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    1. Engima 10 yrs ago

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And as the teenagers began to scatter, so did our two young friends make their way to the hideout they called home, where they were meted warmly by their guardian and mentor, Flint. The rest of the day passed uneventful, with cheerful banter between the three of them, mixed the sound of rain clattering against the roof. And so, another day came to a close for our two Underlings. Little did they know what was about to come. Change was at hand, for beneath the streets and stones of London, things had been set in motion and events were beginning to unravel. Elsewhere… Flickering candlelight bounced of timber wood and shone an eerie light on the figure sitting in the tall chair. The room was large, four tall men’s arms length wide and three times as long. The weak sources of light, merely dotted here and there, seemed spread too thin, failing to illuminate the chamber fully. The grey walls were but dimly lit, yet one could still see the rows of bocks neatly put against wood, case after case, shelf after shelf. With a scratching sound, the figure finished writing something on a piece of parchment, before carefully placing it on a stand next to the chair. When the sound of bare feet scratching over cold stone could be heard as a second figure entered the room, the sitting one impatiently waved them closer. With a thud, something was put on the ground near the chair, where a rugged carped absorbed the impact. The chest, as the object turned out to be, was adorned with metal ornaments, shining surprisingly brightly against the weak light. “Is she ready?” The resonant voice echoed faintly, escaping through the half open door as if fleeing from its master, who now sat up straight. The question put forward in an impatient tone was met simply by a silent nod. “And the stone?” This time, the head shook in response, resulting in an anxious shifting of the sitting one. “Don’t waste any more time. Without the stone…” Reverberating through the chamber, one could almost feel their chest tremor when the sitting figure spoke up again in a sonorous voice, only to fall silent again mid-sentence. Reaching to their chest, a vile of red liquid was brought forth and some of its content gulped down quickly. “There’s not much time. Call the others.” After the second figure had scurried out of the room, this time closing the door behind them with a clang, a loud sigh echoed through the hall. Eyes wandered over to the chest with the metal adornment that did not as much reflect light as it seemed to emanate it. Not much time… Yet time passed, as it always did. Another morning came and went, and before you could blink, it was the day of the meeting.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
~ Chapter One ~ Meetings
“Move it lad!” Flints unusually stern voice was followed by a quick slap with his walking stick aimed at Paul’s behind, which was quickly moved out of the way. There was only one mirror in the entire hideout, so naturally, on a day that required at least some degree of preparation, the area in front of it was heavily contested within the small family. Scurrying out of Flint’s way, Paul hurried into his section of the hideout one last time to grab his coat. His feet made thudding sounds on the heavily padded floor, where several layers of rugs of all shapes and sizes were laid out throughout their entire home, shielding their feet from the cold rising up from the stone, and making a much better ward than scraps of newspaper. Much like the floor, the rocky walls that bent inwards were also covered in rugs, with only specks of stone showing through. One could instinctively tell, be it because of the slightly uneven texture of the rock, the fact that there were no windows, or because the rooms were somewhat shaped like upside down bowls, that this home was underground. A fire was crackling in the fireplace at one end of the room, giving the place a cozy atmosphere. The entrance place of the hideout, roughly the layout of an uneven octagon, was not very large. The real size of the place however, could not be judged by this. From the entrance room, where Flint was checking his outfit in front of the mirror mounted on one of the walls, several short, round tunnels at the back of the room, burrowed out of the hard stone, led to the different parts of the hideout, making it a compartmentalized living space, almost like the humans had them. One of these parts was Paul’s room, which the boy now had made his way to. Without wasting much time, he pushed open the wooden door that was, although skillfully, inserted into a place it had not been designed for, and thus wobbled dangerously every time he used it. Shortly upon entering the cramped space, he rushed over to his bed. They had found it on the riverbank one day, and while the mattress was old and worn, the frame was relatively new, with metal posts and springs at the bottom, which was a very modern invention of their time. Jenny and he could bounce on it for hours. Right now his interest was not in the bouncy bed however, but in the long, grey coat lying on top of it. Putting it on, he had to roll back the sleeves several times. The coat was worn, and obviously too big for the young Underling, but he did not seem to give this much heed. Adjusting his cap a final time, he remembered that he had wanted to ask Jenny something. To the side of his room, there was another tunnel carved out of the stone, leading to what could be best described as the living room, where another fire burned, albeit a lot more quietly. Wyrnfire, they called this green, smokeless flame, for if the Underlings were to produce too much smoke in a city like this, it would not be long before they attracted the humans attention. Thus, Wyrnfire was widely used among their people. Hurrying through the warm living room that was furnished not unlike the living rooms of ordinary humans of this time, Paul took another tunnel that lead straight to Jenny’s room. None of the tunnels were very long, two meters at the most, and so he was at his destination very quickly, knocking twice at the equally makeshift door of his little sister’s room. “Bundle! Did ya remember to dust the place?” While any normal person would naturally assume Paul was referring to her cleaning a space, it was very obvious to anyone even slightly familiar with the girl that this was not within the realm of possibilities. As such, Paul did not use these words with the idiomatic meaning usually associated with them, but for the practice Underlings regularly engaged in to ensure their privacy. Dusting, as the Underlings referred to the act very fittingly, involved the act of dispersing a powdery substance around the perimeter of ones hideout, for this peculiar powder dulled the common humans sense, and lessened the risk of one of them stumbling over an Underlings home. And since today was the young girl’s turn, Paul took it upon himself to kindly remind her of her duties, by knocking again at her door a mere second after the first time, for he was spurred by both Flint's uncommonly animated behaviour, and his own, slightly stinging behind, which was a reminder of the former.
When the food conveniently landed in his lap, Paul's stomach rejoiced by grumbling even louder. Looking down at what Jenny had brought him, he felt a sudden surge of warm affection for the girl when he realized she had given him the lion's share. Breaking the loaf of bread in two, he silently put one half to the side and began munching his apple. Time passed, and the bad weather showed no sign of letting up. The warmth of the crackling fire, the dripping sound of the rain and the silent company of each other created a serene atmosphere as brother and sister sat peacefully and ate their meager meal.
While he was nibbling on his apple, Paul's mind drifted off. Contemplating about what they could do today, he briefly considered going over to Johnny's and see how much they could get for that necklace Jenny had gotten herself. Glancing over to his sister however, he noticed how entranced the little girl was by the amulet. She was holding it in her small fingers and her eyes were practically glued to the bird shaped trinket. Sighing on the inside, Paul wrote off the idea of selling it. Not that it was really necessary to make money out of everything they stole. Flint's treasure contained enough to keep them afloat another year even if they were to suddenly decide to depend on it entirely. The fire was beginning to die down, so Paul absentmindedly threw in some more scraps of paper and drifted away into his thoughts again. If not Johnny's they could always go over to Hyde Park and see what's up. It was Saturday, so Nina must've been about, and at there was always something or other going on at the Corner. It seemed like a nice idea, so even if there were other possibilities, the boy decided on this one on a whim.

