The mayor settled into his chair with a sigh. He had been arguing long into the night, but the elation of catching a member of the mafia still kept the town's spirits high. Dawn would be in a few short hours, but maybe he could just shut his eyes for a minute...
A dark shadow loomed in the doorway, startling the mayor. "Who's that?" The mayor cursed himself for the quaver in his voice.
His only answer was the gleam of yellow teeth and the crackling sound of the shadowy figure rolling his neck. The figure rushed forward still slient, in his hand a flat iron crowbar.
The newly elected mayor yelped and scrambled backwards, and the air smelled faintly of urine as his trembled in fear. "Who are you? Can we talk about th..."
Whatever else the mayor was going to say was cut off as the iron bar crunched into his gut, rupturing his stomach. He began choking on his own vomit, mostly sour wine and old cheese. He lifted his arm in a feeble attempt to ward of the next blow, and the shadowy figure's grin flashed again in the wan candlight before the heavy crowbar struck the mayor's hand, shattering every bone above the wrist.
The mayor whimpered a tried to curl up as blow after blow rained down upon his chest, his gut, his spine, his legs. With an almost elegant twist, the shadowy figure aimed between the mayor's legs and unmanned him, provoking a thin, high scream. The shadowy figure looked around himself then and swung once more, this time striking the base of the mayor's skull.
When the first men from the town arrived minutes later, the stench of feces and blood caused many of them to vomit, turning away in disgust. The strongest walked in to the mayor's office and saw a shattered, bloody ruin where once a man had been, the gaping hole in the back of the mayor's skull leaking brain matter more of a mercy than an execution.
Zakalwe, the farmer and the mayor, was dead. He was a villager.
A new mayor must be elected today.
A dark shadow loomed in the doorway, startling the mayor. "Who's that?" The mayor cursed himself for the quaver in his voice.
His only answer was the gleam of yellow teeth and the crackling sound of the shadowy figure rolling his neck. The figure rushed forward still slient, in his hand a flat iron crowbar.
The newly elected mayor yelped and scrambled backwards, and the air smelled faintly of urine as his trembled in fear. "Who are you? Can we talk about th..."
Whatever else the mayor was going to say was cut off as the iron bar crunched into his gut, rupturing his stomach. He began choking on his own vomit, mostly sour wine and old cheese. He lifted his arm in a feeble attempt to ward of the next blow, and the shadowy figure's grin flashed again in the wan candlight before the heavy crowbar struck the mayor's hand, shattering every bone above the wrist.
The mayor whimpered a tried to curl up as blow after blow rained down upon his chest, his gut, his spine, his legs. With an almost elegant twist, the shadowy figure aimed between the mayor's legs and unmanned him, provoking a thin, high scream. The shadowy figure looked around himself then and swung once more, this time striking the base of the mayor's skull.
When the first men from the town arrived minutes later, the stench of feces and blood caused many of them to vomit, turning away in disgust. The strongest walked in to the mayor's office and saw a shattered, bloody ruin where once a man had been, the gaping hole in the back of the mayor's skull leaking brain matter more of a mercy than an execution.
Zakalwe, the farmer and the mayor, was dead. He was a villager.
Quote:Villager - You are a normal villager. You have decided to stand up to the mafia, and to do what it takes to root them out from your beloved town. However, you realize that you risk death in doing so, and that you are likely to be forced to embrace it.
Win Condition - You win with the village when all mafia are dead and there is at least one villager alive.
A new mayor must be elected today.