Jump to content
The Pen is Mightier than the Sword
Patrick

Werewolf II - Game thread

Recommended Posts

Even Adam, usually at ease in his kitchen, was glad he was carrying the pistol around now. Not just because of the curse; he'd seen how little conventional weapons helped against that. No, with all the murders added on top of the curse, if a mob did come for him, at least he wouldn't go down without a fight. And if the beast did come for him... all he could do was hope that the cross would have some effect.

 

When Michael came down to the kitchen for a drink, Adam sat down with him. He was about done for the day anyway and could use a drink himself as well.

 

"You're right. If only the captain had still been alive, he'd at least be able to keep the men in line. But now? We're fast on our way to becoming a ghost ship..."

 

They sat in silence for a while, both men lost in sombre thoughts, until Adam suddenly looked up.

 

"If I survive this, I'm never setting foot on another ship again. There's a cute redhead in our destination port... I think I'll marry her and start an inn, just like all the retired adventurers in the stories. What about you? What are you going to do if you survive?"

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Fear. It smelled it, it thrived on it. This ship stank of it. Fear permeated the wood, the sails and the rigging. A fat slug, stinking of fear, limping towards a port that was far far away...

 

It smelled blood too, this beast of fur and fangs and claws. The humans had been tricky the night before, placing a trap, that took until the morning to get out of. But this night, this night things would be diff-

 

The gunshot was extremely loud, especially for animal ears. The beast snarled in pain and rage as it lunged after the figure that was already turning a corner in its haste to get away. But by the time the beast itself rounded the same corner, the pesky human was gone. And the beast hadn't even gotten a good scent of it.

 

It retreated into the depths of the ship, nursing the wound in its stomach. It would heal, it still had the strength for that. But it needed food soon...

 

OOC: The baner has once again stopped a kill from happening. Day phase now.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

(From the night before)

 

Michael shook his head. "You know I was planning to leave the ship before this last voyage? I had everything ready, but joined the Captain for a final game of cards the night before the ship was going to depart. I drank far too much and gambled away everything, and in the end the Captain had my indenture. Now, he's dead, and with the ship in the state it is, if we manage to make port, no one will notice if I just walk off with the rest of you. I think I might visit your inn, Adam, if only to taste your cooking once again! But for myself, I think I'll head back north... by wagon... and make some amends. I left home in a poor way, and I'd like the chance to apologize."

 

In the morning, the ship was abuzz with rumors. Someone claimed to have shot the beast and lived to tell the tale of it. A search party with lanterns, pistols and cutlasses had followed the blood trail, but were frustrated when it ended abruptly at a solid bulkhead. Michael was called to inspect the bulkhead, as one of the crewmen with the best knowledge of the ship, given his constant work repairing and maintaining it.

 

Running his hands over the wood, he frowned in concentration. "I can't explain it. This ship has a few cubbies that are out of the way or hard to get to, but its not like there are secret passages or hidden doorways, there's simply not enough room aboard for that sort of thing!"

 

"What's on the other side of this bulkhead, then?" one of the men behind his said, looking around, his hands flexing on an ax.

 

Michael thought for a moment, mentally picturing their location. "On the other side would be one of the holds where we store food, but there are people in and out of there all day long."

 

Privately, he wondered who might still harbor the demon within them. Young Carey, or the hapless Davey? Or one of the other crew perhaps. The slaves were all securely chained in the holds, and all accounted for in the morning, so it left only the remaining crew to choose from.

 

(OOC: Voting for Davey Jones / Tanuchan)

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Carey leaned against the ship's railing and looked out over the water, gnawing on his bottom lip. It didn't feel right. Nothing felt right anymore on this ship, and Carey had no idea what to think. There seemed to be so few of them left, so few possibilities as to who could be the monster. It could even be his friends, and as much as Carey tried not to think about that he couldn't help but consider the possibility.

 

Where did that leave him, then?

 

OOC: Thought I had more but I'm out of words today. Vote for Vene/Adam

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Davey sighed, then joined Carey at the ship's railing - though with his back to the sea. He had concluded, during the long night hours, that all he wanted was to be out of that ship.

 

Not that it was possible, anyway.

 

"You know what's worse? Knowing it's one of us. That witch doctor did curse the ship, didn't he?"

 

Carey didn't respond, but then, Davey was too distracted to listen even if he had answered. His thoughts were spinning in circles (not something he would notice...) and he kept looking at the other crewmembers. Starting to think about their reasons to be onboard, and whether a curse could affect them.

 

His eyes fell on Adam, who seemed to be takign a short break from the kitchen. Not that one, I suppose... his interests were always on food... A small fond smile curled up his lips, remembering all the times the cook had added to his plate, or - lately - given him something nice to drink.

 

Then he blinked, a stray thought crossing his mind. Hm... Hansel and Gretel... and the witch...

 

==========

OOC: voting for Vene/Adam.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Like just about everyone else on the ship, Adam had heard the shot and the ensuing commotion. He was just on his way back from another late night spent in the kitchen, having finished the last of the cleanup duties some time after Michael had gone back to his cabin. With his own pistol in one hand and his cross in the other he continued on his way, not sure whether he should try to run for the relative safety of his own cabin or try to be as quiet as possible. The beast nearly did get a kill, as Adam's heart skipped a few beats when he saw it bolt through a door further down the hallway. There seemed to be something... familiar about it, too.

