Find the...uh..."Founders" IX

[Sionnach Glic]

August the 12th 1725, in a small town in rural England.....

"Quiet, people, quiet!" The town mayor, Rochey, yelled at the townspeople crowding the town hall. "Everyone just calm down, and we'll sort this out simply enough."

"Sort it out?" Asked the farmer, Stitch, snidely. "Exactly how do you plan to do that?"

"I'm getting to that." Rochey retorted casualy, though in truth he hadn't a clue how to deal with the situation. He looked around the hall. To his left was the town judge, Nick, looking back at him calmly. Sitting around the room was the shoe-maker, Lazar, the two farmhands, Mikey and Staplic, and the barkeeper, Mark. Sitting in a corner quietly muttering to himself was the butcher, a young-ish man who had been dubbed "Me Myself and I" due to his odd mental state.
Standing at the back of the room, leaning casualy against a wall, was Jane Foxx, the young woman who ran the bakery. Standing nearby was the foreign man, Tsukiyumi, who ran a candle-making shop. Standing in the centre of the room, glaring up at Rochey, was the priest known as Father "Deep" due to his habbit of warning people that they would "Burn deep down in hell" for their sins. From his expression, Rochey knew a lecture was imminant, and decided to take control.

He had just opened his mouth to speak, when the doors to the town hall burst open dramaticaly. Everyone whirled around. Standing in the doorway, a musket in his hands, was a weathered looking man in thick clothing.

"I hear you have a werewolf problem." He remarked casualy, striding in.

"A what problem?[/i]" Asked Rochey.

"Werewolves. You know, men that turn into wolf-creatures at night. I was staying in a nearby village, when I heard of the killings here. Two dead, right?"

"My family." Stitch confirmed quietly.

"My sympathies." The stranger said. "I've been looking around, and found some tracks. From the looks of things, there's three of 'em."

"Oh, right." Said Rochey, feeling a bit lost. "Where are they, then?"

"That's the bad news." The stranger said. "They change back into humans during the day. They could be any one of you." He remarked, looking around at the villagers, who reacted with shock to the news, quickly moving away from whoever was standing near to them.

"Then how do we know who they are?" Asked Mikey, nervously glancing at Staplic next to him.

"You don't." The man replied. "Unless you actualy see one transforming, you'll never know. The only thing you can do is figure it out by seeing who's been acting the most suspiciously."

"Then what?"

"Then you hang him."

"Wait." Said Foxx, frowning. "Don't you need special stuff to kill werewolves? I remember that in the stories I heard it took stuff like silver bullets to kill them."

"Fiction." The stranger said dismissively. "They're just as mortal as us. Just stronger. All that crap about needing silver to kill them is just that: crap. As is the old tale that they only change during a full moon. They can change at any night, if they choose to."

"You mean, they can attack us any night?" Rochey asked, shocked. Things had just gone from bad to worse.

"Yes."

"Then what do we do?" Asked MM&I, staring at the stranger.

"Go home. Board up your houses, fashion whatever weapons you can, and don't let anyone in until dawn." The man said. He glanced at the sky, visible through a window. "And I'd suggest we all get moving. It's getting dark. Is there an inn somewhere around here?"

"Yes." Mark said. "My tavern. I've a few spare rooms if you need one."

"Thank you." The stranger replied, and then began striding towards the door.

"Hang on a minute." Rochey called after him. "Just who are you? And how do we know you're telling the truth?"

"Me?" The stranger asked, stopping and looking back at the mayor. "I'm just a guy with a gun and a grudge to settle. And you'll see I'm telling the truth soon enough, I'd wager."

* * *

After the man had left, Rochey ordered the townspeople to return to their homes. There was some dissent, but the mayor put his foot down and told them to go. Reluctantly, they did so.

* * *

The night was calm and silent, not a sound to be heard. Many of the townspeople had fallen asleep.

Then, suddenly, the silence was shattered by a man yelling "Fire! Fire!"
Rushing outside, the villagers could see that the mayor's house was ablaze, smoke and flames billowing out the windows.

"Quick, get water!" Someone began yelling, though it was far too late for that. With a loud crack, the wooden frame of the manor gave way, the house collapsing in on top of itself. Thankfully, it was situated well away from any of the other houses, so there was no risk of the fire spreading.

Suddenly, a gunshot barked out from the other side of the village. The townspeople hurried over, grabbing whatever weapons they could find. Running in the opposite direction, bleeding from an assortment of wounds, was the stranger, franticaly trying to load his musket as he ran.

"Back! Get back!" He yelled at them. "They're after me!" As if to punctuate his warning, a loud howl sang out across the town.

The villagers needed no further warnings. They scattered, running back to their homes and barricading their doors. There was another gunshot, another howl, and then silence.

* * *

They burried what was left of the stranger in the church graveyard. Father Deep said a few words, but his usual service was hampered by the lack of knowledge of the man. The remains of Mayor Rochey - what little they could find - were burried nearby, with a more elaborate cross hammered into the ground to mark his passing.

As the sun reached high above the Earth, the townspeople looked at each other with renewed suspicion, knowing that three of them would kill again when the sun set....

[Angharrad]

Well, I, um, I'm going to the bakery, people still have to eat.

**Walks away looking around her nervously**

[Mikey]

How can you think of food at a time like this?

[Angharrad]

I'm not, I just want to be in my bakery where it's safe, I don't trust any of you. I'm bolting my doors.

[Lazar]

Damn, I don't know what to do.

[Mikey]

I don't trust any of you. I'm bolting my doors.

That, at least, makes sense.

[Angharrad]

Besides, we need to keep our strength up to fight these, ... things.

And I think my father had a shotgun, I'm going to look for it.

No one's taking me by surprise.

[Tsukiyumi]

I know many of you may not trust me because of my heritage, but I believe this is an excellent time to suggest that we all remain calm.

We must all exercise caution, but we cannot let these... "things" stop us from living our lives.

Mister Mark, how long will you be able to hold out without meat from the butcher, and bread from the bakery? How long without patronage to fill your coinpurse? Mister Mikey, what will you eat when the inn runs out of food? I know the meager amounts in my pantry won't last more than a few days.

We cannot simply board up our doors and wait this out. We must find these beasts before we all starve, or are killed.

[stitch626]

I have a farm to keep up, but after my wife...

:: looks away, trying to hide the tears ::

[Tsukiyumi]

I am saddened for your loss, Sai. Do you not wish to exact revenge on the demons who took your family?

[Sonic Glitch]

Wow.. i'm staying inside. In all my years...however many they've been, I've never seen such a thing in our town....

{mutters to self} two in the corner pocket. all of this has happened before and will happen again. {walks off to shop/home, bolts door}

[Nickswitz]

Well, I hope that I won't really have to do much now that most will be thinking about this thing than eachothers bickering. So I guess I can wait around, and help discuss this problem and how to solve it.

[Tsukiyumi]

Mister John (MM&I), please wait! We need your services as the town butcher, and we may need your skill with blades to defend ourselves. As I said, we must all do our part to survive here; the farm must keep running, the shops must stay open, or we will all die, isolated from each other or alone.

[Angharrad]

Good news and bad news. I found my father's shotgun, but it's useless.

**Throws rusted piece of metal on ground.**

[Nickswitz]

We could always hit it with it.