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westwhere2023-12-09 06:57 pm
groundrules) wrote in westwhere2023-12-09 06:57 pm
Entry tags:
- arcane: caitlyn,
- blade of the immortal: asano rin,
- dragon age: cole,
- harry potter: hermione granger,
- kingdom of the wicked: emilia,
- kingdom of the wicked: wrath,
- last case of benedict fox: benedict fox,
- mcu: america chavez,
- mcu: bucky barnes,
- mcu: kamala khan,
- mcu: natasha romanova,
- mcu: yelena,
- one piece: luffy,
- one piece: nami,
- original: red,
- penny dreadful: vanessa ives,
- star wars: merrin,
- umbrella academy: five,
- warcraft: wrathion,
- wheel of time: elayne trakand
the beauty, the beast, the burned
All but overnight, howling winter winds seal off main roads and curtail safe travel. The storms will recede within a month — and the Merchant negotiates for the party to bide that time at the sinister castle of the clan Netvor and its cursed heir.
ON THE ROAD
The party departs at night, in carriages led by obstinately silent coachmen, who urge discretion. Above all, they say, the woods must not know you head for the castle. Inside, you find dried fruit, candied meats, candle stubs and blankets. You are assigned your first ride, but may swap at resting points.
- ■ Crossing the misty, eerily quiet woods, your carriage is attacked by large, demonic wolve. Coachmen scream to run to the castle.
■ Evade the wolves in the woods, until you reach the strong, tall gates and fences that encircle the vast castle gardens. The gates bear skulls that carry daggers between their teeth. To let you in, they ask for shiny things, wine and secrets — but are also susceptible to charm.
■ If you arrive covered in blood, the gate skulls call you a ‘beauty’ and offer you a dagger that you may take or discard. If you arrive untarnished, they call you a ‘beast.’
Image source.
HOME, SWEET HOME
Tall, dark and looming, with narrow corridors and windows of stained glass — the castle of the noble Netvor clan is like a slow-beating, putrid heart that powers extensive gardens and forest lands.
The castle rests on thick mounds of snow, crossed by red rivulets that stain nearby ice sheets crimson — a reminder, your host Julien says, of a ‘Red Hunt’ that the Netvor clan carried out years prior, killing hundreds of animals until their blood mixed with dirt. In retaliation, a forest witch cursed the clan, transforming its heir into an unsightly beast and his servants into inanimate objects or fellow creatures.
You were largely given lodging at castle Netvor in exchange for entertaining Julien, the prince’s serene and startlingly handsome fiancé, who welcomes you with the main house rule: you must not see the prince.
BEHIND YOU
The castle covets you : doors and windows often thud shut to lock you inside quarters, candles light up or dim on whim, and you sometimes hear the echo of voices in the corridors carrying the secrets of other speakers, long after they’ve departed.
If you are a ‘beauty,’ statues slowly turn their heads or move when you look away, and you see shadows running through mirrors. If you are ‘beastly,’ you hear clawing at your windows and doors at night, only to find fading scratch marks in the morning.
Some servants have been cursed into inanimate objects, with others transformed into bird-like, monstrous but harmless creatures that stay largely hidden.
House rules: do not open doors or windows at night. Be kind to the servants.
THE SOUTHERN WING
Home to Julien and you, the southern wing is bright, airy, gilded and refreshed daily by sentient dusters and brooms.
■ Lavish sleeping quarters with en suite bathing quarters and generously supplied wardrobes. There are no furs or fur-lined clothes. Rule: do not enter Julien’s locked bedchamber. Julien himself heads to the northern wing each night.
■ Self-sustaining kitchens, where bowls, whisks and ladles perpetually prepare elaborate dishes and pastries. Visitors are often hijacked to test eccentric or boozy dishes.
■ A glistening ballroom with wall-length mirrors. Soft music erupts, compelling you to take a partner and dance feverishly to steps you somehow know or that a sentient cello can teach. Spinning by the mirrors, you see yourself reflected among faceless dancers whom you recognise from the portrait room. When you finish dancing, you spot ash footprints on the floor.
BEASTLY QUARTERS
The northern wing is dark, moulding, with torn wallpaper, broken furniture and soot strewn about — the signs of a failed arson attempt. The ravaged northern area leads to a tall tower that houses the prince’s chambers.
House rules: you cannot enter after sundown, and you must leave any room when you hear unknown footsteps behind you. Disobey, and you gradually lose consciousness as the footsteps come near you, and you hear only a rasped, bestial, Your blood need not spill here, before you wake with a booming migraine in the southern wing. Do this three times, and Julien insists you must leave the castle.
■ the portrait room: a gallery and library that displays brimming bookcases and the portraits of the family members of the Netvor clan. The faces have been removed: some by claws, canvas strips hanging. Some were burned off. In a handful of portraits, faces have simply disappeared through white erosion.
■ The prince’s sleeping quarters are in a locked tower chamber, preceded by a wide stairwell covered covered in thorny roses and hundreds of wilted petals. Slowly over the duration of your stay, you notice they wither and fade. Touch a rose and you hear hissing, as the flower briefly curls back into a blossom. Prick your fingers on a thorn, and briefly see names engraved the nearby brick wall. You recognise them from the room of portraits.
■ In a nest of rose vines, you find several notebooks — including one with the prince’s daily entries. On the day of your arrival, he scribbled, Can men learn compassion?
Tall, dark and looming, with narrow corridors and windows of stained glass — the castle of the noble Netvor clan is like a slow-beating, putrid heart that powers extensive gardens and forest lands.
The castle rests on thick mounds of snow, crossed by red rivulets that stain nearby ice sheets crimson — a reminder, your host Julien says, of a ‘Red Hunt’ that the Netvor clan carried out years prior, killing hundreds of animals until their blood mixed with dirt. In retaliation, a forest witch cursed the clan, transforming its heir into an unsightly beast and his servants into inanimate objects or fellow creatures.
 | ” Once upon a time, there was a man. And that man had kin. And that kin was cruel. But the forest chooses its time and its champions. The land rebelled against them. Their people turned away. And only the beasts they so cleverly despoiled would still have them. The prince was spared because a glimmer of kindness he showed a stranger, to make amends. But the prince was alone. ” |
You were largely given lodging at castle Netvor in exchange for entertaining Julien, the prince’s serene and startlingly handsome fiancé, who welcomes you with the main house rule: you must not see the prince.
BEHIND YOU
The castle covets you : doors and windows often thud shut to lock you inside quarters, candles light up or dim on whim, and you sometimes hear the echo of voices in the corridors carrying the secrets of other speakers, long after they’ve departed.
If you are a ‘beauty,’ statues slowly turn their heads or move when you look away, and you see shadows running through mirrors. If you are ‘beastly,’ you hear clawing at your windows and doors at night, only to find fading scratch marks in the morning.
Some servants have been cursed into inanimate objects, with others transformed into bird-like, monstrous but harmless creatures that stay largely hidden.
House rules: do not open doors or windows at night. Be kind to the servants.
THE SOUTHERN WING
Home to Julien and you, the southern wing is bright, airy, gilded and refreshed daily by sentient dusters and brooms.
■ Lavish sleeping quarters with en suite bathing quarters and generously supplied wardrobes. There are no furs or fur-lined clothes. Rule: do not enter Julien’s locked bedchamber. Julien himself heads to the northern wing each night.
■ Self-sustaining kitchens, where bowls, whisks and ladles perpetually prepare elaborate dishes and pastries. Visitors are often hijacked to test eccentric or boozy dishes.
■ A glistening ballroom with wall-length mirrors. Soft music erupts, compelling you to take a partner and dance feverishly to steps you somehow know or that a sentient cello can teach. Spinning by the mirrors, you see yourself reflected among faceless dancers whom you recognise from the portrait room. When you finish dancing, you spot ash footprints on the floor.
| ” The villagers don’t speak of what happened to the rest of clan Netvor. Handfuls of people. If they are among the cursed servants, they hide themselves. But I suspect they have long transcended to a different realm of possibilities. He does not speak of them to me. But he does not speak of any unkindness to me. He is… gentle, in his way. ” |
- ■ The reading room: a wide seating area with an enormous fireplace where the remains of prized hunting prey were traditionally set to burn. Strange bones and expensive clothing scraps linger amid wood kindling.