 

He did not sleep well that night.

 

For once, he couldn't get out of the kitchen fast enough. His usually so beloved activities weren't enough to distract him so as soon as breakfast was done he made his way up to the deck to get some fresh air. He lumbered over to the railing but froze when he saw Carey and Davey leaning on it. With what he'd seen last night flashing thorugh his mind again he almost didn't dare, but then he figured that the curse had, so far, only acted at night and decided to risk it. He went to lean on the railing next to them and shook his head sadly.

 

"I can't blame you, you know. Carey, for a while I thought it was you. But after what I saw last night... I know it isn't. I should have seen it. We all should have seen it. After all, a curse affects the weakest minds first, doesn't it? With the Lieutenant it was obvious. He was never the most stable mind on the ship. He probably would've flipped on one of the next voyages anyway. And Davey... with you always being so uncertain. Are you even aware of it? Or is it nothing but bad dreams to you?"

 

OOC: Dammit! Took too long to write my post :P

Rewrote, but keeping the vote for Tanuchan / Davey

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

By virtue of being the most senior crewmate on board, First Mate Matthews should have assumed command as soon as the Lieutenant had been found murdered. But he had not. Him and half a dozen other sailors had spent the night in a drunken orgy in one of the empty cabins with about a dozen slave girls. They had all acted as though it was their last night on this accursed earth.

 

His headache could have rivaled the wrath of a singularly focused god, but it had been worth it. He sat on the floor next to the ship's wheel, which had been tied down the previous night and not touched since, nursing his hangover the only way he knew how, with rum he had stolen from the kitchens as soon as that overly fat cook had left.

 

Even when the commotion broke out midships, he did not intervene. He felt perfect just where he was.

 

And then a vicious snarl brought everything to a standstill on the ship as all eyes turned to Adam, and what mere seconds before had been Davey. Clothes had shredded before incredulous eyes, as muscles appeared as if from nowhere, and fur grew at alarming speeds on every inch of skin. Davey, or what had once been him, howled at the moon that was still just above the horizon, even though the sun was already out, and lunged at the cook.

 

Adam was indeed a "very" man. Very fat, very slow to move and a very juicy morsel. He was also very calm under pressure, after years and years of training in the stressful environment of the kitchen. And even though he was slow, his pistol had almost been raised already and all it took was to raise it just a bit and pull the tri-

 

All went black for Adam as the beast slammed into him a fraction of a second before he pulled the trigger. His aim went just a bit wide and the bullet only grazed the beast's shoulder before burying itself in the main mast, all but shattering it.

 

Beast and man fell in a tangle to the deck, a heap of snarls, shouts and yelps. Against such a pure mass of muscle and anger, the mass of fat and fear of Adam had no chance...

 

But he was not alone. Michael had been ready for this, he had after all wounded the beast just the night before, and stopped its kin the night before that. His musket was loaded, and his trigger hand clutched a cross. He muttered a quick prayer, and fired.

 

The gods must have been with him, or they may have favoured Adam to live another day, for none of the pellets hit the cook, and almost all buried themselves in the werewolf's back. The little silver Michael had been able to pilfer from the captain's cabin and melt and add to the musket pellets did the job.

 

The beast half transformed into Davey , a helpless pleading look on its face. First Mate Matthews, still with a killer headache, and a temper to go with it would have been happy to kill anyone. All that snarling and shouting and shooting were doing no good to the pounding between his ears. From barely two feet away he aimed and put a bullet right between Davey's eyes, splattering blood and brains on everyone who had been standing close.

 

The first mate then promptly collapsed to the deck, and started snoring, still clutching a bottle of rum in one hand, and a musket in the other.

 

Badly shaken and horribly bruised, Adam was still half-trapped under the werewolf half of the corpse. But he was alive.

 

OOC: Game is now over, villagers win, check the OOC thread.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Michael helped pull Adam out from under the werewolf and gave him the best medicine he could think of for something like this - he took him back to his kitchen and kept pouring him rum until the shakes wore off.

 

A few weeks later, the battered and half-crewed Fat Slug pulled into harbor, and Michael was one of the first off the ship. He left without a backward glance, having made his promises to come back to visit Adam when he had established his new inn. He carried his wordly possessions in a backpack, and his pouch was fat with his wages, 'liberated' as they were while First Mate (styling himself now Captain) Matthews snored in a drunken stupor.

 

In the weeks and months that passed, Michael worked his way northward, finally reaching the colonies, where he saw his younger brother for the first time in a decade. After a good scuffle, they made up, and Michael worked as a carpenter through the winter until the ships began to travel once more between the colonies and England.

 

Taking passage, not without a great deal of trepidation, Michael returned to his native country and made peace with his parents, paid off his creditors, and unburdened himself to his priest. Michael stowed away on the next ship leaving for the colonies, one step ahead of the police, who wanted to arrest and place the obviously disturbed man in the asylum.

 

He returned to the Colonies and took up carpentry once more, and lived a long and healthy life, never setting foot aboard a ship again. He made the long trip to visit Michael a few times, admiring his fine inn, enjoying the excellent fare, and complimenting him on his good taste in settling down with his lovely wife.

 

He still shuddered every time he heard wolves howling in the distance, even into his old age.

  • Like 1

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now

×