#cardinalplot

Outside of the Old Mill Diner, three witches lingered near the corner of the building, well out of the way of its entrance. Their voices were hushed, and their eyes flickered fast, much like they were terribly afraid of being caught doing something that they shouldn't have been.

“The fear… it was... intoxicating.” One of them stood out as she spoke, her long platinum hair catching the light from the glowing diner sign overhead, making it shimmer like it had a glow of its own. “I could feel it. Like it-”

“It’s not part of the plan.” Her companion with dark, tight curls cut her off, standing stiffly and disapprovingly right beside her. Her voice sounded more worried than forceful, like she wasn’t trying to boss the others around, but that she was instead only afraid of straying from their original scheme. 

“Like it helped.” The third witch chimed in, brushing off the warning without a glance. She had short, spiked hair and a way of speaking that made her sound like she was already five steps ahead. “I felt it too. I know it wasn’t the plan, but... I’m curious. Just to see. If it’s right - if it works - I mean... I can’t even begin to imagine what we could do.” She ran a hand through her hair, pausing for a second, lost in the thought. “It felt more…”

“Finite.” The platinum-haired witch murmured, dragging black lipstick off her teeth with a slow suck of breath. “If we keep them scared-”

“Exactly. The others - the Joneses, Riverses, the others we had in the plans - they’ve got power, sure, but is power really what we need? Or is it vulnerability?” Another flick to her pixie cut, and small bounce. The thought clearly lit something up in her. “If we keep them close-”

“We can keep using them.” The hesitant one gave a small nod. She looked like she was still trying to convince herself, but the idea had landed. A quiet breath escaped her lips, followed by another nod. “Alright. I’ll give it one shot. But if this backfires, I swear," a sigh, "are you both sure?”

“Yes,” the other two said in unison.

The storm began to grow stronger, thick, dark clouds swiftly rolling in.

Jamie Bowen

As you stand from your seat, a loud rumble sounds overhead. The thunder is abrupt, jarring enough to turn most of the heads in the establishment towards the window - yours included.

The sky has transformed, seemingly in the blink of an eye. You’re fixated on the sight for a moment too long, almost as if the ripples in the clouds form hypnotic patterns that hold you there, stuck.

A bright flash of lightning causes you to squint, and to finally look away.

You go to move forward, but something stops you. Not a thought, not even a feeling - no, it feels much stronger than that, something that feels as though it was there all along.

It hits you not like a ton of bricks, but instead like the type of pain that you can’t quite feel until the shock wears off. It’s not a physical feeling, you’re not hurt, not yet, at least. 

They know. 

You try to swallow, but already, your mouth has grown dry. In a contrasting condition, you feel a cold sweat begin to bead over the rest of your body. 

Your heart hammers against your chest and inside of your ears; you wonder how much time you have left, you wonder how far you’ll be able to flee until your past finally catches up to you. 

How could you have not seen it before?

A shaky, weak pair of legs pull you closer to the door. 

You wonder how you can buy yourself time, eyes darting around the diner, looking at the others as if they’re all to be wary of. You don’t question it, because you know it better than your own name.

You’re about to be found out. 

The intense fear is all consuming. It only builds, growing more intense, more inescapable.

It might be worse than simply being found out. 

No escape seems possible. 

You might even meet the same fate.

Another great rumble of thunder shakes the diner and your thoughts to a halt. It feels as though it lasts a supernatural amount of time; for a split second, you feel trapped in the noise, in the very storm itself. 

The sound builds louder, and in it you hear the rattling of utensils on tables, the clanging of piled dishes, and the shell of a voice that you couldn’t quite place.

“Useless, this one.”

Another joins it. 

“We’ll find a way to use it.” 

Finally, in an instant, it’s over. The storm still looms overhead, but the silence seeps in like a soothing balm. You know how you felt, you could describe it in vivid detail, but it no longer feels real. It’s almost as if you dreamt it.

Your body begins to regulate itself, and you take another step towards the door. 

Davis King

You not only hear the unexpected clap of thunder, but you feel it. It rattles through you like its mere inches above your head, and having not expected such a storm only causes more shock than the feeling alone. 

Your head turns towards the wobbling window you sit next to, and it does so just in time for an intense strike of lightning to flash across the sky, illuminating the surroundings and the thick, misshapen clouds in the sky.

You have to blink as the light strikes you in the eyes, as if making a physical attack, though you can’t quite escape the brightness inflicted. 

That’s when it begins. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, though you don’t find darkness on the other side. Instead, you see a flash of a scene, almost like a vision. 

People are suffering. 

You open your eyes, terrified, but another flash of a vision - a different one this time - seems to be projected over the reality of the diner scene in front of you. 

You can’t save anyone.

Something about what you see feels uncanny, but you can’t stop yourself from believing it. You believe every scene, every one of the many that begin to flash before you, or else on the back of your eyelids when you once again squeeze your eyes shut in an attempt to escape. 

You see so many horrific scenes, never once a full premonition, only flashes of one picture after another. 

They’re all so terrible. 

You can’t save anyone in any of them. 

It’s an overwhelming amount of information to receive, perhaps all the more overwhelming as you can’t make sense of any of it all, or even adequately plan a next step to take. 

You sit there, useless, and you feel your body first grow shaky, and then grow weak. 

You’re powerless. 

Both in the sense that you can’t do a thing, but also… 

You feel no power left in you, no magic. 

Only now do you realise just how terrified you are. 

The next roar of thunder threatens to overwhelm you, lasting longer this time, eerily preventing you from hearing any other noise in the diner apart from one, a distant yet clear voice that says five simple words. 

“Yes, I can feel it.”

You begin to fatigue, though as you turn to the window again, desperate eyes searching for any clue of a way out, another bright flash of lightning strikes you square in the eye.

You squeeze your eyes shut instinctively, again, and this time no horrors are waiting for you in the darkness behind your eyes. 

You open them. 