Gulping down the last piece of his apple, Paul looked over to his sister whom he noticed kept glancing at the box. The way he knew her, the girl was weighing whether or not to snatch more food from the storage, and her gluttonous side was in the process of battling her manners. Keeping a straight face but silently laughing, he wordlessly tossed the remaining half of the bread he still kept next to him sideways so it landed in her lap with a small thud.
The content smile on his younger sister’s lips told Paul that she had done the deed. The loud complaints of the man he had snatched the wallet from were his cue to quickly move away. There was no point in lingering, as it heightened the danger of them getting caught. They had their share on Trafalgar Square for today. With Jenny in tow, the young boy swiftly headed out of the market place and into the streets of London.

The looming clouds amassing over the city finally decided to grace the people beneath them with their wet goodness. Accompanied by gushes of wind, the sounds of the city were quickly overcome by the dripping noise of rain on hard stone. Building up swiftly, it was before long that the water was pouring down like a waterfall. When the first drops had started falling, Paul and Jenny were already on their way to one of their hideouts in St. James park. Dashing through the streets much like everyone else, the siblings hurried past pedestrians and were overtaken by carriages splashing up the quickly amassing water on the roads. The pavement was already swimming, and when the two young Underlings had crossed the street and were running through St. James Park, their shoes were already stepping on drenched soil. Shivering in their wet clothes, they were both glad when the hideout finally came into sight.
The broad bridge spanning the small river that ran through the park in a controlled fashion was made of simple stone and left just enough space beneath it for an adult to stand on his feet. Naturally, this was more than enough for an underling. It was here that an assortment of cardboard boxes, old newspaper and pieces of cloth made up a temporary shelter from bad weather or unwanted company. When Paul and Jenny slid down the small hill next to the bridge and walked beneath it, they found that someone was already occupying the hideout. Quickly scrambling to his feet upon spotting them, the small boy stood in his usual hunched over stance. "Mornin' Paul. Mornin' Jenny". He muffled the words into his worn out scarf. "Hi Pete". For some reason, that kid had always struck Paul as having something of a rat. The squinted, washy eyes that always seemed to either look down or dart around nervously, the hunched way of standing and the nose that seemed to run at any given moment just had to leave a bit of whiny impression. "...I'll be on my way now." While Paul was not particularly fond of the small fellow, he didn't dislike him either. Paul and Jenny had dibs on the hideout in case of rain, and Pete respected their territory. Honoring the silent code between their kind counted for something, and so Paul gave the other guy a small smile when he wrapped himself in his leather jacket and went off in search for another shelter close by. The small fire in the middle of the hideout was mostly kept going by twigs and scraps of newspaper. Paul kneeled down and held his hands over the flickering flames, rubbing them against each other in an attempt to get the cold out of them. Thanks to the relatively enclosed space beneath the bridge, intensified by some carton put up as temporary walls, the hideout was if not cozy at least not freezing. His clothes were still dripping, and he made sure not to spill any water over the weak source of warmth. After a while of silently enjoying the heat, Paul's stomach grumbled, reminding him of his need to eat. There was a cardboard box that always served as a food storage for those using the shelter. If there was anything left there was another question. Not wanting to move from his comfortable spot, Paul spoke up to his little sister. "Have a look if there's any food in would ya."
Prologue

The year 2015 was a good year for humanity. Stock market prices were rising, world economy was reemerging from a crisis and recent conflicts in eastern Europe were ebbing away. The United Nations signed fresh charters of peace with newly established countries and three new species of snakes were discovered in the rainforests of Uganda. It was a truly good year for humanity in every aspect. Until the Hatching. On September 1., 2015, in a remote part of Johannesburg, South Africa, an egg, approximately the size of an ostriches egg, was found seemingly lying abandoned on a seat at a hardly commuted train station. The only remarkable things about the egg were its texture that seemed knobbed and gnarled like that of an old tree and its peculiar, bilious green color. After a short news flash on a local TV station, the egg was left where it was to be whatever it wanted to be. Three weeks later, Johannesburg had disappeared from the world map. Another two weeks later, humanity was at war and the world as we know it had ended.
~The Hatching~
We are still here



2031 AD.

The world is a different place. Sixteen years after the demonspawn had first emerged into our world, humanity is struggling to hold its ground against the unlikely invaders. The event that would come to be known simply as “The Hatching” was just the first of many to come. Shanghai, Cardiff, Malmo, Las Vegas, only to name the first ones to go. The eggs didn’t appear choosy where they spawned. It is unknown where they come from and what happens at a hatching. All that would be left some weeks after a sighting would be radio silence and a new domain of the demonspawn. In this humanity’s darkest hour, the gods returned.
Chapter One
Rookies


The shrilling sound of an alarm clock going off was quickly silenced by the large hand coming down on it a little too hard. Heavy eyes blinked between half closed lids at the glowing neon. 6:30. Way too early to get up. John Johnson closed his eyes again turned his back, groaning as the springs beneath him squeaked in a deafening manner to his hungover mind. Trying to get back to sleep, some part of his drowsy consciousness attempted to discern the reason the alarm had gone off. It hadn't gone off in years. After a few minutes of blissful ignorance, realization came.

