Beloved readers, I am painfully aware that of late my little blog has been very substandard. Now that’s not to say that I think the life Of which I write is usually so exciting that reading about daily adventures is edge of the seat literary nourishment, but I do think I’ve managed to make most of the posts vaguely interesting.
Clearly that’s not been the case for a little while now, and I’m not liking the direction of recent weeks. Yes this is a form of diary and at times therapy, but I do still have a tiny modicum of pride left in me. And due to external influences I’ve been selling my audience short recently.
So just to try and help myself crawl meekly out of these doldrums I thought I would treat you today (hopefully you will consider it a treat), ad publish the first of 3 parts of a character background I wrote a number of weeks ago for my Steampunk Victoriana character.
I really enjoyed writing it, although as you will no doubt notice I ended up having to rush the endings of parts 2 & 3. I’m actually quite proud of them, and with the promise of another foray into this characters adventures at the end of the month, maybe I’ll write some more.
But first some basic admin about the story, as you are not members of the roleplay party this was written for. The setting is Steampunk Victorian London. Elves, Dwarfs, Beastmen, Hobbits and Orcs all appear within the world and are integrated into various levels of society. Beastmen are deemed the lowest of the low and are the paupers of the world, largely living out of the slums and finding employ in the criminal underclass. My character is called Milton Malloy the Third and is a Beastman, and successful smuggler, he happens to be a mix of Human and Mink, which is unfortunate as even other Beastmen look down upon those of Rodent stock. So without further ado here is part 1, I hope you enjoy it (forgive the mistakes, it’s all been typed on my phone):

Smuggler’s Guard-Den – part 1

“Denholme, are you sure about these directions you received?”
“Yes sir,” Henry Peverington’s bullish bodyguard come manservant replied curtly.
“Well really it’s not so much the ungodly time of day I resent, more the area of the city I’m having to frequent.” As an upstanding member of society with a strong family name to trade against, Henry Peverington wasn’t one to be frequenting the gin soaks and penny knee tremblers of London’s most established slum district.
“I have a very solid recommendation from an old military acquaintance of mine sir, to be honest sir I would sooner doubt your word than his.” Denholme still cast a wary eye around the crowded inn, taking in both the visual stench as well as the matching aroma of the place.
Gin and Ale could be brought cheap here along with anything else you cared to ask for. Henry Peverington required something for his personal use that would certainly raise an eyebrow or two amongst the circles he moved in, so his only recourse was to seek and employ help from less savoury partners.
“Well if you are certain this is the place we had better get a move on then, what do we need to order from the barkeep again?” Henry lowered his voice so that only his faithful companion could hear the question.
“I will go procure us a Neckinger Tanner from the barkeep sir” Denholme set off to the crowded bar, which in a small crowded place such as The Black Bull, was only matter of a few forceful paces. Henry watched as Denholme dutifully ordered the aforementioned drinks from the barkeep. After nothing more than a brief appraising look the barkeep handed over 2 pots of unassuming overly foaming beer.
“Well?” Henry asked of his manservant once he returned to their little bubble of civility amidst the detritus of the other patrons, many of whom were desultory Beastkin.
“I am afraid I don’t rightly know sir, I’ve ordered the correct drink sir.”
Henry Peverington felt a small nudge the small of his back as something not entirely pleasant and distinctly pointed was pressed against him.
“No wud I be roight in fink’in dat you too fellas would be wanting ta see a Mr Malloy?”
Henry turned slowly and carefully to discover a short dirty looking rodent faced Beastkin smiling unpleasantly up at him. It had very thick black unkempt fur and in place of one eye there was an ugly looking ragged blank socket. The creature carried with it an overpowering odour of the sewers, whether that was from it’s filthy fur or it’s mismatched and threadbare clothes Henry didn’t wish to guess.
“Urgh!” Exclaimed Henry at the full frontal assault upon all of his delicate and refined senses.
“Well nah, dats just rood don’t cha nooo” the creature replied, gestering to the surprisingly shiny and well conditioned stiletto blade held in it’s paw/hand.
“Denholme, what is it!”
“I do believe this is the contact you wish to make sir” Denholme replied, nodding to the creature somewhat placatingly.
“Really? Are you sure”
“Oi! I is roight ere ya noooo, you posh folkses is roight rood sum times.”
“Erm come again?” Henry struggled to regain a modicum of composure.
“Well, I is certain dat yoo too fellas is after da sur-vices of Milton Malloy da Furd, no?”
“That is correct” Denholme interjected, saving Henry from further embarrassing himself.
“Roight, well follah me den, and ditch those drinks, ye’ll not be needing that pond water nah.” The ratlike creature flipped it’s blade away. Quite whereabouts within the tattered rags it’s passed off for clothes that wickedly sharp blade went neither man could tell.
They followed the scurrying Beastkin out of a back door and through what must have been the Black Bull’s store room, the barkeep not giving them the slightest of glances. As they approached the back wall, the Ratlike man pressed against a section of panelling revealing a hidden doorway. They descended a sturdy staircase and found themselves in a surprisingly dry and well lit cellar. A table and three chairs were the only furniture within the room. The Ratlike man took a chair and gestured the two men to sit across the table in the remaining chairs.
“So welcome genteel men, let’s tae busy-ness shall we. Wot can Milton Malloy do ya fur?” The Ratlike creature looked from Henry to Denholme ensuring that it’s solitary eye glared at each of them in turn.
“And do we have the err pleasure of addressing Mr Malloy?” Henry Peverington managed to sneer, his well bred composure and distain finally coming to the fore. He really didn’t wish to be dealing with a Beastkin, but his options were limited, still it would have been so much easier if the Beastkin wasn’t a filthy rat. A dog or horse would have been so much more palatable to his delicate sensibilities, in fact anything would have been better than a rat!
“Well nah, in ansa to yore question, I is indeed a Mr Malloy, yes.” The creature replied with an odd smile
“Jolly good, let’s to business then shall we, I’m not entirely disposed to dealing with rats, but I do understand that you can get things for people.” Henry pressed on eager to get this deal sorted out quickly.
“Nah wait jus a minute my gud fella. Furst I ain’t a rat, an I has gutted folkses fur saying so in da very recent past. Secund I is a Mr Malloy, but not da Mr Malloy you be needing.”
“What is this foolishness? Denholme what is he talking about?” Henry exclaimed.
“Well sir, he’s of Mink stock isn’t he.” Denholme replied matter of factly.
“Yes sir, he is most certainly a Mink, a far more noble creature than a Rat, that would easily explain his displeasure sir.”
“I don’t care what he is, he looks like a rat, he sounds like a rat and he certainly smells like a rat, so a rat he must be!”
“Ya fella here is spot on mee-ster, and I really shud warn ye not to be cawlin me a rat anymores.” With that the razor sharp stiletto thudded into the thick wood of the table between them.
“Well in any case if you are Milton Malloy can we please get to business.” Henry stammered out, eyes focused on the blade still embedded in the table.
“Well I can’t be helping ya doirectly with yore busy-ness, but I certainly is Milton Malloy.”
Henry looked quizzically across at Denholme, who merely shrugged.
“H-allow me to intrue-deuce meself, Milton Malloy da sekond, pleased ta meet wiv ya sir.” The halfbreed offered his paw in handshake.
“Uh, sorry did you say Milton Malloy the second?” Henry Peverington reluctantly shook the proffered paw.
“Dat be correct, yes. Ya see sir you will be rekwiring da soirvices of me litter mate Milton Malloy da furd. He’s a klevva fella is Milton, he can git ya any fing ya want, fur da roight price o’course.”
“Litter mate? I’m afraid I don’t understand……”
“I think I understand sir, litter mate would refer to a brother or sister if I’m not mistaken.” Denholme interjected.
“Aye dat’s it, me bruvver Milton Malloy da furd. Me Ma allways said he wuz da sharpsist of us all.”
“All? How many erm litter mates are there?” Henry worriedly enquired.
“Oh there’s a plenty of us, don’t cha be worrying yore sell. Nah ta busy-ness gents. Ya see I’s said Miton Malloy is da sharpsist of us, so if’in yore wanting ta meet wi him, yore gonna have to folla tha korrect pore-seed-yur. Hat lest tha’s what he allways tells me. He hast ta be carefull ya see, an upcooming man in his loin o’busy-ness. Kaw-shun he says, is iz middle name, oi darn’t rememba me Ma giving me a middle name, bless her.”
“Ok, I can see that it’s a sensible practice then, so how do we go about procuring your err brother’s services Mr Malloy?” Henry was eager to get things sorted out quickly.
“Well out back ere, frew dat little door, ye’ll find a wee boat waiting fur ya. Nah da guy rowings it is a proper fell bugga, so don’t be speaking to him roight? Joost climb in an he’ll be setting off. Ye’ll be tekken to a warehoose, ask da furst fella ya see’s ta tek ya to de Orange Lotus, ye got dat Orange Lotus. Wince there asks fur Millie.” Milton pointed out the low doorway in the back wall they were to leave by.
“Ok, the Orange Lotus, and ask for Millie, what then?” Henry asked.
“Beats me, I dint nah wot happens aftur dat, I’s just got ta give ya these here instruck-shuns ain’t I. Now be shire to be quick abawt it, as in 5 minutes dat boat leaves, an all sawts of vicious basterds is gonna come down these here stairs, joost part of Milton Malloy’s sekura-tee pro-seed-dure ya oondastand, good luck fella’s, pleasure doing busy-ness wiv ya.” At that the beast kin calmly lean back in his chair and place his feet upon the table giving them a rough approximation of a smile.
Denholme was up and out of the chair first, quickly making his way across the room and opening the small door. “This way please sir.” He added urgently.
Henry Peverington ducked through doorway and they both made their way down a series of wooden gangways.
“Denholme, I trust you came prepared for trouble, this night is turning into something less than savoury, and I have no wish to end up floating face down in the stinking river.”
“Of course sir, I’ve taken more than the usual precautions.” He patted his heavy coat as he answered, feeling the reassuring weight of his old revolver.
They headed down to the waiting boat and clambered aboard. Manning the oars was a giant of a beast kin with a distinctly bovine head upon broad bare shoulders. As well as the stereotypical bull’s ring through it’s nose, more rings pierced the flesh of it’s naked slab muscled torso.
Once they were both seated it snorted and pushed the small boat out into the dark waters. The myriad of rings jingled strangely as it heaved on the oars, propelling them along at a moderate pace.

Odi et amo………..Excrucior

Stay Slinky People,