Fellowship of the Dice

Frederick, here's the list of guests for Monday night's Masquerade Ball. Please make sure that Ballroom C's floors are waxed and fixtures dusted for the occasion. Their rooms have been prepared.

Grimbold .......... Nate
Wayloss .......... Sempai
Melvyst .......... Deadman
Vardaen .......... Kilroy
and TetNak

Please be sure that Presidente El Gurraro is satisfied with his suite and Monsiour LaVardaen is aware of our policy on poodle excrement. Unfortunately the playa's suite is currently occupied by the illustrious Sugar Beam, Mr Kilroy may be offered the Embroidery Room or Rm. 210 at no extra cost.

Frederick, amongst these hotel guests are two murderous psychotic dypsomaniacs. Do not be alarmed as they will only target their fellow guests. The staff will remain safe and I have hired a biohazard crew to clean up anything... unmentionable. In addition I have banished all alcohol from the UnderView Towers, all spirits have been spirited away! Other precautions I have take was to hire a psychic and a Watchman in hopes of deterring these madmen from staining our carpets. (The Watchman's role... Watches one person each night. Learns the identity of a wolf if they're - the victim the watchman is watching - killed. Rather than guess who's a wolf they guess who the wolves will try to kill).
They will wander amongst our guest to hopefully keep them safe from harm.

Any questions can be Pmed to my Brennor's account. I'm skiing all next week where there is no cell service.

Amaris (Players if you are are a ww/sage/watchman you will be pmed your role by 3PM Friday. The game begins now.)

Presedente El Gurraro arrives at the motel, he left his security entourage behind him for a change, truly trying to experience a vacation as a human instead of the President of "sempaiastan"

Speaking in a heavy accent he greets the others.

"Ola meus amigos, espero o seu dia e maravilhoso! Eu sou o presidente dos Sempaiastan Gurraro. Gostaria muito de você comprar todos os pequenos-almoços, por favor, coloque-o na minha conta. Por favor, me tratar como qualquer outro haspede."

The Austrian tourist walks in, he has lost his tour group and asks for a room. He is tired and dirty and confused. "My nem iss Grimholzinger, Arnold Grimholzinger, and I em frahm Astria. I liff in e smoll town colled St. Georgen." He is actually wearing Lederhosen and a Tyrolean hat.

"Wait, Did that sign say no booze..."

"That should teach me, I should have snuck some in with me."

A canned voice announces on the overhead system...

"Use of Alcohol, PMs, and chat are strictly prohibited. Please refrain from using the following. Alcohol. PMs. And the IRC Chat. Thank you and have a nice day!"

Monsiour LaVardaen opens the loby door with a flurish, two yappy french poodles, one died pink, the other white (with traditonal foof poodle cuts) comes charging into the room yapping and barking. Almost instantly the pink one squats down and pees on the carpet. LaVardaen doesn't seem to care as he saunters into the room, one hand help up and horizonal, the other pulling the tiniest of suitcases. "Bon jour! I have A-rived, let the festival begin!" He call to his dogs, "Fifi, Sean-luc some to pa-pa!"

Tet is dressed up as a massive cold sore.

Nate looks up at the speakers as the announcement comes through.

"You gotta be kidding me..." He looks back down to his cell phone at the text message he was about to send to somebody to bring him some booze.

"Are you mocking me now?" He mumbles under his breath at the speakers.

Tet jumps on Nate's mouth

"What a charming little chalet! This will be an excellent spot to grade the papers of my postdoc students," says Professor Deadman, Phd. He reserves a pleasant room with a view and a typewriter.