the moddess giggles
 

....


What? You were expecting something else?

And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest?

Fortunately, maybe. It looks like there are clues. No telling if they will help us or not. Depends on the twisted-ness of Sally I suppose.

Maybe Mira wasn't a lover? Especially since the list has her as an ordo.



X'd since Lari's #359.

That may be, but she certainly has some connection with another player, given the narration.

True.
It could've been an extra to her ordoness.
Since Legate's vote counted double when on a Cobbler or Duckie.

Though, we might find out toNight. Since it looks like the WereDucks knew of him.

And shall I not attempt to find the perpetrators of the death of our lady fair?

Sometime too hot, the eye of heav'n shines...

How canst I compare thee to a summer's day, when his gold complexion is often dimmed! Dear William, dear William, thou mak'st not a lick o' the sense!

Iago, Iago and the fair Desdemona... sonnets do not make peace with the number of ways I adore thee, Desdemona... Or even Kate the shrew! Kiss me, Kate, we'll be at thy family's abode Sunday!

A pillow, and a knife, and out, out, thine Spot! Macbeth and the Lady, so fair-weather friends of old Duncan, and MacDuff was winner or loser.

We shall never know though the battle of the trees, what Macbeth thought when he realized that stout MacDuff was ne'er born of no woman, but then ripped henceforth from the womb.

Six is the number of this post; six, it being the number of the devil; six, it being such a mythological number...

Seven? Shall seven compare thee to a summer's day? Be it more lovely and more temperate?

Shall I? Shall he, she, or it? Shall I compare thee to one of dear Will's monologues? Shall I?

Or shall I not?

o.O

Uh, Shasta?

You know this is a fictional Asylum, right?

Perhaps before the beginning of the wasting insanity, that plague, I should have called for that wicked way of the politick, the filibuster...

Asylum? Asylum? Asylum! We are all mad here, lass, we with our swords, our lances, our bastinades, our greatswords, our hand-and-a-halfs, our staves, our knives - out out Spot! - our epee - aye, and saber and foil as well! - out weapons of thine mass destruction!

Hear ye, hear ye, for that is what the lass said.

Haaaa!

It certainly suggests she was a lover, but for some reason Hamlet didn't go down with her. Perhaps because of our ranger...? Or we simply don't have traditional lovers. If we do have the traditional lovers, a werecreature and a non-werecreature...if the wolves killed one of their packmate's lover...?

I guess it's probably a waste of time to speculate on it...unless Mira was lover to a werecreature and we can follow a trail to them...which I doubt. The trail part anyway.

We need to look a bit at why the wolves picked Mira, too, of course. Maybe I'll have time to go over her posts a bit before I go to bed, but I'm definitely not staying up as late as I did at the start of yesterDay...

A note about yesterDay - I guess the double vote thing was what Legate was experimenting with. Bleh.

(Edit: Crossed with many...mostly Shasta.)

Be thee dead? Be thee alive? Be thee anywhere about, come hither, come yon, come bear me safely home to mine own lady fair.

A tisket, a tasket, a basket full of rye
I wonder, yes I do, what has caught Durelin's eye?

Shasta is certainly Hamming it up.

I live to serve, I serve to live
What I have is amusement to give
I'm not really sure why I'm speaking in rhyme
But good golly, Miss Molly, I'm having such a time!
For when does one dance and appear off his head?

Alas, poor Durelin, I knew Ham well, a pork of infinite jest.

That's really pretty clever.

Phantom! Oh, Phantom! Where be thine guiding presence? Dost mine Phantom wish me well?

Clever is, as clever does, but clever and intelligent are two different things, says the virtuous fool.

*oink*

Ok so I have to ask. For lovers if one dies the other dies? Or not? Because I thought it was if one gets killed by the wolves then the alive lover gets to have a revenge kill. Or is that just not the case?:confused:

Really to bed now.

Suggests, madam! Nay, it is; I know not "suggests".

Break, my heart! But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.

I'll speak to it though Hell itself should gape
And bid me hold my peace.

That's how I thought lovers worked in previous games here...but that doesn't mean anything. It might well be the revenge thing in this game because we only have one lover down...if Mira was a lover.

Is this then sorta a warning maybe?

But to my mind, — though I am native here
And to the manner born, — it is a custom
More honour'd in the breach than the observance.

...Or in the observance, rather than the breach, if thou tak'st my meaning.

To one of you:

O, villain, villain, smiling, darned villain!
My tables, — meet it is I set it down,
That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain.

And to that I say -

The time is out of joint; O cursed spite,
That ever I was born to set it right!

The time is out of joint - ay, the time, the time!

You cannot, you will not take from me anything that I will more willingly part withal — except my life — except my life — except my life.

Wellll, looks like this is going to be a long day...

Tis now the very witching time of night,
When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out
Contagion to this world: now could I drink hot blood,
And do such bitter business, as the day
Would quake to look on.

As I said, fair Durelin, the time is out of joint. Into my grave I shall walk, ere sun breaks the dawn fair.

Oh dang!

I die, Gwathagor;
The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit:
I cannot live to hear the news from England;
But I do prophesy the election lights
On Durelin: she has my dying voice;
So tell her, with the occurrents, more and less,
Which have solicited. The rest is silence.

Your mom is significant to night events.