Tol-in-Gaurhoth LXIII: The Cottage of Lost Play

[Mnemosyne]

The envelope had no return address. It was written in a simple, elegant hand: black ink on ivory paper. And Feanor of the Peredhil had no idea how it had gotten to her.

For one thing, it was addressed to her Barrow-Downs name, a product of an adolescent mind who thought that “grandiose” meant adding “of the _________” to everything. And while she knew it wasn’t terribly difficult for people to find her on Facebook, it was still kind of creepy getting an unsolicited letter from someone on the internet. Hoping that whatever was inside would give some clue as to who sent it, she opened the envelope

* * *

and found an invitation. At first Eönwë thought it was to a Downer wedding and was inordinately pleased that he had received one (even though he almost certainly wouldn’t be able to attend it), but there weren’t any names he recognized.

It read,

* * *

You are cordially invited to a formal dinner at the Cottage of Lost Play. As a member of one of the foremost Tolkien discussion boards on the internet, it is hoped that you will have a particular appreciation for this one fan’s homage to the world he created. All expenses will be paid for; should you choose to accept, a private jet will be awaiting you at the nearest airport on Saturday 18 July. Guests will be accommodated overnight.

Attire is to be formal.

I hope that you are able to attend.

Very sincerely yours,
M.

How very James Bond, thought Pitchwife as he folded up the note. It looked too good to be true. Going over to his computer (one of the few things unpacked in this mess) he did a quick search on this “cottage of lost play.” But the only things that came up were to be expected: A few Tolkien wiki articles, something from SecondLife, generic fandom. Nothing that pointed to a specific location.

He couldn’t quite shake the odd feeling in his gut, but it wouldn’t hurt

* * *

to see if anything came of the invitation. After all, what was the chance of a private jet just for him showing up in the middle of nowhere, Oklahoma? If whoever was doing this thing thought that Shastanis Althreduin would drive all the way to somewhere with an actual airport, they’d have to be out of their mind. And dress up for something no one had ever heard of. It was probably some stupid scam.

* * *

“Or,” said Nessa Telrunya, “it could be the chance of a lifetime! Why would a scammer spend that much money on a plane? And I’ve been itching to wear that dress…”

“All right,” said her father. “But don’t say we didn’t warn you. And keep your phone on and let us know what’s going on.”

* * *

“Of course,” said autume98. “You’re probably just jealous you didn’t get invited yourself.”

“Mnemo would say it’s because I haven’t read the books,” said sally, sticking out her tongue. “But you just joined! How would they know anything like that?”

“I dunno, but a free flight to somewhere weird

* * *

might be just what I need,” said Nogrod. “This house has been getting rather boring of late. And if other people are taking up the invitation, well, maybe I’ll get to see some members I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing before. I wonder where this Cottage place is, for it’s certainly not going to be

* * *

in the Midwest,” Boromir88 grumbled. “About the only good thing Tolkien we have here is some of the manuscripts. And that is not Ohio. Now, what to wear?”

* * *

“Black,” declared McCaber, in a rather unoriginal move. After all, black went with everything. Everything black, that is. He pulled a few more articles of clothing into his suitcase, threw on his overcoat and wide-brimmed hat, and loaded everything into his car. It was time to see if this invitation was good on its promise of a free flight.

* * *

Nerwen was impressed. Not only was the small plane well-apportioned; she didn’t even have to go through security. Which meant that there were no problems with camera film being x-rayed, no lithium batteries to be restricted to different parts of the plane, and no one giving her funny looks as if professional equipment equaled nefarious intent. Not that anyone would even be interested in a place like this…

She tried her best to make herself comfortable in her seat. It was sure to be a long flight. She pulled out a book and began

* * *

to pour herself a glass of red. It wasn’t the cheap airplane kind, either. Whoever was behind this, Lalaith mused, had a considerable amount of money.

And considerable taste, too, she decided after a sip. Perhaps this would be an enjoyable

* * *

flight after all, thought Inziladun as he drifted into sleep.

When he awoke the plane was already descending. He checked his watch; the flight must have been about six hours long. When it touched down there was a towncar waiting for him. The airport was small, in a place that must have taken some considerable landscaping to level out among the hills. But other than that he could not say where it was. The driver of the cab did not speak. And as they drove off the farms nearby grew

* * *

less and less, until the car drew to a stop and the driver opened the door for her. Rikae looked out—it seemed to be midmorning, but she was tired as if it were the dead of night. A glossy carriage pulled up, drawn by four black horses. The door opened and a white-gloved hand reached down to her. Since she seemed to have no other choice she took hold of it, and stepped inside. They turned up a winding cobblestone road and rode for a good ten or fifteen minutes. The stones gave way to dirt, and trees began to crop up until she got the impression that they were driving through a forest, ancient and mighty.

In a burst of sunlight they crested a hill, and the trees ended abruptly. A footman came to open the door and help her down. Peering out the window, Rikae saw before her

The Cottage of Lost Play

being an interactive tale of a macabre nature, consisting of eight acts encompassing eight days, featuring

Nessa Telrunya
Inziladun
Shastanis Athreduin
Pitchwife
McCaber
Nogrod
autume98
Boromir88
Lalaith
Nerwen
Rikae
Feanor of the Peredhil
Eönwë

and the narrative and modly talents of Mnemosyne and satansaloser2005,

with love and respect for
J.R.R. Tolkien
Ray Bradbury
Patrick McGoohan
and
The Barrow-Wight Himself,
without any of whom this would be quite impossible.

