Current Votes, as per post 724: (7/12 needed for hammer)
No Lynch: 1
The harsh winter takes its toll, twice over. People gathered enough embers to make large fires, then split off these fires to individual ones. Of all the human necessities, fire was deemed the most essential. Throughout the night, the sound of chopping could be heard, relentlessly. Makeshift axes made from sharp stones tied to branches using shoelaces cracked through dead wood with a tireless persistence. A fresh water reservoir was found nearby, resulting in the creation of a sort of neutral zone. The biggest fire roared there, held alive as a community project. As the individual fires represented individual lives, splintered off from one another in paranoia, the large fire represented the group as a whole.
Still, the labour exhausted people. With exhaustion comes two things: Apathy and Anger. The first casualty of winter were those who couldn’t fend for themselves despite still being alive. Those who were struck catatonic by the insertion of the English language into their brains had passed away quietly into the night. In fear that we might be forced to resort to extreme means, the only help granted them was a snow burial, hoping to preserve the flesh if need be. Cold pragmatism, like the weather, ruled over any sympathy this very moment.
But like the roaring fires, as did tempers flare. Some small fights and arguments sprung throughout the night, as shouting could occasionally be heard. Eventually, people didn’t even notice conflict anymore, too exhausted to care why the howmanieth person was aggravated. Maybe for the better, because when the morning came, with people sore from sleeping on whatever soft debris they could find, the more inquisitive had found a corpse and a dead campfire. Their skull bludgeoned in from a rock that rested nearby, this Beowulf seemed one of the most capable of holding their own in the cold, and some even whispered that he slept with one eye open. Sadly, for his vigilance, noone has eyes in the back of their head.
There are already so few hands and minds capable of helping out in these dire straits, to go after one another is folly of the greatest kind. But there are no prisons in this winter hell, so the group starts discussing aside the blazing campfire of the Neutral Zone, for all the group knows is eye for an eye.
@Beowulf died last night. They were the Retired Sergeant. They left a last will:
Reworked Conspiracy Theorist:
- same passive
- 1 investigation charge (2 if more than 13 players)
N1: Investigated Starx
IN MY PRIME I WOULD HAVE KILLED YOU WITH MY BARE HANDS!
There was also a death note found nearby:
Day 1 will last the full 36 hours unless a 51% majority vote has been reached. When a 51% majority vote is reached, the Day will end early and immediately. If a 51% majority is not reached by the end of Day 1, the option with the most votes is executed. In case of a tie, the hosts will randomly select one of the options to execute. No Lynch is a valid vote option.
Currently Alive Players (12):
Currently Not Alive Players (1)
@Beowulf the Retired Sergeant