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Community ︶꒦꒷Oct2024 Haunted Festival꒷꒦︶

Moonberry

Moonberry

Bitter and Sweet, do not eat.
Supporter
Roleplay Type(s)
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The Valenwood estate loomed over the mist-shrouded hills, its ancient stone towers casting long shadows across the sprawling courtyard. Despite the manor’s foreboding presence, the air was alive with the sounds of revelry. The Fall Festival had brought together guests from every corner of the land, a mix of nobles, scholars, and adventurers drawn by the promise of celebration—and intrigue.

Lord Alistair Valenwood, the young host, had invited an unusual assortment of guests to his ancestral home. The guests were ushered into the grand courtyard of the Valenwood estate, where the glow of lanterns illuminated the old stone walls and flickered in the crisp autumn air. Everyone was allowed to mingle about and enjoy themselves. There was complimentary food in some of the stalls, as well as even a few games. As some of the guests could be seen enjoying themselves in the revelry. One such man being a suave looking man with roguish charm. He was sure to let everyone within earshot know his name. Which was Ronan Driscoll. He laughed loudly and showed his strength off with the confidence of a man who could back up what he said. Or at least thought he could. An adventurer and treasure hunter extraordinaire.

It was easy for the man to be the center of attention. But the host of the event was his own enigma. He stood on the steps of the grand front doors of the estate, holding a chalice of wine. Beside him stood a matronly figure. With sharp features and a sharper gaze. She too stood on the steps, though she did not sip on any chalice. A tight smile stretched across her thin lips. The two seemed to be locked in a quiet discussion. Alistair shaking his head ever so slightly and gesturing towards the large mechanism that had been placed upon a dais.

"Aunt Aurellia please. Try to enjoy the festival and everything this discovery will bring." He spoke without looking at her. Instead continuing to smile and nod to any who passed by. She spared him only a glance, before turning her tight-lipped smile towards a couple walking passed. Waving to them dutifully.

"If you understood the weight of what you've uncovered, you wouldn't be making a spectacle of yourself. History is bound to repeat itself. And I would rather it wasn't my sisters spawn that she left to me. There are bigger things at play than some possible investors." She spoke quietly and evenly. A sense of warning in her words. The young lord scoffed and lifted his chalice into the air. He lifted his voice with confidence addressing the small group with a bright smile.

“The Valenwood family has always been on the cutting edge of innovation,” he began enthusiastically, his eyes gleaming. “This crystal technology—my ancestor’s greatest discovery—will change the way we think about energy, about magic itself! I'd like to welcome you all to the Valenwood Estates Autumn Festival. Enjoy the food and try your luck with the games. We've even brought in a fortune teller!" He paused to gesture towards a tent that was off int he distance. A figure darting back under the flaps quickly. Enjoy yourselves tonight. Remember there are eight nights of our festival. Accommodations are available for all of our guests to sleep." He smiled over to his aunt. "As is tradition. Isn't that right Aunt Aurellia?"

Lady Aurelia Valenwood gave a tight smile, her hands resting gracefully on her cane. “Of course, Alistair. It is tradition, after all,” she replies, her tone polite but distant. "I simply wonder if you know the depth of what you're stepping into."

“Don’t worry, Aunt,” Alistair says, his smile faltering only slightly. “Everything is under control."

The adventurer with a roguish grin sidled up to Alistair and clapped him on the shoulder with the familiarity of an old friend.

“Now, Alistair,” Ronan Driscoll said with a laugh, “don’t let your aunt scare you off your own dreams. You’ve got something great here! Who knows, maybe this little festival of yours will make history.”

Alistair chuckles, clearly more at ease with Ronan. “Thanks, Ronan. Coming from you, that means a lot.”

“Of course it does,” Ronan grinned, taking a swig from his flask. “Though I’ll tell you, history isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Sometimes the best treasures are the ones that get left behind.” His eyes twinkle with mischief as he speaks, and it’s clear he’s not just talking about crystals. Ronan winks at a group of younger guests as he saunters off toward one of the vendor stalls, clearly enjoying the attention. Alistair shook his head with a soft chuckle as Ronan disappeared into the crowd, always the entertainer, always the thrill-seeker. Lady Aurelia, however, merely raised an eyebrow at the adventurer’s antics, her grip tightening on the head of her cane.

"Of all the people to befriend, you chose that braggart?" she murmured to Alistair, her voice laced with thinly veiled disdain.

Alistair smiled, though his eyes darted away. "Ronan's harmless," he replied with a shrug. "Besides, he keeps the mood light."

"Light..." Lady Aurelia repeated quietly, glancing toward the ominous crystal machine. "I fear the mood will darken soon enough."

As the music and laughter echoed across the courtyard,A man wearing large spectacles and a tweed jacket approached the crystal mechanism, his expression one of deep concentration. He ran a hand over his thinning hair and adjusted his spectacles before leaning closer to inspect the intricate design. His muttering could barely be heard above the festive noise, but it was clear the professor was not here for the merriment.
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"This device... it's fascinating, but...hmm Can it really maintain that much energy?" he whispered to himself, furiously scribbling notes into his worn leather journal. "The aetheric currents... could be unstable, perhaps? Need more data..."

His focus was absolute, the festival seemingly forgotten as he studied the crystals, but his mutterings caught the attention of a tall, muscular man who stood nearby. Merrick Greywall, the blacksmith, had been observing the professor with a skeptical eye for several minutes, his massive arms crossed over his chest.

"Yer overthinking it, Professor Korrin." The man grunted, his voice gruff. "It's just metal and magic, same as any other contraption. But I'll give it to ya, it's a beauty of a thing."

Professor Korrin blinked and looked up, as if noticing the man for the first time. "Metal and magic, yes,Thank you Merrick." he muttered. "But these crystals... they're far more than that. The energy inside them—it's unlike anything I've ever seen. If the balance is off, even by the smallest degree, we could be dealing with a catastrophe."

Merrick raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Catastrophe or not, I wouldn't mind forging with something like that," he replied, nodding toward the machine. "Bet it could turn a blade stronger than steel."

The professor merely shook his head, more concerned with theoretical dangers than the practical uses Merrick envisioned.

The atmosphere of the courtyard grew more jovial as the evening continued. Guests flocked to the vendor stalls and games, laughter ringing out as groups gathered around a social butterfly, who charmed those nearby with her elegant demeanor and sharp wit. Her eyes glittered like polished gems as she moved through the crowd, her smile never faltering as she greeted guests with a practiced grace.

"A marvelous evening, is it not?" The woman purred, taking a delicate sip from her glass of wine. "Alistair has truly outdone himself this year. But then again," she added with a sly smile, "he always has such a talent for spectacle." She had gone to stand next to Lady Aurellia, and the older woman sniffed at her words.

"Spectacle and folly go hand in hand," Lady Aurelia muttered under her breath, but Vivienne caught the words. She offered a sympathetic smile, though her eyes held an amused glint.

"Indeed, my lady," Vivienne replied softly, inclining her head. "But sometimes folly is what drives the world forward, no?"

Lady Aurelia only responded with a curt nod before turning her attention back to the crystal machine, her thoughts clearly far from the festivities.

As the night deepened, the fortune teller emerged from her tent. Her presence was subtle, yet commanding, her long black robes flowing elegantly as she moved quietly through the courtyard. Her hands, pale and delicate, held a deck of tarot cards, the edges worn and familiar. She wandered the festival, her gaze lingering on the crystal machine, her lips moving ever so slightly in silent contemplation.

The guests who passed her glanced nervously at the cards in her hands but said nothing. Suddenly, she stopped near the entrance to the manor, her eyes narrowing as she looked up at the towering structure. She turned her gaze toward the night sky for a brief moment before shaking her head and continuing her walk through the festival, her expression unreadable.

The guests began to make their way toward the manor’s grand entrance, some chatting excitedly about the night’s events, others falling into quiet reflection.
The grand halls of the manor creaked underfoot as the guests disappeared into their rooms, the stone walls and wooden beams groaning as though they, too, were burdened by the weight of centuries-old secrets.

︶꒦꒷The Next Morning ꒷꒦︶​

The dawn came sluggishly, the light of the rising sun struggling to penetrate the thick fog that had settled over the Valenwood estate like a heavy shroud. The air was unnaturally cold for the season, clinging to the stone walls of the manor and seeping into the bones of anyone who ventured outside. The revelry of the night before seemed like a distant memory, replaced by an uneasy stillness that hung over the guests as they gathered once again in the grand hall for breakfast.

The room was quiet, the usual chatter subdued. Many of the guests looked pale and tired, as though they hadn’t slept well, disturbed by the manor’s creaking walls or perhaps something more sinister. A sense of dread lingered in the air, an unspoken tension shared by everyone present.

Suddenly, the silence was shattered by a piercing scream.

The scream shattered the early morning stillness, cutting through the air like a jagged blade. For a brief, frozen moment, the guests inside the estate stood in stunned silence, their hearts pounding as the sound echoed in their ears. Then, like a wave breaking, panic swept through the crowd.

They surged toward the source of the scream, spilling out of the manor and into the misty courtyard. The fog was still thick, swirling around their feet as they followed the desperate shouts to the trees near the guest houses.

There, hanging from a thick, gnarled branch of an old oak tree, was the lifeless body of Ronan Driscoll.

He swayed gently in the morning breeze, suspended by thick ropes twisted tightly around his neck. His once charming and lively face was now grotesquely contorted in fear, his eyes wide and glassy, reflecting nothing but the dim light of dawn. His skin had taken on an eerie pallor, and his body hung limply, drained of all vitality.

Gasps of horror and disbelief rippled through the crowd of onlookers. Some of the guests recoiled, covering their mouths as they turned away, while others stood frozen in shock, their eyes locked on the ghastly sight of Ronan's swaying form. The tree, normally a picturesque part of the estate’s grounds, now loomed menacingly over the scene.horrifying sight.
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Lord Alistair Valenwood was the first to step forward, his face ashen and his voice trembling as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. “This... this must be some kind of... accident,” he stammered, though even as he spoke, his words rang hollow. There was no way to explain this away as an accident—not when the ropes had been so carefully and deliberately tied, not when Ronan’s face was twisted in such agony.

The other guests began to murmur anxiously among themselves, fear creeping into their voices as the reality of the situation began to sink in. The laughter and light-heartedness of the night before had been replaced by a chilling realization: something was very wrong at the Valenwood estate.

Lady Aurelia Valenwood moved forward with a grim expression; her face tight with concern. She glanced briefly at Alistair before her eyes settled on Ronan’s lifeless form, her lips pressing into a thin line. But she remained quiet for a moment.

As the guests whispered nervously, the fortune teller stepped forward from the crowd. Her usually calm expression was tense, her eyes sharp as she surveyed the scene. She pulled a small, intricately carved talisman from her cloak and held it in her palm as she addressed the group.

“There is a spirit here,” she said softly, her voice eerily steady despite the chaos around her. “Something old and vengeful. I've felt it since I stepped upon the grounds. It walks among us, using us as its instruments. I believe the spirit possessed one of us, to play out its wrath."

Her words sent a shiver through the guests. Some looked skeptical, but others seemed to take her words to heart, their fear deepening as they realized that something far beyond their understanding was at play.

She stepped around the room and handed out the talismans to the gathered guests, her hands moving deliberately, as though each gesture carried a great weight. “These will help you,” she explained gravely. “If you sense the presence of the spirit, use the talisman. It may be enough to drive it away—for a time.” Alistair shook his head and snapped his fingers, assigning servants to take the body down. Despite the arguments of several guests claiming, it to be contaminating a crime scene.

"All of you please find your way out to the festival and enjoy the food and games. Ronan was an old friend of mine. So I'll see to it that his death is properly investigated." He cleared his throat and moved to speak with Aurellia. Who seemed even more tense than she had the previous night. Her voice was low and hissing as she spoke to Alistair.

