And it begins anew
The hatred of mankind
As it seeks to kill that which lives inside

Now we are dying,
Dying the slowest death
Held down by bonds that bind us
We breath our final breath

And it begins anew
The burning we endure
As we seek the srrength, strength to break the bonds…

From dust you were born,
And to the ashes you return….

-- Killswitch Engage


Summary of Events, Night One

As this gray day ended and the sky faded from comparative brightness of day to the growing dark of twilightt, The Stranger headed home, disappointed that his rhetoric had not captured the minds of his fellows. The Stranger mumbled to himself as he climbed the stoop to his door.

“I could have given them everything! If they sought entertainment, I would’ve given them that! If they wanted grit, I’d’ve done it! But they pick lesser men, who cannot offer either one or the other. What the deuce is a Wanax anyway? Harrumph!"

Fiddling with his keys, The Stranger opened his door and stepped through. The sap caught him neatly on the side of his head, leaving him in darkness.


Beefy187[I] always enjoyed his evening walks. Following the meeting, he chose to walk along the main street, Atlantic Avenue, to gauge for himself the mood Fermanagh had claimed for the Fatlings. From the murmurs and scowls he saw exchanged as he walked a half-dozen blocks, it grew apparent that Fermanagh had been right – at least about this. Beefy paused for a moment, his eyes resting on the strange pole-sword that transfixed the thin Elm tree just in front of him.

<>

Two kuni whirled in rapid succession out of the shadows under the trees of Seaside Park. The first, just missing Beefy’s neck, cut a thin line, like a shaving cut, along his jaw, thunking into the tree just below the ashenderei that Beefy had been admiring. The second, striking as Beefy began to drop prone, neatly snatched Beefy’s fedora from his head and pinned it – improbably enough – to the haft of the pole-sword itself. Beefy rolled as he dropped, but could do no more than catch a glimpse of a black-clad figure retreating quickly from the scene to the far side of Seaside Park. Only then did the Beefy’s legs turn to jelly and the shaking begin. His evening walks would never be quite so refreshing again.


Jolt, askthepizzaguy, Andres, and Dutch-guy had stopped off for a bite at a local Italian eatery near the convention center. Their tensions never quite eased as much as they had hoped, despite the excellence of the scallopini and liberal dosages of chianti. There wasn’t anything that you could point a finger at as being significant -- a periodic sense that others were nearby, a hint of something in the shadows as they’d walked to the ristorante, the unexpected convenience of 4 well-lit cabs waiting for them just as they exited the eatery – but all these little occurrences made it seem as though someone were watching over them. All’s well that ends well, but none of the four ever did totally relax.


Quintus.JC had opted out on Italian food, preferring instead to take his refreshment in liquid form at the bar at the Hotel Abbatoir. His suave style and chiseled good looks produced their usual benefits, but this evening, rather than taking up one of the proffered offers, QJC had given both of the room keys to the front desk attendant to be returned to their delightfully feminine hotel guests. Tonight his mood was too dark for such enjoyment.

Exiting the hotel, QJC turned to head up the block to where he’d parked his car. As he passed into the dimmer light beyond the reach of the hotel’s entrance, a group of trench-coated figures, hat’s low over their eyes and tommy guns held in their gloved hands stepped out of the shadows across the avenue and from between the cars parked on the far side of the hotel entrance. Qunitus ducked low and put some cover between himself and most of the shooters as long bursts erupted from the submachine guns. The firing seemed to go on forever.

All of the guns fell silent as their clips emptied more or less simultaneously, and QJC did not wait for them to have a chance to reload. He sprinted the remaining 20 feet to his car, hopped in and sped away almost before he’d had a chance to engage the ignition. Three point two seconds after turning the key, Quintus.JC was nearly half a block away and rapidly accelerating when the blast tore his car apart turning QJC and most of his car into a burning pile of junk. It would only be through dental records that his identity was formally confirmed at the autopsy.


With the pale light of “false dawn” barely brightening the sky, CountArach was already up and on the move. He intended to put his time to good use and refused to let fears get in the way of his efforts to save Fatlington. This early start was, at least this night, rewarded with horror.

As he reached the steps of City Hall on his way to the Convention Center, Arach was unlucky enough to be the first to find The Stranger.. L’Etranger, bruised and cut, was obviously dead from the single gunshot wound placed between his open eyes, locked now in a fixed stare. The Stranger had been nailed with railroad spikes to the raised plinth that held Fatlington’s statue of George Washington, his hands folded as if in prayer and the back of his trenchcoat tacked up as though they formed the wings of an angel. Two other bodies were at his feet, spiked to the steps in a position that seemed as though their corpses were bowing to that of The Stranger’s. Brownish crimson tendrils of blood connected the ghastly tableau into one coordinated scene. It took Arach a deal of effort to control his stomach.