You feel more awake, you feel yourself growing stronger, you feel more… yourself. 

The diner looks as it did moments ago, completely normal, completely safe. 

You’re left with a nagging feeling that what has happened is nothing like anything else that you’ve ever experienced before. 

You swallow thickly, and slowly but surely, your body returns to its usual state.

Vivian Pearson

The thunder startles you. You look out the window to find the transformed sky lit up by the lightning that follows the great sound. The bright light causes you to blink, and as you do, you notice your eyelids are heavier than ever. 

You reach up to rub your eyes. The effort of lifting your hand the short distance is almost too much. 

You clear your throat, as if in an attempt to wake yourself up, but it’s not a fatigue that you recognise. 

Your body doesn’t feel right. 

The fear settles heavily into your chest before you can even think about doing anything to stop it. 

You don’t believe it at first, or perhaps you simply just don’t want to believe it. The longer you sit there, however, the harder it is to deny it. You’re no longer in full control of your now trembling body.

It’s almost as if your body is giving up.

You lift your hands up, inspecting them, turning them over. You watch them shake for only a moment before you have to lower them onto the table. They’re so heavy. 

You’re so weak. 

No matter what you think about doing, no matter how terribly you might want to scream for help, or even run away, you feel as though you can’t.

You feel as though your time is running out. 

Your head droops, and with this, you just know. 

This is it. 

Despite how drained your body is of energy, you still feel the fear pulsing through you stronger than ever. It’s the one thing that doesn’t dissipate, the one thing that will be joining you to your end. 

This is the end. 

With what power you have left, you force your eyes upwards, searching for any last hope that you might be able to find. What you see instead of the previously empty other side of the booth is two familiar figures. 

Your parents sit there, weeping, distraught, grieving once again. 

Thunder rattles through you, and as if giving you a jolt of energy, it allows you to straighten up. The single, simple movement of doing so proves much easier than you expect. You move an arm again, this time with ease and weightlessness. 

Your body has seemingly returned to its normal state in mere seconds, everything so regular that thoughts of your life ending seem dramatic.

Where you expect to find your parents still, you realise there are only empty seats; you wonder if they ever really sat there, or if it was a figment of your imagination… 

Your thoughts are cut off by a bright flash of lightning striking you through the diner windows. You squeeze your eyes shut, just long enough to hear two words spoken so close to you, as if someone was speaking in your ear.

“More… More!”

You open your eyes. You see no owner of the voice. 

You see absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. 

Harper Gall 

As the thunder booms overhead, you feel a pang of emotion heavily settle into your chest. 

At first, you can’t place the feeling, can’t make sense of it, unable to recognise exactly what it means. But you can’t shake it, no matter how long you wait. 

You stand, pondering on the feeling as you do so, recognising it from somewhere… 

But where?

Lightning illuminates the diner as you walk towards the back, towards the bathroom. You’re sure that the feeling can’t simply be deja vu, but there’s something so familiar about the horror that weighs you down so intensely. 

You’re only aware of the cold sweat that you’ve broken out into as you reach out to place your hand on the bathroom door. Not only is your hand clammy, but it shakes.

You can finally place part of how you feel. 

You’re terrified. 

Without further hesitation, you push open the door. 

Terror no longer describes how you feel.

It’s a fear well beyond terror, a horror you never wished to revisit. In the place where the bathroom should be, you instead see a familiar autobody shop.

The sight of your father’s lifeless body on the floor of the shop more than easily takes your entire focus.

In the back of your mind, you know that the scene is one that you’ve lived through before, a scene from the past, not something that you could ever experience again. Even so, the scene is so real, and the pain is so vivid. 

You stumble backwards in shock, allowing the bathroom door to swing closed with its great force. Your body, completely consumed by your fear, feels not only shaky, but so weak. You feel powerless, more than you ever have before, almost as if someone has sucked the very essence of yourself out of your body.

You take a deep breath, and you reach out tentatively towards the door.

Before you can reopen the door onto the scene, you jump with fright as another loud roar of thunder shakes the diner. Through the startling sound you hear the door shake on its hinges, and a quiet, unfamiliar voice from behind you. 

“So much power.”

It takes until the thunder’s rumbling calms before you can feel that your heart is indeed still beating. 

You quickly push the door open again. Behind it you find a bathroom, not unlike any others. There’s no car parts, no familiarity, none more than a bathroom you’ve entered before brings you, at least. Most notably, there’s no one else in sight. 

You must have imagined it, right?

Jesse Prescott

Not unlike the other patrons, you’re surprised to hear the thunder, and to see the flash of lightning that follows it so closely. You turn your head to inspect the scene, and you’re unable to place why you feel so afraid over the sight.

It’s not like it’s your first unexpected storm.

You turn back to face the empty side of the diner booth in front of you, and you notice as you do that your heart is beating harder and faster than usual. 

It can’t only be the storm, it wouldn’t only be the storm. No, there’s something more. Even while you can’t explain it, you can’t deny it, either.

The fear that you feel starts in the centre of your chest, but the longer you sit there, the stronger it becomes, and the further it spreads. It doesn’t take long before you feel your body physically riddled with the type of anxiety that is often paired with fear. 

You feel so inescapably afraid.

A thought in the back of your mind begins to echo louder and louder.  

You’re not safe. More worryingly, neither are they.

You can’t explain how you know, but you do. You feel it as though it’s fact, an unfaltering truth that you’ve already come to terms with. 

You can’t leave, or else you’ll have to face the reality in which all of your worst fears have come to fruition. It feels as though your fears have grabbed a hold of your shoulders, and that they’re pinning you down to your seat.

Your heart pounds in your chest, and your breath comes out shakily, rapidly. 

Every worst nightmare that you could ever think of comes to mind, each a jarring flash of a horrific image. It’s an overwhelming amount of terrifying possibilities, all that feel real as you see them. 

Glued to your seat and unable to escape your fear, to say that you feel hopeless feels like an understatement. With every second that passes, you feel more afraid than ever. 

