The villagers awoke after an uneasy slumber, silently gathering in the village square. Each of them had found it hard to sleep, and were convinced that they had heard howls during the night. The memory of the previous night’s unrest seemed strangely reinforced – something felt, well, different. Was it the still air, or the distinct lack of birdsong, or the absence of people walking into the Village Midget?
Suddenly, one of the villagers broke the silence, saying quietly “hang on a minute… where’s
the guy who be short?” The whisper echoed around the square.
And indeed, the friendly village Dwarf was missing.
“Perhaps he’s fallen sick?” somebody piped up.
But of course, everybody knew dwarves don’t get sick. Suddenly, all the feelings of unease returned, redoubled.
As one, the rabble rushed to the Dwarf’s humble abode. Somebody knocked on the door, to no reply. Without words, the menfolk rushed the door, which collapsed inward under its weak hinges.
The villagers poured into the single-roomed abode. The books the Dwarf usually pored over were all ripped to shreds, scraps of scrolls littering the ground.
And there, lying next to one of the walls, was sprawled on his stomach the unliving body of
the guy who be short. His left side lay in a pool of blood where large chunks of flesh had been hewn out of his carcass, and the open wound seemed to glow crimson. The villagers stood, dumb.
“Bite marks… Werewolves” somebody muttered. And indeed, this was no strange form of leprosy: the marks of wolvish canines were visible for all to see. You didn’t need to be a scholar specializing in lycanthropic lore – incidentally,
the guy who be short was - to see that.
“What’s that? somebody else asked, indicating the wall by which the carcass lay. As one, the people looked, for there, scribbled upon the wall in blood, was a thinly etched “3.”
“What could that possibly mean… are the perpetrators saying they want three more lives?”
“No… His fingers are bloody, look. When they attacked him, he must have written that in desperation with his own blood. It’s a final warning from
the guy who be short. There are three beasts amongst us…”
Living:
Anguirel
Azaelia of Willowbottom
Celuien
dancing spawn of ungoliant
Eomer of the Rohirrim
Esgallhugwen
Evisse the Blue
Feanor of the Peredhil
Firefoot
Hookbill the Goomba
Kath
Lalaith
littlemanpoet
Nilpaurion Felagund
Oddwen
Saurreg
the phantom
Dead:
the guy who be short (Villager) - partially consumer by werewolves on NIGHT 1.
Score:
Werewolves: 3
Villagers: 14
It is now DAY 1. DAY will end in 24 hours at 4pm GMT, 11am EST, 10am Central, or earlier if a majority is reached before then. May I remind the werewolves that they may no longer PM one another, and the Shirriffs that they may.
To quote Film-Theoden: