[Nogrod]

The heads of the villagers were hanging as low as their spirits. After the short and most modest funeral of the poor Lens Grinder everyone went to their homes under an oppressive athmosphere. The doors would be locked this Night.

Just after the silence had fallen over the village, three doors opened quietly and three cloaked figures took out into the Night. But there was a fourth hooded villager out there too. He slipped from under a shadow to another, keenly observing anything he could find interesting.

No villager felt comfortable enough to sleep in peace that Night – except the wolves who took a nice and relaxing nap before their time would come. But two of the villagers felt the burden of responsibility on top of their overall anguish.

One was sitting by his fireplace at his home, fondling the golden dagger and admiring it’s beauty. But inside his head there was a storm. The other one was sitting by his table beside the window and held a piece of paper in his hand. In his other hand there was a pen, and written to the paper were numbers one, two and three. He was staring at the paper and thinking. Both villagers were frantically going through the discussion of the last Day: what had been said and by whom. A lot might depend on their judgement.

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In the dead of the Night when even the nature itself had fallen asleep the wolves finally crawled out from their houses and gathered around the small square in front of the Inn. Even the wind had ceased after it had blown the clouds away from the moon.

Under the starry sky the werewolves turned to each other. “The master calls for blood toNight”, the biggest and hairiest one of them hissed, looking at it’s mates critically. “Can you two make it?” it asked the two others with a stern gaze in it’s eyes. The two nodded, albeit a bit insecurely. Their transformation was not yet full as there were patches of human skin clearly to be seen amidst the furry hair that they had grown. And their teeth were no match to the first one’s razor-sharp killing utensils.

“I can’t be herding you two anyhow if I’m to do my bit, so let’s just get on with the plan. I’ll meet you here after the task is done.” With that the leader-wolf disappeared into the shadows smoothly and quietly like a cat. The two looked at each other and took a different direction, slipping into the Night as well.

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Eiliniel’s Witty Younger Brother Who’s Always Right had finally fallen to sleep but was sleeping lightly. Then, through his sleep, he thought he heard a quiet movement from the downstairs. He was awake now and lied still trying to catch the noise again. Although the loudest thing he could hear was the beating of his own heart he still thought that there was someone down there. He sensed it - he was right again. There was someone down there.

Then there were the damped steps he thought he heard. They were coming from the stairs and they were coming closer, silently but fast. He couldn’t take it any more. He reached out for his matches and lighted the candle in haste. Just that moment the door was bursted open. Turning quickly around Macalaure saw only the gigantic and horrendously sharp teeth coming towards him. He was to be Right no more.

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The Town Fletcher had been suspecting everyone. And she did so during the Night too. Armed with her own bow and a quiver of her best arrows she was sitting in the middle of the floor, an arrow notched ready, just waiting for any surprises.

The two wolves circled around her house quietly as they dared not to attack in full frontal an enemy that frightful. But she was tired, just too tired and in the end was forced to take a catnap every now and then. And that was enough for the wolves. They surrounded the house and when Roa_Aoife dozed off again they both smashed in through the windows from opposite sides. She had time to become aware of a figure rushing towards her when she felt the claws of the other in the back of her head. Then it all went blank.

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The villager with the golden dagger had made his decision. He would do it, he would try it toNight. But it was only when the Night was starting to wear off that he did feel sure enough. He took his cape and dagger in a hurry and ran out while there still was some Night left. There was a house he had decided to pay a visit.

The Innkeeper had stayed up the whole Night and fallen asleep at the instant she fell down to her bed. “Come morning, come other duties...” she had mumbled to herself as she had laid down. Unfortunately her duties were to be over. Quietly the villager slipped in from the door the Innkeeper had left unlocked and sneaked into her bedroom. With a flash he slit her throat open. Celuien probably didn’t even realise she died.

But as the villager waited for a transformation of his victim – and saw that nothing happened except the blood pouring out from her throat – he noticed a beautifully forged sword on the table behind him. But as the life escaped from Celuien's body the sword turned to dust. Quietly he slipped back in to his house just before the morning broke.

There was no Innkeeper to open the Inn this morning and at the same time the Village had lost one of their Rangers.

Dead:
Volo – The Cryptic Lens Grinder – (ordo) hanged on Day1
Macalaure - Eiliniel's Witty Younger Brother Who's Always Right – (ordo) killed to his bed on Night2
Roa_Aoife - The Town Fletcher – (ordo) killed from behind while dozing off in the middle of her room on Night2
Celuien - The Innkeeper – (Ranger) throat slit on Night2

Alive:
Durelin - The Augur of the Village
Rikae - A Superstitious Mathematician
Thinlómien - An Ugly Little Shepherdess
Kath - A Weawer
Rune son of Bjarne - A Moonshiner
Boromir88 - The Serious Jester
Mithalwen - A Frivolous Serving-Wench
Lalwendë - Eiliniel, A Retired Village Idiot
Farael – A Moose Tamer
Anguirel - Gorlim's Lighthearted Brother, Anguirel the Merry
Mormegil – The Tall Doctor
Firefoot - A Homeless Waif
Eomer - A Beekeeper
Gil-Galad - A Confused Philosopher

DAY2 has begun.

Wolves stop PM’ing, Villagers, make a difference.