The Gentleman From Hell |S1| Ep. 56

Rusty Quill presents

Good evening, gentlemen and gentle ladies of hell.

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Come in,

Monsignor Dyson has arrived, Your Excellency.

That's fine.

See him into the library.

And Brigham, I don't want us disturbed under any circumstances.

Of course,

Your Excellency.

Your Excellency.

It's just us here, Bruce.

We can spare each other the formalities.

Fair enough, Bob.

And I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice.

Well, I should thank you.

I appreciate the break, to be honest.

Now, what is it you wanted to speak with me about?

It's Philip Lactrom.

He's gone missing.

Right before his bodyguard was murdered.

Both he and his daughter are nowhere to be found.

I'm sorry to hear that, but I'm not sure what I.

Bob,

I know it has something to do with the message you sent him.

Likely about all that Mephitica business, those FBI agents he went on about.

Would you like a drink?

I wouldn't mind one.

Thank you.

Just how much has Loctrum told you about all that Bathetica business?

Enough to know what he thinks about it.

And what Roger thought.

Roger?

You mean your brother?

Yes.

When Philip returned from that disaster in Naku Attila, he brought me...

He brought me a message from Roger.

A personal recording.

I see.

And what did Roger have to say?

He told me about...

them.

Well, whatever he told you, it wasn't enough.

From what you said at brunch the other day, you still treat the matter with suspicion.

So you believe as well.

What do you want to know, Bruce?

I want to know what the devil they are.

Some proof it's all real.

I hope you can appreciate the irony of your request.

And from what I gather, you've already been given more than enough evidence.

But your own brother know us.

What more I could do is beyond me.

Phillips says they're demons.

Is that true?

He might be right.

No one truly knows what they are or where they come from.

But telling all this to someone someone who won't believe it, let alone act on it,

is nothing but a waste of my time.

So, why don't you finish your sherry, and I'll have my assistant schedule our next brunch.

And what of Philip?

Am I just to ignore what's happening to him?

It seems to me you have a choice, Bruce.

You either decide to know, and so become involved, or you forget about it altogether and never speak of it again.

Philip has made his choice, for better or worse.

As have I

I want to know.

So be it then.

Let me get you another drink.

As I said, we know very little about their origin.

Nothing we've directly observed at any rates.

But we do know this much for certain.

They begin as people.

People we call the marked.

And as it turns out, hell has been reserved for them and them alone.

They're marked?

Like Cain from the Bible?

The legend of Cain may have sprung from such creatures.

Yet, unlike scripture, we know the truth of the mark, where it rests and what it signifies.

A black situ, seared into the palm of the left hand.

The more more elaborate its design, the greater the weight of hell it drags back into the world.

Once it rises from the abyss.

Once it becomes one of the damned.

My God.

But...

But with such a branding,

wouldn't that make them easy to find?

The mark is invisible to the naked eye.

Only with the application of a very specific liquid is it revealed.

And importantly, those who bear the mark generally have no idea it's even there or what it means.

You mean to tell me these creatures have no idea what they are?

What they become?

A few of them, perhaps.

Yet the vast majority haven't the slightest clue.

But they are all, in their own way,

invariably evil.

And the Lord?

He

allows this?

Why?

Why would he allow such

abominations to wander the world

Bruce.

All we know of what you or I might consider God comes from miraculous and enigmatic interventions when the damned have been thwarted.

Whatever that force might be,

it has spoken no words.

Sent forth no sons or prophets.

Just silence and miracles.

What are you saying?

Robert, you're an archbishop of the Roman Catholic Church.

Your name's even been whispered as a candidate for the papacy.

And now you're telling me you have no faith?

Then what exactly do you claim to stand for?

I help carry the hopes and prayers of millions who want to believe that good can triumph over evil.

And when I'm not bearing that weight, I'm trying to make that world real.

As for faith,

what is faith when you've seen the proof?

I've looked upon the damned, not the hollow men and women pretending a humanity after they've been dragged up from the pit,

but what they became after hell reshaped them.

Once their earthly shell split open and gave way to something far worse.

As for God,

I take what solace I can in knowing that something greater than myself exists, and that it seems to desire what I do.

A world freed from the grasp of the damned.

Everything beyond that sees.

conjecture.

So the entire church is nothing more than a front for stopping.

the damned?

No,

not exactly.

Some insist the damned are the devil's work, that the Bible, rather than the Mephetican Codex, is the ultimate authority on evil.

This, despite the fact that Mephetica, not Judaism, has provided the only credible knowledge we have of those creatures.

But what's the end game, Bob?

What are these things after?

All we know is this.

Every time one of them crawls back up, the world grows darker around it.

Freak storms, new plagues, wars breaking out overnight.

All of it happens the moment one of those bastards resurfaces.

But it's more than just chaos or moral rot.

The more of them that return, the more the world itself begins to twist.

