Current lynch votes:
Yub [5]
(Wad, Ruffles, Ekko, Yoshi, Fang)
Ekko [3]
(Nep, Phenom, Ral)
Yub [5]
(Wad, Ruffles, Ekko, Yoshi, Fang)
Ekko [3]
(Nep, Phenom, Ral)
The hand of fate was a cruel master to be beholden too. His every whim and fancy a daring demand of life and death, of blood and truths, and half lidded lies nestled in the shadows of blindness to those who fell under its aegis; leash tight against their throats as the masses plodded within their mundane activities over and over for its amusement.
And before this one's attention lay a pair of flimsheets, each with a different written name upon it:
The first on the right bore
"Ekkologix"
The second on the left contained "Odd"
A decision was needed to be made for the scales to be balanced.
Such was his burden.
Such was his duty.
Such was his purpose.
Their ill fated stars crossing together before a baleful unmerciful gaze.
Which one shall live?
Which one shall die?
Both?
Neither?
He took a deep intake to breathe in and out for a moment, the crimson garlands of his crown weighing heavier upon his head.
The shadowed one flicked a hand upon his ceremonial blade, examining it for a long lingering moment before the die was cast, and the decision made.
The silken words sullenly uttered in a quiet murmur from his lips.
"Ut est rerum omnium magister usus."
The adage was adept.
The knife was flicked by the small movement of his wrist and the sheet that contained it the name bled red like a punctured heart, infecting and infesting the material darkly, like a scythed body's arterial spray decorating the snow of the ground it fell upon.
If it were to be the end then he would leave one final song; a blood-frothing sonnet of spilled guts, hacked limbs, and bloodied cadavers to festoon the streets of the city in those bathing amber lights. Heaven be damned and hell be glorified, at least this final victim would be stabbed over and over and over and over without fail or mercy, his mind singularly focused on this last act of petty revenge.
And with that, the stalwart if schizophrenic hero of the avenging citizens was dead, mutilitated a dozen times in the back with that red-hand of fury holding the pommel of the sickle-knife in their grip.
Ekkologix had met his doom.
And the werewolf howled into the bloody specter of the unholy moon from the shadow straddled allies of the city in crooning glee.