Jonathan Barnwell's home.

This message was last edited by the player at 13:09, Mon 01 June 2020.

The candle wiggled and writhed like a living thing. The scrape of aged vellum, yellow and stained, made the scrawl upon it even harder to read. The shadows that seemed to dance about the room were not foes but friends, for this was secret work, secret indeed. Not many knew of magic, and even fewer practiced the art thereof. Jonathan Barnwell, son of a baron and scholar, was just such a soul. Trained in the institution of law and a barrister be in far-away Oxford, the self-proclaimed scholar desired magic more than anything else in the world.  Upon that ancient scrap of paper was a spell! Mercy-be, but it was precisely that. With a handful of stygian black raven feathers and the right words spoken in the order intended would summon a guardian... or familiar perhaps. A raven of such wit and constitution that made all others pale in comparison.

The spectacles that clung on his long narrow nose like a living thing allowed him some focus. One thing for sure the script did not wish to be read much less understood. Damnation and ruin, there was a cloak spell which covered the old scrap! By gads! That was it then. It must be removed first and foremost. Then, an only then, would the words become legible to the common as well as the uncommon eye. The old man who gave him the spell and taught him the art had trained young Jonathan the spell that would dispell the concealing cloak straight away.

There were a bump and clang behind him! Old Barnabas was about then. The old spirit was curious was he? That he should if all Jonathan knew about him was true. A mage himself in a lifetime ago for Barnabas Lightfoote was a ghost you see. That, and the former owner of the Barnwell estate. Jonathan kept the name upon the house itself and the house itself mostly as it was, to appease the old phantom. They had a strange relationship, Barnabas and Jonathan did. One not quite sure of the other, though each was knowing that one required the essence of the other.

"I have it! The reason I could not read the damnable thing." Jonathan said to the darkness about him.

People like Molly the cook or O'Brien the estate foreman thought Jonathan a bit addled for often talking to himself. Because Jonathan was a good man, mostly, they thought him more eccentric than a madman. They would not understand about Barnabas after all. That old spirit used to be a magician himself and that his old musty tomes were tucked away somewhere about the house. Another reason Jonathan sought and bought the place. Jonathan knew of Barnabas and him he.

Angar walked through the estate and headed for the house. Bartholomew sniffed along the ground, the black and white wolfhound checking the area for food and prey. Of course, Angar knew what the hound was really looking for.

"No children here, greedy guts." He said with a smirk. Without fail, the dog performed for children until he got a treat. Which is something that even Angar did not have the heart to train out of the animal. He had been tempted to find some family and just leave the dog with them. It would be a kinder life than the road with Angar. However, loyalty defined the beast...so Angar let him stay. Besides, Bartholomew got him more jobs as hunter and animal trainer. As the dog was far better with people than Angar was.

He turned his eyes back to the house, and checked the help wanted sign again he got from the inn. The art confirmed this was the place, no doubt about it. He adjusted the musket on his back, checked the sword at his side out of habit, and walked forth to knock on the door. He may have to do it loudly if only a few where around.
This message was last edited by the player at 10:52, Wed 13 Mar 2019.

Damnaeshunn! Idle thoughts aere the Dehvihl's own werrkshopp, shuerre!

"Bee puttin' yer backs ta it lads!" O'Brien shouted at two of his fellows in the field. It was then that he spotted a stranger at the door.  He looked to be a strange one indeed. O'Brien dusted off his hands and started toward him. The man was armed to go ta war with the world it seemed. As he got closer, the Irishman cleared his throat.

"Begorra, an' even a thick-hedded Eirishmohn knoews 'tis  counterr-proeductive t'be ahrmin thysaelf in soech ah faeshoon! Whoo arre ye n' wot dah ye bee wahntin then?" O'Brien said with a cocked brow and a near scowl upon his face. Two big fists scared from brawling sat heavy upon his hips. This stranger may be Lucifer heemself fer all he knew! "Ye'll bee hohldin any trouble baeck ifin ye comme to realize the wisdomm o' me adviece cohnsernin' mee lads bee with'n shoetin' distance then."

In reply to Jonathan Barnwell (msg # 5):

Angar viewed the Irishman up and down. Adjusting his darkened glasses to get a better look at him. "I'm a hunter by trade. These are tools of my said profession." Angar's voice had a slight English accent to it, but it was hard to tell with the natural growl of his voice.

The dog looked from his master to the newcomer, but decided there was no threat. He then rolled on his back for tummy rubs. Angar did not accommodate the animal's wishes.

"I'm Angar Worthson. Come about the job. You Barnwell?" He said.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:01, Thu 14 Mar 2019.

O'Brien'slips went from an obvious frown to a definite tight line "Miester Barnwell tah the likes o' ye Miester Worthson... tis 't? Nay! I bee O'Brien lad. The foermuhn o' the place. Huenteer? Touels o' ah hieghwey mahn tis well eh Miester Wortson?" at this O'Brien nodded at the musket and sword. "Ne'er seeen ah huenteer uese ah sweard ta tack uun ah deer then. Soe? Wot job twould that bee then Miester Wortson? Nay ahfense ya seee? Miester Barnwell n' mee be mohre then lairds n' servahnts shuerre! We bee the beest o' compahnions beesiedes. N' nay ah parson does see 'im wi'oot mee parmission."

