Tol-in-Gaurhoth XVI: No man is an Island

[Formendacil]

The villagers of Dol-in-Gaurhoth were a diverse lot. Hardy souls, all of them, or else would not have returned to Rhovanion after the defeat of the Easterlings, who already began to menace their dreams from the East.

Many of those who resettled what would someday come to be known as Dol-in-Gaurhoth were Dúnedain, or Gondorians of mixed descent. But let it not be said that one needed to be a Dúnadan to possess the courage that caused these men and women to brave the lawless land they returned to settle, for though their span of years might have, even then, been longer than those of other Men, courage cannot be measured by the conventions of Elves or Men, and only the One can truly know the heart that spurs a person to acts of bravery.

The names of those who resettled the village are long forgotten by most, but their names are not forgotten by the scholars- save one. Of Gondorian blood were: Formendacil, Meneltarmacil, Cailín, Farael, Valier, Gil-galad (named, it is said, after the Elvenking of yore), Alcarillo, Lhunardawen, Gurthang, Naria, Nilpaurion Felagund, and Eluchíl. Of Northman descent were Azaelia (said to be of Willowbottom), Garin, Kath, Amanaduial (an archer of some repute), Malkatoj, and Rune son of Bjarne (a very short Man indeed, and believed in times since to have actually been one of the Hobbits that dwelt along the Anduin with the Northmen forebears of the Rohirrim). There was even one of the Dwarven kin in the village, Kuruharan of the line of Durin. Only one name is lost to history, though one of his features is remembered still: the Guy Who Be Short.

These villagers lived in apparent peace and harmony in their early months together, but there was an evil menace in Middle-Earth, the same evil menace who had spurred the Wainriders against Gondor, and evil menace that would be revealed in later times to be Sauron, the once and future Dark Lord of Mordor, by whose cunning Númenor had sunk beneath the waves, the Lieutenant of Morgoth Bauglír.

Though possessed of great power and might, Sauron was possessed of more subtle skills and of a more vast arsenal of weapons than the brute force of the Wainriders, who hid east of Rhûn, licking the wounds King Calimehtar had inflicted on them. And indeed, three of the villagers in Dol-in-Gaurhoth were men under his influence- and a fourth was poised to become so also, and it is from them that the village takes its name “Hill of Werewolves”.

The use of Werewolves to undermine small numbers of his enemy goes back to the years when Sauron was still a servant of Morgoth, and many were the peoples and races they came from that had seen last before their death the fangs of those they had thought their friends. And, indeed, the poison of the Accursed who carried the evil unknowingly would ensure that the Werewolves would trouble the word until long after Sauron had fallen.

But at this point, the village was yet hopeful for their long-term prosperity, and none save the Werewolves know of the hidden menace that waited to prey on their village. Not until the very night when the first of them died….

[Formendacil]

*Break in the narration*

Okay, everybody, the game starts in about half an hour, as soon as I post the final piece of narration for the moment. I think everyone's up on the rules, but since we have quite a few rookie players, let's review a couple of rules regarding Private Messaging:

NO ONE is allowed to Private Message another player about the game, except for the Werewolves, and they are only alllowed to do so at Night.

Everybody should be in Invisible mode from now until the end of the game. This is to make sure that nobody can track what team you're on. When you are not invisible, people can see if you're Private Messaging, and they can deduce (rightly or wrongly) things from this fact.

These rules apply to dead players as well as live ones, due to the experimental new Seer that we're trying out.

Remember, all questions or "real life" announcements should be posted to the main Tol-in-Gaurhoth thread.

~Michael A. Joosten - WW XVI Moderator~

P.S. 20 minutes to gametime.

[Formendacil]

Formendacil was an older man, of pure Dúnedainic descent. Born in Ithilien, he claimed among his mother’s ancestors the first Dúnedain to settle Rhovanion, and descended from men who had sailed on Isildur’s own ship from sunken Númenor. His father had been a purebred descendant of the Dúnedain of Cardolan, some of whom had fled past Tharbad to Gondor in years gone by.

