Welcome to Gaia! ::

If anybody ever went this far down this dreary street to this dark, wood-planked house at the very end of the way, they must either be lost or desperate. A dilapidated picket fence stretches around the front part of the property, remains of the dark earthen paint clinging stubbornly to the dry wood, while some sections of the fence are broken or gone all together. Weeping willows and ancient oaks arch over the weed-infested yard while slabs of gray slate step precariously through the brambles and thorns. A snarling face of a massive tarnished silver dragon glares down on the street from the peak of the house, its eyes seeming to follow any passerby. The shudders creak on their hinges in the slightest bit of wind, every now and again revealing the windows beyond, thick with dust and cobwebs. A porch circles all around the bottom story of the house, the wood dark with age and derived of any sort of paint for years. An overhang shadows the lower windows, casting the entrance and any windows into deeper shade. Stone gargoyles guard either side of the steps up to the porch, while tarnished brass dragons flank the entrance in columns of hand-forged fire. A bronze wolf's head knocker rests in the center of both double doors, their snarling lips pulled back to reveal fangs of haunting sharpness. The wood of the porch creaks when weight settles upon it, sending little streams of dust cascading from the support beams above, dancing in the faint light filtering through the trees and past the carved wooden pillars around the porch. An old and rotting rocking chair to the side squeaks at the disturbance, beginning to rock forward and back as though occupied. If a knocker were to be lifted and released, a sound like an ancient gong being rung echoes through the house as if tearing spirits from their sleep. The house lets out a groan of age, and the door haltingly swings back into darkness, opening to a maw of some mythical creature.

Inside, dust motes float in the still air, dancing like fairies. The entrance hall stretches for nearly twenty feet until it comes to an end at two double doors, their oak faces glossed with an old finish, nearly hidden by the gauzy black material that hangs over them. The wood floor is of dark oak, an old and slightly tattered rug thrown across it from one end to another. To the immediate left of the entrance door is a small cove with hooks inside for coats, one already occupied by, of all things, a heavy traveling cloak that looks like it has been recently used. On the right of the entrance is an ornate Maplewood table with an array of stones atop it in a brass bowl. If one were to examine it closer, they might be able to identify the arrangement as a symbol of protection and binding, often used by the ancient magic users of old. Further down the hallway doors open off to the sides, each closed and covered with velvet curtains. Before a person could make it any further into the house, however, a woman appears from a side door at the very end of the hall, her footsteps silent on the wood floor and rug.

Her hair falls in silky black waves about her waist, nearly blending into her black denim jeans and silk blouse. If not for the dark red net top over the blouse, one would think that her hair was the only thing she were wearing over her jeans. A red bandana lays wrapped about her throat, as though it had fallen there from being around her nose and mouth. Square sunglasses perch at the end of her narrow nose, making her seem as though she is inspecting her company over the rims like some matriarch would her subjects. It seems strange that she would wear her sunglasses indoors, but as she nears the entrance, one might notice that she is avoiding any of the slashes of sunlight that are slanting in from the side doors. The closer she draws, the more her features are revealed. Thin lips and a narrow jaw seem unaccustomed to smiling, more on the contrary, as though she were constantly fighting away the urge to frown. Most startling of all, however, are her brilliant crimson eyes focused in a searching stare.

When she comes to a stop, she seems to take in her company with a critical eye. She seems not to breathe as she studies the intruder to her home, and her form seems to fluctuate with shadow, as though it were not living. Finally she tilts her head to the side and nods very slightly. She turns and makes her way back down the entrance hall, her bare feet sinking into the rug.

Just before she turns the corner back the way she came, her voice floats back to the entrance. “Don’t get too comfortable. Strange things happen to those who stumble in unexpectedly. The parlor is the first door on the left. I will help you shortly.”

~~Dining Area~~

Dark wood cabinets line the walls here, brimming with bowls, cups, silverware, and other cooking items ranging from porcelain, glass and steel, to stone, wooden and iron. Herbs lay on the counters and table, some dry and others freshly picked. Candles glow from protective holders around the walls, the reflective backs casting light into the kitchen. Wooden chairs sit haphazardly about the table. A single sheet of ancient parchment lies on the table, an old quill pen next to it. Across the top of the parchment, in spidery writing, is scrawled the words:

Important Articles of Interest

~~Library~~

Oak bookshelves stretch from one end of this expansive room to the other, historical editions and research journals crammed into every space. A fireplace at the far end gives off a warm glow, illuminating the silhouette of a leather chair used for reading. A lamp stand holds a candle, wisps of smoke curling from its wick as though it had just been blown out. An aged notepad rests next to the candle, complex equations and archaic symbols scratched on multiple pages, the cover title written in sweeping Calligraphy:

Research

~~Parlor~~

With velvet curtains drawn tight across the windows, the only light in this room comes from a single oil lamp next to the door, the mirrored back of its mount reflecting the flame and illuminating the room. The oil is of a lavender and cinnamon scent, instead of the usual harsh odor. Three couches rest against three walls, their deep purple cushions puffy with the lack of use. The wood floor is covered with a rug of crimson and navy, with twisting vines of emerald along the border. A glass-topped table rests in the middle of the room, etchings of dragons beneath the surface. Glass orbs set in a pattern across the top, like an eight-pointed star within a square, within a circle. Each of the longer legs of the star is made of the silver-swirled orbs, the shorter ones the gold. The square of the symbol reflect blue, and the circle black. Where the longer legs of the star meet the outer circle, they are a deep crimson. This conversation piece is a divining symbol, used in this form to comfort guests.

Here is were guests are welcome to come and converse, as long as they do not touch anything.