Typical Werewolf - Loosely Based on Classic

[LoP]

((A little OOC planning... I need a mama. Or perhaps a papa. Or some sort of adult caretaker. Because I am an innocent little child with out an ounce of guile in the world. ))

[Aric Kale]

)(LoP, Val would make the PERFECTLY attentive and loving parent. Actually, he could be, and just use his apathy as a front. <.< >.> Could be an adoptive relationship.)(

[Legato Endless]

(I can't be a parent for anyone who lives there, as I am new in town. There's probably some 30 something character who can mother LoP's demon child)

[LoP]

((ouch Legato. Even digital rejection is rejection.





))

[Penguinator]

Opening Narration:

Domusvale. A small mining town where people went about their business. They weren’t shown on maps, for there was nothing spectacular to see. No major trading routes went through, no major tourist attractions. Everything was peaceful.

Or so it seemed.

One night, dark within the confines of the mines, disaster struck. Several miners disappeared, never to return to their homes. A rescue party was sent in after three days, and they disappeared as well. The town was in panic. What could be causing these disappearances?

One day, a single man returned, battered and bloody, from the mines. He had been the leader of a mining team, and as such, had been further from the monsters in the mines. He warned the leaders of the town of the peril deep in the mines, then passed on before the healers were able to tend to him.

Werewolves.

The town held a meeting, and quickly decided that, despite the steep cost, they would send a messenger to seek out the Rardmuk Clan, mysterious but skilled men who fought against all kinds of creatures of darkness.

The Rardmuk Clan arrived, barricading the town, trapping anyone in the area inside it. This included a few traveling merchants and some other out-of-towners. One man jumped in through the barrier just as it was being erected, then realized what was going on and screamed to be let out. Upon his tantrum, he was threatened with jail – or worse – and left to sulk, muttering about superstitious yokels.

The Clan surveyed the town. Now that it was quarantined, it was time to begin looking through.
"So. Village bumpkins. This’ll be fun."
"Are you suggesting that these people aren’t worth protecting? Their coin suggests otherwise. There are miners down there; good, honest workers, bumpkins or not. We owe it to their families to do everything we can."
"I was thinking. We should convince the town to assist us in our efforts."
"Precisely, brother. We will take our time and meet with the villagers. Report back here when the sun reaches mid-sky tomorrow with your gathered intelligence. We will decide what must be done from there."
"Whatever you say. I'm going to enjoy this."

With that, the village began its savage game of cat and mouse...

Spoiler

Show

Penguinator passed on. He was the Major Miner.

Player List:

Spoiler

Show

{table=head]#|Player|Killed?|Role
01|Sabeki||
02|banjo1985||
03|Tanar Aerdoth||
04|BasketofPuppies||
05|firedaemon33||
06|Lex-Kat||
07|Zar Peter||
08|DoctorWhooves||
09|Cuthalion||
10|Pseudo Nym||
11|Chessgeek||
12|LoP||
13|Count Dingdong||
14|Aventine||
15|Elemental||
16|Nonayer||
17|BourgeoisJerry||
18|aric_kale||
19|The Mad Hatter||
20|bladescape||
21|Elder Tsofu||
22|The Fiery Tower||
23|mangosta71||
24|Legato Endless||
25|Gnrlshrimp||
26|Madmal||
27|Mahonri Violist||
28|Duck999||
29|breathandpaper||
30|EmeraldRose||
31|C'Nor||
[/table]

Day 0 Begins.
It will end on March 29.

[BourgeoisJerry]

((A little OOC planning... I need a mama. Or perhaps a papa. Or some sort of adult caretaker. Because I am an innocent little child with out an ounce of guile in the world. ))

((I'd be fine with playing a female. I'd like for my character to have a family anyway, and it's actually been quite a while since I've played a woman, so this would actually work out pretty well for me.))

[Penguinator]

Oh, right. That was another thing I was going to mention. I tried to make most roles gender-neutral so either could be played. There are some which are specific genders, though.

[Ionbound]

The schoolteacher sighs as she watches the barricade's finishing touches. Yet another obstacle to leaving this blasted town in the middle of nowhere. What ever happened to the story of the schoolteacher and some handsome carpenter falling in love and moving to the city, anyways? Oh well. And this news of werewolves is...perturbing, to say the least. Not that she hasn't heard the stories of men that become beasts under the full moon, and what their various weaknesses are, but she shakes her head nervously, knowing that if she were to be confronted, she would be as good as dead...or worse.

[Penguinator]

Game will start April 1st. No joke.

Another note, although this game is fun-based, please keep the fourth wall intact.

[BasketOfPuppies]

The four men walked out of their three shops and decided to go take a look at this new wall.

So, does anyone know what's going on?

Well the liverwurst is fresh today, although the tuna smells a bit funny. I should probably throw it out soon.

I meant with the wall, not your deli.

Sorry.

So, ARE we going to talk about the wall?

Fair enough. I want a structural analysis. How long can it hold back whatever it's holding back?

It seems secure, if a bit hasty.

Good to hear. Well I can't see how us standing around is going to help solve anything. Let's get back to work.

((OOC: I need names for them. They're humans now, so Bongo, Rex, Spot, and Tiny aren't exactly appropriate. Any ideas?))

@V: Sure. I'm not going to edit this post, but I'll change it for the future.

[Legato Endless]

((Puppies could you use a font other than grey? It's fairly difficult to see on the new forum background.))

[EmeraldRose]

In the space between two buildings, there was a mist. It swirled around as a mist will do, and eventually settled back into the cobblestones. Where the mist once was, there was now a building. Surely it had been there before the mist? Well.

There was a placard over the door-

The Emerald Leaf

Through the windows, one could see a wide variety of things- books, trinkets, a silver coffee service. There was cheerful fire with several comfortable-looking chairs arranged in front of it.

A small sign in the window read OPEN.

[Zar Peter]

The man stood up, stretched and went to the basin. Cold water in the face works wonders in the morning. He coughed a bit, then applied shaving fog on his cheeks and chin and shaved. It was perfect as ever. He donned his red tuxedo and adjusted the name tag. Not that anybody ever looked at it. Once he tried to be funny and used another name in it but nobody noticed. In fact he didn't even bother to take the name tag away when washing his clothes. He had one on each tuxedo he owned but none of them was readable anymore. It didn't matter.

He cleaned his boots, brushed the trousers and then, in the end, took a look in the big mirror beside the door. Perfect. He opened the door. A wave of cold smoke hit im right in the face. He coughed again, then closed the door to his dormitory and entered the bar. It was about three times as large as his sleeping room, had a wooden floor and old, dark green wallpaper which were nearly black from the smoke.

He took a bottle of milk from under the bar and filled a big glass that wasn't stained yet. Then he opened the windows , took a broom and began to sweep the butts on the floor on a heap.

Well, well, and then clean the glasses. Have to open Ninteen Zero. Precise!

he muttered to himself while doing his everyday work after waking up. At noon.

[Pseudo_Nym]

When Maia Grayson was young, she would travel around a small circuit of towns, selling her flowers as best she could. In Domusvale, one young miner would always buy the most expensive flower he could afford. Which often wasn't much. He would admire it, praise it for its virtues, then give it back. “No beauty could match it but yours.”

It took a while, but eventually they married. Maia Grayson became Mrs. Maia Miller. She stopped her traveling, and together with husband opened a more permanent floral boutique. She had two sons and a daughter: the daughter died young, and the sons eventually left town to seek their fortunes, with her blessing.

Nine years ago, her husband passed. She closed the flower shop and semi-retired – for the first time in six decades, she returned to selling flowers from a small cart. She doesn't charge much; frequently, she doesn't charge at all. She's older than she has any right to be, she readily admits. At this point in life, a smile is worth more than a pound of gold.
SPACE
Today, like every day that weather permits, she sits with her cart of flowers at an intersection near the center of town. Like every day, she reads or knits to pass the time, but stops to smile at everyone she sees. But today, for the first time in years, she looks old.

[Aric Kale]

)(Should I repost my old post and delete the first one, so that all of the rp is close together? Also, LoP, I actually was offering to have Val Kanias adopt your child-character.)(

[Duck999]

Mr. McGee approaches the flower stand. He decides to buy a flower today. He smiles back at Maia, admiring the flowers. He picks out the tallest one he can find, and asks if he can buy it.
Would you be kind enough to sell me this pretty flower? How much is it?
He is jolly, and slightly fat. He asks the questions in a sing song voice.

[Pseudo_Nym]

Would you be kind enough to sell me this pretty flower? How much is it?

Her smile is kind, but her eyes are tired. She seems about to say some number out of habit, but then her eyes drift towards the barricade surrounding the town. She turns back to the flower, and her customer.

