The Begining...
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Judging by the cobblestone under your tires, you must’ve gotten turned around a few miles back. So much for your vacation in the countryside…Though you tried in futility to get the thing moving, your worn out jalopy sputtered, then coughed, then died. With a groan of your own, you rested your head on the steering wheel. Just your luck.
Whether or not you’d missed an exit at Duskborough, or Visaria, or wherever- It didn’t matter, considering there didn’t seem to be a gas station for miles around.
A combination of encroaching night, lack of cell service and the incessant deluge of rain that began hammering against and pouring down every single tangible surface sent you into a hopeless melange.
You came to the stark realization that your only option would be to find a telephone to call for help. Even then, you’d likely need to wait until morning for help to arrive…
Besides the fact the place looked like it didn’t even have a landline, there was something about this town that gave you the creeps; maybe it was the desolate streets, or the derelict condition the sagging Germanic cottages that staggered the street had fallen into.
But after a few moments of survey through the pea soup rain, your eyes were soon drawn to a wrought iron sign that flickered orange on a sagging stone archway, the letters carving out the name of this wretched place:
Darkmoor.
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