The yellow spit in the sink was slowly sent down the drain as cold water poured over it. Stubble scratched against rough hands as the freezing fluid splashed on a wrinkled face. Scrubbing strongly as if to rub away the piercing headache, the man bent over resting his hands on the cold ceramic and sighed. Dim light flickered from the broken light bulb and sent fractured shadows through the small bathroom. As John raised his head, pale grey eyes stared back at him. They wandered over an old man's face. Furrowed brows. Stray strands of once black hair falling greasily over a high forehead. A large nose above tightened brittle lips. Broad chin, once handsome. Was a man in his early 30s supposed to have grey hair? A sudden jolt of anger flashed through him as he stared at the visage of an elderly that wasn't supposed to be his own. A swiss army knife in his hands, the man started scratching away on his cheeks as if it could reclaim some of the lost dignity. Red drips joined the spit. He was out of shape. Once you were in the service, you learned to shave with anything you've got. When all hell breaks loose around you and your worst nightmares blow green fire over any barricade you might've built and slice open your friends next to you, you're happy about every night you can spend in a hole whimpering and shaving. Looking at the white cross in the mirror rocking up and down he wondered briefly if they still made those. Probably not. Geneva fell a few years back. That's when anything that had remained of the Red Cross ceased to exist. After that, the vigils took it upon them to be the merciful Samaritans. Of course they sucked. Like they sucked at everything. More red dots landed painted the drain. He couldn't wait to get back to them.

The suit made things better. So did shaving his head to the short ten centimeter cut he had back then. He could even act as if the grey strands were fashionable. Tightening his tie in front of the mirror John remembered the last thing to do before leaving. The way there was short. There was only one room apart from the toilet and it was bedroom and kitchen at the same time. John never needed more. For the second time today the bed squeaked as the man lowered his weight onto it. Had he put on some pounds lately? Brushing the thought aside, a grip at the box beneath the mattress and a pulling motion revealed an elongated dusty box. A scrapping sound was heard and for the first time today John's mouth twisted into something faintly resembling a smile.
"Hello old friend"



The morning sunlight was flushing through the spacious main hall of Vigil Headquarters. Circular as it was, the large pillars didn't block the view in any way and the impressive flights of stairs to either side leading up to the higher levels were populated by countless members of the order bustling about. The marble plated floor echoed any steps taken on them and rushed conversations could be heard everywhere. At one side of the main hall, right next to a pillar, there was a wooden two sided door. The door was beautifully ornamented, and on the pillar next to it there was a hastily drawn picture of a blue arrow that degraded the clean marble stone and pointed towards said door. Behind the door there lay a room. To anyone daring to enter it would appear to be a waiting room. Neat, some rugged carpets on the floor, paintings on the walls and plants in the corners. Chairs and sofas arranged for comfort, and a single spacious desk standing opposite to the door, with countless paper, pamphlets and dossiers scattered across it. The room was nice, quiet. Yet the atmosphere seemed a bit forlorn, as if the room had been neatly decorated and then left there, forgotten to the ones who prepared it.

It was in this waiting room that the champions this story will tell of were told to gather.

No matter how they were first contacted by the vigilantes, be it a phone call, a letter, or a courier in person, they were all pointed towards this waiting room to arrive and await further instructions at precisely 9 am. The vigilantes were supposedly a punctual people. And delay was not something to be tolerated.
Prologue

The year 2015 was a good year for humanity. Stock market prices were rising, world economy was reemerging from a crisis and recent conflicts in eastern Europe were ebbing away. The United Nations signed fresh charters of peace with newly established countries and three new species of snakes were discovered in the rainforests of Uganda. It was a truly good year for humanity in every aspect. Until the Hatching. On September 1., 2015, in a remote part of Johannesburg, South Africa, an egg, approximately the size of an ostriches egg, was found seemingly lying abandoned on a seat at a hardly commuted train station. The only remarkable things about the egg were its texture that seemed knobbed and gnarled like that of an old tree and its peculiar, bilious green color. After a short news flash on a local TV station, the egg was left where it was to be whatever it wanted to be. Three weeks later, Johannesburg had disappeared from the world map. Another two weeks later, humanity was at war and the world as we know it had ended.
~The Hatching~
We are still here



