player plot: chateau d'onterre

[doneisdone]

WHO: Teren, Abby, Clarisse, Julius, Mobius, Redvers, Viktor
WHAT: The Gang Gets Stuck in a Haunted House
WHEN: ~Harvestmere
WHERE: the Emerald Graves
NOTES: Please track the post and keep to one thread, which I will re-up with a new starter periodically!

It's a dark and stormy night.



The party was on their way from the eluvian to a rift at Argon's Lodge, but, having been caught up in an especially nasty squall, has been forced to seek shelter somewhere nearer than either. Lightning flashes, too close for comfort; it illuminates a flash of metal through the overgrown trees, perhaps a sign of civilization. They draw nearer, and are able to identify a large and elaborate gate, hanging slightly ajar. Inviting.

Thunder cracks furiously, and with little choice but to duck within or to remain out in the downpour, the party chooses the former. A short stone walkway leads up to an enormous building, impossibly concealed by the forest and even now partially obscured by mist and rain. Redvers tries the door, a construct tall and grand: it groans open.

The entryway is pitch black as they pile in, the occasional flashes of lightning enough to suggest the accoutrements of a personal dwelling, albeit a large and wealthy one. Julius, the last one inside, has barely drawn his dripping overclothes through the doorway when it slams shut of its own volition, and cannot be opened again.

Down the hall, about ten paces away, a sconce flickers to life.

Comments

Entryway

[doneisdone]

[favoriteanalyst]

"The wind," Mobius insists, though in the tone of voice where even he clearly doesn't quite believe it. The doors are large and sturdy in their own right. But the storm is whipping wild out there. Maybe opening the door loosened it up to boot. And slamming it shut re-stuck it?

The sconce lighting itself is something he has less of an immediate answer to. Besides 'magic', because of course 'magic' would be the go-to for him. But without seeing a source for it--

He scrunches his crooked nose, gives a little sigh. His cloak is soaked, as is a lot of what's under the cloak, but he keeps it on for now. "Do we know where this is?" Less 'where we are', because they do have a good idea, and more: "Who lived at this estate?"

[overharrowed]

Julius, well aware of how close his cloak came to being caught, is investigating the door more closely. He evidently doesn't buy "the wind," based on the fact he's bothered to don the night-vision goggles he'd packed to get a closer and clearer look. (The itch in his palm to try dispelling it is, for now, one he ignores.)

At Mobius's question — and possibly the lack of answers yielded from studying the door — he glances up. "I confess, I don't know much about the area. But the size suggests some things." This large and clearly a home meant wealth and, more than likely, prominence.

Moving the goggles up to his forehead in the scone's flicker, he adds, "I don't think we're getting back out without effort, and it's still storming. We might as well see what we can find beyond the front hall in the meantime."

[laruetheday]

Also not buying "the wind," but not willing to try very hard to get back outside and into the rain, Clarisse just shrugs and starts wiping water out from the creases in her coat.

"It's probably some rich family's old summer home. Or winter home." One of those.

Either way, "I agree, we should check things out." Even if whoever lived here wasn't hoarding a bunch of riches away in a back room somewhere, there's bound to be stuff they can use in here. Supplies, or something.

[armd]

To that point, "Do we know it's unoccupied?"

Abby's voice is low. She's not bothering to wring herself out either, seemingly fine to stand there in the hall dripping from her cloak, ears straining to catch any foreign sound — but it's impossible to hear anything other than the wind and rain battering the shut doors. They're the only people in the entranceway.

What lit that sconce up, though? Who?

Doesn't seem right.

"We should act like it is." While they're shuffling around together in the dark, that is. Well, in the sort-of dark — her attention has turned back to the sconce. She starts to go toward it.

[grindset]

Julius dons the goggles, and Viktor—also wet, and resigned to it for now—pulls his pet-project thaumoscope from his satchel nearly in unison. He's been preoccupied with it for most of today, mostly while frowning. The status of the new upgrade hovers around a dubious hand wobble, as he'd explained earlier, with little improvement despite his constant tinkering with the thing—no thanks to the working conditions of a travelling wagon—and hopefully the mule is happy with that hastily chosen shelter outside, as there now appears to be no choice but to leave it—

"Agreed," he's saying, and flicking the device with his middle finger. Percussive maintenance. "Best keep our wits about us."

Squatters, he's thinking of, but Mr. The Wind may not take kindly to visitors, either.

[atonally]

That Redvers inhales and calls out, "Anybody here?" is not meant as failing to keep his wits. Aside from the location, it's a fine house, not so completely dilapidated as a few they passed along the way. If whoever owns it isn't here themselves, enjoying the last weeks before the cold sets in, they might have a permanent groundskeeper. Some kind of staff. Even in the entryway, the place doesn't look looted or smell pissed-in enough to have been empty for long.

But his voice is on the quieter end of calling out. For someone to hear him over the rush of rain they'd have to be just down the hallway, in the darkness just beyond the reach of that mysterious sconce, waiting to be called out to.

[doneisdone]

With his goggles, Julius will perceive that the hallway in which they stand is lined with portraits of glowering aristocrats: another burst of lightning, striking somewhere nearby, is enough to enlighten the rest.
No one returns Redvers' call, and it's clear by the brief illumination that no one else is in the hallway with them.

