Werewolf XVIII: Isle of the Damned

[Kasmandre]

From the Journals of Commandant Edward James Ulster (assumably earmarked for a scholarly work on the natives of Annisberg):

The rituals of the Native Peoples of Annisberg is largely unknown as they died too recently after the Foundation of the Colony for a true Anthropological study to be done.  However, I believe I have ascertianed the meanings of a few of these rituals: namely the ones intended to proloung the lives of their people beyond Natural Death.  They believed that they had the Unholy Power to live on eternily as Spirits in order to wreak vengence on their enemies.  I personally thank God that such foolishness was merely the stock in trade of wily shamans and not true power.  Else every man on this Isle would be in Mortal Danger.

Looking up from his journals and notes for the first time in hours, Commandant Ulster listened to the sounds of the convicts laboring on the new baracks. He knew that he should go out to inspect the work and to make sure that the guards weren't taking too much advantage of the prisoners or vise versa. At the very least, he should make the appearance.

 

But the prisoners and guards were all rough and uninteresting, while the dead natives were intriguing and, in their own way, alive. He was sure that he was on the cusp of a great breakthrough in his research, having accumulated a number of accounts on their actual incantations. With a little more work, he might just be able to reconstruct them in whole.

 

With a last fitful look at the door, Ulster turned back to his papers.

 

ooc: feel free to RP your characters actions. The first (NPC) death will be posted in about 24 hours, at which time everyone will get their respective roles. If anyone else wants to join in, you have until the first death.

 

Game on!

[Patrick]

William wiped his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. It was a hot day. As nearly every day was here. As nearly every day had been in the thirteen years since he had been here. One would think that he could have gotten used to it, but no. He would never get used to it. His hands and body had gotten muscled and used to the work on the island, but his mind and soul would never change. He would always be the revolutionary.

 

As he moved a timber he shot a glance at one of the guards surveying the work of the prisoners not far away. Bartholomew Jamison the guard was called, and ever since the man had been here William had watched him. It had been close to nine years that Bartholomew had gotten stationed here, and the prolonged stay on the island could be seen on him. He sometimes unnecessarily punished the prisoners and at other times a fear could be seen in his eyes.

 

William had never been able to find out what this fear was about, but nothing hurried him. He was still going to spend another four years under the burning tropical sun.

[Sweetcherrie]

Aimo was lying down under a bush, it was a very hot day, and little drops of sweat ran over his big, red nose. He was waiting for the right moment to get up and sprint to the shade of one of the buildings, where he was out of view. He calmly observed the guard, who was overseeing the other prisoners.

 

Aimo had been here so long, and with his services he had earned “special rights” from the guards. This meant that he could sneak away every now and then, but he also had to be careful that none of the other prisoners noticed, or they’d all want “special rights”.

 

The guard quickly looked his way, shielded him from the view of the others, and waved a hand behind his back, signalling that he could now get out from under his bush.

 

He got up as fast as his big belly and his heavy load allowed him, and ran to the side of the building, trying to use some of the trees as cover. None of the others had noticed. Softly humming, happy with himself, he continued his way to where the guards lived. He would be eating well today, the guards would be pleased with what he had brought.

[Venefyxatu]

The Shaman was chopping wood along with a few others. He wore only his loincloth, as usually, and didn't even seem to notice the heat - he was used to it. The other prisoners and the guard supervising them weren't, however, although some of them had been here for many years. It was obvious that they were suffering, that they hated the sweat running down their bodies, making their clothes sticky, making them feel lazy.

The Shaman knew that he could easily outrun them if he would try - he could run for hours in this heat, whereas they wouldn't last for five minutes, but he'd never even tried. He knew that if he left the camp, he would be dead before the next sunrise - he'd sensed spirits about, angry spirits, powerful spirits. He knew what an angry spirit could do to a human and even his spiritual defenses wouldn't last against the entire tribe that he sensed. He shook his head, picked up one of the logs and started carrying it to the construction site with a toothy grin towards the guard.

[Ozymandias]

Jamison glowered back at William for an instant, then quickly looked away (in such a manner as he firmly and repetetively told himself as would not look at all weak).

 

Softtly mumbling curses, he returned to his patrolling, careful not to meet the eyes of the rest while looking as stern and 'don't mess with me' as possible.

