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plot closed/hiatused

sorry guys.

this is really bad since this is when the plot is suppose to get interesting at this point, and I really wanted to do this, but everything just wasn't going - maybe I took on more then I could handled, or that it was just a bad time for it, but when I realized that I really couldn't work myself up to continue that perhaps it's time to put it aside.

Thank you for the time and putting up with me. Perhaps some other time.

Act One, Scene Three: Breakfast

It was Seven O'Clock sharp, but one wouldn't tell from the skies - covered with clouds still swollen with rain that threatened to come down. Myra and Lillith would awaken to realize that Annette Chandler is no longer in the room.

The smell of fried eggs, potatoes, and bacon goes throughout the house. Anyone up and about could easily follow their nose to an good-sized breakfast room next to the shockingly tiny kitchen, where Annette is standing over a wood-burning stove. Outside the breakfast window there is a hunter green 1948 Jaguar Mk4 parked outside, with fresh mud clung to the car well above it's tires.

"Ah, Good morning. I hope this wouldn't be an objectionable breakfast. We can eat and discuss."

Act One, Scene Two: The Night Darkens

((re: please refer to floor plans for house layout))

"I apologize about the entrapment, it is wholly an unintended consequence." Annette Chandler explained as she lead the party up a servant's stair case - it was narrow enough that they could barely go two-by-two.

She lifted the candelabra up and away from her as she worked the upstairs lights. "This is the east wing, you can rest here." Then she added, almost as an after thought. "Do not worry, no one has died in the bedrooms here. I will come by with some appropriate materials to better help with exorcising the Manor."

Act One, Scene One: The Grand Salon

The Coordinates directs the players into a large and vast room that has mostly been surrendered into darkness. Here and there, some candelabras were lit as a token effort against the night.

The windows rattled from the heavy rain crashing against the windows as the wind whistled and the sea crashed down below.

There was a flash of lightning - lighting up the room to reveal several cherry wood tables, with lion-pawed chairs and faded brocade cushions surrounding each. The center piece is a circular couch of mahogany and worn blue crushed velvet - it's back to a now dead umbrella tree.

The light remained, and it's because someone had found the means to turn on the gas lamps, revealing mirrors that broke up the pale plastered walls every few yards, stained yellowed by the use of primitive light sources.

It seems the host has not made themselves known yet.

((OOC: This is a notice: If two days have gone by without a tag and no warning as to why, your turn will be skipped))

The Invitation:

A letter arrives by the usual means, but it far from traditional - each one is sealed in a gray envelope by a black wax seal that has the outline of hands hovering over an orb. Once the seal is broken, the letter is done in a careful Spencerian script and smells vaguely of salt and incense. It was a simply entreaty, a request for the receiver's presence at a certain coordinate for a seance. The person is requested due to the specific nature of the haunting, with a hint of a valuable reward to be obtained if one comes along.

As one is about to put the letter aside, a single card falls out. Upon investigation, it's made out of an incredibly thin but sturdy slice of wood, given a pale yellow wash - while impossibly intricate designs are cut into one side and colored in different shades. The 'back' is a field of diamonds.

The Shadow: This card is called The Raven. It depicts a raven-headed man in the garb of a Roma, his hands raised up as he gathered a murder of crows around him. The raven's expression is one of meditation and careful consideration. Behind him, the moon rises behind some bare trees.

Shadow: This card is The Prison. It is a dark, star-filled night with a crescent moon rising behind a tall, stone tower. There is one light window with bars. Inside is a faded outline of a person, holding onto the bars and peering out into the freedom he cannot have.

The Doctor: This card is The Mist. The background is sparse in detail, looking like a faded out forest. Off-center is a Roma Vardo drawn by a horse - their edging indistinct as if they're about to be swallow out in the intense fog. There is a road in the card, but one has to look very closely.

Dib: The Broken One. A woman stands in front of an old wall, stucco crumbled away to reveal bricks. She has her hair loosely gathered, and she holds her dress tight, but something is amiss, the very far right side of her turned head has a large, bulbous eye, and is covered with scales, and if one peers around her collarbone, it has a trace of scales as well. Then the shadow jumps out, appearing as something inhuman.

Dr. Zaberisk: The Dark Master is this card's title. A foreboding man sits upon a throne, crown of laurels on head, a scepter leaning against his arm, dressed in royal finery. The throne has batwings stretching up. One of the monarch's hand is on the head of a wolf, while a snake coils around the same arm. Above him is an upside-down raven, cocking his head. And almost missable is a rat curled in the monarch's lap.

Kyon: The Marionette. the background is black, and there is a limp puppet on strings with a bemused expression on it's face. A paper crown rests precariously on it's tilted head, as if ready to fall off. There is no sign of the puppeteer.

Some: This is The Beast. A full moon rises over the moon, as a wolf glares at the viewer, blood dripped on his teeth as he loomed over the head of a stag he had taken down. There is an unnatural glint of intelligence in the beast's eyes.

Myra: This Card is the The Hero. A man in armor stands in profile, his expression is grim, as if awaiting for danger to arise. He has a helmet tucked in one arm, and a shield ready in the other - the shield has a large raven etched onto it's surface.

Metody: The letters on this card forms The Spirit. It depicts, a man kneeling in front of an open casket, a hand covering his face. A featureless spirit rises up from the corpse and reaches a hand down at the mourner. Is this a gesture of consolation, a desperate reach for what the spirit will miss... or a an angry grab at this man?