Foreigners and gangs slug it out on the streets of London. Where is Lestrade?

[Silbuster]

Good evening,

Lord Lucre here. “Filthy” to my peers. Which doesn’t include the likes of you horrible shower. Typically we keep to the country indulging our traditional cultural pursuits of huntin’, shootin’ and fishin’. Peasants mostly. We were engaged in a harmless game of "wallop the waif" when great news arrived from the Metropolis. The yokels of the Yard had been hammered. The capital was for the taking! Arriving at Waterloo, we tossed a few working men from our privileged path and were confronted by a shocker of a headline. It seems that revolutionaries, determined to overthrow the established order, had seized poor, old Hercule Poirot. Enough to say that we all owe the little foreign blighter a thing or two; principally pointing out that the butler had done it. The news that, only just having recovered after having been accidentally shot in the cathedral (very painful area!), he had been captured and was being hostage came as a blow. Well, he might be a Belgie, but he’s our sort of Belgie. They won’t get away with this!

Entering the decidedly down-market district of Battersea, we headed towards the last sighting of the dear old moustachio when, instead of revolutionaries we ran in to Johnny Turk. In fact, a Turkish civil war between the modernists and traditionalists. What a b****** cheek trying to settle their arguments on our turf. This is an unforeseen complication resulting from the crushing of the Yard. It seems that we are not the only ones determined to take advantage of the humbling of the proles of the police. Still! Foreigners and peasants boot bashing each other in our back yard! No fear!

We set about them in no uncertain fashion. Or at least we would have done if they hadn’t been such rotten shots. We, at least, had managed to notice the many barrels of explosives left behind as traps for the unwary by those devils of revolutionaries. Not so the wooden headed Turks who managed to hit almost every single one in sight. We had barely made twenty yards up the main road when bits of Turk came flying awound our ears as the traditionalists took a direct hit on the nearest barrel. Colonel Mustard bravely lead his team into the woods on the left to finish off the traditionalists lurking there only for their lousy shooting to set off another barrel knocking all and sundry to the floor. Never mind! Our survivors leaped back on their feet and knocked seven shades of hell out of the cheeky foreign upstarts. The good Colonel’s halberd did sterling work turning them into something which looked nothing like Turkish Delight. In the centre, the Very Reverend Green held the rotters at bay. Suitably chastened they brought up their own multiple barrel merchant. It was Gatling guns at dawn! Or it would have been if the fiend hadn’t shot him whilst he was piously praying over his Gatling gun. Get well soon reverend! On the right, Baron Hardarse scouted into another wood where poor old Hercule was tied to yet another blasted barrel. Sadly those cack-handed Turks once again hit the container four square while attempting to gun down a clockwork crocodile. On the plus side, a good third of them were sent to the other side. Of Wapping. On the minus, poor old Herc went fifty feet into the air and was last seen en route for a return trip to the infirmary. Bad luck Herc! What a rotten time to choose to investigate the mystery of the dark wood! Suitably inflamed by this slaughter, our gentlemen trod on Turks everywhere. At the end of the day, there were still four of us left standing over the remains of all the Turks bar the modernist leader who was running with his tail between his legs towards Brighton. Good riddance! Never darken our shores again!

A pause for thought here. It looks as if there is going to be rather more lower class resistance to our rightful claim than we had envisaged. It’s a damn good job that we have group discount with the Frankenstein, Burke and Hare home for the terminally convalescent. A fine old family firm. Of course, they don’t always come out quite like they went in but they always come out. Or something of the same name does.

Lord Lucre,
Gentleman.
President of the Country Gentlemen’s Club.
Only Gentlemen need apply.
That doesn’t include you.


Character         Pluck   FV   SV   Speed   Cost      Talent   Equipment

Lord Muck         3      2   2   0      50      Inspirational, Tough   Nightstick, pistol,SRC
Lord Lucre      4      2   2   0      40         Pistol, sword,SRC, Shield
Reverend Green   4      2   2   0      41      Strongman   Machine gun, brigadine
Colonel Mustard   4      2   2   0      21         Halberd, sawn-off, brigadine
Baron Hardarse      4      2   2   0      32      Marksman   Pistol, 2 grenades, brigadine
Colmans Mustard   4      2   2   0      21         Halberd, sawn-off, brigadine
Crichton         5      2   2   0      15         Pistol, sword, brigandine
Jacobs         5      1   1   0      10         Carbine, lined coat
Cork            5      1   1   0      10         Carbine, lined coat
Red            5      1   1   0      10         Carbine, lined coat

                              250

[Craig]

A very entertaining account of a chap's trip to the capital, and home in time for tea and medals I expect. Huzzah!