Lover, and Also a Crafter [SI into Lovecraft Mythos multicross with Celestial Gambler

NeonKnightrider · Oct 21, 2026

The inspiration bug has bitten me once again. I might have to open a snippet thread with the amount of irons I have in the fire.

So, I've had this idea in the back of my mind for a while now for a Lovecraft-centric multicross, as something of a parallel to my Mixed Masquerade concept. This would pull from many of the same sources, but the end goal is different; that is a setting with a higher power ceiling, more wild, and more dangerous.

The primary inspiration is obviously Lovecraft Mythos. This includes the original Mythos, but also a lot of other stuff. If you're a TTRPG fan, you may notice that I'm shamelessly using the Call of Cthulhu adventure Masks of Nyarlathotep as my basis for the setup.
Other sources of inspiration also include the excellent Undertow of Sand by Shujin, Director's Cut, and Akuma64's Love Azathoth CYOA. Huge to these folks for writing excellent stuff.

But like, the basic premise of "a self-insert Mythos story" has been sitting in my docs as a pile of loose notes for two years now. With my recent Wiki Warrior story being something that I've actually been able to sit down and write for a month straight now, I'm starting to realize that the only way that my ADHD ass is able to actually keep a story going is if it has some kind of randomness or external element to it. so fuk it, this idea is a Celestial story now.

I like the idea of using this context, of an extremely dangerous world, for a Celestial type story. This way, it doesn't immediately start snowballing into bulldozing the entire verse.

Anyways, I'm using Celestial Gambler, with Dojo, Grimoire, Smith and Reliquary as sources.
Obtaining rolls is done based on Feats, similar to Chaos Gacha. I'm gonna try to be stingy with feats, because these rolls are powerful and I don't want them to be too free.
The types of 'tickets' are:

Bronze: 0 to 200 points

Silver: 250 to 400

Gold: 450 to 800

Diamond: 900+

Oh, and I chose to start off with a Clock Tower education as a starter. That part was not rolled, it was by author's choice.

Finally, the first three rolls were done with a "pick from 3" advantage simply because that's the default for Celestial Gambler, but I decided that's too easy. So, I'm gonna keep those results, but now those were a 'freebie', and after that it's just one random roll for standard.
( also, SI can chose to "bank" - refusing a given Perk, but getting an additional option to pick from on the next roll of the same ticket tier.

NeonKnightrider · Oct 21, 2026

Aeons ago, mankind shared the Earth with others. Divinity walked upon the land; This was the Age of the Gods. But this did not last.

Foreign gods came from beyond the stars, and their war with the gods of mankind sundered the skies. Both were slain, diminished, left to slumber. But it is not dead that which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons, even death may die.

[ ??? ]
[ 2026? ]

Something feels wrong.

It takes a few seconds for my mind to catch up with the feeling. Or rather, the lack of feeling.

I can feel and move my body, but it feels strangely… calm. There's no tinnitus ringing in my ear, no ache in my ankle or itching under my fingernails. All the tiny, little pains and imperfections of a lifetime living in a fleshy body are conspicuous by their absence.

I attempt to open my eyes and sit up. My body responds, seemingly moving by floating into place rather than flexing any muscles. I've never had a lucid dream, but I imagine it would be like this. Only, it feels far too vivid to be a dream.

Around me is nothing. Not simply darkness, but an endless void of non-color, an absence of existence that my eyes ache in trying to comprehend.

And in front of me, the only actual thing in this abyss, the figure of a woman. Young, smiling, with long blonde hair and a simple white dress. Her eyes do not move.

Hello.

Her mouth does not move. She does not speak, so much as the words simply make themselves known within my mind.

"Ah… Hello?" I answer hesitantly. Do I even need to speak or can she read my mind? "Where is this place? Am I dead?" 'Are you God?' I think to myself.

You are not quite dead. This is a place between places. And no. I am 'a' god, but I am not the 'God' you are probably thinking of.

"Oh." I say out loud. 'Then what do you want with me?' I think.

Several seconds pass. It gets awkward.

The longer I stare at her, the more uncanny she becomes. My own body is still moving - breathing, blinking, fingers twitching, my heart pumping blood in my veins. I suspect I don't actually need to breathe (or a heartbeat) to survive in this strange dimension, but a lifetime of human habits dies hard.

But this woman just stares at me. She is fixed, unmoving, like a doll or a statue.

"...Can you not read my mind?"

I could. But it would leave your mind destroyed beyond repair. I merely guessed. Most mortals ask if I am a God upon seeing me.

"Ah, well, alright." I hum. "So, why did you bring me here?"

The humanity within my reality is under grave threat of extinction. I ask of you to save it.

I frown. "If you're a goddess, can't you solve the problem yourself?"

Could you pluck a single molecule from within a man's heart? I almost feel a hint of actual emotion in the mind-voice for the first time, a tinge of frustration. I have the power, but it would cause untold destruction. Humans are… fragile. And should I manifest directly, the others will know my presence. Humanity would not survive their collective attention.

I recall her earlier comment about destroying my mind and slowly nod. "...Yeah, that's fair, I guess. But then why me?"

You are a fortunate exception. 'At the right place and the right time,' as they say. Do you accept this task?

After a moment, I take a deep breath of nonexistent air. I hate the thought of leaving behind my family, and being placed in an unfamiliar world… but if there's an entire planet at risk of destruction and I did nothing when I could have helped, then I'll never be able to sleep again.

"But… am I really meant to do this by myself? I'm nobody special."

You will be granted considerable power. It is not an easy task, but it will be within your abilities.

"Alright… then, I accept. One last thing, though- why, why do you care? About this, about humans in general?"

With a sound like leather squeaking, the woman-doll's face stretches into a facsimile of a smile.

I enjoy watching humans. You are fascinating creatures. I would dislike seeing you go extinct.

"...Right."

Good luck.

[???, Earth]

I open my eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling. The light is dim, the dull fuzz of a sun that still hasn't quite risen, in the small hours of the morning.

I rise up from the bed, feeling the thin mattress laid over a cheap wooden frame. The fact my back isn't sore helps clue me in that I did not actually sleep on that bed last night.

It's hard to make out details in the twilight, but looking around, it's easy to see the arrangement of bed, nightstand, one chair, one closet, an open bathroom door. A Bible on the table. A cheap hotel room, near-identical to dozens of others I've seen over my life. I wonder if they're standardized, like shipping containers.

I wander over to the blinds and pull them open, to reveal a… confusing sight. The river is my first clue something is wrong. The giant, blocky shape of the raised bridge that looms over it is the second. That's… Tower Bridge, right? Which means I am in London.

I did not go to sleep in London. Or Europe, for that matter.

London is good, though. The Clock Tower is right next door, maybe I can ask my teacher about some of the magic shit that's going on.

…Wait, what?
I sit down on the floor, my eyes closed, before my head begins to spin. I think of 'magic', and associations explode within my mind. Ritual circles, Reinforcement, Alteration, hypnosis, Runes, elemental manipulation…

I try to think of the simplest magic I can, and an elemental spell bubbles to mind. Haurir aquam. An ancient incantation for drawing water from the earth. I try to remember how I learned it.

'Attune your vitae to the natural elements of the world. Feel nature under your feet. Let it seep in, do not force it…'

A warm voice. The smell of olives, the sound of the ocean. Nostalgia. Home.

I spend a while sorting through more spells, more impressions - I don't know how long I sit there. An hour, more?

Eventually, I open my eyes again.

I experimentally snap my fingers, and manage to create a glowing green spark within my hand.

Okay, so, that god-lady-thing seems to have stuffed a dead mage's knowledge into my head. Only, it's not pure knowledge, it's… 'dirty', so to speak. She seems to have ripped it out of a person's mind, and minds are a funny thing, a tangled mess of connections and associations. Everything I know is tinged with not-quite-memories, fragments of association, emotional echoes and longing reminiscence. As best as I can tell from the vague impressions, it seems that my unwitting benefactor grew up in Italy, then learned magic in London… and died shortly after completing his magical education after running into some sort of monster.

I recall what that woman… fuck, it's annoying calling her 'that woman.' I'm gonna call her Alice. What Alice told me about reading my mind, and I thank the gods she didn't, having your memories torn out my the roots cannot possibly be a pleasant experience.

…The gods, huh. Should I be praying to those too? It hasn't all sunk in yet.

Well, I have to save the world, apparently. Let's worry about that stuff later.

I pat myself down, and quickly realize I seem to be dressed like something out of Peaky Blinders. Brown pants, loafer shoes, a vest, a heavy overcoat. Looking around the room, I notice a briefcase on the chair, and a folded-newspaper on the dresser. I look it over and realize the date reads July 3rd, 1924. My first thought is, well, Jesus fucking Christ I'm a hundred years in the past.

My second thought is trying to remember if the Great Depression is now or not. Hell, maybe it's connected to the end of the world.

…that's probably a stupid line of thought.

I check my pockets. There's a fine leather wallet with a handful of notes - I examine them and see the 'Five pounds' in flowery writing. Plain white-on-black notes look so odd compared to the colored money I'm used to. And some kind of ID card. The name written on it is Gabriel Trambelio De Luca Marini, a natural-born Italian. While the family name is unfamiliar, the first name, and the face in the grainy black-and-white photo, somehow, are identical to mine.

In the briefcase, there's a few changes of clothes similar to the one I have now, all brown and pinstriped and whatnot, and also one finely tailored, jet-black three piece suit with a vest and coat, complete with matching black gloves. It looks… very expensive.

Considering I seem to be in some sort of Italian fake identity, that's probably an Italian suit. Shit, it's gotta be expensive.

Some other odds and ends, toiletries, a pocket knife, a bundle of letters, a notebook, some bundles of cash and… a bar of silver? I thumb through the cash, most of it in neat bundles of 10- and 5-pound notes. Counting them… I think there's something like five thousand pounds sterling in here. Plus the silver. I don't know the conversion rate, but I know that is a lot of money. I don't think I'll have to worry about that for a while.
I lean on my magical knowledge again. I don't have any specially prepared ritual dusts, but blood can substitute in a pinch. Blood is like salt when it comes to magic, you can always add a pinch of it and just about always makes things work better. Of course, you can't make an entire meal out of pure salt either.
Other vital fluids work too- the Clock Tower infamously purchases semen from desperate men for that very purpose.

I take the pocket knife and make a small cut on the side of my arm. Taking the blood on the tip of my finger, I draw a circle on the lid of the briefcase, then a pentagram, and five simple runes. It's a relatively basic seal- most mages would scoff at only having defenses of this level. But, it should do for now. No mundane burglars will be able to snatch my stuff, as the case will only open with the my personal signature. I make an even simpler one on my wallet as well, a single pentagram with no runes.

I rifle through the newspaper- wait, it's a stack of them. The Times is on top, but there's a couple others under them, The Herald and something called The Scoop. The other two talk about what is expected, politics and economics, news about the country… But the Scoop loudly proclaims news about 'Monstrous Murders.'

The magic memories tell me to find other mages in the British Museum, but this feels… relevant.

I was placed here, in this room, with all the stuff in my luggage, and with these specific papers, by some greater force. I'm going to assume, then, that this particular headline is something intentional, a clue to push me in the right direction.

I check the address for the newspapers' office: 21 Fleet Street, 3rd floor. Guess I'll pay them a visit.

I grab a handful of pounds' worth in loose change and walk out the door of the hotel. Down the stairs, to a run-down reception, where I buy a map of the city for sixpence from a bored-looking man on the counter.

I open the map, walking towards the door… and then I have to double back and ask him to point out where exactly we are.

"Dep'ford." He says with a bored drawl and a face that screams 'are you stupid', jabbing a finger to a street south of the Thames.

"Right. And, ah, where would I find Fleet Street?"

"North." He rolls his eyes again.

"Okay. Uh, righty-o, thank you, jolly ol' chap!" I awkwardly respond and walk away, for real this time.

I hear the man grumble 'Bloody foreigners' under his breath before the door closes.

When I finally walk outside, the city I find is not what I remember- I've been to London before, on vacation. Several years ago, or nearly a hundred years in the future, depending on how you look at it.

Regardless, I know what to expect. Men in suits and women in dresses. Cobblestone street sparsely populated with horse-drawn carriages plodding about alongside square, buggy-shaped cars that I vaguely recognize as the Ford Model T. The acrid smell of smoke in the air, and a blanket of grey fog across the sky that makes it almost impossible to tell what hour of the day it is.

Ah, lovely. I grimace and put a handkerchief over my nose and mouth. I don't care if it looks stupid, I don't want to get arsenic poisoning or whatever the fuck there is in this smog.

Note to self, find or create an air purification spell.

I hail a black taxi cab and call for Fleet Street.

I rest my chin in my hand and gaze out the window, watching old London as it goes on by. Call me a blind fool with eyes glued to my own ass, but I can't help but love the style and the atmosphere of the city. I'll always love old European cities, with quaint brick and ancient stonework. Compared to the 'young' cities of sterile concrete and glass rectangles that I grew up knowing in the 21th Century New World, this feels so much more alive, vibrant with character and history.
Shame about the industrial smog, though.

Finally, I arrive at the busy, commercial street and pay the cabbie. The building is more run-down than I was expecting, to be honest. As I enter, the smell goes from industrial smoke to just plain old cigarette smoke. Man, I really need to get an air filter.

I find the sign for The Scoop and knock on the door. The door is opened by a heavyset, red-haired middle-aged man in a wrinkled pinstripe brown suit. "Who're you and whad'ae want?" The man simply grunts, his voice a thick Irish drawl.

I take a moment to collect my thoughts and reorient myself. I make an effort to remember it's a hundred years in the past, try to speak a bit more stiff and formally than I would to hopefully seem normal. "I saw your paper, and I daresay it caught my interest, quite fascinating stuff. You are…?"

"Mahoney." The man grumbles, but extends a hand in greeting. It seems he cares about the paper. "Which story tickled yer fancy?"

"I'm looking for… supernatural forces. I saw something about a monster attack, and I want to track it down." I tell him with no preamble.

Mahoney chuckles. "Gonna have to be a little bit more specific there, fella. I'm up to my armpits in monster stories up in 'ere. And who are you, anyway?"

"Call me Gabriel." I briefly contemplate showing off a little magic to convince him, but… no, probably more trouble than it's worth. "I'm… something of a scholar and dabbling magician myself. I have reason to believe there is something truly nefarious brewing, and I'd like to get to the bottom of it." I dig out the 'Monster Murders' paper and show it to him. "This is the case I saw."

"Ah, that one." He hums in recognition, taking the paper. "Well, I'm 'fraid I dinnae ken too much beyond what yer seeing in this here paper. Story's not mine, got it up from Derbyshire and published it here. Little village called Lesser Edale. But I can tell you what my contact said: They're serious, somethin' out there in the woods at night that's spookin' the folks. Now, my guess would be a rabid dog or maybe a wolf, but the folks up there swear on their mama's soul that it's a werewolf. But I can tell you for certain, it's not just blowing smoke, there's somethin' out there."

