23 Aug 2021, 17:21
Oh, it's Hugh...
"The locket... has your heart in it..." He gave her a long questioning stare. What kind of dark magic was she involved in? This entire conversation had been a rollercoaster from start to finish. Hugh looked around and sighed. "And a tiny house? Here on the grounds?" He thought about what she meant. There were very few houses on the castle grounds aside from the actual stone castle itself of course. "Over at the groundskeeper's place? The groundskeeper has a mirror that traps people inside it?" He was spewing questions at her. Like a fountain that kept circulating the water over and over.
Her last words nearly caused him to lash out. "No, you don't. You shouldn't at least." He assured her with a serious look. "You're trapped, you mean." The part-giant folded both arms as if taking it all in a defensive stride. "But fine, it's decided." He finally stated before giving her a pat on the shoulder. "I'll do my own research and find the cabin. I can get the mirror and maybe track down your heart. If not those things, then I don't know what would get you out of those old ladies' fingers."
The thought of informing the professors did cross his mind before remembering they might all be in on this... That wasn't going to work. They needed other folks to help eventually if they were ever going to confront those... ladies.
INPC; Cassanora Browne
Race: Half-Giant // Ability: - STR: 16 EVA: 7 WIS: 10 STA: 20 ARC: 1 ACC: 7
27 Aug 2021, 12:45
Oh, it's Hugh...
"The locket... has your heart in it..."
It felt like an accusation, sounded like doubt. She could feel herself shrivel a bit on the inside. "Yes," she insisted. A single word of affirmation that lacked clarity. "Well, not all of it," she could feel herself shrink. "That would be ridiculous, it would not fit," she reasoned. Yes, that was the part that made no sense in her warped view.
"And a tiny house? Here on the grounds?"
He continued to question, she felt numb. Her cheeks, her lips. If he had looked he would have seen how the color drained. It cut, like a sharp blade. The sounds , the thoughts, all while other things gnawed.
"Over at the groundskeeper's place? The groundskeeper has a mirror that traps people inside it?"
"No?" She did not sound certain because she was uncertain. "I'm not trapped," she reminded him. "Unless this is the mirror," her grip on reality fragile, tenuous at best, this was a thought that should have seeded itself sooner. Madness is often hard to define because normalcy varies by culture and societal expectation. Adaptation and coping, when they make you a little different, you become wrong. A monster perhaps, one that must be repaired and made like the others. Well, not like them truly because who really fits the mold? Liars really.
Her hand shook a bit when she pointe at the water again. "I think she is trapped though," she referred to the reflection. It was only hers that seemed to bang without disturbing the water's surface. Hugh's own was as it always was, a massive fixture that complied and reflected his every last movement.
"I saw it in the tiny house with the pumpkins and squash," yes the grounds keeper's house but she would do better to describe because certainty lacked. "But then the thick man," she was referring to Gargott Dunaid "scared them away." She explained, failing to divulge details because in truth she did not know. There was more she failed to grasp than she has truly knew. But she knew some things of importance, "but they did not change me, I just saw the me that screams." The mirror image, the cursed item. "I knew other crones, but I think they both were driven into the woods," two covens. She was not sure. "I see them in my night--" she cringed "Not see, hear-- they talk--" she did not dream "in my head. They tell me about the monsters, the scary big things, the hidden things..." and deepen her paranoia. "That the food is poisoned, that the medicine is rot, that the intentions of others is bad," if Hugh was a psychologist he would have a diagnosis for her. A terrible reality was that perhaps for some the voices they heard were real. The terrors were not just figments in their head. "They help," in a way yes. Sometimes even monsters tell the truth. The food was poisoned.
And most importantly, what Erin described was a Night Hag.
She was off topic despite her efforts. That was not what he asked. The mirror -- where was the mirror. "I don't think the thick man kept what was inside. It was full of--" She did not know how to describe it. "There was this closet that screamed," little did she know an actual man was trapped inside - Solomon Lear. "There were bony hands, and eyes. Creatures, dead but moving." It was a setting she doubted Garagott would have chosen to reside in.
"I live here?"
"No, you don't." A snap, she froze and closed her eyes. Rapid shallow breaths, ones of panic and bated dread. A moment jubilation for some perhaps, that she felt it. The fear she had always lacked. An affection that was always there, however muted. She ran a forearm over her face to shield her stinging eyes, speaking of eyes something was wrong with hers. Wet. "You shouldn't at least." Softer, still scary.
"You're trapped, you mean." He corrected but she did not believe him. He lived here too. Was he trapped also? There was nowhere to go, not for any of them. There was this expectation of academic completion, they would be sent back here year after year until they either graduated or died. It sounded absolutely mad, the truth stranger than fiction. Her father did not care for her mad ramblings, not with an ailing heir. Not when he too shared her affliction, the one that had compelled her to seek the aide of the crones in the first place. There was no love, no metaphorical heart, only a physical one. One can thrive without being nurtured.
"But fine, it's decided." His hand rose and fell, massive on her... shoulder? Thud-thud-thud rather than pat-pat-pat, he would feel a boniness that was potentially unexpected for someone with such celebrated strength as Erin Ryan. A first string beater two, soon three years running. Synonymous with 'brute.' "I'll do my own research and find the cabin. I can get the mirror and maybe track down your heart. If not those things, then I don't know what would get you out of those old ladies' fingers."
