Shadows in the Mist

[Swashbuckler]

Prelude:


The history of Malverlay Hall has since its founding in 1578 has always ben shrouded in a pall like the cold moor mist that seemed to always cling to its weathered stones. Legend holds that on the day the first cornerstone was laid a worker plunged off the cliff to an icy death in the rocks of the North Sea that crash insistently below the hall.

Built by a shadowy figure, Sir Thomas Malverlay, who it was said built the hall with gold procured from spainish treasure ships. A true recluse, his background is shrouded in mystery. There were rumors of his wife commiting suicide, and of a murdered mistress that had filtered down through the locals' legends.

What was known were his many duels on the moor, mostly over other gentlemen's wives or daughters. He may have survived as many as sixteen such encounters, a true feat considering his age must have been over sixty when the last recorded duel was fought to a deadly conclusion.

The pale rider finally caught up to him in his home, though where is unclear in the year of 1637, that is what it said on the gravestone near the cliff's edge where he had many a moonlight stroll, it was said at the time, arm in arm with the devil. His large wealth and the hall passed to his only legitimate son, Micheal who left the hall upon his father's death and rarely visited the hall.

From time to time the hall became occupied by various descendants of the alleged privateer. Most were short lived occupances. Though one great grand son stayed long enough to build an addition to the hall in a more modern architecture.

This however, proved a deadly developement as the man was killed in a fire that gutted the new hall. The original structure was left amazingly unharmed during the fire of 1712. The burned structure was eventually torn down, but the eastern stones are still charred as the only reminder of the only illfated addition to the hall.

Electricity was not intorduced to Malerlay Hall until the early 70's when one of the Malverlay scions moved into occupancy while attempting to become a successful rock muscician. The electricity is still said to be extremely faulty though many electricians have gone over every inch of wiring with little success of rectifying the system. The muscian died of a heroine overdose shortly after he moved into the old family estate.

Then came the recently late John Malverlay, the last of the Malverlay's who having lost the remants of the family fortune by dangerous speculation in the stockmarket. Havign stked his home in his illfated gambles he moved into the remote family outpost a year and a day before his death.

He endeavored mightily to make the house livable, including opening a bricked up doorway into the dungeon of the Hall. Where local workers found him the next morning, nude and hanging from a thick celing beam on a rotting length of old rigging rope. The suicide was interesting as he was finally turning some money out of the market, which was troubling to a few members of scotland yard. Though the locals are all certain he was murdered, but not by any living hand, but by his long damned ancestor, Thomas.

But all that was rubbish...

All that mattered was that today the heiress of the late Sir John Malverlay, Miss Christina Hendershot, an American, now the Lady of Malverlay. Sir John's only surviving relative, a yank, no doubt he was spinning in his grave over this. The daughter of his second cousin, who had immigrated to America years ago was now an English Lady.

That is what mattered. To Erica Fitzallen, who was handling the transfer of property and title on behalf of Sir John's soliscitor's, Milton, Dylan, and Scott. She had her breifcase in hand and was waiting at the small train depot in this godforsaken foggy town miles from the house to meet the new Lady Malverlay and her entourage of yanks that were all undoubtedly dying to see the Hall. As the train ground itself to a hault and the prefunctory jets of steam and noise died away the door flew open and Erica Fitzallen pushed her goldframed glasses back on her nose and brushed a rednailed hand over her dark charcoal jacket and skirt waitign to greet her new client...


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OOC:

This thread is about a haunting of an old Tudor hall.

I need a few characters to Join this thread. Please PM me if one of these characters that are still open appeal to you.

Cast:

The Ghost of Sir Thomas Malverlay-- Myself, ~Swash~
Christina Hendershot, the new lady Malverlay-- Honey_B
Erica Fitzallen, the lawyer -- Caspai
Jim Micheals, Christina's boyfreind -- DaveDuff
Jennifer Barnet, Christina's Secretary and best freind-Ysandre
Steve Freedman, Jennifer's boyfreind-- SilverBullet

All roles are now filled, thanks to all of you who signed up, Swash

The ghost of Thomas will manifest himself to the living characters differently to each. He can be both seductive and horrible, playing a game that can drive the players to the brink of madness...

