A Masterful Start to a Ghost Story

by **Matthew** on February 13th, 2014, 6:57 am

Spring, Day 17, 511 AV.

Apparently he could pick a lock with just a small piece of wire. He had asked some of the more questionable folks in Zeltiva their advice, and that is what they had told him. They had even been kind enough to supply him with a small piece of copper wire. Just slip it into the lock, twist until you heard a click and the lock would pop right open. Well, Matthew had been twisting the wire back and forth in the lock for about a bell now and he certainly hadn't heard a lock popping open. He was about to give up and just wait it out, but the desire to master the skill was eating away at the back of his mind. Perhaps it would be best to wait until he could have someone show him a live example, though. Even better, maybe he could find a book in the library on it. Did they have some sort of book on such a thing? A few more ticks and Matthew finally admitted defeat, storing the little piece of wire away in his pants pocket. Perhaps the criminals he had consulted about lockpicking had been having some fun on his expense. Surely it wasn't as simple as sticking it in there and turning it around. He nibbled on his lower lip a bit and sighed, leaning his head forward to rest against the front of the wooden door.

It creaked open.

The student blinked; once, then twice. The door hadn't been locked in the first place. He should have checked that. That should have been his very first step. Closing his eyes, he focused for a moment, finding the book in his head on lockpicking and adding a new entry to it. Make sure the lock is actually engaged. He opened his eyes with a firm nod, pushing open the door a bit more so he could slip in. He'd never make that silly mistake again.

~

There was a small wooden desk that he had assorted his things on. There had been a few books on Spiritism in the library, but nothing substancial in the first floor of the library. He had instead turned to books on Ghosts in Zeltiva, seeing if there were other such occurances that had been recorded. History was an easy topic to find in the University library, so he had his hands full. The young student had spent quite a few bells in the library for several days, mulling over various books. He had read and read, and then he had written. He had brought paper and quill along to take notes, slow and awkward strokes of the pen recording key bits of information. While Oriah had perhaps gained the most valuable piece of information from their first encounter with the Master and his daughter, Matthew had wanted to have more. They were supposed to meet this morning to do a bit of discussion and research, but he had just went ahead and done most of the research himself. He hoped she wouldn't mind. Those notes were what he had spread out on the desk in front of him. While there were rumored ghost sightings here and there, only two locations (besides the second floor of the library) had been mentioned more than once. There was the Maria Satterthwite Cemetery, and then there was the Maiden's Cape. If the Master had once been a Spiritist, perhaps he had visited one of them in the past. Matthew was betting on the second one. It was the older of the two. Of course, it was possible the Master had never touched either one of them. Perhaps the journal would tell more.

Matthew shifted a bit in his seat. It was early in the morning, but the student looked as if he had been awake for quite some time. He was perfectly groomed, clean-shaven and pleasant smelling, scents of mint and nuts wafting around his slim figure. He was wearing a button-up vest with a nice shirt underneath, form-fitting like most of his clothes. The sleeves were rolled up just a tad, enough to show off the definition in his forearms. Dark britches hugged lean hips, and glasses sat on the tip of his nose. He peered at his notes a little longer, letitng his blue gaze slide across them slowly. Reading relaxed him. He wished he had enough bells in the day to devote a large portion to the books in the University.

The sun peeked through a nearby window. Sun, Yahal. His mind moved to Oriah next, a question that had haunted the back of his mind now coming to the tip of his lips. Yahal was a god of purity, was he not? That made him wonder about some very specific things. He would have to ask Oriah.

But the day had started and he was ready to go, so what was the harm in asking her now? He had been waiting at least a bell for the young dancer to wake up.

"Oriah, it is time to wake up. We have a busy day ahead of us. As a follower of Yahal, have you ever had sex or masturbated?" He phrased the question right as he turned his head to the side, peering at the sleeping figure huddled under various blankets. Serra had been the one to suggest Matthew head up and wait for her to wake up. There had been quite the smile on her face when she assured Matthew that it would be quite the lovely surprise. The student figured it would be helpful to the whole researching process to start Oriah off in a good mood, so here he was. He faintly wondered if she had clothes on. Would it be polite for them to get those for her? He barely gave her time to answer his first horribly blunt question before asking another. "Are you dressed? If not, should I help you? Where do you store the clothes?"

by **Oriah** on February 14th, 2014, 2:42 am

Oriah was not a morning person.