 

That one's a short fuse in a sea of sparks, he is, Bartholomew admitted ruefully to himself. I don't like him here. Not at all. If not for the near-nonexistent shipping we get, and the Godforsaken distance from everyone, I'dve put in for transfer the moment he got here. As it is, that one's too smart to try and stage a pointless coup.

 

Though the Devil himself staged one. And he's plenty smarter'n any of us.

[Patrick]

As soon as Jamison looked away William pulled a face at him and then returned to his job. He couldn't see what the problem with the old barracks was, even less why they needed new ones, but during his years here he had gotten used to not asking questions. The less contact he had with the guards, the less possibility there was for a confrontation.

 

A bird flew overhead singing happily. William started thinking about the freedom the bird had. If it wanted it just spread its wings and made its way towards the mainland, which was so unattainably far for him. Silently he cursed the bird for its freedom and then looked around. He couldn't help but notice that at times one of the prisoners was missing.

 

Well maybe he is working somewhere else. - he thought to himself. He once again wiped his face with his shirt, which was also drenched with sweat.

 

Damn this heat. And damn these stupid guards.

 

All he wished at the moment was to return to nice cool England and live the life he had lived there.

[Tanuchan]

Lilah drifts with the breeze, not caring if some of the native's spirits looked angrily at her, though most of them showed a kind of pity. She lets herself be shaped as a cloud, slightly frayed at the edges because of the eddies created by trees and rocks. She floats almost lazily towards her target - there's no sense of urgency, as time doesn't have any meaning to her anymore.

 

She hovers near her target - the Shaman. She knows he's aware of the spirits' presence - she can look and see his own spirit looking at her, questioning her silently.

 

Shaman... Shaman... when will you pay enough attention to individual spirits to learn from them, instead of being wary of them?

 

Lilah's voice isn't more than the whisper of a soft breeze, and the Shaman just turns and carries the log towards the construction. Lilah follows, for somewhere nearby she can sense the call of another living soul.

 

Corwin... how I wish you had left... your gentle heart didn't deserve loving me. It didn't deserve finding me dead.

 

Contrary to whatever a writer thought should happen, Lilah's growing love for Corwin had passed away with her body. What drew her to Corwin, not letting her go on her journey, was more the need to finish an unaccomplished mission than any lingering earthly emotion. However, Corwin's unabated love for her, and his constant thoughts about her, were also keeping her tied to this world. And so she always ended up drawn to his side, even when the stronger purpose of the natives' spirits struggled to keep her with them.

 

It didn't deserve the change I caused upon you...

 

There's a fleeting sensation of regret, that makes Lilah wonder - she couldn't recognize it anymore, half-detached from the world. But her memories supplied her with a name for the feeling.

 

Regret... yes, regret. I regret driving you into such despair, Corwin. But I need you now, as you never thought I would while we were alive.

 

With slight more willpower, Lilah changes her shape until a shadow of her living body stands right behind Corwin, though he can't see her. Tall, slim-waisted, with a proud bearing but gentle eyes, Lilah LeCureux lowers her head with a sigh.

 

"Corwin... Corwin... "

 

 

The guard raises his head, frowning, listening intently. But then, convincing himself he's letting his imagination rule his mind, he goes back to patroling the perimeter of the colony.

[Gryphon]

Seth whistles a cheerful sea shanty as he hammers a wooden spike into the ground to be used as part of the barracks construction. Sweat pouring off his shirtless torso so that he's cooler in the heat. Muscles flex rhythmicaly as he pounds the spike deeper into the earth.

 

Pausing, he wipes the sweat off his brow and glances around to see how many guards are watching him, and gives a humourless grin he sees two paying him close attention, ready to swing into attack should he show the slightest sign of disobedience.

 

As one of the guards takes a step in his direction Seth goes back to working and whistling his sea shanty.

 

He is totally unsurprised that they're watching him - after the time he got his hands on a saw and tried to take off that guards arm the surprising part is that they let him use a hammer at all. Still, the bruises heal with time and the guard, unfortunately, was not badly injured so there'll be another chance to escape.. eventually.

 

The tune goes on, sprightly if out of tune, conjuring memories of the ocean waves.

[Kasmandre]

Hours later, the construction is left for another day and the guards and prisoners have a short meal before retiring to their respective barracks. An hour after sunset, the only people about are the unlucky guards who drew guard duty.

 

Maybe...

 

At the Commandant's office a light burns as Ulster continued his work, mindless of the time of night. Even on the edge of exhaustion, he believed that he was almost finished with his compilation. But, as the time dragged past, he could feel his head drooping. Until, finally...

 

Deep in the forest, the tribe had come to a decision. The time for action was at hand. The intruders would be swept out like the passing tide. Their two fiercest warriors strode from the forest, through the dark of night and into the death-bringers' colony. They took their mortal flesh like a hunter wears the skin of its prey and walked to their first victim. The one who led this unholy place. The warriors whispered with one voice, "Ulster."

 

The Commandant jerked awake, startled by the vividness of the dream. Deciding that enough was enough for one night, he began to gather up the papers he'd been poring over. He was putting them back in their files at the back of the room when he heard the door open.

 

He turned stark white as the two native warriors from his dream strode across the room. Convinced that this was still a dream, he only screamed when the warriors faded and he recognized his two killers.

 

The scream woke up most of the colony. Everyone, guards and prisoners alike, rushed to the Commandant's Office. Rushing through the still-open door, they saw the Commandant lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling with wide, terrified eyes, his throat bruised where it had been throttled.

 

After the initial shock wore off, the guards managed to get the prisioners out of the Office and back in their barracks. Then they gathered to try and figure out what was to be done. The supply ship should show up within the next week or two, but until then, they had at least one active killer on the island.

 

ooc: Well, the Commandant's good and dead. The Day Phase begins now and will end in about 48 hours. Roles are now being sent out. If you don't get a PM, you're a villager. Let the accusations begin!!!

[Patrick]

Suits the bastard to die in such a way. He didn't care the least about the prisoners.

 

Yet outwardly William showed a shocked expression and looked in every direction to see if he could see the one who had done this. Had it been one of the prisoners? One of the guards wanting to replace the commander? William was thinking fast while the guards led them back to their barracks, but all he could think about was that anyone could have commited the murder. Everyone had a possible motive, even himself.

 

In the barrack he looked over his fellow convicts. Each of them was probably having the same thoughts as he was. William lay back on his bunk and stared at the ceiling.

 

"So, who do you think did it?" - he said into the air, directing the question at all the others inside the building.

[Venefyxatu]

In the Commandant's office, the Shaman suddenly squeezes his eyes shut, clenches his fists and tenses every muscle in his body. For some he stands there, shaking, and nothing anyone can do can move him or wake him from what appears to be a trance.

 

The lifeless body of the Commandant lies on the floor and the spirit is still near it. It knows the Shaman is aware of it, although it doesn't know yet how to communicate with him. That is the last of its worries at this moment, though, since it is still screaming, both with the shock of having lost its body and with the terror of knowing the Tribe spirits nearby. They are still in this room, observing their handywork, although they have left the bodies of those they have used. Their presence is stronger than ever - a pure and unchecked rage in the room, a vicious pleasure at having made one of the intruders join them.

 

With a sudden "Hhhhaaaa!" that sounds as if it was torn from his throat, the Shaman throws his head back and unclenches his fists. He relaxes his muscles and becomes his normal, quiet self again, joining the others as they are brought back to their barracks. As he sits on his bunk, he looks at all the others one by one, aware of the fact that whoever was used probably doesn't even know it ...

 

So he sits quietly, meditating, going back in his memories to make sure that they have not caught him by surprise and used his body. Just as he is about to conjure up his mental defenses, however, he senses another spirit nearby, not one of the Tribe, but ... he doesn't know. Preparing to defend himself mentally, he reaches out for the spirit. Maybe it has seen something? No ... no it hasn't. It was not here for the Commandant ...

[Sweetcherrie]

Aimo was lying on his bunk, the heat was still smothering, and he seemed to feel it even worse since the death of the commandant this evening.

 

Only an hour before he had been speaking to him about extra privileges, and now he was dead. This was a definite set back, someone would probably come and replace the commandant, and then he would have to start the negotiating all over again.

Aimo hoped that whoever would be send here, that that person also loved his liquors.

 

He thought about his stash at the island for a moment, but that William person interrupted his thoughts, by asking whom they thought had done it.