■ The object-servants (largely dusters and teacups) urge you to help decorate the southern wing with flowers, candles and baubles for new year festivities — only for you to discover burned clothes in the castle’s nooks and crannies. What remains of the materials is high-quality, ornate.
BEASTLY QUARTERS
The northern wing is dark, moulding, with torn wallpaper, broken furniture and soot strewn about — the signs of a failed arson attempt. The ravaged northern area leads to a tall tower that houses the prince’s chambers.
House rules: you cannot enter after sundown, and you must leave any room when you hear unknown footsteps behind you. Disobey, and you gradually lose consciousness as the footsteps come near you, and you hear only a rasped, bestial, Your blood need not spill here, before you wake with a booming migraine in the southern wing. Do this three times, and Julien insists you must leave the castle.
■ the portrait room: a gallery and library that displays brimming bookcases and the portraits of the family members of the Netvor clan. The faces have been removed: some by claws, canvas strips hanging. Some were burned off. In a handful of portraits, faces have simply disappeared through white erosion.
■ The prince’s sleeping quarters are in a locked tower chamber, preceded by a wide stairwell covered covered in thorny roses and hundreds of wilted petals. Slowly over the duration of your stay, you notice they wither and fade. Touch a rose and you hear hissing, as the flower briefly curls back into a blossom. Prick your fingers on a thorn, and briefly see names engraved the nearby brick wall. You recognise them from the room of portraits.
■ In a nest of rose vines, you find several notebooks — including one with the prince’s daily entries. On the day of your arrival, he scribbled, Can men learn compassion?
| ” You must have seen them, the roses. They are his burden. The root and timepiece of his curse. Until the last petal withers away, he must rebuild the forest and make amends for the carnage wrought by his family. If the curse believes… the balance has been met, he will be spared. If not… but we still have time. ” |
■ Each day at sunset, the stairwell roses bloom golden, as thousands of petals rain down. If you are touched, and you are in the presence of someone you dislike, you feel encouraged to apologise or make amends. In the company of someone you enjoy, you express gratitude, admiration or joy. Those who are already in love may find themselves (finally?) confessing. Optionally, some characters feel overwhelmed by sudden, bitter sadness, tears trailing down their cheeks — and a feeling of captivity, as footsteps draw near.
THE GARDENS
The snow-laden gardens spread wide and vast, containing archery and sword training grounds, a frosted fountain , a frozen lake for skating and several bridges for those who entertain snow fights.
- ■ If you are a ‘beauty,’ the blood-bound red dirt seems to stick to you as you pass by, staining you crimson. For ‘beasts,’ the dirt all but parts.
■ Each day, castle servants bring devote hours to plant trees in the forest, to cleanse river waters and seed flowers or plant trees.
| ” This was a hunting castle. It needn’t have been. The villages serve gladly. Panna is only the nearest one, but they have dozens at their bidding. But the Netvor loved their bloodshed well, and so… each season. Crushing, killing, decimating. Even taming, tainting the forest’s wolves to serve as their hounds. That’s why they come at our gates now. To beg scraps. Despicable. Forgive me. I have a soft heart and a weak stomach. For my sake, he no longer hunts in the wasteful way of his people. ” |
■ The familiar demonic wolves prowl at night, howling maddeningly and sometimes breaching into the gardens. They appear desperate to attack the castle.
■ Glancing at the castle from the gardens, you might see a dark, nebulous figure in the distance at a tower balcony that doesn’t correspond to any room you’ve had access to.
BE OUR GUEST
Each evening, you must dress in formalwear and dine in the great ballroom of the southern wing. The space is now poorly lit by candlelight, and you can barely glimpse your dining partners.
- ■ You are asked to never look behind you, even as you sometimes hear heavy steps and rattling nearby. Now and then, you think you can almost see a pair of golden eyes behind a dining companion.
