petty ? The Ninth legion started a chain of Italian Ices stands? Lol

hhmm if Orwell and Petty have quite finished I will continue, honestly who goes to an Ancient Egyptian forum? its bound to be full of mummies, ah wait, now I can see why Orwell would go there, he thinks mummies means those people in short skirts, no wait thats Romans...

At least you didnt say 'thats Scotshobbits' Mrs Figgs so saving me a lengthy and exhaustive discourse on kilts.
I think MILF's are what Orwell was looking for myself and he got confused!

yeah MILF's is what he was going for he he! and he got sucked in, he had better be careful, what with brains through noses and put in jars and all that. yuck.

The Treasure Hunter
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Tom saw a horse walk through a solid stone wall.

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The Portrait.

As we walked up to the House I was wondering what kind of adventure this was going to turn out to be. Some adventures are better in retrospect being nasty and uncomfortable, some are great at the time, it was 50/50. I had odds on it being the latter type and I was looking forward with trepidation but interest as to what would happen, on the other hand it was going to be a long night in a dark cellar with no comfortable chairs or decent food, I only had a few soggy sandwiches left from the cafe. Well I thought, it was probably going to be better than watching episodes of NuWho on the telly.
..and then it hit me...
where I had seen Tom before, how he had looked so familiar and as if I knew him.
He was the double of the soldier in my Elizabethan 'dream'. I dont know why it hadnt registered with me before, some things that are so obviously before your face are sometimes the hardest to see, I looked at his profile and was sure it was him, this was getting interesting.

Seeing the white face open it’s eyes, Orwell bounded back, with exaggerated strides, like someone who has seen a snake, and cried out something unintelligible.

“What’s that!?” Petty demanded in alarm.

“That one over there” Orwell said pointing, “It just opened it’s eyes. It just startled me is all.”

“And when the Moon rises” Odo began, in a low solemn voice, “…the spirits of the murdered shall rise…”
“Oh will you stop that nonsense!” hissed Orwell. “Going back in time is bad enough, without you adding Zombies now!”.

“Brothers….help…” said a weak voice from where Orwell had pointed.

“Lets take a look” said Petty.

The three approached the two bodies tentatively. The soldier underneath had closed his eyes and was breathing with great difficulty. “Come Orwell, lets get this brute off him then” said Petty. Lifting him off without hurting the man beneath, turned out to be more difficult then expected, but at last it was done. The roman was covered in blood and the air smelt coppery, but whether it was the Briton’s or this Roman’s blood they could not tell. Then Petty kneeled down by the injured roman.

“Water?” asked the injured Roman, opening his eyes.

“Very sorry chum, but we haven’t a drop. But can we do anything else for you?” asked Petty.

“Yes” said the injured Roman, swallowing once with difficulty. “Move me, and prop me up against a tree” he said breathing a little easier. That also proved difficult, for the man proved to have deep cuts in both left shoulder and right hip, that still bled slowly. The injured Roman was unable to stifle one loud cry, but biting his lip, said “Keep going!” and finally it was done.

After a few moments the injured Roman composed himself somewhat and looked up at the others. The Roman’s eyes seemd glazed and unnatural in the moonlight, and his right hand clutched absently at his chest. “Thankyou brothers” the Roman finally said.

“Are you hurt bad?” Orwell asked unnecessarily.

Something like a grin appeared on the Roman’s face. “I am Sequens, Signifer of the First Cohort.” The Roman said. “But not for much longer I think. Who are you?”

No one said anything for a few seconds, and then Petty spoke up and pointing to himself said. Umm, err,… I am Mario”, and pointing to Orwell said “And that is Luigi”

Orwell rolled his eyes.

Odo then interrupted him saying “And I am Silvio Berlusconi.”

The injured Roman looked at them all, a trace of amusement still in his expression. “Strange names” the Roman said. “You must be new recruits, come in with the last draft for the sixth cohort”.

“Oh yes” Petty agreed quickly, and then added. “Very new.” And Petty and Orwell exchanged a glance.

“The soldier then convulsed and almost fell over in a bloody coughing fit. Petty knelt to steady him.

“Steady old boy” Petty said.

The fit passed, and the soldier leaned back against the tree heavily. His eyes were now dilated. “Not much time” Sequens said weakly. “I must give you something”, and with his right arm he fished in a fabric pouch at his side and pulled out a bloody bundle. “Here is our heart” the Roman said handling it towards Petty.

“Good Gawd!” Petty cried out unconsciously , and physically recoiling. “Sorry chum, but I’m not taking nobodies Bloomin Bloody ticker!”

