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

Threaded | Flat

"Barely even friends
Then somebody bends
Unexpectedly"

........................uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh................

If you'd like a quick thread (logged or text/network-style) with any of the available NPCs, just outline a quick starter here and state which NPC you're looking to speak to in your comment header c: Please note all NPC threads must be wrapped by 23:59 GMT on 20 December.

Any major clue findings should be communicated via network with the rest of the team by the 28 December please! The prince can only be encountered under very specific, clue-linked circumstances, so he isn't available as of yet!

Available NPCs for threading:

■ Julien: your gracious and endlessly patient host, who largely resides in the southern wing or the gardens. At times, he visits the rose stairwell to stare at the wilting flowers morosely.

■ Viola, drunken hunter and former liaison of the castle Netvor, who may only be encountered in the Panna village. A bit rougher around the edges, lacking a proper verbal filter but seemingly well-meaning.

■ The sentient object servants of the southern wing: perpetually active and there when called upon, meddlesome, tirelessly at work — in the spirit of off-brand nods, you can speak to a fussy, slightly snobby mantle clock or a gossipy, charming candelabra. If you're good, the ill-tempered, if artistic flying ladle of the kitchens might take a few questions.

ON THE ROAD.

( bucky isn't one to really run from a fight but a fight with a bunch of wolves? well, he knows when he needs to regroup so he definitely takes off. he notices that some people are taking off into the woods to lose them and he heads there as well, charging into the throng of trees and looking for the very first large tree that he can see.

as soon as he finds it, he jumps, the fingers of his metal arm digging into the bark. he uses that to pull himself up higher and higher, shimmying his way up onto a thick brand where he perches.

below him, he can hear the growling of the wolves but he doesn't think they'll be able to climb like he can. when they turn to leave, bucky stays where he is, looking for anyone else who might be seeking out safety. )

THE GARDENS.

( he likes the quiet and the stillness of the gardens so when it feels like the walls are starting to close in on him, he retreats out there, boots kicking up the snow.

there's a few other people out there but they mostly leave him alone so bucky finds a bench and sits down. after a few moments of just sitting there, he reaches down, gloved hands finding the cold snow and he balls it up. he remembers doing this a long, long time ago when things had been different, when his life had been easier. he remembers hurling a snowball at a friend long since gone and while those memories assault him, he hunches over, eyes staring daggers at the white snow.

eventually, he shakes himself free of that and stands up, tossing the snowball in a random direction. hopefully he doesn't hit anyone who might be in the wrong place at the wrong time. )

BE OUR GUEST.

( he's dressed up and he doesn't want to be. but, it's a requirement and while he could just beg off, he doesn't. don't ask him why.

but being dressed up is almost immediately forgotten when the dishes and cutlery start a song and dance number. look, he's seen a lot of strange things and he's been a lot of weird places but this is...this might top it.

all bucky can do is stare. if everyone else around him weren't seeing the same thing, he'd think his mind might have finally broken but he knows this isn't just him seeing what's happening.

if it's a hallucination, it's a mass hallucination and thats...not a comfort but it's something. )

WILDCARD.

( if you'd like to do something that's not above, feel free to wildcard it up. )

cw: alcohol

(Be Our Guest)
( Apparently every night they need to go eat and Luffy doesn't need to be told twice when it comes to mealtimes. This place is vast and strange, but there doesn't seem to be malice that he can perceive when it comes to what's being served and if there is, Luffy knows he can deal with it. He's not new to fighting and knows he can take down an enemy if need be. Plus, free food every day? Who'd turn that down?

The attire is something else though, Luffy managing to find a black and red attire that suits him from the wardrobe. He's even wearing pants as opposed to his usual standard denim shorts; his crew and Buggy have managed to wrangle the captain into something presentable for once. The straw hat stays perched on his head though and the sandals remain as there are some battles that apparently can't be won.

It's difficult to see much in the dimly lit room, but the dishes seem intent on giving a show and Luffy is always happy to eat, tucking in too the food without a care in the world. He's been poisoned before and managed to walk it off, now would be no different and he's talking to anyone sitting nearby as they eat. Every so often his brown eyes will squint and look behind someone before Luffy shrugs and goes back to his food. )

So what kind of food does everyone have back home? Is it like this?

(Glistening Ballroom)
( Luffy isn't one to be overly wowed by displays of opulence and granduer, but even he can appreciate the ballroom he's managed to find himself in. Vast mirrors adorn the walls, grand chandeliers hang from the ceiling and Luffy gives a quiet wow to himself as he wanders on through on his quest to find the kitchens. He has got to tell the crew about this!

There's music playing in the background, a melody that stirs something within Luffy resulting in an urge to waltz and dance away. He doesn't know much about it, dancing not really a prerequisite to pirating or being a captain, so he looks around with an almost puzzled look, foot tapping to the beat of the tune. )

Huh, not bad!

(The Gardens)
( The snow is a welcome change, it's an environment Luffy hasn't really come across yet in his travels. Everything is cold, icy and surprisingly damp and he wanders the gardens, intent on exploring and doing his best to shake off the red dirt that insists on sticking to him. He's also gathering snowballs as he goes, making small piles of them here and there, ready and willing to dive into a snowball battle at the drop of a hat. )

(Southern Wing: Kitchens)
( Finally Luffy finds his way to the kitchens and it's just as majestic as he's imagined. Utensils and crockery work away, cooking up dishes constantly as he watches. Every so often he's offered something to try and Luffy takes it seriously as he enjoys every bite, supplying his feedback as he anticipates the next meal that comes his way.

At this rate he's never leaving the kitchen. Unfortunately for the future pirate king, Luffy doesn't taste the booze in the dishes that start appearing in front of him and it's only when he gets up from the table and staggers, hiccupping quietly as Luffy squints around the room. For a pirate Luffy is shockingly lightweight when it comes to alcohol, normally ordering milk when others are happily drinking. )

Which — where'd the bedrooms go again? What?

