TIG LXIX: Meeting at the House of Usher

[Mirandir]

It was a dull, dark and oppressive autumn day, where the rain clouds hung low in the sky but refused to spill their watery contents. It was on this day that a variety of Downers would, once again, be attending a gathering at yet another suspicious location.

It was a house, once again, this time surrounded by a landscape as bleak and depressing as the weather. The few trees that surrounded the structure were long devoid of leaves and would likely never again bear fruit. Where green grass should have stood there was only brown, and spotty patches at best. There were no sounds of birds or life of any kind to be heard, lending to the eerie silence.

"Why do we always get stuck at places like this?" Pitchwife asked, shaking his head.

"Clearly because Werewolf can only be played in super sketchy places!" sally chimed in perkily. The rest of the group turned to glare at her as the massive wooden gate began to move of its own volition. They turned to stare at it, covering their ears from the loud creaking being emitted from the ancient joints.

"Well, that's comforting," Boro murmured. A few nods echoed his sentiment.

The group stood in silence, staring at the now-open passageway. Morsul broke the silence. "Should we...go in?"

A few moments of casting frightened and confused glances around the group later, it was decided that they would indeed venture inside.

----

The inside of the house was just as ominous as the outside. The room they had entered into was vast, but desolate. Sheets covered many of the pieces of furniture, as well as the various forms of sculpture and artwork. Ancient tapestries hung on the walls, faded and fraying. Before anyone could wonder what to do next, the door behind them swung shut with a clang.

"Well this is all very true to form," Fea nodded knowingly, having attended these gatherings on more than one occasion.

"Does anybody else hear that?" Saucie asked nervously, jerking his head in the direction of an adjoining corridor. Those who had been whispering amongst themselves ceased, tilting their heads in the indicated direction.

"Footsteps!" Lari whispered helpfully. She was generally ignored as the cause of the noise presented itself in the form of a man. Crippled by years of disease, his footsteps were really more of a shuffle, his breath labored and uneven. The dim light emitting from a lone gas lamp reflected off his pallid face, illuminating the sharp angles formed by skin stretched too tightly over bone.