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Despothera's House of the Undead Mafia! Game over! Town wins!!!!!


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Somewhere deep within the ranges of the Carpathian Mountains in Eastern Europe, there was a village of no extraordinary importance or consequence. There was however, one thing which did make the village somewhat unique: recently a man known as Despothera, a cruel and manipulative master of various forms of Undead, had come to the region near the village with his band of henchmen and had grown fond of terrorizing and toying with the village's residents. Tired of seeing various members of their village go missing in the night, and generally tired of the cliche of a Vampire Lord coming to mess around with an Eastern European village, they sent out an urgent missive for any heroes to come aid them in their plight.

All at once, in a manner completely coincidental and not convenient to the purposes of driving a story's plot forward, those heroes arrived. They each professed utmost skill and talent in their own means of dealing with the agents plaguing the town, but they also said that they would need help from some of the villagers themselves if they were to rid them of their pests for good. So with that, they selected a number of the town's residents to go with them, including a few who seemed to have abilities which might aid them in their joint task, and they headed towards Despothera's castle (which the village residents also found completely cliche).

Upon arriving to the castle, the troupe instantly noticed the dangerous area they had entered, and the grounds themselves seemed to contain ominous threats to any who tread past it. They slowly entered the castle through its front doors, which were somewhat surprisingly unlocked. They all looked around them suspiciously, expecting danger to rear it's ugly head around every corner. One amongst them was just as vigilant in his hopes to rid the town of the pests as the rest of the villagers, yet did seem strangely fixated with the scenery and decorum of the castle.

As soon as all had entered however, the doors shut behind them with their own volition. Candles that had been lit before instantly went out, and a chill wind coursed through the chambers that the villagers were in. A strange ethereal laughter slowly started to spring up all around them, growing in volume until it was near ear-splitting. Then a voice suddenly boomed out:

"Fools! You think I wouldn't have learned of your plan to rid me and my fellow friends from your village the mere instant it started to develop? Despothera knows everything worth knowing in this measly little village you have, nothing escapes me. It is only because I crave amusement above all else that I even let the plan get this far. And amusement I shall obtain, for that you may be sure of. You will find that all means of escape have been lifted from you, now that you have come into my home and within it you shall remain until this game has played out. And what game is it you might ask? Well, you will find various weapons throughout my wonderful mansion. I and my brethren are concealed amongst the very lot of you at this instant. Talk amongst yourselves, and choose one person every day you would like to have slain. At night, mine and myself will have our selection from you. And let the chips fall, as they say, as they will. Let the games begin!"

With that, their came a collective groan from the villagers. Not only did they dread having to choose from their own number whom to slay each day, they also could not believe Despothera had found a way to introduce even MOAR cliche into their lives.


1. Do not quote, screenshot, or in any other way show any part of a private conversation I have with you, including role pm's, QT's, or hypnotic messages sent through your dreams. You may lie or paraphrase about it however.

2. You may not edit your posts.

3. This is a hammer game. When the hammer vote is cast, no more votes or unvotes are counted.

4. You must Unvote before you can vote again. Votes and Unvotes must be bold and red. The code for people on mobile devices is right here:

[b][color=red]Vote Player X[/b][/color]

5. Please send any Night Actions to me in your role pm. If you want to ask a question to me specifically, about your role or anything, feel free to do so, either in the role pm or on thread. I can't guarantee your questions will be answered, but it never hurts to ask, right? :wink:

6. Except for the first Day, Day Phases will last 48 hours, and Night Phases will last 24 hours. If a deadline falls on a weekend, I will grant a 24 hour reprieve.

7. If no majority is reached before deadline, I will randomly Modkill a player and will not give a coroner report. If this happens more than once, the consequences may grow more severe...

8. Do not discuss the game except on a designated QT or the game thread.

9. Self votes and No Lynch votes are allowed.

10. One "Bah" post is allowed, and that's it! No game related info of any kind can be contained in this post, really the only thing I'm cool with is something along the lines of "Bah. Go Team X". Breaking this rule will carry severe consequences for your team (yeah, just go ahead and expect a Modkill).

11. Try to stay active. You don't have to go spam crazy, but a general rule of thumb is to post at least 3 game related posts per day phase. However, if I feel activity is waning, it is at my discretion to poke the more inactive players, or start looking for replacements or possible modkills. I understand that stuf can come up however, so please let me know if there's anything that might prevent you from being active for a bit, so that I can let the thread know. Please do not be dishonest when doing so.

12. Mod's word is law. If I feel it necessary to step in to resolve a manner, I expect complete obedience in whatever edicts I may decree.

13. This is a friendly game and should be treated as such. Try to keep stuff from getting too personal, and conversely try to keep from letting things bother you too much. Anything said on the game thread should be considered game play, so a little thick skin might be necessary. I understand tempers can flare at times, but just keep in mind that one another can disagree and still be civil towards one another. If you ever feel someone stepped over the line, please let me know by pm, and I'll do my best to try and resolve the situation.

14. Q-Bert.

15. Just as a forewarning: Some of my scenes might contain partial clues or hints as to game events, some might be mostly or all flavor. It could be a good idea to read them, but then again it might be a bad idea to try and overanalyze them too much. Basically, game the mod at your own discretion.

Also, once again the disclaimer for those who might not know my work/sleep schedule as much, I work third shift, so I sleep during the daytime. I will undoubtedly be obsessed with this game and will try and do as many vote counts and respond to any questions as quickly as I can, just keep this in mind.

Hope everyone has fun playing!

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Player List:

1. Ithi - Perceval, Holy Avenger and Town Heroic Vig, NK'ed Night 1
2. Turin - Zombie, ability to Infect, lynched Day 7
3. Peace - Werewolf, ability to Enrage, lynched Day 6
4. Tiinker
5. Mish - Van Helsing, Vampire Hunter and Town Heroic Vig, NK'ed Night 4
6. Wombat
7. Berf
8. Rorschach - Villager with no abilities (vanilla town), lynched Day 5
9. Basel - Vampire, ability to Mesmerize, lynched Day 4
10. Maw - Despothera, 1 time Unlynchable 1 time Unkillable Phase-ending Vampire Zombie Werewolf Rockstar Mack Daddy of the Mafia team, lynched Day 3
11. Hallia
12. Darthe - Villager with no abilities (vanilla town), NK'ed Night 2 
13. Yates - Rockstar, ability to Distract with Bass Solo, NK'ed Night 3
14. Dice - Healer, ability to Protect, NK'ed Night 6
15. Cloud - Solomon, Werewolf Hunter and Town Heroic Vig, NK'ed Night 7
16. Ed - Villager with no abilities (vanilla town), modkilled Day 2
17. RTE - Mrs. Bruce, Conservative Parent and Town Heroic Vig, NK'ed Night 3
18. BG - Villager turned into Zombie Goon, lynched Day 8
19. Leyrann - Villager with no abilities (vanilla town), lynched Day 1

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Day 1 Final Vote Count:

Official Final Vote Count:

With 19 alive, 10 votes are needed for a lynch

Ley: Maw, Turin, Basel, Dice, RTE, Mish, Wombat, Yates, Tink, Ed (10)
Maw: Ithi, Cloud, Ley (3)
Ed: Darthe (1)
Darthe: Hallia (1)
Cloud: Peace (1)
Dice: Rorschach (Pralaya) (1)

Not Voting: Berf, BG (2)

That's a Lynch!

Scene incoming...

Day 2 Final Vote Count:

Official Final Vote Count:

With 17 alive, it takes 9 to lynch.
Maw: Hallia, Cloud, BG, Wombat, Turin, Tiinker, Dice, Yates, Mish (9)
Wombat: Darthe (1)
Dice: Basel (1)
Not voting: Peace, Berf, Rorschach (Pralaya), Maw, Ed, RTE, (6)

That's a lynch! Scene incoming (be forewarned, I'm on a date night with the missus, so the scene might be a bit lazy)

Day 3 Final Vote Count:

Official Vote Count:
With 15 alive, it takes 8 to lynch
Maw: Wombat, BG, Turin, Cloud, Tiinker, Mish, Dice, Yates (8)
Dice: Rorschach (Pralaya) (1)

Not voting: Berf, Hallia, Basel, Maw, Peace, RTE (6)
That's a lynch. Scene incoming.

Day 4 Final Vote Count:

Official Vote Count:
With 12 alive, it takes 7 to lynch.

Basel: Wombat, Mish, Dice, Cloud, Tink, Peace, Hallia (7)
Dice: Basel, Rorschach (Pral), Berf (3)
Not voting: Turin, BG (2)
That's a lynch! Scene incoming...

Day 5 Final Vote Count:

Official Vote Count:
With 10 alive, it takes 6 to lynch

Pralaya: Wombat, Tink, Cloud, Hallia, Turin, Peace (6)
Hallia: BG (1)
Not voting: Berf, Rory B.D. Pralaya, Dice (3)
That's a lynch! Scene incoming...

Day 6 Final Vote Count:

Official Vote Count:
With 9 players, it takes 5 to lynch

Hallia: Peace (1)
Peace: Wombat, Hallia, Cloud, Dice, Tink (5)

Not voting: Turin, Berf, BG (3)

That's a lynch! Sorry about the wait, had to sleep then had a bunch of cleaning to do. Scene incoming...


Day 7 Final Vote Count:

Official Vote Count:


With 7 players left, 4 are needed for a lynch
Turin: Wombat, Cloud, Tink, BG (4)
Not Voting: Turin, Berf, Hallia (3)

That's a lynch! Scene incoming...

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Scenes from throughout the game:

End of Day 1-



Everyone had been bickering for what seemed like days ( :wink:). They were tired, they were frustrated, they were kinda gassy even. As they argued back and forth, one person had slowly risen to the focus of the discussion. He tried assuring everyone else of his innocence, but something had... taken hold of the crowd. A strange sort of frenzy. For every statement made in his own defense, there followed multiple other cries for his head. The raised voices turned into shouts, the shouts turned into wails, the whales turned into bowls of petunias. Altogether the clamor began to reach unimaginable levels, when all of a sudden one shrieking voice was heard above all others.
It was a monkey in a sombrero.
A deadly monkey in a sombrero.
With one last ear-splitting shriek, the monkey leapt over everyone's heads, and vaulted himself along the balustrades towards the top of the grand spiral staircase which encircled the courtyard they had been arguing in. Finally ascending to the top of a statue positioned right above the one whose head many called for, the monkey suddenly broke into dance. A rhythmic hammer of it's feet started sending small tremors into the statue underneath him, and with one robust gesture and a held pose, the statue slowly started to lean off balance.
Teetering off of it's base, the man named Leyrann continued arguing against his attackers, oblivious to the fate which was soon to become him. As the statue finally began to fall, with the monkey scrambling and jumping away from it, a hush suddenly fell over the crowd. Leyrann finally stopped to look up.
And with that, a sickening SPLAT! and a brief crash made a quick end for the young man. The others stayed silent, and formed a ring around him, wondering if their suspicions had been correct. For several terrible moments they waited, for any indication of whether or not this man had been one of those terrorizing the village.
A haunting laugh suddenly surrounded them. Then all the lights went out.
Leyrann, Villager with no abilities (Vanilla Town), is dead.




