[size=150]Garn’s ghost:[/size]
[color=violet]Oooooohhh ssshhhhhit, I died… it was, it was… ohhhh a pretty light…[/color]
Garn’s ghost dissapates back into the ether…
Alas, Garn will be missed, though not his smell.
We should do something before someone important gets butchered. Like me.
I might have to consider moving closer to the centre of the town, what with all the killings it feels a bit chancy near the forest’s edge… And what with Mad Molly prowling in the bushes?
Alas poor Garn! Oo now will taste test me wointer potions? 
Oi’m beginnin to fink sommot is tryin to sabytage me bisiness - first the village idjit and now me replacement guneapig! 
No more! This caannay continya! I thoik we should club togever an’ buy onea them wolf-hounds!
Villagers of Aurora unite!
Break out the pitchforks and flamin’ torches!
You’re not the only one to mourn the passing of Garn in a business type sense. The baker and I could always rely on Garn to take our daily left over loaves, him having such a large and buxom family to support. Poor bugger never realised I charged him double the usual amount on account of him being a bit numerically challenged, so to speak!
Mad Molly, the Madwoman of Maisingstoke
On hearing the whispers against her, Mad Molly spits - hoik! “If I were Mr Wolfie,” she cries, “I would nat mention seeing said beastie, but rather distance myself from he. That’d be mad, that would,” she chortles, despite herself. “Nay, look to the one who protests too much!”
[size=200]Turn = Night[/size]
[i]The sun is setting and there are mutterings amongst the villagers. Out come the scythes, the silver daggers and the books of communial chants to be sung at lynching.
Molly is not the only one that is mad in this town. The town gathers and decides that there should be noone crazier than they. Gathering Mad Molly of Maisingstoke, (some say Maisingstoke on Maine while others argue she is from Maisingstoke of Middlemarch), they drag her to the town square. (Well actually it is a slightly irregular parallelgram, but most people haven’t noticed this).
After several very nasty tests of werewolfedness that have been deleted to save the sensibilities of the gentle reader, it is determined that she is indeed the werewolf and must be killed.
Any last words Molly?[/i]
"Fools! Fools says I!
"An’ may my ghost an’ Molly Malone also, an’ her nine blind illegitemate children, hunt you so far across the hills of damnation that tha’ Lord Almighty could not find ye with a herring fork.
[size=75]“Ow.”[/size]
The corpse of Molly lies on the ground. The sun sets and the moon rises and the corpse remains. The village watches for any sign of transformation, but there is none. They realise now that they are doomed.
[size=150]Meg:[/size]
Woe! Woe!
Flee fer ye loives!
Ack! What have we done! Alas, Mad Molly, we will mourn your passing. Please don’t haunt me.
We are doomed! Who will save us from the evil nasty beastie. I’m away to look me doors and windows. The baker best arm hisself with paddle and knives, there’ll be no sleep tonight while we guard our home and littlies.
[size=200]Turn = Day[/size]
[i]A scream rings through the village. There has been another attack. People gather quickly at the scene. It is obvious that whoever died put up a valient struggle. There is blood and debris everywhere. Getting closer you can see a silver dagger lying in and outstretched hand. On the forearm is tatooed a sign of a wolfs head with a big cross over the top. The symbol of the almost mythical werewolf slayers guild. It is only after seeing this sign you look at the face and realise that new victim is The Baker? The Baker is a Werewolf Slayer?
But what does mean of his wife, or the herbalist or the seamstress?..
[/i]
Voting is open
Oh no, oh my poor man. What has become of ya. I warned ya, I begged ya, give up the werewolf hunting. But ya wouldn’t. Said ya had a score to settle after the evil beasts ripped the throat out of ya poor mammy. Now what am I and the littlies going to do? Who will support us and protect us? Oh ya silly man, why did ya have to be going out last night? Why?
I’ll be seeking vengence for you darlin.
Dressmaker, where was you last night? Did ya kill my husband? Did he happen upon you as the moon turned you? Did ya rip out his throat to keep your vile secret?
Any you, herb woman? I did hear that a cousin of yours, a herbwitch like yaself, was found to be the vile beast aterrorising a town not too far away from here. Are you involved in the family business? I’m watching ya both and I have my suspicions as to who the guilty party is. My darlin will be revenged, so beware the pair of you.
[i]Qwens lifeless body lies on the ground. The village has fled for other realms before the terror. All is quiet in the town…
But soon a sound is heard. A person shuffling toward the town. A woman carrying a basket of erbs. She rushes to the prone body. A voice from the doorway is heard. “I knew it was you. You were in that other town recently weren’t you?”. Meg looks a the shadowy figure in the doorway.
“No. I woin’t me. Me’s just an innoicint victim of events.”
Ange, the seamstress steps from the shadows. “You can’t fool me.”
“It woin’ts me I’s tellls you.” muuters the deperate Meg.
“I believe you.” says Ange, but even as she says this a change occurs in her appearance. She is shrinking, or more hunched. But that must be a trick of the light.
Later that morning some passing visitors find the body of a herbalisat lying next to another body in the town square. The only person still there is a seamstress. She seems friendly as she tell thems she is having them for dinner.[/i]
Hey Alista - it was the villagers turn! I voted, ok, I was slightly late, but you had not posted voting = closed when I voted!
Voting hadn’t been closed when I voted, so I was a bit surprised to find myself dead.
Ummmmmmm! Errrrrrrrrr!!! Hmmmmm!!!
I am, still trying to figure out what happened.
Looking at the time stamps, I looked at the voting at 8.30 am and saw no votes.
I started writing up the blurb for the finish. Telpe posted at 8.36 and Qwen at 8.37. Blurb was finished and posted at 8.37. I then figured there was no need to close the voting as everyone was dead.
We have the strange case where the villagers correctly identified the werewolf and killed it and the Werewolf won at the same time.
Have learnt lesson from this. Definately, always, put ‘voting closed’ before writing the flavour text.
The final decision
Voting closes at 8.30 whether notified or not.
The votes were received at 8.36 and 8.37, or after voting closing time.
Therefore wolfie wins.
Thems the breaks - you over-sleep by 5 minutes and the wolf chomps you! 
I bet she weighs exactly the same as a duck as well…
Congrats Ange.
Thanks Apologies for my lack of RP over the last couplie days, been at the in-laws.
All Hail the Queen Wolf!
Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!