Werewolf Tarks and Boncer Vampire - A better love story than twilight.

[boncer34]

Phase 1 has begun.

Please remember you cannot change your vote.

 

[boncer34]

MOD NOTE: There are no day or night phases. There is just one phase which ends with a lynching at which point the next phase immediately begins i.e. we could theoretically end this in a day if lynchings happen super fast.

If you have a power you can use it once a phase. If you want to have it lined up to occur at the start of the next phase you can pre-submit. Otherwise all actions will be played "live" i.e. the moment you submit it.

 

[boncer34]

In the quiet town of Forks, nestled amidst rolling hills and lush forests, a dark cloud hung heavy in the air. The recent death of Bluelegs, a beloved member of the community, had cast a shadow of fear and suspicion over the once tranquil town. Whispers of vampires and dark forces lurked in the shadows, preying on the innocent, spread like wildfire through the tight-knit streets.

Amongst the villagers, Gralin was an outsider, a solitary figure whose mysterious past and reclusive nature made him an easy target for their fear-fueled paranoia. With his weathered face and piercing gaze, Gralin was often the subject of whispered rumors and speculative glances.

As tensions reached a boiling point, fueled by grief and uncertainty, the villagers turned their accusing eyes towards Gralin, convinced that he was the source of their woes. They saw in him a convenient scapegoat, a symbol of all their deepest fears and suspicions.

On a moonless night, a mob of angry villagers descended upon Gralin's modest cottage, their torches casting flickering shadows upon the walls. They dragged him from his home, heedless of his protests and pleas of innocence, their minds clouded by righteous indignation.

In the town square, amidst the jeering crowd, Gralin stood bound and helpless, his eyes wide with terror as the noose tightened around his neck. The air was thick with the stench of fear and hatred as the villagers prepared to mete out their own brand of justice.

As the noose tightened around Gralin's neck, his last breaths were stolen by the unforgiving night. The mob dispersed, their hearts heavy with the weight of what they had done. In the silence that followed, the village of Forks was left to grapple with the bitter taste of regret and the haunting specter of their own cruelty. And as the dawn broke over the horizon, casting its golden light upon the scene of tragedy, Gralin's lifeless body swung silently in the breeze, a chilling reminder of the darkness that lurked within the hearts of men.

Gralin (Villager) lynched.

 

[boncer34]

It's now Phase 2

 

[boncer34]

In the tranquil village of Forks, nestled amidst the mist-shrouded forests of the Pacific Northwest, life unfolded much like the pages of a well-worn fairy tale. But beneath the facade of idyllic charm, a shadow loomed over the unsuspecting villagers, casting a pall of fear and uncertainty over their peaceful existence.

Kurve, a humble woodcutter, had long toiled in solitude amidst the towering trees that surrounded the village. His weathered hands and weary eyes bore witness to the passage of time, a silent testament to the hardships of his solitary life. But Kurve harbored a secret, one that set him apart from his fellow villagers and made him the unwitting target of unseen forces that lurked in the darkness.

Unknown to the villagers, Kurve had stumbled upon a dark secret hidden deep within the heart of the forest. Aro, the enigmatic leader of the Volturi, had long sought to expand his influence beyond the confines of vampire society, seeking to ensnare unsuspecting mortals in his web of intrigue and deceit.

Driven by a hunger for power and a thirst for blood, Aro had cast his gaze upon the quiet village of Forks, seeing in its inhabitants pawns in his deadly game of chess. And Kurve, with his keen senses and innate curiosity, had unwittingly stumbled upon Aro's carefully laid plans, his discovery threatening to unravel centuries of careful manipulation and control.

As the moon hung low in the night sky, casting its silver light upon the village below, Aro emerged from the shadows, his presence heralding the arrival of chaos and destruction. With a flick of his wrist, he unleashed his dark minions upon the unsuspecting villagers, their eyes ablaze with the thirst for blood.

In the chaos that ensued, Kurve found himself ensnared in Aro's sinister machinations, his very existence hanging in the balance as he struggled to escape the clutches of the immortal tyrant. But Aro, with his unmatched cunning and ruthless determination, pursued Kurve relentlessly, his cold laughter echoing through the night as he closed in for the kill.

With a swift stroke of his hand, Aro struck Kurve down, his lifeblood staining the forest floor as his final cries echoed into the night. And as the last vestiges of life slipped away from Kurve's broken body, the village of Forks was left to mourn the loss of one of their own, a hapless victim caught in the crossfire of powers beyond his comprehension.

