Tonight Mazetti Manor stands open to visitors seeking refuge from the biting cold, blustering winds, and perpetual snowfall. Outside awaiting the arrival of visitors guards wearing the distinctive armor found worn by some hailing from Ostria. They stand motionless against the cold within their heavy robes worn beneath their armor and the helms which mask their faces. Within the manor it is an entirely different environment with braziers and torches providing illumination and a modicum of warmth against the chill that seems to seep deep into the manor itself. It seems as though a servant stands every few few, prepared to direct any who may become lost back to the proper path. With each individual gradually being politely directed to a room that seems to exist in contrast to much of the gloomy, cold halls. The heavy door which grants entry to the Scholar's Sanctuary has been left open and inviting warmth reaches out from the doorway.

Once within the private study of Marquis-Consort Hadrian Mazetti the alluring smells can be found. A pair of servants stand aside a table which has been placed to hold a number of refreshments; cups of hot cider are made available upon the asking, mugs of thick hot chocolate topped with cream and sprinkled with cinnamon, a pair of casks of Ostria's own Third Wall cherry brandy have been tapped for the evening for those who may wish their treats to have a little more kick. Baked cups of sweetened bread hold raspberries and honey, caramel has been spread across slices of apple, and more sweet treats made available for consumption. Among it all sits Hadrian, luxuriously stretched out in a high-backed chair near the fire with one hand draped over the arm of his seat to lightly wrap his fingers about one of the many handles of an absurdly large goblet. The chair has been positioned that he may look to both the hearth and to the plush pillows of golden Ostrian seasilk that have been spread out before his own high-backed chair as though he were some aging parent or relative sat before a gaggle of children in preparation for a chilly winter night of unsettling tales.

Waldemai edges toward the brandy.

Merek makes his way to listen to the stories while he settles a bit to relax also.

Miri, a skillful appraiser arrives, following Wren.

Siri, a talented condemner, 2 Redoubt Buccaneers, Wren arrive, following Asriel.

Attention fixed on the tortie dozing beside her, stroking the soft fur with a faint smile on her lips, Alessia Mazetti reclines against the luxurious seasilk cushions, rather than the couch, perhaps preferring the isolation during story time.

Alessia has joined the a pair of couches in the corner.

Alessia has left the a pair of couches in the corner.

Alessia has joined the a pile of luxurious seasilk cushions.

6 Redoubt Buccaneers, Bengalo, the sneaky black cat, Luna, the sweet, studious assistant arrive, following Carita.

From his chair angled near one side of the hearth, Hadrian lifts his absurdly large goblet up with the use of both hands. All so that he may allow himself a long drink from the contents held within what is basically a bucket. When he lowers it again he looks throughout his study, just as a vibrant grin splashes its way across his sharp features. He sits forward a little more as he moves the goblet back to one hand and he gestures across the room with the other, "There are many wonderful things in this world that we can enjoy. Among them is the ability to cozy up near a fire and do what our people have been doing for centuries upon centuries. Telling stories!" His grin stretches a little wider before his attention drifts from one gathered face to another. Whether they choose to stand for whatever random reason, hide away among the couches, or sit before the hearth upon or against one of the plush Ostrian seasilk cushions. Hadrian's attention finally lifts to the group as a whole before he concludes, "Tonight I've made a special badge for the one who tells me the most haunting of ghost stories. Tell your story and by the end, I will choose who earns my prize". He waggles a finger over the gathering before he asks with a tilt of his head, "Who will tell their story first?"

Antea has joined the a white marble desk.

Merek makes his way on after a bit!

Dressed in sable Ostrian silk, Theron has begun his mingling duties. This of course includes drinking Third Wall as he moves. The Sword of Ostria moves around between guests, waving and greeting here and there. Idly he tosses a bit of fruit at Alessia as he passes. As Hadrian finishes with the giant goblet, Theron does give it a long considering look, and a low murmur to himself with a grun. "Someday. He's going to slip using that thing. The outcome is something I should start taking bets on." At the mention of going first, Theron fades a little behind someone.

Alessia checked dexterity + athletics at difficulty 20, rolling 27 higher.

Waldemai shakes his head. His glass of brandy is substantially smaller than Hadrian's. "Love a good scary story, but no good at telling them."

Catching the fruit in hand, Alessia gives her cousi a grateful smile as he passes. To the marquis' query, she waits silently for any takers.

Separated from the rest of the party, Antea Mazetti can be found lurking around the large marble desk, stone-faced and watching as folk make their way into the study. She neither reclines nor lounges, her backside 'resting' against the edge of the desk, her back as stiff and straight as ever, with arms folded slightly across her chest. She seems to be busy assessing each person that enters the room, perhaps trying to figure out ahead of time who might have the best scary story to tell. A glass of brandy rests on the desktop near to hand though it thus far seems to be untouched. Someone forgot that she's supposed to be having fun.

