Post
Post #1 (isolation #1) » Wed Apr 16, 2008 5:02 am
Postby Cogito Ergo Scum »
Rules
1. Technical Rules
1.1 Days will have a preset deadline. Each day will last X + 7 days, where X is the number of players alive. Once in the game, if multiple people ask for it, I will grant you a three day’s extension. Just once, no more.
1.2 Votes and unvotes must be bolded. If your (un)vote is not bolded, it will not count. An unvote before you vote someone else is appreciated, but not necessary.
1.3 Whenever a majority of the players vote for the same person, that person will be lynched. No amount of unvoting will prevent that player’s lynch. From the moment a majority of votes is reached, the game is considered to be in twilight. Twilight will last until I post the lynch scene, or otherwise end the day.
1.4 Instead of voting for anything else, you are allowed to vote no lynch. If a majority of the players votes no lynch, the day will end without a lynch, and proceed to night. You are not allowed to no lynch two days in a row.
1.5 Day will end after deadline, or when someone is lynched, whichever comes first. If deadline passes, no person will be lynched. This counts as a no lynch.
1.6 Nights, as well as days, will have a preset deadline. If you have a night action, and you don’t submit it in time, you will fail to perform anything that night. If you deliberately choose not to perform an action during the night, a PM to the mod about this is understood and appreciated.
1.7 Any of the technical or gameplay rules are in effect unless a pm from the mod states otherwise.
1.8 The townie pm is as such:
2. Gameplay Rules
2.1 Do not delete or edit any of your posts. If you want to fix something, do so by double-posting. You are not allowed to post url’s to any part of the internet you have control over.
2.2 Do not quote anything that was privately sent to you in the thread. This includes pm, e-mails, aim-conversations or any other form of communication between you and the mod or other people you’re allowed to have off-thread conversation with.
2.3 You are not allowed to talk to anyone except for the mod about this game outside of the thread, unless a pm from the mod explicitly states you are allowed to do so. This rule still applies after death, so no ‘bah’ posts, and no aftermath with anyone other than the mod.
2.4 You are not allowed to give any game-related information in your avatar, custom title, location, signature or any other publicly accessible location. Any such sort of revealing information falls under ‘talking about ongoing games’. That means this rule still applies post-death.
2.5 I expect every player listed in the players’ list to post once every 72 hours. If you’re going to be unable to post for an amount of time longer than that, please inform the mod and/or players beforehand.
2.6 If you think I made a mistake, please inform me. I prefer contacting me over pm if you do so. Any game-related questions you ask in-thread are unlikely to be answered.
2.7 Violation of any of the gameplay rules can be punished by a warning, replacement, modkill or any other punishment I think is appropriate.
2.8 I write flavour scenes solely for the players’ and my own enjoyment. They do not contain any info that could be used to catch scums or clear townies, or be relevant to the game in any other possible way.
2.9 If anything is not covered within these rules, you are allowed to use your common sense, but do so at your own discretion.
Last edited by Cogito Ergo Scum on Wed Apr 16, 2008 5:30 am, edited 1 time in total.
Post
Post #2 (isolation #2) » Wed Apr 16, 2008 5:04 am
Postby Cogito Ergo Scum »
“Have you heard?” the old lady said to her fellow spinner.
“Heard what, lady Shaw?”
“The lord! Our lord is dead!”
“Our lord is dead? I don’t recall him being of that high an age. I even made his baby clothes.
Does that mean the lord’s son will now take his place? What happened to him? From who’ve you heard? Did he die peacefully?”
“Yes, I suppose so.
I got an e-mail from Lady Greene.
What was your third question again?”
“Did he die peacefully?”
“Not in the least, oh lady. The lord was murdered by his very son, the Young lord Gagarine.
“Murdered, you say? By his own son? ”
“Or so I’ve heard. Lady Greene said that …
The spinster ladies were true gossips, but what old lady Shaw said was true. The Young lord Gagarine murdered his father. Not because of power, even though ‘lord of House Gaile’ is quite the title. House Gaile had been the most powerful house of the region, the country even, for ages. The First lord Gaile noone remembered, not even lady Shaw, a woman of respectable age. No, the history of House Gaile went way back, to who knows where and when. Yes, the lord of House Gaile was, and had always been, one of the most powerful persons in the country. The House once was only a castle, but it growed to a community larger than most Houses in the region. Aside from the castle, there were several villages, mansions, and fields of grain as far as the untrained eye could see. But, what I’m trying to say is that Young lord Gagarine didn’t murder the elder lord for power nor might. See, the Young Gagarine fell in love with a beauty, lady Millar, of House Millar. A respectable House. The lady was definitely a right match for the prince, but the elder lord Gagarine refused to wed the two. You see, even though the lords didn’t remember their ancestors, they were convinced that the family was supposed to stay pure-blooded. Most people in the villages, however, weren’t pure-blooded, and they all knew so. The elder lord Gagarine, however, didn’t allow his son to marry anyone but pure-blooded women. Ofcourse, such a way of keeping your bloodline pure comes with many complications, but the elder lord hadn’t forseen this one.
… Indeed, love does strange things to people,” lady Shaw said.
“It’s best to make sure you never fall in love, lady, for it’s the work of the devil.”
Post
Post #3 (isolation #3) » Wed Apr 16, 2008 5:04 am
Postby Cogito Ergo Scum »
“Ah, you must’ve heard about this one before, I suppose.”
The count looked at the elder lord Gagarine.
“Yes, I certainly have,” he mumbled.
The servant continued: “This is a portrait of the elder lord Gagarine, painted by Basil Hallward. The lord died an exact hundred years ago. Murdered, he was, by his own blood, the young lord Gagarine. They had a dispute over lady Christine Millar. The young lord killed his father to be united with his love. Their happiness together didn’t last for long, though. Only a week after their marriage, the lord disappeared, never to be found again. Who knows where he went. The lady later remarried, and her son, lord Calvin, father of our lord Alastair, became the new lord. The remarkable thing is that mister Hallward painted this portrait only after the elder lord’s death. Yet, he looks alive as ever on it. You even get the feeling he’s looking at you, if you know what I mean. Yes, a masterpiece indeed.”
“Now, on to the painting on the opposite side of the room. It’s a portrait by the same artist, a magnificent painter. Depicted here is lady Christine Millar, the lady I just told you about. She has the same eyes as the elder lord’s painting, looking as if she’s always watching you. The elder lord and the lady probably wouldn’t want to have to look at each other day and night, I guess,” the servant smiled, “but as much as I appreciate Basil Hallward as an artist, paintings are merely paintings, aren’t they?”
“Thank you kindly for your guidance, servant,” the count said “I’m really interested in buying this mansion, but I’m afraid I’m tired now. Could you please show me to my rooms? We’ll continue tomorrow.”
“As you wish, count.”
The two passed right through the large, wooden dormitory doors, unaware of the dangerous situation they were in.
Post
Post #4 (isolation #4) » Wed Apr 16, 2008 5:05 am
Postby Cogito Ergo Scum »
… and that night, the moon saw red, as if covered in blood,” her father said, “and all residents of the mansion woke up in horror when they heard an awful scream. A door swung open. It was the count’s room’s door. The count fled out, half-naked, and he had a big scratch over his back. A trail of blood indicated the count’s path. After him, something that could only be identified as a shadow followed him out of the room, chasing the count.”
“And then?” the kids asked.
“Well, then, the count ran to the entrance hall of the mansion, the hall with the two big stairways and the many paintings. As quickly as he could, he closed the massive, wooden doors behind him. He sighed in relief, and stepped away from the door. “Goodnight, count,” he heard. The count looked around, but there was noone to be seen. He walked towards the big windows on the opposite side of the room, then looked at the upper floor. No living person there, either. Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw something move. He quickly looked around, but there still wasn’t anyone beside himself in the room. Then, again, he heard a voice: “It’s me, count. Gagarine.” The count looked up, and saw the painting of the elder lord look at him. “Is this a dream?” the count thought. He looked carefully. The servant said the painting looked as if alive, but this was outright creepy. First, there’s a monster hiding in his bedroom, next there’s a talking portrait? Then the picture moved again. “Do not fear, count, for it’s already too late to change your fate.” The picture started to laugh. No one, and I mean no one, who’s veins aren’t filled with lord Gaile’s blood, may enter this house. The long, velvet curtains of the hall swung open. Out in the night sky, a blood red moon shone over the fields, and through the mansion’s windows. Then, the wooden doors slowly opened, squeaking loudly. The shadow stood in the opening.”
“And that’s the last we heard from the count,” father said. “A few minutes later, the servants came rushing into the hall, finding the count’s dead body. And what exactly happened in those few minutes, I don’t know.”
Rumours of lycanthropy had been spread in the villages for ages, but no person ever truly saw a werewolf, even during full moon nights. Then again, nobody left their house to actually get the chance to see someone on those nights. Rumours may be rumours, but, who knows, they may be true. And if they are, you don’t want to risk your life wandering through the streets at full moon’s nights, do you?
“And you know what the moral of the story is, girls?”
“No, father.”
“The lesson is that you should never, ever, leave your house at night. Is that right?”
“Yes, father.”
The girls went to sleep. Or at least, one of them, the younger of the two girls, did. The other one, Mary, couldn’t sleep. She sat on her bed, looking through the window. It was a full moon’s night, just like in father’s story, although he moon wasn’t red tonight. And as you might’ve guessed, a stout idea overtook the girl’s thoughts: Let’s find out if the rumour is true for once and for all.
Mary jumped off of her bed, and put her All Stars and a jacket on. She opened the window. It squeaked. Luckily, her little sister didn’t hear anything, and slept on, mumbling in her sleep. Mary climbed out of the window, and slowly closed it. She crawled through the shadow, and then ran towards the lord’s mansion. The grotesque, oaken doors were locked, of course. She pulled as hard as she could, but they didn’t move even a bit. As she walked to the windows, to see if one was left open, she heard a sound. She walked back to the path, to see that the doors actually opened. “Lucky me,” Mary thought. Silently, she entered the main hall. Most lights were still on, but the curtains were closed, so everyone was definitely asleep. “See,” she thought “there’s nothing creepy at all.” She turned around, and looked at the old Gagarine’s portrait. The man looked terrifying indeed. “What a lousy painter that was,” Mary thought. Then, Mary heard a squeak. She jumped up in fear, and turned around.
In the corner of the hall was a little grey mouse, trying to find a way to its hole. Mary sighed. “It’s just a mouse. Just a mouse.” She never even thought mice were scary animals at all, but given the situation, this little furry animal really gave her the creeps.
She turned back again, planning to walk back to her house. She could see the moon brightly shining through the windows. She looked at the moon. “Just rumours, she thought.” Then, she heard a sound coming from behind her again. She rapidly turned around, and just saw the moon outside turning from pale white to blood, blood red...
Post
Post #5 (isolation #5) » Wed Apr 16, 2008 5:06 am
Postby Cogito Ergo Scum »
The twelve villagers congregated in the main hall of the mansion. All other villagers fled out of town, to a nearby castle. The bravest wanted to fight the werewolves, and end the curse of this House for once and for all. One hundred years ago, and two hundred years ago, someone was murdered by werewolves in this hall. A few minutes left, and it was midnight. The moon was full tonight. Most of the villagers carried pole-axes or knifes. “Okay, as soon as you see someone turn into a wolf, attack!” someone shouted. Then, suddenly, the big portrait on the other side of the hall began to move. “You fools! You think you can stop the mighty wolves. A few minutes, and the moon will be red as blood once again. This time, the pure-blooded children of our ancestors will reign over this house once again.”
