(OOC: I'm definitely up for this, but I'm going to be preoccupied for much of the next 48 hours, so don't expect much - if any - activity from me in that time).
Forse posso leggere il diario dil sindaco! Ho imparato un po di lingue straniere con Mario, il mio primo amore... Huh...I was caught in some teenage memories. I chanced into learning spare bits of foreign languages... If the mayor writes of love affairs in that journal, I certainly should get all the vocabulary! I'd like to take a look myself if people don't mind...
When you sneak out at night to gaze up at the stars, you can hear them laugh and tell each other stories. Cannot everyone?
Life takes its own course, and sometimes no reason nor argument nor urgent need can divert its speaking tide
The incidents are not the essence, and the blood is not the life, but the incidents of blood are symbol beneath every human thought.
Mathematic art may chart the course of a messenger, or an army, more precisely than a knotted string on a peg-nailed map. But simple string is an art which can be seen and felt. Thus does the general see and feel.
To win a battle is never a gain. It only means you may resume the burdens you bore before the war. You do not look forward to them
The dance of symbols is the movement of the people. Perhaps you have not studied them enough...but your own studies, the symbols of worlds within and above, press you so
Morning Update 3
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
The Grape farmer remake lowered himself to sleep. He was tired...espescially from that last night's escapede from that...whatevet it was... soon he felt the embrace of the dreamworld taking hold of him.
Okay, that's it. The Grape farmer jolted awake. He would kill every single rats in this tow....
a figure was sitting in his bed, scratching something into the wall with a wicked looking knife.
"Hi," the figure said. "Do you mind?"
"No, not at all," the grape farmer moaned. He looked at the picture that the figure was scratching into the wall. Circle...letters written inside the circles... he knew he was doomed. He would be sacrificed to whatever god that this little figure believed in.
"Well, the gods who'se names will never be spoken...has spoken your name. Do you know what that means?"
"Wait wait wait!" the grape farmer shouted desperately. "Can't we talk about this?"
"Sure," the figure responded. "Do you have a bar of chocolate?"
"Umm...no?" the grape farmer responded. Last thing he saw was a knife heading straight for his eyes.
That was not the last thing he felt, however, as he kept on feeling hundreds of little pricks with the knife and the shrieking fiend until the moment his soul drifted away.
.
"That's...rather vicious..." the watchman said as he looked at the body of the grape farmer. His body has been drained of all its blood which was used to repaint the entire room pink. The herbalist rushed in and rushed out, mumbling something about another appointment at the mayor's house.
The scholar walked into the room. "You called me, watchman?" he asked.
"Yes," the watchman answered. "What do you make of that esoteric diagram thingamabob?" He pointed at the circle etched into the walls. Parts of it was painted red using the grape farmer's blood.
The scholar squinted. "I...do believe that's actually a roulette." The watchman took another look at the diagram. The scholar was right, it was actually a roulette.
"What's it doing here?" the watchman demanded. 'Beats me," the scholar answered. "This is one crazy town..."
"Thank you," the mayor's wife Vince said. "You are too kind. I heard that you were my husband's friend?"
"That I was," the figure chuckled. It was an empty chuckle, devoid of almost any feelings.
The mayor's wife figured out that something was wrong at this point. "Well, thank you for visiting," she said coldly. "But I am afraid you will have to leave now..."
"I understand," the figure laughed. "But still, I must ask you one thing. Where is it?"
"Where is what?" the Mayor's wife demanded. The figure roared out in frustration and outstretched his palm towards the Mayor's wife. Intense pain...
The butler Spl1tpers0nality was taking a stroll outside when he heard IT approaching. It was not e ven bothering to hide its footsteps...and there was nothing you could do to stop it... for a werewolf was a weapon of the gods, forged from the depth of Chaos's pit itself to bring about widespread panic and destruction to the world.
The butler swore. He would not be killed so easily. He began to run. It was useless, the werewolf cannot be outrunned. The werewolf easily cut his escape route and growled viciously at the man.
"Come on, doggy," the butler shouted. "Come get me!"
When a group of villagers came by the mayor's house, they saw the mayor's daughter skipping around, humming a little tune to herself alone. Nobody else, not the butler nor the Mayor's wife answered any calls.
The butler was the first to be found. His body, like all the victims of the werewolf before him, was ravaged nearly beyond recognition. The body...or the remaining trace left of the mayor's wife, was discovered next. She had died much the same way as her husband had been. The living room of the mayor's house was coated with the bits and pieces of the Mayor's wife.
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
Mayor's wife. Vince, and the Butler, Spl1t, was INNOCENT!
Solemnly, the group searched both of their rooms for clues...for anything that might shed light on the mystery that was surrounding the island. Who were the killers? What was their purpose?
They found a bag containing something in the butler's room. It contained...the villagers immediately put the thing back into the bag the moment they took a look. What the hell was that thing? It was a Strange Idol of some sort. Why did the butler have it?
People gathered into the inn once more. No more games. From now on someone will die each day until all the assailants were taken care of.
From yesterday's investigation, the Mayor's diary still stood on top of the inn's counter. It would be put to vote alongside the Strange idol today.
Re: Inavi: Howling Seas
Originally Posted by Seon
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