Dianara Whisper arrives a touch late, likely having some difficulty in navigating her way through a city that, though once familiar, has now become unfamiliar with time. There's nothing remarkable about her dress nor appearance, though both are gently pleasing in her way. If there is a touch of wry humor in her blue eyes, well, no amount of training in courtesy in the world might be able to entirely extinguish such a thing. As it is, once she arrives, she peers about, rather as if she's looking for someone in particular, brow slightly knitted in thought as she searches.

In due time, Lord Asriel Darkwater has made his arrival - not alone, but with his countess Carita Darkwater and his assistant Wren Lavere - and by the time Hadrian is going on about the wonderful things of the world and looking for volunteers to begin to scary storytelling he has already found a glass of something to keep in his hands while he's settled in and listening. It's quite the group from House Darkwater, who knew they all liked spooky tales so much? There are a few faces he recognizes from amidst the group as his brown-black eyes search from person to person like he might have a guess as to who will break in the event first with their harrowing narrative. Antea is among the familiar, and a polite smile thins out his lips briefly for her along with a dip of his head in recognition.

"No one? Well, that's disappointing," Hadrian remarks with a dramatic sigh and a shake of his head. The large goblet is set aside upon the floor, within easy reach. He sits forward a hair and turns his attention to the gathering. Waldemai's remark earns a simple nod of acknowledge, then his attention drifts along to the contingent of arriving bodies from House Darkwater. From his chair Hadrian lifts a hand in creating, but inevitably turns his attention back to the gathering as a whole. He leans back into his chair and settles one leg over the other at the knee, while his hands move to rest atop the arms of his chair, "So. How's everyone doing this evening? Shall we talk about our favorite liquors? That seems to get the mouths in this city moving more often than not". Hadrian's attention drifts around the chamber for a moment longer before he shifts a hand to his chest, he pats about for something for a moment, and then seems to find it with a satisfied nod.

Waldemai knows something about liquors. "The ale in the Golden Hart...You can drink it all night and not fall out of the rafters." This is apparently a good thing.

The shadows of evening have grown long and deep, stretching out from their usual daytime haunts with the falling of darkness. Tonight, Carita is wrapped in the night sky as the trio appear, her cloak a warm reminder that the Countess favors twinkling stars. Her smile is warm as the group appears, a curtsy for Hadrian, and a few dips of her head before she's sat on the couches, blue eyes tracking through the room. She accepts a drink to curl her fingers around and warm them as she laughs softly at the Marquis' disappointment that no one has offered to go first. "What say you, Marquis Hadrian? What's your favorite?"

Settled near the Darkwater Countess and Lord, Wren has ensured both of the nobles have what they need before she sees to herself, a glass making its way into her own hand. The call for spooky stories from Hadrian catches her attention and she glances around the room, much like everyone else, to see who the brave soul to go first will be. When no one speaks up, Wren gives Asriel a curious glance but doesn't throw him to the sharks quite yet, her gray-blue gaze shifting then to Carita before casting a wider net and looking around at the others gathered. Those familiar to her, most notably Antea, get a toothy grin from the redhead merchant, but she remains silent, waiting.

A gaunt young man with oily black hair and ice blue eyes arrives, following Braith.

In passing, Antea becomes a target of a piece of weaponized fruit from Theron. In his passing he inclines his head to Asriel and Carita. A nod for Wren, another for Waldemai. As Hadrian expresses his dissapointment. Theron sighs and finally speaks up. "Marquis? My Voice? You bring such fun and joy to others that I simply must try to prevent your dissapointment. I do have a story for you, if you wish to indulge. However, on the matter of Liquors? Well. Ostrian Brandy knows no rivals. Some close competitors, but no real rivals."

Antea returns the nod to both Asriel and Wren, offering a half bow towards Carita before finally unbending enough to pluck up her glass and sip from the brandy. As nobody steps forward with a spooky story to tell, her sepia eyes shift towards the Marquis, a brow lifting up sharply at his next question. Letting out a bit of a sigh, she swallows back the brandy in a gulp, then straightens... only to duck a moment later as THeron sends a piece of fruit her way. Sending him a scowl in return, the young Marshal settles back in when it seems Theron is going to 'take the plunge'.

As conversation begins to steer from scary tales to favorite alcohol, Asriel Darkwater examines the brandy he has found in his hands. He goes to open his mouth to volunteer when another brave soul steps forward, and so the Darkwater lord chimes in with, "I'll tell the next, then.", and leans back in his chair to listen, expectation and curiosity both writ so thickly across his expression.


Late! Late! For a very important date! Braith is a hurried mess when a guard finally arrives with her, her dark curls somewhat frazzled about her dusky freckled features. She smooths her fire lined vest and puts on a smile as she starts to sneak her way across the room a bit. She was here the WHOLE time no doubt. She glances towards the others but remains quiet, lifting a hand to the Marquis in greeting before she settles into silence. The sword with a story! That seems to amuse her as her grin carries up to catch in those dark eyes of her's.

