The night of the Hunt and perhaps you've been injured fighting an especially aggressive Beast. Perhaps you got caught between Hunters and Beasts. Perhaps a rogue Hunter, drunk on blood, tried targeting you, but you managed to escape, albeit injured. You've made your way to Lumenwood, stumbling through the streets. You've heard tell of a diligent Blood Minister, to be found in a place called Arklay House, recognizable by the red and white wheel shape in leaded glass over the front door and the red and white lamps hung before it. But perhaps you've been warned that a few patients have never left its halls, either. You'll take your chances. considering your condition.
Spying a glow of red and white in the near distance, blurred by your pain and the rain or snow starting to fall, you hobble toward it. The house looms up, a brooding pile with vines growing about the enclosed porch room on one side of the front doors, the lights warm behind the leaded glass windows on the other side. You hobble up the one step to the door and knock heavily before you collapse before the threshold.
A lock rattles and a bolt shoots back. The door opens and a shadowy figure in black emerges, leaning over you. "Well. You've clearly been caught up in the Hunt," a baritone voice with a patrician accent speaks. He stoops over you and regardless of your bulk or build, lifts you as if you weighed no more than a feather pillow. He carries you across the threshold, pushing the door shut behind you both.
Perhaps the pain and the blood loss overtake your senses and you faint. A few moments or a few hours pass and you awaken on an examination table. A tall man, pale-skinned and with blond hair leans over you, his face hidden behind a surgical mask and glasses with blue-tinted lenses, a tan gown covering his clothes, and quickly assesses your injuries. "You found your way to my door just in time," he says, voice slightly muffled by the mask. "Now what got you into this state, if you don't mind my inquiring?"
[Permanent Open Post]
Spying a glow of red and white in the near distance, blurred by your pain and the rain or snow starting to fall, you hobble toward it. The house looms up, a brooding pile with vines growing about the enclosed porch room on one side of the front doors, the lights warm behind the leaded glass windows on the other side. You hobble up the one step to the door and knock heavily before you collapse before the threshold.
A lock rattles and a bolt shoots back. The door opens and a shadowy figure in black emerges, leaning over you. "Well. You've clearly been caught up in the Hunt," a baritone voice with a patrician accent speaks. He stoops over you and regardless of your bulk or build, lifts you as if you weighed no more than a feather pillow. He carries you across the threshold, pushing the door shut behind you both.
Perhaps the pain and the blood loss overtake your senses and you faint. A few moments or a few hours pass and you awaken on an examination table. A tall man, pale-skinned and with blond hair leans over you, his face hidden behind a surgical mask and glasses with blue-tinted lenses, a tan gown covering his clothes, and quickly assesses your injuries. "You found your way to my door just in time," he says, voice slightly muffled by the mask. "Now what got you into this state, if you don't mind my inquiring?"