"You know I think I saw someone walking around the grounds last night. Near the Guest houses...."

"Shush...Aunt Aurellia please..."


  • df7937dc-ae96-45dc-826d-d4e29ea7ee73.webp
    Roll 1D10 for the Test of Strength (Hammer & Bell)

    8-10: Rings the bell with great strength. Earn 2 points.

    5-7: Gets close, but doesn’t ring the bell. Earn 1 point.

    1-4: Weak attempt, doesn’t come close. Earn 0 points.



  • Rhxs-Bg-T-min.png

    LT3 - Strength Game
    LT2 - Apple Bobbing
    LT4 - Haunted House
    ST3 - Goldfish Scooping
    ST7 - Pie Eating Contest
    ST6 - Archery/Marksmanship Game
    ST5 - Fortune Teller



    • ef9d4668-b38d-4b25-829a-0c9633acb599.webp
    • The host of the festival. A young lord thats claimed to have unearthed his ancestor's crystal technology that was lost to the public.
 

Martin
Mentions: N/A
Equipped Titles: Abomination, Human (Mundane), Construct, Novice Tinkerer, Isekai

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Discovery was unending. His mind always craved more. But the bones would become weary.

When a mysterious invitation appeared to be handed out at random, he would see little reason to not accept. He did not think himself above such base desires as food and lodging. The festivities seemed but a tiny bonus, even if there was little in the realm of inherent interest in doing them beyond a quaint distraction. Still, the scientist within him knew that at times, many of the most significant discoveries happened accidentally.

Who knows what he might learn today?

Clack....clack.

The steady tapping of a catalyst in the form of retractable staff, which doubled as a walking aid, followed the cyborg whenever he so tread upon more complex surfaces. The steady tick of an artificial heart would be audible to those with particularly perceptive hearing. Most of what could visibly be seen of mechanical components was in his completely replaced arm. How much of Martin was a machine and how much was meat was mainly left up to interpretation, given the heavy clothes he wore.

The first thing he learned was that this place also appeared to have a parallel to Halloween -- despite the fact that no such countries from which it originated. From what he could recall, it was a holiday that found origins in a Celtic Holiday, which was then brought over by Irish Immigrants to the Americas. No such countries existed here, and yet it appeared that it manifested in a similar fashion. A day dedicated to horrific motifs, treats, and pumpkins.

Perhaps it was brought over by someone who originated from one of many earths.

He walked about from stall to stall to stall the first day, trying out each of the games in some attempt to grasp them. He failed at nearly all of them on the first day but was hardly discovered. More practice would be required, and he seemed more interested in it given the sight of the prizes. However, it felt as though his body was not really very well equipped for a "pie-eating contest". He made not of most people he'd seen, boiling them all down into their archetypes before going about the night. One studious man seemed to like him, intent on studying the "crystals." Professor Korrin was his name.

A kindred spirit.

He'd have preferred to sleep alone rather than with the others, valuing his privacy. But beggars couldn't be choosers. He looked about the 8 beds of the room he was placed in. [Room CO3]

The night proved oddly.... interesting. Strange noises lurked about the mansion, and he couldn't help but wonder if it was intentional. Given time and a brief investigation amid the night. While his retractable staff rests on his bedside table, his pistol is beneath the pillow.

The Next Morning

He awoke to a scream. It seemed those strange noises meant something after all. He quickly slipped on all his gear, high-tech body armor, gun, catalyst, and all -- and then he made his way downstairs. Given his slowness, it seemed he would be one of the last to be on the scene. But he made it in time to see the corpse of one adventurer strung up in a tree. Martin's wrinkled face raised a brow, showing little signs of shock and more of what could be described as intensity.

Wrinkles already on his aged face deepened, as he squinted at the corpse, attempting to ascertain the nature of it.

It wasn't really the agony of the expression that gave away the nature of this as a murder -- but the scream. Most people who would do such a thing would hardly shriek out in surprise or shock. What was worse was the hasty nature in which this had been taken down.

At this point, he was more inclined to believe the superstitious fortune teller than him. Martin inspected the Talisman he'd been given. Given the context, there was decent enough to reason to believe it might be useful. Or perhaps it was one of the guests. He looks over to Lady Aurelia....who appears to be less keen on being quiet.

"Thank you. I appreciate this. I can't say I have much defense against specters of any kind. Though hopefully, if this doesn't work, that more...traditional methods of attack will." He hoped nobody would look at him unkindly, should he seek to put an attacker through the wall.

I should think of how I'll go about this.

The manner in which he'd decided to do this would be whilst playing a game. There seemed to be a concerted effort to quiet things, so he'd pass the time with some Marksmanship. Solving the murder added a new goal in tandem with the pursuit of potentially useful prizes. He'd approach someone later in search of clues.

Perhaps I'll pay good Aunt Aurellia a visit

For now, however, he simply squeezed the trigger, playing a game in which the mage found himself...


Actions: 2/3

1. Moves to ST6 on the second day.
2. Plays "Marksmanship" game
 
Last edited:
Titles:

[Fae, Mundane], Text Colors: #ffcf30, #e60606

“It's Showtime!!” - 1/1, cooldown not active

“One Hell of a Show!” - 1/1, cooldown not active

“We Have a Deal to Make” - 1/1, cooldown not active

Actions Taken: moved from LT3 to ST5 on the first night; mysteriously appeared within the mansion
​

None could say where exactly he came from. A shadow flickered behind a corner, someone blinked and missed the shape of a man dressed in red. His lithe body provided nothing of subtlety, and yet he was perhaps the most observant figure amongst the revelry. His piercing gaze scanned over the horizon of food and prizes. His long limbs carried him ever onward, silence swallowing his footsteps. Did he even receive a formal invitation? He held no such thing in his pockets, or so most people assumed. One glance at his sharp teeth, however, and their curiosity would be curbed.