 

Aimo hadn’t even though that far, he had only been thinking about what this would mean to his business. He turned around in his bunk, hindered by the fact that it really didn’t fit his body, and tried to get to sleep. His mind was a bit fogged by the stuff he had been drinking this afternoon, and he didn’t want to jump to hasty conclusions.

[Gryphon]

Seth briefly considers taking 'ownership' of the kill balancing the merits of extra respect or fear from his fellow inmates against the extra watchfulness of the guards when a question from one of the inmates breaks through his musing.

 

"So, who do you think did it?"

 

With an almost cheerful grin Seth slaps William heartily on the back managing to stagger him, deciding in that moment how to handle the situation...

 

"I don't know laddie, but I can tell you this - damn fine job - couldn't have done better myself. I'd be happy to have someone who could kill like that crew for me when I get off this rock."

 

Once again whistling a tune, all be it badly, Seth strides away into the heat of the night to try and get some sleep.

 

Maybe if we get lucky we'll get a breeze off the ocean tonight to cool things down a bit. Seth thinks to himself... and the night moves on.

Edited March 20, 2005 by Gryphon

[Tanuchan]

Lilah looks at the body of the Commandant, and then to his frightened spirit, who cowers at seeing the Warriors advancing to him. He casts beseeching eyes towards her, an amorphous cloud that he senses he should know.

 

Know? Yes, Ulster... you should know... you haven't learned to use your spirit's eyes yet...

 

She assumes again her earthly shape, grinning as Ulster steps back. She then turns her back to him, not caring about what the Warrior spirits will do to him.

 

You get what you paid for in life. You killed these people. You made life here unbearable for the living. I may not feel anymore, but I remember the feeling... enjoy your afterlife, Ulster.

 

The scream, unheard by the living except the Shaman, who echoes it, pierces Lilah's soul. But she lets it pass through, not fighting, not challenging, and the pain and terror recede as she focus her attention on the Shaman.

 

"Shaman... Shaman... you sense me, you know I'm here... "

 

The whisper makes the Shaman tremble. Lilah senses his mind relaxing, his spirit looking for her. She reaches out a wispy hand.

 

No, I don't know who. The Warrior Spirits are here...

 

She glances behind, seeing them disappear. There's no sign of Ulster's spirit.

 

... They were here. They'll be back to their carnal hosts. You? I don't know. I can sense them, but I don't know who they possessed. I wouldn't, unless they call to me.

 

Lilah starts to float away, but there's still a query from the Shaman.

 

Me? You know me, Shaman... use your spirit's eyes. I'm here to find who killed me. I'm here to find out who betrayed us again. Who will cause my father and my brother to rot in prison, or die of despair.

 

Corwin's thoughts again reach her, tugging at her, and she disappears through the wall.

 

 

"Time... already a year, Corwin?" Her form sits at his side while he observes the prisoners with half his mind musing if Ulster's murderers had also killed Lilah. His feelings are like bright rays of mingled light and darkness, and she rests a hand on the almost invisible cord that links her to his spirit.

 

"Corwin... forget Ulster's murderers... find who killed me. If the first anniversary is this near, with the strength your feelings give me I may be able to finish my mission on earth. Corwin... dear..."

 

Her thoughts fail for a while, as she wonder about the meaning of the words that come to her lips from time to time, trying to connect them to feelings she once had.

 

"... dear love..."

 

 

