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  1. The Terris people were dwindling. Half the Synod had been slaughtered, between the Spiked killings and the justice meted out by poison at night, or a mob by day. Those that remained had retreated, seeking to manoeuvre their way into controlling the political influences of the Synod, fearful and distrustful of their own number. Initial confidence that ousting Valwyn had purified the Synod had dropped, and Citona Vinid, who had been helping Olaf administrate the legislative body, frantically defended herself against accusations from Ethin Hallil and Tee Mai, who were convinced that Vinid had unsavoury ties to Zihel. For his part, Olaf mainly sat back and watched the proceedings with a grim expression. Sitting and whispering with Marne, whose advice he valued above all the other members, Olaf assessed the men in front of him. He recognised the flaws in each, but upon a more thorough examination, he found himself agreeing with Marne about the people within the Synod. They were misguided, and made mistakes. They had been mistaken to oust Marne from his old position. They had been mistaken to entrust Olaf, a newcomer, with the survival of the last free Feruchemists in the Dominances. And their squabbling, now, was certainly not ideal. However, Olaf now felt, as he stood next to Marne, that the man had been right about his fellow Synod members; despite their infighting, each truly wanted what was best for the Terris, and as Olaf saw it, his confidence and belief in the Synod began to reform itself. These were, truly, the greatest men and women in the Terris community. Olaf simply had to unite them, and refocus them on those outside their council. As Olaf sat in thought, he saw Tee Mai on the edges of his vision, who was approaching Vinid, hand raised to strike at the Ferring. “That’s enough!” bellowed Olaf from the swivel chair atop the raised platform on which he sat. Tee Mai lowered his hand sheepishly, looking up at Olaf with guilt, yet a little bit of resentment, within his eyes. Resentment will not do, thought Olaf. Raising his voice, he addressed the small Synod. “Your bickering is tiring me,” he announced, “and sitting here arguing amongst ourselves will accomplish little. You are each leaders of this community, and are responsible for its survival; projecting an image of doubt and paranoia will not help the Terris, especially with our numbers as dangerously low as they are. You have each questioned the merits of your fellow Synod members a hundred times; is it not likely that they are merely exhausted and worn out, as each of us are, as opposed to being secret Infiltrators?” Olaf let the question hang in the air. Marne, however, spoke from beside him. “You have known each of the people in this room for your entire lives, with the exception of Olaf,” he told the Synod. “I would be inclined to trust them after that time. Perhaps there are Spiked in this chamber; however, it is far better to look elsewhere first, and give the Terris leadership in these chaotic times.” The three Synod members on the ground glanced at each other. Olaf could tell that relations had not been fully restored, not yet. But the three would help him and Marne to find the last Spiked, despite their mistrust. And right now, that was all Olaf cared about. Each of its members uncertain of what the day held, yet determined to face it, the Terris Synod emerged from their meeting-house in Tathingdwen for what would be the last time, a unified front presented to the body of Terris gathered below them. The body of Terris gathered below them had cornered Ehereman Tresni. The last Spiked attempted to defend himself against the accusations of a Stick, which was unhappy after the burning of the Tautological Society, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. The Terris had found out too much about him; his associations with Zihel and Valwyn had proven too strong to ignore. His only hope, now, was to convince the crowd that the Synod member Citona Vinid was guilty, and not he. That hope was dashed as the Synod walked down the steps from the meeting-house, almost marching as a single group. The message of unity was impossible to ignore, and from the looks of the members, they too were focused on destroying him. Tresni cursed the Lord Ruler, who had brought him to this barren northern wasteland to die. He cursed Olaf, for abandoning the entire mission, and Leidene, for ignoring it. He cursed the Spiked who had died before him, who had failed at their mission, leaving him to carry out the destruction of a sect of highly dangerous people on his own. Most of all, however, Tresni cursed himself. Cursed himself for his inability to kill Ethin Hallil the night before, with poison. Cursed himself for his failure to put his spying to good use when he had attempted to investigate the Steel squid. And cursed himself for cracking under the withering pressure of an examination by the remaining Terris. Tresni was not like the other Spiked sent in the mission. Valwyn worked in Pewter, making him the muscle of the group. HanTor was a sly talker, able to talk a crowd into almost anything. Zihel could potentially do anything, and had been made to counter Full Feruchemists. Of course, they had failed, too. Valwyn had been killed with strength, a sword passing through his neck; HanTor had not talked his way out of his death; and Zihel had ultimately been slaughtered by Marne. Tresni was made to be something else: a spy. Tin-enhanced senses allowing him to see the world around him, he was to gather information and use it to bring down the Synod. However, he, too, had now failed. As Olaf walked down the staircase, Tresni felt a deep resentment for the man build inside him. He had betrayed his fellows, worked to undermine the people with whom he had been sent, and had even talked his way into becoming the head of the organisation that was leading the efforts to find and kill the Lord Ruler’s chosen. Resentment steadily increased, fueling the fires of hatred. It was time to act. The startled Terris jumped aside as Tresni parted the crowd by laying about with the scabbard of his sword. Striding over to Olaf, the Windwhisperer slapped the man across the face with a metal gauntlet, who recoiled in surprise and pain. Recovering quickly, Olaf whipped the thin sword he carried out of its sheath, facing Tresni, who smiled. The challenge accepted, the remaining Terris hurriedly scrambled aside, creating a rough ring for the duel. Marne looked at Olaf, astonishment etched into every line of his face. Through persistent effort, the last Spiked had been cornered, and Olaf accepted a duel from him? Was the man insane, or did he have a death wish? He had seen Olaf fence, and while the man was certainly competent, Tresni had been Tathingdwen’s swordmaster for as long as he had been in the village, and was extremely skilled with the blade. Add to that the heightened senses and perceptions that Tin Feruchemy granted him… The duel began its course as a quick pattern of thrusts from Tresni that Olaf turned away with his blade, stepping aside to take a sweep at Tresni’s unprotected back. Anticipating this, Tresni pivoted, suddenly bringing his lightweight rapier down, whistling towards Olaf’s head. Clang! Olaf moved his sword into place just in time, parrying the attack and barely maintaining his footing. He stumbled and lowered his sword slightly, which was nicked from the impact. Tresni pressed his brief advantage, raining blows from every direction on his dazed opponent. Olaf parried them all, but he was at a nominal disadvantage, and had begun to tire, wilting under Tresni’s relentless assault. It was time to intervene here. Marne signaled to Ethin Hallil and Tee Mai, who nodded and drew their own swords, prepared to aid Olaf in his foolish endeavor. As they approached Olaf’s ragged form, however, the man snarled, lashing out with his rapier at the two men. “Leave Tresni to me!” he commanded, as the two frantically scurried away from his circling blade. Marne again shook his head at his friend’s stubbornness, watching Hallil and Mai retreat. It seemed as though Marne had only one course remaining: to intervene himself. Slipping between two of the Terris who were gazing at the match with intent eyes, Marne worked his way to the front of the small ring that had formed to act as a perimeter for the duel. The move perhaps took him five seconds, and those five seconds had clearly not gone well for Olaf. The enhanced physical senses of Tresni had clearly aided him, as the Windwhisperer seemed to see attacks before they even came. Viciously parrying an overhead slash from Olaf, which caused his arms to shake, Tresni quickly turned his blade and slammed the flat of it into Olaf’s face. Already kneeling, Olaf now collapsed completely onto the ground, the collective groans of the Terris rising from behind Marne to accompany Olaf’s fall. As Tresni raised his rapier one last time, grinning, Marne shuddered, fracturing himself into two parts. In a decision that took a split second, but had all the backing of a week of working with the man now lying prone and helpless, Marne tapped his steel instead of his pewter, rushing into the ring and throwing himself on top of Olaf. Straight into the path of the descending blade. Olaf’s face burned from the impact of a rapier. Crouched on the ground, he gingerly moved his right hand to his cheek, feeling the wet blood pooling there. Of all the ways he could have died, Olaf would not have thought that this would be it—a simple duel with a servant of the Lord Ruler in the most far-flung location in the Final Empire. Olaf cursed himself for his folly as Tresni’s blade ascended. He was no chivalrous knight of olden days, to fix the world with arranged duels and glorious feats of strength on the battlefield. He was an arsonist, a plotter, a man who specialised in the execution of unscrupulous deeds in the dark. And in a fair duel, there were no means with which to use those skills. As Tresni’s blade began to lower, Olaf only hoped that Marne could avenge his death. Little did he know the opposite would have to occur. Olaf saw Marne dart into the ring from the right, moving with the superhuman speed of a Steelrunner, and throw himself on top of Olaf. Olaf drew in a breath to scream at him for his idiocy, that he should be the one leading the Terris after this mess, when that air was driven from his lungs by the hard lump of one of Marne’s metalminds as the Full Feruchemist slammed into him, pinning him to the ground. Tresni’s sword completed its arc, slicing through Marne’s unprotected back. Olaf screamed as Tresni drew his sword away and Marne went limp, his friend’s death so sudden that he had not even been able to speak. Marne’s dead eyes gazed up at Olaf tenderly yet firmly, as if to say, You know what you must do. Olaf indeed did. Feeling the flames of fury feed his strength, Olaf snatched his rapier from the cobblestones, swinging it at Tresni with a powerful two-handed blow. The man parried, backpedaling and recovering swiftly with a thrust at Olaf’s side, which the Count was forced to block. Exchanging a series of quick blows with Tresni, Olaf came to the realisation that raw fury alone would not enable him to defeat such a skilled opponent. Tresni was too good a swordmaster to be bested by an untrained Count, especially an exhausted and wounded one. A new plan began to form in Olaf’s head, amidst his frantic attacks and desperate defenses. As Tresni made a slice at Olaf’s midsection, sword held in a two-handled grip, Olaf decided that now was the time to attempt his gambit. Dancing past the blade, Olaf switched his sword to his right hand alone, extending his body fully in a lengthened thrust. It was a terribly impractical move, leaving his left side completely defenceless. Tresni saw this, sidestepping Olaf’s thrust and returning it with one of his own, straight at Olaf’s arm. Prepared as he was for the impact, the pain of it made Olaf howl, the cold steel biting into his arm with the heat of a thousand fires. Twisting his arm, Olaf allowed the sword to pierce deeper into him despite every fibre of him telling him to let Tresni extract it, which the Spiked, seeing the trap that had been laid for him, was frantically attempting to do. Olaf clung on, gritting his teeth, and slammed his sword into Tresni’s undefended heart, even as the man yanked his sword out of Olaf’s arm with his last effort. As both collapsed onto the pavement, Olaf with pain and exhaustion, and Tresni with death, a ragged cheer went up from the Synod, which instantly subsided as the memory of Marne’s death and Olaf’s wounds hit them. As Olaf began to drift out of consciousness, the Synod members rushed forward, bathing Olaf’s head in cold water to keep him awake, and binding his wounds with the cloth available. The count’s fury began to return to him as he looked around Tathingdwen, with its pristine buildings and cheery storefronts, and remembered that corruption and rot had lived and thrived in those same buildings. He turned to Hallil. “How quickly can you give Marne a decent burial?” Hallil frowned. “Fairly quickly. Why? Is there something that needs to be done?” Olaf stood up, instantly feeling lightheaded. Tee Mai protested, attempting to sit him back down, but Olaf merely slapped his hand away, leaning on his rapier for support. “Yes. There is. The Spiked are gone, but this city is now vulnerable to the Lord Ruler. Moreover, it has sheltered evil for far too long. Gather enough supplies, find Leidene, and get every man in this city out of here.” “Where?” Hallil asked, with mounting trepidation. “Anywhere, as long as it’s sufficiently hidden from the Lord Ruler,” Olaf replied irritably. “Leidene can sort out the details, and you can send Citona with her. He’s the new Synod head, by the way. Regardless, once Marne is buried, we are razing this city.” Two hours later, with Marne buried and the Synod evacuated, Olaf stood outside his friend’s old house, where it had all begun. He had nearly burnt the structure down that time. Now, he would complete the job. Raising his lit torch, he ran its flames along the edge of the wooden structure, watching as they took hold and spread. Olaf felt a tear well in his eye as he thought of his friend, but he quickly blinked it away. He could not afford to be sentimental. Casting one last look at the burning building, he moved on to the next with renewed fury, setting it alight. And the next, and the next. With each flame kindled, Olaf felt a little more of his frustration and anger burn away, releasing it in a great show of fire. He continued his work ceaselessly, for hours, ignoring his dizziness and wounds, focusing on purging his anger. Soon, between his work and that of the Synod, all the main buildings of Tathingdwen were ablaze. The natural spread of the flames, which were fanned and buffeted by the light afternoon breeze, would soon consume the whole city. Signaling for the Synod to rejoin the other refugees, Olaf took the longer road, moving back towards Luthadel and Keep Ffnord. A letter slipped to Jest, who had joined up with the Synod in the general confusion, should be enough to ensure that Citona Vinid took ascendancy over the Synod, and that the Terris people would live to fight the Lord Ruler another day. As for his own part, Olaf could no longer be with the Synod. Passing down the lonely northern road, he spared a single glance back at the city, and its refugees, then slipped quietly away, his flight masked by the long shadows of a setting sun. For their part, the Terris only saw a lone, dark figure, weeping as he wheezed, walk away towards the Central Dominance, his tall and foreboding frame passing slowly into the distance. Marne’s death opened up some intriguing options for Leidene. As the killer of two Spiked infiltrators, including a Full Feruchemist, he had acquired quite a collection of spikes which were now left unguarded. Leidene currently only possessed two spikes: a bronze one through her ribcage and a pewter spike between her shoulder blades. If she gained ownership of Marne’s trove, she too could have most of the powers of a Full Feruchemist, though she would have to search elsewhere for spikes granting Feruchemical atium. That would be enough for now, she reassured herself, as she began to pile up her nonessential belongings in the middle of her house. Furniture, incriminating documents, the discarded bones of the Sparker HanTor had replaced, and all the corpses she had managed to collect. Setting the pyre alight, she smiled. Helping the Spiked infiltrate the city would soon prove to have been very profitable. Leidene stepped out of her burning home to find the remainder of Tathingdwen similarly engulfed in flames. Count Olaf venting his sorrow, she assumed. With displeasure, she noted that the fire had already reached Marne’s house. She hobbled as fast as she could towards the doomed dwelling, wishing Olaf had waited a little bit longer before putting on his pyromaniacal display. Arriving inside the circular house with the fire raging within, Leidene began rummaging through Marne’s trinkets. He had only killed Zihel the previous night, so surely the spikes would be somewhere obvious. No such luck. They weren’t on his desk, or his wardrobe, or underneath his bed. The blaze began to thoroughly lick the walls of the house, which groaned, and the interior temperature rose precipitously. Leidene ignored this; the compulsion to claim her prize was too strong. She would not leave while the spikes had yet to be found, even as the fire burned through the walls and began to consume the entire house. The decorative rug, courtesy of Valwyn, that covered the entire floor began to smoke as a burning ember landed on it. Soon, the rug was nothing but food for the inferno, and as the flames began to devour her, the pain broke through her spike-fueled desire. She screamed, tapping gold to heal herself as she made for an exit. It took almost her entire goldmind, but she was able to escape the conflagration before she could be reduced to a skeleton. The house was not so lucky. Leidene stared numbly at the wreckage. She had been so close, but Count Olaf’s rampant arson had cost her everything. Desperately, she stumbled towards the flaming wreckage. Deprived of fuel, the bonfire had moved on, leaving utter devastation in its wake. The rug had burned to a crisp, and the wood had been severely charred. Leidene began to brush aside the debris, vaguely hoping she would encounter the spikes now that the obstruction had been cleared away. To her surprise, she found something; the outline of a stone door previously hidden under the rug. She tried to open it, but it was much to heavy for an ordinary person to lift, especially one who could only put her weight on one leg. She was about to give up for a second time when she heard a voice calling her name. She turned to see Ethan Hallil, the SCUBA instructor and one of her fellow Synod members. “What do we do?” he cried out. “Count Olaf has gone mad!” “Gather the remaining villagers,” Leidene responded. “Have them head down the river towards Torinost, we’ll be safe from the Lord Ruler and his minions there while we build ourselves a new homeland. Before you go though, could you open this door for me?” “Door?” asked Ethan, confused. He walked closer to Leidene, and his gaze found the stone door. “Ah yes, hold on,” he said as he tapped pewter. With his enlarged muscles, he was able to wedge his fingers in the slit at the end of the door and throw it open. Underneath was a pit holding all thirteen spikes Marne had claimed for his own. “That’s good, now hurry! See to your people,” Leidene commanded. “Are you sure it’s safe to leave those spikes out there in the open?” Ethan inquired. “I’ll take care of it, just go. I’ll catch up with you soon,” Leidene replied, Soothing Ethan’s fear and suspicion. Ethan took off. Once he was no longer looking, Leidene gathered the thirteen spikes. Hurriedly, she impaled herself with the relevant ones, gaining new Feruchemical powers with each thrust. Iron, steel, tin, pewter, zinc, brass, copper, and bronze became hers to command, though most of those abilities would be useless without the corresponding metalminds and time spent storing. The two spikes making up the Kandra blessing, along with the duplicate spikes granting gold, zinc, and iron Feruchemy, went into her bag. Her task complete, Leidene moved on, trailing after Ethan’s retreating form. Xinoehp512 was lynched! He was a Spiked Tin Ferring (Windwhisperer)! Marne was killed! He was a Village Full Feruchemist, and was a member of the Synod! Count Olaf has withdrawn! He was an Arsonist, and a member of the Synod! Citona Vinid (phattemer) is now head of the Synod! Leidene has broken from the Lord Ruler, and is carving her own path! She was a Spiked Full Feruchemist! All Spiked are dead or fled! That means the village has won! Congratulations to the villagers, and well played to the Spiked. It was a pretty close game. I will have more thoughts coming later (likely about three essay’s worth) but for now I’d just like to thank everyone who signed up to play. This game wouldn’t have been so enjoyable to run without each of you involved. On that note, I’ll praise Devotary more effusively later, but she was an amazing co-GM, and a great help with all parts of the game. Finally, I’d like to apologise for the delay in the posting of this cycle, which as stated before was due to technical difficulties. Hopefully it didn’t affect anyone too adversely. Docs/Spreadsheets: The Lord Ruler’s Chosen The Terris Synod The Citizenry of Tathingdwen Final Player List: 1. Rathmaskal as Laksam, an ash sweeper from the Eastern streets Village Steel Ferring 2. Xinoehp512 as Ereheman Tresni, a man with his priorities backwards Spiked Tin Ferring 3. Steeldancer as Steel, the fastest sculpture of a squid wrought entirely in steel in all of Tathingdwen Village Brass Ferring 4. Randuir as Zihel, a worldhopper looking for his twin brother Spiked Full Feruchemist 5. I think I am here as Itiah VI, a missionary on a mission Village Steel Ferring 6. Bort as Tee Mai, a tailor specialising in offensive clothing: Village Bronze Ferring 7. Cadmium Compounder as Ethin Hallil, a cadmium Feruchemist and SCUBA diver: Village Pewter Ferring 8. _Stick_ as Stick, President of the Tathingdwen Tautological Society of Tautology: Village Brass Ferring 9. Jondesu as Remart, a man back from vacation armed with vaguely ominous statements: Village Bronze Ferring 10. Kidpen as HanTor, a lonely Kandra that’s definitely not Spiked, nope Spiked Zinc Ferring 11. Elandera as Era, an old woman who claims to have been alive before the reign of the Lord Ruler Village Pewter Ferring 12. Snipexe as Snip, a fabric cutter in the local quilt shop Village Iron Ferring 13. Worldhopper from Yolen as Tarin, a Sparker with a wonderful, awful idea Village Zinc Ferring 14. Alvron as Izzy Dedyet, who is not dead, feels happy, and thinks she'll go for a walk Village Full Feruchemist 15. Phatterner as Citona Vinid, a seemingly faithful follower of the Lord Ruler: Village Zinc Ferring 16. Ark1002 as Kardik, a Full Feruchemist: Village Iron Ferring 17. Araris Valerian as Valwyn, an honest rug merchant Spiked Pewter Ferring; Rug Merchant 18. Coop772 as Irion, a Full Feruchemist with hidden potential Village Copper Ferring 19. Sart, a stuttering Nameless Village Iron Ferring Synod Members: Bort, Cadmium Compounder, phattemer, Araris Valerian, Coop772, Alvron
  2. Night fell on Tathingdwen, a still moonlight broken by falling flakes of ash the only lighting available to the shrouded, mist-covered city. The city, and the secret sect that lived within it: the Terris Synod, a solitary beacon of hope. Marne, the highest-ranking member of that Synod, paced in his office, discontent. Swirling rumours, which he had little power or desire to refute, were being whispered around the hideout. Rumours of Steel Inquisitors, Spiked servants of the Lord Ruler, that had supposedly infiltrated the last bastion of Feruchemy left on Scadrial. Marne found them near unbelievable, but who was he to dismiss the evidence of his Windwhisperers that had seen and heard otherwise? The Synod would be foolish to ignore the members they swore to protect, particularly when they warned of impending danger. However, paranoia was not yet necessary, especially when accusations were so weighty, and evidence was so scarce. The implications of a corrupted Synod were not lost on Marne. At best, it meant that one of his friends, who he had known all his life, was covertly plotting his downfall, At worst…at worst, the Lord Ruler would find and exterminate the last free, living Feruchemists. Neither option was particularly appealing to Marne, and he chose not to believe them—for now. But perhaps further evidence would be worth examining. At last choosing a direction, Marne walked over to his desk, plopping down in the high oak chair with a sigh. Taking out a simple sheet of paper and a pen, he tapped into his tinmind, allowing him to focus on the paper in the dim lighting, and began to write. My fellow Feruchemists, Concerns have been raised about supposed infiltrators and spies within our midst by several members of our congregation. While there may be no cause for immediate concern, as evidence presented so far is inconclusive… Count Olaf, an esteemed member of the Luthadel nobility and newly ascended leader of House Ffnord, prowled through the quiet streets of Tathingdwen. Small steel spikes pricked him in a dozen concealed places, the aftermath of an audience with the Lord Ruler himself. That audience had nearly destroyed his sanity, and had ended with him being given a task; to take a small group and investigate Tathingdwen, finding and infiltrating any groups of Feruchemists found. Then, he was to either kill them all himself, or report back to the Lord Ruler, who would send his Inquisitors to do the same. Finding the Terris Synod had been no easy task. The group was naturally secretive, and suspicious of newcomers. However, one by one, all the spiked in his group had managed to enter the community of Feruchemists there. He alone remained rejected by the society. There was no way for all his spikes to go unnoticed by the vigilant wardens that guarded the Synod’s network of tunnels and safe houses, and his discovery within the society would endanger those already concealed within the Terris ranks. However, feeding the fires of paranoia that existed within the Synod was always a good idea. Not only because feeding fires, even metaphorical, was a good thing in Olaf’s view—though that was certainly part of it—but because Olaf would have the chance to kill Marne, the leader of the Synod who retained skepticism about the presence of Spiked, which would cause enough general mayhem to keep the Synod impotent until he, Olaf, could report back to the Lord Ruler and instruct him to ravage the hideout. Readying a brand, the tip of which was covered in dry tar and pitch, Olaf approached what he believed to be, from the limited directions his associates had been able to slip to him, the study of Marne. The building was nondescript; two stories of solid oak, it had likely been built shortly after the city became a major trading point as a tavern or small storefront. Now it housed the last ruler of the Synod. Striking a match, Olaf ignited the end of the brand, watching it burst alight in a flurry of sparks. He grinned, breathing in once more the fragrance of smoke, and kicked at the nearest ground-floor window with his boot. The metal-reinforced studs on the heel easily shattered the thin glass, creating a sizeable hole through which Olaf threw the burning torch. As the house began to be consumed by flames, Olaf waited by the door, ready for his quarry to come fleeing. Marne put the finishing touches to his letter to the Synod, signing it with a flourish that was just slightly more extravagant than was perhaps necessary. Satisfied with his argument, which would hopefully help stop the paranoid rumours from spreading without solid evidence, he walked towards the staircase leading down to the ground floor, where his main desk was situated. Marne frowned. A faint scent of burning wood drifted up to him, followed by a wisp of black smoke. Panic rose in him immediately, followed by grim determination. Tapping some of his zincmind to clear his thoughts, Marne advanced cautiously down the stairs, careful not to breathe in the smoke too deeply. Peering down the staircase, he saw that the front window had been broken with what appeared to be a foot, judging by the boot-shaped imprint in the glass, and that a brand had been thrown into his writing desk. He felt another flare of panic rise within him. The desk contained older, yet important documents, and they were slowly being consumed by flames. Shoving down his innate revulsion at the sight of fire, Marne forced himself to tear his eyes away from the burning desk. Escape was his priority, even if it meant sacrificing some his papers to fire. Whoever had found him out would need to be neutralised. Tapping speed and strength, Marne rushed towards the door, slamming his shoulder into it and bringing the sturdy wooden structure down. Failing to regain his balance after his mad rush, he collapsed on top of the door. Storing weight, Marne drew himself up and turned around towards his burning