By all rights and laws of logic, she should have been. But the dancer was used to staying up late at night, performing and receiving toasts and making a bit of merry after earning another day's worth of food and shelter. And, having been a nomad her entire life, soft beds were something of a godsend to the Benshira. They were better than cocoa, than fine wine, than hoards upon hoards of shirtless, glistening Drykas men.

After their disturbing encounter with Cordelia and her father, Oriah's warm, soft, inviting bed felt more divine than ever. She rubbed her legs against the smooth sheets and burrowed deeper into her blankets. A contented sigh was muffled under layers of delightful warmth. She could sleep here forever.

The sound of flipping pages and creaking wood, however, invaded her senses sometime during the morning. With a subtle motion, the mass of hair that poked out from under the blankets shifted toward the noise. Oriah cracked one eye open.

She blinked. Then blinked again.

What, in the name of all that was good and just, was he doing here in her room?!

Questions buzzed in circles like a hundred little bees in her mind, but she was too sleepy. Much, much too sleepy. She would deal with the aspiring harlot in another bell or so. And then, without further ado, Oriah went back to sleep.

Except she couldn't. Curiosity was eating at her now. How had he gotten in? Was it Serra's doing? Was the door even locked to begin with? She may have forgotten, in all of her weariness and unease. But, more importantly, how was he so awake and astute, pouring over books while Oriah remained stubbornly buried in bed? She stared at a stack of tomes through burning, slitted eyes. Mad. Absolutely, stark raving mad.

The dancer struggled for another half a bell to return to sleep. She would not give up. Bed feels good. Sleep feels good. Too good. Must not leave.

And then Matthew insisted she wake up, dropping the most unexpected and utterly shocking question he could have possibly mustered in that moment. To her credit, she did not so much as twitch, remaining perfectly still under the covers, though her mind reeled at the boldness of his words. As if that weren't enough, he suggested next that he could help her dress. At this comment, Oriah sat bolt right in the bed, feeling as though he'd splashed ice cold water right atop her bleary eyed face.

Serra. That woman did have a hand in this.

Oriah was, for the first time in a long time, naked under the covers. This was because she had been gullible enough to heed Serra's advice the night before, after she had shuffled into World's End looking seven different kinds of Hai. "You should take a nice bath dear, before you go to bed," the smirking proprietress had insisted, then added in a whisper, "and try sleeping in the nude! Oh, don't give me that look. It does wonders for your beauty sleep. I always feel so fresh in the morning when I do it, like I'd slept twice as long. Trust me on this. Would I lie to you?"

And, while the method had more or less worked, though due to her harrowing ordeal or lack of clothes she couldn't be sure, the dancer was now in a very, very awkward predicament.

Her mouth opened and closed a few times like a fish out of water, but nothing came out. How to even begin?

Oriah cleared her throat, blankets help up all the way to her chin. "Not...quite," she admitted after a moment of internal struggle. It was embarrassing beyond description, but she could not make herself lie. "And what is...master...bay...shun?"

The covers were suddenly roasting her alive, but she couldn't very well throw them off. Blessed Yahal, this was mortifying. She felt as though she'd contracted a fever.

And then there was the issue of her nudity. Oriah scanned the room through a narrowed, blurry gaze until she spotted her pack propped against the wall. With a bewildered, somewhat apologetic expression, she looked to Matthew and confessed, "Um...some help with my clothes...would actually be much appreciated."

She poked one hand out from under the blankets to point in the direction of her meager belongings. "I have some clean clothes in my pack over there..."

