In a room above the basement where the wizard played his games, a much younger girl pulled a thick black book from the top shelf of many books. Her room was cluttered with them, with many stacks onto the floor collecting dust. It didn't seem completely like the room of a little girl, more of a young witch. Bringing the book to her bed, Adesa began to brush off the dust collected onto its surface.
There was really nothing to do in her room but read. Boredom began to consume her. Her brother wasn’t there anymore. Danar was already dead; she knew that. If only he was back. The games she played weren’t always as much fun without him around. He shouldn’t have tried to kill Father. That was a bad thing.
. . .
As always, she was bored.
Whatever her father was playing at that time was bound to strike her curiosity eventually, so she headed to the basement.
But when she arrived, he wasn't there. Something was set on a table in the middle of the room. She tilted her head. It was just a model of a small village. A tree with a small rope hung onto one of the branches. Tiny figures were placed in the middle of it. A gameboard? So that was what the wizard had been playing the whole time. Surely, something like this would eliminate her boredom.
The witch spoke to herself with a smile.
“I might as well try it just this once.”
- - - - - - - - - -
ComicFuryville. A small village with a population that fits its small community. For the past several years, all has been peaceful and everyone knew each other. For all they knew, werewolves don’t exist. The werewolves that they had all heard so much about was only a mere story told from one generation to the next. It was also part of a popular game played by children. That was all werewolves are to them.
But according to legend, the goddess Adesa summoned werewolves to attack the town whenever she got angry or bored.
It was a cool but sunny autumn day. As leaves fell from the trees, all the villagers prepared food, hung up décor, among other things. This was the Full Moon festival, a time for annual celebration and worship of Adesa. It was hard work, and everyone worked together, which made everything worth it.
It was then getting late at night. The festival preparations were finished, and everyone went to bed peacefully.
. . .
“Que sera, sera…whatever you make will be…♪♫”
The village awoke to the sweet sound of music in the morning. Odd. Not everyone would listen to music this early. As they each saw each other one by one, they all searched for the source of that song.
And there it was.
One of the houses appeared scratched and torn up from the outside in. The back door was ripped from its hinges and the windows had been shattered to pieces. The villagers became suspicious and opened the partially broken front door.
White feathers and paper fell to the ground. The song was playing on a gramophone, its needle sliding along the vinyl record as it spun. A body had been pinned to the wall by several cross-like nails. The feathers of from wings gave been ripped from the back. Her body was scratched from the waist and blood stained her body and oozed down her leg and onto the floor. Near her body and the trail of blood was a small broken pair of glasses.
“Que sera, sera,” was written across the walls over and over in red. Assumingly, that had to be from the body of that girl... Her feathers, her glasses, her blood. From her tattered wings and star-shaped hairclip, that just had to be Seraphiim, a villager.
Just from looking at the bloody mess, one of the villagers vomited into the nearby bushes. As he wiped his mouth, a voice from one of the others was heard.
“Damn those werewolves. We’ll kill them. All of them!”
“Werewolves? Isn’t that just some stupid made-up story?” another voice called out. The villagers began to talk one amongst themselves.
“You haven’t heard? Our ancestors…”
“Some scary children’s tale…”
“I thought it was a game!”
“You’ve got to me kidding me…”
“But what about the festival?”
“…Adesa.”
Everyone fell silent. Adesa, their goddess. The way that Seraphiim was killed must have meant that she was unpleased. It could have been worse.
A thought came to someone’s mind.
“What if she summoned them… The werewolves?”
The villagers decided to handle this the traditional way. It was agreed upon that they had to put the festival on hold until they get to the bottom of this. They looked up at a large old tree in the middle of the village. A rope dangled on one of the bare branches. Old Lynchy. The tree that could solve all their problems when they had one. It was dying, and it hadn’t been used for lynching in years.
Soon, the villagers would have to find other ways instead. Yet, they knew what they had to do. They would play the game that they knew from their childhood, and the stakes will be higher than before. A game that would cost them their lives.
And so, the Day☼Phase begins.
- - - GAME☣RULES - Follow them or die.
- - - ROLES - It's mostly copy and paste, but it's okay, right?
- - - GAME❀PIECES - A contract signed in blood.
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