[OPEN] FRIGHTENING FESTIVITIES

[heirring]

WHO: Everyone
WHAT: Celebrating a totally 100% legit wedding.
WHEN: Summerday
WHERE: Edlingham Hall, the Vinmark Foothills
NOTES: cw: Spectral Violence and Ghostly Gore; if you don't want to deal with the spooky ghost adventure half of the evening, feel free to say your character went back to Kirkwall early rather than staying the night.

PARTY;

A few hours' journey from Kirkwall, the great old shape of the house known as Edlingham Hall rises up from out of the Vinmark foothills. In the decades (ages?) since it's abandonment, what must have once been a very imposing stone structure built in the mountain's shadow has given way to age and the elements. What remains is unequivocally a ruin, albeit a stunningly elaborate one. It's a place of columns and alcoves, gutted passages and weather worn stairs leading to the skeletal remains of old towers and chambers, with everything turned to varying shades of brown and green and as it's been grown over or into by the surrounding landscape. There's hardly a roof remaining to be found in the whole of the place.

Luckily, this particular party doesn't require one. In what might have once been the titular hall, a series of tables and benches (borrowed from the Gallows, thank you very much) have been set up around a stretch of cracked tiles which has been more or less cleared for dancing and everything has been lit amply by a collection of merrily burning braziers.

Party-goers will be treated to a host of entertainment, included but not limited to: at least one speech (thank you, Provost Stark), a half dozen toasts, a rather impressive spread of Orlesian-styled cuisine (no doubt prepared by someone devastated to be expected to do so under such rugged conditions), quite a bit of rather good wine, music, dancing, and a few more avant garde Rifter-influenced party games including a vaguely wyvern-shaped pinata and some heinous game called Snap-Dragon.

And if none of that sounds like a good time, then there are ruins to explore, discreet alcoves to investigate, and a campground pitched in the ruin's shadow where one might retire early from the party with only a stock level of scorn.

AT THE STROKE OF MIDNIGHT;

An eerie mist begins to stream from the cracked tiles of the dance floor. Riftwatch does not count a fog mage among their midst. Was one perhaps hired? Is this a trick of some science? A peculiar feature of the weather in this region? Such murmurs begin to circulate as the mist continues to thicken, and rise, and sour to a sickly pale yellow. It clashes with the decorations. Its touch seems to wither the impossibly sumptuous meal, curdling cream fillings and souring fine meats.

And then the screaming starts.

In the stone frame of an upper window, see her: a woman, in a long pale gown, with a horrible wound around her neck. Her slippers peep over the sill. Blood begins to drip down her front as her mouth opens, and opens, and opens, until her jaw rests upon her bloody chest.

Guests seated at the table will feel some creature bumping against their legs--something big, and solid, and hot, and hairy. When they pull away in horror, they will find nothing at all beneath the table. But the growling will not stop, nor will the crunching of teeth on bone.

The twisted figure of a man rises from a pile of tumble-down stone. His limbs hang at loose and unnerving angles. One arm has been crushed and droops down too low, brushing at his warped knee. His face is a mask of pain, and his left eye bulges as if ready to burst. Pressure has thrust his circlet of gold low on his brow, cinching his balding head. He shuffles toward the party, reaching with his ruined hands for human flesh. Or perhaps a cup of wine.

A headless body comes running out from the rotting main keep. It is wearing armor but is otherwise without identity. From its stump of a neck sprays a great geyser of blood, spatting party-goers and the ground and the food and whatever else is in its way. Its graying hands are reaching, but without a head, its path is random and monstrous, trampling over anything and anyone without regard. Or it would, if it weren’t spectral.

The ghosts must be stopped. Find the source of the haunting or this marriage will be ruined.

Those not interested in tracking down the source of the haunting will soon discover that the fog which has wreathed Edlingham Hall has become quite impenetrable. Attempting to escape the grounds will result in being impossibly turned around and eventually spit any would-be escapee back into the ruin. Solving the mystery may be optional, but experiencing the haunting by the aforementioned ghosts (and any other thematically appropriately specters your heart might desire for the convenience of creeping out your characters) apparently isn't.

Comments

nikolai | ota.

[rezni]

party.

Both bride and groom are relative unknowns. However, they're soon to be coworkers, and certainly that's more than enough reason to be present at a somewhat questionable wedding ceremony.

What better opportunity is there to meet all the people supposedly dedicated to the same cause than at a party with drink in hand? He couldn't have asked for better circumstances. (Ha.)

