Guilty Party
Heat emanates from the door that was not there before. A letter with a gold wax seal with an odd twisted symbol pressed into it is in your hand. That, also, had not been there a second ago.
The letter, which is handwritten in loopy calligraphy on thick parchment paper, reads as follows:
Greetings! I am Abigor, and I cordially invite you to my home for a gathering of the guilty wherein you will graciously receive an offer to greatly improve your life! Should you choose to accept this invitation, please step through the doo into my home where refreshments and entertainment have been prepared for you and the other guests. At the conclusion of the event you will, on my word, be returned to your home should you choose to come back, unharmed and without a moment having passed.
Thank you for your consideration,
Lord Abigor
Through the door is a room of polished brimstone, lit by torches in iron sconces along the walls, which are lined with tables of all kinds of food, both familiar and unfamiliar. Others are there, milling about, enjoying the refreshments and the live music and dancers that perform on the other end of what can only be described as a Great Hall.
The door you came through is once of many, with your name on an iron plate nailed to it. Every other door is much the same, each with a different name.
Your host is nowhere in sight.
CLOSED
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