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Morgeruat · 12-08-2003, 02:08 PM

the thing leading you skitters through the door and almost seems to walk up the left wall and squeeze through a small hole in the otherwise well tended ceiling. You don't have time to dwell on it's disappearance though, as a man dressed as a butler stands in the middle of the room, his uniform has been specifically tailored for his "new" form, he is well over 8 feet tall, hugely muscular, his deathly pale skin laced with scars and stitchmarks, many of which appear infected, his eyes seem watery and slightly loose in the sockets. With a voice that can only be compared to a rolling thunder, he intones "The Master will be up shortly, please make yourselves comfortable."

There are several overstuffed leather chairsaround which smell odd to your preternaturally heightened senses of smell, and a large couch opposite a fireplace that is covered by a dustcloth. There appears to be very little in the way of electronics inside the house, the light comes from lamps are all oil lanterns that appear to be very antique. the walls are bare except for a few picture frames with what looks like family portraits, they are of a series of men, the oldest picture appears to be of a man roughly forty-five short, bald and with a pronounced beer-belly.

But as the portraits continue around the room, they are younger men that are noticable more fit and taller, until as your gaze wanders past what seems to be the newest one you nearly jump as you see an exact replica of the last picture, his clothes are dusty and are about 100 years out of fashion, but they appear well tailored and well kept, despite the dust. The man himself looks truly beautiful, like a china doll, his features immaculetly carved his ivory skin, flawless. His fingernails are filed down to clawlike points, but his hands, like the rest of him are perfect, he is tall and lean, without being gaunt and his pale blue eyes quickly search out every detail of the room, and then fix, on you, a slight frown appears on his face, his finely chiselled mouth turns up in a grin finally, and it sends a cold shiver down your spines, "Greetings," he states in a voice with just a trace of an accent, it sounds vaguely romanian, but is almost non-existant so you can't be sure. "Orrick Has sent you, yes." It was a statement not a question, "How may I help you. As he talks his eyes intently study each of you in turn, before he turns to Bakilas, and says "You have lovely eyes, particularly the left one."

12-08-2003, 02:08 PM	#103
Morgeruat Jack Burton Join Date: October 16, 2001 Location: PA Age: 44 Posts: 5,421	the thing leading you skitters through the door and almost seems to walk up the left wall and squeeze through a small hole in the otherwise well tended ceiling. You don't have time to dwell on it's disappearance though, as a man dressed as a butler stands in the middle of the room, his uniform has been specifically tailored for his "new" form, he is well over 8 feet tall, hugely muscular, his deathly pale skin laced with scars and stitchmarks, many of which appear infected, his eyes seem watery and slightly loose in the sockets. With a voice that can only be compared to a rolling thunder, he intones "The Master will be up shortly, please make yourselves comfortable." There are several overstuffed leather chairsaround which smell odd to your preternaturally heightened senses of smell, and a large couch opposite a fireplace that is covered by a dustcloth. There appears to be very little in the way of electronics inside the house, the light comes from lamps are all oil lanterns that appear to be very antique. the walls are bare except for a few picture frames with what looks like family portraits, they are of a series of men, the oldest picture appears to be of a man roughly forty-five short, bald and with a pronounced beer-belly. But as the portraits continue around the room, they are younger men that are noticable more fit and taller, until as your gaze wanders past what seems to be the newest one you nearly jump as you see an exact replica of the last picture, his clothes are dusty and are about 100 years out of fashion, but they appear well tailored and well kept, despite the dust. The man himself looks truly beautiful, like a china doll, his features immaculetly carved his ivory skin, flawless. His fingernails are filed down to clawlike points, but his hands, like the rest of him are perfect, he is tall and lean, without being gaunt and his pale blue eyes quickly search out every detail of the room, and then fix, on you, a slight frown appears on his face, his finely chiselled mouth turns up in a grin finally, and it sends a cold shiver down your spines, "Greetings," he states in a voice with just a trace of an accent, it sounds vaguely romanian, but is almost non-existant so you can't be sure. "Orrick Has sent you, yes." It was a statement not a question, "How may I help you. As he talks his eyes intently study each of you in turn, before he turns to Bakilas, and says "You have lovely eyes, particularly the left one."