The Gentleman From Hell |S1| Ep. 43

Rusty Quill presents.

Good evening, gentlemen and gentle ladies of hell.

First and foremost, thank you for tuning in.

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Looks like the sparrows are starting to leave.

Morning's coming.

I'm going to go ahead and guess they're not fans of the sun.

Well,

that's the last of the usable stuff from Oput's Hideout.

Could you put those little statues we found over by the corner?

I want to compare them to some pictures I found in a few books from the library.

Sure thing.

Is this just how it is now?

Night after night with those things trying to get farther inside the mansion.

Is there any way to boost the resonators' range?

They slip past the speakers upstairs.

Not without a lot of time, gear, and money.

But I don't think we need all that.

If we can amplify the chime, that should do it.

The resonators use parasonic technology to deliver a stronger dose.

But the chime alone is enough to hurt them.

All we really need is more speakers.

And we can grab those in town.

Still, the fact that they're pressing harder says a lot.

They're starting to push back, even resist the chime if they have to.

We saw it at the mill when Mercy spoke through Gaffney.

She didn't get through unscathed.

I could feel how much it rattled her, the way she lashed out.

Maybe they're not used to having to sing for their supper.

It's not like they got someone on the inside this time.

Not like they did with Ben.

They had Hughes, and he seemed more than adequate to get us where they wanted us.

I wonder

if Ropart was some kind of familiar.

Like the priest.

If he was, he wasn't kin to the sparrows.

He was a dead long before they ever set foot here.

I'm thinking he belonged to that crab from Europe, the ones who snatched him up and dragged him into that old castle out in the outer barrens.

Erlorn Castle?

Huh.

I wonder if that's the name of the family he descends from.

Definitely worth checking out.

Anyway, I'm gonna go check on Leon.

He's been holed up with that book for hours now.

I think I'll come with you.

Come on in.

We just finished hauling the rest of that crap out of Rupert's hideout.

Figured we'd check in on you.

You alright?

Yeah, I guess.

It's just...

reading this thing feels like paging through the teacher's edition of the occult every chapter is dropping bombshells i didn't think were even possible it's a lot to take in mourning machines that record the damned and priests floating through thin air honestly yeah i'd almost rather not know why any of that happened.

Sometimes ignorance really is bliss.

But this book

spells things out, peels back the universe just enough to see what's squirming underneath.

And I'm not sure I'm ready for that.

Leon, why don't you take a break for a while?

We're all going to get some rest before we do anything else.

It's been forever since we've had a break.

Remember that part I read earlier?

Edgar talking about a person's share of darkness?

How it seemed like you were either born with it or you weren't?

Yes, when he was discussing how a familiar was acquired.

Well, you were right to think it sounded off, because I found another passage where he explains exactly what he meant.

Upon a night as black as the hollows between stars, the risen gathered about the first of our kind, and he spoke of truths which neither death nor damnation dared whisper.

Which neither death nor damnation dared whisper.

Know this above all,

you were not damned by sins of thine own devising,

but by that portion of the sin Father dwelling within us all.

By his darkness alone were we cast low, and by that selfsame darkness were we raised anew.

It was he who poured his essence into the blood of the creator's children, darkening the sacred well.

And to redeem that blood, to cleanse what had soured beneath his shadow, the creator was compelled to shape a new thing,

a place that could sift and store all

that had turned bitter.

Thus was Divalon wrought.

Our lot was drawn before we knew breath.

Our souls made only for damning.

We now rise in darkest glory and vengeance

to extinguish

the light we were destined never to see.

He's saying there's no free will.

At least not for those who were sent to Diabalon.

They're just...

infected by this sin father being who is no doubt some forebearer for the concept of the devil.

The whole thing reads like a take on original sin.

Something people are just born with.

Except unlike what the Bible says, there's no way to be forgiven for it.

You just go to hell when you die, no matter what.

And this guy they all listened to.

Their leader, apparently.

I'm guessing he's the one from the Paintin's.

The gentleman from hell.

Yeah, the first asshole to get free of Diabolon.

Sounds like he had a big powwow with all the rest of the damned, brought him up to speed.

So, what's up with the whole sinfather pouring himself into the blood of the creator's children?

