Vahktang

Adrian went without a fight, meek and compliant, almost relieved. He thought he could convince the Abbot of the design, and the Library would be sealed without any more problems. Then he was surprised when the Abbot said he was to turn him over to the inquisition. How would care for his bees? When none would come forward, he began to scream to the world hoping some would hear, some would care. "Don't Be Fooled By the First Brush of Spring. Often a Cold Snap Can Occur and almost Wreck a Hive." And the instructions continued. He knew from his interaction with the Abbot that his justification would have to wait for higher powers. Surely they would listen, they would cause the closing of the Library. He continued his instructions, so that all could hear. "The stones on the winter storage are tight but not sealed. You can loose them for air on the warmer winter days, allowing egress. But away from the high winds." And on and on through the night.

Great.Now I have to go quickly read the book. Oh, and I do post to support my accusation - and I get two more accusations. I just can't win at this game, can I? More later, Vahktang

Reasons, people needed reasons. Therefore he would give them reasons. A quiet word here, an observation there. "He is strong and healthy, even in this winter. Strong enough to just about anything." "He is knowlegable about plants. The healing herbs and what is safe to eat." "Yes he is a pious and innocent man. But is he as the rest of us." He would not bear false witness against another. Nor say anything against them. Just, ask questions. And make observations. The listeners own mind would draw the right conclusions. And all this violence was affecting the calm and the peace of the monastery. Even the bees were feeling it.

OK, somebody tell me how you make a selection of a post a different color. I seem to have forgotton. Thanx.

Adrian stayed in the Hive room, not because there was anything to do at the moment, but because here he could be truly alone. If he was in his cell, or in the chapel, someone could come up to him, he could hear people walking by, even as he prayed. Here, there was only the constant buzzing, a sound that would make it so his own conversation would not carry even to the door. "No, I listened once and an innocent man left." "Misinterpreted? How could I- "No! I will not listen to you again. I cannot have an innocent's b-" And here he stops and sobs. It takes him serveral minutes to stop sobbing, listening to the drone of the bees calms him, finally. He sounds tired. "Yes, another must not die. "Yes, if I do nothing, I am guilty as the killers. "Yes, I will bear witness against...who?" "Brother Gulzer? "No, not he. He is a pious man. He is an innocent man. If there is one who could be a friend to me here it is he. ... "Yes, he is strong, strong enough to beat a man and throw him from a cliff. "Yes, as a gardener, he would know much about poisons. "But he can't... "No, he wouldn't... Finally, resigned, he sighed and agreed. "I will ponder your counsel. "All right, I'll act upon your advice. And I pray that you are right. I don't think I could survive if I was wrong again. _________________________________________________ OOC: I accuse Sweetcherrie => Brother Gulzar of Babylon, chief Gardener[/color=blue]

Adrian returns to the winter hive area, a sheltered place in the monastary. He is glad the murderer is gone. He harvests the honey and the wax, humming almost like a bee. Then stops. 'Brother Benedict was innocent?' 'I prayed for an innocent man to be sent away?' He stops and takes what product he has away, giving it to the other brothers who will take the raw materials and complete it into finished products. As always, he retains his beekeeper outfit on where he could be observed. There are many rumours why he wears the gauze at almost all times. He is unbearably ugly. He is more beautiful than can be said. He keeps bees with him at all time within the folds of his clothing. He likes to make faces at you while you are talking to him. No one knows exactly. He then goes to the chapel, kneels in the second most uncomfortable place there (the first most uncomfortable place already being occupied) and prays for guidance, and forgiveness.

If you choose not to choose you still have made a choice.Where is this monastery, Swizerland? I feel like changing my vote to you 'cause you fence sit. C'mon, nobody knows anything at this point. You just hope (and pray, in this game ) Thank you, I like that.It always irked my squid that a player would say I said something OOC. Mods, sure, they can do that, but players...?

Brother Adrian is up with all the other brothers. What his sister had told him that afternoon did not lend itself to sleep anyway. He has observed the corpse, but refrained from getting close. When glances were made at him, he left, returning to his bees. The chamber here was close, and warm, much warmer than his own cell. But that was what the bees needed. He poured out a liberal dose of the liquid used to keep the bees thriving in these cold climates and higher elevations. Then almost cursed himself for having pride in God's works. He sighed. Pennance again. No one would enter the chamber without his careful preparation in fear of being stung. There was the swarm incident of several years ago that was still talked about. He removed his bee keeper garb, then his habit, standing naked to the bees. If he was stung, it was God's will and he would remember the pain and be grateful for the penance. None did. He took that as a sign, and spoke aloud, softly. "Who here could have done such a thing. Was it an outsider?" He dared not ask if his sister or her entourage had anything to do with it. "Was it someone of the Abbey? Or someone associated with the church?" There it was. The buzzing changed. It was sign. Adrian began to list names, listening closely for a change. He goes through the list three times to confirm, three times for the change, before he is sure. He redresses, checks the hives one last time, then leaves, careful to keep the cold out. Now, how to convince the others while not revealing how he had figured it out... OOC: I accuse Brother Benedicte. Because the bees told me to.

If we get a non PC death day, to we get an Eco's book death instead?

Adrian was in the library perusing the volumes, bothered that he couldn't remember. 'A canticle for Liebowitz or a canticle by Liebowitz,' he thought, examining one scroll, then replacing it. 'Why would a lowly Pole of a monk have his own canticle?' The light from his shielded candle illuminated only a small space around him. 'On the other hand, why would a lowly Pole of a monk have his name on a canticle he wrote? No one else does.' Adrian took up a great scroll and began unrolling it, knowing if it was in this one, it would be in the precise middle, farthest away from being convenient. 'And the biggest question: why is this bothering me?' Then he heard a noise, and a voice. "Brother Adrian?" Francis, the servent. Adrian quickly arranged the folds of his habit and replaced his hood, so his face could no longer be seen, took up his candle and walked towards the entrance. "Over here," he called. Francis breathed a sigh of relief, having finally found his quarry. "I've been looking all over for you. The visitors are here." "Yes, I know. Is one interested in bee keeping?" "Umh, I don't know about that, but one wants to see you. A woman." Adrian almost stops, but continues to the entrance, shoos Francis out and goes to seal the door. "She said she was your sister." "My sister the heretic or my sister the lion tamer?" Francis was stunned at the revelation, and wondered which was more remarkable. He settled on the former. "You have a sister who is a heretic?" After sealing the door, Adrian motions for Francis to lead the way with his greater light, the candle lantern, while extinguishing his own candle. Wax was expensive, and tallow was inappropriate for the library, too smoky. "I have a sister who took the vows, much like me, but, unlike me, took the vows of the greek church. I still pray for her." Francis knew the signal and stayed quiet for a moment, then his youthful impatience got the better of him. They exited the building and began to walk towards the courtyard. "Brother Adrian? I believe she said her name was Athena." "Ah, the one still pagen named. The lion tamer." "She tames lions?" "She was unsatisfied with our home life, finding it confining and...'boring'. She was prideful and vain, shirking her responsibilities to her family. She left us to find her fortune. I have not seen her for many years." He also wondered how she found him here. He no longer wrote his family, since taking his vows. If his father had finally gone to join his mother he would pray for them, but not too hard. They were greek, too, after all. They finally entered the courtyard and Adrian had his first look at his sister, Athena after many years...

That's gotta be a sin.

Adrian looked over his hives. Five full ones, buzzing like anything. And they'd sell one this year, good money to the abbey. A thriving hive was expensive. Maybe they'd even let him oversee it's installation. 'Glory to god and all his works,' he thought. He went to Hive number V and lifted the slat. The royal chamber where replacement queens were grown. Nice and healthy. Good. Life was good.

And have a limb or two off.That would put a nice screw into a character. "umh, why are you the beekeeper again if you get physically sick at it.""Well, then my father was, and his father before him." "But you're a monk. They take a vow of chastity." "Do they now? Hmm. Well, I better go home then and tell me wife." But seriously folks, when you we do the 60's monster show, I'll be the number one most powerful person there. That's right, I'm the writer. As for the NotR: I'm Adrian of the Adriatic. I was born at sea, to greek orthodox parents. I never fit in and drifted west, finally taking my vows in the catholic church and staying with the bee keeping thing. I am not allergic, but I do go around in my beekeeping outfit a lot. Not many know what I actually look like.

