Everyone in the neighborhood knew Elsa’s house. The small abandoned-looking cottage crouched on the corner lot, hidden underneath a blanket of crawling vines that smothered the window panes and twisted into the masonry of the crumbling, red brick chimney.

She was known as the local witch - a woman to be peered at warily, and never fully embraced. Not even when she brought freshly baked cookies, and certainly not when she warned the neighborhood children about the wild Bandersnatch that would surely take them in the night. Nevertheless, most of the neighbors had come to like her, and worry when she went missing. Surely someone would worry now that the verdant greenery covering her house had turned grey, brittle and dead in only a matter of days.

Inside, cloistered away from the gossip of the neighborhood, the soft sounds of someone crying interrupted the stillness. The air was thick and heavy with a cloying floral incense, and occasionally the sound of bells or cymbals chimed softly, as a breeze from the garden gently rustled the various beaded strings hanging here and there throughout her abode.

Elsa sat on an embroidered pillow, watching the young woman weep quietly into a handkerchief. She had barely heard anything the woman said, the sound of her pulse was so strong - like music dancing on her eardrums. “Moira,” she languidly extended a hand towards her client. “Give me your hand please. Now.”

The woman sniffed back a tear, and gave her hand to the psychic willingly. Trustingly, even.

Elsa’s fingers traced the deep creases on the woman’s palms. Little sparks of electricity snapped between their skin - or at least, Elsa felt it, like tiny firecrackers guiding her hand, shaping the thoughts that swirled around her in lazy, twisting eddies of emotion and possibility. “I see…. that the journey you have been on this year is coming to an end.” She said finally. “And that is a good thing, my dear. Change is always frightening because it is an adventure into the unknown - a trek into blackness, where anything is possible. But my dear, this is part of your path and you must embrace it.”

Elsa squeezed the woman’s hand, and Moira shivered slightly at the coldness of her touch. “When we embrace change, we look for the opportunities for that change to be a blessing. When we close ourselves off, we only look towards the past. And the past is gone - so there is no point in worrying oneself about it.”

“You must move on, dear Moira.” Elsa released her hand suddenly. “Find a new path, and I promise you it will be a better road than the one you have been on.”

"Thank you, I wi...

Before the woman can finish the door is rudely slammed open and then back closed with much more force than necessary.  Standing near the door with a smirk is a young man with black hair, blue eyes and dress in a stylish suit.  He was well known as a messenger for the court and at times the Harpy (Isabella Da Rossi).  His name was Nick Renault.

Bowing his head towards Elsa and her guest he cracks his knuckles and tries to look sorry.  "I beg your pardon ladies.  I don't want to interrupt but I really need to have a word with you Elsa, that is if you have time to help me find my path."

The last was said with dripping sarcasm but his face spoke of genuineness.

[Secret to Elsa Lamarre: Figured I'd just get started this way.  Nick is a Ventrue and basically a herald/gopher/messenger boy.  He has been visiting regularly trying to get Elsa to come speak with the Harpy Isabella De Orssi.  I'll post some info on Isablella shortly.]
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:42, Mon 13 Apr 2015.

Startled by the loud, sudden sound of the door slamming open, Elsa jumped to her feet with a slight gasp. If her heart could race, it would have. As it was, she noted the subtle absence of pressure in her chest, and wondered if she would ever grow accustomed to this strange separation she felt between her thoughts and her body.

“Moira,” she touched the woman lightly on her arm. “Slip out the side door if you like, and take the garden path. You know the way.”

As her client departed, Elsa gathered the money from the side table and counted it slowly, turning towards this new visitor. There was a calm, leaden serenity to her gaze as she regarded the nicely dressed man.

“I believe you have already chosen a path, my dear.” She approached a few steps more, brushing aside the antique beaded curtain that separated them. “Are your harpies like those of ancient mythology - do they steal your feast, even as they gorge and caw their lamentations to the eerie trees…”

Elsa felt a warm fog settling around her temples. She pushed away the strange thoughts like cobwebs, turning her attention fully to the man. “Is it truly your own path that you are curious about, Nicholas? Or is there a different question that you have for me?”
This message was last edited by the player at 23:01, Sun 12 Apr 2015.

Pools of blood dripping from his fangs...young Nicholas screaming but only blood pouring forth as his skin darkens and peels back..a black raven circling overhead while a silver wolf howls in the distance...

Nick sneers as Elsa says his full name but then quickly regains his composure as he runs a finger over a shelf and frowns at the small amount of dust that it gathers.  "Harpies eat what they want but all of them gobble your soul if it furrthers their own goals.  Still we are all either pawns or the hands that move them...sometimes both.  Which are you my dear?  You cannot ignore the invitations forever.  Eventually it will be decided that you are not a friend of the court and then....well then what happens to your little business and those you call friends?  This is what we are and there is no changing that...Isabella's words not mine but consider the message delivered.  What you do with those words is your own choice.  Now as to paths...stay out of my head and I shall offer you the same courtesy.  Trust me you'd not like me planting suggestions in your mind.  Now if you will excuse me I have other messages to deliver this night.  My lady..."

Bowing with a flourish he sets down a small silver broach on the counter.  "If you choose to visit the court Isabella would like for you to wear this.  It will offer you some shelter from questioning eyes."

[Private to Elsa Lamarre: Orange italics will indicate visions.  Some fleeting some longer.]
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:39, Mon 13 Apr 2015.

For a brief instant, Elsa smelled the hot, intoxicating aroma of blood. She tasted it between her teeth, and Nicholas’s words drowned beneath the sound of his terrified screaming. The vision lasted only a moment, before she was thrust back into the room with him, her mind scrabbling at the words spilling out of his mouth, trying to find the thread of conversation that had gotten lost beneath the deluge of another time and place.

It was frustratingly difficult sometimes, to know if a vision spoke of the past or of the future. Were the images symbolic or literal, or somewhere caught in between?

The silver broach was placed on the counter before she fully regained awareness. Everything else he had said came back slowly, as in a dream half remembered. “Nicho-“ she caught herself short. “Nick. Our kind are few, and we are precious. I would never use my abilities to harm you, nor to pry where I am not wanted - it is not my way.”

She turned the broach over in her hand, wondering for a moment what terrible stories it had to tell. The metal seemed to squirm beneath her touch. “I do not wish to be a stranger to your customs, it has only been so… so much to take in. But I will visit Isabella.”

She nodded to him with a warm, if slightly concerned smile as he left her abode, hesitating before adding. “Guard yourself against wolves, my dear - whatever that may mean to you.”

——

Once the young man had left, Elsa took some time to collect her thoughts. After calming her nerves, she quickly selected clothing for the occasion and smoothed her tangled hair - frowning at herself in a mirror for several minutes, before pinning it with a clasp that looked something like a bird (or a Harpy perhaps), and arranging the loose strands into something that felt almost presentable. How had she become so… scattered looking. She wondered. Less than a decade ago, she would have known how to dress and how to act for a formal occasion. Now, she felt so lost.

Elsa stopped on her way to the door. Her fingers reached autonomically for the deck of tarot cards sitting on the shelf. She turned over the top card, her thoughts on Nicholas and the horrid vision she had just experienced, hoping for a flash of insight.

Then, she was out the door.

[Private to GM: It felt like the scene was wrapping and Nick leaving. But if he had more to say or do, I can just delete the part that happened "after he left". ]
This message was last edited by the player at 05:01, Mon 13 Apr 2015.