The Fall of House Pancrazio Chapter One

[JMaytr]

The letters on the wall before Harold start to make a word. He has to get closer to see, but Harold soon makes out the word.

"Hurts".

The small letters slowly fill in with a yellow, milky fluid.

Sir Jullian bursts in the room.

A quick glance back at the wall and Harold can see that the letters are gone. The wood panel is untouched.

OUTSIDE THE PARLOR

Lothario seems impatient to leave. He paces the hallway and curses under his breath.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"There was something here," Harold says in a flat tone of voice. "Something that stole the warmth out of the air and drew phantom letters upon the wall. I do not jest. It wrote ... 'hurts'. Either it is in pain, or it is vengeful."

[RocEter]

Jullian sighs a breath of relief.

"I see. Perhaps its the stress from the funeral today Harold, you and Aunt Phebe should both get some rest, if you still feel like this tomorrow then we shall discuss it."

Jullian leaves the room, with out waiting for a response from Harold and continues to his task. After readying himself he goes downstairs, with his saddle and saddle bags.

Looking to Lothario "I will meet you at the front gate with my horse, Lord Enzo." He says.

He then goes through kitchen and out the back door, before going outside he readjusts his cloak to fit more comfortable around his Fullplate armor and frees his sword. Bracing for the slight chill to come, he steps outside and proceeds to the stables to saddle his horse.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Harold narrows his eyes at Julian's retreating back. Once the man is gone, he turns to Phebe. "Miss Phebe," he says, "are you alright? You are not affrighted?"

[ewancummins]

In the parlor-

Tristan keeps a close eye on Lothario and his goons, If he notices the noise upstairs, he gives no indication of it. When Lothario and his men get up to leave, he follows at a casual pace, and makes sure to keep his body between the swordsmen and his employer. If Tahl is with him, he'll let the elf take the lead. Tristan is confident about shooting over or around his friend in a scrap, as ncessary.

[Lord Skybolt]

Tahl follows Lord Enzo and his goons to keep an I on them . Also to make sure they don't try any thing with the Lord of the house .

[Griselda]

As the evening creeps in, Agna leaves off the dishes for a span. This is about the time to prep the bedrooms for bedtime. She picks up her ash bucket and water pitcher, and goes up the back stairs.

In each bedchamber, Agna banks the fire and fills ewers for wash-up/ late-night drink, along with whatever other nightly requests she must follow (someone wants a candle at the ready; someone wants a wine-and-water nightcap waiting on the dressing table). If the door is shut, she knocks before entering and waits for admittance. If it's quiet and dim under the door, she opens the door very softly, lest someone have gone to bed early, and tiptoes in. A bed with a form in it will be carefully trod around (if the person is known to sleep deeply) or avoided (for light sleepers). When the room is merely empty, she sets about her work with her usual briskness.

Having finished with the bedrooms, she tackles the downstairs, mostly taking on the fires and emptying wastebaskets. If she can hear Lothario in the hall, she will not venture to the downstairs except by the back stairs, and then not go to the front until he's gone.

If the other servants' quarters (esp. the guest houses) are part of her rounds, she completes these last (or makes a quick run to them while waiting for Lothario to depart).

[RocEter]

Upon reaching the stables Jullian begins to saddle his horse. Once this is finished he walks his horse to the front gates of the manor, mounts and waits for Lothario and his men.

While waiting for Lothario Jullian pats his horse on his neck and double checks all the straps.

[JMaytr]

Agna is busy cleaning upstairs when Lothario Enzo is lead back To Von Ziyden by Sir Jullian, Tahl, and Tristan. Harold takes the opportunity to return to his own apartment in town, accompanying the group.

Night comes quickly to the grounds of Pancrazio manor not long after the group's departure. The chirping of birds gives away to the cries of bats and other insects. Slowly silence engulfs the grounds. The bats have all gone and the insects are still and alert.

As Agna cleans Miss Phebe's room, placing extra water in her chamber as usual, she hears a noise from behind her by the nightstand. Using her small candle, Agna can see yellowing, liquid filled letters forming on the wall. They bubble and ooze like an infected wound, twisting to form a word;

"HURTS"

She watches the letters fade from view. As they are gone completely, Miss Phebe lets out a loud snore that causes the skin on Agna's arms to crawl.