Oh, in these dark times? I couldn't bear to charge a copper.

Besides -- her smile brightens a bit, and all her sadness seems to fall away -- it suits you so wonderfully well.

[Duck999]

Mr. McGees smile brightens. Why thank you! But I couldn't go on and not pay you. Any person needs the money as much as the next. He tosses her 3 copper, the jovially turns and sets on his merry way, unless interrupted.
He pulls out some wine from his jacket, taking a large drink.

[Pseudo_Nym]

Bless you, sir.

After he leaves, she carefully wraps the coins in a faded handkerchief. Once, it was a vibrant red, but time and fate have made it a soft and dusty pink.

She takes a slow, deep breath, then tucks the money away.

[mangosta71]

Tamos watched the newcomers' preparations with an air of approval. Seeing their sigil made the eye he had lost campaigning in the forest of Dreanger throb. Nostalgic, he scanned their faces. All of them were too young. Maybe even too young to have heard the stories...

[Sabeki]

Eli notices the newcomer outside of his tent.
"You there! Newcomer! Come in, come in, let me show you my wares!"
He beckons him into the tent.
"I have only the finest goods for sale, all for you!!! And for you, my friend, I'm willing to drop the price by as much as ten percent!"
He continued, giving the man a sly wink. Not that I will, of course. I just might.
Eli thinks to himself, very pleased and self-satisfied at what he thinks is a good sell.

[Aric Kale]

Val Kanias walks up to Eli, maintaining a slow pace as he looks up to meet the shopkeeper's eyes. What could you possibly offer that would be worth my time and money? He asks with unconcealed disdain, mixed with utter disinterest (if that's even possible). He lowers his hood, revealing his strikingly blue eyes and a face that could be handsome if it didn't have three days' worth of scrubble on it. Have you anything with silver? Anything that would actually benefit this village? If not, I suggest you shut down your... He glances about the tent...shop. Ouch. Not like this will faze the seedy merchant, if Val had to guess.

[Count Dingdong]

It was midday a few days back when a man rode into town, his cart carrying what goods he would sell in the coming days, a mishmash of every sort of thing. He chose a spot just away from the market to set up shop, a blanket laid in front of his cart on which he laid the items. He wore a black collared jacket, never switching to better garments for the heat or the cold. The Peddler, he called himself, nothing more, nothing less. It was what he did, who he was, and he needed no other name. He rarely searched for customers but took those who came looking, and it was a wonder how he stayed in business. When the town was barricaded, he probably should have been frustrated not to move on to other, better towns, but he betrayed no emotion behind his orange-tinted sunglasses, selling his stock day by day.

Today was no different, and he placed his wares out for passersby to view. When asked, he would point to them in turn, offering the following descriptions, perhaps a small elaboration when prompted. "A box of cherries. You know, the fruit? Fresh haddock. Frogs' legs; the rest's been sold. A box of mystery. A herring. A wire puzzle, but don't ask me how to solve it. Red string, if you couldn't tell. And a necklace." For now, he leaned against his cart, cigarette in mouth, surveying the town and its buyers.

[BasketOfPuppies]

The men woke up and each went to their store.

Bongo went to the butchery, flipped the sign to "open," threw out the odd-smelling tuna, and sliced up the meats. It was honest, physical work that let him think, something he did noticeably more since the transformation.

Rex went to the bakery, located conveniently next door to the butchery. He flipped his sign to "open" and did a quick inventory before starting to make dough. It was a thinking job. He was always experimenting with new proportions or ingredients.

Tiny went to the candle store, located across the street from the butchery and bakery. After flipping his sign to "open" he rearranged the candles for sale and started dipping. It was tedious work, but money was good.

Spot meandered around town, deep in thought. He decided to buy the wire puzzle from The Peddler before walking to the Emerald Leaf.

---In the Emerald Leaf---

[Nonayer]

The old man got up early in the morning before the sunrise just as he always had and always will until the end of his life. He walked towards his kitchen slowly so as not to disturb any of his carefully collected artifacts. He had quite the collection from his youth and it hardly fit in his small shack. Sometimes the youth from the town came to inquire about a certain item or another eager to hear stories from him. After all there were few people that ever left Domusvale and returned and the young were always eager to hear of what awaited them outside of the unimportant mining town. Many talked of leaving and having grand adventures but very few ever did. This time it seemed the adventures had come to the town. The men of the Rardmuk clan had barricaded the town, trapping everyone inside, but that didn't bother Nornil or "old man Nonayer" as some of the townsfolk liked to call him. He hardly ever left his shack anymore let alone leaving town. Traveling was for the young, not the old and weary.