There were murmurs about something translucent following him as a companion would, whispering to him as he faded in and out of the crowd only to disappear entirely. The rumors of a ghost were immediately drowned out for now, however. He puffed out his chest. He broadened his shoulders, and fell in line with the band as if he belonged there all this time. They did not speak ill of his actions, nor did they deny him his tithe of the performance. He laughed and sang as boldly as any entertainer would, his voice carrying along tender threads of incorporeal silk. The wisps of luxury were responsible for breathing his words into life. Words, after all, had power - no matter how insignificant.

"They say wax wings only get you so far
They say the sun burns hotter
The closer you get, or so they say
It's not easy being a man
With only one dream in his life
It's not like he's looking ahead

He's always chasing that car
Burning under that collar
Every single hour of every single day
It's not easy without a plan
When you're always in strife
And not looking... ahead!"​

The details of his outfit became apparent in his fascinating, almost fluid, dancing. His long fingers plucked his hat off his curly gold hair, a hand sweeping the locks back and causing a fluctuation of color. As he spun the hat by its rim around his pointer digit, the corresponding eye switched into the hue of bright arterial blood. He cackled as he continued to perform.

"But that's not our man
That's not our host
Our host is the most gracious host
Our man is the man with the plan
He built his wings wide and strong
He's sailing to the sun

Believe me, my friend
It's not meager boast
Just a slightly stupendous boast
Don't make it sound too grand
Something could always go wrong
But thinking about that spoils the fun!"
​
Something became immediately apparent to the band members. They never heard this song before, but they were following along with his vocal notes perfectly. Though they shared in this feeling, the overall experience shifted into one of excitement and enthusiasm rather than anxiety. Their lungs and limbs melted into the chorus, losing themselves within the labyrinth of sound by virtue of pure instinct... or so they thought. [Illusion F 21]

A playful tilt of his head, then more of his banter and chirping. They weren't here to hear him sing, they were here to witness the extravagance of a man whose fortune and lineage paid for such a luxurious existence. He didn't have to remember what he sang. He just had to ensure that it remained within the acceptable parameters of the festival. Nothing too ominous, nothing too strange, and he hopped off the stage without a care in the world. The band wanted to congratulate him, but could not find him once he sank back into the crowd that gathered around.

He approached the fortune teller, interested in what she had to say about him rather than many of the other games. Perhaps he would visit the frights at some point. He did as she told him, his strange proportions leading him to bend at the waist in order to accommodate her stall.

[Rolled a 9]

Apparently, he had a positive reading. He owed that to his polite manners and overall interest in the subject matter... but couldn't help but feel like he left a strange first impression.

Without much else to do, he retired into the mansion along with the others. No one seemed to notice he was even there. Not even the band members caught the faintest glance of him before they left, almost like they forgot him altogether.


He stayed up all night, staring out from various windows all throughout the mansion. His footsteps were eerily quiet. His strides, while long, carried him as if he were swimming rather than walking. They only made noise when dawn broke. He moved from heel to toe, clicking as he went along his dancing shoes. He turned along the hallway to the grand foyer, following the sounds of a horrid commotion.

With his rictus smile firmly in place, the fae crested the stairs and raised an eyebrow at the display of violence before him. Someone seemed to have murdered poor Ronan Driscoll, the apparent friend of the Lord of the estate. But, rather than respect the sanctity of whatever this might have appeared to be - given the disbelief mixed with strange hints of anxiety - he approached the old tree from which Ronan swung lifelessly.

He wouldn't say a word, more fascinated by the idea of someone such as Ronan being hanged from a tree in the middle of the night and not having heard at least a peep from what was surely a glorious struggle.

His ears twitched upon Aunt Aurelia made mention of... spirits. His golden eyes widened, darkening with flexing pupils as his smile tightened.

"Oh?" he chuckled, taking the talisman with a feverish glee. "Playing detective, are we?"

He opened his mouth with a wet pop from the joints and cackled, squeezing the trinket in his grasp.

"Rest assured... eventually this will work~"

He spun on his heels and entered the manor once more. There would be more than one grave to fill before this whole ordeal became a distant memory... for whom, only time would tell.
 




The Previous Night
“How droll.” Irihi observed, standing before the haunted house , arms akimbo, watching guests emerge white-faced and shaking, some laughing nervously and looking about them--as if the terror that had shaken them within might continue to dog their heels even after leaving the carnival house of horror.

Yes, it was laughable; the hairless baboons frightening themselves with shadows and empty imitations of ghouls and wraiths. And yet…

And yet there was something… unseen that did seem to trail from the fools, like cobwebs; invisible but with an unmistakable ghostly touch. Oh, it was maddening, being unable to summon the Ghoul Eye; one of her simplest crafts of the worlde from which she’d been banished; and peer through its ghastly lens at the desolate truths behind the facades of love and happiness.

Irihi folded her arms. Ah well. It was not as though she did not know those truths, even if she could not scry them. A tiny tic twitched along her delicate jawline as she eyed the haunted house. Will I really lower myself to wade through the foulness of the same stinking pits as these beast-adjacent humans?

Why not? She’d already played exterminator for those corrupt-blooded Fae weaklings of the See. If she was to forage for scraps of power in the filth of mortal souls, why roll in it; revel in the abasement of being guest at this so-called “manor” of sticks, pebbles, and dung? ”Always.” She replied with a narrow-eyed white-lipped taunt smile as the servant manning the haunted house warned her to “beware.”

[7]

Tiresome. Insipid. Pedantic. It was as she had anticipated; wires and paper and shadows. There was nothing to fear and therefore nothing to love. It was disappointing, for Irihi had thought perhaps she might catch just a shade of the un; a whiff--even if it was an artifice--of her past life.

Until the mirror.

It was not even a part of any of the ghastly displays--merely a bit of detritus, welded by rust and age to the back of a mundane candelabra, retrieved from the manor’s forgotten storage by some ignorant servant. The black-burning candles, therein, festooned with fake spiderwebs were meaningless; a minor enchantment more disturbing for lack of effort than anything. But the mirror… That ancient forgotten artefact; it had held an image only for an instant, and Irihi could not say if she had truly seen it, or if had only been a figment of her imagination past. She had spied the flash of the void--of null where something alive and joyful should have been--and it had shaken her to her core.

The sorceress staggered from the haunted house, her gaze taking in none of the festivities nor the festival-goers. She fetched up against a garden walk lamppost, clinging to it with fingers numbed by the memory of the touch of that dark star when she had, herself, been nothing but ash and shadow.

But he is there. And I am here.

In the Forsaken Bleak.

Irihi passed the rest of the night in the quiet dark places of the manor’s gardens. She was not really there, though her body--whole, mortal, and weak in this world--wandered the grounds like some silent black-clad spectre, she was lost in memories and worlds away from this one.

The Present Murderous Day
It was only when the soothsayer spoke into the deathly chill of the mists on the morning after the murder, that Irihi--who had drifted back into the crowd after her long sleepless and sightless vigil--felt her ire rekindle. She had been separated from her wellspring of malice by the mists of that memory. Now, they cleared away from the oily seething surface of that bottomless black sea. The weight of it, the gravity of countless leagues of hatred, drew her sharply into the present.

Someone is fucking with me. She realized. Perhaps it was the spirit of which the fortune teller spoke. Irihi felt a jagged lance of frustrated rage pierce her coal-black heart. I can no longer see this spirit--but perhaps she can. The sorceress thought.

While the other guests milled and mingled, trying not to see the macabre sight of the corpse being lowered from the clawlike branches of the gallows tree, Irihi stalked after the fortune-teller, following her fluttering dark cloak as she retreated to the draperies and mystic implements of her booth.

Very little light dared to spill past the sallow shoulders of the sorceress as she darkened Maelis’ doorway. “Where is it!? Tell me, soothsayer!” Irihi demanded, explaining neither what it was, nor why she wanted to find it. “Now.”

[3]

Irihi’s fangs showed as she made a frustrated noise at the Fortune Teller’s words. “You are wrong.” She snarled. ”I am the self-same crucible I always was. I will find this spirit, I shall draw it in, and I will burn its power within me until nothing remains but ash.” The sorceress insisted, leaving the soothsayer’s talisman on the table behind her as she stormed out.

I am. She insisted to herself as she strode away from the hateful baubles and trinkets of that trivial witch. Irihi crossed the grounds in a blind rage, heading, she knew not where.

Summary- Irihi Haunts the House (1pt)
- Irihi doesnt soothe the say. (0pt)
- Irihi stomps off big mad.
 

Caesar “Surpann” Romano
IMG_3290.jpeg
Equipped titles: Human
Mentions:

Several days ago when caesar found himself wandering the capital city of Otenzian he would stumble upon a crumpled paper in the damp cobblestone streets. Being the curious man he was he would open the paper and discover it was an open invitation to some-kind of gathering at the Valenwood Estate. Having no idea what that even was he would ask around until finally getting a straight answer, some wealthy family throwing a fall festival. This is a perfect opportunity! He would think to himself As he imagined the potential sponsors and maybe even people of high standing he could teach the way of the luchador. Best of all the festive setting would present him the opportunity to showcase his new costume the flying serpent.