I frown. A single creature of some sort hounding a small village can't possibly be what I was summoned here for- not exactly a 'threat to all humanity.' But, maybe I can find something else by studying this. "Alright. I'll definitely look into this." I answer the journalist, giving him a nod.

Mahoney's face breaks into a grin. "Keep me posted, laddie. I'll pay seventy quid if you can bring me a good story."

I pause for a moment. I recall inflation was crazy; isn't one pound sterling of this time worth like, a hundred 21st century dollars? "That's a damn good offer." I observe out loud.

He shrugs. "Spend money to make money. You investigator types seem to have a real knack for digging up the queerest of things." Mahoney pauses and takes a drag of his cigarette. "One more thing. If you haven't already, you should prolly drop by the Penhew Foundation and the Heretic Golden Order or whatever it was- can never remember those names. I hear those two are the bee's knees when it comes to magic."

Surprisingly, the second name strikes a tinge of recognition in both of my sets of memories, but it's the mage one that recalls the correct name. "That's… the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn? Famously home to Aleister Crowley?"
"Right you are, that's the one." He agrees with a nod. "Albeit I've heard mister Crowley himself innit in the country anymore, went off to Arabia or somesuch."

"You seem to know a lot about the occult for a journalist." I note with a hum.

Mahoney snorts. "I dinnae fancy myself no wizard, if that's what you're asking. What I do like is a good story, and the people will lap up anything about magical hoodoo like ye wouldn't believe. It pays to keep an ear to these things."

"Alright." I say, getting up from my seat. "This was quite the fruitful conversation. Thank you for your time, mister Mahoney."

He grins and waves me off. "Thank you, good sir. And remember my offer."

[ London, England ]
[ July 3rd, 1924, Thursday ]

I make a mental note to visit the two places that Mahoney mentioned, but I'm definitely heading up to see that werewolf problem, first things first. I'd feel horrible if there's people out there dying to a monster I could have stopped, but didn't because I was faffing about in town asking about magic.

From one of the maps, I was pleasantly surprised to see that the Tube and the railways are actually quite recognizable to what I remember from the modern day. From Fleet Street, it's a short walk to the nearest Tube entrance, and only a few pennies for a ticket on the Northern line.

The vehicles and passengers are obviously different, but it's almost eerie how much it resembles the metro experience I know. The same stairs and even escalators- wooden ones, which is a bit odd - dirty corridors lined with advert posters, tired looking faces and general dingy energy. Like some odd, parallel world where everything simply happens to be vintage-themed but still works the same.

I hop off at St. Pancras station and purchase a ticket up to Derby. With over an hour to kill until the train arrives, I make a visit to the shops that surround the station and purchase two things: A nice scarf, and a blank notebook and pen. Whereupon I turn my mental note to visit the Hermetic Order, into an actual note.

The train is pretty empty, being quite an odd time that I picked, in the middle of the week and not quite the end of the day either. After finding a nice, secluded spot in the corner to sit in, I spend the better part of the journey enchanting my scarf with a simple wind charm, using Formalcraft, a drop of my own blood, and a shaving of silver. Something that, when activated and supplied with mana, will maintain a bubble-shaped barrier around my head, purifying the air of simple contaminants and providing me with sweet, sweet oxygen. It's more of a temporary thing rather than an actual, proper magic item- my Clock Tower memories never got into the details of how to craft a proper Mystic Code. But as long as I take a couple minutes every day to recharge the enchantment, it'll do just fine.

Even then, it's only a part of the trip. It still leaves me with an hour and change to just sit there and think.

I've been ripped out of my life. Maybe I can go back like nothing happened, maybe I can never return. Maybe I'll step out of a portal after a week, and find that a thousand years have passed. I have no idea. Not even the mage's memories in my head have even the faintest clue. Traveling between dimensions is the domain of the Second True Magic. Leagues and miles out of his weight class.

I sigh and sink back into the seat, my eyes closed. I'm going to miss my family. God, mom is going to be inconsolable. I'm going to miss chatting with my friends.

Shit, I'm going to miss my phone. How will my ADHD ass pass the hours now, without being able to connect to the internet and read an entire new fanfiction every day?

-But, at the same time as my mind is bubbling with worries, there's an undercurrent of fire. I have a mission, a purpose. For a long time, I've made note that, if you want your life to really mean something, to leave your mark on the world, you need to dedicate your entire life to one thing. Maybe to mastering a single single. Becoming an unparalleled artist. Maybe to championing a single cause. Maybe working on a single grand project. But that single-minded focus is the crucial part. And I mean, it's not like I have some burning, desperate need to become a great figure who goes down in history. But still, I always felt a little bit lost. Dabbling in dozens of different things, but never really feeling a connection. I never found something that I felt happy to dedicate myself towards.

But now, that's been chosen for me. Save the world. I can't say no, I can't step away. The weight of expectations is crushing, but at the same time, having a clear, explicit goal, something to aim for? It lights a fire inside my heart.

-

After changing lines at Derby, I arrive at the modest town of Greater Edale. I take a minute to appreciate the place. I've always loved these kinds of towns- brick buildings, stone roads, filled with nature. Small enough to be away from the bustle of the urban center, but not quite so small that it's totally rural. Like traveling to something from medieval times… which I suppose is quite ironic to think, when I'm already in the past.

But, enough sightseeing. I take the northern exit and walk the rest of the way to the little village. It's an idyllic, almost fairytale scenery with rolling grassy hills filled with roaming sheep, limestone outcrops criss-crosed by rivers and waterfalls, wooded valleys and frolicking wildlife - even if the feeling of wet grass and mud squelching under my shoes makes me grimace. I make a note in my little notebook to buy some boots when I get back.

The village is… tiny. There's maybe twenty, thirty buildings here in total, only two of them with more than one floor, the inn and the church. The place looks positively medieval. Hell, some of the houses have thatch roofs.

Well, the classics are classic for a reason. I enter the inn, finding it a quaint little place. A dozen patrons sitting around by the candle-light, drinking ale.

…Now, while my social skills aren't the greatest, I can recognize that entering and immediately asking about the recent deaths, especially in a small community like this, would be incredibly rude and jarring, likely to make a bad first impression. But… well, what else can I do? That's what I'm here to investigate, and I don't have the ability to make fast friends or naturally ease into it.

With a sigh, I sit at the bar and gesture towards the bartender, a grim look on my face. He seems to pick up on the atmosphere and approaches quietly.

"I'm here to look into the mysterious deaths that have happened here recently."

The bartender grimaces. "I was afraid you were going to say that. You're not the first, you know. Some big-city types have already made the rounds here, held an inquiry, even."

"That so?" I say with an eyebrow raised. "What did you tell them?"

"A feral dog was attacking the people. Constable Tumwell shot that beast, and that's all she wrote."

There's a brief moment of silence, making me realize my little conversation has completely the bar's haze of cozy late-night camaraderie.

One man loudly scoffs. "A dog! I've seen that hells-damned beast. No dog be walkin' round on its paws! No dog has red eyes like hot coals! And no dog has e'er ripped a man into ribbons!"

There's a dark murmur of agreement around the room. It's not a full-throated agreement, but everyone seems to believe that whatever is going on, it's not just a dog.

I turn to the barman again. "Is that true?"

He shrugs. "How would I know? Haven't seen the damned thing." Then he hesitates for a moment. "But… well, there is something. The moon. The deaths all happened on the full moon, or the day after. And there's this infernal howling all night when the moon is full."

I nod slowly. Alright, at this point I'd bet my left foot there's a werewolf afoot. "Thanks for your help… sorry, I never got your name?"

"Bill."

"Thanks, Bill. How much for a room here at the inn?"

"Two shillings and sixpence."

I dig around in my pockets and place three shilling coins on the table. "Keep the change. Is there anyone else who I can ask about this whole sorry situation?"

"Well, there's the constable, of course. Maybe the Reverend Stratton, he's the most learned-man we've got around these parts. Well, maybe 'cept for ol' Arthur." The barkeep thinks, scratching his neck."

"Alright. I'll have to visit the church, then."

—

After a somewhat uncomfortable night's sleep on the inn's thin, wooden bed and a simple breakfast of eggs, I take a short walk to the town's only church. I knock on the door, to no response. Then I notice the small house right next to it, and realize that the man probably doesn't live inside the church and it's mid-morning on a Friday.

Knocking on the correct door, it takes a good thirty or so seconds before I hear the sounds of movement from inside the house. An aged face peeks out from behind the door, opened just a hand's width. "Yes?" He asks sharply.

"Revered Stratton?" I ask, attempting a pleasant smile.

"Yes, yes." He replies.

I briefly consider how much I should share with him. Historically speaking, church rather infamously doesn't get along with witchcraft, so I should probably keep any talk of magic on the down-low around him unless absolutely necessary. I guess the 'scholar' excuse will be my identity for a while.

"My name is Gabriel. I am something of a scholar, currently studying mysterious occurrences, and I heard of what happened in this town. I'd like to offer my assistance in solving this particular riddle, if you'd have me."

The priest blinks and looks me over again, but his expression softens. "Ah. Yes, that's… acceptable. Come on in now." He opens the door fully and waves for me to enter.

"A scholar of what, exactly?" He comments as we walk into the house.

"Well, I mainly studied history, but you know how it is - I can't help but read a little bit of everything, here and there."

Stratton chuckles. "Yes, I do understand." We arrive at a room that seems to be an office or study. It's cozy, with dark wooden chairs and bookshelves, though a bit small. "Take a seat." He gestures towards one of the chairs.

As I sit on the other side from his desk, I can't help but glance at some of the various papers displayed across it. I catch a letter that minions an 'Order of the Golden Druid', an open book that appears to be half English, half Greek which must be a dictionary, and a very old, leather-bound journal of some kind. "You're a man of letters yourself, I see." I comment with a gesture towards the messy table.

"Ah, yes." He smiles, then takes the large book, closing and placing it upon a shelf. "Languages are something of a hobby of mine. Now, what did you wish to learn?"

"I know some Greek, if you'd like help translating that." A handy perk of a lifetime's worth of occult study stuffed into my memories, that. I can read old Greek and Latin nearly as well as English, though I might struggle to actually speak it. "And well, I'd like to know anything you can tell me about these wild attacks."

The priest sighs. "A dreadful thing. I'm afraid I don't know much more than anyone else in town. I only can only hope it's over. For what it's worth, I'd ask you not to go to the families. They've had quite enough for a lifetime."

I give a respectful nod. "Alright. But you must know something- perhaps local folklore?"

I continued talking to Reverend Stratton for a long while. I end up knowing far more than I ever expected about the history of this little town in Derbyshire. The most notable thing around here is the old Plum Castle, home of the Vane family, whose line have held a noble title and lived here for centuries. Other than that, it's just incredibly specific and probably useless snippets, like the castle having been remodeled in 1587 or the existence of lead mines in the area.

I take another, closer look at the Greek journal. "That… says Vane, doesn't it?" I note with some curiosity.

"Ah, yes." The priest notes. "It's an old record from this very church - from another priest centuries before me. If you're willing, I could use a hand in deciphering it."

I chuckle. "Well, I've already taken up enough of your time. It would be remiss of me not to offer something in return."

It takes well over an hour, and a lot of spilled ink, but I get a full translation of the passage in question. Which describes a local legend, of a 'looming hound' said to haunt the lands of Edale. The creature, allegedly, comes from a curse, laid by a witch upon the bloodline of one Lady Evangeline Vane at some point during the 1600's.

"A curse on the Vane line?" I mutter to myself. Glancing at Stratton, I find that the old Reverend seems to have gone white as a sheet. "...Do you know something about this?" I confront him.

He slowly shakes his head in the negative. "Very little, I'm afraid. I have read mentions of the Curse of the Vanes, but only in passing. You know as much as I do, now."
I put my hands to the table and rise off the chair, feeling more determined than ever. "Well. Can you help me get an invitation to the Vanes' castle? I'm going to get to the bottom of this."
-

The 'plan' - if you can even call it that - is quite simple. I join the little church for their evening sermon, which Lawrence, the young Vane heir, always attends on the Fridays and Sundays. After the service ends, I approach him for small talk and ask if I can visit the castle, playing up my interest in medieval history. I don't have to exaggerate much, I really do find it fascinating. He seems a little hesitant at first, but then Reverend Stratton approaches with a smile and vouches for my good character. The young heir relents and invites me to dinner for the following evening.

[ Derbyshire, England ]
[ July 25th, 1924. Saturday. ]

Another night spent at the inn. Now I have to wait until the end of the day to continue my investigation. Not enough time to take a train somewhere else, too much time to just sit around and wait.

I end up taking a page out of a certain Irish battle-mage's book and decide to spend the time enchanting my fancy suit with some runes. Applying enchantments to an existing object makes for a considerably less potent end product when compared to crafting a magical item from scratch, but it also takes a fraction of the effort. When you compare the cost-effectiveness, enchanting wins out by a mile.

Regardless, creating a permanent, effective magic item is not free or easy. It's not a matter of simply slapping a spell and then it's done, you still need physical materials, craftsmanship, and time. (Unless you're a freak of nature named Shirou Emiya).

If I were still the mage of my memories, living in his original dimension, I'd have access to a Clock Tower quality workshop, stocked with a full array of alchemical components, exotic metals, and even the closest possible equivalents to Phantasmal Beast parts. No actual phoenix feathers or kirin horns of course, that kind of ingredient is reserved only for the legends of the distant past. But the specially grown chimeras the freaks at the Zoology Department create, can serve as a half-decent substitute.

Here, all I have to work with is the ingredients in my suitcase. A number of herbs, ground and stored in little vials, a couple kinds of incense, oils, salt, a small selection of animal parts, a bar of silver and a shard of quartz crystal. If this selection is any indication, it seems casters here have to work with entirely mundane ingredients, the poor bastards.

I borrow an empty bowl, a knife, spoon and fork from the kitchen. Bill gives me a funny look.

Back in my room, incense burns as I take the edge of the knife and heat it over an open flame. Partially to make sure it's sterile, but also as part of the ritual.

Setting the bowl on the small table, I cut across my wrist and let the blood spill onto it. I wait for my heart to beat seven times, feeling the pulsing heat in the open wound, before taking a cloth to staunch the cut.

Then I add a generous pinch of rock salt and several shavings of silver to the bowl of blood.

For several long minutes, I stir the mixture counter-clockwise with a spoon while infusing it with my mana. It feels exhausting and far too long, my magic circuits sore and my arms heavy, but the blood-red slowly, gradually fades to a metallic blue-grey.

