Summer Camp Campfire Stories Closed

Roleplaying as Durmstrang iNPC Arjan Oberoi

Stamina: 15 | Evasion: 7 | Strength: 17 | Wisdom: 3 | Arcane Power: 7 | Accuracy: 10
Abilities: Obnoxiously Strong | The Martial Artist | Spell Spread | Charmer

Interacting with everyone present I guess | @The Narrator

Disappointed by the lack of healthy snacks at the campfire, Arjan decided to help himself to some of the graham crackers. The sugar just before bed was not ideal but everyone was allowed a treat or two once in a while. It did take a lot of discipline to eat well and exercise regularly though. He also helped himself to one of the bottles of tea that were being passed around.

He stared into the roaring fire, watching little sparks flicker off it. There was always something so inspiring about it. It was like a burning passion or a destructive power not to be reckoned with. The warmth from the flames touched his face, despite the fact that he was sitting several metres away.

"You know, I have a super scary story," He started telling those nearby, swallowing down a cracker just before so he was not talking with his mouth full - as that would be highly impolite and mannerless of him. He was brought up much better than that, of course. If they listened... well, let's be honest, this was Arjan Oberoi and so, regardless of whether or not anyone was listening, he decided to tell the story nonetheless. The scariest story of all time.

"This is a story of a very handsome prince. It takes place in a land not too far away from here, though the year was two thousand and twenty. The handsome prince was called Arj- I mean uh, he was called, Shivaay. He was a great warrior and prince, known for his dashing good looks and incredible strength. He was envied by many, wanted by all. The young man was powerful, rich, oh so desirable. Shivaay was surrounded by beautiful women, of course, who all wanted to be with him. He reigned in a large castle. No- several! He had plenty of huge castles. But anyway, right now, he was reigning in this one particular place. It was a beautiful castle, with thousands of acres of land. Fresh grass, large trees, beautiful flowers lined the grounds and in the centre, there was a stunning castle. It was magnificent. The most glorious house anyone had ever seen. Bigger than this school, at least five times over.

One day, there was this event. The uh day of uh... The Most Handsome Charming Prince's Day. Visitors lined up outside, ready to see the glorious prince. Ar- Shivaay was strong and handsome. He put on this incredible crimson red suit, with a waistcoat, bowtie, cufflinks - the full works! It was pressed and clean, not a single crease in it. But as he went to look into the mirror, he saw something horrifying staring back at him. For instead of seeing his incredible self in the mirror, he saw something so twisted and dark! It was unimaginable.

However, right there, instead of his beautifully clean shaved, gorgeous face, he saw the large moles and large warts all over and a very strange looking curly moustache as well as a black eye! The panic! The fear! The horribleness! Girls were lining up to see him and he looked like this?! What in Stribog's name?! How could he face the world? More than that, how could he face himself?! Could you imagine anything more terrifying than looking ugly?!

The prince, seeing this evil, was determined to get to the source of it. But he was far smarter, wiser and greater than his enemies gave him credit for! They underestimated him. He realised that the moustache and the black eye were simply drawn in with a weird marker and that was why they looked so odd! They were not real! Of course, they were not. The great prince Shivaay getting a black eye? Unheard of. No fool would fight him! These wretched warts that made him look like a hag and these awful moles were also all fake, stuck there by this jealous demon he knew. What was the scariest thing of all was that this inferior demon had almost tricked him and ruined his day, making him fear what had happened to his once beautiful face!

But he was strong and he was brave and that stupid demon underestimated his beauty. For he was Shivaay. He was not only a prince but rather, a god. A god also commonly referred to as The Destroyer and he reigned supreme, getting vengeance on this little rat demon that had tried to scar his beauty. He killed the inferior beast, and the curse was removed. Forever then on, he lived happily ever after."

Arjan put up his hands, shaking them in front of his face like it was the most horrifying and scariest thought known to wizardkind. Imagine looking so hideous! Looking ugly?! Stupidly drawn moustaches and markers all over his beautiful face? Bits of food or clay or whatever else it was stuck to him as though he was sprouting large amounts of gunk out of his gorgeous skin?! The monstrosity!

OOC: Yes, this is the worst scary story of all times. But this is also Arjan Oberoi - what more did you really expect?

Roleplaying As Inpc Nikita Lebedev

Why, Nikita had come to this summer camp was beyond her. After the blossom ball, she thought she would leave this place and never think of it again. They did poison her, after all. They literally drove her insane for a good 10 minutes or so... maybe half an hour. She had lost track of time and that only proved how bad this was.

Maybe she came because she was suspicious of this school. She, for one, wouldn't trust a single word that slides from the mouths of their students or the headmaster. The headmaster! He was a whole other subject. Very mysterious.
Sketchy, she would say. The whole school was. Yet... she couldn't find anything sketchy about a simple campfire. But she didn't let her guard down. She brought food of her own, not trusting gmanything this school would give her after that drink. She walked to the campfire in a single maroon short and black Jean's
In her hand was a tin with a fork inside it. Inside was a Russian salad she so dearly loved. Certainly better than any poison this school would bring her.


She sat down one some would and lifted the rope for the container and picked up a fork. She listened to some scary stories.
They seemed alright. Not exactly trembling with fear, either, she ignored a boy telling a story, until she heard what he was saying. Was he trying to be funny? She searched his face. No. He was dead serious. When he was finished she turned her face away, failing to hide the lush that came from her mouth. Dhe cleared her throat. "Wow. Really scary." She said sarcastically. Though at this rate she was sure her sarcasm would fly over his tiny brained head. She inspected him closely with her eyes, wondering who he thought he was. He was from her school, though in the higher years.

Wow. You would think someone who came from her tough school would worry more about looks.

@Serena Towers as inpc Arjan Oberoi

It was Theodore's second summer camp. Amazing! Once again the Ilvermorny students had been made the offer to spend half of their vacations with the other schools. It had been a bit of a tough decision for sure, his sister Anabelle had looked heartbroken when he left earlier than she had thought, but she knew that her older brother would send her letters. Theo always did.

The campfire was one of the highlights so far. He remembered last year's fire, where he had shared marshmallows with a Durmstrang girl called Greta. He had seen her briefly in this year's camp, but sadly he had not gotten a chance to talk to her yet. For now he just grabbed a few Marshmallows and found himself a seat by the fire, listening to the stories the others told. More than once they made him smile. Most of those seemed to have the mere purpose to scare the listeners, resulting in them being the once scaring Theo the least. Too much faked panic.

The young Thunderbird allowed some time to pass and let his marshmallows melt over the fire before he spoke up. "I got one too.", he said relaxed, staring into the flames. "A story of a dead being, that has the power to kill people with a single scream. No, it is not about mandrakes." The corners of his mouth moved upwards a little before he continued.

"I will tell you about the Banshee of Castle Leod." He allowed his words to sink in, some people needed to recall what a banshee was, some- especially the younger ones- looked entirely clueless. "A banshee is a spirit that looks like a zombie-like woman. They are said to have died of a sad cause, grief and things like that but no one is entirely sure how they are created. Their scream can kill people.", he explained, making sure that the kids who had not even been at school yet could follow. "If you encounter one that means you harm, you are already dead..."

Theodore looked around, a calm smile on his lips. He had taken part in story nights at Ilvermorny before and he had noticed quickly that the calmest storytellers had the greatest effect on their audience. "The story begins with a girl called Elya, who was a servant at Castle Leod. She was said to be the most beautiful girl in the castle. Whenever she was hanging up laundry outside, she collected a bouquet of wild flowers and herbs that grew near the washing line, so she could decorate the kitchens, her masters' rooms as well as her own. Elya had a baby brother, who she loved above everything. He was only three years old. He lived with their family down in the village, and sometimes they came to visit her at work."

Theodore paused once more, checked on his audience before looking at the campfire again. "One time her parents left the little boy with Elya in the kitchen, having to talk about business with another servant. Elya was working and only left her brother alone for one moment to get a bowl. When she came back, he had ran off. Elya looked for him, panicking. When she found him, he was on the ground, surrounded by flowers and herbs. The ones she had collected. It happened that some children found the little boy running around and had some fun pushing him around. One of them took out the flowers and made the little boy, who had asked for something to drink, eat them. They found it a fun prank, similar to making a kid eat dirt, humiliating but other than that harmless. But Elya knew that some of the herbs that she had collected, were pretty to the eye, but highly poisoness. She knew that there was no saving for her brother, so he died in her arms."

The third year leaned forward and put the stick he had used for his marshmallows into the campfire.
"After that day, Elya changed. She didn't laugh anymore. She didn't collect flowers anymore. Torn by hatred she did her daily work, avoided her grieving parents, filled with grief herself. She refused to eat, barely slept and got weaker and weaker.
And then one morning, she did not get up. She did not join the servants to do her work. When one of her colleagues entered her room, he found only her dead body. The servants took it as the sad end of Elya, the once so happy flower girl and sent her back to her family, who gave her a proper funeral.

No one thought about her anymore, when suddenly, one morning, a boy was found dead in his room, who died of causes no one could explain. And the next morning another child. The next morning another. It was then, that some children understood that they were going to die. All the children, who had once decided to unknowingly force the little brother of Elya to poison himself. Only the last child tried to escape, when everyone else had already died. He hid across the road from his house and watched at night. He could only tell one person, a servant of the castle, where he had looked for safety, what he saw. A woman, with green skin and black long hair. But he could see the face, a familiar face. No doubt he had seen Elya's face. In the next night, he died."

The story had no abrupt ending, no shocker moment but it wasn't meant to either. It was a story that would maybe stay in mind of some who crossed others for fun before but none that would keep them awake at night. Hopefully at least."Now, some people still say that they see her spooking around in Castle Leod. She likes to spend time in the kitchen at night, crying to herself, but when a human shows up, she disappears quickly. The fate of a good soul that died of grief."

He leaned back again and brushed some dirt of his trousers. "That's it from me guys, I hope you didn't poison anyone recently.", he joked slightly, allowing the next person to take the spotlight.

Open to Interactions

Interacting with: @The Narrator

Date: August 11th, 2021 Outfit Sweater | Shorts | Boots

───The dancing flames of the bonfire beckoned to Winnie each night. The crackle of the sparks seemed to tease her, daring her to draw near, but she was content sitting by the fire's side. She was not the type to underestimate the staggering flames. She enjoyed watching them transform the log offerings until they dwindled down into mere smoky ashes.

Was anyone she knew nearby? Perhaps so, but she was too focused to notice, or perhaps they were from memories she had lost. Either way, she sat alone jotting down notes into her daisy patterned journal. Every now and then she would pause to stare into the fire, entranced by it once more, before returning to her journal.

Her oversized cream-coloured sweater had been embroidered with the image of fawns. She wore a pair of white lace shorts and light brown leather ankle boots with loose socks that were embellished with more lace. Her hip-length red hair had been gathered into a loose ponytail and spilled down her back. She wasn't exactly the face of a horror story, but she also didn't have any plans to tell a traditional scary story either. With a grin, she would quickly tuck her pen into her ponytail.

"Okay! I have a scary story too." She suddenly announced as she jumped up from her spot on one of the wooden benches, her cheeks blushing a rosy hue if anyone's attention turned to her. "Um... It's more of a poem I wrote, though. This one is based on a North American legend I read about. A creature that dwells deep within the forest." Perhaps a common theme tonight, but they were camping. The woods could be scary. Especially the Forbidden Forest... There were terrors that lurked within each shadow there, but for the origin of her story, Winnie went west. It felt safer to write about a creature that didn't live in their backyard but still managed to hit close enough to home that it could spook a few students. She took a breath and began to read.

"The night wood has gone feral, Eden beckons,
And the forest has opened to swallow us whole,
The moon hides and I count the clock's seconds,
The black inky canvas offers no refuge for a soul.

"Don't ever look, don't move a muscle,"
A hushed warning from my fireside friend,
"Don't acknowledge her, or even cause a rustle,
For the legend says you'll be at your wit's end."

The dark green underbrush whispers a threat,
The fleeting shadows hold horrors untaught,
Ghastly eyes linger and I begin to sweat,
A sense of dread consumes my every thought.

The eerie creaking of the decaying wight,
She stands behind me, her breath on my nape,
I crack, give in, and stumble into the night,
Terrified to see what follows, I try for escape.

I fear moving but know the circumstances,
I stumble onwards, hands shaking, mind cursed,
But she trails me through the broken branches,
For only my blood will quench her thirst.

Breath becomes ragged as my fears surround,
An unwilling scream claws beneath my skin,
There is no refuge or escape to be found,
For the depths of the hell now stalk within.

I slip on the path and accept my story's end,
A death so near there is no hope for retreat,
She'll wear my face then murder my friend,
The night muffles a scream as she begins to eat."

With a flushed face, Winnie took a small bow, as if to thank any audience members she may have. She would take a seat back onto the bench and place her notebook in her lap.

Action: Reciting a poem.

Irina had a story, one that she wanted to get out for months. It was a true story and it needed addressing. She was planning on telling it to a professor or person in charge but when she heard that people were telling stories at the bonfire, she knew that her time had come. What better way to spread the message than share it to fellow students and professors? Arriving at the bonfire a little late with Nate, she caught the end of a story that was about women in the woods who stewed children. It didn’t sound that scary to her but then again she just got here and didn’t hear the whole thing.

