Howl Werewolf Flood

As the baffling tickling released her stomach, Emma gasped for air. Almost as if she had woken from a nightmare, she bolted up out of her sitting position. Not only had the tickling hurt her lungs, it had most likely dirtied the back of her shirt, but she didn't mind it. As she sat up, she clutched her ribcage, and her voice her hoarse. What on earth had Professor Lear had in mind, what this supposed to be a game, or rather a cruel, yet creative, lesson?

It wasn't what she had pictured when a 'death' had come to mind, but if she had a choice, she'd rather die by unwanted laughter. Maybe it was plausible that your organs could pop outside of your body, or at least move out of its initial locality.

Tickling... using our hands, I hope. She thought to herself as she put both hands naturally inside her pocket as if trying to dismiss the preceding events. She felt her abdomen throb slowly, yet painfully. It was a sensation she couldn't forget if she tried.

Emmaline listened to Professor Lear as she sentenced the next person to 'death'. Her lips turned up into a cruel smirk, Aurelia, this was perfect. Emma wanted to use her wand now, though she didn't care if Lear meant physically or with a wand. She placed a flat palm to the ground and pushed herself up, dropping the smile she previously wore. 

She drew her wand and twisted it absentmindedly between her fingers, though it vibrated warningly a few times. "Pleasure." She recalled her sentence to death and the symbol, though it appeared hazy though her imaginary throbbing. Something about a leaf, she thought to herself. She spelled the word in her mind and recalled the exact way Lear had pronounced it.

Vengeance had never felt so good though she had never really had a problem with it. She raised her wand and gave her attempt at the spell, though unsure if anything would actually happen. She gestured her hand into some form of leaf and spoke as clear as she could.

"Rictusempra," she spoke containing her excitement. Miraculously, something had in fact been produced, though it was nothing of which would be acceptable. A faint silver light shot out of her wand and on to Aurelia. She presumed the tickle would only last for a few minutes, but hopefully, Professor Lear could someway support her spell.

It was dusk again, slowly turning to night. Before it began, the villagers had decided to condemn yet another student. It was quite a shame, if Amadea was being honest. These villagers were brutal destroyers. There was little to no proof as to who was the werewolf and yet everyone was being killed off slowly. Maybe it was her Hufflepuff loyalty, but Amadea was beginning to feel bad for all of these dead people. Still, she had to be on guard. It could be her next. 

She watched as Aurelia was sentenced to die by the Tickling Spell, at Emma's spell. It would last for a few minutes, Amadea assumed, but she would be too busy sleeping. Night fell again in the village, with an ominous feeling settling over Amadea. She hoped she wouldn't be the target of the werewolf. She just wanted to survive. Tomorrow would hopefully be a new day, she thought to herself. Then the villagers could get together and really talk. Amadea tried to clear the panic and fear from her mind that was making her not think rationally. This was the problem with her fellow villagers. They were becoming scared and were pointing fingers at random people that might be werewolves, but there was no solid proof. 

Tomorrow, she thought to herself. If she survived to see the sunrise, she would voice her thoughts tomorrow. 

Oh not again! Were the words this brunette was thinking as another innocent died. Why are the villagers continuing to vote without solid proof. Don't they know the harm they cause by killing innocents? To her it seems they do not.

Eri closed her eyes as night had fallen. Hopefully no one innocent would die tomorrow. Maybe no one at all would die? But that was being a bit hopeful. Though really the villagers needed to start getting solid proof, or they might kill another innocent tomorrow and that would not be good. It was like they were doing the killing for the werewolves. Making it easier for them to starting picking them off one by one. And that should not happen if they could get their act together.

Tonight did nothing but keep the boy in fear. He sat there cross-legged with his eyes closed, worried about getting blindly cast with the Tickling Charm. That would be a funny way to wake up, surely!

It didn't sound the best, really. That would be a shock, considering when his eyes were closed the whole night, everything was silent. Waking up to a wild howl from a 12-year-old was entertaining, yes, and best of all, it wasn't the howl of a Werewolf.

What concerned him is that he hadn't heard that call this entire game. He had only begun to regret all of this as soon as they were tickled to death. He didn't think about the consequences before they moved out of the circle and into the grave.

Holy heck, that sounded deep.

