Curioser and curioser, François thinks, this is going to get interesting. Then out loud: "Mr Bentley is right, let's get in for ...tea, by all means. And I gather you fine gentlemen are all here for a certain family business."
"And you are... ?" he says eyeing the moustachoied man with the turban with a half smile and a raised eye-brow.
OOC: Marcon, has Samuel arrived at the manor yet?
The Unsettled House
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Rock of the Fraternity
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At Dulapont Manor:
With a startled yelp, Bentley drops the backpack he was given and tries to scurry forward. Unfortunately, the crooked man manages to get his feet tangled up in the pack and trips, his face slamming into the cobbles. Blood streaming from his nose, the crooked man skitters to his feet and rushes forward to take the saddlebags, whimpering with apparent pain -- and no small measure of fear.
"Please forgive him, milord," Chalmers pleads, "he's a new hire, he tries his best."
"Ezra bless ye, m'lud," Bentley wheezes as he tries to take over the luggage. "Bless ye, bless ye. 'Tis an honour t'be working for the house, m'lud."
For the moment, it seems that all other guests have been forgotten as the butlers rush to accommodate François. "If you would be so kind as to enter the house, milord," Chalmers offers, "Bentley will take you to the guest suite while I personally stable your mount. Please do not hesitate to give him any order you wish. Ah ..."
The head butler glances at the collection of other guests and grimaces. "Yes. I will see to your conveyance as well, dear guests. Please wait here for a moment, and I will take you to the kitchen once I'm done. Young master François, are you still partial to apple pie? I can have the girl commence baking some right away. And of course, hot lemon tea will be brewed immediately!"
Chalmers immediately bustles forward, almost knocking Ranjan off his feet in his hurry to take the reins of François' horse. "Do forgive me, young master," the butler pleads. "Bentley! Take his lordship's luggage!"The Giamarga wrote:"Bonsoir, Monsieur Chalmers. Surely you have received the message about my impending visit ? I picked up this here young lady on the way to the manor and she has been telling me about the call for help that you sent out. It seems my arrival is just in time then. What is this I hear about ghosts in the attic?" says François, as he halts his horse, dismounts, and grabs his saddlebags. He looks expectantly and slightly bemused at the other malformed servant offering him the reins of Gaspar. "Shall I have to stable the horse myself?"
With a startled yelp, Bentley drops the backpack he was given and tries to scurry forward. Unfortunately, the crooked man manages to get his feet tangled up in the pack and trips, his face slamming into the cobbles. Blood streaming from his nose, the crooked man skitters to his feet and rushes forward to take the saddlebags, whimpering with apparent pain -- and no small measure of fear.
"Please forgive him, milord," Chalmers pleads, "he's a new hire, he tries his best."
"Ezra bless ye, m'lud," Bentley wheezes as he tries to take over the luggage. "Bless ye, bless ye. 'Tis an honour t'be working for the house, m'lud."
For the moment, it seems that all other guests have been forgotten as the butlers rush to accommodate François. "If you would be so kind as to enter the house, milord," Chalmers offers, "Bentley will take you to the guest suite while I personally stable your mount. Please do not hesitate to give him any order you wish. Ah ..."
The head butler glances at the collection of other guests and grimaces. "Yes. I will see to your conveyance as well, dear guests. Please wait here for a moment, and I will take you to the kitchen once I'm done. Young master François, are you still partial to apple pie? I can have the girl commence baking some right away. And of course, hot lemon tea will be brewed immediately!"
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InVinoVeritas
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The Giamarga
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"Yes, thank you very much Chalmers. Here's the luggage Bentley...
...oh careful there young man., mind the steps...
...Ouch!", François winces as Bentley trips and moves to assist the man to rise up again, patting him on the back, "slowly, och, you've hurt yourself a bit there. " François fishes an old handkerchief from his pockets, offering it to the man, "Here, take this... ...for the nose, I hope it's not too bad. Say what if I'll take care of my luggage myself?"
And to Chalmers he says, "Perhaps it would be best if I accompany the other guests to the kitchen and we all have a nice cup of tea together. Bentley lead the way, please." François gestures Bentley to go ahead. "I'm most interested to hear the story of this haunting of yours. And maybe I can lend a hand to these fine people, in the clearing of this case." François looks at the other guests, "Mr. err Bentley, umhh ..Swami... ...Fräulein Schreivogel, after you please. If you would be so kind to follow the good ummh... Bentley here?"
...oh careful there young man., mind the steps...
...Ouch!", François winces as Bentley trips and moves to assist the man to rise up again, patting him on the back, "slowly, och, you've hurt yourself a bit there. " François fishes an old handkerchief from his pockets, offering it to the man, "Here, take this... ...for the nose, I hope it's not too bad. Say what if I'll take care of my luggage myself?"
And to Chalmers he says, "Perhaps it would be best if I accompany the other guests to the kitchen and we all have a nice cup of tea together. Bentley lead the way, please." François gestures Bentley to go ahead. "I'm most interested to hear the story of this haunting of yours. And maybe I can lend a hand to these fine people, in the clearing of this case." François looks at the other guests, "Mr. err Bentley, umhh ..Swami... ...Fräulein Schreivogel, after you please. If you would be so kind to follow the good ummh... Bentley here?"