I'm in. I'm this obsessive compulive who also investigates crimes. I'm Monk Adrian. (and how do you keep clean in the 14(?)th century?) OK, not really. But if it goes there, I'm there. (Brother Beekeeper, maybe?) But, I'd much better like playing the monster of the week show. Irwin Allen production want to be. Drop names left and right. The swinging 60's. Fun stuff.

Didn't we have a list? Ah well. I'm in.

If I only have three players, the game goes on. Here's the link to the sign up: Mafia! sign up.

'Bobby Drake, Iceman from the X-men? No.' Vahktang kept cutting. 'Victor Fries, Mister Freeze from Batman? No.' A large chunk fell off. 'An ice cube, about 2 inches square, suitable for a high ball? No.' He changed to the torch and the ice transformed to water and steam at it's touch. 'Ice Cube, the rapper and actor. Hmmm.' Vahktang kept on cutting and creating.

Vahktang motions the truck to it's parking spot, the annoying beeb-beeb-beeb disturbing the winter solitude. When it comes to the appropriate places, the workmen lower the 10' block of solid ice to the ground, placing it just so. They then unload the ice sculpture equipment, including chainsaws (of various sizes), blow torch and a boom box. The workmen leave and Vahktang begins work on his sculpture. A passerby notices, stops, then comments to the sculpter. "It's winter. It's cold. Why don't you have a jacket? You're still in short sleeves." "Yeah, it's winter, but it's only December, not even mid December. Doesn't get actually cold for, what, a month?" Vahktang stops, pops open a container of apple cider, takes a drink and passes over to the boom box. He hits play and the strains of Graham Parker's 'Temporary Beauty' fills the air. Nodding to the beat, Vahktang returns to the sculpture, this time with a blow torch, wondering what the sculpture will end up being.

He had the look of a fanatic. That was what first attracted Moses to him. That and the fact that he'd stare at Moses' face for an hour each day. The name of the fanatic was unimportant. What was important was that he was from egypt (though he looked like no one from the two kingdoms that Moses had ever seen before) and that he had influence. The fanatic met with the leader of the establishment where Moses and the others were kept, and had a disagreement. The fanatic must have won because several weeks later, the fanatic had a similiar arguements with the boss of the leader. Then with the bosses' boss. Weeks turned into months turned into years. One day, the fanatic led more of his kind into the display room and they sat there for serveral hours until city guardsmen carried them off. The guardsmen were quite restrained because no blood was spilled. The fanatic must lead an influential group of people. Finally, craftsmen came and sealed up Moses again for another trip. Where and how long Moses was moved he did not know, but when he was unsealed he saw that it was in an exact replica of a tomb. The workmen left, there was no one around, so Moses went for a walk about. He noticed instantly that it was not just a replica, but a real tomb, and that more so, it was his old tomb. He was home. The complex was worst for wear, having been opened and exposed to the air and wind of the outside for a time, but it was still very liveable. 'Heh, heh,' thought Moses. The only real change was the tombs of the traitors. Instead of bodies and artifacts, there were containers, floor to ceiling, with runes upon them. And a scroll. Expecting a trap, he examined the area and found no danger. Taking up the scroll he opened it and found it was written in the ancient languages, but with horrible grammer. It was also of most cheaply made, and would not last even a hundred years in even in these sheltered conditions. It read: Servents of the Great One. I am a servent of the past. I have used influence, guile, and bribery to bring you back from the foreign countries you were stolen to and returned to your resting place. To ensure that you remain undisturbed, I have arranged the storage of certain nuclear and chemical materials in your tomb. The geological stability and lack of water table, as well as an overabundance of these dangerous materials, made it easy to convince those in power to do so. Any who would disturb your rest now would die of a wasting disease within days. There is no cure and no hope. All above the ground know this and this is the way things will remain for 5 times the times you were undisturbed before. Maybe in that time we will know to respect the past, or maybe your location will be forgotton by all. There was a signature at the bottom, some sort of title. Moses put the scroll back, making look like it was undisturbed. Now to tell the others. It had been a long time since he had seen any dancing.

Woo hoo, we won. Now to get back to egypt.

1 in 500 or so.Assuming 8 players a game. Not unheard of. Over to Kenzerco we were at game XXXV (I think). Here we are at XIV. But isn't figuring out the person who can't post the wolf metagaming? And if metagaming is OK, can I bring back "You'll be sorry"?

Young Sherlock Holmes was not a very good movie. In any case, I just imagine Holmes in early entry level jobs. "You, Mr. Holmes, are the junior level accountant clerk here. You cannot make charges of embezzlemnt." "As a shoe clerk, Mr. Holmes, you leave a lot to be desired. My 'affairs' are my own business." Waiter. Bartender. etc. Ah well.

The servents were from a family called Camera. They never rested, always looking at specific spots. Couldn't be bribed, ordered, and it would be suspicious if they got broken constantly. It took Moses some time to find the right charm to over come their observations. All day locked up, people gawking at him, it was insulting. Night wasn't so bad, though. Using his abilities to release himself from his display case. Wandering the halls of the museum. Avoiding the guards. Talking to the other exhibits. He was much better off than that Amun-rai fellow. His wrappings were staked up-right, an example of textiles, not in repose as a proper mummy should. He couldn't get loose. So, Moses spent a lot of time with him, passing the time. He also found out about other cultures. Who would have known there was another continent across the great ocean? With pyramids and mummies, too? No where near the quality of Egypts', but still. He had already been warned to definately _not_ be sent to California. One of the Aztec mummies had been permanently destroyed by a girl in sunny little town. 'Ah, there goes the female guard. She naps in the upholstery display. Time to get going.'

For reasons beyond my comprehension I would like to know about the early life of Sherlock Holmes. Sure, we know he has a brother. But, in a time when a consulting detective is unknown, where did he get his idea to be one? I imagine he went to one of the great colleges, but, any military service? Jobs other than consulting detective? Etc. I believe this is one of his earliest mentions: But nothing before hand.No: "he was born of a upper middle class family near chelsea, his father a..." that you'd expect from a biography. Anybody have any clues? () Thanks.

Moses sat in his chamber, and for the first time since his inclusion in this collection, heard strange voices out side of it. A gentle rapping, a more violent tapping, then an intrusive pounding. He took his place in the crypt. And suddenly fresh air filled his champer, a light not of their making invaded it. He heard voices, his name mentioned several times, even Israel, an arguement. Then an agreement between the voices. His stuff was being moved out! We was to be taken away. Was this a punishment for his accusation of Napheen? But, no, he never really accused Napheen, did he? Yes, he did, but he didn't mean it. But things are just too serious to be 'just kidding'. Aiee - the interlopers were laying hands on him. Lifting his body from it's sanctuary. He had the will and the means, but was forbidden from slaying all in the room for this outrage. Moses allowed himself to be carried away, up through the corridors, to have the sun shine on his face for the first time in millenia. A shout of panic in those foreign voices. He was not being treated in the way he should have been. But they were more afraid of further corruption of his body than the way they should treat one of his station. Heathens. Foreigners. Oh to rise up, show them what he could do with sword, spear, and shield. Instead he was put upon some sort of transport, then transferred to another different sort, then another still. The details did not mean much to Moses. Finally, to rest in a funereal chamber. At least he assumed so, since the occupants had the same air of care and consideration for the dead. A great device was brought forth and he caught the term 'x-rays' were used on him. Were they attempting to revive him? Moses did not know, but, days later, the poking, prodding, work on his body got to him. He was annoyed. In the room was a single worker, a woman, obviously low in the hierarchy being her alone and late at night, looking at some abstract drawings through a very bright light. The lights were dim, otherwise, and there was a long mirrored surface in the room, occupying most of the wall. Moses smiled inwardly, and, at an appropriate moment, rose part way from the table, then made a sound so the woman would look towards the mirrored surface. Moses was rewarded by a blood curdling scream, but was laying down in the position he had always held by the time the woman was able to face him directly, not reflected. People came running, other lowly priests, maybe a guard. Moses' inward smile would keep him occupied for a long time. And they said he had no sense of humour.