Serdoa Wrote:Rowain, if PB is a wolf, get me hung. I am ok with that - still better then having to read what I have read from some today.
For the next lynching (and it might still be me) others should post reasons.
I will post my thoughts and in all honesty if PB is a wolf it doesn't look good for you. But that has to wait till todays result is revealed and the night is over.
Rowain, I think if PB is a villager we have someone else to go for then you. If he is a wolf I would still have someone else, but it would not be a strong case anymore. We'll see.
[Size="7"]End of Day 3[/Size] After Cull's accidental death the village redoubled it's discussions. The Vintner and Brewer, still absolutely convinced of the stablehand's guilt, continued to push for his hanging above all others. The brewer stood defiant, saying over and over again that they had no proof, no logic, and no way to justify hanging Pocketbeetle. However, the vintner was insistent, proclaiming that he would try to hang Pocketbeetle every day until one or the other was dead. In the end, there just weren't enough votes to save the stablehand, even with the help of the mayor, and as night approached Novice signaled that time had run out. With a heavy heart he counts the votes, and realizes that there's just no saving the stablehand. For the sake of order in the village, Pocketbeetle must swing.
Pocketbeetle had been somewhat fatalistic for the last hour, apparently he'd made his peace with the idea that some crazed vintner was going to be the death of him. One wouldn't say that he looked happy about it, but at least he didn't slug either the vintner or the carpenter on his way out the door to the gallows. He thanked both Novice and Serdoa graciouslly, before mounting the steps. The Carpenter and Vintner looked on, the vintner looking sure of himself, the carpenter less so.
The trap drops, the stablehand falls, and the rope goes taut. The village looks on with anticipation, but Pocketbeetle simple hangs in the air, swaying softly from side to side in the fading sun. There is no change, no sudden ripple. The carpenter looks crestfallen, the vintner afraid. Novice, the mayor, has a look of frustration on his face that both can clearly see directed at them.