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Baron Zamedi
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"Ouch! That... That must have hurted, very sorry Bentley, totally my fault."- Says Paul after being just a second too late to catch the falling Bentley. - "I'll get that myself, don’t worry."- And turning to Ranjan he adds "Here, let me help you with that trunk."- Paul again lift's one end of the trunk and waits for François to lead the way in.
"Man is born free, but everywhere he is in chains."
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Igor the Henchman
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InVinoVeritas
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Igor the Henchman
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InVinoVeritas
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Rock of the Fraternity
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In front of Dulapont Manor
Chalmers does not visibly wince at the notion of a member of the Dulapont family adjourning to the kitchen with such ... special ... guests, but there is a brief flicker of intense discomfort in his eyes. "Very good, young master," he says out loud, executing a bow of butlerly propriety before turning to the various animals. "Bentley, kindly proceed." With gentle tugs on reins and clickings of his tongue, the butler starts to guide the animals around the house, to a narrow passage which presumably leads to the stables.
The crooked man, who is visibly cringing at all the attention he's receiving, presses an overlarge handkerchief to his nose and limps into the house. "Pfleas ffollo me," he whimpers as he moves inside.
Inside Dulapont Manor: Vestibule
Stepping through the doorway into the house comes as a relief, initially: there is bright light on all sides, and the interior of the house is warmer than outside. Gone are the fog and the approaching shadows -- at first. Once the new entries have blinked their eyes once or twice against the relative glare, they can see that the house is not the bright haven it might have at first appeared.
Well-beaten rugs cover the floor, but their edges are visibly frayed. Up near the ceiling, a furtive movement betrays spiders at work, spinning their webs in the corners, before they notice the movement below and scuttle off for their hiding-places. The vestibule is well-lit, but the corridors branching off from it are less so. Bentley limps to an alcove and retrieves an oil lamp therefrom, which he holds in front of himself as if it were a shield.
"Pfleas ffollow-" he whimpers again, gesturing to the left corridor while continuing to hug the lamp to himsel.
"Chalmers, you dog! Where are you?!" a mighty voice roars from the right-hand corridor, and booted feet can be heard approaching before a figure resolves itself from the gloom.
The new arrival is a tall, well-built man with a handsome face and the kind of moustache thought fashionable in Nova Vaasa. The black, curled hair falling to its shoulders, however, is styled in the fashion of Richemulot. Fine clothing creaks and strains over muscular limbs, and a terrible fire flashes in brown eyes.
"You, the new man!" the new arrival roars at Bentley, causing the crooked man to tremble, flinch, and nearly drop the oil lamp. "Where is that dog Chalmers? I rang the bell for a cup of tea two minutes ago! By Ezra, I will have proper service in this house, if it is - "
Then your collected presence dawns on the man. His face flushes with absolute fury as his hand clutches at his belt, where a sword might have hung if he were not so fashionable dressed. "By the Mists, what are you dogs all doing in my house?!" the man roars as he stomps closer, clearly unafraid. "If you've come to peddle or rob us, I'll have your guts for violin strings, so I swear by -"
The man's voice cuts off with an odd grunt when he recognizes François. "Cousin," Jeremy Dulapont says, the word coming out through clenched teeth. "Come for a visit. And this ... is your entourage?" That last word is spoken with an unmistakable sneer, as those angry brown eyes take in the rest of the group once more.
Chalmers does not visibly wince at the notion of a member of the Dulapont family adjourning to the kitchen with such ... special ... guests, but there is a brief flicker of intense discomfort in his eyes. "Very good, young master," he says out loud, executing a bow of butlerly propriety before turning to the various animals. "Bentley, kindly proceed." With gentle tugs on reins and clickings of his tongue, the butler starts to guide the animals around the house, to a narrow passage which presumably leads to the stables.
The crooked man, who is visibly cringing at all the attention he's receiving, presses an overlarge handkerchief to his nose and limps into the house. "Pfleas ffollo me," he whimpers as he moves inside.
Inside Dulapont Manor: Vestibule
Stepping through the doorway into the house comes as a relief, initially: there is bright light on all sides, and the interior of the house is warmer than outside. Gone are the fog and the approaching shadows -- at first. Once the new entries have blinked their eyes once or twice against the relative glare, they can see that the house is not the bright haven it might have at first appeared.
Well-beaten rugs cover the floor, but their edges are visibly frayed. Up near the ceiling, a furtive movement betrays spiders at work, spinning their webs in the corners, before they notice the movement below and scuttle off for their hiding-places. The vestibule is well-lit, but the corridors branching off from it are less so. Bentley limps to an alcove and retrieves an oil lamp therefrom, which he holds in front of himself as if it were a shield.
"Pfleas ffollow-" he whimpers again, gesturing to the left corridor while continuing to hug the lamp to himsel.
"Chalmers, you dog! Where are you?!" a mighty voice roars from the right-hand corridor, and booted feet can be heard approaching before a figure resolves itself from the gloom.