End of Night 1-


In the moments following the lights going out, there had been confusion and slight panic by some of the villagers. The heroes remained calm however, and knew they would have to keep their wits about them if they were to live long enough to see their targets dead. They were much more comfortable in the dark than the others, having familiarized themselves with it's embrace long ago. When fighting the sort of malevolent spirits, evil monstrosities, and general bad apples they encountered in their line of work, they knew they had to meet them on their terms, and defeat them on their own home turf. This only made it that much sweeter when they were able to bask in the glory of their conquered foe's demise.
As they each began to survey areas around them, and figure out where they could take up temporary residence until day broke again, one of them decided he could not rest after so recently seeing the blood of an innocent shed. Perceval had fought evil for a long time in his service as a Knight of Camelot, and because of the purity of his spirit he alone had been granted the blessing of the Grail. His familiarity with evil had not dampened his struggle against it one bit, and he decided that as the others slept, he would venture out and seek vengeance for poor Leyrann. Donning his faith and virtue as it's own armor, he ventured forth into the castle towards where the other villagers had decided to slumber.
There was one that he had made eye contact with earlier, and as he had a chill had gone down his spine. During all the bickering and arguing that went on during the day, he had felt something... off about this one. He had kept a close eye on where he crept off to after night had fallen, and was at that moment entering the chambers where he felt he might find his target waiting. As he strode surprisingly stealthily into the room, considering the heavy plate armor he as wearing, he instantly noticed he was not alone in the room. The figure at the center of the room turned around and grinned malevolently. 
"I had a feeling you would come and find me. Oh Holy Avenger, thou hast made the poorest of choices this night. Harken now, for the hour of your final breath is upon you. You wear that armor as if it will offer you any protection against me. You wear your faith as if it will stop me from devouring your soul. You-"
"Just shut up, monster. Let us end this."
Despothera grimaced at having been interrupted so rudely. With a shudder, he let himself shift into his full terrible form. Vampire, Werewolf, Zombie, and Rockstar he was, and the powers from each coursed through him as he vaulted towards the unafraid paladin.
Perceval raised his shield instantly, but the full brunt of Despothera's attack made him bowl over instantly. His sword had already been knocked aside, and as he started reaching for it an impossibly strong hand grasped his wrist. Perceval tried to knock the hand away, but another hand that was incredibly quick and powerful locked around the edge of his chestplate. Without a moment's hesitation, the monster lifted him in the air and threw him across the room.
The Holy Avenger fell with a heavy clatter, his shield scattering away from him as well this time. Most men would be despondent in a time like this, their weapons and armor tossed away so casually, so laughingly ineffective against their foe. But Perceval was not most men. He knew that there would be many times that his faith would be his only true weapon against evil, and with a steel resolve he grasped the Grail he kept hidden in a sash at his belt. He made a show of getting up slowly, as if already defeated, and he felt the presence of the terrible beast getting closer to him.
Withdrawing the Grail and jumping up with a sudden grace, Perceval flung it's contents out at the beast. The beads of water hit his foe, and the blessed holy water instantly brought out blisters and steam from everywhere it made content with Despothera's skin. His foe let out a feral cry of pain and anguish. Perceval simply started striding towards where his sword rested on the floor, doubting he would even need it. A slight bit of contact with the holy waters contained within the Grail was all that was needed to vanquish any other member of the Undead he had met before, but best to be sure with this one.
Right as he got to his sword however, another figure suddenly came out of the shadows. He felt the same feeling of wrongness from this one as well, and he got one quick look at the pale sickly looking skin of his new attacker. Why had he not gone for his shield first, instead of his sword? His attacker was too quick however, for the thought to have enough time to truly gain hold in his mind. It knocked him to the ground, and sprawled out on top of him.
Perceval's armor worked against him in the tight embrace. He could not use his agility or strength to get the zombie off of him, and as he struggled, the stench of it's rotting flesh filled his nostrils, and he gagged. The thing was heavy as well, much heavier than he would have thought. Or maybe it was just the weariness of a long life spent fighting evil. He thought of his time beside Arthur, and how in the end he had to see his brothers fall, no matter how hard they fought. He had cast that sword out into the lake, and wondered if it would have been able to help him had he kept it. No, he thought. That was the weakness within him talking. He couldn't let his own weakness defeat him, he had to keep faith...
Faith! He tried shifting his weight so that he could once again reach the Grail. The zombie was snarling its putrid breath across his face, trying to dig into his flesh with it's powerful fingers. He finally managed to slip an arm underneath it's weight, and grasped the Grail within its sash... and right at that moment the zombie sank its teeth into his jaw. He heard the sick sound of his own bone breaking as the zombie's teeth ripped through his flesh. It only took moments from there, for all fight to flee out of his body. He felt his faith draining away from him, and the Grail rolled away from his grasp. He didn't even get the chance to cry out even, for the Undead monster clamped it's jaws at his throat and pulled away the soft flesh. Sadly he still lived however, and had to be treated to the sounds of his attacker noisily eating him alive.

Despothera felt the waves of pain and anguish slowly fade from him. He had had to use the full healing powers of his being to overcome the blasted attack from the paladin, and even now could still smell the stench of the flesh that was scored from the burning touch of the water. He knew he would not be able to withstand another attack so easily, for his corporeal form was now weakened. He spotted the cup the knight had brandished against him on the floor - a cup! A mere cup had harmed him more powerfully and more fully than any other attack had for as long as he could remember.
Deciding to study its properties at another time, Despothera quickly wove the One Power and created a Gateway, then used two small weaves of air to push the cup through the Gateway. Letting it close, he rose and left the room, leaving his friend to enjoy the meal it had made of the brazen knight. As much as he would love to take his time making sure Perceval had felt even more excruciating pain than he had, he still had a game to play.

Ithillian: Perceval, Holy Avenger and Town Heroic Vigilante, is now dead.




End of Day 2-


After the villagers had seen the meager evidence of one of their brave heroes' remains, there had been a somber mood indeed. Perceval had been one of the Knights of the Round table, and had vanquished many a terrible and powerful foe. That he had met his end so early in this... game... had certainly left many feeling very disconcerted. A quick furor had led many to agree almost simultaneously on one individual.
"Nobody understands me. I just want to be loved!" the individual tried pleading out for the other villagers to slow down, to reconsider their actions.
The arguing subsided then for a short bit, but soon enough the waiting led to a an anxious feeling that something would have to be done one way or the other. There was no telling what other tricks Despothera had in store for them if they stalled too long. While they argued over who would be the one to deliver the killing blow, one amongst the crowd slipped away.
She had initially been wary of the rush to gang up on the one individual, but she now saw that there was no other way. While everyone else continued arguing, Misheru Sedai looked among the decorations for a sturdy enough weapon to do the job with. Seeing an axe carried by a statue of a knight, she grabbed it and tested the weight a bit before setting it down.
Feeling the axe would do nicely, she first took her towel (she always knew where it was), and wrapped it around herself. Weaving the One Power, she put together an interesting weave indeed and placed it on the towel. She now had a Somebody Else's Problem field wrapped around her, and she knew that no one would notice her as she walked up to commit the deed everyone seemed to be putting off.
With a grunt of determined effort, she hefted the axe and began to walk forward towards Mawthtex. She started building more and more momentum with every step as her steps grew faster and faster. Everything around her seemed to slow down, and she bumped past the few individuals in her way as she grew closer to her target.
Finally heaving the axe behind her head, she jumped up into the air and yelled out one last war cry:
"This is for Slartibartfast!!!"
The axe fell forward with all the momentum she had built up, and came down with a tremendously quiet roar. A blinding light filled the chamber, and Misheru was knocked backwards with a great invisible force. Everyone else was knocked back a bit too, and raised their hands to cover their faces from the light. When the light finally died down somewhat, everyone looked towards Mawthtex to see what had become of him. He stood there still, looking very sullen indeed.
The axe lay on the ground, shattered into so many pieces like the hopes of those who had gone into the castle. Darkness enveloped them all once again.




