[center][h3][i]The Fall of The Five[/i][/h3][/center]

[center][b]Location: Las Vegas, Nevada, Temple of Aradia 
Time: 5p.m., Present Day[/b][/center]
[hr]

Roman Adessi waltzed through the entrance of [i]Erodiade[/i], the original restaurant in the chain that had spread all across Nevada, with plans to expand into the west coast. Erodiade was a hit the moment the foundation was laid, catering to a wide audience of folk from all walks of life. By day, this location served authentic, quality Italian fare from Roman’s family cookbook, even sourcing out a few of its imported ingredients to artisanal chefs for a modest price. But by night, this Erodiade was home to one of the largest covens in the western United States, a member of The Five Families of Las Vegas, witches of the Adessi line, loyal followers of Aradia one and all. 

As the last few patrons passed by, Roman was sure to shake as many hands as he could, modestly accepting the many compliments given by satisfied customers. The restaurant was usually open until nine, but tonight was special, and Roman needed time to prepare. Once the last person had left, the store was closed up for the night, the day staff graciously sent home for the evening with compensation for their lost hours. With the final click of the employee exit came an ethereal wind, sweeping over every inch of Erodiade, carrying subtle sighs and giggles from unseen visitors. 

Roman smiled as the daemons danced about the restaurant, acting as the night staff, taking dirty dishes and silverware to be washed, sweeping and mopping the tables and floors just by placing an elegant foot or hand on their surfaces. A tall, darkly clad woman stepped out from the kitchen, a large platter in hand. On it were a variety of sweet and savoury treats, freshly baked for the attending spirits. As soon as the dish was placed, the household spirits greedily whisked away the luscious breads, pastries, and goblets of wine. They danced with merriment, bidding Roman to retreat to the temple housed below the store to begin the night’s devotions, and so he did.

Opposite the kitchen and the main dining hall was a small office where Roman often sat and performed administrative work. Inside were all of the usual decorations, a couch, a desk with chairs on both sides, table lights and other shelf top clutter. But behind the desk sat a large, ornate painting of a woman holding a star. Roman walked over to the painting, bowed his head, and uttered the soft prayer.

[i]”Saluti, Erodiade. Il tuo fedele servitore, Roman Adessi, cerca rifugio nel tuo tempio.”[/i] 

A low rumble sounded through the office, followed by a loud creak. Roman looked up, the painting of Aradia sliding over the wall to reveal a hidden door, a passageway that led into a cavernous, marble temple below with witching tools strewn all about and a large, rectangular altar at the center which held a magnificent statue of Aradia. 

Walking freely around the temple were witches dressed in ritual garb, some moving sunwise about the altar with censures in hand, fumigating the area for ritual work, others tracing the markings on the floor around the altar with swords and staves, invoking the elements and the attending spirits. It wasn’t often that old world witches performed such elaborate workings, but Roman needed the ceremony for such an occasion. 

“I trust that everything is ready?” He questioned a young man, no older than sixteen, who stood near a supporting marble pillar. 

The boy turned and nodded.

“Y-yes, Mr. Adessi,” he stuttered, nerves shot both by being in the presence of his coven’s leader and by the responsibility that had been placed on him. “The last of the wards are being placed as we speak, and the initiates are being dressed after their ritual baths.”

“Excellent,” Roman responded, placing a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder, “I’m proud of you, Dustin. This ceremony is perhaps our most important, I knew I’d left the preparations in capable hands.”

Dustin smiled brightly before turning to review a list of his duties. His part in this ritual was a test, one that he had passed with flying colors. 

Just as their conversation ended, a string of men and women were led into the altar room, all dressed in white and blindfolded. There were twenty in total, each being placed in a specific space before the altar. Roman walked over to the group, standing on a raised platform that sat opposite the statue of Aradia. He motioned for each of their blindfolds to be removed, then proceeded with the ceremony. 

