The Town of Salem

Godfather

Alignment:
Mafia (Killing)

Abilities:
Kill someone each night.

Attributes:
You can't be killed at night.
If there is a Mafioso he will attack the target instead of you.
You will appear to be a Town member to the Sheriff.
You can talk with the other Mafia at night.

Goal:
Kill anyone that will not submit to the Mafia.

An aged man sat in the shadows of his office, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the polished wood as he heard the minute-hand of the clock tick by. His fingertips were tapping on the hollow wood that sat before him. The room was dark. Always dark. He could hear the soft murmurs of his men walking through the town square, departing from his hidden abode as the clock rang out at midnight. He was surrounded by a comforting silence that soothed his edged nerves and kept his sanity at bay.

He rubbed the stubble that covered his chin, feeling the urge of strength and power that traveled through his veins. His heart was pressing against his chest, threatening to break out as his shot-nerves failed to warn him. He was oddly calm yet alarmed.

He was insane.

He was a man of organized crime, surrounded by documentation and strategic planning of how to overtake the town of Salem. He had remained in hiding for years, insisting upon growing his ranks in secret as he plotted to overtake the townspeople in a conquest to become ruler. He wished nothing more than to overtake the Mayor and run this city as he bathed in fortune and glory.

His phone was silenced beside him, unable to find the motivation and drive to conduct any of his plans for that night. He was finding an odd amount of comfort in the idea of basking in solitude and smothering his doubts into a blissful oblivion. Not even his consort could provide him with more happiness or pleasure for the night.

He had spent the past few nights exhausting himself off-the-clock, preparing for his next plan of attack. He knew he had to be strategic, as the town had dwindled significantly since the Mafia's first arrival. His cartel had grown significantly past his projections and could not be more pleased, yet he continued to fear for his life in every passing day.

The man slowly stood, pacing across the creaking floorboards of his secluded home. He was unsure of the emotions he was feeling, but he yearned for the loss of responsibility. He yearned for a time when he could be care free.

He made his way towards the alcohol that lined the floor of the kitchen. His fingers grasped whatever called for him, unscrewing the kid and pouring his glasses to the brim. He had the night to himself, and that was a cause for celebration.

A few drinks in, he took a risk to clamor to the front porch, taking a seat in the chair that had to be as old as the house. The combination of alcohol and age made him unsure of his stability, but that wasn't his biggest concern.

The size of the Mafia, although powerful, was coming to be more of a risk than a benefit. At every corner, there was someone questioning him, asking him if he knew any information on the secret society. He had the ability of natural deception and remained undetected, but he was running out of ideas. There were only so many people to deflect to, and he was running out of them.

He removed his eyes from the brim of his whisky and looked up, his senses returning as he heard the rustle of a young woman's footsteps. He was frozen with shock, unable to recognize her.

This could be the woman.

She could be the one that sends the investigators off of his path, or she could be the one that must be killed.

He wasn't sure he could take the risk.