A quest to keep a glamorous, ghostly hotel alive and thriving. Or dead and thriving, whichever you please.
Enjoy Your Stay: A Haunted Hotel Quest
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Prologue/Introduction
Harrington Lindsey the Third was a desperate man.
Born into a respectable mercantile family in late 1870s Boston, our man Harrington had grown up with a certain sense of ambition, even if he did not quite possess the intelligence to warrant it. His grandfather, Harrington the First, had emerged from obscurity and poverty through serving with some faint distinction in Mexico. His father, Harrington the Second, had risen further by only serving in the Union Army for a little over a month before a timely rifle ball had crippled his leg just enough to disqualify him from rather dangerous service but not from rather successful business. Given this general upward trajectory, Harrington the Third hoped for greatness: to reach the rarified heights of the Brahmin elite.
He attended Harvard University and managed to cling to barely passing grades until graduation, in a similar fashion to how he clung to his classmates of higher social status throughout school. The Cabots largely ignored him and the Cushings wouldn't even give him the time of day, but his father's money was enough to let him into the periphery of the scions of these legendary families. Moreover, it was enough to attract the attention of one Gladys Torrington, a girl from a similar middling background, and Lindsey found himself quite smitten in turn; they quickly wed just after graduation and had a daughter, Ida, precisely eight months after the wedding.
To support his fledgling and somewhat scandalous new family, Lindsey turned his adequate finances and inadequate intellect to what he judged to be a sure fire method of ensuring their security: the stock market. He consulted with his friends from school as to wise investments, up and moved his family to New York, gathered together his savings and a small loan of a thousand dollars from his father, and thrust it all in, as it were, with the hope of returning home a true Brahmin within five years or so.
He was somewhat successful on the balance of things: after four years, the middle of 1898, he had rather more money than he had started with, largely due to following the advice of wealthier and wiser friends in the city. However, he found that just as before he could not easily pull out without consequence. He was respectably well off, for certain, but he had failed to achieve the true prosperity of the elite back home and began to despair of ever reaching that point. He either needed to stay in New York for years more, hoping that the invisible hand would continue to smile on him, or else venture into another field where he might amass a lot of money more rapidly. Harrington Lindsey the Third was not a patient man.
As a young child, Lindsey had accompanied his father on a business trip north to New Hampshire, where he had concluded a profitable deal on a great deal of lumber for the construction of an elegant new hotel in the White Mountains. The sheer volume of wood involved, as well as a glance at the glamorous blueprints the developer had had on hand, had enchanted the young Lindsey. To him, such a hotel was an icon of status and wealth. Now, as Harrington pondered on how to best squander his money, the vision of that hotel returned to him. What if he built a glamorous retreat of his own, a getaway for the elite where they might one day toast his name and vision? He could be the talk of society, a part of that society! It was perfect!
As his daydream congealed into a firmer vision, the first question to resolve was that of location. Eventually, Lindsey decided to search for a plot of land in:
[ ] Northern New England. Apparently, that other hotel your father had helped build had burned down five years ago, which happily cleared the way for you to do a better job of building your own on the same property! Perhaps more brick and less wood used in the construction this time would help…
[ ] The Catskills. Apparently many of New York City residents liked to venture up into the hills for the summer, particularly the wealthy Jewish population. Perhaps catering to the fledgling "Borscht Belt" would be a promising path to take?
[ ] Florida. Certainly well out of the way, but the gorgeous weather and bustling agriculture of the state make for a promising region in which to invest. Besides, land is fairly cheap, even on the coast; a seaside resort has a lot of potential.
[ ] The Great Lakes. The wealthy residents of Chicago surely want their own local resort, and were better to build such a thing than on the banks of one of the Great Lakes? You might even be able to pull in a Canadian clientele if you advertised up there.
[ ] Colorado. You aren't personally familiar with the gorgeous Rockies, but you've heard wonderful things from classmates who have gone that far West. Apparently the area isn't just good for for picturesque postcards by Currier and Ives; the rapidly growing sport of skiing might be very popular in the Coloradan mountains soon.
[ ] California. A very distant and unorthodox choice, but the warm weather and lesser humidity of the Southern California coast compared to Florida might be a fine location for a resort. Moreover, land is very cheap there now, but the population is booming. Perhaps a wise investment now would grow into something truly impressive, given time.
(AN: The choice of location will affect three things: the possible amenities of the hotel, its aesthetics, and to a certain degree its guests. You'll still get the same quality of guests, but the occupations and flavor will be different. Bear in mind the course of future events, too: SoCal isn't much in 1898, for instance, but Hollywood will take off quite soon and we're dealing in one year turns so you'd see that come into play pretty quickly.)
When he announced this plan to Gladys, she was less than thrilled. She pointed out the likely ballooning costs of the venture from construction to advertisement, but Harrington (Harry to her) would not be swayed, and so she instead insisted on ensuring the hotel's success by any means possible. Part of this constituted an aggressive campaign on the Lindseys' part to find additional backers for the project as well as potential guests, but they were also willing to pursue more unusual tactics. A tiny bit of clever tax filing went a long way, for instance, but in Gladys' opinion not far enough. That was where her long-time fascination came into the picture, one that Harry eagerly participated in as well as a socially acceptable pastime of the era: spiritualism.
Seances, fortune telling, occultism, and their mystical ilk were experiencing a boom in the late nineteenth century. Mary Todd Lincoln had held seances to contact her deceased son in the White House during her husband's presidency, and all manner of mystical societies and thought had sprung up amidst American elites. The Lindseys had actually met at Harvard in one such club, and although it remained her greater passion than it did his it was something that united them. Thus when Gladys suggested investigating possible paranormal methods of guaranteeing the hotel's success and prosperity, Harry eagerly agreed.
Spiritualism was very much a profitable industry in this era, so the Lindseys were easily able to acquire all manner of books and pamphlets on the subject for ample amounts of money, although most of them heavily contradicted each other. Harry's favorite find was an impressively old tome from Europe, brought over decades before by a rare antiquities salesman.
According to him—and according to the title page—it was written by none other than Johann Georg Faust, the semi-mythical alchemist and magician of Renaissance Germany. Harrington had read Goethe's rendition of his tale during his school days, although he didn't remember much of it besides the theme of deals with the devil. This book, a Compendium Rituum Magicarum, seemed to describe similar concepts in the portions the Lindseys had translated from Latin: a number of exceedingly complex and bizarre rituals angled towards accomplishing certain goals, almost always with some sort of payment involved. Harry didn't like to use the word "sacrifice"; it felt terribly gauche.
At any rate, one of the rituals within translated to a "Rite of Prosperity" and seemed to fit the bill for what they wanted: a sort of enchantment laid over a person or place that would attract wealth and success. Even more fortunately, unlike many of the other rituals it lacked any requirements of dead animals with their entrails extracted or anything similarly distasteful. The only "payment" described was of an "anima," which might be interpreted as a soul—a vague and metaphorical requirement that thankfully amounted to nothing tangible.
Three years passed and construction on the hotel proceeded apace. A fine architect was hired to design the hotel as a modern palace, a task at which he amply succeeded. Specialists were consulted to ensure guests' every need would be catered to. Carriage houses, stables, and even a pool were constructed on the property as the massive wooden framework slowly assembled. The Lindseys remained in New York for most of the year but ventured out to the build site in the summers, a vacation Gladys and young Ida especially enjoyed.
In spring 1901 the hotel was deemed complete. A wave of hires were summoned to the property: a set of cooks and concierges, a veritable army of housekeepers, and many, many others arrived weeks before it was due to open on May 3rd, in time for the summer rush. It was during the week before the grand opening that Gladys reminded her husband of the ritual, and he eagerly made the necessary preparations.
By this point, you see, Harry was deeply concerned about their finances. His wife had been right: the costs of construction and employment had grown dramatically, to the point where their savings had been used up entirely and he'd even had to take out a loan. If the hotel failed, they would be in truly dire straits—forced to return to Boston in shame, at the mercy of his own father to bail them out. With this in mind, Harrington was truly willing to try anything—give anything—to make his dream come to life.
It took Harry, Gladys, and a pair of hapless stable boys the better part of a half hour to assemble and construct the ritual. Pentagrams arranged within pentagrams, circles drawn in pig's blood whose circumferences precisely related to each other by acute angles, and a truly startling amount of lit candles were all meticulously laid on out on the floor of the Grand Ballroom, the great centerpiece of the hotel. The fine wooden paneling, elegantly upholstered chairs pushed to the edges of the hall, and an elaborate wrought iron latticework on the ceiling proved quite the bizarre contrast to the gothic arrangement across the ground, to Harry's untrained eye. Nevertheless, it still resembled something of an old painting—perhaps a Hieronymus Bosch.
"Harry, dear, I do think that's everything," his dear Gladys said, shaking him out of his thoughts. She looked radiant as ever in her finest white blouse and long black skirt, a costume she had especially chosen for today because, in her words, it didn't hurt to try and impress the spirits.
"Perfect!" Harry smiled back at her and then fished the leaf of paper out of his overcoat's pocket describing what he was to do during the ritual and how. A spot of candle lighting, quite a lot of chanting, and some strategic incense burning.
It all proved slightly more challenging than he expected because his thoughts were wandering constantly. Light the candles, fret about the cost of them all. Stand in the proper position, wonder if enough guests would flock through the grand double doors on the other side of the hall at the opening event in a few days. Intone in Latin and fragments of stranger languages, feel a frantic resolve to make this work, all of this work, any way he possibly could.
Yes, Harry was a desperate man.
A chain was forged, a spark was lit in the shadows, a swirl of sound and light, a rush of wind—
"Harry, dear? It's over, we're…are you well? You're pale, and sweating."
"I…" Harry came back to himself. He was standing in the exact center of the arrangement, uncertain as to how or when he'd made it there. The dozens of candles that had been lit were all extinguished. The doors at the other end of the hall had blown open. "Apologies, my dear. The incense was disorienting, I suppose." He smiled weakly.
Four nights later, Friday evening, May 3rd, 1901, the [ ] Choose a name for your hotel. officially opened for business. Hundreds of upstanding members of society descended upon their newest potential holiday locale. A dozen chefs prepared a four-course dinner prepared to the latest Parisian tastes in the Dining Hall for the respectable price of one dollar a head. A few daring patrons visited the pool, the stables, the interior court with massive skylights, or one of the six elegant parlors where one might enjoy a pipe in peace. Some guests asked to see their rooms early and so were guided up to one of one hundred and twenty lavish suites, each featuring canopy beds, fine oak dressers and armchairs, and even private toilets.
Amidst this chaos, the central event was a social held in the Grand Ballroom. The candles had long since been cleared and the pig's blood meticulously cleaned off the wooden floor, but somehow Harry felt swept back to the ritual as throngs of people crowded the ballroom. There were as many people as there as he had hoped, and the right sort of people as well: upstanding members of society by the hundreds, enjoying themselves and conversing on topics of doubtless import, all here thanks to his dream coming to life. He found he lacked the joy he had expected to feel, though; instead there was only a vague sense of trepidation. It was simply superstition, he told himself.
The manager he had hired for the hotel, a fellow Bostonian named Harrison he'd first met in primary school, eventually tapped his glass and began the inevitable series of toasts and speeches. Prominent investors toasted the hotel, its surroundings, and its guests. Someone gestured for Gladys to say a few words, but she just shrugged happily and turned to Harry, who had been running his brief speech under his breath for the past few minutes. He stepped forward and mechanically recited his gracious thanks to everyone who made this possible, his love for his dear wife, and his exceeding joy to see the hotel at last complete. He felt a bit of relief when that was done and the audience gave a cheer; perhaps that was all that had been worrying him. With a lighter heart, he stepped forward with Gladys as the hired band for the summer launched into their first waltz, a proper Continental debut for the event.
It was on the third waltz when Harry found his heart instead to be heavier. Quite a lot heavier, in fact; a terrible numbness grew across his chest into his left arm, or perhaps it was a burning in his chest instead. Begging forgiveness from Gladys, he sought out a chair to recuperate, but the burning only worsened and he suddenly found he couldn't take in enough air. Gladys desperately called for help. The band stopped—maybe, Harry wasn't sure. His head spun. Everything hurt. Perhaps he would feel better in the morning—his eyes fluttered shut.
—
Harry returned to wakefulness—although it felt off somehow—in sheer darkness. The burning in his chest was entirely gone, which was a great relief. He glanced around and realized he was somehow still in the Grand Ballroom. Was it far later into the night, perhaps? The chairs were cleared away and everyone was gone, which was a bit disconcerting—surely Gladys hadn't left him here, had she? Bemused, he got to his feet—or at least started to get to his feet, before he abruptly found that he had sunk partially into the floor.
He—he was no longer tangible. He could just make himself out in faintly glowing blue, a spectral form that wasn't bound to the normal rules of a floor. He was a ghost. He had died. It had been a heart attack, he realized with a shock of horror. His mortal body had surely been taken out, but his soul—
He froze. His soul. His anima. The ritual had called for the price of an anima—and he was filled with a dreadful understanding, a certainty that was not his own. The ritual had been completed to full success. His soul was bound to the hotel in payment for its guaranteed success, he would never be able to leave or pass on—he rushed out of the Ballroom, flying through space faster than he could have ever previously run, utterly unhindered by doors or walls, and emerged onto the grounds. When he reached the periphery, he found himself stopped as if by a wall. Thoughts utterly disordered, overcome by mindless panic, Harry rushed through the entirety of the grounds. The night caretakers made their prescribed rounds, a few guests remained awake in their rooms writing by oil lamp light or, judging by the noise, engaging in carnal activities—Harry refused to look, even in his maddened state. At long length, or perhaps just a moment, he heard familiar sobbing and stopped short.
In the chapel near the edge of the grounds, lit only by faint candlelight, Gladys sat beside a long table with a shrouded form laid atop, sniffling and crying. He knew immediately what it must be and was seized with incredible shame. What a fool he had been. He was separated from Gladys forever because he had willingly parted with her! Mindlessly dedicated to the family's prosperity, to their social standing, without thought of the cost—how utterly selfish he had been! And now all he could do was watch, separated by a metaphysical distance he could never hope to breach—
Or could he? He glided forward and looked her in the eye as best he could, at first leaning over the table and then mercilessly sinking through his own dead body in order to get a better look at her. He attempted to grasp her hand, but his hand either went straight through hers or uselessly floated around it. He attempted to speak, calling her name, pleading for her to hear him, to no avail—she couldn't hear him at all. There was nothing he could do.
It was all the damned book's fault, Harry realized. He couldn't bear to watch Gladys for a moment longer. He raced out of the chapel, flew up to the library, and tracked down the tome. He pulled it off the shelf and opened it on a nearby table and then suddenly realized that he had somehow pulled it off the shelf and opened it. Moreover, it looked completely different to his spectral eyes—additional, glowing pages now existed between the mortal parchment, written in clear English.
Greetings, you poor fool! the book began on its first ghostly page. If you are reading this, then you have surely been killed by magical means and loosely bound to the mortal realm by some manner of contract or curse. If this is not true of your situation, please consult the appendix volume, Ghasts and Ghouls for Gibbering Idiots.
Well, Harry was fairly certain he was a gibbering idiot, but he was also fairly certain that it was a magical contract that had bound him. Besides, he didn't have the appendix. With a heavy sigh, he sat down to read.
A few hours later, Harry was not greatly encouraged, but he was significantly more educated. The ritual the Lindseys had performed had created what the book termed a sacrificial nexus, a magical absorption point which could convert psychic energy into a metaphorical output. In this case, Harry had unwittingly served as the payment for a nexus to create prosperity for the hotel, but it would not last forever—if he didn't find more psychic energy to keep the spiritual reaction going, not only would the fortune fade but so too would his spirit be erased completely. Harry didn't particularly like the sound of that.
According to the book, spiritual energy could be obtained first and foremost through further souls offered up to it, which Harry immediately understood to mean killing people. Psychic energy could also be obtained to a lesser degree by sufficiently "agitating other's souls," which the book explained could be done by giving someone a good fright. Harry supposed that explained why witches in fairy tales acted so dreadfully.
The best spot of news in the book was its description of a regimen to strengthen one's psychic signature enough to interact with the mortal world. It said it would take a few weeks, but Harry had nothing else but time now. In the quiet of the library in the middle of the night, Harry read through the regimen three times, rushed out to the garden, and then started in on the first exercise: attempting to pick up a pebble.
One hundred tries later, he succeeded in shifting it. He jumped fifteen feet in the air for joy.
Born into a respectable mercantile family in late 1870s Boston, our man Harrington had grown up with a certain sense of ambition, even if he did not quite possess the intelligence to warrant it. His grandfather, Harrington the First, had emerged from obscurity and poverty through serving with some faint distinction in Mexico. His father, Harrington the Second, had risen further by only serving in the Union Army for a little over a month before a timely rifle ball had crippled his leg just enough to disqualify him from rather dangerous service but not from rather successful business. Given this general upward trajectory, Harrington the Third hoped for greatness: to reach the rarified heights of the Brahmin elite.
He attended Harvard University and managed to cling to barely passing grades until graduation, in a similar fashion to how he clung to his classmates of higher social status throughout school. The Cabots largely ignored him and the Cushings wouldn't even give him the time of day, but his father's money was enough to let him into the periphery of the scions of these legendary families. Moreover, it was enough to attract the attention of one Gladys Torrington, a girl from a similar middling background, and Lindsey found himself quite smitten in turn; they quickly wed just after graduation and had a daughter, Ida, precisely eight months after the wedding.
To support his fledgling and somewhat scandalous new family, Lindsey turned his adequate finances and inadequate intellect to what he judged to be a sure fire method of ensuring their security: the stock market. He consulted with his friends from school as to wise investments, up and moved his family to New York, gathered together his savings and a small loan of a thousand dollars from his father, and thrust it all in, as it were, with the hope of returning home a true Brahmin within five years or so.
He was somewhat successful on the balance of things: after four years, the middle of 1898, he had rather more money than he had started with, largely due to following the advice of wealthier and wiser friends in the city. However, he found that just as before he could not easily pull out without consequence. He was respectably well off, for certain, but he had failed to achieve the true prosperity of the elite back home and began to despair of ever reaching that point. He either needed to stay in New York for years more, hoping that the invisible hand would continue to smile on him, or else venture into another field where he might amass a lot of money more rapidly. Harrington Lindsey the Third was not a patient man.
As a young child, Lindsey had accompanied his father on a business trip north to New Hampshire, where he had concluded a profitable deal on a great deal of lumber for the construction of an elegant new hotel in the White Mountains. The sheer volume of wood involved, as well as a glance at the glamorous blueprints the developer had had on hand, had enchanted the young Lindsey. To him, such a hotel was an icon of status and wealth. Now, as Harrington pondered on how to best squander his money, the vision of that hotel returned to him. What if he built a glamorous retreat of his own, a getaway for the elite where they might one day toast his name and vision? He could be the talk of society, a part of that society! It was perfect!
As his daydream congealed into a firmer vision, the first question to resolve was that of location. Eventually, Lindsey decided to search for a plot of land in:
[ ] Northern New England. Apparently, that other hotel your father had helped build had burned down five years ago, which happily cleared the way for you to do a better job of building your own on the same property! Perhaps more brick and less wood used in the construction this time would help…
[ ] The Catskills. Apparently many of New York City residents liked to venture up into the hills for the summer, particularly the wealthy Jewish population. Perhaps catering to the fledgling "Borscht Belt" would be a promising path to take?
[ ] Florida. Certainly well out of the way, but the gorgeous weather and bustling agriculture of the state make for a promising region in which to invest. Besides, land is fairly cheap, even on the coast; a seaside resort has a lot of potential.
[ ] The Great Lakes. The wealthy residents of Chicago surely want their own local resort, and were better to build such a thing than on the banks of one of the Great Lakes? You might even be able to pull in a Canadian clientele if you advertised up there.
[ ] Colorado. You aren't personally familiar with the gorgeous Rockies, but you've heard wonderful things from classmates who have gone that far West. Apparently the area isn't just good for for picturesque postcards by Currier and Ives; the rapidly growing sport of skiing might be very popular in the Coloradan mountains soon.
[ ] California. A very distant and unorthodox choice, but the warm weather and lesser humidity of the Southern California coast compared to Florida might be a fine location for a resort. Moreover, land is very cheap there now, but the population is booming. Perhaps a wise investment now would grow into something truly impressive, given time.
(AN: The choice of location will affect three things: the possible amenities of the hotel, its aesthetics, and to a certain degree its guests. You'll still get the same quality of guests, but the occupations and flavor will be different. Bear in mind the course of future events, too: SoCal isn't much in 1898, for instance, but Hollywood will take off quite soon and we're dealing in one year turns so you'd see that come into play pretty quickly.)
When he announced this plan to Gladys, she was less than thrilled. She pointed out the likely ballooning costs of the venture from construction to advertisement, but Harrington (Harry to her) would not be swayed, and so she instead insisted on ensuring the hotel's success by any means possible. Part of this constituted an aggressive campaign on the Lindseys' part to find additional backers for the project as well as potential guests, but they were also willing to pursue more unusual tactics. A tiny bit of clever tax filing went a long way, for instance, but in Gladys' opinion not far enough. That was where her long-time fascination came into the picture, one that Harry eagerly participated in as well as a socially acceptable pastime of the era: spiritualism.
Seances, fortune telling, occultism, and their mystical ilk were experiencing a boom in the late nineteenth century. Mary Todd Lincoln had held seances to contact her deceased son in the White House during her husband's presidency, and all manner of mystical societies and thought had sprung up amidst American elites. The Lindseys had actually met at Harvard in one such club, and although it remained her greater passion than it did his it was something that united them. Thus when Gladys suggested investigating possible paranormal methods of guaranteeing the hotel's success and prosperity, Harry eagerly agreed.
Spiritualism was very much a profitable industry in this era, so the Lindseys were easily able to acquire all manner of books and pamphlets on the subject for ample amounts of money, although most of them heavily contradicted each other. Harry's favorite find was an impressively old tome from Europe, brought over decades before by a rare antiquities salesman.
According to him—and according to the title page—it was written by none other than Johann Georg Faust, the semi-mythical alchemist and magician of Renaissance Germany. Harrington had read Goethe's rendition of his tale during his school days, although he didn't remember much of it besides the theme of deals with the devil. This book, a Compendium Rituum Magicarum, seemed to describe similar concepts in the portions the Lindseys had translated from Latin: a number of exceedingly complex and bizarre rituals angled towards accomplishing certain goals, almost always with some sort of payment involved. Harry didn't like to use the word "sacrifice"; it felt terribly gauche.
At any rate, one of the rituals within translated to a "Rite of Prosperity" and seemed to fit the bill for what they wanted: a sort of enchantment laid over a person or place that would attract wealth and success. Even more fortunately, unlike many of the other rituals it lacked any requirements of dead animals with their entrails extracted or anything similarly distasteful. The only "payment" described was of an "anima," which might be interpreted as a soul—a vague and metaphorical requirement that thankfully amounted to nothing tangible.
Three years passed and construction on the hotel proceeded apace. A fine architect was hired to design the hotel as a modern palace, a task at which he amply succeeded. Specialists were consulted to ensure guests' every need would be catered to. Carriage houses, stables, and even a pool were constructed on the property as the massive wooden framework slowly assembled. The Lindseys remained in New York for most of the year but ventured out to the build site in the summers, a vacation Gladys and young Ida especially enjoyed.
In spring 1901 the hotel was deemed complete. A wave of hires were summoned to the property: a set of cooks and concierges, a veritable army of housekeepers, and many, many others arrived weeks before it was due to open on May 3rd, in time for the summer rush. It was during the week before the grand opening that Gladys reminded her husband of the ritual, and he eagerly made the necessary preparations.
By this point, you see, Harry was deeply concerned about their finances. His wife had been right: the costs of construction and employment had grown dramatically, to the point where their savings had been used up entirely and he'd even had to take out a loan. If the hotel failed, they would be in truly dire straits—forced to return to Boston in shame, at the mercy of his own father to bail them out. With this in mind, Harrington was truly willing to try anything—give anything—to make his dream come to life.
It took Harry, Gladys, and a pair of hapless stable boys the better part of a half hour to assemble and construct the ritual. Pentagrams arranged within pentagrams, circles drawn in pig's blood whose circumferences precisely related to each other by acute angles, and a truly startling amount of lit candles were all meticulously laid on out on the floor of the Grand Ballroom, the great centerpiece of the hotel. The fine wooden paneling, elegantly upholstered chairs pushed to the edges of the hall, and an elaborate wrought iron latticework on the ceiling proved quite the bizarre contrast to the gothic arrangement across the ground, to Harry's untrained eye. Nevertheless, it still resembled something of an old painting—perhaps a Hieronymus Bosch.
"Harry, dear, I do think that's everything," his dear Gladys said, shaking him out of his thoughts. She looked radiant as ever in her finest white blouse and long black skirt, a costume she had especially chosen for today because, in her words, it didn't hurt to try and impress the spirits.
"Perfect!" Harry smiled back at her and then fished the leaf of paper out of his overcoat's pocket describing what he was to do during the ritual and how. A spot of candle lighting, quite a lot of chanting, and some strategic incense burning.
It all proved slightly more challenging than he expected because his thoughts were wandering constantly. Light the candles, fret about the cost of them all. Stand in the proper position, wonder if enough guests would flock through the grand double doors on the other side of the hall at the opening event in a few days. Intone in Latin and fragments of stranger languages, feel a frantic resolve to make this work, all of this work, any way he possibly could.
Yes, Harry was a desperate man.
A chain was forged, a spark was lit in the shadows, a swirl of sound and light, a rush of wind—
"Harry, dear? It's over, we're…are you well? You're pale, and sweating."
"I…" Harry came back to himself. He was standing in the exact center of the arrangement, uncertain as to how or when he'd made it there. The dozens of candles that had been lit were all extinguished. The doors at the other end of the hall had blown open. "Apologies, my dear. The incense was disorienting, I suppose." He smiled weakly.
Four nights later, Friday evening, May 3rd, 1901, the [ ] Choose a name for your hotel. officially opened for business. Hundreds of upstanding members of society descended upon their newest potential holiday locale. A dozen chefs prepared a four-course dinner prepared to the latest Parisian tastes in the Dining Hall for the respectable price of one dollar a head. A few daring patrons visited the pool, the stables, the interior court with massive skylights, or one of the six elegant parlors where one might enjoy a pipe in peace. Some guests asked to see their rooms early and so were guided up to one of one hundred and twenty lavish suites, each featuring canopy beds, fine oak dressers and armchairs, and even private toilets.
Amidst this chaos, the central event was a social held in the Grand Ballroom. The candles had long since been cleared and the pig's blood meticulously cleaned off the wooden floor, but somehow Harry felt swept back to the ritual as throngs of people crowded the ballroom. There were as many people as there as he had hoped, and the right sort of people as well: upstanding members of society by the hundreds, enjoying themselves and conversing on topics of doubtless import, all here thanks to his dream coming to life. He found he lacked the joy he had expected to feel, though; instead there was only a vague sense of trepidation. It was simply superstition, he told himself.
The manager he had hired for the hotel, a fellow Bostonian named Harrison he'd first met in primary school, eventually tapped his glass and began the inevitable series of toasts and speeches. Prominent investors toasted the hotel, its surroundings, and its guests. Someone gestured for Gladys to say a few words, but she just shrugged happily and turned to Harry, who had been running his brief speech under his breath for the past few minutes. He stepped forward and mechanically recited his gracious thanks to everyone who made this possible, his love for his dear wife, and his exceeding joy to see the hotel at last complete. He felt a bit of relief when that was done and the audience gave a cheer; perhaps that was all that had been worrying him. With a lighter heart, he stepped forward with Gladys as the hired band for the summer launched into their first waltz, a proper Continental debut for the event.
It was on the third waltz when Harry found his heart instead to be heavier. Quite a lot heavier, in fact; a terrible numbness grew across his chest into his left arm, or perhaps it was a burning in his chest instead. Begging forgiveness from Gladys, he sought out a chair to recuperate, but the burning only worsened and he suddenly found he couldn't take in enough air. Gladys desperately called for help. The band stopped—maybe, Harry wasn't sure. His head spun. Everything hurt. Perhaps he would feel better in the morning—his eyes fluttered shut.
—
Harry returned to wakefulness—although it felt off somehow—in sheer darkness. The burning in his chest was entirely gone, which was a great relief. He glanced around and realized he was somehow still in the Grand Ballroom. Was it far later into the night, perhaps? The chairs were cleared away and everyone was gone, which was a bit disconcerting—surely Gladys hadn't left him here, had she? Bemused, he got to his feet—or at least started to get to his feet, before he abruptly found that he had sunk partially into the floor.
He—he was no longer tangible. He could just make himself out in faintly glowing blue, a spectral form that wasn't bound to the normal rules of a floor. He was a ghost. He had died. It had been a heart attack, he realized with a shock of horror. His mortal body had surely been taken out, but his soul—
He froze. His soul. His anima. The ritual had called for the price of an anima—and he was filled with a dreadful understanding, a certainty that was not his own. The ritual had been completed to full success. His soul was bound to the hotel in payment for its guaranteed success, he would never be able to leave or pass on—he rushed out of the Ballroom, flying through space faster than he could have ever previously run, utterly unhindered by doors or walls, and emerged onto the grounds. When he reached the periphery, he found himself stopped as if by a wall. Thoughts utterly disordered, overcome by mindless panic, Harry rushed through the entirety of the grounds. The night caretakers made their prescribed rounds, a few guests remained awake in their rooms writing by oil lamp light or, judging by the noise, engaging in carnal activities—Harry refused to look, even in his maddened state. At long length, or perhaps just a moment, he heard familiar sobbing and stopped short.
In the chapel near the edge of the grounds, lit only by faint candlelight, Gladys sat beside a long table with a shrouded form laid atop, sniffling and crying. He knew immediately what it must be and was seized with incredible shame. What a fool he had been. He was separated from Gladys forever because he had willingly parted with her! Mindlessly dedicated to the family's prosperity, to their social standing, without thought of the cost—how utterly selfish he had been! And now all he could do was watch, separated by a metaphysical distance he could never hope to breach—
Or could he? He glided forward and looked her in the eye as best he could, at first leaning over the table and then mercilessly sinking through his own dead body in order to get a better look at her. He attempted to grasp her hand, but his hand either went straight through hers or uselessly floated around it. He attempted to speak, calling her name, pleading for her to hear him, to no avail—she couldn't hear him at all. There was nothing he could do.
It was all the damned book's fault, Harry realized. He couldn't bear to watch Gladys for a moment longer. He raced out of the chapel, flew up to the library, and tracked down the tome. He pulled it off the shelf and opened it on a nearby table and then suddenly realized that he had somehow pulled it off the shelf and opened it. Moreover, it looked completely different to his spectral eyes—additional, glowing pages now existed between the mortal parchment, written in clear English.
Greetings, you poor fool! the book began on its first ghostly page. If you are reading this, then you have surely been killed by magical means and loosely bound to the mortal realm by some manner of contract or curse. If this is not true of your situation, please consult the appendix volume, Ghasts and Ghouls for Gibbering Idiots.
Well, Harry was fairly certain he was a gibbering idiot, but he was also fairly certain that it was a magical contract that had bound him. Besides, he didn't have the appendix. With a heavy sigh, he sat down to read.
A few hours later, Harry was not greatly encouraged, but he was significantly more educated. The ritual the Lindseys had performed had created what the book termed a sacrificial nexus, a magical absorption point which could convert psychic energy into a metaphorical output. In this case, Harry had unwittingly served as the payment for a nexus to create prosperity for the hotel, but it would not last forever—if he didn't find more psychic energy to keep the spiritual reaction going, not only would the fortune fade but so too would his spirit be erased completely. Harry didn't particularly like the sound of that.
According to the book, spiritual energy could be obtained first and foremost through further souls offered up to it, which Harry immediately understood to mean killing people. Psychic energy could also be obtained to a lesser degree by sufficiently "agitating other's souls," which the book explained could be done by giving someone a good fright. Harry supposed that explained why witches in fairy tales acted so dreadfully.
The best spot of news in the book was its description of a regimen to strengthen one's psychic signature enough to interact with the mortal world. It said it would take a few weeks, but Harry had nothing else but time now. In the quiet of the library in the middle of the night, Harry read through the regimen three times, rushed out to the garden, and then started in on the first exercise: attempting to pick up a pebble.
One hundred tries later, he succeeded in shifting it. He jumped fifteen feet in the air for joy.
Mechanics
Welcome to my second quest and my first with mechanics properly planned out ahead of time! I hope this will be as fun for you all as it is for me.
The goal is to collect Psychic Power to empower the ghosts and the hotel itself, to keep it running and potentially even expand its psychic footprint. Some PP is deducted each turn to keep the Ghosts tethered to the mortal realm, but if you possess a surplus you can invest PP into various useful things that could help make guest actions easier, make the hotel more appealing (improve guest quality and other bonuses unlocked depending on future developments), or even physically expand the hotel (increase guest and ghost slots).
Each turn a selection of VIP guests arrive or return for another year at the hotel if they were not scared off, lost interest, or died last year, which can be interacted with in different ways: Frighten, Kill, Ignore, Enamor, Enthrall, or Discuss. Frighten nets a little PP, potentially increases Suspicion, and discourages them from returning to the hotel (reducing their Opinion), Kill nets twice as much PP and a potential new Ghost, Enamor forcibly gives them a higher Opinion of the hotel, and Enthrall does the same but to a higher degree and unlocks special Mortal Actions depending on the guest Enthralled. Discuss can get a guest on-side voluntarily, converting them into an Ally and unlocking alternate Mortal Actions (there are certain things Enthralled guests can't or won't do that Allied guests can, and vice versa; generally an Ally is more useful than an Enthralled guest) and improving their opinion. Guests vary in the amount of PP they can give, but generally speaking Guests with higher PP will be more challenging targets!
Ghosts are your hero units. They can be tasked on going after guests, training their abilities, helping the hotel in various ways, or pursuing personal interests. Each Ghost has three skills: Spookiness, Spirituality, and Sociability, which can each be trained at the cost of an action. These skills are rated on a scale of one to ten, as are most guests' skills.
Spookiness is the ghost's ability to scare guests and is crucial for amassing PP and potentially acquiring new Ghosts. This is countered by guests' Will skill. The rules for rolls in this game are very simple: if Spookiness is higher than Will, the Ghost auto-wins. If Spookiness is tied with Will, it goes to a coin flip. If Will is higher than Spookiness, a die is rolled whose sides equal the sum of both scores, with the odds in favor of the Will side. To give an example of this calculation, a Ghost with 7 Spookiness attempts to Frighten a Guest with 9 Will. (7+9)=16, so a d16 is rolled and if the number that comes up is 7 or lower, the Ghost wins. If not, the Guest wins.
If the Ghost wins the roll, it will successfully accomplish whatever it was attempting to do; if it was attempting to frighten but rolls more than 2 points over the guest's Will skill, the Ghost may unintentionally kill the guest instead! If the guest wins the roll, they will be unfazed and potentially even strengthen their Will; Suspicion will also increase by a large amount. If the Ghost is intending to kill the guest, their Will is preemptively multiplied by 2. Even though skills only go up to 10, this multiplied Will can exceed 10, so be wary of that!
Spirituality is a Ghost's ability to tap into supernatural forces more effectively and in more interesting ways. Rolls for Enamoring and Enthrallment function the exact same way as the Frighten/Kill rolls, except that the Ghost uses their Spirituality stat instead. Again, Enthrallment is twice as difficult as Enamoring.
Sociability is a Ghost's conversational charisma, their ability to sway someone to their line of thinking without any magical…forcefulness. This skill applies to both Discussions and personal actions. Guests also have their own Sociability score.
Opinion is a stat reserved for Guests only that constitutes their willingness to return to the hotel at least once next year (in other words, that they will still be a Guest next turn). This stat will automatically decrease by one each turn unless they have a special reason to perpetually visit the hotel (for instance, actually working at the hotel; prominent staff members can count as Guests).
Suspicion is a general measurement of the mortal world's awareness or superstition concerning the ghosts inhabiting the hotel. It increases any time a guest is killed or any action fails. If Suspicion gets high enough, mortals may attempt all manner of countermeasures, some of which may even work and make your unlife that much harder! If Suspicion gets extremely high, the hotel will become rapidly unpopular and quickly be shut down, prompting a game over! Suspicion passively reduces each turn but can also be reduced through certain actions, like Enamoring or Enthralling guests or compelling Enthralled guests to speak out in favor of the hotel. Suspicion can also be reduced through investments in the hotel like occasional remodeling (to hide where the last death happened, for instance).
As has been hinted a few times throughout the above information, the number of systems and type of actions available to you may increase in the future depending on the actions you take. For instance, if you'd like to have a more direct hand in managing the hotel that could certainly be possible if you manipulate the right people, although it would mean wrangling with its finances as well. Also, the ghosts of the hotel may not be the only thing that goes bump in the night…
If you have ideas for guests, hotel facilities, or anything else that fits the format of the quest, please write them up as omakes and I will most likely make them canon! Reader participation is eagerly encouraged.
