[MINGLE] Wendi-go-go to the inn

[sixthiteration]

WHERE: 6I Village and Inn
WHEN: 27-31 July
OPEN TO: ALL - Mingle
NOTES: The Wendigo threatening the village will be killed mid 28 July, with a Blue Lily, per these threads. Plot details here. Note: The final fight is close enough to be seen from the upstairs inn windows.
WARNINGS: Wendigo attack mingle, please warn in comment headers if discussing violence, gore, or related trauma. Possible mentions of character death.

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The urgent warnings come from villagers returning south from the lake: a creature twice the size of a man, antlered and voracious. Larger than any they've seen on the plains, stalking its way to the main village. Some might have their own names for this hunger in a skin of shadow; others might remember that it was the first to claim a life, in their village's short history.

Whatever context one has for it, best to secure all pets and loved ones before it arrives. With weapons and food stores at the inn, the call goes out to gather — And to bring back any tools, because there's no telling what doors and windows can do to stop such a creature.

Comments

[reprobate]

Sirius, in fact, hasn't seen a whole hell of a lot throughout this entire ordeal that isn't the tree branches outside his window on the back of the building. "No," he replies, gaze still fixed out at the darkness. There's vague recognition in the terse voice that's invaded his space, but whatever had fueled him first thing out of the fountain seems to have bled away tonight.

He takes a drag, blows it out in a stream to drift off on the breeze, and then finally looks into the room. And blinks.

"I don't accept goats as penance for being kicked in the bollocks," he points out, and lifts the cigarette slowly back to his lips again. "Your dog isn't in here. I'd know."

[3ofswords]

"Okay Cesar Millan," although, knowing Aurora, anyone would know if she was around. That's kind of what's so terrifying about her absence. Life in the village has always been clearly demarcated between what Kira can handle, and what he can't, and then being forced to handle it anyway.

He really doesn't want dead dog to go on the list.

Which, really, makes the brush-off from some guy he kicked in the balls small potatoes. Maybe even just one of the little eyes that grow on the potato. "Well, I accept babysitting my goat while I go look as penance for trying to choke me," he says, giving Bethany a look--dead goat can't really go on the list either, tonight.

"Her name is Bethany; try not to feed her any cigarettes, she prefers linen." As he backs out of the room, he blocks the shrinking space of the door closing behind him, but Bethany is already more interested in a hanging sheet.