Fantasy Cinders and Ashes (Completed)

[ArcticFox]

Rowan nods, "Come, we'll take you in our carriage."

It's a sombre ride home, and Rowan seems eager to return home himself. You both say goodnight abstractedly - the ghastly apparition from the hall haunts everyone.

The house is very empty with just you and Bruno in it. Remembering the night, you could recall the spectres of the Fallen, those ghastly unthinking eyes and uncomprehending visages, human shells scuttling about without reason or the remains of who they once were. And the grey plumes of smoke that surrounds them, the bitter tang of camphor and iron in the air, the demon lord…

The colours of his trailing frock coat were dazzling, as if by brushing against the dark road from which he emerged, the fabric was rendered yet more vibrant. Even the lustre of the Assembly, and all the humans bedecked in their finery, cannot hold a candle to the sheer depth and intensity of colour which surrounded him.

Life. Something fiery there, something magnificent and strained beyond comparison.

You toss and turn in your bed, until, finally, remorseless dreams receive you.

--

The next morning is gloomy. Outside, the clouds are high and tinged with bluish-grey - a storm threatens.

Bruno prepares your tea and breakfast and gives you a calling card.

Mr Grufford - spina consultant

"It arrived with the mail," Bruno shrugs, as if to say he doesn't know the gentleman.

Your resources are strained, f Grufford knows something about spina, it might be good to visit him. Perhaps he would know how to get more spina on short notice.

- Go and visiy.
- Don't go.

 

[Ezri]

Vivian had not slept well, and waking up did not feel much better. She didn’t think of herself as someone who wallowed, but her current life didn’t leave much room for optimism.

At least her small comforts were the same, she thought as she sipped her tea, and she took the business card with a quizzical tilt of her head. Spina consultant... she wasn’t aware that such a thing existed, but of course why would she be? But if someone was willing to speak with her about spina and demons and mysterious rules, it was an opportunity that she couldn’t pass up.

 

[ArcticFox]

Mr. Roland Grufford is the father of Danaer. A friendship with this family could mean a closer acquaintance with him as well.

The Grufford residence is a tall, imposing stone house, with a high roof and rows of imported cypresses. It is, one might remark, more in the style of a townhouse than a country villa, being tall, narrow, and angular, rather than satisfyingly sprawling. The grounds that surround it are of a respectable size, though not overly large - Grufford's land-stake appears to have been a modest one. And the sheen on the building itself, and the wards surrounding the property, are still bright.

This is new gentry, not old. The family moved to Cinders after you left - they are newcomers to your hometown. However, judging by the house's respectable exterior, they did well to come here.

The street is curiously empty. It does not seem as if any of the family are at home.

When you ring the bell a servant opens the door and takes your card - she seems confused. "I will see if Mr. Grufford is in."

The first few drops of rain spatter down upon the cobblestones, and the maid stops in the act of closing the door, looking doubtful. "If you care to wait inside, Madam, while I inquire?"

- Go in and wait for her.
- Go in and explore when she's gone.
- Go in and look around when she's gone.

 

[Ezri]

With how much Cinders had fundamentally changed, the appearance of one new manor shouldn't be that jarring by comparison. And it was a beautiful estate, as much of a statement as it was a piece of architecture. The Gruffords may not have a history here, but they were making their presence very clear.

"Oh, thank you. If you don't mind." Vivian smiled sheepishly at the maid. It was strange that she didn't seem to know about Mr. Grufford's business, but perhaps it was something he didn't advertise openly. If so, she could certainly understand why... maybe she would inquire when she met him. If she met him today, anyway.

Once inside she wasn't so bold as to go wandering off by herself, that would be difficult to explain if she were caught. But she couldn't claim that she wasn't curious at all; as long as she was waiting, she could get a good look at the immediate area, at least...

 

[ArcticFox]

Curiously, the curtains in front of the great windows are drawn, cloaking the space in gloom. Nevertheless, the wealth of Grufford's negotiations comes clear from the sheer amount of imported wood that lines the hall, moulded and carved with designs of spiralling vines and diamonds.

The grand staircase is, likewise, edged with carved decorations, and a few suitable portraits embellish the walls. The door to the drawing room is to the left, and a view through the door shows a comfortable, ordered room with striped wallpaper. The dining room is adjacent. Farther down the hall, there are several other doors.

All in all, it gives the impression of a comfortable upper-middle class household with aspirations. The only thing that renders the place remarkable in comparison to a property of similar stature in the city is the copy of the family's Charter, displayed in prominence on the mantle, so that the insignia of the county squire which enabled them to become part of the gentry are easily visible to any visitor. It is a trifle pompous, but clearly communicates its purpose:

This is a family with ambition.

The clock in the corner chimes twelve. There is no sign of the maid or any other inhabitant of the house. You've now paced the length of the hall several times, and you know its every detail. It's odd protocol, to be admitted into a house and left to cool your heels in the entryway for so long, even despite the rain.

Your feeling of unease grows. Far too much time has passed - could the servant have gotten lost? Perhaps this is all some kind of elaborate test. A peculiar household indeed.

The air suddenly feels taut - a tingling runs up your fingers and down your spine. Somewhere in the house, someone is dabbling in magic.

Such activities are unusual in genteel houses in this day and age - most often, such activities are better left to professionals who perform their services for a fee, much like people of law or physicians. However, there is no mistaking that iron tang.

Perhaps the servant has forgotten about you in whatever… calamity… is currently occurring.

There is a crash from somewhere upstairs, and you know, with sudden and devastating clarity, that if the magic continues, it could spell destruction for the whole household.

- Investigate the source of magic.
- Investigate the noise.
- Get help.

 

[Ezri]

For a short while Vivian could ignore that she'd been left alone, but after a while the absence of anyone at all became increasingly suspicious. They certainly were taking their time, weren't they? It wasn't as if she were offended (although she didn't enjoy being kept waiting)-- more than that it was just peculiar. The magic in the air, however, put her immediately on edge.

Once she heard the shatter she was up and running, as fast as she could despite her pounding heart. The crash itself was worthy of investigation too, she was sure, but there wasn't time. If that magic caused as much damage as it was capable of doing, then it needed to be stopped as quickly as possible, even if she had to stop it herself.

 

[ArcticFox]

You follow the trail of magic until you are facing a thick door of imported oak. The air is even heavier here - whatever working is being done on seems to be coming from within.

The room you walk into is in total chaos. Billowing clouds of smoke twist and crackle, the acrid tang of magic making your eyes and throat burn. In the centre of the room is a table, covered in antique, arcane instruments and candle-stubs, and pieces of dried flowers. Books are carelessly discarded on every available surface.

A second later, you see him, standing half-concealed behind the table and the pile of instruments there - so strained are your senses that you notice him in bursts, as if your awareness cannot bear to recognize anything whole when this consummate chaos is here, unravelling before you.

When you blink and look again, he is still there, and not a demon as you might have feared, but a human: one with a sardonic twist of a mouth, long inkstained fingers, pale skin reflecting the eerie light and a mop of dark brown hair escaping its queue in unruly hanks. His brows are furrowed in concentration, and his eyes are wholly focused on the working in front of him. He is muttering words that cause the magic to spike and the scent to grow stronger all around you, and scribbling in a small leatherbound book. His dark coat is shabby, the buttons dulled, and, as he writes, a long rip in his left sleeve becomes apparent, exposing the white shirt sleeve beneath.

Not just a would-be sorcerer, but a gentleman as well, it would appear, and one who does not take much care about his appearance. He is a little older than yourself, most certainly old enough to know better than to delve in such things.

This is the person responsible for all this. Not for much longer, however. If you don't do anything, the rising tension tells you that the entire room will be ablaze within a few minutes. Clearly, this person is hell-bent on destroying himself, regardless of whoever else happens to be present.

- Warn him about it.
- Distract him.
- Push the instruments off the table.
- Try to feel into the magic.

 

[Ezri]

It was difficult to even think in this room, but even through her panicked instincts she was able to get a loose grasp of the situation. What this man wanted to accomplish here Vivian had no idea, and frankly at the moment she wasn’t sure that it mattered. It seemed like he had done quite a bit of planning for this, ill-advised as it was— it was a shame, then, that it wouldn’t be allowed to continue.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Vivian called, edging closer through the piles of books and clutter. That someone who got himself into this mess was someone who could be talked out of it seemed unlikely, but it was worth a shot. Haphazardly destroying things was something she’d rather avoid, although if push came to shove she might not have the luxury of choosing.

 

[ArcticFox]

His eyes land on you, unfocused - he seems surprised.

"What?" Then he realises that one of his instruments is aflame and, swiftly, snatches up a brass bell from the table and uses it to snuff the flame. He mutters a few words and blows out the candle. The excruciating pressure suddenly disappears, leaving you reeling. The gentleman flinches, eyes watering, and then it is all over.

The tingle of active magic is gone, leaving a high-pitched ringing in your ears. You and the man are left staring at each other.

He explodes first. "What on earth are you doing?" The billowing smoke is now a heavy haze that stings the eyes and lungs - coughing, he shoves open the window and waves it outside. Any persons standing in the courtyard would get a full face of the noxious stuff, but your lungs appreciate the cleaner air that filters in.

Although if there were anyone below, it is a wonder that they did not intervene earlier. In any case, it is curious indeed that demons did not take this one, clearly so intent upon his own destruction, at the very hint of such goings-on.

"I was in the middle of a very important thought experiment on the nature of will. It was to be the cornerstone of the discussion at the next Meet. And now, look!" He waves a sheaf of papers wildly at the mess between you. He fixes you with a scrutinising gaze. "Why did you do that?"

- Answer.

 

[Ezri]

Even though the aftershocks were unpleasant on their own, the sensation of magic leaving the air filled Vivian with a profound sense of relief. While she still didn’t know how it started or why she had to be the one to take care of it, the emergency was over.

That said, being yelled at while her eyes were still stinging from the smoke did not do much for her mood, either. Did this man have any idea of how much danger they were in? His explanation wasn’t much help— he really put all of their lives at stake for a philosophical experiment??

“Was that part of the thought experiment?” She snapped, pointing at the now snuffed out instrument. “Because if it had been left alone any longer, I don’t think you’d be alive to present your findings.”

 

[ArcticFox]

He runs a hand through his hair and grins ruefully - he is no longer upset, it seems. Smiling, his face transforms, making him look rather pretty.

"Almodis proved that the spina is connected to the will. In truth, we have much to learn about why and how it works. Our first philosophers placed a great importance on the will, as animating the body. The study of the will, and of the strands that bind it to the human soul, have barely been discussed in scientific literature. I had hoped to find out more in order to figure out what the demon kin wants with it."

He speaks well, for someone with smudges of dirt on his face, who, just a few moments ago, came so close to departing into the abyss.

- Express worry about him.
- Introduce yourself.
- Ask about Mr Grufford.
- Ask about Danaer.

 

[Ezri]

Vivian must have looked surprised— she wasn’t expecting him to bring up the demons, of all things. And so casually, too. Suddenly his nonchalance in the face of magic made much more sense; if he made a habit of meddling with things like this, then he must be a very strange man indeed.

Now that she thought about it, who was he exactly?

“I see. That does sound...” She said, stalling while she formulated a reasonable response. His explanation was a lot to take in. “... well, in that case maybe you can help me. My name is Vivian Price. I assume you’re aware of Mr. Grufford, the ‘spina consultant’...?”

 

[ArcticFox]

"Oh, of course." He shakes nods his head as if piecing it all together now. "You came to see my uncle. My uncle is out. And then you decided to barge in and disrupt my work. Oh, I understand well enough." He sweeps an elegant bow, unimpeded by his torn cuffs and the streaks of dust on his frock coat. "Wren Grufford, at your service."

Danaer's cousin, the philosopher. Of course.

What do you think of him?