It's too long after the crash, coinciding more with the resulting clap of thunder, that a second sconce lights: this one, directly above everyone, casts them into a damp, sickly light that seems to make the adjacent darkness all the blacker.

"Beg your fucking pardon," mutters Teren, who crouches like a nervous spider just out of sight, calling attention to her shadowy presence only by the dripping of water she's wringing from her rain-soaked braid. "I say we go no further," she continues, hushed, and doesn't elaborate.

[favoriteanalyst]

Yeah, yeah, everyone be skeptical of the not-wind. He doesn't hear anyone else offering up explanation, though.

The lightning illuminates unfriendly faces on the wall. The light above them lights up, and Mobius stares. "That," with a little point, a little thoughtful bounce, "that I don't particularly like." At least, not in terms of anything he's seen in Thedas. On other worlds, one need only touch a small lever to make light simply appear, or even by motion alone. It could be some kind of lasting magic set by stepping into an area, maybe, but that would have to be extremely sophisticated, and the energy to keep such a spell at the ready...

"Agreed," to Teren's quiet suggestion. "Plenty of space for us here to set up, and now we've so kindly been given light. If there's someone around that doesn't take to our presence, then they can be instructed on how to shut a gate and lock a door."

[overharrowed]

Julius doesn't do anything so overt as frown, but he projects an air of dubiousness at this suggestion all the same. "It could be a long while to just stand here soaking wet," he points out. "And we may have to find another exit regardless, if we're not able to force the door. I think proceeding cautious and politely is certainly merited, but my experience with aristocrats suggests that if there is someone in residence, they will take it equally well or poorly if they find us here or somewhere else nearby. We're already inside."

It doesn't have the air of a lived-in place, in his opinion. On the other hand, the door and the sconces are worth a bit of caution. Julius can't say that lingering in the hallway feels appreciably more secure to him.

He adds, "I suppose if we feel differently, we could break into smaller parties. A few of us go in and perhaps report back on what we find to those who'd prefer to stay here."

[laruetheday]

Clarisse is nodding. Staying here under the creepy sconces that are lighting up all by themselves = bad. Standing around near a door that slams itself shut and can't be opened again = bad.

"If we're going to be punished for trespassing, we've already trespassed. And this," with a wave toward the lights, "is either rigged somehow," which she doubts, but she's not throwing out the possibility, "or somebody is controlling it."

She doesn't need to add that if it's the second option, that means whoever it is already knows they're here.

[atonally]

"We can at least find a room with a fireplace," Redvers says.

He's not drying his clothes on the sconces. They're too small. Also, creepy. He's not searching for comfort when he reaches for the rune-engraved fire starter in his pocket and holds it up to ignite the flame—just a bit more light than they currently have, with mixed results, the shadows undisturbed by the addition of a new little lick of flame.

But once lit, it's a good reminder that there are explanations for self-starting flames that aren't frightening. Or the wind. So he keeps it lit.

[grindset]

The timing of that second sconce's ignition is... of note... but, as Clarisse suggests, and Redvers demonstrates, there are ways to rig such things, magically or otherwise. On a related note, that fire starter now limns his ongoing failure to make this device work like so many ornate furnishings. Is he also a little annoyed about some perfectly functional goggles, now, in retrospect? Maybe.

"Improvising a campfire in the foyer won't inspire any hospitality," he grumbles, in oblique agreement.

[doneisdone]

Teren's lip curls, because they're right, and she hates it.
"Fine," she mutters, unfolding to stand, and-- just in case-- turns to try the door again, slipping a pin out of her sleeve and inserting it into the keyhole.
It's not even locked, not formally; something else is holding it closed. Better to move on.

She begins to skulk in the direction of the lit sconce farther down the hall, keeping it in her periphery as she (and whomever else) steps past it. A door stands in front of them, cracked invitingly, with pitch darkness beyond: Teren balks, scowling.

[favoriteanalyst]

Drying off in front of a fireplace does sound nicer than sitting here in the foyer. Unfortunately. "A lit torch or three wouldn't go amiss," he eventually says in acquiescence. "Could we at the very least more or less stick together? Estates are huge, and if there is someone around," however unlikely at this point, "better we're not all individually poking into where we shouldn't. Plus, we're really just waiting out the worst of the storm. It's not a scavenger hunt." Not yet, anyway.

Sure, yes, it's dark in the room with the door open, but it's opened enough, and surely somewhere near must be a common area, living or dining or a kitchen, which would surely have a fireplace to start with. It's not spooky, it's just empty and dark is all! Gosh! "Hello?" Called out in a similar not-too-loud manner as Redvers.

[overharrowed]

The light emitted from a spell wisp Julius conjures is faint, admittedly, barely visible while it's within the glow of the sconce. But he can send it ahead of them a bit, which is a small advantage over Redvers's fire starter.

He steps forward, next to Teren, to gently push the door a bit farther open and send his wisp into the room. The result is probably not going to help anyone who is already a bit unnerved, as the wisp casts everything in a faint, blue-green glow. On the other hand, at least no one is immediately going to trip as they move forward. (Hopefully.)

