Gomer's Plotnotes

[Gomer Caitiff]

Collected writings on Craven Manor:
(Madeira Craven, Jomi, Hurik, Chameleon, and myself)
"With the room complete and about a chime or two before his cousin was due to arrive, Gomer gathered up the duster, the old quilt he'd replaced with the maroon one, and his boots, padding barefoot into the hall and systematically twitching his fingers to make sure he'd gotten the connection right. His pinkie finger was bit extra twitchy, but it wasn't anything too concerning - often times it took a little longer for some parts of his astral form to settle back into his body.

Popping into his own room, he dropped the quilt off onto his sheets and, seeing as no one would be needing the duster for the moment, left it on his desk, the mess of papers rustling just slightly at the disturbance. Still in socks with his boots in hand, he headed out into the hall and down the stairs, running his free fingers along the familiar wood paneling and nodding politely to a wispy, pale woman who drifted aimlessly to his left, her legs blackened and charred.

When he arrived at the house's foyer, it was just in time to see the doors open and- He blinked in surprise, stopping in his path at the top of the balcony, still yet to descend the stairs on either side. ... Having reached the bottom of the stairs, his slid slightly against the smooth stone as he padded his way over, moving his hands out to the side of him to keep his balance, boots teetering side to side in his hand. "

"She had visited the manor a handful of times over the years. Yet it was only when it had become her new home that she truly appreciated how big it was. The long, open halls breathed in gusty sighs, and from somewhere deep inside a groan of wood rumbled like some great beast tossing in its sleep. She had never felt so small."

"When Madeira finally slowed her tongue, they had turned the corner (their left from the balcony), heading into the dormitory's hallway."

"Now at the bottom of the stairs, he gestured to a door along the wall opposite the one through which Philip Craven had earlier passed. "Why do you want to see the basement?" He posed the question innocently, as if he didn't know she knew what was down there. "I would think you more agreeable to a tour of the library or Fath-" Catching himself, he moved on without skipping a beat, "Rune's study.""

"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. ...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."

"With a yelp she rolled off the settee some helpful servant had deposited her on, smearing her face on the plush Kenashian carpet. The tumble had set the room to spinning. Apparently she was still a little drunk.

"Careful there Mr.Craven", a ghost of a young girl gazed mournfully out the window to the front steps, where the noise had come from. "Seems we have a visitor." ...In a tick Madeira had bolted from the room on wobbly legs, and in a chime she was half running, half walking to the door. With every few steps she was shooing away servants and curious ghosts who all wanted to see what all the fuss was about. ...One hand held tight to the bannister as she descended the sweeping stairs in the front lobby. ...With a bang Madeira threw open one side of the heavy double doors, likely catching the intruding ghost in the face. ...Turning around and leaning her back against the sturdy door she saw what might have been half the resident ghosts crowded in the foyer, trying to catch a glimpse of the ghost outside.

"Out you vultures! Shht!" she hissed like an angry goose as she fumbled for her feather cloak on the tall coatrack by the door. Then she knelt carefully, keeping one hand on the wall for balance... ...Madeira didn’t spare them any words, but walked with her back straight and her eyes firmly at her feet as she picked her way carefully over the uneven path."

"Seething with frustration she threw down the remaining mental defences that the ghost had so thoroughly blasted through, and let the thing spin her possessed body elegantly around the richly appointed parlour of the Craven manor. ...And without that extra support, the Spiritist crumbled into the plush carpet. She laid there for a moment, letting her blood and sweat smear across the rug that probably cost more than her seasonal earnings. They’d been doing this for bells now, the three of them. Madeira found her eyes and let them roam up to the leather arm chair on the other side of the room, where her Uncle was rewarding and replenishing the ghost of Renee the Dancer with a vial of his quality soulmist. ...She blinked herself awake, and found herself face to face with the sculpted mahogany legs of her Uncles chair. In her delirious state she wondered why someone would put such detail into the feet of a chair. It was only when she was practically rubbing her cheek on them that she could appreciate the detail of the handsome claws. ...Madeira rewound the metal cylinder in the music box and made sure the teeth of the comb were properly aligned. He dropped terrible puns each time her possession-fatigued hands fumbled with the delicate mechanism and laughed his wheezy laugh. ...She stopped spinning and clapped her hands on the back of the velvet settee, legs shaking and her breath a wheezy, wet rattle in her chest. Beside her uncle's chair stood Renee. ...she managed to get out with a thin answering smile of her own, before the bright pattern on the carpet rushed to meet her."