You can’t do a single thing to save them. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. You feel as though you might choke on your fear. 

Then a great roar of thunder startles you.

In the sound, you hear a voice. 

“Yes, that’s it.”

Another voice speaks.

“Make them afraid, and the others will remain vulnerable.”

As the thunder becomes a quiet hum of a rumble, a sobering feeling allows you to stand from your seat. 

What did they mean? That voice? Make them afraid… 

You’re unsure as to whether or not the words have any relevance to your state of fear, but the thought is quickly replaced by the fact that the fear is no longer overtaking your body, and your thoughts, but that it’s rather quite the opposite now. 

You feel yourself calming, you feel your self-control returning.

Stoker Addams

You step towards the entrance of the diner, only just arriving. You notice the facade of the building grow darker, covered in shadows, and you turn to assess the sky just as it makes its dramatic change. 

You frown, but you stop yourself from flinching at the enormous clatter of thunder sounding overhead, somewhat expecting it.

You turn back to the diner, and you swiftly push the door open. The second that you step inside, it feels as though everything changes. 

First, the paranoia hits, and the fear promptly follows. 

It feels as though there a more eyes on you than there are eyes in the establishment; it’s uncomfortable, but a small voice in your head tells you that you deserve such treatment. 

They know what you did. 

You swallow thickly, and only after a moment longer do you see the signs, and realise what you’ve done. 

They all look like her. 

You don’t know where to begin, you don’t know what to do. You’re terrified. 

You take a step forward, you want to do something to help, anything to help, but then the guilt begins to sink in. All of these innocent people, all of these strangers, none of them deserved it… 

How could you not have stopped after what you did?

You take another desperate step forward, but then the guilt turns into a fear even greater than the one already set in. You feel as though they’re angry. More devastatingly, you feel as though they should be angry. 

The fear begins to mix with an all consuming sadness. Your body begins to feel weak, your eyes begin to sting with hot tears, and you quite plainly have no idea what to do, how to rectify all of your mistakes. 

You can’t flee, though. Not again. You take one more step.

This time, you’re interrupted not by another large wave of nasty emotion, but by the sound of more thunder. You don’t expect it this time, you jump slightly with fright.

“Imagine this, only on a larger scale.”

You can’t tell where the voice has come from, nor do you know what their words mean. They feel important, however, and you commit them to memory.

When you look back to the diner, you realise that not a single face is pointed in your direction. 

You step forward not only one more time, but enough times for your legs to carry you to an empty booth. Your emotions level out, though confusion begins to replace them as you ponder on what happened, and why.

The three witches that stood outside of the Old Mill Diner wore matching expressions, each alluding to having gone through something unfortunate. They stood close to the building, attempting to shelter themselves from the storm, and as a heavy rainfall began to wash over Cardinal Hill, more than only water ran down the sidewalk in front of the establishment. 

Blood ran thickly into the storm drain, oozing from a lifeless body in front of the witches. None of them wore sadness in their expressions, or anything close to horror or fright. Instead, they looked to be a mixture of angry, frustrated, and impressed. 

“How exactly is that using them?” The apprehensive witch questioned.

“I only meant to put him to sleep after he caught us, I didn’t realise…” The platinum haired witch couldn’t hide the glint of amusement in her eyes as she defended herself, and it looked as though she stopped herself in order to stifle a laugh. 

“It doesn’t matter,” the spiked witch spoke up again, voice as assertive as ever. “This won’t hurt us. If anything, this is exactly how we can use them. One moment in a diner can be scary, sure, but to feel as though their lives are really on the line?” 

“And this just proves the point. The more power… well, the more powerful we are.” The platinum haired witch properly laughed now, a high, sadistic laugh. “Like I said, I only meant to make him take a nap.”

“This is the way to getting exactly what we want.”

This plot drop featured 06 of our player written characters;

Jamie Bowen, Davis King, Vivian Pearson, Harper Gall, Jesse Prescott, and Stoker Addams all experienced intense fear that temporarily took over them both psychologically and physiologically.

Davis King, and Harper Gall both experience a powerlessness associated with their magic, as if it is rendered inaccessible during the episode. After this encounter, all magic is returned to them.

All Cardinal Hill residents experience an inexplainable feeling of fear during the ordeal. The uncanny nature of the storm seemingly working backwards - thunder sounding before lightning strikes - only adds to the fear of those who notice.

Rain lightly trickled lightly down gutters, nothing more than a misting of it overhead in the darkness of the evening. Despite the feeling of hope and the pathetic hint of the well-longed for warmth in the air, the streets were relatively empty. Though some areas were still bustling with proof of life, most streets only saw a single person at its most populous, most of whom were simply passing by. Thoughts of potential danger had slowly but surely slipped from a substantial amount of the residents' minds, though in the dark, wet, night, the air was buzzing with unease.

Adelaide ‘Addie’ Sawyer

You walk down the street, shrouded in silence. No cars, no footsteps, no company - just the soft hiss of your breath and the faint, electric hum of power lines overhead. It takes a moment before you notice her: a woman across the road, walking in the same direction, completely unassuming at first.

She crosses toward you without hesitation, skipping with a strange, weightless bounce, like she’s not quite touching the ground. She doesn’t say a word, but the weight of her attention slams into you like a wall of heat, her stare as sharp as a knife. Long platinum hair catches the glow of the streetlights like strands of tinsel; her skin is nearly as pale, and her wide, vacant smile stretches too far - like she’s laughing at something only she can hear. The black lipstick she wears bleeds slightly at the corners, though the amusement gleaming in her eyes gives the impression that she wouldn’t at all care.

You force yourself to keep walking. You take three steps - maybe four - before the air changes. It grows heavy, it grows thick with something wrong. A creeping pressure coils in your stomach, twisting slowly, cruelly, like a knife turned by an unseen hand. It's the kind of feeling that only comes when magic turns dark, when power becomes rotten. Your throat tightens. You glance back.

