[Formendacil]

The day after Formendacil’s death was a day of great confusion in the village. Everybody wanted to kill the Werewolves, but they were singularly lacking in any evidence leading back to the Werewolves.

“I know!” said Rune. “We can look for someone who’s missing their tail!” He brandished the severed wolf tail that Formendacil had chopped from his murderers.

“Won’t work,” said Alcarillo. “They would have changed back to men by now.”

“Unless they’re women!” said Naria, pointedly.

“I think that my point still stands,” said Alcarillo. “Men and women don’t have tails.”

“That’s what you think!” said Nilpaurion. “I am a carnivore. I have a tail!”

“No you don’t,” said Kath, pointing at his rump, which was distinctly tailless.

“Then I’m clearly the Werewolf that attacked dear Formendaga,” said Nilpaurion. “So I think you should kill me.”

“Ignore him!” said The Guy Who Be Short. “He’s always had a death wish. If I had a silver penny for every time he’s tried to kill himself with my leather-cutting tools in my hatshop, I’d be living in Minas Anor or Pelargir.”

“Fine then!” said Lhuna, “if this idiot brother of mine wants to die so badly, then let’s kill him!”

There was a chorus of agreement, Nilpaurion’s own voice loudly amongst them, but several voices put forward motions of dissent.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” said Meneltarmacil. “Why on earth would a Werewolf be so blatant? And Nilp is ALWAYS this way. Killing him would be pointless!”

“Especially if he has gifts that could help the village,” agreed Garin. “If he’s a gifted person, we’d be stabbing ourselves in the feet.”

“If he’s a gifted, I’ll kill him a second time personally,” growled Cailín.

“I’m rather suspicious of all of you who are voting for Nilp so quickly,” said The Guy Who Be Short. “Lhuna! You’re voting for your own brother.”

“I’m voting for Gil-galad!” said Rune. “I’ve always said he’s nuts.”

“There’s too many people voting for Nilp, so I’m with you!” said The Guy Who Be Short.

Night was coming, and still the village debated. In the end, they chose Gil-galad as their victim, unwilling to execute someone who might just have been mad. The decision made, the villagers grabbed and bound their victim, and marched him up the to the top of the hill, where a tall, gnarled old oak stood.

“I’ve got rope,” Garin offered, “from the shop.”

Amanaduial and Meneltarmacil knotted the rope around Gil-galad’s neck, and strung it up over the tree. The victim was stoically calm.

“You’re doing the wrong thing!” he said. “You’ll regret this!”

But the villagers wanted blood. One of their own had died and they were feeling threatened. They kicked the box out from beneath Gil-galad and his neck snapped.

“Nothing,” said Farael, “nothing. Looks like he was just an ORDINARY VILLAGER.”

NIGHT 1 is now in session. Werewolves may PM. Werewolves, the Ranger, and Seer should have their nightly picks as soon as they can.