WWJ XIII: 'Til Death Do We LARP

[JennyHallu]

2 AM

Jenny and Foley giggled as they crept out of their tent. Jenny was carrying a neat stack of index cards, a trick she'd used before to set up a scenario. Now all she had to do was slip them under the pillows of each of the club members. They'd know to look for them in the morning, and would find the information they needed to play the parts Jenny had planned for them.

"So what's the scenario again?" Foley whispered as they left the first tent.

"I've told you a million times...Three of these cards carry the message that the player is a werewolf. One says the player is a Seer. Everyone has to keep their roles secret, and the game will be the battle between the werewolves and the rest."

They delivered the cards quickly, then met again in front of their tent.

"We're done," Foley said, showing her empty hands.

"Great, because I'm exhausted." Jenny unzipped the tent flap and stepped inside, closely followed by Foley. When the two saw the scene inside the tent, however, they stopped in their tracks.

Three of their friends sat sprawled in the center of the room, and a strange man stood over them.

"What is going on?" Jenny demanded.

"Shush," answered one of the three on the floor. "It's time to listen. After all, it's your game."

Jenny turned to the man, a pit of fear growing in her gut. He smirked at her without a trace of sympathy.

"Well, not really a game. Not anymore," he said. "I've been away for a while, but I've come back. My brothers and sisters hold you puny Men in such high esteem, I thought I'd start out with a little revenge. Then I'll proceed in an orderly fashion to world domination. It's really too bad you folks have to be my first targets...but werewolves are rather a signature of mine. One of my most effective weapons."

As he spoke a hideous transformation came over the three on the floor. Fangs and snarling muzzles replaced their familiar faces, claws ripped at the floor of the tent.

"Now, don't worry, I'll give you a chance. My friends are on strict orders they can only kill one of their fellows each night. It would be over too quickly otherwise...hardly an opportunity for revenge. And your Seer is real too, in fact is dreaming right now.

"But tonight, my darlings," he crooned, caressing the monstrous beasts that had replaced Jenny's and Folwren's friends, "you get a special treat. These two know who you are."

~*~

As each person woke the next morning, he or she searched under their pillow for the card that had inevitably been left the night before. They stashed it in belts and pockets before heading outside their tents.

The members of the Ridgecrest Fantasy club gathered early, building a fire and cooking breakfast with the familiarity of old hands. When hunger and grogginess had been sated, however, it became clear that two of their number were not among them. And which two! Jenny and Folwren always set them off on their quest or battle with a little speech, and it was past time for it. Not to mention Volo's phone wasn't working, and it seemed that their cars had mysteriously run out of gas overnight.

With little ado, the whole crowd trouped over to the large tent Foley and Jenny shared. Knocking on a tent flap is of course an inefficient exercise, but Boromir solved the problem by quickly taking the part of a herald. "Ho, the tent!" he called clearly. "The Company of the Burnt Omelet approaches!"

A titter erupted from the crowd behind him, quickly hushed by a glare from Nogrod. "Nothing was burnt. 'Twas merely a pinch of my herb, my wares, a rare delicacy."

Diamond sniffed. "Your herb? Weed, more like."

Valier and Thinlomien perked up a bit at that.

"Wait," Boromir said, forstalling any further discussion. "They didn't answer."

"Maybe they're still asleep," quavered Anguirel.

"Maybe they're working on secret presidential stuff," pointed out Rune.

"Maybe they're on the phone," contributed Volo.

"Or indulging in a moment of quiet prayer," Gurthang said piously.

"Maybe they're dead." Rikae seemed hopeful, but the rest of the group felt it was an altogether inappropriate thing to say. It was terribly quiet in there, though.

"Someone is simply going to have to go in there," sniffed CaptainofDespair.

"Then you go," urged Farael. "I'll be right behind you."

"I'll go," Durelin. Boldly, she strode where none of them had ever gone before, straight into the presidential pavilion. The rest crowded behind her. Immediately after entering, Gurthang uttered a muffled shriek and exited quickly.

The scene in the tent sobered everyone. Jenny and Foley were nowhere to be seen, but the generous red swaths of blood coating everything were clear testimonies to the horrors that had occurred here. Searching, Durelin found copies of a poem, written in red ink on a curious leather parchment, and distributed them. Maybe the scenario had changed. Hopefully the scenario had changed.

