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 Posted: Sun Apr 08, 2012 3:05 pm
Open and decaying for the past half century, the land and house itself has long all manner of magical protection. Enchantments, trigger-curses and any sort of Wizarding security have long since dissolved or been stripped. Muggles - ruin-goers and adventures or simple-minded teenagers - have had access to the isolated manor, leaving their mark in either signature or spray paint. The story associated with the reason of the estate's mysterious abandonment has never been told without alteration. Formed on the basis of fisherman's wives' gossip and delicate theories, there is no truth to the whisperings regarding the land or even the family associated with it. The Ruze Family have their name strewn all over Russian history as a large, advanced and rich family. One of political power, many secrets, exotic connections, mountainous finances and fiery red hair. They were famed for their influence, and even more so for never abusing it. The abandoned home was the main Ruze Estate - one of many scattered over Russia and even other parts of Europe belonging to the more distant branches of family. But their mark in history books and government ended suddenly and with no logic just before the end of the Cold War.
The family seemed to still live, but even their existence suddenly seemed to disappear like wind-swept ash. It was not until someone came to inspect the manor that it was confirmed the place abandoned and the family extinct. At least, to Muggle knowledge.
Now the house on the distant hill - away from the village just below or the large towns a train ride away - is secured with only safety tape bleached of color and silly warnings of snickering children. Yet a light has been confirmed seen occasionally in the middle window of the West Wing. Once or twice in the year - a flickering of candle light. People gasp at it to be a ghost, others dismiss it as bored teenagers.
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Posted: Thu Apr 26, 2012 7:24 pm
Eyes of a raven
and ears of a hound
to hear the snakes in the grass.
╚══════════════╝
The ricocheting darkness surrounding them seemed to rip at pores and sinew from the inside with screeching silence before their legs touched ground again. The magic of the Portkey transporting them through a trial that stretched the length of a blink but seemed to bend and kick each piece and particle of them before they landed. Strangely, it was the witch's favorite bit of transportation magic. It made her feel alive and in the terrifying rip and spark you could never quite prepare yourself for. From the dank and colored streets and branching corners of Diagon Alley the pair now found themselves in the hallowed ribs of a house that was only familiar to one of them. As they centered their cores of balance one more in the pit just below their diaphragm, Rosier stepped onto the strangely placed bubble of dustless-ness. The bare bones of the large house that was clearly decades and generations old was now decaying and being slowly consumed by nature like a half preserved corpse. Odd layers and densities of more time-matter than just dust covered corners and details of the stripped place with promises of history preserved in their existence. The house built large and clearly had once held within in it various expensive and elegant decorations and furnishings and people that spoke of title and money and power of the owners of the dead crypt. One could almost see the reflections of spirits in the sheet-covered mirrors and silver plates. The whispers of concerts given in the hall large enough to be a ballroom in the crystals of the half-bare chandeliers.
However, in the lay of pollution of time and history that enveloped the house and its contents and bones like a stilled photograph, there was one area - just three steps in front of the witch and the young wizard - that rang in suspicion and supernatural. A perfect circle on the ground where no dust lay - the redrose wood floor polished and the half of the carpet inside the circle cleaned and straightened. The candle sticks polished and brushed, a desk spread with notes and loose parchment and so many ink bottles - full or discarded and empty. Quills stacked over each other and a web hanging above it. Right above the desk, seemingly suspended by magic, was a framed picture. Glimpses of it could be seen under the thousands of newspaper clippings and photographs and scribbled notes that were all pinned and connected by a strand of red ribbon. Such chaos there almost seemed to be ordered.
Rosier suddenly moved from Tay's side, letting go of the hand she had ended up holding when they touched the enchanted toy together. The same doll suddenly relaxing from her grip and crashing to the ground with a hallow knock that sent some of the ever-still dust into the air. Discarded, Rosier moved to kick it before taking those last two steps to find herself in the safety encasement of the bubble of time travel. The one space preserved in light where everything else was in time and passing. Her heel barely made a sound on the creaking floorboards as she spun around to face the young wizard full on in a sober hardness in her eyes. "Welcome to Russia, William."
