I got a PM!bruce wrote: You will get a PM from me if you are a seer or a werewolf, and, what the hell, I will also send you one if you are a peasant.
Werewolf
Moderators: AArdvark, Ice Cream Jonsey
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The blackness of night lies like a scratchy woolen blanket over the tiny hamlet of Zahnburg, a town of only nine souls, nestled in the deep forests in the northern mountains of the Duchy of Hundenstein.
Hundenstein's principal exports are decorative beer mugs, intricately carved cuckoo clocks, and police dogs. Its primary industries are tourism and police dog training. It is renowned for its jagged peaks, its dark evergreen forests, its relative inaccessibility in the Internet Age, and its world-famous police dogs.
And tonight in Zahnburg, nine people sleep snuggled in their houses under the cold, clear skies, the actinic stars, and the uncaring moon.
Only eight will awake.
Hundenstein's principal exports are decorative beer mugs, intricately carved cuckoo clocks, and police dogs. Its primary industries are tourism and police dog training. It is renowned for its jagged peaks, its dark evergreen forests, its relative inaccessibility in the Internet Age, and its world-famous police dogs.
And tonight in Zahnburg, nine people sleep snuggled in their houses under the cold, clear skies, the actinic stars, and the uncaring moon.
Only eight will awake.
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If some of the police dogs weren't on the werewolves' side, or indeed werewolves themselves, sure.hygraed wrote:Couldn't the townsfolk just use the police dogs to find the werewolves?
I mean, seriously: what better cover for a werewolf than a police dog? You get to eat all the people you want, and the humans give you medals for it.
Bruce
- Ice Cream Jonsey
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The sun rises over Zahnburg.
Sleepily, the inhabitants begin to go about their daily rituals: the trip through the freezing cold to the outhouses, stoking their hearth fires back to life, selecting and choking the day's chicken.
Soon, the daily life of the village is in full swing.
Well, almost full swing.
With mounting horror, the villagers realize that the blind cuckoo-clock carver, Lysander, never opened his shop this morning. With trepidation, they open the door to the ramshackle apartment he keeps above his shop. They behold a terrible sight.
Lysander lies sprawled on the floor, his eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling. This would not generally be too unusual, as Lysander often drank himself into a stupor and then found himself too hung over for intricate clock-carving the next morning.
However, in this case, his eyes are sightless not merely because he is blind, but because he is dead. One leg is missing at the knee, and one arm at the shoulder. His throat has been torn open, and blood splatters cover the walls, floor, and ceiling. Even more horrifyingly, Lysander has been eviscerated. His liver and heart have been eaten, the villagers notice amid their mounting nausea, while his intestines gaily festoon the room like macabre multicolored party streamers.
It would appear that the tiny hamlet of Zahnburg harbors a werewolf. With mounting resolve, three brooms, and a bucket, the villagers sweep as much of Lysander as they can find down the stairs and into a wheelbarrow, which they trundle to the churchyard for a quick burial.
That taken care of and the ordinary business of the day forgotten, the remaining eight inhabitants gather around the town gallows. Only one question remains to be decided:
Who's it going to be?
Sleepily, the inhabitants begin to go about their daily rituals: the trip through the freezing cold to the outhouses, stoking their hearth fires back to life, selecting and choking the day's chicken.
Soon, the daily life of the village is in full swing.
Well, almost full swing.
With mounting horror, the villagers realize that the blind cuckoo-clock carver, Lysander, never opened his shop this morning. With trepidation, they open the door to the ramshackle apartment he keeps above his shop. They behold a terrible sight.
Lysander lies sprawled on the floor, his eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling. This would not generally be too unusual, as Lysander often drank himself into a stupor and then found himself too hung over for intricate clock-carving the next morning.
However, in this case, his eyes are sightless not merely because he is blind, but because he is dead. One leg is missing at the knee, and one arm at the shoulder. His throat has been torn open, and blood splatters cover the walls, floor, and ceiling. Even more horrifyingly, Lysander has been eviscerated. His liver and heart have been eaten, the villagers notice amid their mounting nausea, while his intestines gaily festoon the room like macabre multicolored party streamers.
It would appear that the tiny hamlet of Zahnburg harbors a werewolf. With mounting resolve, three brooms, and a bucket, the villagers sweep as much of Lysander as they can find down the stairs and into a wheelbarrow, which they trundle to the churchyard for a quick burial.
That taken care of and the ordinary business of the day forgotten, the remaining eight inhabitants gather around the town gallows. Only one question remains to be decided:
Who's it going to be?
- Ice Cream Jonsey
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- Ice Cream Jonsey
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I am a bit wary of dogpiling people this early on because ... dead is dead. And one of you may be the seer.
Presuming the seer wasn't Lysander.... oh no!
I cannot vote for Chain Gang Guy. I cannot really vote for anyone at this point, the difference is that I am never more than 50 minutes away from this BBS so I can chime in right before a vote. Is this pathetic? Of course. Is this the way? I guess. I suppose. You could say it just... it...
it is what it is.
Anyway, I do NOT vote for ChainGang Guy!
Presuming the seer wasn't Lysander.... oh no!
I cannot vote for Chain Gang Guy. I cannot really vote for anyone at this point, the difference is that I am never more than 50 minutes away from this BBS so I can chime in right before a vote. Is this pathetic? Of course. Is this the way? I guess. I suppose. You could say it just... it...
it is what it is.
Anyway, I do NOT vote for ChainGang Guy!
the dark and gritty...Ice Cream Jonsey!