"Maybe all this is...tomato juice?" someone hazarded.

"No," answered Rikae, voice full of growing revulsion. "This paper...it's skin. Human skin!"

"And the writing is blood," added Nogrod.

"Oh no," Naria murmured. "Jenny and Foley...they've been collated!"

Just then Gurthang came back in, eyes protectively tight shut, looking meeker than ever. "I found them. Most of them anyway. Just inside the woods."

All eyes turned to the bit of verse on the parchment as they read the verse together:

"There once were three werewolves from Ridgecrest,
Whose party turned into a meat fest.
Another had sight,
To see truth once each night,
And a fifth thinks your doom would be best."

"The scenario! It's the same as the scenario!" someone cried. "That means it'll be easy! We just pull out our cards from last night..."

Three hands were doing just that as the first voice spoke. Unfortunately, as soon as the cards were exposed to air, they burned to ash, charred beyond recognition. "So much for that idea."

They wrangled bravely with the problem as they placed the bits of poem back on the desk. Once a day, they finally decided, they'd vote for one who would--well--they saw no other way around it.

Anguirel was still studying the poem. "What a remarkable bit of doggerel," he muttered.


~*~


Dead
JennyHallu - Club President - Bound and collated on Night 1
Folwren - Vice-President - Used for ink on Night 1

Living
Anguirel - aged academician, expert in Ruritanian poetry - Ptolemaius the Objectionable, human wizard
Boromir88 - Fuller - all the NPCs
CaptainofDespair - Pompous Nobleman - Melneras, the Gnomish Archwizard
Diamond - librarian - Dia'l Na Mon the Half Elven Enchantress and Wielder of Azgalthro the Rapping Sword
Durelin - StarCaptain - William Shatner
Farael - Heavy-metal singer - sneak
Gurthang - Clergyman - Cowardly Knight
Naria - Rat Wrangler (Animal control? teehee...) - Kitty Watcha'mikolit the Pygmy Giant, player of the Flute of Doom.
Nogrod - Retired General - Ciryatan of the Dúnedain, a one-legged Athelas vendor
Rikae - schadenfreude-prone mortician - unstable aging halfling stage actor, Ilberic Took, wielding an ancient elvish shovel
Rune - temp - Joe the Beorning Bounty Hunter
Thinlomien - aging homeless sot - Lothwen the Pretty, elven flowermaid
Valier - Radical Hair Butcher - Elven Anoonnoon of Omicron Persieye 8
Volo - teleseller - Tom Yrmacha'zul'charach'ping'yit'pul tha half-balrog, wielding a multitude of sharp pointy objects.

DAY 1 HAS BEGUN.

Werewolves stop PMing. Club Members, begin talking.

Yes, it's a bit early. But I'm sick, and really want to take a nap.

[CaptainofDespair]

Well, bah humbug! Such wreckless abandon these foul creatures have! Though, they are well spoken. And that is something to be admired.

In any case, I would like to keep my hands clean of this mess. So, I will surely have to wait and allow my superior intellect to grant me insight that the rest of you...commoners...could never obtain.

I will allow others to post before I begin compiling a list of potential culprits. Can anyone pass me some of that skin-paper so I can make that list? I do believe I have my own ink, though.

[Farael]

I'm through with standing in line.... to tents I'll never get in. *Farael enters the tent for the first time and promptly steps out and pukes behind a conveniently placed bush* Ugh... it's like the bottom of the ninth over there, I'm never gonna win. This... this game hasn't turned out quite the way I wanted it to be.

It's ok, I know how to solve the problem. What we need to do is to stay awake all night, so that we can see whoever is transforming into a werewolf. I don't want to sleep anyway, 'cos I... want to rock and roll all night!! And party every day.

*Farael sneaks up on Naria* Come on! let's start a band... you play your flute and I'll sing. Let's do some crazy music until the moon comes up and the fanged ones reveal themselves. Then we can use our greater numbers to... how should I say it... oh, yeah, kill them.

[Anguirel]

Evidently, ahem, we should, ah, start with an, ah, examination of this alleged poem.

"There once were three werewolves from Ridgecrest,
Whose party turned into a meat fest.
Another had sight,
To see truth once each night,
And a fifth thinks your doom would be best."

Well, any fool can see that the structure is a limerick, a vulgar form rarely conveying import and usually dealing with nonsense or obscenity.