But then Agna's head starts to hurt. The pain is sudden and strong, nearly blinding (1).


(1) WILL SAVE


DOWNSTAIRS

Tuke is enjoying a little quiet time to himself in the Library. Having traveled with Magenta from Sturben, Tuke was surprised that the Pancrazio library had some of the great literary and poetic works of the Corelands. While the library was missing anything of supernatural note, it held a great many books detailing the different types of flora and fauna found throughout beautiful Borca, and their different "uses". Though the little fool had no way of knowing, his gut told him there was something special to this collection of books, if only he could find it...


ON THE ROAD TO VON ZIYDEN

As night falls on the road to Von Ziyden, the wind begins to crawl off the icy slopes of Mount Gries, seeping into your clothes and causing your breath to become visible at times. The road is flanked by tall green trees that look black as the night grows darker. Gas lamps offer some light along the road, but there are few of them, and fewer that are operational. The silence of the animals and insects causes the horses to move at a quicker pace, sweat forming on their already malnourished bodies. Lothario offers no conversation to Sir Jullian or his companions, nervously scanning the treeline for hidden attackers.

In town, many of the white bricked shops have closed their doors and there are nearly no people on the streets. Harold is seen safely to his apartment and Lothario and his men to the Black Lotus Inn.

The trip back to Pancrazio manor is a long one and the hour grows ever later.

[RocEter]

Jullian keeps a careful watch as the group rides back the manor.

"I don't believe I have properly introduced myself to you two. I Sir Jullian Pancrazio, I am aware that you are empolyed cousin, but what do you do for him?" He says, as keeps his one eye on his surroundings.

[Irving the Meek]

Tuke freely helps himself to the books in the library. He's never had a great deal of time for study, and truthfully he was never of a scholastic bent. His tutor in the bardic arts tried teaching him some of the great epics, but they always seemed to get tangled up in his head. Was it the fourth or the fifth charge of Hawks of Falkovnia the broke the ancient warlord's legions on Mount Cavis? I always got them confused... A pipe finds its way into Tuke's hands as he sits on the end table, admiring the gory woodcuts illustrating the old tale.

He's somewhat surprised by the extensive collection of horticultural books. There's never been a gardener in the family, to the best of his recollection. Sensualist that he is, Tuke finds the illustrations far more fascinating than the dreary descriptions of stems and stamens and leaves.

One particular illustration catches his eye - it's not an illustration, really, but a pressed flower, a pretty white wildflower with spiky leaves. Tuke admires the focus that it must have taken, carefully pressing the flowers down into such a perfect little corpse...

Then his brow wrinkles. Had he seen that flower before?

He lays his pipe to one side, raises the book to his hands, and sniffs the pressed flower.

No. He's smelled it before. It's faint now, ancient, musty, but those ancient notes make the familiar aspects of the little flower stand out.

He smelled it... in the carriage. No, by the horses, maybe? Behind the horses? In the road apples, perhaps?

Where else? What was in the summer wine?

He opens the library window. The air is chill, almost crisp, but perhaps... perhaps it's even there, on the wind?

Tuke glances back at the book, which lists the tiny, pretty flower among one of the more "intriguing" plants in Borca, and a note of disquiet echoes in him that he cannot ignore.

The little fool grabs the book and vaults back up onto the end table. He shakes his sleeve, and a slender knife appears in his hand. Carefully turning the pages with the little blade, Tuke looks at the collection of pressed poisons in his hand. The pipe dies, forgotten, by his side.

Something about this tiny, innocent flower seems very wrong to Tuke. He's got nothing but his impulses to tell him so, but his impulses are rarely wrong, and he's determined to listen to them. He's determined to figure out why this tiny little flower strikes a note of fear in his heart.(1)

Bardic Knowledge check, rolled 12, result 16, requesting +2 circumstance bonus for the use of the library.

[Griselda]

Agna winces as the pain collects in the front of her skull, behind her eyes. The fact that she hasn't eaten much today only adds to her misery, as her stomach roils. She struggles to keep her eyes open, trying to stare at the spot where the letters appeared. Her grip on the candle tightens reflexively.

