durand books opened its doors every day at exactly ten o’clock, but typically simone durand found herself arriving at the store an hour earlier, double checking that her employee who had closed did everything that was needed. she liked the stillness of the bookstore at the hour, with nobody else around except her and the literature. sometimes she used to time alone to get some coven planning done, or try out new spell books that had come in, or doze off in the chair behind the counter until her phone alarm went off to remind her to unlock the front door.
simone would be doing none of those things today, because as she pulled the gate to go and unlock the door, the sight of what was behind the gate made her drop her coffee, spilling onto her boots with a string of curses coming out of her mouth.
someone had painted on the door of the book shop a symbol that the witch knew well, one of the runes she had studied with her mother back when she was first learning about her powers. it was a symbol that any witch would know, and its meaning was clear : WARNING.
the algiz rune was adorned in red paint — but as simone got closer, she wasn’t able to rule out that it wasn’t blood. after dropping her things off inside the door and grabbing cleaning supplies to scrub it off, she’d realize that whoever had done this had done more than just graffiti the door. even with the red liquid off, the rune was etched into the wood of the door, as if someone had branded it. it was too big to hide under a decorative wreath, that was for sure.
durand books wasn’t the only target hit ; all across the five boroughs, each of the high council buildings had the same branded and bloodied rune on their door. major businesses known for their supernatural clientele had the same — the wolf’s eye, siren, lunar defiant, enchantress nights. it didn’t matter if, like the door to durand books, the entrance of the business wasn’t even reachable to those without the key to open the gate it hid under. they all held the same message, a warning to the supernatural creatures of new york city.
something was coming. and rosamie lynn’s death was just the beginning of it.
Euryale stared at the summons, nail file in hand while she occasionally glanced to the terror stricken marble humanoid figures that flooded her ship. A new one she had acquired the night in question. Time to call the council’s bluff she decided, Leaning back in her chair she picked out an old scroll, and started to pen a response.
To Whom it May Concern:
If you want your mandatory questions answered so badly - you can come to me. Bring yourselves to Staten Island. You know the one. The one that the council seems to ignore is a prison for other supernatural creatures.
Regards,
Euryale of the Gorgons
She waved the paper for one of the shipmates to take to the council building. Illuminated hues stopped and stared at the newest wolf statue a chaotic twinkle in her eye. “I do hope they’ll come. My collection is quite dull now.”
BREAKING NEWS … FASHION DESIGNER SLAIN IN GRUESOME KILLING
NEW YORK CITY, Jan. 1 — Beloved fashion designer Rosamie Lynn was found brutally murdered with stab wounds to the chest at her Manhattan penthouse early this morning, in what is being described as a “ritualistic” scene of horror.
Lynn, 32, who was known for founding the luxury fashion brand, Lynn Designs, was discovered near the entrance of her home by a housekeeper arriving for work following the CEO’s annual New Year’s Eve gala. On a portrait in the foyer, the Latin word “diaboli,” which translates to “devil,” was scrawled in blood. Investigators suspect the killer used a rag to write the message, with the foyer found blood-splattered and gruesome.
The lead investigator on the case said there was a clear sign of struggle, though there are not any leads at this time. Guests who were in attendance at Lynn’s gala in the hours preceding the murder are being encouraged to come forward with any details or evidence regarding the crime.
As the news is broadcast across every headline in America, citizens pay tribute to the late fashion icon’s passing with memorials and candlelight vigils. However, for members of New York City’s Supernatural High Council, there is no time for mourning — it appears evident there is no mortal explanation for the Lynn family leader’s death, and with the recent tick in similarly-fashioned occurrences, the council is perceiving a threat to the anonymity of the supernatural world.
Rosamie Lynn, one of the council’s founding members and among the eldest vampires, was not an easy target. Her death sends a message of caution to supernatural creatures everywhere — this threat is perhaps beyond the council’s level of capability, and no one will be spared.
Numerous meetings are held as the council conducts its own investigation of the case, with help from supernatural community members working at the scene of the crime. With special intel and evidence brought to the board, it is revealed that multiple artifacts were also found at the scene of the crime — including shards of wood, presumably from the stake used to kill Rosamie, as well as a torn piece of parchment containing a partial scrawl of a rune from The Elder Futhark alphabet. It’s unlike anything the council has seen before, and with tensions thickening, blame is swiftly passed in all directions.
The easiest target is found within the hunters, though their involvement would not explain the macabre scene left behind. They were cleaner than that. Could it have been a hybrid seeking revenge for being outcasted? No, this was more specific. More personal. A werewolf fighting a lifelong species grudge? They wouldn’t waste their time with Norse runes or Latin.
That leaves the witches. Of course, it makes sense. A blood sacrifice for the New year... right? Except, the leaders have air-tight alibis, and why be so messy and blatant by targeting Rosamie Lynn?