Formendacil was a proud man, over-proud some said, although not without reason. He was of noble Dúnedainic lineage, well read, and had the long lifespan of his kin. As a young man he had enlisted in the armies of Arthedain and served his father’s kin in fighting the Shadow in Angmar, but as he grew older, and passed his sixtieth year, he returned to his homeland of Gondor. There, he saw service in Calimehtar’s army that avenged Gondor against the Wainriders, and in doing so he came to the broad land of Rhovanion that his mother’s kin had settled. Perhaps there was some familial connection to explain it, but he fell in love with the rolling and empty plains, and after being discharged from the King’s service, he was among those who eagerly set out to resettle the empty plains.

Not everyone in the village cared too much for Formendacil. Those of Northman descent found him rather distant. The Dúnedain, for the most part, didn’t warm up to him, but to say that anyone in the village hated him would have been to exaggerate.

He was, put simply, a loner. A hard, soldier’s life, a lack of a wife and family, and a general preference for the quiet had left him content to be alone among others. The wide, open loneliness of the plains suited him.

Of those in the village, Formendacil was perhaps closest to Lhunardawen and her brother Nilpaurion. Long-time inhabitants of Osgiliath, they had abandoned the dying urban centre of Gondor at the same time that he had. No one was quite sure how they were connected to Formendacil. Lhunardawen called him “brother” at times, but Nilpaurion tended to refer to him as friend, and no one could see a familial resemblance anyway.

But be that as it may, Formendacil spent more time with Lhunardawen and her brother than he did with any of the other villagers, and it was from their home that he was walking on that fateful night…

Formendacil had been enjoying a fine dinner at the home of siblings, finished with a delicious blueberry cheesecake before he set out, alone, for his own home.

The village, inhabited as it was by only twenty people, was spread widely across the top of the hill that would someday be remembered as Dol-in-Gaurhoth. With so few villagers, all were indoors after hours, and as Formendacil walked the lonely streets between Lhuna’s home and his own, he was the only soul to be seen or heard.

He had gone perhaps halfway across the village when a blood-chilling howl froze him in his tracks. Soon, the blood-chilling shriek was joined by another, and then another. Formendacil reached for his sword (all the villagers who had a weapon went about carrying them due to the nearness of the East). Those were the howling of wolves, he knew. But they were not the local wolves that sometimes came down from the north to trouble Gurthang’s herds. Nay, this howling reminded him a great deal more of the larger, and fiercer wolves that following the armies of Angmar and that had wreaked havoc on the people of Eriador.

Formendacil paused, listening, and realized that the howling was coming from three sides. Taking to flight, he clambered up the side of Valier’s silent brewery, drawing his sword again as soon as he reached the roof. From here, at least, he had a better vantage point.

But the first things that he saw were the glowing eyes of a massive Wolf, tracking him from the roof of the nearby store belonging to Naria. The Wolf was in a crouch, ready to pounce.

And pounce it did. Formendacil dove out of the way, on his feet in a moment, sword ready to strike. But even as he prepared to combat the wolf, he was taken from behind by another of the Wolves, who had hit him with an enormous leap from the roof of the Guy Who Be Short’s Hattery.

Once the third wolf joined the others on the roof of the brewery, it was all over. Formendacil died bravely, sword in hand, as befitted a soldier, but he was no match for the three ferocious beasts, although when his body was discovered the next morning, at the foot of the brewery, broken and mangled, the severed tail of a Werewolf was found next to him.

Minutes after Formendacil’s spirit was torn from his body, a shadowy image of him appeared in one of the homes of the village. The village Seer awoke, startled.

“Formendacil!” said the Seer. “Why have you died?”

Formendacil’s spirit raised a shadowy hand, and gestured at the village.

“Them?” asked the Seer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the village gathered around the dead body of Formendacil, discovered in its gruesome fullness the following morning, Nilpaurion was the first to step forward and identify what had happened.

“Wolves,” he said definitely. “Big ones.”

“And how do you know that?” said Garin, the horse loaner always a little sceptical of the wannabe carnivore’s ways.

“I just know these things,” said Nilpaurion. He was a bit of an odd character, eating only meat and generally acting suspicious.

“I don’t suppose that this would have given it away any?” said Lhuna, carefully holding up the severed tail of a wolf.

“Not just any wolves,” said Malkatoj, “these are Werewolves that killed Formendacil.”

“How can you tell?” asked Kuruharan, ever a sceptic.

“Because they left us a message,” said the professor. She gave Formendacil’s body a kick, and a piece of parchment was clearly visible where it shifted.

“What does it say?” demanded Azaelia. The Guy Who Be Short grabbed it, and read:

Greetings, Foolish Men of the West,

You have trespassed on the lands of the Wainriders for too long. Be gone ere the sun sets this night, or another shall be culled from your numbers, as this one was. What a fool this loner was! He should have remembered that no man is an island.

And it was signed:

The Werewolves in Your Midst

The villagers looked at each other, and the bravery that had caused them to come there in the first place caused them to being muttering and dark looks started to spread among them.

“Shall we be driven out by a pack of wild wolves?” Meneltarmacil demanded to know.

“We shall not!” said Naria, loudly.

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” said Gurthang, “we’ll hunt down these werewolves and lynch them!”

“Come on,” said short little Rune, “let’s not be so violent! No more war!”

“Be quiet,” said Amanaduial darkly, “or YOU’ll be the first one lynched.”

And so, as the brave, but foolish, villagers began to accuse each other with little or no reason, the first Day after the death of Formendacil began.

Day 1 had now begun. You may commence posting.

[Farael]

Poor old Formendacil may his soul find a proper resting place. He was brave even if I never got to know him half as well as he deserved. Gentlemen and ladies, let us find those wolves quickly and exterminate them mercilessly. My profession might have declined since the times we hunted those big worms - those other people call dragons - but I am not the only brave soul in this town. We can take them, by day or night if we stay together, but our best chance will be to find them now. I shall be looking at you, my friends, and I hope you forgive me if I ever suspect the wrong person.

[Cailín]

Alas, alas, such a tragedy for us poor noble souls. Have we not yet faced enough hardships? And poor Formendacil, such a valiant man. May we forever rightly spell his name.

So, it seems we have traitors in our midst! Let it then be known now, that whoever I find guilty of these crimes, will have reason to fear my wrath. Such brutalities will not go unanswered! *cough* but I fear there are more people than me who have a say in this. Though should they?

Like for example you, Meneltarmacil, surely know more about this. Always sneaking around, I mistrusted you from the very first time I tried to rob you.

And what about Rune? He is always prattling about these little things, Soddits or somewhat, I suspect him to be at least slightly… deranged.

But with Eluchil always being so overly polite, Malkatoj preaching about things no one can quite comprehend and naturally Kath – definitely something smelly about her - , I remain quite clueless as to who is responsible for these foul deeds, so let's all start pointing fingers, right?

I mean, heh, I am of course not accusing anyone. But a fool could see there is something fishy about the people I mentioned above.

[Garin]

Farewell old warrior. By the looks of his wounds, this is the work of the same beasts that mauled the finest colt in my stock two nights ago. Now that they have a taste for villagers my horses will be spared. Small consolation, if I have no one to rent them to. I sometimes tired of Formendacil's rehashing of war stories after too much of Valier's ale. Although he showed disdain for us Northmen, he will be missed. Not as much as my colt, however. Some of you are hiding a great evil and we will not let you succeed. I noticed Farael skulking about last night but I suppose the evenings are the best time for hunting worms. Also, don't think I didn't notice that Gurthang's stock was spared by these beasts. However, maybe he just is luckier than me. Stop looking at me with such suspicion Nilpaurion.

[Kuruharan]

Hmm...on the one hand, now would be a good time to sell weapons because everybody is going to want one. On the other hand, now would be a good time to sell liquor because everybody is going to want some and perhaps the wolves will become so drunk they will make a mistake.

GET 'EM WHILE THEY LAST!!! (prices doubled on everything.)

Be it known that I will badger the reticent. The more people talk, the more opportunities we have to pick up on werewolf clues (and hopefully give the werewolves more opportunities to make mistakes).

[Meneltarmacil]

Sneaking around, am I? Heh heh heh.... I certainly do seem to be the kind to attract suspicion, eh? Speaking of your robbery attempts, I hope the numerous booby traps I've set all over my house were enough to dissuade you from coming here again...heh heh heh...

One might think you're the one skulking about killing people off, Cailín, the way you've been stealing things...

Mwahahahaha... off to my strange things I do all day... heh heh.

[Azaelia of Willowbottom]

Thanks but no thanks, Kuruharan. My money is better spent in the pub...

But it is a real shame about Formendacil...We can drink his funeral ale today. And tomorrow. And the next day...

DRINKS ON ME AT THE PUB!...I'll drink you werewolves under the table!!

ETAouble-Posted with that suspicious guy... *looks at him with suspicion*

[Garin]

So quick with the accusations Cailin but I suppose this is the best way to put the wheels of justice in motion. As of today, none of us really knows anyone else anymore, except of course, the canine demons know eachother. Let us look carefully at each claim and defense, for within 23 hours one of us will die by our hands. I shall take a long bow Kuruharan, I will be sleeping on on my roof because I still fear for the safety of horses, despite the lycan preference for the flesh of villagers. Perhaps I can put an arrow in some wolfish hide. Really Azaelia, how can you drink at a time such as this?

[Kath]

Well, well, werewolves. Will they get me out of doing this disgusting job? Only if I'm dead. I see. Then lets get rid of the things so there isn't any more of this muck to clear up.

There will of course only be vague musings as to who is a wolf today, as only a maximum of 4 people can possibly know. So, without further ado, let pointless namecalling, insulting and accusations commence!

I would go with my tried and trusted method of picking names systematically, but as there is no list in the mod gods most recent post and I can't be bothered to go find one, I suspect everyone!

[Amanaduial the archer]

By the looks of his wounds, this is the work of the same beasts that mauled the finest colt in my stock two nights ago. Now that they have a taste for villagers my horses will be spared.

Unlucky, Garin - for you and me both; I was supposed to be taking some green group of travellers South come the end of the week. Somehow I doubt that'll be on the cards anymore once they get whiff of this tale. Bloody wolves, demolishing trade left, right and centre...still, I see some people were 'surprisingly' unaffected, and it's amazing how some can even turn a disaster to their advantage - naming no names of course... None of your stock hit, Gurthang? Ooh, Kuruharan, interesting time for your prices to all suddenly rise at once...

Looks like I picked the wrong village to use as a base these past months. Still, it'll make an interesting story to tell en route with the next lot of travellers, I suppose...And I reckon one of my arrows could find a nice home in the side of a wolf if one of them does slip up; I could do with a nice new pelt for a saddle-rug...*fingers bow absentmindedly*

As Kath rightfully says, it's probably gonna be pointless name calling all the way today - I must admit, I know very few of you well, although most of you probably know me by sight if not by name: I've been passing through this village for nigh on three years by now. Not sure if that gives me firm enough grounding to suspect anyone... But to take Kath up- hang on a second, darlin', did you say four people can know? And, eh, well...how is that an 'innocent villager' should know so much about how many wolves there are, hmm? Seems a little suspicious that you already seem to know so much about the wolves, hmm? I mean, unless you're willing to share, if you know anything of the events of last night, please do share...? *narrows eyes*

"No man is an island", eh? *Studies the note* Ominous to say the least...

(There, a good three people senselessly accused in one post - not bad going )