In a library that was ancient enough to have a personality and a scent—a mix of old paper, leather bindings, and a teasing hint of brimstone—you'd find a peculiar duo. The Skully, an anthropomorphic wolf whose white fur was hiding the abyssal darkness of his true essence, was trying to write with a quill. Not just any quill, though. This one bled a viscous, inky blackness straight from the Void beneath his fur, as dark as the forgotten corners of the room.
Across from him, a Hellhound with the sleek, sharp features of a triple-headed Doberman was reading from a thick tome. His middle head, tasked with articulating the ancient lore, read aloud in a melodic baritone. Meanwhile, the other heads engaged in the civilised art of tea drinking.
The Skully initially listened, his eye sockets slightly glowing in the dim light, catching the flow of the narrative. However, a creeping unease began to distract him. It wasn't just the Hellhound's tales of forbidden realms and hidden powers that unsettled him; something in the room felt off.
As the words floated across the table, his attention fragmented. He noticed a shadow where there shouldn't be one, a slight movement in the corner of his vision. Then there was the teapot. One moment it was just a teapot; the next, it seemed to move of its own accord, steaming tea pouring with too much precision for his liking.
A chill crawled up his spine, the kind that told him this wasn't just his imagination. He glanced up from his manuscript, catching the teapot mid-hover, cradled by an inexplicable tentacle. His eye sockets flared brighter in alarm. What was happening? Was this part of the Hellhound's reading, or something more?
"Perhaps just a trick of the light?" He mused silently, yet the Skully scribbled a hasty note in the margin of his manuscript to investigate later. But when he looked again, everything was back to normal—the teapot obediently inert on the table.
The Hellhound continued, seemingly oblivious or indifferent to the oddities manifesting around them. But the Skully couldn't shake the feeling that these weren't mere coincidences. The words now seemed not just spoken but almost enacted in some invisible play around them, tugging at the edges of reality.
As the night deepened and the atmosphere thickened with unspoken energies, the Skully realized the tales might be awakening something best left undisturbed. But curiosity, his old companion, nudged him towards the unfolding mystery.
It was only when the Hellhound closed the book, revealing it to be "Cthulhu's Call: A TTRPG for the Truly Brave," that the Skully's initial tension turned to revelation—and then amusement. "You've been setting the scene for a game night?"
With a sheepish nod from his three heads, the Hellhound replied, "Thought it'd add to the ambiance. Fancy a dive into the eldritch chaos with me?"
Chuckles, eerie and echoing, filled the library as the Skully replied, "Certainly, but next time, let's keep the tentacles in the game, not in our tea."
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