I take a white feather and dip it into the mix, using it as a quill to write ᛉ, the rune Algiz, the elk's horn of protection.
I repeat the rune in several places across the suit. On the back of the knees, on the shoulders, on either side of the chest, one inside the vest, on the mid-back. I dip the quill and trace the same symbols again, until the ink runs dry.

Over three hours of painstaking work later, and my suit now has some basic warding against evil. It won't protect against a punch, but this is as good as plate armor when it comes to minor curses, ghosts and other purely magical or spiritual effects.

…Fuck, it's not even midday yet.
I need to find a bookstore or something, I'm gonna go insane without something to pass the time.

After laying around in my room staring at the wall, alternated with taking walks around the small village for hours-
Finally, finally, the sun begins to dip towards the horizon. As the rolling green fields become tinged with orange, I put on my mildly-enchanted suit, and walk up the path towards Plum Castle.
It's a few hundred meters from the village, overlooking a small little cliff. I use a casual application of wind to create a millimeter-thin barrier, keeping the gravel and dirt from smudging my fine Italian suit. It's frivolous, yes, but also good practice.
Once again, I'm struck by how old everything looks here. That's a medieval castle, a historical site, yet it's also just a place where people still live. It's crazy how England has stuff like this. It feels absolutely wild to my perspective, having grown up in a modern city in the New World, where everything is less than a century old.

An old, stern-faced man in a grey suit greets me at the door. "Lord Arthur will see you now."

The man who I guess must be a butler guides me down a series of stone corridors, up to what he introduces as the Great Hall. Once again, I'm impressed, this whole place really looks like I've stepped centuries into the past into the court of a medieval Lord. Ancient-looking tapestries, ornately carved wooden walls, and even a silver-plated chandelier. Though, I guess Vane is an actual Lord.

At the head of the table is Arthur Vane, an old man, his bushy, white mustache quite glorious to behold. He reminds me of my grandpa. Despite his age, the man holds himself with a stately bearing, back ramrod straight, eyes gleaming with a cunning shine. To the side is Lawrence, whom I've already met.

"Why, hello!" Arthur greets me, lifting a cup of wine. His eyes give me a once-over, and he nods, seemingly satisfied with what he sees. "The noble house of Vane extends its hospitality to you, our honored guest."

I nod my head towards him before taking a seat opposite Lawrence. "You humble me with your praise. I am a simple scholar, and the honour is mine, to be invited into a castle as grand as this, a living, breathing part of this country's storied history."

Arthur chuckles mirthfully. "You are too kind, too kind."

"Fine suit, never seen one like it before." Notes Lawrence with some curiosity.

"Ah, it's Italian." I demurely accept.

There's not much time to make small talk, as soon the butler arrives again, carrying a tray of food. We dine on a luxurious five-course meal, from a hors d'oeuvres of patê, a selection of cheeses, a side of trout, a course of steak, and a dessert of plum pudding. So much food, there's barely any time to speak.
When the butler asked me how I liked my steak- medium rare - I couldn't help but notice both the Vanes asked for it very rare.

After that veritable feast, I feel content and nicely stuffed, leaning back on my chair. "Whew. My compliments to the chef, I've never had anything quite like that trout."

Arthur chuckles. "She'll be happy to hear it."

The butler passes by again, offering a tray of… cigars. What the hell? Why would you want to ruin the aftertaste with ash and smoke in your mouth?
"Ah, no thanks." I refuse, raising my hand. "I don't smoke."

All three of the men give me odd looks, as the two Vanes puff away. Oh, this is one of those things, right? Smoking was way more common in this day and age.

"It's a health condition." I awkwardly try to add. "Not good for my lungs."

"A damn shame." The elder Vane tuts, shaking his head.

"So…" I try to probe a little bit. "Have you heard the stories about a… werewolf problem in the village?"

Both of them burst into laughter. I stare at them. It's clear to see the laughing is fake. It's far too forced, too explosive, and immediately started the moment I spoke. They just, both of them started cackling outright as if it was a pre-arranged signal.

"Oh, no, there's nothing of the sort, here." Lawrence says with a wooden smile. "It's just a sleepy little town."

I drum my fingers on the table. I don't like being this blunt, but well… social skills are not my forté.

"I'll be blunt." I begin, getting out of my chair to stand up over the table. "I know your family is cursed. I don't know the specifics of it, but I'd like to help."

Arthur's endless well of good manners seems to have run dry as he fixes me with a glare and explodes into a sudden rage, his head going red as a tomato as he shouts at me. "You insolent scum! You barge into my home, eat my food, and still have the audacity to question the state of MY family? How dare you!"

I raise my hand again to gesture for him to stop - he doesn't, of course - and then, with a snap of my fingers, I conjure an orb of spinning, glowing energy that floats over my hand. It kinda looks like a Rasengan. Huh, maybe I can reverse-engineer that… thoughts for later. "I am something of a wandering wizard. You know, like Merlin. I have experience in solving supernatural problems. I heard of a situation here involving a monster and came to investigate, as it seemed like a case suited for my particular talents."
The elder Vane's face wavers, and his explosive anger takes a step back, he doesn't seem entirely convinced. "You… you will not fool me with parlour tricks and mirrors! You are a charlatan after my fortune!"

"-Please!" Shouts Lawrence, his eyes wide and his knuckles white as he holds a death-grip on the chair's armrests. "Please help us!"
I lower my hands back down, dismissing the orb of light, and look towards Lawrence. "What do you need help with?"

Lawrence takes a deep breath. He's still shaky, still a little desperate, but there's iron in his gaze. "You… you can't tell anyone about any of this, alright?"

I nod and put a hand to my heart. "You have my word."

"It's my sister, Eloise." Lawrence begins, his hands shaking. "On the full moon, she turns… she's transformed into a horrible beast. She loses her mind, and becomes a monster that attacks anything in sight. It used to be short, but it's gotten worse and worse. The last few months, she's been an animal for the entire night. At this rate, I'm afraid we'll lose her forever."

The table sits in silence. Arthur stares down, his hands balled into fists, his mustache quivers.

"Is this true?" I ask, softly.

"Yes." Arthur bluntly states. "We've gone through the family history. We know about the curse. It's been written down for centuries, but seems to not have happened before in living memory. Like it was almost gone, then… came back. Nobody was expecting it."
"Is Eloise here?"

Lawrence hesitates, but nods. "Yes. In her room, on the second floor."

"May I examine her?" I ask, and the two men stare at me with suspicion. "Like a doctor's visit. You can stay in the room to watch and make sure I won't do anything foul to her."

Arthur releases a deep, deep sigh, slouching forward. "I… fine. Even if you reveal yourself to be a malicious warlock, I doubt you could possibly make the situation any worse. What would you do, curse our family again?" He laughs, a hoarse, hollow sound, laced with pain.

Lawrence gets up from the table and gestures for me to follow.

We reach the sister's spacious room on the second floor. It's luxuriously furnished, but all of it is covered in enormous gashes, bite and claw marks sized for a tiger.

"Oh, hello." Eloise greets us with wide eyes. She's a slender, demure young woman, dressed in a simple white shift. She has long, messy raven-black hair, but the most striking feature is her skin, a paleness nearly bordering on completely white. "I… wasn't expecting visitors."

"Hello there, Eloise." I try to give her a reassuring smile. "I'm a physician, here to examine your… unique condition."

She glances over at her brother, who nods.

"Fine." She speaks curtly, with a deep sigh.

I direct her to sit sideways on the bed, then place my hands on her back, over her dress. Closing my eyes, I direct Structural Analysis to scan her in as much depth as I can, causing blue glowing blue veins to run down her body, like plant spreading it's roots. I hear Lawrence gasp, but tune him out.

Analysing a human being is never easy. So many squishy bits, so many organs, not to even mention the spiritual dimension. Peering in there, I note that Eloise doesn't have any magic circuits, open or closed - which, to be fair, is normal, most people don't have those. I also immediately notice that, in the place where those circuits would be located, there is what I can only describe as a spiritual tumor. An angry, roiling mass of dark energy that's latched onto her soul like a parasite. As I watch, the thing pulsates, forcibly draining the energy from the soul around it. It couldn't be more obvious that this is the problem if there was a giant glowing sign.

I open my eyes and take a deep breath. "I have good news, bad news, and good news."

The family turns to look at me expectantly, with an odd look on their face. Hm, I guess that turn of phrase isn't in common circulation yet. I continue: "I've identified the problem. Now, while unfortunately I cannot cure it completely, I might be able to do something about it." I raise a hand to forestall them, before they speak. "Again, to be clear, maybe. Perhaps nothing will change. And even if I succeed, this won't be a complete cure to her condition."
"Now, when is the next full moon?" I ask.

The siblings share a glance at each other. "It's… tonight."

I pinch my nose.

[ Feat Accomplished: Discover the Secret of Lesser Edale! ]

[ Bronze Ticket Awarded ]

Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean
50 CP
A paper bag filled with jelly beans enchanted to have one random flavor. ANY flavor and your packet is endless.
Chronomancer
200 CP
Time is an illusion, and you're a master of illusions. You can manipulate time freely within a small radius of yourself. This allows you to do things such as rewind time for a few minutes, slow it down, speed it up and several other such tricks. Keep in mind that the more you try to do with time, the greater the strain. Jumping backwards a few seconds to avoid a critical hit? Easy as pie. Trudging back a whole half-hour, because you absolutely need to correct a horrible mistake after the fact? Expect to need bed rest afterwards.

Vishnu Baja
200 CP
The great gallery of weapons that the hero Rama was granted by the Sage Vishwamitra. Stored in a dimensional pocket connecting to your being, you have access to dozens of powerful divine weapons with a variety of magical effects, mostly focused on anti-divine and anti-demon combat. They're easy to wield for you, feeling natural in your hands, and this only improves the greater your divinity becomes. Those with the blood of a demigod could easily wield multiple of these weapons at once, floating through the air around you as if through telekinesis. A full god could bring out even greater power from each weapon and potentially have the two dozen or more tools all attacking at once! While there are many legendary weapons held within, some appear as inferior copies, such as the tools of Shiva himself. Vishnu Baja contains powerful tools but individually they would be more along the power held by the Agni Gandiva or Sudarshan Chakra.

-Oh, it turns out that I didn't just get a Clock Tower education when I got dumped in here. I've got a full on protagonist cheat.

On one hand, I get an array of awesome powers that can grow potentially without limit. That is dope. On the other hand, Alice had said I was going to need power to deal with whatever is wrong with this world, which is… worrying.

I turn to my three choices. Well, it's really only two choices, the beans are worthless.

Chronomancy does sound dope. To keep up the Nasuverse comparisons, I would basically be Kiritsugu Emiya with that. Even outside of the obvious combat uses, being able to rewind to correct mistakes, for example in a ritual, would be an incredible trick.

Or, I could emulate his son instead, with summoning a bunch of swords. Oh, this perk is literally from Fate too, how appropriate.

Two things convince me to pick Vishnu Baja. First, Chronomancy, in combat, only acts as a power multiplier. Right now, even with Reinforcement at full blast, I'm not really stronger than an ordinary human. Against, say, a big evil monster, I would still get destroyed even if I'm moving three times as fast, meanwhile a powerful magic sword could actually deal some real damage.

Secondly, the anti-divine and anti-demon properties. Conceptual weakness are always a seriously useful thing, and might be able to help me punch up above my weight class. I'm still not sure what exactly is the deal with this world, but those two categories cover a lot of ground.

Man, that is a really strong perk for only 200CP. That's the power of Hindu mythology for you, I guess. What does an 800 point perk from that source look like? Turns you into Arjuna Alter?

I have a rushed discussion, bordering on an interrogation, of the countryside with Arthur to see if I can learn anything about the local ley lines. Luckily, he tells me about the Nine Ladies, a circle of ancient Celtic standing-stones, not too far away from here. I'd bet my fingers that it's built along ley lines - and even if not, the construction itself would hold considerable mystical weight.

I grab anything that might be useful from the kitchen - a bowl, knife, and some spices that could substitute for mystical herbs in a pinch, mostly.

We rush to saddle the horses and set away towards the Nine Ladies at a gallop. There are only two horses ready on the estate, so Eloise rides alongside her brother, while I sprint next to them, pumping my legs with Reinforcement.

The sky is already dark. As soon as we arrive at the stones, I begin to prepare, taking the silver dinner knife to my palm and pouring ounces of blood onto the bowl. I'm starting to get dizzy here.

I wildly gesture to the Vanes to come. "Give me some of your blood."

Arthur grimaces. "What?!"

"It doesn't have to be this much." I reassure them with a gesture towards the bowl. "Just a few drops will do. Kin's-blood, freely given. It will make the ritual much smoother. Blood ties are a powerful thing."

Lawrence does it eagerly. He seems more desperate about all of this than Eloise herself. She hesitates for a second, then takes the knife. Arthur looks like he bit into a lemon, but he eventually goes through anyways.

From there, it's the same mixture I used for the runes on my suit.

I begin to chant as I add the ingredients. "Silver of purity, ward off the unholy. Salt of the earth, bind the inhuman."

It's not some ancient, mystical spell. I'm making up the words. But every little bit helps. …Probably.

Something about this is definitely helping. Maybe the full moon overhead, the circle of stones, or the ley lines in the location. The mixing goes smoother, taking less effort, and is finished much faster, compared to tomorrow.

I dip a finger into the bowl, and write the rune Dagaz on Eloise's forehead. ᛞ - Purification. I repeat the motion two more times.

Then, with the remaining blood-ink, I write the rune Berkano onto each of the standing stones, connecting them to the symbol of purification and anchoring the ritual to the imposing monoliths, drawing upon the meaning of the holy site.

Eloise is laid down and chained to a large, flat stone in the center of the circle. The two older Vanes stand several paces behind, watching.

Then we wait.

And wait.

I'm not sure how long we stand there for. In reality, it can't possibly be more than an hour. But the tension of it makes the minutes stretch like days. I can't help but recall the descriptions of soldiers recalling the tension before a battle, the phase of 'hurry up and wait.'

Finally, when it finally happens, it's shockingly fast. It's not some tortuous, drawn-out scene like a werewolf movie- Eloise convulses, and then in mere seconds, transforms completely. Her muscles twist and bunch into desiccated cords, her skin becomes a sickly greyish-black, mangy fur covers her frame, her hands grow into elongated, spindly things, capped by brutally oversized, serrated fangs. Immediately the creature begins to trash and howl. It's incredibly loud, and the clattering of the chains is thunderous enough that I'm worried it'll break out.

I dash to the stone and immediately Reinforce the chains. The spell won't hold for too long without me keeping it up, but hopefully it should be enough.
"Hold it down!" I shout to Lawrence, handing him the chains. He struggles with all his might, with the fury of a drowning man clinging to the only solid thing in sight.