2031 AD.

The world is a different place. Sixteen years after the demonspawn had first emerged into our world, humanity is struggling to hold its ground against the unlikely invaders. The event that would come to be known simply as “The Hatching” was just the first of many to come. Shanghai, Cardiff, Malmo, Las Vegas, only to name the first ones to go. The eggs didn’t appear choosy where they spawned. It is unknown where they come from and what happens at a hatching. All that would be left some weeks after a sighting would be radio silence and a new domain of the demonspawn. In this humanity’s darkest hour, the gods returned.
Paul moved silently through the crowd. As it was his nature, he had no trouble avoiding and evading the manifold shoppers and marketeers while he was searching for viable prey. His green eyes darted quickly around, scanning passerby's, merchants, and customers. The buzzing noise of the market, the stench that arose from the masses and the fact that Paul was hardly taller than a child all helped conveniently cover his presence as he quietly made his way past the people. Jenny was right behind him. His little sister who was just a tick shorter than him was just as skilled at moving through the mass as he was, if not better. She kept close so they would not lose sight of each other and as always waited for his signal. Passing some children playing with sticks and hoops, Paul dodged a loud adult waltzing forward with no regard and arguing loudly with his wife over cabbage prices. Neither his wife nor him noticed the small figure that skillfully spun around them by a hair's breath, and soon disappeared in the crowd behind them. Paul with Jenny in tow moved quickly and the masses swallowed them again like a pond swallowed hook, line and sinker. The grumpy man wouldn't have to worry about cabbage prices today. Paul had relieved him of the burden of buying overpriced cabbages, and the coin in his wallet jingled joyfully in Paul's pockets. A slight grin passed the young boys slim features, as he spotted another viable target. A nearby booth that obviously sold valuable trinkets for the upper class was populated by a chattering crowd of middle aged women in fancy dresses who seemed to suffer from having to choose between the countless gems. A quick hand sign signaled Jenny to relieve them of that painful obligation.
CS

Name:
Paul Slyfinger
Age: 16 (looks 13)
Gender: Male

Personality:
Paul is a silent kid who tends to keep to himself when he’s not required to socialize, save for the presence of his little sister. Not that this was very unusual, seeing that his kind tends to lead rather solitary lives, only coming together for great gatherings in the Undercity when there is a special occasion. With a stubborn mind and a hot-headed personality behind the quiet façade, Paul is quick to get into fights and his knuckles are covered in bruises more often than not. His opponents are mostly other street rats, be they human or underling, and he’s not afraid to take on tougher guys than himself. This not rarely ends up with his sister having to patch up the bruises and calmly scold him.
Apart from being a little hot-headed, Paul is reliable. At least that’s what people tell about him. With his younger sister in tow since they were little, he has been the one looking out for her on their countless roams through the city, and he has developed a keen sense for danger. He knows the tough little bundle is strong enough to look after herself, but he feels it can never hurt to hold an extra eye open. Based on how they first met, Paul has taken a habit of calling her “bundle”..
While at times very quiet, Paul is not stupid in the slightest. He’s street smart, and can remember any location he’s been to at least once. Attentive and with a quick mind, he can find paths and escape ways that most people or Underlings would overlook. Apart from being silent, he has a tendency of either making sly, sarcastic remarks or being downright mean. He’s blunt, and has no qualms to speak his mind if he feels it necessary.
Paul is agile and likes to climb. Growing up in the streets of London, like most of his kind, he is able to quickly find his way through the narrow alleys and channels. While he’s capable of blending in with the masses, he prefers the rooftops and arching buildings over the more crowded streets. His agility and quick hands enable him to ascend even the most complex edifice

Appearance:
As typical for his kind, Paul is of a small stature, reaching no higher than 4’11’’ (150cm). His hair is chestnut brown and kept short, since it tends to get tousled very quickly. He appears a bit unkempt, like many Underlings, and his clothes are often ragged and worn, with patches and stiches all over them. His face appears undefinably ordinary, just as one might expect from a street rat, save for his green eyes which shine with intellect. His eyes shift color from office green to lime green, appearing darker when he is in a foul or relaxed mood and seeming brighter when he is upbeat and giddy. In day to day occurrences, his most prominent facial expression is that of mild interest or slight boredom. His typical silent demeanor is reflected in his slightly hunched over stance.
Paul’s attire mostly consist of a coffee colored, striped woolen jumper that covers his upper body up to his neck and over his torso and arms, and is held by a dark brown leather belt. On his lower body he wears fallow brown jeans that are tucked into his worn out, dark-grey leather boots. He also often wears brown fingerless leather gloves that help him climb. His head is usually adorned with a reddish beggar cap that is often referred to as his trademark. This is mostly due to the fact that anyone, even his sister is absolutely forbidden from touching it, and he will get very upset if someone tries to do so.
Over his woolen jumper Paul sometimes puts on a grey leathery jacket that is obviously too large for him and thus leaves him with flabby sleeves that are tucked backwards several times else they would completely cover both his hands. The jacket goes down almost to his knees and covers his neck up to his hair, giving the impression of him disappearing into it. When he wears it, he often puts his hands into its pockets, as this seems to give him confidence. Since it is considerably flabby, it is not exactly made for climbing, so unless it’s a cold day or a special occasion, he’ll refrain from putting it on for fear it might hinder him (or maybe for fear of loosing it..).
Both cap and jacket seem to hold a special meaning to him that only Flint and his little sister seem to know about.

