Roleplay

@Temerity @Nethralia @WhiskyAndCigars @Mypilot @Annekin @Renaiziphonts

"No! Don't go out there!" Maric yelled. He sounded much farther away then he could have possibly been in the small hall. Air rushed in, stinking of the swamp outside. Are they leaving me here to die? Jac wondered.

"Don't give in to it!" the other man called out, still the same distance. He wasn't moving. Jac tried to take comfort in that, but the smell of blood washed over him, chasing out even the overwhelming swamp smell.

Jac flashed back to when his second oldest brother had come home from a hunt gone horribly wrong. He had bled so much, no one expected him to survive. Jac had watched from the doorway as his mother sat vigil and his father barked orders. The smell of blood has filled that room, too. The memory came and went in just a moment; it was so well-remembered in his mind that it only needed to flash to be known.

But this smell had a hard edge to it. Another memory jerked through his mind. His father, bringing him to some tutor's home. The tutor had been missing for over a week, and the villagers were worried. He was no one, but Lord Pywell insisted that the men on his lands were his responsibility, so they must go. He brought his sons with him.

The tutor had died and gone unfound. That smell in that tutor's home was here, in this castle, mingled with the blood, and it was approaching.

Half a body, rotted but dragging itself forward, trailed blood. It moved automatically, dragging itself with its bony arms. Jac stopped breathing. It had no eyes. He hoped his silence would save him.

When the creature hissed, everything stopped for a moment. When it launched itself forward on to him, everything moved twice as quickly.

Jac bellowed and threw himself backwards into the wall. He felt his throat ripping as he screamed, the last few minutes of pent up fear escaping in that moment. He stabbed at the creature with his scabbard. Its rotting flesh fell away in some places, but it clung on.

He threw the scabbard aside and reached blindly behind him, trying to get away. He hissed in pain as his hand hit one of the freshly burned out torches - still hot to the touch. He grabbed it off the wall and aimed for the creature's face. The skin sizzled, but the creature only groped with its jaws, biting the end of the torch.

He pushed it into the creature's mouth, buying precious seconds. His hands returned to the torch, where its metal attachment to the wall remained. He pulled at the weakened attachments, freeing the iron. He stumbled forward, falling to the floor with the creature.

It pulled itself up his body, trailing blood over his silks. God damn it, I'll never find a replacement for those here. he cursed to himself.

He flipped himself over, taking the creature with him, and started beating at it with the metal. Adrenaline pumped in his body as he brought it down on its rotting face over and over. The edges caught in the sockets, in the forehead, the gaping, empty nose. Jac kept going until the creature went slack, got a few more good hits in, and rolled over, exhausted.

He closed his eyes. If only Father could see how useful being big was now. he thought with grim humor. He chuckled to himself. The panic and relief to be alive overwhelmed him and he started laughing hysterically. Tears fell from his eyes. Something else could be coming. his mind warned him. I don't care. Oh gods, I don't care. he decided.

@Temerity @Nethralia @WhiskyAndCigars @MulderItsMe @Renaiziphonts

((*is back* I'll just pretend Isaboe...got lost. Yeah.))

The dark was suffocating. It had seemed like hours since Isaboe had set out towards the earlier sound, but it couldn't have been that long. Could it have? Perhaps she had gotten turned around, a fact that wasn't exactly hard to imagine given how dark the swamp had grown. The trees had already obscured enough of the light as it was, but as the sun seemed to settle on the edge of the horizon it only seemed to dampen the light further. The trees loomed out of the fog like limbs, clawing branches only coming into view moments before she struck them.

I need to find some place for shelter, and soon. Her boots were soaked, chilling her feet right to the bone. No matter how hard she tried to avoid the murky waters, the very soil seemed like it had sponged up enough to be a nuisance. Every step was a squelch that suctioned at her boots, making her legs weary and her pace slow.

More screaming, closer this time, caused Isaboe's head to jerk up. It didn't take much to snap her out of her reverie, it would seem. She paused, just for a moment, listening, before her body was compelled forward and she soon was running, vaulting through roots and bramble towards the painful cries of a woman. She had never heard such agony in a cry, not like that, and it frightened her. Just what was going on in this swamp?

Isaboe ignored the temptation at calling out, knowing that revealing her position would be dangerous in the growing dark. Not that her tearing through the swamp was all that silent. She could only imagine how she looked, a wild thing ripping through vines and branches with dirt smeared all over her leathers.

Gates bloomed out of the murky distance, their rusted metal edges fading into view from the fog. Oh, finally. Isaboe hadn't realized the screaming had stopped, hadn't really been paying attention, but it became apparent when new silence was interrupted by a different scream. It was a male's and it was coming from within the great building before her. It wasn't quite the same as the first, in that this once was more akin to fear and rage. A survivor's scream.

Quickly, she clawed her way over the shut gates and towards the main door of the castle. It was already partially opened, a girl standing before it looking for all the world like she was on the cusp of darting away into the night. Isaboe could barely make out another standing a bit behind her, their face obscured by the darkness.

Disregarding formality and caution, Isaboe called out, "Hey! Are you alright?" Her voice was hoarse and ragged from her running, but she paused a few paces from the door. She forced her breathing to even gradually, still being careful to keep distance between herself and the strangers. No sense to throw all rationality out the window. Not just yet.

@Nethralia @MulderItsMe @WhiskyAndCigars @Renaiziphonts @Annekin ((@Mypilot: Welcome back!))

The smell of rot from the swamp was enough to make Cateline gag and almost retch, but she sucked in deep breaths of the air all the same. "No! Don't go out there!" she heard Maric yell and wondered who he was talking to. Her legs felt weak: she couldn’t take a step into the courtyard even if she wanted to.

“Don’t give in to it!” he continued, and his command weighed more than that of the darkness, lifting some of the fog on her mind, letting her breathe easier where she stood propping up the gate. You’re too old for hysterics, she scolded herself, wiping her face with trembling hands. The darkness didn’t have a voice to command people. Drowning men couldn’t drag themselves around. But then what…?

Pywell’s roar brought her attention back to the hall and she whimpered in horror at the sight. The dim light coming from behind her let her see the bloodbath the room had become and the thing that had attacked him. It had no lower torso yet it kept moving. Pieces fell off when he hit it, but it didn’t even slow down, only lunged and then they were grappling on the floor. She needed to do something to help him, they needed a priest, there was a bucket hanging on the wall outside.

Instead she did nothing but watch as Jacob beat the man’s head in and broke down laughing.
What in the name of the Gods was that thing? Why had it moved? And why hadn’t she?

The squelch of steps on the cobblestone had Cat turning around towards the courtyard and facing a wild thing that had rushed in from the swamp, covered in vines and branches. A human? A woman… wearing a man’s clothes? For a split second they eyed each other warily and then…

"Hey! Are you alright?"

After everything that had happened it was such a blessedly normal question that Cat laughed out loud.

“I’m sorry,” she said, rubbing her own face. Flakes of dried blood gathered on her palm and her left hand was covered in more of the same. She wasn’t hurt, she didn’t know whose it was but she was too numb to feel terrified anymore. “There’s been… an attack. It’s dead now, I think. There were three of us in there when it… Do you have a flint? The torches blew out and there's blood. Someone might be hurt. ”

Though her mind was jumbled her voice was steady: she almost didn't recognize it as her own. Her boots and skirts were beyond saving so she stepped aside to let more light in and to let the newcomer see for herself and for those inside to see her.

@Temerity @MulderItsMe @Mypilot ((Welcome back to the action ^^)) @Renaiziphonts @WhiskyAndCigars @Annekin

Maric came rushing through the darkness when the rotten creature attacked Jacob, but he didn't have enough time to help him: the man fixed it himself. The zombie stopped moving after being beaten repeatedly, and suddenly a few of the torches started burning inside the hall again with a welcoming, warming light.

The floor glistened from the wide trails of fresh blood, the smell hanging in the air to remind the visitors of where they were. But when Maric glanced over at the throne, it was empty. When had Lord Ewerhall left his seat the last time? When that one, brave woman had stood up to him, when she had passed her test. Unfortunately she went mad in the end, running out in the swamp to never be seen again. That same night a terrible howl could be heard from the forest, and that was it.

"Are you all right?!" Maric approached Jacob despite his maniacal laughter; he was probably just tired or thinking that this was all some kind of nightmare. None of the possibilities were far from the truth, though... eyeing the big man before him, Maric realized that he didn't seem hurt in any way except in his mind. "Well done, I couldn't have done it better myself." He smiled nervously, before turning his attention to Cat when she started speaking to someone.

