lethevale_ooc | TDM The First

TDM The First

You probably know how this works, but just in case, here's the idea:

You put the name of the character you're testing out in the subject line
You write a starter (or several!) in the comment, with the Lethevale AU of your character.
People respond with their characters. Threads occur. Friendships are made. The world is put to rights.
None of the threads in the Test Drive are game-canon.

Here are some prompts to start you off!

1. Seeking Shelter

You were riding along the mountain road when your horse, terrified by some dark shadow you couldn't see clearly, screamed and bolted, throwing you. Now you're caught in the middle of nowhere, in Lethe Wood, and the rain is getting heavier by the minute.

But what's that? A light? A house? Perhaps if you knock, they'll give you a bed for the night. It'll all look better in the morning...

2. The Beast! The Terrible Beast!

You took all the precautions. You carried a lantern, kept to the safer streets. Or maybe you didn't. Either way, you were attacked by something as big as a horse, with gleaming white teeth and a hideous howl.

When you run into another person, will you warn them? Will you ask them for a hiding place, or stand and fight? If all else fails, maybe you can use them as live bait...

3. Eat, Drink, and Be Merry

Lethevale isn't all monsters and storms. ~~Mostly, but not all~~. Tonight, there's a party in the Black Swan - dancing, music, and of course, an open bar. Take the chance to get to know your neighbours, why don't you?

4. Pay No Attention To The Passage Behind The Curtain

The two of you were just wandering around Lethe Hall, when you leant on a candlestick, and... what's this? The bookshelf's opened? There's a hole in the wall now, and a spiral staircase leading down into the dark. You know, it's probably best to just leave well enough alone - but you have to admit, it's curious...


COMMS	GENERAL INFO	NEW PLAYERS	CURRENT PLAYERS
main writings ooc mods mod npcs	rules setting premise faq/mod contact gameplay	reserves taken latest tdm application au workshop	contact (locked) hiatus/drop calendar latest hmd lethevale

Threaded | Flat

(he's going by the name Ibram Gaunt, so if the characters have met before, that's what they know him as)

1. Seeking Shelter:
Rawne had been riding hell for leather along the narrow dirt road winding through the mountains when his horse had thrown him. He'd lain insensible for some time, he knew not how long, during which it had started raining.
He woke by the side of the road, wet through, with nothing but a wall of rain and trees everywhere he looked. He'd staggered off up the road, hoping for shelter, but finding none. After what seemed like forever, just as he'd collapsed against a tree, wholly worn out, he noticed a light up ahead, not far off the road. After a brief rest, he started resolutely towards it.

2. Pay No Attention To The Passage Behind The Curtain:
He'd always guessed that there were secret passages in this old house. When the bookshelf opened, he turned to his companion and gestured. "After you."

1. Seeking Shelter
The carriage-driver in the last town before Lethe Wood would go no further, so Fitzjames took down his trunk and bargained with a local for a donkey-cart that he could continue with. The cart was rickety and the donkey a pathetic, spavined beast; Fitzjames reckoned neither would be missed. Nor him, for that matter. As he guided the beast along the road, something spooked it and somehow it broke its traces and vanished into the night. Fitzjames thought he heard it braying, and then the sound was abruptly cut off.

Now he's hauling his trunk along in the dark, soaked to the skin, too miserable to be angry, when he sees a light through the trees. He follows it to a small shelter, the sort of thing a hunter might take refuge in; there's a lantern lighted and a half-burned-out fire in the corner. There's just enough embers for him to get it going again with the bits of wood and kindling he can scrounge. Someone, he thinks, was here recently. Hopefully—if they're coming back—they're friendly.

2. The Beast
He's taken to wearing his service revolver as a matter of course, and a good thing too when the creature charges him. He gets the revolver out of its holster and up—

and then despite the chill, he suddenly feels the heat of Africa on his skin, sees the monstrous lion-thing that killed Franklin, and he freezes. He's seized with nausea, his hands shake, and he can't pull the trigger.

The Beast creeps closer, foulness dripping from its jaws.

3. Eat, Drink, and Be Merry
Fitzjames is sitting by the fire with a glass of sherry in his hand, and if you want to be regaled with his adventures in the Crimea and Africa, well, tonight's your lucky night.

Though if you catch him later, you might find him staring into the fire, not quite all there apparently, lost in thought.