Welcome to the hotel! Breakfast is served beginning at seven, check out is at ten, and of course, Enjoy Your Stay…
The goal is to collect Psychic Power to empower the ghosts and the hotel itself, to keep it running and potentially even expand its psychic footprint. Some PP is deducted each turn to keep the Ghosts tethered to the mortal realm, but if you possess a surplus you can invest PP into various useful things that could help make guest actions easier, make the hotel more appealing (improve guest quality and other bonuses unlocked depending on future developments), or even physically expand the hotel (increase guest and ghost slots).
Each turn a selection of VIP guests arrive or return for another year at the hotel if they were not scared off, lost interest, or died last year, which can be interacted with in different ways: Frighten, Kill, Ignore, Enamor, Enthrall, or Discuss. Frighten nets a little PP, potentially increases Suspicion, and discourages them from returning to the hotel (reducing their Opinion), Kill nets twice as much PP and a potential new Ghost, Enamor forcibly gives them a higher Opinion of the hotel, and Enthrall does the same but to a higher degree and unlocks special Mortal Actions depending on the guest Enthralled. Discuss can get a guest on-side voluntarily, converting them into an Ally and unlocking alternate Mortal Actions (there are certain things Enthralled guests can't or won't do that Allied guests can, and vice versa; generally an Ally is more useful than an Enthralled guest) and improving their opinion. Guests vary in the amount of PP they can give, but generally speaking Guests with higher PP will be more challenging targets!
Ghosts are your hero units. They can be tasked on going after guests, training their abilities, helping the hotel in various ways, or pursuing personal interests. Each Ghost has three skills: Spookiness, Spirituality, and Sociability, which can each be trained at the cost of an action. These skills are rated on a scale of one to ten, as are most guests' skills.
Spookiness is the ghost's ability to scare guests and is crucial for amassing PP and potentially acquiring new Ghosts. This is countered by guests' Will skill. The rules for rolls in this game are very simple: if Spookiness is higher than Will, the Ghost auto-wins. If Spookiness is tied with Will, it goes to a coin flip. If Will is higher than Spookiness, a die is rolled whose sides equal the sum of both scores, with the odds in favor of the Will side. To give an example of this calculation, a Ghost with 7 Spookiness attempts to Frighten a Guest with 9 Will. (7+9)=16, so a d16 is rolled and if the number that comes up is 7 or lower, the Ghost wins. If not, the Guest wins.
If the Ghost wins the roll, it will successfully accomplish whatever it was attempting to do; if it was attempting to frighten but rolls more than 2 points over the guest's Will skill, the Ghost may unintentionally kill the guest instead! If the guest wins the roll, they will be unfazed and potentially even strengthen their Will; Suspicion will also increase by a large amount. If the Ghost is intending to kill the guest, their Will is preemptively multiplied by 2. Even though skills only go up to 10, this multiplied Will can exceed 10, so be wary of that!
Spirituality is a Ghost's ability to tap into supernatural forces more effectively and in more interesting ways. Rolls for Enamoring and Enthrallment function the exact same way as the Frighten/Kill rolls, except that the Ghost uses their Spirituality stat instead. Again, Enthrallment is twice as difficult as Enamoring.
Sociability is a Ghost's conversational charisma, their ability to sway someone to their line of thinking without any magical…forcefulness. This skill applies to both Discussions and personal actions. Guests also have their own Sociability score.
Opinion is a stat reserved for Guests only that constitutes their willingness to return to the hotel at least once next year (in other words, that they will still be a Guest next turn). This stat will automatically decrease by one each turn unless they have a special reason to perpetually visit the hotel (for instance, actually working at the hotel; prominent staff members can count as Guests).
Suspicion is a general measurement of the mortal world's awareness or superstition concerning the ghosts inhabiting the hotel. It increases any time a guest is killed or any action fails. If Suspicion gets high enough, mortals may attempt all manner of countermeasures, some of which may even work and make your unlife that much harder! If Suspicion gets extremely high, the hotel will become rapidly unpopular and quickly be shut down, prompting a game over! Suspicion passively reduces each turn but can also be reduced through certain actions, like Enamoring or Enthralling guests or compelling Enthralled guests to speak out in favor of the hotel. Suspicion can also be reduced through investments in the hotel like occasional remodeling (to hide where the last death happened, for instance).
As has been hinted a few times throughout the above information, the number of systems and type of actions available to you may increase in the future depending on the actions you take. For instance, if you'd like to have a more direct hand in managing the hotel that could certainly be possible if you manipulate the right people, although it would mean wrangling with its finances as well. Also, the ghosts of the hotel may not be the only thing that goes bump in the night…
If you have ideas for guests, hotel facilities, or anything else that fits the format of the quest, please write them up as omakes and I will most likely make them canon! Reader participation is eagerly encouraged.
Welcome to the hotel! Breakfast is served beginning at seven, check out is at ten, and of course, Enjoy Your Stay…
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- Location
- Victoria
Ooh, now this is worth a watch!
Is this by any chance inspired by a certain old PC game named Ghost Master? Besides general subject matter, something about the vibe just kinda brings me back.
Is this by any chance inspired by a certain old PC game named Ghost Master? Besides general subject matter, something about the vibe just kinda brings me back.
[X] Colorado. You aren't personally familiar with the gorgeous Rockies, but you've heard wonderful things from classmates who have gone that far West. Apparently the area isn't just good for for picturesque postcards by Currier and Ives; the rapidly growing sport of skiing might be very popular in the Coloradan mountains soon.
Thanks! And I hadn't heard of Ghost Master, but now that you've mentioned it I'll check it out!
This is first and foremost inspired by The Shining, particularly the novel, but with slightly more of a humorous bent and a Victorian/Edwardian initial setting because I'm a huge fan of the grand historic hotels of that era like the Del Coronado and the Mount Washington Hotel.
Don't forget to vote for a name for the hotel, too!
[X] The Catskills
[X] The Willowemoc Valley Resort and Spa
[X] The Willowemoc Valley Resort and Spa
[X] Navidson lake side Lodge
-[X] Northern New England
Quite a unique premise of the quest, I also thought it was inspired by Ghost Master until I read the comment, curious maybe the creators of Ghost Master were also inspired by the Shining?
I hope we can console Gladys, as for the future, then charm and enslavement looks like a great way to make guests allies. We only need to restore our old contacts and convince them to lure their political rivals to the hotel, who after the hotel turns into their allies. Even if mind control is temporary, serious people will have enough reasons to invest a lot of money in the hotel.
-[X] Northern New England
Quite a unique premise of the quest, I also thought it was inspired by Ghost Master until I read the comment, curious maybe the creators of Ghost Master were also inspired by the Shining?
I hope we can console Gladys, as for the future, then charm and enslavement looks like a great way to make guests allies. We only need to restore our old contacts and convince them to lure their political rivals to the hotel, who after the hotel turns into their allies. Even if mind control is temporary, serious people will have enough reasons to invest a lot of money in the hotel.
NaanContributor
Provider of delicious flatbread, and nothing else.
- Location
- Hawaii
[X] California.
[X] The Astral
I figure a name that's short and snappy, while still being boastful of course, is best suited for this style of hotel. Like The Ritz or The Plaza. Also, it's a subtle hint of the supernatural/afterlife aspect of it all.
[X] The Astral
I figure a name that's short and snappy, while still being boastful of course, is best suited for this style of hotel. Like The Ritz or The Plaza. Also, it's a subtle hint of the supernatural/afterlife aspect of it all.
[X] Colorado. You aren't personally familiar with the gorgeous Rockies, but you've heard wonderful things from classmates who have gone that far West. Apparently the area isn't just good for for picturesque postcards by Currier and Ives; the rapidly growing sport of skiing might be very popular in the Coloradan mountains soon.
[X] The Rookery
I just think its a sufficiently cool name for a haunted hotel.
[X] The Rookery
I just think its a sufficiently cool name for a haunted hotel.
Hm, no consensus yet…I'll give it another half a day or so. If you have an idea for another part of the US you'd rather have the hotel located, feel free to suggest it, too.
- Location
- Hollister
[X] California.
[X] The Astral
[X] The Astral
Turn One: 1901-2
The notion of building a hotel in distant Colorado came to Harry on a quiet winter's day in New York. As he had been walking to the Exchange through a foot of snow he had mused on the sorts of people who couldn't handle Northern weather and he had recalled an unfortunate classmate of his at Harvard. Daniel Brinley, of the illustrious Brinley family, had contracted tuberculosis at a very young age and struggled mightily with the Bostonian winter. The Brinleys had purchased a villa out West in the Rocky Mountains in the hopes that the fresh mountain air would do him some good. Indeed, it had, as Brinley swore by it now and visited the villa every summer. Brinley was by no means alone; tuberculosis was a common plight of both rich and poor, and Colorado was fast becoming a popular location for victims of the illness, so-called "lungers," to recuperate.
Why not cater to that crowd and their families with a grand hotel in the Rockies? Unlike a dedicated sanatorium, a hotel would serve as a well-rounded experience and cater to a broader swathe of high society. Add to that the potential of winter sports and Harry could envision a great deal of interest in the project.
Naturally, it took some work to find an ideal location for the hotel. Harry and Gladys first travelled out to Denver to ask around for potential sites, which led them to visit the promising Horseshoe Lake region. About two hours northwest of Denver by coach, the Horseshoe Valley was a sheltered, scenic area with a gorgeous alpine lake as its centerpiece. The entire area was owned in absentia by a Lord Longford, an eccentric British peer who had purchased the land decades ago in a failed attempt to establish a hunting preserve. He had tired of the attempt and of the locals' dislike for their foreign landlord, so when the Lindseys met his representatives in New York the following summer they were more than happy to come to an agreement to sign the land over.
However, this ended up constituting quite a bit more land than the Lindseys needed or wanted for the hotel, stretching up into mountainous wasteland. The land also included the small village of Pickaxe on the banks of the Horseshoe, a former hub for miners hoping to strike it rich in the mountains. The Lindseys negotiated more lenient lease agreements for the land, something that endeared them to the few remaining residents of the town, and built a few further homes for the constructors and staff of the hotel.
As the hotel was designed and built, it was influenced by its surroundings. The location meant that it would only be profitable to keep it open in the summers for now; if winter sports took off that could change. As a sort of mountain lodge, the architecture took on a distinctive influence from Alpine chalets. The grand lobby was flanked by solid Douglas fir trunks and the centerpiece of the indoor court was a massive stone fireplace, for example, and this simple wood-and-stone theme would be praised as a timeless design choice in the decades to come. Nevertheless, some quintessentially late Victorian stylistic choices crept in, such as the wrought iron in the ballroom and covering the elevator shafts and floridly ornate wallpaper in the hotel rooms. Unlike much of the rest of the hotel, this would be fairly quickly replaced with more reasonable wall decor.
Last but not least to be created for the hotel was its name. It was Gladys who was inspired by the star-filled night sky in the remote Horseshoe Valley one summer's evening during the second summer—the Astral Hotel was named both for the Lindseys' mystical hobbies and for the stars that seemed to guard the hotel from the heavens above.
It was a shame, then, that such protection did nothing against magical rituals gone awry.
———
1901-2, Turn One
Current Psychic Power: 3
Current Psychic Power deducted per turn: 1
Reminder: if it reaches 0, Game Over!
Current Ghosts: Harry
Each Ghost has 3 normal Actions and 1 Personal Action. You can only take one option per Guest, although if you want you can assign two or more Ghosts to one Guest—their scores will be added together for calculations. Let's go with plan voting for now. Format your votes something like:
[X] Plan Getting Started
[X] Harry - Hit the Books
[X] Harry - Gladys - Discuss
[X] Harry - Bill - Kill
VIP Guests - Current Slots: 5. If a Guest is made into an Ally, they will no longer count towards the total and instead be moved to their own category.
Gladys Lindsey
Harry's poor widow, she is utterly distraught at the loss of her dear husband and about the treacherous social position she has been forced into as the widow of a man with both a lot of financial interests, a good deal of debt, and a young daughter. Harry is certain she'd be amenable to working with him if he explained his situation…
Will: 4
Sociability: 3
Opinion: 9 (will not automatically reduce)
PP Available: 0.5 (Frighten)/ 1 (Kill)
[ ] Gladys: Frighten
[ ] Gladys: Kill
[ ] Gladys: Enamor
[ ] Gladys: Enthrall
[ ] Gladys: Discuss
Bill H. Harrison
Named after the President famous for dying forty days into his term, Harry's old friend Harrison is thankfully more hale and hearty than his namesake. Tasked with managing the hotel, Harry is sure sure he'll do an excellent job, even if he is a little…twitchy, sometimes.
