The humid night air is stale, windless. The moon is full, illuminating a silvery picturesque view. It is eerily silent - nothing moves, nothing makes a sound.

(You are asleep. No actions may be taken at night except through PM.)

Tap tap tap.

Reinhold groaned groggily. He was never a morning person.

Tap tap tap.

What on earth was that sound?

Tap tap tap.

Finally the situation dawned upon him and Reinhold burst out of his covers.

"Who's there?!"

Despite Salem being a rowdy port during the day, its nights were deathly silent. Superstition was strong here and the old wives tail was that if you roamed at night, a witch would catch you. Nobody up to good would be running around at these wee hours. He ran out of his house in hopes of catching a glimpse of a perpetrator but as he did so he caught a glimpse of a fox running off into the distance. He was sceptical but he let it slide and returned to his sleep. He'd ask around if anyone heard anything tomorrow.

Within an hour after dawn, you find yourself traversing the common path through the woodlands just outside of Salem. The sun beats heavy on your shoulders through a clear sky on your way to the lumber yard to request your yearly supply of firewood. Luc Boivier, the local lumberjack, had announced that he would be ready for orders today. The woods seem strangely quiet and devoid of life, but you decide it must be the traffic that is surely passing through this area today.

You are surprised to find that most of the town is just gathering in front of Luc's home. You grimace at the thought of a long wait in line with the day's heat, until you realize that you won't be getting your firewood from Luc today.

The lumberjack lay slumped against his front door, his own favourite splitting axe now splitting his skull in twain. Dry, crusty blood cakes his face, and his left eye hangs limply out of its socket. The normally flush and healthy skin on his chest and shoulders is now pale, tinged blue like a gutted fish. He is in his smallclothes - Luc met his fate in the dark of the night.

The townsfolk gather around the scene, a single question in the forefront of their minds. Who did this?

(Luc Boivier, the villager, has died!)
(It is day. You can decide amongst yourselves to hang the likely killer, or take no action and wait for night to fall.)

"Oh my god. Oh my god. He's been murdered... Oh my god..." Ruby whispered to herself, standing in front of Luc's house. "I can't believe it... Who... Why..." She was scared. Very, very scared. She remembered the murderer back in Spain, when she was but a little girl. There was a man who would kidnap children and murder them, leaving them in a mass grave under an oak tree. Her mother didn't let Ruby out of her sight for months. Eventually they caught the man, but at least 10 children were found in the grave.

Ruby was drawn from her thoughts by more people wandering up to the crime scene. A few women were crying, and the children were confused and nervous, fidgeting as their fathers tried to block their view of the body. Indeed, it was a gruesome sight. The axe had provided a useful weapon for whoever did this. It had probably killed him almost instantly. Ruby hoped it hadn't hurt the poor man. She felt a wave of emotion and did her best to stay brave, but knowing someone had been murdered in the village she lived in was a hard thing to swallow.

"Who did this? Who could have done this!?" Ruby heard the cries of a few hysterical people, and she was worried about what was to come. There would be a trial, and everyone would be considered a potential killer. She hated things like that. People would accuse friends, even family. Everyone would become an enemy. She worried for her mother and her brother, who she knew would more than likely lock themselves away in the house until the killer was found. She pondered doing that herself, but she refused to let herself. She could not hide away during a time like this. What if more people were killed? Sure, Luc could have been a one off, perhaps a form of revenge from some angered soul, but what if it was a crazed murderer? What if it was like the child killer from Spain? No, she had to help the others. She did not want another person dying. She took one last look at the body, and tears began to fall. She couldn't stand to look. She turned away.

"Oh shit." Charles had pushed to the front of the crowd, wanting to see what everyone was so interested in, and the moment he saw the dead body, his face immediately paled. He wanted to vomit. This...this was disgusting! Was this really what death was like? He'd always assumed that when people died, it would be peaceful. But this...this was anything but. This was a murder. It couldn't be anything but a murder. Unless...was it an accident? He honestly didn't know.

"Who could have done this?" He repeated what one of the onlookers said, "Obviously someone here bloody did it! Who's the axe belong to, eh? Fess up! There's no point in hiding the truth, it's going to come out sooner or later no matter what!"

"Shut your mouth you damn kid!" One of the onlookers shouted at him, an older man who was trying to prevent his kids from seeing the gruesome scene, "No one's going to up and admit to something so foul!"

"They wouldn't have to if this wretched old town had just listened to me when I said we needed militia soldiers out here!" Charles yelled back, "I told you all that we needed protection, I told you! But none of you listened. And now someone's dead!"

His fist shook at his side. This was yet another reason for him to leave this dinky town. It was apparently easy for murders to happen out in town. And he'd be damned if he were to become the next victim. At least in the militia, he'd know who'd want him dead during battle. He needed to get out of this hell hole as soon as possible.

Sam watched from a distance, as everyone gathered at the lumberjack's home. He was one of the first that found the body. He wasn't disgusted by it, as he was used to seeing bodies, although not from humans. He had killed multiple animals for things like leather for some stuff he made back at the blacksmith. However, a human, murdered in cold blood, he couldn't stand that, so he kept his distance. He was probably the one who recognised the axe better then anyone else. After all, his father made it for the man shortly after he arived in the town. It was a masterpiece, used for a horrible crime.

