​doveport is a town unlike any other. due to its piping levels of hospitality, of course. that is, if you're due to believe the likes of their bright eyed mayor. many who live there call the suburban spot the best place on this side of the world. they seem to be living the same as they have for decades now, the population staying marginally small and lacking when it comes to new additions in recent years. entering the city limits nets you a feeling you can't quite shake. there's something nostalgic about this town you've never been in before, oddly enough. there's hardly a place more quaint, grocery stores closed each sunday and the children spending their days biking wherever their parents will allow them before curfew. the schoolhouse is laughably puny in size, the sole diner of doveport looking just as spick and span as it used to during the eighties. one is almost compelled to stay themselves, had it not been for that unexplainable twist of guts one is going to encounter. it begins with that nostalgic sense for the past, the town's slow lifestyle and simplistic living causing an almost endorphic rush of memories. perhaps, even of one's own childhood. it seems to evolve the longer someone stays in town, a fogginess sat within the front of your suddenly shaken brain when you finally pack your things and continue on with your destination. in fact, a visitor may even stop by again while passing through. that is, if they're able to remember the place.

​not everything is going to be as it seems, and the lovely countryside of doveport is no exception from this rule. its otherwise lacking population sports a nasty surprise; they're those supernatural creatures you've heard so much about. they're harmless, really, only looking to live their day to day lives in what they believe is the safest way possible: as a little pack of their own. they fear no human, gushing each time one arrives yet becoming seeminlgy antsy the longer they stay. having someone go around screeching their secrets wouldn't exactly be great for their attempt at tourism. nonetheless, some people persist more than others. russell and sierra kane, the newest and first addition to the town in decades. it's mumbled amongst the more supernatural populous how such a thing could have ever happened. hadn't some old witch charmed their town long ago to keep humans from staying? perhaps, it's worn out. whatever the case may be, the human couple and their trio of children don't look like they're going anywhere anytime soon. in fact, russell insists he's seen things. there's howling each night unlike any other he's heard, piercing from the nearby woods and settling uncomfortably within his bones. that shopkeeper, the man tells his rightfully nonbelieving wife, she's surely brewing up some manner of potion in that smelly store of hers. the townsfolk he speaks to on the matter laugh each tale off, remind russell he's now living in a small town; doveport simply does things different. as of late, this seems to be working less and less on the man as his sense of paranoia spikes. if nothing is done about the kane family, the original residents risk having themselves and their own families forcibly exposed worldwide. oh, but they've never been trained to deal with a situation such as this one. they're simply suburbians.