A sheepish grin followed. "...pretty please."

by **Matthew** on February 14th, 2014, 3:48 am

At first the dancer didn't move, and he wasn't exactly sure what his next step would be. He didn't have much experience waking people up, and the young female seemed fairly deep inside her little fortress of fluffy blankets. There was a certain aura radiating from her as well, something that felt a little dangerous. Why she would be dangerous, he had no idea. It was only sleep. Fortunately he didn't have to wonder about it much longer, for the dancer was soon up in a blur. She had gotten up rather fast. Well, she wasn't up yet. She was just in a sitting position, but still had managed to pull all the blankets up with her. Wasn't that just sleeping in a sitting-up position? No, her eyes were open. He watched her carefully, tilting his head and peering at her with a sharp blue stare. She wasn't responding yet. She wasn't moving at all. Had she fallen back to sleep? Was it even possible to fall asleep sitting up? The woman was certainly full of wonders. First the way she danced, then the way she made food vanish, and now she had quite commendable sleeping skills.

Oop, wait, her mouth was moving. He relaxed back into the chair, watching, satisfied that there was some sort of development. Then there were words, which was an even better development. Then she stumbled over the apparently new word he had introduced to her, giving him a slight moment of pause. Was it really a foreign concept to most people? Or was it just a foreign concept to those who followed Yahal? Whatever the case, he wasn't about to show her mercy. The clueless student had no idea that the redness of her cheeks was due to shame. He also had no idea that this was a rather mortifying subject. No, he just kept right on going, the politeness of his voice betraying how very relaxed he was about these taboo topics. "Masturbation. It is where you physically pleasure yourself in a sexual manner. Would you like to know how so you can perhaps try it at some point? It is quite the healthy thing to regularly practice, in my humble opinion. It isn't something I personally find gratifying, but I am a bit different."

His gaze was then led to her pack. He nodded at her next words, still oblivious to the confusion in her stare, rising and heading fluidly over to the pack. He carefully grabbed what clothes he could see, also fishing out a brush and a hair tie. He didn't know if she liked her hair up or down, but he figured it best to go ahead and plan for either one. He searched through her small selection of clothing, unfolding and refolding until he had finally picked out something for her. Simple undergarments, high-waisted shorts, and a simple top. Loose but fitting in the right places, perfect for subtley showing off during a day of adventure. He approached her and then paused, considered offering to dress her for a moment, eventually deciding that she was a capable adult. He instead deposited the clothing on the edge of her bed within reach, then politely turned his back so she could privately dress.

"I researched a bit. I found two locations in Zeltiva that have documented ghost sightings, along with multiple mentions of those ghost sightings." He hooked a thumb toward the papers on the desk, allowing her to look them over at her own leisure. "I figured it might be a place ot start, unless you had a chance to read that diary. Perhaps it will point us in a different direction."

Holding up the hairbrush and tie, he suddenly switched topics, moving from one to another at a breathless pace. "Would you like me to comb your hair? Do you like wearing it down, or up? I have been wanting to practice a Tidy Hair Bow, or perhaps an Over-the-Shoulder Pony tie." He had interrogated a local stylist about some easy styles to try, now he just had to find someone to practice on. Matthew was on to the next topic, not giving Oriah a moment to catch her breath. "Does your religion have an official stance on sexual intercourse?"

by **Oriah** on February 15th, 2014, 2:02 am

Shock, curiosity, and embarrassment stumbled over one another in a flurry of chaos within her mind. She'd never heard of such a thing. Suggestions of it, maybe, but until that moment the Benshira had no grasp of it as a proper term or concept. She even knew a little of what men liked to do, in private--or not--but to say that women could do it too? A whoosh of breath escaped her lungs. What to even think of that?

Matthew was oblivious in his quest to address the matter thoroughly. No sooner had he explained what masturbation was than he dove into asking if she wanted to learn how to perform it on herself. Unable to reach a higher level of stunned silence, Oriah simply sat there and listened. The aspiring harlot claimed it was a healthy practice, though he didn't find it as gratifying. She wondered in her own head if this young man was an entirely different species all unto himself. All the prostitutes she' seen thus far during her travels were either desperate and lewd or bold and lewd. She'd never encountered one quite as composed and immaculate both in appearance and thought as Matthew, even if he wasn't quite working within the profession just yet.

Before she had a proper answer to his question, he had brought over clothes and politely turned his back so that she could dress. Matthew then began commenting his research, which explained all the books that had magically appeared in her room, and mentioned the curious little diary she had kidnapped from the night before. Not wasting a single tick, Oriah threw on her clothes right there on the bed as he spoke, pushing a few tangled locks of hair out of her flustered face once she was done.