- He's infuriating.
- He's annoying.
- He's perfectly normal.
- He's attractive.
- He's interesting.

 

[Ezri]

“That’s right.” She said. He was an odd one to be sure, but with the peril gone she could appreciate his efforts for what they were. He might be an eccentric, but at least he seemed to be taking a proactive stance regarding their fates, and that was more than could be said about most anyone else she’d met since she arrived.

It was a refreshing change, although the smile she offered him was still a bit tired. “You’ve left out the part where you nearly collapsed the place, but yes. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Wren Gufford.”

 

[ArcticFox]

Despite the bizarre and not entirely cordial circumstances of your meeting, there is something about this gentleman that is different and could be useful.

And his connections are not, altogether, poor. IT would be good to make a mental note to call upon the Gruffords again soon.

He makes a strange face. "So you want to speak with my uncle. Curious." An awkward pause - he appears to be waiting for you to tell him the whole of your business. When you do not continue, he shrugs. "He is not in, as I said - he is in the city on some business." His tone is brusque, and the shadow of disdain creeps into it. Evidently, he does not hold his uncle in high esteem, despite the fact that he is ward to Roland Grufford.

The clock ticks. Wren looks at you a moment longer, as if considering something, and nods decisively.

"Our philosophy society meets on Wednesdays. You would be welcome to join, if you wish." He explains a bit. "A group of us decided years ago that we wished to better… understand the way the world works. It is a peculiar position, is it not, in which we find ourselves now as gentry in a town calculated to bring us to tithe. Everyone tries to gloss over the oddness of it all, to pretend that the rules and society are all that matter, that nothing persists except this game we play, but that is not so - and we cannot simply come to peace with it." He takes a breath and appears to calm himself. "But I am getting ahead of myself. Will you join?"

- Accept.
- Refuse.

 

[Ezri]

“Why would you invite me?” Vivian asked, surprised enough that the words just slipped out. Despite ruining his experiment, as he put it, she must not have made a terrible impression. She shook her head. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“I confess, I’m having a difficult time coming to terms with all of this myself...” she said, crossing her arms. Rowan didn’t think much of the philosophy club, but if they were making efforts towards better understanding the demons then that seemed to be a worthwhile goal, at least. “So I would like to join, if it would help to reach some understanding.”

 

[ArcticFox]

"We need more people who want to think for themselves." Wren flashes you a dazzling, lopsided grin, made all the more brilliant by his reserve. "And you seem like one."

There's an odd little silence. He, suddenly, seems very interested in the charred marks on his hand. "Well - I should return to my work."

- Tell him to be safe.
- Tell him not to blow anything up.
- Leave him alone.

 

[Ezri]

It might seem like a strange compliment— normally one would sound very haughty saying something like that, and Wren was no exception— but Vivian decided to be honestly flattered anyway. He didn’t seem like the kind of man to freely hand out praise.

“Then I’ll leave you to it.” She said, with one more quizzical look around the disaster of a room she was in. She turned to leave but hesitated “— but please, try not to blow the whole manor to bits.”

 

[ArcticFox]

He smiles, and nods his head. "I would like to be able to see you again, but life is full of perils. We must each take care, when opening doors to the unknown. Rest assured that I shall do so."

That is not quite a promise not to experiment, but it is likely as much as you will get. The sound of the front door slamming brings you back to the present. Someone has just arrived. If you hurry, you might catch Roland Grufford.

You bid a final farewell to Wren, who bows, one eyebrow raised - you can't tell if it's meant seriously or not - and hurry back down the stairs.

The rustle of fabric, and a young man's voice, halt your steps. It is Mr Danaer Grufford.

He squints at you, appearing to run calculations in his head. "I beg your pardon, Madam…?"

- Greet him.
- Explain why are you there.
- Something else.

 

[Ezri]

Wren’s promise was not comforting or entirely believable, but she had no choice but to leave it at that and take her leave. He wasn’t her responsibility, after all, and as intruiging as his work was she was glad for that.

