Bonesbourough Emerald District

Every city in every world has that one place. A place filled with wealth and untold riches. A place where even your best suit feels cheap in comparison to everyone else's. A place where greed of the most wretched kind is present in every corner.

The Emerald District was that place in Bonesbourough.

Ivory clad buildings. Inhabitants wearing elaborate clothing. Complacent guards. Gated walls. It was a place where only the most wealthy would even have hopes of entering. A place specifically designed so that no commoner would even dare look at the entrance.

This was all thanks to the machinations of one man, or rather, witch, named 'Morningstar.' He was a figure with a mysterious past and his real name an even bigger one. But one thing that wasn't a mystery about him was his motives: To be on the top.

Anyone who knew him could tell you he had an aura of superiority. As though everything, including a simple lunch meeting, was beneath him. His friends were few, but his enemies, many. Just the way he liked it.

Morningstar's ultimate symbol of wealth and power was the Black Diamond hotel. A massive luxury hotel that had fifty floors and a plethora of features and amenities. Which included a penthouse that he owned all to himself, of course. Yet, even with something as massive as that, he is, of course, never satisfied. His eyes are always set on bigger targets. His aspirations matched only by his hubris.

But right now, his mind was not set on these big targets. Right now, his mind was set on finding the ones responsible for the events of last night and having their head presented on a platter.

In his office, he occupied his desk, hands folded neatly in front of him as he watched the crystal orb play out the news broadcast. He has seen the broadcast close to a dozen times by now, watching each frame like a hawk searching for prey.

"It is a gruesome sight. The bodies of several individuals have been found scattered throughout multiple districts. Heads on pikes, bodies hanging from rafters, and blood stained messages on walls."

He tapped the orb to pause on the frame that showed a giant message in blood that read ' MY ALLEYS NOW ' on an alleyway wall. Several Coven Scouts were placing bodies in sacks onto a carriage. He mulled over the scene for what felt like a solid minute before playing it again.

"No doubt, this widespread massacre is linked to the increase in crime rates that have been occurring, despite Emperor Belos' best efforts to prevent this."

The witch grumbled as he heard this. He watched the footage of the Coven Guard replying to questions the reporter asked. Typical 'we have this under control' garbage he's heard a million times. That would be true if the witch had never noticed that, in the background of a few frames, he saw the torn cloaks of a few Coven Scouts.

The guard, of course, never mentions this. An effective tactic in an attempt to relieve the public consciousness in a falsehood that everything was indeed under control.

After a few minutes, the witch decided that he had enough of this. He looked towards the center of the room, a lone cauldron adorning it, somewhat jutting out like a sore thumb.

Getting up from his desk, the businessman shut the orb off, adjusting his suit and tie. He went to one of the many bookshelves that adorned the walls of his office, tracing his hand to find what he was looking for.

His office was filled with displays and bookshelves that contained symbols of his wealth: Ancient pottery, jewels, books of forbidden magics, as well as weapons such as swords, and spears. All these artifacts were either stolen or swindled away from the previous owners. Just the way he liked it.

Eventually, he found the right book. 'CAULDRON SPELLS.' He pulled it out and opened it to a bookmarked page titled 'CAULDRON COMMUNICATION.' He mulled over the ingredients and specific spell he needed before closing it and headed to another drawer that contained what he needed.

Picking up a few glass bottles, the witch walked up to the cauldron and poured a vial of Harpy blood, mixed with Kirin horn shavings, and the tears of a Banshee. Immediately doing this, the cauldron began filling up with a misty liquid as though gallons of water had just poured into it.

Raising his arms and raising his voice, the witch chanted, "sociis meis solum, videte me nuntium!" He said as the ingredients mixed, the fog and smoke shimmered and pulsated with a variety of colors. It grew until it overflowed and poured out onto the floor.

Now all the witch needed to do was wait.

The Laboratory

Griffin had a hand on his chin as he observed the memory photos from Three-Eyes' life. Last night, he extracted quite a bit of memories, from big to small. He decided to sleep and let the remainder of the photos develop while he did that. Clearly it paid off.

He observed the memory of him going to school for the first time, the Grom Night's he attended, his first date, and more. Griffin typically wouldn't do this, especially since he rarely cared about someone's personal life, much less their entire personal life , but he had to make sure this recruit was not a spy of any kind.

He looked over to a photo of Rooker and Three-Eyes shaking hands together. No doubt when the former was first recruited. He didn't see any event that related to the Emperor's Coven. And since this was basically the triclops' entire life history, the scientist could afford to be a bit less cautious now.

But then his eyes glossed over to the most recent one. It was a photo of a red cloaked figure with glowing green eyes that pierced into one's soul. It was somewhat intimidating, even for the stone cold scientist.

Griffin adjusted his goggles and looked to his side to see Three-Eyes in his chair, still asleep. He tented his glove-clad fingers together watching him before suddenly clapping his hands loudly.