In reply to Jonathan Barnwell (msg # 7):

Angar squints with the effort of trying to get through the thick Irish accent. Even then, he was uncertain of some of the words. He exhales and tries again.

"Sword is for when I have to hunt men, not deer. Or...other dangerous prey. The job said Barnwell wanted a tracker and scout. Someone who knows the land. I spend most of my time out there, so I think I meet the requirements."

He reaches into his sling bag hanging at his side and hands O'Brien a slip of paper. A help wanted sign saying as much.

"That good enough for ya?" He said, his odd pinkish red eyes meeting the Irishman's.

It was then Bartholomew the wolfhound thought the two where playing a fun game. He got between the two men, tried licking Angar's hand, and then O'Brien's. When ether looked down, he once again rolled on his back to get tummy rubs.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:59, Fri 15 Mar 2019.

O'Brien looked at the paper for a few heartbeats more. In truth, Angar could tell the man probably knew not his letters but he did know Mr. Barnwell's signature though. It was this he sought and this he found at the bottom of the paper. Right where he thought it should be. With a curt nod, O' Brien gave the tall albino back the scrap of paper and knelt down to scratch the wolfhound's belly.

"Aye! That bee the 'un. Meister Barwell signed it shuerre! I'd beest bee taek'n ye tah 'im then. Ah gud dog ye haeve thar Meister Worthson. Ah bonny beest if I e'er seen un shuerre!" he said rising as a slow sure smile played along his lips. "Nay ahfense meant Meister Worthson. If'n ye woerk fer Meister Barnwell I'd ahpreciaete the same care from ye when strangers arre ahbot."

O'Brien offered Angar his big hand for a shake "Wellcum tah the Barnwell ahstete then Meister Worthson. Ye bee ready tah meat the mohnn I bee guess'n?"
This message was last edited by the player at 08:10, Sun 07 Apr 2019.

In reply to O'Brien (msg # 9):

Angar raised an eyebrow at the outstreached hand. However, the hound had taken to the Irishman, and he was more trusting than Angar was. Still, if Bartholomew accepted the man, Angar could do the same.

He shook the large hand, almost a paw really. Granted some men would use such a moment to test another strength as a show of dominance, Angar never did. His strength was best used as a surprise, against those who would underestimate due to his odd appearance.

"Aye, I am ready to meet the lord of the lord of the house."

Thomas grinned "Lairds o' lairds tis it? Aye! Cum then buht yer puhpp muest stahy oot. Thannks ye! I’m taekin’ ye ihnn... juhst innsiede the dohrrs 'ere, shuerre."

O'Brien opened the door and walked in, allowing Angar to follow. He then opened another door to the right that led to stairs going up.

"Miester Barnwell Sirah! Ye haeve ah visitor ye doo. Ah Meister Worthson Sirah! Seek'n employ 'e bee. Wot saey ye then?" Thomas still grinning turned to Angar and gave him a wink. "Nay bee too dismaeyed Meister Worthson. Miester Barnwell... weall 'e bee o' ah different sorts. Ah gud mohnn shuerre... jus ah wee bit different aye."

---

See the Estate layout above. Angar is now inside the front door and the door to the right leads upstairs.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:12, Sun 07 Apr 2019.

In reply to Angar Worthson (msg # 10):

Angar heard not an answer but the sounds of boots scruffing upon the wooden steps. Thomas stood aside and allowed Johnathan Barnwell Esquire, Master of Lightfoote House, to enter the hall. He stood of average height and perhaps on the thinner side. He wore an emerald green frock cloak, a white linen shirt with lace collar and cuffs, a black worset waistcoat- black with gold thread, and black trousers tucked in shiny black boots. The hand placed upon his hip held a scrap of paper as the other hand rubbed his chin. Bright green eyes took in the tall albino with a cocked brow. His brown hair looked as if young Johnathan had run his fingers through it many times over.

"Master Worthson is it?" he said, almost to himself. "Hmm... can't say I know the fellow, Thomas. I would most certainly remember one such as he, I would think? Wouldn't you?"

The young gentleman pursed his lips in thought for some breaths when his eyes went wide "Oh! Of course, I do not know him! You have just now come in answer to my post did you not? Yes! Of course, you did! Just look upon him, Thomas. The very ideal of a proper scout I must say. Well, now that that is all settled, good morrow Master Worthson. Good morrow indeed. Do come in... um... it seems you are so. Well, follow me then."

Over his shoulder, he spoke to O'Brien "Do have Molly bring food, Thomas. Master Worthson and I shall break our fast in the parlor."

