The sloping plateau summit of Pendle Hill is formed from the Pendle Grit; a coarse Carboniferous age sandstone. The steep slopes of its eastern and southern flanks have given rise to a series of landslips. A local saying suggests the area around Pendle Hill experiences frequent rainfall: "If you can see Pendle it's about to rain, if you can't, it's already started."
The trials of the Pendle witches in 1612 are among the most famous witch trials in English history, and some of the best recorded of the 17th century. The twelve accused lived in the area around Pendle Hill in Lancashire, and were charged with the murders of ten people by the use of witchcraft. All but two were tried. Of the eleven who went to trial – nine women and two men – ten were found guilty and executed by hanging; one was found not guilty.
Posted: Fri Oct 25, 2013 4:37 pm
Floor Plan
First Floor
The Foyer ↔ Grand Staircase ______↪ Sitting Room ___________↪Study ______↪ Great Hall ______↪ Kitchen
Second Floor
The Foyer ↔ Grand Staircase ______↪ Master Bedroom ______↪ Guest Bedroom ______↪ Solar ___________↪ Hidden Stairwell
The muggle townspeople are always quick to turn up their noses at the thought of Pendleside Manor. When it wasn't raining, the sloping hills that lead up to the manor are misted and dreary, recently the low folds between hillsides have hidden bogs of murky waters. It hadn't always been so, but the weather seems to be... jinxed somehow, worse than usual. The next complaint was always the same--but if you spoke to children it was always the first--the manor is haunted. None of the locals have dared to step foot on it's steps in decades, but no one can really remember why.
The local sheriff has offered a reward on any information regarding the break-ins of the abandoned building.
The shopkeeper could complain of those miscreants that break into the abandoned manor all day long; the sightings seem to be occurring more often lately. Through her bedroom window, she'll swear she'll see the haze of green and red lights flash in the distance.
The farmers bemoan the fires that sprout up like weeds, no one understands how or why they come, or how they disappear before anyone can reach them. But one citizen claimed to have seen a thin, pale-grey serpent with ghoulish red eyes leave one of the fires-- no one believed him, though.
The owner of the local diner was well versed in the manor, it was a hide-out for the pendle witches before they were executed. The twelve accused faced punishment for the murder of ten people with the use of witchcraft. Of the eleven who went to trial only one was found not guilty. The owner refuses to believe it, despite the many occurrences, but most of the locals would swear by their God that those ghosts--those demons--were real. . .
Posted: Fri Oct 25, 2013 4:43 pm
Enchantments:
Muggle Repelling Charm:Located within fifty meters of the manor's grounds.
Depression Hex:Wander too close to the muggle repelling charm will often find oneself overwrought with negativity.
Sinking Hex:Located within the hidden bogs scattered throughout the lowlands of the steep slopes.
Oppugno:Located in the foyer, directly inside the manor past the front door.
But I don't think I canwait... I'vebeenliving for this day. I thinkthat if I do or don't... It'll turnout the sameway. But I can't seem to pull myselfaway... And I hopethat'sokay... Evenjust the verythought- Makesmewant to stay.
M A R I N A E U G E N I E A L D R E D FORMER SLYTHERIN │ PROUD HALFBLOOD │ AUROR IN TRAINING │ ENGAGED
It wasn't quite what could be considered nighttime, but it was certainly late in the evening, around the time Marina should have been coming home from training, back to the flat. The flat, which had Damien and was warm and dry with a helpful house elf and a loyal, if finicky cat. Instead, she was hiking up a hill that the heels of her boots kept sinking into, squinting through the mist, wondering why she hadn't just done this on a cheerful weekend morning. Well, there was the matter of her fiance, and she could just imagine his reaction to finding out she intended to visit a totally not sinister or threatening looking at all abandoned manor. He'd either insist on coming, or follow her, and she really wanted to avoid both of those potential outcomes. It wasn't so much that she thought Damien would somehow hold her back or that she'd have to be constantly looking out for him. Damien wasn't in training to become an auror but he was no slouch when it came to taking care of himself either. But she would be even more wound up if he were to be with her. She was uneasy as it was, never mind how she'd be if she was internally agonizing over what she'd do if one of them were hurt and couldn't get out, or if they got separated, or God forbid if an Unforgivable got thrown at one of them with the wedding just months away. She had a responsibility to ensure both of them made it to the altar alive. She at least owed to to her unholy trinity of wedding planners, she reflected sardonically, as she came over the crest of the hill.