“He’s right.”
The voice came from the other side of the room, but no one was there.
“You can’t beat the werewolves at night. It’s best to run while you can.”
It was the portrait of lady Christine Millar talking this time.
“But, then how do we beat the werewolves?” the crowd muttered.
“Come back during the day, and kill them while they’re human. The forces of good are still in a majority, I can feel.”
“It’ll certainly be hard to tell who’s a werewolf and who’s not, during the day,” one of the villagers said.
“It’s the only way,” the picture answered, “the only way.”
“You mud-blooded scum!” the picture of lord Gagarine shouted. “Prepare for a long period of full, red moons. This won’t be over until all of you are dead and gone. The bloodline of lord Gaile will emerge victorious!”
Outside, the moon started turning red. The villagers ran for their lives, and searched for shelter in their cottages. They planned to come back the following day.
Post
Post #9 (isolation #6) » Sat Apr 19, 2008 11:41 am
Postby Cogito Ergo Scum »
Early in the morning, just after sunrise, the villagers reassembled in the hall.
“You made a wise decision,” Christine said.
“I’ve been thinking, and it would be best to democratically decide who should be killed. Surely, most of you should have pure.. no, let me rephrase that. Most of you should have honest intentions. I believe that, together, you should be able to figure this out, and kill the werewolves amongst you. She grabbed a piece of chalk, and wrote
Vote count
With 12 alive, it’s 7 to lynch!
in the upper right corner of the painting.
It’s now day 1. If for some reason anyone hasn't gotten his role PM yet, please let me know.
Post
Post #196 (isolation #18) » Wed May 07, 2008 9:26 pm
Postby Cogito Ergo Scum »
Deadline will fall on May 12th in the evening. I can't be any more precise, because I'll be busy that day, but I'll have time in the evening. I live on GMT+1.
Post
Post #224 (isolation #21) » Mon May 12, 2008 1:08 am
Postby Cogito Ergo Scum »
The lord watched as the dark red liquid slowly poured down.
“Wine’s a fine beverage indeed,” he mumbled.
He picked up the cork and closed the bottle, then took his glass.
The lord fled away from the House for a night, along with his family and most of the villagers. It’s probably safer here.
The lord opened the curtains, and stared into the night. The moon was glowing red, just like he expected.
The lord sighed.
Ninety miles away from the House, and still, his feeling of safety was completely absent.
“I shouldn’t have left those villagers alone,” he thought. “Ofcourse, the werewolves are among them, and they’re probably more powerful too."
A few moments, he closed his eyes in consideration.
The lord then ran to the door, as quickly as he could. He grabbed his mantle, dropped his glass in the hurry, and ran outside, to his car.
The glass fell on the hard, cold ground. It shattered to pieces, the blood red wine being spread all across the floor.
His wife just came down to see where all that noise came from to see the lord's Plymouth drive away.
Post
Post #227 (isolation #24) » Mon May 12, 2008 1:34 am
Postby Cogito Ergo Scum »
Just as he did that, his knees gave. He then suddenly jumped backwards, making a half turn and landing on his hands. He set off for another leap, and flew right through the hole in the circle, where the confused villagers used to close it. He turned around, and made a run for the curtains.
One of the villagers threw a knife at him. It landed in the back of his head, just as he opened the curtain.
The moon outside was shining furiously, and the whole hall was bright red in its light.
OG, a
Werewolf
, turned around from the windows, and stared at the villagers. Blood was running all over his body.
He then pulled the dagger out of his head. He licked the blood off its blade, and then made a run for Christine Millar's painting.
Several villagers tried to stop him, all being either outrun or easily bypassed by the wolf, who left a big trail of dark blood behind.