house, scanning the street behind it for an intruder. It didn’t take long to find the culprit. A tall, skinny man stood framed in the blaze of the wooden house. Marne could pick out few distinctive features, other than the man’s single eyebrow and tattooed ankle, but from the brand in his hand, as well as the metalminds that were visible as bulges in his clothing, Marne knew he was facing a dedicated Full Feruchemist. Preparing himself to engage in his first real conflict, Marne slowly advanced on the intruder. His knowledge of Feruchemy was extensive. He now just had to use it. Olaf smiled as he witnessed the panicked rush of Marne out of the burning house. Knowing that the Feruchemist was likely a dangerous foe, and that the blaze of the wooden house would soon attract bystanders to intervene, Olaf would need every advantage he could get. A distracted opponent was a welcome one. Preparing to tap his steel, Olaf angled himself towards the oncoming Synod member, ready to face him; his first real challenge. And felt an overwhelming nausea take him, dropping him to his knees. It happened occasionally. Too often, really. Olaf cursed the conscience that remained in him, the vestiges of a code he had held before he came before the Lord Ruler, back when he had been only a minor nobleman, and had joined with Hadrian Heatherlocke to survive the small house war that had swept Luthadel up just two years past. He often would think of Hadrian when his conscience took him, as it did now. What Hadrian would think of him, what Hadrian would have him do. Olaf would often wonder, in moments like these, which was the real him; the hired killer and arsonist who aided the Lord Ruler, or the sceptical nobleman who worked with Hadrian to stop his machinations. Were the spikes the cause of this agony? Lord Ruler, he could be numb at times. Had he even thought about what he had been doing, these past weeks? The Feruchemist was advancing towards him, wary but determined. Olaf looked up at him. His nausea was subsiding. It would be so easy to feign defeat, and then, when Marne least expected it, to— No. Something deep within Olaf, even deeper than the introspection based on the bouts of nausea and thoughts of Hadrian, rebelled. Olaf moved quickly, not giving himself time to reconsider, not letting his insanity grip him again. Reaching under his robes, he pulled one steel spike out of his arm. Another followed, and then others from all over his body, the tips caked in dried blood. He continued until a dozen spikes lay on the ground before him. Bleeding in a dozen places, registering the look of shock on the Synod leader’s face, and finally free from the murderous thoughts at last, Olaf stripped himself of his metalminds as well. He looked up at Marne. “I’m sorry. It was the spikes after all,” he mumbled, and then passed out from blood loss. Marne stood in the burnt remains of his house. Based on the testimony of Olaf, it seemed that the rumours circulating about the hideout did have credence, after all. Storing weight in his ironmind to ensure that the stairs didn’t give way beneath him, Marne ascended to the second floor. His letter to the Synod still lay on his writing desk, remarkably untouched. Marne looked at it with a sad smile; it mattered not whether the letter was burnt or whole—it needed to be rewritten either way. Walking over to his desk, he began scribing a new letter to present tomorrow. My fellow Feruchemists, Concerns have been raised about supposed infiltrators and spies within our midst by several members of our congregation. There is cause for immediate concern, as having apprehended one of these infiltrators myself last evening, I can confirm that the presence of Spiked among us is a real and present threat... Welcome to Long Game 48: The Terris Synod. This game is set in the city of Tathingdwen during the reign of the Lord Ruler, and involves the last free remaining Feruchemists and Terrismen attempting to hide from several Spiked servants of the Lord Ruler within their midst. With Olaf’s testimony revealing the presence of Spiked among the villagers, the Synod has declared Tathingdwen closed, and will not let any in or out until all the Spiked are killed...or they themselves have been destroyed. It is now up to each of you to ensure that the last free Feruchemists survive until the fall of the Lord Ruler. The basic rules of the game may be accessed here. Should clarifications be necessary (and I imagine they will), I will add them to this post or a subsequent one as well as the doc. My co-GM for this game will [email protected] of Spontaneity. Signups will last until next Friday the 10th of August, unless an extension proves necessary. Rollover for this game will occur around 9 PM EDT. Here is the countdown clock to the end of signups: Quick Links:
  3. A man without a name, face obscured by his cowl, paced back and forth around the entrance to the Synod. Distrustful of Olaf as a result of the news articles, the Nameless Ferring waited for the Synod to emerge from the crowded building. Hearing talk of arson drift along the breeze that swept through the cool evening air, he began to grow more concerned. What was that Olaf planning to do to the Synod? He sat there for a time, contemplating if he should relocate his house to an area with a ready source of water, when the Synod emerged from their council. They walked purposely down the steps, several brushing against his Terris robes as they descended. Olaf was one of them, and as the man passed, the Nameless tugged on his sleeve. “Um, so, you know, the Synod, they’re, like, planning things, right? I mean, we’re nearly dead here as a congregation, and, um, that’s bad, you know. So, I was wondering if there was, like, something the Synod would do.” Olaf paused, smiling tersely at him. “We’re about to take our first steps—we’re about to burn down the Tathingdwen Tautological Society of Tautology, which we have little patience for in a time when stating the obvious is not enough. We’ve also dealt with Darrel—the man’s hatred for merchants is getting in our way. He’s been sent to burn down Kredik Shaw, by the orders of the Synod.” The Nameless recoiled. “Arson?” he muttered to himself. “Like, um, what’s that supposed to do to, you know, help?” Making sure nobody else could hear him, he continued muttering to himself, rounding a street corner into a narrow alleyway to escape the furtive glances others were shooting him. He kept his face looking downwards, still softly speaking to himself under his breath. So it was that he did not see the hurried approach of Zihel as he tore down the alleyway at top speed, heading towards the Synod building. Completely oblivious, the Nameless stooped suddenly to pick up a stray boxing, and Zihel was unable to check his high-speed rush. Slamming into him, Zihel tapped Pewter, enhancing his bulk to cushion his fall. For his part, the Nameless frantically tapped iron, allowing him to keep an unsteady footing even as the cobblestones cracked underneath him, and Zihel fell awkwardly to the ground. It was then that he noticed the object in Zihel’s hand: a slender Pewter spike. Uncertainty and social awkwardness vanishing in an instant, the Nameless drew in a breath to shout the presence of a Spiked. However, Zihel was too fast. Tapping speed to move faster than his eye could track, Zihel zoomed up to the Nameless and rammed the spike through the Skimmer’s heart. As the Nameless’s life drained away, and Zihel began to tow the corpse, a burst of energy found its way into his almost-dead body. Placing all his remaining strength in his right arm, the Nameless delivered a solid punch to the chin of Zihel, who collapsed, caressing a fractured jaw. At peace finally, he passed from the realm of the living. The Tathingdwen Tautological Society of Tautology was surrounded by a torch-wielding Synod. With its president absent, the building was unguarded, and under the expert guidance of Olaf the Synod had the structure aflame in no time at all. Watching the banner which read “All are Welcome in this Welcoming Society” slowly being subsumed into a pile of ash, Olaf grinned. The exultation of starting a fire was something that a person who had not watched flames devour an unsuspecting piece of land could ever understand. In addition, Olaf had sent a strong message regarding speech that would hopefully be reinforced: speech that is pointless will not be tolerated. Only constructive speech, which could lead to the discovery of Spiked Infiltrators, would be condoned. And with the Terris population at half its initial size, discovery of the Spiked would be vital in the coming days. Three years ago, Zihel had come to this colors-cursed planet hoping to find his brother. Well, not his actual brother, he had died years ago, but the man who called himself Zahel was the closest thing he’d had to family at the time. Apparently, Zahel hadn’t felt the same way, for while he had sent a letter detailing the important scientific research he and his fellow Scholars were pursuing, he hadn’t bothered to let Zihel know their current whereabouts. After months of fruitless waiting, Zihel had set off in search of his brother. Having no real clue where they could have gone, Zihel decided to wander around random planets asking after a tall muscular man, possibly traveling with four others of similar build. He’d tried Threnody first. Nasty place, but the resident Shades might have attracted scholars searching for better ways to animate the dead. After breaking all the Simple Rules and wasting copious amounts of silver without any trace of Zahel, Zihel decided to try a safer planet. Sadly, Zihel was not a good judge of what constituted ‘safe’. After nearly being torn to shreds attempting to reach Sel, he’d stopped by Scadrial, appearing in some sort of mine. The