She’s closer now, still wearing that smile, but something about it has shifted. There’s no trace of her playfulness anymore, there’s just hunger.

You look away and scan the street ahead, your pace quickening. The sickness inside you spreads fast, weakness blooming through your limbs like a sudden fever. You reach inward, fumbling for your magic.

“I’d like to see you try,” she taunts, her voice suddenly far too close, brushing the back of your neck.

You spin around, and she’s already there - just inches from your face. Her breath grazes your skin. You try to summon your power, to pull it up from within, but it’s gone, slippery and unreachable, like it was never really yours to begin with. All that’s left is the throbbing nausea that clings to your insides.

She laughs, full-bodied and gleeful, and then, with a single sharp motion, she slams her shoulder into yours. Your body twists sideways, weightless for an instant, before the sidewalk rushes up to meet you. Concrete cracks against your skull.

“Gotta bounce!” 

You lie there, stunned, vision swimming and edged with dim light. Pain pulses behind your eyes. You push yourself up to your knees, disoriented. The street is empty. She’s gone.

You touch your face, and your fingers come away wet. Blood runs hot from your nose, slipping down over your lips, filling your mouth with the taste of copper. The pain lasts, but the sickness and the weakness seem to slowly dissipate. 

Felix Holloway

You step onto the street, the door clicking shut behind you. The sky is clear, but the air carries an edge, something tense and expectant that settles over the quiet blocks noticeably. Overhead, streetlights buzz in a long, even line, their light falling in pools across the sidewalk and bleeding into the wide glass windows of shuttered storefronts.

The buildings around you are still, only disrupted by a neon sign flickering a few paces ahead, its colors pulsing faintly across the sidewalk. As you pass, something in the reflection catches your eye. You slow.

In the dark glass, your reflection meets your gaze. It takes a moment for you to pinpoint just why the sight feels so uncanny. It mirrors your stance, your position, your face - but not quite your movement. There’s a hesitation to it, a lag that shouldn’t be there. The moment you notice it, it snaps back into sync.

You move on without stopping, heart beating harshly against your chest. Your footsteps echo once in the empty street, and again in your mind, spaced and measured. Then, without warning, you walk straight into someone.

The contact is abrupt, shoulder to shoulder. You stumble slightly, but the figure remains planted, unmoved, as though they were bolted to their place. She doesn’t look startled or annoyed, in fact, she instead looks entertained. Short, spiked hair catches the nearest light, and a faint smirk lifts one corner of the woman’s mouth. She stares like she already knows you, as if she knows too much.

“I think you’re just projecting, sweetie,” she says, her voice smooth, dry, and vaguely amused. Something shifts in your body - not pain, not fear, but a sudden failure of control. Your muscles falter, the ground tilts slightly beneath you, and your limbs don’t feel right. The woman watches with open interest, one hand running casually through her hair as she begins to laugh. Her laugh is light, familiar, and unmistakably pleased.

You try to move, but your legs feel sluggish, your balance off. You step back, but the ground seems harder to navigate than it should be.

“What’s the matter?” she asks, and now her tone leans into a cruel mockery. “Are you scared?”

No time to answer. A fist connects cleanly with your face, snapping your head to the side with a crack. Pain blooms along your cheek, sharp and immediate. You reel, but before you can catch your footing, her voice is holding your attention hostage once more.

“You weren’t gonna leave, were you?” This time, there’s a strange edge to it. Not anger, exactly, but instead something colder. A tone filled with disappointment.

Her knee drives up into your gut with force, and your body folds before you even realise what’s happened. You drop to the pavement, knees hitting first, arms too slow to catch yourself, breath gone.

“I can feel something about you,” she murmurs, crouching just enough to stay in your line of sight. “I don’t usually like to waste my time, ya know, but there’s just…” her eyes look spacey as she examines you, looking with an intensity that makes you think she’s looking far beyond your exterior. “I think you might be worth-” 

A scream cuts through the night, stopping the woman mid sentence. Her eyes shift toward the sound, as do yours, your own gaze reading concern where hers read annoyance. She whispers something you don’t catch - too fast, too quiet.

You blink once. She’s gone. The sidewalk stretches out in both directions, empty. The storefronts are still. The streetlight above flickers once, then steadies. Your cheek and your stomach ache, but the sickness slowly but steadily seeps away.

Silas Addams 

Your footsteps carry you through the stillness, each one striking the pavement a little too loudly in the quiet stretch of Cardinal Hill. This area is never crowded after dark, but the absence of sound settles strangely in your chest. The air feels warmer than it has in months, almost heavy against your skin, but a shiver rises anyway, brushing over your arms like static. You glance up the street, scanning without meaning to, and that’s when you see them.

Two women stand beneath a flickering streetlight, their outlines clear against the haze of yellow light. You keep walking. They haven’t noticed you, and they don’t seem out of place - just two people deep in conversation, one gesturing sharply while the other stands back, hands twisting around her platinum blonde hair.

As you get closer, their voices carry across the space between you. You don’t do anything to not eavesdrop.

“We’re not here to waste time,” the first says, voice low and clipped. Her hair is a dark halo of tight curls, and her posture is rigid, coiled like she’s trying not to snap. “We have a plan. This isn’t about convenience, it’s about control. You start pulling magic from whoever you want, and it unravels everything.”

The other woman doesn’t reply. She shifts her weight lazily, pale hair falling like silk down her back, her silence uninterested, almost mocking.

“She’d be furious if she knew,” the first woman continues. “We’re supposed to move together. Not like this. Not sloppy.”

You’re close now, and without warning, both heads turn toward you at the same time.

There’s a moment, suspended and silent, where you consider pretending you didn’t hear them, where you think maybe if you just keep walking, they’ll let you go.

“He was listening,” the blonde says, almost playfully. Her eyes gleam with excitement under the streetlight. “That’s rude,” she tells you.

