The Haunt
This room was probably beautiful - once. Now it's a dilapidated skeleton of its former glory, the bones of something once-magnificent left to rot, where Lord and Lady Holders alike must have spent their time fussing among high society. Now the painstakingly mastercrafted marble floors are cracking beneath the stress of time, one small portion ripped away, as if somebody came back to dig up a long-buried secret. Trees rip through the ruin, stretch elongated branches towards boarded spans of wall where once, perhaps, there must have been windows. A candelabra hangs from the main source of light in this wasting decorum: a circular skylight, a spirograph etched in colorful glass that's caved and left a huge chunk of its repetitive, spiderweb pattern unfinished. Vines creep in to hang from the ceiling, permeating this gloom-dark tenement with the illusion of something //not quite right, like an overgrown mausoleum, a memento mori of a time long-past. Faded paintings hang along the walls, the audacity of their once-important someones a mere highlight to derelict furnishings in the throes of decay. One such painting hangs above a nondescript fireplace, the frame gilded in gold and holding the likeness of a dragonrider, heroics caught in one singular pose, bravery immortalized and destined to be forgotten amid such corrosion. Upon the mantle sits an amalgamation of abandoned things: two candle holders, a tarnished, indecipherable trophy, and a piece of fine china, chipped but upright on a minute triangular stand. A heavy table sits to the right, the surface lacking vibrancy and luster, barren except for one +note and a single black paperweight holding it in place. An elaborate but no-less warped mirror sits opposite, the backdrop for a claw-footed stand that harbors three boxes - two locked, one lying half-opened - and one picture frame upon it.//
In any other location, the autumn season would've been a beautiful backdrop! Here? It has the opposite effect. Cooler temperatures and the early onset of darkening skies do little to help the ambiance in this lonely, ruined place. So why are a group of Candidates brought here, to a potential death trap? Because it's never, ever, a dull day in Xanadu! Keruthien's already had enough of the heebie jeebies thanks to his experience back in the forests closer to the Weyr, so for once he's not approaching THIS with his usual exuberance! Neither is he balking, either. Yet here he is, more or less leading a 'small' pack of fellow victims Candidates, as they make their way slowly (oh so slowly) inside. Skeptically, he'll test the floor in a few spots, nose wrinkling at the likely musty smell the rooms hold. "Well," he says after a moment, with a near sigh. "Isn't this downright cheerful?" His gaze lingers for a moment on the others, before casting about the place. Nervous? Who's nervous? NOT HIM (he totally is). And what's this? A table with a note? What could possibly be dangerous here? Unhurried, he'll eventually drift that way and he'll mumble under his breath as he reads and… there's a sort of barked, stuttered laugh. What is this!? "Um. Guys? Anyone read this?" He'll gesture vaguely to the paperweight and the note under it. Quieter, still. "… like hell I'm eating anything from here…"
"Wanna toss a party?" Rhodelia will at least attempt to joke as she follows their FEAR(less?) LEADER into this death house, although the way the words echo into those too dark, decaying hallways is enough to send a shiver up her spin. While the smith might be doing the smart thing and reading notes, Rhody is doing what she does best which is jump head first without thinking. Her fingers trace along the edge of the mirror before her attention turns towards the box on the table. Ever so delicately she lifts the top, but not delicately enough as right on cue when Keruthien is finishing the note, the woman screams as she scurries backwards, flailing her hands about and dancing in a circle. "GET THEM OFF! GET THEM OFF!!!" The wave of tiny but terrifying bugs are thankfully mostly on the table and not on her any more, but way too close for comfort.
Why is Khavro here? Damned if he knows (he's a follower, not a leader!). But he is here, bringing up the rear, and that's what counts. And since he's not leading the way like someone with a less developed sense of self preservation, the trader doesn't have to worry too much about dying where no one else died. He might yelp at Rhodelia's screaming, but she was screaming, so no one heard that, right? He glances at the note, but after bugs, he's not about to just touch whatever. But Keruthien touched it, so it's probably safe. "Comfortable?" he sounds annoyed that the note would suggest such a thing, given the circumstances. But he glances at the painting of the dragonrider instead. "What's he pointing at?"
Anyone want to see how high the Smith can jump? Because he does a pretty good impression of it, nearly out of his skin, when Rhodelia touches that box and begins to flail and scream. "WHY!?" is all he manages to exclaim to the sight of the beetles scurrying every where. Between that and Khavro's yelp, the sound of the clattering screwdriver as it rolls away, goes unnoticed. ALAS! They might've needed that. With a hand over his heart, he'll catch his breath a moment and then try to pass off ever being startled half out of his wits. "I swear, they're all having a good laugh somewhere about this…" he mutters, to Khavro and Rhodelia both and with a scoffed breath. Comfortable, indeed! "You okay, Rhody?" Checking in! Also, excuse for him to maybe… hover closer to both of them. "What's what? That?" A point to the painting too, though he's looking at both of them expectantly. Then, a weak grin. "Rock, paper, scissors who has to investigate?" Cue a balled fist raised. On three? (he's totally going for rock, guys)
Rhodelia has one guess and one guess only for the why for their horrible current state. "R'hyn." Only four little letters and such a quiet voice, but there's absolute certainty as she hisses out that name. It may have been more than a turn now, but this particular woman can still remember a bronzerider heralding some buggy doom or maybe she was the harbinger, it's up for debate. Her hand raises to her chest as if to make sure her heart really isn't about to jump out of it's skin, but Khavro's pointing has her attention and eyes widen even further as the smith pulls a key. Her eyes widen as that door knob glints. "I'm not going first." She calls anti-dibs.
Khavro will beat the crap out of that rock with paper, so haha Keruthien, you're it. Don't you feel brave and manly or whatever? "You've got it, my friend. I'm sure nothing will happen. You'll be fine." Khavro won't even steal all his stuff if he dies probably. "We could always just leave," he does point out. In case anyone wants to do that. Anyone?
Keruthien takes a small golden key from the painting's frame. It is surprisingly heavy. As though guided by a strange force, your gaze is inexorably drawn towards the knob of a door you didn't notice before. Has it always been there? It doesn't matter. It matches the key. Surely someone will use it to open the door and step inside.
See that look? It's like they both just KICKED a cute puppy! Keruthien's expression falls, almost to a sad pout, when he not only loses at the match but is the one who has to take the key AND open that sudden door. Perplexed, he silently points at it with a 'when the heck did that show up'? Looking down at the key he managed to pry loose, when peering at the frame, he sighs gustily. "What, leave now? We're gonna go back and not be able to sleep because… what if it's not that bad?" Famous last words. Someone scrawl that on his gravestone, okay? RIP, here lies Keruthien. 'What if it's not that bad?' Staring at them both, he'll suddenly grin and maybe they should be more afraid of THAT than the ruins right now. Why? Because he's going to try to hook his arms through theirs, before either get savvy enough to run. HAHA! "We'll ALL go first! Safety in… numbers. I mean, the note did say don't split up?" Nothing will go wrong, promise! And if they're not too busy all trying to escape, Keruthien will edge towards that door, fit the key into the lock and…
Xanadu Weyr - The Bedroom
Sorrow is a living, breathing entity in this room, a corporeal eldritch permeating the decay of long-abandoned furniture and the unsettling presence of nail-marks embedded deep in long, evocative drags against mauve walls. What little light filters in from boarded windows highlights the unsettling familiarity of mundane decor, sets the stage for motes of dust that coalesce in disjunct rays of patchy sunlight, deepens macabre shadows made all the more sinister for their caricature of broken normalcy. Moth-eaten curtains drape from on high; a bed sits concave in one corner, mattress and pillows tucked away in ruin beneath the ravages of a once-beautiful duvet. A grand mirror bridges the gap between two closed-off windows, wrought in heavy wood and carved by a mastercrafter with intricate, inlaid designs. Two dressers stretch from its massive expanse, the drawers rotted and hanging from their hinges. A chair sits with its back to the mirror, facing an antiquated baby carriage and the ominous wreckage of an abandoned trunk, left open to reveal the spoils of fraying clothing inside. Dark lettering lines the far wall of the room, an ominous epitaph written in flaking smears of too-dark pigment: Don't turn on the +light.