Edited 2019-04-05 13:45 (UTC)

[1. Seeking Shelter]
It's his books that spring to Francis' mind first of all when his horse, usually so mild-tempered, shies and rears; when he catches his breath after splashing into the mud, he scrambles for his bags before even thinking to check that he himself is hurt. Thankfully, the leather-bound volumes are well packed in oilskin, and although he doesn't dare expose them to the rain long enough for more than a cursory check, they don't seem too visibly damaged. Francis breathes a sigh of relief that catches in his bruised ribs, buckles the bag closed again, and pushes himself carefully to his feet.

The rain lashes down so hard he can barely see a yard ahead of him, even when the flashes of lightning illuminate the muddy woods. Francis is limping a little as, a heavy bag slung across each shoulder, he begins to follow the road, a tall and slender silhouette disappearing into the lashing, howling storm.

When he sees the light, he hesitates. It seems dangerous to leave the road in such conditions, even for something that seems as close as that light through the trees. Thoughts of will'o'the wisps and witch-lights hang heavy on him. But his bags are heavy, and there is little choice, really.

His knock on the door of the little cottage is loud and insistent, and whoever opens the door will be met with an intimidating first impression. He is a tall man, and grim-featured, and his cloak shadows his face and flaps around him, making him look bigger still. Even so, when he speaks, his voice is friendly enough, gentle and slightly accented, pitched over the roar of the storm.

"I'm so sorry to bother you. I... may I come in?"

[2. Eat, Drink, and Be Merry]
There's no sense in missing out on an opportunity to get to know people, although Francis has never been much of a barfly. Getting himself a mug of small beer, more for the sake of politeness than anything, he looks around the inn for some time before spotting someone who appears to be without companionship.

He stands now beside your table, beer in hand, and clears his throat politely. "Excuse me, is this seat taken?"

[3. The Passage]
His first response, when the door slides open from what had looked to be solid oak panelling, is a kind of panic. Before he entirely registers what's happened, he's very afraid that he's broken something, that on visiting the manor he's immediately started to accidentally knock it apart.

But that isn't reasonable, and he knows it. It doesn't take long for him to understand that this entrance has been made by design - and quite cunning design, too, by the looks of things - and then guilty panic gives way to equally guilty curiosity. He turns to his companion, frowning slightly.

"Do you suppose we ought to... find a way to close it?" he asks, slowly, and his sharp grey eyes scan his companion's face, trying to gauge their own response.

1. seeking or not seeking shelter:

Ever since his brother's death, Laurent had dreaded getting on a horse. That didn't mean he didn't do it, of course. To ride was far easier than to be hitched behind a horse, and like most things he set his mind to, Laurent was excellent at it.

But since seeing August trampled under hooves, Laurent could never truly love the act again, all the moreso now that his mare had thrown him from her back and into the ditch below. "Loyse," Laurent hissed into the darkness, but the horse had long fled, spooked by the shadow that had streaked across their path.

The shadow that Laurent was now alone with.

Mouth set in a grim line, Laurent reached past the books in his satchel to the LeMat revolver beneath them.

The brush stirred.

He cocked the hammer.

3. there was an attempt at being merry:

Laurent only came here for accomodation. A warm, dry bed, potentially a bath, seclusion from prying eyes. Yet on arrival he'd been told that there were no beds, but one might open up at any moment.

That was...unsettling, but with nowhere else to go and his horse long gone, all Laurent could do was wait. Perched now at the bar, he could not feel more out of place. He did not drink, a fact that grew only more resolute the number of times the barkeep cajoled him.

"Water," he said, not for the first time as the barkeep returned. "And stew." Pale eyes flashed. "There is extra coin in it for you if you leave me be."

4. the passage:

Laurent stared in consternation at the hole where the bookshelf had only just been. A part of him - a small, ragged part - thrilled for the sudden adventure, while the rest of him pined for the spines of books he'd truly wished to see.

In their place, darkness beckoned, as well as the tremble of distant candlelight against the walls. Laurent hesitated.

He should not go in alone, yet he did not know a soul here.

1. Seeking shelter:

He's a skilled rider, but it doesn't save him from the fall. Skill and luck mean he doesn't hit the dirt as hard as he could have, and not headfirst-- but when he gets to his feet it's with a shooting pain in one leg that says he shouldn't hike any mountain trails tonight. Not a break, he thinks, but it will want rest. And anything he might have used to ease his way is gone with the horse.