The other woman doesn’t say anything at first. She just watches you, a stern look on her face that makes her almost look scared; then, slowly she lifts a hand and points in your direction like she’s marking a target, and she mutters something inaudible to her friend.

The dark-haired woman closes the distance in seconds. Her fist connects with your face before you even think to react. The sound is wet and sudden, and your scream tears out without control, high and sharp as the pain splinters through your cheek and radiates into your jaw. You go down, your knees hitting the pavement hard enough to knock the air from your lungs.

Before you can crawl or cry out again, a boot slams into your side, hitting just below the ribs. Something gives with a sickening pop - your vision vanishes for a beat, pain sickeningly hot, radiating through your body. You double over and gag, but there’s nothing in your lungs to expel.

The blonde crouches in front of you, close enough that her hair brushes your cheek as she tilts her head and studies your face. “He’s still awake,” she murmurs, her voice soft and condescending. “It’s so much harder when they’re still awake. So much messier,” she sighs.

“We don’t have time to taunt it, we still need to get back, our conversation isn’t over,” the dark haired woman spits at her friend, frustration and anger seeming to grow.

One final blow lands - another boot to the chest - and the world begins to swim. Somewhere above you, the women are speaking again, words louder, more hurried, more panicked, almost as if something else has gone wrong. You feel yourself slipping, only catching what feels like every second word of the duo’s. 

“Isn’t… Good… Fuck… Leave?... Him… Human… Deal… Can’t… Don’t… Have… Plan…”

Loud and hurried footsteps grow quieter and quieter as you feel yourself slipping further and further from consciousness. 

You fade. The last thing you feel is the cold concrete beneath your face and the warm, steady trickle of blood from your mouth. Then nothing.

The last of the rain, now finished, continued to trickle down storm drains and off rooftops, while the silence in the streets offered no hint that the peace of Cardinal Hill had once again been broken. Neighbours, standing quietly in their homes, felt an unspoken fear, one that seemed to come without warning. In the safety of their homes, in the arms of their loved ones, surrounded by charms meant to protect them, they still felt a sudden, breath-stealing dread.

Those who looked out their windows or ventured outside saw nothing to explain the unease, yet the feeling was so overwhelming, so undeniable, that they couldn't shake it. Though only Silas, Felix, and Addie knew of the intruders in town, everyone in Cardinal Hill sensed that something was off, that something was wrong once more - or that, perhaps, the feeling of safety that had washed over them in the time between attacks had simply been an illusion.

This plot drop featured 03 of our player written characters;

Adelaide 'Addie' Sawyer is left with a blood nose, and mild bruising to the face.

Felix Holloway is left with a blood nose, substantial bruising to the face, and substantial bruising to the stomach.

Silas Addams is left with mild bruising to the face, substantial bruising to the side and chest, and one broken rib.

All Cardinal Hill residents experience an inexplainable feeling of dread, fear, and uneasiness during the ordeal.

The Rivers name was familiar to every witch who had ever turned a page in a book of magic. Even before Reginald, generations of Rivers witches had penned works that educated and inspired witches all over the world. It was nearly impossible to find a witch's library that didn’t include at least one of their titles.

In the quiet of their study, the old witch lost themselves in the pages, oblivious to the storm raging just beyond their door. Meanwhile, out on the outskirts of Cardinal Hill, Avalon Rivers, daughter of Reginald, was running for her life.

Avalon’s breath came in ragged gasps, her clothes torn by brambles, face streaked with dirt and fear. She dashed past the front door of the very home the old witch sat within, though neither of them knew it. The moon hung low and dim in the sky, casting long shadows across the darkened path ahead. Every so often, Avalon’s eyes would flick nervously over her shoulder, but there was nothing to see. Nothing that could be chased.

But she could feel it. Whatever it was - it was following her.

The uneven ground beneath her feet gave way as she stumbled forward, lungs burning from the cold night air. Doubt, cold and sudden, seized her for a fleeting second - and in that moment, her foot caught on a jagged rock, sending her crashing to the ground with a harsh grunt. For a second, the world spun. Then, the groan of pain in her throat turned into a scream, a scream of sheer terror.

Back inside, the witch sat unmoving, sipping at their tea. The crackling fire was their only companion, along with the soft hum of the radio murmuring from the corner.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･― 11/06/1990 ―･:*࿔ೃ.⋆

The day had already begun for most of the town, though the witch had only just woken from a long night of reading. They stumbled out of their front door, weary-eyed, a cup of tea in hand, but as they walked toward their letter box, a strange sight caught their attention. Outside, the street was filled with news vans, reporters, cameras, and crime scene investigators, all gathered just down the road. The air thickened with dread.

The witch’s heart sank. They turned quickly and rushed back inside, fingers trembling as they switched on the radio with a quick flick of their wrist.

"Rivers, whose latest book Incantations for the Industrious in the Modern Age hit shelves just last month, is known to many in our community," came the voice of the radio presenter, muffled and distant, "Her death is a terrible tragedy, and our thoughts go out to all those who knew and loved Avalon Rivers."

The witch froze, the warm cup of tea now forgotten in their hand. The voice on the radio continued, but they barely heard it. Their gaze drifted toward the bookshelf, where the very book was still sitting, waiting to be finished. The witch turned the volume up with another lazy flick of their hand.

“While no cause of death has been released yet, authorities are calling the situation suspicious. A natural death has been ruled out, and Rivers’ family representatives have begun to remind investigators of how powerful a witch Avalon was. They insist she would have fought back if threatened by any dark force.”

The witch’s heart thudded, their mind racing as the report continued: "Stay tuned to HexWave for all the latest updates... and please, stay safe out there in Cardinal Hill.”

The radio went quiet for a moment.

That morning, before the snow had begun to fall so relentlessly, Sidney Matthews had been watching the streets through their blinds, as they often did - and even more so after an attack on their neighbor earlier that year. Sidney had always believed in doing their part to keep the neighborhood safe, and after Dianne’s brutal injury, they found themselves by the window more than ever.