For one thing, there were a lot of other hills and slopes on the way up to the manor. For another, the manor itself looked like something out of an old time muggle horror film, one of the black and white ones. She wouldn't put it past those stairs leading up to the entrance to be cursed. Honestly, the whole place might just be a giant trap. And she hadn't exactly told anyone her plans for the evening. The only one who might have some clue of where she was were she to disappear was Belle. She didn't even have to worry about dying here. If she didn't make it home Damien would just kill her. A few heavy drops fell on her head, making her flinch a little. It wasn't pouring, but the rain was sweeping over the area in such a way she wondered how natural it really was. Bad weather was definitely one way to keep the muggles away from any nefarious going-ons. Of course, there were probably other things set up to ward off muggles, but she wasn't really concerned about them, not being a muggle. Marina had only just mounted the top of the first steep hill. While hardly a great distance, she still had a ways to go before she actually reached the manor, and the gloom made everything seem further out of her reach. In fact, it almost seemed like she'd never reach it... Maybe now was the time to turn back, a voice murmured in her head. Who knew what was in there. She was still in training, and she was fool to think she was equipped for everything already. Nosing around was certainly a good way to get one killed. She could die here and rot here, and the rains would eventually wash away her bones, or they'd simply be swallowed up by the mud...
Wait.
Why was she suddenly feeling like this, anyways? Marina was used to mood swings- she was a moody person, after all, but usually nothing this distract. What had happened to her drive, her determination, her will to get through this and get back home in one piece? This sinking feeling in her gut, where had this come from? She tightened her grip on her wand and took a few breaths, trying to cleanse the sense of doom out of her. It lingered like a bad cold, and then she knew there was really something wrong. "Magnus sensus," she muttered under her breath, and suddenly her vision seemed sharper, her hearing clearer, and every sense in her kicked into overdrive. "Homenum revelio." No humans nearby. If this was a hex affecting her, it was the landscape itself that was enchanted to make her feel this way, not someone actively casting it on her. And if this was a hex, there had to be more to come. She stood completely still and tried to decide which spell she should cast to best defend herself. She didn't want to go overboard here, but she didn't want to be vulnerable. "Defaeco animus," she cast decisively, and felt most of the depressed feelings and dark thoughts fade into the background. She started forward briskly but carefully, never stepping down too hard, walking lightly, and not in a straight line either. She didn't want to trip anything.
She did almost fall into bogs, twice, but the spell kept her from sinking and she managed to scramble away both times, though her boots were caked with mud, and her jeans and coat were splattered with it. She also lost her beanie, which irked her enough that by the time she made it to the stairs, she was scowling, her formerly bouncy ponytail was a flattened wreck, and her red curls were soaked to the darkest shade of auburn from the wet. At least it wasn't cold enough for her to catch hypothermia. She had that to be grateful for. She trudged up the steps, was relieved that they didn't suddenly flatten underneath her or anything, and paused before the doors. She didn't bother trying them manually. "Alohomora," she said darkly, and nudged them open with her foot. They groaned like a dying man, of course, and she lit up her wand as she stepped inside. The doors sighed and slowly drifted shut with a hollow thud behind her. It was dark and dim and the light from whatever windows there were was pale and waning. "Lumos max-," she started, before what seemed to be an antique, dust filled vase threw itself at her face. Marina turned her head just in time so she didn't absorb the entirety of the blow, but the force itself was enough to send her stumbling back into the doors, blood trickling from her nose, her teeth and lips throbbing, cheeks raw. A mirror pitched itself at her next and she flung herself on the floor to dodge it. "Reducto!" she yelled hoarsely, and several other small knick knacks shattered in the air en-route to her. "Aveho defixio!" she yelped next, and a table came skidding to a halt before it could tumble into her. She nearly collapsed on it, panting. She felt as though she'd just went up against a miniature army of household objects.
When she regained her breath, she looked around, wand aloft and glowing, and tried to decide where to go first. She might as well do this floor by floor, she supposed. Even if every room did its best to maim her. She wiped a smear of blood from her chin, and decided that what looked to be a sitting room of sorts seemed to be the safest bet right now.
OOC:
Essy ze Ninja
This is more than I cantake... I fearmy heart will burst or break! If there's a thing as too muchjoy, I willbetakenaway; Walkingthenightsky.... Frecklestothestars. Allthatyou'velonged for- Is paintedonmyarms.
Posted: Fri Jan 02, 2015 4:56 pm
Вставай, проклятьем заклеймённый, Весь мир голодных и рабов! Кипит наш разум возмущённый И в смертный бой вести готов. Весь мир насилья мы разрушим До основанья, а затем Мы наш, мы новый мир построим, — Кто был ничем, тот станет всем.
Stand up, ones who are branded by the curse, All the world's starving and enslaved! Our outraged minds are boiling, Ready to lead us into a deadly fight. We will destroy this world of violence Down to the foundations, and then We will build our new world. He who was nothing will become everything!
Emblazoned on the walls, the old wallpaper crackled and curled where the charred letters had been burnt, cinders crackled and scattered in dust when the fluctuation in the air changed. The garbled letters of a distinctly Slavic language was translated, the English prose seemed erratic in comparison, slanted and ranging in sizes as if in hurry. Beyond that, the foyer was bare and decrepit, the various few belonging that hadn't hurled itself in attack were already broken beyond repair, no doubt, from an unannounced intruder as well. A shamble of wooden planks marked where a bookcase had been, several worn texts with loose bindings and fallen pages were cluttered beneath the heap, though they proved unintelligible unless one could read and decipher Russian. The shards of glass reflected her motions, even when it seemed she was out of visibility, it still mirrored her every motion. The grand staircase, once upon a time ago, may have been exquisite, it's dark wood was tarnished now, and several beams in the railings were missing, a few of the steps wobbled, one was broken, and seemed to lead down into a pit of darkness which had no ending. In the distance, something rattled and thudded against wood.
The floorboards creaked beneath her feet, alternating between every other step, a scuffle of something petite darted across the floor, more than likely just a rat. The sitting room was stiff and the air was stale. A thick coat of dust collected on the surface of the shoddy furnishings, a low, uncushioned sofa was ripped, its cloth stained and soiled. Shelvings lined the walls, most were broken, some were missing, as evident by the discoloration on the walls. Several portraits hung on one side of the sitting room, where the hall led deeper into a study. Several stacks of newspapers lay in a crumpled mess, most were indistinguishable muggle papers, The Independent, The Guardian, and The Times, to name a few, although a recent stack of Daily Prophet articles were shuffled in between.
Several article clippings were neatly framed in brass portraits, nearly every one of them an obituary, the exception was a single article detailing a series of unsolved murders. The only two wizarding obituaries belonged to a Jack Murray, and Elizabeth Burke. The first read, 'Jack Montgomery Murray, died unexpectedly of a heart attack on 13th October 2020, aged 42. Devoted husband of the late Emilia, loving brother to Jannel, and friend to many. Funeral service to be held in Oxford on 3rd of November at 12 noon.'