When she looked up, her eyes widened in surprise. Matthew was holding a brush in one hand and a tie in the other, gazing at her questioningly. "Oh, both!" she beamed, clapping her hands a little. "And as many times as you'd like to practice. I'd enjoy it very much!"

That was a bit of understatement. Oriah loved having her hair touched. There was no rhyme or reason, just the single, immutable fact that when people played with her hair, it sent her mind straight into a sea of pleasure so strong she sometimes became infuriated and agitated when it stopped. A few had likened her to a cat or dog. Oriah didn't mind, so long as the touches kept coming.

As she adjusted herself on the bed to give Matthew an easier angle to work with, the dancer thought on his questions with far less anxiety than before. "In Yaheba, the largest city of the Ekytol," she began, working backwards from his onslaught of questions, "There are very severe punishments for adultery. The most common is that they blacken both of your palms. It is very painful, and the shame stays with you for the rest of your life."

She shuddered at the thought. Though she had escaped such rigid law in her journeys, the weight of it still stayed with her. Even still, she had a hard time thinking outside of those pre-imposed limits. But, perhaps, with the aid of this fearless, shameless new friend, she could try.

"As for the act itself, we don't seem to speak of it much. My elders seem to think that if we discuss it openly, it will breed more incentive for the youths to try it. Different Tents may have different rules, but mine was quite standard, following those of Yahebah's. Have intercourse outside of marriage and you are shamed forever, unless you wed at once. And even then, the affair is a solemn one. There were no secrets in a community such as ours."

Oriah let herself bask for a moment in Matthew's ministrations before continuing. "I hadn't read the diary yet," she admitted in a wispy, pleased sort of voice, "I was too tired when we returned and thought it best to save for the morning. Besides, I am still a little slow with reading the common tongue."

With that said, at last she came to the final, most difficult question to answer. She struggled a moment, but the feel of his fingers and brush soothed her nerves and Oriah found herself speaking honestly, without worry or fear. "If you say it is healthy, and for the sake of remedying my ignorance," she decided, "I shall try to learn it. Though..."

Her cheeks burned a little and she looked down at her hands, trying her best not to move her head. "How exactly...would you plan on teaching me?"

It seemed, Oriah mused in the moment before Matthew answered, that they were destined to play both roles of teacher and student interchangeably.

by **Matthew** on February 18th, 2014, 5:52 pm

Matthew nodded at her eager agreement, resisting the urge to raise an eyebrow at the level of excitement in her tone. He rarely had people who so readily agreed to allowing him some practice on their hair. Most people just gave him a bit of an odd look, silently wondering why in the world the young student had concerned himself with hair of all things. A student of medicine wasting his time on learning cosmetics? How very silly, they would say. Matthew thought that any sort of knowledge was good knowledge.

Sitting on the bed beside of her, he took the comb and slowly started his work. It was a good excuse for him to keep quiet and absorb her words as she spoke, giving him quite a bit of new information to turn over in his mind. He slowly combed through her long locks, making sure to creep the comb through until he encountered a knot. He was gentle with getting out the knot, using his nicely groomed nails to pull the knot loose if possible, sometimes using the tongs of the comb. The aspiring harlot spent a good bit of time just combing through, making sure it didn't have a single tangle that would get in his way before he continued on. The entire time he let out little noises and nods, making sure that she knew he was still listening. Adultery, she had said. Wasn't that whenever you were unfaithful to your spouse? And unfaithful was when you broke the vows that were spoken at the wedding ceremony? He nipped at his lower lip in thought, continuing to comb through her hair until he was satisfied.

He wasn't very good at styling hair, so he had to move slow. His hands were sure and true, but they did take their sweet time. All of her long hair was brought behind her, draped down her back. Half of it was folded over the other half, then twisted underneath. Pulling it just a bit tight, a small section of hair from the otherside was then used to wrap around the entire pony tail. All in all, it made a slightly messy-looking loose knot that allowed the hair to drape stylishly over one shoulder. It took a good couple of ticks, but Oriah had plenty to explain anyways. He sat back when he was done, studying it with critical eyes. He had half a mind to undo it all and start over again, but then they would be here forever.