OG reached the painting, and stretched his leg. His claws just hit the painting when he suddenly fell down. A small piece of the painting was ripped off, but it was still intact for the biggest part. A pool of blood quickly formed around OG Smokedank, who died by the wound in the back of his head.
It's now night 1. Have your choices in by friday.
Last edited by Cogito Ergo Scum on Tue May 13, 2008 10:02 am, edited 1 time in total.
Post
Post #229 (isolation #26) » Tue May 13, 2008 9:21 am
Postby Cogito Ergo Scum »
"I couldn't sleep. That might've been because it was bloody hot outside, it might've been because there were werewolves outside, and they might've attacked me. Who knew?
But then again, they might just attack someone else, too. By being in bed here, a coward as I am, I'm just leaving all other villagers to their fate.
You see, from the moment I was a child, I always thought other people were more important than me. When I was young it was because other were bigger, later because they were mightier, and even now that I've reached my age, I still feel.. unimportant.
Don't get me wrong, I'm happy, and I have no regrets of anything I've done in my life, it's just..
.. wait, there is something I regret. It's a story that goes a long time back. Listen carefully..."
Last edited by Cogito Ergo Scum on Tue May 13, 2008 10:02 am, edited 1 time in total.
Post
Post #230 (isolation #27) » Tue May 13, 2008 9:31 am
Postby Cogito Ergo Scum »
"A long time ago, I felt this same pain.
A very long time ago, actually. 300 years, to be exact.
The pains had now stopped, but I realised what was going on. I realised it was my time to make good what I did wrong.
I betrayed my father. Killed him. I stabbed him in the back, this could be interpreted in multiple ways.
That was the moment I felt that same pain. There is nothing that hurts you more, no disease, no broken hearts, nothing, no. I've been through it all, and I survived both the diseases and the broken hearts, but this pain.. This pain killed me, as it's killing me now.
I am a werewolf. So was my father, lord Gagarine. I fell in love, which is the root of all disasters. My father thought I'd betrayed our bloodline. I was young and foolish, looking for love and excitement. I now know that such things do not exist. There's only pride, pride and justice. My pride is lost, and what I did was unjustified. What does that make me?
A werewolf. One that lost his pack.
I know what this pain means. This pain means that another member of my bloodline is lost. It feels like the blood in your body stops running. You feel lifeless. I've been feeling this way for a long time.."
Last edited by Cogito Ergo Scum on Tue May 13, 2008 10:02 am, edited 1 time in total.
Post
Post #231 (isolation #28) » Tue May 13, 2008 9:36 am
Postby Cogito Ergo Scum »
The ground was cold. He growled, then got back up again. Slowly, he pulled himself up on the side of the chair.
He walked to the window, and openened the curtains. Far away, as he could just see though the trees, the moon shone brightly red.
He coughed, growled. He then walked away from the window. He reached his unusually hairy arm to grab his mantle, put it on and walked though the hole in the cottage's wall where a door used to be long ago.
Post
Post #232 (isolation #29) » Tue May 13, 2008 9:44 am
Postby Cogito Ergo Scum »
"... It was 100 years ago. Yes, I'm that old, although at that time I was a little girl.
I don't remember that much of her. My parents always said we looked a lot alike, Mary and me. She was a few years older, and definitely the more loudmouthed and brave of us two. I was just.. her little sister, I guess.
All that she was, I was not. I was quiet, I was a coward. I couldn't sleep in my room alone, which was why Mary and me shared one. And even then, I never dared getting out of bed when it was dark.
I remember that night the best of all nights in my life, even if it's 100 years ago. Our father told us a story of werewolves. Of the elder lord Gagarine, who was a werewolf too. I was too scared to sleep that night.
Mary couldn't sleep either, but it was because she wanted to know if there really were werewolves out there.
That night, I saw her climbing out of the window. I saw it. I saw her getting out, but I was too afraid to stop her. I pretended to be asleep, but I saw her. I wanted to go with her, help her, protect her, but I couldn't. I was afraid.