He curses his misfortune aloud, but the rain swallows the sound. And then he pulls his wide hat-brim down further and starts up the trail, favoring his bruised leg.

He's beginning to fear he'll have to sleep as best he can sodden under a tree when he sees the light in the distance. With a cry of relief he starts toward it, pushing over the uneven ground faster than he ought, and not caring what branches tear at his clothes.

But he pauses to compose himself before he knocks. Even though the beckoning warmth from within is so close as to be maddening, he straightens, and shakes the rain from his hat before he puts it back on, and beats what mud he can from his cloak. Let whoever answers the door know they are receiving a gentleman, and not a robber on the road or a soldier begging quarter.

He raises a fist and pounds on the door three times, and prays to God someone answers.

--

2. The Beast! The Terrible Beast!

It lurched out of an alley like out of a nightmare, and he lost precious fractions of a second staring at it, trying to force it to be something he recognizes. By the time he has the presence of mind to reach for his gun it is upon him, slamming him back into the stone wall behind him, burying horrible white teeth in his shoulder.

He manages to connect a fist with one of its eyes, and it gives a howl that he feels through every one of his bones and stumbles back away from him-- just long enough that he can fire off a wild shot and then take off running, back toward wider streets.

His mind races: There may be others on the street. He must drive them ahead of him, if he finds them. He must remain always between the townsfolk and the monster.

"Go! Go!" he shouts at whoever he sees, in a voice he used to make heard across the chaos of a mountain battlefield. The blood running down his arm, the pitch of his shoulders, and the pistol in his hand lend him urgency - to say nothing of the second furious howl that bursts from the alley behind him.

--

3. Pay No Attention To The Passage Behind The Curtain

"Aha!" He takes a hasty step back when the candlestick gives under his hand, but leans in as soon as he sees what result the action produced. It's equal parts trepidation and excitement.

"How curious," he says, and his voice echoes faintly in the darkness of the stairwell. He glances over his shoulder. "--We should fetch light. A torch, a lantern."

There seems to be no question that he intends to venture down, and that he assumes his companion will come with him.

3 - Eat, drink, and merry still -
It was suffice to say that Vere - as he calls himself these days - was not much of a social person. Certainly he shows up and mingles, but a close observer would notice that the mingling was only long enough to greet people before he drifts to some where he could just observe the rest of the room. Tonight was no exception. V appeared, greeted a few people and then took his drink and himself over to the fireplace, where he settles to watch the rest of the room.

He however was not silent in his observations; if anyone drifts closer to him they would no doubt hear some of his comments - What are they thinking, wearing those pearls with that collar? and Oh dear lord, and I thought I was so oblivious towards a lady's flirtations and other such lines. If anyone drifts closer, well they will be treated to a few lines -

"The best wine is the oldest, the best water the newest, though I wonder when the wine here was new."

4 - Passages -
It was inevitable that a passage would appear. Any old building in this deary land, especially ones made by a family as unique as this one would have hidden doorways and mysterious halls. Vere barely jumped as the wall moved soundlessly open next to him, giving the darkness beyond a critical look before snorting in wry amusement.

"'A vague and starry magic; Makes all things mysteries'... Shall we explore or should we forget what we've found?'

3 - Merrie Melodies

a. Jack’s in his element at a party, and this soirée at the Black Swan is his very favorite sort: crowded, loud, and casual. From the moment he escorts his young wife through the door, he’s all smiles and handshakes and chit-chat as he works the room, and he’s clearly having a ball. No shyness here, folks! He’s out to greet everyone, friends and strangers alike, and from the relaxed, easy smile he’s wearing, one would think he’s known these people all his life.

He catches sight of someone standing all by their lonesome, and saunters over to stand by their elbow. Proper etiquette dictates that he ought to have someone introduce him, or at the very least introduce himself. Instead, he leads with, “Well, now, you look like someone who’s got something interesting to say. Don’t suppose you’d share it with me?”

b. Once he’s chatted up damn near everyone, it’s time to hit the dance floor. The fiddle player’s really tearing things up, with bouncy, joyful reels that kick Jack’s smile up to eleven. This is the kind of music he loves, the stuff of tenement rooftop parties and wild dance hall nights, of circus campfire circles and late nights on the trains. He could dance to this for days and never get tired of it.