But even in death, Kurve's sacrifice would not be forgotten. For his untimely demise served as a stark reminder of the dangers that lurked in the darkness, and the fragility of mortal life in a world ruled by immortal beings. And as the villagers gathered to pay their respects to the fallen woodcutter, they vowed to never forget the price of their ignorance, and to remain ever vigilant against the encroaching shadows that threatened to consume them all.

Kurve (Villager) killed by Aro

 

[boncer34]

In the serene village of Forks, nestled amidst the misty forests of the Pacific Northwest, life unfolded in gentle rhythms, seemingly untouched by the tumultuous world beyond. Yet, beneath the tranquil surface, a sense of unease simmered, fueled by whispers of ancient powers and dark secrets lurking in the shadows.

Thewizardmelon, a respected teacher known for his wisdom and eccentricities, had long been a beloved figure among the villagers. His quaint cottage, nestled amidst a grove of ancient trees, served as both home and classroom, a sanctuary of knowledge and learning for the children of Forks.

But Marcus, the brooding sentinel of the Volturi, cared naught for the peaceful pursuits of mortals. With eyes as cold as the winter's night, he had come to Forks in search of power and domination, seeking to bend the will of the villagers to his dark desires.

As the moon cast its silvery glow upon the village, Marcus emerged from the shadows, his presence heralding the arrival of chaos and destruction. With a flick of his wrist, he unleashed his dark powers upon the unsuspecting villagers, their cries of terror echoing through the night.

Thewizardmelon, sensing the approaching danger, rallied his students to safety, his heart heavy with foreboding. But Marcus, with his relentless determination and thirst for power, pursued them with unwavering resolve, his eyes ablaze with the fire of ancient vengeance.

In the darkness of the forest, the two adversaries clashed, their powers colliding in a dazzling display of light and shadow. But in the end, it was Marcus who emerged victorious, his dark magic overwhelming Thewizardmelon's defenses.

As Thewizardmelon fell to the forest floor, his final words a whispered plea for mercy, the village of Forks was left to mourn the loss of their beloved teacher. And as the last vestiges of life slipped away from his broken body, the children he had taught gathered to pay their respects, vowing to never forget the lessons he had imparted and the sacrifices he had made to protect them.

But even in death, Thewizardmelon's legacy endured, a testament to the enduring power of knowledge and the eternal struggle between light and shadow. And as the villagers gathered to honor his memory, they vowed to never forget the price of their ignorance, and to remain ever vigilant against the encroaching darkness that threatened to consume them all.

thewizardmelon (Villager) killed by Marcus

 

[boncer34]

In the serene coastal town of La Push, where the mighty Pacific Ocean meets the rugged shores of the Olympic Peninsula, life unfolded amidst the crashing waves and salty sea air. Among the locals, CursingFijian was a legend, known for his prowess on the waves and his easygoing nature that endeared him to all who crossed his path.

But Caius, the ruthless enforcer of the Volturi, cared little for the simple pleasures of mortal life. With eyes as cold as the winter's sea, he had come to La Push in search of power and domination, seeking to impose his will upon the unsuspecting villagers.

As the moon cast its silvery glow upon the beach, Caius emerged from the shadows, his presence heralding the arrival of chaos and destruction. With a flick of his wrist, he unleashed his dark powers upon the unsuspecting surfers, their cries of terror drowned out by the roar of the ocean.

CursingFijian, sensing the approaching danger, rode the waves with a skill and grace that seemed to defy the very forces of nature. But Caius, with his relentless determination and thirst for power, pursued him with unwavering resolve, his eyes ablaze with the fire of ancient vengeance.

In the darkness of the night, the two adversaries clashed, their powers colliding in a dazzling display of light and shadow. But in the end, it was Caius who emerged victorious, his dark magic overwhelming CursingFijian's defenses.

As CursingFijian fell to the sandy shore, his final words a whispered prayer for mercy, the surfers of La Push were left to mourn the loss of their beloved friend and champion. And as the last vestiges of life slipped away from his broken body, the waves crashed upon the shore, a haunting lament for a life cut short by the cruel hand of fate.

But even in death, CursingFijian's legacy endured, a symbol of the vibrant spirit of La Push and the resilience of its people. As the surfers gathered to honor his memory on the sandy shores of La Push, they vowed to carry on his legacy, riding the waves with the same passion and courage that had defined his life. And as they paddled out into the surf, their hearts heavy with grief but determined to keep his memory alive, they knew that CursingFijian would forever be a part of the rhythm of the ocean, a guiding presence in the ebb and flow of their lives.

CursingFijian (Villager) killed by Caius

 

[boncer34]

In the heart of Fork, where fear reigned supreme and shadows whispered of unspeakable horrors, Dingster stood accused, his fate sealed by the unforgiving judgment of the villagers. With torches held high and voices raised in a chorus of condemnation, they dragged him through the narrow streets, their minds clouded by hysteria.

