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Am I too late to claim Demon Cat's role?
Am I too late to claim Demon Cat's role?
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Werewolf Werewolf for Dummies
- Thread starter Noobz0r
- Start date
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. I wanted to get it early so I could get started on the first write ups.
- Mar 14, 2007
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HaroLad
HaroChad
Clarkey is always evil. Even when he's a villager.
- Mar 14, 2007
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Great logic there werewolf.
fumbler
Lazy, Very Very Lazy
Hellllllooooo could i order some movies on my Fetch TV at your local convenience store?
Richard_Cranium
Coach
I received a PM, but I didn't realise there was a 'Sex Machine' role...
- Mar 20, 2012
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- #109
Is that some role Haro made up last game?
Mooch
🏆 🦍
What time will the day / night changeovers be?
Quivorir
"Unhinged"
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Mooch
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I knew that.
Art Vandelay_
OhhYessssss
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Sorry pal. Still running on battery fumes with no power at home so glad someone else said yes.
Quivorir
"Unhinged"
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Those skilled stadium flood lights really did drain Geelong eh?
Art Vandelay_
OhhYessssss
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Drained within the hour.
Noobz0r
Tom Jonas Fan Club Junior VP
- Aug 18, 2009
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- #118
ClarkeM pulled up to the Flogville Maccas for a feed. He never usually indulged himself like this, but he was in the mood. He drummed his fingers to the beat of Sorry by Justin Bieber, glad that he was alone in his car. “Fillet o’ Fish or Big Mac” he mumbled, unsure of how he wanted to treat himself. The car in front of him finally finished their frustratingly long conversation with the box, and moved into the drive through lane. “Welcome to McDonalds please place your order” the voice crackled at him, differently the usual pre-pubescent squeal. It was cold, rasping, and ClarkeM felt a shiver run down his spine. “A, er… Double Quarter Pounder Meal please” In his panic he had stammered out the wrong order, he’d stopped eating Dirty Doubles as soon as they started showing calorie counts on the menu boards. “Which drink?” the same, grating, scary voice said “c-coke please”. A pause. “Drive through” the voice said gruffly. ClarkeM quickly rolled up his window and pulled forward, secretly hoping that the man belong to the voice wouldn’t be at the payment window. He was. The window squeaked open, and a tall, well-built man with anger in his eyes was just staring at ClarkeM. “$11.95 mate”. ClarkeM fumbled in his wallet and pulled out a twenty dollar note, quickly handing it over and then going straight back to staring out of his front windscreen. He heard the till open and shut, and automatically reached out his hand for the change. Just before the coins hit his hand he felt a sharp sting in his neck “ow!” grabbing at the spot he felt nothing. Odd. He quickly rolled up the window and drove forward to get his food. The man handing over his meal was tall and gaunt, with unwashed, ragged hair and yellow eyes and teeth. The man smiled as he handed over the brown paper back and drink, ClarkeM couldn’t help but notice how sharp his teeth were. Again leaving without a word, ClarkeM quickly drove to the nearest carpark, ripped open the bag, grabbed his juicy, dripping burger and took a massive bite. At once he felt his throat tighten, starting where the sharp sting in his neck at originated. He quickly swallowed the piece of burger he had been chewing, which only resulted in a sharp, stabbing pain in his gut. He started convulsing, and then as quickly as it started froze, dead. The Vigilante posing as a cashier and the Werewolf posing as a burger flipper had disappeared, they had both managed to poison the poor hapless villager.
Frankston Rover headed off to his favourite pub, The Hitched Wagon. He liked it for its smoky taste, dark corner, small, worn booths, and of course his drink of choice, Appletini’s. It was for this reason Frankie rarely drank with his fellow mobsters, if it wasn’t a Manhattan or a Rusty Nail you weren’t considered a man. The Hitched Wagon made the best Appletini’s in Flogville. The owner, Carl, nodded at him as Frankie hung his coat on the stand inside the door; and began preparing his drink. Despite everything he did as a Mobster, this was the most powerful he ever felt. He settled himself in his usual booth, and Carl brought his Appletini. He took a sip; sweet, delicious, feminine and naughty. The door opened and Frankie looked up to see a man in a long trenchcoat which was full of gashes and holes. In his hand he held a long, curved blade, even scarier than this though was the look in the man’s eye; he was truly deranged. The man stopped, and began scanning the room. As his gaze fell upon Frankie he stopped, raising the long blade straight at him. Frankie’s heart went into his mouth, he had left his gun in his coat! His hand grabbed the top of the booth and he went to push himself out of his seat. Quick as a flash the lunatic grabbed a knife from his trenchcoat and threw it across the room, pinning Frankie’s hand to the wooden exterior of the curved seat. For the first time in his life Frankie felt true fear, and his bladder emptied itself. The serial killer saw this, laughed, and proceeded to brutally hack Frankie to death.
