Night 1 Has Begun!
Votecount:| Dariush | - 0 - | |
| IronyOwl | - 0 - | |
| griffinpup | - 0 - | |
| Leafsnail | - 3 - | IronyOwl, notquitethere, ToonyMan |
| Lenglon | - 0 - | |
| notquitethere | - 3 - | Ottofar, Dariush, Okami No Rei |
| Okami No Rei | - 0 - | |
| Ottofar | - 0 - | |
| Tiruin | - 5 - | Toaster, Leafsnail, Vector, Lenglon, zombie urist |
| Toaster | - 1 - | Tiruin |
| ToonyMan | - 0 - | |
| Vector | - 0 - | |
| zombie urist | - 0 - | |
| - |
| Not Voting | - 1 - | griffinpup |
| No Lynch | - 0 - | |
| - |
| Extend | - 0 - | |
| Shorten | - 0 - | |
Rain pelts down relentlessly from the grey stretches of sky. The air and the clouds growing dark, the storm grows and expands, sending its nebulous black tendrils across the sky like a feeding mould, attracted by the warmth. Late in the day, the storm rears and roars, ominous flashes streaking its underbelly, silent lances of light and heat erupting from above, walls shaking, windows vibrating, the earth itself quivering in fear. The storm throws its lances toward a tower, how it moves, how bright they are, how the air reverberates with its deafening noise - but, save the peasants, no one would mind.
The inquisitors walk along the columns of guards, their gaze drifting from one group to the next in their search of witches. Their leather shoes, low and thin, drag in the mud as they pass by. Each step is slow and deliberate; trained by experience to be as sharp as the spears that the soldiers carry, their eyes - ethereal, ever vigilant - move slowly over each person they pass, poking, prodding, piercing. The only concession made to the storm is their black hood, held fast against the wind by their hands, the staff nestled in the crook of their elbows.
The chief guard looks toward the setting sun. Sensing a signal, he turns back toward the group and bangs his spear on his shield - one, two, three, the strikes echo in the air. Several others push in and drag the people in the group aside, and the captain, with heavy steps, lodging each boot into the mud every time, moves into their midst. “Have you made your decision?”
A wide-eyed silence. In their eyes, resentment and fear still lurked-
“Her!” Yells one. A quivering finger moves toward one of the peasants. “She’s the one!”
The first stone thrown, a barrage of others materialises. Voices shout and scream, accusations and insults rise into the air in a crescendo of death. The captain comes forth, grabs the girl by the neck, looks around once more to make sure- “Hang, fiend!” a sodden stone flies through the air and strikes her in the head. More savageries fill their ears.
Another guard helps tie her arms and the captain, inching his way through the crowd, makes his way to the inquisitors standing on the platform. Thrown onto the stage, a foot buried in her back to keep her where she is, the captain mouths something to the priest in black. Then, the girl is dragged back up, held by her hair to face the impassive priest - who asks something.
She spits.
The inquistor frowns, and nods to the captain. The guard pulls out his knife, adjusts his grip, shoves it into her side - she screams, grinds her teeth and tries to keep it in - and with a firm tug, the knife is dragged right across. She screams again, this time in a breathy falsetto, at the same time a convulsive struggle for air and a cry of catastrophic shock. Dispassionately, the captain bends down - the plate squeaks in the rain - and forces his hand into the wound in her stomach, rising again as he drags a fistful of offal out.
Her cries fade out into nothing. The priest squats beside the body and lays a hand on her head. After a moment, he rises - informs the captain and, rather hurriedly, walks to the other inquisitors.
The captain rejoins the others watching the group, now smaller by one.
“You chose well.”
Gillette "Tiruin" Doulze has been lynched! She was the
Life Shaman.
The Night will end Tuesday, 20th of August, 8PM GMT.Freaking last-minute lynch changes.
Author
Topic: Witches' Coven: In the Heart of Darkness [GAME OVER: 4/13] (Read 204376 times)