My left hand rests on top of the beast's chest, using Structural Analysis. With my right hand, I place it against her head and push down, forcing it back against the rock.

Out of all the many kinds of magecraft that are taught in the Clock Tower, perhaps the most difficult is the field of Spiritual Surgery. I mean, no shit, it's like brain surgery but with souls. A single mistake usually means death or a permanent injury to the spiritual vessel.

An untrained amateur performing spiritual surgery is almost always an absolutely horrible idea. Luckily, what I'm performing is about the equivalent of amputating a gangrened foot. You don't need a doctorate for that, you just need a cleaver.

To my structural analysis, the 'tumor' seems to have undergone a startling transformation. It's bulging like a balloon, many times larger than it was before, to such an extent that it seems to 'jut out' from the rest of Eloise's soul - which is weak and dim by comparison.

The monstrous state actually makes my job much easier.
I manifest a demon-slayer's dagger from Vishnu's panoply and start hacking and cutting away at the spiritual tumor. In physical space, my hands move slightly above her diaphragm.

The bloated state of the tumor helps me, as I can attack it directly, without needing to worry about damaging her soul in the process. With each blow, the beast howls and thrashes like it's in horrible pain, making utterly inhuman noises that would have left a person's vocal cords shredded and bleeding.

After a few good blows, the bulging mass has been reduced to a seething 'stump'. There are still some tendrils remaining, but the only parts left are buried too deep into her soul for me to continue without risking serious damage to her.

So I stop cutting, and channel all the mana I have left into the runes.

The standing stones glow with silvery moonlight. Like a whirlpool, it washes inward and floods towards Eloise, forming a pillar of illumination that rises dozens of feet into the air before dissipating into motes of fairy light.

Under my spiritual sight, I see the vestiges of rot being washed away, splitting into clumps and dissipating like dust in the wind.

Soon enough, Eloise transforms again, shedding away the dark fur, and lays there, unconscious, her clothes half-torn, her skin covered in sweat where it's not bruised or cut, but alive and fully human.

I open my eyes and smile. "It's even better than I hoped for. It's all gone. Your daughter is well and truly cured."

The only reason I was able to pull that off is because the 'curse' seemingly was some kind of 'unholy' infection, making it conceptually vulnerable to purification and exorcism, from both the anti-demon property of the divine weapon, and the silver-blessed purification ritual. If it had been the result of more traditional magecraft, then fully removing it would have required actual spirit surgery, and I'd be shit out of luck.
Of course, I'm not going to actually say out loud that it's a good thing that she had some kind of fucked up demon AIDS, that would be terribly crass.

Arthur and Lawrence look more relieved than I've ever seen a person be.

"I don't know how I can ever repay you." Arthur turns to me with his mustache quivering. "If there is anything I can do, anything at all, just say the word."

I pause for a moment. "The two of you must have spent a great deal of time looking into your daughter's condition, yes? Trying to find a cure?"

"Well, yes, of course. Unfortunately, the greatest majority of so-called mystics seem to be nothing but charlatans and thieves." He spits onto the ground. "Scum. Alas, even the ones that seemed to have some measure of true knowledge on the topic told us there was no cure. The Church said to put my darling out of her misery, can you believe it!" Arthur roars, growing more incensed.

I hold up my hands placatingly. "Yes, well- these ones that seemed to actually know something, which were they?"

"Hrmph." He grunts, pausing for a moment and stroking his mustache with one hand. "Well… the Catholic Church clearly knows something. I traded a number of letters with an antiquarian by the name of Grieve, and he pointed me to a scholar from Cambridge, who…"

After a bit of a rambling aside, I get three solid leads to visit. The 'Friends of Mrs. Attwood,' the Society for Psychical Research, and the antiquarian Leander Grieve. Also the Catholic Church, apparently, but that one's… a bit harder to deal with.

"Alright, in that case- could you write me letters of introduction for these three? I think they might point me towards what I'm looking for."

"Yes, of course, of course!" Arthur happily agrees. "What are you looking for, if I might be so bold as to ask?"

I sigh heavily and run my hands through my hair in frustration. "I wish I knew too. All I have is a… prophecy, of sorts. Some kind of catastrophic threat to humanity is coming, and supernatural events in Britain are connected to it in some way. All I can do is chase after news headlines and hope to find a thread I can pull to unravel this mystery."

The Vanes share a concerned look. "I see…"

[July 26th, Sunday]

After returning to the castle, the grateful family allows me to stay in the guest room - where I collapse unconscious with exhaustion.

[ Feat Accomplished: Fully Cure Eloise's ghoul curse! ]

[ Silver Ticket Awarded ]

Dragon's Mail
400 CP
A heavy set of armor that bears the scales of a once-legendary dragon, now slain and forged into this enchanted equipment. It fits your form perfectly regardless of your size once donned, and cannot be removed from your body until it or you is destroyed or if you seek to take it off. As a bonus, it gives you considerable resistance to both physical damage and elemental (fire, thunder, ice, etc.) damage from magic. A fatal blow will be more of a frustrating scratch. Just mind the gaps in said armor.

Diadem of the Savant
200 CP
This golden circlet is gifted to anyone who is able to complete Shalidor's Maze, and overcome the trials within. It greatly decreases the amount of magicka your spells would otherwise cost, as well as allowing you to have ten times more summons active at once than you could before. Anything summoned while wearing this will be stronger, faster, and more durable than they otherwise would have been.

Protective Magic
300 CP
You are versed in sigils, wards and other rituals of protection. This can defend against physical and magical assault. Requires mana.

The dragon armor sounds really, really good, but I think I'm going to choose Protective Magic instead. It's a lot more versatile, and, hopefully, should provide me with the same protection in the end.

Not to mention, wearing a heavy suit of armor around would get me a lot of weird looks.

I join the family for a hearty english breakfast. They're all beaming with happiness, Eloise especially.

"I'm going with you." Eloise declares in the middle of the meal, staring right up at me.

"Absolutely not!" Arthur roars, his mustache quivering. "Young woman, you must say home and recover. You are in no condition to go gallivanting off across the world!"

"I have been stuck in this godsforsaken castle for months!" Eloise screams back. "I haven't even seen London since last year! I have had enough of being treated like a caged bird! I want to live, damn you!"

"She has a point, father." Lawrence mutters in a low voice.

"You stay out of this, lad!" The father snipes back furious. His face is getting a dangerous red tinge to it.

"The man here's a bloody wizard!" Lawrence responds. "Surely he can keep her safe!"

Eloise rises from her seat, resting her hands on the table. "I can decide for myself, thank you very much! And I am going!"
I silently make my way out of the table to avoid the family screaming match.

Later, when I'm getting ready to leave, Arthur Vane approaches me, looking a mite sheepish. He's wringing his hands with a handkerchief, and a package is laid on the table quite conspicuously.
"I must apologize, my good man." He says. "We did not ask your choice, when debating my daughter's decision."

"Ah." I acknowledged with a nod of the head. "Yeah, fair. But no worries, I mean, it's fine. If that is what she wants, then Eloise can come with me."

I have typically been more of a lonesome kind of person, in most of my daily life back home. But, that doesn't mean I refuse to be around other people.

And in this unfamiliar time and place, having someone who actually knows how to navigate the world is quite a good bit of help. Especially a noble lady, who should be learned in etiquette and all that stuff, to navigate the opaque social labyrinths of ol' England.

Eloise, in particular, makes for a… let's say convenient pick, because she is someone I personally saved from a horrible fate. With that gratitude, hopefully, translating into a sense of loyalty, I should be able to trust her with some of my secrets.

The 1920's is already a time when science fiction novels were popular, right? I might be able to tell her I'm from the future.

"Good, good." Arthur nods, brushing his mustache, and then he hand me the package. Inside are the letters I asked for… and a pouch with five hundred pounds sterling.

I give him a look, pushing the envelope back into his hands. "I'm thankful, really, but I told you, you didn't need to. This is a lot of money."

The man chuckles. "If my daughter had a disease- not even some horrible curse, but an ordinary, serious malady, this could be only a mere fraction of the price of her treatment, in doctors and medicines. Let me give you at least this much, lad. You deserve it. Just… promise me that you will keep my daughter safe." He says, sounding more resigned than anything.

I nod. "Yes, I promise."

It seems like Eloise will be coming with me after all.

NeonKnightrider · Oct 30, 2026

Patch notes: edited a bit the end of the previous chapter (with Eloise's wanting to tag along)

Properly tagged Akuma64 and Shujin

Changed the point range of the tickets (only bronze and silver have been rolled so far so it's not much of a prob)

[ Gain your first Party Member ]

[ Bronze Ticket Awarded ]

Warhammer
100 CP
A masterwork dwarven warhammer, forged of the finest steel, with a grip that perfectly fits any user. This weapon is ideal for fighting against heavily armored foes and war-machines, requires little-to-no maintenance, and will probably outlive you.
Source: Warhammer Fantasy

Silver Whistle
200 CP
Toot this whistle once and a pack of Black Timber Wolves will come to your aid. They can understand you perfectly and are quite loyal, like most animals in Oz, they are capable of speech. Should they perish they cannot be summoned again. Toot Twice with the Silver Whistle, and a Murder of Crows will decend from the skies. They too are loyal to you and obey your commands. Should the Murder be slain they will not respawn. Toot thrice upon the Silver whistle and a sky darkening swarm of large Black Bees appears. They too will understand and obey, though they only reply in bee. Should they all be killed they will not respawn.
Source: Wizard of Oz

Once Every Century
100 CP
Talent that comes only once in a hundred years might stand out at the time but against the expanse of history? It just means there's been a dozen or two others like that already. World class talent might be the peak of what normal human's can do but it's just the start for those in the magical world. Like the famed Salieri and his music, you have that world class talent in one art form of your choosing. Singing, the piano, painting, architectural design, acting or some other method. With just this and the right connections, you could certainly go down in the history of the mundane as one of the greatest performers of your art to ever live. But you've got the potential to go further, as you find yourself having a moderately easier time learning magical spells and abilities closely associated with your chosen art, as well as such things becoming easier to use and somewhat more powerful as well. Magic cast through a special instrument of the musical art you've mastered would be stronger, whereas a great painter would find magic relating to manipulating paintings and drawn images to be significantly better for them than any others.
Source: Fate/Legends: Empires of Antiquity

The hammer is kind of useless, since I already have a whole magical armory. Seriously, Vishnu Baja is fucking insanely strong for being only 200 points. That's the Hindu myth power level for you, I suppose.

The whistle… eh, could be useful? I guess? But like, they're just ordinary animals. even if they can speak.
Also, the fact they die permanently annoys me. I can't even use them as disposable minions!

So, mostly by the process of elimination, I think I'm going to choose Once in a Century instead.
The artist in me wants to pick painting or drawing, so I can pick up my hobby… but the most pragmatic choice instead, I think would be calligraphy, when it comes to magical benefits. So much of Formalcraft and thaumaturgy relies on drawing very precise lines. I can boost my ability to make runes, ritual circles, all that stuff. Plus, choosing specifically Eastern-style calligraphy would be perfect for making some paper talismans, adding a new option to my arsenal.

…and it also happens to be a perk from Fate, again. I'm building something of a theme, here.

As soon as I mentally lock in my choice, I get another message:

[ Three rolls awarded. Trial period ended. ]

System. Hey, system? What the fuck does that mean?

Am I just done now, no more rolls after this?

That would be… I mean, honestly I've got a pretty decent kit. A Clock Tower education makes me a well-rounded mage, Protection is both strong and has a decently wide range of applications, and Vishnu Baja is practically a budget Gate of Babylon. The art is whatever.

I'm not going to complain about not being freely given only moderate phenomenal magic power instead of outright godlike omnipotence, that would be petty.

Hey, if that werewolf curse is a good indication of the local power level, then I may already be freakin' Merlin compared to this world!

I end up staying a full extra day with the Vanes. For her boldly declaring her departure without any previous warning, it actually takes some time for a noble lady to get her things ready for a long journey.

Works just fine for me, as I also need the time to prepare.

With Protective Magic, what I can do has improved considerably.

So I inform the Vanes that I will be doing wizard shit, grab my stuff, lock myself in the guest room, and strip down to my undies, so I can take my suit and redo the enchantments on it again, but properly this time.

Still no cool magical ingredients, so I once again have to settle for mundane ones. Maybe I could melt down some of the weapons from Vishnu Baja?

…Only if I get really desperate. I'm not sure if the raw material will keep the important magical properties, and there's a chance the sacrilege will bring down the Hindu pantheon on my ass.

I do, at least, swipe a couple bits from Arthur's collection of hunting trophies from Africa: Elephant's tusk ivory and a gazelle's horn. I do feel slightly guilty for stealing from under the nose of the family that so far has been so helpful to me, but: One, I'm here to save the world, and two, this is an old English aristocrat poaching wild animals in the Congo that we're talking about. I think i can pretty confidently state their acquisition was unethical as fuck, so it's basically like stealing blood money.

No, I'm not going to worry if using said poached trophies for my benefit is unethical, shut up.

Like before, I go over a handful of distributed points across the suit - chest, back, sleeves, knees, - and repeatedly engrave the same rune, on each of those spots, to distribute the effect across the whole body. Except this time it's not only one rune being repeat, but a cluster of three, in a triangle pattern:

ᛉ , Algiz, the elk's horn, for spiritual protection, warding against curses, magic and evil spirit. A gazelle is not an elk, but the horn holds similar enough significance that a shaving from it enhances the rune's power.
ᛏ , Tiwaz, the arrow of the god Tyr, for physical protection. Enhanced by dust ground from the elephant ivory. The most symbolically powerful part of the largest land animal is just about the best possible thing you can get, when it comes for a mundane ingredient representing physical strength and endurance.

And thirdly Jera, ᛃ, Abundance, to bind the two harmoniously together.

I don't get any use out of Once Every Century, as I'm embroidering the runes into the inside of the fabric, using silver thread.

And at the rate I'm using it, I might run out of silver in a week. It is one of the most common materials used in magic for good reason, representing purification, protection, warding against evil, all that good stuff, so I use quite a lot of it. If magic is cooking, then silver is like, vegetable oil. Or something like that. I don't know, I don't really cook.

I grab my notebook and make sure to note down "buy more silver" in my reminders and to-do list.

After finishing the embroidery, the last step is to bind the enhancement to myself with a drop of blood.

This version of the enchantments makes me, I'd like to say, about as tough as an M1 Abrams tank? In this time period, at the very least, the only man-made weapons that could harm me through it are stuff like artillery and ship-mounted guns. The magical side is a similar degree of heavyweight; my Clock Tower memories tell me that to shatter these protections would either need someone with immense personal power, such as a Servant or Dead Apostle Ancestor, or some kind of very large, time-consuming, elaborate ritual.