The second was more detailed, 'Late Sunday evening, a couple of party goers concluding a wild night at the muggle establishment, Metropolis Strip Club, on Cambridge Hearth Rd had discovered a gruesome scene. The body of a young woman, now known to be Elizabeth Burke is a young seventeen year old and the daughter of the singer, Diane Athena Burke, better known as 'Athena Fae,' a rising musician whom had passed away only several months prior at the Fall Festival. Elizabeth had been found mangled in a local dumpster several blocks away from where she had been staying at The Whitechapel Hotel. The exact cause of death currently remains unknown. She is survived by her father, Henry Burke, who could not be reached for a comment at this time.' Before Marina would have had another chance to stop and think, a shrill voice interrupted the silence.
”HOW DARE YOU?!” It bellowed from behind her. ”HOW DARE YOU. YOU MUGGLE. YOU FILTY MUGGLE. YOU HAVE NO RIGHT HERE.”
”Honestly, madame, she is no muggle. She's a halfblood, at best.” A man whose hair was white as death and a pallor to match, bristled his mustache as he peered down at Marina.
”YOU! You with your unctuous canter and your proletariat hands! MAKE HER LEAVE US FREDERIC! I will not suffer another ungrateful WENCH in this house! I WILL NOT!”
”You best make yourself scarce my dear,” he ushered with prudence. ”They know you're here now.” As if on cue, a THUD rumbled in the distance and the floorboards shook with the carrying echo.
Options are, but not limited to:
A) Interrogate the Portraits B) Silence the Portraits C) Investigate the Framed Obituary Articles
But I don't think I canwait... I'vebeenliving for this day. I thinkthat if I do or don't... It'll turnout the sameway. But I can't seem to pull myselfaway... And I hopethat'sokay... Evenjust the verythought- Makesmewant to stay.
M A R I N A E U G E N I E A L D R E D FORMER SLYTHERIN │ PROUD HALFBLOOD │ AUROR IN TRAINING │ ENGAGED
Marina blinked. The sitting room was a mess, to say the least. She froze as a rat darted out in front of her and vanished into some corner. Well, there was some life still here. She wondered what exactly they were feeding on to survive, then decided she didn't want to know. There was dust, everywhere. She was probably going to leave footprints, but what could she do? She scuffed her feet as she walked anyways, hoping to just disturb the dust in general, so it would be harder to tell who exactly had come through. She stopped to riffle through the newspapers, muggle and wizarding, and then paused when she came to the brass portraits. Slowly, she reached into her backpack, and rummaged through it blindly until she pulled out a small cheap camera. Click. Click. Click.
"Murray and Burke," she muttered to herself. She'd gone to school with Cersei, and she'd heard about her death. She'd assumed the girl had been killed in a mugging gone wrong, or a fight with a boyfriend, or something. It'd been tragic and senseless, but they hadn't been friends and she'd never really known her all that well. But she hadn't deserved to be left like that, in a dumpster. Not for something her father had done. Or hadn't done-
Holy s**t!
She whirled around and backed up into the wall, camera in one hand, wand in the other. Oh. Just a portrait. Well, great. If this didn't cause a ruckus she didn't know what would. She might have been a little amused if she wasn't on the verge of panicking. Proletariat hands... Yeah, her fingers just screamed blue collar. And her canter was fine, thank you very much, but this was hardly the time to bicker with paintings. She looked from one to the other, just regaining control of her breathing when the man with the mustache warned her about "they" knowing she was here now. Who was they?! She didn't like the sound of that thud, either. Where was she supposed to go? She couldn't really hide in here, it wasn't as if she had an invisibility cloak handy...
She couldn't pinpoint where the echo had been coming from either. If she ran back out into the foyer she could be heading straight into trouble. Look, there were windows on this floor, right? If things got bad she'd break one, climb out, and run like hell. She was still on the first floor, it couldn't be that bad of a drop. And she wasn't going to just cower here like a frightened child. She shoved the camera back into her pack, and bolted into the study, slamming into the door and relieved when it swung open. She shut it firmly behind her and didn't bother to see if it locked. A locked door wouldn't hold for long anyways, not in this place. She leaned against the closed door and stood, very, very still. If it sounded like something was coming she was getting behind that desk and blasting the door as soon as it opened. She held her breath and prayed whatever it was didn't come any closer to her location.