Johnathan paused, winked, and smiled "Oh this way Master Worthson if you please. The parlor is just down the hall. No doubt as a proper scout you would have found it eventually. Of that, I am quite certain."

In reply to Jonathan Barnwell (msg # 12):

Angar removed his hat upon entering the house, as well as his colored glasses, and gave the owner of the estate a short bow. "Yer lordship." He said in his gravely voice. He suddenly glared behind him as the wolfhound moved to follow him inside. "Stay!" He said firmly, and the dog whined and moved outside on its own.

When Barnwell joked about finding the parlor, Angar shrugged. "Not much call for scouting inside of a manor." He spared one last look at Bartholomew, the hound wagging its tail outside. "Stay..." He said again, pointing at the animal until the beast finally sits and whines.

"Quite a nice place you have here, yer lordship. I am thankful for a well cooked meal. In the wilds, such things are a luxury." He followed Barnwell, trying not to loom over him. With the hat off and the collar of his cloak lowered, the other man could see Angar's scar clearly, the claw or blade seeming to miss the Albino's right eye only by a bit.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:42, Mon 08 Apr 2019.

Young Jonathan made the door and threw it wide. The esquire nodded inside. A slow smile crossed his lips.

"No! Indeed not Master Worthson as the parlor is just inside you see... or you soon will to be proper. The parlor as well a dining room you see? Do come in... perhaps take a seat by the fire yonder. A well cook meal you say? Aye! Molly knows her way about the kitchen I must say. Not to worry about such as that Master Worthson. Not in the least. By the fire then?" he inclined his head in the direction of the room beyond.

Just inside was a big room opened up before the scout. The first thing anyone would notice is the big oak table that would seat twelve in a pinch and ten with comfort. There were enough chairs for such and a few more besides. Beyond this was a sitting room of sorts. A long divan against the far wall and the window there as not to obstruct the view thereof. A desk and chair set were in front of the other window, opposite the fireplace. It was sturdy with paper strewn about like a whirlwind had not long come through. Nearer to the fireplace was two highback comfortable chairs, both set in front of the fire itself with but a small table to separate the two. A crystal decanter and two goblets sat upon it.

"Take a seat yonder Master Worthson! Would you care for a pipe before we eat eh? Well, I do have a spare if you have none. Worry not my good fellow. I would have a word or two if you please." he said as he made the fireplace and gathered two clay pipes then held them up. "The finest tobacco as you will find. Thomas assures me it is from the Carolinas but... well if it is not it is still good enough for me. Well then? A pipe for you?"

"No pipe for me, but whatever you have to drink I would gladly accept." He said, gesturing to the goblets. He does not presume to go and take said drink however. He waits for the master of the house to sit, and then he joins him in the other chair. "Begging yer pardon, Lord Barnwell, but yer request for work was somewhat lacking in the details. What do you require from a hunter and tracker?"

Henry drove his wagon toward the Barnwell Estate. Haunted Houses were always exciting, and she was mapping the area anyway. She pulled the wagon to a stop and climbed down out of the driver’s bench. Retrieving her long gun she hung it on a shoulder by a strap. She then went around to the back of the wagon and pulled a long heavy wooden box up to the edge and opened it. She took out a large wallet, hung it over her head and shoulder, and as the strap crosses her chest it became clear that she was, in fact a she. Lastly she took a second smaller wallet and hung it across the way, making an “X” between her breasts.

Henrietta strode confidently to the front door. She banged the knocker but turned to the side, mainly because she wanted to appear male for a moment longer but also to have a nice long look at the grounds of the Barnwell Estate. She looked for the way the land curved, the way that the trees grew, for any flowing water, and for any distinct landmarks. She committed this all to memory so that she could map it later.

When the door in answered she took off the hat and let the red hair tumble out. ”Evening good sir. Henrietta Van Ives, of the Syracuse Van Ives. I am mapping the area and confintially I’ve it on good authority that this house is haunted. Night comes upon us soon and I would ask for hospitality from the man of the house. I am willing to trade for this boon, I am fairly talented and ... well ...perhaps this is a conversation for the Master of the Domicile?”

In reply to Henrietta Van Ives (msg # 16):

Upon her approach, she sees an large wolfhound laying before the door. The dog wags its tail despite it's somewhat wild appearance, and sits up. Whining a bit and panting, but otherwise tail wagging. If Henrietta gets too close, the dog tries to lick her hand. Then rolls on it's back, its front paws reaching out for her. All while letting put a playful yip for than a bark.

Even as it does so, Angar stands from the table and put down his drink. "That's my hound. No doubt someone else is here...which is why he's begging." The Albino rolled his eyes and headed for the knock that followed his hound's pleas for attension. He let the master of the house see to the door however.

Henrietta had missed the large wolfhound as she approached. It wasn’t until the animal made noise that she took note. It was overtly friendly, rolling onto it’s ... no his back to show his belly.  She lifted an eyebrow at the behavior. This was why she preferred cats, they hardly paid strangers any mind. “Hmph.” Was her only reaction. She knocked on the door a second time.