End of Night 2-


After the visit he received the night before, Despothera wasn't taking any chances tonight. Not wanting to let one of the other brazen heroes to get the chance to come after him this night, he figured he must take matters into his own hands.
With a snap of his fingers, he froze time.
Among the host of his other abilities, he knew this one in particular would come in handy this time. He would catch everyone else unawares, and undo their plans in the process. Before he set forth his plan however, he knew there was one bit of business he must take care of. One of the group had shown particular brazenness and disrespect for the game he had prepared for his guests, and this one would have to pay for his boldness in blood.
Besides, he was famished.
Finding the figure he was looking for, he allowed a bubble to spring up around them, and then let time begin flowing within that bubble. His target started immediately, and looked around at all the frozen figures around him.
"What the devilry is going on here?! Who... what-" said the simple villager known as Darthe.
"Who, what indeed" said Despothera, and Darthe spun around to face him.
"I should have known. I mean, I DID know! I knew all along! I..."
"Enough, vermin. I did not intend to play with my food this night. The game shall continue after my meal"
Realization dawning on Darthe's face, he was not able to react in time as Despothera flew towards him and immediately set upon feasting on him. Letting his appetite fuel his frenzy, Despothera tore apart the simple villager and left aside the parts which seemed too spoiled for even him to eat. Having his fill, he stood up and cleaned his visage with a handkerchief. Freezing time again, he let the bubble drop around him.
Knowing his minions would have taken care of the tasks he set for them, entrusting to their loyalty and fear lest they not obey his commands, he went back towards the place he had been standing. Assuming the same pose he had at the moment night had ended, he used his tremendous will to speed time up outside so that dawn would soon be upon them, and with a blink of his eyes, unfroze time again.
The townspeople looked around at eachother distrustfully, for moments before darkness had fallen, yet outside they saw the glimmers of sunshine starting to spread. It was then that they noticed the body. Already used to such grisly scenes, they attributed the strange happening to yet another of Despothera's silly little ploys, and decided to set upon the day's business.
Darthe, Villager with no abilities (Vanilla Town), has been Night Killed.




End of Day 3-


It had been a strange couple of days indeed for the villagers trapped within Despothera's castle. First the failed attempt at killing their agreed upon victim, which was followed by the extremely unusual "jump" to the next day, as if night had never happened, although they still found another of their number dead. They had proceeded on at the best of their abilities, though they were all tired, miserable, and in general ready to find their way out of this miserable game. They noticed however, that something had seemed... off for a brief stretch of the day. As if for a short time, their captor wasn't paying close attention to them, as if he was caught in between realms or something and couldn't be bothered while they continued playing his game.
And then, not long ago, without any forewarning a sudden fit had taken ahold of the monkey that they had brought along with them. One second he was fine, the next he went through a brief series of convulsions before ultimately passing away. It was apparently due to natural causes as far as any of them could discern, however nothing that happened to this house could easily be ascribed to "natural" causes.
Regardless, they knew they could not leave until they finished the business that had been set before them, so with somewhat strained ardor they pushed on. They decided they could not move on until they found out whether or not the man they had attempted to kill the day before could in fact be killed. Why, it seemed too heinous for even Despothera to have them play a game that they had no chance of winning, so they found the idea of an immortal player in the game to be quite unfair.
One amongst their number found it particularly annoying, and while others still recovered from the strange occurence that had happened to the monkey (some thought the convulsions themselves were another strange dance move or something) this one decided enough discussion had been carried forth. With a resolute look to his eyes, he grabbed his 12 gauge double barreled Remington, and crept behind the action. This was a wiley one, and he might need to be a little stealthy to do the deed. He let his fingers caress the walnut stock of the shotgun, and felt the cool touch of the cobalt steel as he gripped it solidly in his one good hand, the other being a weird steampunk medieval style robot hand.
He stopped though as he noticed a sudden commotion in front of him. The man that he had been stalking had ... transformed somehow, and was levitating in the air as he addressed his accusers. They looked like they were being held back somehow, as if by an unseen force, and the madman was raving forth at them.
"You silly mortals! You think you are sooooo clever, huh? Turning my game around on me, and trying to slay me in MY OWN HOUSE?!?! You come here with your torch and pitchfork, and your precious ideals and morals held close to your chest. You dare call me a monster, when you yourselves have been the cause of your own suffering for years beyond count. Thinking I'M the bad guy, when I am but a mere individual who was blessed with mighty intellect and the strength of multiple forms of the Undead and Awesome. And for what? Killing me won't change a thing. There will always be those who prey on the weak, no matter if they say they are good, or bad. You shall see, you-"
Tired of hearing the guy monologue as if he couldn't get more cliche, Yates cleared his throat loudly. Despothera spun around in midair, and looked ready to launch a whole new tirade against the one who had interrupted him, but Yates aimed and fired his boomstick before he could utter a single word. While the smoke still gushed forth from the twin barrels of his gun, Yates braced himself for the next line.
"Good. Bad. I'm the guy with the gun."
Mawthtex: Despothera, 1 time Unlynchable 1 time Unkillable Phase-ending Vampire Zombie Werewolf Rockstar Mack Daddy of the Mafia team has been lynched.




End of Night 3-


Grinning to himself again, the Rockstar picked up his bass and began tuning it. The day had gone remarkably well for him, he thought. He had carried out actions which had to be carried out earlier, despite what Despothera might have thought at the time, and survived the ordeal relatively unscathed.  It had even been a little fun, using the archaic "boomstick" to dispatch his former master. He knew what had had to be done, and he hoped Despothera was not holding it against him. He had to have known he had it coming, and that if it wasn't Yates it would have been someone else anyways. It was a zombie-eat-werewolf world out here when you consorted with this kind, and you always had to keep an eye open for when someone else eventually tried taking you out to further their own name in the Undead Leaderboards.
Speaking of keeping an eye open, Yates saw a shadow fall outside his door, and braced himself. When the door opened however, a mousey looking old woman was all that came through. Laughing a bit at how he would let such an unassuming old woman let him get spooked, he returned to his tuning.
"Get a bit lost, old woman? If you are looking for some prune juice, there might be some in the fridge downstairs. Now would you leave me alone? I'm kinda busy." Yates said offhand to the woman, preparing for another of his private concerts for the night.
"Your insults and tricks have no effect on me, you spawn of Satan! I have dealt with the likes of you before. I dispatched the Knights In Satan's Service, and I shall have no trouble shutting you down as well!" the older woman replied. Without hesitating, she walked forward and picked up the PBR Yates had set down, and poured its contents all over his amp and switchboard.
Yates started as he saw sparks and steam rising from the electrical components. The old bat had wrecked his gear! He felt his anger boiling up inside him and he saw the woman pick up a sign that read "Music of the day is corrupting our youth!" across it and form a one-woman picket line. He could not believe the nerve of the woman! Letting his rage spill over, he grasped the hefty bass guitar in both hands, and swung it savagely towards the older woman's head. It connected with a sickening crack, and her knees buckled as she fell to the ground in a heap of convulsions.
The guitar itself hadn't suffered any noticeable damage on the outside, but Yates knew from the sound of stuff jangling around inside that it would likely take some extensive work before he could play on it again. Realization dawning on him, Yates' eyes bulged outwards. He had said at many a show that the guitar was him, that it was an extension of his being. He hadn't been lying either. Feeling robbed of such a central part of his ethereal essence, Yates stood horrified as he watched his corporeal being slowly fade away.
RTE: Mrs. Bruce, Conservative Parent and Town Heroic Vig, has been Night Killed.
Yates: Rockstar, ability to Distract with Bass Solo, has had his concert shut down (he's dead).




End of Day 4-


The day had carried forth with the normal bout of accusations and finger-pointing. Tempers flared, voices were raised, and in general the mood was sour. After getting close to deciding on one person's fate, they backed off when the target had started stammering out quick pleas for mercy and explained that he could help protect the rest of them. Some of their rage had subsided, but not enough to forget the business of the day. However, they seemed at an impass. Or rather, they did, until one spoke up.
"This one. He is a vampire. I saw the drops of blood glistening from his fangs as I peered into my crystal ball last night." the strangely garbed woman with a thicker accent than the rest of the villagers had said. The plain accusation was enough for many, and the air soon grew thick with anticipation as the mob circled around Basel.
Their faces solemn and belying the murderous intent behind their eyes, they waited anxiously for his response to the accusation against him. They waited, waited, and waited some more. Although he slowly got paler, this didn't seem t be an indication of fear since a macabre grin had slowly started to creep up on his face. Perhaps he was waiting for the perfect moment to speak?
His eyes shifted around the room, and the crowd grew slightly nervous. If this man was a vampire, he might not go down so easily. He was standing with the stillness of a jungle cat drawn back and ready to spring, and as one man stepped forth and picked up a hammer from a wall decoration behind him, their seemed to be an almost inaudible growl that seemed to come from Basel. The man tried to convey as much confidence as he could, and announced that he would be the one to commit the deed if no one else would. The vampire Basel locked eyes with the man, and a chill as cold as the darkness of the void went down his spine.
At that moment however, one of the villagers came out from a room where she had apparently been resting. Seemingly oblivious to the tense situation in front of her, Hallia bounced along and stopped suddenly, glancing at a crossbow and smiling. She had never seen an actual working one up close before! Feeling a moment of giddy mirthfulness come over her, she reached out and squeezed the trigger, sending a bolt flying across the room.
Basel was still locking the young man's eyes within his, perhaps trying to employ one of the powers his kind used against common mortals, when the bolt struck him in the chest. Screeching like a long tailed cat stuck in a room full of rocking chairs, Basel grasped the wooden bolt but already felt himself beginning to lose control of his faculties.
"Well then. I appear to have been slain." he got out quickly, before exploding on everyone around him in a grotesque shower of blood. Everyone grimaced as they saw they were covered in the remains of their target, and then turned around to see who had shot the bolt. They saw Hallia skipping away, humming to herself as if she had not even noticed what had happened.
Basel Gill: Vampire, with the ability to Mesmerize, is now dead.




End of Night 4-


Van Helsing crept through the hallway, pausing every once and again to peer into a dark room. Ever vigilant, he knew that even though he had helped rid the town of at least one vampire pest, others might remain. And so, he continued his nightly patrol, eager to find another vampire heart to sink a stake through.
Walking past the various chambers and wings of the castle, Van Helsing shared an amusing thought with himself. He wondered what they did with all the vacant castles left in his wake after he slayed the demons within. Already picturing the "For Sale" sign that would assuredly be adorning the grounds in front of this castle soon, he suddenly stopped when he caught a... peculiar smell coming from one chamber. All flights of fancy left him as he assumed a more aggressive pose. Stealthily opening the door and sliding into the room, he surveyed its contents for anything out of the ordinary.
There wasn't much, to be sure. Oh, there were the usual creepy items you would see in some abandoned section of a castle filled with Undead. An old dollhouse, with the only doll's head reattached on backwards. A very old looking wardrobe, with some what looked like goat or beaver fur scattered underneath it. A skull with an Indian headress on it, apparently from a cemetary located nearby. Some breakfast cereal boxes (what was with the Undead and loving to get on the front of cereal boxes?). A cease-and-desist order from George A. Romero's attorneys for blatant copyright infringement.
But wait... there was something else, in the corner of the room. Helsing slowly strode towards it, and as he did, the smell grew much stronger. Lifting one hand to cover his nose and mouth, he stooped lower to check on what might be creating the awful stench. Slowly he lifted a dirty looking cloth that lay over a pile of...  what?
Not quite able to discern what he was looking at, he squinted his eyes in consternation, unaware of the wardrobe door slowly opening behind him. It finally dawned on him when he saw a couple of toenails. It was the remains of a human foot! ... the foot of an athlete who did not consider hygiene a high priority apparently, judging from the scent emanating from it. Wait... why was the smell growing stronger?
The zombie (sorry Mr. Romero!) embraced Van Helsing from behind and sunk its teeth into the flesh on his shoulder. Helsing cursed himself for being caught unawares so easily. Did this zombie monster (edit due to pending legal consequences) have slippers on his feet or something? Helsing threw away the automatic crossbolt shooter, knowing it would be of no help in this situation. He started mentally sorting through whatever weapons he had that might be able to help him. The Undead beast behind him mentally sorted through which parts of the body he would eat first.
Having a sudden "Ah HA!" moment, Van Helsing thought about what could help him: fire. The Undead always hated fire, just like they all hated hipsters and movie critics. Reaching for his trusty lighter-torch, he quickly brought it behind his head and pulled the trigger.
Nothing came out. Oh, darn the luck! The gas station he stopped at earlier didn't have any butane for him to refill his lighter with! All the pork rinds, jerky and awful toys that absent minded Dads bought for their kid on the way to a birthday party that you could ask for but NO butane to refill his lighter-torch! Oh the humanity... 
The ... (shiftily looking around for any sight of Romero attorneys) zombie noisily finished its meal, and then promptly stood up and begin looking for some hipsters or movie critics to feast upon.
Misheru: Van Helsing, Vampire Hunter and Town Heroic Vig, has been NK'ed.