She quietly moves to find herself a place, glancing among them.


Hadrian's attention drifts to Carita first and he favors her with a silken smile, "I see what you did there. My answer though? The options are numerous. Mood often dictates choice". Then his harlequin eyes bound around to regard Theron and he offers back a quiet chuckle, "You have the floor, Theron. Tell us a ghost story. I want something to tell the children so they'll leave me alone for a few days". Braith's arrival and subsequent greeting is met by an acknowledging hand raised in return.

Waldemai quietly turns down one of the lamps, to make the room a little darker and ever-so-slightly more shadowy.

Upon not espying her quarry, Dianara shifts her attention to seek out a seat instead, especially since the stories appear to be beginning. Upon seeing Waldemai, her attention brought to her person by the act of dimming the light, the Whisper's brows lift and she offers the man a smile and nods a greeting.

For Antea, a rogue's grin. For Asriel who also was stepping up, Theron points to the man and inclines his head again. "I am sure yours will be better." Braith also becomes victim to a weaponized piece of fruit, specifically a brandy pickeled cherry. As Hadrian gives his ulterior motive for needing ghost stories, the Sword of Ostria barks a laugh. "Listen, just have the Marshal over there babysit them for a few days." He jerks a thumb idly over his shoulder towards Antea. All while turning his head enough to toss her a wink even as he steps front and center as tale telling demands.
"All right, since you folks asked for it." Theron clears his throat and gives a quick nod towards Waldemai for the lamp dimming. "Right!" His arms shoot out and upwards to attract more attention. "So! At one point in Arx there a large and roomy home, with a bad reputation. It was so terrible that no one would live there." A beat to swallow some Third Wall. "You see, in the dead of the night, some noises resembling iron clashing. This was heard often, and if one listened more closely, sounded like rattling chains. Such sounds would precede the appearance of a specter in the form of an old man." Theron looks around the party crowd. "Turns out that this old man was extremely emaciated and squalid appearance, complete with a long beard and dishevelled hair. He would be rattling chains on his feet and hands every time." He trails off to sip more brandy and give them a moment before he continues.

Carita has joined the a pair of couches in the corner.

Wren has joined the a pair of couches in the corner.

Braith checked dexterity at difficulty 15, rolling 1 lower.

Asriel has joined the a pair of couches in the corner.

Braith has joined the a white marble desk.

Waldemai leans forward to hear better, and maybe get a little closer to the fire.

Inclining her head towards Hadrian, Antea offers, "By all means. I'll take the children for a few days. And if Theron suddenly finds himself plagued by children's pranks... well, he would have to provide proof that it was their doing, now wouldn't he?" She sips her brandy and sends Theron a pointed look, offering a nod to Braith as she's joined by the desk.

Hadrian looks around to Antea, inclines his chin ever so slightly, and then promptly returns his focus to Theron. He leans forward ever so slightly in order to plant his elbow atop the arm of his chair so that his chin may come to rest upon an upturned palm. His eyebrows dance higher as the story begins and Hadrian nods softly as he follows along with the tale being woven.

As the topic at hand shifts from the call for stories to call for favorite liquor and then back to stories, Wren simply grins. "The brandy isn't so bad," she offers casually after a sip but then falls quiet as Theron rises to the challenge, and continues his fruity assault on various individuals, an act which just gets amused puzzlement to play out on her features. But ah, then there is the story, so Wren focuses on that. "Rattling chains?" she murmurs, thin brows rising gently before she goes quiet again, not wishing to be rude to the storyteller.


There is a light laugh from Braith as Hadrian gives his reasons and she smirks before the brandy soaked cherry comes rushing at her from the direction of Theron. The Sanna with her lute strapped to her back makes a sound and quickly turns, trying to catch it. It juggles from hand to hand a moment and then drops to the floor where it rolls towards Antea. Shooting him a look before he begins she picks it up and dusts it off. Slowly she clears the distance and moves to lean into the marbled desk. "Marshal," she greets the other woman, quieting after to listen.

There is a salute sketched Antea's way as she turns his suggestion against him. "Well, needless to say, the house was most times abandoned obviously. Noone would buy it, and it often rented out cheaply as a result. Tell me. Would /you/ want to live in such a place? I wouldn't. Imagine I'm having a good drunken night with friends and then next thing I know they're all screaming and running?! Likely knocking over all my swords in the process!" Theron chuckles into his brandy as he wets his tongue once again. A quick wink Braith's way for her... grace. "The tale goes on that this old wise man hears the story, and allegedly rents the house to confront the ghost. This ghost appears, and rattles around before vanishing. The wise man just up and marks the spot where the ghost vanished. So, in the morning, he orders that the spot under the flagstones to be dug up."
There is another long pause as Theron finishes his glass and has another poured for him. "So. Because everyone listens to wise old men, this digging up business happense. Know what they found? A skeleton!" Theron's eyes widen theatrically, or maniacally depending on one's point of view. "This skeleton was a man's. It was also clad in chains, it had clearly lain there a considerable time there under that flagstone."
More brandy is used for whistle whetting. "While they never discovered who it was, or why. Ultimately after the body was given a proper burial? The ghost departed, and the house was haunted no more." As he completes his sory he gives a flourished bow of a courtier.

