[h2][b][i][color=008000][center]In This Fine Town Of Arkham[/center][/color][/i][/b][/h2] [h3][b][i][color=008000][center]A Night At Wilde Hall[/center][/color][/i][/b][/h3] [hr] [center][img]https://s3.eu-central-1.wasabisys.com/devonilx7/2020/04/forest_path_dark_150398_1920x1080-1536x864.jpg[/img][/center] [hr] [center][b]"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown"[/b] - [i]H. P. Lovecraft[/i][/center] [hr] [center][@Prosaic][/center] This close to the figure, [b][color=7ea7d8]Simon Hart[/color][/b] could see the wildness in the eyes, and smell the unmistakable scent of alcohol on his breath, but there was an intensity in the figure's stare that he couldn't ignore. The stranger was a few inches shorter than Simon, but he was broad, and despite the smile on his face, Simon couldn't help but feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Whether the figure noticed Simon's feigned ignorance or not, the wildness in the eyes did not fade. Frantically glancing around at the shadows all around them, the stranger took a step closer to Simon, the words seeming to pour forth from his mouth. [b]"The Wilde Woods... I can smell the burning. They tried to get me, I got away. But the others... The burning... I know they're coming for me. I hear him whispering... Always whispering..."[/b] Before Simon could react, the figure lunged forwards, hands grabbing Simon's lapels. His words were little more than a hiss now, barely audible even though they were practically whispered into Simon's ear. This close, the stench of alcohol was almost unbearable, as well as the thick scent of sweat. [b]"You need to burn them. Burn them all. Like rats."[/b] With that, the grip on Simon released, and the figure turned away, feet pounding as the stranger ran down the alleyway. Simon was briefly in a state of shock, and by the time he came back to his senses, the figure was almost lost in the shadows. Was the stranger a half-crazed drunk, spouting nonsense to anyone who would listen, or did they know something about Wilde Woods, something that they hadn't told Simon all of? Perhaps he could catch the man, force the answers out of him? But every passing instant put more ground between the two of them, and the party at Wilde Hall was still calling. [hr] [center][@Kazemitsu][@DruSM157][@sassy1085][/center] The coachman turned at the sound of approaching footsteps, and watched [b][color=#0077be]Alvin Fennel[/color][/b] as he reached the carriage, his face still stern and unflinching. Holding out a gloved hand towards the newcomer, he glanced at [b][color=red]Drachen Steinboden[/color][/b] and [b][color=f49ac2]Rosanna Liang[/color][/b] as they started to make introductions, his voice a low grumble. [b]"From here on out, you keep your masks on, and you go by the names on your invitations. Orders of Lady Wildes. So that makes you Mister Red, Lady Gold and..."[/b] The black-clad man paused as he took the invitation from Alvin's outstretched hand, and read it, holding it closer to the carriage's lantern for a moment. [b]"And Mister Cobalt. Now if you don't mind, I'd rather we were on our way."[/b] With that, the coachman handed the invitation back to Alvin, and reached back to open the carriage's door, gesturing towards it before turning back to adjust the reins, the two dark horses seeming to sense the anticipation and beginning to strain against their bits, hooves stamping against the cobblestones of the street. It was clear that the coachman's patience was running thin, and it may well be for the best that the unusual trio climb into the carriage. After all, one glance at the twisting shadows of the Wilde Woods is more than enough to dissuade anyone from trying to walk to Wilde Hall, and the flickering lantern and shotgun slung beside the coachman offers some illusion of protection, if nothing else. [hr] [center][@Eviledd1984][/center] In an office that has seen far better days, [b][color=0054a6]Benjamin Zebrowski[/color][/b] jolted awake. He whirled around, trying to get his bearings, before he remembered where he was, and his shoulders slumped. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Benjamin glanced at the clock hanging on the wall, and swore under his breath. He had already forgotten what nightmare had jolted him from his sleep, but there were plenty that it could have been. After all, what he had seen during the war, he wasn't likely to forget any time soon. Trying to shake the last clinging shadows from his head, Benjamin pushed himself to his feet, doing what he could to straighten his clothes, and make himself presentable. After all, he had a party to go to. He was still adjusting his collar, when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. An envelope, slipped under his door. Instantly at high alert, Benjamin closed the short space to the doorway, and threw the door open, but the corridor was already empty. And yet, whoever the mysterious messenger was, they can't have gotten far. He didn't know how many people knew that he was working from this office, but he had hardly been keeping it a secret. Was this stranger a friend, or a foe? He could do his best to catch them, and find out for sure, or he could assume they didn't want to be caught, and inspect the envelope still lying on the floor at his feet.