I never saw her again. She's never been found, and she's presumably dead. If only I could've overcome my fears, I could've saved her life..
That's the only thing I regret in my life."
Last edited by Cogito Ergo Scum on Tue May 20, 2008 5:24 am, edited 2 times in total.
Post
Post #233 (isolation #30) » Tue May 13, 2008 9:51 am
Postby Cogito Ergo Scum »
She suddenly came to a shocking realisation.
She was cowardly lying in bed.
.. just like hundred years ago.
Tears were in here eyes. The loss of her sister was still the most important thing that happened in her life, and she'd mourned for a hundred years.
"I can't let this happen again," she thought.
The old woman slowly, mind the age, got out of bed. She rested for a few seconds, sighed, and stood up. She put her shoes on, removed the locks from the door, carefully closed it again behind her, and walked outside.
It was a warm summer night. The red moonshine from above made the night look even hotter. She walked to the nearest house, and hid around the corner.
Then, suddenly, she heard a sound coming from behind her..
Post
Post #235 (isolation #32) » Tue May 13, 2008 10:01 am
Postby Cogito Ergo Scum »
The villagers reassembled in the hall. The two paintings, or the 1¾ paintings, were still there too. Not very surprising, considering they're just paintings.
One of the villagers walked up to lady Miller.
"I'm sorry to inform you that
caf19, Martyr
died last night. Killed by a werewolf, as you might've guessed."
Christine narrowed her eyes.
"Hunt them down!" she said, with more conviction than ever.
She wrote in the right upper corner of the painting:
Post
Post #352 (isolation #43) » Mon Jun 02, 2008 9:48 am
Postby Cogito Ergo Scum »
The villagers start realising that xofelf is just waiting for the red moon to rise, and give her strength.
They run towards xofelf, who wakes up out of her daydream, and avoids a villagers as he swings a club towards her.
Xofelf grabs a knife and raises it.
"I'll stab the first person to get close to me to death!"
The villagers stand still, waiting for someone to break the standstill.
Finally, someone does. An unarmed villager runs up to xofelf.
"I swear I'll kill you," she screams.
The next few moments passed so fast no one really knew what happened.
There was screams, panic, blood and fear.
The man who ran up to xofelf rolled over the ground, bleeding heavily. He was stabbed in his right shoulder.
xofelf stood there, the blood was dripping from her dagger.
Petrified, she stood there. The blood dripped on the ground, and the sound of it made everyone shiver.
Then, the sounds became more frequent. xofelf's tears were falling on the ground, too.
In a rage, she raised the knife, and stabbed herself in the chest, right through the heart.
In a pool of blood and tears, she died. xofelf was a
Villager
.
The other villagers, some of them screaming or crying, quickly ran out of the mansion, towards their homes.
It's now night 1. Have your choices in by thursday.
Post
Post #354 (isolation #45) » Tue Jun 03, 2008 6:23 am
Postby Cogito Ergo Scum »
"Yet another night of hard working after a hard working's day.
Such is life.
However, as long as there is a great reward for great work, life's good.
Cleansing this House of werewolves is a great reward in and of itself, but the prestige and the bounty I will get is even greater.
I'm a wolf hunter. I come from the nearby House of Count Millar. Of werewolves is spoken in our legends, and I've been hunting for them all my life.
Yesterday was the first time I actually got to see one. I threw a knife in the back of his head. It was the best feeling I had all my life. People say it's about the journey, not the destination. However, the journey's long and tiring, while the destination is glory, wealth and might. No journey's gonna be better than that, nor mine.
Yet another hard working's night after a day of hard working.."
Post
Post #357 (isolation #48) » Tue Jun 03, 2008 6:39 am
Postby Cogito Ergo Scum »
The next morning, eight villagers entered the mansion.
"Yet another one of us was killed last night, lady," one of the villagers said. "It was
Riceballtail,
Wolfhunter
."