So, there was a blackening of the palms. With fire, perhaps? He had no idea. Then they didn't speak of it, which he had his own opinions on. If it was not spoken of, then wouldn't that encourage youths to try it? From what he understood, youths loved teasing their foot over a forbidden line. Then again, perhaps the punishments were severe enough to scare the youths into submission. He supposed it could go either way. It seemed to work well enough with Oriah.

He combed through her hair a few more times, just doing little adjustments here and there. She hadn't read the diary, something that he didn't mind at all. That just meant he could read it for himself. Her next question did cause him to raise an eyebrow, the words odd coming from her lips. It was interesting that she was so open to it. Perhaps she saw it in the same logical way he did. Or perhaps she just saw it in an innocent way. There was a lot of purity to sexual things, but there was a lot of filthy things that could taint pure thoughts. Did Yahal appreciate her pure approach to it, he wondered? It wasn't lust on her part. It wasn't anything evil or unpure. It was curiosity, surely something that Yahal could appreciate. He did notice that she was blushing. So it did shame her, just a bit. Understandable, considering how she had grown up, if her explanation of the culture was any indication. He nipped on his lower lip a few times, playing with the hair tie in his hand.

"It depends. There are various ways. I can show you by touching you and then having you mimic my motions. I can tell you and have you try, either while I am here or while I am gone. I could also write instructions, if you are confident enough in your Common to read and follow them correctly." The composed harlot didn't blink a bit at the idea of actually touching her in probably the most intimate way she had ever been touched. He also didn't change tones when he offered to write her instructions. While vastly different to most, they were all the same in the passive blue stare of young Matthew.

The way he sat was perhaps more of a testament to his apathetic mind more than anything else. The way Oriah sat was full of subtle life. Her cheeks flared in brief shame, her curls wisped up through the air as she bobbed her head in pleasure. Her knees rubbed together in a bit of discomfort at the idea of such an intimate touch, while her chest rose as if to match the increased speed of her probably nervous heart. She was a bundle of little motions, all of them combining to tell a story about the girl within the dancer's body. On the opposite end was Matthew, not a hair out of place and not a whisper of movement besides the methodical combing of her hair. "Would you like to read the book now, or would you rather switch to masturbation?" Again, not a single change in tone. He wasn't even having the slightest bit of mercy on her, mostly because he hadn't noticed how ruffled she currently was.

by **Oriah** on February 21st, 2014, 12:54 am

Hands folded in her lap and chin held level to allow Matthew the best leverage with her hair, Oriah closed her eyes and shivered and how wonderful his ministrations felt. He was gentle but firm, and every time his fingers or the comb brushed against her neck her mind went momentarily blank. It felt better than a hot bath after a season spent traveling; better than sinking her teeth into greasy, fire roasted quail on an empty stomach; better than the nice, soft bed that she had become something of a permanent fixture upon.

For a while, the dancer was lost in a haze of blissful contentment. Every moment he continued to brush and adjust and shift her hair brought her another tick's worth of insurmountable pleasure.

Then came the harlot's answer to her tentative question, and Oriah's eyes flew open. Clearly, there was still a ways to go before she became accustomed to his completely unminced, undressed manner of speech. "Ahh.." she stalled for a bit, frantically trying to decide which option would work best without bringing Yahal's potential wrath down on her muddled head.

Written directions might spare her the most risk, but the Benshira had never been good with instructions. She tended to botch them, no matter how simple they were, much to the dismay of her elders. Perhaps verbally then? No, that was more or less the same. She was a dancer, after all. Visual learning was her strength. Would it work better with coaching on the side, like many of her dance lessons had been? Oriah felt another rush of blood rise to her face. That was somehow even more mortifying than the very first option, which, at this point, seemed the quickest and most sure fire way to learn.

She shifted a little, mind churning with enough ferocity and chaos to keep her chewing over her options for the next fortnight. Fortunately, Matthew's next question allowed her to delay the final decision until later. "I think the reading would be best done first," Oriah replied in earnest. It was the truth; she wasn't sure what kind of state she would be in after such an intimate lesson. Certainly not one fit for scholarliness.

Careful not to ruin any of the harlot's meticulous work, she turned a little to the side and fished out the book from underneath one of her pillows. She had meant to begin reading it the night before but knocked out cold as soon as her face met soft, inviting sheets.

Here it is," the dancer breathed, almost reverentially. It was at once unnerving and thrilling to open the diary. What kinds of secrets would they unveil within it? Ones of magic, or darkness, or of how Cordelia and her father had ended up they way they did?

Her wonderment deflated a little, however, when she unclasped the journal and opened it to the first page. Black ink flew across yellowed parchment in all manner of flourished, sometimes jarring loops and scribbles. It was impossible for her to read. The Master's handwriting was erratic at best, which utterly belied his carefully groomed appearance.

With a sigh, Oriah held up the book to pass it to Matthew. He would likely be much better suited for the job.

by **Matthew** on March 12th, 2014, 6:21 pm

"Ah yes, the reading." Matthew gave a very short nod of his head, her attempt at redirecting the flow of conversation working extremely well. He settled back onto the bed, his fingers leaving her hair and his posture returning to a proper one, back straight and eyes attentive. He folded his hands politely on his lap, awaiting the first words to fall from her lips, then quickly noticed thelook of brief defeat that appeared across her young features. He blinked a few times and then glanced a blue gaze down to the yellowed pages, quickly scanning the sharp black ink. She wasn't a native to the tongue, so no doubt it would be hard for her to read what was written. He was a native to the tongue, and it was even hard for him to read. When she held up the book he was still ready, accepting it and gently settling it upon his lap. Dust wafted up from the pages and tickled his nose, the student lifting his hand to brush at the dust mites.

He briefly glanced over to the dancer, noticing a flush of red on her cheeks. He lifted a hand slowly, Oriah about to be exposed to another offputting habit of the student.

He had no concept of personal space.

Soft fingertips graced her cheek, a very light and simple touch that was practically like the tip of a feather caressing her skin. She would probably know by now that nothing was meant by the motion, but he had a certain way of doing it that seemed quite intimate. He was slow, precise, sharp gaze following the trail that his fingers made. "You are blushing. Such an interesting feature of the mortal body. However, you shouldn't be ashamed that you can't read the Master's handwriting. It isn't your first language, and his handwriting is quite messy." He offered her a polite smile, dropping his hand and returning to the book. He had apparently completely missed the reason why she was blushing. Clearing his throat, he slowly began to read what he could, trying his very best to make sense of the journal.

I loved them so very much. Perhaps that was why I am writing this. I love them so much that it hurts to see them like this. It was so very shocking to see my wife and daughter, sitting around the dinner table waiting for me. I still haven't decided if that was the most disturbing part of that night, or if it was more disturbing that someone had decided to dig them up and arrange their bodies in such a precise way.

Matthew paused, slowly blinking, his most common show of surprise. After a few moments of silence he glanced over to Oriah, his voice nuetral. The more he felt (in this case, the slightest bit of fear) the more stoic his voice became. "Would you like to take a walk and find somewhere a little more bright and open to read this at?" He stood, practically giving her no time to answer. He wanted to be out in the open air all of a sudden.

Elsewhere... :

by **Oriah** on March 17th, 2014, 9:05 pm

Oriah watched in rapt attention as the harlot settled himself into a posture of perfect studiousness. He sat straight backed and attentive, with the book in his lap and a quick brush against the musty pages to clear them of dust. She, on the other hand, had to work hard to keep from fidgeting in her over-brimming anticipation.

So it was with complete unguardedness that the girl received Matthew's light touch, her mind so focused on the contents of the diary that she didn't even register movement until his skin met hers. His fingers were cool against her heated cheeks. And, though Oriah knew through both personal experience and his tactful explanation that Matthew was simply being Matthew, there was a certain finesse to his harmless gesture she could not resist. She was human, after all.

The realization struck her at a rather inopportune time, as the harlot had just cleared his throat after displaying his obliviousness to the true source of her embarrassment, for which she was truthfully grateful, and begun to read. Taking a page from Matthew's metaphorical book, Oriah tucked away this nugget of cognizance to scrutinize for a later time.