Bound and battered, Dingster was brought before the town square, where the gallows loomed like a specter of death. His pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears, drowned out by the clamor of the mob thirsting for retribution.

With trembling hands, they fastened the noose around his neck, the weight of their collective fear bearing down upon him like a suffocating shroud. In the final moments before the lever was pulled, Dingster's gaze met the eyes of his accusers, searching for a glimmer of humanity amidst the sea of hostility.

But there was no mercy to be found in their eyes, only the cold, unyielding grip of vengeance. With a sickening thud, the trapdoor gave way, and Dingster plummeted into the abyss below, his life snuffed out in an instant.

As the villagers watched in grim satisfaction, a pall of darkness descended upon Fork, shrouding the once peaceful town in a cloak of remorse and regret. For in their blind pursuit of justice, they had become the very monsters they feared.

And as Dingster's lifeless body swung silently in the breeze, a chilling reminder of the price paid for their folly, the villagers of Fork were left to grapple with the haunting truth that some shadows can never be vanquished, no matter how fiercely the light may shine.

Dingster (Villager) lynched

 

[boncer34]

In the quiet town of Forks, where the mist clung to the earth like a lover's embrace, there existed a place shrouded in darkness and desire. It was known simply as "Dank420_," a strip club that thrived in the shadows, where the music pulsed with a primal rhythm and the scent of sin hung heavy in the air.

Amidst the neon glow and the sultry whispers of temptation, two figures moved with purpose through the throng of revelers. Stefan and Vladimir, brothers bound by blood and centuries-old secrets, were no strangers to the shadows that lurked within the human heart. As members of the Romani clan of vampires, they walked the fine line between predator and prey, their thirst for blood tempered by an insatiable hunger for power.

Tonight, however, their hunger took a different form as they set their sights on the owner of Dank420_, a man known only by his online moniker, dank420_. Rumors whispered of his connections to the underworld, his dealings steeped in darkness and deceit. But it was his affront to the Romani clan, a slight that could not be ignored, that had drawn Stefan and Vladimir to this den of iniquity.

As they slipped through the crowd like wraiths in the night, Stefan's keen eyes scanned the room, his senses attuned to the subtle rhythms of life and death. Vladimir, ever the strategist, followed close behind, his mind calculating the best course of action to achieve their goal.

At last, they found their quarry, dank420_ himself, seated at a secluded table in the back corner of the club, surrounded by his cronies and sycophants. With a nod of silent understanding, Stefan and Vladimir moved in for the kill, their movements swift and silent as they closed the distance between them and their target.

Sensing danger, dank420_ looked up from his drink, his eyes widening in recognition as he caught sight of the two vampires advancing towards him. Panic flickered across his face, quickly masked by a veneer of false bravado as he rose to his feet, his hand instinctively reaching for the weapon concealed beneath his jacket.

But before he could make a move, Stefan was upon him, his grip like iron as he seized dank420_ by the throat, lifting him effortlessly off his feet. Vladimir moved to block any attempts at escape, his gaze cold and unforgiving as he stared down their prey.

"You have meddled in affairs that do not concern you, mortal," Stefan hissed, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down dank420_'s spine. "Now, you will pay the price for your arrogance."

Dank420_ struggled against Stefan's vice-like grip, his face contorted in a desperate plea for mercy. But mercy was a luxury afforded only to the innocent, and dank420_ had long since forfeited his claim to such kindness.

With a flick of his wrist, Stefan silenced dank420_'s protests, his claws sinking deep into the flesh of his neck, drawing forth the crimson tide that flowed beneath the surface. Vladimir watched with impassive eyes, his expression betraying none of the turmoil that raged within his soul.

As dank420_ gasped for breath, his lifeblood draining away with each passing moment, Stefan and Vladimir exchanged a silent nod of satisfaction. Their mission was complete, their vengeance exacted upon the one who had dared to challenge their authority.

With dank420_'s lifeless body crumpled at their feet, Stefan and Vladimir melted back into the shadows from whence they came, leaving behind a trail of death and destruction in their wake. For in the world of the Romani clan, justice was swift and merciless, and those who dared to defy its laws did so at their own peril.

And as the echoes of their footsteps faded into the night, the denizens of Dank420_ were left to ponder the fleeting nature of power and the darkness that lurked within us all. For in the end, it was not the light that illuminated the path to salvation, but the shadows that whispered of the night's eternal embrace.

dank420_ (Villager) killed by Romani

It's Phase 3.