 

[Honey_B]

Christina Hendershot

Everybody's girl-next-door, Christina Hendershot looked like a walking advertisement for J. Crew, with her gleaming shoulder-length pageboy of ebony black and her sparkling blue eyes. She didn't where a scrap of make-up but didn't need any. It had been a day like any other when she had received the most unusual phone call from a Ms. Fitzallen, esquire. Apparently, Christina had just inherited a vast estate in England from a relative she had never met. That's all she knew. Period. Ms. Fitzallen hadn't allowed her to ask a single question. In fact, the woman was probably the most unpleasant person Chris had ever spoken with. So much for British courtesy. No, the lawyer just dictated the arrangements in a clipped tone and hung up. Chris had imagined her to be only a slightly updated version of the wicked witch of the West.

I'll say one thing for the British, they sure know how to do trains.

I drained the last of my espresso as the train began to slow. In the U.S, the place would have been called a ghost town. Here, they probably called it a sleepy hamlet. Someone shook my arm and I turned away from the window. Jim's mouth was moving silently. I slid off my headphones and the tinny sound of Eminem echoed through the compartment.

"What?!"

Yeah, I sounded annoyed. I couldn't help it. Jim was starting to get on my nerves. They all were, even my best friend , Jennifer. Who wouldn't be cranky? With the jet lag, sleep was a distant memory. The four hour train ride across the god-forsaken countryside didn't improve my spirits. And, I had forgotten to pack my ginsing. Still, I loved the guy.

I sighed.

"I'm sorry for snapping. What is it, Jim?"

 

[DaveDuff]

Jim Micheals

“What a week,” I mumbled to myself, staring out the window at the endless open spaces interrupted by isolated farms and the occasional small town. Nothing could have prepared either of us for the surprise phone call Chris had received. The news of her inheriting some sort of English estate had both of our curiosities piqued. She had no clue what, where, or from whom this surprise had originated. The speculation began immediately. Ideas from a small flat, with piles of back-taxes due to some wild ancient castle, and everything in-between were bandied about. Next came the planning, time off from work, reservations, airline and rail tickets, all done with ever-growing anticipation and excitement. I was more than happy to accept the invitation to join her on this journey; I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

We’ve been together a bit over a year now, and though no talk of marriage had surfaced, we were in love, and did things as a couple. I don’t think either of us would have imagined her traveling to Europe alone to meet with the mysterious Ms. Fitzallen, or visit the ‘estate’ that had been the source of this unexpected interlude in our day-to-day lives.

I looked over to her now. Bright, intelligent, and so beautiful with her lively blue eyes, jet-black hair cropped at her shoulders. Her features were perfect in and of themselves. I had long considered myself the luckiest man in the world. She was lost in her music, her thoughts, and the passing scenery. The announcement had just come over the speakers that we were about to arrive at out present destination, so I reached out and gave her arm a slight shake, wakening her from her thoughts, and grabbing her attention.

“Hey, hon, we’re almost there,” I said, as the train began to slow, pulling in a small, nondescript town, apparently our last stop before the trip to the estate itself…

Chris pulled the earphones from her head, obviously not hearing a word I had said.

”What?!”

She snapped the word, and instantly apologized, we were all a bit tense, after the long travel, and I understood her tone.

“…What is it, Jim?"

This time she spoke in a much more subdued, apologetic tone.

“Sorry hon, just waned to let you know that we’re almost there, they just announced it.

I stood and stretched my legs, gathering our things from the compartment and stuffing them into my small duffel bag that I had been carrying. I couldn’t help but hope that the next chapter in our lives, good, bad, or indifferent, wouldn’t become too overwhelming…

 

[caspai]

Erica Fitzallen had spent most of her life fighting for everything she had gotten, and was still fighting. Her chosen field was still considered a man's world, and she felt the pinch of that not-so-small fact every day of her life. Pushing the gold rimmed glasses up her nose, she began to pace again. While the train wasn't late, it irritated her to have to wait for this silly Yank. She had only spoken to her once on the phone, but that was more than enough for Erica to have created a mental image of her. Pampered, spoiled, no-doubt gorgeous. To see the American tele or magazines, every woman in America was a size 2 and was as beautiful as a model.