Ergo, Nikolai is mingling. His route takes him through the crowd, making him easy to draw into conversation or onto the dance floor, or maybe you need someone to challenge to a game of snap-dragon? Just say the word, and Nikolai's your man.

exploration.

Typically, a monarch is expected to be present, highly visible and affecting genial enjoyment of proceedings when invited to make an appearance at any sort of festivity. But it does beg the question:

Does a visiting monarch need adhere to that rule when no one here recognizes him as a monarch?

Clearly Nikolai's decided there's enough doubt as to the necessity of adhering to familiar protocols to edge from the midst of the celebrations to the stairs and the alcove overlooking the main room. Crouching, he runs a gloved hand across the carvings, careful not to apply undue pressure or disturb the overgrown ivy more than necessary. None of it is familiar, unsurprisingly, but it's interesting to see some commonality in the pattern.

Not that he gets to continue that train of thought, interrupted by another intrepid explorer.

"It's in surprisingly good condition, despite the fact that the roof's fallen in," Nikolai says, straightening and turning towards the sound of approaching footsteps. "I admit, I'm sorry not to have better light to examine these carvings by."

Is this a bigger draw than the wedding party? Well, maybe.

wildcard.

do whatever, i'm down for it.

exploration

[sparklequeen]

Glimmer has taken the chance to get away from the hubbub of the wedding. She's flushed slightly from the several glasses of wine and ducks into one of the many overgrown alcoves--only to find that it is already occupied by one of the other guests. She blinks, takes a moment to process what he's said. Dressed in borrowed finery and with her regal circlet set on her forehead with its singular white gemstone, she makes quite the figure as she stumbles in.

"Oh, yes. The roof..." She looks up for a moment and tries to fight down the slightly drunk feeling threatening to overwhelm her. Really she should have slowed down earlier. She touches a hand to the side of her head.

"I might be able to help with that--" She flicks her hand and a softly glowing orb of light manifests itself above her palm. Leaning forward she holds it out towards the carvings and faintly lilac light floods the small space.

"Is that better?"

[rezni]

The light is the wrong color.

Nikolai nonsensically register that first, along with the sudden, pained memory of a different girl who wore no circlet but called light to her hands just the same. White light, blindingly so.

But no, this is not Alina. A sun summoner, perhaps, of some other stripe, or someone liable to call the ability magic and remind Nikolai they're lucky not to have such a conversation with earshot of Zoya.

"Impressive," Nikolai allows anyway, nodding his thanks before passing his hand back along the carvings. "I'd been thinking I may as well try to spend some time here in the morning, wedding procession allowing."

Not that any part of this wedding has struck him as predictable, but.

"Though I'll say the carvings don't really compare to that," is said as Nikolai turns fully back towards her. The query is implied, as his chin lifts once in the direction of her hands.

[sparklequeen]

"Compare to what--?" Glimmer takes a moment to catch up to what Nikolai is referring to, then laughs and holds out her hand. The orb of light bobs free and hangs in space between them.

"I suppose it's impressive. It's one of the first things I learned to do when I was younger, though, so it doesn't seem all that amazing to me any longer." She bows slightly at the waist, then tries to introduce herself properly.

"I'm Glimmer--er, I guess Queen Glimmer of Bright Moon but Etheria and Bright Moon are very, very far away so I don't suppose it matters much to people here what my title was at home."

[rezni]

Glimmer. It's an appropriate name, though Nikolai refrains from making that comment. Surely she's heard it before, maybe even this evening depending on the whims of the wedding party and guests.

"King Nikolai Lantsov of Ravka, if we're trading titles," is what he offers, some wry amusement in his expression. King of a country bent on arguing itself into pieces while beset by enemies on all sides, and here he's landed, in a place where he can do nothing about any of that. "But as you said, it likely doesn't carry the weight here that it would there, so Nikolai will suffice."

A split second to wonder what Zoya might think of that, before he adds, "I am pleased to meet you, Glimmer. Where I come from, your lights are a very...awe-inspiring gift."

What he means to say is Complicated, but that's not a flattering descriptor either.

[sparklequeen]

"And just Glimmer is fine for me, too," she replies with a laugh. "Nice to meet you, Nikolai." She glances over at the orb of light, then back to her conversational partner. Glimmer smiles, a little bashful at the way he describes her powers.

"It's a gift where I come from, too. Related to the Moon Stone and stuff but... explaining that would take a bit and I'm not sure you're really interested in the specifics of it when I'm not even sure how my powers are still working here," Glimmer says with a shrug.

