Stephen was not letting his castle be over run by fleshies. Call him what they may...this castle belonged to them. This castle was unlike any haunted place ever. It was well maintained. Well taken care of. Not even a speck of dust filled the corners of the room. He wished no harm but if slight harming was what it took to get the fleshies to leave than so be it. He would never seriously harm anyone. Not on purpose. He was scowling as he knew why this wench or woman or person had come. He was not leaving. That was all there was to it. He would appear in just ghostly form. The only room that never seemed to change was the room he was murdered in...his bedroom. The blood stained the bed no matter how many times the sheets and blankets were changed. It was cursed to remain there forever. He NEVER allowed fleshies to enter. He hated the fleshies. They would never understand. They would never care. So he would make them leave. He caused mischief because though he could become extremely solid, prolonged ventures of doing so became draining. Unlike other ghosts who couldn't form real sentences...he could. He could hold a lengthy conversation out of which people got Go Away. Leave now. So he stuck to those lengths of conversations. It was less draining to him anyways. He watched the woman enter and scowled. "Let the games begin then." He says. A rush of air let the ghosts know to begin to do their daily chores. As well as to tell the mischief makers to start floating things around and making lights flicker. Not too much. Candles flared to life all on their own. His doing of course. He was just a ghostly wisp. Traveling his way down the stairs. He carried his sword which he always possessed at hand. He never used it. "Go away. Get out. My castle. Get lost." He says with a ghostly wail (sorta) mostly an almost human voice. This ghost was clearly unlike any she had ever encountered before.