The Carnival
Legacy Name: The Carnival

As the carriage bumps along the ruts in the dirt, it becomes clear just how massive this property is. The stately gate behind you rapidly fades, as does the path you were following. A wide expanse of soft hills and thick, teal-coloured grass swallows up every defining feature, the fog obscuring the horizon.

Twisting shapes grow closer through the haze, and suddenly you’re engulfed by trees, moving in from every side. The branches seem alive, moving faintly (or perhaps it’s the passing shadows), dripping with swathes of spanish moss. Many of the oaks tower higher than a three story building, branches webbing out in a massive and coiling pattern that’s almost too precise and artistic to be natural.

Aside from the sound of the horses' hooves on gravel and the faint, melodic sound of the wind carving through the trees like a voice, the woods are quiet. There are no animals to be seen, no birds. You pass a deathly still pond, appearing the colour of pitch in the dim light. The fog begins to part around it, leaving a beckoning path straight to the water's edge. One of the horses starts to veer slightly towards the inviting pond, but the your host gives a sharp correction of the reins that seems too harsh for someone who isn't even looking where the horse is pulling. The carriage wobbles to the right a bit, then carries on its way, gliding past the pond without another stutter.

You’ve been driving for what feels like hours, before you cut out of the woods, facing open and curving plains again.

There, standing stark against the watered down sky behind it, sits a massive and foreboding mansion. It seems to take up all the space in the world, the center of the gravitational pull.

Once looked at closer, it really is quite beautiful. Tall, powdered columns, supporting an A-frame roof that serves seemingly no purpose, outside of covering the front steps. The unique porches on the two lower levels that wrap around the entire house, a fence of delicate lace acting as a barrier. The beautiful, small, belfry-styled fourth level. There’s a wind vane on it that should have been visible, but it’s somehow disappeared into the sky, clouds of gauzy fog surrounding it. Four separate chimneys, one on each corner of the roof.

The grandeur of what the place formerly was, is accented by insignificant things like the sheets of cobwebs hanging from the corners of the porch, the askew shutters on the windows, and the almost thigh-high grass surrounding the house.

Your host pulls the horses to a stop near enough to the entrance, but still far enough for you to get a good look at it.

"Welcome, to Gracey Manor."