Fantasy Hunter's Moon: Cruel Choreography | A Side Story

[Damian0358]

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[joshuadim]

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• Check with local citizens.

"The public probably knows where we need to be looking." said Claire as she glanced back to Brassard and Claude, "...And its probably not the best of ideas for me to be asking Atracan police... well, anything really."

"Ah, yes. Right." muttered Claude. "Former convicted felon. Constables love to pick on your type."

"Yep. So, let's start asking around and avoid the boys in that particular brand of blue." she responded, smirking a little before moving her horse down the street. On their way, they would occasionally stop here and there to ask any locals walking by where they might find the estate of House Saville.

A few just didn't know, despite living in Montclair. It made sense, because if the family were all vampires, you really wouldn't see them out much, if at all. However, a few pointed towards the northeastern end of town where some of the older families lived in their mansions and estates on the outskirts. That also made sense. Vampires? Usually old. Several decades, centuries, or even millennia. Find the older part of town, and start looking.

The trio set off, proceeding through town and eventually finding an inn to check into for the evening. It was probably best to visit the family at night, once they were located. The inn also reminded one of more of the eastern types of inns and taverns, but this one bore a distinctive Atracan name and Atracan decorations throughout the building. 'The Clever Mouse Inn' was what the sign read outside, which made Brassard pause when she read it.

"A mouse? Isn't a rodent something you really don't want to associate with?" said the young red-haired woman, as she gazed up at the sign. "Aren't they pests, and carry diseases?"

"Mice and rats are fine." muttered Claire as she passed by her. "Its the fleas that are the problem. Caused a plague here and there, I think."

"Yes. The nasty kind of plague. The one where you had to pile bodies up in places and burn them. You usually have to burn where the victim lived as well." stated Claude, stepping up next to Brassard as he looked up at the sign. "Mice are fine, though. I knew a man who had a pet mouse, named Rémy. He cherished the little thing, and said once that it was the only true friend he had. Ended up losing it one day."

"How? What happened?" asked Brassard, looking up at Claude.

"A cat came along, and it did as cats do." he responded, soon shrugging. "Just the way of things sometimes."

Brassard gently nodded, looking back to the sign. "...A shame." she muttered softly.

The trio split up at the inn, each getting their own room as most of the rooms at the establishment were on the cheaper side thankfully. Once they got everything moved in, it was only a matter of waiting for the dark.

--- --- --- ---
​

The manor of the Saville family was a modest estate.

Nestled within a nameless grove of leafy trees, the property grounds encompassed a number of private acres that saw few travelers and even fewer rumors, a beneficial yet uncommon boon for such secluded lodgings of the local elite. The nearby roads were always safe and clean, quick to be swept over after a storm and surveyed by private wardens to keep away any ruffians preying on travelers entering and leaving the limits of the local town, Montclair, an already sleepy establishment of farmers, middling artisans, and a small university-cathedral that drew little attention outside of the scholarly sort.

For such private grounds – and a reclusive family – the Saville estate was a gentle wonder that appeared in dreams, not nightmares. The local youth who occasionally strayed into the wooded range spoke of a well-kept mansion surrounded by an iron-wrought fence, the interior a bountiful paradise of pristine flora, babbling fountains, and marbled statues. In some stories, it is said that only ghosts inhabit the manor, pale specters of women who sing and dance in the moonlight, granting wishes to those brave enough to reach the front door. Needless to say, families are quick to apologize with a small basket of flowers or foodstuffs for their children spreading silly stories about the respected patrons of the Montclair boundaries. Not out of fear or consequence, but because it was simply rude. The progeny of the Saville were not without a great deal of sympathy, the family known to be small and of relatively weak constitution – always keen to help, but rarely seen.

The forested avenue on direct approach to the manor was almost covered fully overhead by trees, flanked by stones carved with forest critters and ancient figures from centuries past, protected by the inhabitants and relative isolation. When the dirt lane gave over to cobble, the perimeter fence marked the outermost wall of the estate grounds, flanked by the fabled iron fence spoken of in every story.

Past this, however, was a realm reserved only for those few invited in.

A singular fountain was surrounded by an easy roundabout before the mansion, two little lanes turning off to either side to secure a stable and servant’s quarters for visiting coteries. These structures, newer than the main home itself, were modern brick and wooden constructions painted in pleasant white, surrounded by vines but not overgrown. The grand house was of much older make and design; symmetrical in shape, the building was in the traditional style of a horseshoe, the front a welcoming presentation to all visitors and the back stretching out into two parallel wings to hide a private courtyard before giving host to the larger rear grounds. Based upon a foundation of stone, the very manor may have sat upon the former existence of a castle before the rough stone gave way to faded ochre brickwork, neatly quarried and architecturally assembled in a regal, though distinctly out-of-fashion design.

While old as the home was, the stout square windows were clean and curtained, further bolstered by thick shutters that were painted in an off-white tone and even dotted with the color of hand-painted flowers. Fully encased lanterns of glass and oil burned nightly at the windows, granting the mansion an ethereal glow that further induced the countenance of a faerie dream. And yet for all of the beautiful quietude of the Saville estate, the occupants seemed but myth. The childlike stories of women dancing in the moonlight were, in some tales, based in partial truth, but the reality was few ever saw the family without express invitation. Boys may have dreamt of beautiful matrons and girls of regal ladies, but the Saville were far more coy than the imagery brought on by youthful imaginations.

Privacy was not merely their prerogative, but a veil of safety. Those who knew, those who were granted the right of visitation with the pale, smiling faces that watched from the shadows of old parlors, would realize that this was no mere country estate of the local gentry, but a home of vampires.

And vampires, more than anything, were hungry.

--- --- --- ---​

Claire, Claude, and Brassard eventually found themselves gazing up at the trees along the approach, as they rode down the path towards the estate's perimeter fence. Quite a beautiful location, and it probably looked even more beautiful during the day. As the rode, Claire eventually glanced back to Claude as he finally spoke up.

"So how do you want to handle this, Claire?" he asked, forcing her to cock an eyebrow in response. "...Do you want to go in alone, or do you want one or both of us to go with you?"

"Yeah. This is a den of vampires, after all." commented Brassard, whom was stilling up at the trees. "If things go sour, you'd have back-up."

"However, if you go alone, they might be more friendly. Especially since you're not there to actually... well, hunt them. You're looking for someone else, and that blood coin you have might help too." added Claude, after Brassard's comments.

• Go alone.
• Go with Claude.
• Go with Brassard.
• Go with both Claude and Brassard.

 

[joshuadim]

1

 

[Breadman]

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[K0mori]

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[Damian0358]

1