"I called for backup last night," lady Millar responded. "But until arrive, we're going to have to find the werewolves amongst us ourselves. Get to it!"
Post
Post #467 (isolation #53) » Sat Jun 14, 2008 11:23 pm
Postby Cogito Ergo Scum »
"Okay, men."
Count Auguste looked at the assembled line of soldiers standing right before him.
"Lady Christine Millar has called me. She's trapped inside Mansion Gagarine, and she needs our help to defeat the werewolves." The Count started walking up and down the line.
There were a few seconds of silence.
"You're insane.." someone said.
Count Auguste turned around to see who said that. All soldiers in the line stood still, there was no sign of anyone talking.
The Count walked on.
"No, he's right. You're insane, another soldier said. Lady Millar's dead, and so are the werewolves."
"You coward!"
"I'm certainly not a coward, count. I'm a realist."
The rest of the crowd agreed.
"What!?" the count shouted. "You ain't gonna help me?"
"Sorry, count. I think it's been a long day. I suggest you get some sleep. We will talk about it tomorrow."
"No way, coward." The furious count walked away, taking big steps and waving his arms. He grabbed his mantle, and walked out the front gate.
Post
Post #468 (isolation #54) » Sat Jun 14, 2008 11:27 pm
Postby Cogito Ergo Scum »
Yes, indeed. Sometimes, a crowd can ignore the advice of a single person, even if that person is right.
A similar scenario happened in Mansion Gagarine at that time. The villagers had decided that
DarlaBlueEyes
would be a good lynch. No one ever really knew her anyway, and most people wondered what exactly her business in House Gaile was. The crowd claimed that Riceballtail, the departed, had a guilty investigation on her.
"You're just xenophobes!" DarlaBlueEyes claimed. Her words were futile.
Post
Post #469 (isolation #55) » Sat Jun 14, 2008 11:39 pm
Postby Cogito Ergo Scum »
Round and round she goes. And she always will.
Most people don't like mills or millers. What they don't see is that a mill is a miracle, a wonder, a true piece of art. A mill is the perfect harmony between men and nature. The grain the fields provide, if we treat them with love, will be turned into something that can function as a daily meal to us, humans. That with only the power of the wind. No electricity or anything. Isn't it wonderful?
Sure, it's hard work, and people don't really have much respect for what you do. But I don't do it for them, I do it for myself. An audience of a thousand men is as good as an audience of one to me, or even and audience of no one. People must stop living for others, that's the only way to peace.
No, let me rephrase that. It's the only way to inner peace. Outside, there will never be peace. It's in mankind's nature. We need power, might, money and status. And we need more, more, more and more. Ofcourse, if everyone tried to achieve this, ideals will conflict. And they always will. It'll lead to war, death, sorrow. That's why I rather stay on the sidelines. The problem with standing on the sidelines, though, is that you can see what happens on the field. And what happens on the field I don't want to see.
That's why I decided to head to Mansion Gagarine, and stop those foul plays on the field. Sometimes, stepping into the field is necessary. I guess it was.. Wasn't it?
Post
Post #470 (isolation #56) » Sun Jun 15, 2008 1:41 am
Postby Cogito Ergo Scum »
The crowd gathers around DarlaBlueEyes. She looks scared and for a way out. The villagers close her in, and then a villager hits her in the face. Another punch follows, and another one and more. The seven villagers start beating DarlaBlueEyes up severely.
After a while, the torture stops. There lies DarlaBlueEyes on the ground, heavily bruised and bleeding in several places.
For a few, say four, seconds, there's silence.
1..
2..
3..
4..
Then the beating continues. Darla screams in pain, but all the aggression that was built up when several villagers died comes out.
After a while, Darla's dead. It's not night yet, so her body can't be correctly identified, but from the look on the elder Lord's face everyone could judge that DarlaBlueEyes was a
Werewolf
.
It's now night 3. Have your choices in in 48 hours!
