https://forums.totalwar.org/vb/showt...14#post1393414
Ask the Green Man where he comes from, ask the cup that fills with red.
Ask the old grey standing stones who show the sun his way to bed.
Question all as to their ways, and learn the secrets that they hold.
-- Ian Anderson, 1977
Sunset, Day Two
Beirut looked up from his recount of the votes. He seemed to gulp, then straightened himself and spoke clearly,
“Kralizec…”
Kralizec looked up in shock at his name.
“…you have received the most votes from the committee and are hereby condemned. Do you wish to be hanged or to meet the axe?"
“This is insane,” shouted Kralizec! He jumped to his feet. Others rose as well.
“But the plurality of votes is yours, according to the procedures TosaInu outlined, you are the one who must die.”
Kralizec turned to leave. “I’m outta here!”
But the path was blocked. He faced a thick semi-circle of faces – some confused, a few carefully “neutral” – but could not step past.
“I didn’t send those messages! You gotta believe me…”
He backed up, but the committee pushed forward. Kralizec raced for a door at the back of the room, bursting through it to find himself on the balcony overlooking the boardwalk. The others rushed after him.
He leapt the railing and the 12’ down to the boardwalk, but landed poorly, his ankle snapping with an audible <>. Hobbled, he couldn’t race away from the others fast enough to make a break for it. He hopped and ran, pain shooting up his leg with every motion, but the mob piled out of the back doors after him and soon had him hemmed in at the end of the amusement pier – now closed for the winter.
“Face your death with dignity, Kralizec,” said Beirut, trying to maintain a sense of decorum – but only just fending off the mob behind him.
“I didn’t send those messages!”
A voice from the back muttered, “But we don’t care.”
Kralizec’s face fell, then took on the sense of dignity Beirut called for.
“Then I’ll see you all in Hell.”
Before Beirut or the others could close the gap, Kralizec swung himself over the far railing and plummeted 30 feet into the water.
With a broken ankle, he could not swim well; certainly not well enough to counter the rip tide this storm had created. Within 10 minutes he was dead. Exposure? Drowning? No one would ever be sure. The remains that washed up on Staten Island 12 days later were only identified via fingerprints.
Shivering with cold, the chastened mob who had just watched Kralizec fade into the mist, struggling and failing against the tide, returned to the meeting room at the convention center.
When they returned, they were all stunned to find Ichigo lying on the floor. He had been shot between the eyes sometime during the mad rush to chase Kralizec. A note was pinned to his lapel – one of those mafia recruiting notes. On the back was written: “Walloon sympathizers beware. We will not be anyone’s fall guys anymore.” It was signed AndrestheCunning.
Stunned, the entire group was standing around in shock when Chief Fermanagh strode in.
“What’s all this then?”
After a few minutes of discussion, and an even longer time while the body was removed, the Chief stood at the lectern facing the chastened group.
“I hope you got one of them Gangsters this evening. I pray God you did.”
Seamus paused.
“But I suspect it’s not enough. I’m virtually certain based on last nights shenanigans that there’re more than one of them to be dealt with. You’ll have to keep the Committee going.”
Banquo’s Ghost looked as though he were nauseated...but said nothing.
“I must also report yet another death,” said Seamus. “A couple of my lads were over at the “Six Still in Chains” pub this afternoon. They’d gone in to get…uh…sandwiches when they found Tribesman collapsed in a corner booth. It’s pretty dark back there, so nobody had seen him. Apparently, he came in last night, ordered a case of Tullamore Dew, and then drank the lot. One witness said she’d seen him sitting there downing a shotglass, muttering “Slainte,” and then repeating it as fast as he could. The coroner confirmed acute alcohol poisoning and we’re holding the witness to question why she didn’t call for help, but it appears he’d had enough and just drank himself to death.”
A few indistinct murmers answered him.
“Good luck tonight – the police’ll do what we can. We’ll meet again tomorrow. Beirut will oversee tomorrows voting and we’ll also conduct the vote for his replacement.”
Fermanagh exited quickly, a look of worried concern on his face.
OOC:
The Specifics Thus Far:
Murdered: GeneralHankerchief (N1)
Attacked: Proletariat (N1), Sasaki Kojiro (N1)
Lynched: Kralizec (D2)
Suicided: Ichigo (D2), Tribesman (D2)
WoGged: Nobody, and please keep it that way
Voting Specifics – Day Two Session
Abstain = 14 (Aggony Duck, Caius Flaminius, CountArach, Cowhead418, Destroyer of Hope, dutch_guy, Ichigo, Ironside, Ituralde, Masy, Omanes Alexandropolites, Sir Moody, Xdeathfire, Zalmoxis)
Kralizec = 10 (AggonyDuck, Crazed Rabbit, Kagemusha, Kommodus, Luigi VI de Fatlington, Major Robert Dump, Orb, Proletariat, Sasaki Kojiro, Sigurd Fafnesbane)
Reenk Roink = 5 (Big King Sanctaphrax, HughTower, Kralizec, Pannonian, Reenk Roink!)
No Lynch = 3 (Banquo’s Ghost, Redleg, The Stranger)
AndrestheCunning = 3 (JimBob, Sir Boo, Warluster)
Proletariat = 2 (ByzantineKinght, Stig)
Beirut = 1 (Tom_Hagen)
Ichigo = 1 (UltraWar)
Kagemusha = 1 (doc_bean)
Redleg = 1 (pevergreen -- e.e.cummings style this time)
Not Voting = 14 (Beirut [director], Copperhaired Bezerker, Drisos, Hepcat, Ignoramus, MarcusBrutus, Moros, Papewaio, Peasant Phil, Pindar, theRTWGuru, Tribesman, Xiahou)
No PM & No Votes = CH Bezerker (limited posts), MarcusBrutus (limited posts), Moros (no contact), Papewaio (no contact). Please help these folks back into the swing if possible.
AndrestheCunning should PM me and I’ll swot up a role for him! He was almost lynched in absentia!
Please note, both suicides were at the request of the players themselves, the rest is narration.
PM’s for night session #2 if you please – FROM EVERYONE please. Night session #2 will conclude at 2000 HRS EST, 1/20/7. (Longer time limit with weekend present).
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