The Forgotten Quarter Fiends - Fanart

[It’s unfinished. I was aiming to paint it, but never got that far. So here’s a sketchy version of my progress, because I wanted to write this story instead. I’m just waiting on the next contest now because I missed this one by a few hours but I still want to share. Aren’t devils fascinating creatures?

I hope this is the right place to post my role-playing stuff]

I’m alone, stumbling through the misty darkness of the Quarter, surrounded by towering stone carvings and archways. Distant cackling, the delightful shrieks of fiends force my aching bones to move with trepid energy. I try to make myself small and take cover behind collapsed columns, my rapid breaths betraying my every attempt to hide. Cold, so cold. The only warmth to be found were burning into my wrists. The orange sheen of the brass cuffs reflected a mangy figure, frightened eyes that broke in to soft tears. I clutched them to my chest, the heat an unwelcome comfort.
I stay crouched for hours. Flinched at every shadow and sound, but it were only ever some creature, a scurrying rat, or a silent cat, or the leathery wings of bats above, all black as ash, but all passed in time.
I was going to be okay, they weren’t going to find me. Everything will be alright. I will find my way home, and pack, pack all my meager belongings and begone in but a few hours to the surface. Leave this cursed place forever, Leave this city and the demons that haunt it. Leave, for nothing is worth the trouble of all the vile depraved, wretched creatures of this -
The stillness is broken by the most dreadful sound, the deep booming roar followed by a chilling gale. The hunting horns! no! It’s begun, and they were coming after me.
I take off running. The horns ring out once more behind me, louder than the last. I force myself to go faster, but it is as if the fog may as well be thick sludge. A loud crack, and the stone statue to my right shatters and ceases to exist. They’ve found me! Another bang, and then another, painful stone debris spatters my face but I dare not stop. I can hear their screams, the diabolical game fuelling their wicked glee.
Run. Run damnit. Please, please, please, please…
Just as the London rooftops start to appear through the fog, the most excruciating wave of pain shoots out from my thigh and I fall clutching my leg. The horn sounded again, it’s demonic music drowning out the burning agony as I crawled along the cold stone.
I looked behind me, and I knew I had no chance. Pairs of eyes, shining like carnelians in the sun emerged from the fog, one by one, glowing with ecstasy. Wide fanged smiles flashed with malicious intent. My world spinned, tall dark figures approached, scarlet coats towering over my squirming body. Their high pitched mirth was disorientating. Laughter, shrieking laughter echoed out all over the quarter. And then one bent down slowly, a glove hand outstretched towards my face, all the while laughing, and laughing, and laughing…


I’m home. Sitting upright in bed. It’s happened again.
I hate devils! With a passion I do! I have few enemies in this world but the hellspawn from the Brass Embassy.
A clock chimed in time with me as I struggled to catch my breath. The same dream, it keeps occuring. I make another note in my journal.

…Why can I not rid myself of these dreams? I frequent the quarter and I pass devils on a daily basis, but I’ve never even been in that position, being chased and hunted down like dogs. The poor men however, who have found themselves at the mercy of devils. I can only pray for them.

Or perhaps there is more I can do, perhaps I can work to expose their wickedness.
I’m familiar with a painter who works for the church. I may have a comission for him, a painting that will hang on the walls and rightfully strike fear of the devil’s true natures in to people. No Londoner should ever fraternize or deal with those who desecrate our way of life.
Yes, I think I’ll pay him a visit…

[the work in question here]

Edit: oops I forgot the link, and spelling
edited by Dry Fish on 8/11/2015