The Lunacy of the Guilloux Mansion Playground Options

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Here is the first post of The Lunacy of the Guilloux Mansion Playground.

The discussion thread is separate, so, as we all know, please direct all questions, comments, and concerns, basically anything out of character to THIS PAGE.



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It ached.

Oh, how it ached. It creaked and groaned with the harsh winds of the frigid, swampy Pale, shuddering with each gust like a child in the cold. Freezing rain pattered against its warm shingles, sliding down the roof to greet the equally cold ground.

It yearned.

Years had passed, repairs had been made. The fires that had broken out, scorching its beloved halls, revealing its secrets within, murdering its precious mistress, have long been quenched. The one who's fingertips brushed its inner walls lightly, murmuring softly to it was but a ghost of a ghost.

It hungered.

As the victims drew closer, it exhaled in anticipation, the windows peering out like eyes in all directions. Watching.

The Guilloux Mansion would again taste blood.


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CRACK!

The Dunmer cried out in pain as the whip licked at her arm, a purple whelp rising up where she had been snapped. The hand that reached to soothe the wound with a spell was also whipped.

"Leave it. And hurry up!" The Breton woman snapped. "This place is a mess! Don't heal yourself until you're finished! It better sparkle before the guests arrive!"

"Yes, muthsera." The Dunmer woman said, her voice edged with the throbbing pain of her wounds. Blood beaded up on her arm and hands. As her mistress walked away, heels clacking down the wooden floor of the hallway, she uttered a small curse. Foggy sunlight streamed through the windows momentarily, lighting up the floor of the dim kitchen momentarily. A moment later, a Breton man walked in with a large tub of water.

"What did you do?" Sweat glistened on his pale, freckled brow. His fiery red hair was matted with sweat as he set the large cauldron of water onto the hook. He started the fire with a fire spell, the logs catching easily after dying overnight.

"Nothing, Antoine. I just wasn't quick enough with my scrubbing."

"The floor looks great."

"She didn't think so."

"Help me with this. The baby is craving my stew. Again." the cook said. "Quickly, Anaya."

The maid fished the proper ingredients out, jumping as a bellow was heard from outside.

---

The stablehand cried out as the curly-headed Breton woman whipped him with her small whip. The wiry man, not yet twenty, cowered on his hands and knees, suffering blow after blow.

"Madame Belladonna! Please!" He begged, his pale face turning red from the effort of not crying. She relented, panting.

"You groom those horses properly! You hear me?" She side-arms one last blow, striking his across his left thigh. He cried out again, sobbing.

"Yes, Madame!"

"The carriages will be here any moment! I'm sure at least one will have their own horse. You clean that stable out!" She pressed a hand to her engorged belly, the infant inside kicking, alerted at the woman's heightened anger.

"Shhhhh, little one. Mama's a little stressed. Don't worry. We'll be fine." She turned sharply at the stablehand.

"Direct them when they come in, Jon. And clean yourself up." She whirled to the sprawling three-story mansion, black velvet dress flowing behind her. As she closed the door, a carriage rumbled up, piquing the boy's interest. As it came to a rest, the boy timidly walked up, his thin frame pushed by a sudden gust of wind. Clouds rolled in, darkening the skies significantly. He bobbed his blonde head.

"Rain's coming. right. Better get inside. Madame's in the study room, first door on the right." he said to the traveler. "Best get in 'fore it starts pouring."

A cold drop of rain hit the traveler's nose.

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Belladonna looked up, her wiry, curly hair pulled into a loose bun. Thin ringlets hung about her face, her large brown eyes searching the face of the one who disturbed her reading. A smile spread on her thin, pale lips.

"Welcome," she said in a thick High-Rock accent."To Guilloux Mansion. I am Belladonna Guilloux. Sit." She motioned to a worn red high-backed chair, the plush still stiff from misuse. It creaked when the robed Dunmer sat. Not long afterwards, another knock on the door, follow promptly with Anaya opening the door, apologizing to Belledonna's frowning face.

"Be quick about that door!" She scolded. The Dunmer dipped her head in apology, keeping her eyes on the floor as the Imperial man sauntered in.

"Welcome," she said, her tone warmer as she addressed the tall Imperial. "I am Belladonna Guilloux. All will be explained shortly."

One after another, the five travelers filled the room, with the last being ushered in by Anaya. The maid quietly closed the door after Antoine came through the door. Both servants folded their hands primly in front of their bodies and cast their eyes on the floor.

"Is this it?" Belladonna asked. "Anaya."

"Yes, muthsera. There are no other carriages en route at this time."

"I know I sent out more letters than this. Their loss. Sit. Everyone sit. Yes, even you, beggar." She said to Percival. "Don't worry about the mud. Anaya will tend to it once we're finished here."

The rain darkened the study significantly, causing the Dunmer servant to begin lighting the lanterns. Rain pattered heavily outside, beating on the window with an angry ferocity. Belladonna smirked, letting a short, amused breath out of her nose.

"Well, any stragglers will certainly drown. Welcome." she said, addressing the group. The room lit up more, the lanterns all lit. Anaya held one up by Belladonna, her eyes trained on the boots of the newcomers.

"I am Belladonna Guilloux. As I'm certain you know, and if you do not know, you are very slow and in the wrong place, I have called each of you here with the promise of a chest full of gold." She surveyed the group, her brown eyes black in the lantern light.

"But that gold comes at a price. A mutual associate of all of yours have passed away. And that associate was my father. Petra Guilloux. some of you knew him as Peter, Some as Arcenne, and others by a name he did not give me. Anaya, the portrait."

Anaya lit a bright light in her hands and tossed it at a dark portrait on the wall, hung beside the door. It was a portrait of a mousy Breton man in his late forties. A streak of silver shot through the crown of raven hair atop his head. Even in the picture you could tell he didn't bother much with brushing the messy curls. Lively brown eyes, with a hint of mischief, conveyed accurately on canvas, stared back at the travelers.

"He died six months ago, doing research. He was much older than he was in the picture, of course, but I'm sure you all recognize him just fine."

The light faded.

"Now, it was his dying wish that I distribute the money to the most deserving individual. He had difficulty choosing who that was, as you all know of his indecision." She chuckled.

"So I've come up with something rather mundane, but easy. Find the chest of gold. The first one to find it and bring it to my attention, keeps it. Simple as that." She gave them a thin smile.

"Take all the time you need. Anaya will show you to your rooms, as well as give you the tour. Any questions?"