■ The dishes and cutlery dance and perform throughout an elaborate, many-course service that all exclude venison. Diners feel compelled to trade anecdotes of their homelands and families. No one can leave for an hour.
■ At least once, you will receive a dish you associate with a close relation or family member.
■ Opt-in: Instead of dishes, you might (at most twice during your stay) receive an empty black plate. You must excuse yourself after dinner, lock yourself in your bedroom and keep vigil that night — careful not to let strangers in, no matter what they say or whose voice they imitate. If you open your door to strangers, a swathe of shadows overwhelms you with deep jealousy, loneliness or insecurity. Human company eases the feeling.
LITTLE TOWN
The gentle snow of the first few days worsens, until a great blizzard blockades you in the castle for five days ( OOCly around 17-22 December) — at the end of which, a bashful kitchen ladle and a friendly pot beg you to head into Panna village for supplies. A cart and a stubborn donkey accompany you for the 90-minute trek through the woods.
- ■ The forests are largely silent, seemingly peopled by animals of prey (rabbits, deer). At times, you find bare human footprints that seem to lead no where, some carrying the red dirt of castle Netvor.
■ Deep claw marks litter most trees in the woodlands close to castle Netvor. To your luck, the large wolves are entirely absent during the day.
■ A few small abandoned hunters’ cabins are still standing, seemingly repurposed as (empty) wolf dens. You find young village children are leaving cooked food and old shawls there. If they see you, children shoo you away.
■ The village is small, warm, chirpy and welcoming — until residents hear you come from Netvor castle. Then, they gossip and urge their children to keep away from your witch blood.
| ” You must think the people of Panna disloyal, pulling away at the first sign of hardship. But the Netvor were so cruel to animals while they yet learned to torture men. They loved their prince, once. One day, if the witch’s curse lifts, they might love him again. But no one can care for a beast, let alone associate with one pursued by a witch, they say. They are wrong. ” |
- ■ Villagers take you to a tavern to meet drunken hunter Viola, who may need a hand wrapping up a few brawls before taking you to bakers, brewers and lumberjacks. Sometimes, these sellers need your help to prepare the last of the supplies.
■ A nearby place of worship has left out incense for the dead, including incense for the wretched Netvor clan.
■ Viola insists you cannot stay past sunset and declines to accompany you back. Villagers say she was previously assisted the clan Netvor, but stopped after the Red Hunt.
NPC INBOX
no subject
( ...well, then. Well. Then.
Perhaps in a feat of diplomacy, courtesy or sheer awe, Julien survives the spectacle without bursting into laugher or flames, sat aghast at his balcony, gazing on.
Well... then. )
Sir. Good sir. You have the wrong balcony. This one belongs to a betrothed man. Happily so. Enthusiastically so. For a foreseeably extended duration, not to be... shattered be trysts and... stray glances. The likes of which grow jealousies in clawed hands.
( ...take the hint. )
i'm crying ruxi
he bursts out laughing.
sharp, short laughs as he coughs and sputters to reign it back. He leans against the balcony railing, tilting his head in amusement as he looks on at the young man that avoids his gaze. ) I think you misunderstand. I'm a bard. I write about others, not myself.
And I wrote this for Netvor. Not... ( ahem. ) In some attempt to woo you.
A tragically beautiful song for a tragically beautiful land.
s-sob
( ...well, then. Once more. With great feeling, such as compels Julien to drag a hand over his mouth and shield away further laughter. Do forgive him. )
Forgive me. I hadn't anticipated that. By all means, it's a... particular song. Keep playing. The prince might yet take an interest.
no subject
Do you think he can hear me? ( he lifts the flute to his lips and plays a couple soft notes from the trail of the song. ) I'd like it if you could both listen to the song together.
no subject
( He hesitates, expression faint, questioning — as if he has never troubled himself to wonder on that particular matter, as if he has never speculated. Until now.