"Are you a new arrival, too? Or have you been here a while?"

[rezni]

"Very new," Nikolai answers. "New enough that I've met next to no one on that dance floor, though I understand the head of my division is the one who made the wedding toast."

If one can call it that.

"I'll have to confess also that I have rudimentary understanding of such abilities. But my general, she might have some questions for you."

Nikolai is not grisha, despite how closely he works among them. But he recognizes a kernel of what Zoya had intimated to him: there is something strange about how such powers work here. It's interesting, in a rather bleak sense.

"Do you dance, Glimmer? Or were you trying to avoid such things by coming up here?"

[sparklequeen]

"I'm still deciding on a division," Glimmer admits, laughs. "It's... I guess I should be used to this by now, but I'm really tired of being yanked places and told I'm part of someone else's problems. Not that I mind helping, but I wish they'd ask?" Her grin is wry, a touch sarcastic.

"I'm happy to answer questions, usually. I just don't know how useful the answers would be--" A blink as Nikolai mentions dancing and a flush of color in Glimmer's cheeks.

"Oh, no. I mean, I wasn't avoiding dancing, I just needed to get away from all the people for a bit. Being a stranger at a party is always a bit weird, you know?" She laughs, runs a hand through her auburn-brown hair. Misses the natural color from back home for a brief moment.

"But, um. If that was invitation to dance then, ah... I'd be happy to. With you. If that's what you meant."

[rezni]

Is it an invitation?

The momentary, instinctive calculation of what it would mean to dance with her sparks up and then diminishes. No one here would care what the king of Ravka did, except maybe—

He glances away and down, towards the sound of the party. Thinks of Zoya. Shakes his head.

"I'd be happy to dance, while we continued our conversation," he returns, looking back to Glimmer. "I'm as much a stranger as you are, but mingling with our host and her guests can't hurt, can it?"

[sparklequeen]

"No, I don't suppose it can," Glimmer agrees, maybe a bit too quickly. It's strange--he's at least a foot taller than her and looking up at him is a touch intimidating. Not that she isn't used to it with, say, She-Ra. At least she's making some friends or something, right? And he's nice. Or he seems nice.

"I don't know the local dances, though." A wry grin. "I'll do my best."

party.

[ipseite]

It is neither the dance-floor nor the genial conversation that introduces him to Madame de Cedoux; nor, indeed, snap-dragon. When she turns — a swirl of velvet in royal violet, what are recognizably traveling clothes made with all the lack of financial inhibition that only the very heights of privilege can frivolously attain — she appears, at first to be looking directly at Nikolai.

Which is not immediately promising, as she is also frowning.

The sharp words she utters, commanding, are unlikely to be familiar to many attendees, here, certainly none of the natives that haven't simply already grown accustomed to hearing her issue commands to her hound, but to Nikolai's ear it will loosely translate from his own tongue to: come here! sit!

The enormous hound that trots past him (not a bit chastened) is wearing a violet ribbon where a sensible collar ought to be.

[rezni]

It's not exactly Ravkan but it's—

Close.

It's similar enough that the ring of her words does halt him, eyebrows lifting in surprise and question before her intended conversational partner comes trotting innocently along.

Nikolai laughs, bright and unrestrained, before lapsing into Ravkan to ask, "Can you understand me?"

A minor test, just to see.

[ipseite]

It is not entirely unusual to catch a man up short with commands intended for dogs, so it isn't something that immediately catches her attention when he pauses — as it will, obviously, become clear a moment later what she has done — but then he speaks what sounds to her ear like old dvorya and it is rather striking.

(To the dog, too, who sits down on his haunches like the good boy he is when his mistress is looking and gazes soulfully up at the stranger who speaks sounds he recognizes as shaped like command.)

It is clear that she's parsing him with some effort, but she says — “Little, mayhaps?” and the dialects don't line up perfectly, but there is a certain amount of comprehension. To him, he may find the words she chooses and the way that she shapes them unusually archaic, and all the more obviously so when they are not being directed briskly at a dog.

[rezni]

Strange. Strange but not necessarily bad, once Nikolai has parsed out how exactly such a thing came to be. It was his understanding that Ravkan was incomprehensible to the people here.

"Would it be very forward of me to ask you where you hail from?" is spoken in trade, lapsing out of Ravkan for something more easily understood. With a glance to the dog, Nikolai closes the space between them.

