[Durelin]

So many had died by the hands of the villagers the dance before, and only seven of them remained now. Knowing well that they were running out of time and that soon there would be just as many wishing to do harm as not, the dancers were wary, eyeing not only their companions but themselves. Who could know if they would be next to feel the scraping of claws on flesh, or the crunching of teeth against breaking bone?

Holbytlass sat with her hands on her ears, Nogrod trying to preach to her the value of clean jokes and riddles.

Lalwendë joyfully poked fun at Macalaure, mocking his Mime-ness by stealing his invisible rope.

Farael, ever the fair orc, was showing Cailín how best to condition her feathers, so that they would shine to their best.

As the six tried to keep thoughts of what they knew happened during their rests out of their minds, they were brought out of the conversations by the realization that Folwren was missing. She had spent much of her time alone to begin with, her cold, stoic nature throwing off potential dance partners. Looking up, each saw yet another candle on the chandelier had lit up. They knew she had died. But how did she die? Where was the body? The wolves had always done something with the bodies to disgust and disturb the other guests.

The dancers each looked around, until at last they came to a large fountain in the corner of the ballroom. It was beautifully carved of marble and granite, the waters flowed from the gaping mouth of a great dragon that sat perched upon a false mountain. All six stood around it, for this was the last place they could look. Then, first as a trickle that was barely noticeable, and then as a flood, the blood of the stoic countess flowed out from the dragon’s belly. The dancers then knew where the countess had been stashed.

With a bit of poking around, the dancers then located a note hidden on the back of the dragon’s head. Although it was mostly stained in blood and shredded by claw marks, the last few lines were legible. They read: “And to that last moment of her life your Countess remained cold, caring for nothing, not even her own life. In our hasty discussion, she revealed that she found her imminent death to be an unavoidable necessity. She did not try to turn my decision. She was unmovable, as she is now.”
~The Barrow-Wolf

(by CaptainofDespair)

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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
Kitanna (Ordinary Villager) – Minced, Placed in the Band, and Hardcore Harpsichorded on Rest (Night) the Second
Celuien (Werewolf) – Lassoed and Spurred by the Dancers on Dance (Day) the Second
Rikae (Ordinary Villager) – Trimmed and Bedecked on Rest (Night) the Third
Eomer of the Rohirrim (Ordinary Villager) – Stilettoed on Dance (Day) the Third
Valier (Ordinary Villager) – Highland Flinged on Dance (Day) the Third
mormegil (Ordinary Villager) – Beak Danced (hardy harr) on Dance (Day) the Third
Naria (Ordinary Villager) – Thrown in the Loony Bin on Dance (Day) the Third
Folwren (Ordinary Villager) – Stoned on Rest (Night) the Fourth


The Living Dead

Farael as a Fair-looking Orc
Nogrod as a Nice Choirboy
Lalwendë as a (Mischievous Little) Christmas Elf
Naria as a Spoiled Heiress wearing a Venetian half mask
Macalaure as a Mime
Cailín as a Robin
Holbytlass as a Court Jester



Rest (Night) 4 has ended.

Dance (Day) 4 has now begun.



“Hello
Is there anybody in there?
Just nod if you can hear me.
Is there anyone home?”
~Pink Floyd, Comfortably Numb