The Whitblade Estate
A 5 story building, all peaked roofs and glinting grey windows, numerous chimneys poking out from the slanted levels like the buds of some new plant poking up from the dirt. It is elegant, in a slapped together way, some stately aura keeping it from looking like a rickety tumor jabbing up from the earth. There are many windows, and they all shine brightly in the sun, each of them barred in the exact center with a metal approximation of a sewing needle. This was a house built for a seamstress, to be sure.
The rolling grass of the grounds does not stretch far, only a few hundred feet to a well maintained stone wall, topped with the same approximations of needles, their eyes threaded with a thick silver cord, their tips sunk deep into the raised pillars. What little shrubbery that is about is well maintained, with carefully trimmed leaves and beautiful colors.
Well, except for the huge, uprooted oak tree that has seemingly been flung across the lawn, its gnarled branches digging deep into the earth and shoving up raised mounds beside them. A great deal of snapped twigs lay around it, and still green oak leaves have been scattered about the lawn. A man with shoulder length red hair and the beginnings of a beard is working on cleaning it up, whistling as he goes, while a small girl, probably 8 or 9, dances around his feet, her red hair spinning as she sings along to his tune. She doesn't seem to be helping much, but the man is smiling as much as he can without stopping his melody.
Now that you're closer, the whole estate seems to have dropped the veneer of elegance, and you can tell that things are starting to fall apart. Whatever this job is for, it must be serious. Several of the needle-adorned windows have been broken, the wall seems to have been painted and then scrubbed, and even the birds seem apprehensive as they chirp in the bushes. There is something wrong here, no wonder Lady Nadia has had to post for help.
Design
The grounds of the Whitblade estate are small, but well kept, with short, well trimmed hedges surrounding most sides of the oddly shaped house. The grass is green and short, and the paths are tiled and well maintained. To the east, there is a patio, with a table and chairs sitting upon it. Surrounding this patio is a well tended flowerbed, full of bright green plants in the hues of springtime. Nothing is quite flowering yet, but the buds are growing large, and seem as if any day now they might open to reveal beautiful flowers.
Entries
The walls of the Whitblade Estate are around 5 feet tall, though they are topped with an ornate fencing that adds another foot or so to their height. At the south of the grounds, there is a single gate, a wrought iron affair that mimics the sewing needle design of the fence and the windows, this time with slim lacework of iron bars woven around it, locked from the inside with a thick padlock, keeping out anyone unwilling to climb the walls.
Sensory & Appearance
The sun shines brightly upon the Whitblade estate, when it is above the stones of the fence and below the assorted roofs of the manor house, casting everything in warm yellow light. Birds chirp from within the bushes, and as a warm breeze swoops through the garden, there is a distant twinkle of glass windchimes from some unknown place. Many of the windows are opened, letting curtains billow out in the warm air and adding to the day a quiet sort of bustle from inside the house; the whirring clunk of a sewing machine, the sound of water pouring, a small hubbub of voices, all of which convey a feeling of gentle homeliness, a comfort that only comes from a long period of someplace being lived in and thoroughly enjoyed. If you were to close your eyes, it would be all too easy to imagine children playing on the lawn, or a game or croquet or cach played along the east side of the building, where the grass stretches long and without interruption. [go to gen. description]
In the blue-black light of twilight, when the sun is low beneath the garden wall, the feeling of these grounds is altogether different than in the warm light of day. Everything is cast in deep, almost blue shadows, and a light mist sweeps over the grass, making it dew-wet and glistening in the little light left. No birds chirp now, gone to sleep or less foreboding places with the setting of the sun. The house seems to loom now, intimidate rather than welcome, and its once charming appearance is now alien in the growing dark. Most of the windows are dark, but the few that are not blaze almost like eyes, seeing all in the coming night. Those that are broken gape like toothy maws, and though their glass has been cleaned from the lawn, the places where they landed seem to sparkle malevolently, inviting a step from an unwitting bare foot. The eccentric fence atop the wall casts strange shadows on the ground, and each seems to flicker out of the corner of your eye. It is unnaturally still in the mist, a thrill of anticipation sweeping over the whole estate, as if the land itself is holding its breath, waiting, waiting, for the other shoe to drop.
Alternative Names
The Whitblade House, the Fortress
Type
Estate
Included Locations
Connected Rooms
Owner
Related Report (Primary Locations)
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