For now, there was a more pressing puzzle to be solved.

To hear the Master speaking of love before all else, even through Matthew's cool, controlled voice, sent a pang of sadness through the dancer's heart. It meant that behind all the borderline madness and cold resolve, there once had been a man of warmth. A husband, a father. Someone who had a family he loved, and an enemy who was twisted enough to dishonor them.

One fact captured her doubt, however. More a question than a fact really, but it unsettled the dancer all the same. And, it seemed, Matthew harbored a similar reaction to the entry, his suggestion to read the diary somewhere brighter and more open as clear a sign of unease as any.

Oriah gave three nods in quick succession and followed him out of the room. Checking to make sure her Tamo was snugly attached at her hip and the bottle safe in its hiding place, she locked the door with a click and descended the stairs in anxious silence. When they were finally out of the building, she met the warm glow of Syna's radiance with relief. It had been a much needed change of scenery for an opening to a story as dark as the Master's.

There was a small fountain near the front of World's End and Oriah migrated toward it without thinking. It seemed as good a place as any, and the gentle trickle of water was soothing. She sat down on the warm stones and patted the spot next to her. It seemed a fairly quiet morning, with few people milling about a hint of laziness in the air.

Before they began, the dancer voiced one of her more pressing questions to the harlot. "Do you think it strange, that the Master chose to write all of this in a book?" Oriah wondered. Writing one's thoughts and emotions on something as flimsy as parchment wasn't exactly a common past time amongst those of her Tent--unless it had direct relation to Yahal, in the form of scrolls--so it was a strange decision to the Benshira. "If it were me, I would want to tell someone right away. Perhaps he had no one to talk to?"

Elsewhere... :

by **Matthew** on March 19th, 2014, 8:01 pm

He lifted a hand to shield the sudden flare of Syna's light as he stepped out of the tavern. Matthew followed the woman, noting that she moved with the slightest of sways. A habit because of her dancing skill, perhaps? Sitting where Oriah patted, Matthew folded himself up into a pristine little package once more. He was about to start before the dancer spoke, drawing his stare to her as he considered her words. He tilted his head a moment, carefully considering before giving an answer. "I do think it is strange, though I know it is a common practice for some people. They like to write out their words. It helps give meaning, perhaps? Whenever I study, I write out my thoughts. It is easier to make sense of them when I see them on the physical plane. But perhaps you are right, perhaps he had no one to talk to. So far he has only mentioned his wife and child. No teachers, no students, no peers, no friends." Matthew stated it as fact, unaware of how very sad the idea sounded. A man who's everything had been his wife and child, and now he was being tormented with their corpses? The student turned back to the book, beginning to read in a quiet voice.

They still have no proof he did it. The Wave Guard have been very helpful, but they don't have access to the tools that I do. They search for the living. I search for the dead. How is it that I cannot find the ghosts of the two people I loved the most? I know they wouldn't have moved on. I know they wouldn't have been murdered and then just be okay without me. No, they would have lingered. They would have lingered and they would have come to find me. They would have known that I would do everything I could to be with them, even in death. So where are they? And why do their bodies keep getting dug up, week after week after week? Someone is tormenting me. I know who. But they still have no proof he did it. Perhaps I'll move the bodies. Perhaps I'll try to trap him.

The script suddenly grew jagged and rough, emotion put into the pen, and Matthew had to take his slow sweet time in correctly saying all the words that were written.

I'll torture the rat bastard. I'll peel his petching skin. I'll make him scream until his anguish heals the hole he ripped from me. I'll kill him, and then I will torture him even in death. I swear on my wife, and my beloved Ophelia.

Matthew paused, a piece of the puzzle now clicking into place. It still didn't explain how the Master had gone from what he was then, to how he had been back whenever Oriah and Matthew had encountered him. On a hunch, Matthew quickly scanned the journal, flipping forward a page, then back a page, then forward again. He carefully skimmed through the words, looking for something that sounded like a location's name. In a few ticks he had it, finger tapping a spot on the book. "Here. He moved their bodies. To a tomb he dug himself, in the foothills near the shrine. The shrine... perhaps he means the Storm Shrine. It is right outside of town." Matthew paused, staring at the book, then glanced back up at Oriah. He suddenly rose, blue eyes shimmering as they ran through a multitude of thoughts, gears clicking and turning as a plan started to surface in his head. He stood above the girl, staring off into the distance, then slowly turned his head to glance back down.