   
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Essy ze Ninja Vice Captain
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Posted: Tue May 01, 2012 3:00 pm
Slip out the back before they know you were there
and at the worst you'll see nobody cares, you don't want to be around when it all goes down...  William Dante Nott the Third Fourth Year, Slytherin
Russia, the word hung ominous and foreboding, like the sickening realization of being submersed in chilling déjà vu, and knowing, it was real. A heightened sense of knowing had inspired a breath taking awe of wondrous pride as his eyes of golden fires soared to explore the depths that lay ahead without ever taking a single step into the otherwise picture painted house of horror. Stories lay riddled within the cobwebs, and intricate details lined the film layer of dusting coating the rustic interior. There was an opulent charm shrouded beneath, and he saw the potential and what in it lay. Structures rose, high, and higher up, architectural conclavaes and rifts in the ceiling up above.
His attention wavered, if only long enough to watch the professor drop his hand, the tension immediately released from his wrist like a flooded gate, broken under pressure. His teeth clenched as he sought to find whatever was being hidden, he was here for a reason, and he knew it. But what?
The flames of questioning truth licked at his heart and begged for a mercy of knowing, as it always had. His lips pursed, determined and wild, the newfound freedom that Roi had given him after moving hosts had left him—volatile.
”I’m free,” he declared, nonchalant, as he spurred movement within him and suddenly found the motion to step forward, one, twice, three times, before standing toe to toe. ”But I’m sure you already knew that,” Tay carried on just as simply, for once, feeling complete and utter freedom in voicing his thoughts and opinions, especially without the demon lurking beneath his skin. ”He jumped again—that muggle spirit—how is it even possible for him to be able to control our magic? A squib can’t use a wand, why should he?” This had been the very question that sat direct and immobile in his heart since day one. The only crack of doubt that penetrate the otherwise solidity of loyalty—loyalty to a fault. Even despite the day’s consequences on his uncles ship, and meeting the otherwise missing member of the Balford family, all he could focus on was why.
╔══════════════╗
Location: Ruze Manor, Russia
Injuries:
Mood: Confusion
╚══════════════╝ ..even heroes know when to be scared.
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Posted: Tue May 01, 2012 3:33 pm
Eyes of a raven
and ears of a hound
to hear the snakes in the grass.
╚══════════════╝
She watched as he took the steps towards her. Literally crossing a line into the bubble of preservation that was so lacking in reality it seemed to consist only of it. Those three steps seemed to personify the very lust and grasp of freedom that shone so brightly in gold as it did now in the spoken air. Her straight-haired head nodded with a smirk at his realizing words, "I did. Though, being told something holds a different power than stumbling on it." Her acid eyes turned to the hanging frame with a flash of disgust. The web there was very complex until you looked at it closely, at which point it was pathetically childish. Links made between two things that a common mind could link without the held of red twine; leaps and bounds that even with explanation were already impossible. The woman behind the face frowned as the features outside to the air smirked once more. Sharp mind piercing the next words of distant frustration that sounded from William. Thoughts of her own weaved in with the air he had just burst out with and she returned to his gaze. "I don't know, William. And since even you - a subject to his mind and his power - does not know either, I doubt even he does." A wind of ash played in her eyes. Human remains burned by a fire too hot, "An old magic or some fabrication. Regardless a muggle is a muggle. Perhaps not as easy to dispose of in his state, but there is a way, I am sure." Her eyes then burned as the frown that had been swimming under the waters of the stolen skin then resurfaced on thin lips. Darkness ensnared in it, "It won't taint our magic any longer."
A wand then produced itself in the silent way that was not unfamiliar to William Nott. It cut through the air, slashing it into fine ribbons as two chairs then appeared. Their design and fabric just as old as that of the surrounding articles of the house covered in dust and time and forgotten things. Rosier sat upon it, wand still out and the hand holding it placing itself on her knee in contemplation. Assessing eyes then turning to Tay without the natural scheme and manipulating strings in them but instead a hard purpose. "You want to dispose of him for more personal reasons than mine, and I will help you, if you help me clean something up just the same." Not a purpose; too calculating and decided. A trust; a light that had perhaps never shone in acid irises before and touched the pigment in an alien way.