With only the slightest but of effort he was able to convince his uncle José to lend him the older horse Lulu, on the condition that he took the wagon and dropped a shipment of fresh tanned leather to the town along the way. After their deal it was just a matter of getting the food and water for his trip, along with some rubbing oil. It would take him about three days to reach the town, and another day and a half to reach the Beautiful Estate. Once at the estate he would promptly stable Lulu and find himself following a servant into the Grand Courtyard where the young Alistair Valenwood would give a welcoming speech. After which Caesar would spend the night trying, rather unsuccessfully, to mingle with folks in the crowd. Yet many of the guests seemed to be either frankly terrifying to him, or they were socially out of his league, thus he would be among the first to head to his room. There he would perform his usual workout before letting himself drift to sleep a few minutes before the roommates he would have arrive.
~~~

The sound of the scream the next morning would awaken Caesar with a jolt. Tumbling out of his bead to ready himself he would find that his sheets had wrapped around his legs and what he intended to be a quick hop to his feet in readiness resulted in his falling to the floor with a thud and a groan. Nonetheless he would spring to his feet quickly, donning the mask he had stashed under his pillow the night before and being grateful that it would hide the shame flushed face he had beneath it. Caesar would follow the other guests to the horrid sight of the Man dangling from the tree and his expression unreadable in part because of the mask, but also due to his seeming inability to come to terms with what was being said about this. ‘There is a spirit here’ the fortunetellers words would echo in his mind causing a chill to crawl down his spine. Of course, my first foray into the realm of the wealthy brings with it murder and ghosts. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the situation, morbid as it was he felt like he was in a horror movie from his first childhood…and eerily enough he knew for a fact he would not be the main character in this particular movie.

As the fortuneteller passed out the talismans he would grip his tightly as if it were a lifeline, the fear of the situation beginning to get to him. Taking a deep breath he would steel himself. ‘You cannot be a legend if you succumb to fear’ he would think to himself as the mans body was removed and the guests began to mill about. He would tuck the talisman into his yellow leather boot and decide that it would be best to distract himself. So he would seek out a snack, settling on a greasy fried cake of sorts before making his way towards a game he knew he could win…the Hammer Swing.

Caesar had done this many times in his previous life when his family would visit the carnival, but the time he was twelve he had mastered the art of ringing that silly bell, the trick was not in power but rather in the physics of your swing. So when he made his way to the strength test he was confident. Wolfing down the rest of his greasy snack he would take the hammer and allow himself to get a feel for its weight. Finally he would take the hammer in both hands his grip spread, heaving the hammer on his shoulder he would allow it to twist upwards thrusting it high into the air and lifting onto his tiptoes before driving the hammer down alongside his entire body weight prepared to deliver a devastating impact to the plunger…or at least thats what he thought he had done. As it turned out, greasy fingers and a smooth hammer handle on a heavy sledge do not go well together. The hammer would slip from his grip at the apex of his swing, sending it sailing past the bell missing it by a few inches before beginning to plummet back down towards a few members of the crowd. “Dios mio!! look out!!!” He would shout mortified at his failure, but more so concerned that he might have hurt someone with his error.

Summary
Caesar Rides to the Estate, Awkwardly fails to mingle the first night.
Awakens with a thud, Feels fear at the murder particularly the ghostly bits.
Fails spectacularly at the strength test. (4)​
 
Last edited:

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"CURRENTLY DISGUISED AS 'TORSKELE'"

Mentions:
| Maverick Six Maverick Six [Martin] |
​
Earlier that previous day....​

The Fall Festival...

Jebidiah heard about this festival late last year upon seeing various posters and advertisements. Yet he'd never been to one. Admittedly he'd say he was simply too busy with looking for work and while that's true to an extent, he couldn't say he was the least bit curious. He'd see posters plastered on walls, pinned to trees, or handed out by the odd paper boy hollering in various town squares - with Ryke being one of the most popular staging grounds for the festivities. From his understanding, it was simply a party that celebrated the harvest festival; with lots of food, games, and shops for which to buy your autumn goodies. The aesthetic, however, reminded Jeb of a holiday back in his world... and a familiar one at that.

Halloween.

Both in previous life, and in initial death, the gunslinger had always enjoyed his time of the year. Once upon a time, when he still sported flesh and blood, he and his gang of misfits would stake advantage of the unique amenities provided in town; often going to bars and saloons to grab a few drinks and causing harmless mischief and mayhem against the children pestering them for treats or teasing them in spite. Well, they were mostly harmless. There were some nights were Jeb's gang was tasked to kill a man or collect debts off those who hadn't payed them yet. Deceptively they've pulled some nasty tricks to take advantage of the holiday fear and some initially brushed them off for being simply part of the atmosphere or pulling a gnarly trick.

Unfortunately, those sorry sops would realize too late of what they've gotten themselves into.

After becoming a skeleton, Jeb and his crew merely resorted to tricks and devilry which usually involved scaring the crap out of anyone they wished. No money was involved or taken, nor were any precious lives, neither were candies or other delicacies needed... for them, spooky day was all day, everyday. Many screams were heard, a few accidents may have occurred, but the skeletal crew took much pleasure in their scare-tactics. Halloween became merely a normality for the skeleton crew and sooner or later they grew tired of it. Jeb thought he had exhausted all of his spooky spirit and thought never again would he enjoy the holiday.

Perhaps that's what he thought upon seeing the posters for the first time... maybe even around this time when invitations were going around regarding a Fall Festival party happening at the Valenwood estate. So imagine the shock Jebidiah had felt upon receiving a mysterious letter beckoning to participate in these fall festivities. And it was that letter that seemed to rekindle the ghostly spiritual essence which once haunted his soul oh so long ago. Perhaps... he might as well enjoy himself. But first, he needed a costume... a new identity for forge himself even if just for a night. He wanted to show himself a bit more, let him breathe in a sense, without giving away that he was truly a skeleton monster. While not a mandatory thing to wear to his understanding, the letter also DIDN'T say anything about outlawing them either.