"Wha-what," the triclops muttered as he jumped up, "wha-what happened? I wasn't asleep." He then noticed Griffin staring at him, then looked at the photos covering the walls, "were you there the whole night?"

Griffin didn't answer the question, "my optic friend, do you have any context for this particular photo?"

He grabbed the photo off the clip and held it for Three-Eyes to see, who visibly reeled back with a worried look in his face, "destroy that thing, please. I don't wanna remember those eyes ever again."

Griffin pulled the photo back, a curious brow raised, "why, exactly?" He asked.

"That thing… killed Rooker. Dragged him into a fiery death. And I'm pretty sure it killed the others too. It-it spared me though. Out of some sick mercy- Just burn that thing, ok!?"

Griffin looked back at the photo, wondering what kind of fear this figure put this poor unfortunate soul through. Just as he was about to ponder some more, a noise that sounded like a tea kettle going off. He looked into the corner of the lab and saw a cauldron overflowing with fog and flashing with different colors.

"What perfect timing," he muttered to himself before turning to the triclops, "I have a call to attend. Stay here."

The triclops nodded as he saw him walk towards the hunk of metal, wondering what it was about.

In a dark basement of a ruined castle, a meek servant dressed in a dark cloak opened a coffin, the screeching noise echoing in the basement. He lifted the coffin lid to find a tall, lanky, pale corpse. It was bald, had pointed ears, long fingers, and prominent incisors. It was the servant's master, Count Orlok.

And this servant had the unfortunate task of waking him up before sundown.

"Master," the servant said in a hushed tone, "I am sorry to wake you so soon, but-"

In a flash, the vampire opened his eyes, stood up, and reached out to grab the servant's throat. His speed, even in his current physical state, was unmatched. "You dare wake me before sundown?" He said, his accent sounding vaguely similar to a blend of many Eastern European inflections, "do you have a death wish, you little worm!?"

The servant struggled to breath, so he simply pointed behind him to the screeching and flashing cauldron in the corner of a room. Orlok noticed and snarled before he tossed away the servant to the other side of the room like a piece of trash, "you are lucky I didn't bite a chunk out of your neck," the vampire said to the minion, before coughing into his hand. He adjusted his black long coat as he headed towards the cauldron, slightly wheezing out a few breaths.

In a nightclub that was closed down for the morning, a six and half foot tall homunculus was busy counting the money they made from last night with his assistants. His clothing was animal pelts fashioned into a makeshift suit, but most of his arms were uncovered, allowing one to see the stitches at his joints that almost segmented his grey flesh.

Just as was about to finish, a screeching sound of the cauldron in the corner of the room interrupted him. He knew what it meant and he slammed the desk in frustration while standing up to get there, "always when I'm working." He mumbled.

He turned to his assistants, "keep at it," he ordered with a simple "yes, Mr. Crowley," responding from them.

Back in the Emerald District, in a finances building, a female witch was busy signing various forms sent to her. Her black dress was accompanied with gold highlights that clashed with the satin red and bone white colors of the room. Her bracelets and necklace, studded with jewels, slightly glinted with every movement. Like Morningstar's collection, these items were stolen.

The noise of a cauldron steaming from the corner of her room interrupted her work. She rolled her eyes, stood from her seat, and went to it..

In an abandoned crypt, a skeletal figure sat down on a throne made of skulls and bones of the many bodies buried here. Black, tattered robes covered it, leaving only the decaying hands and face exposed.

The cauldron in the center of the room began to stir and screech. Suddenly, the corpse moved, eye sockets glowing an icy blue color as it stood up from the throne. It was a lich and one does not stir it from its slumber without a reason. When it identified the sound, it did not growl, nor groan, merely headed towards it in an unfeeling fashion.

Morningstar knew that across the Isles, his message was heard. Soon enough, parts of the mist rose from the ground and began taking shapes of all kinds. Twisting and turning, colors shifting around, until finally, the forms of various figures appeared in front of him and around the cauldron like a hologram made of smoke and mist.

The form of Griffin folded his arms in front of him, while Orlok folded his hands behind his back, slightly wheezing and clearing his throat as he did so, much to the homunculus' annoyance next to him. The lich didn't show any signs of being alive, or at least signs of moving, beyond his glowing eyes, and the female witch simply had a hand on her hip in annoyance.

Each of these unique characters were a family head and the true masterminds behind the criminal activity in the Isles: The Syndicate. Remorseless, ruthless, the blood on their hands measured in the gallons and they cared little about it. They pulled the strings to almost every operation, big and small. They were the only organization that matched the Emperor's Coven in sheer size. The only threat.

Morningstar smiled as he began to talk, clasping his hands in front of him, "my friends-"

"You had better have a good reason for this, Morningstar!" interrupted Crowley, in an incredibly irate tone, "I was in the middle of something!"

