An Audience with the King

Link to article: An Audience with the King.
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**An Audience with the King**

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**Author:** Doctor Scrappy
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**THE 19TH CENTURY**

**I.**
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The odors of sweat and the most curious of liquor wafted into my nostrils as I made my way through the people. My name is Jasmine Polter and I am a scholar of the great England, at least I like to call myself as so. My ingenuity, sense of intrigue, thrill for adventure and the want to sight-see the most faraway of lands had earned me great respect from the peers of my community. But I could tell from the gloomy eyes and intense gazes that the people that had surrounded me cared little for my knowledge, nor the many a great stories I had to tell. Rather, for every time I peeked over my own shoulders I saw a watchful gaze set upon me, before disappearing into the crowd again. I hated these locales.

Having made my way to the front, I consoled the bar keeper of this small tavern; he had a beard, long and furry, and eyebrows that covered nearly all that were his eyelids. Despite my sight of most of his face smeared by the tears of the aforementioned smells, the bar keeper's expression was clear. They were that of a kind old man, not too unlike one would see on their father or other similar familiar. The keeper's voice was deep and strong, yet soft and slow. He spoke: "Your face does not seem familiar, not at all. What does a lady like you do wandering the streets of this bustling city at this hour?" He was concerned.

I answered him that I did not originate from this place, but that I was a scholar from London who had heard of the quite strange rumors hanging over this city like a drape over a window. I had heard of happenings -- weird noises at the day and night; missing persons; and of a cabbal hidden deep in the heart of the city -- that had even the fiercest of men troubled. He just nodded. He poured me one. I drank it in two gulps.

"If I may ask, not to disrespect, but why //this// place?"

A smile ran across my face at that question. I told him that if he wanted to know why I had grown so curious of the rumors, that he would need to pour me another drink. He obliged my will. The occult had always interested me, I told the bar keeper. The arts of the arcane and of the preternatural had woven their way into every corner of the sphere we called our home -- tales of monsters, ghouls, the existence of a state after one perished -- all tales were the same everywhere, just cladded with different names and appearences. These were phenomena that simply required to be inspected closer by the communities of science; and that I would be the one to do so. He gave a hearty chuckle; I would be lying if that response had not split my heart in two for just a moment; but it was a chuckle of respect. I appreciated that.

"So be it. But be wise that there exists only one true force beyond our understanding." He pointed up a digit toward the ceiling. I understood.

I proceeded to ask the man of the area most strickened by those ungodly rumors. He told me of the particular district. I thanked him, gave the man his due payment, and parted ways with the locale. 

Once I was outside again, I breathed in the cool, fresh air of the night. My body had been so much plagued by the smells of the locale that it had almost forgotten the joys of nature's omnipresent life energy. Glittering stars shone down upon the city, and although people were still inhabiting the streets at this midnight hour, it was less than on the day. There was a calming peace at the sight of normally such a filled, crammed space be partially clean of its residents. I made my way to the nearest tram station and asked of a ticket to the area I had asked the kind bar keeper of. The conductor nodded. The tram was sparsely filled; the creatures of the night sitting on the seats, coming back home from whatever low paying work they had tried to provide themselves and perhaps some others with; and I almost pitied my fellow passengers. They would never truly realize the joys of this big, big, big, big world, too scared of ever investigating more than the rustling sounds coming from behind the bushes. Always peeking through the keyhole, but never opening the door.

I sighed. Dark clouds of the factories spread forth in the sky, alongside the rest that came with the revolution of the industrialization. And those dark clouds only came nearer. 

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**II.**
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By the time my ride had come to a halt at my destination, I must say that I had not believed myself to ease so easily into sleep. I had caught myself leaning my noggin against the cold glass panes of the tram, closing my eyes and telling myself that it would only be //"mere minutes"// of shut eye. And every time I would snap out of it, even resorting to biting my lip, so that the radiant pain would keep me just awake a minute longer. I must say it had partially worked.

My first step in this foreign area, and my sight was immediately met with the posters of faces people long gone. People like //Jeremy//, //Susanne//, //Gustav// and so many more. All people's faces I did not recognize, yet could feel the stories they had to tell.

They lined the walls and lamp posts, which cast their dim light down on the concrete pavement. The shining lights contorted my shadow into an inhuman, misshapen silhouette that loomed over me. My long streaks of hair hung loosely from my head like the tentacles of an octopus. My arms and legs had grown in proportion to those of trees, but only in height, as they looked thin as twigs. My head was nothing more than an oval form on the ground that peered at me left and right, whichever direction I turned. It was rather silly looking than scary, but not everyone's mother would play their only daughter plays of imaginary beasts with little more than her own hands and fingers, and some candlelight. It brought a reminiscing smile to me.

I headed on, and finally arrived at the great attraction -- //the factory.// Towering over all other buildings in the vicinity, this factory had been abandoned for decades. Left to rot amongst the pests and scum of this world, the factory had served as a home for vagrants and the vermin. I walked along the brick wall, withered from years of exposure to the elements, before I had finally found the entrance gate to this massive structure. Its own entrance loomed over me like an open maw of some beast of legend; I stepped inside. After all, the preternatural was something to be conquered, not feared by man.