Merciful Ezra, what was that?! she thinks.





(1) Will Save, rolled 8, +2 Wis bonus = 10

[JMaytr]

Agna's mind starts to race. Before her eyes she sees fire, hears screaming...there is a terrible pain around her throat. She sees flames all about her and in that orange and red maelstrom there is a figure of a small boy. He walks closer to Agna, his arms reaching out to her. He has black hair and the features of a Pancrazio. His arms seem to stretch out, his very fingers elongating with a scratching sound.

As the fingers reach her, Agna can feel her own hands defensively before her, the muscles of her fingers on fire.

Then the vision clears and there is no boy...no fire...

But Agna's hands are clenched tight around Miss Phebe's throat. The woman's eyes are wide and there is a yellowish drool flowing from her mouth.

Recoiling in horror, Agna releases the woman just in time. Miss Phebe takes in a quick breath and passes out from exertion. Her chest moves very slow with each new intake of air.

Miss Phebe's Teddybear lies at the foot of her bed. The stuffed toy's head is cocked to the side, it's black marble eyes staring accusingly at the half vistani maid.

[Griselda]

Agna stares at her own hands in horror, utterly aghast at what she found herself doing. Icy fear drenches her more surely than a bucket of water dumped over her. Above all, she struggles to maintain some semblance of control, and the only way she manages this is by telling herself over and over I must not scream, I can't wake the household, just finish your duties and get out, please don't let me have hurt Phebe, Ezra what did I do..... It is a mantra she mouths as she cleans up, puts the bear in Phebe's arms, grabs her materials and hurries out, all the while her hands shaking so badly as to be near useless.

Agna shuts Phebe's door, then quickly scans the hall, praying that no one was around to see any of this transpire. The darkness seems a lot closer than she remembers, in this hallway she has walked so many times she knows it even in pitch-black false dawn. It takes effort to stand in the dark listening for Lothario and his party, hoping she need not wait too long or head down the backstairs without light. Satisfied he has departed and grateful that her upstairs duties are finished, she descends with a little more noise than is her wont.

She enters the library without announcing herself and heads straight for the fireplace like a woman on a mission. She cleans with near lightning speed and darts out, apparently oblivious to anyone currently in the place. The color is drained out of her face, her breath shallow and rapid, her pale blue eyes strangely bright. Her efforts in the other downstairs rooms are only marginally more measured.

With rapid steps, she walks back to the kitchen, dropping her things in mid-stride, and opens the back door. The night air is chill and damp, but being outdoors seems to revive her a bit. She clutches the door jamb with trembling fingers and stares up at the stars. Her breathing slows and she leans against the frame as whatever nervous energy that propelled her earlier drains away.

[Irving the Meek]

Tuke looks up from his book as Agna bolts into the library. "Evening, bright-eyes! Say, have you ever smelled..." Tuke's question dies on his lips as he sees her stagger to the fireplace, scoop out the ashes, and race to the study. He walks to the door and watches her perfunctorily clean up. Taking the book of pressed flowers with him, he follows Agna on the rest of her rounds. He barely makes an effort to sneak after her - I could be juggling babies and reciting Vechoran poetry(1) and she'd never notice, Tuke thinks.

Tuke watches her open the back door and stare out at the stars. He sees her trembling fingers, her horror-stiffened back. He looks at her for what seems like a long time, wondering.

Finally, he scoops up a half-drunk bottle of summer wine from the kitchen table, along with some dirty wine glasses. Noiselessly(2), he sits down beside her on his stolen book. Tuke sets down the glasses and wine on the back steps beside within easy reach. He pulls his spare pipe from his sleeve, lights it with a tindertwig, and waits. Agna doesn't even notice him until the scent of the pipe smoke reaches her.

When she finally looks down at him, Tuke offers her a glass of pilfered wine. He looks up at her, his face innocent and unjudging. The fool doesn't speak; he just listens, and waits.

(1) Vechoran poetry is mean to be shouted at the top of one's lungs, but only on rainy Tuesdays, except when it isn't.
(2) Move Silently, taking 10, DC 15 to hear.