As he fought down the urge to vomit, Arach noted a small diary sitting on the steps just below the corpses. He read the words carefully written inside in a small, neat hand.


I waited calmly as The Stranger went to his door, fiddling with his keys. Brightly they shone in the darkness, how lusterless in comparison where The Stranger’s thoughts as he mumbled to himself. Calmly, I took to my feet and laid him low, rendering the fool unconscious, and tied him up, and dragged him from his home, to the place in which he, and others, would await their judgment.

Part 2

Go forth I did again that night, to find Charlie Frick, busy ordering a burger and fries, and I entered the dinner and sat down across from him. At first, he was perplexed, and began to ask many questions, but I assuaged his fears and soon we began to speak quite plainly to one another. For an hour and so did we talk, until I invited him to follow me home, and so he did with much a glint in his eye and a smile upon his face.

As we walked arm in arm to my car, I paused but a moment to remove a scrap of cloth from my handbag and proceeded to cover Charlie’s face with it. But for a moment he struggled, finally succumbing to the vapors of the cloth, and I did drag his body to the car with some effort, so heavy was he.

And off I drove again to the appointed place, whence his judgment would begin.

Part 3

And so the final piece was to be collected, and it was from his slumber that Helmut Frack awakened to see me at the foot of his bed. Fear welled in him as he gazed upon my masked visage, and so did he scream and begin to put up a fight, but only become entangled in his own sheets. Falling to the floor, Helmut let cowardice overcome him and he began to cry for mercy and god.

In that moment, I was overcome with pity, and nearly left him there. But my duty overcame my pity, and it was so that I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him off, out into his hallway, through his parlor, and out his front door. Try as he might, he could not wrest himself from me and run to the safety of his home.

"Please, I beg of you! For the love of God, do not kill me! I beg forgiveness!"

At his words I could do naught but box him across the ears to silence him as I threw him into the back of my car, to drive him to the appointed place. His sobbing was the only sound to be heard as I drove into the night.

Part 4

I set about readying my captive’s judgment, waking them from their slumber. They were surprised to see each other, and remarked to one another that I, their captor was the last person they had seen. Before they could explore their captivity more, I made myself known to them from on high.

"Stranger, you promised death, chaos, and destruction, you spoke of harming the town as if it was a game. These minions of yours always cheered your words in the coffee house, deeming them “poetic” instead of blasphemous. You wished to set about events so that none could trust each other, and satiate their fears each day with spectacle. You all claim that which you shall not deliver, except unto yourselves. Before you are weapons of war, forged by man - it is with your own hand that you must now select one of those weapons, and kill those among you for the safety of the flock."

"He who has purged the others of life, shall be set free to live again, having earned their redemption. I shall watch from here, to insure that all goes as planned."

And so after a tense moment, those in the pit picked up the knives left for their use in the cargo hold, and attacked each other with much fervor. The fight lasted but for a few moments, until the screams of two men had died down, and the victor came into the light, awash with blood and eyes filled with shock and emptiness.

"And so you have won your redemption," I did say, "And so you will now understand what it means to be redeemed, and how lucky thou art - but many who are first now will be last, and many who are last now will be first."

A thunderous crack more, and my Mosin-Nagant M1930 settled as The Stranger fell to the deck, and then did I go and collect them from the interior of the ship.>

Fermanagh’s officers were able to quickly confirm the identities of the two victims who’d died, apparently at The Stranger’s own soon-to-be-dead hands. Both men were Fatlings of long tenure, though not members of the Committee, and were known associates of The Stranger in better times.

Morning Meeting, Day Two

“…and after CountArach showed us the diary he’d found at the scene we were able to quickly confirm their identities. We’re still looking for the ship where the events unfolded, but as you might expect, we’re not counting on any useable evidence.”

Commissioner Fermanagh paused and looked toward the committee. He continued.

“As you are aware, today is our first committee vote. I urge you to do you best – or we’re all in for more horror stories to come. I’ll now turn you over to Reenk Roink for his review of the rules and procedures for the evening session….”



OOC


Attacked: Beefy187 (n1),

Killed: Quintus.JC (n1), The Stranger (n1),

Lynched:

Wogged:


1. Day Two session now begins. Votes for lynchee of choice must be completed no later than 1400 Eastern, 8/11/9 (1800 GMT). Please be careful of vote formatting etc. and a tally would be helpful.

2. My condolences to the quickly dead. PLEASE remember the correct behavior for the dead as noted in the rules as you seek your vengeance. Most of the problems in previous Capo games came from dead player miscues and I sincerely hope that we can avoid that this time. Thanks.

3. Investigation results etc. will follow by PM over the next few hours as time permits.