≀
Daylight Ring
Walk beneath the sun, as obscenity
Forged by the founding coven in 1692, this ring marks you as one who has paid the hidden price. Without it, dawn is a death; with it, dawn is a trespass.
THE SEAL BEARER'S TESTAMENT
A Covenant Sealed in Stone
Greyport clings to the New England shore like a barnacle to a drowned hull — fog-bound, gull-haunted, built upon the bones of its own beginnings. Beneath the cobblestones of its oldest square sleeps a crypt, and in that crypt sleeps something older than the colonies themselves: a pact. The founding families sealed it three centuries gone, binding their bloodlines to whatever lay beneath in exchange for harbour, fortune, and the long dark peace of a city that does not speak of its foundations.
Here walks the eternal bonded pair — two made one across centuries, neither whole without the other. Here the daylight ring glints on a pale hand at noon, an obscenity under the sun. Here blood compulsion bends the will of the living, and the doppelganger bloodline runs thin and runs cold through face after face after face. But these are not the soft intrigues of a southern parlour. This is survival horror.
Every hundred years the seal beneath Greyport grows thin as old vellum. On that one night — October the thirty-first — the pact demands renewal, or it demands ruin. The founding families must Feed, or they must fall. And you, Player, are the seal-bearer. When the cathedral bell tolls midnight on Halloween, the ancient thing will know your name.
“The seal thins on centennial night, and the families must Feed — or fall.”
The night is patient. The seal is not. Answer it.
