ʙᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇғᴜʟ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪsʜ ғᴏʀ

[skylark]

Going to be adding onto the story posted here, fixing grammatical errors, and any strange pacing. No posting please!
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[skylark]

ʏᴏᴜ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ
ɴᴏʀᴛʜ ʜɪʟʟ ᴄᴇᴍᴇᴛᴇʀʏ, ʀᴜssɪᴀ ┃ᴍʀ. ᴇᴅɢᴀʀ
His name was Laurence. The cemetery was
quiet and lonesome- but you weren’t all
alone. You were a journalist; here on
business to discuss information regarding
certain people and the status of the
property. Here, tangled in the pine bristles
were hundreds of souls and their tragedies.
Their stories were ancient- but sadly,
unresolved. That’s why they're here.

Vlad (or Sir, as he has you address him)
managed the depressing plot of land. It
was flat and absolutely drowning in a dark,
melancholy haze. You could only feel a
deep sense of loss as you went. Mr.
Edgar tended to the troubles of the dead
as well as homed them; you could go as far
as to call him a ghost therapist. During the
visit, he refused to let you go through his
living quarters- but after a bit of small-talk
gave you permission to the library. It was
small and run-down with endless shelves
and objects in dusty glass display cases.
“Most of them are obituaries, biographies,
photos; heirlooms. They are preserved
here.” He paused, you remained quiet. His
expression was dull. You turned to examine
some of the artifacts. His ears straightened
upright and his accent rolled in his throat.
“Look but don’t touch. We’ll be watching.”

With the knock of his cane, he began away as
the wood floor creaked with his strides.
The door shut with a pulsing echo. You
felt hollow, but again: surely not alone.
......ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ

..┃⬆ ᴄʟɪᴄᴋ ʙᴏᴏᴋ ғᴏʀ ᴏʀɪɢɪɴᴀʟ ғᴏʀᴍ ⬆┃ sᴄʀᴇᴇɴsʜᴏᴛ ғᴏʀ ᴄᴏᴅɪɴɢ┃ ᴀʟʟ ᴀʀᴛ ʜᴇʀᴇ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ ┃ᴠʟᴀᴅ ᴏᴡɴᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴇxɪᴅᴇ.┃sᴛᴀ.sʜ┃

[skylark]

After taking a moment to remember what you needed to do, you took out the notepad from your bag and remembered, yes- His name was Laurence. Jotted down, you had what information you were hoping to find- and you had the sneaky suspicion that you would find it. You took another step and your weight made the boards in the floor creak again. It smelled of dust and rotting leather.

You were looking for answers. Your family tree was broken; with little to no recollection of what happened past him. And even with that, history didn’t provide a sufficient amount of information regarding the subject matter. You made the decision to travel from your standard, weekly journalist job to make one of the new biggest headliners and discoveries of the decade. At least, you stayed hopeful you would. This would pay off.. right..?

Once you reviewed your notes one last time, you began looking through the many shelves of books and albums that were stored away.
“Look, but don’t touch. We’ll be watching.”
The words rang in your head as you reached out to take something from the tightly packed rows. You sighed, thought to yourself for a moment, and took another glance around.
“We'll be watching.”
At this point that wasn’t hard to believe. But you weren’t going to give up all of your hard work for a little scolding.

So you took out the first book. You felt a sense of pressure as you held it, and the layers of dust rubbed off on your hands. It was a photo album from another family line. You would have to search more.
You kept on for another twenty minutes or so like this. More and more would you feel the pressure you did initially- that you would be caught, or, worse. Though most of this pressure was something external. Something was pulling on you. Hounding you. Screaming for you.
Something was desperately after your attention, and you could feel it pushing down on your shoulders. This grew. You soon had no choice but to stop ignoring it.
Instinctively you turned your head- it was like a reflex, but stronger. Your eyes positioned themselves directly where they felt they needed to be. The strange force made your blood rush and you could feel a painful pull coming from your chest. Drained, you took a few steps and grasped onto the book- stumbling it around in your hands until finally seeing the cover.

Your hands felt almost as if they were burning. They flared up when the thick tome touched you. Your palms almost felt magnetically latched to it, and the pressuring feeling turned from a pain to an anxious wave consuming your body. There was a lock. You could not open whatever it was.

Your eyes made their way to the large sigil forged to the cover. You stared. You felt exhausted, but you concentrated on the shape. Deep within the pages of the thick object did you feel something almost.. pulsing. Coming from the center of the symbol. There was a breathing, a vibration. You could feel it.
It was almost.. alive.

All you could do was stand and stare at it in fear. You didn’t know what this was, but you had a good guess. You let it continue to flame up, until finally, the book rumbled with energy. Scared, you threw it on the floor and leaped back. The book was steaming. The pressure put on your body became unbearable. The glow from the tome became brighter and brighter, consuming the entire room.

The light became all you could see.
ʏᴏᴜ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ.

.....................

.....................

ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴅ

[skylark]

ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ʜᴜɴɢʀʏ
The spirit latched onto you and fed off of your energy.
You will be completely okay, but for now- in a sleeping state.
For a small window of time, the soul will have enough power to freely travel from their enclosure.




normal ref ghosty ref
ʟᴀᴜʀᴇɴᴄᴇ ʀɪᴄʜᴀʀᴅ sʏʟᴠᴇsᴛᴇʀ
Goes by “sᴄɪʀᴇ” in texts, curses, and contacts.

ʙᴏʀɴ: January 17, 1692: Lancaster, Lancashire.
ᴅɪᴇᴅ: August 4, 1729: The New England Area. Age 37. Gunshot.
ɢᴇɴᴅᴇʀ: Male
ᴢᴏᴅɪᴀᴄ: Capricorn
ɴɪᴄᴋɴᴀᴍᴇs: Watch it. I wouldn't pull any pet names with this fella if I were you.
.

.
.ᴏᴄᴄᴜᴘᴀᴛɪᴏɴ..................
.
..ᴛ̼̲̟̐̑̕ʜ̤̞̖̗̋̆ͦͩ̇̇͋̿̕ᴇ̛͖̦͊̈ ̡̝̫͈̈̋̂ͯ̓͠ᴏ̵͓͇ͫ͒̋̅́ᴄ̝̙̬͙̱̱̜̀̆̏ͣ͑ͮᴄ̳̯̲̉ͨͮ̊̋̊ͬ͠ᴜ̢͇̘̅͂̿́ʟ̩̝̹̼͖ͧ͌ᴛ͖̪͉̖̗͂ͫ̒ͦͪͪ

ᴛʀᴀɪᴛs + ᴅᴇsɪɢɴ

sᴛᴀɴᴅᴀʀᴅ: Hair Edit
ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴏɴ: Longer Fur (Mane, Leg Tufts, Back Mane), Custom Tail
ᴜɴᴄᴏᴍᴍᴏɴ: Custom Pupil
ʀᴀʀᴇ: Third Eye, Glowing, Two Tails
ʟᴇɢᴇɴᴅᴀʀʏ: Shine on Body, Undead
Magical Abilities: Transparency, Flight & Levitation, Possession/Manipulation of Objects, Color Changing, Energy Stealing

ʜᴇx ᴄᴏᴅᴇs
✭#EEE5E0 ✭#C1B6B0
✭#A08D81 ✭#827165
✭#433931 ✭#2C241E
✭#82604A ✭#4D3227

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

........sʜɪɴᴇ/sɪɢɪʟ
......ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴛs ᴍᴇᴀɴɪɴɢ

.........................................................................
.....ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇɴᴛᴀᴄʟᴇ...............................................ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴇssɪɴɢ sʏᴍʙᴏʟ..........................................ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇsᴛɪɴɢ sʏᴍʙᴏʟ
Representing the alignment.............................This symbol represents....................................A symbol simply meaning a
of the elements, and.....................................a magical blessing or power.................................sleeping or hidden thing.
connecting them with the..................................(linked in Wicca with the...............................Depending on the circumstance,
soul. Can represent.......................................Moon Goddess and her triple....................................the meaning is up
connections to magick, the........................aspects). [note: Laurence’s zodiac,................................for interpretation.
universe, or the spirits..........................Capricorn, is in detriment to the moon.]

ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴜɪᴊᴀ ʙᴏᴀʀᴅ
Using the Ouija Board, you can contact and
communicate with the spirit. Click the ouija
board to begin! Before you do, make sure
you use the guide while communicating
so that everything goes through properly!
Without the guide it will not work!

[skylark]

ʜᴜᴍʙʟᴇ ʙᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢs

At this time Lancaster was a steadily growing city. The civil war between the King and Parliament had long passed and manufacturing became a major part of the economy. Sitting on the west coast of the United Kingdom, the city had better access to the West Indies and North America than the rest of the country- and with great benefit. Soon the city would be bursting with new goods and artistically flourishing.

Mr. Sidwell Sylvester made ends meet crafting and selling furniture. The surge in mahogany imports promised good business locally and overseas. A reputable name in town, often spotted in the crowd. No one said raising two children alone would be easy- but no one could predict the future, either. He was the father of two lively young children; Laurence and Margaret. An inseparable pair. Their mother had passed away due to complications in Laurence’s birth, leaving Sidwell to raise the two and run his woodworking business alone. As a child, Laurence would always feel somewhat responsible for his mom’s passing.

glassesless ref
ʙᴏʀɴ ᴛʜᴜʀsᴅᴀʏ - ᴊᴀɴᴜᴀʀʏ 17, 1692.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
ᴏɴᴄᴇ ʙɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴛᴡɪᴄᴇ sʜʏ
A very sensitive young soul- Laurence was the well mannered “goody-two-shoes” of the family. Quiet, obedient, and curious- he always had the knack for learning new things and an even bigger one for asking his father too many questions. He held high expectations for himself, and became broken when he failed or did the wrong thing. He could be stubborn, and at times so shy he'd stay completely silent when someone tried to talk to him- but under it all was just a boy who wanted to do the right thing.
ʟɪᴋᴇs: being read to, catching pigeons, peppermints, learning
about new things and places, bugs, the ocean, seeing shapes in
the clouds, school, his family, vegetables, seafood
ᴅɪsʟɪᴋᴇs introducing himself, the cold, being without his glasses,
sour candy, bullies
.
.

ᴍᴀʀɢᴀʀᴇᴛ ᴄᴇᴄɪʟʏ sʏʟᴠᴇsᴛᴇʀ
ʙᴏʀɴ ᴛᴜᴇsᴅᴀʏ - ᴀᴘʀɪʟ 3, 1691.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏss
Margaret was definitely the leader of the two, wether Laurence liked it or not. A spunky, sociable, and carefree young girl- who was never afraid to speak her mind. She took great pride in being the older sibling, and at times, could be competitive with Laurence. And although Sidwell absolutely loved his daughter, her loud attitude would come to worry him. It was never a surprise when little Margaret got herself into some trouble because of her big mouth. All in all, she was still daddy’s little girl- and Laurence would get her back for all the ego when dad made her put on that dress she hated.
ʟɪᴋᴇs: meeting new people, showing off, playing games, taking extra
desserts, looking pretty, seeing the theatre, talking, her family
ᴅɪsʟɪᴋᴇs school, meanies, vegetables,

ᴍʀ. sɪᴅᴡᴇʟʟ sʏʟᴠᴇsᴛᴇʀ
ʙᴏʀɴ ᴍᴏɴᴅᴀʏ - ɴᴏᴠ 11, 1669.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━
ᴛʜᴇ sᴍɪᴛʜ
ʟɪᴋᴇs: his family, food, the holidays,
sports, romance, humor, music, ale
ᴅɪsʟɪᴋᴇs back-talk, not being able to spend time
with the kids, sudden change, complicated things
A very hardworking man; almost constantly in his workshop hammering away for his business. With a reserved and prideful ambience-- the loyal father, Sidwell Sylvester was born right into work as the first son of his parents-- following in their footsteps to help keep the family stable during the days before the industrial revolution. He would learn to construct buildings and large structures, enduring hard labor at an early age. Throughout his teen years and right into adulthood, he would have the reputation of someone you could always count on. He would frequently do favors and jobs on the house for neighbors and friends.
As a young man, he was very mellow and carefree in character; good humored, and cunning. He was known to make clever little snarky comments here and there during conversations, and just made people feel comfortable. At times he could be single-minded, forgetful and even reckless; but at the end of the day he had very good intentions for everything he did, with strong determination and will.

He would have already known his future wife, Ms. Elinor Chatwyn, since he was a child. Their hometown of Lancaster was tightly-knit, so they had already crossed paths on multiple occasions. She lived down the street from Sidwell, and met through their parents' relations. It would not be until Sidwell was a young adult that he would find himself falling for her- and they would date on and off throughout the years. Finally, in 1691, they would marry and have their first child (Margaret) just months afterwards.

As a couple, Sidwell and Elinor had a positive chemistry and would be devoted parents to their young daughter. Elinor would take care of housework and the child, while Sidwell continued to work. Months after Margaret was born, they would plan for their second child, Laurence- and expected all the best.

But it would not be so. Elinor would pass away due to complications in his childbirth- a common fatality at the time. Sidwell would be left to take care of the two young children and supply for the family all by himself, no matter how grieved he was. Initially, he would hire help to watch the children as he worked, but as they got older he would need them less and less. It was rare that he would get any free time with the children, but he would always promise to have dinner with them every night.

Still after all of this, Sidwell remains a very calm and loving role-model figure. He has a positive and confident demeanor, and loves to make jokes- though he is much, much more reserved and quiet than he used to be. He is still known as a very trustworthy and respectable man in town, and he sure earns the title.

.

Now, in the beginning of the 18th century, education was becoming more and more accessible to the populous. Laws were being carried out to help more people get into schooling. Church organizations arranged charity schools for younger children, where Laurence and Margaret would attend.
note: Due to views in this time period, they went to separate schools according to gender. Women got much less of an education and did not stay in school as long.
Classes would teach basic things like reading, writing, and arithmetic- then dismiss. Laurence and his sister would go to school on the weekdays, come home to their father, play, and attend church on Sundays.

Laurence would do well in school. Writing fascinated him, and it was something he wanted to learn how to do properly. Stories, other languages, all of it- little itty bitty Laurence couldn't comprehend it all. He could listen to it like fairy tales all day.
In school, the kiddo didn't have too many friends. Maybe one or two that he stuck by. He had a hard time meeting new people without running out of things to say, or simply blushing or stuttering until he couldn't keep up anymore. As happy and curious a child as he was, it was difficult for him to open up comfortably to others. Anyway, he always had his family to come back to. Margaret would stick up for him at any time of the day, and knock the lights out of anyone who even gave him a backwards look.

Speaking of Margaret, she didn't really like school. She enjoyed learning to read and write- and succeeding at it- sure, but she would much rather be socializing with the neighbors or playing with Laurence outside. Sidwell would reassure her about how important education was- how he never had this when he was her age, and that she had to be a proper lady- yaddah yaddah yaddah. But what does the old man know? She knew what she wanted to do, and was set in her ways. She wanted to have fun. This isn't fun! Stop lying, Laurence!!

When they were not at school, they would enjoy each other's company as well as their father's. Sidwell would let them see his workspace and current projects- and when he had spare time, would make some little things for them. Laurence enjoyed hopping around town with his sister (and occasionally her friends) catching birds and bugs. Margaret thought most of it was gross, but that never stopped him. Laurence was in awe of the animals- especially the birds and their wings- and would tell his father all about them.

When Sidwell had the rare opening from work to spend time with the children, he would take them to shows and special events. They both loved it. Laurence couldn't take his eyes off of the stage, and Margaret couldn't keep herself from yelping the occasional "whoa!" or "don't do it!" The arts were a major part of the time period- with dramas, tragedies, stories of the gods- other worlds. Music, especially classical and folk, were blossoming into what would later be regarded as timeless masterpieces.