Pacing with a bit more speed, Erica looked at her slim gold Paiget watch. The train should be here in about five minutes. That, at least, should go smoothly. There was no telling what the little American heiress would alter from Erica's carefully laid schedule. Thankfully, this remote little hamlet didn't have much by the way of tourist distractions, so there would not be the endless round of "can't we just drop by such and such for a few minutes?" That being a relative term, Erica had found that a few minutes to a Yank meant anything from 10 minutes to an hour and a half.

Looking again at the gold Paiget, Erica noted that only a minute five seconds had passed. Sighing impatiently, she opened the black Coach documents pouch she had slung over her shoulder and sorted through the documents within, checking just one more time to be sure that she had not inadvertantly left one of them at the Inn where she had spent the previous night. Pushing her long black hair behind her left ear, Erica again adjusted her glasses. Glancing up, she caught sight of her reflection in the window of the train station. While she was fairly short, her trim figure had just the right amount of curves to it, and the 3 inch heels she generally wore disguised her lack of height. After the first five minutes, people generally forgot about her diminutive stature.

Hearing the train approaching in the distance, Erica again thought about the little heiress. Imagine inheriting an entire estate, and not having known of its existance beforehand. It was what is commonly called a working estate, and the properties surrounding it had more than provided for its upkeep over the years. The hall itself, while carefully maintained over the years, had been vacant for the most part. While it had neither central heat or air, it did have electricity. There was a note within the files she had found that stated that the electricity was somewhat undependable. This was noted as there had been several bills paid to electiricians who did not seem to be able to find the origins of the problem. That did not surprise Erica, as she was of the opinion that were the electricans more than barely adequate at their jobs, they would have left this backwater hamlet and have moved to London.

As the train rumbled to a stop in front of her, Erica Fitzallen, who had never had anything handed to her in her life, frowned and waited impatiently for the little heiress to arrive with her entourage. In true heiress fashion, the newly minted Lady Christina Hendershot had found herself incapable of traveling to England to sign a few simple documents without bringing her "people" with her. Sighing heavily, Erica watched as the passengers began to file in an orderly fashion out of the train.

 

[SilverBullet]

Steve Freedman

A punch in the ribs woke Steve from a long nap. It was from his girlfriend, Jennifer. He had fallen asleep in the first ten minutes of the trip only to be awoken as the train was stopping. Steve was sure that Jennifer wasn't too happy about his slumber either. He couldn't have been much company to talk with. While never getting much sleep during a normal day, Steve would always manage to catch up on his rest from things such as waiting on a doctor's appointment, a trip such as this, or during his college years in class.

While it was nothing sexual, at least up front, Steve had been dreaming about Christina. They were taking a journey together, but not the same as the one they were on. They were alone and walking. He remembered being frightened at something, but he couldn't remember what they were scared of. Were they walking away from something? Oh well, dreams never do make sense. Still he couldn't help but to think about Christina as one normally does after dreaming about the person.

Steve yawned and squeezed his eyes together. They always burned after a few hours sleep from not taking his contacts out. He rarely did because of the randomness of his sleep times. He knew it wasn't good for them but still hadn't gotten much better at it. He could wear his glasses instead, but felt stupid wearing them. Some people look good in glasses, while others don't. Steve felt he was in the group that didn't.

Smiling at his girlfriend, Steve grabbed her shoulder and gave it a quick massage. He wondered if she would give him her usual look when she thought he slept too much, or if she would be too excited about the trip to want to argue about it. He yawned once more as the train slowed to a stop.

 

[Honey_B]

Christina Hendershot

Probably more people got off the train than lived in this town. We stood in a small group on the platform in a clump, waiting for the crowd to clear. Each of us looked this way and that, trying to pick out Ms. Fitzallen even though none of us knew what she looked like. I clung to Jim’s arm.

“God, we must look like refugees,” I said speaking to one and all.

Nobody got a chance to answer. A woman was approaching us. The first thing I thought was short. The second, she’s pretty. No, striking was a better word. Beauty with an edge. Stepping in front of Jim, I greeted her.