For his own part, Julius pulls the night-vision goggles back down until they can arrange some brighter lights. Ones that aren't attached to the walls and under someone else's control.

Upstairs

[doneisdone]

True to their downstairs counterparts, the moment Mobius sets foot on the landing to the library, two sconces flare to life on opposite walls. Tall bookshelves loom silently before him, enough of them to seemingly span the entire chamber, though those farther away are swallowed into the yawning darkness.

A torn piece of parchment lies ahead of him, barely visible by the torchlight. From somewhere up ahead, a gentle shuffling sound suggests he has company.

[favoriteanalyst]

The lights following them, that's getting to be at least expected. It's no less startling for the fact that that's not supposed to happen, but more light is better as far as he's concerned.

Can they raid this library? Can they come back later with some wagons and load up and sort through them pretty pretty please? When it's less...this. When it is less all of this right now.

There's part of him that wants to call out to the sound. Someone was moving up here, he wasn't crazy! Or, just as likely given the smell and the damage, something. Best not call any more attention than absolutely necessary, though he does glance, briefly, back down the stairs. "There's something up here." Just fyi don't worry about it. Nothing to worry about. Just gonna...pick up the parchment! Which isn't a creature about to launch out of the darkness and claw his guts out.

[laruetheday]

Clarisse comes up the stairs behind him, not stomping exactly, but not doing anything to be particularly quiet, either. At first it seems as thought she must not have heard Mobius, but then she stops a couple steps below the landing and says, "What, another dead body?"

Look, it isn't as if they're being very hush-hush down there. Clarisse figures if something alive is hiding up here, it knows where they are already.

[overharrowed]

Not wanting to split up, in the end, wins out over seeing what the hell is up with the window. That's not to say the latter choice isn't tempting; the sharp-eared can hear Julius muttering something about the d'Onterres' security decisions as he heads for the stairs. His spell wisp follows him up as he follows Clarisse.

Julius pauses when he catches up to her on the landing; adding to her possibly pertinent question about corpses, he adds, "Something up there you need immediate help with?" Mobius had sounded more unsettled than in any immediate danger, and all of them were unsettled at this point. But he'd like to know whether he should have battle magic ready, or if he was just going to run into more unnecessarily robust wards.

[grindset]

Viktor has watched three go up the staircase, now, and resisted the little urge to follow each of them for some indistinct reason that he doesn't feel like unpacking at the moment, which is fine, it's probably nothing. Recognizing that allowing himself to fall to the tail end of the group would be unwise—and it would be unwise even if there weren't any brutally disfigured remains lying just over there—he tucks the malfunctioning thaumoscope away, casts to Abby a look that says he kind of hates this too, comrade, and then puts himself next in line to follow. Since they've paused their ascent, for now this means standing at the bottom of the stairs and gazing up after them like a haunted mannequin.

Those attempts on the window, especially the indicative but unsuccessful spellwork, do not imbue one with much confidence, here. If a mage as experienced as Julius couldn't get it to budge even slightly...

[doneisdone]

Standing just behind Viktor, Teren watches the group's flanks, blades drawn in preparation for whatever bullshit might appear to take them out. The only sound is their footsteps on the stairs.

The parchment Mobius picks up is small, torn from some unseen book, its contents handwritten:

It's not fair. I want to go outside. I can hear the guests downstairs. Another party. There's always another party. Mother and Father bought me a present to make me feel better. To make me better. They're just trying to shut me up.

Cook's scared of me. She still calls me my sweets, but she's scared. Still, she hasn't told Father or Mother. She's afraid of me more than she likes them. I don't think Cook likes herself much either, these days.

I have a new friend now.

She understands me.

She'll help make things fair again.

[favoriteanalyst]

Mobius scans over the note, then again more slowly. "Careful with that," he suggests to Clarisse, passing it on behind him--oh, getting kind of a line here, huh? He moves himself further along the shelves, still staying well within the light so obligingly provided to them to make room.

"Looks like it's from someone's diary. I'm thinking there was a child who came into magic and ended up making contact with someone they shouldn't have." It's not the most uncommon story, especially among richer folk, to hide the kids away, hide the magic and thus the shame. And then not let them go to a Circle for proper help and protection. "Might explain some of the strangeness."

Not all of it, mind, but with all this firepower, if there's a demon that's made awful work of some thieves, they can take one on no problem. "I saw something up here, but I don't know if it's beast or not. If anyone comes across something that looks like a diary, speak up. This bit of scrap wasn't here for no reason."

[laruetheday]

Clarisse takes the note from Mobius and scans it over. If she really wanted to read it over carefully they would be waiting on her for a minute, so she passes it on to Julius after a few seconds instead, as soon as she gets the gist of the contents.

"So somebody left this here... by itself?" That's not suspicious at all. Fine, though, she'll step up onto the landing and take a look around for anything that looks like a diary.

[doneisdone]

The distinct sound of shuffling footsteps can be heard once more, behind one of the shelves in front of them. They sound bipedal, and obvious enough that their source isn't trying to conceal their presence, but no other sound is made.