[skylark]

1706 (ᴀɢᴇ 14)

Laurence would continue to do well in school throughout his teenage years. He would visit his local libraries and take out new books in a weekly routine; challenging himself to soak up all the information from each and every one. His favorite subjects were history, philosophy, and zoology- and he had big dreams about studying the world. His family was very proud and encouraging of his passions, to which Laurence was very grateful.

Often you’d find him relaxing outside under the trees or by the shore, observing. Thinking. Sometimes, with a book or two. He was someone who was just captivated by the world, and craved a deeper understanding of it all. He was driven by the unknown, and his wild imagination would compel him to go after it.

Margaret would leave school earlier than Laurence (age 16), both due to the restrictions of the time period and for the pursuit of her future life. She would go on to do small performances in theatre in her free time, but mostly devoted her hours to her relationship with her boyfriend- who she hoped to marry. It was very common for young women at this age to have plans already for settling down.

For a few years she would still do minor practicing with the local theatre groups- behind the stage, helping with the preparation for shows and taking acting classes after hours- though it began to fade as she took on a new role with her relationship. Laurence and Margaret would remain very close siblings- spending time talking and relaxing together. Sidwell, still busy 'round the clock, would still meet up with them for dinner every night, and continue to hold a positive relationship with both. Despite this, Laurence would slowly start to spend more time working and studying rather than being with the family.

1709
(ᴀɢᴇ 17)

Like any other visit to the library, Laurence had gone to return books and cycle them out for some new ones. He made his way over to the many familiar shelves, scrolling over the covers and covers that he had already read. He didn't have anything particular in mind, just whatever caught his eye.

Hmm, no. Not that one. No.. no.
Ah-ha.
"The Witches of Lancashire."
Fascinating.

Pulling out the book, he inspected the cover- the age, the wear. It was definitely not written recently.
Locating a table, he sat down; adjusting his glasses and opening up the book.

Among one of the most famous witch trials in English history, the Pendle Witch Trials of 1612 involved a group of nine women and two men accused of murder through the use of witchcraft. Many were from the same families, all living in the Pendle Hill area- a place famous at the time for being a lawless and twisted region. Many who visited any nearby land or property of the witches did not return, or were found with severe/fatal injuries. They would be tried in the city of Lancaster- only one being found innocent- while the other ten were punished to death for their alleged acts.

He scoffed as he flipped through the pages. What foul, demonic folk. He agreed with the writing, agreed with their fate and brutal punishment.
Yet suddenly- he had an epiphany.
He was unfamiliar with the taboo subject of witchcraft in history.
What if he were to read about it?

And so- curiously, yet fearfully- he would select books to take home with him.

ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀ ᴄᴜʀɪᴏᴜs ᴛʜɪɴɢ
For the next few days he would engulf himself in happenings of witchcraft. He was horrified to admit it but- he found it so.. Interesting. Being a man so in awe of life, learning new things like this just excited him even more. He wanted to know about this part of the world. He needed to explore this region of thought.
No, no.. What the Devil are you talking about? You're mad. You're not like the evil, hellish witch.

Soon he would enter a state of denial and inner conflict. He was absolutely bewildered by his own behavior. He could not- would never empathize with that of a demon so vile. To find himself in such a position. He would never have thought.

But- he found it so curious. He craved the answers, to try it out for himself. The text written in these books brought attention to an entirely different point of view- and as much as it scared him, it tantalized him.

He would delve even deeper into his studies. Seemingly every moment now would he spend writing his findings, reading other publishings and slowly separating himself from people. Margaret would remain unaware of the changes in his character- being busy with her own happenings. His Father would have some concern, but none too tremendous to draw Laurence's attention.

It was time for a great change. Hearing wonderful things about land abroad, Laurence would sail to America for college.

[skylark]

glassesless ref
ᴋɴᴏᴡɪɴɢ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ɪs ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴛʜɪɴɢ
ʜ̡̮̦̞̝̣̱ᴇ͓͖̩̭ ̡͚ɪ̣̳̭̰s̼̪̱̩͉ ̱͖̙̠̩ᴀ̰̪͔̠̘ ᴅ̨͚̙̥̦̞ᴏ̪̱͔̣͈͉ᴏ͖̞ͅᴍ͕ᴇ̥̭̟̱ᴅ̥͎̹̩̟̰̥ ̥͚̹̣̰̀ᴍ͓̱͖̮͉̯̺ᴀ̴̲͉̙ɴ̰̪̤

Now living in Connecticut, Laurence would attend school at Collegiate School (which is now Yale University). He would be very happy there, and enjoy the new scenery of The United States. During the day he would go to college, study, and work a side job at the docks where he would fish for extra earnings. Life was going smoothly. He would continue to study and research in his spare time, still with dreams of getting a career in education after graduating.

He was a serious, proper, and regal man. Very well-spoken and mannered- only putting in his input when necessary. Quiet and serious. Under it all, though, he had a certain sense of humor. A sarcastic way of joking about how he saw the world. Despite his aloof demeanor, behind his shell was a happy (and frankly, emotional) man. (He was also slightly closed off to the idea of love and romance, but he did date a few women from the town. None would work out, though.)

At times he could be bossy, harsh and even selfish. If you proved to him that you weren't worth talking to, you would be blatantly ignored. At times he could be brutally honest, and wouldn't bother if his attitude came off sharp or offensive. He spoke his mind and had trouble deciphering if his words were hurtful or not. He held high standards and sometimes saw himself above others.

He would stay in touch with his family and frequently exchange letters; Margaret (now an adult as well) would continue to succeed in her acting passions- and as their father got older, he would begin to slow down his business. Margaret would be there to take care of him if he needed anything.

Laurence still enjoyed his outings to sit in the grass or by the shore to think. He would still catch pigeons- and now as an adult, quail and other game for supper. He loved nature; he loved the inner-workings of life and science. There were even other students from abroad that would make him feel more at home, like his good acquaintance from the town, Pierre, who he would study with. The two would frequent each other to review their findings in Philosophy. Things were looking bright for Laurence, and his future career in education was in his reach. He would be able to study all around the world; see even more beautiful things. Unlock those secrets to the universe that

would help shape the world he lived in. Now, in the year 1714, he would graduate university at age twenty two.

From then on he would still work many side jobs while doing his own studying during the day, when school would have been. He would study the animals in his area, review scientific publishings from the american researchers, and add onto things he wrote while in Lancaster. Speaking of his findings from Lancaster, he would even dig up the notes he took on witchcraft. Those interesting views on the way our minds and souls operated. Being more open than he used to be, he would take another crack at it.

Slowly he would experiment with the things he had noted from home. He would enjoy what he was learning, and the practice (although he was still a bit unsure of it) would make him happy. Alongside his work with philosophy and the environment, he would incorporate spells and the occult. These mystical things seemed like nonsense at first, but he would grow skilled in the concepts and come to enjoy theorizing about them. When it was done right, he saw witchcraft as a harmless additive to what was already known about the mind and soul. He would keep this part of his studies a secret, which would be somewhat hard for him to do. He wanted to tell the world about his discoveries, but he knew he would be judged very harshly. He would refrain from telling his Father or Sister about what exactly he was studying, and when the subject of witchcraft was brought up he would lie and agree that he thought it was wretched and evil. He would remain reputable with the town.


For many years, he would compile what he learned about life, philosophy and anatomy and see it alongside with the myths and morals of magick. Now, he was interested to see what the limitations and truths really were to the craft. He would compile things from different countries, languages- use tools and objects- and experiment. He was very happy with his findings. Happy with his abilities, and would continue further into his investigations of life and science using the form. Was there really an afterlife? Was there a blurred line between life and death? Was the universe more manipulatable than

previously thought? What are the true limits of the mind? These were the questions he aimed to answer with his studies.

ᴍʀ. sɪᴅᴡᴇʟʟ sʏʟᴠᴇsᴛᴇʀ
(1669-1709)
ᴘʀᴏɴᴏᴜɴᴄᴇᴅ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴠᴇɴɪɴɢ ᴏғ ᴊᴜʟʏ ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ-sᴇᴠᴇɴᴛʜ ᴅᴜᴇ ᴛᴏ ɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴀʟ ᴄᴀᴜsᴇs.

He would get word of his Father's death in a letter from Margaret. Being so far away, he would be unable to attend his funeral. All he had were the letters. Those would be the last farewells.
The only goodbyes.
He would be crushed from the loss of his Father. Could he have done something? Struck with so much confusion- reminded of the loss of his mother, even- He didn't know how to feel. He didn't know what to do.
Now consumed by a wave of depression, he would be sent into a desperate plunge into his studies for some sort of cure for his grief. An ale to all that troubled him. But nothing he knew could bring him back- no.

...............ᴏ̻͍͎̰̹ͧ͌͡ʀ̳̪̜̭̞̑͗̿͂̽̽̿ ̹̭͌͌ͧ̈́͞ᴄ̵̗͉̀͊̐ͯͯ͛ᴏ͓ᴜ̟̙̣́ͦ̆ͨ͠ʟ̙̯͉̝̯ᴅ̯̐̈͜ ̫̘̭̗̜̲͌͒ͪͧ̓ͣ͘ɪ̠̄͘ᴛ̠͈̔̋ͅͅ?ͧ̓ͨͫ̿

There was only one way to find out. No longer would he perform the safe practices he had been observing for so long. He would call upon the spirits. He would communicate with what was no longer alive. He would push the boundaries of existence. He would learn the truth. He would bend the very fabrics of life and death with his will.
Within only days he would grow terribly unstable. This was a mistake. The energy he put back into the world through magick began to backfire. It was negative; Black magick. Fueled with wrongful desires. Soon the spirits he came in contact with would put a heavy strain on his mind. He would lose the ability to sleep, and see the souls and spirits haunting him throughout the day.
Hungrier and hungrier. There was a way to get what he wanted, there was. There was. Outside forces would control his desires; no matter how regretful or exhausted he was of from the choices he had made, he c̱̣͈̒̀o̳̩u̎ͪ̂͏̠̟l̛̜̦̝̳̭͚̹ͥ̓̀̚d̜͉͚̥͑ͅ ̧̗͈̃̾n̼̪͍̰̳ͅo̓͑͌ͩt͓̠̖ turn back.

Though gaining power in a sense- he slowly began to die.

Those living around him began growing suspicious of his activities. They saw the blatant change in his behavior, and it scared them. Now he would only be seen going to get food, books, other common necessities- and then slithering back into his home. Over the span of a few months, more and more accusations would arise from the townsfolk. They were confused, and judged him harshly.

He was tired, exhausted- but there was nothing he could do. He lost himself a long time ago. He lost himself the moment he made the affirmation to study at all. The ghosts were his only companions now. He would talk to them regularly. It felt like there was no escaping them anymore.

.............................ʙ̴̩̣͉͔̮̼̭̔̏̑̒ᴇ̙͋̔̅̄ͅ ̸ͭ͊͌ᴄ̝̗ͫ́ͨ́ᴀ̱͕̯̘̻̩̼ʀ͍̖͒͑̉̕ᴇ̡̲͔̖̯̻͓ͦ̉ͅғ̠͉͉̯̅ᴜ̛̣̮ͪʟ̢͚͐̌̓ ͎̽͆ᴡ͎̼͓̟͍̰̏̂ʜ̭̟͍͍͎̱͍ᴀ̂̆ͫ̑̆̔͟ᴛ̬̦͕͔̻ͨ̈́͛̾̎ͦ̾ ̡͌ͪͬʏ̦̜̮͍͎͛ᴏ̘̱̹͋ᴜ͎͜ ̠̜̹͈̞̬ͯ̿̓̎̿ᴡ̛͈̮̫͎̖̍ɪ̻̫̌̑̀ͅs̬̰̹̥̑̐ʜ̟͇̙̗̻͙͔ͪ̈͂ͣ̆́ ̑̄͐͏ғ̶̠̳̻̎̈́ͭͭ̊̎ᴏ̨̬̳͙͌͂͒͋ͫ̐́ʀ͓͛̒̇̀̄.̛̫̯͇͎͊͒̂̿

Trying aimlessly to get some sleep- to shut out the noises in his head, rid of the creatures in his room- he was awoken by a light. A bright light. From the other side of the room.
It came from one of his belongings. A crystal ball.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was his father.
He was silent, his hands trembling. All he could do was nod and look away.
But he would not heed the warning in time.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The demons had their hands around his neck. He was trapped in a constant struggle- haunted now by the spirits. He would try the healing spells he knew- the banishings, the rituals. He would write of all his greatest spells, tools, and findings into one final book. He would use this to escape his own creation. This would be his grimoire.
The town had enough of his suspicious behavior. A rally would begin amongst the townsfolk- breaking into his living quarters- weapons in hand. They demanded an explanation. They knew he was a witch. They knew what he had. There was nothing he could say or do to convince them otherwise.

He was panicking. Shuffling together his things, desperately calling out for them to believe him.
To no gain.
Inching closer, the many people flooded his home and surrounded him. They were afraid of what he might do. Afraid that he might have the power to end them all.

There was a loud bang, and it all came to an end.

ʟᴀᴜʀᴇɴᴄᴇ ʀɪᴄʜᴀʀᴅ sʏʟᴠᴇsᴛᴇʀ
(1692-1729)
ᴘᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ғᴏʀ ᴀʟʟᴇɢᴇᴅ ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴛᴏ ᴇᴠɪʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴜsᴇ ᴏғ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄᴋ.

[skylark]

......
.............ɪs ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴʏ
.............ᴡᴀʏ ᴜᴘ ғʀᴏᴍ
....................ʜᴇʀᴇ?
.
...."You're quite the comedian, aren't you?"
........................"Don't be silly."
.
...........sᴛʏx ʀɪᴠᴇʀ
................1729
......

Now Laurence was on the same level as the spirits, and more vulnerable than ever. They would overtake his soul and drag him down into the depths of the afterlife; to the River of Styx. He would be contained in the toxic waters alongside the damned, waiting for his final sentence. The water was swarmed with panicked spirits- tension ran high and the water bubbled and fizzed and stung against the bodies. You could hear the groaning and desperate screams of the dead. It would be a miserable wait as they drifted toward the judges.

Waiting at the bend of the river were Styx and Orobas; ferryman of the river and judge of the damned. They would be the ones to sort through the deceased and decide each of their fates. Some would be sent to the heavenly dimensions, some would be sent to the dimensions of Hell; and others would have different sentences of confinement or punishment.

Laurence would no longer be a stable, positive soul. He would turn into a cold, spiteful and negative entity; fueled with the anger of his past life. He was wronged, stripped of his right to live over something so petty. So small. He would begin to resent the living and find himself jealous and vengeful, filled with negativity toward the world. He would express his firing anger when approached by the head and henchman of Hell.

Orobas ordered Styx to reach into the river and grab the next soul; so from the rocks along the prisoning waters he would claw up Laurence's spirit. It would appear as a small flaming orb; blue-ish in color. Once it felt itself leave the toxic barrier, Laurence's ghost projection would reveal itself. The wound on his forehead was visible; eyes empty of any life or love. Only anger consumed his face. All of his color was gone.

Orobas looked the man over, thought to himself and sighed tiredly. He stared at Laurence with piercing eyes.
................“Laurence Sylvester… How nice it is to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.” A small smirk appeared on his face.
Laurence clenched his teeth and sharpened his glare. He had never seen a man of this sort in his life; the spirits must have said something.
................"I was killed. Murdered. I cannot stay here-" He spat out in a panic, his voice anxiously wavering.
................“It is not your responsibility to change fate. it is time for you to leave the surface.“
Laurence let out a soft growl and became finicky with words.
................"That is a lie. I've seen it myself. I've seen the souls, I've seen them with the living."
Styx took a step closer. Orobas didn’t answer. He just blankly cocked his head to face the large black snake that had been wrapped around his shoulder. The snake made it’s way up to his ear and looked almost as if it were whispering something. There was a pause as the words echoed throughout the cave. Laurence would refuse to give in to death. Orobas looked back at Laurence, lifting his head.

