The town has chosen to lynch
@NikR_PE. They were mafia.
The remaining players are everyone else.
This does not help me keep track at all. And since I didn't die last night, I don't know what to do. I guess tell an epic tale or something...
A long long time ago, it was said that a witch put a curse on a particular plot of land. A curse that would cloak fiends and turn friend into foe. Many adventuring groups entered only to exit as barely acquaintances. In fact, unfortunately, a majority of the time the numbers of the group would be drastically reduced after only a few nights traveling through the quagmire. Due to this magical nature of the Enchanted Bog, roadways gave it a large berth and even rivers seemed to change their course to avoid the stigma of the area.
Time has passed and civilization has forced humankind closer to the Enchanted Bog through necessity. A strange equilibrium has settled. Women leave a honey cake outside their doors on the evening of the resting day, only to find a saucer of chilled milk in its place the next morn. When harvesting wood from nearby growth, the men made sure to swing their axes far from the menacing dark branches that clawed at their clothes. After a few years of this particular, careful, act, a carpet of phlox blooms overnight and acts as a demarcation border showing where humankind is tolerated and where death is sure to follow.
And though the peasant villagers affectionately call the cursed land "EB", obviously for Enchanted Bog and no other reason, no one dares to set foot in it. They understand their place. It is on the other side of the small purple blooms that never die. Things may come from the EB, such as the pure white cow that never ran dry or the shoe made from fur that resulted in one of the village maiden's becoming married to a prince, but they know better than to enter the bog that is hinted at behind the, now thick, curtain of tree foliage.
Until one day, a group of travelers approaches...