"The girl burst through the heavy doors of the manor, breath deep and unsteady as she collapsed on her knees to the ground. Her body wasn't small by any means, but suddenly, in the entrance hall of the Craven manor, she felt like she was just a speck of dust. ...The Craven shook, taking another deep, warning look at the girl, then finally nodding. "There's water in the kitchen, that's just through there. I'll tell the others and we'll have the ghost out before you've got your breath back.""

"Madeira was in the library of the manor when the call went out.

She shocked herself awake, crumpling the book under her hand and peeling her cheek off the wet ink of her red notebook. The Spiritist blinked hard to bring the cavernous room into focus, and noticed that dim sunlight was drifting lazily through the window on the back of a thousand motes of dust. So, it was morning already. ...Distantly she heard a heavy door snap closed. Shadows flickered under the library's door as someone ran past. ...Just outside was the sort of calm chaos that only Avalad's could conjure. A kind of purposefulness and
nervous hum that did not match the calm demeanours and walking pace that the ghosts and several servants displayed as the hustled past. Madeira caught a young human woman by the arm. ... She didn't live in the manor anymore, maybe they didn't know she had crashed in the library."

Paris' Room and Manor: "The tall windows of the Craven manor leaked golden morning light into the hall, yet it couldn’t seem to reach the shadows that pooled in the corners. A ghost drifted by. ...There was a shuffling on the other side of the door, and it swung open on soundless hinges. ...His room was tastefully appointed, made out in rich fabrics and expensive pieces. His four poster bed was pushed up against the far wall, making room for a small seating area and a large work station. A peddled sewing machine, blueprints and a stack of fabric bolts were organized neatly on the table. With a wave of his hand he offered her a seat on his settee. And as she awkwardly lowered herself with her cane in one hand and bundle in the other, he poured her a cup of coffee from the steaming half-full pot. ...Without waiting for an answer he abandoned his coffee and took the fur to the work table. Madeira struggled to get up off the soft, low seat, but she eventually righted herself and followed, dragging her paralyzed leg behind her. ...e retrieved a long fabric measuring tool from around the neck of the nearest wire mannequin."

"There were forty three steps from the second floor to the foyer in the Craven Manor. Madeira was intimately familiar with each of them. The young Spiritist had one hand wrapped white-kuckled around the bannister of the curving staircase, the other choked her silver headed cane, and on the step behind her dragged her dead left leg. ...Madeira paused on the eighteenth step to catch her breath. Golden autumn light was pouring through the tall windows on either side of the heavy doors below her, even penetrating through the gloomy drapes that hung heavy over them year round. Dust glimmered in the air, moving in invisible currents around the dark antique furniture. She remembered a time, not too long ago, when the house felt too big. ...Madeira breathed deep and rallied herself, and was just about to resume her laborious descent when something out the tall windows caught her eye. She squinted through the glare, and could make out a portly man in a tall feathered hat coming down the long stone walkway to the front door. He was struggling with some sort of crate in his arms, and even muffled through the drapes and the distance, she thought she could hear him blubbering with snotty tears. "

"...Jomi stood off to the side of the landing at the top of the stairs, quietly admiring a painting of a stuffy looking man decked in an impractical amount of jewels. He seemed to glower as the rest of the mansions spectral servants breezed past him like a particularly chilly breeze. Since the majority of the mansions residents don’t walk or speak the rhythmic thumping of Madeira's paralyzed leg cut through the deafening silence like a knife. Jomi found it difficult to watch her struggle and so had preoccupied himself with the mansions artwork of the various former heads. ...The spirit breezed past the struggling woman. Following the stairs to the imposing double oak doors that served as a gateway to the mason proper. ...Jomi reached for one of the stylized brass handle and wrapped his ghostly fist around it. He concentrated his soul mist into the top of his hand creating a resistance to push the handle down. Once it was vertical the ghost switched his direction, he concentrated hard and focused his mind on the force of his soulmist and began pulling the the door to him. ...The dark stained wood that towered over him might as well have been made of solid lead for all the good his pathetic attempts at projection were against it."

"Summoned by the commotion, ghosts, living servants, and a few Cravens’ appeared around doorways and from the top of the staircase. Sensing the drama and attention Madeira could not afford to be a part of, the youngest Craven struggled to turn around and try to flee back up the stairs. But the press of people was too dense, and she was too slow. In a tick the crisp, clear ring of Minerva Craven's voice cut through the confused mess of noise. ...The grey thundercloud of Minerva's hair was visible from Madeira’s high vantage point as her aunt came through a door on the ground floor. ...Let- lets use the drawing room in the south wing. It's almost always empty... Come, Jomi.""

"Her slow journey to the drawing room seemed to take no time at all. Soon her and Jomi were stepping over the threshold of the richly appointed drawing room. An empty gated fireplace dominated one wall, with dark upholstered chairs grouped in front of it. A short drinks cabinet and a wardrobe full of dusty old clothes stood against the far wall, while a embroidered carpet and heavy tapestries added colour to the scene. Gaslamps on the walls cast a yellow glow. ...Immediately some whirling dervish of fur and claws shot out from under the lid. Madeira got an impression of a sandy orange coat and stripped blue pyjamas before the thing shot under the wardrobe and out of sight. Even Everard forgot his cruel smile and aloof stance in the wake of the angry spitting cat. Both humans looked quite windswept as they stood there, looking warily at the dark space beneath the wardrobe. "

"He reached out with his spectral hands and braced them on the back of the door. Focusing on guiding his soulmist to his palms, he used the sudden burst of energy to push the door closed aggressively. The unnecessary force sent the oil lamps sputtering at the sudden breeze. ...The cat squirmed out from beneath him and continued it’s rampage pursued by an increasingly enraged ghost. Knocking over chairs, end tables and books as the duo chased each other up walls and into furniture."

"The wardrobe toppled with a resounding crash. The ghost and the cat in striped pyjamas chased each other around the room, causing spindly end tables, expensive leather bound books and ruined throw pillows to fly across the room while feathers and loose parchment erupted into the air. ...He fell back against the leaking setee, sending a great plume of goose down into the air. ...The huge orange cat in his blue pyjamas ran into one last pedestal, and had already taken shelter halfway up the heavy velvet drapes over the window when the vase on top fell and shattered on the floor. ...she set the basket on underside of the overturned coffee table, curtsied, and left. There was a soft click as she shut the door behind her."

More Frode's Room: "The clock on the mantlepiece chimed eight times, and the cheerful bell tones cut through the quiet parlour of the Craven manor. Frode Varlet-Craven sipped from a flowery teacup in his boney, liver spotted hands and eyed his niece searchingly over it's porcelain rim. Madeira blinked sweat out of her eyes, her own hands folded neatly on her lap and her lips tight and bloodless. On the coffee table between them was a beautiful breakfast spread. Pastries and poached eggs and little fruits were artfully arranged with accompanying jams and butters. ...The delicate plates and cups and teapots smashed as invisible bands of soulmist whipped them away. The heavy drapes over the windows blew apart, revealing high drifts of powder white snow piled against the glass. "

Madeira's current room: "The heavy drapes, pulled tight against the enroaching dawn, moved in the still air. In her bed in the Craven manor, Madeira stirred restlessly. ...Her pale hand groped spier-like in the sea of blankets, looking for the wiry fur of her bonded. But the enormous bed was empty. ...Madeira sat up, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. Across the room, hanging on the wall, was Raj: the snarling stuffed head of an enormous tiger. It's yellow glass eyes stared down at the room as if furious with everyone in it. It's bared teeth, gleaming an oily white, made it impossible to belive that the creature was ever human. ...The small, richly furnished space went to ruin almost the moment she moved back into her old room, it seemed. When she moved out at eighteen she kept it immaculate and private. But now, at nearly twenty, she had moved back in with a insane cat, a magic pidgeon, a damaged hyena Kelvic and several ghosts. Furniture had been pushed around the room by the bored spirits, the rug now sported several new stains and a long tear from the clumsy cat, and the powdered remains of a glass vase nobody had owned up to had been swept into the cold fireplace. It had been a very strange few years."