Sidney was one of the few residents who had been able to breathe a sigh of relief when they saw Dianne return home, battered but alive, just a couple of weeks ago. Though still in poor condition, Dianne had refused to leave her house since. Sidney couldn't help but feel sorrow for her; such a vibrant person now confined to her home, either out of fear or due to the lasting effects of the attack. At least she had survived, but it was hard to shake the sadness that lingered in the air whenever Sidney thought of her.

Just as the wind began to pick up, and before the snow had fully blanketed the streets, Sidney saw Dianne for the first time since her return home. It wasn’t just Dianne, however, but instead the entire Jones family was leaving their house across the street, packing a large truck with all of their belongings. They were leaving town - Sidney could tell that much even through the steadily thickening snow. But what struck them as odd was that the family hadn’t even put up a ‘for sale’ sign.

The situation felt strange, but as the snow picked up outside, all Sidney could do was stay inside, mulling over the mystery of it all. It might have been curious, seeing a family suddenly pack up without so much as a word about it to any neighbor, especially one they'd known for years, but after what had happened to Dianne, Sidney could understand the urge to leave, even if it wasn’t fully explained.

As Sidney’s mind lingered on the Jones family, the snow continued to fall, and by mid-morning, residents all over Cardinal Hill awoke to a thick blanket of snow that only seemed to grow heavier. News broadcasts on radios and television sets soon warned everyone to stay inside, urging caution as conditions worsened. By the time the snow really started to pile up, it was clear that many people had underestimated the storm. What began as a quiet snowfall quickly escalated into a blizzard that trapped residents wherever they happened to be.

Those who had ventured out for work or errands found themselves stuck in places they never imagined they'd be for long. Shops, cafes, and gas stations, which normally buzzed with activity, now sat silent, their windows fogged up as employees huddled near small heaters, chatting in an almost surreal calm. Some residents even ended up stranded in the homes of friends and family, unexpectedly snowed in for the night. As the storm continued to rage, it became evident that Cardinal Hill was caught in the kind of isolation only a snowstorm of this magnitude could bring.

The streets, once familiar, had vanished beneath deep drifts. Cars were buried in the snow, their once-visible outlines now completely obscured. What little traffic there had been came to a halt, the snow quickly filling the tire tracks, erasing all signs of movement. As the hours passed, the wind howled louder, pushing the snow into eerie, shifting dunes that blocked doorways and windows. No one could get in or out. Even the brave few who tried to venture out found themselves quickly overwhelmed, their steps swallowed by the snow as it piled up at an alarming rate.

The town had become a snowbound ghost town, with only the faint outlines of homes and buildings visible through the swirling white. Cardinal Hill, usually so vibrant with its small-town energy, was now trapped in a quiet, almost haunting stillness. No one could reach anyone else unless they happened to be nearby, and even then, the roads were impossible to navigate. The power flickered on and off, causing temporary lapses in most of the residents' sources of heat, and most phone calls consisted of mainly crackles and odd hums.

The Jones household had emptied out right after dinner, with Mr. and Mrs. Jones heading off to a work friend's private get-together, and the two younger children being dropped off at a friend's house for the night on the way. Dianne, the eldest of the Jones' children, was the only one who remained home, without any grand plans at all.

Sitting on the sofa, Dianne gazed up at the large, framed picture on the living room wall. The picture contained many happy faces, two families holidaying together years ago, with the brightest of them all being a young girl. Avalon. Dianne missed her beloved friend today more than most, knowing that they would have been celebrating the arrival of the new year together, just as they had every other year.

But Avalon hadn't made it to 1991.

Dianne’s chest tightened, and she couldn’t help but replay the last few months in her mind. Avalon had been powerful. She had never once feared the dark forces that other witches in their community had begun to whisper about. She was fearless, unstoppable, and better yet, she was educated and trained; but now… Avalon was gone.

Rumours spread throughout the small town like wildfire, but the police had no answers. Dianne just couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. How had someone - or something - been able to take down someone like Avalon? It didn’t make sense, and Dianne was sure that it wasn't only her grief bringing upon those thoughts. No dark force, no matter how vile, should have been able to get past her. Avalon had always been prepared, always been the one to protect others. She would have known.

But if Avalon had been so strong... then how had she died? The question gnawed at Dianne, and tonight, more than ever, she felt its sharp edge and the emptiness of her life without her.

A whisper broke the silent contemplation.

At first, Dianne thought it was nothing more than the faint sounds of the festivities outside, carried on the wind. It wouldn't have been the first time as of late that Dianne had heard whispers that surely couldn't have actually been there. The revelry of Cardinal Hill vibrated through the house; she didn't want to scare herself into a state of paranoia, it had to be just that, the festivities - but then, the voice came again. Louder. Closer.

“Dianne…” Her blood ran cold. She froze, staring at the empty space around her. She blinked, certain she must have imagined it, but the voice had been so distinguishable, not at all muffled like the rest that came from outside.

She sat there, as perfectly still as she could, not daring to obscure anything else that might have been spoken to her. Her breath sounded louder than the wind storm that had hit Cardinal Hill months prior; her heart beat could be heard inside of her ears almost as loudly as the wind had rattled the windows in that storm, too. "Did you miss me?"

Her stomach churned, and an icy feeling settled in her chest. The voice... she knew that voice.

“Where are you?” Dianne whispered back, feeling pale and cold, standing up from the sofa, eyes darting to the empty corners of the room. She felt cold, so cold, the kind of cold that pressed on her chest and made her throat close up.

Then, the whispers increased - faster, louder. They were no longer distinguishable words, but instead echoes that seemed to surround Dianne's entire body, filling the room, becoming louder and sounding as if more and more voices were speaking over the top of the others. The words became a chaotic blur, jumbled in a way that only intensified the panic rising inside of Dianne. She could barely make them out - Avalon’s name, and her own, mixed in with broken fragments of sentences. She’s gone, but she’s not... Where were... You have no idea... No, this was wrong. The energy in the house felt wrong.