"No one... I don't think anyone is hurt. He was... he was just testing us. Come, it's not safe out there." Another woman? She looked a lot different than Cat... she had survived the swamp so far it seemed, as well. Maric's eyes widened, thinking that she might be some kind of ghost.
Before he could approach the woman to introduce himself however, an invisible force pushed inside his and everyone else's mind, holding them there by force. Maric panicked and struggled but no matter how much he tried to break loose from the invisible bondage he couldn't get it out of his head. "I am a generous Lord. Take these gifts... as a token of my appreciation."

Something cold grabbed Maric by the throat for a few moments, before he was set free and a kind of serenity washed over him. He felt different... like he wasn't so helpless anymore. "Did you feel that too?" He asked, eyeing the others with his green-grey eyes, seeking some kind of comfort.

[Your abilities are given and can be used as of this moment forward ^^]

@Temerity @Nethralia @WhiskyAndCigars @Mypilot (welcome back!) @Annekin @Renaiziphonts

Jac heard a woman call out, and another woman respond. He was dimly aware that there had only been one woman before, but he ignored this at the sound of Maric's voice.

"Are you all right?" Maric called to him. He finally sounded like he was in the same room. "Well done, I couldn't have done it better myself." he said, his voice nervous. Jac realized he was still laughing and stopped himself abruptly. They're going to think you've gone mad. he scolded himself.

Maric addressed the women - two forms he could barely make out, and Jac took a moment to assess the damage. His hands were bloody, and his clothes were even worse. He wiped his hands fruitlessly on the floor, only adding a layer of dust. He felt the tears in his skin and winced. He rubbed the grime away.

The lines were thin and perfectly straight. From the metal, then. That's good. Wouldn't want to get infected.

He rolled into a sitting position, preparing to rise, when he was frozen solid. He stared, unable to control even the most basic functions of his body. I am a generous Lord. Take these gifts... as a token of my appreciation. echoed the voice from the chair.

His mind seared white-hot, but it didn't hurt. All the heat of a fire with none of the pain. Just as abruptly, it ended, and a feeling of power washed over him. He exhaled deeply, then jerked his eyes to the throne. It was empty.

"Did you feel that too?" Maric asked. Jac looked him his eyes, like a stormy sea. He was flooded with emotions: he felt the need for comfort, to be normal and a part of something, the deep loneliness and the anxiety that came with losing so many. He felt these things apart from himself.

Jac bent down to push himself back up, and the feelings ended. All he felt was his own stinging hands and trepidation. When he stood, and looked back at Maric, the feelings returned.

He gaped a little. "Yes," he said, "I feel it."

@Temerity @Nethralia @WhiskyAndCigars @MulderItsMe @Renaiziphonts

Isaboe eyed the women and, as she stepped aside, the duo behind her. It was certainly quite a scene and if Isaboe were a weaker women she had no doubt she would have fainted, but she swallowed the frog in her throat and forced herself to speak.

"I- Well, no. I don't have a flint," she replied, both caught off guard by the question and not all that surprised. It was an odd question to be sure, but normal situations seemed to have all but been tossed out the window.

"I do know a thing or two about tending to wounds?" she said, the words sounding more like a question. She regretted how doubtful she sounded, but ignored it. No sense in worrying about how she sounded now.

"Come, it's not safe out there," the upright male said, looking at her with faded green eyes. He seemed worn down and weary. More so, even, then the boy who lay on the blood-stained floor. Isaboe nodded at him and stepped closer to the door, but just as she reached for the handle to pass through, a flash of pain clamped onto her brain and froze her, stock-still, where she stood. The pain lasted for only a moment before a feeling cold flooded her senses. A voice followed not soon after, a weathered one that spoke of age.

Through her confusion she heard the fair-skinned man ask, "Did you feel that too?" Isaboe nodded at him, finding herself at a loss for words. Just what was going on in this swamp? The taller man, blond and finely dressed, rose and acknowledged the other in confirmation as well.

The feeling that had been in her mind was certainly unusual, but what chiefly grabbed her attention was the first man's response. When the mind-numbing feeling washed over her, she was sure she was losing it. However, this man's first response was to ask the rest of the group if they shared the feeling. Did he know something she did not?