Got me.

But I do know all of this would likely be a lot clearer if Loctrum were here.

I might know how to read Latin, but there's a world of difference between translation and really getting what it all means.

I can't help but feel like I might be missing something important, something hidden behind the words.

Still, even with what we have, it's clear enough what these things are after.

To burn down creation.

Where are you going?

I was just going to listen to the rest of Ben's tape.

We stopped it halfway through.

You don't stop.

Even for a moment, do you?

What's wrong?

You.

You just keep going.

Full speed ahead.

Nothing fazes you.

My God, Pat.

A man was ripped to shreds in front of us.

And then another was...

was mutilated so he could be used as some kind of goddamn machine part and you're acting like it's just another day the office

What do you want from me?

I'm trying to get to the bottom of all this so we can get the hell out of here.

I don't...

I don't know.

I guess I'm starting to feel a bit too much like you did when you and Dad would stay up all night talking all things dark and gruesome.

Well, as I recall, you took part in all of those late-night conversations.

I did.

But not for the same reasons as the two of you.

I'm not following.

We got into this for completely different reasons, Pat.

I never had you or dad's fascination with the paranormal.

It terrified me.

All I ever wanted was to find a way of making sense of it.

Taming it.

But not you.

You wanted it all to be real.

Beyond explanation.

Supernatural.

And yet, I went on to help create a technology that allowed for us to analyze it.

We both know that's only partially true.

My share of the resonator is for breaking the paranormal down, systematizing it.

But not yours.

Your share is a window where you can watch the horrors march by like some kind of graveyard parade.

Holy god, you really think I enjoy all this?

Is that what you're trying to say?

I'm saying that I think you're far more comfortable with it than I am.

Then what do you think we should do?

If you've got a better idea, I'm all ears.

It's like me, Sir.

These things may only want us for the resonator.

And I've half a mind to give it to them if it means we can finally wake up from this nightmare.

And what's the other half of your mind say?

That this is bigger than just us.

And we have a moral obligation to see it through.

And you might want to consider that they don't just want the machine, but also the minds and souls of the ones who made it.

Where are you going?

To listen to the rest of Ben's tape.

Are you coming?

Right behind you.

While Rupert's room, a sign from its darkness, offered little of interest, the same could not be said for his car.

He left for his morning walk not long ago, so I took the opportunity to investigate further.

In the trunk, I discovered an unusual lantern.

Were it an ordinary one, I might not have given it a second thought.

But I've never seen anything quite like it.

Antique in appearance, with strange designs etched around its base, and a foul, lingering odor.

It had clearly been used recently.

As for its purpose, I can't help but wonder if the dried mud caked on the vehicle's tires might offer a clue.

There aren't many places in town where one could pick up that much mud, so it's likely Rupert's been travelling elsewhere.

Of course, he has every right to come and go as he pleases, but he's made a point of giving the impression that he's always in town when when he isn't here, often sharing detailed accounts of his daily routines.

Perhaps those extra details are meant to satisfy any curiosity I might have about his whereabouts.

It's taken some time, but I've managed to locate Rupert's other residence.

There's a rather sizable apartment building near the edge of town.

A strange thing, to be sure, as I didn't believe the city was host to so many renters.

It's also quite a handsome structure, made with a type of care only my own home seems to share.

I wonder if they were built by the same person.

I'm going to head back to the mansion and return the next time Rupert leaves for the night, to see if this is really where he's spending his nights.

I've been sitting on my balcony since dinner, awaiting the fog that will almost certainly come, even though there is no call for it, at least not according to the weatherman.

Rupert assures me that the weather often differs from the forecast due to Cold Sparrows' distance from Portafoy,

where the forecast is more directly aimed.

While I'm determined to see the fog form with my own eyes, the lids above those eyes are growing heavier by the moment.

It is perhaps because of my tiredness that I find the fading day so dramatic.

It feels less like the light is vanishing from the sky, and more like I'm slowly descending some vast distance, where the sunlit sky fades farther and farther from view.

I've just woken up and the fog is thicker than ever.

And higher, I can barely make out the grounds or the woods beyond them.

My God, it's already 3 a.m.

I've been sleeping for hours.

The lights, they're so dim.

