Notes Found in the Ruins

[Cainad (dec.)]

Argh, I've got some ideas but approaching them in a way that makes sense and fits with what's been established is turning out to be quite a challenge. I'm saving what I've got so far and I'll work on it more tonight.

[Scribbly]

Fragment 12

The following was recovered from the cellar of a pub located between London and Cornwall. Many such locations survived the worst of the pillaging as the Scots were famously loathe to put the torch to somewhere that might conceivably have another drop of alcohol within its walls. The entries had been torn from a notebook and stapled together in the order presented, hidden behind a loose brick.

Day 32

It has been over a month now, no matter which way you count it. Already longer than I thought we would make it. We only move during the day, and quickly. At night we can't escape the whooping laughter that rolls through the hills and valleys. The Doctor suggested that we head to Wales, but such a plan seems ridiculous. If this is what has become of the Scots, I told him, imagine what those savages will have become. They have a use for every part of the sheep down there.

No, it does us no good to complain. What we must do is ensure a clean record is kept that the world may know of these final twilight days of the Great Empire. We were a noble and dignified people, too soft on our barbarian cousins to the north, and it has cost us greatly.

Last night we were discovered. Thankfully, Craven had his elephant gun and was quick on the mark. Though he only winged the devil, it did seem to frighten him off. He shan't be 'pite'ing(?!) any heads around here, by George!

Day 34

It has been decided that we will strike south towards Somerset. Rumors persist from travellers on the road that there is some form of bastion down that way. Perhaps all the cider works as some manner of repellent to the Scotch mind. More lunatic ideas exist, certainly!

We number nearly a dozen. The roads are completely impassable thanks to the propensity of outraged Little Englanders to construct barricades of broken down cars, bricks, rubble, dogs and so forth. A surprising number of these makeshift constructions have some sort of variant on 'New Hadrian's Wall' painted across them. Many of them are decorated with the 'pitted in heids' of the unfortunate builders.

Day 35

(some of the text here is illegible; it has clearly been deliberately scrubbed out)

--fire. Only encouraged them further.

not sure how long they'd been following but caught sight of the wounded one, the one Craven got before. The bastards came howling at us almost the moment the sun was down. No weapons just grab one and pull back into the darkness, grab one pull back.

After they got the Doctor I shouted for us to get away. We couldn't stop them, like an angry orange hedge all swearing and the scent of old whiskey. Dear lord that smell.

Day 18

Disregard the last three entries. I fear I am losing my grip on reality. I came to this morning in the basement of the Red Lion, where my prior notes indicate I have been holed up for some time. The markings on the walls show this to be the eighteenth morning I have risen here. I have food and drink to survive another three months, and a brief tally of discarded cans seems to verify the notion I have eaten seventeen days worth of food here.

I have no memory of the events of which I have written, indeed I have no memory of the characters described within. Nor do I have any memory of what I have been doing for the past seventeen days. My notes seem to indicate that this is not the first time I have awoken without memory of what has transpired. I made the mistake of turning on the radio I have down here, hoping for news. The laughter. I don't think I will ever forget that laughter.

Day 19

Someone came across the basement this morning; two people in fact. One of them, a man with spectacles who has a gentle and easy manner, called himself Doctor Hibbert. The latter, a taller man with a very large gun, called himself Harry Craven. I did not know what to do, and I think they sensed my discomfort. In these strange times, perhaps discomfort is only natural?

For reasons I am not certain of myself I felt compelled to keep my notes private. They have said that the Scots are coming from the north, and they intend to travel South, gathering people as they go for safety. A final destination has not been determined. I suggested Somerset, the Doctor wants to go to Wales.

I have resolved to journey with them. If I have not taken complete leave of my senses it will be valuable. I am leaving this notes behind, and am gathering up my remaining supplies. I cannot stay here. The risk of discovery is too great. I am leaving them as a paper trail; I doubt any raving horde will care overmuch and perhaps another band of survivors will come across it. Our next target is the Queen's Head, down the way. If we can make it there I'll leave more in the same fashion.

[The Rev]

I will edit in where the records I am writing are found once I figure out where the story takes me. 

[Q. G. Pennyworth]

The following pages were clipped together with a note reading "files from Atascadero State Hospital"

http://img534.imageshack.us/slideshow/webplayer.php?id=056rms.jpg

(I'll post individual image links or attempt a transcription if people prefer)

[Scribbly]

The following pages were clipped together with a note reading "files from Atascadero State Hospital"

http://img534.imageshack.us/slideshow/webplayer.php?id=056rms.jpg

(I'll post individual image links or attempt a transcription if people prefer)

This was really fucking good. I can't make out all of it, but I think it'd lose something if I could.

[Luna]

The following pages were clipped together with a note reading "files from Atascadero State Hospital"

http://img534.imageshack.us/slideshow/webplayer.php?id=056rms.jpg

(I'll post individual image links or attempt a transcription if people prefer)

This was really fucking good. I can't make out all of it, but I think it'd lose something if I could.

Those are great, QG.