Free Parking

Just as a quick reminder, if you are not involved in this game, please do not post in this thread or try to influence things in here in any way. This applies to players who have been killed in the game as well. Players, do not respond to anyone who posts in this thread that is not involved in the game.

The point of the story it to make the game more enjoyable for everyone. While you are not required to roleplay, it would be nice if you made an effort. You are free to expand on your character so long as it remains consistent. Who your character is and who the other characters are should not influence who you think is a vampire, meaning that while the barkeep may not like the drunk, that doesn't necessarily mean he believes the drunk to be a vampire.

A ray of sunlight found a crack in the wall and shone on Poetrychic’s face. She awoke from the brightness. Looking around, she saw that she was still at her desk.

“I must have been more tired than I thought.”

Poetrychic glanced into the adjacent room and saw the mayor lounging in his chair.

“Guess I wasn’t the only one.”

She stood up slowly, still a bit dazed after her sleep, and walked toward the door. When she opened it, the sun temporarily blinded her. Poetrychic’s eyes steadily adjusted, and she took in the view. A few houses and other buildings dotted the landscape. Trees surrounded the village, their leaves turned an array of reds, oranges, and browns from the touch of autumn. Mountains rose up, creating a protective shield around the trees. The sun peeked out from behind Mount Helios, its peak snowcapped and its slopes steep. It was the tallest mountain in the area, and the rocky spire served as a setting for many of the preacher’s tales.

As she drank in the image before her, Poetrychic thought of how she came here. She had spent much of her earlier life studying literature and the writers and poets who brought the stories to life. Unfortunately, she was never able to get her own works published, and since she was in sore need of money, she traveled in hopes of finding something that would suit her.

Eventually she came to the village of Pollytic Grove. The mayor said he needed an assistant who could read and write, and Poetrychic eagerly accepted the position.

She has been mostly satisfied with her job, though she still wishes that literature would be a bigger part of her life. Poetrychic occasionally writes short stories and poems for the people of the village.

She came out of her reverie when an arm came around and rested on her shoulders.

“’utiful weatha, eh?”

Poetrychic gave a disgusted look as she smelled the alcohol on Comicsartist’s breath. He was the town drunk, the laziest oaf she had ever seen. No one knew where he came from or why he stayed. Everyone in the village disliked him. The barkeep had a particular hatred for him. Comicsartist always seemed to have a bottle in his hands, and yet the barkeep never caught him stealing one.

“Yeah, I guess,” Poetrychic replied while shrugging off his arm and quickly heading back inside.

She went back to the Mayor’s room to wake him. As she drew closer, she discovered that he wasn’t asleep but dead.
Some in the village had gone to a neighboring town to celebrate its founding day. Poetrychic searched out those of the village who remained behind. When she located them, she brought them to the mayor’s body.

“I can’t believe it! Who would do such a thing?!” AlineaHeart cried next to her dead husband. She was a loyal wife who had a penchant for a good drink. One time several of the people at the bar got her slightly drunk and tried to get some dirt on the mayor. Although she told the stories as if they consisted of the most amazing of conclusions, the men went home empty handed. They could not tell if she was good at keeping things secret or if she and her husband really did lead such boring lives.

“I don’t know,” replied DRS. A young man, DRS and Chrisbb were the closest of friends. His parents had taken in Chrisbb while they were both little. Shortly later, DRS’s mother died, and his father took the boys to Pollytic Grove to get away from everything that reminded them of her. His father taught the boys how to build things, whether it was a wagon, a well, or a shop. When DRS was twelve, his father also died. Relying on the village and each other, DRS and Chrisbb quickly matured into responsible individuals. They took up the trade DRS’s father taught them and now go to nearby towns to build things for a living. DRS and Chrisbb are affectionately known as the Builder Brothers.

DRS was always the more serious and levelheaded of the two. He felt that he needed to act as a counterbalance for his friend’s wacky and sometimes dangerous antics.

Chrisbb never knew who his parents were or where he was born. He was grateful for what DRS and his family did for him.

Chrisbb was the jokester. He loved to laugh and play tricks on the other villagers. He was never mean though, at least not intentionally. Chrisbb liked women in particular and was always flirting with them.

“I think I remember hearing something about these kinds of bite marks before,” said GrumpyGirl the preacher. GrumpyGirl had been nothing more than a wonderer without a purpose before she came to Pollytic Grove. When she arrived, the current preacher had taken her under his wing. Unfortunately, before he could teach her much of anything, he mysteriously hung himself. GrumpyGirl inherited his position with only a slight knowledge of the Bible and an inability to read. As a result, her stories often had little, if anything, in common with the Bible. It is a widespread thought because of her that Jesus is a goat that lives on the summit of Mount Helios and a yeti keeps people from going to see him. The people of the village accept these tales because they either don’t know any better, don’t care, or really like the tales, inaccurate though they may be.

“What? What did you hear about these bite marks?” Inquired Malkavian. He was the barkeep. When new people came to the village, the bar would often be their first stop. Malkavian believed it was his duty to watch and listen to these newcomers to see if they were going to be troublemakers. As a result, he has grown steadily more suspicious over the years. He especially distrusts Comicsartist.

GrumpyGirl looked hesitant at first but then answered, “I think a werewolf bit him.”

“A werewolf?!”

The door to the room suddenly flung open, and a mysterious looking woman entered.

“Who the Hell are you?!”

“You can call me Kana, but that is not important. What is important is that your friend here is wrong. The creature that you seek is a vampire, not a werewolf.”

“A vampire?!”

“Oh yes, a vampire. Two actually.”

“Two?”

“Yes, it is typical for a vampire to infect a companion to increase the odds of its survival, but it can only do this once every new moon.”

“Okay, okay, how do we find them? How do we kill them?”

The stranger shrugged. “You can’t find them. You can only hope that they will accidentally reveal themselves to the group. At that point, you should drive a wooden stake thought its heart.”

“How do we know YOU are not a vampire? After all, you just showed up here and we just started having vampire problems.”

“I could be, but ask yourself this: Why would I inform you how to kill a vampire? Why would I inform you that there are likely two vampires?”

“Good points, but I still don’t trust you.”

“Completely understandable based on this situation.”

“Why are you even here?”

“That unfortunately cannot be answered at this moment.”

An old man entered the room, carrying a wooden stake and a hammer, just as the stranger was finishing her sentence. The old man, named Kanadesaga, was a hunter in his youth. Most hunters used dogs to track down their quarry, but the old man used a monkey instead. Despite this, he was a very skilled hunter in his time. Some said that it almost seemed like he knew where game would be before it even got there. Time has taken its toll on the man though, and he is afflicted with senility “Okay, who are we staking today?”

“Good idea. We might be able to catch the vampires off guard if we stake one today.”

The old man gave a confused look. “Vampires?”

“We should all go the village square and start interviewing each other. If we are lucky, one of them might slip up.”

“Okay then, let’s go.”

The old man glanced at the mayor’s body. “Hey, did you know this guy is dead?” The monkey screeched.

Mayor's Assistant - Poetrychic
Town Drunk - Comicsartist
Mayor's Wife - AlineaHeart
Builder Brother - DRS
Builder Brother - Chrisbb
Preacher - GrumpyGirl
Barkeep - Malkavian
Stranger - Kana
Old Man - Kanadesaga

You can start talking to each other and voting on who to stake. Remember to bold the name when you vote to stake someone. If you want to change your vote, do not edit an old post. Just make another post with your new choice in it.

Let's assume that the staking will occur tomorrow at midnight. I may extend that by a day depending on participation, but you should still try to get your vote in before then.

Special players, you can send me your picks anytime between now and the staking.

If anyone has any questions, comments, or complaints, feel free to PM me or post it in the thread. I am here to try to make this as smooth and as enjoyable an experience for you all. Good luck and have fun!

Kanadesaga

"I have my stake and my A-1 Stake Hammer at the ready." muttered the old man. "Any of youse look pasty and BAM!, youse get it!"



"Stranger, anything else you can tell us about vampires?"

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"I take time when I'm prowlin', an' wipe my tracks out with my tail
Get home, get blue an' start howlin', an' the hellhound on my trail"

AlineaHeart

The lore of vampires I have heard states they have old money, presumably from their unknown victims. I've seen you, Comicsartist, in the town over buying your alcohol in bulk...so where are you getting the money?

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Have Fun! :-)

DRS112

so that I can find this thread when I have time

Comicsartist

Vampires drink blood, not bourbon. *hic*

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Comicsartist

"Oh, alright," I say to Alinea. "A drunk I may be *hic* but that doshn't mean I have no *hic* no shkillsh."

I hobble over to a table, throw my pack on it, open it up and pull out some tattered parchment and sticks of coal.

"Who wantsh a drawring?"

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poetrychic

i gaze curiously in the direction of comicsartist...silently i wonder why he would initially choose to answer alinea's direct question with such a deflective answer only to come back some time later in an apparent attempt to suggest he makes enough money from his drawings to buy his alcohol in bulk....i mean, seriously, everyone knows the town over has ridiculous inflation rates and then charges double on top of that for their alcohol....

turning around to size up the stranger, i mutter under my breath, "he's probably just acting like a drunk to throw people off his trail..."

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"it was a creed written into the founding documents that declared the destiny of a nation, yes we can!"

Comicsartist

"Want a shniff of me bottle?" I say wagging it in PoetryChic's direction. "Nothin' too shtrong, but then, I gotta tolerance. Care for a ship...not a ship...can't afford ta buy ya a ship...a drink?"

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Malkavian

Comics, stay the hell away from my booze until you pay off the tab! *Starts putting up bear traps pausing only to refuel at the nearby gin barrel*



Well written FP. Good job.

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DRS112

So....grumpy girl.....What did you do to cause the preacher to hang himself?