There was a family that lived in Koschei, in a large manor long before the infamous forest appeared or city of darkness was established. In those days the people lived quiet lives far away from the wars and intrigue of the mainland. They were a wealthy lot and the villages nearby knew the estate for its beautiful gardens that surrounded the grand maison. Among the exotic blooms the most notable were the lobelias that turned the flowerbeds into a sea of royal blue in Ignius. The name of the family has long been forgotten, but those who still remain in this accursed land know it by another name–the Lobelia House. 

'I heard the reports from the lips of a trembling man, face ashen white and gnarled fingers shaking. There is a house deep within the haunted wood, in the midst of the oaken faces twisted in agony. No light reaches it from the leaves above and the road leading to it is a fenny slough. What remains of the paved road is a trail of worn stones embedded in the land like half-buried skulls. The fog is thick there, yet the manor still stands. Though it has been abandoned for centuries and has fallen into disrepair, the lobelias still bloom. Those faint of heart claim that they have heard sounds of weeping from the dilapidated walls and voices that should no longer exist. Those less fortunate have disappeared within and are lost forever…souls taken by the Lobelia House.' 


Locations do not become haunted by themselves. There is always a reason from which stems the haunting. In most cases, these encounters are transient such as the apparitions and banshees in the Highlands. In another time this land could have been like so, though now a gloomy and oppressing air sits like a haze, clouding over everything. Ardea, by extension, was led to the ruined mansion by an owl. There was something about its presence that beckoned her to follow, and it took her from the open moorlands deep into Koschei. The wails of the specters were unusually quiet as she trod upon the stones, her eye on the snowy owl that stayed a few paces ahead. At last it came to rest upon a cobblestone pillar that once held the left door of a gate. Looming in the fog lay the overgrown beds and dried ivy that once graced the stone with an emerald green. Statues of white limestone severely eroded by time were unrecognizable to the untrained eye. The fountain basins were cracked; their fonts long dried up. Lion-faced knockers and spouts were more like the maws of gargoyles as their color was stained by age and moss. 

The estate itself did not have the allure to draw wandering passersby in. Perhaps the occasional daredevil or curious mind, but that alone could not account for the house's reputation. No, rather a more cunning and insidious ploy was put to use: the echoes of a voice the victim could not ignore. "…Help! Is someone there?" The voice made her stop. It was foolish, but perhaps you could forgive her. After all, when she heard the call it sounded just like Alexander… "Please, help! I've caught myself underneath rubble and I can't walk!" There was a flicker of hope that the friend she lost was still alive. A desperation for the unlikely to be possible. And so, like many others before her–Ardea walked forward and opened the doors only to be enveloped by a great blackness. When the darkness disappeared, the doors closed shut and silence fell over the house once more.

Inside the manor she awoke inside the foyer, once grand and opulent in its earlier days. The carpets were moth-eaten and the wood stain dull. The paper had long peeled away from the walls. The windows were not barred, yet a thick layer of dust made any light from outside filter in weakly. And no matter how hard you pulled, they never opened. The entrance doors were locked in a similar fashion, and attempts to break through were met with an opposing otherworldly force. There were no signs of the man she had heard while outside and the interior had been left to rot for ages. The old staircase went up both sides to give access to the second floor and there were plenty of rooms unopened from the foyer's view.

From the ceiling hung a great chandelier weighing at least fifty pounds of tarnished brass and cobweb-coated crystal. The diameter of the top tier was the height of a grown man, decreasing as one went down the tiers. How this managed to stay aloft was anyone's guess, though it would be wise to keep a wide berth of it. Finding it difficult to adjust her eyes, she conjured several deadlight wisps to illuminate the way. The wood boards of the floor were starting to fall to pieces too. A grand portrait of the house's former owners hung atop the staircase, and from what remained of the paint it showed a man and a woman. There was a child below them, though all the faces were worn off from the paint flaking apart. Carefully ascending the steps, she stopped in front to inspect the portrait's inscription. But before she could finish, suddenly a writhing mass of hands burst from below and she was dragged down into the shadows!

Damn bandits… No matter how much he would praise them for startling off his well bred and trained steeds that drew his cart, he was pissed that it even occurred. The shock seemed to have caused them to run into a frenzy before getting detached and escaping into the deep fog of the woodlands. "When I find those miscreants, I will display their heads on a pike," he muttered as he pushed through his lonesome before forging a sigil into his hand and holding into his ear. "Any luck?" he said, waiting the moment before a message was received.

"None on our end." "Negative." "I followed the tracks best I could, but now the trail has gone ghost." Damn it, that's just perfect.

"Well don't you dare give up your search unless you wish to be lost in these woodlands," he spat before shaking his hand in the air, as if trying to shake off something disgusting before returning it to his side. The longer they waste their time here, the more they will miss their next transaction as they were carried some fancy goods that could spoil if left out for too long.

A cry echoed through the woodlands, drowned by the trees enough to tell how far away, but enough for direction. The orc smirked to himself at this revelation, ready to get back on track and headed in that direction immediately. He did not exactly find the horses, but a maison instead. Could use a bit of touch up, but easily something that would fetch a nice pocket of coin indeed. It was hard to tell if anyone was home, but it would be rude if he simply barged in. After all, that would something his more barbaric brothers would do. Adjusting his tie and monocle, he cleared his throat before calling out, "Excuse me, anyone home?" before rapping upon the door. It did not take much to push the door open, he felt a strong force pushed against him before being washed away by pitch blackness.

When color returned to his sight, he found himself in what could complimented as a filthy kitchen. Dust layered the counters as the stove was woven with webs. The only items that dared share a piece of cleanliness was the Baltil finery on display, kept clean only by the glass case that housed them in a secured spot. "This helps me none," Qadim muttered under his breath before forging the sigil once more and holding it up to his ear. "How is that progress coming?" He kept his hand close to his ear, waiting, yet getting nothing in return. "I SAID HOW IS PROGRESS COMING?! I know damn well you can hear me! You respond to me in your sle–" His words were interrupted as he felt what he could only describe as a spike entering his mind. His body felt numb suddenly before falling backwards into the old stove, knocking over what pottery remained on the counter and the monocle bouncing off his face, revealing the focus he hid from the world.

Something was sealing him off from his crew, but what, he could not tell. For now, he had to get his head to stop spinning…

The kitchen Qadim was in used to be busy all day long, full of servants moving about and dishes clattering. The Baltil dishes that were immaculate compared to the rest of the room were used only for special occasions, though the other sets likely were just as elegant in their prime. The delicate porcelain was a wedding gift bought by the master of the house for his late wife. He spared no expense for her… The kitchen door leading to the dining hall was not locked fortunately, though that area was in no better state. The dining table was still present, the tablecloth still set, and the silverware arranged. Cobwebs hung over it all like a shroud, and the chairs of exquisite hardwood and gold were in place. Lining the sides of the dining hall were a series of tall floor-length windows with drapes drawn. The atmosphere was undoubtedly eerie, and completely silent. But if one listened closely, there was a tinkling of metal or glass that would fade away when one came to investigate. 

The chairs set at the tableside had their cushions severely degraded, save for a few seats. The seat at the table's head where the lord would sit, the seat where the lord's lady would sit, and another seat down the length of the table. That last chair was slightly smaller than the other two. These three seats were all completely clean, however the chair which the lady of the house sat in had its upholstery torn up with a surprisingly new knife embedded in the backrest. Whoever had done this clearly did so out of spite or an intense hatred. Even the wood bore nicks and scratches unlike the others. The only good thing about this was the knife was clean–clean of blood or anything unsavory. In the kitchen all the other dishes save for the Baltil dinner set were either chipped, cracked, or broken. If this estate was truly abandoned for centuries, what could explain the strangeness of these things?

Ardea awoke on a dusty wood floor surrounded by bookcases. The lighting was less dim than the foyer, thanks to the glass dome allowing light in from above. The smell of paper mold was overpowering, and the air itself felt thick with powder. Whether the dusty piles were crumbled plaster or the past remains of parchment was anyone's guess. Rising to her feet, she found she was unharmed and all her belongings were accounted for. Any sign of what dragged her here was long gone. In its time, this must have been a grand personal library. Shelves upon shelves of books whose titles had long worn away were left as a grim reminder of what it had been. The paper was so old, it was a miracle it could hold its form. The slightest touch could make it fall apart. Wrapping herself with her ethereal shawl, she pulled it up over her mouth and nose to allow her to breathe easier. 

There were no footprints or signs of traffic on the floor, meaning she was likely the first to set foot here following the house's ruin. The wisps she had weakly illuminated any words that were still readable on the tomes' spines, revealing an extensive collection of literary works. Poetry, history, commentaries, even the occasional book on gardening. One book whose letters were much less worn caught her attention on the top second shelf of a bookcase: 'A Lord and Lady's Lexicon of Floral Poetry'. It was a moderately thick text, and the leather cover and binding did its part in preserving the contents. Gingerly she coaxed it out from its place, and discovered tucked within its pages a bookmark. Where it was placed was a chapter dedicated to plants with names beginning with the letter 'L'. The specific pages by which the bookmark rested had four illustrated entries listed. 

The room was blurry as his eye tried to find its focus. Slowly, the room began to solidify once more and the pain mitigated away enough for him to find himself able to stand on his feet once more, though an extra moment of leaning on the counter was still asked for. As he rested himself a bit more, the orc tried to peer through the window, maybe to see where the well would be to get in a quick drink, but alas, the dust and dirt would not clear away as he brushed his hand over the window. Giving up on that, he dug into his coat for a small rag to wipe his hands off before picking up the fallen monocle and carefully getting that cleaned off as well before fixing it back over the fake eye he had.

"Well, no use wasting my time in here," Qadim muttered to himself, stashing away the cloth back into his coat pocket, trading it with a fresh cigar. As much as one would question what kind of flavors the man of those manor had, he certainly was not in a hurry to have a taste if the kitchen was like this. A snap of his finger conjured a small flame over his thumb to help get it lit, puffing a few times to help ignite the internal tobacco before blowing out the collected smoke. Once it was comfortably lit, he used the under bite of his orcish teeth to help support it in his mouth as he shook his hand to conjure away the flame before finally stepping away from the collected dust chamber that was once called a kitchen.

Of course the closest place to be linked to the kitchen was the dining room, a place that was once inviting to guests and family holding special seats for the family themselves. The table was certainly a fine wood as the wood rot actually seemed quite minimal for how old everything else was. Hell, if it wasn't for the tarnished conditions of the silverware that was on display, it could have easily been able to try and say it was fairly new. The head of the family most likely dominated the end of the table, and thus was easily the lost lavished, followed by the wife's and finally, a child's. Still, of the three, it was the wife's seat that drew attention. Not because of its decor (because that was for the lord), but by the knife that embedded itself into the wood.

Taking the moment to investigate, the number of gashes upon the wood and cushion was impeccable. "Someone certainly held a grudge for ya," he muttered through the cigar as one hand took hold of the seat and the other the knife before pulling the two apart. While he certainly did not have as sharp of an eye as a blacksmith, he could still give a relative idea on the sharpness by grazing it over one of the cloths that rested on a guest's seat. It took a little bit of force, and maybe the age did not help any, but the cut was clean enough to tell it was still a capable cutting object.

Still, he had to real use for the knife itself, so he rested it back on top of the table before turning around and heading forward. After all, this did not really help him find  way out, now did it?

In the darkest corner of the library a bright blue circle made up of light began to open and expand until a young woman with black short hair and a backpack filled with items stepped out. The blue portal vanished the second she had fully entered the library. Her eyes could see nothing but darkness and her nose could pick up a distinct smell of rotting parchment. Attie's eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness and she began to realize one important thing…

"Hmm. This doesn't seem like Adeluna City." Attie declared in a hushed voice. 

Dearly hoping that she hadn't accidentally opened a portal into somebody's house, she began to sneak around the old library, looking for a way out. Her portal magic had been used up and it would be a while before she'd be able to open up another one. Attie plucked a book off of one of the shelves, only to have that book crumble away at her touch. This library was poorly taken care of. Attie determined that she would have to have a word with the owners once she figured out where she was. Each step into the library made her realize that everything was abandoned. The floors were creaky and threaten to dig splinters into her feet. Every book was decaying or already had been turned into dust. Dust covered the entire room. 

Suddenly, Attie spotted little bits of lights that were gathered around a tall dark figure. The lady had long dark hair and such pale skin that Attie began to wonder if the stranger was undead. Perhaps this house belonged to a ghost? Fear ran down her back at the thought but curiosity began burning within her. Questions and wonders began flooding her head to the point that she couldn't contain herself anymore. Her curiosity was an itch for her mind that she desperately needed to scratch, no matter what may come as a consequence. Popping out from her hiding place, she rushed over to the woman. 

"Hi!" She exclaimed, "I have a few questions. Are you a ghost or zombie?"

The dining hall had two other doors aside from the kitchen. The first led back out to the foyer just below the grand staircase to the left, the second led to a dusty albeit well-preserved lounge. The upholstery had managed to escape the ravages of moths and were still functional with a bit of cleaning. The generally oppressing air that hung about the Lobelia House was less dense in this place, giving an area of brief respite. The tables were cleared, Abedi ottomans and cushions decorated the seats, and the potted plants were brown desiccated husks. An old music box was in the corner. The curtains still revealed dusty panes that obscured the outside. An idyllic oil painting of greener pastures hung above a low set of cabinets which were closed. The painter's name had long been forgotten, but perhaps this was what Koschei had been once upon a time.

