Crossroads - a place where two realms touch and which therefore represents a threshold, a place literally "neither here nor there", "betwixt and between".

She walked after her long travels curiously into the square and stood beside a towered clock which had stood there for over a century. Placing her satchel down to rest for a second, she sighs softly as she never wanted to come here but after her father passing she has little choice, she tries to gather her bearings pulling out the map to her uncle’s place. The sound of the ocean waves nearby melodiously lapping up against a creaking dock, waves crashing relentlessly, an eeriness hanging in the air. This town seemed settled in its old ways, dark, dank and dreary, gas lamps miserably trying to penetrate the rolling fogs, she blinks thinking to herself, "is this the only hope of light here?"

Wandering on through the cobbled streets she pauses to study the gothic architecture, buildings that had seemingly stood forever, gargoyles peering down at her, iridescent eyes she was sure following her. Rounding a corner unwittingly stepping into the shadows she glance’s through the pass, her gaze lifting. The hair on the back of her neck jump’s to attention, a shiver running the length of her spine as she takes in the site of the foreboding castle. Afraid to go further, afraid to move, involuntarily she takes a step back, then freezing immediately as she feels the cold breathe on her neck, a nauseating fetid redolence surrounding her, her fingers open with sheer fear dropping her belongings, the soft thud as they hit the cold stone, paralyzed to the spot her mouth opens her body quakes, sweat forms on her brow, she wants to scream but nothing comes out, she turns her whole body slowly her eyes trembling, glazed as tears form, flames from a nearby lamp dancing flickering reflections in her pupils, she sees her assailant, the air caught in her throat can’t help being released and a blood curdling high pitched shrill scream echoes around the town, a few faces lift from their mead momentarily in the tavern before hearing the faint gurgling then the deathly silence. A few shutters can be heard closing, bolts being thrown, the constable’s bell starts to ring out into the night and loud foot steps rush across the town.

From the fog and darkness covered roof tops, low frightful growls can be heard as two large red eyes peer through. Several monstrous howls rip through the thick air. The rushing footsteps stop short, followed by low mutterings of a small group close by. The footsteps again move again closer, however slower and showing caution. A large man with stone lined face exits from the fog with a small oil lamp, shadows covering most of his expression and it only has enough light to show the outlines of those behind. Extending his arm to allow the light to break the darkness enough to see the ground, the belongings of the woman laying right where they fell with a slight spray of blood around.

The large man notices the blood, calling back to those behind in a hoarse voice "..To clean a kill for them Lycans". At the same time he sees the bags and other belongings he assumes from the victim, he spots the narrow yellow eyes from the alley. One of the men behind probably seeing the yellow eyes starts to move towards the alley with a hand on his hilt, only to be 

stopped by the large stone lined face man. "Tis not them.." points at the things on the ground, "...them type would have searched these here bags for something shinny."

A light that could never be made by man sends the darkness in flight before it, as it moves towards a very large gothic cathedral. The large man nods his head slightly towards the light, "..neither the Forsaken with her here". He moves up the small road a little more, eyes scanning the terrain like an expert hunter. Stopping over a small bridge at the edge of town, calling down to a form in the water in a commanding voice. "What you see eh?", the water it's self replies in a smug tone "Mortals fade too frequently to take interest". The large man grunts in reply, looking straight ahead to watch lightning crack over the dark arches of the castle without cloud or rain. Knowing the rumors and having seen the same kind of events before, he turns to the group behind him with a shrug. "Log another unsolved lads, we dare not question the household of the Baron's granddaughter." The group grumbles as they leave empty handed, one spitting on the cobblestones towards the castle.

This is the story of Crossroads, where dark gothic meets enchanting role-play.

All races welcomed and encouraged!