“Greetings, initiates.” He greeted them in a booming voice that echoed through the temple. “All who stand before me have been issued a number of harrowing trials to be where they are now. You are the best of the best, the most promising, most devoted individuals from a long list of hopeful recruits. You will make fine witches. And tonight, witches you shall become, witches of the Adessi line, witches in service of the great mother, Aradia!”

“Erodiade!” the surrounding witches cried out in response. 

“Now is the moment of your awakening,” Roman continued, motioning for a chalice to be offered to the initiates from the altar. “Drink of this elixir and receive Aradia’s blessing, become one with the Adessi line.”

As soon as the first initiate took up the chalice, a loud scream sounded from upstairs, closely followed by the cries of dozens of ethereal voices. 

Roman turned to see a host of spirits flocking to the temple, fleeing from some unknown assailant. 

“What is the meaning of this?” He demanded. 

Before the spirits could answer, a thunderous explosion tore through the temple, shattering the wall between the upstairs restaurant and temple below. Droves of men in black body suits came rushing down into the temple. Gunfire followed their arrival. 

The witches retaliated the best the could, those closest to the intruders vaulting behind pillars and statues, bidding the flames from surrounding torches to leap from their sconces and block the assailants’ path. The witches seeing to the initiation joined hands and began a low chant, the air around the altar faintly shimmering. Witches ran into the arms of the ward, some with minor scrapes, some bleeding profusely from deep wounds. Meanwhile, the gunmen continued their attack, bullets bouncing off the barrier around the altar.

Roman moved to the front of the barrier and forcefully raised both arms, the front group of assailants being thrown upwards in response. He then turned to the statue of Aradia and incanted:

[i]”Erodiade, essere con me!”[/i]

The statue of Aradia responded, marble limbs and features moving with grace and fluidity. Her body turned in the direction of the masked gunmen, outstretching her arms in an elegant pose. The assailants who had been knocked to the ground began to writhe in pain and thick boils and pustules erupted onto their skin. A few others seemed stricken by the curse, but still they marched toward the barrier.

A tall man in heavier armor stepped forward from the crowd, pulling out a large rifle. He fired a single shot into the barrier and watched as it passed right through, piercing Roman’s left shoulder and sending him sprawling onto the floor. 

“They work!” he yelled to his team, who all seemed to pull out a separate magazine for their weapons. By this time, none of the remaining gunmen were affected by Roman’s curse, protected by some unseen force. They fired into the barrier once more, this time each bullet passing through, taking down lines of witches with ease. 

Roman cried in pain, slowly moving behind the altar trying to seek refuge in another part of the temple. Unfortunately, the gunmen’s bullets managed to damage the circle around the altar, weakening the warding spell enough to allow them access. They began beating down the defenseless witches, many they killed instantly, some they injured and knocked out. Roman look up at the larger gunman, the last thing he saw was the underside of the man’s boot before he fell unconscious. 

When he came to, Roman was tied to a large stake hastily built atop the restaurant. He and the initiates were crowded around the large wooden beam, bits of wood and straw piled up at their feet. He and the others had been gagged as well, and all far too injured to concentrate on some act of witchery. 

“I hear you were some sort of celebrity,” the tall gunman stepped forward, holding Roman’s chin and forcing their eyes to meet. “Guess that’s how we found you so easily. It’s a shame too. Your food was pretty damn good.” 

The man dropped Roman’s head which fell instantly. He was too weak to look up, too weak to make even a whimper. 

A crowd of men poured accelerant over Roman and the initiates, then over the splinters at their feet. They stepped back as their leader pulled out a lighter. 

“Burn, witch.” He said dryly, tossing the lighter into the fray.

Immediately their bodies caught fire, as did the ground beneath them. The restaurant was soon to follow, men filing down from the roof and throughout the building, throwing burning lighters and makeshift torches into the gasoline lined walls and floors. 

On the street outside the restaurant the men left their mark, a name scorched into the pavement, the only fiends capable of such heartless murder and destruction:

The Hounds of Humanity.