Background:
Paul and his sister were raised by Flint, an elderly Underling who is held in high regards among their kind. Found in a small boat on the shore of the Thames, Flint took him in and raised him like so many Underlings were raised by a guardian. Before Paul could walk, he climbed. No structure and no building were safe from the little kid’s chubby hands. After he had conquered the walls of the hideout, he moved on to larger buildings. At first jumping from small ledges, he soon was capable of jumping from roof to roof. Taking a liking to the city and it’s many faces, smells, sensations and most importantly, buildings Paul would begin to roam the area, bit by bit broadening his territory. In that way, Paul began to seize London in his very own way.
It was when he was still very young, not even fully grown yet, when he discovered something on one of his ranges. Roaming the shore of the Thames, skipping over several rooftops and sliding down between some smaller buildings, he noticed a faint presence in front of him on the riverbank. Quickly climbing down to the shore he realized it was a small, brown bundle lying near some that had captured his attention. Upon getting closer, it became apparent to the young boy that it was a bundle of ragged cloth was seemingly lying abandoned between some barrels. The cluster of brown fabric was obviously aged. Most importantly, the bundle was sneezing. The sudden sound scaring the wits out of the young boy, it quickly became obvious to him that someone was in there. This fact was underlined by the large pair of eyes that was blinking at Paul from under the folds. Apparently, Paul now had a little sister.
After taking the young girl in, or rather after she had followed him all the way home, the two of them lived a peaceful child’s life under the loose care of Flint. Teaching the two of them, they grew into an Underlings equivalent of teenagers, who called this city their home.

Ability:
- Quick feet; Ability to blur when moving fast, making it harder to track his movements. Also runs very nimbly and climbs surprisingly fast.
- Silent fingers; Ability to briefly cloud a person’s mind, allowing to be unseen, or rather, unnoticed for a moment.
Holy shit you sniffed this out fast! xD
It is the year of our lord 1888. We are in the city of London, England. As the people are bustling about their daily live, they are unaware that , unbeknownst to man, there are creatures living and breathing among them that seem so very much like us, and yet are not entirely the same. Beneath the streets and structures that make up the capital of Great Britain, in the sewers and catacombs spread far and wide, there lives a race of tiny people that has coexisted with mankind since the beginning of time. Seeming to be no more than children, streetrats at that, they mingle and blend in with the masses, unnoticed, unknown, with only their slim pupils hinting at their true nature. They are the Underlings, and this is the story of two teenagers among them. ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Underlings of London
Prologue
It was a dull morning. The early sun was hidden behind a grey filter and only hesitantly sending its first rays over London's rooftops. Dark clouds were looming over the waking city, and the impending rain sent many a person into a hushed hurry. There was a market on on Trafalgar square. The noises of a large crowd mingled with the clattering hooves of horse drawn carriages passing by the large plaza, and the barking of dogs could be heard in the distance. Children's laughter mixed with the haggling of merchants and shoppers, and the general chatter resounding through the air slowly woke up the rest of the city. All sorts of booths were scattered over the marketplace, from vegetable and meat stalls over craftsmen utensils to clothing and refined jewelry for the more exalted buyer. The crowd was a blend of many different characters. Poor and rich, young and old, workman and noble gathered here to get their early shopping done. The atmosphere over the large Plaza was busy and rushed. People were distracted, in a hurry to get their business done before the first drops would fall. The density of the crowd, the dull, hectic atmosphere and the countless distracting impressions of the market created an ideal opportunity for thieving little hands. And so it was that Paul and Jenny found their way here this morning.
OOC for our 1x1 Roleplay "Underlings of London" :D
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