Well, whatever's happening, it's gotten worse.

There's a thin veil of fog moving across the floor.

I'm going to try to get this on video.

God damn it, the camcorder, it's not

working.

All I can see through the viewfinder is static.

I'll simply have to make do with the regular camera.

Let's see, does it have film?

Yes.

Yes, it does.

Seems to be working.

I'm going to head to the study.

Maybe I'll see.

Well, what I saw the last time.

One cannot photograph a hallucination.

The fog is so thick.

I doubt I'll be able to see anything.

Just what I suspected.

Just a wall of fog.

Perhaps in the vein of something like spirit photography, I...

And that crushes something I cannot see directly.

Alright, I'm

going to head downstairs.

See if there's a useful view I might take advantage of.

I...

I must be going mad that

a structure.

A massive stone pile

pushing right through the floor of the living room.

This isn't real.

This can't be.

Real, it can't be.

I must.

I must take home.

The structure.

It's as big around as an oak tree.

There's horrible faces carved into it.

Leering, monstrous things.

It's nearly touching the top of the steeple ceiling.

What is happening?

How can this be?

There's a

there's someone knocking at the front door.

Who's there?

Go away, Samiria.

Do you hear me?

Go away!

You can't keep me open forever,

Ben.

No.

For God's sake, stay away!

You sure you're okay, Ben?

When I found you, you were face down on the floor.

Yes, yes, I'm...

I'm fine, thank you.

All I remember is getting light-headed.

I must have passed out.

No doubt my new sleeping pills were a bit too strong.

Or perhaps they mixed poorly with my other medications.

At any rate, I'll check with my doctor as soon as I've eaten something.

I'll mix something up for you in a gif.

No.

Something wrong?

No, no, no, no, not at all.

I um

I think I'll um just

make myself some eggs and coffee getting up and moving around should help me clear the cobwebs.

I should think.

All right, if you're sure

anyway, I'll be on back if you need me.

I've got gardens in sore need of weeding.

Weeds in the garden, indeed.

What the hell was that thing, Doctor?

If the voice on the phone is to be believed, it was a Nephilim.

The child of the damned.

I half suspected as much listening to Dr.

Raglan's recordings.

I don't care what the fuck it was, as long as it's behind us.

If it can get through the chime, how are we going to keep these things away?

I don't know.

But once we find a place to hole up, I'll try and figure something out.

They can get through the chime.

Where the hell can we hole up?

Just head straight into downtown once we're in the city.

The biggest, brightest hotel we can find.

They're no fans of attention.

At the very least, it will make it more difficult for them to come after us.

The noblest, the Galixiest hotel in town.

It's not too...

Bill, bill!

Look out!

Christ!

Where did they come from?

I nearly blasted them.

Are you folks okay?

Sorry.

That's Gwen.

Roger.

And Drew.

Bill, just go.

Just go.

But the doctor.

Go!

Go now!

What the fuck?

They just...

They just came apart like smoke.

Behind us!

The lights!

All the lights of the houses behind us are going out, one after the other.

It's the Nephilim.

It's right behind us!

Faster!

The pedal's flawed!

The darkness.

It's moving around us.

Jesus Christ.

I can barely see the fucking road.

What the hell do we do now, Doctor?

I.

I don't know.

Quick!

Pair one of the phones to the car sound system.

We should be able to boost the chime.

On it.

I'm driving blind.

Everything's black.

Okay, it's paired.

I'm checking the volume.

It's working.

I can see the lines on the road.

The lights from the city.

We've made it.

The Gentleman from Hell is a Maltopia production.

Today's episode was written by Mark Ansalone and voiced by Stephen Zivick, Sam Stark, Aubrey Akers, Jesse Van Hove, Kelly Baer, and Matt Van Hove.

Sound editing was completed by Stephen Ansloan and script editing was conducted by Walker Kornfeld.

Be sure to rate and review us on iTunes, Spotify, or your favorite podcast platform.

And follow us on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter at Meltopia.

If you want unique art and animations of Meltopia's stories, visit our YouTube page or click on the link in the show notes.

And for more exclusive content, such as additional lore, stories, and art, be sure to check out our Patreon at www.patreon.com forward slash Meltopia.

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