The sound of creaking and a voice caused Ardea to quickly turn around. Her hand tensed, preparing to cast a glyph when she saw it was only a girl. Her posture relaxed, and she put the book she had been holding back on the shelf. This girl seemed to be human, and must have found her way here as well. "I am neither. Despite my appearance, I still draw breath." The spellsword answered the girl tersely. "How did you find your way through the forest?" She had yet to know that the Lobelia House's influence in trapping its victims was much stronger than one might imagine. Not only was it capable of luring those nearby, but it could even capture those from beyond. "Did you perhaps happen to look at the portrait atop the staircase in the foyer?" She still didn't know how she was transported into the library. It was possible this stranger had experienced a similar phenomenon. 

Right now her next priority would be to regain her bearings. With no knowledge of this house's design, Ardea did not know where those shadowy specters had left her. She began to search for the exit to the library, taking care to avoid portions of the floor that were severely weak. For a personal library, it wasn't massive which worked to their benefit. The door was soon in sight, with its handle wrapped by cobwebs so thick you could spin lace. Contemplating her next course of action, the dark-haired woman inspected the state of the door. The hinges had not seen a drop of oil for ages, and who was to say the lock was any better? "Pneuma." With a wave of her hand, a strong burst of wind rushed by taking the dust and cobwebs with it. Grasping the handle, the mechanisms clicked and turned in the lock yet when she pushed she was met with resistance. Attempting to pull the opposite way, the result was the same. "The door is stuck. The frame must have warped slightly causing a misalignment." 

Perhaps a bit more force was in order to open the way. Taking several steps back, at once she began tracing a large elemental glyph midair. The surrounding air began to chill, and when the final circle was complete–she shouted: "Grando magna!" A massive boulder of ice was sent hurtling at the door, slamming into it and breaking it free. The ice vanished upon impact and the library door swung out banging against the wall. All that commotion kicked up clouds of dust, and there was a brief fit of coughing until it cleared. The opened door led out to the foyer, the right side of the grand staircase to be precise. This revelation struck her as odd, as she was sure she had no recollection of opening this door. Suspicions aside, she turned to look back at the house's newest visitor.

It was the lounge that drew in his attention. A small place where family and guests could gather up and talk casual or handle minor businesses with visitors. It offered a leisurely window into the social life of the manor's owner, or at least what was. Still, the fact at how well preserved it was was drew him towards it. Again, solid wood that had minor wood rot at best and the cushioning, though stiff and thick with dust, was mostly in tact. If he were able to sell this home and its belongings, it would fetch quite a nice price.

As he examined the room, he spotted inside one of the windowed cabinets a crystal chess set. Sure, it was not unusual for a place like this to have such entertainments such as chess, cards, or dice, but the unusual thing was the fact that it seemed to have been in a board in mid-play. That, or it was set up for decoration-purposes. Either way, it caused an itch in his fingers enough to chance closer at the board to at least see if he could translate the board state. White, decorated in a solid quartz and emerald decals, seemed to have pushed for an early offense, causing black, in a pure onyx and sapphire set, to pull up a Large Castle early on while trying to keep back the push. Still, it seemed the offense was countered enough to halt, but with so many pieces gone…

"Wait a minute…" He almost missed it, but in the corner of his eye, he spied a pawn that had pushed itself to the front of enemy territory, being only a knight's movement away from an unmoved pawn. "An en passant, eh?" If he fell for it, it would have placed the king in check. There were no others to take it in range, so it would have been either to retreat, or to claim. For most, claim would have been the tale, but in its line was black's bishop, which meant retreat was forced. Doing that would get the pawn enough time to Rank Up at the other end of the board… it was a stealthy, but effective counter attack. The only question then would have been whose turn this would have been before it was stored away? Either way, the plays at hand he could see were very impressive, indeed.

The sudden boom and crash snapped him out of his daze towards the chess set and upwards. "Now that in the name of Dalanasca was that?!" he barked, marching himself out of the lounge and into the foyer, directing himself towards the staircase. With each step, his skin grew tougher and thicker until it was that of armor. Sure he was no fighter like the many people he had dealt with, but that did not mean he did not know the art of brutality.

After all, its in his blood.

