Mini 1046 - Murder in the Desert (Game Over!)
Posted: Mon Sep 06, 2010 5:41 am
Dawn. You squint against the sun seeping through the grimy window and groggily assess your environment. You are in an unfamiliar room, lying on a bed that seems to have served a stint as a blacksmith’s anvil before taking up residence beneath you. Scanning the walls you see peeling paint and the skeleton of a mirror, long since shattered. Slinging your legs over the side of the bed you scuff bare floorboards, discarded clothes, and several empty bottles, evidence of the drunken night you spent with the strangers you met in the smoky tavern below.
Your brain pounds painfully in your skull, trying to make sense of the situation. And slowly it comes back. The hard ride through the desert. The beating sun. The building on the bluff, shimmering in the heat. The toothless innkeeper, grinning and pointing you to a seat at the bar. And the others. Motionless, silent, twelve men - or were they statues? - slouched in the shadows of the room. You remember the uneasy air in the room, the presence of something felt but not seen. Studying your glass, you drank. And drank. And slowly the tavern filled with noise, but it was subdued, secretive,
You dress as you remember, and by the time you reach the present you have stepped into your boots and descended to the first floor. The room which last night was steeped in shadows has been flooded with light, and it is because of this you can easily see what has brought the other patrons into a loose circle in the middle of the room. The innkeeper lies dead on the floor, his blood already stained through the boards. And as you stare at this strange sight, you realize why the number twelve stayed in your head from the night before. Twelve men, one barkeep. Thirteen. And the first to rise was the first to die.
As you approach the circle a gruff voice speaks: “We’re all here now, so out with it - which of you’s the killer? We’re miles from civilization, the train’s not due fer days, so who did it?”
“Make no mistake we will find the party - or parties - responsible,” rasps another man, standing close to you.
“And when we do, you’ll pay, and dearly,” adds a third. Rumbles of approval run through the circle.
“Well, as my good man over there rightly pointed out, we’re not going anywhere,” you say evenly. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. But not with dry throats and parched tongues. Methinks there will be plenty of talk in this room today.”
You step behind the bar and grab a bottle of whiskey. The others follow suit.
“Now,” you say, once everyone has his preferred beverage in hand, “Let us begin.”
Your brain pounds painfully in your skull, trying to make sense of the situation. And slowly it comes back. The hard ride through the desert. The beating sun. The building on the bluff, shimmering in the heat. The toothless innkeeper, grinning and pointing you to a seat at the bar. And the others. Motionless, silent, twelve men - or were they statues? - slouched in the shadows of the room. You remember the uneasy air in the room, the presence of something felt but not seen. Studying your glass, you drank. And drank. And slowly the tavern filled with noise, but it was subdued, secretive,
skulking
. Eventually, you were led in a haze to your room, where you disrobed and collapsed onto your steel-enforced mattress.You dress as you remember, and by the time you reach the present you have stepped into your boots and descended to the first floor. The room which last night was steeped in shadows has been flooded with light, and it is because of this you can easily see what has brought the other patrons into a loose circle in the middle of the room. The innkeeper lies dead on the floor, his blood already stained through the boards. And as you stare at this strange sight, you realize why the number twelve stayed in your head from the night before. Twelve men, one barkeep. Thirteen. And the first to rise was the first to die.
As you approach the circle a gruff voice speaks: “We’re all here now, so out with it - which of you’s the killer? We’re miles from civilization, the train’s not due fer days, so who did it?”
“Make no mistake we will find the party - or parties - responsible,” rasps another man, standing close to you.
“And when we do, you’ll pay, and dearly,” adds a third. Rumbles of approval run through the circle.
“Well, as my good man over there rightly pointed out, we’re not going anywhere,” you say evenly. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. But not with dry throats and parched tongues. Methinks there will be plenty of talk in this room today.”
You step behind the bar and grab a bottle of whiskey. The others follow suit.
“Now,” you say, once everyone has his preferred beverage in hand, “Let us begin.”
The Living:
Oso , Mafia Godfather, Wins!
Boberz, Mafia Goon, Wins!
Socrates
Oso
Boberz, Mafia Goon, Wins!
The Dead:
The Innkeeper, killed in Pre-game
Bub Bidderskins, Mafia Roleblocker, lynched D1, Wins!
Cogito Ergo Sum, Townie, killed N1
xvart, Townie, lynched D2
Parama, Watcher, killed N2
Lowell, Townie, lynched D3
charter, Townie, lynched D4
DemonHybrid, Doctor, killed N4
WeaponsofMassConstruction, Townie, lynched D5
Xine, Townie, Endgamed D5
Slaxx, Townie, Endgamed D5
Xine, Townie, Endgamed D5
Slaxx, Townie, Endgamed D5