Flushed from his kill, the serial killer left the pub. As he exited and began walking up the street towards his studio apartment a car turned its headlights on and slowly peeled away from its place on the curb. The Serial Killer, being the suspicious man that he was, noticed this and quickened his pace. He made it to the tunnel passing underneath the railroad tracks and quickly ran inside. He stood halfway down the tunnel, heart pounding with adrenaline, and watched as the car slowly pull up to the entrance of the tunnel. He stood there for what felt like an eternity, watching the car and assuming that whoever was in the car was watching him. With no other ideas on what to do, the serial killer spat in the direction of the headlights, and ran out the other end of the tunnel. He spent the next two hours doubling back, going down secret alleyways, and going in and out of shops sporadically. Finally satisfied that he was not being followed, he returned home. He opened the front door, shrugging off his trench coat and stretching his neck. He headed to the fridge and grabbed a beer. As he shut the fridge and cracked the top off his stubbie, he heard his front door shut. “But I locked it!?” he screamed in his own head. He slowly turned around and found himself staring in the barrel of a gun. The man holding it said “Farewell, psycho” and pulled the trigger. The vigilante grabbed a beer out of the fridge, opened it and took a long pull. As the tip of the bottle touched his lips and that sweet nectar touched his lips he heard a key turn in the door. He turned quickly and pointed his weapon at the entrance. The door flew open and a member of the mafia appeared. Upon seeing the vigilante pointing a gun at him he immediately dropped his own weapon and raised his hands above his head. “How did you know where he lived?” the vigilante asked. “The barman at the pub, he’s a close observer of the people who drink there”. The vigilante slowly nodded, digesting the information. “I have no particular urge to kill you just yet, he was a bigger threat to the village and a common foe. But know this, you kill tomorrow and I will make it mission to hunt you”. The mafia member slowly smiled and nodded his head. “of course”.
The Head Vampire recruited his first follower.
HaroLad was placed in jail and therefore cannot lynch vote today.
DEAD
ClarkeM (villager) – killed by Vigilante and Wolves
Frankston Rover (Henchman) – killed by Serial Killer
SM (Serial Killer) – killed by Vigilante and Mafia
Frankston Rover headed off to his favourite pub, The Hitched Wagon. He liked it for its smoky taste, dark corner, small, worn booths, and of course his drink of choice, Appletini’s. It was for this reason Frankie rarely drank with his fellow mobsters, if it wasn’t a Manhattan or a Rusty Nail you weren’t considered a man. The Hitched Wagon made the best Appletini’s in Flogville. The owner, Carl, nodded at him as Frankie hung his coat on the stand inside the door; and began preparing his drink. Despite everything he did as a Mobster, this was the most powerful he ever felt. He settled himself in his usual booth, and Carl brought his Appletini. He took a sip; sweet, delicious, feminine and naughty. The door opened and Frankie looked up to see a man in a long trenchcoat which was full of gashes and holes. In his hand he held a long, curved blade, even scarier than this though was the look in the man’s eye; he was truly deranged. The man stopped, and began scanning the room. As his gaze fell upon Frankie he stopped, raising the long blade straight at him. Frankie’s heart went into his mouth, he had left his gun in his coat! His hand grabbed the top of the booth and he went to push himself out of his seat. Quick as a flash the lunatic grabbed a knife from his trenchcoat and threw it across the room, pinning Frankie’s hand to the wooden exterior of the curved seat. For the first time in his life Frankie felt true fear, and his bladder emptied itself. The serial killer saw this, laughed, and proceeded to brutally hack Frankie to death.
Flushed from his kill, the serial killer left the pub. As he exited and began walking up the street towards his studio apartment a car turned its headlights on and slowly peeled away from its place on the curb. The Serial Killer, being the suspicious man that he was, noticed this and quickened his pace. He made it to the tunnel passing underneath the railroad tracks and quickly ran inside. He stood halfway down the tunnel, heart pounding with adrenaline, and watched as the car slowly pull up to the entrance of the tunnel. He stood there for what felt like an eternity, watching the car and assuming that whoever was in the car was watching him. With no other ideas on what to do, the serial killer spat in the direction of the headlights, and ran out the other end of the tunnel. He spent the next two hours doubling back, going down secret alleyways, and going in and out of shops sporadically. Finally satisfied that he was not being followed, he returned home. He opened the front door, shrugging off his trench coat and stretching his neck. He headed to the fridge and grabbed a beer. As he shut the fridge and cracked the top off his stubbie, he heard his front door shut. “But I locked it!?” he screamed in his own head. He slowly turned around and found himself staring in the barrel of a gun. The man holding it said “Farewell, psycho” and pulled the trigger. The vigilante grabbed a beer out of the fridge, opened it and took a long pull. As the tip of the bottle touched his lips and that sweet nectar touched his lips he heard a key turn in the door. He turned quickly and pointed his weapon at the entrance. The door flew open and a member of the mafia appeared. Upon seeing the vigilante pointing a gun at him he immediately dropped his own weapon and raised his hands above his head. “How did you know where he lived?” the vigilante asked. “The barman at the pub, he’s a close observer of the people who drink there”. The vigilante slowly nodded, digesting the information. “I have no particular urge to kill you just yet, he was a bigger threat to the village and a common foe. But know this, you kill tomorrow and I will make it mission to hunt you”. The mafia member slowly smiled and nodded his head. “of course”.
The Head Vampire recruited his first follower.
HaroLad was placed in jail and therefore cannot lynch vote today.
DEAD
ClarkeM (villager) – killed by Vigilante and Wolves
Frankston Rover (Henchman) – killed by Serial Killer
SM (Serial Killer) – killed by Vigilante and Mafia
SM
Bigfooty Legend
Well that was ****ing obvious.
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Frankston Rover
Academy Award Winner
- Nov 25, 2005
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Finally get a role and I get killed night one...
#FUSM
#FUSM
SM
Bigfooty Legend
You and me both. Villager last game and still targeted night one.
OooooOOooooo.
Danoz
Dananananananana Statman (òÓ,)_\,,/
Eastern?
Sterge
Premium Platinum
wait you can talk during the night phase in this game?
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