Work Text:
There was a town.
There were a lot of towns.
For a while, everything was fine. The townsfolk would interact with each other with cheer, no one had any reason to think anyone was against them.
Then, someone new would move in. Then, there was a death in the night. Then, everyone was filled with paranoia.
The Cleric clutched his staff against his chest, his back against his bedroom door. There was a Necromancer in town, the Cleric knew, and wasn’t that rude? Whoever it was reanimated the Vigilante, and her ghost was appalled, loudly complaining in such a grating way. Though, he’ll admit, he only thought as such because he preferred the quiet. There was nothing wrong with her voice, nor her reasons, but his nerves were frayed at the amount of people who’d ask for his help without giving him a reason to trust them.
He’s passed by a couple of towns and the same thing always happened: everything would be alright, then someone would fill the fifteenth house, and suddenly there was a Coven, or Werewolf, or Arsonist. He would heal one person and then everyone’s asking for his aid and there’s never a why. Why should he focus on one person instead of another, why should he prioritize someone else and skip a night he’d use to protect himself?
There was someone new in town, a couple of days ago. Someone who seemed to radiate power, and had looked at him so curiously he wondered if they knew what a cleric was. It felt like they saw through him, or maybe, they saw something he didn’t.
Someone's broken into his house.
There’s footsteps downstairs, broken glass crunching as the intruder walks. His stairs creaked as they were stepped on, slow and drawn out. The ghosts told him to keep quiet and they were so very loud, they should be lucky he’s the only one who could hear them.
There was a loud creak as the intruder left the final step. Then, for a while, silence. And the intruder walked in such a relaxed way and-
Knock
The ghosts were loud- some hissing at him to hide and others talking over each other.
Knock
His eyes shot around his room. Some ghosts guided him under his bed, others suggested his wardrobe.
Knock
He left his door, not bothering being quiet. The intruder had to know he was home. What was this all for, otherwise?
Knock
They were outside his room. Silent, waiting. The ghosts were whispering, all commenting on his hiding spot.
His door creaked open and he heard the intruder’s steps, so very close yet so quiet. They wandered around his room accompanied by the sound of their search; the moving of fabric and his wardrobe door opening. The intruder doesn’t linger long, taking a quick search around before their footsteps slowly fade away.
The Cleric waits a moment before shifting, intending on peeking out from his spot. He doesn’t get the choice, as a hand grabs his collar and drags him to stare at glowing red eyes.