End of Day 5-


Whereas some of the previous days had been filled with drama and quick decisions and decisive actions, there was a noticable drag to this day. The house itself was taking its toll on the temporary tenants; the stresses of not knowing who would be the next body found definitely weighed upon the shoulders of everyone left. And yet, they knew that not reaching a decision at all by twilight would likely result in worse consequences, knowing the game that Despothera had setup before he was vanquished.
The villagers had thought that after making such quick work of the Lord of the castle, that his minions would easily crumble afterwards, but they were finding the task of weeding out the final threats to the town a little more difficult than they imagined. And so, with town morale low, the villagers sat back throughout the day, no one really venturing forth with any arguments or accusations filled with conviction.
And so they were caught somewhat unawares as one of them looked out the window and noticed the sun was beginning to set. And with it, there seemed to be a... presence growing in the woods beyond the castle. Leaves rustled and soft moans seemed to be carried forth on the winds. Whatever was out there, it seemed predatory, and somehow eager... what was it waiting for? For daylight to end perhaps?
With that Peace knew he would have to act quickly. Others seemed to notice what he had as well, and there was a sudden rush as they encircled one man who had not spoken up much throughout the game. The mob growing around him knew that there wasn't that much of a case against this one, but they also knew they could not afford to wait any longer. The one known as Rory B.D. Pralaya grew visibly uncomfortable as he saw the group forming around him, but he did not protest in his own defense. He knew it was futile, he had seen that look in their eyes on days past.
He wanted to help the rest of his villagers rid the threat to the town as much as anyone, but he had found himself unable to help as much as he would have liked since he arrived. He had always lived his life a certain way; he could catch others in lies, but often found it difficult to lie as easily himself. And in this wretched game the beast had set up, fortune seemed to favor those who were quicker with the tongue than he.
And so Peace nodded, and the rest of the group rushed forward and grabbed Rory B.D. Pralaya, keeping him from being able to fend off any attacks. Peace saw a nice ornamental dagger sitting atop a porcelain stand, and picked it up and moved towards Pralaya. With one final glance outside to make sure he was making the correct decision, he plunged the dagger deep within Rorschach's throat, and severed his windpipe with a flick of his wrist. He turned towards the windows as the gurgling sounds began to fill the room, everyone quiet as they waited to see if they had waited too long.
Drawing the curtain open, he saw darkness coming fast, but the presence seemed to be retreating. Peace knew this should have made him feel better, but when he looked down and saw the blood on his hands, he felt no comfort.
Rory B.D. Pralaya, Villager with no abilities (Vanilla Town) is now dead.




End of Night 5-


The villagers all wake the next morning, and after doing a quick count, realize none have fallen this night. There is a brief sense of relief, followed by a renewed dedication by those still standing to hunt down the remaining vermin.




End of Day 6-


There hadn't been much deliberation today. It started off with a simple accusation, and soon enough the bloodthirst had taken over the crowd. Members of the village were surrounding one of their own, a man named Peace. He had moved to the village not too long before, but had been a kindly enough citizen while he was there. He kept to himself mostly, and had never been the center of any drama in the town before, but that in and of itself was enough to make the other villagers wary in this circumstance.
As they gathered around him with evil intent in their collective eye, he finally stammered out a plea for mercy.
"Do not do this! I am one of you! Or rather, I am one of the Heroes who have come to help you! Let me show you my boomstick..."
"You dare invoke the same claim that the one known as Yates, the evil Rockstar who we have already vanquished, used himself before he died?" One of the group had stepped forward, a man known as Tiinker. He was wearing a very somber looking black frock, and had a severe countenance that also had an unsettling measure of calm to it. Short red hair cropped on his head, and thin framed glasses rested on his nose.
With a simple nod of his head, a few villagers rushed forth and grabbed a hold of Peace. He struggled instantly, and in fact shook a few of his captors away as he seemed to be filled with immense strength suddenly. More villagers came forward and helped to hold him in place, which became increasingly difficult as Peace started to... change. Growing in size, he also sprouted hair out at many places across his body, and his clothes ripped apart to reveal frighteningly powerful muscles underneath. His mouth started to slowly elongate out into a snout, and his teeth grew to immense proportions.
Throughout all of this Tiinker stood and watched, his expression unchanging. For some strange reason, the scenery had started to transform as well, and as lights unfolded from the ceiling and the ground turned into brightly lit tiles, a podium arose from the ground right before Tiinker. There was a solitary red button on the podium, and a studio audience collectively spawned in seats around the room as dramatic sound effects began to play.
Peace was now snarling and raving, spittle flying from his mouth as he addressed his attackers. "You fools! You know not what mistake you have made. I will tear every last one of you limb from limb! I will consecrate the ground with your blood, and make an altar out of your skins. My master will see that I carried forth his plan even after he left this realm, and he will smile down upon me as I feast upon your entrails!"
Tiinker took all of this in calmly, and as the dramatic sound effects suddenly stopped, and the audience came to an expectant hush, he opened his mouth.
"You are the weakest link. Goodbye." And with that, Tiinker pushed the red button, and the floor opened up beneath Peace. A hidden oubliette was far below the hole, and Peace howled his way down the long fall in almost comical fashion as the floor abruptly closed back up above him.
Peace: Werewolf, with the ability to Enrage, is now dead.




End of Night 6-


Dice once again checked on his target, making sure nothing was amiss. The villagers had fared better than he thought they would since they arrived in the castle, but Dice knew their were still plenty of threats left in this ominous locale. However, it was his sworn duty to protect his charge from any of those threats tonight, and he would be damned if he didn't hold himself to that oath. He once again stealthily crept passed his target's chambers, scanning the shadows for any enemies.

The threat of enemies potentially jumping out at him at any moment didn't have much effect on Dice, however he knew something else was taking its toll on him: lack of sleep. He had spent all his nights protecting those he felt worth needing of protection since he arrived at the castle, and although he was extremely resilient, the lack of sleep had made him very weary indeed. His lightning fast reflexes weren't quite as fast as normal, and his keen senses weren't as powerful as they usually could be.

Additionally, there was one other phenomenon which seemed to be happening which worried Dice as well. He seemed to be... seeing things lately. He didn't know if it was from lack of sleep or from prolonged exposure to this wretched abode, but it sometimes became difficult to truly discern whether or not something he saw was an actual enemy, or a figment of his overtaxed mind.