Will: 4
Sociability: 4
Opinion: 6 (will not automatically reduce)
PP Available: 0.5/1
[ ] Bill: Frighten
[ ] Bill: Kill
[ ] Bill: Enamor
[ ] Bill: Enthrall
[ ] Bill: Discuss
Charles Champney
An old painter, Champney has lived in Colorado for decades now making a living off of his landscapes of the Rocky Mountains. Champney booked a weekend at the hotel in hopes of painting its commanding views of the local range from a high point; he doesn't care much for the hotel otherwise.
Will: 2
Sociability: 4
Opinion: 1
PP Available: 0.5/1
[ ] Charles: Frighten
[ ] Charles: Kill
[ ] Charles: Enamor
[ ] Charles: Enthrall
[ ] Charles: Discuss
Arthur Cabot, Jr.
One of Harry's wealthier and more socially prominent classmates at Harvard—albeit not the main heir to the Cabot fortune, hence why he moved so far from Boston as Kansas City—Cabot was only narrowly persuaded to visit the hotel in July by that connection. He hopes to find a peaceful, luxurious retreat for his family to be able to visit regularly, a real prestige boost for the hotel if he likes it well enough.
Will: 5
Sociability: 5
Opinion: 5
PP Available: 1/2
[ ] Arthur: Frighten
[ ] Arthur: Kill
[ ] Arthur: Enamor
[ ] Arthur: Enthrall
[ ] Arthur: Discuss
"Rattlesnake Rich" Williams
By far the most colorful character to visit the Astral so far, Rich Williams was a former soldier, scout, sheriff, and gambler famous for a number of standoffs with outlaws—in short, a quintessential Western gunslinger. The Wild West was a vanishing place in 1901, and Williams had long since settled down to write a fast-selling biography and tour around as a sort of minor celebrity. His presence at the hotel has caused a bit of a stir, but he doesn't much mind. He's got more than enough money to pay to stay for a while, anyhow.
Will: 6
Sociability: 5
Opinion: 4
PP Available: 1/2
[ ] Rich: Frighten
[ ] Rich: Kill
[ ] Rich: Enamor
[ ] Rich: Enthrall
[ ] Rich: Discuss
Personal Actions
[ ] Study the Compendium. Further study of the magical book that inspired the nexus might yield further understanding of spiritual matters. +1 to Spirituality up to maximum of 8.
[ ] Practice Scaring Animals. People may pose too big of a risk to haunt right now, but animals are useful practice targets. +1 to Spookiness up to 6.
[ ] Brush Up On Social Skills. Conversational skills, much like any other skills, can be improved with practice and someone to talk to. +1 to Sociability up to 8. Locked: Requires another Ghost or Ally partner.
[ ] Hit the Books. The hotel's library has a variety of compelling reading, and with enough practice even ghosts can read them. +1 to one of the skills at random, potential useful knowledge.
[ ] Prowl the Grounds. All manner of fascinating people pass through the grounds every day. Perhaps some discreet espionage could yield useful information? Potential useful knowledge on VIP guests, can potentially reduce Will stats.
Why not cater to that crowd and their families with a grand hotel in the Rockies? Unlike a dedicated sanatorium, a hotel would serve as a well-rounded experience and cater to a broader swathe of high society. Add to that the potential of winter sports and Harry could envision a great deal of interest in the project.
Naturally, it took some work to find an ideal location for the hotel. Harry and Gladys first travelled out to Denver to ask around for potential sites, which led them to visit the promising Horseshoe Lake region. About two hours northwest of Denver by coach, the Horseshoe Valley was a sheltered, scenic area with a gorgeous alpine lake as its centerpiece. The entire area was owned in absentia by a Lord Longford, an eccentric British peer who had purchased the land decades ago in a failed attempt to establish a hunting preserve. He had tired of the attempt and of the locals' dislike for their foreign landlord, so when the Lindseys met his representatives in New York the following summer they were more than happy to come to an agreement to sign the land over.
However, this ended up constituting quite a bit more land than the Lindseys needed or wanted for the hotel, stretching up into mountainous wasteland. The land also included the small village of Pickaxe on the banks of the Horseshoe, a former hub for miners hoping to strike it rich in the mountains. The Lindseys negotiated more lenient lease agreements for the land, something that endeared them to the few remaining residents of the town, and built a few further homes for the constructors and staff of the hotel.
As the hotel was designed and built, it was influenced by its surroundings. The location meant that it would only be profitable to keep it open in the summers for now; if winter sports took off that could change. As a sort of mountain lodge, the architecture took on a distinctive influence from Alpine chalets. The grand lobby was flanked by solid Douglas fir trunks and the centerpiece of the indoor court was a massive stone fireplace, for example, and this simple wood-and-stone theme would be praised as a timeless design choice in the decades to come. Nevertheless, some quintessentially late Victorian stylistic choices crept in, such as the wrought iron in the ballroom and covering the elevator shafts and floridly ornate wallpaper in the hotel rooms. Unlike much of the rest of the hotel, this would be fairly quickly replaced with more reasonable wall decor.
Last but not least to be created for the hotel was its name. It was Gladys who was inspired by the star-filled night sky in the remote Horseshoe Valley one summer's evening during the second summer—the Astral Hotel was named both for the Lindseys' mystical hobbies and for the stars that seemed to guard the hotel from the heavens above.
It was a shame, then, that such protection did nothing against magical rituals gone awry.
———
1901-2, Turn One
Current Psychic Power: 3
Current Psychic Power deducted per turn: 1
Reminder: if it reaches 0, Game Over!
Current Ghosts: Harry
Each Ghost has 3 normal Actions and 1 Personal Action. You can only take one option per Guest, although if you want you can assign two or more Ghosts to one Guest—their scores will be added together for calculations. Let's go with plan voting for now. Format your votes something like:
[X] Plan Getting Started
[X] Harry - Hit the Books
[X] Harry - Gladys - Discuss
[X] Harry - Bill - Kill
VIP Guests - Current Slots: 5. If a Guest is made into an Ally, they will no longer count towards the total and instead be moved to their own category.
Gladys Lindsey
Harry's poor widow, she is utterly distraught at the loss of her dear husband and about the treacherous social position she has been forced into as the widow of a man with both a lot of financial interests, a good deal of debt, and a young daughter. Harry is certain she'd be amenable to working with him if he explained his situation…
Will: 4
Sociability: 3
Opinion: 9 (will not automatically reduce)
PP Available: 0.5 (Frighten)/ 1 (Kill)
[ ] Gladys: Frighten
[ ] Gladys: Kill
[ ] Gladys: Enamor
[ ] Gladys: Enthrall
[ ] Gladys: Discuss
Bill H. Harrison
Named after the President famous for dying forty days into his term, Harry's old friend Harrison is thankfully more hale and hearty than his namesake. Tasked with managing the hotel, Harry is sure sure he'll do an excellent job, even if he is a little…twitchy, sometimes.
Will: 4
Sociability: 4
Opinion: 6 (will not automatically reduce)
PP Available: 0.5/1
[ ] Bill: Frighten
[ ] Bill: Kill
[ ] Bill: Enamor
[ ] Bill: Enthrall
[ ] Bill: Discuss
Charles Champney
An old painter, Champney has lived in Colorado for decades now making a living off of his landscapes of the Rocky Mountains. Champney booked a weekend at the hotel in hopes of painting its commanding views of the local range from a high point; he doesn't care much for the hotel otherwise.
Will: 2
Sociability: 4
Opinion: 1
PP Available: 0.5/1
[ ] Charles: Frighten
[ ] Charles: Kill
[ ] Charles: Enamor
[ ] Charles: Enthrall
[ ] Charles: Discuss
Arthur Cabot, Jr.
One of Harry's wealthier and more socially prominent classmates at Harvard—albeit not the main heir to the Cabot fortune, hence why he moved so far from Boston as Kansas City—Cabot was only narrowly persuaded to visit the hotel in July by that connection. He hopes to find a peaceful, luxurious retreat for his family to be able to visit regularly, a real prestige boost for the hotel if he likes it well enough.
Will: 5
Sociability: 5
Opinion: 5
PP Available: 1/2
[ ] Arthur: Frighten
[ ] Arthur: Kill
[ ] Arthur: Enamor
[ ] Arthur: Enthrall
[ ] Arthur: Discuss
"Rattlesnake Rich" Williams
By far the most colorful character to visit the Astral so far, Rich Williams was a former soldier, scout, sheriff, and gambler famous for a number of standoffs with outlaws—in short, a quintessential Western gunslinger. The Wild West was a vanishing place in 1901, and Williams had long since settled down to write a fast-selling biography and tour around as a sort of minor celebrity. His presence at the hotel has caused a bit of a stir, but he doesn't much mind. He's got more than enough money to pay to stay for a while, anyhow.
Will: 6
Sociability: 5
Opinion: 4
PP Available: 1/2
[ ] Rich: Frighten
[ ] Rich: Kill
[ ] Rich: Enamor
[ ] Rich: Enthrall
[ ] Rich: Discuss
Personal Actions
[ ] Study the Compendium. Further study of the magical book that inspired the nexus might yield further understanding of spiritual matters. +1 to Spirituality up to maximum of 8.
[ ] Practice Scaring Animals. People may pose too big of a risk to haunt right now, but animals are useful practice targets. +1 to Spookiness up to 6.
[ ] Brush Up On Social Skills. Conversational skills, much like any other skills, can be improved with practice and someone to talk to. +1 to Sociability up to 8. Locked: Requires another Ghost or Ally partner.
[ ] Hit the Books. The hotel's library has a variety of compelling reading, and with enough practice even ghosts can read them. +1 to one of the skills at random, potential useful knowledge.
[ ] Prowl the Grounds. All manner of fascinating people pass through the grounds every day. Perhaps some discreet espionage could yield useful information? Potential useful knowledge on VIP guests, can potentially reduce Will stats.
Current Ghosts of the Astral Hotel
Harrington "Harry" Lindsey, the Third
Spookiness: 3
A gloomy Edwardian gentleman, his mode of dress and general demeanor make him mildly spooky.
Spirituality: 3
Although he attended the Spirituality Club at Harvard, he never deeply cared about spiritual affairs in his previous life; that has changed dramatically now.
Sociability: 4+1=5
An aggressive and adequate social climber in life, he possesses some modest skills in the socializing department.
Spookiness: 3
A gloomy Edwardian gentleman, his mode of dress and general demeanor make him mildly spooky.
Spirituality: 3
Although he attended the Spirituality Club at Harvard, he never deeply cared about spiritual affairs in his previous life; that has changed dramatically now.
Sociability: 4+1=5
An aggressive and adequate social climber in life, he possesses some modest skills in the socializing department.
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[X] Gladys: Enamor
[X] Bill: Discuss
[X] Charles: Frighten
[X] Arthur: Discuss
[X] Rich: Discuss
[X] Study the Compendium. Further study of the magical book that inspired the nexus might yield further understanding of spiritual matters. +1 to Spirituality up to maximum of 8.
[X] Bill: Discuss
[X] Charles: Frighten
[X] Arthur: Discuss
[X] Rich: Discuss
[X] Study the Compendium. Further study of the magical book that inspired the nexus might yield further understanding of spiritual matters. +1 to Spirituality up to maximum of 8.
NaanContributor
Provider of delicious flatbread, and nothing else.
- Location
- Hawaii
[X] Plan Hold Tight
-[X] Harry- Gladys - Discuss
-[X] Harry - Bill - Discuss
-[X] Harry - Charles - Enamor
-[X] Harry - Hit the Books
Touching base with both our wife and our manager ASAP makes sense to me. For the last regular slot, since Charles will automatically not return if nothing is done this turn, and he's the only guest with a lower Will than Harry's relevant stats, he seems like a good first target. Just not completely sure if it's better to only Enamor him for now as the guaranteed success (inspire his painting in ways he wasn't expecting I guess?), or flip the coin on trying to Enthrall him right away. Or heck, even try to Kill him (just Frightening him and losing him as a Guest anyway doesn't seem worth it for just 0.5 PP).
-[X] Harry- Gladys - Discuss
-[X] Harry - Bill - Discuss
-[X] Harry - Charles - Enamor
-[X] Harry - Hit the Books
Touching base with both our wife and our manager ASAP makes sense to me. For the last regular slot, since Charles will automatically not return if nothing is done this turn, and he's the only guest with a lower Will than Harry's relevant stats, he seems like a good first target. Just not completely sure if it's better to only Enamor him for now as the guaranteed success (inspire his painting in ways he wasn't expecting I guess?), or flip the coin on trying to Enthrall him right away. Or heck, even try to Kill him (just Frightening him and losing him as a Guest anyway doesn't seem worth it for just 0.5 PP).
Needs to be in plan format, and we only get 3 Guest interactions, not 5.