That took… about five hours. Still like, half the day left.

There are more runes that I would like to add to my suit, to make me move faster and punch harder, but for now that's not really part of my skillset. So I can't copy Bazett's entire flow. Yet.

Instead, I peek out of my room to get some food, and take the opportunity to ask Eloise if there's any jewelry she wears all the time.

"Ah- yes, my mother's necklace." She says, reaching up to touch the mentioned around her neck. "Why?"

"So I can enchant it into an amulet of protection. To keep you safe."

"Oh."

So, I end up enchanting the necklace into an Amulet of Protection from Arrows, and a ring into a simple, broad defence against evil spirits and dark magic.

After all of that, I make like a Xianxia young master and load myself up with a whole bunch of one-time use talismans. Protective ones of various kinds. Attack talismans of various elements and specialities, anti-ghost, anti-beast, anti-tank. Escape talismans if I need to fuck off expeditiously.

Healing, unfortunately, is something a lot more difficult and finicky to pull off. Without any Perks specifically for that area, I'm not able to make any healing talismans, which sucks.

Of course, with the Protective Magic perk being my heaviest hitter when it comes to straight up magic, that means that the protective talismans are by far the strongest. I have several that can make barriers of similar strength to my suit in various shapes, some to be slapped onto a wall or floor to protect an area, or held by a person to be protected until the effect runs out, and even a couple that can establish a zone that shuts down dark magic entirely.
If I spend them all, I could keep a building standing through a bombardment while the rest of the city is destroyed around it.

Meanwhile, the attack and escape talismans are much less impressive. I've got explosions, simple energy beams and lightning bolts, but in terms of raw power, none of them are much more impressive than a simple grenade.
As for the escape talisman, I can get high-speed flight comparable to a plane, for about one minute. No teleportation like a proper xianxia talisman would have, for me that's the territory of the Second True Magic and so basically impossible.

Man, I'm gonna need to rig some sort of utility belt setup to separate and organize all these talismans by type. I don't have a divine sense to know and manipulate them without looking.

[ Lesser Edale, Derbyshire, England ]
[ 1924, July 28th, Tuesday ]

When it's time to leave, Eloise shows up in a traveling outfit, knee-height riding boots, a modest knee-length skirt, and a ruffled grey blouse capped by a red brooch. She's clearly been cooped up for far too long, with the way she vibrates in excitement at the idea of just leaving her little town to see London.

She's bringing along a huge suitcase, which… I guess should be expected, for a noblewoman. Whatever, I can lug around without trouble using Reinforcement.

We leave the castle, the two of us riding on horseback, with a pack mule along to carry the luggage, on the dirt road to Greater Edale and the nearest train station.

On the solitary trot along the countryside, I decide to bring up the conversation.

"Tell me, do you read a lot?" I casually ask her.

"Oh, yes indeed." Eloise answers with a nod. "being cooped up in the castle, it is one of the few pleasures that was allowed to me."

"Have you read science fiction? Like, say… HG Wells, Jules Verne?" I ask, naming the oldest authors of the genre I can recall, to make sure I don't accidentally reference something that doesn't yet exist.

She nods. "I have, some. Though I must admit, that type of boyish adventure is not quite to my taste. Jane Austen is my favorite author."

I chuckle. Fair enough, that makes sense. "Have you read Frankenstein? It was written by a female author, and it's quite the good book besides."

"I have not. Perhaps I shall keep it in mind for later." She hums. After a moment, she continues: "I must admit, you are not at all what I expected, hearing the term 'wizard'. You compare yourself to Merlin, but I see a dynamic, fetching young man, not a bearded old hermit."

"You know, some legends say Merlin was half-incubus, a bewitching devil who seduced the hearts of maidens." I absent-mindedly comment. "But thank you, my lady."

Another pause of silence. "I must admit, I brought up science fiction only because of one specific book. H.G. Wells' The Time Machine. Have you read it?"

"I have not, no. But I have heard of it. Why do you ask? Is it your favorite novel?" She asks, curiously.

"No, my favorite is…" Lord of the Rings, but that doesn't exist yet. Huh, Tolkien should be alive at the moment. And a young man. That's weird to think about. "Uh, Dracula." I finish lamely, just saying the first good book that pops into my head after that tangent. Then I shake my head.
"But, I brought it up because I'm actually from the future." I state, bluntly.

We stay in silence for a minute or two, the only sound being the clop-clop of the horses hooves along the path. Finally, Eloise responds: "Is this some manner of wizard joke?"

"Not at all, this is simply the truth." I state plainly. "As you may imagine, being a man of magic, I have a great deal of secrets. Seeing as I know your own deepest, darkest secret, and that we are to be companions on this journey… I feel it would be, let's say, gentlemanly to tell you my own secrets as well." I say, with a nod of my head towards her.

"How… kind." She states, still looking mystified. Which is fair. "Then, by all means, tell me. Where- or should I say, when are you from?"

"Well, I come from just a little over a hundred years in the future. The year two-thousand and twenty-six." I wave a hand in the air. "I'm sure you have questions about what life is like, and I can tell you all about that later, but please bear with me for a minute. Just a week ago, I was an ordinary man, with no supernatural abilities at all. Some kind of mysterious, powerful entity of godlike power took me from my home and transported me through time and space, to London of this time. She said that there's something terrible that's going to happen, something that would be a disaster for all of humanity, and that she gave me these powers for the sake of preventing that disaster. And… yeah, that's about it."

"I see." She responds simply, blinking slowly. "Well… thank you for your honesty." Then, she asks: "What is life like in the far-flung year of two thousand?"

I chuckle. "Well, I've seen the Ford Model T, so you at least already know what a car is… Do you have telephone lines?"

She nods. "Of course. We have one at home."

"Alright. What about commercial airlines?"

"Ah, I certainly know of it, though I have never flown."

"Okay." I hum to myself. "Well, that makes things easier. If it was a hundred, maybe even fifty years earlier, then I'd have to explain all these things from scratch… but from here, most advancements are in terms of quality, not something completely new. Horses are completely obsolete as a transportation method, only kept by farmers, or by rich people as a hobby. Every family has a car, which have of course advanced considerably- faster, more efficient, cheaper and more accessible. For long-distance travel, the airplane is king. Every large city has an airport, and you can get a flight to just about anywhere in the world, even across the oceans, and it's cheap enough for even the middle classes to afford. Ships are still used, but mostly just to transport cargo."

"And the phones?" Eloise asks.

"I was getting to that. In my day, a phone is a little rectangular device, about this big." I indicate with my fingers. "Everyone, and I mean everyone, even the poor, has one in their pocket. They don't need wires, you can write letters or make a voice call to any other phone you know the contact information of. You're basically always connected, always able to talk to your friends even when you're in the middle of the street."

For the rest of the horse ride, I continue, telling her about cars, phones, and struggling to explain the basics of the internet.

We reach the town, and from there, take a train back to London.

At some point, an hour into the train ride back to the city, Eloise, seated next to me, asks a question: "Is it possible for others to learn magic, or is it something you're born with?"

"Hm. It's… a bit of both, in a way?" I say, waving my hand side-to-side in the air. "Some people are born with the potential for magic. But even then, it takes a lot of study and practice to make that an useful skill, like with anything else."

I pause for a moment. "To answer your real question… no, I don't think I can teach you magic." I see her face become downcast, and wince a little. I want to place a comforting hand on her shoulder, but then I remember that I am in vampire times, and that's probably scandalously inappropriate or something.
"It's complicated and would take a long time to explain. But I might be able to get you some magic… just not right now."

I know she doesn't have any Magic Circuits, so Nasuverse magecraft is out. But, who knows what kind of Perks I might get in the future. Or I might find out more about this universe's local power system.

Or maybe her curse left behind awesome werewolf powers, like a shounen protagonist with an inner demon. Who knows.

"But-" I pat the side pouch where I'm keeping all the talismans for now. "It is possible for me to make the magic, in a way that you can then use it."

Her eyes sparkle with interest. "Truly?"

"Ineed. Behold!" I declare, melodramatically, and pull up one- a purification talisman against dark magic, so something that won't cause any chaos even if it does get activated by accident.

"It looks… Oriental?" She says, hesitantly.

"You're not wrong. It's a kind of magic practiced mostly in China and Japan."

And a weird side-effect of me choosing 'Eastern Caligraphy' as my choice of art- My actual knowledge of Chinese characters hasn't expanded beyond the few dozen or so Kanji I learned from my mediocre Japanese lessons. However, when I'm creating a paper talisman, I instinctively know what kind of design I should be painting for a particular effect, even if I have no idea what the actual symbols I'm painting are. I recognize a handful of them - 雷 for lightning in the lightning bolt attack, 神 for 'god' or 'divine' in a protection against dark magic. But most of the time, I'm like a monkey on a typewriter, with no clue what exactly I am writing.

Regardless. "Each talisman is a one-time use magic spell, stored to be used at the right moment. Even without any power of your own, you can simply tear the paper and it will be used automatically. I've got a number with different effects. This one will protect you again ghosts and evil spirits…"

For the rest of the train ride, I inform Eloise about the talismans and how to use her, leaving half my stockpile in her hands.

After arriving in London, we get a room and leave our luggage at the Piccadilly hotel (very fancy, one hell of a step up from the place where I woke up in), before then moving on to investigating the leads that Arthur pointed us towards.

The first place to visit is the one to be a business with an open door. "Rapture Books", owned by Leander Grieve. Ominous fuckin' name.

I bought a map of London, but it did not help, I have no goddamn clue how to navigate this shit.

Thankfully, Eloise manages to help me- and points out that it's actually quite nearby, like, within comfortable walking distance of the hotel. Go figure.

Across the walk, we pass newsvendors crying dramatic headlines, whether it's "The Egyptian Murders: the new Jack the Ripper?!" or the impending fall of the British empire. The fog is still miserable, but thankfully my enchanted scarf takes the bite off the acrid stench.

The location is right by Charing Cross road, the bookstore is a huge business, filling four entire floors of the building.

Entering the front door, it's… well, an old bookstore. Many rows of books, crammed in tall shelves, with people passing by, checking out titles as they squeeze past each other. The smell of old paper is nostalgic, but makes my nose itch something fierce. Oh, this place is going to be hell for my allergies.

It takes a couple minutes navigating the maze of shelves before finding what I believe is the right person. He's seated in an armchair by a lit fireplace (why the hell is the fire lit in the middle of July, I have no clue), reading a book. An overweight, middle-aged man, with his brown, balding hair in a combover, and a neatly trimmed goatee.

"Mr. Grieve?" I ask with a polite cough into my fist.

"Ah, yes?" The man responds, lowering his book to glance up at me. "Who might you be? Looking for any rare books in particular, or simply some advice?"

"More of the latter. I'm here to talk to you about… let's say, a sensitive matter. Hopefully, this will convince you to hear me out." I say, pulling out the letter from Vane.

Grieve examines the exterior of the letter curiously, eyes darting from the red wax seal to the author and destination of correspondence. "Lord Vane, yes, I recall… He contacted me some months ago for help with a personal matter, I put him in contact with a Cambridge fellow."

"If you are serous about this, I presume we should not be talking here." He gets up from his armchair, and makes his way towards a staircase on the side. "Let's talk in my office."

When we enter the room, I pull up one arm and form a hand-sign, my ring finger curled downwards to touch my thumb, while the index, middle and pinky point upwards.
"Emerge from darkness, blacker than black. Purify that which is impure."

A wave of black-iridescent liquid like crude oil spills upward, like under the effects of reversed gravity, over the walls of the room until it fully coats the entire surface, at which point it fades away into a semi-transparent, almost unnoticeable layer.

Grieve faces me seriously, his hands clenching and unclenching. "Are you here to kill me?" He asks. I note that he seems scared, but not shocked or surprised. It seems that this is not the first time he's ever seen magic.

"Oh, no, not at all! I'm sorry if I scared you. I really am here just to talk." I say, taking a chair and sitting down across the desk. "That was just a privacy barrier, to make sure nothing we say here is overheard by third parties."

I don't actually have any Jujutsu power, but with knowledge of Bounded Fields and a highly broad 'Protection' Perk, I can pull out a pretty good imitation of their Barriers at a whim. Blocking out sound and simple forms of divination is only a simple precaution, and it costs me basically nothing.

Also, I'm not sure if the incantation even helped at all. In JJK isn't it just a call for Tengen to help, or is that just something I'm remember from a fanfic? Either way I'm going to say it regardless because it's cool.

"That was terribly rude of me, huh? I apologize. Let me start over. My name is Gabriel, a magic user. Wizard, sorcerer, or what-have-you."

"And Eloise Vane, daughter of Lord Vane." My companion interjects.

I nod. "I- we are looking for information about the supernatural."

Grieve continues to fix me with a harsh look. "Well, I must apologize for my distrust. In my limited experience, those who dabble in magic tend to be… erratic at best."

That gets a chuckle out of me. "No, that's entirely fair." I think back to my Clock Tower knowledge. If anything about mage behavior is even remotely similar in this world, then they are a bunch of psychopaths with no limits and no respect for law, life, or limb. "I've had similar experiences of my own."

He grunts. "In any case, 'information' is a dreadfully broad word. Can you be a mite more specific? Any particular books you may be interested in, perhaps?"

I purse my lips and hum. Do I trust this man enough to tell him the world may be ending? No, I don't. "I'm looking for unusual current events. Rumors, suspicions, mysterious murders, anything in that vein. Hints of supernatural phenomena that are occurring right now."

Grieve sighs. "Well, in that case I'm afraid you've come to the wrong man. I am a purveyor of books. If it was some tome of arcane knowledge you're seeking, then you'll find no better source than me." He says simply, not with a loud and boastful voice, but the simple tone of a man who knows his expertise. "But if you're looking into some ghost case… go look for a private investigator or somesuch."

I tap my fingers on the table. "That is unfortunate. Can you at least point me in the direction of what might be the right place to ask, then?"

"Harry Price is the most famous ghost hunter in the nation." Comes the first response. "Of course, fame doesn't always correspond with competence, but I'm sure the man can do a better job than myself."

I nod. "Fair enough. In that case, I'll stop wasting your time now. Thank you for the help."

I purchase a book on spiritualism on the way out, just to not have wasted his (and my) time.

The other leads Sr. Vane gave me after that are not quite as convenient, many of them being social clubs and organizations. Loose groups with meetings once or twice a month, not a door you can simply walk in at any time.

So instead, I decide to pay a direct visit to the home address of Harry Price, professional ghost hunter.
Rude, yes, but I won't let good manners keep me from possibly saving the world.
Besides, having the full backing of a Peer of the Realm excuses a lot of little niggles like that.

The man's house is located near Westminster, which is quite conveniently also within walking distance, even closer by to the shop than the shop was to the hotel. I'm getting really lucky with locations today.

I ring the doorbell of the large, Victorian home. After a minute of waiting, the door is cracked halfway open by a maid- that is, a modestly dressed woman with greying hair pulled back in a tight bun, not the fun anime kind.

"Who is it?" She asks with a grunt.
Eloise greets the woman with a curtsey. "Eloise Vane, here to speak with mister Price."

"Do you have an appointment? The mister is not in the habit of seeing beggars and time-wasters."

"No appointment, but Lord Arthur Vane is willing to vouch for us." I say, bringing out another letter from my coat. A generic one, rather than one addressed to a specific recipient (like what Grieve got), but it should at least catch Price's attention.

The maid takes the letter, her eyes narrowed. "Stay there."

We remain by the steps, waiting for several minutes. At least it's not raining.

Finally, the door is fully opened, and on the other side, along with the maid is a middle-aged man, wearing a waistcoat over white shirt, and with a clean-shaven face I can only describe as 'quintessential British gentleman.'

"Mister Price, I presume?" I ask, with a nod of the head.

"That is correct." He responds with a faint smile, turning to regard Eloise. "The young lady Vane, yes? I heard from your father, some months ago. He was contacting all the supernatural clubs he could find, but remarkably sparse on the specific nature of inquiry."

I can tell Eloise is getting uncomfortable with that line of questioning, so I deflect. "That particular problem has been dealt with." I say with a wave. "This is something else. May we come in?"

"Oh, yes, of course."

Harry Price leads us to a comfortable sitting room, a series of armchairs around a central table. "Fletcher, be a dear and put the kettle on." He calls out to the maid as we take our seats around the table.

"Thank you." I say with a nod of the head. As the maid leaves, I pull my hand up in the sign again- though this time I give a warning beforehand. "May I do a bit of magic?" I ask Harry.

He nods his head, a curious look in his eyes. "Go ahead."

Harry Price watches, fascinated, with a glint in his eyes, as the privacy barrier gloops up around the walls. "Magic without any ritual? Extraordinary." He exclaims.

That makes me curious. "What do you know about magic, my good sir?"

He hums in thought. "I do not presume to know much. But if I had no choice but to speak, I suppose I would say that magic requires sacrifice. Of a great deal of time, of rare and valuable materials, but most of all, of blood and life." He raises a hand to forestall a protest. "Don't worry, I've only ever used chickens."

That is interesting. To my Clock Tower brain, that sounds like he's only ever encountered Formalcraft, never anyone with actual magic circuits.

"In my experience, magic done so simply and quickly is the domain of the inhuman, monsters and ghosts. You are human, aren't you, Gabriel?"

"I am human." I declare quickly. "...But, from a certain point of view, I suppose you're not entirely wrong. This kind of magic is something of an innate gift. It cannot be taught to another person."

"More's the pity, then." Harry says with a shrug. "But it is fascinating regardless. Is that magic the reason why you've sought me out, then, to demonstrate and prove your powers?" He asks.

"No, sorry." I say, shaking my head in the negative. "I'm actually here looking for signs of supernatural current events. I think something big is happening, and I'm trying to investigate."

"Well, that is a shamed. Arthur would be most pleased to examine your abilities."

Eloise perks up, confused. "My father?"

"Ah, no, another Arthur." Harry clarifies. "Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, that is."

"Oh, the guy who wrote Sherlock?" I ask.

Harry chuffs. "Please do not say that to the man's face, he finds the reputation most infuriating. But yes, the very same." Then he continues, waving his hand. "Regardless, I can see why you've sought me out, then." Harry says with a nod.

I close my mouth and stop talking as the maid returns to the room, bringing a tray of tea.
Harry looks at me somewhat bemused. "You can trust Miss Fletcher, I assure you. She has been with me for twelve years."

He continues talking. "There are a few things I have heard of. Derbyshire is Lord Vane's abode, is it not? I've heard there was a monster there."

I nod. "Yeah, dealt with that already."

"Very well." He acquiesces with a nod of the head. "In London, some claim the Egyptian Murders are dark magic, but I frankly disagree. The police have found nothing but knife wounds. I believe this is simply my countrymen being superstitious over anything related to Egypt, as usual."

"Sorry, what are these murders?" I ask.

Harry looks surprised. "Haven't you heard? They've been all over the news."

"I've just recently gotten to London." I defend myself, and I mean, it's true."

"Well. There has been a spree of mysterious murders, with all of the victims being of Egyptian origin. Gruesome, but as I've said, I doubt they are supernatural in nature."

He pauses to take a sip of tea. "Cigar?" He offers.

"No, thank you, I don't smoke." I wonder if I should make up a lie that I was cursed by an evil weed blunt or something to make people stop asking.

Harry shrugs, before setting down his teacup and continuing.
"By nature of my calling, I have heard many claims of ghosts and investigated the majority to the best of my ability. This leaves, I suppose, three types of cases which I can give you as a 'lead.' Those that I still have not yet investigated, those that I cannot investigate, and those that were left inconclusive."

He takes another sip. "I must say, the third kind is, most likely, nothing but wild goose chases. If I found nothing, then most likely there is nothing to find. Of the second kind, I am largely limited by their challenging nature. I cannot barge in to the Vatican to test the bones of saints, for instance."

"I was looking for stuff here in England." I note.

"Yes, there are plenty at home as well." He agrees. "The claim that the Crown Jewels of Britain hold great power, for instance. The King would never allow me to test such a thing."

I hum, thinking to myself. "What about… something that you can't investigate not because of political reasons, but because it's too dangerous?" I ask. "Is there anything like that."

After a brief second thinking, Price nods. "There are, I suppose, many claims of queer things within the sewers and underground of London. Of course, these kinds of claims are always present, but I daresay their numbers have risen in recent times. In particular, I have heard many stories about rodents and reptiles of unusual size. For obvious reasons, it is quite hard to find the veracity of such claims."

I nod, smiling. "Perfect. That sounds like something I can look into."

"You-"

"Don't worry." I interrupt him, bringing up my hand and summoning a sword from Vishnu Baja, blazing with light. "I can handle myself."

Eloise stays behind, against her wishes.
She wanted to come hunt I point out that I cannot guarantee her safety, and that she can still help me by researching other leads while I'm doing the search.

I begin my descent in a railway maintenance tunnel below Westminster Station.

It's kinda crazy how old the London Underground is, and at the same time, how lax the security standards. I didn't even need any magic to get here, I just walked right in.

I don't know exactly what I'm looking for, just following the trail of magic.

All Nasuverse mages have some kind of sixth sense that allows them to perceive magic. For Shirou, it was smell, for me it's hearing. I can sort of hear it as a frequency outside the normal range, outside of normal hearing. The dark magic that cursed Eloise sounded like a deep, bassy thrum, while the sound I can hear in this place is a sort of high-pitched crystalline whine, like a tuning fork. It's very distant, I need to stop and listen carefully to pick it out, but definitely there. Each time I come to a split or an open doorway, I just lean towards the one where the 'sound' seems to be louder.

Of course, something like a proper mage's workshop would have protections to ensure it doesn't give off ambient mana, and can't be detected by such rudimentary means. But if I'm looking for a monster, that's a different story.

The sound leads me from the service tunnel, with it's concrete and exposed wiring, to a red brick-walled section tunnel with empty gaslamps.

I also realize that I'm following this trail down, but I don't have a corresponding way to go back up. I should probably be marking the path I take so I know how to follow it back to the surface.
I start tracing the walls with a slight trickle of mana on my fingertips. It's invisible to an ordinary person, but I'll be able to track it on my way back. Without being anchored to a proper spell, It'll dissipate in a couple days, but that should be fine.

I continue walking further and further down into the tunnels. My finger is getting sore from rubbing it against harsh stone walls over and over.
Eventually, (I don't have a clock to keep track, but I must have been walking for some thirty minutes. And down, who knows, ten, fifteen flights of stairs?), I come to find bare walls of large, grey stone bricks that must be at least a thousand years old. Full of arches and columns that seem, maybe vaguely Roman? They were in Britain at one point, I know that much.

Once again, I find myself reflecting on how old London is, and how different it feels from the Americas.
I mean, we don't get ancient catacombs under the city where I'm from, so as far as I'm concerned, this is much cooler.

By this point, there are no external sources of light. There's some sconces on the wall that may have held torches at one point, but are long since burned out.
I compensate for it by using Reinforcement to enhance my eyes to see in the dark. That's the most useful thing about Reinforcement, that it doesn't just make something stronger, it enhances conceptual attributes. Lightbulbs burn brighter, knives cut sharper, that sort of thing.

And yeah, I could bring in a flashlight or a torch… but I'm here hunting for creatures. A big flashing light would likely scare nocturnal animals away before I get even close.

Okay, granted, the blue glow of my Magic Circuits in use does provide a bit of light, but it's much less than a straight up torch.
You can only enhance so much of what's actually there, in any case, so being able to see in complete, pitch-black darkness would still be impossible. So it's kinda necessary.

No, it's not the same end result as if I just brought a flashlight to begin with, shut up.

Also, the air down here must be real fuckin' stale, but thankfully the air-freshening scarf I made for the London fog seems to be holding up decently.

I'm distracted from my train of thoughts having careened off the rails and into the ravine as I hear the sound of rasping against the stone. On instinct, I throw up protection, a dome-shaped shield of semitransparent blue energy forming in front of my body.

The snake strikes it head-first with a dull thud, letting me see my attacker clearly as it recoils with a hiss.
Are these the so-called 'Reptiles of unusual size'? It's like, a meter and a half, tops. Shorter than I'm tall for sure. Maybe this is just my perspective being skewed by being Brazilian, but that seems like a normal size for a snake.

Killing animals hurts my environmentalist heart, but it's probably harming people. Sorry snakey, but you've gotta go.

With Reinforcement amping my speed and strength and a sword drawn from Vishnu Baka, I chop the snake's head off before it can react.

Continuing onwards, I find two more snakes (which I cut down) and one nest of large, feral rats, which I spend a fireball talisman incinerating. Sue me, they were disgusting.

I'm still sensing magic, the sound is much 'louder' now. It was a nearly imperceptible thing near the surface, but now I can hear it clearly all around me. It's only a few more minutes navigating the maze of ancient corridors before I cross a tall domed archway which opens up to a vast, domed chamber like an ancient Roman theater. It must have been quite grand during its prime, but now it's a ruin, brown and grey walls coated in dust, broken stones and debris littering the floor.

And curled up in the middle of the room is a giant fucking snake. It's hard to judge the length with it all bundled up like a rope, but the girth of its coils is such that it's thicker than an oil drum, and the pile of coils reaches up to the height of my chest.
It's scales are bright green and yellow, which, if it was a natural animal, might be a sign of aposematism, meaning a warning sign that it's highly poisonous. But as it is clearly a monster, who fucking knows. Maybe it's that color because a nationalistic Brazilian wizard made it.

Also, I think it noticed I'm here.

With a sound like a landslide in motion, the giant snake uncoils and rushes at me head-first, scary fast for something of that size.

With a burst Reinforcing of my body as soon as I realized what I'm looking at, I toss myself out of the way and tumble to the side, letting the beast smash its head against the stone. The snake seems unhurt, merely annoyed, but the amount of falling dust makes me worried the place might cave in on me.

Also, now that it's stretched out, I can tell that it's about as long as two city buses laid end-to-end.

I think back to the offensive talismans I have. Fireball, or really anything with a shockwave, is right out. I don't want to cause more damage to the structure, because if it falls I am certainly dead. I'm sure that my enchanted suit would be able to handle the purely physical impact, but then I'd still be left buried, and without a way to get through thousands of tons of rock, either suffocate or slowly die of thirst.

Let's try a lightning bolt.

I reach into my coat and withdraw another inked rectangle held within two fingers. Injecting my mana into the talisman, it glows blue and dissolves into a cloud of paper scraps.

With a flash and a bang, a hundred million volts of electricity discharge into the stupid reptile. Unfortunately, it seems to be resistant, as the lightning splits into a hundred little streams, pittering against its scales and leaving some heated red spots, but not much else.

With a sinuous slide, the snake goes in, slipping near but next to me, not aiming directly to directly hit. I realize a split second later as it comes back for another pass that it's wrapping around, and I clasp both hands together, bringing up a full 360 degree sphere of Protection around my body.

The snake hisses and roars, coiling tighter, but my shield holds tight. Protection is the strongest Perk I've got so far, so I feel confident about my defenses, but of course defending alone isn't going to win a battle.

I flood my legs with mana, Reinforcing them to the limit, and flex my knees down in preparation. The very instant that I release my shield, I'm already jumping up - as the shield dissipates and the snake's coils close in, I soar up above them. In mid-air, at the zenith of my jump, I pull out the biggest battle-axe I can from the armory of Vishnu Baja, and with the air of gravity and putting my Reinforced arms and back into it, I plunge down with a mighty cleave, parting scales and flesh, leaving the axe buried halfway through the snake's body, a few meters down from the neck.

It hisses and trashes, but the movements are weak and sluggish.

Leaving the axe, I jump away, then pull and fire another lightning talisman. This time, with the embedded axe acting as a lightning rod, it strikes the exposed metal blade, which conducts the electricity into the insides of the creature's body. With a gross bubbling sound and the smell of burnt meat, it slumps down, twitching in its death throes.

[ Slay a Monster ]

[ Bronze Ticket Awarded ]

Ore Load
200 CP
Halfsilver, Goldsteel, Wintersteel, and more, you've got a replenishing supply of all the exotic metals on Cradle, though those three are the most prominent. There's about 10 pounds of each material, refreshing each week.
[Source: dojo, Edition: default, Chapter: Treasure, Origin: Cradle]

Halfsilver is highly effective at piercing through [madra] (energy), making it useful for magical tools and certain weapons. Bindings of halfsilver are capable of preventing a weak magic user from using their abilities.

Goldsteel is capable of physically interacting with spiritual and immaterial objects. It is one of the most useful materials for crafting magical items, almost all good constructs on Cradle make use of goldsteel in their shaping.

Wintersteel is an extremely valuable material. It is extremely durable, nearly indestructible to raw physical force, but highly responsive to willpower and Authority, making it ideal for the tools of a Sage or Monarch.

Oh, hello there System. So it seems I'm not cut off from getting new rolls, that's nice. But this one is only a single Perk, with the only option within my mind being to accept or deny… so it seems like the 'free trial' was only the "pick one of three" part.

Also, Cradle! Nice, I love that series.

I mean, I am kinda frustrated. I feel like I could have gotten something way, way better from that source. Like, sure, wintersteel would be an incredibly high-tier material… y'know, if I was capable of commanding reality with my raw willpower. Since I can't, it's effectively five kilograms of nearly-indestructible paperweight. But, whatever. Accept.

