Small towns
are, well, small towns. Practically nameless, and of little value. Nothing truly important comes or goes from them, but they are not without their turmoil.
E
very town (especially a smaller one) has its secrets. Rumors, superstitions, whispers in the dark about things out of this world, and yet originating from their own. Most of the time, these are nothing but paranoia and pointless witch hunts which slander and shame innocent folk, with the alleged supernatural events quickly passing.
H
owever, on some rare occasions...these events of folklore and legend turn out to not be mere myth. And like many older, darker portrayals of these fairy tale creatures, they prove to be dangerous. People learn to live in an uneasy peace with monsters capable of tearing them to shreds, avoiding that unpleasant by taking passive counter-measures they can only pray keep them safe, if only for a while.
S
uch defenses can last for mere days, others may stand for decades, yet always, something disrupts the balance, forcing conflict. In those unfortunate cases, there is no resolution except aggressive retaliation, forcing an all-out war between the rabble and the hidden unknown.
I
n a small town at the edge of a much-feared mystical woods, this scenario has regrettably manifested: long has been the time since the have made themselves known, however, recently, attacks have resumed, and now a meeting of the hamlet's eleven leaders has been called.
werewolves
A
s if deliberately sending a message, two of them never make it. Coming from abodes at opposite ends, the poor souls perish before their arrival, both at similar times. The intent could not be more clear: "We are two, and we are among you."