Some secrets are small.
Some secrets are left
To be pondered by all.
Some secrets you hide,
Some secrets you say.
Some secrets should never
See the light of day.
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OOC: This thread is open to anyone who would like to attend. This thread will be of a mystery/horror theme. Important notes regarding this adventure:
• There will be NO IC consequences or impact from this event! Assume no risk joining this event.
• This event is high-danger. Pc fatality is predicted in the 30-50%.
• This event is high-complexity, with an estimated run time of just over 1 month RL.
• Placement in this event is limited. Once the event has closed, no additional players will be allowed.
• Abide by the restrictions of the invitation, and come equipped for a dinner party. No weapons or armor.
• You must describe your attire/possessions with your first post. You may not assume changes midway through this sequence.
• If this scenario should become "impossible" due to circumstance, the scene will gradually end.
Good luck, have fun, and give it a try!
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Your invitation wrote:On behalf of the Naturalist Society of World's Mouth, you are hereby invited to enjoy an evening of dining and entertainment at the Ardemus Manor, Southern Marchlands, World's Mouth, during the Eveningtide of Samheen 28th, 1224 yahren after our lord, Charlesmagne. On this night, the Naturalist Society and it's distinguished fellow, Professor Ardemus, would welcome all adventurous and intellectual persons.
-Proff. Ardemus, c/o Naturalist Society
It was a curious invitation, made only more curious by the name placed on the bottom margin. Professor Ardemus, Father of the Nashorn, Founder of the Naturalist Society, and perhaps the most respected mind on magic, sorcery, and alchemy in the Western World. But most importantly, he was presumed dead, a rumor that gave his invitations to seem rather presumptuous at best. Whoever sent them must have had a very unusual sense of humor...or perhaps these invitations were written some time ago. Either way, the implication is clear: the receiver is expected on this very night to a dinner party. And the dinner party was at the most enigmatic and strange of places in perhaps all the known world: the infamous Ardemus Manor of old, where Professor Ardemus himself was rumored to do the impossible on a daily basis, a manor surrounded by rumor, legend, fear, and awe. Even his death seemed something unreal...something that could not have been true.
Samheen 28th, Eveningtide, to Samheen 29th, Gravetide
Was it a dream, or was it real? The invitation seemed real enough...and the Ardemus Manor was notorious and very real, a place with an address, as if such a very concise description of it's location somehow lent it reality and weight where other places would have none. The road to the Ardemus Manor, winding through the hills of the Southern Marchlands, were real enough, and travelling them by the fading daylight hadn't seemed so very difficult by carriage. But the sun, like all things, must eventually set...and soon enough, long shadows crossed the lands and cast the ground into darkness or sullen tones of gray. It was an Autumn night that would accompany the guests when they arrived, with dead and falling leaves whirling in the swift, cutting wind and storm clouds gathering and blowing overhead, the distant forks of brilliant lightning flashing off in the Western distance. But the lightning was a welcome thing, for in those brief flashes of clarity, the arriving guest could see his or her coming destination, a building that would live in the hearts of millions for generations to come.
Ardemus Manor.
Here they come, thought the host as the guest's carriages pulled down the country lane and across the bridge into the estate's grounds. They would come in along the circular drive, circling the twenty-foot statue of Professor Ardemus himself, his pose one of quiet, solitary introspection, and pull up at the front doors, where they would be handed out by the footman, directed past the two guards at the broad, double doors, and through the foyer into the reception room by the aging, middle-aged butler...and then we'll get started, thought the host as he turned away from the window and inspected the interior of the reception room. Square, like all the rooms in the East Wing, it featured printed wallpaper upon its upper half and burgundy paint upon the lower, separated by a wide, molded border. There were two divans stretching the length of the south wall opposite the windows, each one embroidered with floral patterns over a faded scarlet. Outside of those on either southern corner were two pairs of smoking chairs, all leather and each one flanking a small, decorative table of polished walnut. Three more chairs formed a small group in the northeast corner, just under one of the north-facing windows, these of a larger, more luxurious design featuring overstuffed chocolate leather, and a lovely, carved wet bar dominated the northwest corner just near the room's entrance through which his guests would arrive, the liquor cabinet built as a corner design to effectively use such space. Opposite that entrance was another door, one that would lead into the dining room, of course. I should think we would make it THAT far tonight, thought the Host, nodding in approval at the reception room's decorations.
Moving to the wet bar, he began to prepare a few light refreshments for his arrivals. Indeed, this should prove a rather interesting visit for them all, he thought to himself, as he tipped the claret into several long, thin glasses. I should hope at least one of them succeeds. Glancing up at the mirror, the host checks his appearance one last time...not bad, but certainly not aristocratic...before he would begin welcoming all newcomers.