Looking at my own reflection,
When suddenly it changes,
Violently it changes
Oh, no. There is no turning back now,
you've woken up the Werewolf in me.
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Day broke as usual on the small Village of Hamlet - cold, cold, cold. And cold. Did I mention cold? Well, it was the middle of winter high up on a mountain, so the frigidity was justified. It wasn't met with cheers of joy every day, that's all.
Villagers went about their early morning duties as usual, though niggling at the back of their minds was the feeling that something wasn't right.
Alcarillo felt it as he set up the barstools.
Arcticstorm felt it as he read his theology books.
littlemanpoet felt it as he baked Zali's bread and tried on her clothes.
Boromir88 thought about it as he investigated the death of a chicken.
CaptainofDespair felt it while he herded up his shrews in preparation for the shearing later that day.
Dancing Spawn felt it as she started her inferno and sorted her glass.
Durelin felt it as she ate one of the Captain's shrews.
Enca felt it, but thought it was another symptom of lost love.
Firefoot felt it as she readied her pencils to draw a shrew.
Gil-Galad almost thought about crying it to the town, but instead went about digging a grave for the chicken.
Gurthang felt it, and it made him even more irritable about the 'Poor, pooooor chicken'.
Laitaine wrote a song about it. In D-minor. Of course.
Lalaith felt it and muttered "Sooth, sooth." Most who heard her thought she was talking about needing her chimney cleaned.
Menel felt it as he polished his armor.
Mithalwen felt it as she milked her goats.
Mormegil felt it as he turned gold into less gold.
Nonnacedak felt it as he prepared to go down to the lake and fish.
SamwiseGamgee felt it as he scornfully compared a shrew to a lyena.
Saucie felt it, even though he had been at the bar since it opened.
Wilwa felt it as she lamented her career, but was slightly more elated when she spotted a rare snow moth.
Even so, it was several hours before they noticed that something was indeed amiss. Where was their healer?
"Where
is Oddwen?" they asked. "Even she never sleeps quite this late."
A few of her closest friends went across to her house, and knocked on the door. But no answer - how absurd! The friendly neighborhood chiropractor always was prompt! Not before noon usually, but always prompt after that.
"Maybe she threw her back out," suggested one. With growing crowds and alarm, they entered her house and looked for her.
"She's not in the house," they said in wonderment. "But she couldn't have left - there are her shoes and coat, on that skeleton thing she keeps around."
"She doesn't even have a fire going, and in the dead of winter too," another said, and opened the woodbox. A scream strangled its way out of the throat of the villager - and the others gathered in alarm. Another skeleton lay in the woodbox.
But a closer examination by one of the more stout-hearted revealed that this skeleton was not "another", it was the original. The one sporting Oddwen's kine-hide jacket and shoes was not a wired together reference guide at all, it was leftovers from a meal. In the pocket of the jacket they found a note:
*burp*
Werewolves three
Hee hee hee
"She's been...murdered! Eaten!" they gasped in horror. "By Werewolves...and is that supposed to be poetry?! Worser and worser! But why? Why would they attack our little peaceful village Hamlet?" A trip to the pantry revealed a clue - as they opened it, splintered wood and shredded calfskin tumbled out. It was all that remained of Oddwen's drums.
"Why would they destroy those?" murmured the village.
"I was so fond of her playing," said one sadly. "Especially when she'd yodel."
"Aye," said another growing misty eyed. "It was a comfort on those long nights."
"Reg'lar as clockwork she was, the sun'd go down, and up would go an hour long beatin' solo."
"She was good too, couldn't have missed the rhythm more'n every other measure. And you've never *heard* such dynamics!"
"Some days, the only break she took from playin' would be to serve a customer."
"She was a selfless lass, always ready to come to me house to play me to sleep when I couldn't."
"She used to come and beat on me Saucepans."
"Remember the band we formed last summer? Dear Oddwen on the skins, Laitaine playin' her flute, Menel there on his bagpipes and old man Saucie callin' the moves for the dance?"
No doubt about it - these Wolves were insane, attacking a harmless, peaceful village for no reason.
Their lamentations were cut short as Boromir88 entered, bringing in the dead chicken.
"Eew," the Villagers cried. "Eew!"
"I've discovered the reason for death," cried Boromir. "It was stepped on - by a bear!"
This was met with another shock. What? Eh? Bears? Nonsense!
A trip outside to the chicken shack quelled their doubts. There in the snow were tracks of the largest bear anyone could remember remembering. They circled Oddwen's little hut and wandered in and out of the Village. They found several other small squashed animals in its wake.
"Werewolves and frostbite and bears, oh my!" cried the Villagers.
They swore revenge on the Wolves and the bear for dear Oddwen and (on the insistence of Gurthang) the poooooooor chicken.
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It is now DAY one. Werewolves, stop PMing. Sherriffs may start. DAY will end in 24 hours.
A reminder: please do not edit your posts for anything other than minor mistakes. Double posts are okay, remember.