Looking around the roaring bonfire, Irina saw piles of food that were probably typical at a bonfire and people. Lots of people. There were a few people that looked like they were adults and then a decent number of students. They would do for telling her story. As long as she could get it out to as many ears as possible then she was good. Irina was ready to share her story but had to listen to a few others first. She hadn’t even ate any of the food and the drink from the house elves was un-touched. Finally finding an open moment, Irina turned to Nate and nodded her head to him. It was time for them to get their revenge.

“I…well we have a story to share.” she stared motioning her head to Nate. “This isn’t one of fiction like the other ones I’ve heard, this is a true story from just a few months ago. If you don’t know, we are not from around here, we go to Koldovstoretz Conservatory in Russia. In May, we finally got the chance of a lifetime to come and visit Hogwarts for international cooperation as one could say. Upon arriving we believed that this school was as cool as it is made out and don’t worry we got all the gossip. We know all about how your Head of Slytherin is former spy now a fugitive from the Swedish law enforcement and how the Gryffindor Head of House runs a biker gang outside of school. This school was definitely welcoming and made themselves look much better than they actually were.”

Taking a breath of air, Irina calmed herself before she got into the real part of the story. “They did this by luring us into a false sense of security and then tricking us at the ball. I had high hopes going into the ball and was genuinely excited for it. After arriving early and doing the 6 trials, I found myself in the darker area of the ball. Due to the fact that I was thirsty from all the running in the trials, I made the fatal flaw of taking a drink from a goblet. How in the name of Merlin was I supposed to know that it wasn’t a normal drink, it was a potion or more specifically befuddlement draught. So you, at this school Hogwarts, invited us from overseas just to poison us. It was as if you were bored enough with your current situation that you wanted to have me look like a fool. You just used me for your own entertainment, you poisoned me to see what type of drama the Koldovstoretz student could arise.”

If I’m honest, I gave you your drama you wanted. I yelled at two of you from this school because of how angry I was, one of you even thought that I was possessed. The other called me and I quote, a ‘ little foreign shite’. Now me being from Russia, I don’t know what that word means and that just made me more angry at the boy. The thing is when you under the effects of a potion it’s like you can’t really control your actions. With this potion, my blood was boiled and I am not normally the type of person to get angry. Your school is just named after Hogs and Warts so what do you think gives you the right to poison me? Huh? Yeah I thought so. Well now let me get back to the story.

The one girl attempted to cast a spell on me! And the boy well he tried to put me in a grapple! How welcoming is that? First you poison me, then you try and spell me, and lastly you put you hands on me. This isn’t the end of the story though, my friend right here, Nate, tried to help me out of this. Unsuspecting he made the same mistake as me and took a drink. By the time his drink took effect, the one I drank had worn off except the anger was still there. Instead of it being directed at the people, it was directed at this school. The potion Nate drank was worse than mine though. With some research I’ve learned that it was Essence of Insanity. The drinks at YOUR ball were meant to make us go crazy.

He acted on his impulses and from my point of view, his emotions had gone haywire. What happened was that, and correct if I’m wrong Nate, he drank three more of the poisonous drinks that caused him to be curled in a ball, lightly crying. Nate is not one to cry, I had never seen him cry before this point and I’ve know him for a while. He thought that he was going to die and it was all because of the drinks. I tried to help but the potions were too strong and I had to watch my best friend think he was going to die. I was trying to comfort him yet everything seemed like it didn’t work. Think about that, we came to the ball for a good time and we both got poisoned by drinking the provided drinks. I HAD TO WATCH as my best friend cried out in fear and it’s all YOUR SCHOOL’S fault.

The ones accountable for this are not going to get away with this. Just because we are from a different school and had never been here before doesn’t mean you can use us for your entertainment. Even though this might not be a scary story, it’s an important one. This school is getting away with way too many things and no one is saying anything about it. To those who did this, I want you to know that you poisoned us, tried to spell us, and had lying on the ground in fear. I would go in for revenge but I won’t stoop as low as you. Hopefully this story can get the message spread because if something like this happens again, we won’t hesitate to take counter actions. We are for peace and friendship yet so far you have shown very little. Thank you for listening.”

It was so much longer than she had planned it to be but she had to get it all out, it was all building inside of her and this was her outlet. The normal calm Irina had was replaced with bitterness while telling the story and anyone who listened would know why. Looking back at Nate she let out a whisper of “Was that good?” in Russian. At this point she hoped that the seek for revenge was over yet if it happen again, she would be out for blood.

Nate had a bad feeling as he walked with Irina across the Grounds towards the campfire. They had a plan and he wanted to go through with it, but it would probably be unpleasant. Maybe not, but the possibility existed and a little nervousness arose in him, which he did his best not to let surface. They had a story, a story that needed to be told and that's what they would do today. They would make their voices heard. He followed Irina to the campfire, they sat down without comment and communicated non-verbally. He nodded his agreement back to her, now it was her turn.

He looked at her encouragingly and put his hand on her shoulder in supportand squeezed once. She could do this and she could do it far better than he ever could. He listened attentively to her words, his eyes fixed on her and in every moment of uncertainty he smiled and nodded at her in a demanding and encouraging way. Every now and then his gaze flitted over all the other faces that were listening to the words coming from Irina's lips. He tried to see something in their expressions, but there was no time for that. His gaze quickly went back to his best friend in case she needed his support.

Irina mirrored this evening, some of which could be described as a horror evening. She told of the experiences and the things that had happened to her. There was no need to add anything, she did it perfectly and he was more than proud of her. A slight smile formed on his face, even though what had happened was no laughing matter, he was full of pride at that moment. But the smile disappeared in less than a second when Irina started to talk about Nate. About the panic and fear he had experienced that night. He lowered his gaze, scratched the back of his head uncertainly and looked down at his feet. It was visible that he was uncomfortable. Nate was not one to show weakness, especially in front of strangers let alone at such a large event. Now when she emphasised particularly loudly that he had been crying, he widened his eyes and looked at her in shock. Yes she was right, but it still made him uncomfortable to this day. Nate wasn't the type to act out emotions, he couldn't even remember until that day when he had last cried and now it was revealed to everyone who hadn't noticed until today.

But it was the truth, it was part of this story and it had to be told. Nevertheless, it was unpleasant for him but he would have to stand by it too, he would not show any weakness because of a weakness. He relaxed his gaze again, raised his eyes and now consciously looked around the group. He noticed that by now several eyes were on him. Yes, he had been crying. He straightened his shoulders and now nodded affirmatively to the group. Irina was telling the truth and he would stand by it.

The story came to an end, Nate looked to Irina and took her in a half hug. "You did great." He replied, giving her a brief smile before releasing his arm from around her shoulders again and looking confidently into the silent faces. Should they wait for reactions? Should they just get up without comment and leave? Make a dignified exit? He wasn't sure and now whispered again softly and in Russian to Irina, "Now what?"

Paige smiled at Winter and Scarlet. She didn't respond, though, because she had shoved a smore in her mouth and couldn't form a sound. After she chewed the sticky treat, she swallowed and cleared her throat. "Okay. Let's see..." She said, rubbing her hands together.

"Once there was a young girl. And this was a long time ago, mind you. Anyway, she was about 6. Her family had packed the car... a muggle transportation method... and set off for the woods. They were going on their yearly camping trip, see, and she had no way of knowing what would happen.

Anyways, when they got there, the sun was setting. Her parents unloaded the car and began to set up dinner in the cabin. The young girl's mother had told her and her older brother to go play. Her brother had not wanted to play, but she didn't know. She suggested hide and seek, and her brother agreed. Her brother began to count as darkness fell over the woods. The little girl ran to the woods surrounding them and hid behind a tree and waited. Let me tell you, she waited for a very long time. Her brother had tricked her and gone on his phone- a muggle thing- but she didn't know it. From the tree tops, she could now see the moon. It was a full moon, like a pearl in the night sky, shining on an innocent girl.

That's when she realized it was too silent. She looked up a hill and saw a werewolf. The world spun around her as a scream came up her throat.. never making it to the world. She tripped as the werewolf chased her. She was alone, afraid, and running for her life. She ran deeper and deeper into the forest... in till she tripped over a log. She hid behind it, right next to a hole in the forest ground. The werewolf leaped over the log... for a moment she though she was safe. A blinding pain erupted from her leg as she saw the werewolf biting her leg, hanging over the hole. She screamed and tried to fight. She got lucky, because the werewolf fell. But she was weak. Lost. Bleeding.

She cried for her family.. it felt like years... but they found her. And the world went black. Ever sense then, she feared the full moon. A reminder of that night." She said, recalling the memory. She didn't say that it was her story, but she looked to see the affect it had.

She wondered if it was scary... probably not.

@The Narrator

[font=century gothic]INTERACTIONS @Winnie Harper, @The Narrator[/font]

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[font=century gothic]MENTIONS @Erin Ryan, @Xailah Alptraum, @Arjan Oberoi, @Irina Afanasyeva, @Theodore Duncain, @Paige Grant[/font]

Gathering with the rest when the time had once again come that night, Evelynn sat perched, listening quietly to the stories as they unfolded. Fables had always attracted her. True or not, the images and plots that conjured in her mind's eye with the various orations entertained her to no end. It was something she'd grown up with. Around a table, at the fireside, in bed before slumber...She was quite accustomed to listening to her mother's stories. Sometimes, she'd even help to direct them. The best ones were the tales embedded in reality. Even better if they left you trying to piece it together to decipher just how much of it was true or not; and more than a few of the ones told at camp fit followed that notion. Ryan's in particular.

Wherever that witch went, Evelynn was sure to notice. She had an aura about her that demanded attentiveness; and a tendency for behaviour that would bowl you over and redirect the spotlight if anyone had the audacity to look anywhere else. Still, it had come as a bit of a surprise when she had gotten up to speak. The girl always seemed to be in her own head. Whether it was ramblings about death witches, making a hovel in a strange place, or picking fights with students, it wasn't often that Evelynn saw her actually participate in the way that would be expected. Except, perhaps, when it came to quidditch.

The story captured her attention immediately. It also wasn't long before it didn't seem so much as a story of fiction as one of lore. At the first mention of the woods, grey eyes had panned to the nearby treeline, only too aware of what lived beyond. And with every sentence uttered, her skin grew more and more textured. She couldn't help but wonder how much of that was true. There had been an irritatingly little amount of concrete information that she'd been able to find on how hags came to be...

It was no coincidence when Evelynn's gaze settled between Alptraum and Ryan at its conclusion. The question had been softly uttered, but in the silence immediately following the story, it sounded like a thunderclap. A work of design in a way. As prefect, an invitee to that wild goose chase in Hogsmeade, and connected to many high-profile (in Evelynn's opinion) individuals, Evelynn held her in high regard and had chosen a seat at the campfire that would allow a modicum of careful eavesdropping. In which she partook without hesitation. While eyes directed themselves to be lost in the hypnotic flames, and her palette lavished the savoury sweet flavours of the cocoa in her grip, her attention directed itself towards the pair.

Hers wasn't the only story to capture Evelynn's attention. A rather exotically beautiful boy (Arjan) stood up to share. Admittedly, it wasn't the story that had first grabbed at Evelynn's attention, but rather his appearance. There was something... familiar about him, but she just couldn't quite place it. And yet, she was overcome with the overwhelming feelings as though she knew him from somewhere. Perfectly proportioned and well built, he had the figure of someone who knew how to employ it. Balance came easily to him. She was almost envious. As much as her lither physique allowed her the dexterity and speed for her position as a seeker, it was impossible not to appreciate his appearance. It was like D'Spacito all over again. And, as she quickly found out, he was just as obnoxious. Why was it that all good looking individuals seemed to possess a personality as shallow as the courtyard fountain? As soon as it became clear that his story was some sort of self-projection of the horrors of being anything less than gorgeous, she tuned out from his account, and in to her hot cocoa instead.

After him was another boy (Theo), one seemed close to her in age. He must have been a foreign visitor, she assumed. With a soft face, he reminded her in many was of Mason or MacAllister, unassuming boys from her House. His was an interesting story as well. The sort that she had expected to hear more of around the fire. Not particularly scary, really, but it sent a shiver up the lengtho f her spine nonetheless. Spectres had a way of unnerving her. You could fight against physical beings. But the incorporeal were something else entirely. She applauded politely after he had finished and eagerly turned her attention to the next, a girl nearby (Winnie).

"That was really lovely," Evelynn commented after the poet had seated herself again. "Did you write that? It really captured the character's fear and sense of helplessness. What was it that attacked her? I thought perhaps it might have been a vampire, but you made mention that it would wear her skin. Is it some sort of skinchanger?"

The questions came tumbling out with lilted inflection as they were inclined to do whenever she was particularly curious to know more about something. Where everyone else had shared a story, this girl had elected for the rather unique form of a poem. "Decipio, by the way," Evelynn added, remembering her manners and reining herself back to basics. She held a hand out, the palm quite warm from its recent contact with her cup of cocoa, for a shake. Then to clarify, she provided a touch more detail than usual. Just in case the girl was one of the foreign visitors. "Evelynn Decipio. Gryffindor at Hogwarts, and going into third year."

She almost missed the next individual to share their story (Irina). And promptly felt entirely uncomfortable. Silent, her gaze searched for the familiar faces of those who had organized the ball, and for any of the professors. This wasn't a story. It was an attack on the school. While she couldn't bring herself to entirely disagree with everything that was said, neither did she think it was really an appropriate time or means to share those thoughts. That was... embarrassing... and she wasn't even certain for whom exactly. For the speaker? Hogwarts? Both? Both.

