WEREWOLF - Players Only

[ThatGreenGentleman]

But the princess doesn't love him, because she's only after power.

[Freeky]

But the princess doesn't love him, because she's only after power.

My point stands.

[Cainad (dec.)]

Of course he would kill her if he was a necrophiliac. 'Cause then she'd be dead, and thus even more attractive in his eyes.

[ThatGreenGentleman]

But he doesn't like her either.

[Storebrand]

Johnnyx, I can't decide whether you are a fucking ridiculous killjoy or if you have added to the game.  Either way, I stand by my vote to lynch you.  It's mostly just because enough votes are already in and I like for there to be a constant procession of death.

[Cainad (dec.)]

But he doesn't like her either.

Doesn't matter. If he prefers dead people, he'll be happier if she's dead.

[ThatGreenGentleman]

That is true.

[Remington]

Hear Ye, Hear Ye, the Oracle Speaks!


The mob spoke again, on noon of the next day. And when the mob spoke, people died.

Herbertina's corpse had set the village on their path: they knew now that the murders were not mere coincidence. The werewolves would continue killing without stop, until the end, and the village seemed determined to match the wolves' brutality. To defeat the savages it seemed they must become savages themselves. If this worried any of the villagers they kept silent, fearing that any dissent would mark them out as the next target.

The council reconvened at high noon, and the argument began anew. The accusations flew between angry villagers, each intent to save the village and prove their worth by rooting out the werewolves. And as yesterday, there seemed to be a single name on their tongues. Yesterday it had been Dr. Semaj; today it was JohnNyx.



A consensus was reached. Rope was brought. Scared children climbed the large oak tree in Village Square to secure and tie the ropes, spurred on by their parents' encouraging words. When all was finished, a single noose hung down from the tree's branches, swaying ominously in the breeze.

JohnNyx was dragged to the tree, kicking and screaming.

"You're making a mistake!" he yelled as the noose was fitted over his neck. "I know who the wolves are!"

He choked on his words as Mistress Freeky punched him in the gut. "Herbertina was my friend," she snarled. "You killed her, and you will die for it! I will not listen to the poisoned words of a werewolf!"

Iason held up his hand. "Let him speak."

JohnNyx began to babble, stumbling over his words in his fear and his desperate need to convince the mob. He rambled about secret dealings with a psychic, who might have been a werewolf, and had been aided by another werewolf... the look of desperation was clear in his eyes.

He was... less than convincing. Iason shook his head and held up his hand again. "I think we've heard enough. Time to die, werewolf."

Iason kicked the chair out from underneath JohnNyx's feet. The assembled villagers watched intently as he twitched and choked and died, but nothing happened.  His final breath left him in a choking rattle, and he finally went limp. Long seconds went by, but no change came over his body. For the second time in a row, the villagers had guessed wrong.











JohnNyx is dead; he was not a wolf. 11 players remain.

It is now nighttime. Wolf Fenrir, please send me your kill. Psychic, send me a guess.

[Storebrand]

Have you read the version where she wakes up in labor instead of with a kiss?

[Storebrand]

Oh, and sorry for voting to kill another innocent man.

[ThatGreenGentleman]

It's okay, it happens. So now we have two zombies, YAY!

[Remington]

It's okay, it happens. So now we have two zombies, YAY!

Four zombies, actually. Two wolf kills and two lynches, the list is up on the first page.

Soon to be five once REDACTED logs on and sends in their kill.

[The Johnny]

...gurgle?

[President Television]

IN YOUR FACE, JOHNYX. WE KNEW YOU WERE THE MASTERMIND.

[Cainad (dec.)]

Wheeeee! We're all killers, we can never be redeemed from our sins! Let us wait patiently for the beast to slay yet another, and then we shall continue our downward spiral into failure and madness.

Truly, we are our own worst enemy. The werewolves are merely a side salad to the filet mignon of our self-destructive paranoia.