conversations: human
conversations:  The cold iron grey house sits on the horizon, at a distance hard to distinguish from the natural granite tors of the moor.  The road up to the house is dirt and gravel, already slightly tricky with yestarday's rain.  The clouds overhead promise more, possibly a storm.  Despite the time of day, there is little more light than one would expect at dusk.
  
  You have any objects/items/clothes that area reasonable.  You got here by car.
  
  You arrive at the house at:
  Coleman 16:00
  Davernley 17:30
  Sweet 18:30
  Nye 15:00
  Breen 17:00
  
  I need 2 posts to get us started, the first as you arrive and when Tracey shows you into the Library.  Post the second in order of arrival, so you can include those who are there.  Tracey feel free to get involved in discussion, but ideally we want to get going with everyone there fairly sharply.
  
  The road up's description:
  The road is long and rather primitive, a private dirt and grit road.  There is only room to park outside the gates, the house is surrounded by a high and imposing wall.  Through the wrought iron gates you can see the squat and dirty form of the house, an unappealing and grim structure of stone with narrow windows and a wide roof that seems to cast shadows longer and darker than if ought.
  
  The front of the house's description:
  The courtyard is an old and worn patio with several slabs missing and/or broken.  There is a poorly kept and weed-ridden lawn surrounding the patio with a few highly unattractive and damaged nicknacks on it.  Before you are the heavy wooden doors of the house.  Off to the left is a crumbling Gazebo and off to the right is an inactive and stagnant fountain.
  
  The hall's description:
  The hall is in moderate repair with much of the decour replaced or repaired, but damp stains line the walls and the floorboards are clearly warped and uneven.
  
  The Library's description: The library reeks of rot.  Most of the books are rotting on the shelves after decades of damp.  There is a large, leather topped, reading table, a dozen large, mouldering, leather upholstered chairs and a new, somewhat cheap, flat-pack bookcase next to it.  There are several books on this bookcase that appear to be in a much better state of repair.
conversations: Evil DM Mark3:
conversations: human
conversations:  Mrs. Gwendolyn Tracey, house-keeper and cook of the Dartmoor household, buisied herself with the preliminary cooking and baking necassary for the masters dinner guests.
  
  She picked a pot's lid up, briefly tasting the stew. A quick look of disgust crossed her face, and she then proceeded to liberally apply salt to the concoction which see was almost sure was potato stew.
  
  Despite her preoccupation in the kitchen, her keen ears were waiting for the rap on the door that could herald the masters guests. She wondered if someone had come earlier and why they were-
  
  "Ow!" she pulled her hand off the stove, quickly shaking it "Damn this Kitchen!" she hissed, before going back to work.
conversations: Greystone:
conversations: human
conversations:  The long black car pulled into the round drive of the Dartmoor House. The driver, a young man obviously in no particular rush, got out of the front and walked around to open the door for his passenger. Mrs. Angelina C. Davernley sniffed at his indifference, and held out a hand so that she could be helped out. Dressed surprisingly fashionably for her age, in the latest trends of the fall, she was a handsome woman, though no would would ever have called her beautiful. Her cheekbones were just a tad too raised, her jawline a smidgen too powerful. How she had hated when the casting director had told her that, she reflected as the driver helped her to her feet. That was ages ago now though. She sighed as the driver shut the door. She'd enjoyed her writing career, but she could still recall being fresh off the boat, certain she'd be a movie star. She was pulled back from her memories as she realized the driver was holding out his hand. She sniffed again, and fished out a bill from her purse to drop in his hand, before turning her back on him and crossing the courtyard to the big wooden doors of the house. Pausing briefly to examine the crows feet and light lines around her mouth in a window reflection, she lifted the knocker on the door and let it fall with a thump.
  
   
   Spoiler 
   
   
conversations: The Antigamer:
conversations: human
conversations:  It is a long drive from his place to the house in the moors, and Mr. Garetsh Breen is glad to finally pull in the round drive with his old sedan. Getting out of the car he quickly huddles in his darkgray coat and makes for the door. He feels excited, as he's been waiting for this visit quite a bit. "Hopefully there is something of interest to be found here", he murmels to himself. As he reaches the door he stops, takes a moment to tone down his excitement and knocks on the door.
conversations: Moranica:
conversations: human
conversations:  Miss Candy Sweet eyed the house with displeasure the moment it appeared in sight. The weather seemed to reflect her mood, the clouds rumbling away in a grim monotone. She could hardly make out the details from this distance, but it looked to be a drab, barely maintained piece of junk as it was. Her hopes for getting into the good graces of this Belgian doctor waned. It didn't seem as if there was anything worth the effort, not if the doctor's tastes ran to gloomy little places like this.
  
  The car slowed as it reached the unpaved road leading to the gates and Candy felt every bump as they rolled along. Gritting her teeth, she clutched the handle above the window, beginning to regret this decision to come out all this way. Was a reconciliation with her mother worth this discomfort? Surely this doctor could have afforded a nice place in town. She was afraid he'd turn out to be some eccentric kook. They often had good money, true, but catering to their whims was a chore. The old ones especially had a knack for ignoring the most subtle seduction and being absolutely infuriating.
  
  The car slowed to a stop. Candy waited. The driver's door opened and the uniformed chaffeur came out, carrying an umbrella. He held open her door and spoke.
  
  "Careful, Miss. The road is muddy."
  
  Grimacing in distaste, Candy daintily exited the car, taking care not to splash mud onto her coat. She remembered to nod and smile demurely at the chaffeur. Propriety was important. Men, even lowly chaffeurs, remembered a lady who was nice to them. As long as they remembered, they were likely to do her favours.
  
  "Thank you, Randall." She said and looked towards the high walls and wrought-iron gates. "We can't go through the gates?"
  
  "No, Miss. I'm afraid it's locked and there doesn't seem to be any guards. The smaller gate is open, however. I presume the proprietor does not wish for cars to linger on his property." Randall pronounced.
  
  "Right..." She could see the house better now and she liked it even less. It looked broken down, a relic from some forgotten time, squatting there ominously with storm clouds roiling above. Candy shivered, clutching her coat around her tightly. "Well, I've come this far." She murmured and walked forward, Randall following with the umbrella.
  
  Inside was worse. Weeds covered some strange, deformed-looking things littering the lawn. Candy had no desire to figure out what. A dead fountain lay to the right, stained dark with moss and slime. A Gazebo stood crumbling to the left. The patio was similarly tainted, broken and missing slabs making a patchwork of the courtyard.
  
  Was this really the place? She felt a spasm of doubt. Did anyone even live here? It didn't look like any place a civilized person would live in, let alone invite a couple of ladies for a sojourn. Then she noticed muddy footprints leading to the door.
  
  In sudden fright, she clutched at Randall's arm, who nearly let the umbrella fall in surprise. Of course, she gathered herself immediately. Showing weakness was good in front of rich men. In front of servants, it just made you seem impotent.
  
  "Sorry, Randall. It's just...uncanny, this place."
  
  "I agree, Miss. I don't like the look of this place. I think I shall wait for you outside for an hour or so and then spend in the night in town, come check up on you in the morning."
  
  Candy smiled. "Why, Randall, that would be just wonderful. I would sleep easier knowing you're nearby. Thank you." She gave him her most dazzling smile. It heartened her to see him blush a little.
  
  Reaching the great wooden doors, she knocked on them. Once. Twice. Thrice. She intended to let her mother know exactly how she felt about being invited to a godforsaken dump like this and the earlier the better.
  
   
   Spoiler 
   
   
conversations: Shieldheart: