westwhere | the beauty, the beast, the burned

the beauty, the beast, the burned

BEAUTY & THE BURNED

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All but overnight, howling winter winds seal off main roads and curtail safe travel. The storms will recede within a month — and the Merchant negotiates for the party to bide that time at the sinister castle of the clan Netvor and its cursed heir.

ON THE ROAD

The party departs at night, in carriages led by obstinately silent coachmen, who urge discretion. Above all, they say, the woods must not know you head for the castle. Inside, you find dried fruit, candied meats, candle stubs and blankets. You are assigned your first ride, but may swap at resting points.

■ Crossing the misty, eerily quiet woods, your carriage is attacked by large, demonic wolve. Coachmen scream to run to the castle.

■ Evade the wolves in the woods, until you reach the strong, tall gates and fences that encircle the vast castle gardens. The gates bear skulls that carry daggers between their teeth. To let you in, they ask for shiny things, wine and secrets — but are also susceptible to charm.

■ If you arrive covered in blood, the gate skulls call you a ‘beauty’ and offer you a dagger that you may take or discard. If you arrive untarnished, they call you a ‘beast.’

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HOME, SWEET HOME

Tall, dark and looming, with narrow corridors and windows of stained glass — the castle of the noble Netvor clan is like a slow-beating, putrid heart that powers extensive gardens and forest lands.

The castle rests on thick mounds of snow, crossed by red rivulets that stain nearby ice sheets crimson — a reminder, your host Julien says, of a ‘Red Hunt’ that the Netvor clan carried out years prior, killing hundreds of animals until their blood mixed with dirt. In retaliation, a forest witch cursed the clan, transforming its heir into an unsightly beast and his servants into inanimate objects or fellow creatures.

” Once upon a time, there was a man. And that man had kin. And that kin was cruel. But the forest chooses its time and its champions. The land rebelled against them. Their people turned away. And only the beasts they so cleverly despoiled would still have them. The prince was spared because a glimmer of kindness he showed a stranger, to make amends. But the prince was alone. ”

You were largely given lodging at castle Netvor in exchange for entertaining Julien, the prince’s serene and startlingly handsome fiancé, who welcomes you with the main house rule: you must not see the prince.

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BEHIND YOU

The castle covets you : doors and windows often thud shut to lock you inside quarters, candles light up or dim on whim, and you sometimes hear the echo of voices in the corridors carrying the secrets of other speakers, long after they’ve departed.

If you are a ‘beauty,’ statues slowly turn their heads or move when you look away, and you see shadows running through mirrors. If you are ‘beastly,’ you hear clawing at your windows and doors at night, only to find fading scratch marks in the morning.

Some servants have been cursed into inanimate objects, with others transformed into bird-like, monstrous but harmless creatures that stay largely hidden.

House rules: do not open doors or windows at night. Be kind to the servants.

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THE SOUTHERN WING

Home to Julien and you, the southern wing is bright, airy, gilded and refreshed daily by sentient dusters and brooms.

■ Lavish sleeping quarters with en suite bathing quarters and generously supplied wardrobes. There are no furs or fur-lined clothes. Rule: do not enter Julien’s locked bedchamber. Julien himself heads to the northern wing each night.

■ Self-sustaining kitchens, where bowls, whisks and ladles perpetually prepare elaborate dishes and pastries. Visitors are often hijacked to test eccentric or boozy dishes.

■ A glistening ballroom with wall-length mirrors. Soft music erupts, compelling you to take a partner and dance feverishly to steps you somehow know or that a sentient cello can teach. Spinning by the mirrors, you see yourself reflected among faceless dancers whom you recognise from the portrait room. When you finish dancing, you spot ash footprints on the floor.

” The villagers don’t speak of what happened to the rest of clan Netvor. Handfuls of people. If they are among the cursed servants, they hide themselves. But I suspect they have long transcended to a different realm of possibilities. He does not speak of them to me. But he does not speak of any unkindness to me. He is… gentle, in his way. ”

■ The reading room: a wide seating area with an enormous fireplace where the remains of prized hunting prey were traditionally set to burn. Strange bones and expensive clothing scraps linger amid wood kindling.

■ The object-servants (largely dusters and teacups) urge you to help decorate the southern wing with flowers, candles and baubles for new year festivities — only for you to discover burned clothes in the castle’s nooks and crannies. What remains of the materials is high-quality, ornate.

