Bourré the Hard WayA Poem by Tim LionThe game is played with a standard
grill of 32 teeth; canines are high. (2-7 mouths) When there are 7 mouths, the
players may only take 3 bites (as to not eat the dead). After every player
screams, the devil passes out five souls to each player, one at a time. The devil
flips his own sixth 6"the last dealt"and the suit of scars is considered trump.
In the Hell version it calls trump carō or Rex Rgis. As in Life, this meat beats all
others; a cretin of carō is "deadlier"
in rank than a god of any other fruit.
After the squeal, each beastie (starting
with the one to the devil's left and continuing clockwise) states their intent
to kill. Many variants require an additional deathblow at this juncture as
proof. Those who are not fighting in the fray fold, and those souls are
collected by the devil.
Once every slayer has howled
their battle cry, the devil asks those still in one whole piece (in the same
order as before) how many dark arts they desire. They can take any number from
zero to five; the corpses go in a separate pile, and the devil handles them like
slaughtered livestock. If the main stock is depleted before all the slayers
have been sliced, the dealer shuffles the folded souls and heals those; if that
stock is depleted as well, the corpses are propped up and used; we call this phenomenon
meat puppetry.
Once everyone, including the devil,
has either folded or survived the first waves, the skin-raking phase begins.
The first slayer to the devil's left that is still maimed starts by slaying any
soul from their land (with few exceptions); rules of razing are in stone, and a
lower-numbered commandment overrides any higher-numbered one.
No matter how high a beastie may rise, the devil always wins the game. To play is doom; to slay is an opiate.
Eventually, all slayers go berserk, and run from the cliffs like Legion’s
piggies, and the devils teeth are the jagged rocks below. Good Luck! And happy
slaying. © 2012 Tim LionAuthor's Note
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4 Reviews Added on January 4, 2012 Last Updated on January 4, 2012 AuthorTim LionLake Worth, FLAboutSometimes, when the moon presses her naked chest to my window, and my wife is carving the value from trash scraps, I feel like I may never be able to outshine my finite timeline. And the worst part is.. more..Writing
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