In her haste to catch up with Roland, however, the possibility hadn’t occurred to Vivian that whoever came through the door might be someone else.

“Excuse me!” She said, one hand on her chest. Of course he would be confused, seeing some unexpected woman running around as she pleased. “I came here to see Mr. Grufford— Roland Grufford— but I was just told he’s not in. I apologize for the intrusion, I must have startled you.”

 

[ArcticFox]

"Oh, I see, you've come to see my father? He is out, there was a… thing, I suppose. Everyone is on edge, since-" He doesn't finish the sentence.

He looks around, though there is no one in the stairwell, and moves closer. "It wasn't always this way," he says in a bare whisper. "It used to be less frequent. The…" He pauses. "They are gathering more and more thralls. Everyone says so, everyone is on edge," he continues. "I overheard father telling the town council that it must have something to do with the Wood."

He continues rapidly. "Whatever is happening, the Fae are probably behind it. They of the forest."

You've heard about the Fae before, people have spoken about the mysterious creatures of the forest, but no one had actually seen anyone in the Wood. You get the feeling that Danaer spends a good deal of time "accidentally" overhearing things he should not have heard.

- Thank Danaer for the information.
- Scold Danaer for gossiping.
- Commiserate with Danaer.
- Something else.

 

[Ezri]

Vivian was surprised when Danaer came closer, and she was stiff as a board. She would never have guessed he was the type to gossip, especially with people he was unacquainted with. Still, she listened intently, with the thought remaining in the back of her mind that it might not be a bad idea to be careful concerning what she let slip around him.

“More? I had no idea...” She whispered back; this was the first she’d heard about the Fae being involved, if it was true, and she knew very little about the Fae to begin with. And it was concerning to hear that more people were succumbing, becoming thralls— she looked sideways at Danaer, her brows furrowed skeptically. “But is it all right for you to be telling me all this...?”

 

[ArcticFox]

"Probably not, but I'm about done being careful." He says with a wry smile.

This information suddenly sheds a new light on Wren's experiment, but Danaer seems wholly ignorant of the magic that occurred just a few minutes ago in his home.

--

While you are walking towards home, you can't help but muse upon the Gruffords. A strange call, all in all, but not devoid of information. Indeed, the situation in Cinders seems rather more complicated than even you had imagined, though perhaps no more than is warranted with such a diversity of interests all coming to a head in one small parcel of countryside.

- You cannot stop thinking about Wren.
- You cannot stop thinking about the magic.
- You cannot stop thinking about the danger.
- You cannot stop thinking about Danaer.

 

[Ezri]

Vivian's short term goals of speaking to someone about her spina had been completely thwarted, but looking back on it she felt more than satisfied with the outcome of her visit. It was one bizarre event after another, and she'd learned some very valuable information. There were other people doing much the same thing she was: trying to find some answers behind all of this, or what to do about it. Although she wouldn't have imagined she would find such like-minded individuals in Danaer and his cousin...

In particular, Vivian had assumed any member of the philosophy club would be at least a little eccentric, but Wren had far exceeded her expectations, to put it politely. How had a man with his pedigree get involved with magic like that-- and even more puzzling-- did the rest of his family even know? She couldn't tell if he was some sort of genius or just a reckless idiot. Either way, he was not a man she thought she would forget any time soon.

 

[ArcticFox]

The way back home takes you past the boundary to Cinders, and, from the hill, you can glimpse the shadowy trees of the Wood. If there is something sinister about the forest, or the Fae that inhabit it, it seems likely today, when the tangled branches create a bleak barrier against the sky.

Something moves at the corner of your vision. It is an elderly lady, dressed in old-fashioned clothes. She is moving towards the gate.

No one goes into the Wood. It is simply not done.

You half believe the old lady will turn and continue walking the limits of the town, but she proceeds forward, until she reaches the old gate. It is near rusted shut from disuse, but swings silently open at her gesture.

She goes through it, and is soon past your sight.

- You are curious about the Wood.
- You are afraid of it.
- You are drawn to it.
- You think it's dangerous.
- Something else.