After hearing that the lady was indeed alive, Attie couldn't help but feel a mix of relaxation and disappointment. A ghost would be scary yet there was so much that could be learned from the undead if the undead were able to communicate and having a ghost friend would be incredible. Believing that this woman wouldn't pose any threat, Attie let herself smile and relax completely. There wasn't any visible danger and that meant that there was no point in wasting energy on being nervous. The lady asked about how she entered the house and began asking about things Attie didn't know about. 

"Actually, I came here through a magical portal." She explained, "The portal opened up here instead of where I wanted to go. This is a pretty library, though I would like to speak to the owner. Why on earth would they allow such a beautiful library to go in such disarray? Books are treasures after all! I mean look at all this dust. The books are barely keeping it together. And all the knowledge from this place will be lost!"

Her hands were on her hips and she was looking at the library with a mixture of disappointment and sadness. Suddenly, Ardea waved her hand and a massive burst of wind rushed by. Attie's eyes lit up with excitement as this was a brand new magic that she hadn't seen before. The woman began creating a large elemental glyph midair and when the circle was complete, a boulder of ice hurtled at the door and opened it. A swarm of dust filled the air and Attie began coughing and trying to wave the dust away to no avail. When the dust cleared Attie's face was red from the coughing and her eyes were watery from the dust. Keeping her hand over her mouth to prevent more coughing, she made certain that she was following Ardea. 

"My name is-" A cough interrupted her speaking. 

"Sorry. My name is Attie." She said with a cheerful attitude, "What's your name?" 

Attie could hear footsteps in the distance, though she didn't know where they were coming from. Her hopes for meeting a ghost or some form of the undead were flying again as she looked around to find the newest stranger.

What was strange was that the girl who referred to herself as Attie claimed she had arrived from a portal instead of through the front doors. It did not appear that this girl had intended to come here, so why did this happen? In reply, the dark-haired woman responded with her name. "My name is Ardea. I happened to come upon this house while investigating local rumors surrounding Koschei Forest. From the library's current state, I doubt the owner is still alive. It hasn't been touched for ages." The three met in the foyer, each expecting the same thing coincidentally. Instead, they found the other unfortunate souls that had been snared by the Lobelia House for the time being. Ardea stopped when she saw the orc, and took a moment to realize where she had just come from. "How…?" She stared at the grand staircase, the very one she had been standing on before she was dragged down to the library. Keeping a wide berth from the chandelier, her attention was then fixated on the large family portrait she was inspecting prior to her spectral relocation. The painting had changed.

Before the paint was flaking and peeling; you could barely make out the shapes of the three figures. Now the paint was noticeably newer, and the three individuals were now clearly defined. There was a man, a woman, and a child all standing together in the frame from the waist up. In the corsage pinned to the woman's dress were the same bright blue lobelias that surrounded the mansion outside. The man's expression was stately, the woman's expression calm with a slight smile, and the young girl's face neutral. However as you looked at the eyes longer, there was a trace of unhappiness in them. The confusion on Ardea's face was visible as the portrait had seemingly restored itself. Facing the orc, she asked directly. "Who are you? When and how did you arrive here?" Knowing she was not the only one alive within these walls, who knew how many more people were trapped here? Outside a wind began to blow, causing the old boards to creak and groan. Dark clouds began to gather above the estate as a storm was beginning to form. Darkness came over the Lobelia House, dampening what dim light it had to offer. A distant rumble of thunder echoed in the distance and the brightest lights present were the wisps Ardea had, now catching up to her.

Two figures approached from above: females and human from what can be told. The taller of the two was certainly the more stern and serious type after the confusion washed off her face from something behind him while the smaller one had a curious twinkle in her eye that only the blind could miss. Still, the stern one had intense eyes as she made her demands on who he was and how he arrived here, showing that, outside the light of his cigar, she was the one providing most of the non-ambient light.

Picking the cigar out of his mouth, he exhaled the puff of smoke that he collected before stating, "You know it is rude to demand the name of someone else without granting yours first, right?" The air held silent for a moment before he sighed and added, "But if you must know, I am Qadim Garakh of the Garakh Trading Organization. We were ransacked by bandits on the road, and while the cargo and carriage is safe, they were able to scare off our steeds. Were you able to hear anything during your time here?" A strange request for the time, but he may as well see if anything could have been gathered from this meet.

Still, the drop in ambient light was certainly not pleasing, so as he fixed his cigar back  into his mouth, he snapped his fingers once more to conger himself a small ball of flame. It wasn't much light, but it was plenty for the darkening atmosphere, especially with the light reflecting off of the mirrored monocle…