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Essy ze Ninja Vice Captain
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Posted: Fri Aug 16, 2013 12:12 pm
That's why I slipped out the back before you knew I was thereAnd I know the way I left wasn't fair I didn't want to be around just to bring you down Remington Jagger Nott 
Time was of no essence, its keeping or loss otherwise. The grains of sands struck hard in the crystal hourglass of his mind, recounting the events as they played over and over in his mind and the snap of the flickering reel to comfort him. The ground was cold and hard beneath him. Uneven and misshapen, it must be of stones, he realized, or the work of poor masonry. He groaned as frozen fingers planted firmly down, muscles ached as he lifted up off the floor. His vision was hazy, unfocused and blurred for now. The light was bright; it blinded him as he struggled to keep his eyes focused. ”The hell—“ he growled under his throat, swayed on his feet to hold his balance.
Finally, his eyes adjusted and flinched away from the ferocity of the sun seeping through the dusted window several feet high above his head. The small, round window had creeping shadows lining up and down, the shadow of bars. He couldn’t remember anything, not really—
Sophie-! Where was she?! Panic coursed in his veins as he swiveled in a circle, searching a hint, a door, a key, a person. No, William had her. William had her. He slowly felt his memories rushing back to him, a straggling river of information being beaten down by the sun. And a chill rushed over his flesh, rising the hairs to stand on end. It was so cold. That’s when he noticed his clothes, or, not his clothes. Calloused fingers prodded the stiff cotton shirt forward, it was thin, weak, and not his! A snarl came across his lips as he realized he’d been deprived of his wand, his armor, and perhaps even his sanity.
”Welcome to Russia, Remington.” Cold, the voice of his nephew from behind spun him around on his heels and iron demand bled into his lips.
”Tay--!”
”I have a lot of questions for you uncle,” he said slowly, almost soothingly.
Snap. He heard the splinter of wood before he ever even noticed it. His wand. It was held tightly between Tay’s fingers before he severed the wood. The two pieces clattered to the ground and rolled to his feet.
Remington couldn’t breathe again, but this time, it was of his own accord. He was numb, broken. He couldn’t understand why. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t argue. But Tay hadn’t seemed to mind at all. ”You’re going to tell me everything you know about my mother—
“And then you’re going to tell me everything you know about Krina. Do you understand?”
He didn’t move.
╔══════════════╗
39 years old ♛ 6’3” ♛ 194lbs
with Tay Home ♛ Office ♛ Island╚══════════════╝
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Posted: Mon Aug 19, 2013 3:43 pm
That's why I slipped out the back before you knew I was thereAnd I know the way I left wasn't fair I didn't want to be around just to bring you down Remington Jagger Nott 
Water. He gasped, his cheek pressed down against the cold, stone floors, wet. The putrid smell of blood, sweat, and something else he’d rather not guess gagged his senses. A low, carnivorous growl thickened in the depth of his throat, a bestial cry. He inched himself to his knees, but the palm of his hand slipped on the slick, dirty floors and he dropped into the puddle of filth below him. Water. It was all he could think about, other than his daughter.
He’d long since lost track of the days that passed, he could see the sun and the moon mocking him as they climbed up, and up, each and every day while he was trapped down below. The small, portcullis of a window bled in the cold, harsh winds of Russia’s summer. The snow dwindled in and left the stonework damp under him. Every ragged breath drew a plume of hot, white puffy clouds from his dry lips to skate away into the frigid castle, escaping through every crack and crevice it could find. Remington lay there through it all.
He heard footsteps, but couldn’t find their source. Not until a steely hand had abruptly dug short, chipped fingernails into the back of his neck and dragged him upright. Barely a groan and grind of bones jostled the man from his thoughts as his nephew positioned him on his knees. He wavered, wobbled on the flimsy strings of muscle that held him steady. The joints cracked from their wear of misuse, rickety and weak like rusted steel.
