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[Fifth]

(Is this still going?  Are we waiting for someone?)

[wademcgillis]

(If Inanimate quit, I nominate myself as the winner.)

[Inanimate]

We're waiting for PBS. He hasn't posted. God is getting angry.

[namragog]

I... I wish to play... when will there be another turn?

[peanutbuttershoes]

The people of Valkan were gathered around the town square. A sorrowful, depressed discussion was taking place as to the location of their blessed savior, Peanutbuttershoes, the one who had been given a holy power by God himself. He had been gone all day and night was soon approaching.
Things were quiet. It seemed that the demons ravaging this town were slowly turning the town's heart to ash.

Suddenly, a hooded figure walked into the center of the square. Noticeably haggard and worn, his stance was that of a regret filled hero. The townspeople whispering amongst themselves, moved away from the figure.

As the figure removed his hood the people realized it was none other than their savior, Peanutbuttershoes. His armor was not as clear and bright as it had once been.

Slowly, he raised his head and spoke,
"My dear friends. Things are not as they seem to be. This power has taken it's toll on me.
I would warn you all to not covet my gift or think it a great blessing for me, for it has indeed been naught but a thorn in my flesh."

He turned looking into the crowd.

"But nevertheless, I need to destroy a soul once a day. It is a rule of my gifting. I do not know why this is so, I only know that it is indeed so."

He paused, perhaps to sigh, perhaps to catch his breath. Gathering his strength he pointed an armored finger into the crowd.

"SirNiko... after much deliberate prayer and thought...
I believe you to be a demon."

The crowd gasped as it parted from Peanutbuttershoe's accusatory finger and there stood SirNiko. Alone.

Peanutbuttershoes took no pleasure in saying the words, and yet his strength had waned so much in the past day that he almost sounded apathetic,
"It is my duty to cast you out. Prepare to die."

[SirNiko]

You're making a mistake. You will see. I've only been devout and put my efforts towards expunging the demons.

At least, I hope, my death will help guide you towards the real demons, whose identities we have not yet discovered.

[Jared C]

Wait! We have no evidence that SirNiko has done anything contrary to the will of God his entire life. Garthy may be right, we have no reason to believe that Peanutbuttershoes is anything but a demon walking among the accused!

[SirNiko]

No!

I am innocent, but I don't think PeanutButterShoes is allied with the demons. I think he's just suspicious because I've been pressing so hard to help him keep informed. I understand his reasoning, but it is wrong. Hopefully he will use this knowledge and keep fighting to slay the demons, and send them to the eternal damnation they deserve!

Don't let me death harden your hearts against PBS - provide him all he needs, and let those who hide behind secrecy be seared with the holy light of truth and trust.

[Inanimate]

(To make this clear: an execution is not finalized until I write the execution post.)

[Garthy]

I cannot support the way that SirNiko has been chosen to fall under the blade.

Again, we find ourselves at the mercy of one man, with the will of the town worth nothing.

And yet again, we find ourselves lacking a reason as to why another must die. An expression of regret, yes. A mention of obligation, yes. But a reason? No.

Whilst we can speculate on the true reasons, I feel that we would best hear the reasons spoken by the Hand of God himself.

I wish to be clear that I do not necessarily think the Hand of God is an enemy or a demon, any more than I would consider him to be a trustworthy saint who will act only in our best interests. I do not claim to know. However, I am skeptical of both extremes- and frankly, I think we all should be. I am not certain what to make of him. I certainly do not understand his true motivations, and I question them. He has been walking a dark path thus far. I would have him walk in the light with the rest of us, or drop the pretense of being our savior. But I have already spoken of that in length.

I fear much of what I have said has been taken as making an enemy or foe of the Hand of God, either through genuine misunderstanding, or an attempt to paint my position in such a way to push suspicion toward me. I think that some amongst us would have me conveniently struck down during the day, so that they may themselves take others in the night. So, let me be clear that making an enemy of the Hand of God is not my position, and has never been. Again, I have spoken on this in length.

However, as much as I continue to speak of the will of the town, it fear that this is something I speak for alone. I feel that the town would be best served by having the town guide the sword of the Hand, perhaps to vote as in the days of old, but at the very least by having the Hand speak with us, not to us. Again, I have spoken at length on this. Unfortunately, unless I am mistaken (and I would dearly love to be wrong on this), this is a position that no other has chosen to publicly support. I can understand that some may fear speaking out. However, in not doing so, what I say remains the words of just one man. And what right does one man have to speak out against the will and mercy of another man, expecting his words to effect change, if his fellows would not stand with him?