Once he was finished with his morning tea he walked to the half of his shack that doubled as his shop. It wasn't opening time yet, most folk didn't wake up until much later but he liked to make certain everything was tidy. Just because he lived in a rickety old shack at the edge of town didn't mean his home should be untidy. He busied himself around his small home as the sun slowly rose above the horizon. Checking an ancient watch at the side of the room to make certain it was time he opened his door and flipped the sign hanging there to open. His small fortune telling business attracted few customers in spite of the fact that the miners tended to be superstitious folk, but that didn't bother him, he didn't really need the money. He just liked having the company and quite often he entertained children without asking for anything in return, after all the young ones were the few to have the imagination to benefit from his art.

[Gnrlshrimp]

In the town of Domusvale there is a rather small, rather old, rather poorly maintained...post office.

Seems the postal service doesn't care much to pay for any repair work, and since the place is staffed by just a single mailman...

Patrick the postman steps down from a ladder, having finished attaching a little extension to the Loud, Proud, poorly written banner above the entrance to the post office that appears to be missing a few letters.

It now reads: "'NEITHER RAIN NOR SNOW NOR GLOM OF NIT (NOR WERWOLFS) CAN STAY THESE MESSENGERS ABOT THIER DUTY"

Poor spelling aside, Patrick remains a rather dedicated postman, having taken the motto to heart. And he's not about to let some nasty, dangerous, murderous werewolves from ensuring that the mail gets through.

...

It probably hasn't occurred to him just yet that there might not be any mail in the days to come now that the town is isolated.

After putting the ladder away and taking a moment to admire his handiwork, Patrick steps back inside and emerges with his load for the day, and a black and white cat perched on his shoulder. With a cheery whistle and a spring in his step, he sets off to bring the townsfolk their mail. One would almost think he was blissfully unaware of the situation if not for the changes made to the banner.

[BourgeoisJerry]

Nobody has seen Chandra leave her shop since the Rardmuk Clan arrived. In fact, she was one of the few townsfolk that didn't show up for the meeting where the town decided summon them. It would probably seem very suspicious if anybody else behaved this way, but Chandra has never been particularly sociable. Even in her youth she would frequently spend days at a time cooped up in her parents' cottage, either reading or performing some form of experiment. Now that she is the town apothecary, it's very rare for anybody to see her outside of her shop except on business.

There are a few rumors floating around town concerning Chandra being a witch or something of the sort, but very few take those rumors seriously. True, she is a bit reclusive, and her cures do tend to be more effective than most apothecaries', but anybody who has ever entered her shop and met her face to face has found it difficult to believe that the kind, cheerful Chandra could be in league with the devil, or whoever it is that supposedly grants her demonic powers.

Given how rarely she leaves her shop, one might wonder if she knows what is happening in Domusvale. Fortunately, the sign posted in front of her shop makes it perfectly clear that Chandra knows about the werewolves, so the one or two villagers who pay any attention to her needn't worry.

My apologies, but I don't carry wolfsbane, so please don't ask for it. All silver products will cost 40% more for the foreseeable future. Arnica and White Sage are 15% off today.

[Hattish Thing]

Only the most necessary of shops made much of a profit nowadays, most of the town treasury going to afford these blasted mercenaries. At Westher and Brogin's Cobblery and Dress, the sixty-ish year old Westher Mcallahay supplies the town with clothes, shoes, and even the occasional bit of jewelry. The place also used to have a small smelter out back, manned by the much younger Erlund Brogin. Mr. Brogin had long since been buried, however, for he'd been killed in what was reported as a hunting accident ten years ago. Westher was a lonely, frail, and ultimately bitter man by all accounts. He'd been born and raised in the small town, never having left. The place was his home, and he was quite proud of it. The old man had a harsh biting tongue when he spoke, which was rare. He was usually a fairly quiet man. However, despite his stubborn and sometimes cold ways, the man was still revered by his community as one of the oldest denizens of the town. When the mining attacks began, he called out for the town to assemble a militia to hunt down the culprits. However, his idea was shot down, for the people of the town were hardly the military type. He was against involving the mercenary clan, for he never liked strangers. "Strangers cause trouble, always have, always will", was a popular saying of the aged man. However, he was overruled and eventually got used to the idea. This didn't stop him from volunteering for town guard work, however, so the crusty old man can often be seen walking about the perimeters of the town, or resting by the entrance to the mine when he's not working, or napping!