OOC:
Essy ze Ninja
This is more than I cantake... I fearmy heart will burst or break! If there's a thing as too muchjoy, I willbetakenaway; Walkingthenightsky.... Frecklestothestars. Allthatyou'velonged for- Is paintedonmyarms.
Posted: Tue Jan 27, 2015 2:38 pm
___Silence...
___The dredge of white noise circulated in the blood of ear drums; it was the only sound to be heard for now. Scratching rasped at the glass, the dead twigs of a twisted branch rattled against the windowpane, then nothing. A disturbed cloud of dust settled down around the wooden floorboards, its nails visibly rusted and the planks dry with rot were splintered and would creak under weight. Perhaps once, the focal point of the room might have been the grand hearth, about as wide as a man's arm span and twice the height, but now, the mantelpiece was torn from the wall, broken bits of plaster and wood were collectively gathered in it's mouth, nestled beneath a pile of smoldering logs, and scarcely concealed by an iron screen chipped and spotted with rust like the leaf beneath a caterpillars feet. A translucent gray plume of smoke marbled through the chimney. The charred log crackled, splintered, and collapsed into two pieces provoking a salamander, it's six legs struggled, until it finally gave out and settled lifelessly upon black embers. The entirety of the room was empty save for a shoddy old desk cornered against two walls; it was tainted with black ash and notably stained with splotches of ink, and had been left unlocked with its drawers hanging open wide and unbalanced on its hinge. Most of the files and documents were written in the Cyrillic alphabet, the very same spattering of symbols that graffitied the foyer. It's English counterparts had already been destroyed, as evident by the pile of shredded parchment that littered the floor and its ashes. Several scraps managed to survive, the only one of any worth was partially incinerated, but it was enough.
Transcript: R. Nott & G. Nott
R: I know why you're here Guiseley. I've been watching you, and I know you've been watching me too. G: You mean right now? You're bloody brilliant. R: The Kamenev's hired you... Yes...I thought so... You're after one peculiarly ancient and dangerous curse, aren't you?.... You won't. And do you want to know why? G: ....And why is that? R: Because I'm going to murder you, my dear. I'll ruin you. I'll rip that child from your belly and make it watch you die... But I won't if you'll oblige my terms. I own you now, you report to me, you tell me everything, and if you don't... G: .... R: When is the next time you're scheduled to meet with a commissary for the Kamenev's? G: ....On the night of the new moon. R: What is the current report status you were going to return? G: ....You, Rich, Burke, you've separated the texts between the three of you and... I've yet to discover where your portion has been hidden. R: I see... You... are going to tell them you have a lead on how to find my piece of the puzzle, and then, you will report back to me and tell me everything... Do you understand? G: Yes!
___THWACK, it echoed from up above, reverberating the walls with a low groan and quaking vibrations. It didn't seem any closer than before, and whatever it was, was hard to decipher as the sound faded considerably once it reached her, it almost resembled the crack of a whip or the breaking of bones. Shadows twisted and stretched, the low hanging clouds trapped the moon up above, stretched across three uncurtained bow windows. The emptiness of the room caused every small shuffle to echo throughout the house. For now, nothing else in the study deemed curious enough to spare a glance, and the only way out was through the sitting room and to the foyer, where an expanse of blanketed furniture had all been pressed up against the walls in the great hall, and the kitchen was hidden behind the staircase through an arched opening. Low grunts and stifled croups bounced around the walls, originating from the kitchen, as well as a few good clacks and clangs of what could only be metal and glass. And the not-so-subtle smell of.... minced pork pie?
Options are but not limited to:
1. Investigate the Great Hall 2. Investigate the Kitchen 3. Investigate the sounds' upstairs (2nd Floor Foyer)
But I don't think I canwait... I'vebeenliving for this day. I thinkthat if I do or don't... It'll turnout the sameway. But I can't seem to pull myselfaway... And I hopethat'sokay... Evenjust the verythought- Makesmewant to stay.