Someone had to pay for this, that was for sure. But who? He looked at the people. The killer was probably one of them. After all, the killer would most likely return to the crime to watch his creation in full light. He didn't want to, but it looked like there was no choice: he and the other people of the town needed to lynch someone and hope that person was the killer. He would watch some more, then pick someone that would act suspiciously.

Seoriol had seen death before. Be it from the jaws of wolves or the biting cold of winter, death was just the sort of thing you saw in the country—especially in the colonies. But this was different. This was murder. A capital sin. He bowed his head and prayed silently. He did not tarry long in that—as the only priest for miles, he'd be holding the funeral service.

A tiny, abrasive thought leaped forth from the back of his mind: Such a small town. Everyone is here. The murderer is here. Everyone knows it. How long until they turn in on themselves? How long until Salem tears itself apart in a storm of distrust and hatred? And then the killer will not be the only one to be cast into hell. He looked around. His congregation. Children he had baptized. The crowd was getting restless. No murderer shall escape the Lord's judgement. What matters now is safety.

"People of Salem, please! We will solve nothing if we dissolve into chaos." Being a preacher, Seoriol had plenty of practice sending his voice far out so that everyone could hear. "If we are to bring peace back into our community, we must think, not flail wildly."

The day continues on, air tight and heavy with the sense of dread that permeates every household. Doors are locked, windows latched, and still the relentless sun burns on.

You make your way through Salem, eyeing everyone appraisingly. A terrible scream suddenly shatters your concentration. You make your way to the disturbance to find the corpse of Catrina Morris, a young Scottish woman, swinging from the rafters like a pendulum, a thick noose tight around her neck.

Someone in the gathering crowd finds a note and reads it out loud. It appears Catrina was the killer of Luc Boivier. Ruined by guilt, she could no longer stand to be alive.

Night soon falls, and you make your way home, the images of two dead villagers fresh in your mind. Tonight should be peaceful, at least...

(Catrina Morris, the killer, has been lynched!)



The stars fade behind a veil of cloud, and a light wind sends whispers through the trees. A day as hot as it was can only promise one thing: rain.

(You are asleep. No actions may be taken at night except through PM.)

The pitter-patter of steady rain rouses you from your slumber. The sky is dark, grey and dreary, and the wind blows cold, icy like the hand of death itself. There will be a funeral today, and you swing your heavy limbs out of bed to prepare for it.

Out on the road puddles begin to form, reflecting the emptiness of the heavens. Tendrils of white smoke crawl out of nearly every chimney. But as you pass the baker's, something catches your eye, and your nose. The smoke coming from within is black, filling the air with a horrible acrid scent, like burnt meat and...something else.

The source of the disturbance becomes apparent as you follow a gathering crowd into the bakery. Reinhold Battista, the owner and a man who you have purchased bread from countless times before, lay head-first into his own oven, a large knife jutting from his spine. His face, arms and chest are unrecognisable, rendered to a charred black corpse veined with hellish red fire.

A trail of red from the knife leads your eyes to a newly-finished cake on the counter. Written in Reinhold's very blood is a message on the cake: "NOT DONE YET".

(Reinhold Battista, the sheriff, has died!)
(It is day. You can decide amongst yourselves to hang the likely killer, or take no action and wait for night to fall.)

Not done yet.

Charles knew it hadn't been over. Catrina Morris being the killer was just too quick and clean of a solution. And now there had been yet another murder. This was getting way out of hand.

"How many deaths is it going to take until the people of this town finally take some damn initiative?" He muttered under his breath, "We need some kind of military presense here already, before every single last one of us dies!"

He couldn't take the sight of the baker's dead body anymore, and turned away. His stomach felt queasy, this death had been even more grotesque than the last. They needed to find this killer, immediately. Even if it meant lynching someone this time...they needed to end this, once and for all.

Not done yet.

Seoriol was screaming internally. Another dead. Another service he would need to perform. This must be stopped They. Could there be more than one? He hoped not. That would be unspeakably terrible. There must be action. Seoriol bowed his head and prayed.

"Oh Lord Almighty, deliver us..."

A haze folds over your mind as you are dragged into a mob, screaming and shouting, clamouring for justice. Before long you find yourself chanting the same words: "Lynch her!"

It takes you a moment to realize who "her" is; Ruby Sanchez, the Spanish inkeeper, a woman conveniently absent from the murder scenes over the past two days. Nonetheless, your feelings remain. She is a murderer. A vile creature of the night, bringing chaos and death to the once-peaceful Salem. And she will pay.

The door of the inn is ripped from its hinges as the mob descends. Ruby doesn't fight. The look in her eyes is vacant as she is dragged from behind the bar. Her hands and ankles are bound, and you make your way to the gallows. The noose is tied tight around Ruby's neck. As she is read her last rights, you find a sudden spark of emotion in her vacant eyes, and you curse yourself for not seeing the classic signs of shock. You realize that something is terribly wrong. You cry out, but your voice is lost in the angry din of the crowd.

Snap.

Ruby's corpse hangs, swaying heavily on the rope. A single spasm marks her death. At least it was quick.

(Ruby Sanchez, the villager, has been lynched!)

The rain has stopped, leaving only cold gloom in Salem. Black clouds blanket the heavens, and a frigid wind blows right through your soul.

(You are asleep. No actions may be taken at night except through PM.)