#boredofcinder

@boredofcinder​ asked: 👖wearing blood - soaked clothes            

It wasn’t that normal for Jonathan himself to conduct follow-up for a case, especially when it required this much travel. Especially now, after... the incident, he much preferred to not have any of his assistants in the archives without his supervision. He couldn’t shake the suspicion that their insistence he visit the site was to get him out of the way for some sort of... scheme, though Martin’s behavior assuaged his worry to a degree. The man had pulled him aside while they were alone to tell him that the secret motive was that “getting out a bit more might be good for him,” and his words rang with so much sincerity that, either that truly was the extent of the conspiracy, or Martin was truly skilled at emotional manipulation. He had trouble believing either of these possibilities.

To be fair, the staff seemed to have all but concluded that this particular statement was... well, lacking credibility. No one could corroborate it, the witness couldn’t even say exactly where they had been, and the statement itself was painfully vague in what had actually taken place. It dealt mainly in strange sounds, moving shadows, and bad feelings, none of which Jon was ever inclined to put much stock in. All in all, he wanted to agree with his coworkers. He very much wanted to declare this case a load of shit and call it a day. And, if he ignored the fact that his reading wouldn’t record to his laptop, the way he could feel himself slipping away and a foreign dread seep into his mind as he read it, the man could almost make himself believe he would. Yes. He’d just... look at the site, find nothing, and go. Maybe Martin was right and the exercise would do him some good. 

That was the long and short of why Jonathan was getting soaked by a chilling rain, heading to a supposedly haunted castle just about in the middle of nowhere. It was fortunate that, as far as he could find, it wasn’t private property or anything that he needed to go though any hoops to access. Well, other than the pretty massive hoop of all the hiking. It was only now, that a few hours, that the building was coming into view.

Click.

“I have made it to what... would appear to be the castle described in the statement. So far, the most abnormal thing I’ve seen is...” He took a moment to clear his throat, trying to piece together exactly what he was trying to say. “It’s larger than I expected, and much more intact. I’d be tempted to say that there’s been a-a restoration, but there’s no owner-- none that I can find-- and it doesn’t seem to bring in any tourists. It seems like the kind of place that would have a history of ghost stories and whatnot, but... the first time I’ve head of it was the last statement. But why? Why am I here, why wouldn’t someone else have already been..?

The entrance looks sturdy. I’m going to go around the side and see if there’s any other way to get in. If not...” A tired sigh. He’d cross that proverbial bridge when he got there.

What was supposed to be a day of simple exploration was quickly going south. She'd been forced to run from what looked like a human candle after appearing in a vast library, spells being hurled at her with startling accuracy. No attempts at conversation had worked to halt the onslaught, and had in fact only brought more attention to herself in the form of two more of the waxy wizards. She thought she'd been in the clear when she exited and found herself on a large bridge leading to another building. Still aiming to get away from the library and it's hostile inhabitants the young mage ran right past several wooden barricades without noticing the figures behind them.

They, however, did not fail to notice the intruder running past. Two undead guards, crossbows in hand, turned quickly as the young girl went by. Taking quick aim the pair fired in quick succession. Twin bolts hissed through the air and found their marks in her right shoulder.

A shrill scream rent the air.

Hope stumbled at the sudden impact, falling to her knees and grasping at her shoulder reflexively. Blood was already soaking into the fabric of her clothing. She quickly became aware of the sound of many sets of leather boots pounding across the ground behind her, and more worryingly of the sound of heavily armored figures approaching from up ahead. She saw the latter first; three soldiers clad in gleaming armor and carrying towering shields. Two of them wielded impressive spears while the other, who was rapidly closing the gap between themselves and the mage, was raising a terrifyingly huge sword in her direction.

"H-Hey-!" She started, scrambling to her feet to take a pace back. "Th-There's no need for any of this!"

It was not like him to intrude into the homes of others - souls must rest, and he had no business with any affairs that did not directly concern his community. However, the promise of such a generous donation... Thomas thought of all the things he could do with that money as he entered the old castle halls. Repair the roof of the roadside chapel that still belonged to his community. Help Frederick, who had three children to feed and no wife to care for them. Buy supplies to prepare for the next winter and make sure the soup kitchen was able to operate when some families could no pull through on their own. 

It was a lot of money for some blessings. “Hello?”, he spoke, carefully, as he wandered the halls, one hand on the amulet of the church. There was magic in this place, he could feel it pulsating in the amulet that served as aid in detecting it. Magic he did not know whether he could break or not. He did not believe in forceful approaches anyway. 

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“What–” Pate was never, ever good at being woken up by someone else. He was immediately on alert, grabbing his spear and looking around quickly, stopping as he stared, startled, at Lothric’s larger form practically hovering above him and faintly gripping at his arm, likely from when he shook him awake. Was the young prince trembling? What had happened? “Are you alright?” he asked tiredly, quietly, unsure if Lorian was still asleep or not and didn’t want to wake him up too. He wondered why Lothric had needed to wake him rather than his brother. They seemed like a close pair, always sharing silent conversations while Pate was usually left out.

Taken from here.

Taking only one step inside, they knew they shouldn’t have been there. At least not in that exact moment. They’d come to show the prince-- or whoever they could find, truly-- that they’d found success in brewing dried tea leaves and flower petals, only to find him distraught, weeping even. Their boots scraped noisily on the cold, dampened earth and the servant was certain Prince Lothric would have heard them, much to their chagrin, and they looked away sharply, shoulders tense and hand balled into a fist; it wasn’t embarrassment for finding the prince in such a state as much as it was shame for not realizing sooner and thinking to leave him be. Still, now that they had entered, it would be excruciating to simply walk away. Asking if he was well seemed in bad form, and Mire shifted uneasily in their stance for a time, clutching their tunic and picking at the hem on their cape, gripping the steaming stoneware cup tightly in their other hand. 

And why shouldn’t Prince Lothric be upset? They didn’t know the whole of the brothers’ circumstance yet, but being forced into such drastic changes, losing a home, enduring what they imagined to be great discomfort... Surely, all of these things compounded into unimaginable misery for the pair. They empathized, but thought better of speaking so aloud, fearful of putting words in Prince Lothric’s mouth.