sheer walls were no match for his rope, which he Awakened with the last of his Breath. He was not satisfied with this, for he sympathized with the plight of the slaves. His attempt to free the prisoners enslaved in the mine attracted the attention of the guards. They mercilessly crushed the escape attempt, and Zihel himself was captured. Having noticed the strange behavior of the rope, the guards called in for backup. Zihel was personally escorted to the feet of the Lord Ruler by one of his Inquisitors. Bound in silver manacles, Zihel was forced to bow before the Lord Ruler. A pair of Inquisitors flanked Zihel, the one to his left holding the still-Awakened rope. The second Inquisitor addressed Zihel directly. “Who are you? Where do you come from? How did you get to the Pits of Hathsin?” Zihel looked up briefly, and uttered only two words. “Strangle things.” The remaining color drained from Zihel’s clothes, and the rope immediately wrapped itself around the second Inquisitor’s throat, squeezing tightly. This appeared to have absolutely no effect whatsoever. The constricted Inquisitor merely laughed, and slashed the rope with an obsidian axe. The action drew blood, but as Zihel watched, the gushing flow seized and the wound closed up. The rope fell to the floor in pieces. “What should we do with him, my lord?” asked the no longer wounded Inquisitor. In response, the Lord Ruler began to smile wickedly. Several hours and nine spikes later, Zihel arose from a stone bed. The pain of his newfound spikes hurt almost as much as the knowledge that nine men and women had been butchered beyond all recognition for his sake. The two Inquisitors who had accompanied him before returned, and Zihel was brought back before the Lord Ruler. Feeling he had nothing left to lose, Zihel attacked the Lord Ruler, but was thrown backwards by an invisible force. As Zihel struggled to rise, his fury was obliterated by a crushing wave of numbness. All that was left was fear, which was immediately intensified tenfold, leaving Zihel a gibbering wreck, curled up on the floor. “I trust we have an understanding then?” the Lord Ruler inquired. Zihel merely whimpered in response. “Excellent,” the Lord Ruler announced. “Take him away.” For the next three years, Zihel did the Lord Ruler’s bidding as the Final Empire’s only Feruchemical Inquisitor. He was constantly attended by at least one other Inquisitor. They constantly manipulated his emotions, drowning him in anger and hatred. Under their influence, Zihel murdered hundreds of Skaa, Mistings, and errant nobles. His personality was beaten down until Zihel began to enjoy the bloodlust. Finally, the Lord Ruler deemed him ready for his first mission unaccompanied by an Inquisitor. Numbed by three years of mental torture, Zihel offered no protestations as he was ordered to travel to the Terris Dominance and slaughter any Feruchemists he found there. The quest had not gone as planned. They had found Feruchemists, an entire village of them in fact. After some initial success, the village had fought back, killing Valwyn and HanTor. Zihel felt no particular sadness for their loss, only a sense of irritation that they’d made the job more difficult for him. Rubbing his jaw where the nameless Ferring had punched him, Zihel experienced a similar surge of irritation. That was too sloppy, he thought to himself as he tapped Gold to heal his jaw. He headed back to their new headquarters, envisioning ways he could have more effectively killed the Iron Ferring. Caught up in his bloody reverie, he failed to notice Marne until the other Feruchemist had rushed in and snatched the Pewter spike from Zihel’s grasp. Zihel tapped Pewter in preparation for a fight, but he was too slow to stop Marne from ramming the stolen spike through Zihel’s throat, pinning him to the wall of the alleyway. Zihel tapped Gold, which healed the impact wound but failed to fix the internal damage. He would have to take the spike out first. As he reached to his throat, Marne smashed a Pewter-enhanced fist into Zihel’s forehead. Stunned, Zihel was helpless to prevent, Marne from ripping out every last spike. “You thought you had gotten rid of me when I was deposed, didn’t you?” Marne spat out as he tore away Zihel’s powers. “I’m here to let you know that I will never stop working to protect this village and these people, whether they want me to our not.” He might have said more, but Zihel was no longer listening. Soon, eight bloody spikes littered the cobblestones, leaving only two pewter spikes. The one where his heart had been, which supplied him with healing, and the one through his throat, which granted him death. Surprisingly, Marne’s hand reached for the latter. Zihel dropped to the ground, his metalminds empty, the hole in his throat finally closed. “I know there’s a real person in there somewhere,” Marne said in a much kinder tone of voice. “You can be redeemed as Olaf was,” Marne continued as he grabbed the final spike. “Or not,” he concluded, as Zihel died instantly upon removal of his last spike. Shaking his head sadly, Marne went off to meet Count Olaf, leaving Zihel dead in the alleyway. Sart was killed by the Spiked! He was a Village Iron Ferring (Skimmer)! Randuir was killed! He was a Spiked Full Feruchemist! The Synod has burnt down the Tathingdwen Tautological Society of Tautology! Even if the overwhelming consensus was to burn down Kredik Shaw. Sorry about that, _Stick_. You’re still President. Day 5 has begun! It will end in 48 hours on Saturday the 25th of April, at 9 PM EDT. Player List: 1. Rathmaskal as Laksam, an ash sweeper from the Eastern streets Village Steel Ferring 2. Xinoehp512 as Ereheman Tresni, a man with his priorities backwards 3. Steeldancer as Steel, the fastest sculpture of a squid wrought entirely in steel in all of Tathingdwen Village Brass Ferring 4. Randuir as Zihel, a worldhopper looking for his twin brother Spiked Full Feruchemist 5. I think I am here as Itiah VI, a missionary on a mission Village Steel Ferring 6. Bort as Tee Mai, a tailor specialising in offensive clothing 7. Cadmium Compounder as Ethin Hallil, a cadmium Feruchemist and SCUBA diver 8. _Stick_ as Stick, President of the Tathingdwen Tautological Society of Tautology 9. Jondesu as Remart, a man back from vacation armed with vaguely ominous statements 10. Kidpen as HanTor, a lonely Kandra that’s definitely not Spiked, nope Spiked Zinc Ferring 11. Elandera as Era, an old woman who claims to have been alive before the reign of the Lord Ruler Village Pewter Ferring 12. Snipexe as Snip, a fabric cutter in the local quilt shop Village Iron Ferring 13. Worldhopper from Yolen as Tarin, a Sparker with a wonderful, awful idea Village Zinc Ferring 14. Alvron as Izzy Dedyet, who is not dead, feels happy, and thinks she'll go for a walk Village Full Feruchemist 15. Phatterner as Citona Vinid, a seemingly faithful follower of the Lord Ruler 16. Ark1002 as Kardik, a Full Feruchemist 17. Araris Valerian as Valwyn, an honest rug merchant Spiked Pewter Ferring; Rug Merchant 18. Coop772 as Irion, a Full Feruchemist with hidden potential Village Copper Ferring 19. Sart, a stuttering Nameless Village Iron Ferring
  4. I've set this up as a place for you clever people to discuss and create new roles for future games. Hopefully, this will become a list of well balanced roles that GMs can use in future games. If you post a role here, it is free game for anyone to use in their games, unless you specifically state otherwise. Be forewarned, creating balanced roles is incredibly difficult. You need to take into account how they will play with other roles and how they will effect the balance of the game. Creating roles requires running them through scenarios time and again, just to make sure that they don't break the game. No role should be so strong that the opposing faction can't stand against it. I'll let you get to it, but here are a few reference materials to give you some baseline ideas to work from. The Wiki actually has a pretty decent breakdown for the game in general. While this game specific Wiki has a ton of roles already in use and also gives some ideas of their playability. One final note, feel free to create roles and games for any of Sanderson's worlds. Eventually, we'll hopefully have enough roles to easily play anywhere in the Cosmere! Update: The reworked rules and Formats are up! Please keep these in mind while designing your games. The better you know which format you're planning for, the better other people's feedback can be! Long Game Elimination Format Rules With plenty of time and a lot of complexity, the Long Games typically have time for in-depth analysis and plenty of roleplaying opportunities. The drawback being that they typically take a lot longer to play out. Players: 18+ Game Duration: 3+ weeks Game Cycle Duration: 96 hours max. Turns: days and nights, each 48 hours max. Rollover Time: TBD by the GM What to Expect: lots of roleplay more chances for in-depth manipulation lots of complexity high levels of analysis Mid-Range Game Elimination Format Rules A middle ground style of game. The Mid-Range games run fairly quickly, but not nearly as fast as a Quick Fix. This allows for more roleplaying and analysis than a Quick Fix, but less than a Long Game. Players: 15-30 Game Duration: 2-3 weeks Game Cycle Duration: 48 hours Turns: days and nights can be combined into one full cycle 48 hours in length or separated for each to be 24 hours long Rollover Time: TBD by the GM What to Expect: fairly fast pace some complexity a bit of roleplay moderate analysis inactive player warnings/deaths Quick Fix Elimination Format Rules The Quick Fix games follow a faster paced schedule than the other elimination games. This format will have fewer roles than the other games, and be less heavily invested in role playing. Players: 