Waldemai calls out, "Well told!"

From the couches in the corner where the Darkwater House seems to have gathered like how all the snow has been lately when it's blown through the streets of Arx and piling up in corners, Asriel Darkwater claps for Theron's tale. "Some things are better left buried! Skeletons in chains especially!". He calls out.

Hadrian follows the story that Theron presents, his brow knitting with the faint lines of age. As the story unfolds the Marquis sits a little straighter in his seat and his hand drops away from his chin, only to return to the arm of his chair. As the culmination of the story arrives, Hadrian's hands lift and come together to offer a brief clap, "Well told, Theron. Truly an astonishing discovery to make. One must ask though what the owner of the bones did to get someone so worked up they buried them in chains". Hadrian's attention then drifts around to Asriel and a nod is sent his way before Hadrian gestures toward Asriel, "I do believe you called next on dibs. Please, frighten us with your tale, my lord".


The wink is caught and Braith arches a brow with a smirk before offering Theron the storyteller a bow with a flourish. She rises then and listens, a thoughtful sound made before her hands come together and clap for him. "I never thought you a story teller. I am delightfully glad to be prove wrong," she says, her dark eyes considering the Sword with a upnod of her head. Her gaze however slips from Theron to follow Asriel.


"Very intriguing story, my lord." Wren offers her own bit of applause for Theron's ghostly tale from her section of those Darkwater infested couches. As Asriel gets called on to go next by Hadrian, she offers her lordly patron a broad smile as she says, "I hope you do the voices this time," before she settles back down.

When it is his time to share, Asriel Darkwater rises from his seat to better pace the floor in the telling of his tale and he brings his snifter of brandy along with him. "On the sea, there are nearly as many stories of ghosts as there are ships. After all, the sea has a mysterious way to her and she fosters superstition..". And yet, "I say that to tell you that ghosts have never been something I was particularly fearful of. So I bring you a tale not from the Mourning Isles but from the Crownlands..", he says after a brief pause to lift his drink to his lips and finally have a taste of the offered brandy.

"Before I was an economist, I thought perhaps I might consider medicine. I apprenticed to a physician for a time. One night, on a stay in Bastion, we were called westward to the hamlet of Blackwall some miles out to attend to the local apothecary who found himself in need of something less subtle than a poultice. As you can imagine, it was dark and stormy. Isn't it ever when the night's favorite denizens come crawling from the unknowable?". That last part is offered with a quiet, if humorous smile. He stops his pacing at the edge of the fire's light radiating from the hearth, "Considering my experience at the time, my teacher oversaw the procedure while I handled the necessities of it. In the passing hours, the apothecary's cat found the opportunity for a warm spot on a cold night and settled in my teacher's lap after manipulating him into a fast friendship. The cat was cause for much conversation, beloved and unique to look at. Old Aggie she was called, ashen grey with striking emerald eyes and a curious crook to her tail from a dalliance with violence no doubt.

At the revelation of the feline's existence and appearance, Lord Asriel falls into silence again. It is the recollection of what is to come no doubt that causes him to steel himself once more with another sip from the golden-amber in his carried glass. A hand disappears into his pocket to pull out a folded kerchief, and he dabs at his forehead a little, his dark eyes searching the expressions wrought upon the faces of his listeners.

"That is one solid take from it Lord Darkwater! Personally I'd hope my bones get laid to rest. Life as a ghost would get boring after my first few times of floating through peoples rooms." At Hadrian's clap and question, Theron points at the Marquis. "You know I had the same question! I've heard the tale with a few variations, but every time. Noone knows the who, or the why. I guess it is best not to make such enemies!" He does take his leave of the tale-telling zone, and gestures gracefully towards Asreil. He gives Braith a wounded look at her first statement, and a grin at the latter. "Why thank you, truthfully I was hoping to avoid being the center of attention." His gaze falls upon Wren and a half bow. "Thank you, I do appreciate it!" brandy refilled he stands near Braith to murmur her way, and then become a most attentive listener for Asriel's turn.

Waldemai murmurs, "Ashen gray?" He's clearly disappointed that the cat is not black.

Hadrian's hands come together and he leans forward, planting his elbows atop his knees while he watches Asriel's movements around the room. Where as moments ago his expression slipped into a look of reservation, as Asriel's tale begins to unfold, the Marquis' smile promptly returns. He nods along with Asriel's recounting of the tale and inclines his chin ever so slightly at the mention of Old Aggie though, Hadrian's hand lifts up and slips the crown from atop his head. Long fingers rake through his cold black hair, tosses it back, and then the crown in replaced. When the pause arrives in Asriel's story, Hadrian's harlequin eyes bound sideward to regard Theron from the corner of his eye, "Uh oh, Theron". It would seem that the Marquis is not above indicating that the Sword of Ostria may be at risk of losing his claim on a prize.