- Location
- St. Petersburg
A painter of some renown could be excellent advertisement. A painter who didn't care for the hotel but was persuaded otherwise is even more so. I'd like to Enthrall him... eventually. Risking our only low Will guest might be unwise.
Why the books, though? We will need to frighten people soon to attempt to restore PP, and our Spookiness is very low. We want it at around 6 to be able to sustain ourselves off average Will guests.
Investing our first couple of "free" turns into Spookiness seems a safer choice.
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NaanContributor
Provider of delicious flatbread, and nothing else.
- Location
- Hawaii
*Shrug* Choice paralysis, sorta? We honestly need to improve all of our stats, Spookiness to keep up our PP (and I guess Kill people who we prefer as Ghosts instead of living Allies, though I'm kinda hesitant about that?), Spirituality to keep the Guests we Frighten for PP coming back and Enthrall lower Will ones, and Sociability to gain more Allies. So since any stat increase will help us a lot, I figure we can go with the random one for now until we need to reach specific thresholds, since it also offers additional useful knowledge to compensate for the randomness.
- Pronouns
- He/They
[X] Plan Hold Tight
This quest looks interesting! Looking forward to how it goes!
This quest looks interesting! Looking forward to how it goes!
Turn 1 Results
Turn 1 Results
Harry Action 1: Discuss with Gladys Lindsey
"Is that everything we needed to discuss concerning…" Even after having spoken about the matter for a half hour, the words still struggled to come to Gladys' lips.
"I believe so, Missus Lindsey. The finances are squared away, the funeral will happen on the 26th instead of the 25th, and everyone will be able to attend. That ought to be everything."
She smiled faintly at Mr. Lawrence, the accountant from Denver she and Harry had brought on last year to ensure the Astral's finances were sustainable. As he nodded and began clearing up his papers, she thanked him, shifted aside her mourning veil, carefully went on her way, and dwelled on their discussion. The trouble was that the hotel's finances already hadn't been sustainable, not really, and now that Harry was…gone, money would be tight. Even the planned funeral would infringe on funds they had hoped to use to pay back one of the more aggressive lenders. But that had been when Harry was alive, and Gladys refused to countenance giving him a sorry funeral—not her dear husband.
They had already spoken about all of this, though, and the good news was that even if finances were difficult now, the future seemed brighter. The hotel had been fully reserved through the rest of the summer and even into the fall, a miracle according to her consultants and friends with more experience in the industry. Perhaps it was the novelty of the location—it was the first resort in Colorado state—or perhaps it was the network of connections they had painstakingly built up over the years.
Most of the visitors were people she or Harry had known personally in one way or another, which had made the last few weeks even more painful than they would have already been. An endless stream of well-wishers, weepy-faced and hungry-eyed: people she had thought she had known well all attempting to squeeze some sort of advantage out of dear Harry's death in one form or another. Speaking with Mr. Lawrence, and perhaps the hotel staff, was the easiest out of them all, for they had already been paid to speak with her!
She had never really wanted the hotel, she would readily admit. Harry had been set on the idea from the beginning and refused to entertain her expressions of reluctance to the point that she had simply given up and thrown herself into ensuring its success. It had been her connections from school and beyond that had attracted the clientele just as much as her husband, or perhaps more. It had also been her choice of location for the hotel, higher on the mountain as opposed to down on the lake as Harry had originally planned; the architect had added a lake house reachable by carriage instead. Despite her initial reluctance, it had become the fruit of her labor as well, and she had begun to take a certain pride in it before Harry died.
Now, she felt nothing but hollow loathing for the place. It had taken her husband from her, taken her friends from her and replaced them with greedy vultures, taken her family's financial security, and even stolen away the comforts of city living for months on end, possibly for decades into the future. The hotel was an albatross around her neck, one she was in no position to shift lest the debt consume them entirely.
There was only one thing the hotel had not taken from her, and Gladys cherished her all the more for it. Her musings had taken her out of the main campus down to the family cabin, the Lindseys' private home on the grounds, where as soon as she sighted its door it slammed open and Ida came rushing out. A tiny tempest at all of seven years old, Ida was Gladys' sole joy in life now.
"Mommy, mommy, Miss Jackson says I can't go in the pool!" Ida complained, her black pigtails bobbing with her head.
"It ain't safe now," Miss Jackson, her nanny, said calmly. "Too many people there this time of day, and with the folks you said were prowling around…"
"Yes, please listen to Miss Jackson," Gladys exhorted her daughter. "You can swim later, when I can get one of the boys to keep watch over you and when there will be less people about."
Ida pouted. "I can't swim! I can't run around! I don't wanna just sit here anymore!" Her face crumpled. "I want Daddy back!"
Miss Jackson sighed, and Gladys' heart broke, just a little bit more. She kneeled down and brought her daughter into a tight hug. "So do I, sweetheart. So do I."
A few moments later, Gladys led Ida back inside as Miss Jackson left for her lunch. They read from a primer for a while, Ida stumbling over certain words but continuing to improve. She had worried that with Harry's death that Ida might fall apart completely, but their daughter was stronger than that, thank goodness. After a few short stories that Ida breezed through quite easily, she was tired and calmed enough to tuck in for an afternoon nap. Gladys quietly left Ida in her bed and entered the study.
It had been their shared study, her and Harry; his notes and correspondence still filled the drawers. Gladys could almost imagine that he would walk in at any moment, complaining about the construction work or the financiers again. She sat down with a silent sigh and began work on some of her own correspondence, with one of her dear friends back in Boston.
It was nearly a half hour later when a strange flash drew her attention from her work, a brief blue glow on the other side of the room from her gas lamp. Just as quickly as it had come, it faded, but it was bright enough that she was certain she hadn't imagined it. She made her way over to the window, pulling open the curtains, but the too-bright light outside wasn't the same color. Drawing them shut again and slightly shaking her head, she recoiled in shock when a transparent form abruptly rose from the floorboards—a horribly familiar form.
"Harry?" she whispered. His spectral figure hovered before her, a bluish, wavering semblance of her husband that softly illuminated the whole room. His face, gaunt and gloomy as always, brightened as she spoke his name, and he eagerly began talking…but no sound came out.
Her mind spun. She had always known the supernatural was real, ever since she had had her fortune told as a small girl at a county fair and it had come true. Granted, the fortune had merely said she had would have good luck and she had proceeded to win a raffle for a wheel of cheese that day, but Gladys knew better than to ignore such a clear sign. Since then she had dabbled in mysticism as a personal passion, and it had always proven a fascinating, intriguing mystery, always just out of reach of tangibility. But this…ghost? Apparition? Demon? She knew not what…was far beyond anything she had ever imagined she would see in this life, even during the Occult Club's darkest experiments.
Harry was frowning now, perhaps at her look of utter mystification. "Harry?" she repeated faintly. "I cannot…hear you, if you are speaking." He blinked and touched his own throat, which glowed brighter blue.
"Pardon, my dear," and his voice was quieter than it had been in life but it was absolutely his and the realization shook her to the core. "I haven't much time…"
"A message from the beyond," she whispered with conviction.
Harry immediately shook his head. "That's…not quite it, I'm afraid. I am certainly dead, my dear, and I am so, so sorry for that, but…I haven't been to any sort of beyond. It's, well…" Did he actually look sheepish? "That ritual we did to bless the hotel, it called for a soul as payment, and…" He awkwardly gestured down at his spectral form. "It took mine." A horrible feeling seized over her as he continued, "My soul is bound to the property in exchange for its prosperity, as I understand it. I've seen the rolls, reservations are booked clear through to November, an honest miracle! I'm quite glad that…"
"It's my fault you're dead?" she interrupted him tremulously.
"No. No, not at all! You mustn't think that, my love."
"It is. It is my fault! I insisted we perform the ritual!" Tears leapt to her eyes. "You merely went along with me. Humored me, and you paid the price for it! My, my mother was right, I've been playing with powers I didn't understand—"
"Gladys, dear, I purchased that book, the one with the ritual. We were partners in this, as in so much else." He smiled at her softly, and she could not help but cry more fiercely. "Please, dear," and now he looked flustered, as he often did when she wept, "there is nothing we can do about it now! And I truly haven't much time."
"B-but I thought you said you were held here!" she protested thickly. She pulled her handkerchief from her coat and started dabbing at her cheeks.
"I am, but making myself visible to you takes effort, saps some small bit of the magical power that keeps me here," he explained. He tapped his throat. "Speaking takes a little bit more. That's why I need your help…"
"Of course," she said immediately. "Anything."
Harry smiled crookedly. "Are you sure about that?"
Gladys is now an Ally! As your Ally, she can perform certain activities in the mortal world that are either metaphorically or literally beyond you, generally opening up entire new fields of activity. Beginning next turn, you will have access to an Ally action sub-vote.
—
Harry Action 2: Discuss with Bill Harrison
While the conversation had gone mercifully, wonderfully, well with his dear wife, Harry suspected that one with Bill would not be nearly so easy. They had met in the lecture hall years ago and gotten along quite well, it was true, but it was a friendship founded on a shared, faint desperation to make something of themselves in the world. Bill had had a run of rotten luck since leaving school, leaving him open to take a mere managerial position at the hotel.
Some of that luck might have owed to Bill's behavior, though, Harry considered as he watched the man take notes in a ledger in his office. Bill flitted between three separate ledger lines, haphazardly copying down information from memos and loose leaves of paper on any subject from guests in residence to firewood needs. It was a horrid, seemingly disorganized mess, but it was simply how Bill worked—the man wasn't prone to actually making mistakes.
He was, however, prone to nerves and that could very easily pose an issue. If Harry simply appeared out of the floor as he had with Gladys, the poor man might simply faint out of fright, and he suffered from hypertension which made the matter more serious. Harry could very personally testify to that risk. Instead, he needed a lighter touch. Harry glided over to the gas lamp and pinched the flame until it turned a pale, unnatural blue. After a moment of continued, frantic scribbling, Bill glanced up in mild confusion.
Harry leaned forward to the flame and spoke, keeping his body invisible. "Bill? Can you hear me?"
Bill froze, eyes growing wide. "Hello?" he turned to the door, "Did someone just call for me?" He shot a nervous glance back at the blue flame.
"It's me, Harry," he tried again, but Bill leapt to his feet with a start, scattering his already untidy papers every which way. With a quick puff Bill blew the lamp flame out and stumbled to the door.
In the empty room Harry cursed silently.
—
Over the next few days Harry attempted again and again to corner Bill, but he proved a slippery foe. At night Harry was reluctant to disturb him because of the risk of panic, and in the day there was never an opportunity. After the second attempt to converse via gas lamp Bill avoided them like the plague unless he was surrounded by other people. He began working at the front desk beside his bemused concierges, where Harry couldn't easily render himself visible. When experimenting with the animals around the hotel Harry had found that the spiritual energy use to appear to multiple animals at once was far more taxing than to appear to just one.
Eventually, Harry reluctantly asked his wife for help and she readily agreed. He didn't want her wrapped up in his spiritual penance (in a manner of speaking) but she was eager to involve herself as much as she could due to her own guilt. She told Bill there was an issue she needed to explain to him in private, and despite his slight embarrassment he agreed to accompany her back to the Lindsey cabin one Wednesday evening. As soon as they had crossed the threshold Harry manifested himself before them, fully formed and allowing his slight frustration to show on his face.
Before Bill could flee—and the expression on his face vividly illustrated his intent—Gladys gripped his arm and loudly announced, "Hello again, Harry! Come on, Bill, say something to him!"
Gritting his teeth slightly, Bill shook his head. "There's—Harry's dead, Gladys, please let go—"
"That doesn't mean I don't wish to speak with you still," Harry said as pleasantly as he could.
"There's," Bill swallowed, eyes darting every which way but at Harry, "there's no one there, and even if there were I couldn't speak with him—you have a strong grip, Gladys—"
"Couldn't? Why not?" inquired Gladys, the tension as she nearly grappled with Bill hardly impeding her sweet tone.
"The same reason I never visited your club in school," Bill nearly snapped, "Hebrews* are forbidden from consorting with the dead, or anything of the like."
Gladys' eyes widened and she slackened her grip enough that Bill finally regained his arm. Harry winced—Bill had mentioned this to him years ago, when they'd discussed the Occult Club and he'd completely forgotten—and glanced to his wife helplessly. Before Bill could turn tail, she grasped his shoulder, more gently this time. "We aren't sure he is completely dead. It was some strange ritual that, well, took his soul from his body and placed it into the hotel, or something to that effect."
"That's the same difference as far as I'm concerned," he said icily. He made no immediate move to leave, though, which Harry took as a hopeful sign.