Finding said suitable costume was rather tricky. He swore he went about changing in several different attires. He first thought about being a dullahan... but he had no horse. There was also a common trope of painting skeletons red to make them look menacing... buuuuut Jeb wasn't in the mood to stain his bones red of paint. That and it was pretty mainstream. Though after searching through costume after costume, he came across one that struck him. Hidden in the very back of the costume store, within a mix up of old mangles costumes, was one labeled simply as...

"80s Skeleton Sorcerer"*

It was a simple attire... comprised with a bluish body suit alongside purple clothes - coming with a pair of boots, a strapped cowl attached with a cross-bone pattern in the middle, a hooded cape, and a yellow-ish skeleton mask. Also shoved alongside it was a staff marked with a ram-head to give off that evil sorcerer look. Admittedly... it looked sort of cheap... but something about it charmed him. Maybe it was the simplicity of the costume? Or perhaps his twisted-side relishing in the good ole' days of dastardly fun? Whatever it was, Jebidiah believed this was the right fit for him. He then rose the mask to his face, wanting to see how he'd look-

SMACK!

Jeb felt the skeletal mask forcibly CLAMP down on his face. In a panic he tried taking it off, but he couldn't get it off him! His screams were muffled behind the mask, feeling himself pulled towards the ground in what felt like a sea of darkness. What the hell was this costume?! Just then, the gunslinger would feel a mysterious energy flow through him... and from the gloom he heard a voice call to him from the darkness of his mind:

"NYAHEHEHEHEHE-!" a ghastly and nasally laugh echoed from all angles in frightening glee, "WHO'S THE SORRY FOOL WHO HAS WAKENED THE GREAT 'TORSKELE" FROM HIS SLUMBER?!"

Jeb found his conscious manifested in a sea of darkness, unable to do anything but react to whatever was thrown at him. "Why I beg yer' pardon? Waz' de meanin' of this?"

"YOU ARE THE MEANING OF THIS, YOU FOOOOL!" the disembodied voice screeched madly, "I'D CALL YOU A BONEHEAD, BUT IT APPEARS YOU'RE ALREADY ONE! NYEHEHEHEHE!"

"NOW SPEAK! AND SPEAK QUICK! HOW WERE YOU ABLE TO UNCOVER MY REMAINS?!"

"Look 'ere! I was just... I found dis 'ere costume in a thrift store. Nestled waaaay yonder back. Was gonna rent it and wear it for a party- I mean, why I didn' expect it to be a cursed mask n' suit of some long gone sorcerer or nothin'!"

"YOU FOUND IT WHERE?!" Torskele bellowed, feeling completely dumbfounded and betrayed of what he found himself into, "WHY I OUGHTA-! THOSE OWNERS KNOW NOT OF WHAT THEY POSSESS! IF I COULD I'D SMACK THESE FLEA MART HECKLERS I WOULD SMITE EM TENFOLD!"

"It's the honest truth! Mah apologizes! Like fine, I'll take it off and let ya be-"

"NYAHEHEHEHEHE-!" the voice chortled devilishly, "THEN WHY LEMME THROW YOU A DEAL, PAL. YOU SAY YOU WANTED TO WEAR ME TO THE FALL FESTIVAL, YES?"

"Y... Yeah?"

"LET ME EXPERIENCE IT."

"W-What?"

"OH DON'T TELL ME YOU'RE DEAF TOO- I SAID TO LET ME EXPERIENCE THE FALL FESTIVAL!"

"...uh. May I kindly ask why?"

"I'VE NOT HAD A PROPER BODY TO WALK AROUND IN FOR CENTURIES!" Torskele replied, being truly full of himself as he revealed his skulled head at Jebidiah for him to see. " YOU HEAR ME?! CENTURIES! I'M LONG OVER DUE TO STRETCH ME BONES! HAD YOU BEEN A FLEHY, I WOULD'VE SUCKED YOUR LIFE ESSENCE AND SPAT YOU OUT TO DRY! BUT AS A FELLOW BONEY BOY, YOU AND I FIT TOGETHER LIKE TWO JOINTS IN A LIGAMENT!"

"I-I'm not sure that's how it works but-"

"THAT AND I LOOOOOVE FALL FESTIVALS! MY FAVORITE TIME OF THE YEAR! YOU KNOW NOT HOW LONG I'VE WAITED TO GO TO ONE AGAIN! ALLOW ME TO EXPERIENCE IT - JUST THIS ONCE - AND I'LL LET YOU WEAR MY COSTUME WITHOUT FUSS! AND WHEN IT IS ALL DONE, I SHALL SHED MYSELF FROM YOU AND FIND SOMEONE ELSE FOR ME TO WEAR!"

"Listen... I reckon I aint the smartest guy 'round... but I've heard what your folk are known to do. What's the catch?"

"CATCH? WHAT CATCH? THERE IS NONE!" the voice bursted out compulsively, before quickly backpedaling on that claim, "WELL... I LIED, THERE'S ONLY ONE! THAT IS DO NOT EXPECT ME TO LEND YOU MY MAGIC! I AM BUT A MERE COSTUME... MY SORCERY POWERS ARE BEYOND YOU!"

"NO. MAGIC. FOR. YOU!"

"So other then just an actual body I inhabit... yer juz a voice in my head? No additional powers or nothin' of the sort?"

"CORRECT!"

"Ugh... reckon I'm gonna regret this. Aight fine... I guess you can tag along... but ONLY for the festival. THAT'S it. Make it look like it's a costume, I do NOT want folks to know who we truly are. No funny business or any o' that. Once it's over, I'm taking you off, ya hear?"

"TORSKELE NEVER LIES NOR CHEATS." the skeletal head replies in a seemingly honest matter, before conjuring a boney hand of his own and shakes Jeb's own hand. "THUS THE DEAL HAS BEEN STRUCK. NOW GO! I COMMAND THEE TO TAKE ME TO THE SPOOKY FESTIVAL AT ONCE, MY BONY COMPATRIOT! SO THAT I CAN CONQU- I MEAN, SO THAT WE CAN ENJOY THE FESTIVITIES!"
*Pick whichever design you headcanon as.
The Previous Night...​


The night during the festival was something of a blur for Jebidiah's costumed visage alongside his newfound friend. The shock of being part of the elite, the wondrous scents and sights swirling around them, and all sorts of folk were present here. His costume fit nicely with the other costumed guests - at least those that bothered dressing up - with no one even batting an eye or realizing the fact that an actual skeleton was in their presence. This night was more of a calm prologue to what would start on the next day; a chance to familiarize oneself with the premises of the Valenwood estate. He didn't expect to see anyone familiar, however he did recall notiing one particularly familiar fellow - the hulking cybernetic man known as "Martin" from that one quest up in the mountains. Jeb also considered approaching to greet him, but figured he probably wouldn't remember him anyways.

Best to keep a lower profile.

One perk he was given however was the ability to actually taste and consume foods and drink. A sensation he nearly forgotten after smoking many MANY cigarettes and tobacco, but it was an absolutely luxurious one. Surprising, given how Torskele supposedly forbade him using his magics, but perhaps having HIM within him was enough to regain that sense of pleasure. He'd nearly have gobbled fist fulls of goodies if he so wanted to, but he had to retrain Torskele from his gluttonous rampage. Aside from his nagging and talkative nature, Jeb reckoned he might get along with him for the duration of the festival.

Even as the festivities closed for the late evening, Jeb would find himself staring out the window from the bedroom he was kindly provided for within the mansion. He'd fall asleep shortly after, feeling full and both sporting a rather positive aspect to the Fall Festival so far. Though really, this was only the beginning...

The Next Morning...​


"WAKE UP SLEEPY BONES!"

Jostled by Torskele screaming at him in his mind, Jebidiah would find himself lurched up from bed in utter bewilderment. He didn't need to breathe, but even this felt like all the air from his non-existent lungs had been pushed out of him. "Ya sunova-" muttered the gunslinger groggily as he shook his head lazily, "Don't... ya dog gone do that again."

"YA MISSED THE SCREAM!" Torskele cried out in sarcastic-anguish, "NYEHEHEHEHE- SOME POOR GIRL WAS SCARED OUTTA THEIR MIND! LIKE BLOODY MURDER! IS THIS HOW YOU FOOLS WAKE UP THESE DAYS? HILLARIOUS"

"What scream?" Jeb paused for a moment as he processed what he was told. A scream? Bloody murder? What was he talking about? Was he screwing with him? Then he heard rapid commotion forming in the hallway, one of confusion, distraught, and overall panic bringing themselves into the open. "Ah shit..." Of course something had to go bump in the night- er, morning. He hurried himself out of bed, gathering his belongings and ran outside to see what was going on.

Turned out that Ronan Driscoll, one of the main hosts of the Festival, had been murdered.

Jeb clenched his teeth as he lowered his voice towards Torskele in his mind. "What did you do?" he hissed, somehow believing he must've been the culprit. Given he was inhabiting HIS body and how HE wanted to go to the festival, Jeb wouldn't be surprised if the sorcerer had attempted to possess him in his sleep. Because Jeb CERTAINLY didn't remember doing anything like that of the sort.

"FOOL!" barked Torskele with a sigh of disgust, "WE MADE A DEAL! I AM HERE FOR THE FESTIVAL, NOT TO CAUSE WRONGFUL MURDERS! AS ARE YOU! HAD I WANTED TO DO SO, I WOULD'VE MADE A BIGGER SCENE WITH IT! YOU WOULD KNOW HAD I WANTED BLOOD TO BE ON YOUR HANDS!"

Jeb wasn't sure if he wanted to believe his sorcerous friend, but after some feverous mental mauling over what was provided, he had to concede. No one had seen or pointed hands to any murderer... though clearly SOMEONE here was the culprit. Jeb clearly wasn't in the mood to do any [Monster Slayer] work, but he wouldn't hesitate to lay down order if he wanted to or had the chance. Then again, this could be some full blown act; a "death" as a means to thrill and suspense the audience... though a false case seemed highly unlikely of this scale.

Nonetheless, the hosts claimed this to be some sort of accident and dismissed everyone to enjoy the rest of the festivities while they figure out what happened. This was all very strange... something was going on here. Jeb doesn't know what, but hopefully they manage to get to the bottom of this. "C'mon now." Jeb muttered as they trailed off towards the stalls, "I know of a game we can play to take our minds off this."

And that perfect game... was the Marksmanship stall. Sauntering up towards the booth, Jeb would once again run into Martin trying his luck. A surprise to be sure... but indeed a welcome one. Perhaps now he can reacquaint himself with him. Seeing him take a pretty good shot at the target, Jeb would come next to him and admire his attempt.

"Nice shootin' 'ere, Marty," Jeb complimented Martin in a more rugged tone, akin to how his Cassidy Flint persona spoke, "Though lemme show ya how a real Tex does it."

Eyeing down the targets intently, Jeb's right hand hovered over his holster hidden behind his costume's belt. Even though he was supposedly at a harmless party, it would be foolish to not take his Big Irons with him in the case something happened.

Time seemed to slow as he eyed his target carefully with pinpoint precision. And after a few moments, Jeb would swiftly draw out his six-shooty and shot at his target in the blink of an eye:

[10]

"Bullseye." Jeb smirked as he twirled the pistol around his finger, blowing the light smoke trail emitting from the banner before holstering it back in his holster.

ACTIONS:
  1. - Moves to ST6 - Archery/Marksmanship Game
  2. - Plays Archery/Marksmanship Game (Gets a [10])
  3. -
TLDR:
- Jebidiah finds a "cursed" sorcerer's costume in the back of a thrift store.
- Makes a deal with "Torskele"; Tor lets Jeb wear the costume for festivities if he comes along. No powers or additional gains to Jeb's abilities.
- Joins the festival; notes some folk but doesn't do much.
- Wakes to see Rowan dead; accuses Torskele of doing it but he flat out denies it.
- Goes to ST6 to play Marksmanship game alongside Martin.
 
Rowan Thorn
rowan.jpg​
This whole adventure was a gig for her- well, to be fair, she was always on the grind, trying to work to afford the luxuries of living without having to scrape by. A bodyguard job, combined with an interesting festival to celebrate the coming of the fall season? Sign her up! Luckily, the Lady Aurelia was hiring. She didn't know much of the details, but from what Lord Valenwood was saying, and how the Lady was acting, she would presume there was something they were keeping a secret. Lady Aurelia evidently wanted some protection, so here she was- in the general area of the Lady, making sure not to stay too close or far, as per the Lady's instructions. Someone who could mill around in the crowd, but also close enough to be able to cast her protection and healing spells.

That night, she didn't get much sleep, but luckily her powers gave her the chance to give her uninterrupted sleep, so she just protected herself from the creaks and such, managing to steal some sleep here and there. Though when she stepped out of her room and saw what the guest saw, with the death of the man, she didn't say a word, making her way towards Lady Aurelia while making sure to stay close to her as possible. Her magic should be enough to keep the noble alive, if push came to shove. Hopefully. Either way, Lady Aurelia had an E grade barrier up around herself, courtesy of Rowan.

Since she had a few minutes here and there, she wanted to try some of these interesting booths. The strength ones weren't exactly ones she would go for, but getting free apples and goldfish...now those were where it was at. She would definitely attempt to get a new goldfish friend for herself. The fish would most likely need some friends as well, as it couldn't get lonely! So maybe she would camp by here and occasionally go for the apple for a snack, maybe get her fortune read. Pie eating was too messy for her, so she would stick to the apples and gold-fish, especially since it wasn't too time-consuming. So whenever possible, she would attempt to get a coppery fish for herself.

Summary:
Action 1: General bodyguarding-
  • Personal Wall Barrier/Dome- C Magic, Barrier, C selective, Range D, Energize D, Duration D, Targets D, AOE E, Control Environment F -B Grade (Cast at E Grade)
Action 2- Getting goldfish
 
Mentions: Moonberry Moonberry
Where: Grand Hall?
TLDR: Chattn up the Valenwoods

Malik Seraphim ​

1727837904840.png
Malik Seraphim accepted the charm from the fortune teller with a nod, pocketing it smoothly before making his way to Alistair and Lady Aurelia. He approached with the grace of his fae kind, offering a respectful bow.

"Lord Valenwood, Lady Aurelia," Malik began softly, his voice steady but thoughtful. "Please accept my deepest condolences. Ronan's passing is a great loss, and I understand this may not be the best time to discuss business. However, I am here on behalf of the Silver Star Trading Company and wanted to express its interest in the crystal innovation you’ve uncovered."

He paused a moment before continuing. "When the time feels right, I would be honored to discuss how we can collaborate to ensure this discovery reaches its full potential, safely and effectively. I believe there’s much we could accomplish together, but I want to respect your need to process recent events first."

Malik met their gazes with calm assurance, but his tone held sensitivity. "Risk is part of progress, my lady, but there is no rush. I am confident that together, we can navigate those challenges when the moment is appropriate."
 
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