But still, I would share my thoughts freely, in the hope that we are not reduced to cowering individuals who refuse to speak their true thoughts for fear of fire, horror, or blade. I would hope that others would do so as well. This would be my small consolation if my words could bring about no other change.

It is far easier to silence those who speak out whilst their number is small, than it is to silence a town full of those who would speak freely and without fear. Be wary of those who would herd us toward an inevitable doom through the silence and unquestioning obedience that would come about if we were made to fear speaking our mind.

[Inanimate]

☦

The crusader steps forward, lightly pushing Garthy out of the way, who is silenced by the sheer audacity of the knight. Each step of his echoes heavily through the town; each step of his incites an apprehensive wince from the town.

"SirNiko," PBS pauses, unsheathing his blade tranquilly. It glows hauntingly in the settling dusk, a sterile and pure light that is ethereal and far too perfect. The crusader eyes the blade with an unreadable expression, before sighing and stepping forward, lifting the blade slowly, agonizingly slowly, as SirNiko stands and stares ahead.

"I am the cruelty of God," PBS says solemnly, looking up into SirNiko's eyes. "And I hope that God grants you his clemency, wherever your soul goes..." The blade touches the villager's throat. SirNiko's face is hardened, his eyes teary against his will, his body quivering and shaking in hopeless fear. Yet he still stands stronger than any other man would have.

"This is my duty, SirNiko. This is my burden. This is the role I was given, this is the weight I must hold." PBS breaks the gaze with SirNiko, grimacing with his despair and frustration. The town looks on, in fear and in awe, with suspicion and with faith.

SirNiko chokes down a sob, and looks up at the despairing crusader.

"Then..." SirNiko says, and closes his eyes. "I shall lift your weight, this once."

He steps forward, the shining blade jutting out of his neck, a searing light that leaves no blood, only ash. PBS stares in shock, and then wrenches out his blade quickly, sheathing it with an inhuman speed. Niko stumbles forward, his face in hardened peace, and falls into PBS' waiting arms, who sets him on the ground carefully.

"...God's will has been done. Be gone," PBS mutters as he crouches before SirNiko's frail body, brushing his eyes closed, praying under his haggard breath.

NIGHT II

[SirNiko]

Hey, I want to know what happens next!

[Inanimate]

Some people are being slow in their late-night actions. 

[eyeliner]

(Is this thing dead? I've been absent this past few days, but I didn't loose anything, apparently.)

[Inanimate]

DAY III
3/7
☦

The sun rises once more upon the dreary town, piercing through the morning mists. As the villagers wade out into the fading fog, they notice their crusader standing solemnly by the statue of the angel, staring up at its concrete serenity, at hope in stone.

The crusader looks away hastily from the statue, turning to look over the assembled people, before pointing at the house of Nix. A cursory glance makes his fate clear; the door has been torn off of its hinges, shredded wood and shattered metal lying on the ground. Ravaged dirt leads into windows crashed apart savagely, blood sprayed onto the frame and glass.

A brave soul ventures into the home, and immediately retches when he finds the body of Nix -- torn to pieces, his ribcage strained open like the victims before him, blood sprayed on the ceiling and walls, painting the scene a grisly rusted red. The villager covers the body with a tarp, and prays over it quickly, before turning back to the crowd and nodding.

"Another has died last night," The crusader says, and shakes his head in quiet sadness. "I have checked the other houses. This was the only death last night. Let us mourn for Nix..."

The crusader stands taller, and unsheathes his blade, which shines and shimmers in the dawn's light with a pure certainty of its duty.

"But know this, demons." The crusader turns, glaring over the crowd, his blade swinging through the air with audible sharpness. "Mankind, the humble sheep of God, the meek, shall always inherit the world, shall always triumph over evil." The Hand of God raises his blade over his head, holding it aloft to the sky, before throwing it back into its sheath.

"Believe in God's triumph, and he shall. Believe in our triumph, and we shall." The crusader sits on the edge of the statue's base, and lowers his hat in thought.

"That is all."

--

Nix has died.