His first dance, of course, is with his wife. After that, he seems to see every woman in the room as a potential dance partner. Young, old, lovely, plain—it doesn’t matter to Jack. He wants to see every lady at the party cut loose and enjoy herself for a song, and he’d be just delighted if they happened to do so with him. If your character appears to be female, it’s only a matter of time before Jack will come over, flash a smile, and offer his hand. “Dance with me?”

Wildcard 1 – Conman Coming

The circus won’t actually open for another two weeks, but it’s never too early to start building anticipation. Jack has a roll of beautifully chromolithographed posters tucked under one arm, and he’s working his way through the center of town, putting them up with a pot of paste and a brush.

The posters feature a brilliant, dizzying array of circus icons: somersaulting clowns leaping over an elephant, a beautiful trapeze girl soaring overhead, a roaring lion with glistening teeth. Jack himself is featured in the top left corner, wearing a sharp purple suit and a ringmaster’s top hat. Handsome text reads:
Mister Napier’s World-Famous Pandemonium Show
Three-ring circus, meadow carnival, and menagerie of wonders!
The finest attractions and most daring of feats!
Smiles Positively Guaranteed for All Ages
—Arriving soon—

This is the sort of job that he really should have sent one of his employees to do, but Jack wanted to get a better first-hand look at the town. He's not just here to put on a show, after all. He needs to recruit new talent. Hire someone to repaint the wagons and repair the carousel. Perhaps even find the Next Big Thing, something or somebody he can use to draw in the crowds throughout Europe and make his circus truly shine again. And for any of that to work, he needs to get to know the locals. So he whistles as he goes, wanting people to know he's there. His songs are all cheerful and child-friendly, classics like There's a Hole in My Bucket and Alouette.

He's just pasting a poster up in front of the King's Head Inn when a sudden gust of wind snatches the paper from his grasp. Jack twists and tries to catch it, but it darts away like the Devil himself's caught hold of it. It's heading right for a pedestrian, in fact, and if they don't look sharp, they're about to get smacked in the legs with it. Jack waves an arm at them, trying to get their attention. "Hey--look out!"

Wildcard 2 – Pandemonium

The circus sits at the outskirts of town, and it's currently only halfway set up. The tents are up, looking faded and dingy, and the animals are in their normal enclosures, but none of the signage is displayed yet. None of the frills are in place; there are no bells or whistles; and the only foods being cooked are the ones the circus folks make for themselves. It's like a house that hasn't been moved into. And as Jack stands in the empty Big Top on an unseasonably chilly afternoon, he can see that it's become a pretty shabby house, indeed.

He walks to the center of the tent, where in a couple short weeks he'll be smiling and cracking his whip as he tries to help the good citizens of Lethevale shake off their mortal cares and escape to his world of enchantment. He wants to give them a show they'll never forget, the kind of show he knows he's capable of. Something that'll put a smile on their faces that will never fully fade. But what? He closes his eyes and tries to remember the early days, when he was impossibly young and full of optimism. Before the hard times came, before Jeannie and all the rest. Back then, anything had seemed possible. What would that Jack have done to reinvigorate the show?

He has money to work with now, thanks to having duped dear little Marie into becoming the latest Mrs. Napier. But he's terrified of screwing this opportunity up, of squandering it on the wrong things and watching his show die around him. Pandemonium's people and animals are all depending on him to get this right. And, even more than that, he's put his name on this show. It's his legacy; it's all he has. He's saddled himself with a woman for the sake of it, he's done all manner of other unconscionable things for it, and he'll be goddamned before he sees it fail. He just needs to find the right approach, that's all. He just needs to think this through...

He's so deep in thought that he doesn't hear the footsteps behind him at first. When he does, they're very close, too close. Instincts take over, and Jack pulls his revolver out in one fast motion as he spins toward the sound. He's got the gun pointed at his visitor before he even sees who they are, and the hard look in his eyes isn't welcoming at all.

1. Seeking Shelter
Marie was beginning to see why stomping out in a huff earlier had been such a terrible idea. Somewhere on the fringes of Lethevale, as the sun had begun its steady descent, the moon, only a small crescent, had risen, lending an eerie glow to the woods, and a fine drizzle had started. All fine! She could withstand a little rain.

Then the sky had seemingly opened up, releasing a deluge of water that thoroughly soaked her through to the bone. Her skirts were plastered to her legs like a second skin, making it difficult to walk back the way she’d come through the woods. And her boots, which had been clean and shiny when she’d started this journey, squelched in the mud which sucked at her feet and was more quicksand than damp dirt.

