Hunter, Juggernaut, Assassin, Warrior (DNF)

Manor By The Sea

Walking into that manor was like walking into the past. The sweet scent of dust floated through the air, you could see the particles as they drifted passed the gentle light that broke through the thin white curtains. It was as if whomever lived here, had every intention of coming back one day. George swallowed the lump that grew in his throat. He knew whoever lived here very clearly never made it back. Sheets of white covered the furniture, cobwebs hugged the corners of the walls. It was calm.

The people who owned this place had money. Gold dripped from what was exposed, royalty was hung from the rafters. The house was build of birch wood, keeping a sense of clean and openness to the entire house. Patches walked in after the group and leapt onto one of the only pieces of exposed furniture. A simple chair, in strangely good condition. Patches lived here. So who took care of her?

George's eyes drifted along the walls and shelves. Books on every subject and knickknacks from around the world were displayed in a perminate layer of dust. There were very clearly paintings on the walls, but they two had been covered by sheets. As his brown eyes drifted about the house, he noticed a small glow in the wood-burning stove in the kitchen. A fire was there just recently, the embers hadn't completely gone out yet. 

Bad beat him to it though. Bad entered the kitchen, allowing a laugh to escape his laugh. Of course he did. Always one for a show. He thought, noticing the freshly brewed tea with four teacups displaced with dignity. Steam still rising. Someone was definitely here.

George watched Bad examine the tea when there was a sound of something falling upstairs. George was closest to the staircase. He gave a look to his friends and drew his dagger from his belt and readied it. He ascended up to the second story, expecting to find Dream at the top.

No instead he found Dog, sitting on top of the stair case wagging her tail playfully. George rolled his eyes and patted her head, slightly revealed that it was only her. Putting away his weapon, George continued to search the top floor, accompanied by Dog. Once it was clear no one else was here, George stood up straight. 

The first room he came too, the door was cracked open, just a enough for him to look into. It was a little girl's room. Filled nearly to the brim with toys from around the world, it looked like it hadn't been touched in years. George stepped inside the room, accidently kicking a small wooden doll. 

"This must've fallen and made the sound..." George said to no one in particular as he crouched down to pick it. 

It was hand made, clearly by and amature. Its grooves were uneven and the joints of the doll were clinging together with a thread of hope and a ribbon. It was cute. Curiously, George flipped it over, looking at the back. Carved into the back of the doll was the letter C. George shrugged and placed the doll back on the shelf were the imprint of dust claimed it's spot.

He left the room without much thought and continued on, closing the door behind him. The next room he went to however, had clearly been used, and recently too. 

It was that of a much older persons. Instead of toys and childish things, it was filled with books, maps and other things one would need for an adventure. A collection of daggers and knives were displayed proudly, there were even war medals. George walked in to a whole different world. The sheets on the bed had been ruffled, and there was fresh wax from the candles.

George approached the desk that faced the window and peered out. Nothing but ocean from here. He leaned forward, putting his hand on the body of the desk for support, when he felt paper. He looked down to see several pages of writings. George looked over his shoulder towards the door before picking up one of the pages. 

It was ramble writings really. Talking about the everyday life of the author. George became more and more confused as he read further. He had lived through these events. But of course the page was from a different perspective. Now who could be writing these? He flipped the page over and saw the signature.