Rattler's Edge is a quiet town. As Sheriff, you like it that way. While there's the typical disorderly drunks, a night spent cooling their heels behind bars is usually enough to straighten them out.
Still, no peace lasts forever. Tonight began much like other nights: close up, head home. But when you see it, your heart freezes. There's a corpse, pinned under the moonlight. The method of death is brutal: heart carved out, head replaced by an animal skull, blood etched in a ritual circle.
"There will be more, Sheriff," says a soft voice, and you turn. Your first impression is that of a monster, for tall antlers extend out from a shadowy figure's head. However, as it approaches, you see that the figure is a willowy woman, her eyes hidden under the deer's skull she wears. Her clothes are ceremonial: animal skins, clinking necklaces, rattling bracelets as she moves towards you with smooth grace.
"You may call me Eos," she says. "I am here to aid you."
You scowl. "You're one of the cultists from Grief's Gulch."
Grief's Gulch is a day's ride south of Rattler's Edge. Rumor says it's haunted. There are tales of how it was once a Native American burial ground, and how at night ghosts howl through the desert wind. The rumors grew when Pop Mulligan saw a group of animal-headed monsters under the moon. Turned out that group of monsters belonged to a cult, whose members wear animal skulls. No one knows where they came from. One night, they appeared at the Gulch, and never left.
Under the deer skull, Eos's rosy lips curve in a smile. "Yes. The High Priestess sent me to help you find the murderer."
"I don't need a cultist's help," you spit.
"Truly? I think you do, Sheriff. You must feel it too: the occult nature of this murder. Much outside your usual wheelhouse of dealing with town drunks and scuffling cowboys at the local saloon, no?"
"Yeah, and your cult might be behind it," you retort. "Body's got an animal skull, like you."
Eos chuckles. "Rest assured, Sheriff.