I also realize that, even with the snake dead, I can still hear that thrum of magic.
Examining the room more closely, I note that, near the back, past the rubble, there are some items that are remarkably well-reserved. A set of four ceramic jars, three of them with the heads of animals, and one of them human. What appears to be an Egyptian sarcophagus.

(I'm not touching the scarmophogoghs, that shit is definitely cursed and will make my dick rot off.)

And, in a little hidden nook near the back of the room, the object giving off the sound, a statue, maybe a foot tall, of a cat seated on its haunches. It's made of polished black stone, with the only details being a collar around the neck and bracelets on the paws, golden in color.

Placing a finger and using Structural Analysis on the figure… Doesn't help that much. I know that it's made of obsidian and gold, definitely magical, and it's been sitting here in this room for, at the very least, several decades. Probably centuries.

I'm not Shirou Emiya, able to read every single detail and the entire history of an object at a glance.

But, the fact that I can't tell what this thing does is noteworthy in itself. I'm not some novice, I should be able to understand the purpose and function of a Mystic Code with some analysis. But this thing is completely incomprehensible, a jumble of magic that I can't make heads or tails of. I feel like a character in a movie staring at the 'smart science guy' writing random numbers on a giant whiteboard.

There's a few things this could imply, I think. It could mean that the local magic system is totally unfamiliar and won't make sense to me until I can learn it in more detail.

That… feels wrong. I was able to deal with Eloise's curse and tap into the standing stones without any huge problem. It was a bit different from the Clock Tower, sure, but not fundamentally incompatible.

Or, it might mean that this specific item is something special. Maybe it's blessed by a god or cursed by a demon, and I'm unable to grasp it just like Shirou can't make copies of Divine constructs.

Whatever it is, I'm taking it back with me.

I also want to drag back the corpse of the giant snake. Both to prove my achievement, and possibly to harvest for magical ingredients. Problem is, I lack a convenient inventory to store it in, and I'm somewhere stupidly deep down.

Whatever, I marked my path, I can come back down later if I need to.

NeonKnightrider · Nov 5, 2026

I decide to take along one of the fangs from the giant snake along with the statuette. The thing is nearly as long as my forearm, and wicked sharp. I also note that it has that hollow point at the tip, like a syringe needle, which indicates a venomous bite. What the fuck a snake of this size needs venom for, I'll never know.

Without an inventory or even a good container to carry them, I take off my overcoat and bundle the objects over it, as showing off that fang in public might raise questions.

When I make my way back up to the city, it's in the dark of the night. Cast-iron lampposts glow with the light of gas lamps.

I've been in this world- well, this time and place- for about a week now, but it's still the little things that get me. Like the fact that I don't have a phone, to send a message and tell the others that I'm fine and heading back home.

Or a pocket watch to know what hour of the night it is. Though granted, that is a thing I can just buy here.

I arrive in the hotel to a tired-looking clerk, and get the key up to my room.

I didn't think anything of it at the time, but Eloise was quite scandalized when I tried to book a single hotel room for both of us. An unmarried man and woman, sleeping in the same room (even if in separate beds?) How scandalous!

Though I felt it was a waste, paying twice the money for no reason, I relented and paid for two rooms.

In retrospect, I've been kinda ignoring the elephant in the room since I got here.

Not the monsters, but the prejudice.

Being lucky enough to be a white-skinned, well-dressed blonde man in the heart of the British Empire, I get to avoid being a victim of the social order. But still, here I am in a world full of sexism and racism.
(Do women even have the right to vote right now?)

It's a bit uncomfortable to acknowledge, partially because… I mean, what am I supposed to do about it? I can't change the whole world by myself.

-okay, well, the Celestial cheat very well might give me the power to change the world. Kind of. Raw power on a planetary scale isn't necessarily the same thing as the power to actually affect society- even with a sword over their heads, widespread social change would take years, even decades.

But the point is, what can I do about it right now? Just… be polite to people, and call out bullshit if I see it happening in front of me, I suppose.

[ Westminster, London, England ]
[ 1924, July 29th, Wednesday ]

In the morning, after eating the hotel's breakfast, I return to my room to play some inventory tetris. I empty out my suitcase, placing my mundane spare clothes and stuff in the closet (which I then guard with a warding rune locked to my blood, just in case). And then use the suitcase to store my ritual materials, the cat statuette and the snake's fang, so I can carry that stuff in a more inconspicuous manner.

After that, I head out with Eloise, to once again visit Price's house, and report on my little adventure.

The same grumpy maid as before is there once again at the door, but this time she lets us in without protest, and ushers us to the sitting room.

Harry Price is there, seated in an armchair, as well as another man who I don't recognize.

"Ah, Gabriel, and lady Eloise!" Price greets us with a smile. "Welcome, welcome. Have you met my other guest?"

The other man is tall and well-built, for an older gentleman, with a large, bushy mustache, and hair combed over his head; both of them a greying silver. He is wearing a brown tweed suit, and holding a smoking pipe.

"My colleague at the Ghost Club, the good Sir Arthur Conan Doyle." Price introduces his friend.

Oh yeah, he mentioned before.

I think I was vaguely aware of Doyle being a superstitious person, back on my Earth. Something about believing in fairies? So yeah, I suppose it makes sense to for him to be a ghost-hunter type. Still weird to meet such a famous author.

Man, I have got to meet Tolkien while I'm here.

"Honor to meet you, sir." I say, extending a hand to him. "My name is Gabriel… as he already mentioned."

"No, my good man." Doyle replies with a chuckle. "I myself am delighted to meet with a genuine wizard."

[ Meet a famous historical figure ]

[ Silver Ticket Awarded ]

What, is just meeting a guy more of an achievement than killing a monster…? Whatever, I won't question it.

Enchantment Mastery
400 CP
Normally, enchanting is an...abstract practice at the best of times and completely up to the whims of fate at the worst here. However with this knowledge you have been granted and this Perk, you're able to streamline the process, removing ambiguity and chance from the equation so you're able to choose exactly what you wish to enchant. Also you're unlimited on how much you can enhance a given object with enchanting...as long as you can pay the price in Magic or lifeforce, or whatever you're using to enchant the item.

Origin: Generic Minecraft

Nice roll though. I'm already doing enchanting, so this should synergize perfectly.

"So! Yesterday, I went down into the sinking underbelly of the city to investigate some things that Price told me. In what I think was a Roman-era ruin, I found a giant snake monster, and a bunch of Egyptian artifacts." As I speak, I set down my suitcase, and pull out the cat figure, placing it on the table, as well as pulling out the snake's fang. "I couldn't bring the whole snake, far too large, but here is one tooth to give you an idea. And this statue here is… magical, or otherwise spiritually significant in some way, though I can't tell any more detail than that."

The others hum appreciatively at the sight. Price leans in closer to get a better look at the statue.

"Egyptian… Then, it must be connected to the Egyptian Murders!" exclaims Eloise.

"The name comes from the fact that the victims are all Egyptian men, not the perpetrator." Doyle points out, in between drags of his pipe. "Besides, there is no connection other than the object being Egyptian in origin."

I want to say that Eloise is correct and there must be a connection, but… in terms of actual, like, logic and forensic procedure, he is correct. There is no causal link here. But I'm not operating on detective logic, but narrative logic. There's something called the Egyptian murders, I found an Egyptian magic artifact, chekov's gun, ergo they must be connected.

Maybe I shouldn't be doing that. Like yes, I may be in a world full of magic and monsters, but that doesn't necessarily mean that everything will play out like a book. I might end up chasing after red herrings and fucking something up badly if I make the wrong assumptions.

"You Brits do have a whole thing of obsessing over Egyptian culture, don't you?" I point out. It was a real craze for a while. Some people ground up and snorted powdered mummies. "Who knows, it might be some deranged Englishman chasing after the 'pharaoh's curse' or something."

"Do you Americans not care about Egypt?" Doyle asks.

"I'm not American- well, depending on the definition you use, I suppose. I'm from Brazil, so the american continent."

"Oh, is it true that there are savage cannibals in the Amazon?" Eloise asks, sounding more casually curious than anything.

I pinch my nose. I promised to myself I would challenge racism when possible. "Okay, technically, the simple answer is yes, there are some tribes that eat human flesh. But I think I have to point out that these are not the so-called 'savages' you're probably imagining from some pulp novel. It's, when they face another tribe in battle, then a warrior that was exceptionally strong or heroic might be captured, cooked and eaten as a ritualistic thing. They see it as honoring the dead, and that the people who eat the flesh of that warrior will gain part of that strength for themselves. So, they will not hunt down and kill you just to eat you."

I wave my hand in the air in a dismissive gesture. "Okay, look, we can talk about the anthropology of my home country some other day, if you'd like. Right now, let's focus on the matter at hand, yes? Magical egyptian statue."

Price speaks up. "Archeology is not my area of expertise, I must admit. Perhaps some more useful information might be gleaned by taking it to be appraised by specialists. The Penhew Foundation, I have heard, are the foremost institution of study here, outside of the British museum. It may be the best option to contact, as the museums would take a long time in paperwork and bureaucracy."

I nod at the suggestion. "Thank you, Harry. Can I call you Harry?"

He looks at me a bit oddly, but nods back. "You may."

"Right. Oh yeah, one thing I've been thinking about and wanted to bring up: You've hunted ghosts? Like, actual, real-deal ghosts, not just a spooky house where the steps are creaky. Glowing, floating, tossing furniture around and everything."

"Yes, indeed." He says, with a slightly somber undertone. "As you say, much of my time is spent chasing after frauds and disproving them. But I have seen much of the genuinely unnatural, including the living dead."

I nod. "Okay, cool. And how did you deal with these ghosts?"

"As the Americans might say, it was a right pain in the arse. In some lucky cases, we had the help of an ordained minister to exorcise the phantom. In most other cases, the best results, I find, are circles of salt."

"What do you mean, lucky?" I ask, a bit confused. "If you know that works, can't you bring a cross and pray yourself?"

"Oh, we've tried." Notes Doyle. "But it simply doesn't work. It seems the holy men have some sort of secret they keep to themselves."

"Or perhaps you simply lack faith." Eloise interjects.

Harry chuckles. "Perhaps. Ah, it is worth noting, all of these exorcists were Catholic clergy. Some anglican priests were more effective than our attempts, but still not capable of a true exorcism. I suspect the Vatican is likely the organization most knowledgeable about the supernatural in the world, but keeps said information jealously guarded."

That is very interesting. I was raised Catholic, but I consider myself more agnostic. If there's any god I feel inclined to pray to at the moment, I suppose it would be that being that I've dubbed Alice, who brought me to this world.

Also, it's a bit embarrassing, but there's only three prayers I know by heart. The Lord's Prayer, the Hail Mary, and… the Baptism Rite, the one that Kirei Kotomine used to exorcise bug-dick grandpa with.

Look, Fate/Stay Night is my favorite media of all time, okay?

"Even if you're not a natural wizard, you could be doing a lot better than salt. Really, I'm surprised you managed to get that to work." I point out. "There's a number of simple rituals…"

I spend a while after that just instructing them in an impromptu class about Formalcraft and warding rituals. I also try to teach in talismans, but them not knowing Chinese characters is kind of a serious barrier for that one.

I feel like an engineering major that got sent back a thousand years, explaining technology to medieval people. Like, my Clock Tower knowledge is enough to put me past the initial peak of Dunning-Kruger effect- that is, meaning that I know just enough to understand how little I truly know. But it's still four years of structured education by the best mages in the world, with thousands of years of accumulated knowledge, compared to the efforts of spiritualists who have been trying their best but stumbling around in the dark for a few decades.

So even teaching them the fundamentals of how to construct a proper ritual is like introducing the steam engine to the Romans.

"By the way, do you know where I could find a place to purchase stuff, to use for rituals and stuff?" I ask.

Harry hums. "I know of a woman who styles herself a witch, selling incense, herbs and such things."

"Right, that might be useful. But what about a place to buy minerals?"

Price looks intrigued. "Is that something you need?"

"Yeah. The important ones I need at the moment are silver and lapis lazuli."

"Lapis, hm? It was commonly used by Egyptian priests, was it not?" Doyle asks between stokes of his pipe, shooting a meaningful glance towards the cat statue.

After leaving Harry's home and eating lunch, I swing by the place he mentioned to purchase silver and lapis.

Eloise helps me with the money, because England at this time is still using that weird Harry Potter-ass system with like five denominations split in twelves and sixes, and I do not know how it work.

After that, I just return back to the hotel room, in order to play with my shiny new Perk.

The new Enchantment perk makes me all-around better at enchanting in general, but it also gives me access to Minecraft enchants in particular. Most of them, stuff like Projectile Protection or Sharpness, are things I could already do with my precious skill set.
But there are some outliers- like the Infinity and Multishot enchants for bows, essentially creating an object capable of independently casting Gradation Air. I'm sure some mages of the Clock Tower could do it, but me? No way.
Or the Channeling, or the trident, bringing down natural lightning from the sky.

But the best part is the unlimited stacking.

Normally, the amount of magic you can stuff into one object is limited by what, exactly, you're working on. One of the reasons why magical materials are so great, as they can withstand holding like a hundred times the load of enchantments than normal materials. Ancient artifacts also do a lot better than modern items, as the long history adds a certain conceptual 'weight' and sturdiness to it.

But this Perk means I don't have to worry about that. As long as I don't use inherently contradictory enchants, I can just keep stacking shit with no upper limit even on normal items.
There is a point of diminishing returns, but as long as I've got more magic and lapis to spend, I can just keep making them better bit by bit.

I add Unbreaking and Mending on everything, then Feather Falling and Depth Walker to my shoes, as well as Respiration and Aqua Affinity on my scarf. If I need to go on an underwater adventure for some reason, I'm all kitted out for it.
I think about also adding Thorns to my suit, but decide against it. The enchant doesn't scan for the intent to harm, and I don't want to shank people if they happen to bump into me on the street.

Now, let's see… Yes, I can enchant the Vishnu Baja weapons! It would be a massive pain in the ass because there's like a couple hundred in there, but I can. That's nice, as it allows me to upgrade their effectiveness scaling to my enchanting, while still keeping the major convenience of summoning them at will.

I take out the big axe I used to kill the snake with, a small dagger, a spear and a hammer, and enchant them all with Unbreaking and Sharpness. A decent variety to work with, in a pinch.

I think about enchanting my bed, door, or possibly the whole hotel room. Since I don't have any perks that enhance my body directly, I could be killed like anyone else by a random knife in my sleep, and that's making me paranoid.

There's no Minecraft enchants for this particular use case, but the new perk helps anyway, synergizing well with Protection as I lay down wards on the door, the closet and the bed. I also go out, making sure that there's nobody in the hallway, and put a ward on the door to Eloise's room as well.