Carita's eyes trace the steps of Asriel as he begins to pace, and after he stops and blots his forehead she tilts hear head, grinning as the feline makes an appearance in his story. Her rapt attention now wholly focused on her Lord, she waits as she pauses to steal himself away. The slightest of leans in his direction might be seen, as if urging him on, but you'd have to be paying attention closely to notice.


From a chain strangled skeleton to a cat. She blinks a few times but listens though briefly distracted as the Sword of Ostria murmurs to her. Braith smirks a bit at whatever he says and casts a look up at him before murmuring something back. She clears her throat and then reaches over as if to take Theron's glass from him - she is drinkless after all as her brows shoot up, tryin not to distract from the storytelling.


By the look on Theron's face the mention of Apothecary's seems dangerous enough on its own merit. As Astriel moves along the story to mention a cat, his eyebrows raise. He does catch Hadrian's comment and chuckles at this time. He does not appear concerned that a de-throning shall occur. However he does suddenly have something more horrifying occur before his very eyes. Braith has /stolen/ his drink. His mouth opens, and then shuts hard. It would be rude to bellow during Asriel's story-time. He just shoots Braith a grumbling look, and once again looks at his empty hand mournfully.

"By the time I finished the procedure, left with my bloodied hands and a bucket of water in the corner to wash them in, most sensible people had gone to sleep. My patient was sedated, my teacher was given over to the dozing predilections of his wizened age, but Old Aggie never stopped watching me. Now, cats are curious creatures and prone to following movement but I could not shake the feeling of truly being watched. Call it a strange sense people have.", Asriel Darkwater regales, still never quite pacing himself back into the full light of the fire.

Near the middling hours of the night there was a knock at the door, and only I was left to answer it, but with my hands so bloodied I only bid the caller come inside and out of the rain. The door opened up and a man I had met earlier stood there, the barkeep from the only inn around. He was as cheerful as he could be to let us know he had found Old Aggie at the his place again. I fear there might have been more, but the sight of Old Aggie sitting in my teacher's lap stopped him quite dead in his thoughts, for he -too- was holding a cat the exact mirror of the one we had spent our evening with. Can I tell you that I was in that moment less perplexed about the dualities of these beasts and more by how our cat.. well..", again Asriel pauses but not to drink so much as to search for the words. "There was just something purposeful, angry, in how our Old Aggie looked at the newly arrived Old Aggie. The newest of the pair set to hissing and spitting as if evil itself had come into the room and it was enough to wake my teacher with a startle. In the ensuing ruckus our Aggie bolted from my teacher's lap and lept at the hissing feline, who was promptly dropped by the kindly barkeep. I can tell you the fight which ensued was as cacophonous as one might imagine, cats have teeth and claws like needles and they are very nearly perfect killers."

Asriel Darkwater doesn't seem quite finished, and his words indicate as much when he goes on to tell everyone, "I wish I could say that when the barkeep - who was the largest of us by far - did finally manage to pull the two identical cats apart it was all a big misunderstanding but the truth is far stranger and the mystery only deepens. We did quarantine each old Aggie in crates from the apothecary's supplies, and in time the barkeep left to get what sleep he could while I kept watch over these.. nailed up boxes which obscured most of what I could see inside without a lamp and leaning in too close for my comfort to peer between cracks..". There is more, but the lord cannot let his brandy sit for too long with another taste. It must be good.

"Go on," Hadrian calls out to Asriel as he pats at the arm of his chair, fully leaning into it as he bids Asriel continue. The Marquis' hand shifts to touch a lone finger to his own absurdly large goblet, but he does not finish the reach for it. Distracted by the story being told by Lord Asriel Darkwater seems the reason that his hand touches at the goblet, before again withdraw to rest atop his knee. Hadrian's eyes harden, focused in upon the storyteller as he remains shrouded near the firelight.

Waldemai pours a little more brandy. "I'll have a drop of that myself." Well, a whole lot more than a drop!


Braith looks pleased to have a drink now, truly leaning back into the desk to listen about the two identical cats. Strange indeed. She sips at the Third Wall slowly. She leans in to whisper at Theron while never taking her eyes off the storyteller. Her gaze narrows as he pauses again. "I must admit he has a good sense of building suspense."


Carita's reactions go from enthralled to almost horrified, a hand to her chest as she listens to the tale unfold. Her drink? She'd forgotten it long ago as she continues to listen. When the pause lengthens the others in the room begin to bleed in to her notice again, and with a faint smile her glass is lifted to drink from.

