2nd of Spring, 517 AV
The second night after the Festival of Illusion began was always more or less haggard, despite Alvads' famed reputation for parties, and the Craven Manor was no exception. Though on any given day, one would expect that the place of residence for the Craven Family would be bleaker than most, on this particular day and at this particular bell, the place seemed to sag. Ionu him or herself (itself?) would most likely be sleeping off the splendour of the festival's beginning, making ready for his next work of mischief in whatever illusory plane the god chose to inhabit. And so it was that in this empty space between inhalations, some otherworldly breath gasped forth...
Hurik glided softly through the grass of the manor's lawn, and ignored gates, fences, and the like. Shrubbery and green things, such that they were, he also ignored. Though the foliage did curl slightly as he passed it by, and the leaves crackled quietly in his wake. Madeira had said that it was at this estate that she could be found, and so Hurik hoped that he would indeed find her. Since their last meeting, it had taken him a while to gather himself after wandering the city. But now, he felt that the time had come to seek her assistance. He needed to find more things from his past, and if his gut was worth anything, Hurik knew that somewhere in Alvadas, an identical copy of the amulet bouncing on his chest presently could be found. That among other things, Hurik hoped, such as something that could be used to help him find the whereabouts of those he'd seen in his vision.
The vision where the woman he had loved, had died in his arms. He still knew nothing of her, save her face, and the feeling of utter despair that took him when he saw her pass.
His mists, soulmist, as spiritists called it, were much easier to manipulate now, at least compared to when he had first materialized. Hurik liked to think of it as his essence of life. Wherever he focused the mists, his body became more alive. They were his tether to the mortal plane, and also his key to feeling like himself again. There was more of the stuff too, some of which had been gifted to him by Madeira, and some of which, it seemed, naturally but very slowly grew within him. At the moment, the mists curled tight about his amulet, such that if a flesh and blood being saw the jewel, they might be tempted to reach out and grab it. The other place the mists focused, was behind his face. It was a test Hurik was performing, to see how strong he really was.
Upon materializing, something in Hurik, his inner self, had willed him into his own likeness. He had just known how he looked and the soulmist had made it so. Hurik reasoning then, was that if he could hold fast to his own self-image, he might also be able to alter it at his own will. Earlier that day, Hurik had spent four whole bells studying a man's nose. It was a bulbous thing, very little like Hurik's own aquiline sniffer. In the end, inspection revealed something more like a rotten tomato above his mouth. Still some semblance of relief filled Hurik that he could change his nose at all, and it was with a greater sense of satisfaction that he had restored his own proper noble nose. Further study of tomato noses and a considerably larger allocation of soulmist than Hurik was comfortable with had yielded better results, though the nose was still an off-shade in comparison to his natural skin tone. More disconcertingly, the edges of his hands and feet fizzled the more he tried to get the nose right. At last he snarled rude words to himself and decided to focus on maintaining his tomato nose as best he could on his way to Craven Manor.
The house had an imposing entrance with a large veranda and tiled roofing, and a large set of double doors stood in Hurik's way. The lights in the house, if there were any, were not visible to him, and the shadows were long. Had there been any other eerie manors standing nearby, he might almost have convinced himself he'd approached the wrong property. "No master ghost, that manor has been abandoned for nine long years after Master Norris fell out of bed and broke his pelvis." Hurik had a good chuckle at that. He eyed the hardwood and examined his fizzling fist unhappily. Letting the tomato nose slip away for the briefest of moments, Hurik drove his arm at the door with all his incorporeal might. The wood gave a slight tep noise.
Hurik howled like a kicked dog.
In the back of his mind, as he caused enough of a ruckus to be heard clean away in Wind Reach, he focused his soulmist back from his burning knuckles into his face, replacing the tomato nose as best he could, reflection absent. But the majority of his conscious efforts were devoted to cradling his wounded hand and whimpering pathetically. I can only guess what she's thinking right now.