"Oh, bitch, bitch, bitch," Morningstar sighed while rolling his eyes, ignoring the artificial being's growls, "Crowley, this is important. We are here to discuss the recent massacres of our operatives last night. I'm sure you've all heard of this already."

All party members nodded and motioned him to continue, "well, I brought us all together to discuss these events. Maybe even think of a solution? It shouldn't take longer than five minutes, people."

After a second or so of silence, Griffin spoke up, wishing to get to the point. " I might have something that could be of interest ." He then pulled out a photo and held it out for everyone to see the cloaked figure.

"Spooky ," said Crowley, "but what's some clown dressing up for a masquerade gotta do with our current situation?"

"To make a long story short, I extracted the memories from the survivor of the events of two nights ago. This particular memory seems to trigger a state of almost paranoid trauma from the individual."

A few murmurs occurred in the party before Morningstar spoke up after clearing his throat, "this… Cloaked figure... Do you believe it to be the figure behind this display of brutality?"

Griffin pulled back the photo before answering, "yes and no. I believe this could be a group of similarly clothed vigilantes who are beginning to strike in an effort to create confusion and chaos."

"Our underworld has been experiencing various upheavals since Belos has been increasing his forces' presence on the Isles," Orlok spoke up suddenly, "the seeds of chaos have been planted and are sprouting out of control. We must uproot them before our enemies, old and new, reap the bounties."

"There goes your poetic outbursts again," muttered Crowley, with the vampire merely scoffing in response.

The female witch decided to voice her thoughts, "if I may ask, Morningstar, has there been any patterns in these attacks? Perhaps we can find some sort of commonality. They could be Belos' forces and we have fought them off long enough to know they all follow patterns."

"To answer both of your questions, Wilkes, no," Morningstar responded, crossing his arms "I've watched that report a dozen times this morning and there are no discernable patterns. And your little theory would be correct if I haven't seen a few dead guards in the background that the reporters oh so conveniently didn't mention."

Wilkes placed a hand on her chin, in response, "so these guys clearly aren't picky when it comes to their victims beyond civilians," she then put on a devilish smirk, "a weakness we'll exploit."

"If you are implying we take hostages, you can take that suggestion and stuff it," Crowley piped up.

Wilkes only rolled her eyes at the homunculus' response as Orlok commented, "he's right. Hostages draw too much attention and that's the last thing we need right now. Surely there are other ways of dealing with these nuisances."

The group fell silent for a good five seconds, which felt like a lifetime, until the lich finally spoke, his voice raspy and slow, "continue our operations as planned while placing our forces in high alert," he raised a skeletal hand as he talked, "we must draw these insects out and our activities seem to do that the best."

Morningstar narrowed his eyes at the lich, "are you suggesting we potentially sacrifice more of our men just so we could kill these clowns, Draven?"

"As the saying goes, you have to break a few eggs to make an omelet."

"I don't like the idea of tossing our own to these guys like rotten meat," Crowley said, "it's a waste of good manpower."

Griffin then voiced his views, "oftentimes, we must make sacrifices to achieve our goals. In our line of work, this is nothing new."

Orlok coughed into his hand before speaking, "why not focus on guarding our larger operations?" He then placed a taloned hand on his chin, "the factories, docks, and the like. They are big targets that, if destroyed, could deal us a noticeable blow."

Wilkes voiced her approval, "he's right. No doubt that this group is going to prioritize focusing on the major cogs of our operations. I suggest we pull away from the smaller operations for now so that they may focus on defending critical locations."

All the group members nodded at this, with the exception of Draven, who merely stroked his chin. Morningstar then spoke up, "we might lose quite a bit in profits by doing this."

"A necessary sacrifice in the long run." Wilkes replied, while Griffin nodded as she said this.

Morningstar then put on a smile, unfolded his arms, and clapped his palms together, "so all in favor of Wilkes' plan, say 'aye.'"

"Aye," said most members, with Draven remaining silent as ever and only nodding.

"Ok, sounds like a plan." Morningstar said with a smile, "everyone inform your operatives of the change of plans. We'll fold these clowns in no time. Just like we fold everyone else who gets in our way."

Everyone merely nodded in approval at this, except Draven, who, again, stood silently. Then, Crowley spoke up, his tone impatient, "so, are we done here?"

Morningstar simply sighed before responding, "yes, Crowley. We're done. Meeting dismissed, everyone."

"Finally," muttered the homunculus as he immediately disconnected. the mist forming his shape dissipating into thin air.

Following that, the others disconnected as well, the cauldron mist that formed their figures doing the same. Eventually, the colors and fog retracted back into the cauldron before disappearing altogether, leaving only an empty glorified soup pot.

"Idiot," Morningstar mumbled as he adjusted his suit once again. He headed towards the door, in need of some fresh air after all this standing around in a cramped room.