The trader may indeed have some wise words about leaving, but Rhodelia shrugs them off, glancing back to the entrance way. "For all we know, maybe that door has been locked behind us…" FOR EXTRA SPOOKIES. The attempt to hook her arm is successful, the woman caught offguard. "Huuhhh? What?" So eloquent, but she'll stumble along arm in arm to possible doom. Rhodelia closes her eyes as the door squeaks open, eventually braving a squint once it appears there are no bugs about to swarm her face. The depression of the room seems to weigh her shoulders down as she slips into the room, slowly holding a hand up near the nail marks, carefully not to touch, but almost measure to see if the marks would be human or something else. With the speed at which she withdraws her hand and shivers, either is too close for comfort. "Hey, look. A light." And with a somehow unflailing optimism, she reaches out to flip that switch.
Far too busy being distracted by the thought of imminent death, Khavro doesn't struggle with the arm locking, though he'd probably rather be the middle of this sandwich. "WHAT THE FU— What was that!" He starts moving toward the hallway, he'll even squirm away from Keruthien to do it if he has to. "Come on, this way," he says, guiding or dragging them toward the left doorway. Where'd that sense of self preservation go?
Xanadu Weyr - The Nursery
Do you feel it? Well before you step into this room where the floors exacerbate minacious wrongness with fire-scorched black, where barren stone yields no warmth to curb portentous malignance… do you feel it? It's that nauseating chill that runs the length of your spine, whispers of intuition telling you to runrunrun, fear that grips your lungs, seizes your ability to think. Do you feel it? Do you feel like you are being watched? How is every dark corner, every reaching shadow, every blank canvas so suspect in a room as barren as this, where no singular space might offer a place to hide? Rows of beds rot in rust and ruin, derelict and empty, void of every vestige that might allude to human habitation. It's missing even the paint that must have once coated stone walls, every mattress that must have housed tiny bodies, dilapidated remains of decaying framework left bare and vacuous. It's not right. None if it is right, and that wrongness finds relevance in what does remain: pillows… and +dolls, limbs ripped from sockets that bleed stuffing, blinking eyes gone lame amid a scattering of childhood joy left abandoned to a silent tomb.
Self preservation has flown the coop! Keruthien's shriek is probably one to rival anyone's so far when the lights flicker on and the THUDDING howling THING happens. If he wasn't already so wound up, his RATIONAL MIND would have likely ruined the "fun" by mentioning a not-so well known contraption known as a generator. Only he's not thinking of that and is only wildly trying not to LOOK too closely at the rotting room. "WAIT! Guys—" No, not left! Go right! But Khavro's taken the lead and he'll be dragged along, presumedly with Rhody not far behind. Can it get worse? OH IT JUST DID. "No. No no no… oh shells, what IS THIS PLACE?" WHY were the brought here? It's the things of nightmares and now Keruthien's not caring if he's acting as terrified as he feels. SCREW BRAVERY! He probably meant to turn around (ALL OF THEM) so they could just… flee but his boot ends up knocking into one of those dolls. Freezing, he just adopts a sort of 'fuck, we're dead' sort of wince as fabric crunches under his boot.
Keruthien barely lays fingers on the forbidden object when suddenly there is a vicious rumble. The floor beneath their feet splinters, cracks and gives out, dumping all of you into a long, slick, metallic chute. Gravity has you in its hold. There's only one way to go: down. And so you do. (Type 'slide' to follow.)