................“I would have sent you to heaven to be with your family.. But, your sins are far too great for that.”
He turned to Styx and tapped his long claw on the ground whilst making a clicking noise with his tongue, as if signaling something to him.
Laurence's face turned into a furious scowl as he unsheathed his claws in fear. Orobas made his final signal. Leaping, Styx would dig both of his claws into Laurence's appearance, fading it into thin air and returning it to the flaming orb it had been in limited conditions. He would keep it stable in his talons. Proudly, Orobas sat and gave Styx an approving look.

................"Nicely done."
Styx croaked with a toothy grin.
................“Those who have suffered understand suffering and therefore extend their hand.” Orobas hummed. “Carry on now.”
Styx would follow his command and dip his hands back into the acid waters, letting Laurence's soul get swept away by the undertow.

...................................ʜɪs ғᴀᴛᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇᴅ.

ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴜʀsᴇ

It had been decided that Laurence would go back to Earth under a compromise; a curse. Orobas sat perched by the riverside, stroking the large serpent around his neck; thinking. He turned his head to watch Laurence's soul as it drifted off.

"ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀғᴜʟ sᴏᴜʟ- ᴛʜᴇ sᴘɪʀɪᴛs ᴀʀᴇ ᴅʀᴀᴡɴ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ. ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ᴅʀᴏᴡɴᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴅᴀʀᴋɴᴇss ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ʙʟᴇssᴇᴅ; ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ʜᴜʀᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴠᴇɴɢᴇғᴜʟ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ ʀᴇsᴛ. ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴏɴ, ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ."

The soul would glow faintly, and Laurence's ghost would burst from the river.

His head wound transformed into an eye. His tail split in two. His shine would be sealed with the sigil of his curse, and he would be dismissed from the underworld.

As if being shot through space, Laurence would feel an extremely harsh wind spiraling from underneath him. All he could see was black, nothingness. Like a tornado whirling and catapulting him further and further upwards; tossing him up at amazing speeds. He would feel it violently ruffling his fur, but there was only darkness.
In a few moments he would see a distant light- it came closer, and closer.. Soon alarmingly close. Approaching and swallowing up his vision.
Light. The sun.

Blinking, he could finally see where he was. He was back at his home.. but it was barren. The town surrounding the space was intact but where his house had been lay nothing but ashes. They had burned his property and all of his belongings to nihility. What sickening things remain alive.

He groaned to himself as he levitated over the charred ground, gliding down lower to inspect the damage. Any items that remained were burnt to an unrecognizable cinch, shattered, or ripped apart. Something horrific had happened here that Laurence did not get to see. They would destroy anything related to his "evildoings" to keep themselves safe from the bad omens.

There was a tug. Suddenly, from his chest- there was a strong pull dragging him backwards toward one of the demolished walls. As he turned to face whatever was going on, he saw nothing- but the force grew stronger. Being taken against his will, he would try to halt himself but to no yield. His eyes darted around the room desperately to understand the situation, until he recognized what was happening. The only item to survive the violence of the nights prior was his prized grimoire- sitting undisturbed in the corner of the property- and he was being pulled right into it. Slowly it would engulf his body. He would claw at the floor to try to escape the powerful vacuum, but it would capture his soul and lock him inside.

Trapped. He would return as a spirit allowed access to Earth, but locked inside of his book for d̞̩̉̀̉e̯̹͇͇ͯ̽ͯ̀ͬͩ́c̼͔̯̱aͧ̐ͪ̚͏̮̼̗͎̦d͎̻̉̔͞e̟̰̟̱ͨ͛̑͞ș̡̃͗̏̿ͦͧͅ.
All he could do was wait for someone to find him.

[skylark]

It would be so long until he was found. For decades, over the span of a century- he would be left in the dust and forgotten about in the prison of his grimoire. The town would continue to grow without him, until finally- he was found among the rubble in the long untouched side of town. He would put up a fight with those who tried to tamper with him; despite wanting to leave so desperately he would still be filled with jealousy and hatred toward the living. Those who touched his tome would have their energy sapped or their hands shocked in attempt to get them to leave. Despite this, his book would still be taken and kept in a collection for decades and decades more.

It would be when the man died that his grimoire would enter the market and begin to trade hands once again. The energy he would collect from being in contact with so many people would charge his soul even further. He would gain the ability to cause hallucinations to those nearby, communicate through different means (ouija board, etc), and on rare occasions even show himself briefly in his ghost form. And after all this time, he would find himself in the hands of a trader named Salazar- who would

sell his book to a sharp young lady named Jourdemayne Harlow. ..

Like Laurence, Jourdemayne was a witch herself living in New England. She had been studying the field since she was just a young child, and at this point in her life owned and lived in a library filled to the brim with the stuff. She knew the book was a grimoire, and the moment she laid eyes on it she would stop at nothing until it was hers. According to rumor, the dealer told her, the book was haunted or cursed; but hearing this only made her want it even more. He would not take refunds.
She would take it back home to investigate. Just looking over the grimoire, she could see it was sealed with a very interesting sigil. The locks forged to the sides of the book had strange, twisting keyholes. It would seem almost impossible to open. She could feel how the book would draw energy from her palms- that whenever she touched the book or went near it, she would feel an undeniable pull. There was certainly a presence. She would not doubt the rumor.

For weeks she would study the grimoire. Analyzing it's features; what time period it came from, the meaning of the sigil, what the book could have been used for or by, how it might be opened. Using different herbs, stones and tools- she would try to calm whatever spirit lay inside; but nonetheless Laurence would stay feisty. The force emitted from the book was extremely harsh- causing a feverish chill in the body and a burning sensation in the hands. If you were subject to the field for too long, you would be worked unconscious.

Very slowly, Laurence would become more and more tame with Jourdemayne, if ever so slightly. Still lashing out and feeding off of her energy; but lowering the pressure and allowing more chances for her to communicate with him. He would find himself almost appreciating her- reminding him of himself when he was a young adult. Finally he would open himself up for full conversations, and through oujia board they would have more formal and direct communication.

Over many different conversations, Jourdemayne would learn a bit about who he really was. At times she could even see his figure appear from the book. She was very fascinated by him, and was quite amazed at how powerful a soul he was.
..She could not keep him here. She would have to find a place for him to formally rest.

[North Hill Cemetery]

Jourdemayne would remember a good friend of hers from Russia: Mr. Vlad Edgar. He operated a cemetery that had been in his family for generations- and this cemetery was no run-of-the-mill cemetery. He would be the right person to call for the task at hand.

Mr. Edgar had an amazing gift; the ability to talk with the spirits. Every day he would communicate with handfuls of them. And better yet- he had a way with keeping them calm and at ease. He would listen to their struggles, their worries, and help them cope.

A large metal shovel stabbed into the wet earth, flinging back once pressure was put on it. Vlad had just finished burying the last body for the night, wiping his brow, with some water from the rain coming off. He proudly leaned on his shovel, looking down at the grave. He started to walk towards his old stone house, carrying his muddy shovel. Lining his path were a blanket of trees from the grove. He felt spirits at his sides, floating beside him. The bat ignored it, being used to the cold feeling. Right when he set foot in the door, his rotary dial started to ring. He leaned the shovel against the wall of his house inside, shutting the creaky wooden door and walking over to the table. He expected it to be another business call, but when he picked it up and brought the phone to his large ears, it was a familiar and soothing voice.

................“Ah, Ms. Harlow,” he greeted her, sitting down in a chair at the table. “How nice it is to talk to you again.”
Vlad could hear the floor boards creaking, spirits were walking and whispering things to each other. He found it relaxing.
................“Hello, Vladimir.. I’m calling you because I need your help. You see, I bought this grimoire from a.. traveling salesman.. It's possessed by a spirit and it’s very aggressive.” Jourdemayne explained to him, with little variation in her voice, looking at the cursed book on the table.
................“Fascinating..” Vlad said, his thoughts drifting with the possibilities. Jourdemayne nodded.
................“I’d like you to take it from me, and see if you can calm the spirit.”
................“I’d be delighted.” He replied simply. Jourdemayne smiled.
“Thank you. I can plan a trip to your town, where I can give it to you.” she suggested, as they continued to plan together. And with that everything was set, and she hung up.

It would be weeks until the grimoire in Jourdemayne's possession would reach Vladamir. On one of the last evenings she would spend with him, she would leave it with him dressed in a cloth bag for it not to be damaged. It was heavy, and his ears would perk up in excitement at the thought of it. On the early morning that he would inspect the tome for the first time, he would be overwhelmed with awe. The grimoire was beautifully crafted. He ran his paw cross the cover, feeling the cold metal on the front. The symbol, in particular, interested him.

As he held it in his paws and continued to inspect the tome, he would feel a sudden striking pain in his hands causing him to drop the book. A burn. The soul had scorched his hands. He rolled his eyes and took in a deep breath, letting it stay on the table as he looked it over.

This would be the beginning of Laurence's stay at the cemetery. Every day, Vlad would select a time to spend with Laurence and work with him. Laurence would continue to give him the cold shoulder, but Vlad would not give up. Getting to know the soul, he genuinely wanted to help him. He understood his struggles- his hatred, his fears- but he knew it was time for him to move on. Consistently, for the next few months, he would get to know him better and attempt to console him.

The spirit of Laurence's father, Sidwell, currently does not rest in pursuit of his son. His calm nature has been been distorted in the afterlife to be fixed on the fate of his beloved children. Margaret, luckily, lived a good life and was sentenced to one of the heavenly realms with his Father. But Laurence's exile from the afterlife has left his Father's soul distraught and distracted. Yiska: a springy, nutty female fortune-teller, is currently in possession of Laurence's crystal ball. The same crystal ball his Father had channelled into as a messaging system to warn his son of his fate. From time and time again he will project messages onto it once more, in hopes it will be seen by his son and guide him back home. Alas, though, for the past few hundred years, it has not had contact with Laurence since the few days before his death.

Currently, the North Hill Cemetery is still where Laurence resides. He's made progress, sure, but he's still a long ways off from finally letting himself go to rest. Vlad still spends a lot of time with him weekly, and Laurence has even opened up to him some. Don't get me wrong, though- he's still awfully irritable. Vlad tries to get Laurence to enjoy Earth again, too. He sets his book outside so he can relax under the trees again, the two of them talk over tea, and sometimes Laurence even scares the rambunctious teenagers away from fooling around at the cemetery. At first, he was afraid of this place- he thought it would make him feel more dead and depressed than he already was. But now he's thinking a lot more about his family, and what it is he really wants anymore. Maybe one day he'll be ready to let the curse release, but for now, he'll be working on it.

ғɪɴ