Then, as his hand settles on the railing: )
I suspect he hears so much more than we anticipate. He's everywhere, at any time. He is the master of this castle.
no subject
So, in a way he's always with you? Isn't that romantic for someone so taken by him? ( suddenly Deimos' flute is so interesting. he clearly has to make sure it's perfectly aligned. though he glances, trying to read the expression on Julien's face. )
no subject
I'm... ( A pause, as if every word spoken must be carefully, diligently calculated, as if it is heard and perhaps weaponized thereafter. As if Julien, too, must tread lightly. )
Flattered, of course. By his attention. I did invite it. I came here willingly. As did you. Have you been treated poorly? ( Not one moment's wait. ) I believe not. Neither have I.
no subject
he nods his head, though. ) The Prince has shown us a great kindness. A shame all I can do is play him a song. It's little compensation for what he's shown us.
Do you think he'll like it? If he can hear me play it again for him. For you both. A testament to your love. ( a tragica testament. )
no subject
I... ( And more of that knowing, earnest calculation. A slow, if building pause. ) Don't wish to discourage you.
( As for the prince's wants and temperaments, well then. ) He can be unpredictable.
no subject
Speaking of unpredictable... you're quite a hard one to read yourself. I've been curious. How did you come to meet the Prince? ( he twirls his flute idly as he speaks. ) Maybe I could write a poem to capture the beauty of that meeting?
no subject
( If he is caught aback, unsettled or perturbed, he does not speak the words. He speaks, for a long moment when he all but melts over the balcony railing in a relaxed, gentle sprawl, entirely silent.
Then, finally, almost cat-like: ) I'm not from these parts, not really. I was... fate that I arrived at this castle at just the right moment, when the prince could contemplate... ( A moment, for how to address this diplomatically — ) Change.
( From bloodshed, grief and deforestation, presumably. ) I believe in him, wholeheartedly. In his power and strength to better himself, and in my ability to keep him to account. There is kindness in him that the world doesn't see. Perhaps that it shouldn't. He was only the worst of himself in the society of those who didn't deserve him. And, well... I hope you won't think it too arrogant if I say he's very fond of my appearance. 'The dearest face to him in the world.'
( A bashful laugh. ) Well, so he says.
no subject
( he twirls his flute idly as he speaks. ) I'm just so curious as to what form fate took in guiding you to the Prince. Were the wolves already outside when you came, or was that after? Did you brave dangers tenfold to find your beloved, or did they come later and you stay by his side through the worst of it.
( he laughs at himself and shakes his head. ) I apologize if I ask too much. I just feel a story to be told, and the more I know the better I can weave a tale as old as time.
'tale as old as' I saw that
( He laughs, either charmed or derisive or yet to decide his own mind, his temperament. )
Tragedy brought me here. The news of everything that took place. I wanted to see... with my own eyes, if the misfortunes were truly so deep. ( His voice sharpens, faintly. ) They were.
( And again, conversationally: ) There were no wolves. There were barely any forests left. No sign of pheasant, no footstep of deer. Every rabbit wrenched and tortured. Foxes skinned, carcasses left at the gates. It was... not a sight to love.
( His smile thins, empty. ) But fondness finds a way.
i regret nothing.
but he goes back further. Julien was here before the curse was set. when the curse was set.
there was magic on his room...
Deimos forces his ever-performing self to stay at the forefront. )
Fondness for the Prince? That must have been a deep love for you to stay after witnessing such a tragedy with your own eyes.
no subject
So it was. It is. ( And now he finally rouses himself, smile once more bashful, almost, if not fully flirtatious. Knowing. )
He's a faithful man. Capable of enormous nobility and sacrifice. And such resilience. Can you imagine, to live for years as a beast? So many would have lost their wits, let alone their purpose. Yet he prevails.
no subject
is this what someone will say about him some day? )
He's lucky to have someone love him so. And I imagine you must be scouring the world for a way to help him from this curse?
no subject
( Here, crisper as he straightens: ) No. Not at all. That his own struggle, his own burden. He has been given his task, and he must see it to completion. And though I shall do everything in my power to assist him...
( A moment's pause, as he licks his lips, seeming to consider. Then, carefully: ) It is not my place to make of him the man I wish him to be. He must be the man he is. And I must accept whatever comes of it. Of him.