“You must be Erica Fitzallen. I’m Chris Hendershot. This is my boyfriend, Jim Micheals, my secretary and friend, Jennifer Barnet, and her boyfriend, Steve Freedman.”

I held out my hand and smiled. Hey, I’m always willing to give a person a second chance.

 

[caspai]

Erica Fitzallen

As she approaches a rather travel worn group huddled together on the platform, Erica unconsciously smooths the skirt of her charcoal grey suit, her hand then instinctively going to the collar if her scarlet silk blouse. She was meticulous about her appearance, as she was with everything in her life. Anything left to chance meant for a variable she would never be comfortable with. She had no patience at all with sloppiness. As the distance between herself and the group of Americans closed, one of them, a woman, detatched herself from the group, stepping forward with her hand outstretched.

“You must be Erica Fitzallen. I’m Chris Hendershot. This is my boyfriend, Jim Micheals, my secretary and friend, Jennifer Barnet, and her boyfriend, Steve Freedman.”

She had that home-spun freshness and energy about her that Americans seemed always to be so proud of, as if she could climb the Matterhorn in the morning and be sparkling and delightful that night at dinner. Stifling a sigh of irritation, Erica pasted a smile on her face and took the hand, shaking it briefly before releasing it and looking at her watch again.

"If we leave right now, we will have just enough time to make it to the Hall before tea. We have been unable to find anyone willing to work at the hall on more than a very part time basis, but there will be people there to fix and serve the meals, and to make up the rooms. I am afraid that if we need anything else, we shall be fending for ourselves."

Turning and walking toward where she had parked the black Land Rover, she called over her shoulder

"We shall have time enough to get acquainted with one another once we reach the Hall. We should get there quickly, the weather seems to be turning, and the roads can become quite treacherous."

Once she reached the Land Rover, she opened the door to the back storage area so that they could place their luggage within, and then settled herself in the drivers seat, starting the engine.

 

[DaveDuff]

Jim Micheals

We stepped off the train, on onto the plaform, amoungst a small pack of scurrying travelers. They dissapated quickly, but I noticed one lady, in a gray suit, and red blouse, scanning the crowd, as if she were looking for someone in particular.

“God, we must look like refugees.” Chris stated, clutching my arm, looking at lost faces of the group she was traveling with. Jennifer, her secretary, and friend and her boyfriend Steve had joined us for the journey.

The short, good looking gal in the gray suit did in fact appear to be our contact, as she approached us after the crowd began to thin.

"That's gotta ber her," I whispered to Chris, motioning to the lady. Chris stepped forward, greeted her, and made the introductions, confirming the fact that the long raven-haired, bespectacled, very good looking lady was Ms. Fitzallen. She seemed in a hurry as well, informing us about the impending weather, and slick roads.

I grabbed Chris' and my things as we passed the bagage car on the way to her black Land Rover, placing them all in the luggage compartment.

Ms. Fitzallen had now, on a couple of occasions, refered to our destination as the Hall. I turned to Chris, put my arm around her shoulder, and gave her an excited hug.

"We're off to your Hall, M'lady," I whispered into her ear, in my best Engish accent. "Your carriage awaits." I continued, helping her into the back seat of the Land Rover, not passing on the opportunity to give her small, firm backside a flirtatious pinch, on it's way through the door. I joined her, all the more curious after thinking about the lawyers statements about workers at the Hall. It sounded more like she were talking about a large Hotel, with staff to be maintained.

"This is going to be fun, I think." I said to Chris as we settled in and found our seatbelts, "It sounds like this place is for real, staff, rooms, and meals. You're not going to dump me, if you become a real English land baroness, are you?" I joked, taking her hand and kissing it as if I were a meer commoner, begging at the feet of the queen....

 

[caspai]

Erica Fitzallen

The drive to the Hall was, for the most part, quiet. The village was small, and while some would call it pictresque, all Erica saw it as was a little place just this side of run down. Quaint and romantic had never appealed to her. The group of Americans seemed content enough to just look around. The trip had been a long one, and last minute at that, so it was understandable that they were a bit tired.