"What if Gladys served as an interlocutor?" Harry improvised on the spot. Both of the other two gave him a dubious look, Gladys directly at him and Bill at a spot on the floor next to him. "The ritual didn't bind my soul to this place without cause, I have work I must do to keep the hotel thriving. That means we'll have to work together, and you told me, Bill, how much you need this job—"
Bill grimaced. "This is—but—fine," he murmured, eyes finally shunting over to Gladys. "I don't…like it, whatever actual sorcery this is. I want no part of it. However, if there's anything that I need to know, yes, Gladys can tell me."
"Thank you, Bill," she said warmly. He nodded once, shook out his formerly grabbed arm, and turned to the door. He paused, though.
"If you had never consorted with spirits in the first place, you wouldn't have gotten yourself into this plight," Bill said softly. "For our friendship, I'll stay out of your affairs. I'm very sorry for you." He opened the door and left without so much as a wave.
*In the late 1800s and early 1900s, Jews in America often referred to themselves as Hebrews.
Bill has uneasily accepted the new state of affairs—he won't be your Ally, but he will be a more passive ally in that he'll try to cover for you and not cause you trouble. He will still be removed from the Guest list and free up a slot.
—
Harry Action Three: Enamor Charles Champney
There wasn't much that could make Charley smile anymore.
When he'd been a young lad, hale and thankfully whole after his service in the War Between the States, Charles Champney had returned to his native New Hampshire with a dream of making a living as an artist, joining that wide field of painters in that era that found success portraying the beauty of the White Mountains. He had returned to his small village nestled in the foothills of Mount Washington, built a small studio on the side of his family home, and started a family. Although he never rose so high as to become an artist in residency at one of the grand hotels of the region, he was able to earn some money off of his work.
Four short years later his wife and young daughter were taken by scarlet fever and Charley could barely do more than put food in his mouth for a year afterward. The lovely changing colors of the mountains no longer stirred his soul with such emptiness hanging over him, and after another year of idling inactivity he sold his empty home and studio and left New England altogether. He travelled generally West, occasionally painting as he went, and eventually he found something that could still take his breath away in the majesty of the Rocky Mountains. How insignificant did the hills of New Hampshire now seem beside these titans!
They did not bring him joy, but they brought him inspiration, and that was all he needed.
Over the next twenty-five years Charles Champney made a name for himself with his landscapes of Colorado. His artwork adorned wealthy homes back East and in civic spaces in his adopted home. Union Station in Denver had held one of his paintings before it burnt down in '94, greeting newcomers to the state with a vista of snowy peaks at sunset. He was always seeking new vantage points because his customers were as well, and with the opening of a brand new resort in a more obscure part of the state, Charley had invested a portion of his meager savings in making a visit for a weekend and painting its vistas, hoping to recoup part of the costs through selling the painting back to the hotel and to eventually secure more customers. He had originally hoped to meet and win the interest of the proprietor Lindsey, who was apparently quite well connected with the Brahmins, but his untimely death had put paid to those plans.
Now here he was, easel set up on one of the Astral's viewing decks on a rather chilly early April morning, hoping to finish the panorama that had mildly vexed him thus far. It wasn't an issue of design—the lake ringed by mountains on the other side of the valley was a simple yet excellent artistic subject—but rather of color. The white and pale orange of the distant peaks, the dark gray and muddy greens of the forests, the hint of a gleam on the black shadows of the lake, all of it was a classic blend he'd painted a dozen times before to great success.
Charley sighed, letting out a slight puff of steam over his thick wool scarf. Thankfully it wasn't quite freezing or else he wouldn't be able to paint at all, but it was certainly close enough for discomfort. He had finished the pencil work yesterday, since the time of day didn't matter as much for the overall shape, and had so far finished about half of the first layer of paint. He could do details work later, inside where he could sit beside a fire that might warm his old bones. The painting would be fine, was already taking the form of a lovely illustration, and yet…
Well, it could simply be the tedium of essentially recreating the same painting he had done for the past decade or so. Coloradan vistas were popular, lucrative, and very repetitive. He knew full well how to stylize the panorama in a style that was alluring to the client's eye, but to his eye…
…well, it was disappointing somehow. Something prodded at him, a sense of vague dissatisfaction. It was a bit strange, because he had not been caught up in a flight of fancy concerning his art in years. It was pretty, it was evocative, but it certainly did not need to be exemplary.
He squinted out at the slowly brightening landscape, trying to see if there was anything unique he could add to the image. He never dabbled in the fantastic, he refused to add anything to his art that wasn't actually there, so he couldn't just create a compelling element to the work from thin air. The small village by the lake was unremarkable, the forests were the same most everywhere in the mountains, the peaks weren't especially picturesque, the sky…
…the sky gleamed and twisted with a hint of a peculiarly unnatural bright blue…
…and, suddenly intrigued, Charley pulled out his blue and white paints.
—
Two weeks later, a grand new painting was unveiled at the rear end of the main hall of the Astral, beside the grand granite fireplace. Entitled "Mountains and Sky at Dawn," it was distinctive for a Champney piece for its uniquely detailed and vibrant dawn sky. Pinks, oranges, and even bright blues intertwined in an eye-catching pattern that was perhaps more intriguing than the actual mountains at the center of the painting. As the years went by, catching a glimpse of this famous painter's outstanding work became something of a reason to visit the Hotel in and of itself. Of course, it also helped that Champney became a regular visitor to the hotel over the next few years…
Charles Champney gains 5 Opinion! The Astral Hotel gains 1 Reputation for the painting, as well as 0.2 Reputation each year that Champney remains a guest!
Personal Action: Hit the Books!
Thankfully there was one other pastime with which Harry could engage with the physical world without too much exertion: reading. Late nights, after most guests and employees were in bed, Harry would sneak down to the library and read whatever caught his fancy.
He attempted to study relevant information, like the grimoire or the other occult books in the library, but the former stymied him with the German and the latter he found to be nonsense. He had Gladys attempt some of the "spiritual rituals" in the books to see if they influenced him in any way and the only result was leaving a persistent garlic smell in the cabin for a few weeks, according to her—he could no longer smell anything. Perhaps that was a mercy; he'd never been fond of garlic.
When this failed, he expanded his literary horizons to anything that caught his interest to stave off boredom. To his mild surprise, it was the magazines and newspapers that intrigued him more than the great works of fiction. He'd never been curious about women's fashion or the state of the war in South Africa when he'd still been alive, but now the trickle of steady, new information invigorated and intrigued him. At any rate, it provided for excellent conversational material with Gladys, who had a few opinions on the Boers and a great many opinions on women's fashion.
+1 to Sociability!
AN: Kept you waiting, huh? I'll be honest, the next update might take another six months, but I haven't given up on this and I hope the next one's a lot faster. I've decided that I need to add a few tweaks to the system, too, like a Reputation system to make it worth your while to retain certain guests if you wish instead of replacing them as fast as possible. That'll be my next post, and then will come Turn Two. As always discussion is appreciated!
Harry Action 1: Discuss with Gladys Lindsey
"Is that everything we needed to discuss concerning…" Even after having spoken about the matter for a half hour, the words still struggled to come to Gladys' lips.
"I believe so, Missus Lindsey. The finances are squared away, the funeral will happen on the 26th instead of the 25th, and everyone will be able to attend. That ought to be everything."
She smiled faintly at Mr. Lawrence, the accountant from Denver she and Harry had brought on last year to ensure the Astral's finances were sustainable. As he nodded and began clearing up his papers, she thanked him, shifted aside her mourning veil, carefully went on her way, and dwelled on their discussion. The trouble was that the hotel's finances already hadn't been sustainable, not really, and now that Harry was…gone, money would be tight. Even the planned funeral would infringe on funds they had hoped to use to pay back one of the more aggressive lenders. But that had been when Harry was alive, and Gladys refused to countenance giving him a sorry funeral—not her dear husband.
They had already spoken about all of this, though, and the good news was that even if finances were difficult now, the future seemed brighter. The hotel had been fully reserved through the rest of the summer and even into the fall, a miracle according to her consultants and friends with more experience in the industry. Perhaps it was the novelty of the location—it was the first resort in Colorado state—or perhaps it was the network of connections they had painstakingly built up over the years.
Most of the visitors were people she or Harry had known personally in one way or another, which had made the last few weeks even more painful than they would have already been. An endless stream of well-wishers, weepy-faced and hungry-eyed: people she had thought she had known well all attempting to squeeze some sort of advantage out of dear Harry's death in one form or another. Speaking with Mr. Lawrence, and perhaps the hotel staff, was the easiest out of them all, for they had already been paid to speak with her!
She had never really wanted the hotel, she would readily admit. Harry had been set on the idea from the beginning and refused to entertain her expressions of reluctance to the point that she had simply given up and thrown herself into ensuring its success. It had been her connections from school and beyond that had attracted the clientele just as much as her husband, or perhaps more. It had also been her choice of location for the hotel, higher on the mountain as opposed to down on the lake as Harry had originally planned; the architect had added a lake house reachable by carriage instead. Despite her initial reluctance, it had become the fruit of her labor as well, and she had begun to take a certain pride in it before Harry died.
Now, she felt nothing but hollow loathing for the place. It had taken her husband from her, taken her friends from her and replaced them with greedy vultures, taken her family's financial security, and even stolen away the comforts of city living for months on end, possibly for decades into the future. The hotel was an albatross around her neck, one she was in no position to shift lest the debt consume them entirely.
There was only one thing the hotel had not taken from her, and Gladys cherished her all the more for it. Her musings had taken her out of the main campus down to the family cabin, the Lindseys' private home on the grounds, where as soon as she sighted its door it slammed open and Ida came rushing out. A tiny tempest at all of seven years old, Ida was Gladys' sole joy in life now.
"Mommy, mommy, Miss Jackson says I can't go in the pool!" Ida complained, her black pigtails bobbing with her head.
"It ain't safe now," Miss Jackson, her nanny, said calmly. "Too many people there this time of day, and with the folks you said were prowling around…"
"Yes, please listen to Miss Jackson," Gladys exhorted her daughter. "You can swim later, when I can get one of the boys to keep watch over you and when there will be less people about."
Ida pouted. "I can't swim! I can't run around! I don't wanna just sit here anymore!" Her face crumpled. "I want Daddy back!"
Miss Jackson sighed, and Gladys' heart broke, just a little bit more. She kneeled down and brought her daughter into a tight hug. "So do I, sweetheart. So do I."
A few moments later, Gladys led Ida back inside as Miss Jackson left for her lunch. They read from a primer for a while, Ida stumbling over certain words but continuing to improve. She had worried that with Harry's death that Ida might fall apart completely, but their daughter was stronger than that, thank goodness. After a few short stories that Ida breezed through quite easily, she was tired and calmed enough to tuck in for an afternoon nap. Gladys quietly left Ida in her bed and entered the study.
It had been their shared study, her and Harry; his notes and correspondence still filled the drawers. Gladys could almost imagine that he would walk in at any moment, complaining about the construction work or the financiers again. She sat down with a silent sigh and began work on some of her own correspondence, with one of her dear friends back in Boston.
It was nearly a half hour later when a strange flash drew her attention from her work, a brief blue glow on the other side of the room from her gas lamp. Just as quickly as it had come, it faded, but it was bright enough that she was certain she hadn't imagined it. She made her way over to the window, pulling open the curtains, but the too-bright light outside wasn't the same color. Drawing them shut again and slightly shaking her head, she recoiled in shock when a transparent form abruptly rose from the floorboards—a horribly familiar form.
"Harry?" she whispered. His spectral figure hovered before her, a bluish, wavering semblance of her husband that softly illuminated the whole room. His face, gaunt and gloomy as always, brightened as she spoke his name, and he eagerly began talking…but no sound came out.
Her mind spun. She had always known the supernatural was real, ever since she had had her fortune told as a small girl at a county fair and it had come true. Granted, the fortune had merely said she had would have good luck and she had proceeded to win a raffle for a wheel of cheese that day, but Gladys knew better than to ignore such a clear sign. Since then she had dabbled in mysticism as a personal passion, and it had always proven a fascinating, intriguing mystery, always just out of reach of tangibility. But this…ghost? Apparition? Demon? She knew not what…was far beyond anything she had ever imagined she would see in this life, even during the Occult Club's darkest experiments.
Harry was frowning now, perhaps at her look of utter mystification. "Harry?" she repeated faintly. "I cannot…hear you, if you are speaking." He blinked and touched his own throat, which glowed brighter blue.
"Pardon, my dear," and his voice was quieter than it had been in life but it was absolutely his and the realization shook her to the core. "I haven't much time…"
"A message from the beyond," she whispered with conviction.