NIGHT ONE begins at 19:00 GMT, Sunday 19 July 2009.



Ignorance is fatal.

[Mnemosyne]

Inziladun was fairly certain it was not scientifically possible. But there the cottage had stood, right out of a younger Tolkien’s imagination, perfectly hobbit-sized (but for the lack of hobbits in the mythos at the time) until you stepped inside, at which point either it grew or you shrank. It was rather confusing.

But inside—ah, it already felt like being within a tale, and somehow that made up for the physical impossibilities. There was a small entryway for coats and such things, but then that opened up into a vast hall with a fire burning merrily in the hearth at the center. Whoever had made this had obviously put a lot of thought; any elf could be content here, to tell tales and sing songs until time’s gloaming.

“It is roughly based,” said his host, “on the Hall of Fire at Imladris, of course.” He was a rather short fellow with curly hair, but Inziladun was not quite ready to say he was a hobbit—the hardened, weathered look on his face was something he could never imagine a hobbit wearing, not to mention the shoes on his feet. “You should see some of the other rooms later; they are quite delightful.”

“Maybe when a few of the others show up,” said Inziladun. He smiled and nibbled at the refreshment that had been laid out at the sideboard. “I take it you stole the pantry from Bag End?”

“Both of them, sir,” said the—he realized with a sigh that he was already beginning to refer to the fellow as a hobbit. “And the cellar. Though I imagine they’re better stocked than the Shire could ever have been, what with modern refrigeration and all.”

“Tell, me, exactly—whose idea was this, and why?”

“Beg pardon?”

“This whole place? I’ve never heard of it before; no one as far as I know has heard of it, or if they have they’ve kept it secret from the internet. It must have taken a lot of time and dedication.”

“Believe me,” said the hobbit, “it did.” He nodded sagaciously. “But as for your other questions—well, they’ll have to wait until—”

Just then there came a knock on the door.

“Let me get that,” said the hobbit. “That may be—” he consulted a slip of paper. “Yes, I do believe that is Rikae at the door just now!”

* * *

“Hello?” said autume98 as she entered what very clearly appeared to be the common room of the Prancing Pony. “I’m new here; joined the board and got an invitation. Er… I know sally in real life…”

“Really?” A rather sturdy-looking man rose from one of the tables and extended his arm. “I’m Nogrod,” he said, in slightly accented English. “You must say hello to her for me when all this is done! Welcome! Strange place, isn’t it?”

“Strange indeed,” said a figure whom autume had not noticed before. He was lurking in the corner, his boots resting upon a table.

autume’s eyes widened.

“Sorry,” said the stranger, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.” He swung his feet off the table and got up. “McCaber at your service. And what is your name?”

* * *

The walk inside did not feel very inside-y, thought Boromir88. It almost reminded him of what he’d always thought heading into Narnia felt like, starting out indoors and ending up outside. And once the corridor of trees ended he could see why.

It was like stepping into ancientry. There were stars overhead, even though it was only noon outside, and timeless waters lapped at a sandy bank nearby. On the grass next the water there were trestle tables laden with food, for hundreds upon hundreds of guests—but he only saw three other people in the clearing.

“Hi!” said one of them, a young woman with auburn hair. “I’m Fea. And you are…”

“Boro,” said Boromir88.

“Huh. You look younger than I thought.”

There was an awkward pause.

“I’m kidding,” said Fea.

“And I,” said the other woman in the group, who had risen much more sedately, “am Lalaith. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance after all this time.”

“And who’s the final person?” said Boromir, looking at the blond-haired stranger in nautical garb.

“Oh, him?” said Fea. “He was there to greet me. He won’t tell us his name.”

* * *

“Wonderful,” said Nessa as she sat back on one of the chairs, sated. “This is eating.”

“I’d feel a lot better if this thing were working,” said Nerwen. She was prodding at her camera, but for some strange reason it wouldn’t even switch on. “I don’t understand.”

“Technology doesn’t always work the same here,” said the hobbit.

“I’ll say,” said Inziladun. His cell phone was switched on just fine, but he couldn’t get any signal.

“Well,” said Eönwë, coming from a nearby alcove, “I can tell you that the modern plumbing works. Even the toilets are themed!”

“I’m ready if everyone else is,” said Rikae. “I think our host said something about a tour?”

* * *

“Beautiful,” said Shasta as the strange elf led them through the marble hallway. “Is this supposed to be Minas Tirith?”

“No,” said McCaber. “It’s too golden.”

“Quite correct,” said the elf. “This is modeled after the palace at Armenelos. And through the alcove on the left is a stairwell leading to the inside of the pillar of Umbar and the great globe that was set up there in commemoration of the humiliation of Sauron.”

“I’m climbing it,” said Nogrod. And he began to do so, and the others had little choice but to follow suit.

The crystal ball at the top was distorting, but laid about around it was such a wide variety of lands that Nogrod knew it was impossible for them to really be inside the same cottage that his carriage had pulled up to.

“It is marvelous, is it not?” said the elf. “This is an excellent way to see all that we have under this roof. Where would you like to go next?”

* * *

“I hope there’s a set path here, and one that doesn’t involve death,” said Pitchwife. “I understand the appreciation for Tolkien’s use of horror, but really—”

There was a gasp from a few feet back. “There are dead things—dead faces—in the water!”

“Well, yeah,” said Fea, “it’s called the Dead Marshes for a reason.”

“No, look,” said Lalaith. “The faces themselves…”

Pitchwife traced a few precarious steps back. “Is that… Peter Jackson?”

“A joke,” said their guide from far ahead. “You’ll also find Philippa Boyens and Fran Walsh a few graves over, as well as just about every WETA geek who worked on the films.”

“It’s a very realistic joke,” muttered Pitchwife. “And creepy.”

“So,” said Fea, “how much do I have to pay you to get you to keel over face-first into the water, Boro?”

“A lot,” said Boromir.

* * *

“That,” said Inziladun, “is impressively obscure.” The hut had no identifying marks except for the stone lying nearby with smoke marks on its base.

“I’m also quite fond of the Mewlips,” said the hobbit. “Best not to go down there alone; last person who went exploring down there never came back.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “Poor Mr. Sibley.”

“Wait, what?” said Eönwë.

The hobbit merely smiled.

* * *

“And this,” said the elf, “is Niggle’s Parish.”

“The tree!” cried Nogrod.

“Something’s wrong with it,” said autume. “I mean, unless Tolkien liked huge trees…”

“Sir, this isn’t Hirilorn, is it?” said McCaber.

“No,” said the elf. “It’s the Tree of Tales.”

Shasta nodded. But it did not look like a healthy tree. Up, it stretched, up into the sky, until everything growing was masked by the grey clouds that covered the area.

Nogrod picked up a few leaves from the ground—the only leaves from the tree that could be seen. They were brown, dry, and dead; and while they gave off a pleasant enough odor and crackled quite nicely in his hands, they were still dead and no living ones could be found.

* * *

“It is getting late,” said the mariner. “Let me show you your rooms so that you can prepare yourselves for the dinner.” And with that he led them down a pathway that turned into a hallway with thirteen doors set on one side. “If you continue down this hallway, a stairwell will lead you to the dining room. A bell will ring ten minutes before dinner is to be served.

“Your room will be here, Pitchwife.” He motioned to a room more or less in the middle of the cluster. “Your luggage should be inside.”

Pitchwife opened the door, expecting to see something very like a well-apportioned hotel room.

Instead what greeted his eyes was a jumble of boxes and odd parts of furniture, so familiar to him that it was striking.

It was his room from back home.

Pitchwife took two steps back. “I have a bad feeling about this,” he said.

[Mnemosyne]

Rikae was still not sure what to make of having a room that looked almost exactly like her own. Even creepier was the fact that, when going through the large dresser up against the wall, she found clothing not only to her style and taste, but that also fit her perfectly.

The dinner bell sounded. Checking her outfit in the mirror above her dresser one last time, she stepped out of the room and into the hallway of the Cottage of Lost Play.

At almost the same time the door next to hers opened, and a young man, about university age, stepped out. Even though he was in a suit, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he would have done very well on the high seas around Umbar. The hoop in his ear probably didn’t help.

“Hello,” she said. “I’m Rikae.”

“Rikae? Wonderful! I’m Shasta.” Shasta took a look at his appearance. “Hey—we match!” It was true, to an extent: the grey in his suit matched her silver skirt, and they were both wearing turquoise—though hers was bright and shiny and his was more of a teal.

Rikae smiled. “Shall we head down together?”

* * *

The dining room looked so grand that Lalaith almost expected there to be someone announcing her name as she swept down the staircase. It was unnecessarily long, and hugged the walls of the oval-shaped room as it descended from one side to the other. White marble laced with black and gold paved the floor, and the long, black table already had a few occupants.

When she reached the table she saw that placecards had been set forth, all with Downers’ names written on them. Only the head of the table was left unknown. There were fourteen chairs.

Looking around her, she saw some familiar faces as well as a few unknowns. Fea had changed into a silky black halter dress that looked as if it should have been lounging over a roulette table, and Boro had opted out of the classic suit in favor of a black sweater vest.

There was also a blondish man in a white dinner jacket, and a young woman in a dusky rose dress. Upon introducing herself she found that they were Inziladun and Nessa Telrunya. And turning around to the top of the stairway she saw Shasta and Rikae descending.

Lalaith shrugged out of her fur stole and sat down at her place. One by one the Downers made their way to the dining room, and awaited.

* * *

Ten minutes passed, and servers came out from side doors to begin pouring water and wine. The seat at the head of the table was unoccupied. Unsure of what to do, people began to talk about their various experiences on the way over, and about the unsettling nature of this place.

Nerwen began pontificating on the mysterious nature of the scar on her chest that was somewhat hidden by the pendant she wore. Eönwë, for some reason, had to explain to autume98 that his name was not actually “Steve.”

More time passed. Soup was served, then the main course. Given the creepy way these people seemed to know everything about them, Fea was not terribly surprised at this juncture that she was served fish rather than the beef filet everyone else was given. But if anyone cared about how long the steaks were grilled, the cook had not. By the time everyone was finished their plates were swirled with red juices. There was still no sign of their host.