Just then however, Dice noticed a slight movement at the corner of his eye. Careful to not let anyone possibly notice that he had seen the movement, he kept walking forward as if he had seen nothing. He let the tension build up in his body however as he began counting down in his head, predicting when whatever it was that he saw might strike. Three, two... one.

Spinning around in a whirl of fury, Dice brandished his staff with a deadly grace, swinging it about him as he fended off his attackers. Spinning and jumping and twisting around, he avoided every one of their attacks, knowing that one moment of hesitation could not only cost him his own life, but also potentially that of his target as well.

He was a gyroscope of righteous fury, and it took every ounce of his effort to maintain his balance as he continued striking at his foes. Something started creeping into the back of his head however. Although he had swung many times and should have assuredly hit one of his attackers by now, he slowly started to realize that he had not heard a single grunt, or labored breathing of any kind to indicate when he had hit someone. Who, or what was he fighting?

In an even faster flurry of motion, Dice performed a series of flips and spins until he had landed up on an elaborate wall sconce located above the door to his target's chambers, and then froze. He looked down at where he had been fighting, and with a pained feeling realized he had been jumping at shadows all along. Steeling himself, he was about to breath a small sigh of relief when he instead first caught a whiff of an awful stench, one that overpowered his powerful sense of smell.

Suddenly feeling slightly dizzy, Dice did the best he could to fight off the feelings of revulsion coming from within, and then started to look around to see where the smell could have come from. A drop fell on his head. Dice knew he would be in a bad spot before he even raised his head to look up. He tried to quickly go through his mind to prepare for his next move, however something fell down on him then, hard.

Something else went through his mind soon after. It was his attacker's teeth.

Dice: Healer, ability to Protect, is now dead.




End of Day 7-


The sun was not even high in the sky yet when the villagers had seemingly come to a consensus. They had once again reached their conclusion without much deliberation, and now seemed to be guided by gut feeling after having had a week of time to judge those few left for any strange behavior. The target of their accusations still took his time however, before he finally replied.
"Brainsssss....." was all that came out, somewhat anticlimactic considering how long some had waited for Turin's reply. The others waited a bit more, to see if he would add anything else. "Brainsss.... wifomy brainssss...." Turin concluded. He began to slowly shamble towards the others, and let his disguise crumble away as he did. What was moments before a normal looking villager was now a wretched abomination with rotted and putrescent flesh all over. The thing sported many wounds from previous altercations, and the lower jaw was missing.
It still had claws and a powerful grip however, and it's slow speed masked the suddenly quick swipes he would occasionally take at anyone who stayed within reach. The crowd wasn't so much afraid of him as they were wary, and they still seemed intent on ending the creature's life.
One amongst them felt he had waited long enough, however. Boris Grishinko had been in this house for far too long, and he wasn't about to let one rickety looking old corpse stand between him and freedom from the clutches of the evil abode. He glanced around quickly, and his eyes rested upon an interesting looking weapon leaning upon a nearby wall. A Shaolin spade it was, resembling a halberd somewhat but even deadlier. Boris knew that the best way to deal with this fiend was most likely decapitation, and he knew this weapon would do the trick.
Even better, the weapon's reach would allow him to deal the fatal blow without getting too close, and considering the terrible stench coming from Turin, Boris thought that might be a good idea. Who knew how long it would take to get a smell like that out of your clothes? Not to mention the chance that Turin might still be able to infect someone...
And so he hefted the Shaolin spade, giving it a few test whirls and stabs, and then grunted and started to move forward. He started bellowing a war cry as he picked up speed, and others quickly moved out of his way. There was already a fairly large space around the zombie as everyone wanted to stay clear of the deceptively quick swipes from Turin's claws, so Boris found it easy to step forward, perform a quick pirouette, and then in one smooth motion he flashed the blade around at the end of the staff and separated Turin's head from its shoulders.
The head flew through the air, and headed for the one known as Wombat. Thinking quickly, he grabbed a nearby cricket bat and swung away, connecting solidly with the zombie's head and sending it flinging far away. "Pikaaaaaaaaa...." the head cried as it sailed off in the distance. Wombat wiped away the filthy remains of the creature that had splattered on him. Looking towards the others for a few moments, he finally shrugged and headed towards the castle doors.
He got there and pulled with all his strength, but unfortunately the doors were just as obstinate as before. Looks like they still had more scum to kill. The villagers prepared for night, hoping it would be their last in the ghastly mansion.
Turin: Zombie, ability to Infect, is now dead.




End of Night 7-


Solomon finished shaving and set the hand mirror down along with the razor. He sighed as he considered who he might try and visit tonight. He had seen many of the other Heroes that had hailed the call to arms already fall before him, but at least a couple of them had been able to go down fighting, going down in a blazy of glory like a true Hero should. But alas, it seemed he would not be able to achieve the same fate. He had seen the werewolf slain by Tiinker, and judging from the other monsters he had seen die, he actually was doubting that there even was another werewolf out there for him to slay.
And so he instead turned to the bed in his chamber. He now had the most comfortable bed, since the other Heroes passing allowed him the pick of the litter. He considered the warmth and comfort of the bed, and weighed it against the remote possibility of being able to find whatever remaining scum were left in the castle for him to slay. Surprising even himself, he finally decided to remain in his chambers this night. He had had many sleepless nights already, and there couldn't be many vermin left for the townspeople to slay. There would assuredly be plenty of time to wrap up this little "game" that the madman Despothera had set up for them, and why not take care of that business in the day, after a full night's rest?
Solomon grunted as he slipped his boots off, and set them beside the bed. This was also somewhat unusual for him; he liked being as ready for action as possible at all times. But why bother? He had already decided to stay in the nice comfortable bed tonight, why not try to get as comfortable as possible? There was a strange feeling in the back of his head that these type of thoughts were very unusual for him, that something might be wrong, but a deep satisfying yawn soon stifled that thought. In moments Solomon had forgotten about that notion entirely.
He continued getting ready for bed, taking his various weaponry off of his person and setting it down gently on the desk near his bed. He admired the blades as he did so. Every one of them, made completely from silver. They had tasted lycan blood before, but it had been so long since they had fed. Maybe the next village that cried out for help would give him the opportunity to satisfy their appetite once more.
Crossing back over towards the bed, he considered whether he should move the desk closer to him, just in case he needed to get to his weapons much quicker. Standing for a few moments while he debated internally, his weariness finally won out as he instead just plopped down on the bed. He blew out the candles on the nightstand, then settled into the bed, drawing the thick covers over him. He couldn't believe how comfortable they were! Murmuring in satisfaction, Solomon drifted off into a deeper sleep than he had had in quite some time.
Hours later, the house itself seemed to groan in satisfaction. The werewolf hunter would never rise again.
Cloud: Solomon, Werewolf Hunter and Town Heroic Vig, is now dead.




