Night 4 Has Begun!
Votecount:IronyOwl | - 2 - | Shakerag, notquitethere |
Hapah | - 1 - | birdy51 |
Lenglon | - 1 - | Hapah |
notquitethere | - 0 - | |
birdy51 | - 0 - | |
Toonyman | - 0 - | |
Shakerag | - 3 - | IronyOwl, ToonyMan, Lenglon |
- |
Not Voting | - 0 - | |
No Lynch | - 0 - | |
- |
Extend | - 0 - | |
Shorten | - 0 - | |
Rich bastard. What does he do? Sell the hard work of faceless weavers for a fortune - his fortune. Take the fame, take the sheen from their cloth, take the praise that should have been theirs, take it all. How fat he is, how self-obsessed and vain - just a dressed-up tick, fat with the blood of the poor and suffering. Each step is a scorn, and his bulbous features seem permanently contorted into a scowl of piggish disgust at these dirty masses; he adjusts the drape of a silk on his shoulders, woven with lustrous gold, bright red, and precious tears.
A swarm of vengeful spears were pointed at him by the other six. The mercer turns toward each, part in shock from the hatred from the previously meek, part in disbelief that it was himself, of all. Each vicious finger stabs at him with every accusation and point, and in the end, as the sun sets, the guard, presiding silently at the event, picks him up. His silks were soiled now, his beautiful garments defiled.
“No! Don’t!” The call was louder than he had ever shouted before, ringing with a new desperation.
The crowd’s response only ends up being a wave of laughs and jeers.
“I’m not a witch! I- I’m just a mercer! You have to believe me!” His feet touched the wood of the stage, and tears start to well from his eyes, the same ones he drank from the millions he oppressed. He turns toward the captain, about to unsheathe his sword. “No! What are you doing?!”
killtherichfatfuckingbastarditdoesntmatteranyway
The captain gives his sword a few swings in the air. The tears, slick with oil, were coming in a steady stream now, as the mercer, kneeling defeated on the stage beside the guard, sobs. He would say nothing.
killthedisgustingpigkillhimforthemoneydeniedusall
An inquisitor kneels down beside him and asks a question - but with no response, he simply rises and stands by. The captain comes, raises his sword.
A sob. The sword hangs in the air.
The head comes off neatly, and the cries, cease. In the intervening silence, the inquisitor kneels again - to inspect the body. After a while, he comes back to the guard.
And when he comes back to the six, he only shakes his head.
Pierre "IronyOwl" Guiot has been lynched! He was a
mercer.
The Night will end Wednesday, 20th of September, 7PM UTC.