 

~~~~

Edit: typos & grammar

Edited March 21, 2005 by Tanuchan

[Sweetcherrie]

That afternoon the heat was once again unbearable, which promised another burning day in hell. Aimo wasn’t too bothered; in fact he wasn’t bothered at all. Something else was keeping his thoughts busy.

 

He had woken up that morning with the feeling that there were thousands of angry dwarfs with little knives, pricking on the inside of his skull. He had tried to forget about it, but by midmorning he couldn’t stand it any longer. As soon as the other prisoners looked the other way, he nodded to the guard that was watching them, and disappeared into the nearest bushes.

 

He walked for a while, and tried to concentrate on something else than the throbbing in his head, which seemed to get worse with every step he took. Without noticing he had taken the right paths, and now stood in front of a small wooden cabin.

 

Great wafts of smoke were coming from the windows, and for an outsider it would have looked as if the cabin was on fire. Aimo only smiled, everything was still in order. There hung a nauseating smell in the air around the cabin, but Aimo took a deep breath, and already felt some of the dwarfs retreat. He opened the door, and went inside.

 

Two hours later he emerged. His nose had become its familiar shade of reddish-purple again, and his steps were slightly less steady then when he had arrived. His headache had disappeared, and his thoughts were more connected than before.

 

He wobbled back to the barracks, now carrying a large bag on his back, and hardly noticed where he was walking, until he heard rustling in the bushes that slowly came in his direction. It seemed he wasn’t the only one who was running loose on the island. He hid behind a few trees, and waited.

 

It was that William bloke. He strode right past Aimo, without noticing that he was being watched. When he was out of view, Aimo followed the path again, now wondering why he wasn’t the only one that was walking around in the woods, and what William had been looking for.

 

OOC: I accuse William of Humperton / Patrick (hey, someone needs to start with accusing random people )

[Patrick]

The next day the guards seemed much uneasier and even among the prisoners the presence of a certain fear could be felt. This fear made the already strong heat seem as if it were even stronger. Some of the prisoners however did seem somewhat happy about the fate of the late commander. Seth had been especially delighted when he had talked about it just after they were sent back to their barracks.

 

William needed to think. He needed some moments alone. His aim was to get off the island alive. And as far as he knew even he himself could be the next target of the one, who had killed the commander.

 

William picked up his shirt and went a short way into the forest on the route they used to carry the wood for the construction. Once out of sight of the others he dashed into the dense undergrowth and bushes on the right side of the tracks and while walking his thoughts started racing.

 

That arab fellow. He's pretty suspicious. I haven't seen him at the construction site yesterday, nor was he there today. Could he be the one? Or is it Seth, who was so happy about it? Or someone else?

 

While thinking he passed Aimo, without even seeing the arab. He walked thinking for fifteen more minutes before returning towards the construction site.

 

He arrived back pulling a long piece of timber behind him.

 

"Anyone want to help me carry this? It took pretty long to drag here."

 

He looked around, trying to see whether anyone wondered why it had really taken that long.

 

OOC: Accusing Aimo / Sweetcherrie

[Venefyxatu]

The Shaman picked up one end of the piece of timber William had been dragging along and together they brought it to the construction site. As soon as they put it down, however, the Shaman more fell than sat on it cross-legged, his eyes closed, completely immobilized.

 

The other spirit, a woman. She is tied to one of the guards, but she is no guard ... no ... she is ... was ... still is a prisoner here, only now there are other bonds that hold her. She died here, foul murder, but like the Commandant? I cannot see, it is hidden from me. Tonight ...

 

While the thoughts rush through the Shaman's head, one of the guards sees him and walks up to him.

 

"Another pause, eh Shaman? C'mon, no time to rest, ye'll have enough rest tonight! Get up!"

 

With a kick to the Shaman's ribs because he knew that there was nothing he could do anyway the guard left again. The Shaman's spirit noticed this but did not feel it, for pain is a matter of the body. When he awoke, later, he was wondering ... whose body would he take over if he wanted to avenge his tribe on the intruders? One who was trusted by his first target, and then probably the same one over and over ... because the more often you did it to someone, the easier it got ...

 

OOC : Accusing Ozy / Bartholomew because he's a guard, and the guards are all that stands between me and my freedom, and because the Commandant would've trusted him

[Gnarlitch]

Unpleasant sounds echo from the solitary confinement block, also known as "The Cooler"...