The very laws of nature start to change.

How do they return?

Surely you must know that if you know when it happens and the consequences.

There are several ways.

Rituals.

And they're always trying new ones.

From what we've gathered, their power depends on how many of them are present at a given time or place.

Some rituals won't work unless enough of the creatures have risen or unless they gather in sufficient numbers.

It seems their rites and ceremonies required a threshold of corruption before they can take effect.

And that is what Philip Locktrum is working to stop.

One of these ceremonies.

Though, I'm not certain he understands that just yet.

But he told me he was looking to help the people who were responsible for putting down the Soder cult.

That they'd somehow become the target of these creatures.

Well, the Sodders were indeed put down, as you so appropriately put it.

And they're now being brought back up.

They're marked?

From what I understand,

their particular markings were impressive.

Should they rise, quite a bit of hell will be coming with them.

Enough, perhaps, to alter how we've come to recognize the world.

How on God's green earth do you expect Philip Lochtram, of all people, to deal with such...

such powers?

He was...

given some assistance.

I can only hope it was enough.

Why the hell aren't you and yours out there?

Why send an aging academic?

At the time, we didn't know much.

And now,

well,

there have been some complications.

What do you mean, complications?

As I said before, all we truly know of divine agency is that something has intervened.

on more than one occasion that we can name to hinder the damned.

The great flood remains the most profound of these acts.

In every case, there is always an individual, or a company of individuals, who seem almost chosen to serve as the instrument by which the damned are opposed.

Regrettably, our present leadership has come to believe that Lockdrum and those he's seeking to aid may themselves have been chosen to face this trial

alone.

Why do we always fall asleep and wake up right after coming back from that place?

I think the shift back to

reality messes with the brain somehow.

Well, descending into Shiol probably registers as falling asleep.

Coming back feels like waking up.

More importantly,

what the hell is all that?

What What the.

The storms formed a perfect circle around the city.

It's like someone built a solid gray wall around it.

The ritual the sparrows are planning.

It's starting to take effect.

We need to get back to the mansion and go through as much of what's left as we can.

There's gotta be a way out of all this.

We're not far.

This is the fear, just the other side of the mansion.

Well, then let's get a move on.

I can't believe we lucked out with that lantern when we get back we should stash it till we need to leave we don't need those bastards taking that back i'd like to know what rupert and daphne were using the lantern for it's not like they were crossing into sheol or were they

there's no telling with these people

hold up there's someone up ahead

It almost looks like

it's Mason.

It can't be.

Sure as hell, looks like him.

Is it?

Phyllis!

Wait!

It could be some kind of trick.

I get the feeling she'd know.

Fool?

Mason!

Oh my god!

Are you alright?

Careful.

Oh, my ribs ain't up for too many hucks.

God damn it, Mace.

Why'd you find the dumbest course of action and then commit to it?

Sorry, Phil, I...

Jesus.

It's good to see you, man.

Please don't ever do that again, for the love of God.

What the hell happened?

The sparrows is what happened, but

that was after those freaks dragged me into that church with the bells we all heard.

Just before we got jumped.

From what little I could get out of what the priest was saying, I got the impression they intended to eat me.

That's when the sparrows showed up.

Couldn't tell you which one, but I got a good look at her.

And that was more than enough.

Did my words fall upon death and dead ears, priest?

Mistress, I beg your forgiveness.

My mind is vanishing thing I could not recall.

Methinks was thy will and not thy memory at all.

I could seize you up and tear you into the oblivion you can barely post off,

lest you replace this one when she found him.

Swiftly!

Return him to the fields!

That will be enough, I think.

Worry not, good human.

You will learn soon enough the lot you have drawn.

But till the very time is upon us, you shall braze within the fields of woe and wonder, till at last you need wander no more.

He just dragged me back back into the field and left me there.

I've been wandering all over, trying to find you guys ever since.

It's the same story.

They're making sure we're all in one piece, just like they did for your heart.

Just like they were careful not to bang us up too much when they stormed the mansion.

And now, this they want us in good shape for whatever that ritual of theirs does.

We have to hit whatever leads we have, and we have to hit them hard,

or we're doomed.

i've ripped this place apart looking for clues anything at all that might help me escape this awful place the fate my father has so masterfully arranged for me

and at last i may have found something

Small, yes, but monstrous in its meaning.

A crumpled bundle of notebook pages cast aside as though worthless.

They bear Rupert's hand.

He was keeping notes on me.

Why these were discarded, I cannot guess.

But even here, in these scraps, fragments of evil persist.

Among the scribbles and frantic cross-outs, a single line endured.

Erlon requires notice.

Erlon.

The name struck me with peculiar force.

It took little effort to uncover the most conspicuous bearer of that name.

A vast storied castle rising out to the outer barrens of England.

I have no doubt it was the very same place Miss McKay described.

where she and my father were once entertained, and where she claimed to have heard his cry before abandoning him forever.

Digging deeper into the connection between the Veers and the Erlorns, I uncovered a truth far darker than rumor.

They are one family, two names carried by a single corrupted bloodline.

Arthur Vandus Erlorn, patriarch of the line.

Raised the castle not as a noble seat, but as a shroud for the family's true preoccupation.

Arthur made a practice of abducting women from the nearby village, subjecting them to unspeakable torment before killing them.

Though his motives were never uncovered, his son, Cyrus, inherited both the castle and the obsession, until justice, crude but final, found him, hurled him from a cliff by the father of one of his own victims.

With his death, the castle crumbled to ruin, a hollow monument to a depravity that ran not just through Erlons, but through Veers as well, apparently.

The records grow hazy after that, but if McKay's tale is true, the fortress never truly slipped from the family's hands.

Whether kept quietly by the Erlons or concealed through the Virs, the bloodline ensured its domination remained intact.

This castle, this shrine to inherited cruelty, was always theirs, no matter what name they bore.

Now, just as they once visited their cruelty upon my father,

they mean to visit it upon me.

My finances have been cut off,

frozen by the bank.

Charlie Priss tells me that a relative somewhere in Europe has contested my father's will and that my funds...

My funds have been frozen until the matter is legally resolved.

In the meantime, he's managed me a small stipend.

I know this was all planned from the very start,

though they could have come up with something better than a contested will.

They assumed I would try to use my wealth to get to the bottom of all this, especially once I realized there was no escaping the mansion.

And now,

I am doomed, just waiting for whatever trap they've set for me to be sprung.

Oh, father, you were the exact bastard I always thought you were.

Bravo!

Bravo!

We shouldn't be far out from Portafoy now.

So, does any of the shit they gave you to read explain what the hell is going on?

Fucking animals dropping out of the sky and coming back to life?

I ran into an underlying passage that may shed some light, and quite a particularly awful light at that.

It concerns the negative consequences of the damned gathering in large numbers.

For, as the passage states, wherever the cursed of the earth gather in their numbers, the world shall suffer for it.

The piece goes on to talk about how previous gatherings altered the functioning of local reality,

creating what the author termed as parodies of the laws of physics.

Did you read anything about these previous gatherings?

Unfortunately, it didn't.

So these things just getting together in the same area can cause the world to go all topsy-turvy?

It seems so.

Look at that.

Way over there.

The storm created a perfect circle of clear sky.

That looks to be right above where we're headed.

Cold Sparrow.

I think we can rule out any coincidence.

Whatever is happening is happening in the city.

And I'm sure the Ingersolls and those FBI agents are right in the middle of it.

I haven't even seen another car on the road since the storm hit.

Shouldn't have much problem getting there in a gif.

Everything behind us is jet black with thunderclouds.

I think

this place is being cut off.

Repaired.

Prepared for whatever the damned are planning.

Well, we better prepare too, because that's Portafoy right there.

Certainly doesn't look like much.

These places never do.

Worst parts of the storm are all back that way.

So there's a chance there might be someone around.

I thought Cold Sparrow was supposed to be a ghost town.

There doesn't seem to be anyone here.

Well, if they experienced anything like we did.

Could have been a lot worse here, given that they're closer to where it might all be going down.

I'm going to try the radio, now that we're not right below the storm.

That'll be enough of that.

Perhaps we should just

drive on to Colts Barrow?

Once they've got a gas station,

we're not gonna have enough fuel to make it back.

But if this place is deserted, how are we going to refuel?

We're just gonna have to get creative, I guess.

Right there.

A gas station.

And the lights are on.

Bingo.

Problem solved.

The help.

Everyone belted in?

Yes.

What's wrong?

This is what's wrong.

How did you cut yourself?

It's not my blood.

It was all over the handle of the gas pump.

And I think the guy inside is dead.

From my vantage, I could see what looked like a body just inside the door.

Oh my god.

We have to get out of here.

Trust me, I know.

Do you think the whole town has been

has been murdered?

Jesus Christ!

That's not rain, it's...

it's blood!

Get us out of here, Martin!

I'm trying, but I can barely see!

Turn that fucking thing off!

It turned itself on!

It won't turn off!

What the hell is hitting the corner?

Holy shit!

They're heads!

Human fucking heads!

Oh my god!

They're hounding the car to smithereens!

I'm gonna pull up under those armors.

Get out and take cover in one of those shops.

It stopped.

There's no blood, no dose of her heads.

It it was all just an illusion.

The Gentleman from Hell is a Maltopia production.

Today's episode was written by Mark Ansloan and voiced by Stephen Zivick, Sam Stark, Aubrey Akers, Kelly Baer, Jesse Van Hove, Trenton Butt, Gina Smith, Mark Anselone, and Matt Van Hove.

Sound editing was completed by Stephen Anselone, 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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