That glass of Wren's had at some point been full but now? Now the brandy was long gone. An absent sip found her suckling on air and making a dismayed little look at the empty glass, but the story's pull is too much. Settling the glass on her lap, fingers curled around it, she listens to Asriel's story as it unfolds, the suspense deepening. Hadrian's call for the Darkwater Lord to go on is echoed in Wren's own murmur of, "Yes, go on. This is one I haven't heard for once."

"You might be relieved to know that I was eventually also relieved. Of my watch, that is. Allowed a few fitful hours of rest and strange dreams no doubt caused by the night's mysterious events. What I awoke to I thought surely was a nightmare I had not truly escaped, for while both boxes remained nailed tightly shut, through the morning light that poured in I could see the pair of them were besieged by a black mold which had crawled across them in my absence. Not just the boxes, but much of the floor, part of the desk, and just enough of my teacher and my patient's resting places to reach parts of their exposed flesh and continue onward up their necks, into their mouths, filling their nostrils..". Asriel doesn't beat out the full details of whatever he is recalling and that much might be evident from the disquieted expression he's wearing now. "I am no hero in this tale. I stumbled from the cottage, fumbling and full of fear for the situation and right into the barkeep who was returning to inquire more deeply about our midnight adventure and his concerns. From there, I washed my hands of the ordeal as a wise man would. As my mentor never got the chance to. The villagers gathered together in their panic and set fire to the place. I watched them do it before I rode back to Bastion..".

There is an artful pause then, one to let it all settle, before he admits, "I wish I had more answers for you, my listeners, but I leave you only with the same questions that have haunted me since. What was that strange black mold? How could it grow so quickly, and what transpired in those crates to beget such a thing while I slept? More importantly, which cat had been the real Old Aggie and how could it be that the two of them could look so identical right down to their world-given wounds like the tell-tale notch in their left ears or that violent little crook in their tails? I am afraid I may never know, but I urge everyone to consider the implications of something which can look like another thing entirely, and to always.. always.. keep a wary eye on anyone who has ever been to the sleepy little hamlet of Blackwall. You never know who, or what, you're dealing with." With a conspiratorial wink, he lifts his brandy to finish it off, and dips his head in place of a full and proper bow.

Carita quietly claps her hand against the glass in her hand, not hard enough to spill anything but there is the metallic clink of her ring as it hits. "Well told," is called out, amusement sparkling in her eyes. "I'll be sure to feed my cats well tonight, I think!"

Waldemai looks somber, but says, "Thanks for that story. Well told!"

r Braith stares for a moment for the story, making a soft sound before she is taking a hefty sip of the Third Wall. "So no sleeping tonight," she hands off the glass to Theron without hesitation and says something to him while clapping. Drawing a breath she glances to Hadrian and inclines her head forward. "I have a story for you all."


As Asriel's tale continues on, Hadrian sits forward more and more. Fingers grip tight to the arm of his chair and at the pronouncement of Lord Asriel's discovery in his tale, Hadrian's eyebrows shoot ever higher. By the end though, Hadrian slowly slumps back and against his chair again as his hand lifts to nervously rub a palm along the length of his jaw, "Now I feel like I've got to ask a friend if he's ever visited a place called Blackwall". Hadrian's eyes brighten though and his smile returns just as his hands come together to clap enthusiastically at the conclusion of Asriel's tale, "A fine tale of suspense, mystery, and unsettling fear!" Hadrian's hands part again, only to come back together for a few more claps, "An excellent weaving of a story, my lord. Thank you for your contribution". Then Hadrian's hands part and his head shifts around to regard Braith. He studies her for a moment before his chin inclines and he announces at her, "Lady Braith! You fancy yourself a storyteller, yes? Please, regale us with a story to turn our blood cold and make us peer a little harder into the shadows tonight". He gestures vaguely at Braith before he announces to the room, "Three stories seems fine for the evening. Your story will be the last, Lady Braith. Then I will make a decision."

Wren holds her breath for a long moment before she lets it out with a laugh. "That was a fantastic story, my lord." And Asriel gets a hearty round of applause then. "Very well told. I'm definitely going to find the cats and give them all a treat when we get back home. Even if the Countess feeds them first!"


There is a sharp laugh from Braith as Hadrian mentions cold. "Oh you have heard my story already! Tsk." The Bard steps forward with a quick adjustment of her vest and pulls her lute forward, plucking out a few lamenting notes to fill the room in an ominously melodic way. Her dark eyes sweep the room as she begins.
"One cold bitter winter night, a Mountaineer was forced into the cold in the vain attempt to cross the mountain passes back to his family. His fresh kills on his back and getting heavier with each passing moment. Shorter days meant longer nights and with the storm whipping through the passes he was forced into a cave. His feet hands near froze to death he sat out of the reach of the wind but not the cold. He felt the chill seeping through his veins, pooling in the limbs of his body to sap his strength and when the chattering of his teeth began to slow and the cold dark of death setting in he saw it, the flicker of a fire deeper in the cave and thus he went, following the siren call much like a moth."