"The press might have been a more effective soapbox..." Evelynn muttered quietly to herself. Then promptly fished for her journal, opened it to a particular tab and started jotting down some notes. This could make for an interesting article...

What a difficult thing to follow up, however. Or so she would have thought. To her, the energy of the campfire stories had been entirely doused with that anecdote. And yet, within moments, someone (Paige) was right back up to follow it up with another story. Once again, Evelynn had the impression that this was more fact than fiction. Eyes narrowed curiously as she sipped from her hot beverage to sweep keenly over the face and attire of the speaker. The girl was unfamiliar to her, but by the end of the story, her appearance and characteristics had made it into the section of Evelynn's journal where the profiling was kept with the added comment: ?Werewolf

Within a moment, however, Evelynn stood, flipping to another page and suggested, "I suppose I could go next, then. This is a story that my mother used to tell me..."

Ting. Tingting….Ting…Tingtingtingting…. Evelynn tapped a nail against the side of her tin cup to simulate drops of rain upon a tin roof. Then she began, reading from a passage in her journal...

The light spittle of rain that had served as little more than an annoyance for the last few hours began to steadily increase in volume and weight. It was as though the sky itself began to open up as great droplets of cold water fell to hammer upon the tin roof above. A cacophony of metal tings to accompany the snorting and heavy breathing within.

"Easy there, Dawn," came a low rumbling murmur, concern evident despite a faint accompanying chuckle.

In a stall of the small barn, a man in oilskin jacket and hat slick with rain gave an affectionate pat to horse next to him. It was a beautiful creature. Grey and dappled, high-withered with long slender legs, and a neck that arced down to a fine dished head lowered to a watering basin. The mare's sides heaved with her breathing, snorts ringing out in the air between each drink of water. Now and then her muscles rippled with what looked like a shiver, followed almost immediately by a flick of her tail at the sweat that lathered her belly.

"I think that's enough now," the man said again, moving in to hook her neck and pull her back from the water. She pushed against him, but he proved the stronger; at least enough to slip a leather halter over her nose and buckle it at her temple.

"Back up," he said, pushing lightly on the band beneath her chin. The horse took a step back. "Come on, back you go," the rider said again, continuing to coax his companion backwards in her stall. When satisfied, he reached for the tether hanging on the walls and latched it to the ring.

And then the two of them fell into their post-ride dance.

As the mare stood, snorting and periodically shaking out the moisture from tail and mane, the rider set to grooming. It was an important step. One not to be rushed. He had cooled her down, but steam still rose from her back. It could be deceiving, however, especially in this weather. Dry and warm, that was the goal, and so with a warm damp cloth, he wiped the worst of the sweat from her body and rub her down dry with a towel. It wasn't until she was absolutely dried, that no semblance of significant moisture yet clung to her, that he proceeded.

As he curried her fur, his eyes never ceased to roam every inch of her, searching for sign of tick or bite, rubbing mark or saddle burn. In doing so, when he got to her side and belly, the rider noted that while her ribs were no longer visible, he could barely feel them with his fingers. "Looks like you could use to have your diet cut," he commented.

"Oi!" Naturally, one would have thought he was speaking more to himself than the horse with his previous comment, but no sooner had he spoken that sentiment than she had snapped her head around, tether trained tight, and nipped the outer layer of his coat. "Mind yourself, excuse me! I didn't say you were fat!" A meaty hand pushed her nose back and away where it belonged.

"Keep that up," he said gruffly, "and I'll cut more than just your grain."

He must have touched a nerve with that one, or something, as he had barely finished the sentence before Dawn tossed her head and very nearly collided stepped upon his foot with the stamp of a back leg.

"Settle down, settle down," the rider said soothingly, straightening to rest a hand upon her neck. "Easy," he said again rubbing his palm up and down its length. "I was kidding."

But she wouldn't settle. Steam and snot issued from her nose, the sound of her snort briefly matching the pitch of the rain on roof. She tossed her head again, and her feet did a sort of dance as the whole of her body shifted to one side as she danced.

"Wooah," the rider said, grabbing hold of her halter, trying to calm her. Only, she seemed to escalate. "Woah there!" His brows were furrowed now, his expression one of general concern at this obviously uncharacteristic turn of his mare. "What in the devil has gotten into you?"

He asked, as she continued to through her head, front feet hopping off the straw and wood chip strewn floor. She continued to shuffle, hooves gouging the bedding to send it skittering this way and that, and pulled back against the tether that bound her halter to the slat wall. Her snorts were coming with greater puffs of steam. So were the rider's breaths. As his horse skittered and spooked, it was as though the very air around them seemed to be falling sharply in temperature.

