DescriptionWhen the mists swirl and you see something that cannot possibly be there. When the night is dark and you fear what may be tracking you. You are the food. You are no longer highest on the food chain. Monsters are real, and you are just cattle. You struggle along and a cold, dark wind whispers by. Death. Destruction. Pain. Die! And everything in you wants to do just what that wind says. Then, it warms and you feel comforted, though the dark of the night hasn't lessened. Hope. Life. Love. You feel stronger, like you might just make it. You see lights dancing over the water, inviting. But your mother has told you many times never to stop for those lights for they only lead to death. So you walk. Finally, the lights of home shine forth and offer you the safety of false day, the thing that keeps the animals from your door. The door is flung open and there stands your love. You've made it home another day.
This is the world that we live in. There really are monsters out there, though most wouldn't be found in the closet or under your bed. They live in the outer world. But they live quietly, for to disturb the ant hill that is humanity would mean certain death for all preternatural creatures that were found. They have a terrifying and admirable will to survive - through over hunting and their mad attempts to kill themselves for silly things like skin color, they had managed to become the most abundant of all life. Ah, but they are not our story.
It begins off the south western coast of Ireland, just outside of a small village. There, in a clearing filled with flowers, both wild and domestic, stands a rambling two-story structure called the Witching Hour Café. There are three sisters who own and run the place, a public house and bed and breakfast, and all are uniquely beautiful and as different as the elements each represent. They are witches, and the village nearby laughs softly - knowing many of them visit the sisters for health, love, and advise - and think nothing of it. Even the eldest in the village can't remember tales of a time before it was there, or a time when the girls' family wasn't there, doing what the girls were now doing.
What they don't know is that this little place, well off the beaten path, is a safe haven for things that go bump in the night. They come from all corners of the earth to settle themselves in comfortably without worrying about bad blood and trickery. It has been salvation to many of them when human killers or their own kind threatened, for all respected the rules of the sisters. You do not hunt in the village. You do not fight in the village, around or in the public house, and you don't try following someone to attack them after they leave. Simple rules, but can three witches stop the stronger immortals? Of course. The building has stood for more centuries than some care to share and it has always been the home of powerful magics. And beyond that, there are no witches living whose power rivals that of the sisters. Each are trained in one of the elements and thusly named from birth. Air, Fire, and Earth. When they combine their powers, there are few who still walk that do not hesitate.
Our story is an excursion into the realm of the things that go bump in the night. Lycans, vampires, demons, angels, the fae, and witches. And, of course, those who hunt them. You can find the descriptions for each on the Races page or under the Race thread on the forum. Be sure that you read the rules and abide by them. There aren't many, so I expect them to be easily remembered. Once you've read up, go to the Character Creation page and be sure to read it carefully and then email it to me at amaya@mindless.com. While the Witching Hour Café, both past and present, is the main gathering place, you can travel anywhere in this world and, depending on your character, just about any time. We are a new site, so there will likely be bumps and glitches along the way, but we'll do our best to keep those to a minimum and to have a great time in the mean time. So come, make yourself at home and enter the world of Witching Hour Café.
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Greg Lindahl