The cultists scheme

[The gremlin: A small, humanoid creature with a distinct appearance, scaly, green, reptilian skin, compact and agile body, allowing it to move swiftly and unpredictably,large, bat-like ears that frame its mischievous face. Eyes that are bright and expressive, sharp teeth, often revealed in mischievous grins, it also has clawed hands and feet, allowing it to climb and manoeuvre with ease, Cost: 20 believers]

The words on the second page of the book shimmered with an otherworldly glow as Oliver's eyes scanned the newly revealed myth. The description of the gremlin, reminiscent of the iconic creatures from a movie of his youth, brought a nostalgic smile to his face. The gremlin, a creature of mischief and whimsy, was now within Oliver's myth weaving grasp.

As Oliver contemplated the possibilities, his attention shifted back to the cultists. With a newfound enthusiasm, he addressed them with a directive that echoed with authority, "You are to somehow make 20 people, more if you can, believe in a gremlin. Once you do, a new brother will be born!"

The cultists, acknowledging Oliver's words with silent obedience, nodded in unison. Their eerie unity emphasised the dark alliance forged between the mythweaver and his creations. As Oliver's gaze lingered on their shadowed forms, he spoke with a malevolent satisfaction, "Now, go. Haunt the alleyways, spread the whispers of the gremlin, and let the town succumb to its own fears."

Without a word, the cultists gathered around Fred's lifeless body. The air seemed to thicken with an otherworldly energy as they lifted the remains with an eerie grace, bearing witness to their supernatural strength. Oliver's smirk lingered as they filed out of the small apartment, leaving a chilling emptiness in their wake.

The door creaked closed behind them, and the moonlight spilled into the room once more. Oliver stood alone, a puppet master orchestrating the unfolding drama in the town. The cultists, with Fred's body in tow, vanished into the night, their dark mission awaiting completion as the echoes of their footsteps faded into the shadows.

The cultists moved through the silent town, their shadows elongating with each step as they carried Fred's lifeless form to the centre. The night air carried an unsettling stillness as the cultists, with their enigmatic faces shrouded by darkness, reached the heart of the town.

In the town square, they carefully placed Fred's body, a grim spectacle in the moonlit night. The unexpected presence of death in the midst of the town sent shivers through those who happened upon the scene. In the alleyways, the marginalised residents, hidden in the shadows, bore witness to the ominous display, their hushed murmurs creating an eerie undercurrent.

As the cultists lingered in the town square, a particular alleyway caught their attention—the alley where the old woman resided with the children. The cultists, guided by Oliver's directive, moved with an unsettling purpose toward the dwelling.

In the narrow alley, two young girls stood with faces etched in concern and distress. Their eyes, wide and searching, betrayed the anxiety that enveloped their hearts. Fred, their protective older brother, had not returned, and worry had etched lines of fear on their innocent faces.

The cultists approached, their dark figures casting an ominous shadow on the cobblestone pathway. The younger girl clutched a tattered doll, her eyes reflecting a mixture of sadness and trepidation. The older one, a steely determination in her gaze, exchanged a knowing glance with her sibling. The cultists, heedless of the emotions unravelling in the alley, continued their sinister mission, leaving the distraught siblings to grapple with the unsettling absence of their brother.

The cultist's voice, a harsh whisper that cut through the still night air, addressed the old woman, "Where is the gremlin?"

The other cultists dispersed, their dark figures weaving through the maze of alleyways like spectres on a mission. In their wake, they posed the same eerie question to the concealed inhabitants, their words echoing through the silent streets.

The old woman listened as the cultist continued, "The gremlin is one of the cult's many sacred creatures; we wish to make sure it feels welcomed."

A detailed description of the gremlin followed, painting a vivid picture of the mythical being they sought. In the alley, shadows seemed to dance in macabre delight as one of the cultists, merging with the darkness, lifted a hand from the ground. The orchestrated chaos unfolded as a series of barrels clattered to the ground, creating a commotion towards the back of the alley.

Reacting with a dash toward the disturbance, the cultist speaking to the old woman hurried to investigate the source of the noise. In the alley's depths, the old woman and the children watched with trepidation as the cultist seemingly ran into a wall and vanished. It was a carefully crafted illusion, a testament to the cultists' mastery of merging with shadows.

The old woman's eyes widened, momentarily betraying a hint of fear before she composed herself. The children, their innocent faces now marked with a mixture of awe and terror, witnessed the surreal display. The belief in the gremlin began to take root, watered by the whispers of the cultists and nurtured by the orchestrated theatrics that played out in the dark corners of the town.

The night unfolded with a macabre symphony orchestrated by the cultists. Their sinister scheme of creating belief in the gremlin played out repeatedly, with shadows merging into walls, illusions materialising, and orchestrated chaos leaving a haunting imprint on the minds of the townsfolk.

Amidst the dark theatrics, the cultists did not shy away from committing a few gruesome murders. The town became a canvas painted with fear, uncertainty, and the flickering flames of belief in the fantastical creatures woven by Oliver's myth weaving powers.

However, the old woman, wise to the ways of the cultists, embarked on a silent mission of her own. Her whispers reached the ears of many, teaching them a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. The message was simple yet powerful – pray, and the cultists may spare you. As the night wore on, more and more individuals, seeking refuge from the looming threat, turned to the old woman's guidance, their voices rising in fervent prayers.

In the shadows and alleyways, the balance between fear and faith teetered on a delicate edge, and the myth weaver's creations danced along the precipice, their actions painting a vivid tapestry of belief and dread in the hearts of the unsuspecting townsfolk.

…..