8-16 Game Duration: 1-2 weeks Game Cycle Duration: 24 hours Turns: days and nights combined into one full cycle Rollover Time: TBD by the GM What to Expect: very fast pace basic roleplay simple structure basic analysis one post/PM per cycle inactive player warnings/deaths Game Creation: Table of Contents First of the Sun/Sixth of the Dusk Twei/Eol/Piff - Trappers v. Traders Nalthis lord Claincy Ffnord - Idrians v. Hallandren v. Pahn Kahl - Run as Long Game 4: Colours of War Gamma - Returned v. Traitors w/ sacrifices - Run as Quick Fix 9: The Court of the Gods Wyrmhero - Explorers v. Traitors w/ items, events, and omens Twei - Merchants v. Saboteurs w/ roles and Awakening Roshar Mailliw - Items-based w/ Nobles v. Ghostbloods - Run as Long Game 5: Noble Secrets Rubix - Darkeyes v. Merchants v. Nobles w/ boons and curses - Run as Mid-Range 1: Riots of Kholinar Renegade - Windrunners and Truthwatchers v. Skybreakers - Run as Mid-Range 2: Servants of Honor Wyrmhero - Blackthorn's Army v. Alethi spies w/ roles and events - Run as Mid-Range 4: Alethi War of Unification Aonar - Refugees v. Diagramists w/ roles and squiring - Run as Long Game 13: Traitors on the Plains Aspren - Items-based w/ boons and curses Mailliw - KR v. Skybreakers and Voidbringers Only Joe - Alethi v. The Diagram Kasimir - KR v. Voidbringers Renegade - Bridgemen v. Lighteyes w/ roles, items, and highstorms Winter Cloud - KR v. Parshendi w/ roles, events, and items Winter Cloud - Odium/Voidbringers v. Honor/Cultivation/KR/Shardbearers Wilson - Sons of Honor and Ghostbloods v. Diagrammists Mckeedee - Ghostblood Members v. Moles w/ roles and items Renegade - Alethi Nobles v. Sadeas' Consipirators w/ roles and corruption Araris - Odius Scholars and Voidform v. Regular Forms Wyrmhero - Ghostbloods v. Sons of Honour w/ roles and pairings (two-headed elimination) Scadrial Metacognition - Spiked v. Villagers w/ Allomancers - Run as Long Game 1: In the Wake of Koloss and The Anniversary Game: In the Re-Wake of the Koloss Metacognition - Inquisitor and Spiked v. Allomancers w/ Unsnapped - Run as Long Game 2: The Devil's Den jasonpenguin - Spiked v. Villagers w/ Allomancers - Run as Long Game 3: Blackwater Village Wyrmhero - Noble House War w/ Nobles v. Skaa - Run as Long Game 7 - The Annealing of Luthadel Bartbug - Koloss-blooded vs. Kandra - Run as Long Game 8 - Elendel Gang War Newan - Twinborn v. Spiked w/ kandra, mistwraith, items and a map - Run as Long Game 11: Twinborn Village Renegade - Passengers v. Coinshot Clan w/ coins and locations - Run as Quick Fix 8: The Steelway Express Swimmingly - Koloss and Allomancy 18th Shard - Agents of Ruin v. Islanders w/ allomancy, feruchemy, and hemalurgy Gamma - Flaring Metals Only Joe - Items-based and Allomancy Newan - Pits of Hathsin Prisoners v. Snitches w/ roles and snapping Renegade - Pits of Hathsin w/ Atium and Allomancy Wyrmhero - The Roughs, Thieves v. Lawmen w/ money and roles Kasimir - The Roughs, roles w/ economy, broadsheet, and cosmetic roles Winter Cloud - Skaa and Mistings v. Mistborn assassin w/ roles Wyrmhero - Heron Industries, Loyalists v. Mistrunners w/ roles and employment Seonid - House Conrad v. Venture Agents w/ roles Wyrmhero - Crew v. Traitors w/ roles, missions, and a planning Turn Winter - Venture allies v. Great House Spies w/ roles, items, kandra, contracts, skaa, Inquisitor Kasimir - Workers v. Informants w/ currency, roles, and broadsheet Sel Tempus - Traders v. Followers of the Jeskeri Mysteries - Run as Quick Fix 1: Jeskeri Mysteries Metacognition - Pirates v. Mutineers - Run as Quick Fix 2: Crushthroat's Beginnings Herowannabe - Jeskeri v. Shu-Dereth v. Arelon w/ roles, vote manipulation, Elantris exploration and secrets - Run as Long Game 12: Shadows of Elantris Kasimir - Heritage v. Glory v. Moderation v. Discovery w/ roles and bribery - Run as Mid-Range 7: Eighty Splendid Suns Serendipity - Dakhor v. Forgers and Elantrians Renegade - Forger v. Arbiter and Bloodsealers Panda - Elantris Gang v. Gang w/ roles, items, and Hoed Mckeedee - Derethi Converts v. Jeskeri Cult v. Dulas w/ conversion, elections, and religions Threnody/Shadows for Silence Gamma - Hell's Shadows - Run as Quick Fix 3: Shadowed Secrets Kasimir - Travellers v. Criminals (w/ Shades) Unknown Location/Shadesmar/World-hopping Only Joe - Seventeenth Shard v. Hoid - Run as Quick Fix 4: Conversion Alvron - Epics v. Rithmatists v. Librarians v. Cosmere w/ Hoid and Serial Killer - Run as Mid-Range 5: Competing Realities Quiver - Shards and Seventeenth Shard v. Odium and Voidbringers - Run as Long Game 10: A Game of Shards | Only Joe's reworked version - Run as Long Game 14: To Shatter a Shard Wyrmhero - Space Crew v. Traitors Winter Cloud - Scadrial v. Nalthis v. Roshar w/ roles, items, NPC's, and kandra Earth/Alcatraz Only Joe - Free World v. Evil Librarians w/ Talents and items JasonPenguin - Smedry's v. Librarians w/ Talents and post-censoring Earth/Legion Herowannabe - Legion's aspects v. Nightmare aspects w/ specialties, cupid, and rooms - Run as Quick Fix 6: A Time of Nightmares Earth/Reckoners Alvron - Civilians v. Epics v. Epics - Run as Long Game 9: The Empty Throne, Part 1 Renegade - Researchers (w/ Black Market) Kasimir - Civilians v. Traitors w/ roles and riddles Earth/Rithmatist a smart guy - Nebrask w/ Rithmatists v. Forgotten - Run as Mid-Range 3: When Chalklings Attack Defending Elysium & Firstborn Smart Guy - Humans v. Aliens w/ cryotonics and roles Randland/Wheel of Time Gamma - Forsaken and Darkfriends v. Channelers and Villagers (Wisdom, Wolfbrother, etc) - Run as Long Game 6: Daes Dae'Mar Kasimir - Logain v. Mazrim Taim w/ conversions Meta Games (17S Site) Adamir - Sharders v. Spammers w/ roles, items, locations, rep Role Ideas/Partial Games Terox - Feruchemy Gamma - Kandra Alvron - Items-based (Lerasium beads, etc.) Gamma - Terris Synod and Kandra Alvron - Alloy of Law w/ world-hoppers Macen - Seventeenth Shard v. Hoid Gamma - Shadesmar's ruling spren v. hatespren Clanky - Debtor and Debtholders Only Joe - Omnicide Non-Sanderson Ideas Jasonpenguin - Hunger Games - Run as Quick Fix 5: Hunger Games Aonar - The Old Kingdom Wyrmhero - Magic: the Gathering - Ravnica Wyrmhero - Discworld Wilson - Kingkiller Chronicle - The University, aka "The Most Complex Game Ever" Wyrmhero - Sandman - Dream Aspects Herowannabe - Star Wars Wyrmhero - Chronicales of Amber Kasimir - Doctor Who Kasimir - Assassin's Creed Adamir - Dishonored Wyrmhero - Sandman - Cereal Convention Adamir - Middle Earth
  5. With the uncertainty regarding the identity of the new Synod head, the remaining Synod members did not dare to address current issues. Far better to wait for direction before making important decisions, especially considering the wide gulf in ideologies between the two leading candidates. Instead, they turned to address older business that had been ignored in favor of more urgent matters. Darrel, as a neutral party in the election, was currently the Acting Head of the Synod. In his hands, he held a complaint written in a very familiar hand. Darrel could almost hear Valwyn’s voice as he read the notice aloud. “Esteemed colleagues,” the letter began. “I hereby submit a motion to remove the tentacled steel sculpture from the premises. It is an unsightly blemish and is blocking access to the roads. As per paragraph three, section five of legal code, ornaments that obstruct the roads are to be removed with all deliberate speed by the ash sweepers. I request that this action be carried out at once. Yours respectfully, Valwyn.” Darrel lowered the paper and gazed around at his fellow Synod members. Most of them looked disinterested in the proceedings. “Valwyn is dead, and a traitor besides. Do we really have to deal with this?” one asked. “That steel sculpture isn’t even a hindrance anymore. It can move quite quickly when it wants to, and is apparently smart enough to vote,” opined a second member. A third member suddenly cut in, apparently interested. “What if it’s spiked, though? We’d never be able to tell under all that steel.” “That’s ridiculous,” shouted the first speaker. “There’s no way anyone managed to spike a whatever-it-is. We need to focus on finding the real Spiked, not entertaining the fancies of a deceased enemy!” Darrel looked on sadly as the two Synod members’ argument descended into bickering. Under Marne’s leadership, the two had tolerated each other despite their substantial differences in opinion. Now, without a respected head of the Synod, their icy politeness had burned faster than one of Olaf’s fires. “Stop!” he ordered. “We’ll go talk to the steel sculpture and see what it has to say for itself.” Sighing heavily, the four members trudged outside. Not for the last time, Darrel wished Marne were still in power, or at least that Olaf and Leidene would at least feign civility and join in discussions. Steel enjoyed life in Tathingdwen, accusations and biases notwithstanding. As a Ferring, and one incapable of posing as a Terris steward, the village was the only safe place for him. No matter how any whispers of suspicion or disgust came his way, Steel always tried to help his adopted homeland. Lately, he noticed the whispers getting worse. Sometimes, villagers would even proclaim loudly that he was the cause of their troubles. Steel didn’t understand why the villagers would harbor hatred for a noble squid when there were Spiked on the loose, but he never expressed those opinions. Better to keep quiet and prove his loyalty through his actions, he felt. Now, seeing almost the entire Synod heading in his direction, Steel found himself reconsidering his decision. He didn’t run, though he could easily have outpaced the Synod members. He’d seen what had happened when Snip had tried to run, and besides, the village needed him here. To run would be to abandon his duty. Instead, Steel rapidly