Currently, the old man sits outside of his small wooden shop, at a large bench by the dusty, cobwebbed, broken old smelter. It was his favorite place to sit about and face the road of the town, watching the people come and go and basking in the sunlight. He's an old man with dark brown hair, hints of gray barely evident in the man's long and often well-brushed hair. He sported a fairly well-groomed mustache as well, matching in width with his bushy eyebrows. The man's gray eyes are a bit... off center, his left eye constantly facing off into the other direction, giving him a very... amusing look. However, no one ever remarked upon it. Westher was fairly quick to anger, and often known to hold grudges for years and years. He was frequently dressed in a tattered yet fine looking brown suit, finished with a tall and proud looking tophat. A walking stick lies leaning against the bench, for the old man had trouble walking some days it seemed. All in all, he was a fairly well-cemented part of the community, and one of the town elders, even though he was considered a bit mad...

He's lightly whittling away at a largish bit of fish bone, making some sort of figurine.

[Tris]

Tander Ardith had been living in this village for longer than anybody else could remember. As the oldest person who lived there, he could remember the wolf attacks of his childhood, but what is now occurring is something completely new. Nevertheless, he still had much experience in life, and many in the village come to ask for his advice on a wide variety of matters. He has the nickname "The Priest," but he is not a religious figure. His grandson, Ravis takes care of him.

This morning he is sitting on his porch enjoying the cool breeze.

[DoctorWhooves]

I never asked for this job. People told me, "Doc, you'd do great in office, you're smart and you've got a good heart. We NEED someone like you running this town, Doc. You know the stories, you've heard the whispers, there's more ghosts then men roaming the streets these days. Won't you do it for your kids, Doc? Won't you help save this town?" So I did what good, honest men are supposed to do. I took the job.

They made me mayor of this dying villa, and it did about as much good as choosing a new Caesar in Rome's twilight days. There was no salvation I could bring, we were a small mining town on the edge of civilization, nothing for tourists to see, nothing to offer a tradesmen beyond the occasional fancy rock we pulled out of the dirt and the know-how that came from doing things "our way." I went about my business calmly and quietly enough to not dash anyone's hopes. I set in motion plans to build a new irrigation system, I set up the occasional neighborly night-watch to deter hooligans from getting overly raucous in the night, to the rest of the town things were great. It was business as usual. But the simple truth was that time was forgetting us, and we had no way to jog its memory. The world had moved on. The wolves were at our door, metaphorically of course.

And then literally.

It was about eleven at night, and we were working late on some future plans to expand what we jokingly liked to call the commerce district when I heard a woman scream. Tracy, the temp secretary, who was filling in for Madeline while she was with child, was the first to spot him. She nearly roused the whole town in her panic. Course, who could blame her? To this day I don't know why he stumbled into my office rather than the town doc's. Maybe he thought I still remembered a thing or two about patching up a nearly dead body? Or maybe he knew he didn't have a prayer and desperately wanted to pass a message on that was more important than either of us. I came running as soon as I heard the screams, and the sight I saw was more grotesque than any I had encountered in my own private practice.

It was Penguinator, one of the men in charge of mining expeditions on the outskirts of town. Weird name, but his parents had been weirder still. His right arm was barely attached to his shoulder, dangling by coarse connective tissue. He was desperately grasping at his left eye with his other hand, and blood poured down the side of his face. His clothes were badly torn, to shreds in places, and it was clear there was serious bleeding from several other wounds that were not readily visible. God, I've never seen so much blood...I didn't think a person even HAD that much blood. How he made it back from the mines was a mystery, but I guess Penguinator was always pretty well-driven once he set his mind to something.

He collapsed into a heap as soon as he saw me. I yelled to Tracy to go and get help, and did my best to make him comfortable. I told him not to talk, told him it'd be ok, you know, lied to him. He kept pawing at my chest, trying to choke out a word despite my orders...If anyone not in his state would have told me what he told me, I never would've believed them. I leaned down to hear what he had to say, and he whispered one word. Just one word...

..."Werewolves."

And that was that. Goodnight, sweet prince. Pens was gone and I was mayor and now we had to deal with werewolves.

One thing's for sure, if we all somehow survive this I'm definitely not running for re-election.