Harry immediately shook his head. "That's…not quite it, I'm afraid. I am certainly dead, my dear, and I am so, so sorry for that, but…I haven't been to any sort of beyond. It's, well…" Did he actually look sheepish? "That ritual we did to bless the hotel, it called for a soul as payment, and…" He awkwardly gestured down at his spectral form. "It took mine." A horrible feeling seized over her as he continued, "My soul is bound to the property in exchange for its prosperity, as I understand it. I've seen the rolls, reservations are booked clear through to November, an honest miracle! I'm quite glad that…"
"It's my fault you're dead?" she interrupted him tremulously.
"No. No, not at all! You mustn't think that, my love."
"It is. It is my fault! I insisted we perform the ritual!" Tears leapt to her eyes. "You merely went along with me. Humored me, and you paid the price for it! My, my mother was right, I've been playing with powers I didn't understand—"
"Gladys, dear, I purchased that book, the one with the ritual. We were partners in this, as in so much else." He smiled at her softly, and she could not help but cry more fiercely. "Please, dear," and now he looked flustered, as he often did when she wept, "there is nothing we can do about it now! And I truly haven't much time."
"B-but I thought you said you were held here!" she protested thickly. She pulled her handkerchief from her coat and started dabbing at her cheeks.
"I am, but making myself visible to you takes effort, saps some small bit of the magical power that keeps me here," he explained. He tapped his throat. "Speaking takes a little bit more. That's why I need your help…"
"Of course," she said immediately. "Anything."
Harry smiled crookedly. "Are you sure about that?"
Gladys is now an Ally! As your Ally, she can perform certain activities in the mortal world that are either metaphorically or literally beyond you, generally opening up entire new fields of activity. Beginning next turn, you will have access to an Ally action sub-vote.
—
Harry Action 2: Discuss with Bill Harrison
While the conversation had gone mercifully, wonderfully, well with his dear wife, Harry suspected that one with Bill would not be nearly so easy. They had met in the lecture hall years ago and gotten along quite well, it was true, but it was a friendship founded on a shared, faint desperation to make something of themselves in the world. Bill had had a run of rotten luck since leaving school, leaving him open to take a mere managerial position at the hotel.
Some of that luck might have owed to Bill's behavior, though, Harry considered as he watched the man take notes in a ledger in his office. Bill flitted between three separate ledger lines, haphazardly copying down information from memos and loose leaves of paper on any subject from guests in residence to firewood needs. It was a horrid, seemingly disorganized mess, but it was simply how Bill worked—the man wasn't prone to actually making mistakes.
He was, however, prone to nerves and that could very easily pose an issue. If Harry simply appeared out of the floor as he had with Gladys, the poor man might simply faint out of fright, and he suffered from hypertension which made the matter more serious. Harry could very personally testify to that risk. Instead, he needed a lighter touch. Harry glided over to the gas lamp and pinched the flame until it turned a pale, unnatural blue. After a moment of continued, frantic scribbling, Bill glanced up in mild confusion.
Harry leaned forward to the flame and spoke, keeping his body invisible. "Bill? Can you hear me?"
Bill froze, eyes growing wide. "Hello?" he turned to the door, "Did someone just call for me?" He shot a nervous glance back at the blue flame.
"It's me, Harry," he tried again, but Bill leapt to his feet with a start, scattering his already untidy papers every which way. With a quick puff Bill blew the lamp flame out and stumbled to the door.
In the empty room Harry cursed silently.
—
Over the next few days Harry attempted again and again to corner Bill, but he proved a slippery foe. At night Harry was reluctant to disturb him because of the risk of panic, and in the day there was never an opportunity. After the second attempt to converse via gas lamp Bill avoided them like the plague unless he was surrounded by other people. He began working at the front desk beside his bemused concierges, where Harry couldn't easily render himself visible. When experimenting with the animals around the hotel Harry had found that the spiritual energy use to appear to multiple animals at once was far more taxing than to appear to just one.
Eventually, Harry reluctantly asked his wife for help and she readily agreed. He didn't want her wrapped up in his spiritual penance (in a manner of speaking) but she was eager to involve herself as much as she could due to her own guilt. She told Bill there was an issue she needed to explain to him in private, and despite his slight embarrassment he agreed to accompany her back to the Lindsey cabin one Wednesday evening. As soon as they had crossed the threshold Harry manifested himself before them, fully formed and allowing his slight frustration to show on his face.
Before Bill could flee—and the expression on his face vividly illustrated his intent—Gladys gripped his arm and loudly announced, "Hello again, Harry! Come on, Bill, say something to him!"
Gritting his teeth slightly, Bill shook his head. "There's—Harry's dead, Gladys, please let go—"
"That doesn't mean I don't wish to speak with you still," Harry said as pleasantly as he could.
"There's," Bill swallowed, eyes darting every which way but at Harry, "there's no one there, and even if there were I couldn't speak with him—you have a strong grip, Gladys—"
"Couldn't? Why not?" inquired Gladys, the tension as she nearly grappled with Bill hardly impeding her sweet tone.
"The same reason I never visited your club in school," Bill nearly snapped, "Hebrews* are forbidden from consorting with the dead, or anything of the like."
Gladys' eyes widened and she slackened her grip enough that Bill finally regained his arm. Harry winced—Bill had mentioned this to him years ago, when they'd discussed the Occult Club and he'd completely forgotten—and glanced to his wife helplessly. Before Bill could turn tail, she grasped his shoulder, more gently this time. "We aren't sure he is completely dead. It was some strange ritual that, well, took his soul from his body and placed it into the hotel, or something to that effect."
"That's the same difference as far as I'm concerned," he said icily. He made no immediate move to leave, though, which Harry took as a hopeful sign.
"What if Gladys served as an interlocutor?" Harry improvised on the spot. Both of the other two gave him a dubious look, Gladys directly at him and Bill at a spot on the floor next to him. "The ritual didn't bind my soul to this place without cause, I have work I must do to keep the hotel thriving. That means we'll have to work together, and you told me, Bill, how much you need this job—"
Bill grimaced. "This is—but—fine," he murmured, eyes finally shunting over to Gladys. "I don't…like it, whatever actual sorcery this is. I want no part of it. However, if there's anything that I need to know, yes, Gladys can tell me."
"Thank you, Bill," she said warmly. He nodded once, shook out his formerly grabbed arm, and turned to the door. He paused, though.
"If you had never consorted with spirits in the first place, you wouldn't have gotten yourself into this plight," Bill said softly. "For our friendship, I'll stay out of your affairs. I'm very sorry for you." He opened the door and left without so much as a wave.
*In the late 1800s and early 1900s, Jews in America often referred to themselves as Hebrews.
Bill has uneasily accepted the new state of affairs—he won't be your Ally, but he will be a more passive ally in that he'll try to cover for you and not cause you trouble. He will still be removed from the Guest list and free up a slot.
—
Harry Action Three: Enamor Charles Champney
There wasn't much that could make Charley smile anymore.
When he'd been a young lad, hale and thankfully whole after his service in the War Between the States, Charles Champney had returned to his native New Hampshire with a dream of making a living as an artist, joining that wide field of painters in that era that found success portraying the beauty of the White Mountains. He had returned to his small village nestled in the foothills of Mount Washington, built a small studio on the side of his family home, and started a family. Although he never rose so high as to become an artist in residency at one of the grand hotels of the region, he was able to earn some money off of his work.
Four short years later his wife and young daughter were taken by scarlet fever and Charley could barely do more than put food in his mouth for a year afterward. The lovely changing colors of the mountains no longer stirred his soul with such emptiness hanging over him, and after another year of idling inactivity he sold his empty home and studio and left New England altogether. He travelled generally West, occasionally painting as he went, and eventually he found something that could still take his breath away in the majesty of the Rocky Mountains. How insignificant did the hills of New Hampshire now seem beside these titans!
They did not bring him joy, but they brought him inspiration, and that was all he needed.
Over the next twenty-five years Charles Champney made a name for himself with his landscapes of Colorado. His artwork adorned wealthy homes back East and in civic spaces in his adopted home. Union Station in Denver had held one of his paintings before it burnt down in '94, greeting newcomers to the state with a vista of snowy peaks at sunset. He was always seeking new vantage points because his customers were as well, and with the opening of a brand new resort in a more obscure part of the state, Charley had invested a portion of his meager savings in making a visit for a weekend and painting its vistas, hoping to recoup part of the costs through selling the painting back to the hotel and to eventually secure more customers. He had originally hoped to meet and win the interest of the proprietor Lindsey, who was apparently quite well connected with the Brahmins, but his untimely death had put paid to those plans.
Now here he was, easel set up on one of the Astral's viewing decks on a rather chilly early April morning, hoping to finish the panorama that had mildly vexed him thus far. It wasn't an issue of design—the lake ringed by mountains on the other side of the valley was a simple yet excellent artistic subject—but rather of color. The white and pale orange of the distant peaks, the dark gray and muddy greens of the forests, the hint of a gleam on the black shadows of the lake, all of it was a classic blend he'd painted a dozen times before to great success.
Charley sighed, letting out a slight puff of steam over his thick wool scarf. Thankfully it wasn't quite freezing or else he wouldn't be able to paint at all, but it was certainly close enough for discomfort. He had finished the pencil work yesterday, since the time of day didn't matter as much for the overall shape, and had so far finished about half of the first layer of paint. He could do details work later, inside where he could sit beside a fire that might warm his old bones. The painting would be fine, was already taking the form of a lovely illustration, and yet…
Well, it could simply be the tedium of essentially recreating the same painting he had done for the past decade or so. Coloradan vistas were popular, lucrative, and very repetitive. He knew full well how to stylize the panorama in a style that was alluring to the client's eye, but to his eye…
…well, it was disappointing somehow. Something prodded at him, a sense of vague dissatisfaction. It was a bit strange, because he had not been caught up in a flight of fancy concerning his art in years. It was pretty, it was evocative, but it certainly did not need to be exemplary.
He squinted out at the slowly brightening landscape, trying to see if there was anything unique he could add to the image. He never dabbled in the fantastic, he refused to add anything to his art that wasn't actually there, so he couldn't just create a compelling element to the work from thin air. The small village by the lake was unremarkable, the forests were the same most everywhere in the mountains, the peaks weren't especially picturesque, the sky…
…the sky gleamed and twisted with a hint of a peculiarly unnatural bright blue…
…and, suddenly intrigued, Charley pulled out his blue and white paints.
—
Two weeks later, a grand new painting was unveiled at the rear end of the main hall of the Astral, beside the grand granite fireplace. Entitled "Mountains and Sky at Dawn," it was distinctive for a Champney piece for its uniquely detailed and vibrant dawn sky. Pinks, oranges, and even bright blues intertwined in an eye-catching pattern that was perhaps more intriguing than the actual mountains at the center of the painting. As the years went by, catching a glimpse of this famous painter's outstanding work became something of a reason to visit the Hotel in and of itself. Of course, it also helped that Champney became a regular visitor to the hotel over the next few years…
Charles Champney gains 5 Opinion! The Astral Hotel gains 1 Reputation for the painting, as well as 0.2 Reputation each year that Champney remains a guest!
Personal Action: Hit the Books!
Thankfully there was one other pastime with which Harry could engage with the physical world without too much exertion: reading. Late nights, after most guests and employees were in bed, Harry would sneak down to the library and read whatever caught his fancy.
He attempted to study relevant information, like the grimoire or the other occult books in the library, but the former stymied him with the German and the latter he found to be nonsense. He had Gladys attempt some of the "spiritual rituals" in the books to see if they influenced him in any way and the only result was leaving a persistent garlic smell in the cabin for a few weeks, according to her—he could no longer smell anything. Perhaps that was a mercy; he'd never been fond of garlic.
When this failed, he expanded his literary horizons to anything that caught his interest to stave off boredom. To his mild surprise, it was the magazines and newspapers that intrigued him more than the great works of fiction. He'd never been curious about women's fashion or the state of the war in South Africa when he'd still been alive, but now the trickle of steady, new information invigorated and intrigued him. At any rate, it provided for excellent conversational material with Gladys, who had a few opinions on the Boers and a great many opinions on women's fashion.
+1 to Sociability!
AN: Kept you waiting, huh? I'll be honest, the next update might take another six months, but I haven't given up on this and I hope the next one's a lot faster. I've decided that I need to add a few tweaks to the system, too, like a Reputation system to make it worth your while to retain certain guests if you wish instead of replacing them as fast as possible. That'll be my next post, and then will come Turn Two. As always discussion is appreciated!
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