Isaboe tried not to look like she was sizing him up, even as she sidled closer to the woman in the group as she passed the threshold of the door. "Are you all of this court?" she asked, tone neutral.

@Nethralia @MulderItsMe @MyPilot @WhiskyAndCigars @Renaiziphonts @Annekin

No flint then, but someone who knew something about wounds which was worth so much more in the end. A midwife of some kind? A midwife with a sword, that was perfectly normal. “That’s –” Cat stopped as she noticed distantly that some of the torches in the hall were lit again, of course they were.

Maric’s words snapped Cateline from her detachment and left her trembling, first from relief that no one was hurt and then from rage. Oh, so the Lord was “just testing” them? Cat was reminded of her first position and of the senior valet, Tuomas: a hard worker and an upstanding young man, a bully who always found a reason to pull one of the girls aside for punishment. He made it clear that would never do anything improper to girls like them, but he too had enjoyed testing them for the pleasure of watching them flinch.

She looked up to the throne directly, uncaring if it was rude, but it was empty. Was this Lord a true nobleman at all? She had been reminded of a sorcerer when she had first stepped in, and from where she was around they had other names for people who could make dead things move. Necromancer. Serpent. The rotting corpse was still lying on the floor. She shut her eyes but the memory of Pywell beating that man’s head in was seared into her mind. How dare this sorcerer force them through that as a test? She was angry at her own helplessness and angry at him for forcing her to confront it head on.

And then, as if to taunt her with how easy it was, the lord of the castle broke into her head and caused her to lock up again, calling himself generous while he did it. She didn’t want his gifts or his appreciation, she wanted him out. What are you? Tell me your name! she railed even as she felt a sense of safety wash over her, like she was a child again and her father had returned from one of his journeys – practically a stranger with his skin tanned and his hair grown long, but still familiar beneath the strangeness.

The memory was a happy one: even that demon dragging it out of her head to reward her couldn’t sour it. At least she hadn’t been singled out alone, as Maric and Jacob seemed to be equally astonished. Even the other woman fresh from the forest had stepped inside and moved closer to her.

"Are you all of this court?" the newcomer asked calmly. Maybe she too had been made to remember something pleasant; no one seemed ready to acknowledge the dead creature on the floor by Pywell’s feet so Cat wouldn’t either. If she squinted it looked like someone who was just passed out from too much drink. It would be rude to stare at someone like that, so she didn’t.

“Oh no,” Cat answered, realizing that the question wasn’t meant for her only after she had replied. She couldn’t bring herself to lower her head when addressing the other woman – those strange clothes were too mortifying to look at directly – and she settled for staring somewhere over the woman’s shoulder at a tendril of blond hair.

“Cat Feldmoor, pleased to make your acquaintance. Lord Jacob Pywell and I arrived… moments ago, though not in each other’s company. Lord Maric Witherland has been here for longer,” she said, nodding towards the two men in turn. She was growing convinced that none of them were there willingly but she decided that any further explanation was better left to someone else who could at least name which “valley” they were in.

@MulderItsMe @Temerity @Mypilot @WhiskyAndCigars @Annekin @Renaiziphonts

Maric eyed Jacob strangely when he looked at him, as if he somehow was responsible for something or had insulted him. But he felt nothing, he only assessed the damage that the man had drawn upon himself after the attack. The newcomer seemed to be used to tending wounds, so she would certainly be a useful addition. "None of us are part of the court. We are all just... visitors."

An eerie smile crept unto his face when Maric spoke those words, like he somehow was being controlled by something else. But this place had driven him mad and certain moments made it even clearer than usual. He sheathed the dagger he had held in his hand for so long now, quietly wondering what kind of gifts Lord Ewerhall had bestowed upon them. Why had he decided to do it now and not earlier? Maric had been here longer than anyone, he had passed several tests and yet he was kept as a pawn. The others who passed tests had also been granted gifts, he remembered, all different kinds. There was this one boy who could speak to the ghosts, who disappeared down in the dungeon.

A fortnight ago Lord Ewerhall had given Maric cryptic messages. Something about a son or an apprentice, about death and power. The Lord was always cryptic when he spoke, but this part had sent chills down his spine. He wondered what it meant, it couldn't have been random ramblings; nothing Lord Ewerhall said was without meaning.