And, still, she didn’t think she quite wanted to return home yet — home which was, in fact, a patched up old tent.

Let the scoundrel (which was how she was going to think of Jack until she’d had ample time to be angry and stew, upon which he would likely revert back to her love or her darling dear) wonder if she’d drowned in a puddle, or worse, twisted her ankle and was now fending for herself in the wilderness with a stick. It would serve him right! Assuming he would wonder at all.

Which, of course, was not the train of thought she wanted to be having at the moment. Not when she was still in the middle of a very well-deserved temper tantrum.

Except that she naturally was completely turned around by the time she stepped out of the trees. The circus tents and cars were surely to the left, right? Though nothing to the left looked familiar and she decided to go right. Which led to a whole lot else that didn’t look familiar. All the while, the rain started falling heavier, in silvery sheets that, at times, Marie could barely see through. By the time she found a home [ooc note: cottage, creepy mansion, tavern, shack, whatever your character lives in/wherever your character currently is:) ], her carefully designed hair style had been weighed down with water, most of the waves pulled from their pins and stuck to her cheeks. The bottom inch of her dress had a thick layer of mud caked on it. And her shoes... well, forget about her shoes. If she’d been safe at home her father would have just bought her a new pair. Here, she imagined, she’d be expected to clean them off as though they weren’t ruined.

“Hello?” It was said with a knock at the front door. Between the rain and the barely moonlit sky, she wished she had a lantern. Even a lit candle. Something to provide at least a bit of light so this didn’t feel so foreboding.

Not that either would have done much good in this weather.

2. The Beast! The Terrible Beast!

It was truly amazing how easily she could find herself out in the dark, in questionable weather, in this place.

But it was only when Marie began to feel like she was being watched that she felt a chill slither down her spine. It was a cold, unsettling feeling that had her eyes darting from tree to tree, looking for something that would either confirm the feeling or the absence of anything that would tell her she was being silly.

Truthfully, there was an excellent chance she was just being silly. This town had given her an eerie, uncomfortable sensation since they’d arrived, which she’d mainly chalked up to the confusion over her current predicament. ie: being in a different country with a new husband who hadn’t been entirely forthright with her from the beginning. Never mind the fact that his circus wasn’t the cheery, brightly lit fantasy she’d been imagining. It was more than a little creepy and that environment had left her unsure of just about everything.

Her eyes caught a glimmer of something in the trees. Yellow and shimmery and bright. Then it was gone again.

It was followed by a rustle in the bushes. And then a large shape leaping in her direction, dark and menancing, that hit dead center and knocked her on her back.

Marie started to try to draw in a breath to scream and realized the fall had knocked all the air out of her.

Then she realized that the warm, wet feeling on her face was a result of whatever had jumped on her licking her cheeks. A woof soon followed and as she started to get her her breath back, she couldn’t help but start laughing.

A stray dog. She’d been terrified of a simple, friendly stray dog.

Edited 2019-04-07 20:17 (UTC)

(Note that she's using her father's family name [Akai] rather than her mother's [Sera] in this AU.)

1: Seeking Shelter

Having been flung off her horse and left alone and on foot in the woods, Masumi was forced to admit that maybe travelling alone, at night, during a storm wasn't the greatest idea she'd ever had. Regretting her decisions would get her nowhere though, so instead of moping around, she brushed herself and took stock of her surroundings.

And good thing she did too, because tucked back away from the road was what appeared to be a small building. Hoping that someone was home, Masumi approached and knocked on the door, calling out at the same time.

"Hello? My horse threw me and I need shelter, can I come in?"

4: Pay No Attention to the Passage Behind the Curtain

While uncovering the hidden passage had been an accident, Masumi was certainly not going to ignore it and pretend nothing happened. She'd always been too curious for her own good, too willing to put her nose where it didn't really belong.

After all, putting her nose where it didn't belong was the entire reason she'd ended up in Lethvale.

"...You want to see what's in there?" She turned to the nearest person, a slight grin lighting her face at the thought of seeing whatever might be hidden in there.

Edited 2019-04-08 08:10 (UTC)

[[ooc: Eona is disguised as a man and has been for a few weeks, so if you want to already know her you have the option of recognizing 'Ian Ryder' or the mysteriously vanished Miss Eona.]]

