Werewolf: Holiday in Zahnburg
Moderators: AArdvark, Ice Cream Jonsey
-
- Posts: 1578
- Joined: Wed May 01, 2002 9:42 pm
- Location: R.O.C.
- ChainGangGuy
- Posts: 974
- Joined: Mon Apr 29, 2002 11:04 am
- Location: Marietta, GA
-
- Posts: 1578
- Joined: Wed May 01, 2002 9:42 pm
- Location: R.O.C.
- pinback
- Posts: 17967
- Joined: Sat Apr 27, 2002 3:00 pm
- Contact:
-
- Posts: 2544
- Joined: Tue Jun 04, 2002 10:43 pm
Jack Straw, local haberdasher, was a melancholic. He always said he didn't care much whether he lived or died.
His approach to his work reflected this, too: his clothes were one-size-fits-all dull-beige functional-but-ugly garments. But at least they were cheap.
The townsfolk had, of course, noticed his tendency to get markedly crankier after a certain time of night. It wasn't too long until someone pointed out that, maybe, lycanthropy could be regarded as just an extreme form of crankiness. Heads nodded sagely.
Straw didn't put up much of a fight, pausing merely to make a brief statement: "Don't you understand I am human and have always been? When have I steered you wrong?"
No one paid any attention; the noose was around his neck, he was hoisted off the ground, and after a few minutes of twitching and struggling (and, yes, for all you pervs, with the usual effect of asphyxiation), he was dead.
The corpse hung there from the gibbet, resolutely un-lupine.
Jack Straw's dying words echoed mockingly in the villagers' ears: "Have fun fucking this one up too."
Jack Straw was human.
Now it is Night.
His approach to his work reflected this, too: his clothes were one-size-fits-all dull-beige functional-but-ugly garments. But at least they were cheap.
The townsfolk had, of course, noticed his tendency to get markedly crankier after a certain time of night. It wasn't too long until someone pointed out that, maybe, lycanthropy could be regarded as just an extreme form of crankiness. Heads nodded sagely.
Straw didn't put up much of a fight, pausing merely to make a brief statement: "Don't you understand I am human and have always been? When have I steered you wrong?"
No one paid any attention; the noose was around his neck, he was hoisted off the ground, and after a few minutes of twitching and struggling (and, yes, for all you pervs, with the usual effect of asphyxiation), he was dead.
The corpse hung there from the gibbet, resolutely un-lupine.
Jack Straw's dying words echoed mockingly in the villagers' ears: "Have fun fucking this one up too."
Jack Straw was human.
Now it is Night.
ORLY? When you have been coming after me the whole game? It's that obvious? I do not know who the wolves are, I mourn the loss of Jack Straw, but, had the message not been written in blood that way, I might have guessed someone else. (Also, since he did not care about playing). It could just have been a guess elsewhere. I based it on broken English.
Oh, wait, it's night, so I can't guess here, or really speak about the game, as we are all sleeping. Seriously, does the sun EVER come up in this bitch?
WHERE BRUCE, it's fucking day already. Goddamn pick already, fucking wolves.
(See, I am not a wolf, because I have not put this game behind by my not logging in to give him my picks. Look for the lazy, humans.)
Oh, wait, it's night, so I can't guess here, or really speak about the game, as we are all sleeping. Seriously, does the sun EVER come up in this bitch?
WHERE BRUCE, it's fucking day already. Goddamn pick already, fucking wolves.
(See, I am not a wolf, because I have not put this game behind by my not logging in to give him my picks. Look for the lazy, humans.)
-
- Posts: 3602
- Joined: Wed Oct 01, 2003 10:23 pm
- Location: Everett, WA, 2 blocks from where the Green River Killer picked them up
- Ice Cream Jonsey
- Posts: 30247
- Joined: Sat Apr 27, 2002 2:44 pm
- Location: Colorado
- Contact:
-
- Posts: 2544
- Joined: Tue Jun 04, 2002 10:43 pm
Dawn in Zahnburg.
Usually, about this time, there'd be a "Hear Ye! Hear Ye!" as one of the locals, a down-on-his-luck actor and printer named ChainGangGuy, would finish printing the daily broadsheet on his tiny portable printing press, and then--since most of the inhabitants of Zahnburg are illiterate (although, apparently, at least not one of the wolves)--would proceed to read the broadsheet, complete with a dramatic reenactment of the news within.
It was generally agreed that the recreation of the birth of the Duke's third son, a hydrocephalic mongoloid named Hans, had been ChainGangGuy's finest hour. Indeed, one of the slower-witted villagers had been unable to grasp the concept of drama, and had proposed to ChainGangGuy under the mistaken impression that the town had suddenly acquired a (another?) fertile woman.
But today, in Zahburg, there was no news.
There was just a body in ChainGangGuy's house. His body. His Achilles tendons had been bitten through to hobble him and his hands had had their fingers chewed to bloody pulp, so that he couldn't fight back. Then apparently the wolf had become human again, because how could something with paws carefully melt the lead from the printing press, print up a broadsheet reading, "BURN DOWN MY FOREST? I DON'T THINK SO!", tack it to ChainGangGuy's armoire with a knife, re-melt the lead, and then pour it into ChainGangGuy's eyes and mouth?
ChainGangGuy was a peasant.
As they interred the body, the villagers glared suspiciously at one another. Who would be today's victim?
- gsdgsd
- Posts: 860
- Joined: Sat Apr 27, 2002 5:12 pm
- Location: Decatur
- Contact: