A pale sun rose over the near-abandoned village of Swankytown. An eerie mist had descended, settling upon the rooftops and making the villagers, who were just getting out of bed, feel vaguely uneasy and wonder if maybe they ought to go back to sleep. The village square was abandoned in the morning’s early hours; a tumbleweed rolled halfway across it before realizing that this was not the Old West.
Gradually, the villagers left their homes, opening their dilapidated shops and socializing in the square.
WaynetheGoblin admired his new dental tools, including a wicked-looking pair of tongs that Folwren had forged for him.
With a sly nod, The Saucepan Man sold some ‘medicinal’ mushrooms to the phantom.
“600|) |\/|0|2|\|!|\|6,” Durelin said to Shelob. “’Tai,” Shelob responded. Neither understood a word the other said.
Glirdan fed a piece of cheese to Gil-Galad’s pet bird; the bird’s beak got stuck and Gil threatened to press charges.
Holbytlass tried to sell some of her “zoo-doo” to Kath at the same time that Azaelia of Willowbottom tried to sell Kath some flowers. “I’m a gardener!” Kath admonished. “I’ve plenty of my own flowers!”
Azaelia had more luck with Wilwarin538, who bought a carnation to place in the buttonhole of a suit she’d just finished.
Alcarillo and the guy who be short glared at each other from opposite sides of the street, trying very hard not to blink. Cailin kindly crocheted some blindfolds so they wouldn't have to look at each other.
Meneltarmacil eyed the lopsided animal cages Bergil had made, and wondered if they’d hold much longer.
Nilpaurion Felagund tried to philosophize with Kitanna, but she was too confused by the lack of TVs to repair to listen to him.
And Mormegil was doing whatever it is that merchants do early in the morning.
But by ten o’clock they realized that one of their number was absent. Where was Encaitare, the writer?
“She said she’d let me read the first draft of that novel of hers this morning,” one of them said.
“I bet she got caught up in her bizarre stories and forgot she had an appointment,” another suggested. “Let’s go snap her out of it.”
They all decided to go down to her house and see if everything was alright – they really had nothing better to do, anyway. Plus, there had been mysterious howling almost every night for the past week from the woods which bordered Swankytown.
Encaitare’s home was silent, but they found that the door was unlocked. They let themselves in.
Inside, a gruesome sight accosted their eyes. Encaitare was on the floor, impaled all over with her quill pens, which through a display of capillary action which would have impressed any geek, were stained with her blood halfway up their length. Several pages from her manuscript lay scattered around her body; one was pinned to her chest with a particularly large quill. Gingerly, one of the villagers removed it – the words were written in browned blood. The villager read it aloud:
Dear Village of Swankytown,
Looks like Encaitare’s tale has come to its conclusion. Don’t get too upset over the manuscript. It was pretty lousy.
Signed,
The Werewolves
The villagers were horrified, so they hurried out of the house. Next door was Kath’s home, and they noticed that her side garden was looking oddly trampled.
“My magnolias!” Kath cried. “My petunias! My sweet honeysuckles! They’ve been squashed!” She peered at the curious footprints.
“What could have made those huge prints?” the villagers wondered. They followed the tracks to Shelob’s house, where they nearly tripped over a mutilated llama.
Thunder crashed as Shelob looked at her fallen pet in disbelief. Rain began to pour. She dropped to her knees and raised her face to the sky, arms outstretched. She shrieked something in the Ancient and Long-Dead Gadian Language: “Jeeeyyyyyyyy!!!!! Ved ko???”
“Huh?” the villagers asked, miffed that they were both getting very wet and ignorant as to what she was saying.
“Noooooo!!!” Shelob translated. “Why? Why?”
“It’s a bear!” they realized. “There’s a bear on the loose, too!”
“Whyyyyyy???????” Shelob continued to moan.
“Because,” they grumbled. “Forget the stupid llama. Let’s get to finding these horrid werecreatures.”
~*~*~*~*~
The Deceased:
Encaitare (Moderator) - Stuck full of quills by Wolves on NIGHT 1
Llama (Mammal) - Mauled into oblivion by Black Beorning on NIGHT 1
It is now DAY 1. Werewolves may not PM; Shirriffs may. 24 hours until NIGHT falls, so use the hours well: start talkin'!
[Reminder: don't edit your posts more than to correct little things like spelling or bolding names. If you have something more to say, don't be afraid to double-post.]