Xanadu Weyr - The Basement
Thirty seconds. Thirty seconds of weightlessness, thirty seconds of a sensory deprivation so absolute that it can only be disorienting lands you here, where the very air in this room inspires rib-clawing claustrophobia. Wrongwrongwrong. Everything about this room is wrong, from the trio of rusted chandeliers that hang overhead, melted candle-stubs dripping wax onto the room below, to the table in the center that they frame. It's hard to tell if the grotesque caricature of a cadaver upon a slab wrought with once-beautiful filigree (whose modesty is preserved only by virtue of a dirtied, once-white cloth spanning its hips) is made more or less real by the flicker of low candlelight. There are no windows, no space that grants an illusion of escape, no singular cut of crumbling wall that alludes to hidden passages. One wall is dominated by the crawling spanse of a massive bookcase, ancient apothic bottles of all shapes, size, and color weighing down aging shelves, repetition broken only in the placement of random knick-knacks: a cracked bowl harboring the remnants of dirtied bandages, a +vase whose black is so absolute, staring at it makes you feel as if it might swallow you whole. Beside it sits an antediluvian hutch, whose cabinet doors house warped glass and too thick a layer of dust. Tucked further back on top of this is a picture frame — though the contents inside are impossible to see through an amalgamation of filth. On another wall sits a built-in cupboard the height of crumbling facade, whose protective glass on lattice doors has long since fallen from its framework. The shelves behind it sit empty, and both doors are locked. Perhaps more unsettling than the tables littered with bottles and old, rusted medical equipment is the single chair sitting in the room, too new to belong within eroding surroundings — and the metal stand opposite it, supporting a large container reminiscent of a lantern, whose grim purpose appears to be a glass container one might liken to an IV drip, if only a swath of browned, dry blood were not the backdrop to a dark, concealed shape within. A massive +tapestry, faded and moth-eaten, does little to alleviate the chill, frigid stillness of the room.
IS THIS THE END TIMES? Rhodelia just wanted a little light and she got it, but then SO MUCH MORE. It's a good thing Khavro has the sense to grab her and run cause she was frozen at the rumble, pale as possibly whatever ghost haunts this cursed place. And just when you think things can't get worst, she's trying to catch her breath in that damn doll room. She winces along with Keruthien as that doll crunches, but that's soon to be the least of their worries as suddenly the SHARDING FLOOR GIVES OUT. And what else can one do in such a free falling terror but scream and scream and scream. It's a wonder she doesn't run out of air by the time she hits the bottom, knees first and then into a roll that comes to a stop right near to the ominous bookcase. "I just want to go home. Or fuck it… I'll even go back to Benden." ANY WHERE BUT HERE. But she can't stay on this creepy floor and so she starts to get up, slowly, leaning on the shelf next to her to get up from the floor, but that jiggles the darkest vase off the shelf…
DOLLS. Of course it's dolls. Fortunately none of them have to suffer the grotesqueness of them all for very long because they're falling to their DEATH. Khavro is screaming like he's never screamed before, and the boy has screamed before, let me tell you. It's difficult to take everything in, but he's trying so very hard to ground himself. He walks around the table, tries not to touch anything he doesn't mean to, eyes the strangely out of place chair like it might tell them something, but it's the tapestry he stops at to study. What could a tapestry possibly do, right?
It's okay, Rhodelia. Keruthien's screaming too and even when the unexpected free-fall tumble and slide to the basement ends, he's got his hands over his eyes. There's a lot of mumbled swearing coming from him too, where he's sort've backed himself against the wall (but let's face it, he's not getting TOO CLOSE because everything seems cursed here!). Ignoring the fact that he's practically wheezing with an effort to keep his breathing under control, he only hears the shelf rolling. He'll peek through his fingers, ignoring the majority of the room, to find Rhody there. "… don't touch anything! And I am not going in there!" SCREW YOU GUYS (no, he'll follow, don't worry). To Khavro, he'll look to see if he's gonna pull a fast one and haul them all through Bad Choice #2. Inching oh-so carefully across the room, he'll lower his hands, only to almost gag at the faded sight of the tapestry. "Who KEEPS something like that? Or… who MADE IT?" WHY? If he wasn't preoccupied with ESCAPE, he'd probably be interested in the metal items here but… priorities. "Does… does anyone see any other way out?" Rhody? Khavro!? "… fuck it." What could be worse than dolls and free falling? Am I right? Keruthien reaches out to pull that wasted tapestry aside…
Maybe the meatlocker wasn't such a bad idea, guys. But Khavro backs away from the tapestry to follow Rhodelia toward the bookshelf instead. Like, it's good to know your options and all but, "How do we get out of here!" He's done. This is enough for today. For, perhaps, the rest of his life. IS THAT FROM A PERSON. Khavro is drawn to the jars to get a closer look as what's inside them.
Khavro lifts a jar from its resting place, and immediately the very room begins to vibrate. It's the heavy woom-woom-woom of a generator coming to life, power drawn from a deep, unseen source to power the slow withdrawl of a monolith wall. It retreats by several feet, exposing a hallway that is as wide as a man is tall. Though dust continuously crumbles and falls, as though some trap further up waits to be sprung, it is, quite clearly, the next destination. There's nowhere else to go.
Hauled by the back of his shirt, Keruthien doesn't protest too much and certainly WISHES he hadn't caught a glimpse of the meat locker room. There's not enough bleach in the world to erase that from his memories! And he's not normally the squeamish type! He's at his limits though and while there's no screaming, there is a dry retching sound from him as he actually does gag this time. The back of his hand is pressed to his mouth and he looks far too pale… or is it green? "Faranth… I can't…" The smell, guys! Don't judge him! And then Khavro has the bravery to touch one of those jars and it's sound again. Whether it's Rhody or Khavro, ONE (or both!) of them is almost climbed like a tree, before better judgement hits. Is that a hallway!? "GUYS!" LOOK! He'll point, before relief has him heading that way and oblivious that another trap may be laying in wait.
Rhodelia is closing her eyes again as there are jars of THINGS. If she doesn't see them, they don't exist. Just ignore Rhody as she mutters hopefully happy thoughts or curses R'hyn to whatever torment she can imagine. After tonight, her imagination certainly has more than enough to spare. With closed eyes, she doesn't exactly see Khavro touch the jar, but her ears can't miss that sound that immediately follows it. "Not again…" She's shaking and good luck climbing her like a tree, Keruthien, as she'll be clinging to anybody that's close enough. But… a hallway is innocent enough and so she'll follow, not wanting to be left behind. The Cell certainly isn't the worst sight of the night, but she shivers in the cold air. "Who keeps a cell in their cothold? Or… where in Farnath's name are we?" There's not much else in the room and so she heads a little close to that poster…
What is this nonsense! Khavro glares at the tunnel. Fear has (mostly) been replaced by his GTFO reflex, though. "This is bullshit," but he's going to crawl anyway, apparently, because presumably someone else got out this way, too. Hopefully everyone's coming with him. Don't split the party! "Fuck," he yelps when keys smack him in the face. "There are keys, come on!"
Xanadu Weyr - The Basement
The very air in this room inspires rib-clawing claustrophobia. Wrongwrongwrong. Everything about this room is wrong, from the trio of rusted chandeliers that hang overhead, melted candle-stubs dripping wax onto the room below, to the table in the center that they frame. It's hard to tell if the grotesque caricature of a cadaver upon a slab wrought with once-beautiful filigree (whose modesty is preserved only by virtue of a dirtied, once-white cloth spanning its hips) is made more or less real by the flicker of low candlelight. There are no windows, no space that grants an illusion of escape, no singular cut of crumbling wall that alludes to hidden passages. One wall is dominated by the crawling spanse of a massive bookcase, ancient apothic bottles of all shapes, size, and color weighing down aging shelves, repetition broken only in the placement of random knick-knacks: a cracked bowl harboring the remnants of dirtied bandages, a vase whose black is so absolute, staring at it makes you feel as if it might swallow you whole. Beside it sits an antediluvian hutch, whose cabinet doors house warped glass and too thick a layer of dust. Tucked further back on top of this is a picture frame — though the contents inside are impossible to see through an amalgamation of filth. On another wall sits a built-in cupboard the height of crumbling facade, whose protective glass on lattice doors has long since fallen from its framework. The shelves behind it sit empty, and both doors are locked. Perhaps more unsettling than the tables littered with bottles and old, rusted medical equipment is the single chair sitting in the room, too new to belong within eroding surroundings — and the metal stand opposite it, supporting a large container reminiscent of a lantern, whose grim purpose appears to be a glass container one might liken to an IV drip, if only a swath of browned, dry blood were not the backdrop to a dark, concealed shape within. A massive tapestry, faded and moth-eaten, does little to alleviate the chill, frigid stillness of the room.