An awkward silence had descended by the time the dessert course was finished. No one was willing to get up. The waiters cleared away the goblets that had held their raspberry sorbet.

A gong sounded.

At the top of the stairs appeared a lady in black. Slowly she descended them, and then smoothly moved to take her place at the head of the table. She pulled off her hat to reveal dark brown hair tightly pulled into a bun, and eyes that burned with a darker fire. Red-gloved fingers rested on an untouched plate.

“I’m sure,” she said, “you’re wondering why you’ve all been called here.”

Silence.

“There are a number of reasons. First of all, I’ve spent a lot of time and effort into this place and I thought it should be seen by those with the capacity to appreciate it.

“Second, I have a… quest, if you will—to perform.

“And third, I find that I like a little conflict in life. An interesting means to perform my quest. And, as such—tonight some of you will find yourselves in a very interesting situation.

“Tomorrow, all of you will. This entire house will be locked until you complete your task, whichever side wins.”

“Whichever side wins?” said Pitchwife. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Three of you will find yourselves filled with an insatiable bloodlust. You may recall the island Sauron ruled in the First Age, filled with, I believe, werewolves? The food you’ve just eaten contains a spell to make you one of them. Quite simple really.”

“But… this is scientifically impossible!” said McCaber. “All of this is!”

“You will find,” said the lady in black, “that many things that are scientifically impossible exist here.

“As I said, three of you will find yourselves becoming werewolves. You cannot survive the night without killing someone; it’s a simple fact of your nature.

“One of you will find yourself having unusually vivid dreams. If you so choose, you can focus them on one person and learn if he or she is one of the werewolves that will be killing you.”

“Killing?” said Nessa.

“Of course. It is everybody else’s role to kill the werewolves during the day, before they kill you. Whoever survives can escape the cottage alive.”

“This is sick!” said autume.

“I know; isn’t it lovely?” said the lady in black. “If you make the deaths entertaining enough, I may let some of you go free early. Oh, and if you don't kill anyone during the day, you all die. Have a pleasant night.”

“She’s joking, right?” said Eönwë.

IT IS NOW NIGHT ONE.

[Mnemosyne]

Lalaith woke up almost thinking she was back at home. The sun was shining in from under the curtains in her windows, and the dark shapes of the plush chairs in her room were quite comforting. But when she pushed the curtains open, the sight of the landscapes of Arda all cobbled together with little reason quickly reminded her of where she was.

Sighing, she walked over to her closet and pulled out a dress to wear. It was time to see what the day brought.

The room downstairs had a light breakfast set out on it. About half the guests were already seated and eating. Things were strangely silent. No one wanted to learn whether what the lady said was true or not.

Everyone heaved a sigh of relief when the last guest, Boromir88, sat down at the table. No one had died.

The meal was finished, but there was no sign of the lady in black, nor of anyone who had anything to do with the actual mansion.

“Well,” said Shasta, “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I wouldn’t mind leaving this place. It gives me the creeps.”

“Yeah, but is anyone going to know the way out of here?” said McCaber.

“We can try,” said Nogrod. “This seems to be one of the more livable parts of the house. Maybe the exit’s nearby.”

Quietly the group walked out the main door to the dining room. A hallway led out from it, and as they walked along it things seemed to get lighter.

“The air smells better here,” said Nerwen.

At last they saw at the end of the hallway a door, with sunlight streaming in through a grille.

Pitchwife ran towards it. “Aha!” He pulled on the door. It was locked. He muttered an oath under his breath, then stepped back and looked away.

The door was covered in scratch marks. Some of them were red.

“Look!” cried autume from behind. To the side lay the lady in black on the floor with a large gash across her chest, her hair spilled out on the floor and matted in her own blood. There was a hole where her heart used to be, and her neck had clearly been crushed.

“I guess she wasn’t joking,” said Eönwë, “though I doubt she had this end in mind. Now what do we do?”

IT IS NOW DAY ONE.

The Living:
Nessa Telrunya
Inziladun
Shastanis Athreduin
Pitchwife
McCaber
Nogrod
autume98
Boromir88
Lalaith
Nerwen
Rikae
Feanor of the Peredhil
Eönwë

[Boromir88]

*looking down at the bloody mess, Boro decides to break the shock*

'So...How do you suppose she died?' (How do you suppose she died? Really, that's the best you can come up with!)

[Pitchwife]

Well, to quote Sam Gamgee: A nice pickle we've landed ourselves in, my dear fellow-Downers! I came here to admire the sub-subcreative efforts of our host, meet some Downers in real life for a change, and have some nice bookish discussions with you, like about immortality and the sons of Elrond or the question whether Orcs can be redeemed - in any case, not to play a weird game with our dear real lives at stake.
As it turns out, our late host - may Eru, or whoever, have more mercy on her black soul than I would - had other plans.
There may be another way to explain this mess, but I'm afraid we'll have to assume that what she told us last night was the truth. In this case, and unless the key to this door can be found on her corpse (has anybody searched?), we're going to need Sam's stubborn courage, Gandalf's wisdom and the discerning intellect of *insert fitting character who escapes me at the moment* to get out of this alive - or at least, get as many of us out of here alive as we possibly can.
*long sigh*
So much for rhetorics. Now, how do we go about this? Hate to admit it, but I'm lost - as most of you, I suppose, since we've been standing here for an hour without anybody saying anything. Any suggestions?

EDIT: x-ed with Boro

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Glancing around, I notice you all staring fixedly at your feet, at the walls, at the bloody scratches on the doorway, at thin air... Nobody will meet anybody else's eyes, and though you snatch hesitant glances toward the body, there is an incredibly awkward silence.

I can no longer take it. Knowing I'll have nightmares from this later, knowing I should probably be in therapy already, knowing I never should have went along with a crackpot Facebook invitation to an internet stranger's abode (my parents spent how many years warning me about this?), I feel myself slip into a state of almost zen-like calm, as I always do at times like this.

"It's too late to call a doctor. And we're trapped, so she said." I watch you all look up, seeing varying states of fear, nausea, and helplessness in your eyes. "We need volunteers to search the house for exits. Nobody should go anywhere alone. She said we would be safe during the Day... it should be okay to look around together. Also... We need volunteers to put the body in the freezer. I know you're not supposed to touch a crime scene, but I don't know how long we're going to be here, and in this case, it might be more important to preserve the body than to leave it to rot and bloat on the floor. Then..." I look around at the incredulous faces. "I need somebody to help me clean up the blood. It's a biohazard."

I know that the secret to leadership is to behave like it's natural for everyone to listen to you, so instead of waiting for responses, or begging for acquiescence, I begin to walk to where I think the kitchens are, hoping to find ammonia and towels, hoping someone will help me with the grisly mess on the floor, resigned to the fact that I might well be the only person in the room who can see something traumatizing and be sensible instead of melodramatic about it.

[Inziladun]

This rather reminds me of the movie Clue. Except we aren't being blackmailed. And Tim Curry isn't here.
How she met her end is, I think, immaterial at this point. We must now take thought for ourselves. It seems we must take her words as truth: we cannot leave this place until we succeed in destroying those among us who have been cursed by her.

x/d with Pitchwife and Fea

[Boromir88]

Well, I must say I'm not a fan of blood, unless it be my own blood. Grey's Anatomy, ER, none of those doctor shows...ugh...as soon as they start poking around in a person's body, I cover up and squeam around. If someone would care to get the blood, I could bring myself to move the body...stiff bodies are a bit more tolerable than bodies covered in blood. Though by the looks of most people's faces, I can't tell who's dead or alive at this point.

So...Inzil, If only Tim Curry were here, he'd sort this entire thing out. Speaking of which, who was the murderer in the movie? Wasn't Mr. Green a detective? Whoever the detective was, that is me, this will be solved in no time.

[Pitchwife]

No, Fea, you're not alone, and I'll be with you cleaning up in a moment (good point about the fridge, by the way!)
Inzil, the question how she died is not quite so immaterial as you make it. There's still a vague possibility she kept a toothed and clawed pet which turned on her - I mean, one that was here prior to our arrival. The only other explanation is that she did tell the truth, which is a quite...er... disturbing thought.
As for those of us who have been cursed by her (assuming she told the truth), have you no pity for them? They didn't ask for it, did they? It might have been you or me. For all I know, you might be one of them.
*heads off to help Fea, but turns back on second thought*
By the way, looking for exits may be futile. From what we've seen so far, our host was thorough and meticulous in the execution of her plans. I don't think she left us any easy way out of this. And if her mind worked the way I think it did, she's probably left a Middle-earth equivalent for big white balloons patrolling outside.
*leaves*

[Inziladun]

Originally Posted by Pitchwife

As for those of us who have been cursed by her (assuming she told the truth), have you no pity for them? They didn't ask for it, did they? It might have been you or me. For all I know, you might be one of them.

Pity, yes. Mercy, no. Seeing that there is a disturbing corpse in front of us, I think I have to assume she was indeed truthful. Or are you suggesting we should simply wait and see what happens?

[autume98]

This is the LAST thing on my mind on what to expect when I accepted the invitation to come. My mind is reeling with what this all means. Not to mention the gruesome site before me is starting to make me feel a little queasy. I decide to follow Fea's lead and help look for some cleaning materials.

[Pitchwife]

*comes back laden with towels and begins to mop up the blood*
Glad you're willing to help, autume! I don't like leaving Fea alone over there. Kitchen's that way. *indicates*
If anybody else wants to be useful, it would be great to find a working telephone in this place! I found a computer in my room - the only thing unpacked, just like in real life - , but without internet access; I tried last night.
*looks up at Inzil*
No, I don't suggest we just sit and wait what happens. We'll have to find out who of us was cursed - assuming anybody truly was - and how to deal with them. A time for merciless decisions may yet come - but now is not that time. All I'm saying is, let's not be hasty.
By the way, I haven't seen that movie you and Boro are talking about, but if the situation we've been put in doesn't qualify as being blackmailed by your book, I don't know what would.
Now, I wonder whether this corpse is going to fit into the freezer in one piece... *gulp*

[Lalaith]

Not so hasty, good people. Where is Nerwen and her camera?
I don't feel right about moving the body, but I accept that under the circumstances we can't leave it here...however, before we move it, or clean up, we should photograph the body and the crime scene carefully.

[Shastanis Althreduin]

I feel bad for her, but... to be quite honest, she brought this end upon herself. Yes, she apparently created this... Land of Tolkien, for lack of a better, term, and yes, she was kind enough to invite us all here... but she did turn three of us into slavering beasts and she did trap us here with them, all on the pretext of some "quest". Am I going to be glad it was her and not me? You bet.

Thank you for volunteering to clean this up, ladies. Some of the men want to volunteer for gravedigger detail? No, wait - we can't get out of this house, can we? I don't suppose there's a cellar or something... I'd volunteer myself, but... I have an idea...

-vanishes upstairs-

[Lalaith]

Thank you for volunteering to clean this up, ladies

*looks up after the vanishing Shasta and contemplates getting seriously Betty Friedan on his wotsit*
Maybe not - we have more important things to do right now. The education can wait.

[Eönwë]

People, people, calm down!

It's only the first morning and already you're turning on each other. Of course its important how she died, and by the looks of it, unless we find any large, blood-hungry clawed creatures around then I assume we must trust what she said.
And also, what if she didn't mention something on purpose? Maybe there were more things put in the food that she didn't tell us about. Well, she's dead now so there's no point expecting an answer.

And also, Pitchwife, I think If you cut here *points* and here *points* , then she will fit in. But what are we going to do if we don't manage to sort out the problem and they kill more of us toMorrow? We have no more space.

And why are we all so quiet? We've all had a good Night's sleep (except the werewolf-morphers), so let's get something done toDay.

[Pitchwife]

Originally Posted by Shastanis Althreduin

Thank you for volunteering to clean this up, ladies.

*shouts after Shasta*
I know my nick is misleading, but thanks for not including me!

[Inziladun]

Hang on, Pitchwife. Not the freezer just yet. We don't want to contaminate the food! Shasta just dashed out saying he had an idea.

[Eönwë]

Originally Posted by Inziladun

Hang on, Pitchwife. Not the freezer just yet. We don't want to contaminate the food! Shasta just dashed out saying he had an idea.

Maybe he's running away because he's afraid of the blood. Or maybe he's afraid of getting caught. Or maybe he's trying to cover up his Night bloodlust with the feigned fear of blood. Either way, he seemed in a hurry to go, wouldn't you say? Mighty suspicious if you ask me.

[Lalaith]

he seemed in a hurry to go

Well yes... and then there's the folk who are in such a mortal hurry to start sawing up corpses.
Can't we just calm down and recollect our nerves over a stiff drink before we start with the Chainsaw Massacre reenactments, darlings?

[Inziladun]

Originally Posted by Eönwë

Maybe he's running away because he's afraid of the blood. Or maybe he's afraid of getting caught. Or maybe he's trying to cover up his Night bloodlust with the feigned fear of blood. Either way, he seemed in a hurry to go, wouldn't you say? Mighty suspicious if you ask me.

I'd say either of the above could be correct. A wolf faking a fear of blood would be a cunning tactic this early on.

[Boromir88]

People, people, calm down!

It's only the first morning and already you're turning on each other.~Eonwe

Well based on your last statement you seem to be the more jumpy one in need of calming.

Although, out of anyone, Pitchy (hope you don't mind that now imposed nickname) you've been the most zealous in cleaning up. Make your own mess and feel you have to clean it up? Because personally I only feel the need to clean up after myself, or clean myself off if someone's made a mess on me. Oh and I do tend to clean up after a certain doggy's rampaging, but that's so he doesn't get in trouble, and I doubt he'd make a mess like this...that is ripping out a person's heart, but after that steak last night who knows who's been turned into a blood-thirsty mongrel?

[Eönwë]

Originally Posted by Boromir88

Well based on your last statement you seem to be the more jumpy one in need of calming.

Maybe a little. But aren't we all? I think you are forgetting the obvious: WE ARE IN AN IMPOSSIBLE HOUSE AND SOMEONE'S GOT KILLED! Isn't that enough to make anyone nervous? Or has killing someone in the Night nullified your senses towards death?

And at least I used a bit of reasoning. The people I was talking about all knew that we need to do something about the situation toDay, yet not be too hasty, but they were still arguing over it.



But now to more pressing matters...

[Pitchwife]

*wipes his brow, un-selfconsciously smearing himself with blood, and draws a deep breath*
Not the freezer yet, I agree. Sorry, I got a little bit carried away. I'm as little used to things like this as any of you, but I'm afraid being married to a nurse in palliative care working in a hospice has made my attitude to death a little bit... well, let's say, more matter-of-fact. (The deaths she deals with in her job are somewhat less bloody, though.)
Besides, it just occurred to me that if we ever get out of this alive, we'll probably have to explain this mess to the police. From an outsider's perspective, all of us probably look rather suspicious at the moment, don't you think so? Taking photos might be a good idea.
Eönwe, point taken - we shouldn't be turning on each other so early in the day; and you'd do well to follow your own advice!

(x-ed with everybody since Eönwe's #20)

[Eönwë]

Originally Posted by Pitchwife

Eönwe, point taken - we shouldn't be turning on each other so early in the day; and you'd do well to follow your own advice!

(x-ed with everybody since Eönwe's #20)

Easier said than done. It could be anyone...



Anyway, I'm going to have a nap... sleep still hasn't caught up with me since the aeroplane journey and I'm not thinking straight...

Maybe something will come to me in my sleep.



edit: x-ed since last post.