filled and tapped brass, melting his facial features and reforging them into an expression that humans apparently found to be aesthetically pleasing. This done, he sat back and waited. Darrel stared at the steel sculpture. That face, was it, was it smiling? Such an odd expression on a tentacled monstrosity. Feeling slightly foolish he addressed the beast. “Uh, steel… thing, we, my colleagues feel there is a possibility you may be Spiked, so, we’ve come to investigate.” Steel said nothing, but melted and reformed it’s eyes in an attempt to signal agreement. Creeped out, Darrel nodded. “O-okay then. Um, we’re going to have to check whether any metal is piercing your flesh. Now, I realize that now seem to be made of metal, and that you don’t appear to actual have any flesh, so actually, I don’t even know what we’re supposed to do.” Steel looked up at Darrel with something akin to pity. The poor man was evidently unsuited to leadership. Meanwhile, two of the Synod members had began a new argument. Ignoring Steel, they began to loudly debate the respective merits of Leidene and Count Olaf, and how the pair had agreed that Tathingdwen would have to be abandoned. The shouting drew a crowd over to see what the commotion was about, but the newcomers soon forgot the argument in favor of shouting at Steel. “Who let that thing into our village,” one shouted, wielding a bloody splintered table leg. Steel recoiled, though he harbored no fear of the makeshift club. Emboldened, the villager stepped forward and smashed the leg against one of Steel’s tentacles. The wooden leg broke in two, leaving Steel unharmed. Enraged, the Ferring tried a fist, smashing knuckles into Steel’s eyes. Though Steel felt nothing, the attacker cried out in pain. “The evil brute attacked me,” the aggressor lied. Steel was confused. It wasn’t his fault he had been hit. The milling crowd harbored no such confusion. They mobbed Steel, and though their various weapons were just as ineffective as the instigators table leg and fists, Steel could do nothing to stop them from picking him up. Nothing, that is, except tap brass. Lightly at first, for Steel had no wish to seriously harm the crowd. As the mob began to carry him towards the nearby waterfall, Steel began to panic. He tapped brass more intently, until Terris began to scream in agony as their skin came in contact with blisteringly hot metal. The leaders attempted to drop Steel, but found themselves pushed forward by the inexorable momentum of the crowd. Realizing that his plan had failed, Steel ceased his efforts. The falls were now in sight. Steel, like all squids, enjoyed the water, but he disliked the looks of the rocks bristling pointedly far below. His only chance, he figured, was to forge himself into a useful shape before he hit the rocks. He began to fill brass instead, to provide him with plenty of heat for the task. Just as the chilled metal began to be uncomfortable, Steel was hurled over the edge. As Steel plummeted, he realized that he disliked heights. This thought flitted through his find as he began to melt down his tentacles and form himself into a ball for impact. The boulders below looked even more lethal from this height, he noted, so he dissolved his eyes. They wouldn’t be necessary, he reasoned, a second before his spherical form smashed into the first rock. CRACK! Steel felt the blow reverberate through his core, but he was still alive. He sank into the water, relieved. When he attempted to tap heat to begin reforging his body, he found that his metalminds had been lost. Stuck in his spherical form, Steel was whisked away by the rapids, unable to return home. Olaf continued on his nighttime walk, past the charred ruins of Marne’s hideout and further into the alleyway in which it was set. After the sturdy wooden houses on either side, the alley led into squatter settlements where the poorer citizenry of Tathingdwen lived in small stone huts. Among the paupers and beggars lining the sidewalks, one very important woman lived in the alleyway, an older lady of sixty. Former leader of the Synod for one day, covert member of an arsonist group, and a hopeless lover of dogs, Shirley U. Jest squatted on her porch, watching Olaf as he approached. With surprise, Olaf saw that the sun was coming up behind Jest’s house. How long had he been awake? Pushing aside his fatigue, Olaf turned to the older woman and bowed reverently. Jest had been his mentor, and the leader of the splinter faction that Olaf had joined as a young man, when he stopped fighting fires and began to start them. Now, he hoped to receive direct answers from her, amidst the turmoil and murkiness surrounding the Synod and its congregation. “Ms. Jest,” he began, but the old woman raised her hand for silence, cutting him off. “I’ve lived sixty years, Olaf,” she rasped with the voice of one accustomed to constant smoke inhalation. “I don’t have that much longer here on this brown earth, and I’d hate for you to waste any more of it on your formalities. You’ve come here because you want something. What is it?” Despite himself, Olaf grinned widely. He missed Jest’s blunt answers and no-nonsense approach to life. He was surprised that he had fallen into diplomatic niceties so quickly, but as a member of the high nobility, and then a companion to Marne, who talked around an issue more than Olaf did, Olaf figured that the people around him were mostly to blame. He began again. “I need counsel,” he said simply. “The Synod can no longer keep control of its members, with the discovery of traitors in their midst, and I’m caught up with them, for good or ill. However, they’ve been insane recently: they just deposed Marne—” “Good riddance,” Jest interjected. “Just because he quickly shut down your failed coup doesn’t mean he’s a terrible person. Besides, I had told you that it was too early to try to move against the Synod. Anyway, they’ve also used my Coinshot assassin to remove someone, and now they’re leading the rest of the Terris to kill each other in search of Spiked. I’m not sure if I’m entirely on board with the direction they’re taking.” Jest snorted. “What happened to your devotion to chaos? The Synod will tear itself apart, Marne will die, and there’s one less secret society to have to keep track of. Sure, that fool of a Lord Ruler will keep consolidating power, but he’s got all of it anyway, so no big deal there. The Olaf I knew five years ago would have welcomed these changes with open arms. What happened?” “I respect the people on that Synod, Jest. Marne is a good man, despite your refusal to acknowledge that, and the Synod itself is full of people who honestly want to help each other. Now, though, I’m not sure that it can hold together.” Jest waved her arms in frustration. “Why did you let yourself be drawn in by that group? I don’t care how much you want to make up for what you nearly did to Marne, or how good you think those people may be. If you want to help them, the best thing to do is stay out of their affairs. They’ll live or die on their own.” “That’s not an option,” Olaf stated quietly. “I can’t abandon them now. I need to see if the Synod can draw itself back together, if the Terris can survive the Lord Ruler. And if they can, I need to be a part of that. But first I need to get them there. So I repeat my earlier question to you: what should I do?” Jest sat in silence for a minute, looking down at the dirt and ash roads. Olaf tapped his foot, unnerved by his mentor’s silence. After what seemed like an eternity, Jest drew her head up, her sharp gaze piercing Olaf. “You’re actually serious about this?” “Yes,” Olaf responded, with as much confidence as he could muster. Jest sighed again. “Fine. I can only tell you one thing, then. If you’re bound and determined to save this Synod group, then you need to lead it. Marne is gone from his position of power, from what I understand, and even though you may consult with him you need to take on the task of leading the Synod. It will unite and direct them, provided you give them something to do.” Olaf blinked. “Even if I get the position, what could I even unify them around?” Jest flashed a rare grin. “Why, what you’re best at, of course. Arson.” Twelve hours later, eight of which Olaf had spent sleeping, the Terris people gathered in front of the Synod building to elect their new leader. Split almost equally between two factions, which fiercely debated the merits of each candidate to the unconvinced, each of the gathered Feruchemists were on edge after the death of the steel sculpture. Olaf had left Marne to organise a quick campaign and platform for him, and he had to admit that the man had done good work, given his time constraints. It seemed that Olaf actually had a decent chance of winning with a message of unity, if he played his cards correctly before votes were cast. However, the camp in favor of Leidene was well organised, sporting signs and waving articles claiming that Olaf was an undercover Spiked. He had been forced to defend himself from the unsubstantiated allegations, and that had weakened his positive message. Leidene sat across from him on the steps, looking slightly disconcerted. Olaf could not tell if the articles that had been printed had actually been directly ordered by her. Either way, he was going to have to keep an eye on her. Silence began to spread across the crowd of Terris as Darrel, the acting head, walked up the steps towards the two candidates. Marne muttered a word of support in Olaf’s ear, then went to sit with the rest of the Synod. Beside him, Darrel had reached the top step, and began to speak. “Ladies and gentlemen of the Synod,” he announced. “After a careful counting of all ballots submitted, it is my pleasure to present to you your new Synod leader: Count Olaf!” Olaf felt relief flood through his body. He moved