Unfortunately, this would appear to be a case of obscenity, not nonsense.

Oh, this is quite ridiculous! I'm too old and wise for this sort of foolishness. Who do these tomfools think I am, Colonel Sapt?

We're all doomed, apparently, so I shall spend my last hours enjoyably, pretending to be Ptolemaius the Objectionable and casting a spell to get myself back to Dryasdust College, Camford.

[Durelin]

Oh...my.

That interrupts my campaign for the position of #1 Canadian...

And if I hear ONE MORE PERSON tell me, "He's dead, Jim," I will...go through my mid-life crisis all over again. So don't even start. My name's not Jim! And I know they're dead.

Heh...

*crickets*

That was the evil Captain Durelin...

So, we need a plan. Personally, I say we blast these werewolves into oblivion... We just need to find out who they are...yeah...

[Rune Son of Bjarne]

are we sure that this has actually happened ? Could it just not be a really cool ehm life like scenario ?

I once played in one where they ripped this guys heart out, well that was what it looked like. It was actually just a pigs heart!

If not then the blasting to oblivion sounds like a good idea.

[Diamond18]

Wow. I am, at this moment, torn between unspeakable horror and professional fascination. Jenny and Foley, turned to parchment and their blood made ink? I'm half surprised their spines were not made into, well, spines.

What? You're all thinking it.

Well, I know one thing for certain, we'll need all our cleverness and weaponry to fend off these disturbingly creative beasts. Luckily, I have my enchantments -- super strong sleep potions and the like, so they can't possibly get to me. I'll just lay some supernatural whammy on them! And if even that fails, well, there's always.....

*pauses dramatically*

"Azgalthro!"

*whips out gigantic, gleaming, curved sword, as on cue, the hip-hopping beat of Crazy In Love bursts out from... somewhere...*

[sword]
Yes! so crazy right now
Most incredibly
It's your girl B
It's your boy young
History in the makin'
[/sword]

I have no idea what that means, but there you have it. Azgalthro also does gangsta, if need be.

Anyway, I'll be around.

[Boromir88]

I'm always the red-shirted Mr. Johnson that travels with Kirk, Spock, and Mccoy, on an expeditionary team and ends up dying...so I'm looking at our Mr. Shatner over there.

I understand we also have a Cobbler in this troop? That aint good news thats for sure. It's been a long time since any of my ancestors have had a Cobbler...and my notes on them are few and scarce.

[Farael]

Well, since we are all being so careful and non-compromising, I'll level the first random accusation of the day

Originally Posted by Durelin

That was the evil Captain Durelin...

Let me paraphrase that EVIL DURELIN

Guess we'll have to lynch her, she admitted her evil-ness already.

[CaptainofDespair]

Originally Posted by Farael

Well, since we are all being so careful and non-compromising, I'll level the first random accusation of the day

Let me paraphrase that EVIL DURELIN

Guess we'll have to lynch her, she admitted her evil-ness already.

But admitted vileness does not mean wolf-dom. I would certainly know that. In my private life I have been accused, out of many things, of evicting peasants from their homes so that my game-hunting lands can be expanded. And that's just my pre-afternoon warmup.

[Aside] Wretched commoners...

Perhaps we should keep an eye on both Farael and Durelin.

[Naria]

*Farael sneaks up on Naria* Come on! let's start a band... you play your flute and I'll sing.

Er, umm sorry Farael but I've heard your singing the last time our group was together and I don't know if you had too much liquour or weed or both, but ummm it was awful. So I think I will just stick with listening to the hip-hop masterings of Azgalthro.

There hasn't been too much said so far. So I will go tend to my rats. I will be around...just follow the sound of my flute and you will find me.

[Nogrod]

Order, order now!

And some respect over the dead, please.

We seem not to be in a game anymore, or in a totally different one that we thought we'd be.

This calls for some strategic thought and tactical ponderings - not singing heavy-metal ballads overnight or disgracing the bodies of our friends by writing lists on them...

Your attitude, young men, actually makes me look at you the more closer toDay... And with your consent mr. professor, let's not lose ourself into the ivory tower of the romantic academia.

Let's call for everyone to open their mouths and give us thoughts and explanations. That's the only way to catch those villains - besides good luck - to which we army-people can't just afford to count on...