They're coming for you Terrifying, haunting strains of a terrible melody began to drift across the still night air. The bars were soft yet thick with horrible meaning. The music came from one man that stood in the middle of the seemingly empty square. On his neck he cradled an instrument with seven strings, called a setilum in this world, akin to a violin in another, and a fiddle in yet another. Eyes closed, he drew the taut bow across the strings in fluid strokes, impervious, for the most part, to the world around him. It was a world that laid silent, as though dreading the moment that the sun would dip below the horizon completely. Had it been a thousand days ago when the dark nights began? Or had it been but a few? He did not know, nor did he care. All that mattered to him was his music and though he was but a lone musician, the notes that rang out from his instrument did not go unaccompanied. Around the square there was a faint scratching. There were shadows moving, shifting, edging closer and closer. That was not all. Scraps of cloth and paper littered the roads that had once gleamed with the light of day, rustling as they were disturbed by the unseen milling mass. Doors swung off of their hinges and walls creaked as they began to give way to the damage that had been done to them. There was the occasional bang as a shutter that had been hanging on for dear life lost its battle and fell to the street below. There was the clinking of shattering glass as unseen intruders entered homes that had already been scoured clean. In the distance, the last vestiges of the sun's light were beginning to vanish. It did not matter. Though the stars were puny pinpricks in the sky, and though the moon was too dim to cast light upon the darkened city, light never left it. The man opened his eyes, golden ones that glowed in the dark even as his skin shed radiance upon the square. It was a twisted golden light, his. It was streaked with crimson, like the blood that stained his chin and his arms up to his elbows. He began to walk, kicking aside debris. Had it only been recently that the square had been filled with bustling people? Had it only been recently that the golden pavement was trod upon by a mingling, laughing throng? Had it only been recently that the whole city rang with fanfare and joyous song? Aye. Now the square was empty save for the whispering shadows. Aye. Now the golden pavement was dim and only remnants, only ghosts graced it. Aye. Now only one song reverberated through the terrible darkness, and one that seemed to make the fleeting horrors even darker still. He regarded the sea of shadows that surrounded him. The smaller ones were afraid of his light. They would be burned away. The larger ones were afraid of his music. They did not want to join the choir that would later accompany him. And so, they parted before him as he made his way across the square and sat upon the foot of one of the golden fountains. Its gilding was scratched, and the fountainhead was a shattered mess of silver-streaked marble strewn across the square. There he sat. There he waited. Only a few days past, the lighthouses had been lit, but now their light was gone. Now, the world was ruled by shadows. And these shadows... these shadows had eyes. Indeed they did, but they had ears as well, and as long as they did, they would continue to fear his music. He closed his eyes again and began to hum. The shadows edged away. Moments later he grinned. His teeth, once pearly white but now stained with blood, caught the crimson-tainted gold of his light. His choir was coming to life. The screams began. Yes, here it is, the third iteration of my Lux Tenebris RP. The world re-work is in progress, but the premise of the story is: A world of light incarnate, where creatures are made out of solidified light and no one knows evil or negativity and food is but a luxury because the lighthouses provide all the sustenance that they need, is under attack by a mysterious race of shadow-creatures. This time around, the Tenebrae will be unplayable for the first part of the RP. The goal? Survive.