[Boromir88]

Hmm...not sure about that Master Pitch, someone wants me dead I'm not going to play along. The nice-ities are done. Sure I may have been a pleasant dinner with some of you *gaze turns to Lalaith, and Boro begins to go deep in thought.* Why is she so familiar, it feels like I should know her from before arriving here, but where? and why?

'Curious' Boro thought out-loud 'very curious.'

'What is?' asked an unknown voice

'Is anyone else finding it difficult to remember anything you did before coming to this place? hmm...'

Well maybe I'll have a go at my computer game and free my mind a bit. There may be no net connection here, but I still better be able to play my game, let me tell you! Very interesting, Disgaea it is, maybe someone else has played it? There's these penguin doods with bombs...created one for my army by the name of Lommy, but I'm not sure where I got the idea of naming it that.

[Pitchwife]

So while everybody seems to agree we should calm down and not jump to conclusions, everybody happily throws around his/her suspicions. Great.

Indeed, Lalaith, a stiff drinks sounds like exactly what I need at the moment; and a short nap afterwards, too. I wish our hostess hadn't copied my room at home so precisely, or I had taken the time to piece my bed together before coming here; I didn't get much sleep last night, and I'm dead tired. Hope there's a comfy couch somewhere in this Cottage of Lost Nightmares.

Boro, I mind the nickname less than your implied accusation, but I'll answer that when I'm feeling a bit fresher.

And Eönwe -

Maybe something will come to me in my sleep.

*frowns*
Why would you say a thing like that at a time like this??

*yawns*
Anyway, see you all later.
*retires in search of a couch*

EDIT: x-ed with Boro's last

[Shastanis Althreduin]

-comes back down the stairs dejectedly-

Well... I had hoped that perhaps the werewolves had been caught in transformiata in their bedrooms, with the doors shut... and since presumably werewolves have claws, not hands, I figured it would be rather hard to open said doors... but no dice. I didn't find any evidence of forced exit on the bedroom doors.

[Nogrod]

"Okay, I've given this some thought."

Nogrod had found a pipe and some tobacco from the hall when they had left the breakfast and had been puffing his pipe since then, sitting in the bench quite unnoticed when all the row had taken place.

"We need some thinking here... and I'll give you my first two cents to begin with."

He took a few steps closer to the body and looked at it a while and then turned around taking the pipe from his mouth.

"Now either our lady in black was a suicidal person, a fool in in the midst of all this ingeniousness - or then something here just isn't what we think it is... Now why introduce this kind of cruel game on us and give lycanthropic powers to some of us while being our jailor and the cause for all this - and not being able to protect herself?

Sure she should have foreseen herself to be the first target? So a suicidal - or a thoughtless person? Somehow I can't make either description fit her easily... She was too intense, too gorgeous, too self-assured to be either. I could be wrong though, but for now I'd go for the third option: this could be faked, or she could have powers, goals, methods we just don't understand. Maybe she's not dead at all..."

Nogrod glanced around and took a deep inhale from his pipe. Puffing out a small ring of smoke he continued.

"But what I do wonder is what she said to us as her last words... Do you recall them?

“Oh, and if you don't kill anyone during the day, you all Have a pleasant night.”

Now what might that mean? You Eönwë thought she was just joking yesterDay evening and now you think she didn't have this end in mind. Now I do agree, those very same thoughts have come to me as well but why do we think this way, and are we sure we're not being fooled here; do we actually have a slightest reason to believe what we collectively seem to think is true and not a part of some grandiose and vicious plan? This setting looks to me grandiose enough to give me shivers just thinking about what a mind capable of putting all this up could do on a psyhological level..."

Nogrod fell quite for a moment as in deep thought and then lifted his face once more.

"Well, I say we'd need to discuss this - and especially that sentence she made as her last one... If we are going to try a Day without killing to check whether we'd be saved from any Nightly atrocities it should be toDay. Later we may be unable to prevent ourselves from these inhumane acts no one I hope is willing to take toDay... You know, pressure, death and gore all around, getting used to it... read any book on war and you know it - that's what can happen to a pacifist as well.

So what do you think people, should we take her words for real and try this Day without killing anyone to see if we will have a "pleasant Night" or not? The only problem I see with that kind of proposition is the way she pronounced very highlightingly "you all", which should mean also those she had turned into evil... Who knows this devilry here but at least we should discuss our views about it first before going at each other's necks for real..."

[McCaber]

Wait, there's a troop of bloodthirsty killers among us, and people are urging to wait and see what happens? The only thing I can foresee with that happening is more bloody deaths before someone decides that we just might have to consider taking action.

Ah well. I would propose we move away from this mess and discuss things like civilized people in the dining chambers.

[Nogrod]

I see this place is more haunted I thought in the beginning - so let's forget my last idea... Someone has changed the reality. Just a moment before what was yesterDay evening's reality the lady in black said:

Originally Posted by the previous yesterDay

“Oh, and if you don't kill anyone during the day, you all Have a pleasant night.”

But it seems the yesterDay has been changed...

Originally Posted by the current yesterDay

"Oh, and if you don't kill anyone during the day, you all die. Have a pleasant night.”

[Nogrod]

Originally Posted by McCaber

Ah well. I would propose we move away from this mess and discuss things like civilized people in the dining chambers.

Fully agreed. We've already past the second breakfast but could just make it for a late eleventies or an early supper...