M A R I N A E U G E N I E A L D R E D FORMER SLYTHERIN │ PROUD HALFBLOOD │ AUROR IN TRAINING │ ENGAGED
Marina would have rather something come bursting in after her, screaming and screeching like a banshee. than the silence. Her heartbeat died down, she let herself breathe again, and she took stock of her surroundings. She smelled ash and dust, and she scrubbed at the dried blood under her nose and caked on her lips before swallowing hard. Her cheeks throbbed. Still, so far she wasn't seriously injured; nothing an ice pack or a simple healing spell couldn't cure. She looked sharply at the window when she heard scratching, but it was just a branch moved by the wind that accompanied the rain outside. She didn't like the look of the floor, in here, though. It was clearly rotted, and some parts looked bad enough that she was concerned about falling through, to whatever might lie below. She was going to have to watch her step, like she had outside. Her hard gaze settled on the fireplace, large and looming. Logs in it were smoldering, not much... but still. One cracked and broke into pieces, but she ignored it, making her way cautiously over to the desk in the corner. It had obviously already been gone through, with scraps of paper everywhere, every draw opened, but maybe they'd missed something. People tended to be sloppy when they were in a rush.
She leafed through everything she could scrounge up. The Cyrillic made no sense to her- but there was one torn piece of paper with writing on it in English. An R. Nott and a Guiseley, who had to be a woman, seeing as R. Nott called her 'my dear' and threatened to take her unborn child forcibly from her. Marina wondered what pregnant woman had gotten caught up in all of this- or instigated it. She only knew of one R. Nott, anyways, a certain Remington who ran a shop in Knockturn she paid a visit to with Damien what seemed now like ages ago. "Sick b*****d," she huffed under her breath, but that was besides the point. She carefully tucked the scrap into her pack, and not liking her current vulnerable position kneeling on the ground, scrabbling in the dust, knees slick and coated with it, she straightened up and rose to her feet, just as she heard a familiar noise from above. She froze and hunched her shoulders instinctively. What was that? Not knowing was driving her insane, but she needed to be calm about this. She couldn't just lead with her driving emotions- insatiable curiosity, a burning thirst for vengeance, and a healthy amount of fear and paranoia. All light had faded outside now. It was well and truly night. But still young enough.
There was nowhere else to go from this room, except back the way she had came to take a different route. She shifted her pack on her shoulders, toying with the straps, and as silently as possible with a creaky floor underneath, slipped out of the study, leaving it for the most part untouched, and closing the door behind her. She raced through the sitting room, not wanting to catch the attention of the loud, obnoxious portraits again, and emerged back out into the foyer. She had choices, obviously. There was the stair case, what seemed to be a great dining hall, and a kitchen. She said kitchen because she could hear the sound of pots and pans. Wait, what?! What happened to 'uninhabited'? In her defense, it was a little hard to stake a place out when you had a busy job and a fiance to get home to, but who the bloody hell was cooking right now? Was she going to burst in on a legion of evil doers in masks having themselves a late supper? It would have been more comical had she not been so unnerved. Great, she not only had whatever was upstairs to worry about, she had the freaking kitchen, to boot. Well, she had no one to blame but herself if she was in over her head- who was she kidding, she'd been in over her head from the beginning, but deep waters didn't scare her. She crept into the Great Hall, bypassing the kitchen, which seemed to be tucked away behind the stairs, for now. Hopefully there wasn't a candlestick about to come alive, greet her, and start singing "Be Our Guest".
OOC:
Essy ze Ninja
((choosing choice 1!))
This is more than I cantake... I fearmy heart will burst or break! If there's a thing as too muchjoy, I willbetakenaway; Walkingthenightsky.... Frecklestothestars. Allthatyou'velonged for- Is paintedonmyarms.
