Occult London

Far and white and straight lieth the road to Knowing, and down it in the heat and dust go all wise people of the earth, but in the fields before they come to it the very wise lie down or pluck the flowers. By the side of the road to Knowing - O King, it is hard and hot - stand many temples, and in the doorway of every temple stand many priests, and they cry to the travellers that weary of the road, crying to them:

"This is the End"

Lord Dunsany, The Sorrow of Search

25,000 Streets, and on each one a story.   Some will be perfectly mundane - the mother worried for her child, the baker worried for the bread. Perfectly serviceable stories and passably interesting in their time.   But the fog and the dark curl up around stories darker and more sinister. Where the chanting comes from a book far older than the Book of Common Prayer, to gods who have never counseled their worshipers to turn the other cheek.   Long the receptacle of the spoils of empire, London carries the weight of five centuries of pulling the world towards it. Now, as the Imperial power fades and splits, things are loosed through the cracks. Power is hunted by those who have been denied it in Britain's stratified society, competing with those who would be the next empire.