(Wildcard)
( ooc: Luffy will be exploring as much of the castle as he can, trying to make sense of things but not worrying too hard about it. Feel free to put anything here and will be happy to go with it! Or alternatively reach out to me by PM or plurk! )

Edited 2023-12-10 09:00 (UTC)

a. on the road

( The silent coachmen and long ride were boring, the wolves a problem easily remedied by the bladed fan he never truly keeps concealed - though he would have preferred not to be stained by the viscera, thank you very much. There is blood along his jaw, and down, smearing the teal collar of his robes, the white edge of his fan dripping in the dark, and yet the fight has not left him bereft of anything. Wen Kexing arrives at the gate with his fellow travellers in high spirits, lifting his gaze to the gardens beyond, an impressed whistle floating tunelessly through the wind. His good humour only lift further when one of the skulls spits a blade at his feet and offers him compliments, his grin widening to show all his teeth, playing at demure to the nearest bystander. )

I like this place better already.

( Still, they ask him for a secret as payment for his entering, and Wen Kexing, having been busy tucking the blade away and cleaning his fan off on a nearby leaf, makes another short noise, this one more unimpressed. )

Or maybe not. What kind of secret do they want, do you think?

b. the gardens.

( Those who know Wen Kexing - or the Wen Kexing that he chooses to show the world at large - might be a little surprised if they find him out in the gardens. He's knelt in the snow, carefully packing a large round ball into shape, hands a little red from the cold. Once that is done, he lifts it on top of another large round ball, holding it in place for a moment to make sure the whole structure doesn't topple. Satisfied, he dusts off his hands. This is the second snowman he's made, a little smaller than the one beside it, and he casts down at his side to pluck up a flower he'd found, tucking the stem into the head of the figure where the 'hair' might have been, leaning back to admire his handywork. )

Ah, Ah-Xiang, it's probably for the best you aren't here.

( But still, he misses his silly girl. A sigh drifts, and then Wen Kexing lifts his head to the sound of approaching footsteps. )

How long do you think it will take them to melt, do you think?

c. the kitchen.

( The pudding goes down wrong, or no, it goes down right but the sheer amount of alcohol in it makes him cough anyway, thumping a fist against his chest in order to clear it from the fumes. Wen Kexing is sitting on a stool, having commandeered a bottle of something presumably for cooking but is instead being drunk, sampling whatever the magical kitchen provides, a curious childlike glee at the opportunity. )

Well, if that one was poisoned you wouldn't know with the sheer volume of liquor.

( Back in goes his spoon, self-preservation apparently long gone, and if he's just talking to the kitchen itself then that's his own business. )

I prefer the other one, the one with the red fruits, but I suppose this one is nice enough too. ( Spoon firmly lodged in his mouth, Wen Kexing makes a pleased noise that could border on obscene. ) Okay, better the second time around. Less jarring.

( Sweets and booze, the house can be as evil as it likes as long as he has this. )

d. ooc: hit me up at

qingya or discord: sadgaydna if you want anything different or some plotting!

𝖎. 𝖔𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖗𝖔𝖆𝖉

( [A] the journey thus far seemed to be full of teeth. first the winds and cold bit at his skin. one would be forgiven for fearing the blue tint of his flesh was from cold with how the weather beat down on them. and second... well the second set of teeth were quite obvious.

too obvious for Deimos' liking.

the wolves are larger than ones you might expect to find in woods, and almost downright terrifying in their own right. he lets out a silent prayer to whatever god might be listening that these wolves are the exceptions to the rule in this world and this isn't what they have to fear through their entire journey. how did these people get so far if these hounded their steps for so long?

when the wolves step forward with teeth baring and spittle flying, Deimos is on his feet in mere moments. his rapier is in his right hand without a word, his crossbow wound around his left. he jumps free of the carriege, boots sinking in the snowbank, as he fires his first bolt off into the trees. a sharp, loud whimper, followed by a short snarl of a bark can be heard as his bolt finds it's mark. )

Run. ( he snaps at anywhere near him as the other wolves begin to move to flank. ) Before they close our escape.

( [B] snow clumps in his bangs while blood drips from his hands as he makes his way to the doors of the castle. he doesn't speak to the others, keeping his eyes only forward. he doesn't want to risk the others seeing him like this. not covered in blood, he's not alone in this. others fought alongside him. others fought deeper than he did. he knows most, if not all, here are just as familiar with the crimson viscera as he is.

no. he doesn't want them to see the flash of joy in his eyes. like a child let loose off his leash to play as he might. the spray of blood coats his face, getting into his very being until he smells nothing else. it may not be the blood of a human, but the beasts were large and plentiful. spilling their blood had brought a smile to his lips.

he chokes the smile down as he reaches the door of the castle. he's not only surprised when the skull speaks, but taken aback when it calls him beauty. he reaches up to accept the offered dagger with wide eyes, then glances at the person nearest as the skull asks for payment. ) Uh... I'm new and have no memories. May I ask for assistance with the door's request?

𝖎𝖎. 𝖇𝖊 𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖌𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙

( Deimos sits at the table, awkwardly running his tongue over his teeth behind his lips in his usual nervous tick. it's not so much the request to not look back that has him awkward, it's the fact that he has no memory of ever eating at so fine a table. and faced with all the finery, he's quite certain he'll become a fool for a bard tonight. ) Believe it or not, I haven't eaten at a proper table in my near memory. ( he confesses to his tablemates before he can really think about what he's shared. it may be anecdotal, but there was no need to let the room know he was an untrained dog sitting at the master's table.

ahem.

he clears his throat slightly. ) Is there a point to so much cutlery? ( he glances at the dancing cutlery to see if he's offended one. he's not so certain he wasn't aiming for offense.... )

𝖎𝖎𝖎. 𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖑𝖊 𝖙𝖔𝖜𝖓

( it's the first time he's reached a proper town in his recollection. he's been through the blighted village, the goblin warcamp, the myconid colony, the creche... So many small communities but nothing like a proper town that was still thriving. it's a bit of a novelty if he's being honest.

finding the wolves' den isn't hard to do. the claw marks litter more trees the closer you get to the abandoned huts. he's confused to find children present at the potential den and yet no wolves. why? why would the town allow such dangerous creatures to stay so close to home? to feed them? he thinks of Julienne's earlier explanation, but that's the castle. it's at least got gates to keep it safe. the town doesn't have such defenses and allows it's children close to the danger. and... cooked food? even he doesn't always eat his meat cooked, a wolf wouldn't be so picky he thinks.

then there's the shawls... ) Why do you think they leave the shawls? ( his eyes narrow as the kids try to shoo him away, but instead he tries to address a fellow caravan traveller. ) The food is strange enough. The shawls don't make sense.