Nothing adds up. There is no sense in this crime. By the end of the day, the High Council is no closer to a revelation than they were twelve hours ago. All they’ve really done is instill a sense of unrest and distrust amongst supernatural communities. And dissonance is a dangerous thing, when the bond holding their world together is already so weak.
Nishith had one thing that plagued his mind day in and day out, the procured dead crow he had at the medical examiner’s office. He needed a moment of clarification in his own mind to get to work on it, and he was worried about the outcome. He probably should have warned Beck or Roger what his plans were, but they didn’t seem as concerned about the crows as he was. Maybe he should have written a will so Evie could get his lightsaber, and Jordan could have his encyclopedias. Focus.
This night would be the night he’d either get answers or have nothing new from it. A random anomaly at a fancy gala, but of course... What it he found something? Nish had waved to the other pathologist as they left the cooler. “Later Henry! No.. no I just have to check on something and then I’ll be heading home. Yeah catch you on tomorrow’s shift!” He slipped on a glove to each hand, and placed a mask over his face for precaution. Carefully setting the dead crow on the metal table. He slid the instruments closer to him, and he grabbed the scalpel making the first incision.
With his other hand he hit the record button on his cell phone to document whatever data he figured out. “Left wing ruptured at impact. Missing secondary and primary feathers off of the bone. Right wing slight crack at the tip near the primary.” Using a scope on his head to aim closer to the face of the bird. “No further notes on eyes. Post mortem crack to the tip of the beak.” Nish paused as he grabbed a depressor to adjust to try to get a better look inside. “Odd, showing signs of asphyxiation.” His brows furrowed down to the tiny corpse. “Some foreign substance, check organs for clarification.”
The gold mine was located in the deceased crow’s stomach, which made him fall backwards slightly from his chair. “What the fuck?” Nish yelled behind the mask, as he stared puzzled as his scalpel became enveloped in ash. “All these other injuries were post mortem upon impact, because the crow was dead before that. “ It caused him to have more questions, was this some sort of black magic? “Final cause of death asphyxiation.” He frowned as he wheeled his chair back to gather a vial to try to scoop some ash into it. “Where did the ash come from, though?” he asked the question into the dead air.
a massive thank you to j for writing this plot drop ! she had the idea for nish doing an autopsy on the bird, and it was a great idea. friendly reminder that we are ALWAYS open to hearing fresh ideas to make this plot and group a more collaborative atmosphere ; we have some events and plot drops planned, but not enough to carry the whole group for everyone. we want you guys to come up with your own plots and join in on the main plot thread as well, however you see you can. please let us know if you have any ideas or are interested in collaborating for future plot drops !
11:55 PM. with five minutes til midnight, rosamie lynn rises onto the stage beside the live band that had just finished their last song. “excuse me,” she taps the microphone lightly, getting everyone’s attention. already the room is abuzz with a mixture of energy, those ready to end the night versus those who are planning on continuing the party well after the doors of the high council building close. “we wanted to thank everyone one final time for coming out, and invite everyone to the roof of the building to watch the firework show.”
the rooftop had been open the entire evening, covered by a giant white tent to shelter people rain or shine. the small bar in the corner hadn’t seen as much action as they receive at midnight, partygoers stopping by for their last free drink of the evening, before they stop serving. but the moment the clocks strike midnight, there’s a BOOM that has everyone moving towards the edge of the tent, desperate for a spot to watch the fireworks light up the night sky.
soft music plays in the background, choreographed perfectly with the presentation of lights and colors… until there’s a quiet plop that comes not from the fireworks, but something hitting the tent above them. it doesn’t attract much attention—not until a few more objects land on the tent, tearing a few pairs of eyes away from the spectacle to look above them.
it’s those people who were spared the horror of what comes next : most rain storms start with a few drops before it starts to downpour. and in new york city, when it rains, it POURS. suddenly the fireworks seemed insignificant, drowned out by the oily, black figures that aggressively dropped from the sky, bouncing off the tent and continuing to tumble down, down, down to the street. but not all of the roof was covered by the tent, and when the objects fell to the floor of the roof, it took a few seconds for the guests to realize what it was.
A THOUSAND BIRDS. black crows, to be exact, hitting the ground so hard that they would’ve died on impact, had they not been dead already. nobody could tell you who the first to scream was, but once they started, it was hard to get people to stop.
and it was the combination of screams, birds dropping from the sky, and the booming of the fireworks that played as the soundtrack to the end of the evening.
I went to work, you can check with my boss. We were busy because everyone was preparing for the festivities. I am sure plenty of people can account seeing me there.
Where were you the evening on the 17th?
I was at the pub with everyone else. I feel like you know that or you wouldn’t have called me in. I don’t know why I am here. It seems like a waste of time for you to talk to every witch. People around the city are dying, a lot of them. Yet you are questioning everyone including those who were clearly trying to help that night.
What is your views on the council?* Did you see anyone acting suspicious when the full moon peaked?
I have nothing against the council. Do I agree with all of their choices? No. Do I think that they mean well? Yes.
