And as flames climbed high into the night
To light the sacrificial rite,
I saw Satan laughing with delight
The day the music died.
-- Don McClean, 1971


Sunset, Day Four:

After a few hours of pale sunlight early that morning, the gray skies had returned. Though no rain fell for a change, the faint fog off the Atlantic and thick clouds made for a dark day. As the voting session began around 6 that evening, it had faded to full dark.

Redleg addressed the assembled committee.

“As you all know, I served with the 160th field artillery during the war. I went through 4 amphibious assaults and a snot-load of fighting near Metz. I am NOT inclined to let mafia scum take over this town. I have therefore decided to employ a tried-and-true artillery solution to traitors in our own ranks. We’ll do what the Brits did in the Sepoy rebellion and strap our traitors to the muzzle of a field gun for a little send-off.”

Redleg’s expression was one of determination, not exultation.

“I’ve had one of the old “Saucy-Cans” guns on display in front of the Guard armory unplugged and quickly reconditioned. It’s deployed on the boardwalk outside this convention center. The tube’s shot out, but then again accuracy won’t be too much of a worry. Let’s get voting.”

Lots of discussion and more than a few sharp exchanges of words accompanied the voting. Pannonian was aggressively calling for people to prove their loyalty to the town while others snapped at the relative newcomer in their midst. At length, with all votes cast, Redleg silently tallied them in the front of the room – witnessed by Fermanagh’s guards – and then announced the result.

“By a margin of votes, this committee declares pevergreen to be guilty of treason against the citizens of Fatlington and hereby sentences you to immediate execution. Guards…”

“So be it,” snarled pevergreen as he stood to his feet. While standing he flicked up his hood and dropped the hem of his garments and what had appeared to be a bulky winter’s coat was revealed to be a full hooded, holocaust cloak. His face and hands were completely hidden. Clearly pevergreen had prepared for his name to be chosen. The guards paused, but then moved forward quickly to pinion his arms and march him downstairs to the boardwalk and the waiting field gun.

The entire committee trooped down after the prisoner and arrayed themselves behind the weapon. As pevergreen was brought forward, he broke free of the guards grasp – they’d become complacent with his quiet compliance – grabbed the extended lanyard of the gun and raced to a place barely 18” from the muzzle of the gun. The crowd paused; pevergreen’s “escape” had lasted no more than 10 feet, he was surrounded on all sides, and the muzzle end of a loaded field piece was not the healthiest place to go when chasing someone – especially when they could fire the gun. Pevergreen stared at the stony-faced committee and spoke:

"You killed my Luca,
you killed my Made,
and now, you seek to lynch me…

But one still remains.

Who is it you think,
Who have we missed,
We killed every Corleone…”

pevergreen’s voice grew harsher, more ominous.

“But One still remains.”

He pulled sharply on the lanyard and the field gun blasted with a harsh, barking crack. At a range of less than 18 inches, the canister round had no time for any significant dispersal, but a five-inch diameter hole was cored through pevergreen’s solar plexus so quickly that his body didn’t even move backward much. The muzzle blast instantly ignited the holocaust cloak and for a brief moment the committee stared at the figure of pevergreen, wreathed in flames from the knees up, sneering at them from the recesses of his cloak. Then pevergreen fell, leaving the committee to stare at the crumpled figure on the boardwalk as the flames slowly guttered themselves out. Night had come again.


OOC

The Butcher’s Bill to Date:

Attacked: Proletariat (N1), Sasaki Kojiro (N1), Redleg (N2), Moros (N3), theRTWGuru (N3)

Lynched: Kralizec (D2) [mafia don], Beirut (D3), pevergreen (D4)

Murdered: GeneralHankerchief (N1) [mafia luca], Stig (N2) [wise guy], AggonyDuck (N3), Major Robert Dump (N3)

Suicided: Ichigo, (D2) [townie], Tribesman (D2) [townie]

WoGged: Nobody, and please keep it that way.


Lynching Vote Tally:

pevergreen = 13 (Cowhead418, Destroyer of Hope, HughTower, Ironside, Kagemusha, Orb, Papewaio, Pindar, Moros, Sasaki Kojiro, Sigurd Fafnesbane, The Stranger, Xiahou)

Abstain = 4 (Ituralde, JimBob, Kommodus, Omanes Alexandrapolites the Idiot)

AndrestheCunning = 3 (Big King Sanctaphrax, Luigi VI di Fatlington, Warluster)

ByzantineKnight - 1 (doc_bean)

Pannonian = 1 (pevergreen)

Reenk Roink = 1 (Reenk Roink)

Sasaki Kojiro = 1 (Pannonian)

The Stranger = 1 (ByzantineKnight)

No Lynch = 1 (Caius Flaminius)

No Vote = 23 (Alexander the Pretty Good, Banquo’s Ghost, Copperhaired Berzerker, CountArach, Crazed Rabbit, Drisos, Dutch-Guy, Hepcat, Ignoramus, MarcusBrutus, Masy, Lord Motep of Kendermore, Peasant Phil, Proletariat, Redleg [director], Sir Boo, Sir Moody, theRTWGuru, Tom_Hagen, Ultrawar, Xdeathfire, Zalmoxis, AndrestheCuning)


Night 4 Begins. PM's from all and sundry please, due no later than 1400 EST 1/25/7. There are a few of you who may get wogged soon if I don't at least get a PM showing you still care. Good luck all.