𝖎𝖛.𝖘𝕶𝖚𝖑𝕶𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝖚𝖓𝖎𝖙𝖊 （ ʟᴏᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇɴᴇᴅɪᴄᴛ/ᴄᴏʟᴇ/ᴄᴀɪᴛʟʏɴ ）

( Deimos did his best to choose those he approached to help him sneak into Julienne's quarters. he doesn't know people very well yet, but what better way to get to know his companions than through skulking about in the shadows together? he thinks it makes for a great bonding experience.

getting into the room was middling what he'd expect. a simple lock to pick, easy diversion by Caitlyn and Cole. it's the magical barrier that tricks him most, makes him grateful he considered finding someone he thought might have some proper magical acuity. Benedict and his own companion handle the barrier, but when they get into the room Deimos stops short. his eyes are wide in surprise as he expected to find something of wild extravagance and magic. instead, he finds a room not unlike the rooms his companions and himself were offered. why the barrier when this room looked to be barely lived in at all? )

There has to be some reason the room was set with a magical barrier. ( he whispers to the others. ) We need to move fast and without disturbing a thing. Much harder with so little in here...

A. The Ballroom

[Being here is an absolute delight, honestly. SHe's so happy to be somewhere at least somewhat familiar, spending a good time in the bathtub to get herself clean of all the blood she arrived with, asking the servants to style her hair and help her dress with much thanks and enthusiasm.

Shr flits about the palace, bright laughter preceding her as she rushes about with glee to examine and appraise everything she sees. The ballroom is no exception and, with a gasp of enthusiastic delight, she's quick to get swept up in the dancing, eagerly grabbing whoever else might be by to pull them into a dance] Come, come! Isn't this fun?

B. Roses Bloom

[The stairwell roses are breathtakingly beautiful, even Winnie can't deny that as she goes to see them. She stares up at the blooms, committing it to memory. She can't create, but she can copy, and maybe, hopefully, she can copy this sight down onto a canvas some day.

The odd tightness in her chest makes her twitch in surprise once she takes notice of it, and then the tears streaming down her cheeks.]

Oh-- What's happening? What is this? [She frowns, confused more than anything--she's never felt this before and barely can get her mind working rationally to figure out what this feeling is beyond the miracle that she is feeling something.]

B. Ice Skating

[She went ice skating exactly once before and she was not great at it, but that doesn't stop her from trying here again. And again, and again. She's a bit battered and bruised by the time she gets more of a handle on it, but that's fine, she doesn't mind.

It's fun to glide along the ice, her hair failing artfully out of her updo from exertion. She moves to the edge of the lake and reaches for anyone she sees, familiar face or not, to tug them to the ice]

Come skate with me! Who knows when we'll be able to have such fun like this again?

[Her cheeks are red and her hands are near-frozen, but she laughs breathlessly and her grin is eager]

D. Empty Dishes

[Dinner is typically a delight, but she's seen some people get blank plates before, what it means.

Winnie's not surprised, just a bit disappointed, when her own plate arrives blank.

She pouts, then sighs deeply] Oh dear.

[She pushes her chair back and glances around] Would someone accompany for the night? I promise I know lots of entertaining stories and poems to keep us.

E. Wildcard

[For everything else! Winnie can and will poke her nose everywhere and into everything, so she'll always be around precisely when you need her. Or don't need her. Whichever!]

I. On the Road

[The wolves seemed to come out of nowhere. He heard the stagecoach yelling to make a run for the castle. That seemed a poor idea considering a wolf could easily run down a person on two legs. Most of them couldn't run fast enough to outpace a canine. Himself included.

Benedict stayed back with the carriages to defend them instead. It would be easier to protect people with a bit of material between them and the fangs of the hungry beasts. He urged those that couldn't fight for themselves to stay inside while he used his weapons and abilities to repel the wolves.

Fighting demonic canines was nothing new to him. Limbo held many a creature like this and he had fought off all of them. The hard part, instead, was seeing to it that the carriage didn't stay in one spot long enough for the wolves to penetrate within and get to those inside. So the detective had to juggle between fighting off the wolves and keeping the horses calm enough to stay on track to keep moving towards the castle.]

II. The Southern Wing

[Benedict explored much of the castle grounds while they were staying there. It was a very curious place and Benedict's natural investigative mind wanted answers that were not always freely given here. The mystery of the castle was palpable in the air and he was soon snooping around all sorts of places.

The first time he thought he noticed a statue shift towards him while his head was turned away he startled a little. The mirrors held unusual shapes in them and his expression grew grim. These things, however, were nothing compared to many of the unsettling visions in Limbo so he quickly adapted to ignore the ever-changing shadows that felt non-threatening.

He spent very little time in the ballroom as he was not a dancer and the compulsion made him feel uneasy. But he was there long enough to recall some of the faces, and to notice the ashen footsteps upon the ground.

He spent more time in the reading room where the tall stacks of books were much more enticing to his intellectual mind. Here he stopped to peruse more thoroughly, hoping to find any sign of answer to the mysteries of this castle. Or at the least some history to it and the surrounding countryside. He paused on an interesting poetry book, too, and hesitated before stuffing it into his bag to take back to his room for reading during the empty nights. He would return it later.

Benedict did, of course, notice the strange scraps of bone and clothing left in the kindling wood. What a strange ritual...it set him ill at ease to consider. Most rituals did.]

III. The Northern Wing

[Benedict spent as much time exploring the burnt shell of the Northern wing as he did the Southern one. There was much to wonder about as he moved through the hallways and various formerly lavish rooms. Every nook and cranny and corner held reminders of the ravage of the flames. It could put one ill at ease. Benedict seemed more curious and stared intently at walls for no particular reason at times, head cocked to one side as if listening to something only he could hear.

He spent some time in the portrait room especially, trying to discover the faces marred by time and soot. His Companion's whispers were soft and low, respectful to the haunted spaces, but mostly irrelevant to the case. He learned more than he cared about individuals that he would never likely meet--or know of it since many were, likely, the people-turned-inanimate-objects of the castle. Most of the facts were widely useless though and he dismissed most of it. The underlying theme, however, was darkness and sadness. The prevailing sense of loneliness, the feeling of being coveted and being trapped began to wear his extra senses thin. There was no where to escape it.