"Would you like to go to the foothills? Perhaps we could pack a lunch, bring the journal, and look around for any signs of this tomb. There are multiple little caves in the foothills, nothing deep at all. It would be a day of exploration and learning, if anything." She was quickly learning firsthand that while Matthew was the intellectual type, he was also the type that very boldly took action. He was now curious about the story, and he now wanted to solve the mystery. He was more than happy to go off on a short field trip on a whim, and the look in his eyes was one of definite determination. "We could pick up some supplies and be there in a bell or two, I think. I'd have you back by nightfall." He was trying to persuade her now. Tempt her with the idea of adventure.

by **Oriah** on March 24th, 2014, 12:16 am

She nodded at the harlot's words, drawing up her shoulders a little as cold fingers of quiet sadness brushed against her skin in spite of Syna's merry rays. What Matthew said made sense; perhaps the Master was trying to cope, to sort through his nightmarish situation through a physical and intellectual activity. The man's writing did sound rather...deductive. Not wholly unemotional, but there was something much akin to Matthew's inquisitive objectivity mixed with the horrific accounts. Was it just a trait that all scholars seemed to share?

Still, it all felt rather tragic. And unsettling. Oriah wondered what it might be like to end up so alone, and it reminded her agonizingly of that first year spent without her other half by her side. Without Priah.

Then Matthew began to read once more, forcing painful memories to recede back into the murky darkness from which they came.

Oriah listened, forgetting from time to time she was hearing the tale of the eerie specters they had faced the previous night and not one of a grieving, tormented man. Wave guard...she knew they patrolled Zeltiva's coast, but not much more than that. And from the sound of things, he had been a spiritist long before his wife and daughter's untimely deaths. Speaking of which, how did they die? The Benshira had a sneaking suspicion that was a crucial bit of information, but time would tell at this point.

Or not. It was all up to what the diary would reveal to them. Or, more specifically, what the Master would.

Matthew began flipping through the pages and Oriah blinked in surprise as she emerged from her chain of thoughts. Moved the bodies...a tomb he dug himself...the dancer gave an involuntary shudder. Had it gotten so bad that the man was driven tto do something so extreme? It had to be. Or, perhaps, his sanity was coming into question...

Her gaze met the brilliant blue of the harlot's and she found herself transfixed by the lightning quick activity rushing behind it. What was he up to now?

"The foothills," Oriah repeated, brows furrowed, testing the idea on her tongue. His proposition came suddenly, but not unexpectedly. Judging from the night before, when he had led them up to the forbidden floor, the dancer had come to see that the scholarly harlot was not content with keeping his nose safely behind his books. He wanted to delve into the world around him and understand firsthand, much as she did, even if for ultimately different reasons.

Blessed Yahal, he was making it sound as though they were merely going for a picnic now. The Benshira grinned at the very idea, knowing full well their idea of harmless exploration could very well turn into another life-threatening debacle.

"Let's do it." She looked up at Syna's progress to confirm Matthew's estimate. It seemed plausible, to return by nightfall, but she made a mental note to bring her coat anyway. Just in case. "I have a few things in my room we could use. I'll only be a moment."

Oriah rushed back inside the tavern up to her room, threw on her coat, grabbed her pack, and prepared to lock her door. But, a sudden sliver of worry struck her. Hesitating for a moment, she dove back in and retrieved the bottle with Cordelia's ghostly ashes trapped inside. Perhaps they would figure out what to do with this eerie substance and be rid of it for good. With an affirmative nod, the girl opened her pack and slipped the bottle inside. Then she checked her belt to ensure both her Tamo and sling were equipped and locked her door with a definitive click.

She returned to Matthew a few chimes later, gear in hand and ready for the worst. "Alright. Where should we head to next?"

Closed A Masterful Start to a Ghost Story