Erica's prediction had shown itself to be correct when, within a few minutes of pulling away from the station, a flash of lightening was almost immediately followed by a huge clap of thunder. Swearing under her breath, Erica focused her mind upon her driving. Wet weather made the country roads horrible, so she needed all of her attention to keep them on the road and out of a ditch.

Presently, after taking a series of turns, Erica stopped the Land Rover just outside the gates of the Hall.

Well, folks, there it is, your first look at Malverlay Hall.

At that moment, there was another huge crash of lightening and thunder. Amazingly, the lightening had struck one of the trees on the grounds, and the huge old oak split right down the center, half of it falling right in the path up to the Hall. This time the swearing was not under her breath. Once she had regained her composure, Erica turned to the group in the car, looking at her expectantly.

I certainly hope you all packed lightly, because it looks like we are going to be walking from here. It really isn't too far from here, just around that bend, and then through the courtyard. I wish I could say that we could leave your luggage here and send someone down for it, but as I said, the people from the village have been somewhat reluctant to work at the Hall.

With that, Erica opened her door, and turning her collar up against her neck, she put her documents pouch under her jacket. She would be damned if she would let the rain destroy either the pouch itself, or any of the documents within it. Reaching into the glove box to retrieve her cell phone and the portable charger for it, she waited for them to gather their bags, and then started toward the Hall through the rain.

 

[Swashbuckler]

The Ghost

I could feel them aproaching, more interlopers that wished to invade my sanctuary. As their strange carrige drew them near the gates I began to realise that this was not some temporary passing of the curious. These people had purpose. Drawing a slightly bored sigh I felt my brow furrow and the storm reacted. How lucky I was that nature caddled my moods so well. I felt the thunderbolt lash its warning to them even before it did so. Nature was ever so a dutiful servant of my vainity.

Thier progress was not stopped, however, they simply abbandoned themselves to face the elements and advanced across the grounds. I watched unnoticed from the shadows of the stained glass circular window above the doors to the hall. I found nothing quite so pleasign as ice cold rain drenching women and streaking thier hair, ah so is the trifles of waiting for guests.

Strange how it was just so recent that I had finally removed my latest lodger. The weak man with the great dreams, he reminded me of my wife's son; but he was stubborn. Stubborness was a quality that I could apreciate, but still he proved as all do eventualy, weak of spirit and finally removed himself from my sight. Time would tell what mettle these chilled and rainstreaked creatures could show me.

I drifted back across the open space of the foyer to the landing and stood next to my portrait. My eyes burned at the doors as I waited with my arms folded across my chest. I was intent upon glimpsing my guests as they arrived. Then I would leave them to themselves for a time. I think I shall allow one of them to almost see me before I vanished from thier sight.

Pulling on the ether that was mine alone, I called nature for one apropriate flash of lightning behind them, to quickly light the hall as they entered. Giving them one flash at the home I enjoyed the way it was. With a cruel, silent snarl I disapated with the flash, that lit my portrait so wonderfully.

 

[DaveDuff]

Jim Micheals

We drove quietly through the little town, then off through the countryside. The weather had turned quite nasty and rain was falling in buckets. Darkness was falling and the occasional lightning bolt lit the passing scenery with an eerie glow.

We stopped at a large iron gate...

"Well, folks, there it is, your first look at Malverlay Hall." Ms. Fitzallen's voice broke the silence of the vehicle and we all stirred back to life.

Just as I looked up a bright flash, just across the gate made me jump in my seat. A large tree lay, smoking, across the path as my vision returned.

"Holy crap, that was close!" I exclaimed, clearly shaken by the event. I'd never actually seen lightning strike so close, and it's power was quite evident.

Ms. Fitzallen seem to take it all with a grain of salt, and turned to the stunned group in the car.

I certainly hope you all packed lightly, because it looks like we are going to be walking from here. It really isn't too far from here, just around that bend, and then through the courtyard. I wish I could say that we could leave your luggage here and send someone down for it, but as I said, the people from the village have been somewhat reluctant to work at the Hall.

I zipped up my jacket, got out and retrieved our bags, handing the lightest of them to Chris.

"If you can get this one hun, I can manage the these."

We started the wet walk up the drive, leading us to the large house in the distance.....