"The servants were up already, quietly shuffling from place to place stoking fires and airing rooms. But the kitchen was quiet for the moment, as the manor slowly woke one room at a time. That was fine with Madeira. ...Then the pair stood in the enormous pantry and Madeira let Emma choose whatever additional ingredients she would like in her 'breakfast'. ...At that moment a servant came bustling in with a letter on a silver tray.

Madeira's childhood room: "...he gestured towards the stairs with a nod of his head. "Best to drop this off in your room first. It's in the left hall, third door down and on the right." ...The room she would be living in for the next few years was clean and fresh, and just as uninviting as the rest of the house. There was an unloved air coming from the empty closet and unlit chandelier. But the window was open, and Ionu had reached its fingers into the space, leaving a sparkling breeze of roses to welcome her to her new home."

The basement: "She had never been allowed to the basement before. Surely it was under lock and key, owing to how many dangerous things were kept below. It’s where they kept the dusted ghosts and items best kept away from the public front. Surely that was were the magic books the Speakers would not approve of would be kept too, if they existed at all. Maybe they kept curses and fetishes sealed in glyphs, maybe they kept the tools for invoking rituals down there. She did not know, and some new feeling was telling her she must."

"In the late evening twilight, the house creaked; its floorboards shifting under the weight of his footsteps. He proceeded down the stairs, his bare feet sending little slapping echoes about the lofty space as he descended. Making his way through the door that stood between the stairs and beneath the balcony, he quietly padded his way down the hall, taking the last door on the left that led to the manor's enclosed garden. ...pausing at the edge of the door's threshold as he uncertainly gazed out into the carefully tended hedges and rose bushes. Drawing a slow, steady, sobering breath, he set out across the flagstones, still warm from Syna's smile. ...He gestured to a stone bench that sat snug between the start of a healthy looking hedge and a slender, sturdy tree that had yet to lose its leafs. The woman nodded again, though the dull light of her eyes gave no indication that she understood. Instead, she allowed herself to be led and, when Gomer nodded encouragingly, she uneasily began to lower herself until she found she was sitting on the bench, at which point the same, vacant smile graced her lips once more as she patted the seat beside her. ...Finally reaching the door, he paused, staring into the small, foggy square of glass inlaid within the door's center. Though warped, he could make out his ruddy, enervated features and mussed hair. He looked much like he felt, and that, at least, drew a small, pitiful, scornful curl to his lips, casting the light of his eyes ever duller. With a slight tug, he pulled the door open, silently slipping inside and wishing he could leave his thoughts behind as easily as did the garden, the door swinging quietly shut behind him. ...As he hurried down the hall, turning to head out into the main foyer, his dark mood was the only thing to keep him from jumping out of his skin in surprise. Looking up, he recognized one of the servants poking his head out of a doorway behind him; a middle aged man with a receding hairline and kindly eyes. ...the man gestured toward one of the rigid couches, more for show than for comfort, that lined the wall. ...He was just able to keep himself from making further comment on how unsurprising that was by clamping his mouth shut and staring at the long, thin carpet that ran the length of the hall."

Godric's room: "Seven chimes had passed since he'd arrived at Godric's door, and he had done little else but stare blankly at the simple wooden bevels and listen to the dull, heavy rhythm of his heart beating faintly in his chest. ...Godric's room was very much a reflection of his self. His bed was neatly made, carpet clean and unwrinkled, bookshelf neatly tidied, and desk without clutter, all its contents organized and placed exactly."