An icy, blood-chilling shriek could be heard from the swamp. It certainly wasn't human, that's for sure. Maric waved at the newcomer to step inside the castle - even the courtyard wasn't safe at night. Not that they would be left alone and be completely safe inside, not anymore... but they would certainly be safer. "Night is coming. You should all get inside, maybe we can gather in one of the chambers and start a fire in the fireplace."

@Temerity @Nethralia @WhiskyAndCigars @Mypilot @Annekin @Renaiziphonts

Jac shuddered at the sound of the shrieking from outside. He looked at the new girl. She was small and dressed like a traveler, or a hunter. Her size belied the aura of strength that she projected.

He eyed her. "The newest arrival, I take it. What's your name? Sorry I missed it, I was...occupied." He pointedly looked away from at the corpse, into her eyes. Her steely glance filled him suspicion, edged with determination. The word survivor reverberated through him.

A cry came from outside, and he shuddered.

"Night is coming. You should all get inside, maybe we can gather in one of the chambers and start a fire in the fireplace." Maric said.

Jac turned back to the man, the suspicion draining from him. "Is there any place I can get a change of clothes? I don't particularly care to have this fellow all over me for however long this takes."

He felt his stomach turn. "And is there anything to eat? This is a Lord's castle. When is dinner? After all that, I've worked up quite the appetite."

He caught Maric's eye, and a glint of something wild lined his eerie grin. He felt envy, he felt wild desperation, he felt resolve that had been cracked and repaired many times. Jac tried to place this emotions in his own experience, and found they wouldn't fit.

He looked away, felt the emotions subside in a now-familiar way. Is this the Lord's gift then?, he thought. Seems like Maric's been waiting for this for awhile now. He knows more than he says.

@Temerity @Nethralia @WhiskyAndCigars @MulderItsMe @Renaiziphonts

Perhaps Isaboe had picked the wrong person to stand beside. She wasn't entirely sure about the formalities of court life - there wasn't exactly an opportunity to learn in her home - but she had a feeling it wasn't common for people to avoid eye contact so blatantly. Had Isaboe offended this girl, Cat, somehow? A quick rundown over her recent actions, which wasn't much since she'd only arrived, left her clueless.

Just to be safe, she took a step away from the girl as she drew further into the grand hall. After a brief nod of acknowledgment towards the two men, Isaboe caught the strange grin of the gentleman who stood closer to her, Lord Maric. "Visitors," she echoed, eyeing him with uncertainty.

If what Cat said was true, then Isaboe's assumption that Lord Maric knew more than the rest would be correct. Not that that meant Isaboe trusted him anymore. In fact, she found herself distrusting them all in equal parts. Although the Lord Jacob hadn't done anything to earn it yet. Even as she thought that the lord spoke up, eyes focused on her. "The newest arrival, I take it. What's your name?"

Isaboe nodded her head in confirmation and added, "Isaboe Marth, my lord." She felt awkward speaking the title out loud, but the sentence would have felt bare without it. It was almost humorous that she was keeping to normal things like court titles when the situation they were in had become so undeniably surreal.

Lord Jacob wore blood like a coat and it added an eerie sheen to his once-fashionable clothing. Suddenly Cat's lack of eye contact wasn't so unreasonable. The lord was hard to look at and Isaboe imagined she must've been the same. She still wore the swamp all over her leathers. In a vain attempt at brushing off what plant life clung to her, Isaboe knew it'd be quite some time before they were entirely clean again.

Funnily enough, the longer Isaboe was in the castle the more she grew to realize she was quite lucky she made it out of the swamp without incident. A strange shriek, inhuman in sound, howled in from the doors and Isaboe found herself tensing despite the distance the call was from her.

Lord Maric waved her in further, which Isaboe obliged with haste, as he said, "Night is coming. You should all get inside, maybe we can gather in one of the chambers and start a fire in the fireplace." Once safely within, Isaboe shut the door tightly behind her, cutting off the sounds of the swamp.

Dusting her hands, she wordlessly watched the interaction between the two lords. She only spared Cat a few more glances, curious what her role was in it all. She didn't strike Isaboe as nobility, but she offered no explanation of her background. Then again, neither did Isaboe.

At the mention of food, Isaboe's stomach growled loudly. Betrayed by my stomach, she thought, hoping it wasn't too loud. Foolishly, she had brushed past her breakfast before the swamp took her. Now she was paying for it.