1: Seeking Shelter

Eona limps up the road, swearing as colorfully as any soldier. After years of watching and listening to her brother, she knows all the vocabulary. All the mannerisms too, and how to wear his clothing convincingly. Not his soldier's uniform; she's not that foolish. True, she'd rather like to be a soldier, but she knows better. Her disguise might serve her on the road, but it would fail her in the army, and she'd be trapped in her uncle's home again in a blink. Still, aping her brother's mannerisms is serving her well enough so far.

Not so her horse. That she didn't steal, for Windfola is hers, a gift from her eighteenth birthday, now some years ago. Though even years of companionship and a lifetime of being horseback was not able to keep Eona in her saddle after some dark shadow scared the poor beast. The good God only knows how far Windfola may have run by now, and in the middle of the night and in unknown territory she will have no chance of finding him again. Her only options are to bed down in the forest, or to chance this house. Between the pouring rain and whatever spooked her horse, it is no difficult choice.

"Open!" Eona shouts, knocking hard on the door. She tries to lower the pitch of her voice a little, though in truth there is little need for it. She is tall, and has a low voice by nature. Those combined with a straightforwardness completely unbecoming in a young woman has let her pass easily for a young man since she left home, now some weeks ago. But it is best to be cautious. "In God's name, I pray you be merciful to a passing traveler!"

3. Eat, Drink, and Be Merry

Eona's first experience in a tavern was, to be frank, disappointing: dirty, overcrowded, and loud, with beer hardly worth the effort. After weeks on the road she's gotten used to it, and they are useful places for gathering information if you can be quiet and listen. Which she does. A lady learns far, far too much about being quiet and listening, whether they want to or not.

Fortunately, this one is better than the sort she's been able to afford on her journey. The musicians have kept all their strings in tune, for one thing, and some of the dancers are quite enjoyable to watch. She makes no move to join in, however, merely sits on the side and watches, although her foot taps in time with the beat.

⚓ NO SHELTER
It has been a long, long time since last Francis sat astride a saddle. But like many things, Francis finds that riding a horse is a skill that returns as quickly as soon as he begins.

The horse is a fine creature, a middle-sized bay borrowed from a farm in town. She takes to Francis quickly, ambles slowly and sure-footed across the cobblestone as easily as the muddy terrain beyond the edge of town. When the clouds begin to gather overhead, Francis turns back, eager to abandon this fruitless hunting trip for a roaring fire he can find at the Inn - or at home. But a few minutes into the return trip, something happens. A shadow dashes unnaturally soundless across their path, as though blown by the wind of a gale. The mare rears, throwing Francis immediately to the ground, and takes off at a gallop, between the trees and out of sight.

Damn it.

Picking himself up with a curse, Francis rights himself, collecting the shotgun he'd had slung over his shoulder, and follows the horse's patch through the woods to head back into town. With the sun beginning to set, Francis holds a steady pace, demeanor coolly collected until the very moment the sound of branches crunching underfoot echoes from behind. Whirling around, Francis aims his shotgun, peering between the trees, and tries to ignore the sound of blood thundering in his ears.

"Who's there?"

⚓ KILL THE BEAST!
There should be little about the town that feels familiar to Francis, but in the moment before the enormous creature charges him, Francis thinks of Sir John. Sir John Franklin, noble, idiotic Sir John, lifeblood smeared upon the ice like a broken bottle of wine. Francis' creature, like Sir John's, will remain a mystery to him: it has come for Francis, seemingly only him, and disappear back into the hell it emerged from before Francis has even considered his own mortality.

But he does not die. He lives, long enough to pull the pistol from his coat, and clutch it to his chest until his breath returns to him. And when it does, Francis rises on shaking legs, hands trembling for the excitement rushing in his veins. He cannot help but consider Sir John's last shout for Erebus and the assistance that would not arrive in time. Would he suffer the same fate?

He's nearly over the stone bridge on Gallowgate when a dull throb in his arm alerts Francis that he's suffered some kind of injury. He pats a new gash in the arm of his coat, surprised somehow to find his fingers stained with blood. Blinking, Francis continues, crossing over the river and toward the building he recognizes as the surgeon's.

⚓ WILDCARD!
[ Come with your own prompt! Chat up this grumpy patron at the inn! Write him a letter! Invite him to the traveling circus! The world is your Victorian horror oyster. ]

Threaded | Flat

Major Elim Rawne

James Fitzjames

Faramir ("Francis Fletcher") | Lord of the Rings

no subject

Boromir Wójcik Ectheliowski