”The last you saw of her was in the alley behind your shop, correct?” Remington heard the voice, but his eyes could adjust. They couldn’t see. Water. He ached in ways he’d never dreamed, but his heart burnt the most; it pumped acid in his veins that clotted thick and slowed the flow of blood, what little of it he had left. ”Why? Tell me again!” Louder, the voice deafened his ears and wavered backwards and forwards on his knees. The only instinct he had was to raise in arms in defense of the incisions and scorched flesh cracked open with his violent upstart. ” Ignus flagellum,” the words were cold as the stone beneath his scabby knees. A crack of fire dragged his attention from the speckled mass of colors blinking in with the fuse of black and white to catch sight of the fiery whip extended from the boy’s wand.
Remington couldn’t move. He saw only the young boy of youth in his eyes, even as the slash of fire struck down on him hard and ripped through the flesh with a sickening sizzle of his shoulder blade. A splatter echoed as he hit the floor. ”Her wand….” He tried not to cry.
“We took it, she lost it. William—
“Your father stole it from the scene of a crime… Alfons… Al took it. She—She— ….
“She… shackles. She stole it. For… For… Phinelia……
“To kill her.”
Water slid down his throat. He didn’t know how, didn’t know when, or how long he lay motionless in between.
Sophie…..
╔══════════════╗
39 years old ♛ 6’3” ♛ 194lbs
with Tay Home ♛ Office ♛ Island╚══════════════╝
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Essy ze Ninja Vice Captain
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Essy ze Ninja Vice Captain
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Posted: Wed Aug 21, 2013 5:25 pm
Here comes the darkness. It’s eating my brain.
Now all the lights are driving me insane This fire is blazing, and I’m still inside. 𝕺cclumens 𝖂illiam 𝕯ante 𝕹ott the Third 𝕳eir of 𝕯uke of 𝖂ales, 𝕾lytherin 𝕬lumni 
”I wanted to obliviate you.” His curling breath rasped against the tight, frigid Russian air that permeated the castle dungeons. Eerily calm, the trenchant depths that lie between them were still and silent, undisturbed by the lashing tongue. A cigarette in his hands was pressed to his lips, a plume of smoke escaped and grew and grew and grew. ”But I don’t think I will.” The harsh winds outside belittled in comparison to him, and as he bent down to hover over the still body, deprived of warmth and water, he smiled. ”I want you to remember what happens when you lie to family, uncle.
”Family, honor, duty, after all.” The greedy osmosis of fire latched on to everything its ghosting hands could, ensnaring the icy air with a burning ferocity, embedded in the older man’s flesh until it singed. Tay could almost smell the rotten crisped fumes intermingling with the cold. But Remington hadn’t said anything; his eyes had said it all.
He noticed the peculiarities in his uncle’s eyes then, the speckled green against the shine of gold, like spotted moss over a rusted bronze. He tilted his head, adjusted his weight from one crouched leg to the next as he leaned perilously close over the body, beaten and bruised. ”I know what you’re thinking.
“You want to know why. You want to tell me there must have been another way…” His voice trailed off as he tilted his head again, inspecting with careless eyes, ripping the wings off of a butterfly. ”There isn’t.” The young man said with such conclusion, he should have just killed the older man right then and there. Forsake him for his sins; remove the stain from their family and his daughter, too.
”But I need you.” He finally decided, a callous hand reached forward and prodded the filth by his chin, chipped nails dug in tight as he forced him to look him directly. ”You work for me now, do you understand?” He didn’t wait for a response, he doubted very much the man beneath him was capable of such, or anything at all, really.
”You’re not going to tell Alfons this, you’re not going to tell him any of this. And when he asks you about the veritaserum,” he paused, his next words spat out a burst of venom. ”Tell him Krina sends her regards.” He sneered as he lifted himself to his feet, not once daring to believe that her cause was dead, even if she was. He turned on his heels and utter incantations under his breath, the counter charms and spells for the wards he’d cast as he stalked back to the door.
He pivoted on his heel one last glance, pointed his wand at the other end of the room and summoned a series of orange vials, each one labeled. ”You’ll need those.” Then he was gone.
 I just want to die here…………………..........……..
You won’t let me out alive.
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