But anyways. Hopefully tomorrow the town would have their wit together.

A quick study, taken with perhaps more pleasure than was healthy -- good girl Emma has played the part of death. It would be a terrible fate, how those howls of laughter would fill the dark, otherwise silent night.

"Very good," Solomon would encourage Emma. "Just remember to maintain your concentration," he encouraged her as the wolves/wolf moved about under the veil of darkness. "Emotions play a strong part in the strength of our spells," he continued. Yes, this was also a lesson for the young girl. Her spell was not particularly strong, enough to create that uncomfortable itch. That restless sense that something was crawling on one's back. 

"Think of the emotions that accompany tickling," he continued with a calm voice. "And Mr. Avery, please cast... it will be kinder if you do so rather than I," Solomon reminded him. Yes, Solomon's tickling was more akin to a form of medieval torture. "Or if you would like to join  her once again," Solomon yes, threatened.

He would pause a moment, his ears checking for movement. "Morning is approaching students, wolves... choose your victim. Potions master, tell me who you wish to save. Seer, look into your dreams and try to determine who this fiend might be."

[Howl]
1.) Amadea Campbell
2.) Anatole Evans
3.) Eri Windstone
4.) Max Avery
5.) Fainauriel Valtome
6.) Aurelia Bezuidenhout
7.) Emma Hill
8.) December Hale
9.) Ami Procoppio
10.) Midas Jones
11.) Lorelai Brunelle

Morning would come and nobody else would suffer a tickling death. Had the potions master thwarted the werewolves plan to kill or turn another innocent villager? Had the werewolves successfully turned a villager on this cold summer night? Had the werewolves failed to hunt, sated for the day.


It was hard to say, everyone appeared the same. Awake, alive... well everyone less Max , Emma and Aurelia. Perhaps this nightmare was finally over. Perhaps the villagers would be free of this monster. They would not be so lucky. "Day is the only respite and safety you might have," Solomon warned "send someone to the gallows and perhaps you could put a demon to rest." It was time to send another to their death.

Hands finally away from her eyes, Ami glanced around the circle, expecting to see someone hunched on the ground, trembling from laughter. No such thing was present, and that surprised her. 

Alright, so multiple things could have happened. One, the werewolf fell asleep. Two, the werewolf had turned someone to their side. Three, the potions-master had been successful. 

Glancing around the circle, Ami chose to remain quiet, for once. She didn't know what to do, she didn't play these types of games often. Who else remained? Well, a majority, of the circle, that was for sure.

Would the Seer reveal the information that they had acquired throughout the game? It certainly would've been helpful, if they would.

Eri removed her hands. Nobody had died. So that meant the deer may have seen something, the werewolf turned someone, or the potions master had saved the victim. But now she needed to voice her concerns. "People we need to not vote. Because we need to get facts to find out who the were is." 

Midas looked around. No one was tickled to death, it seems. "But we need information..." he muttered under his breath. "Okay... So here's the plan. We need the Seer's information. And the Potion Master needs to protect the Seer. Seer, we need 2 nights of information, but the Potion Master needs to stay hidden. However, if you are a special role, and we have voted on you, you should claim in order to stay alive." he said out loud to the villagers. This would hopefully give Villagers some more information, but allow them still to have essential roles. 

Wow. The game had certainly heated up within one night. No one had died. Either the Potions Master was the true MVP, or the wolves had taken a Villager hostage, infecting them with the terrible disease of lycanthropy. It was a horrid sight to think about, that as the population of the game grew smaller, the werewolves could take majority and control within days, if the town didn't play right. It was scary.

As Anatole opened his eyes, he realized that Aurelia must have been harmless. Guilt hurt his system as he considered everything else around him. Some of her last words were against the beggar...and he did not seem too far from a fiend. It was easily plausible.

"I...I saw him." The writer in chief began his monologue of the day. "I saw the beggar in the night, fur on his back and silver claws..." He pinched his side, peering deep into the beggar's intense stare. "I was in my office at midnight when I saw him...o-out the window..." With one more shaky inhale, Anatole bit his lip and finished. "I...I..." There was still something unnerving about Valtome that made Anatole pause and freeze up. Something devilish. Something deadly.

"The blacksmith was right."