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BEASTLY QUARTERS

The northern wing is dark, moulding, with torn wallpaper, broken furniture and soot strewn about — the signs of a failed arson attempt. The ravaged northern area leads to a tall tower that houses the prince’s chambers.

House rules: you cannot enter after sundown, and you must leave any room when you hear unknown footsteps behind you. Disobey, and you gradually lose consciousness as the footsteps come near you, and you hear only a rasped, bestial, Your blood need not spill here, before you wake with a booming migraine in the southern wing. Do this three times, and Julien insists you must leave the castle.

■ the portrait room: a gallery and library that displays brimming bookcases and the portraits of the family members of the Netvor clan. The faces have been removed: some by claws, canvas strips hanging. Some were burned off. In a handful of portraits, faces have simply disappeared through white erosion.

■ The prince’s sleeping quarters are in a locked tower chamber, preceded by a wide stairwell covered covered in thorny roses and hundreds of wilted petals. Slowly over the duration of your stay, you notice they wither and fade. Touch a rose and you hear hissing, as the flower briefly curls back into a blossom. Prick your fingers on a thorn, and briefly see names engraved the nearby brick wall. You recognise them from the room of portraits.

■ In a nest of rose vines, you find several notebooks — including one with the prince’s daily entries. On the day of your arrival, he scribbled, Can men learn compassion?

” You must have seen them, the roses. They are his burden. The root and timepiece of his curse. Until the last petal withers away, he must rebuild the forest and make amends for the carnage wrought by his family. If the curse believes… the balance has been met, he will be spared. If not… but we still have time. ”

■ Each day at sunset, the stairwell roses bloom golden, as thousands of petals rain down. If you are touched, and you are in the presence of someone you dislike, you feel encouraged to apologise or make amends. In the company of someone you enjoy, you express gratitude, admiration or joy. Those who are already in love may find themselves (finally?) confessing. Optionally, some characters feel overwhelmed by sudden, bitter sadness, tears trailing down their cheeks — and a feeling of captivity, as footsteps draw near.

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THE GARDENS

The snow-laden gardens spread wide and vast, containing archery and sword training grounds, a frosted fountain , a frozen lake for skating and several bridges for those who entertain snow fights.

■ If you are a ‘beauty,’ the blood-bound red dirt seems to stick to you as you pass by, staining you crimson. For ‘beasts,’ the dirt all but parts.

■ Each day, castle servants bring devote hours to plant trees in the forest, to cleanse river waters and seed flowers or plant trees.

” This was a hunting castle. It needn’t have been. The villages serve gladly. Panna is only the nearest one, but they have dozens at their bidding. But the Netvor loved their bloodshed well, and so… each season. Crushing, killing, decimating. Even taming, tainting the forest’s wolves to serve as their hounds. That’s why they come at our gates now. To beg scraps. Despicable. Forgive me. I have a soft heart and a weak stomach. For my sake, he no longer hunts in the wasteful way of his people. ”

■ The familiar demonic wolves prowl at night, howling maddeningly and sometimes breaching into the gardens. They appear desperate to attack the castle.

■ Glancing at the castle from the gardens, you might see a dark, nebulous figure in the distance at a tower balcony that doesn’t correspond to any room you’ve had access to.

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BE OUR GUEST

Each evening, you must dress in formalwear and dine in the great ballroom of the southern wing. The space is now poorly lit by candlelight, and you can barely glimpse your dining partners.

■ You are asked to never look behind you, even as you sometimes hear heavy steps and rattling nearby. Now and then, you think you can almost see a pair of golden eyes behind a dining companion.

■ The dishes and cutlery dance and perform throughout an elaborate, many-course service that all exclude venison. Diners feel compelled to trade anecdotes of their homelands and families. No one can leave for an hour.

■ At least once, you will receive a dish you associate with a close relation or family member.

■ Opt-in: Instead of dishes, you might (at most twice during your stay) receive an empty black plate. You must excuse yourself after dinner, lock yourself in your bedroom and keep vigil that night — careful not to let strangers in, no matter what they say or whose voice they imitate. If you open your door to strangers, a swathe of shadows overwhelms you with deep jealousy, loneliness or insecurity. Human company eases the feeling.

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LITTLE TOWN

The gentle snow of the first few days worsens, until a great blizzard blockades you in the castle for five days ( OOCly around 17-22 December) — at the end of which, a bashful kitchen ladle and a friendly pot beg you to head into Panna village for supplies. A cart and a stubborn donkey accompany you for the 90-minute trek through the woods.

■ The forests are largely silent, seemingly peopled by animals of prey (rabbits, deer). At times, you find bare human footprints that seem to lead no where, some carrying the red dirt of castle Netvor.

■ Deep claw marks litter most trees in the woodlands close to castle Netvor. To your luck, the large wolves are entirely absent during the day.

■ A few small abandoned hunters’ cabins are still standing, seemingly repurposed as (empty) wolf dens. You find young village children are leaving cooked food and old shawls there. If they see you, children shoo you away.

■ The village is small, warm, chirpy and welcoming — until residents hear you come from Netvor castle. Then, they gossip and urge their children to keep away from your witch blood.

” You must think the people of Panna disloyal, pulling away at the first sign of hardship. But the Netvor were so cruel to animals while they yet learned to torture men. They loved their prince, once. One day, if the witch’s curse lifts, they might love him again. But no one can care for a beast, let alone associate with one pursued by a witch, they say. They are wrong. ”

■ Villagers take you to a tavern to meet drunken hunter Viola, who may need a hand wrapping up a few brawls before taking you to bakers, brewers and lumberjacks. Sometimes, these sellers need your help to prepare the last of the supplies.

■ A nearby place of worship has left out incense for the dead, including incense for the wretched Netvor clan.

■ Viola insists you cannot stay past sunset and declines to accompany you back. Villagers say she was previously assisted the clan Netvor, but stopped after the Red Hunt.

QUESTIONS

NPC INBOX

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Wen Kexing, sit down.

[ His voice is a whip crack in the quiet room. ]

( It does not work, there is something too big under his skin now. He doesn't leave, but he paces a few short, frantic steps. )

You should have told me, I've been wasting time.

[ Fine then, he'll get up, folding his arms into his sleeves and drawing himself to his full height. His lips are thin and pale, drawn with the effort, but his gaze is sharp. ]

And, what. Have you do what you're doing now? What good is panicking?

I'm not.

( Oh, he absolutely is. Still, he has enough presence of mind to reach out, steady Zhou Zishu by the elbows. )

I'm not, I'm just --.

( A breath, wild and ragged. )

I don't know what to do.

We'll do what we planned. There are healers we can speak to. It'll work out, Lao Wen.

[ He's been on the floor too long, perhaps, his legs weak as he tries to step closer. ]

( How did he not see? How did he not know? He grips him below the elbows, a fine tremor running up through his own hands. )

I can't lose you, Ah-Xu. ( His eyes feel wet, he blinks it back. ) Don't make me. You're the reason I'm trying to be real, I need you.

I'm still here, Lao Wen. Don't be so ready to send me off.

I need to talk to people.

( It's still desperate, still upset. He wishes there were something he could fight, so that he might be more assured of his success. )

Ah-Xu, we can't be coy anymore.

Is that what we were doing?

[ He folds his arms into his sleeves, leveling a flat look over. ]

We haven't had the time to do anything before we arrived here, in any case. Whatever brought us here has slowed things down. There's time.

[ He hopes so, anyway. Regardless, getting Wen Kexing to calm down is his first, most important priority. This is, admittedly, going better than he'd expected. ]

( Panic is sharp and bright where it sits in the hollow of his throat, and he screws his eyes shut briefly, inhale shaking. Already he's flickering through plans, trying to figure out the best angle to seek out help, mentally shuffling through Lan Wangji's list of acceptable healers and what he himself knows.

( Already, he's thinking of how he'll have to end his own life if he fails. ) )

Sit down. ( His voice odd to his own ears, a thumb pressing against his own temple. ) You're tired. Don't push yourself. I need to -.

( What? Drag someone here? Burn the place down? Weep? )

I'll find someone.

[ Lucky for them both, Zhou Zishu's wrangled an entirely unnecessary promise from Lan Xichen to keep Wen Kexing protected and well if he dies. That's not the point, though, with Wen Kexing looking like he's a breath away from vibrating out of his skin. ]

What, you're so eager to leave me alone, Lao Wen?

[ That's a low blow, he knows, almost cruel in his resignation. ]

Stay with me a moment longer.

( He opens his mouth, something barbed lines up before it dies on his tongue. His shoulders drop, a helpless grief he hasn't felt since that time in Longyuan Cabinet. Zhou Zishu had been a lifeline then too. )

You're a bastard.

( Voice small, a little vicious. He wants to scream. )

You're a bastard. ( Again, but weaker. ) When you're better you're going to have so much grovelling to do. I am going to do nothing and you'll have to do everything, do you hear me? ( Cursing. ) Fuck.