"Aw bloody hell! You mean to tell me that some bloke went and did fer the cap'n and I didn't get no part of it! I don't know if I likes that, no I don't. Part o' me wants ta buy the sod a drink a' the pub...but most o' me wants ta rip his bloomin' throat out fernot waitin' til I could get in on the fun!" *bars shake and rattle* "OY! LET ME OUTTA HERE! There's a killer on the loose an' I wann do fer him afore he does fer me! OY! I'm in 'ere all alone! 'Ey! Mister Tremaine, or do you prefer Guard Tremaine? Get yer bledin' arse in 'ere and let me out!"

 

Guard Tremaine "SHUT YER YAP! Keep thet up an' I'll throw ya out into the sun! See 'ow ye like thet. hehe"

 

"GAH! You must be the killer then! Man after me own heart OY! A LITTLE HELP 'ERE! GUARD TREMAINE SEEMS TA 'AVE GONE CRAZY!! HE'S TRYING TA KILL ME HE IS!"

 

OOC: vote for Akallabeth/Guard Corwin Tremain Mainly because he needs to go see his sweetie and let her move on!

[Akallabeth]

Tremaine listens to the annoying yells of Spike, as he continues to rant and rave over having landed himslelf in the cooler. Why was he there anyway . . . ?

 

OOC: vote for Gnarlich/Spike. Just a friendly reply

[Kasmandre]

William dragged another large log toward the construction. He'd chosen another heavy one so that the guards would have no reason to call him lazy. With the way they'd gone after the Shaman, he didn't need to take any chances. He chose to console himself with the fact that his newfound muscles would aid in the fight against the monarchy when his term here was over. Heaving the wood on a shoulder, he made his way through the underbrush.

 

A moment later, he noticed Aimo walking toward him. The Arab was weaving slightly and carrying a log that was too small for use in the construction, but big enough to be dangerous. Aimo stopped shakily about three feet in front of him.

 

"Y' seemed ta take a long time gettin' these las' coupla logs, Willy. Makes me wonder where ya been, both now and las' night."

 

William let the log he was carrying drop to the ground. "I could ask you the same questions. I hardly see you at the construction. And if you can slip away from there, you could slip away from the rest of the prisoners and into the Commandant's Office."

 

Aimo snorted a beery laugh. "Now I know it wasn' me. It's you I'm not so sure of. Figure I might getta few years off if I find th' murdererer. An' I think yer it." With that, he raised the log and swung it at William's head. William easily ducked the clumsy swing. He tried to get in close to the fat Arab, but he kept finding the log blocking his path.

 

After a few minutes of this, the commotion of the two brought the attention of a few of the guards. Jamison emerged from the end of the trail nearest the colony, quickly assessed the situation and readied the whip he had at his side. "Alright, both of you, drop it or I'll whip you both raw and stick you in the Cooler."

 

William glowered at Jamison. "I don't have anything to drop, you-" Whatever he was going to call the guard was lost as Aimo took advantage of William's distraction and landed a heavy blow on his head. William went down like a pile of bricks, his head partway caved in by the big Arab's blow.

 

As more guards and prisoners found their way to the site of the carnage, William inhaled shakily and, staring blankly at the trees, whispered, "But I didn't kill anyone..." Then, with a bloody cough, he died.

 

ooc: Patrick/ William of Humperton was an "innocent" prisoner. The Night Phase has now begun. Wolves, baner, seer, PM me in the next 24 hours with your targets. Feel free to RP in this time, but no accusations.

[DeanTheAdequate]

But let's go down, down under the soft earth on the other side of the island...

 

There is a hole. A deep one. Damp at the bottom, but finally for naught. Since it won't be a well, it'll just be a privy.

 

Alex Landown couldn't believe his good fortune to be on well duty during the heat of recent days. He stopped believeing that when the rope fell past him just as he was finishing this last bit. 20 feet down in his own damp pit, marvelous.

 

He'd made use of a thirsty couple of rats, and what was left of the small canteen they'd left him. Butn how to get out? A tough scrape, but Alex had been thorugh worse...

 

Climbing would be no good. The soft soil here would not support Alex's many muscles. But there was use in this shovel yet...

 

***

 

"Did you feel something?" said a guard.

 

The second in the guard house said nothing. Just continued to stare at his broth.

 

"I swear, I'd kill for a huge hunk of beef right now... Rare, nothing but riped sinew would go up a treat..."

 

And then the room caved in. Just a bit. Revealing the ever-so-huge Alex. Two rifles trained on him immediately.

 

"Oh god... I forgot about him..." said the guard.

 

"So did the commendant... Moreso than you." Alex said, rubbing his bald head "So tell me, where can I register a complaint to him?"

 

"It's like this..."

***

 

Alex was back in his irons, a huge grin on his face. Someone had done the nutter. And it wasn't him. It was an ANGLE. Finally a way out of here. He just had to keep cool, and remember what his family taught him... Someone was gonna live thorugh this, and they'd have access to the weapons, and resupply was only a few days way...