The walls dripped with tales long ago. When one's eyes settled onto any part of the structure, one could easily deduce a story -- the assembly line, where hundreds of workers worked tirelessly, until the end of their lives; the giant cauldron supposed to hold hot, glowing molten iron, where one had to have been sweating, until the body ran dry; endless, winding corridors, where workers would try to escape from after long working hours. I took note of every single detail, and although it was difficult to see at times, the moon's illuminating light shone through from a collapsed-in ceiling. It looked almost out of this world.

There echoed a noise behind me. The faintest of thing, but which presence was amplified in this vast, empty space. It was a clatter. And after the initial one, more clattering sounded down the corridors. I grew up in a household of many brothers and occasionally had seen them exercising -- among other things that I will not dare mention out of common decency -- to the neverend. I had tried a few of these exercises my brothers did myself. To keep the story simple, I gave up. They were too tiring on my body. So I opted to, instead of attacking with my arms, attack with a Colt Paterson revolver always hidden somewhere under my jacket. It was handy to use and less of a strain on my knuckles.

I aimed the tip into the darkness. Already I felt a chill go down my spine. The darkness had not been as vast as it was moments prior. It was as if the darkness had crept up on me. I focused deeper into the black abyss, but nothing was all I could see.

And in mere of a blink, a stabbing pain radiated from the back of my head. My revolver gave off a shot, but it hit just metal pipes, and my vision blurred. Tall, hooded figures looked down at me, as I had slumped to the cold floor of the building. They muttered something incomprehensible, as if not of any language. Then my vision went black.

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**III.**
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I awoke to the chanting. As my vision returned to the colors of reality, my mind was besieged with terror -- dozens upon dozens of the same hooded figures from before stood in line to either side of me. Their faces were shrouded in darkness, but their voices were audible a thousandfold. I myself was strapped to a chair with simple hemp bindings. I struggled against them. The ropes cut into my skin with each movement.

Their voices grew louder. What they said almost sounded ethereal. //"The cretin moon no more is howling, gone its mourning black. In their dreams its face is prowling, come to take them back."//

My mind was filled with images. Ungodly images. I screamed to fight those thoughts. Their chanting continued.

//"The **##crimson|King##** is in **##crimson|His##** courting clothes, the brides are in their beds. The unborn princes wait in sleep to raise their eager heads."//

The barrage of images continued. Flashes of red and crimson colors, as bloody as the most torturous pits of hell, covered the view of my very eyes. Arms and legs sprouted from these colors, each as misshapen as the last. They moved on each other like a ship on stormy waves, their consistency like that of strawberry jam.

The colors began to unfurl into mandalas of circles and triangles. The vastness of these geometric shapes was bigger than anything I had ever witnessed. They covered the entire sky, bigger than the sky, bigger than the planets of this grand, infinite cosmos. They shook and vibrated with every strained breath I took. My body ached just being in the presence of this //something// that was too much to fit into any one definitive meaning one could give in our universe, so small and insignificant was our cosmos.

I could not feel my body. I could not even feel anything. The pain of my bound wrists and ankles were gone, replaced by whatever that it was that I was looking at.

Soon, this //something//, this indescribable feeling of pure, unimaginable power was given shape into something. It looked more like -- and that is trying to recall even the minutest of details in a state where the entire fabric of reality felt like nothing, but a vivid fever dream -- a seven crowns and a //throne//. Underneath these crowns were seven silhouettes of things near human, and therein rested something on the throne. It was //beautiful.//

The leader of the hooded figures -- do not question me on how I made that assumption for the thought simply appeared in my head -- stepped out of the line and approached me. They wore such magnificient robes and they were holding a blade in their left hand. I tried to see past the shadow cast on their face, but my efforts were an unnecessary one as they removed the hood themselves. They raised the blade high over their head. The chanting of the other figures only grew louder and louder. The words became incomprehensible gibberish and it was the most beautiful, dissonant cacophany I had ever heard.

//"The faithful watch the forest for the coming of the **##crimson|King##**. Their lanterns bright, they wait at night for the new world **##crimson|He##** shall bring."//

I stared at the blade. It gleamed in the moonlight.

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**IV.**
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And I recall. And then I recall nothing.

I am currently writing this on my way back to the nearest train station that will take me back to London, in horse carriage. I cannot better describe the things I have seen and for that I am deeply sorry.

I am leaving that accursed city of self-proclaimed "progress" and "future" behind with knowledge, and a sense of dread. I have made it my quest to tell others of what I have experienced. Whether they believe my words of wisdom or think of me as a lunatic, I do not care. They will know the truth, regardless of if they will accept it or not. I have seen the true fate of this universe and do not want to partake in its senseless squabblings any longer.

I have seen **##crimson|Him##**. For I have seen the //**##crimson|King in scarlet##**// and, O, **##crimson|He##** is **//beautiful//**.
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//-- Jasmine Polter//
//18XX//
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**[[[The Parasite of London|Next]]] »**
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