Rhodelia certainly wouldn't be the first person to jump down random tunnels after all they've seen, but since Khavro is going and keeping going, she'll follow after. A deep breath when they end up back in the basement once more. "Who would dig a tunnel BACK here???" And even at a quick glance, she can tell something isn't quite right. Her hand reaches out to bat at one of their sleeves. "Guys… I don't think that chair was here before?" Her hand is a little shaky as she points. And then Keruthien is pointing at the cupboard. "Think there's a false back or something?" She's certainly hoping there's a false back because at the moment, the only other option seems like the meat locker. Since those tarps aren't something she's willing to face unless she has to, Rhodelia hesitantly reaches out to open the cupboard, with only one eye open as if that will help.
Khavro dangles the keys for everyone to see them, but when Rhodelia heads for the cupboard, he follows. And there's a GARDEN. The curly-haired trader seems confused by it after all they just went through. It is potentially the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Even if it's still creepy and weird. It's at least fresh with no weird growls or dolls or blood. With the keys still in hand, Khavro walks along the tables, eyeing the food suspiciously until he's staring at the banner like he's mad at it and dropping the keys on the nearest surface.
"… what…" Keruthien's exclamation is more like a shocked exhale, as his mind literally skips a few tracks while they step out into something so starkly beautiful. Did they ACTUALLY die? Is this the buffet before the afterlife? No? Ah, well then. He stands there, likely allowing Khavro and Rhodelia to move ahead, just gaping in awe. No way is he looking behind! When he discovers movement is a THING, he'll drift in a daze towards the food (which is eyed suspiciously for now), until… that banner. Realization dawns and he scoffs, nervous relief making his voice shaky and expressions jittery. ALL THE FEELS, right now, guys! And given he's not used to negative ones (or showing them), well? "Ha! It was just… a joke?" Haha! So funny, right? He'll look to Rhody, then Khavro, then the food! Only it's the drinks, pointedly one pitcher. "Alcohol!" he'll crow, pouring some and going to find the nearest place to sit, drain about half the contents of his cup and… grin. That's when the laughter starts, in small bursts at first and then uncontrollable. Those tears? Laughter. Also, maybe he's broken? Just give him a moment.
Rhodelia flinches as that cool air hits her face once she opens the cupboard, but nothing disasterous happens immediately and so she moves forward. As she actually ends up in the surprise garden, she blinks. And stares around at the spread and the banner as if it's all alien. "I… this…" She shakes a little. Is that some tears? She sniffles up and shakes her head as Keruthien's crowing about alcohol. "I think I'm going to find my room." At least for a little bit. Eventually she'll be back in the barracks. After that nightmare, there might not be any actual sleep, but safety in numbers, right? And maybe a pillow fort.
"Is anyone else horny?" Did he just say that out loud? It's a normal response, okay! "Good idea," Khavro says to Keruthien, before he starts having a mental breakdown, and helps himself to his own drink. Maybe two. No one's here to stop him! Now that it's over, he seems to be taking it in stride. "Be careful," seems like a weird thing to say after what they just went through now that they're presumably safe, but it's what he says to Rhodelia. He'll even wait for Keruthien if he needs company getting back to the barracks. Also maybe he doesn't want to go alone.
Really, they should be sticking together and maybe being chivalrous (ha!) and escorting Rhodelia back! But Keruthien can't get his legs to move and he'll knock back the rest of his drink. His laughter is just beginning to subside, when Khavro makes his remark and it returns. Not as crazed, but it takes him a moment to get it back to more of a sputtered series of chuckles and snickers. "That'd be a welcome distraction from reliving any memory of what we just… what just happened?" No, seriously. Was this all a weird dream? He'll tip his empty glass to Khavro, only to be tempted for MORE but he knows better. Reluctantly, he'll be on his feet and gesturing to him. "Come on. We should go… maybe catch up?" He DOES want the company! Who wants to be alone after THAT? And as 'apology sort of accepted', Keruthien's grabbing some of that food to go. However much he can carry! Not that he's that hungry in the moment but who lets good stuff go to waste?