"Please," Dianne whispered, trembling. "Stop-" her voice was pathetic going up against the rising chaos of the words surrounding her. "Stop!" She yelled, finally being heard amongst all else.

A sudden, sharp crack echoed from outside - another firework. The sound was jarring, loud. Dianne jumped, her breath hitching in her throat, but then... silence. All the noise from outside stopped. The distant cheers, the crackling fireworks - everything was eerily still. Dianne felt more afraid than ever. Her heart hammered in her chest as she turned toward the living room, trying to find anything that could possibly explain what she had just gone through.

And there, in the center of the room, stood Avalon. But it wasn’t Avalon like she remembered. Her friend’s face was pale and lifeless, her body unnaturally still. The familiar warmth and light that had always surrounded Avalon were gone, replaced by something colder. Darker.

“No,” Dianne’s voice regressed back into a frightened whisper, nothing but grief and fear and horror lacing her words. Her hands trembled as she reached out, her heart aching with fright mixed with a repressed form of hope. She had so desperately wanted to see her best friend again, but this wasn't at all how she imagined the scene to go. “What's happening?”

For a brief moment, it felt like time stood still. Avalon didn't move. She didn’t speak. It was as though the very essence of who Avalon had been was no longer there. She was nothing more than a shadow, a hollow echo of the friend Dianne had known. This wasn't Avalon, it couldn't have been.

Then, with a deafening crack from a nearby firework, Dianne flinched violently. Her eyes darted back to the spot where Avalon had stood, but it was empty. The space felt colder, more empty than ever. Avalon was gone. She had been all this time, that truly couldn't have been Avalon.

After a beat where it felt as though Dianne couldn't breathe at all, Dianne's breath came back in ragged gasps, her heart still pounding in her ears. This wasn’t right, something terrible was happening to her, something worse than any of the other twisted and unexplained happenings in town that she had been made to face in the last few months. She needed to do something - she had to protect herself.

Her fingers fumbled as she reached for the small candle on the coffee table, her voice shakier than before as she muttered the words for a protection spell. A spell she had cast countless times before, but tonight, it failed her. No warmth surrounded her, no shield, no invisible wall of power; the feeling of reassurance and safety that usually followed her practiced spell being cast was nowhere to be found, as if her magic wasn't working.

Her stomach churned, and panic gripped her. She tried again, her hands shaking violently, but nothing happened. No light. No warmth. Nothing. It almost felt like the more she tried, the less safe she was becoming.

Why wasn’t it working?

Her throat tightened, nausea rising in her chest as she felt her magic slipping through her fingers. It was as if the very energy that had always been a part of her was suddenly gone, leaving her weak and vulnerable. She tried to do something simple - she couldn't stay here, defenceless, powerless. She blew out the candle that her shaking hands held, and with her magic, she attempted to reignite the flame. This was a spell that had never failed Dianne, not once, not even when she was a small girl in elementary school.

The candle remained dark. Dianne had no magic, she had nothing.

"No!" She cried, devastation filling the room around her. "Light! Light!" She walked desperately over to the living room wall, banging the candle against it a few times as if it would help. "Ignite! I-" her second attempt at demanding the candle burst into flames was interrupted by the feeling of a cold hand on her shoulder.

Her heart skipped a beat. Her mouth became dry, though her skin prickled with sweat. She almost felt as though she would faint, like the grip was siphoning out her life force. With what little ability she had left, she dropped the unlit candle, and she turned around to see who the hand belonged to.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･― 3 Hours Later ―･:*࿔ೃ.⋆

Mr. and Mrs. Jones returned home later than expected. Being such good friends with the Rivers family, they had had a hard conclusion to 1990; they had let their hair down in an uncharacteristic manner that night, something that was long overdue.

They stumbled in, faces still radiating with happiness after such a positive celebration that night. Unfortunately the joy hadn't lasted, their once bright faces filling with confusion and worry the second they took in the scene before them. The house was in disarray - furniture overturned, glass shattered, the front door left ajar.

In the living room, they found Dianne. Her body was bloodied and bruised, slumped in the middle of the wreckage. It was clear she had fought fiercely, but it wasn’t the kind of struggle one had when being attacked - it was as if someone had tried to stop her from getting in their way. A sense of fury lingered in the air, trails of violence that seemed out of place.

Her mother's cries filled the scene as paramedics rushed to her side, but what truly caught their attention was the blood. It was splattered over walls, it had stained previously pristine furniture, there were even bloody handprints on the window next to the front door. It had seeped into the once-white carpet, oozing from injuries over Dianne's battered body, but more than that, it had been used to write a message on the carpet in what was assumed to be Dianne's final moments of consciousness.

'Avalon.'

The rest of the message was smeared, the blood having spread and thickened as it pooled around the letters, freshly flowing to obscure more and more of the words as Dianne's hand had landed right in the middle of it after the great effort. Despite the decay of the message, two other words were unmistakable. 'No power.'

The figure moved without a sound, their footfalls barely making a dent on the cracked cobblestone streets. There was something unsettling in the way they moved; it was too deliberate, too smooth, as though they did not quite belong to the world they walked through. One by one, they approached the homes of Cardinal Hill’s residents, moving with the precision of someone on a mission, but never once drawing attention. They approached each doorstep with purpose, then disappeared as silently as they had arrived, leaving no trace of their presence behind - no door knocked, no bell rung, no sound of footsteps echoing against the streets.

Those few who caught sight of the figure walking through the streets were struck with an indescribable sense of dread. It was not fear in the traditional sense - there was no immediate danger to be seen, no threat to their safety - but something about the figure’s presence unsettled them in a way they couldn’t explain. No one could remember seeing them deliver anything, or even exactly how they had moved so quietly, but there was an undeniable nausea that followed those brief glimpses. It was a deep, gnawing sensation, almost as if their very presence disturbed the air around them. For the magical residents of Cardinal Hill, the sensation was too familiar to ignore. It was a feeling they knew all too well: the unmistakable presence of dark magic.