[Shastanis Althreduin]

Please, no. Dining rooms make for stilted conversation and they tend to be quite uncomfortable otherwise. May I suggest the parlor?

-suits actions to words, striding into the parlor and poking up the fire to drive off an unnatural chill-

[Inziladun]

Originally Posted by Nogrod

So what do you think people, should we take her words for real and try this Day without killing anyone to see if we will have a "pleasant Night" or not? The only problem I see with that kind of proposition is the way she pronounced very highlightingly "you all", which should mean also those she had turned into evil... Who knows this devilry here but at least we should discuss our views about it first before going at each other's necks for real..."

As you noted sir, the option of taking no action is certainly off the table now. Our hostess seems to have taken great pains to arrange all this, and I've become more and more doubtful that her own apparent death was unexpected to her.
Our difficult task now it to try and get enough of a clear head to think things through, and eliminate the evil among us while sparing the innocent. Seems obvious enough, but the deed itself will likely prove much harder in practice.

Originally Posted by Shastanis Althreduin

Please, no. Dining rooms make for stilted conversation and they tend to be quite uncomfortable otherwise. May I suggest the parlor?
-suits actions to words, striding into the parlor and poking up the fire to drive off an unnatural chill-

I hadn't noticed any chill, but I find a good fire is often helpful when one is in need of good thinking.

[Nogrod]

Nogrod was sitting at the dining chambers waiting for the eleventies in vain. No one did anything - except Shasta who went to the parlor helping the fire.

Nogrod was getting frustrated while his eyelids felt heavy for the time-difference. Darn it, no one talks... Phwwt... Don't they see the mess we're in? That altered reality and all... yes, yes, everyone's in shock and it's hard to focus one's mind with nothing to focus it with... but some effort, please... He was almost napping at the table when he suddenly woke up. I need to go to sleep... my head is dizzy. But someone has to start something... Blah, someone has to...

Nogrod stood up and walked back to the others, well midway between those who still lingered at the "black lady's" corpse and those that had followed Shasta to the parlor - some of the 'Downers were missing, probably under the same jet-lag Nogrod felt himself to be under... or was it just the stress... well, whatever.

"Okay, I need to get a good nap to clear my head, sorry about that. But it really looks like we actually do have to kill someone of us with the risk of getting us all killed if we fail that. That altered yesterDay made me confident with it. So let's not make it a lottery... and I don't think the lady in Black is really dead. There is more magic or illusions here.

But to avoid the lottery let's everyone speak and let us others know what they think. And even if this sounds cruel I do suggest we start this hideous killing with those who decide to stay silent or try to be especially careful. It's easy to hide and if everyone hides we can but guess. There's ample time though, so I'd not blame anyone especially right now; but when the evening draws on and the Day grows old, and if there still are people who hide away from discussion, they should be the first one's to go.

What I think so far then... well there is little to go on, but I'm afraid of Fea already. Her nice little act of being at the same time so terrified and/or traumatized with blood and looking so helpful was a bit too fitting to be honest. Like she had to especially prove to us she was innocent from the very first time she opened her mouth.

Also I'm a bit worried with Shasta running up and down looking like doing a lot from the early morning up to now but in the end just telling us he's doing things - okay, I do appreciate the fire, but anyway. The way McCaber just says that we should discuss without giving even a slightest thought of his own to be shared looks bad as well. It's easy to show a considerate face saying "let's discuss this", but it is quite nasty to then fall silent without contributing anything to the discussion one calls for.

Of others I tend to like what Pitch, Eönwë and Inzil are doing thus far. Not that I trust anyone of them more than you others, but the way they talk looks like they are getting involved - be that good or bad involvement.

Boro also looks promising in the sense meant above, even if I kind of disliked his happy jump to Fea's "dislike of blood" -thingy which he apparently dropped as soon as Inzy made a remark of the problematics with it... Well, early hours, early hours and not lot to say.

I hope you others have given even one cent's worth of opinions when I wake up again. Now sorry but I'm off to my room."

[Nogrod]

Walking up the stairs Inzy's words still echoed in Nogrod's head and he stopped suddenly turning around.

Originally Posted by Inziladun

Our difficult task now it to try and get enough of a clear head to think things through, and eliminate the evil among us while sparing the innocent. Seems obvious enough, but the deed itself will likely prove much harder in practice.

"Don't you think that a bit obvious thing to say Inzy? How about actually trying to do something and not just repeating that truism?"

He flashed a and turned again to go to his room.

[Inziladun]

Originally Posted by Nogrod

Walking up the stairs Inzy's words still echoed in Nogrod's head and he stopped suddenly turning around.
"Don't you think that a bit obvious thing to say Inzy? How about actually trying to do something and not just repeating that truism?"

Well, I noted myself that it was obvious. Simply trying to get everyone involved with what needs to be done.

[Nogrod]

Originally Posted by Inziladun

Simply trying to get everyone involved with what needs to be done.

"Without getting yourself involved or actually doing anything but just saying something should be done?"

Nogrod shook his head from the top of the stairs and vanished from sight.

[Inziladun]

Originally Posted by Nogrod

"Without getting yourself involved or actually doing anything but just saying something should be done?"

Nogrod shook his head from the top of the stairs and vanished from sight.

It's rather hard to 'get involved' when others won't.