[ And thst, he thinks, doesn't sound so bad. He laughs as well as he can, the sound getting strangled and caught in his throat, and he has to swallow down the cough that threatens to escape. ]

Yes, yes. Whatever you want, Lao Wen.

I mean it.

( He reaches out, shaking fingers curling in Zhou Zishu's sleeve. It's a lie, he knows it's a lie. Wen Kexing will get him better and he will continue to fuss and there is nothing he can do about it. If he'd been able to harden his heart once it was a long time ago, the feat would be impossible now. )

Sit down.

( He doesn't shove, his hands are gentle when he coaxes Zhou Zishu back to the floor, nearer the fire this time. Then Wen Kexing is folding his knees behind him, hands hovering to return to the passing of qi. )

I should have been doing this the whole time, you stubborn ass. How sick have you been and I could have been doing something. You have to tell me things, I need to know. ( It's hypocritical, he knows. But as he has yet to personally fake his own death he thinks he should be as hypocritical as he likes. )

[ He sits, then, when Wen Kexing guides him down, folding his legs beneath him and resting his hands on his knees. Zhou Zishu inhales, and then exhales, and when Wen Kexing's qi slides into his meridians (a trickle through cracked, dry riverbeds, Zishu barely able to coax his own weak qi into the proper alignment), he brings his hands up, his movements still sharp and practiced as he moves them to further encourage their mingled qi to slide limp its way through his body. ]

I know. [ He says it quietly, eyes shut and his voice distant. ] You were stretched thin enough, though. I meant to tell you once we arrived.

( It had been shocking the first time, it is horrifying now. He finds himself frowning at the back of Zhou Zishu's head, heart hammering away in his chest as he wills the body before him to get better. How could he have missed this? How could he not have known? )

I don't care what pressure you think I might be under, you tell me these things.

( The bite is back in his words, anger to cover up the fear. )

You're my -. You're my person too, Ah-Xu.

( He has been such a fool, he has wasted so much time. )

If I want to take care of you I'll do it.

Yes, Lao Wen. I know.

[ he's not really thinking about what he's saying, his attention split between Wen Kexing's words and the effort it takes to keep their qi moving through him. ]

I depend on it. On you.

[ He does. If he doesn't survive this, it's important Wen Kexing knows. ]

( Wen Kexing lapses into uncharacteristic silence, steadily pouring qi into Zhou Zishu's abused body beside the warmth of the fire. He has to think, to make a list, to harass or barter or beg until someone finds a way to help them. Absently his fingers itch for his communication device, if only to seize upon the moment more properly but instead he sticks to his current task, breath slowing. )

We'll do this more often. Morning and night. You don't get to pout your way out of it. And you should eat better, drink less! If something is keeping you alive then we don't want to push our luck by making it harder, all right?

[ just like a nagging wife. the thought is warm in zhou zishu's mind, though., fond. ]

Yes, all right, Lao Wen. But the food here is too rich.

I'll cook for you.

( Mildly offended, but who at and what for is anyone's guess. )

It might not taste exactly the same but I can make do with what I can find. You'll eat what I give you, won't you?

[ Zhou Zishu's eyes open, breaking the connection as he twists around to look at Wen Kexing, brow furrowed. ]

Lao Wen... I cant taste it. I'll eat whatever you give me, of course, but I can't taste it.

( His jaw goes tight, muscle jumping. )

Stop squirming around so much! ( He nudges him back into place, reapplying himself. )

And so what? I should just feed you any old slop because you can't taste it anyway? What kind of wife do you think I am?

[ One who deserves so much more than to tie himself to a dead man, he doesn't say, hardly lets himself think. Zishu ah, Zishu, they've both given up so much in their lives, lost so much and gained so little. Let him be selfish this once, and hold onto Wen Kexing with all the strength his failing body affords him. ]

I know better than to argue. I'll continue depending on you then, Lao Wen.

( He's quiet for a longer moment, the rush of his qi steady and earnest. The silence doesn't last long, not when his mind is a whirlwind. )

I should have guessed you weren't well. ( A sigh, his body swaying closer, heat at Zhou Zishu's back. ) I just thought everything new was because you'd had more time. Are you being more nice to me these days because you're dying? If that's the case don't think I won't beat you for it when you're well again. I can hold a grudge, Ah-Xu.

You will when I'm mean and you're suspicious when I'm nice. Such a difficult wife.

the beauty, the beast, the burned

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