Neither of those things would help her, but they would provide him with invaluable insight into what happened. What was wrong with this school. That it was not random chance but something calculated that had caused this madness. Erin simply stood there and waited for Hugh to depart, her legs wobbled a bit, they felt weak. Once gone, once out of sight she would grip the rail she was pulled over and release the bile that had been climbing her throat this whole time. She did not eat much, she lacked the appetite. A good thing now as the bitter acid evacuated her maw. A physical manifestation of her... panic?
It felt like an accusation, sounded like doubt. She could feel herself shrivel a bit on the inside. "Yes," she insisted. A single word of affirmation that lacked clarity. "Well, not all of it," she could feel herself shrink. "That would be ridiculous, it would not fit," she reasoned. Yes, that was the part that made no sense in her warped view.
"And a tiny house? Here on the grounds?"
He continued to question, she felt numb. Her cheeks, her lips. If he had looked he would have seen how the color drained. It cut, like a sharp blade. The sounds , the thoughts, all while other things gnawed.
"Over at the groundskeeper's place? The groundskeeper has a mirror that traps people inside it?"
"No?" She did not sound certain because she was uncertain. "I'm not trapped," she reminded him. "Unless this is the mirror," her grip on reality fragile, tenuous at best, this was a thought that should have seeded itself sooner. Madness is often hard to define because normalcy varies by culture and societal expectation. Adaptation and coping, when they make you a little different, you become wrong. A monster perhaps, one that must be repaired and made like the others. Well, not like them truly because who really fits the mold? Liars really.
Her hand shook a bit when she pointe at the water again. "I think she is trapped though," she referred to the reflection. It was only hers that seemed to bang without disturbing the water's surface. Hugh's own was as it always was, a massive fixture that complied and reflected his every last movement.
"I saw it in the tiny house with the pumpkins and squash," yes the grounds keeper's house but she would do better to describe because certainty lacked. "But then the thick man," she was referring to Gargott Dunaid "scared them away." She explained, failing to divulge details because in truth she did not know. There was more she failed to grasp than she has truly knew. But she knew some things of importance, "but they did not change me, I just saw the me that screams." The mirror image, the cursed item. "I knew other crones, but I think they both were driven into the woods," two covens. She was not sure. "I see them in my night--" she cringed "Not see, hear-- they talk--" she did not dream "in my head. They tell me about the monsters, the scary big things, the hidden things..." and deepen her paranoia. "That the food is poisoned, that the medicine is rot, that the intentions of others is bad," if Hugh was a psychologist he would have a diagnosis for her. A terrible reality was that perhaps for some the voices they heard were real. The terrors were not just figments in their head. "They help," in a way yes. Sometimes even monsters tell the truth. The food was poisoned.
And most importantly, what Erin described was a Night Hag.
She was off topic despite her efforts. That was not what he asked. The mirror -- where was the mirror. "I don't think the thick man kept what was inside. It was full of--" She did not know how to describe it. "There was this closet that screamed," little did she know an actual man was trapped inside - Solomon Lear. "There were bony hands, and eyes. Creatures, dead but moving." It was a setting she doubted Garagott would have chosen to reside in.
We need to get you out of here.
"I live here?"
"No, you don't." A snap, she froze and closed her eyes. Rapid shallow breaths, ones of panic and bated dread. A moment jubilation for some perhaps, that she felt it. The fear she had always lacked. An affection that was always there, however muted. She ran a forearm over her face to shield her stinging eyes, speaking of eyes something was wrong with hers. Wet. "You shouldn't at least." Softer, still scary.
"You're trapped, you mean." He corrected but she did not believe him. He lived here too. Was he trapped also? There was nowhere to go, not for any of them. There was this expectation of academic completion, they would be sent back here year after year until they either graduated or died. It sounded absolutely mad, the truth stranger than fiction. Her father did not care for her mad ramblings, not with an ailing heir. Not when he too shared her affliction, the one that had compelled her to seek the aide of the crones in the first place. There was no love, no metaphorical heart, only a physical one. One can thrive without being nurtured.
"But fine, it's decided." His hand rose and fell, massive on her... shoulder? Thud-thud-thud rather than pat-pat-pat, he would feel a boniness that was potentially unexpected for someone with such celebrated strength as Erin Ryan. A first string beater two, soon three years running. Synonymous with 'brute.' "I'll do my own research and find the cabin. I can get the mirror and maybe track down your heart. If not those things, then I don't know what would get you out of those old ladies' fingers."
Neither of those things would help her, but they would provide him with invaluable insight into what happened. What was wrong with this school. That it was not random chance but something calculated that had caused this madness. Erin simply stood there and waited for Hugh to depart, her legs wobbled a bit, they felt weak. Once gone, once out of sight she would grip the rail she was pulled over and release the bile that had been climbing her throat this whole time. She did not eat much, she lacked the appetite. A good thing now as the bitter acid evacuated her maw. A physical manifestation of her... panic?
[Was a good time man.
Just a trick of the lighting they said...