open | holiday spirits

[cozen]

WHO: Whoever, plus some spirits.
WHAT: Everyone spends an evening regretting the past. So basically a normal night.
WHEN: Wintermarch 5-6
WHERE: A castle in the mountains north of Kirkwall
NOTES: OOC post including less vague/pretentious haunting mechanic descriptions. Fantasy violence and swearing and so on are assumed, but please use content warnings in your subject lines for things like explicit gore or sex, slavery content, body horror, etc., if you go any of those routes.

THE CASTLE

Their convenient shelter from the unexpected blizzard that whips up around them in the mountain pass isn't too convenient. Anyone with a reasonable detailed map will find it marked there; reaching its clifftop location requires a slight detour. When they approach, it has no warm ethereal glow or suspiciously welcoming lit torches. The windows stay dark. The portcullis is raised just high enough to be ducked under, but the heavy doors of the keep don't swing open to welcome them.

The only immediate sign that something is amiss is the thorough, all-encompassing emptiness of the place, and it might take some investigation before that begins to feel strange. The fortress' abandonment seems recent and abrupt: ample firewood has been cut and stacked for the winter, nothing has been done to protect the furniture or strip the beds, the kitchen is fully stocked and even has some perishables that do not seem close to perishing, the stables are equipped to comfortably keep any animals along for the journey, and a chess board before the hearth in the (humble) grand hall seems to have been left mid-game. But there are no messages, no bodies, no footsteps dimpling the crunchy layer of old snow accumulated in the bailey beneath the fresh snowfall.

As they search, the castle's visitors may begin to find signs that the castle hasn't been entirely abandoned. It begins with whispers emanating from the dark ends of corridors, voices they recognize and others they don't, or faces both familiar and unfamiliar flashing in still water or window panes when firelight hits right, or forms moving on the edge of vision but vanishing before they can be looked at directly.

By the time this becomes worrisome enough to drive anyone back out of the castle, the portcullis has fallen shut and won't budge. Neither will any other doors to the outside. The windows won't break; doors won't give way even to makeshift battering rams. The only walls that can be climbed or reached by stairs face out over a deep ravine. It might be a survivable climb, if the wind and weather allowed, but it would not be a survivable fall.

THE SPIRITS

--so back inside, then.

The keep is built like the Gallows' towers, square and tall, and it won't take long for Riftwatch to notice that whatever is wrong is more wrong the higher they climb. The whispers and glimpses on the lowest floor become voices and lingering shadowy figures on the second. Someone might turn and find their hand briefly held by an unfamiliar man's, warm and real for the moment it takes him to say, "Come with me." Or behind them, a woman's shocked and seething voice says, "What are you doing?" Or maybe it's a hand they do know and a voice saying something they've heard before.

As people venture to the higher floors--whether intrepidly seeking the source or involuntarily herded onward by spirits--these moments will begin to last and linger and repeat. And those who don't dare venture higher won't be exempt, confronted by stronger spirits that emerge like ants from a kicked hive as the upper floors are disturbed.

As they approach the uppermost floor, reality will begin to slip away from them. They may find themselves lost in a maze of rooms, even though that shouldn't be possible in so few square feet, and ultimately enveloped in comforting worlds where they didn't do that thing they regret and that, like dreams, feel real until they suddenly don't--until something is too unbelievable, until someone interrupts, or until a demon is holding them under the water of the warm bath they were tempted into, shoving them off a balcony, or whispering into their ears and minds, let me in and you can keep it.

The hauntings will continue until morale improves the eldest, most powerful demon has been dealt with.

THE END

When it ends, it ends abruptly. Weaker spirits vanish; stronger ones retreat into the dark. The lesser demons on the upper floors linger, and some may put up a last-ditch physical fight, but without their superior, they've lost most of their mental pull and emotional sway. The castle has changed, too. Its abandonment no longer looks so recent. The food and firewood is gone, along with any sense of warmth or satiety anyone used them to acquire earlier. There is dust where none was before, mildew and rot, and a few scattered, unfortunate skeletons.

The sun is not quite up, the sky a faintly luminescent grey. But the weather is survivable, though it will be slower travel than it would have been without the fresh snow. The doors will open, and the portcullis will raise. Everyone can set off on their cold, hours-long journey back to the city. Talking about their feelings or avoiding eye contact the entire time: the choice is theirs.

Comments

[bouchonne]

And that...That is a comfort. This dear girl. This girl who trusted him enough to allow him to protect her. He wonders if she knows how much that mattered - if she knows how important it was that she had faith in his good intentions. Because he could have been a scoundrel, could have been after her fortune, could have been tricking her - but she looked at him, and saw decency. One of the few who did so.

"He abandoned me."

Byerly stiffens. That's his sister's voice. His head comes up, and he turns and looks at the spirit, eyes widening.

"He left me here." The ghost is speaking to Sidony, voice plain and without hatred, without recrimination. She just sounds sad. "He decided he was hurting me, and even though I didn't want him to go, he went, and then I was alone. You should know that, my lady."

[indissection]

"Oh, as if he would ever be capable."

Sidony spits it out even as she forces - or tries to, she is rather small - Byerly's head back towards her. There's something to be said for the power of someone who cares deeply for you, but Sidony is rather glad no ghosts have come to haunt her. There's no doubt her parents might have a thing or two to say about it.

Her finger brushes gently over his cheek, touching the skin gently before she breathes out.

"Darling," her voice is soft, "you and I both know you would never if it was within your power to do so. I know it is difficult to ignore the ghosts, to act as though they are not there, but I know you. I know you would never."

[bouchonne]

"I did, though." His hand comes up to cover hers, to press it against his cheek, even as he confesses - "I did."

He bows his head slightly, and he goes on - "I thought it was right. I thought I was poisoning your chances. Her chances. Her prospects." He lifts his eyes to the ghost, pleading - "And you found a steady husband. You found someone good. I did the right thing."

Then he looks back to Sidony. "It can be kinder to leave, sometimes."

[indissection]

"You did do the right thing."

It's easy to nod her head, to try and keep Byerly's attention on her. It's not perfect, of course, she can't exactly force him to ignore the whispers that are happening around them - because they are designed to hurt, they're designed to make him question everything.

"This spirit preys on your deepest worries, my love," her voice is gentle. "You and I both know that you are hearing words made to hurt you. Not reality. Would I stand by you if I thought you so cruel?"