The new arrival is a tall, well-built man with a handsome face and the kind of moustache thought fashionable in Nova Vaasa. The black, curled hair falling to its shoulders, however, is styled in the fashion of Richemulot. Fine clothing creaks and strains over muscular limbs, and a terrible fire flashes in brown eyes.
"You, the new man!" the new arrival roars at Bentley, causing the crooked man to tremble, flinch, and nearly drop the oil lamp. "Where is that dog Chalmers? I rang the bell for a cup of tea two minutes ago! By Ezra, I will have proper service in this house, if it is - "
Then your collected presence dawns on the man. His face flushes with absolute fury as his hand clutches at his belt, where a sword might have hung if he were not so fashionable dressed. "By the Mists, what are you dogs all doing in my house?!" the man roars as he stomps closer, clearly unafraid. "If you've come to peddle or rob us, I'll have your guts for violin strings, so I swear by -"
The man's voice cuts off with an odd grunt when he recognizes François. "Cousin," Jeremy Dulapont says, the word coming out through clenched teeth. "Come for a visit. And this ... is your entourage?" That last word is spoken with an unmistakable sneer, as those angry brown eyes take in the rest of the group once more.
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The Giamarga
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"And a very fine evening to you, cousin Jeremy, " François says bowing and scraping slightly and a little longer than necessary. "How very nice to see you again and be a guest in this ...fine household", smiling very faintly at Jeremy and thinking yes, he was always a bully.
"But you are quite mistaken about these fine gentlemen - and the Fräulein. They are certainly not my entourage. Indeed it seems they are here at the behest of your house. It has come to my ears that you have a haunting problem?" François looks intently at Jeremy, trying to gauge his reaction. "Maybe I can help?"
[OOC: Sense Motive (1d20+6=24), Diplomacy (1d20+9=19), quite fittingly not enough to make a hostile NPC non-hostile, but if he only was unfriendly, he becomes indifferent (unless you require the -10 for François not having made a full minute speech, then he stays hostile). Go diplomacy...
]
"But you are quite mistaken about these fine gentlemen - and the Fräulein. They are certainly not my entourage. Indeed it seems they are here at the behest of your house. It has come to my ears that you have a haunting problem?" François looks intently at Jeremy, trying to gauge his reaction. "Maybe I can help?"
[OOC: Sense Motive (1d20+6=24), Diplomacy (1d20+9=19), quite fittingly not enough to make a hostile NPC non-hostile, but if he only was unfriendly, he becomes indifferent (unless you require the -10 for François not having made a full minute speech, then he stays hostile). Go diplomacy...
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Igor the Henchman
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The Giamarga
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Rock of the Fraternity
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Jeremy's eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets at the word 'haunting' -- and then, disturbingly, he smiles. "Help us out, would you?" he booms as he strides forward, clapping François on the shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise. "Capital notion, cousin, capital! Do come along, you and your, ha, 'friends'. New man!"The Giamarga wrote:"And a very fine evening to you, cousin Jeremy, " François says. "How very nice to see you again and be a guest in this ...fine household. But you are quite mistaken about these fine gentlemen - and the Fräulein. They are certainly not my entourage. Indeed it seems they are here at the behest of your house. It has come to my ears that you have a haunting problem?" François looks intently at Jeremy, trying to gauge his reaction. "Maybe I can help?"
Bentley whimpers and cringes at Jeremy's words, but scuttles forward nonetheless. He flinches when the young nobleman claps him on the shoulder as well. "I expect tea in the dining room," Jeremy tells him with deceptive softness, "within ten minutes. If not, there are plenty of other paupers who will jump at the opportunity to serve my house. Do I make myself clear?"
Apparently he does, for the crooked man bows and runs off without a word, into the gloom of the left-hand corridor. "Come along, cousin," Jeremy orders, turning down the right-hand corridor. "Bring your pets, do."
If the group follows Jeremy down the right-hand corridor, they see small signs of decay. The spiders have been hard at work here as in the vestibule, and there are worn spots in the luxurious carpets underfoot. Some of the oil lamps have gone out, and Jeremy makes no move to rekindle them. Eventually, the nobleman stops at a great door in the left-hand wall, made of priceless mahogany -- and scarred near the floor by the claws of some small animal. (Knowledge Nature check to identify.)
"Mother!" Jeremy roars as he throws open the doors, exposing the group to the grand dining hall of Dulapont Manor for the first time (though in François' case, this is the first time in several years, rather than ever), "we have guests about!"
The dining hall is well-lit and warm; a great blaze is roaring in the fireplace. Intricate carpets cover the floor. Ancient furniture sits around a massive table, and comfortable couches have been set near the fire. Seated on one of those couches is an elderly, frail-looking woman in white and silvery grey, endlessly fingering a necklace of silver and ivory. When she sees the unusual company arrayed behind her oldest son, the pale, watery eyes of the lady of the house widen in shock. Her mouth opens and closes as she quests for words that will not come -- and then she fully recognizes François. With a gasp, the lady lets the necklace fall to her chest and sinks back against the cushions, her eyes shuddering shut. At this point, it is anyone's guess whether the matron has fainted -- or perished ...