[ Westminster, London, England ]
[ 1924, July 30th, Thursday ]

The following day, I go out, without Eloise this time. Perhaps it's a bit excessive, but I think that the academic types might not take it as seriously with a woman in the room, so I'll be the one handling the question.

I take an omnibus to Central London, to a road off of Oxford Street and not too far from the British Museum, and walk a short distance before reaching the building of the Penhew Foundation.

And speaking of the museum, it is what the building resembles. A large, Victorian building, notably larger than the others around it, and the entrance is a pair of double-doors with a short stairway leading up to it. Entering the front door, the place is opulent, in dark mahogany wood and carpeted floors, not unlike the hotel. There's a lobby sort of area, with a staircase leading down to the side, and directly in front leading into a long corridor lined with side doors. At the very end of the corridor, a stairway leads up to the second floor. I can see some of the doors opening, as men in suits walk to and fro, carrying papers and occasionally boxed.

At the lobby, a clerk at a desk greets me with a bored voice. "Good afternoon. If you'd like to see the collection, it's open for viewing until 4pm, on the second floor."

"Ah, no, thank you." They have a collection? This really is like a museum. "I wanted to talk to… whoever manages this place, if possible. I'm doing some research on a very esoteric topic, and I've been informed he may be able to help."

The deskman sighs, then turns around to shout down the corridor. "KINNERY! Come here!"

Another man arrives, presumably Kinnery. He's shorter, kind of mousy looking, with a slightly disheveled suit.

"This man wants to see Gavigan."

Kinnery faces me with a harsh look. "The director is a very busy man. I do not want to waste his time with solicitors." He speaks in short, clipped sentences.

"I'm not here to solicit, advertise, or proselytize. I have a reference from some highly respected individuals, and I'm here to bring an artifact that I believe is of ancient Egyptian origin to be examined." I say, pulling out the letter from my coat to show him.
"The proper term is Dynastic Egypt." Kinnery mutters idly, as he takes the letter. Then he reads the signatures out loud, sounding increasingly bemused.
"Co-signed by Baron Arthur Vane, Harry Price, and… Sir Arthur Conan Doyle? Isn't that the fellow who wrote Sherlock?"
I nod.

"A rather motley arrangement you've found here, innit?"
Regardless, he gestures for me to follow. "Come, this way?"

I'm lead to a well-furnished room that must be Gavigan's office, and instructed to wait until he arrives.

Naturally, I get impatient after a few minutes- and I also realize that I'm hearing the 'sound' of magic again. It's faint, and this time a warbling, indistinct gurgle, not unlike flowing water, almost as if it's being muffled or distorted by something. I start to look around his stuff out of curiosity.

Behind the desk, there's an open safe with a few hundred pounds sterling inside, which is kinda crazy. That's like fifty thousand dollars in modern-day money. This isn't a store, why do you have so much money lying around?

Lots of drawers full of assorted bureaucracy, paperwork, dry academic documents about Egyptian history, but nothing magical.

My curiosity is interrupted as the door opens, letting in a well-dressed middle-aged man, balding and clean-shaven. He looks similar to Harry Price, actually, although sharper and more angular. He looks at me in silence with a look I can't decipher.

"Hello. Gavigan, I assume?" I ask awkwardly.

"Indeed I am."

"Well, nice to meet you." I greet him, and then also gesture towards the desk. "You left your safe unlocked, by the way. Someone could have stolen it."

"So it is, then." Gavigan responds dryly, shutting it with his foot as he takes a seat at his chair.
"Now," He asks, steepling his fingers above the table. "What have you sought me out for?

"Well, mostly, it's about this thing." I say, unwrapping the cloth and placing the cat statue on the desk.

"Oh my." He says with professional interest, leaning closer. "May I examine it?"
I nod. "Yes, go ahead." While Gavigan puts on gloves, and takes out a few tools to look it over, I continue to speak. "I'm not an expert, but I think this is an Egyptian artifact that was brought to London by Romans. At least, I found it underground here in the city, in some roman-looking tunnels."

"Is that so," he hums. "Yes, I would say this seems to be an authentic dynastic artefact. Likely of the Middle Kingdom period, I would guess. It's a shame it was removed, we could learn a lot more from examining it in the original context."

"There was some other Egyptian stuff in the same place where I found that. I only took the statue, as it seemed… special." I comment.

"If possible, it would be quite appreciated if you could point us to the location in question."

"Well…" I begin to speak and trail off. I might have to do something about the giant snake corpse first. "I'll get back to you with that."

Setting down the statue, Gavigan turns to regard me again. "You seem to be a well-learned man." He observes. "What is your formation?"

I don't see much point lying about this. "Well, I have a degree in Political Science from a university in America. I've always had an interest in history and mythology, but that is more of a hobby, I've never seriously studied it."

Well, at least as long as nobody asks me to actually debate polsci in detail, that is. There is no way I can keep that straight with the timeline. It's fucking pre-World War Two dawg, like ninety five percent of everything I learned hasn't been written yet.

Thankfully, Gavigan doesn't question that part
"Indeed, history is most fascinating." He says with a quirk of the lips. "I find that, as they say, I do not work a day in my life, as the study delights me to no end."

"Do you know how the Epic of Gilgamesh begins?" I ask him. "It's one of my favorite pieces of history."

"I have heard about the discovery, of course, but I am not familiar with the details, no." He responds.

"I know the first few lines in Sumerian, but I'll spare you my terrible singing."

The director raises an eyebrow. "Truly, you know the original Sumerian?"

"Well, I don't really know the language. I just memorized how the first few lines of the Epic are meant to sound, roughly." I say. Thank you, to that one Youtube video I've watched so many times until I can recite it.
I shake my head.
"Regardless, my point is: translated, it goes something like this:
In those days, those distant days.
In those nights, those ancient nights.
When the earth was separated from the earth.
When the ovens were lighted,
When bread was first tasted in the shrines of the land."

"Isn't that crazy?" I ask, with a smile on my face. "The oldest story in human history still starts with 'a long time ago.' How much history is there, that we don't even know about? Far before everything we ever found? It gives me goosebumps thinking about it."

"Indeed," Gavigan answers after a long few seconds of contemplation. "It puts it into perspective, how small a human lifetime is by comparison. Something we Egyptologists often remark on is the fact that is fact of Cleopatra having lived closer to the present day, than the time when the Great Pyramids were built. Two thousand years ago, men we would call ancient had historians of their own, studying a time even more ancient still."
After a moment, I decide to drop the second bombshell. "Do you know about the supernatural, mister Gavigan?" I ask bluntly.

"What do you mean?" He asks with a slightly forced chuckle. "Ghosts?"

"Ghosts, magic, monsters…" I agree with a nod. "That kind of thing. I'm sure you've heard of it, being an expert on Egypt. People are always talking about mummies coming back from the dead, the curse of the Pharaohs, all that."
The director regards me in silence for a while before, finally, he speaks. "I have heard of such rumors, yes, but I don't put stock into such things. I am a man of science."

Hm. That feels at odds with the magic that I sensed in here, but I suppose that might not have come from doing magic in here. It might be something else like the statue I found, an old artifact that has unique properties.
Oh well, too bad I guess. I won't push the topic then.

"Very well." I nod. "So, I'll leave this artefact here with you, then, for analysis." I say, gesturing once again to the obsidian cat. "When can I hear back to know what you've found about it?"

Gavigan hems and haws. "Well, that is hard to say, archeology is not an exact science. I could not give you an estimate, but I will be in touch if possible."

"Alright, well- I'm staying at the Piccadily hotel, so letters might have trouble reaching me. In that case, you can contact Harry Price, and he will inform me."

The director gives an odd look. "You do know how to use a telephone, yes?"

"Uh, oh, yeah."
I may have overshot the level of low-technology and now I look like a philistine. Letters aren't the only method of communication.

After that, I return to meet once again the very first person I had a serious talk with in this place. Mahoney, the journalist at the Scoop.

"Hello?" I call out as I knock on the door of the offices.

The irishman peeks out through the crack of the half-opened door. "Huh, I've seen you before, yea?"

"You did." I agree with a nod. "I came here about a week ago to ask you about the mysterious deaths in Derbyshire."

"Ah, right, right!" He exclaims, opening the door to let me in. "I remember. Well, did anything come of that?"

I hesitate. I'm definitely not going to tell the whole truth to be published on the news (not that it would be believed in any case), but without Eloise here I'm not entirely certain how much I can say, so I decide to err on the side of caution.

"I can't say what happened, exactly, for the privacy of those involved. But there will not be any more deaths in the future." I explain. "So no news story for you, sorry."

"What bad, huh?" Mahoney asks with a grimace.

I don't know what he's imagining, but it might be worse than the reality. "It's complicated."

He sighs. "Well, what's done's done. But you didn't come all the way 'ere just to tell me that, did'ya?"

"No, I didn't." I agree. "I came to ask if you've got any leads on another case, the Egyptian murders."

"What are you, some bonafide Sherlock?" He asks, and I have to contain myself not to mention I actually met Doyle. Even if it would be funny.

"I'm not really a private investigator, but… well, it's a long story. But really, do you know anything about the murders?"

He scoffs. "If I knew, I'd be solving the damn case mahself, yes? Best I can tell is that the fella who's in charge of the case is a copper named James Barrington. He might be able to tell you more, I don't know."

"I'll give them a visit, then. Thanks for the tip."

[ Westminster, London, England ]

Scotland Yard! This place is famous.

Well, technically this one isn't the original scotland yard, but one they're calling the 'new' yard, on the Victoria Embankment. Still pretty old from my perspective

When I arrive and ask to talk to Inspector Barrington, I find myself surprised at how quickly that request is accepted. I would have thought the police would keep me tied up, waiting in red tape and whatnot.

I'm taken to a simple room, which almost reminds me of an interrogation setup. Just bare, white-grey walls, a rectangular table, two chairs.

There are two men in the room. One is tall and thin, with black hair and a thin pencil mustache, his suit shabby and unkempt. The other is an older man, more sturdy and heavyset, with a more fancy-looking suit carrying an insignia that I assume denotes higher tank, and he sits in a wheelchair.

"Inspector Barrington?" I ask.

"Yes, that's me." Answers the tall and thin one. "I was told you have information to bring about the Egyptian murder case?" He speaks, eyes locked onto me. He looks desperate for help.

"No. I was actually here to see if I can ask you about the case."

His face visibly droops. "And why, exactly, are you interested? For gossip and spectacle?"

I hesitate before speaking. Might as well go for it. "I have reason to believe that these murders are… connected to something supernatural in nature."

Barrington's face grows red. He takes a deep breath, just barely holding himself back from shouting. "I do not have the time for foreigners marching in here acting like cowboys, spouting ridiculous rumors, and thinking you can solve the case all on your lonesome! I should have you thrown out of England!"

Damn, I wasn't expecting it to go over that poorly.

Thankfully, the older man holds up a hand, pulling Barrington back slightly. "Now, now, let the boy speak." He looks at me with a glint in his eye. "He's not the first one to bring this up before, after all.

"Thank you, sir…?"

"You can call me Craig." Says the wheelchair-bound man.

"Thank you, Craig. But what's this about me not being the first?"

"Another fellow was here, last year, who claimed the murders are the work of the Brotherhood of the Black Pharaoh." Explains Barrington. He starts out contrite, but gains confidence as he continues. "Some sort of ancient Egyptian death cult, he says. I asked the Penhew Foundation, and they did say that such a cult did exist at some point in Egypt's history, but has long since died out."

"Oh, what a coincidence, I was there just the other day." I hum. How very interesting. "Okay, before I start, can we establish the basic facts about the case, please? Just to make sure we're on the same page."

"A total of nineteen murders have been carried out, over the last two and a half years, with a similar modus operandi. They are being called the Egyptian murders because seventeen of those victims were Egyptian nationals, mostly men. A witness to one scene said to have heard the word 'Hotep!' being cried out. Gavigan confirmed that is an ancient Egyptian word, meaning 'rest' or 'peace'. Forensics suggest the attacks were committed with cold weapons, by multiple perpetrators of different heights, indicating a group is responsible." Barrington clinically recites out the facts, and lays his hands, clasped together, on the table. "And these are all the facts we definitely know."

"And the clues that aren't definite?"

"Why do you want to know so badly, at any rate?" Barrington asks, furrowing his brow at me again.

"Magic prophecy." I state simply.

"Magic isn't real!" Exclaims Barrington.

"Yeah it is."
"Magic is real."

I find myself surprised, as Craig speaks up just as I do. Barrington seems surprised as well, turning to face the older policeman. "Sir?" He asks.

"Have you seen real magic before?" I ask him, a bit curious myself as well.

"Some." The older man grunts.

Right. Well, if he doesn't want to give details, then I suppose I won't force him.

"I can do some magic myself- may I demonstrate something? Please don't shoot me."

"We're not American cops, we don't shoot at the drop of a hat." Barrington scoffs.

I don't want to go through the whole I'm-not-from-the-USA routine again, so I ignore that comment, and just pull out the giant axe from Vishnu Baja to demonstrate.

"I understand your concern." Craig notes, drily.

"Well that could be a sleight of hand trick." Barrington protests lamely.

"Come on, this axe is bigger than I am. Where would I have hidden it? Or hell, they wouldn't have let me into the building with it! Also- here, try and hold it." I hand it towards Barrington with one hand and let go- he lurches forward, cursing, as he tries to hold on.

"It's damn heavy!" He huffs, straining to hold it up, even with the haft resting on the floor and with both hands on the handle.

"Yeah?" I ask with a smile as I take the axe back, easily lifting it up with one hand, and then make it disappear into the ether again.

"Look, I can stay here and play at being a circus performer showing you my tricks until the sun sets. The question is, do you trust me?"

"We've only just met you." Craig points out.

"I mean- yeah, okay, fair enough. But do you trust that I can do magic and might know about a side of things you don't?"

"Fine." Craig sighs. "James, tell the boy what he wants to know."

"Very well." Barrington (first name apparently James) nods, deferring to the senior policeman's call. "Other clues you said? Well, there was the Blue Pyramid Club. It's a place in Soho frequented by a great many Egyptians of good standing, as well as countrymen, of course. A great many of the victims were members of the club. It was investigated, but nothing conclusive was found. One Zahra Shafik was of interest, as she recognized the Black Pharaoh name, though she denied the existence of such a thing as a mere children's tale."

I hum. Sounds like a promising lead. Every legend has a bit of truth, after all. "Where can I find this club? Or Zahra, for that matter?"

Kind of a slow chapter, but whatever, gotta have the setup for later stuff.

If you're wondering why Doyle counted for a ticket but not the also real person Harry Price... idk, arbitrary line. Like, theres a difference between famous, and FAMOUS famous, y'know?

Lover, and Also a Crafter [SI into Lovecraft Mythos multicross with Celestial Gambler

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