Endgame/Final scene-


Wombat the Seer clutched her hair in vexation. She knew today's decision was an important one; the numbers of those who had entered the castle had dwindled down so low that if they made the wrong choice today then the situation would become dire indeed. She cursed her crystal ball, which hadn't been as helpful the past few nights that she had consulted it. She wouldn't be able to rely on her arcane arts for any help this day.
To compound things, after so many deaths, the villagers left did not seem to have near as much energy as when they first arrived. Several seemed to be going through the motions, perhaps eager for any end, not just a happy one. Because of this Wombat didn't even have much to read the others on. Fortunately, she had a wondrous memory, and she mentally flipped back a few pages days and sat deep in a trance while recycling everything that had happened the first few days. After a few minutes, her eyes shot back open.
She looked towards Boris. The man had already gotten the attention of a couple of others, but also seemed somewhat preoccupied as well so hadn't responded yet. But that was not important, what was important was what Wombat had remembered Boris saying after first arriving at the castle. He had made some slightly flippant remarks about protecting himself from viruses, and altogether throughout the "game" that they had been forced to play the man had seemed almost too assured of his own innocence.
Wombat finally decided the time had come. She had walked away from the others to clear her head earlier, the implications of the decision proving to be too much for her. Now however, their were no doubts or thoughts of caution running through her head, and she decided that she would act while her head remained clear. Strike while the iron was hot, if you will. She had heard the blacksmith, the one who was revealed to be one of the monsters, say that phrase before, and thinking of him again gave her an interesting idea.
She had seen him bring a hefty hammer of his, one that was adorned with beautiful inscriptions, with him into the castle. Yet when he had been set upon by the mob of villagers, he didn't use the hammer against any of his attackers. Glancing around, Wombat noticed it right beside the area where the floor had opened up underneath Peace, and she walked over and picked it up.
The moment she did, she felt a powerful energy course through her, and looked down at the weapon. The enscriptions were faintly glowing, and although they first shined with a slightly reddish hue, the color faded out before her eyes. While she kept gazing at it however, they had started glowing again, only this time they were shining with a noticably blue color. Feeling herself suddenly emboldened, she decided this would be the weapon she would use. It was only fitting to use a weapon originally designed for one of Despothera's own minions to end the life of someone who may potentially be another of his minions. And with any luck, this would be the last individual that would have to be struck down.
Wombat strode forward, feeling more revitalized with every step. Boris Grishinko was sitting on a couch in front of her, his back to her. He was sitting in a mostly upright position, and his tray table was stored safely in the love seat in front of him. With a gypsy cry and a flourish of the hammer, Wombat brought the enchanted weapon down as hard as she could upon his head. The skull caved in instantly, and with it a rotten stench and a group of maggots poured out of it. The facade of Boris crumbled away as well, revealing the decaying flesh underneath.
Their wasn't enough time to truly enjoy the revelation however, because with the impact of the hammer on Mr. Grishinko's skull, something had started to happen in the house. Tremors could be felt all around, and a deep rumbling was accompanied by a slowly growing wail of pain. Those left from the village got close together and clutched each other for protection, thinking there might be one last hidden trick for them left behind by the madman. Cracks started to appear on walls nearby, and doorways and on floors and all over really. A white ethereal light filled the cracks as well, and as the cracks grew in number the wailing seemed to be pushed back by a new sound, a hum which quickly grew into a glorious sound like the sound of trumpets blasting or the heavens being created.
They all closed their eyes as the brightness and the sound grew to immense proportions, and as they all heard a sudden explosion all around them, they squeezed each other even tighter. The explosion was followed by an eery calm, a surprisingly quiet moment after the cacophany that had preceded it. One by one, they slowly began to open their eyes, and looked around them.
The castle was gone, and in it's place their was a rather cheerful looking meadow. Off to one corner their stood a copse that had a number of graves (nine to be precise), and without being able to see the headstones, Wombat knew they were for those innocent lives who had perished within the castle. And yet, although the sight was a somber one indeed, she realized that she couldn't feel too much sorrow for them at the moment, not when the natural sunlight shining down upon her and the gentle sounds of the meadow had filled her with such elation.
The survivors all looked at eachother and smiled somewhat sheepishly, some rolling their eyes. They were happy to be free of the castle for sure, and even happier that they had apparently succeeded in their mission to rid the town of it's Undead pest.
And yet, they thought collectively, did he HAVE to end the game with yet another giant cliche?
BG: Villager turned into Zombie Goon, is now dead.
The town has won!



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Oh yeah almost forgot....


Official Vote Count:


Not Voting: Ithillian, Turin, Peace, Tink, Mish, Wombat, Berf, Rorschach (Pralaya), Basel, Maw, Hallia, Darthe, Yates, Dice, Cloud, Ed, RTE, BG, Leyrann (19)


Day 1 deadline here

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Whoops forgot I need to put in number to lynch... excuse the newb mod :blush:


Official Vote Count:


With 19 alive, 10 votes are needed for a lynch


Turin: Ithi (1)


Not Voting: Turin, Peace, Tink, Mish, Wombat, Berf, Rorschach (Pralaya), Basel, Maw, Hallia, Darthe, Yates, Dice, Cloud, Ed, RTE, BG, Leyrann (18)


Day 1 deadline here

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I know.


To be honest, I really like those long Day 1s. Gives you time to really get some scum hunting going already.\


Also, something I believe noone in this world should miss:




(and I don't know how to make it a direct video in the post. If someone could explain me or a mod could edit it thanks)

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For me you still have to put media codes around the youtube link to embed it -




same here.



Also Zombies of the World, prepare to meet your doom at the hands of Bgrishinko. I have spent my whole life preparing for this participating in countless hours of zombie killing simulators. I've rubbed my body in your zombie friends guts and injected myself with H1N1 to make myself invulnerable and invisible to you. Whether you are traditional slow moving walkers, running rage virus zombies, made of millions of tiny leeches, or a freaky Las plagas zombie... I will strap two chainsaws to the ends of a kayak paddle and take. you. down.

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