Despite the dread they stirred, the figure was never stopped. Their task proceeded uninterrupted, an unseen force guiding them from one doorstep to the next, leaving them to work in silence under the cloak of night. When the figure had completed their work, they vanished into the darkest corners of the town, their silhouette swallowed by the shadows. Those few who had seen them were left with a lingering sense of unease, their stomachs churning, their minds restless, as if something were hanging in the air, waiting to be revealed. They could not shake the sensation, but none could fully explain why the figure, or their task, felt so wrong.

It wasn’t until morning that the first of the letters was discovered. Each envelope was simple, unadorned except for the handwritten name of the recipient on the front, and sealed with a wax stamp - plain, without any distinguishing mark. The letters were left not in mailboxes, but placed directly at the front step, each one nestled carefully on the threshold, as though the sender intended for them to be found immediately upon the dawn's arrival. There was no indication as to who had left them or why, only the lingering sense that something urgent, something important, had been delivered with intent.

The weight of the letters was felt even before they were opened. They carried an unspoken urgency, a palpable tension in the very act of their delivery. Each recipient, upon seeing the envelope, felt a deep stir of anxiety, a sense of dread that had no logical explanation. There was something ominous about the letters, something peculiar about them even beyond the mysterious appearance and circumstances in which they arrived to each resident.

Dust and debris swirled in wild spirals, creating a tempestuous ballet that engulfed homes and businesses alike. Windows rattled and creaked under the onslaught, sending glimmering shards across the pavement like broken stars scattered across the earth. Quaint establishments such as Evergreen Bistro and the Maplewood Inn struggled against the gale, their signs swinging wildly, protesting the chaos unfolding around them.

Inside The Ceramic Cup, the comforting scents of coffee and baked goods mingled with the rising tension in the air. Patrons glanced nervously at the windows as the wind howled, a deep, mournful sound echoing their unease. At a back table, a group of witches shared worried glances, feeling a familiar, sickening sensation creeping into their cores - a deep-rooted dread that recalled a recent incident suspected to be tied to dark magic. It hung thick in the air, as if the very essence of the wind was whispering secrets of dread and despair. This wasn’t merely a gust; it felt like a herald of something far more sinister.

Outside, the wind swept through the town square, uprooting flowerpots and sending loose papers fluttering like startled birds. The old clock tower, a beloved symbol of Cardinal Hill, stood defiantly, yet even it shuddered under the onslaught. Inside the diner across the street, patrons clung to their mugs of coffee, eyes wide with a mix of fear and curiosity, sensing an inexplicable unease settle in their bones, a shared anticipation that something darker was lurking just beyond their sight. The wind carried a promise of disarray, whispering of impending doom that heightened their anxiety.

As the day wore on, the winds gradually began to die down, retreating to a low, haunting whisper that left the town in a heavy silence. The streets lay strewn with debris, remnants of the mayhem that had unfolded. Yet, despite the calm, an unsettling tension lingered in the air, a palpable weight that pressed upon the shoulders of every resident.

For the witches, the familiar sickening sensation intensified, confirming their fears that the dark magic they had sensed before was not a mere figment of imagination. The storm days prior was not just a bad day; it was a warning. They exchanged worried looks, knowing that something serious was at play once more.

The non-magical humans of Cardinal Hill felt it too. As they ventured out into the battered streets, they encountered neighbors with furrowed brows and tight-lipped expressions. Conversations were hushed, and eyes darted around as if expecting another gust to arise. The unease was infectious, spreading through the town like wildfire. This was the second time in recent memory that strange weather had invaded their lives, and it was beginning to feel too deliberate, too calculated.

Cardinal Hill, with its picturesque red-brick buildings and cobblestone streets, now lay cloaked in a ghostly gloom. The once golden-hued streets, expected to be bathed in autumn light and the warming, morning sun, was absorbed by encroaching darkness. The Old Mill Diner, the most bustling business at this hour of the morning, went eerily silent. The familiar clinking of dishes and lively chatter had given way to subdued whispers and anxious glances. Inside, the diner’s enchanting employees and red checked tablecloths offered no comfort against the pervasive sense of dread.

Most non-magical townsfolk, either content or accepting of their mundane lives in Cardinal Hill, and unfamiliar with the town’s deeper mystical lore, felt a profound, inexplicable discomfort. The dark clouds, the solitary crack of thunder, and the lightning that pierced through the clouds seemed jarringly out of place, sparking a vague but persistent unease. Those who did not possess magical abilities, but who were aware of witchcraft, felt similarly distressed, and similarly confused as to why an anomaly of the weather could stifle them as such. Conversations that once flowed freely now drifted into hushed, worried exchanges, as people shared uneasy glances and pondered the source of their disturbance.

In stark contrast, the witches of Cardinal Hill experienced the disturbance on a more visceral level; a deep, unsettling nausea churned in their stomachs, a physical manifestation of the dark magic they sensed. Even those who had never experienced direct encounters with dark forces felt a chilling certainty of something malevolent lurking. The brief but intense storm had left its mark, but with no further attack on the town, the witches were only left to hope that the incident wouldn’t turn any scarier than it already felt so deep in their core. As the dark clouds slowly began to part, revealing fleeting patches of the pale autumn sky and no more evidence of dark magic, the lingering sense of dread confoundingly remained for all.

As the sky gradually cleared in its entirety, allowing the sun to cast its weak, diffused light over the town, the oppressive atmosphere still did not dissipate easily. The eerie calm that followed was suffused with unspoken anxiety. Cardinal Hill’s typically vibrant, comforting scenery now felt tainted by an inescapable sense of impending change, leaving the residents to grapple with the persistent shadow of the storm’s lingering dread.