Elsie folded the letter as the train came to a stop, the sound of screetching metal filling the air, the smell not much better. She grabbed her bags, making sure that her weapons were secured to her body and exited the train. The air in Romania was thick and humid and she hated it already. She'd need to stop and reread Marcus Treaumont's letter one more time. He was the head of the council of elders, a group constructed long ago to protect humanity from the beasts that played in the shadows.
She'd meet him a few times, but he was based in England and most likely would not been scene on this trip. They were to meet at Baker's street pub, his brother Nathaniel would arrive shortly after eight PM to give them further information and instructions. She would be late if she didn't hurry. She called a carriage and climbed in, hoisting her bags up and giving them the address.
She sat back and unfolded the letter again and the resounding journal entry that echo'd Marcus cry from the council for help.
To those of you who lack belief in that which cloaks itself in humanity, but is far from it… This entry is for you.
The year was 1812 when the crimson massacre took the small city of Comstock by storm, its rivers running the color of death. The history books would mourn the loss of such a story or eyewitness account, as there were none left to recount the event. Some say that it was the meeting place, the common grounds on which the demon’s accord was founded, routed in a last ditch effort to survive the extinction of their races.
Others will tell you that the murders were committed a band of criminals who escaped from a nearby holding house for those that might be executed for vile and hanus crimes. But the memories of that day were just echoes of a nightmare that has yet to be bested in the history of London’s devastating past.
I am here to relay the events as they occurred, though most difficult to believe, even having seen the resulting carnage with my own eyes.
She folded it back up as the carriage stopped and moved her bags out onto the street, paying the man and picking up her stuff. A kind elderly gentleman took her things as the pub was attached to the hotel she'd be staying in for some of the trip. She walked up to the bar and slid in beside someone she'd not seen in a long time, perhaps not long enough.
"Adam..." She said politely and nodded at him, looking back to the barmaid, "Whiskey, double on the rocks."