Young Writers Society

The castle on Cabenditch Estate used to host the biggest events and balls of the century, it was well known that it was haunted, but the ghosts seemed to never appear. Until one stormy summer night, they all broke loose and released havoc upon the fine partygoers. Many guests simply vanished and have never been seen again.

A Decade has passed and the Former Lord has died, his son, the new Lord of Cabenditch Estate has declared the Castled cleaned of ghosts, and has sent invitations to the many dignitaries and Lords, and Ladies. For a galavant ball.




An elegant invitation appeared at the front doors of nearly every Person with a royal title within a day's ride.



Character sheet


If you wish to be a ghost tag me below and I will consider it. I don’t want everyone becoming a ghost

Cabenditch Castle OOC

I cant get the OOC thread link to work in the other post >.> So i put it here

Lord Cabenditch

Leader Ghost.

Character sheet

Ghost


Living person

Living person

Character Title: Duke of Brittany
Character Name: Leonard, Monet (living, not a ghost)
Character Family name: Monet (Mon-ay)
Age:36
Description(optional): just under 6 feet tall, rather slender regal, and imposing wears mostly dark green and purple, doesn’t often wear capes because they serve no purpose, black hair, tends to stand in elevated places so he is higher than the crowd.
Personality:(optional)tends to be suspicious, only came because he wanted to talk to lord Cabenditch about...something

(both living people, by the way)

Lord Cabenditch weakly placed the last neatly folded invitation in the basket. Then leaned back and tugged one of the rows of strings. Massaging his sore wrists while he waited. A couple of moments later a servant rushed up, dipping into a curtsy before folding her hands over her crisp white apron.

Cirillo, truned in his chair, facing the maid.
"I need an errand boy to deliver these to anyone with a royal title within a hundred miles, two boys if need be," he gestured to the basket. "and have Mandy prepare some strong tea for me."

The maid nodded, "yes sir," and heaved the basket off.

The Lord sighed deeply rubbing his hands over his face. He had spent the better part of the morning and afternoon writing quite a few invitations. Not to mention going over the ball's preparations with the head maid, Mandy.

The first ball in a decade needed a lot of planning. He stood, dragging the wooden chair with a brocade cushion over to the big window. The afternoon sun's rays warmed the stone floor, as well as blinding his eyes. Placing the chair in one of the bigger rays, he sat down heavily, then slid down slightly, letting his head lean against the back of the chair. Winching is the sun blinded him again. Lifting a hand, he draped it over his eyes, allowing the sun to wash over him. He sighed, if only he could just lounge in the sun for eternity, he'd probably get sunburnt.

A knock sounded at the oak door left slightly ajar.
"Come in," the barely audible order left his lips. The sun was luring him to sleep. He groaned inwardly, he should get up, lest he just nod off here.

Shoes clicked on the stone, coming closer. He groaned and using the arms of the chair, pushed himself back into a sitting position.

Mandy placed the silver tea tray on the desk he's recently vacated. "I added some biscuits, my Lord. You've barely eaten all day."

She shook her head, then poured the steaming tea into a delicate china cup, adorned with purple flowers.

'Sometimes I think I owe you my life." Lord Cirillo dragged the chair back to the desk, slightly less slouchily this time. Waving Mandy off after she poured the tea." than you, I've sent off the invitations, Please alert me if and when we get answers. Hopefully, we do." Mandy nodded and left without a word.

Cirillo munched on a biscuit between sips, feeling a tad more alive rather than a half-awake man with tiered wrists.

"À la claire fontaine m'en allant promener
J'ai trouvé l'eau si belle que je--"
"Stop that infernal warbling, Jeanette, your grandmere's resting!" Josephine roused herself from her brooding as her son shooed her youngest granddaughter out of the sitting room.
"Why did you do that?" she demanded, looking after the tearful child as she skittered off. "I was enjoying the music, Bastien." Her son, the spitting image of his father, offered her a folded sheet of paper in answer.
"I thought you might like to read this in privacy, Maman," he said apologetically. "And she's a terrible singer, in truth." Josephine shot him a disdainful look and picked up the letter opener beside her ornate armchair.
"You ought to speak of your children more favorably," she retorted, slicing open the letter with vehemence. "You do want them to love you as your father loved y--" Her voice cut off abruptly as she saw the seal of the letter she had just broken through. It was the seal of Cabenditch estate, plain as day upon the paper.
Bastien shifted uncomfortably as he watched his mother's face drain of color.
"Is all well, maman?" he asked quietly.
"Why has he written?" Josephine asked quietly. "What could he possibly have to say?" She unfolded the letter with shaky hands, scanning the neat writing. Another ball? After her Sebastien had been taken from her at the first? What could this whelp of a lord want with a ball after the tragedy ten years ago?
"This boy is a fool," she said vehemently, tossing the letter to the floor and standing abruptly. Bastien rushed to help her but was waved away. "Have a maid fetch me some paper, Bastien. I will be attending this ball, if only to tell this, this child that to bring up such a painful event is of great insult to both my husband's memory and myself. Ghosts, pah! You can never rid a place of ghosts, my son. Not once they've embedded themselves in every wall and stairway."

"Ghosts? How fascinating!" Victoria Parmesi leaned on her cane as she looked over the invitation. She quickly shuffled to the study and announced, "William, there's going to be a ball this March! Isn't that exciting?"
William Parmesi reluctantly set down his pen and glanced up at his grandmother. "Exciting... well... if you say so." He shrugged.
Victoria swatted him on the shoulder. "Have some enthusiasm, William! Balls are wonderful! All the fashionable dresses, the dancing, the showing off to other nobles..." She sighed contentedly. "Ah, we're definitely going."
The young man's eyes widened in horror. "Oh, no, Grandmother. We are most definitely not going to that ball." He shuddered. "Ugh, so much pretense and pretentiousness! It's an absolute nightmare!"
"But it's a nightmare you can write about!" Victoria singsonged. "Just imagine-- if your characters end up at a fancy ball, you'll need some real life experience to describe it, won't you?"
"Uh, no--"
"Shush, boy." Victoria rapped her cane against the floor. "We're going. Oh, and did I mention there'd be ghosts?"
William's eyes widened even more. "G-ghosts?"
Victoria's smile was brighter than the afternoon sunshine. "Indeed, ghosts. Perfect for a horror novel, no?"
"Well-- but--"
"No buts! I'm composing an answer right now." Victoria snatched up her grandson's pen and started writing.
William looked at the invitation in despair. Oh dear, what have I gotten myself into now?

“My lord?” a small man with an equally small intelligence and overdone mustache spoke up despite orders to be patient whilst the Duke thinks over his plea, “excuse me?” “I, please excuse my, impertinent tongue your mind seemed to have wondered.”

Alright perhaps his intelligence wasn’t that inadequate, he was alarmingly close, what was it he was talking about? Oh never mind a Duke shouldn't be bothered about these things. “Mr. Duvel, may I remind you that my mind never wonders and I was simply thinking over all the possible solutions to your case, and how to best benefit you and the people”
“Yes my lord, I am sorry. Perhaps I should come back tomorrow?” there a little flattery and some high talk and he didn’t have to worry about all the peasants and their squabbles, “hmm yes I think that would be satisfactory, you are pardoned for your disrespect, please leave my chambers”

The Duke of Brittany Leonard Monet sat up higher in his chair (throne more like) and thought about the day,
“Richard!” he called, his personal attendant came up to the throne, a slim man with a blond mustache, English in origin but still his closest friend.
“Richard, is there anything important I should remember?” “yes sir, the carpenters are making a new hearing chair as you requested yesterday and you have an invitation to the Cabenditch Castle ball.” “Ah yes” the Duke looked thoughtfully out the window “Cabenditch Castle” he’d heard the rumors, the story’s, legends, perhaps it would be better safe than sorry, though he was interested in talking with Lord Cabenditch about buying that land. “What do you think Richard?” “I think you should go, it would be a good opportunity to talk to Cirillo” “hmm, yes I suppose I will then. Also, find some decent carpenters and tell them to start work on a new throne this one feels too stiff”

Richard grinned “yes sir I will get right on it.”

Three sharp knocks rang throughout the room as sunlight started to peek through the drapes. It was most likely beakfast, delivered to her chambers as usual, a comforting element of routine.
"Enter as you wish," called the baroness. She smiled at Miriam, her lady-in-waiting, as the door swung open. "Any news for today?"
"We recieved an invitation last night, my lady."
Sure enough, an envelope lay on the tray beside the usual foodstuffs. The sender was clearly aware of the Lady Durare's mourning, as the open seal was black. Or, they were notifying her of someone else's death along with the invitation. It was most likely the former, but she still entertained the thought. "Please, bring it here."

Miriam did as such, handing her the letter and setting the tray on her bedside table, then taking a step back. Avvenire studied it for a moment. "The Cabenditch estate, hm? Say, Miriam, was this delivered via ghost?"
"Very amusing, my lady. I would advise reading this quickly so I may begin drafting a reply."
Lady Durare smiled to herself as she opened the envelope. "Oh, you're so stuffy. You know it's just the two of us here," she said.
The lady-in-waiting only sighed in response as she watched her read. Despite being widowed only a few months earlier, the baroness was awfully chipper, almost contaigously so. Almost.

As she finished reading, Lady Durare looked up at her attendant. "My, this is exciting. The first event in a decade! How novel."
"Then you would like to go?"
"Very much so. After you send out the response, return to me to discuss attire, alright?"
Miram nodded with a curtsy and left the room.
"Cabenditch Castle... this is going to be wonderful."