[Durelin]

What had started off as a slow waltz turned into a quick step even the Rude Boy's rude sense of rhythm couldn't keep up with (more quick-quick-quick than slow-quick-quick), as the band moved to 2/4 time, matching the fervor that filled the ballroom.

One by one, at least half the people in the room felt like their backs were against the wall, the others closing in around them... But then they could let out a sigh of relief as someone pointed out another perfect lynchee, and the priorly accused could turn on them with the rest.

The mob mentality ate its way through the dancers, until finally, Eomer and Nogrod each took a hold of one of Kath's wings.

"What are you doing?" she asked them, attempting to break free with a small flutter.

"I don't want to see mormegil lynched for...whatever it is that makes him wolfish." Nogrod was sad, but seemed prepared to stand by his words. He had a feel about him that reminded Kath of a father dealing out a punishment to a beloved child. She rolled her eyes.

"So you'd simply rather see me die than him?"

Nogrod didn't have a chance to respond before Eomer spoke up.

"And I don't want to see two people die. Enough blood has been spilt." The Prince of Wargs, despite his fearsome appearance, was perhaps a softer sort of guy on the inside.

"We need to start getting rid of these wolves before they kill us all!" Cailín cried.

"Yes, let's kill someone!" Macalaure mimed using a stabbing motion.

"Yeah!" was the roar of the mob.

The Robin nervously drove the first spike in, followed by the mime who slammed it in with more glee, then the Choir-boy forced the third in as nicely as possible, and lastly the Warg, taking the greatest care to make sure the fourth was well in place.

Kath was securely pinned to the wall, four metal spikes through her wings holding her up above the ground. And no matter how hard she wriggled, she could not pull them free. Or perhaps she simply did not want to rip her wings. Regardless, she did not seem at all surprised when mormegil appeared, pushing his way through the dancers that surrounded her. The candlelight glinted off of something in his hand.

The Rude Boy kept his eyes down and his shades on as he ran the fifth spike into the Butterfly's heart.

The scream had scarcely ended when a third light appeared in the suspended candelabrum.

Everyone’s eyes having been on the chandelier for a moment, gasps ran through the hall as they turned them back to the body of Kath, which hung unchanged.

Two words were written under the dead Wight, in her own blood:

Acronicta innocens


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The Dead Dead

Durelin (Mod and Hostess) – Ghostbusted on Rest (Night) the First
CaptainofDespair (Co-mod and Host) – Ghostbusted on Rest (Night) the First
Kath (Ordinary Villager) – Pinned and Labeled by the Mob on Dance (Day) the First


The Living Dead

mormegil as a (Kewl-Shades) Rude Boy
Farael as a Fair-looking Orc
Rikae as an Entwife
Nogrod as a Nice Choirboy
Lalwendë as a (Mischievous Little) Christmas Elf
Kitanna as a Rejected Band Member wearing a bag with eyeholes
Naria as a Spoiled Heiress wearing a Venetian half mask
Macalaure as a Mime
Celuien as a Cowgirl
Valier as a Flighty Young Woman wearing an exotic colourful bird mask
Eomer of the Rohirrim as Vorgram, Ancient Prince of Wargs
Cailín as a Robin
Holbytlass as a Court Jester
Folwren as an Elegant, Cold, Stoic, Mysterious Countess


The eyes of the dead are closed gently; we also have to open gently the eyes of the living” ~ Jean Cocteau


And now, my guests, you must endure the silence of the Second Rest...