"Easy, there, steady…" The rider continued, not yet having realized that the pounding of the rain had stopped. Or rather, the sound had. Perhaps that's why he hadn't noticed it. It yet still fell in sheets outside the open stall door. "Steady!" He tried to coo, slipping on a glove as he grabbed at the lead line. "Easy… Eas---"

He cut off abruptly, suddenly aware of the fact that he wasn't the only one talking anymore. Two stalls down, he could hear the restless pawing of a hoof against the floor, occasionally striking the wooden wall with a resounding thud. That was alright. Ramsey, the blood-bay thoroughbred gelding, had been brought in earlier that afternoon and was likely clamoring for his supper. Typical evening restlessness. But that wasn't what had caught the rider's attention. It was the sound that had filtered down through slits in the boards from the loft above.

"Hey! Can somebody help me over here!"

The hairs on the back of the rider's neck stood on end, and the squeal that erupted from the mare made him jump. She kicked a hoof back on the wall and the rider found himself torn between his failing attempts to settle her, and the appearance of a stranger's voice up high in the loft. It was the latter that bothered him the most. A cold, sinking feeling washed through his limbs. Despite the layers of clothing he wore beneath his riding trench, he felt cold. He stepped from the stall and peered cautiously down the hall. The stairs to the loft were up. There was no way anyone should have been able to get up there. And he hadn't heard any footsteps…

"I need help!"

The call came again, and this time, the rider felt as though fingers began slowly gripping around his throat. He cleared it, trying to regain some semblance of calm, but he was beginning to feel anything but. Carefully, cautiously, he stepped forward, boots clicking lightly on the uneven stone flooring. The stairs creeeeaaked as he pulled the rope to lower them down. It was dark in the loft. No light illuminated what lay beyond. He glanced around in search of a torch, but none presented themselves. Instead, he snatched up a hammer and reached into a pocket for a lighter. The hammer, well that was for self-defence if needed. And the lighter…he doubted it would be much help to illuminate the loft, but it was something at least.

One. Two. Up the stairs the rider went, slowly, carefully. They were narrow, and he was didn't know what he was getting into. It was quiet. Eerily so. Even the sounds of the horses, still spooking and shuffling restlessly in their stalls, seemed like they were on the other side of several closed doors. And the rain…He paused, glancing upwards in the direction of the roof, realizing only then that the incessant plinking sound had stopped. Yet, when he turned to glance through a stall door opening, he could see it still pelting down in sheets. And his breath…why was it so cold. Every exhalation brought with it a cloud of billowing steam.

Clunk. Clunk. He climbed the rest of the dusty, dirty steps and broached the hole that entered into the loft. He raised the lighter on high. The immediate surroundings illuminated. There was dust on the floor, bits of hay and straw. Nearby he could see the edge of what he knew to be a large pile of bailed hay. As he peered about, eyes straining in the darkness, the temperature reached an all-time low. Something felt…unnatural. He raised the lighter higher. It flickered. A wind picked up from somewhere, stirring the dust nearby to circle and coat his face and lips. His throat felt parched. The flame of his lighter flickered, then went blue. He almost dropped it in his surprise.

"It's about time!"

The voice was so close, like a whisper in his ear. Startled, he jumped. A hand grabbed reflexively for the top rail and all of a sudden, it felt as though he had plunged it into ice. His fingers curled, scrambling to catch hold, but nails bit into wooden, scratching, sliding. His foot slipped on the edge of the stair. And he felt himself falling. It was as though time slowed to a crawl. The lighter fell from his hand, snuffing out as it fell to the ground. The hammer caught on the wall and wrenched free of his grip. The heels of his boots clanked and thudded on the steps as he tumbled. And all the while, his stare remained up, eyes wide, transfixed on the entrance to the loft. For the briefest moment, he thought he could see the outline of a face, blue and grey and translucent against the black backdrop.

Then he hit the ground and all went black.

With a snap, Evelynn closed her journal and eased herself back to her seat, ankles crossing. She set the journal to her lap and took another sip of cocoa, her expression muted as though she had done little more than read out an essay in class. Already, she was looking to whoever would be next to take a stand, but it came eventually to rest on the poet with whom she'd previously struck up conversation.

"Not as clever as your poem, I'm afraid," she admitted with a shrug of a brow and polite smile. "And not nearly as frightening now that I know ghosts really do exist. Although... perhaps that makes it all the more-so. What do you think?"