Night 2 Has Begun!
Votecount:| Dariush | - 5 - | notquitethere, zombie urist, Leafsnail, Lenglon, IronyOwl |
| IronyOwl | - 0 - | |
| Griffinpup | - 1 - | Toaster |
| Leafsnail | - 0 - | |
| Lenglon | - 0 - | |
| notquitethere | - 1 - | Okami no Rei |
| Okami no Rei | - 0 - | |
| birdy51 | - 0 - | |
| Tiruin | - 2 - | Dariush, griffinpup |
| Toaster | - 2 - | ToonyMan, Tiruin |
| Toonyman | - 0 - | |
| Vector | - 0 - | |
| zombie urist | - 0 - | |
| - |
| Not Voting | - 2 - | birdy51, Vector |
| No Lynch | - 0 - | |
| - |
| Extend | - 2 - | Birdy51, Tiruin |
| Shorten | - 0 - | |
The slight mist, a remnant from the rain, hovered over the ground and in ripples in the air; a ghostly apparition of riverwater, heavy with a dreamy languor, it flowed across the town and through people’s hearts, its undercurrents creeping across the pale grass. The sky, blanketed by low grey clouds, had just then taken on a strange greenish cast – and the elder inquisitor looked up, apprehensive. Patches of spectral green had lit up and crawled across the underbelly of the clouds – but had disappeared after only a few moments, as if they were never there. He blinked several times, like a man who had seen a silhouette in the dark of his eyes but which, turning to look, had disappeared.
The watchmen moved sleepily through the fog, and the murmur that drifted from the crowd was quiet and low. A colder breeze had swept over the town, and in the blue-grey light of the day, the world itself seemed to have been drained of colour and warmth. Beyond the horizon, a pale orange bloom was beginning to appear – the last flickers of a dying candle.
The captain approached the thirteen again. He spoke to the crowd- “Yes!” “This one.” “He’s the one,” “Kill him.” The crowd split to reveal a tailor, quivering and wide-eyed – voices continued to berate him, to insult – the captain, merciless, grabbed him with a firm hand and pulled him away. The tailor, moved with a sudden jerk, stumbled and fell- but another guard snatched his other hand, dragging him along. Pulled up onto the stage, he seemed to make to attempt to stand until pulled up onto his feet before an inquisitor.
The priest in black asked something, slow and solemn.
The tailor suddenly grabbed his shoulder, as if to make a plea – and is tugged forcefully away – then shouted something, though the words only reached the others as a mumble. The inquisitor seemed incensed, mouthed something to the captain – who signalled in turn to the two others, who with mailed hands grabbed each arm, pushed him onto his knees. The captain drew his sword.
And for a moment, none of them moved. The tailor looked up into the captain’s eyes, but his gaze had changed – gone was the fear, replaced by... Something else, unfathomable. The sword was raised until, when at the peak of its height, it floated there for an instant and came down – tearing through cloth, slicing through his chest and stomach. He was leaned forward slightly, and over his slow, ragged breaths, blood began to seep from the wound, creeping along its length before dripping – in a trickle, at first, then in a thin curtain – from his stomach.
A breath, laboured, deliberate. It gathered into a pool at his knees.
A sigh. The pool grew.
A breath – quivering from the effort, it rose a tone as he tried to take in more air. The pool began to drip down from the edge of the stage.
A kick in the chest. Let loose, the tailor fell on his back – and the sword rose again, fell on his neck. A mailed hand picked up the head from the spreading pool and hands it to the inquisitor, who inspects it-
And in that moment, the crowd had frozen.
An eternity passes. In this still, silent scene, only one figure starts to move – slowly, with a superhuman effort, the elder inquisitor lifts the scarlet-stained head into the air.
“We have killed a witch!” His shout, the tolling of a bell, cuts through the stillness – and, in that moment, a jagged scar of blue-white light shatters the clouds above. The thunder rumbles the echo of his words. As each drop begins to fall, its strike seems to be a voice of its own, in miniature – and his will seems to resound, with each cry the sound growing and multiplying- “a witch” each one shouts, and as the beast mounts again the multitudes rise to a shrill roar – “
witch” the storm cries out, “
witch”, the momentum seems unstoppable, the chant surged, thick and urgent – until the drops drown themselves out in their fervour, and the chant slurs together into a steady pitter-patter of falling rain.
Michiel "Dariush" Verdomme has been lynched! He was the
Witch Maiden.
The Night will end Thursday, 29th of August, 8PM GMT.
Author
Topic: Witches' Coven: In the Heart of Darkness [GAME OVER: 4/13] (Read 203364 times)