Guadalupe
*`A dim-lit village that skirts the outer paths of the foot of the vast palaces northward. Silver chimes distantly echo as the bleak winter breeze sifts the stagnant snow from atop the rickety roofs of ashen-discolored wood.`*

The endless fields of snow that consumed the world from horizon-to-horizon are slowly replaced by the ever-approaching sights of hills, houses, pathways, and colorless trees, yet with all still covered by the omnipresent hues of winter white and the persistent light of the full moon's pale blue. Fangs of frost receded as one progressed beyond the untouched atmosphere of the snowfield's ethereal cold, ice, sleet, and snow receding from the path ahead to reveal the tarnished gray of the marble road that ran the length of the Second Floor. The unease of deathly stillness is now broken by the shifting dynamism of a realm that demonstrates consistent signs of life, and the cold path is divided manifold — marble forks to wood, and while the road still continues, opportunity branches from its lifeless nature in the form of several paths that bifurcate, each leading their own unique destinations in the encompassing village of quiet.

A candle flickers in the distance, yet is swiftly snuffed. One could swear to hear the sound of snow rustling in the midst of the trees eastbound, but to investigate would prove futile; as soon as one would check, the origin of such a sound had already shifted into the unseen. A dark silhouette passes by an empty windowframe, yet before the eye could meet its form, whatever may have cast it has already departed. Footprints remain imprinted into the well-walked pathless streets of the village, but a subtle draft sweeps fresh snow over such bootprints, and all such signs are lost. The movement of life flows through the frigid but still-liquid stream that cut through the settlement, yet as the eye would dart to confirm, the chill of the night would clasp and crackle, freezing even the moving water solid.
_ _

In the moment of arrival, the village seemed to go still — quiet, quieter, much quieter than even the snowfield that preceded it.
There was left naught but the faint vestiges of a vibrancy within the blend of silver, gray, and white, now frozen still in the dimming light of the Moon.
Animation was, yet ceased to be, departing in a moment's notice, as the intruder encroached.

And in this quietude, only one noise was left to hear



*`ʳⁱⁿᵍ`*



The chime of a reality else of here.



The moonlight grows dimmer, and even what little faint traces of life remained soon departed, leaving only pure motionlessness within the village.
The path forward and beyond the settlement persists, yet those that delve further into its midst — westward, unto the forest, and eastward, unto the distant and undisturbed housings — hazed, the conclusion of either detour growing obscured in the sudden dark and silence of the village.
Susan
The Rook chooses to continue down the *Marble* Path, slowing down briefly as his stored energy depletes itself; looking to the walls of the village that, previously, had seemed to bear more signs of life than it does currently.

He comes to a complete stop, looking at the candle in the distance; flame dancing weakly, A sign of life — or, it would be, were it not to be suddenly snuffed out of his vision. *Oh. How weird.*

Even so, The Rook gets back to a light jog to cover the remaining ground, and, indeed, once he entered the village, he again comes to a complete stop as his (admittedly poor) senses fire off. The sound of the snow swishing as the snow pelts its many leaves as the world around grows still and empty. 

A silhouette peering from the window catches The Rook's eye, piquing his interest as it simply *Disappears*. Surely, just a trick of the mind.. Yet, although The Rook is brave, the amount of sudden silence, and seeming disappearance of all residents who, up until a few mere moments, seemed to have been there in his mind. 

A sound to his side captures his attention yet again, as the night takes the water into its freezing grasp, holding it from moving — perhaps a known phenomena that an artificer would be able to grasp.

Something is very clearly *Wrong*, here. *Very* Wrong.

_ _
So, The Rook steps forward, hearing the ringing of a bell as the darkness closes in, relying on purely his survival senses to continue his trek, deciding to check first the house with the haunted window. If there was a person inside, perhaps he would be able to make contact with them — and even figure out what exactly has gone so poorly since he got here. The Rook steps up onto the porch and meets his worst enemy.

A doorknob.

The Rook raps on the door with his armored knuckles, hoping for a response before attempting to use the foul machinery that would cause him such incredible distress. For the sake of this village, it is best if The Rook does not ever interact with a doorknob
Guadalupe
The approach of the door is met only with silence, and the umbra of the surrounding atmosphere only intensified as he progressed through the village. A deep sense of unease churned from within, the aberrant nature of the shifting reality about himself granting much cause for disturbance the longer he remained.

*Though it is utterly silent and deathly still, he cannot help but feel that there is something prowling within the midst of these streets.*

*`Knock, knock...`*
*`Knock, knock...`*

...Even the sound of his own knocking seemed faint. It was oddly suppressed, the clatter of his armor against the wooden doorframe. Certainly, the snow played some part in dampening the general noise of the surrounding atmosphere, but even the reverberations that flowed through his own body remained repressed to no more than a whisper in volume. One would scarce believe that such a noise would actually alert anyone beyond the doorway — if there *Was* Anyone within the strangely-still and ever-quiet house which he did — or perhaps did *Not* — see a silhouette move from within. There was nothing to be seen beyond the window but darkness, and he would be met with a complete lack of response as he knocked.

...

...

...

...

...

*||`"ᴼⁱ, ʷʰᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇˡ⁻"`||*

*||`ʰᵘˢʰ, ᵈᵃᵐⁿ ⁱᵗ..."||*



*||ᶜˡⁱᶜᵏ , ʳᵃᵗᵗˡᵉ . . .||*

*||"..., ...."||*

*||`"...? .... ....."`||*

*||"..., ...."||*

...The building again goes still.
Susan
*I think I'm being stalked.* He notes down mentally, looking back to the street with a vigilant eye to see if, perhaps, something is moving in the shadows. 

The Rook raises the palm he used to tap on the door, examining his armored forearm as he remains fixated on the street. "That is weird.." He mumbles out, thoughtlessly. Perhaps he had knocked too softly?

His voice stills as he holds his breath if only for a minute, listening to the sounds around him for any sign of disturbance: met first and foremost with the sound of what *Seemed* To be voices from within the house he had knocked on, but, with all the eeriness, perhaps it is a *Trap* Designed to lure him in. One can never be too sure, right...?

He raises his hand again, assuming that whoever is inside had just locked said door, opting for a new strategy to gain the attention of whoever is inside. Ambush or not — locked or unlocked —, it's better for *Them* To come to him..

He knocks on the door again, yet, no sound is made; rather, the impact of his fist leaves a purple glow on the wood as he taps it again, being careful to use *Minimal* Force. He taps 3 more times before releasing the build-up on their door, hopefully amplifying a knock or two to a reasonable degree of sound.

"Some thing is very not right, here.." He thinks aloud, remembering the guardian's warning to him at the gate. Beyond the wall as he, there are many things that will be out for blood..

The Rook is tempted to reach for his morningstar, yet with no visible target or perhaps even a *Reason* He drops his arm to his shoulder instead, opting for a fisticuff approach should something indeed come from the road towards him. 

"Excuse me!" He calls, hoping to appeal to the potential inhabitants. "I think I am a bit lost!"

It's immediately after that The Rook realizes that raising his voice when potentially being snuck up on is not likely to help his case.