[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

[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."

[rezni]

"Neither do I, and I assume in this instance we're excused," Nikolai agrees. This wedding is hardly traditional, even in Thedas, as far as Nikolai can tell.

He holds out a gloved hand, followed by a small, abbreviated bow.

"Your highness, shall we?"

A little teasing. Surely this is familiar to her, and Nikolai is well-practiced in it. He is the second son. Everything he had ever achieved had been off of his own charms, polished and honed to perfection.

[sparklequeen]

Oh, he bows. Very polite. Glimmer smiles, her face lit up with a show of delight and maybe a hint of a blush. She reaches out and lays her hand in his--the height difference might make dancing hard, but she's going to do her best.

"Thank you, Your Highness," she says, laughing. "I'd be honored."