There's clear intent in it. He's interested, enough so that his trajectory towards the dance floor has been entirely discarded.

[ipseite]

Perhaps her accent, too, had sounded strange; it is distinct when she answers in trade, “Originally,” with some slight caution, “Lamorre, a nation of a world that I knew to be Sulleciel.” It is severely unlikely that he, too, hails from there, but for a moment she considers that it is not utterly impossible.

A great deal had remained out of reach about the histories of Sulleciel that had been unwritten; even the rebirth of witch courts had not granted them what had been consigned to fire. But it is more likely that this is something else, and that is interesting for another reason entirely.

“The language that I speak to my hound in is known to me from — my father-in-law was an avid student of old Dvor. He utilized this language for his hunting dogs and I kept the habit, after he passed.”

[rezni]

None of the words are familiar to him. In spite of everything, there is a flicker of disappointment.

And what would he have done if they were? Another Ravkan here changed nothing of his predicament, nor would it have changed anything of hers.

"Do you have command of it in it's entirety?" Nikolai asks, before grinning, shaking his head. "Forgive me. It's rude of me to interrogate you this way without even offering you and your companion an introduction."

party - conversation

[wearyallalone]

As the flow of the party naturally brings them together, the tall man with a soldier's bearing (for all he's not visibly armed) seems to take it as something of a cue. "Are you new to Riftwatch," he asks, "or merely returned from a long assignment? I have not been here long enough myself to know all the faces yet." Nikolai may not yet know a Nevarran accent when he hears one, but the man certainly isn't originally from Kirkwall. The question may be mainly a gesture toward small talk, but he does seem genuinely interested in the answer.

[rezni]

"Newly arrived to Riftwatch, Kirkwall and Thedas," Nikolai answers, taking the expression of interest and running with it. "My general and I were dropped into mud out of a tear in the sky, which is a matter I've heard is something of an expertise for this organization."

One of the few facts that had presented itself with complete clarity, even if so many other things at play are murky and less easily parsed.

"Is it rude to ask after your method of arrival?"

Green light radiates from nowhere on this man, so Nikolai feels safe in making a few assumptions.

[wearyallalone]

It's a party, so it seems the place for the easily digestible version. (Still true just ... framed.) "Not rude at all. I was a Templar in Nevarra, and I joined the Inquisition. I recently joined Riftwatch in that I feel I can be more useful here." A pause, then: "If you haven't gotten a handle on templars, Nevarra or the Inquisition yet, I don't mind elaborating, but I don't know what order they explain things to new arrivals, frankly."

[rezni]

"My general received a charming survey, but otherwise we've been more or less left to our own devices."

The words aren't unfamiliar. Even his short time in attendance has given him the shape of topics that come up over and over, and the Inquisition has been among such conversation. But the larger meaning is still frustratingly out of his reach

"I've been recommended Genitivi, but if his writing meanders towards templars, I've yet to hit that section," Nikolai admits smoothly, before tacking on, "But of course, this is a party. If there's lighter conversation you'd prefer, I couldn't press you for something that might be better suited to the Gallows."

What a name.

[wearyallalone]

"Genitivi is thorough but fairly dry, even for a native reader," he says. "I don't mind any of the topics raised so far, if you're interested. I can certainly tell you more about Nevarra than I can about, say, popular dances, though the latter is probably more immediately useful to you. But I also realize many people prefer not to think about the state of the world at a party."

In fact, that is often the point of a party, yes.

[rezni]

"I am very interested," Nikolai admits, because why pretend otherwise? "But I suppose I should ask, before I trap you into answering all of my questions: are you one of those people who would prefer to ignore the state of the world?"

[wearyallalone]

The question visibly surprises him. "Have you run into many of those, here with Riftwatch?"

[rezni]

"Not yet."

A point in Riftwatch's favor, really. Whatever else they are, they all seem committed.

"But I've known organizations to hold such people, even when arguably the state of the world was staring them in their face."

[wearyallalone]

"It would be a contrary place to come to try do so," he says, but not as if it's something Nikolai should already know. "Much of the rest of the world is very happy to ignore what's happening with Corypheus, or even the state of other nations. If one prefers not to be involved, one can simply leave. Well, as long as there's no anchor shard to hold them here."

He tips his glass. "To return to the spirit of your original question, I joined the Templars, the Inquisition and the Riftwatch, in sequence, due to what some people have described as an overdeveloped sense of responsibility, so. I'm very happy to answer any questions I'm able to."