The cultists found it all too easy to grab him. Flustered at being thought of as suspicious, Owen retreated to a bathroom, combing his hair out of nervous habit, quivering at the death he’d seen that night. He was still but a lad, and this would be too much for most adults. He had just gone to the party out of want for some hooch not surreptitiously grabbed out of his father’s cabinet, and now he found himself in this…other place, this place where time and geography and life had no meaning. He focused on the mirror, his reflection…one more lock to comb…one more tear to wipe…he didn’t notice the door opening…he didn’t notice the subtle creak of flooring underneath the feet of the intruder…he didn’t notice until the rag was over his mouth.
“For their eyes are the window to the realm of the Grim, and thus these eyes will be the window to his soul.” The cultists chanted in unison, the gagged boy futilely trying to scream. He saw their cloaks, the viridian sheen of their robes reflected in their terrible glory, he saw the knife descending towards him, and then…he saw nothing.
The eyes were placed into the pedestal, two depressions carved for their placement, and they fit as if they’d always meant to be there. Owen’s body was found a few minutes later, having been returned to the bathroom, the unspeakable scene being too much for his discoverer. “This…this is too much for anybody to have to see,” a veteran said as he helped to cover the body and move it to the same room they’d been keeping the others, before catching himself and shaking his head at his own faux-pas. But he was right: too much for anybody to see.
Owen was merely a Partygoer (Vanilla Town).
The cultists once again diffused themselves among the crowd, but one found himself pulled aside, asked for some minor help, escorted to a side room away from the party. The room was quiet, unassuming…before he could ask why he was led here, the knife buried itself in his throat. His eyes flew open, his hands tried futilely to keep in the spray, his body slumped to the ground. He wanted to see the Grim take him and his world into their hands, but he would not live to see anything of the sort. Much like the poor boy he’d just executed, much like the many deaths that had already occurred at this party, his features went slack, the glint in his eyes faded. The windows to the soul had been permanently closed once more…and not for the last time. A note was left on his body for the next person to find; his killer, though not above using this opportunity for their own murderous purposes, still had a vested interest in returning to terra firma.
“I caused this. I am one of those for which God closed His eyes, and I am one of the composers of this bleak symphony. Find the others.”
Sub was one of the Grim Cultists (Werewolves).
Day 3 will end at 9am PST on September 2nd.
FOURTEEN LIVING PLAYERS
1. Lindsayfunke (Vanilla Town)
2. Owen1120 (Vanilla Town)
6. Mello Yello Enthusiast
7. MacCrocodile (Vanilla Town)
11. Smapti Jones
12. Subsaharan (Werewolf)
Shipwreck El Marinero
14. Spiny Creature
16. TCRM (Vanilla Town/Yithian Watcher?)
17. Creeper (Vanilla Town)
18. Flaxon Jackson
4 3 Grim Cultists (Werewolves)
1 Mad Soul (Serial Killer)
1 Agent of the BOI / Bureau of Investigation (Undercover Cop)
1 Miskatonic University Scholar (Doctor)
13 10 8 Partygoers (Vanilla Town)
Role-playing will be highly encouraged, but not mandatory. I picked the era and setting for a reason; let’s have some fun with it!