The Battle for Toman Head Game Thread: Game Over, Seanchan Win!

[damena]

Damena looked around the angry crowd. It seemed one thing was certain: Rig called out Aishana, now Rig was dead. She shook her head and added her voice to the crowd.

LYNCH AISHANA

[Arthor]

"In my investigation I have found you need to eat more fiber Joolis the Foolis! Like some whole fennel and broomstalk, keeps you regular."

[alima]

Lynch Aishana: Astolfo, Jael, Ashlee, Firimei, Mariel, Damena
No Lynch: Arthor, Carlia, Aira, Aishana
Not Voting: Hasp, Joolis, Alaina, Darth


Eight votes are required to end the day early.

[Darth]

LYNCH AISHANA

[Alaina]

NO LYNCH

[alima]

As the afternoon dragged on, more and more people began to raise cries for Aishana's death. Though the Mayor pleaded with them to let the Watch handle it, they ignored him. They wanted to take matters into their own hands.

Finally, as evening approached, a man grabbed Aishana while another threw a rope over a tree branch.

"Unhand me, you fool," Aishana said derisively, rolling her eyes. "You're making a huge mistake. You're basically turning this town over to the shadow."

The man just smirked and dragged her to the makeshift gallows. Aishana was still talking, mocking those who had gathered as they put the rope around her neck. Suddenly, the rope was hoisted roughly, lifting her off the ground and cutting her off mid-sentence. She gasped and gurgled for awhile before she died, while the townspeople looked on. Finally, as night fell, the bloodthirsty crowd dispersed.

Aishana the Angry Citizen (Town Vigilante) has been lynched on Day 3.

Lynch Aishana: Astolfo, Jael, Ashlee, Firimei, Mariel, Damena,Darth
No Lynch: Arthor, Carlia, Aira, Aishana, Alaina
Not Voting: Hasp, Joolis



It is now Night 3. Deadline is set for Monday, January 1 at 1 pm Eastern.

[alima]

As morning dawned over the small town on Toman Head, a nervous crowd gathered in the square, waiting to hear news of the night. It isn't long before someone runs in from an outlying farm.

"It's Darth!" cried the farmhand. "He's dead! Looks to have taken a bolt of lightning right to the head!"

The Mayor caught his breath. Turning to the watchman next to him, he asks, "Is that all? A man dead of natural causes? Have you searched the town thoroughly?"

"Yes sir. Everyone else is alive and accounted for."

With a sigh of relief, the Mayor turns to the town and admonishes them to go about their business. Perhaps this nasty business was finally over.



Darth the Gholam (Mafia Roleblocker) has been modkilled.

It is now Day 4. The deadline is set for Tuesday, January 2 at 1pm Eastern.

[Arthor]

The morning rays filtered through boarded up window and found themselves on Arthor's face. With a banshee wail of a yawn he stumbled out of bed, scratching himself he walked to his basin. The basin water was near freezing and sent shivers throughout his body as he washed the night away. A small commotion could be heard outside, the old decrepit man lumbered to his front door and kicked it open, still in his smallclothes he walked to the square to find out what was going on.

"What's going on here?" He whispered to a nearby village lady. "Seems there was another death, just lightning this ti..." She sees Arthor and screams. Startled one of the Town Militia scurries over. "What's going on 'ere!? Oh! You dirty old fool! Get back home and get dressed!"

The Militiaman shoves Arthor into the mud and kicks him in the ass and exclaims, "GO ON RABBLE GET OUT OF HERE!" Arthor springs to his feet with renewed vigor and limps to his shack. That bloody flamin goat kisser. He thinks as he crosses the threshold into his house.

Once inside he fills a pitcher from the chipped old basin and pours it over his head. Treat me like I'm some common beggar, show him I will. Arthor trips over a log as he walks to his chest of drawers, he rips drawers out as he assembles his finest attire: A holy, loose-fitting white shirt, a pair of brown wool breeches tore at the knees, and old leather boots with a hole exposing his big toe.

He looks around for a moment and rushes to the hook near his door and throws on his tattered old cloak and wraps it tightly around his body. His stomach grumbled loudly he grabbed his bow and quiver and threw them over his shoulder, he tied an old rusted hunting knife at his waist and walks out the door. He heads for the country side to find some game to make his dinner.

___________________________________________________
No Action

[Firimei Lang]

Sighing with relief Firimei actually let her children play outside, whilst watching them from a market stall. The seller was occupying her slightly with small talk , about the recent murders.
'Aye Mistress Firimei, it was luck someone took a life of a Darkfriend. Although them being themselves a murderer gives me the gibbles still. You have any thoughts on who?'

Firimei looked up from the boxes of fruit and frowned at the question. That I have feelings, about although I am really not sure. I don't like the feel of Damena. She gives me the wibbles everytime she looks at me or my children.' With that she shivers.

LYNCH DAMENA

[Mariel]

Bleary Eyed, with heavy bags beneath her eyes and hair in wild disarray, Mariel places an embroidered bag on the ground beside a table at the tavern and takes a seat. “I can’t take another sleepless night,” she mutters. Mariel’s thoughts drift to the Town Watch, who seem unable to keep the city safe. Seanchan and Darkfriends run amok. Something has to be done.

Mariel fishes for a few coins in her bag and a serving maid places a cup of mulled wine before her. Mariel takes a deep and long drink. Something had to be done, she thought again.

Taking another large gulp of wine, Mariel left the tavern in search of others in the town. With what appeared to be good information, Mariel was set out to convince folk that Damena was in league with the shadow. There could be no room for that in this town.

Lynch Damena