[Patrick]

This was not how it was supposed to end. As he fell to his knees he felt blood coming up from his lungs.

 

"God damn....the king." - he said and then coughed. A spray of blood came from his open mouth and he fell forward onto his face.

 

He opened his eyes and looked around himself. He felt no pain anymore. He felt nothing anymore. So this was how it was to be a spirit. He looked down at his body and could barely see it. So there was life after death, and this was it.

 

William did a somersault with ease, trying out what his new form was capable of. Turning back he surveyed the guards picking up his body and taking it to where they dumped all dead bodies.

 

Having seen that his body got taken care of he explored the hidden corners of the island. He noticed the angry spirits, but their anger was not directed towards him, as he was already one of their world. Their anger was directed at the world of the living, which they loathed.

 

William walked among them, observed them, observed what they did and how they did. Then he decided to return to the encampment. At least one killer was on the loose and just out of curiosity he was going to watch what events happened.

[Gnarlitch]

Tremaine listens to the annoying yells of Spike, as he continues to rant and rave over having landed himslelf in the cooler. Why was he there anyway . . . ?

OOC: Why am I there? Simple. It's because I have this tendency to EAT the other prisoners when left in the general population. Spike is a character from "Buffy the Vampire Slayer." He's a vampire who is a couple of hundred years old. I didn't get overly specific with my back story simply because I didn't want to be automatically lynched the first round. Pretty much, my idea was that the British governemnt had finally gotten their hands on him but for some reason was keeping him alive yet out of the way. he can't be part of the daily work details here on the island because he would burst into flame...which also tends to keeps him more easily confined on the island until the higher ups decide what to do with him. This is even plausible with the TV story because in one episode Angel was forced to work for the US governemnt during WWII and ran into Spike working for the Nazis, also more or less against his will. But, it would probably be rather hush hush on the island why Spike is in solitary, yet rumors would abound.

[Ozymandias]

Aimo and Bartholomew Jamison locked gazes. The bulky Arab's eyes burned with a cold, slow fury. Jamison's look in return was enraged, and more than a little wild.

 

It went no further at that point, for Aimo needed time for his throbbing temples to clear again in the wake of the savage beating that the guard had administered with the butt of his rifle as two of the other guards looked on.

 

Jamison, on the other hand, had not nearly as much rhythm and reason to his thoughts.

 

"We don't take kindly to murderers", he said in a low tone. Aimo did an admirable job, as intoxicated, brused, bloodied, and sore as he was in keeping his face passive as he spit a tooth (inside of a wad of blood) in the neurotic guard's face.

 

Bartholomew's face twisted in what could be described as animal fury, but rather than strike the prisoner again, he turned on his heel.

 

"You take him", he muttered to the other guards as he strode off briskly.

 

Aimo refelcted ponderously through his head injury and alcohol-induced haze how convenient it was that someone else may well do for this lunatic without him having to go to all that trouble himself.

[Kasmandre]

The warriors came again, stealthily moving through the camp. They moved through the few spirits who clung to the edge of the living world, passing the Commandant, pale and terrified, passing Lilah, determined and focused, passing William, curious and new to the spirit world. They entered the colony and sunk back into their mortal hosts. They rose from their beds and moved to their next target with unearthly stealth. They had already chosen their target. Before, they had taken the chief of the colony, now they would take its strongest. Then, all would know of their strength.

 

They crept up on the sleeping form of their victim. With a quick motion, one slit his windpipe while the other held him down, preventing him from screaming or raising an alarm. Then, they set to work, carving deeper and deeper into his flesh. Blood soaked his bedclothes, then pooled on the floor. Almost a half hour later, he shuddered his last and the two warriors departed, wiping off the little blood they'd gotten on themselves and carefully discarded their stained clothes. Then they left their mortal shells and receeded to watch the results...

 

All over the colony, guards and prisoners alike awoke suddenly, shocked awake by the same dream. As one, they all moved toward the prisoners' barracks. When they came across the body of Alex they all recoiled, but none of them were truly shocked. They'd all been there, in a way...

 

ooc: DeanTheAdequate/Alex "The Hammer" Landown was guilty of a lot of murders, but nothing recent he was a villager. The Day Phase begins now and will end in 48 hours. Let the accusations begin!