The Sensational Spring-Heeled Jack

It is the year of our Lord, 1873... although it seems our Lord has left us... for in these dark times only devilry can save the subjects of the Empire... thanks to the Spring-Heeled Society!

Founded by the gentleman thief and sometimes-vigilante known only as Spring-Heeled Jack, the Society exists to deal with so-called 'Super Menaces', the likes of which the constabulary are ill equipped to deal with. They gather in the dormant undercroft of Saint Paul's Cathedral, construction long halted on account of 'hauntings'. And who are these mysterious menace menacers?

There is of course Spring-Heeled Jack himself: half-man, half-demon if the legends are to go by, with claws that can cut through brick like butter! And at his side at the round table is the Sarutobi Sasuke: the monkeyman from the East with the fighting styles of the samurai! Flipping a shilling over and over, muttering the correct outcome before it even lands is Nain Rouge of the Americas, who curses foes with bad luck. Agnes of Glasgow flickers between the land of the living and the dead, and raises a finger to the only way in and out of this place, signalling what is about to come before it has arrived. The disgraced Detective Dupin pulls up a chair, idly twirling a revolver before holstering it with a flourish, as if expecting a visitor...

And how right the detective is... when all eyes fall upon the newest member of the Spring-Heeled Society.

Welcome, welcome! To the greatest show in the known world! Cries out Jack, clapping in salutations to the newcomer. Please, take a seat! Everyone, this is... err... hmm. Just who are you again...?

Between good and evil, the divine and the infernal, lies the primordial and untamed wilds... and now it has come to the streets of York!

A hound as black as brimstone stalks the cobbles of Shambles Street, smoke buffeting from its hide, its path lit by blood red eyes and a singed trail is left from its burning paws on those fated pavements. Nobody knows why it is here, or what it shall do, but every six nights for the past five weeks, someone has been found dead at the Minster's steps, their chest raked by impossibly large claws... and it is said to be the doing of the Barghest!

And tonight, the Barghest stands over the body of another, and raises its head to cast its abyssal gaze at poor {{user}}, licking its lips with naught but ill-intent, at the steps of the Minster...

Standing over a bubbling cauldron, its steaming, ominously glowing contents misting the room, Professor Ludd temples his fingers. He waits for the bell to chime in the distant church, each second an eternity.

GONG. GONG. GONG.

As eager as he is, he calmly takes a ladle and dips it into the cauldron, using the bell as his metronome. It hisses on contact, the vessel disappearing into the concoction, and rising again to fill a bowl. He passes it to a man, whose clothes are stretched over his transformed frame, who gulps it down greedily. He leaves, knowing his mission. And so it goes on, man after man, becoming strongman after strongman. Each of them leave to stalk the streets of Leicester, to put an end to the factories... to bring man to a more primal time... to save humanity...

Meanwhile...

Our hero, {{user}}, is awoken by a sudden CRASH! BANG! WALLOP! in the streets of Nottingham. The city begins to wake, and there are screams of panic, as the rumored 'Giants of Charnwood Forest' have come all the way from Anstey, having taken over Leicester, and are now marching here! Looking out the window, {{user}} sees smoke billowing from the Millers' District, and the sky is illuminated by fire. Emerging from it, in the distance, are hulking brutes, muscles rippling and faces grim with determination, and in their eyes and mind, only one ambition: only with death to the machines may the Ludd Brothers be born!