She pauses a moment, letting her fingers stroke the strings one, two , three in an upward curious crescendo.

A soft clapping from Theron for Asriel. "That did not go the way I expected. I also think part of me was waiting for you to say your Master died because they cat became so comfortable on his lap, he could never move again!" Theron grins towards the other Lord and looks to Hadrian as he applaids Asriel and then introduces the next storyteller. A polite clap for the last of his nights rivals. Stepping back he leans into a wall and folds his arms to watch and listen.

Hadrian raises a brow at Braith's comment and he slowly shakes his head in answer. Confusion etched into his sharp features. As the story begins and unfolds though, understanding is earned and Hadrian begins to chuckle quietly, though he stifles it soon after with the placement of his hand across his mouth and jaw. A glance is sent Theron's way, but Hadrian does not linger for long before he again turns his focus back to Braith. The hand drops away to rest atop his knee while he nods toward Braith, as if silently bidding her to continue.

Waldemai shakes his head. "I like my fire," he says. "I'd go for that every time."


Once there is focus and attention she plays the same. notes again and Braith continues.

"There he found an old man, bent and haggard but with a pot upon the fire. The last steps taken in a hurry he dropped before the fire to sap its warmth as the old man spoke. "You wish to share my fire but with it comes a price. My pot is as empty as my stomach, skin your kills and give them to me." There was something feral about the wiry old man who sat opposite him. "But these are for my starving children..what would you have of me?" There was a clacking sound like bone against bone as the old man shifted. "In feeding me you shall feed them but most of all I desire your companionship. Tell me a story while we cook. Something old."

"So as the mountaineer skinned the rabbits he caught to feed his family and spit them on the fire to roast them. His story was of a winter witch who bent the cold to her will and kept a garden of frozen travelers until the one arrived with a good trade. A cunning trade. It left her and her garden soon ablaze and the trickster away alive and with her closest treasures. The Magpie of the Winter no more".

"Clapping his hands together once, twice and thrice the hold man rattled like a bag of bones and said. "Good..now we feast."He proclaimed and together they ate the bounty. The food did not fill him but the old man ate like a ravenous predator, consuming near everything without hesitation while the mountaineer felt the food give way like ash on the wind. He slept until morning beside the fire only to wake to find the old man gone and a set of small fox footprints in the snow."

Braith dramatically pauses, the mournful notes lifting.

Having settled back into the Darkwater-conquered corner of couches, Lord Asriel listens attentively to the current storyteller up telling her tale for them. All the mention of the cold brings a sympathetic shiver down his spine. That calls for a refill of his snifter of brandy while he's listening to where the story is taking him.

Hadrian's hand moves to his chest again, rubbing there for a moment before his hand draws away. The palm turns over with his fingers wrapped about something that has no doubt been ferreted away within his hand. He watches on, his eyes settled upon Braith while her own story upfolds and his chin inclines ever so slightly. The twist of the fox footprints in the snow earns a pursing of Hadrian's lips as he nods along, clearly intrigued by the twist judging by the rise of his eyebrows.

Waldemai shakes his head. "Druther not be eating with a fox, even if he wasn't dressed up like an old man..."

Asriel Darkwater brings his hands together to applaud Braith after he finds a place to set his brandy for a moment, "Fantastic! I do love a good element of isolation in my tales of terror!" he calls out to her, seemingly enthusiastic to have been part of the audience.


Braith does not let the story linger long, her notes like a winter wind.

"He followed these out and in a hurry kept with them. He heard the crying first, a wailing woman. There he saw them, the small village but his wife and children standing around his body, frozen in the snow with his string of rabbits intact. How could that be so? Snow blindness one said, lost in the dark said another and when the man turned behind him to look where he had come from there was not a single footprint in the snow, nothing that was new enough like his would be now. The fox watched him from the wood and he heard the rattle of bones and the old man’s voice."

"I showed you the way in the dark so that your family could eat. For a story and companionship I gave you the strength to arrive but no more. Come. Time to move on."With that the Mountaineer followed the Fox again and the wind in the pines groaned with forlorn loss."

She plays the last few notes, slow and simple before she lowers her hands from her lute. She waits then, watching the reactions to the sad, spirit infested story of the North before she dips into a bow. "Spirits can be tricksters and they can be guardians. Sometimes they can be both, giving as much as they take."


Waldemai shudders. It's snowing out, and although it's not a long walk to Southport Square, there's always the possibility of getting disorientated. "Looking at your own corpse..." He shakes his head. "At least the kids didn't die."

Again Carita's house ring clinks her glass as she claps, "Wonderfully told." A little shiver runs through her, as smile offered Braith's way. There's a quiet conversation with her House-mates, as if they've clearly enjoyed the story that was told.

"Cats. Foxes. I should have used a small furry critter!" Theron laments with obvious amusement. He is, however, applauding Braith soundly. He'd been listening raptly against his will. Time to scare up two more brandy's then. Which he does and brings one to Braith. "You cannot steal what I offer you!" Though he does seem to be keeping the other glass at a safe distance from her in an exagerrated fashion. "Definitely better than mine, as was Asriel

Tsk, it would seem the Darkwater lord in the room has had a bit too much of this fine Ostrian brandy. That outburst before even the bard was finished with her tale. Now he doubles up on his applause, as is right and appropriate for such a story. "Even more fantastic with an ending!", he calls out. Woops. Then he finishes the brandy that was just recently poured for him.

"Well then," Hadrian follows Braith's conclusion as he rises up to his full height in a single motion. Each of his hands moves to rest at his back, two fists pressed together which results in his shoulders squaring as he offers a bow of his head toward Braith, "a ghost story in true form. All of the elements one would expect of a memorable ghost story, plus with an unexpected twist. I truly expected the old man to eat the mountaineer or some other fate". Hadrian's mouth twists to life for a moment as his eyes drift to Theron, looks hopeful for a moment, then looks away again with a subdued grin. He looks to Asriel and Braith. Braith and Asriel. Quietly he mutters more to himself than any other, "No, they can't fight to the death for it. That would be frowned upon". He then shifts his attention aside to Braith, considers her for a moment. Then back again to Asriel, whom he considers at length. Finally Hadrian seems to make a decision as he turns and begins to approach Asriel. One fist moves from his back and holds itself forward. All he need do is uncurl his fingers and whatever lay hidden away in his hand would be ready to drop into Asriel's own hand. Which it does, only after Asriel moves to accept the prize, "My lord, your story felt right in every way. A difficult decision to choose from among our storytellers, but I think your story had all the proper pieces in play to make it truly unsettling. Your prize". Back to Braith and Theron though, Hadrian remarks, "Your prizes will be coming. Eventually. I must reward everyone who told a story this evening, because you earned it with your bravery alone".

Waldemai applauds for the decisions, and the storytellers as well.

Wren shivers in her seat as Braith's story comes to its conclusion, but she adds her own applause in. "A chilling tale but a perfect one," she remarks with a smile to the last storyteller of the evening. "So many things proving themselves they are not what they seem. It's an excellent lesson to take to heart." As Hadrian speaks up, she settles back down and listens for the winner to be announced. Asriel gets a broad grin and more enthusiastic applause. "Well done, my lord!" To Theron and Braith, she says, "Your stories were equally as fun. Thank you both so much for sharing them with us."


Theron's offering of her own cup earns him a brilliant smile from Braith. She eyes his when it is held out of range and there is a distinctive laughs, "It is safe...for now." A mysterious edge enters her voice much like it had in her tale. Eye brows waggle a bit but then she straightens as they are approached. Her eyes follow Hadrian, offering he Marquis a winning smile and maybe even over exaggerating the batting of her lashes. The bard waits with her lute now pressed behind her. Despite not being chosen she lets out a whistle of appreciation for his victory. "Well done." She says and can not clap due to her own brandy. "Where is the whiskey?" She asks of Theron with a straight face.


r Braith inclines her head to each compliment for the chillingly clever tale. "Thank you," she says with a grin at wren and Waldemai. Asriel gets a wink.


Asriel Darkwater rises from his seat in the corner to meet Hadrian for the accepting of said prize, and when he receives the pin he can't help but look a little amused as he turns it over in his hands. "Oh, a thumbs up? How appropriate. I cannot wait to give my approval to whoever I wear it in front of. I'll be a real yes-man." All in good humour, of course. Asriel laughs quietly and shares with the gift giver, "It was a good setting you put together here Marquis Hadrian. I was pleased to find an audience and more pleased still to get to listen..". He mumbles something about the strength of the brandy to no real coherence before adding, "House Darkwater will have to have you over for something similar, sometime. After all, one good gathering deserves another..". In his search for whistling he comes across Braith's wink and he raises his own glass of brandy in her direction, but also in Theron's as well, "As fine stories tonight as anyone could ask for, truly! It was distinguished company!".

Waldemai smacks his head. "Thumbs up...Yes-man. That must be one of them puns I've heard tell of."

"Well done and deserved Lord Darkwater!" Theron applauds as Hadrian makes his announcement. He had watched Hadrian closely as the man had made his decision, and is very unsurprised at not winnine. He does not look displeased, in fact he is grinning. Right up until Braith asks of whiskey, he sighs and rolls his eyes. Turning to Wren, he sketches a bow. "Why thank you! It was good to share, but just this once. So many words, so little brandy!" He knocks back yet another glass. As Asriel reveals his award, he gets a thumbs up from the Sword of Ostria for his victory.

"We'd like that, Lord Asriel," Hadrian offers back to Asriel with a shallow bow at the shoulders. Then Hadrian's attention drifts back around to Theron and Braith, his smile turning positively mischevious, "You'll probably hear about your prizes soon enough, I think. I apologize for the delay, but some things are unavoidable".