In response, the Roman laid the bundle in his lap and with one hand pulled back the flaps.

“Really, friend, we don’t need to see it!” said Orwell.

“I would like to see it” said Odo.

But opening the last flap, Sequens exposed not a heart, but a metal Eagle, with a broken stump of wood at it’s base, where it had been broken off it’s staff.

“Well then, that’s different!” said Petty, relieved and leaning forward again.

Sequens, then wrapped it up clumsily once more. Handing it to Petty, he then gripped Pettys forearm tightly. “Mario, Legionaire of the Sixth Cohort, Promise me, you will not let it fall into the enemies hands!” Sequens said now leaning forward to within inches of Petty’s face.

“I Promise!” Petty said without hesitation.

Sequens hunched forward and squeezed Petty’s arm so tight, that Petty nearly cried out…, but it was Sequens who let out one long surprisingly loud cry.. and then he slumped and fell forward dead.

I just want to thank you Turembar for writing your stories, you have really inspired me to write, and I love reading the Roman story its really great.


Silvio Berlusconi he he! nice one

How dare you!

How dare you!


{{{Oh dear! My protestations about inititially going there to discuss Ancient Egypt - and not for some other misguided reason! - have to be supported, and now I'm kind of stuck there, Petty! }}}

Mrs Figg wrote:I just want to thank you Turembar for writing your stories, you have really inspired me to write, and I love reading the Roman story its really great.


Silvio Berlusconi he he! nice one

Your quite welcome of course. But really it was you that started it, suppying such a rich location and intriguing beginning. This roman part is easy fun, and fairly straight forward. Haddon Hall on the other hand... is so confusticatingly confusing to concieve, it makes my head hurt! It is there I wish to return for a while and I am pondering possibilities. Cool Pics!

I am just making it up as I go along,

The Portrait.

We all walked down to the cellar and I realized that it was freezing, I couldnt spend all night digging and cataloguing objects in only a thin top so I asked whether Harry the owner of the House had any warm jumpers or coats he could lend me. Halfwise volunteered to go and ask, and while he was gone I asked if how he and Halfwise had come to meet Harry. "Oh we go back a long way", said Tom, we were in a regiment together, the one with 'Who dares wins' as an insignia.
"and he asked you to investigate what exactly? I said, "the artifacts or the time thingy?".
"Both", was the answer, "Harry had always experienced the 'Time Thingy' in this house, laughed Tom, "But he was too worried about people thinking he was barking, so he kept schtum until things started to get past the point of ignoring not long ago, he knew I was interested in such activity, so he called me in, its simple really, and any stuff we find is always good for tourism".
"yes you are right, I said, I always love looking at the shoes they used to wear, really tiny, my average size feet look like huge plates of meat in comparison, I never realized how small the people were until I actually saw some". I realized that this would have sounded very odd if I hadnt known Tom had seen odd stuff too.
Halfwise came back with a huge fishing jumper a bobble hat and long Harry Potter scarf, "Nice", I said, "I may not give him this scarf back, its fab".
We got to work on a part of the excavation, my job was to identify and log on a computer all the finds, then bag them up for conservation treatments later. It was interesting to touch things that hadnt been touched for hundreds of years, I really enjoyed it.
Two hours in, around midnight the halogen lamps started to flicker, first once or twice and then suddenly went out plunging us in darkness and silence. "Bugger " said Halfwise, "the generator must have blown a gasket, better go upstairs and look at the fuse box". Our eyes gradually got used to the dark and faint glowing areas could be seen in the distance.

At the far end of the cellar at the very door I had passed through to the Elizabethan Age, a faint sparkling shifting light could be seen, "well" said Tom, either we have been down here longer than we thought, and its dawn out there or someone is shining a light behind that door to the grounds.
Halfwise walked over to the large wooden door and tried to peer through one of the cracks. "Cant see anything, maybe we should open it?" he said. We all stood before the door and Tom pulled it open.
A freezing breeze met our warm faces and made us gasp, and then the sight that met our eyes made us gasp some more.
Out side was daylight, and a Winter wonderland of blinding white snow.
There was a stillness and complete silence, the whole world seemed covered in a thick blanket of snow drifts a few feet thick. Only humps and hills where once were trees and bushes could be seen and long glistening frosticles hung from every surface.
"well if Mr Tumnus comes trotting over with an umbrella and stands under a street lamp, I wont bat an eyelid", said Halfwise, "we are in Narnia aren't we?". we all laughed.
A deer stalked past us stiff legged in the cold, its breath making little puffs of humidity, it stared at us for a minute then trotted off into the undergrowth. Somewhere a bell chimed and a dog barked. At least we werent the only creatures alive in this mini Ice Age.