At the prince's tower Benedict examined the roses carefully. He's cautious, knowing that some things are not as they seem, and living things in cursed places tended to have wills and intent of their own. Even plants. The various notebooks scattered amongst the rose vines leave him wanting to discover more clues. But he stopped long enough to go over them with someone else nearby and compare notes.

In the stairwell Benedict became overwhelmed by the sense of captivity when the sun began to set. He turned towards the nearest person, anxious and uncomfortable.]

Do you feel that? Do you- [He took a shaky breath.] I need to leave. I need- some fresh air.

IV. The Gardens

[The garden area and outer grounds held very little interest to Benedict once he'd explored it a bit and found not much of interest. However, ever since exploring the Northern Wing more thoroughly he had an unhealthy dose of curiosity concerning the prince's locked tower. Spotting the figure up on the balcony that couldn't be reached from within the castle, Benedict desperately wanted to know more about the figure up there and the rooms beyond.

And this seemed as good a way to get within the tower as any. Better, perhaps, than by the direct route. If one could even get through the locked door to the prince's tower from within without being caught or forced into unconsciousness. He wasn't so sure.

But that balcony above...] I was thinking about climbing up there.

[He confessed to someone as he gazed up as the tower balcony.]

I want to see what's there.

V. Little Town

[Benedict has no qualms going into town to help procure supplies for the castle. It felt good to get out of the oppressive aura of the cursed grounds and he wanted to talk to the townsfolk to see what answers he could find there if any. Along the way, he was very curious about the footprints on the ground and followed a few of them to discover that they led to nowhere. He noted the claw marks in the trees as well. By the time they came upon some of the hunter's cabins that had been converted into wolf dens, Benedict was just as curious about the forest as he was the castle itself. It was, after all, a large part of the story as well.

When they got into town, the private detective set to work gathering supplies. He wasn't any good at the bakery or brewery so after a while he found himself helping out the lumberjack. He chopped and loaded up wood for what felt like forever but in reality was probably only and hour or two.

Then he was back in the town, asking questions and investigating as he did best. He even stopped by the tavern again to have a closer conversation with Viola before they had to head out of town and back to the castle.]

VI. Wildcard

[[Anything else that you would like to see Benedict doing! Feel free to chat at him during dinner or especially to find out how many times he'd lingered in the Northern Wing before falling unconscious and left in the Southern Wing.]]

i. that sign can't stop me because i can't read

A. [There is more to this place than meets the eye, of that Caitlyn is sure. The mysterious prince hidden away in a crumbling, abandoned wing of the castle, his fiancé insisting that he must never be seen, an alleged curse... How could she sit idly in her bedroom or suffer through the stifling pleasantries of the ballroom or dining room - the exact sort of tedium she's spent her life trying to avoid - when she could be exploring and investigating instead.

The sun has long since set once Caitlyn sneaks into the northern wing. A furtive - and, she hopes, subtle - glance over her shoulder seems to confirm that no one is following her.

The beam of her torch is dim. Her best efforts to preserve the battery can only do so much when she's been in this world for such a long time. It's enough to see by, more or less, even though the cracks and crevices remain in shadow.]

Is anyone there?

[She feels the hair on the back of her neck prickle, the familiar sensation of not being alone, as she sweeps the beam of the torch around the room. Maybe someone followed her after all. Or perhaps someone was already here before she arrived.]

B. [It's not yet sundown, this time. But there's still more to be explored, more secrets to uncover, and Caitlyn is still avoiding the southern wing's rather unsettling veneer of politeness and frivolity. She's much happier here, in the decaying northern wing, investing.

She glances over at her companion before her eyes start moving over the room they're in, taking in the torn and moulding wallpaper, the shattered furniture, the soot gathered in heaps against the baseboards.]

It's awful in here. Why would anyone choose to live like this? [She can't understand ever wanting to hide herself in a place like this, no matter the circumstances. But whatever caused the prince to isolate himself in the northern wing, whether it was self-loathing or fear or sorrow or some other thing, it can't be easy, and there's more sympathy in her voice than anything.]

ii. be our guest

A. [The perfectly straight seams of Caitlyn's too-ornate clothes are disturbed only slightly by her fidgeting, her fingers tapping awkwardly against the edge of the table as she awaits the next course. She's regretting being here at all. She could have taken dinner in her room. Everything is too fast, too bright, too loud, and extraordinarily, hellishly boring.

If only the cutlery would stop singing.

She casts a rueful glance sideways at the person sitting next to her, her tight smile making it all too clear that she doesn't want to be here. A feeling only intensified when a plate is set in front of her with a single cupcake on it, topped with a swirl of red icing. A quick look around confirms that no one else has received a cupcake, let alone one with this particular shade of icing.]

E-excuse me. How d--

[She raises a hand to catch the attention of the servant who placed it in front of her, but they're already gone. She casts another glance sideways, and offers another, even more, awkward little smile to the person sitting next to her.]

B. [Don't open the door, no matter who you think is out there.]

How do they choose which diners to give black plates to, and who's doing it? There must be some method behind it. Even if diners are chosen random, there has to be a reason for handing the plates out at all.

[She's musing aloud, not entirely expecting the person she's holed up with in her bedroom to respond. Really, the only way to be certain is to interrogate the staff. Which would involve leaving.]

If I do go out there, what will happen?

[She's considering finding out, whether her companion really wants her to or not, when there suddenly comes a knock on the door.]

iii. on the road

[Caitlyn kneels over the tracks, observing their depth, the length of the stride, the crumbled snow that's flaked off the edges of the prints and fallen in. There's fresh dirt in the prints, too, stained red like the dirt of the castle. She reaches down and picks up a pinch of it, bringing it to her nose. The same coppery, musty smell as the dirt in Netvor.]

This is from the castle.

[She's not accustomed to tracking humans. She's never needed to before. But she suddenly finds herself frustrated by her inability to look at print depth and stride length and make a precise estimate of the subject's weight and height. If only it were an elk.]

We should follow these tracks. See where they lead.

iv. wildcard!

[Feel free to wildcard, or hit up my plotting comment here!]

♛ 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑜𝑢𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑛 𝑊𝑖𝑛𝑔 - 𝐾𝑖𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑛

[ This is the second time Clara has left, only to find herself returned as if no time has passed, and it's still just as odd as it was the first time. Years have passed, things were bad, then good, and then bloody fantastic. And then she died. Pressing a hand to her chest she confirms what she isn't feeling; not a second chance at actually living, then.

Nothing a cuppa can't help her process. It can't hurt, anyway. After what feels like playing in the TARDIS wardrobe, she's finally found something tolerable and takes to finding the kitchen. Once she does, she's immediately sat down and so many things are shoved at her to try that she looks up at the next person who arrives in exploration or hunger. ]

Don't bother asking for your own plate, we might as well share all of this. All I asked for was tea and I think I've had two drinks that were definitely less tea, more alcohol, four plates of different sorts of biscuits, and then there's the rest.

[ She gestures at the little sandwiches and pastries, then nods a the chair. ]

If you feel like company feel free, but if not, take anything you want.

♛ 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑁𝑜𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑛 𝑊𝑖𝑛𝑔 - 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐿𝑖𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑟𝑦

[ Of course she's found the library, she always finds the library, and Clara feels like it's a shame to have all of this on the terrifying side of the castle. What she gets caught up in, though, are the portraits, especially the one of a woman with dark, curly hair, face completely gone, like it was scrubbed away. Caught up in her thoughts, it takes a moment for her to realize she hears footsteps, and it makes her pause with a heavy swallow—but she doesn't turn around. ]

Please don't be a ghost, alright? I don't feel like running or leaving this room right now, actually.

♛ 𝐺𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑠

[ Walking the grounds, Clara has a fancy cape around her shoulders with the hood pulled up and she explores a fair bit. But when she finds the fountain, something about it gives her pause. There's a memory, niggling at the back of her mind, and she remembers a Victorian governess, the Doctor, and a fall. She fell so far—not her, an echo. Still, it was a part of her, a flash of a memory she can only just recall. If she died, does that mean the echoes are all gone too?

Reaching out as she wonders, she breaks off one of the icicles and holds it like a baton in her hand. It's the first time she's realizing the cold doesn't bother her. She feels it, but she doesn't; her hand should be going numb, but it isn't. ]

This is so weird.

[ She's talking to herself as she keeps her hand wrapped around the ice, then shifts it to the opposite, unaware there's anyone nearby. After needing to be hyper-aware in the northern wing of the castle, she's let herself get a bit lost in her thoughts in the ambiance of the now. ]

♛ 𝑊𝑖𝑙𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑑 / 𝑂𝑂𝐶

[ here is Clara's plotting comment that explains a little more about her canon update and if your character would know on sight if she's dead. I've also done a network post here to follow up on her encounter with the Child. Please feel free to wildcard me if nothing else works out! She is most definitely up for any exploring. We can still plot stuff out too, so feel free to comment on that ooc post, PM me, or ping me on discord @ lifewasawillow :) ]

[ Prompts being added below. Plotting comment here as you like. If none of the prompts appeal or you have another idea, feel free to wildcard! Will match action or prose as you like. ]

[ open & closed starts below. plotting comment is here if you'd like to work out something beyond my open prompts or choose chaos and wildcard me, everything in this event is interesting to me and i'm happy to roll with whatever. and ofc, forever good to match tagging format. ]

I always write my top levels in prose, but love brackets just the same, so tag in with your preference and I'll match you. Please feel free to make requests or wildcard. I'm available through PM or moonstones if needed.

i. the hound at your door.

[ it is not unusual for temenos mistral to be compared to a beast. he is no beastling, of course, but the nickname smacks of familiarity - it speaks of the hound, and he is unperturbed as he faces the skeletons in the main doorway. ]

I see that my reputation precedes me. [ he jokes, voice light and lofty as he looks the skeletons over, one hand curled around his staff. ] You are quite bloodless yourselves. Shall I fetch you some? Or are you content to be beastly, too?

[ this somehow comes off as both a threat and a promise - he turns his head and smiles at whoever's the closest, but it's innocent and comes with an eyebrow raise that perhaps means play along more than it does murder and/or actual blood... and then disappears for a bit.

if you find yourself in need of a bit of healing after the scuffle with the woods, an unfamiliar face clad in a white, pristine cloak and the vestments of a priest offers a hand to help with an angelic smile. ]

Are you quite alright? That looks painful.

[ get some healing! ]

ii. sniffing out clues.

a.
[ though temenos is the sort who can sleep through nigh anything, the scratching and clawing is a touch too familiar for his own liking, and his own curiosity is far stronger than the urge to rest. so, early on in their time, he spends much time investigating the southern wing at night, and slips out of the house to walk the gardens, the top of his golden staff illuminated with white and holy light to mark his path.

spotting a figure on the balcony catches his interest, as do the wolves clawing away at the walls - you may note at some point that he's standing in the gardens one evening with his eyes closed and a hand on his chin. despite the cold, he's... not moving? like at all. he is truly just standing there.

... is he even breathing.... ]

b.
[ or, alternatively, you can find him in the library, holding the scraps of burnt out clothing he'd filched from the castle walls upon being asked to clean - sitting on the floor and comparing them to the clothing scraps found in the reading room itself. his hand is to his chin again, but he at least looks like he might respond to human contact now, considering his murmured: ]

My... what a tragedy must have occurred here.

iii. dogs at the dinner table.

[ a large dinner with a lot of people he's never met before isn't a big deal, but temenos is mostly quiet during the festivities (if you can call them that.) he seems to be observing, keeping any commentary (and oh, does he have commentary) about the dancing plates and silverware to himself and eating a bit like a bird, picking absently at whatever it is as he seems mostly deep in thought.

what arrives before him eventually is a small humble little cake though the shape in the powdered sugar is an open circle with what appears to be a small flame in the center. he looks down at the final course with a huff of a laugh, and jokes to someone nearby: ]

I'd not realized they kept a nun in captivity. [ this is not a funny joke, temenos ] Perhaps that's the prince's new occupation...? [ this is ALSO not a funny joke, temenos ] We are in need of a new Pontiff... [ stop being blasphemous ]

iv. a hound about town.

[ temenos is clearly in his element in the little village. he speaks with the villagers with a smile as warm as the sacred flame itself, even kneeling down to chat with the children and pat them on the head here and there. sometimes that priestly aura works wonders for you when you need it to, and he shares a small slice of the cake he'd gotten for dinner the night before with a kid before sending them running off once more.

any rumors of witches roll right off of his shoulders, it seems - gossiping parents get a smile and a polite nod of his head, giving off Pure Holy Goodness Aura before he turns away from them, cheerfully. he's been asked to help out with supplies here and there, and he helps like this, by chatting with the locals. and at some point, he even gets a piece of bread off of a baker with a blessing and a smile, and breaks the steaming warm baguette piece in half to offer to the nearest traveler. ]

Here you are. How goes the heavy lifting?

[ he has done none of that. not a single bit of heavy lifting at all. look at him, he's a twink. ]

v. other...?

feel free to dm or plurk protags to plot out doing fun things! ♥

a - arrival.
[ His vision swims. It's happened on and off during their journey, but Zhou Zishu had spent much of the journey napping, hands folded inside his sleeves and his shoulders up by his ears as he tucked himself neatly into the corner of his assigned carriage. Easy to forget.

The attack is a chance to stretch, his blade a singing silver ribbon that clears the space around him as he avoided the sprays of blood with the ease that comes from a lifetime of habit. Zhou Zishu ignores the call of beast as he steps past the gates.

His vision swims.
Blood fills his mouth, the urge to cough high in his throat, and he swallows it down.

Instead of appreciating the lonely beauty of the castle, he presses his lips together, shouldering past his companions to find a quiet, empty hallway. He staggers to lean against the closest wall, his breathing shallow, and when he coughs into his sleeve, he finds it splattered with blood. ]

b - reading room.
[ He's sitting cross-legged and straight-backed in front of the fire, one of the couch cushions having been commandeered to make the floor a little softer. The air around him shivers and shimmers, his qi sliding irregularly over his skin, and it takes far more effort that it should takes to steady himself.

Zhou Zishu drags in an unsteady breath, opening his eyes. ]

--Oh. Hello.

[ He shouldn't have been surprised. How much have his senses deteriorated that he didn't hear or notice the approach of another person? (How much longer does he have?) ]

c - dinner.
[ The food served is clearly made with care, but it is creamy, rich, and sits poorly in Zishu's stomach. He eats when he must, small bites to keep his strength up as much as possible, but he is rarely able to keep much of it down. Wine, at least, has not been a problem. The song and dance was entertaining the first night, but he has since learned that he cannot leave until it is over.

Tonight, the empty black plate is almost a relief. The minute he is able, he rises to his feet and bows shallowly to the table. ]

I'll take my leave, then. Good evening.

(( a belated plotting comment is here! Feel free to hmu there, at

piecrumbs, or via PM if you want something different/to hash things out!

on the road.

[The wolves appear and Carol is grateful for the outlet for her frustration. It's something to do, something to punch, and she's grateful for the opportunity. She immediately moves into position to hold the line and give the rest of the party a chance to escape.

(If she's going to be a beauty, she's certainly going to earn it.)

Her fists glow but she doesn't quite fire a photon blast unless its deemed she has to while Goose hisses at the wolves from a nearby rock.]

Go, I've got your back.

[If you think you see tentacles out of your periphery swallowing one of the wolves, don't worry about it. It's fine.

Eventually she will emerge out of the woods, covered in blood and gets her designation of "beauty." She blinks up at the door knocker before looking down at herself and shrugging.]

Thanks, I guess.

the southern wing.

[Carol is a big fan of the pastries. Food is great, and when cornered by the animated kitchen utensils she will politely sit and allow them to feed her. Maybe even give so suggestions in terms of taste. She can often be seen sitting in a chair, orange cat curled in her lap, and if she sees someone coming, she will happily turn her plate in their direction and offer up one of her favorites.]

I like the one with the blueberries the best.

[But honestly all of it is pretty good, there are no bad choices.]

beastly quarters.

[The stairwell roses bloom, and at first she's drawn in by the beauty of it all. Golden roses start showering petals down into the rest of the space and there's a part of her that just wants to sit there and bask in it, but the longer she lingers, the more the loneliness starts to creep in.

Leave it to Carol Danvers to feel lonely in a crowd of people.

She hasn't really had much time, between losing Monica and landing in this new world to actually process the losing of Monica. She wants to try and cling to Kamala's hope, that they'll find a way to save her somehow, but Carol can't help but feel the loss echoed in the sense of captivity and bitterness. Not just at the situation, though losing the last piece of her family, the last person who knew Carol before she became Captain Marvel, but at herself.

She could have had twenty-five years of Monica and Maria. Twenty-five years of a family and all that it means. And she wasted it being scared of how they would see her for the mistakes she's made. Now, Monica's slipped through her fingers again and the sadness sits like a heavy weight on her chest, even if she doesn't recognize it isn't all hers.

Footsteps sound behind her, and she takes a deep breath, trying to shake it off and swipes a stray tear off her cheek. She turns away so that some stranger doesn't come around the corner and see her feeling her feelings, but sometimes that's unavoidable.]

Pretty flowers, right?

wildcard.

[Feel free to drop your own prompt in here, I will roll with it!]

Edited 2023-12-12 03:48 (UTC)

[Open starters below as I make them. Feel free to request something closed or wildcard!]

{ on the road
and round about his home the glory

I. [ If anyone is riding with Vanessa, they are unlikely to get much conversation out of her while she keeps to herself on a few pillows. Her long hair is left loose, stark against the flowing white dress she wears. It's all she wears, not even bothering with shoes at the moment despite the frigid cold. The candied treats for their travel are ignored, and she merely stares at nothing in silence.

Should anyone speak to her, they may need to say her name more than once. Given the seemingly random things she can utter, however, it's a gamble to bother interacting with her at all. ]

II. [ Despite her supposed daze, she's still alert enough to sense the threat just before the attack, and she seems to vanish before any blood is shed. A demon dog, much smaller than the wolves, rushes from where it had been following the carriage and leaps to help anyone struggling against the onslaught. It's agile and cautious, only snapping out once to pull at a wolf's attention before it disappears back through the trees and the caravan for a different angle. If the threat is too great, the dog won't risk itself.

If anyone is about to fall victim to a life-threatening strike, Vanessa will suddenly appear before them as if to take the blow. Instead, the demon wolf will halt mid-attack. It drops to all fours before taking a step back, then settles down into the snow with a strange whine.

This may momentarily bewilder any other nearby wolves, at least. ]

Go on, then.

[ There’s no better opportunity to run, and she seems willing to provide a distraction. ]

{ be our guest
that blushed and bloomed

I. [ If she's cooperating at dinner for the first few nights, it's for the sake of not creating trouble for everyone else, but the senses are overwhelmed. The noises, the smells, and there are too many mirrors. The room has a hold on her, with a visible tension in her posture and grit to her jaw. She avoids looking at the reflections when she can, which often involves keeping her gaze low. Her vision is just as sharp in the dark, so dim lighting won't save her.

The dancing silverware gets little reaction beyond a curious head tilt, and any food placed before her will remain untouched. Vanessa can eat it to keep playing along, but a sickened combination of spite and panic keeps her from bothering quite that far.

What she can't resist is the supernatural need to suddenly speak, having remained mostly silent until now. ]

My world may not have survived me.

[ It’s such a hush of a whisper that it could easily be lost to any chatter filling the room, but anyone sitting closest to her may stand a chance of hearing. ]

II. [ This time when tolerating the forced company of a crowd and their reflections, she’s offered a black plate. Apparently, there are even more rules regarding this, but these games try her patience. At least there's no urge to share personal stories again.

While she does excuse herself, she doesn't hurry back to her room, not immediately, so there is a chance to catch her while she lingers near a window and attempts to steady her thoughts. The room of mirrors always leaves her dizzy, and it has nothing to do with the hauntings.

Once back in her room, if alone, there's no resisting the temptation to open her door at the first knock, and the shadows quickly surround her with sorrow. The feelings of loneliness and insecurity are nothing new to her, but she has been doing well to stifle the intensity of them until now. The darkness is where she was born and where she breathes deepest, but it is also where she feels the most. For the shadows to turn on her now comes as no surprise.

As much as she wishes for any company to replace these wraiths, Vanessa knows herself to be deserving of this much at the very least, and so she is frozen in her own doorway in the beginning, caught amidst the assault with an unblinking stare. Should anyone happen to walk by, she may suddenly find herself unable to resist reaching out so that she can catch them by the wrist, pleading for rescue with both touch and gaze. ]

{ the northern wing
is but a dim-remembered story

I. [ It's nothing unusual for her to see and hear things that aren't always ‘present’, before or after her encounters in Akhuras, so one would think she might be warier of following them, but then she would become listless. She doesn't need their secrets, but she is curious of their pain. While pursuing her curiosities over the voices and getting lost in her own wanderings, she'll linger at the twisting stairwell that is wrapped with roses and their thorns. Gently, carefully, Vanessa pulls free a journal that had been twisted up along the banister.

Can men learn compassion? She is ageless, and still she wonders.

Further on in the entries, there seem to be details on a project for rehabilitating the forest. If someone else is near, she'll offer it for them to glance through. It isn't enough to keep her captivated on its own. ]

An odd place to leave one's journals.

II. [ While she drifts back down the stairwell at sunset, it's impossible not to become captivated by the sudden flood of golden roses that surround her. The enchanting petals begin to fall and illuminate all the more against the black silk of her dress, and for a moment she nearly thinks to smile in a rarely felt amazement.

The delicate touch of a petal upon her shoulder is enough to soon draw her into some sort of trance, though, and her smile vanishes when all she can then do is try and fail not to silently weep. If not for the gilded display all around signaling spellwork, Vanessa could easily confuse these emotions for her own. Which lifetime was it when she had nearly wasted away from loneliness in a house as decrepit as this? Which one was it where she was trapped, and trapped, and trapped?

So caught up in the mingling of her own pain with another's, she doesn't turn until she hears footsteps that have already drawn close. Then she's swift to brush her fingertips over damp cheeks before looking toward her new companion, unable to gather her poise as readily as she normally might. ]

{ wildcard
of the old time entombed

[ ooc; vanessa is a beast for this event but will still be dressed fancy-like. wildcard me or lmk if you want a starter anywhere in the castle! feel free to handwave our characters already meeting if they have been around a bit. ]

i. the southern wing.

[ No stranger to odd noises, Wen Qing still finds the clawing at her doors and windows each night unnerving. Julien told them, and the servants remind her, not to open the doors and windows at night, so she stays there, whistling or playing a small flute to distract from the noises. Shadows form beneath her eyes, sleeplessness her friend, and her stores of balms and tonics grow, should anyone need anything. The castle is nothing like her once home, and yet it haunts her.

During the day, she never ventures into her room unless it's to change outfits, and she refuses to look at the door and windows closely. The castle is mystery enough: she wanders into the ballroom, taking lessons from a sentient cello— how quaint— or can be found decorating the southern wing.

Any scraps of clothes she finds, she collects in a pile. ] Useful for patches or making bags, [ she'll offer, if questioned. ]

ii. beastly quarters.

[ Despite her insistence that she's practical and not curious, at all, Wen Qing finds herself in the northern wing often enough. The portraits are a source of fascination, and the vines, unlike anything she's encountered before.

Any footsteps behind her, she'll ignore the first time, possibly even the second. Each time, she faints and wakes in the southern wing, on the same chaise lounge both times, one hand curled around her eyes to block out light and mitigate some of the pain. ]

Now I have a reference for what people mean when they tell me they have headaches. I have tonics in my room, I'll find them later.

b. [ Lessons learned, she still explores the northern wing, but is hasty to leave if she hears unknown footsteps, calling out each time she thinks she does hear someone approach. No response, and she'll depart; a response, and she;ll stay and chat. ]

iii. be our guest.

[ The majority of the dresses in her closet are pink or purple, some light blues, and Wen Qing changes into them for dinner each night, rotating through a wardrobe she'd never bother with otherwise.

The dishes and cutlery are a marvel to her, making her grin despite the exhaustion lingering in her eyes, and when the food arrives, it's warmly welcomed. Even the dishes from home, spicy noodle soups and warm sweet potatoes and, at one point, a plate of turnips that makes her laugh. ]

Forgive me, [ she says to her closest dinner companion. ] Fond memories. [ Of arguments about what to buy and plant, the joy of watching green leaves sprout in a place haunted by death. ] Would you like some? They're nutritious.

iv. wildcard.

[ happy to write a custom starter or roll with any ideas or starters! ]

Edited 2023-12-17 23:50 (UTC)

o1: on the road + arrival

[ It's strange, riding in a carriage with other people and not quite sure whether or not they can see him. Some of the other passengers keep mostly to themselves, others making small talk amongst themselves; Cole, for his part, mostly sits in silence, watching the trees go by. Stopping at a rest point might find him clambering on top of the carriage for a different viewpoint, or sitting on the platform on the back with any luggage might be stored. It's more comfortable for him, less claustrophobic; feel free to ask him what he's doing, or scold him for it!

When the wolves attack, however, that's when his sleepy, aimless demeanor changes. A pair of daggers appear in his hands, the expression on his face turned to grim determination. He stays back as the coachmen bid everyone to run, ready and willing to fight and protect anyone who needs it. ]

Follow the others. [ Said with confidence: ] I won't let them hurt you.

[ And yet, when he finally gets to the gates and gets called a beauty, he gets flustered, eyes wide with shock. ]

Oh, well. Thank you. No one's ever called me beautiful before. [ He sighs. ] I wish Dorian was here. He would know if they were right or not.

o2: behind you + the northern wing

[ The statues moving in his periphery is vexing for Cole, nearly as much as the shadows in the mirrors. He doesn't intend to stay in his room at all during their stay here, but he's still covered any and all mirrors with sheets and coats from the wardrobe, both in his room and in the hallway outside. ]

You can't do that! [ Early into their stay, when he first notices the statues, Cole can be found arguing with them, his voice raised and a note of panic. ] If you move when I can't see you, then I can't see you - I don't know what you're doing! You have to wait until I'm looking, and then I can help you, but I can't help if I can't see you!

[ Once he's been made to understand that the statues won't respond and the once-people furniture have nothing to say to him, he'll start poking around where he's not meant to. The northern wing holds endless fascination to him, in all its destruction and the stark contrast to the southern wing; he tries to break the rules and stays after sundown only once, thinking he can ignore the coming footsteps, and when he wakes up in the southern wing without knowing how he got there he'll be duly terrified and never do it again. Anyone else considering staying will get a fervent warning from him! ]

You can't, you can't stay. They'll make you sleep and take you away, and you don't know who or how or what they'll do. Don't let the footsteps get you, you can't.

[ Past that, he'll also be endlessly fascinated by the portrait room and library, studying the portraits and inspecting the roses leading to the prince's chambers. The burnt clothes and bones will be of particular interest, even if he has no idea what to make of them. He'll start collecting what he can find, running his fingers over them and muttering: ] They shouldn't be here, lost and lingering. They died, but didn't die; they're supposed to have been put to rest.

[ When he finds the prince's notebook, something about it calls to him; he'll bring it to the nearest available person and hold it up to them. ]

This, it's. It feels like me but I don't know if it is. What does this say?

o3: be our guest

[ Cole will be squirmy and uncomfortable every evening that he's forced to dine. He hates the stuffy clothes and doesn't need to eat, so he doesn't see the point in his needing to be here. For the first couple of nights, he'll be entranced by the dancing dishes, his eyes wide and mouth agape. However, the question that comes out of his mouth might be.... upsetting. ]

Do you think they mind being eaten off of, if they used to be people? I don't think I'd like it very much.

[ He does get one black plate; as soon as he understands what it means, he'll stand and leave without another word. Conversely, if he sees someone next to him receive a black plate, he'll raise his eyebrows in concern. ]

Do you want me to come with you? The hallways are strange when they're dark. I don't think you can trust them.

o4: little town

[ Cole can absolutely be found wandering after the footprints and following the claw marks in the trees, and getting frustrated when they don't seem to lead anywhere. He's used to being the only one to vanish into thin air; the fact that there are apparently others who can do it is vexing. Still, it won't deter him from watching as children leave what look like offerings at the cabins. ]

Why would you leave gifts for an empty house? [ Addressed to no one in particular, whoever's closest by. ] I want to know what's inside.

[ At the village, he'll be bright-eyed and delighted, excited to see people and warmth. However, as soon as their attitudes turn, his expression takes a turn for the worse as well. ]

I'm not a witch. Not a witch, not a mage, not a plague or a poison or a demon! I didn't ask for this - Cole didn't ask to be born like this! It's not kind to say that, curse and whisper - you have to stop.

[ Once he's calmed and has resumed exploring, he can be found helping prepare supplies or wandering the place of worship. He seems most relaxed among the dead, kneeing in front of their various remembrances and murmuring under his breath to them. When he gets to the Netvor clan's incense, he sits in front of it, his legs crossed. ]

You shouldn't have done that. All things, great and small, deserve to live in peace. It wasn't your place to hurt so many. No one should be allowed to.

o5: wildcard

[ Got something else you want to do with him? feel free to message me on plurk at tieflings or on discord at rayflo ♥ Given his ability to hear thoughts/hurts, he's got an opt in/opt-out post here if you'd like him not to do so! ]

Edited 2023-12-19 03:12 (UTC)

( open top levels below for various events, feel free to hit me up in discord or on my plurk at

iothe for any more specific plotting or closed top levels! (did i mention i love beauty & the beast???) )

[ Starters in prose, but will switch to brackets if you prefer! If none of these work, PM Me, hit me up on Discord, or reply here with a wildcard idea as you prefer! ]

[ When she spots Wangji from across the garden, Yelena's first impulse is to shout out for his attention. She cuts herself off just in time, slapping a hand over her open mouth to prevent sound escaping. Then she ducks behind a frosted fountain and begins collecting snow into a sphere. Despite doing her best to pull from untainted patches of snow, the end result is lightly streaked with crimson. Considering the way blood-caked dirt has been sticking to Yelena, her snowball is comparatively pristine. It'll have to do.

She surfaces from behind the fountain, finds Wangji again, and aims somewhere between his shoulders and midsection. She lets it fly before ducking behind the fountain again, smirking to herself. ]

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