Faustus Vs Aetheri

It was late one stormy night, and all throughout the magnificent halls of Alnia Manor, or more famously, The Mansion of Shade, a beautiful, yet somber minuet echoed throughout the decrepit halls. This place was old. Very old. It seemed even the light haunting sounds of a grand piano's notes made the floors creek in detest. They could stand no more. They wished to wither, but alas, like everything else that had ever entered this place of unrest, they could not.



The walls shook against the power of the music, and the wooden floors quaked. There was some power in these notes, and more importantly, the thing that wasn't playing them. Enter the Piano Chamber, a large room, about twenty feet wide, and fifteen feet in length. Even against the pressing darkness, its bright red carpet shown out like blood. The shadows played and intertwined. A shadow so deep it seemed even preternatural, or arcane sight could not pierce it, but there was a reprieve. Two large windows, which looked out at a pale moon let its silvery light shine through, and slayed the darkness that was so comfortable just enough to make unbolstered vision possible.



From them, in the distance lightning crackled, and thunder roared. The rain was almost oppressive, coming down like a monsoon. It's heavy pitter pat was loud enough to still be heard even over the piano's music.



The light played and danced with the darkness. Splotches of shadow were thrown across a far wall, opposite the piano that was playing.... with no body occupying its seat. The shadow on the far wall began to mold and take shape, and play with its alotted moonlight. It was frothing and bubbling, but after just a second, it was clearly the figure of a body. Details could not be made by the plays of a shadow, but it was undoubtedly a man. Hair crept from his skull like snakes, and when the open windows allowed wind to blow them, those tresses seemed likely to strike.



Now slowly, viscously, the form of a physical body began to pour into the piano seat, like how you'd pour water into a glass. First the glimmer of his polished, black shoes came, then his pants, and a peculiar tailcoat so popular among old world pianists. It was all black, save for his tie, whom's color matched something that brought only one word to mind; blood.



White, gloved hands played the minuet with a virtuoso's skill, and a masters speed. All about him the wind seemed the stir and dance to his song, and those old, wretched spirits that found no rest came from all corners of the manor to listen and mourn with the man who had brought them from their loneliness. The room was filled supernatural activity. Ghostly wails accompanied by the piano notes, which now grew in intensity, and continued to grow as more spirits showed up, until there was a tumult surrounding him, praising him. And then he stopped. Suddenly. Abruptly, as did the wailing of the spirits. For he whom Faustus had awaited had come.



Faustus's hand rested snuggly on the hilt of his sword, and a pale fog began to creep and seep out from him, spreading throughout the room, five feet in all directions. It was not particularly otherwordly, but there was an ominous weight to it. 



It has been a while. We have a contract that has yet to be signed. Faustus spoke to no one, nor did his lips move. But his waves of consciousness rung out in droves. She for whom Faustus awaited would surely hear, if not feel his words.