(Oooh, like that. It's funny but, I had the notion that the modern Harry was alright & it's nice that in your story at least everything is out in the open. Mine is still like a bowl of spagetti...all threads... convoluted.)


Back at Tom's hotel, the transformation began while he was showering, though he did not notice it at first. He was already keyed up preparing for the nights mission, and the beginning of the shift in his mind's chemistry was usually subtle anyway. Drying off and dressing in darker clothes, he then went over and mentally inventoried the gear laid out on the spare bed. His memory was quite good normally, but easily scrambled when it was overrun by distraction and nervousness, so he used a checklist trick to aid him at such times. Standing at the foot of the bed, with a large layout map of Haddon Hall spread out upon it, he began to imagine the main steps of the mission, and pantomime the actions, moving to the next step only after checking that the items needed were on the bed. He was alone in the room, but if there had been an observer, they would have seen him first look down at his feet and slowly look up the length of his body. When he had reached looking straight ahead, he tapped himself by his eyes and then on the sides of his head. With his right hand he then made a motion as if turning a key in a lock, followed by leaning first forward and then slowly back. He swung his arms now as if walking and stopping made a throwing motion upwards. Suddenly going into a crouch he slowly stood erect, looking around warily. With his arms he now made a series of opening and prying motions. Stopping for a moment, he tilted his head thinking. Going over to his suitcase he rummaged through a small tool kit and extracted a thin metal paint scraper. Going back to the bed he tossed it among the items already there. And so he went on, imagining what he would need if things went right, and what he might need if things went wrong. An observer, not knowing what he was doing, might think him crackers, and even knowing, might still think him half way there. But Tom was past caring, for it was what worked for him. Besides usually having what he needed, he also was drilling it into his head, for he knew it was very hard to stop and work things out when the SHTF.

Finishing his normal inventory routine, Tom nodded satisfied, almost. But as he stood there a moment longer, a frown came accross his face. He was thinking about what Figgy had said and her supernatural experience. Tom had never experienced anything supernatural himself, but he did not totally discount it. To him it was just another eventuality... an unlikely one, but possible. He thought it foolishness born of arrogance to consider anything impossible. Besides, he had heard her account firsthand, right after it happened, and all the things he looked for and sensed to detect truth had revealed no concious lies on her part. He was convinced she believed it at least. But whether it was some form of hysteria or actually had happened he could not say. He was frowning now because he had nothing on the bed for such eventualities... no ghost repellant... he had a hammer but no wooden stake... no garlic or mirror... no silver bullets, or even a gun to shoot them with. Seriously, he knew these defenses were all probably poppycock, but one could never completely disregard old traditions either. Briefly he considered breaking off and sharpening a furniture leg in his room. Finally he decided, that if anything spooky really did happen, he would simply call it off and run out of there as fast as possible. Now completely satisfied, he nodded to himself and began to pack his things in the knapsack.

It was on the drive to Haddon Hall that he realized it was that time. It was a little past midnight and he noticed the full moon rising in a mostly clear sky. "The Moon" he thought. "Oh Yeah... Now that would be coincidental!". He then checked himself mentally and thought back over the last few hours. "Yep." he thought. "It's in sync again, and coming on fast!." It usually was in sync, maybe 10 out of 12 months. He was going into what professionals might call the manic stage of Pipolar Disorder. Tom would have agreed with most of what they said and believed it was a roughly monthly cycle of chemical changes. But professionals resisted any connection to the moon except to say it might have been related in the past before electric lights. The Professionals also stated there was no scientific proof it exsisted or any reason for it to exsist today. Tom did not know the answer, but his latest thought, was that it was genetically vestigial. Sometime in the past, he guessed extra-active stages developed in some, to coincide with the extra light of moonlit nights. Kind of like a moonlight savings time. But as energy cannot be created, it was drawn from body reserves and after the active stage was a low period. It was no longer needed per-se, but still was there. It was confusing to Tom till he felt he had come to understand it, and now he tried to use it to good advantage, doing physical projects during the active phase and quiet projects in the low.

He quickly re-evaluated his plans with this new info. On the negative side his perspective would be clouded and emotions suspect. He could not believe all his mind told him at these times. On the positive side he would have extra energy, more strength and increased resistance to pain and fear. Overall he felt these all would be quite helpfull in sneaking into and excavating at Haddon Hall. He was especially pleased at how his attitude towards a supernatural event was changing. He smirked as he drove, thinking "GTFO you stupid ghost cause I'm a BAMF Werewolf!" and he chuckled to himself.

AArgh! I dont know how you two manage to produce so much! Hard enough just trying to keep up- but keep up the good work, I'm catching up, slowly but surely!

Well you know how it goes Petty, with writing impetus. Feast or Famine. Glad you are trying to keep up.

WOOOooooooOOOOOooooooOOOOOoooooo

He He officially spooked out now!

Figgy and the Romans (only the armour is more Medieval )

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The Portrait.

The snow was knee deep thick and crunchy, we waded through it our legs getting quickly numb and then burning with frost bite. The House had gone, the only sign of it as we looked back was the wooden door just free standing in the expanse of white landscape, it looked very strange, there was nothing holding it up, no stone arch or surround. Inside the door was a black hole, we could just make out the interior of the cellar, I shivered, I didnt like to think what would happen if it closed. We were on a hillside looking down we saw a thin line of what looked like the river in the distance, a few huts or cottage like dwellings were huddled together before a great black forest which filled the panorama and seemed to go on uninterupted for miles. It was Winter but a Winter like only a Siberian farmer could survive for long. My jumper was no match for the bone chilling cold and I decided I had had enough of it, Tom and Halfwise were stood staring out at a rapidly moving line of moving objects which were making for our vicinity, I only had enough time to shout a warning when arrows flew over our heads and thwacked into the ground beside us. They made a whoosing swishing noise and I felt the air move with the power of the deadly rain.
"oh shit! I cried, "shit shit shitting shitburgers!, We ran like crazy clod hoppers in the thick high snow to the door frantically trying to reach it before we got scewered.

It was ever so slightly too late for running, we were surrounded by soldiers on horseback, great steaming brutes that looked like cart horses with haunches the size of small garden sheds, their hooves made the earth tremor, I backed away feeling weak and cowardly, I hid behind Tom and Halfwise hoping somehow nobody would notice me, great plan in theory but didnt work too well in practice. We were roughly grabbed and bound and slung over the horses, this made me angry, and I tried to get off, it was extremely painful being jogged along face first over a horses back and I was sure I was going to vomit. Well serves them right if I do vomit over his horse I thought, and then I realized that the soldier who's horse I was about to decorate with carrots had no pants on, just a tunic, and his legs were mottled and looked in a worse state than me. Poor thing I thought, before I passed out, He really needs some decent pants.

(Lol, the hasty retreat has an authentic ring to it! Beautiful painting and gorgeous shields.)


Tom drove on, and about a mile from Haddon Hall, turned off the main road onto a dirt farm track he had scouted out earlier. The farm track shorty entered some woods, and pulling off to the side he parked the car. He loaded his pack on his shoulders and placed the car keys on a hidden ledge inside one of the car bumpers. "One less thing to lose" he thought to himself. Looking around in the moonlite, he got his bearings and could make out the hill upon which Haddon Hall stood. "Well, here we go!" he thought to himself and started accross country slowly towards the hill.

(Retcon 1 - change time Tom leaves hotel to about 8pm)

About a half hour later, Tom arrived at the foot of Haddon Hall hill. Looking up he could see trees and part of the castle silloquetted against the the moonlite. Light also came from inside the courtyards and illuminated windows in that part of the castle where the family still resided. He could also hear garbled snatches of speaking over loudspeakers. Tonite was one of the regularly scheduled Performances of the local historical play 'Lady Litton', a suspense thriller based on facts and legends surrounding one of the occupants of the castle in Elizabethan times. But it was also a special night in that the current Lord Harry was hosting a costume party in the castle restaurant afterwards, for the members of the local 'Friends of Haddon Hall' historical society. It was the first time the party was being held, but Lord Harry hoped to make it an annual event to show appreciation for the societies support. It also was an attempt to revive the tradition of a Midsummer Costume party that had exsisted from the castles building up to Elizabethan times. And some local historians said the tradition may have exsisted even longer, dating to the time when local Celtic tribes used the site periodically. At least so said the advertizing literature that Tom had read, as well as stating the castle grounds would remain open to the society for the duration of the nights events. At first glance it might not appear a good choice of times for sneaking in and skullduggery, but Tom thought the opposite, as the situation would cover movement and provide an alibi if caught. He even had a costume in his knapsack to blend in the better. His only worry was his American accent. He could not fake an English accent, and so had concocted a tale of having just recently moved to England for business, and being a lifelong 'History Nut'. He could support his story with appropriate historical-babble but overall felt the alibi was thin, even runny. He hoped he would not have to test it.