dumbly to shake Leidene’s hand, still overwhelmed, and felt his legs propel him towards the Synod house. Marne had sprinted ahead, and was waiting at the door with an enormous grin on his face, beaming like a proud parent. Darrel was more deadpan, but still excited by the tense nature of his posture. Most of the other Synod members merely seemed trepidatious. Having the meeting immediately follow the election had not been Olaf’s idea, but was supported by the Terris, who wanted to see mwhat their new leader would do. However, rebuffed at the door by the Brutes and Steelrunners guarding the Synod, the crowd slowly dispersed, and silence filled the Synod meeting-room as the members sat down and waited, a nervous silence filling the air. Finally, Darrel broke it. “So...what’s our plan to save Tathingdwen?” Olaf grinned widely. “Arson.” Steeldancer was lynched! He was a Village Brass Ferring (Firesoul)! Steeldancer (3) Jondesu (2) Count Olaf was elected as the leader of the Synod! The Synod has gained the following ability: Arson-Each member of the Synod may vote to burn something down. If by the end of a night phase a majority of living Synod members have voted for the same target, that structure will be burned down. The use of this ability will be noted in the writeup. This has no in-game effect. Night 4 has begun! It will end in 24 hours on Thursday, August 23rd at 9 PM EDT. [url=https://www.pending.me.uk][/url] Player List: 1. Rathmaskal as Laksam, an ash sweeper from the Eastern streets Village Steel Ferring 2. Xinoehp512 as Ereheman Tresni, a man with his priorities backwards 3. Steeldancer as Steel, the fastest sculpture of a squid wrought entirely in steel in all of Tathingdwen Village Brass Ferring 4. Randuir as Zihel, a worldhopper looking for his twin brother 5. I think I am here as Itiah VI, a missionary on a mission Village Steel Ferring 6. Bort as Tee Mai, a tailor specialising in offensive clothing 7. Cadmium Compounder as Ethin Hallil, a cadmium Feruchemist and SCUBA diver 8. _Stick_ as Stick, President of the Tathingdwen Tautological Society of Tautology 9. Jondesu as Remart, a man back from vacation armed with vaguely ominous statements 10. Kidpen as HanTor, a lonely Kandra that’s definitely not Spiked, nope Spiked Zinc Ferring 11. Elandera as Era, an old woman who claims to have been alive before the reign of the Lord Ruler Village Pewter Ferring 12. Snipexe as Snip, a fabric cutter in the local quilt shop Village Iron Ferring 13. Worldhopper from Yolen as Tarin, a Sparker with a wonderful, awful idea Village Zinc Ferring 14. Alvron as Izzy Dedyet, who is not dead, feels happy, and thinks she'll go for a walk Village Full Feruchemist 15. Phatterner as Citona Vinid, a seemingly faithful follower of the Lord Ruler 16. Ark1002 as Kardik, a Full Feruchemist 17. Araris Valerian as Valwyn, an honest rug merchant Spiked Pewter Ferring; Rug Merchant 18. Coop772 as Irion, a Full Feruchemist with hidden potential Village Copper Ferring 19. Sart, a stuttering Nameless
  6. Laksam hated the ashmounts. Every day, no matter the results of the inane discussions the villagers insisted on having , piles of ash fell on the fields of Tathingdwen that he’d just finished cleaning. With Era dead, he had to clean out her garden in addition to all his other duties. He didn’t have time for all this nonsense with the villagers and the Spiked murdering each other when they wouldn’t last the year without fresh crops. Laksam had tried to recruit others to help him in his quest to clear the fields of ash, but they had all refused. “We’re busy,” they had said, or perhaps, “Don’t you know the village has more important things to do?” Fools, every last one of them. What difference did it make if they found and eliminated all the Spiked? At this rate, the village would kill itself off. Laksam participated in the village’s peculiar brand of justice to keep up appearances, no use trying to save the village if he was going to get murdered for it, but in his brief moments of spare time, Laksam began writing letters. Lots and lots of letters, one for each person in the outside world he knew. If the inhabitants of Tathingdwen wouldn’t listen to reason, perhaps the expatriate Terris would. Just in case, Laksam prepared one final letter, more of a poster really. Asking nicely hadn’t worked, explaining the severity of the ash problem had been laughed off, so Laksam decided to try demanding obedience. “Citizens of Tathingdwen:” the poster announced in large letters. “Ising the needing of working of you. Ising of the cleansing of ash. Needing the arriving of you the time of appointing. Ising the giving of brooms.” In smaller letters, Laksam wrote out the name of each surviving resident, along with the times he expected them to show up. Each shift required two people, to limit the effects of attrition on the continuous effort. Satisfied, Laksam left his house, poster in hand, letters in the pockets of his robe. The mist was thick that night. Laksam enjoyed misty nights; he could almost ignore the omnipresent ash at times like these. Years of nights spent outside, just him, the mists, and the ash, had given Laksam an impeccable sense for the village in darkness. He wasted no time walking up to the Synod lodge and nailing his poster to the wall using a mallet he’d borrowed from Era upon her death. This task done, he turned and gazed out to the periphery of the village. The night was still young, and his steelminds were full of speed. He could, potentially, rush out to deliver his letters and return before the villagers realized he was gone. Sweeping ash all day left little time to store speed, but he’d been saving up for years, ever since that day long ago when Izzy had needed an emergency supply of animal crackers to placate her gods. Now, she was gone too. Laksam shook his head wearily. The Spiked were taking everything from him. He would not let them prevent him from fighting his eternal war against the ash. Glancing at his Steelminds, Laksam made his decision. The ash could wait for a few more hours. Laksam tapped speed and took off into the night, letters in tow. As he ran, Laksam remembered how much he enjoyed Steelrunning, especially at night. The cool breeze of the wind blowing across his face. The enveloping presence of the mists, covering up the ugliness of the world without unduly limiting his vision. The blinding agony as he suddenly tripped and smashed his face against the hard ground. Wait, no, that wasn’t right. Laksam struggled to get up and continue his journey, but the intense pain in his head forced him to his knees again. He sat there for a minute, struggling to collect his thoughts, hoping the pain would go away, that it wasn’t permanent. He stood up dizzily just in time to hear a voice behind him say, “Well, looks like we have a runner. Where are you going so late at night, when all the decent folks have gone to sleep?” Laksam turned around groggily, almost falling over in the process. His vision blurred, leaving him unable to identify the newcomer. The swirling mist didn’t help matters. Laksam tried to respond, resorting to the street slang of his youth. “Ising the being of you of decent?” he forced out. “Hmm? I didn’t catch that,” the figure said conversationally pulling something long and sharp out from under his robes. Ah well. We’ll see how long it takes the villagers to find your body.” At this, Laksam, already nervous, began to panic. He tapped speed, attempting to turn and run, but the Spiked was prepared for this. The razor-sharp projectile, hurled at extreme velocities, pierced Laksam from behind even as he began to run. The ash sweeper’s body made it a few more paces before realizing it was dead, finally collapsing a mere ten meters from the shin high steel tripwire that had caused Laksam’s downfall. The Spiked nodded in approval. All that time spend surrounding the village with a ring of steel had paid off. The Spiked walked up to Laksam’s corpse to retrieve the obsidian javelin, pausing at the sound of paper crinkling. Upon finding the first of the letters, the figure’s grin widened. The frantic entreaties for aid would serve as excellent kindling for their writer’s funeral pyre. Ethin Hallil’s drink had been poisoned. It would have been a great travesty, if he hadn’t accidentally nudged it with his elbow as he animatedly retold the death of HanTor, and poured the wine all over his brand new SCUBA gear. The dry cleaning bill was a lot cheaper than a notary and an interment, though, so he gladly paid it once the laundry lady asked why his gear smelled like strychnine. Olaf rose from his seat in the Synod, thoroughly exhausted and befuddled. After its members had called for a clandestine meeting in the night, Olaf had an apprehension that something major was about to take place in the Synod. The meeting had certainly not disappointed. The remaining Synod members had tired of Marne’s calls for moderation. A decisive viote had ousted him from his position as chair of the Synod, reducing him back to an ordinary member. Olaf recalled the thunderstruck look on his new friend’s face as the hands had gone up, one by one, and Marne had been removed from his long-standing position. Olaf himself had been shocked, his faith in the legislative body and his belief in the goodness of the Synod’s errand both in tatters. Removing Marne had not been in their best interests. The man was a competent, capable leader, and his peaceful and nonviolent stances were, in Olaf’s eyes, a mark of the man’s strength. Though he did not take an authoritative stance, and was never the most decisive, Olaf appreciated the compassion within the man, a trait he had always struggled to acquire. In addition, without a leader to guide them, the Synod was aimless and had no clear direction. Despite claims from the Synod that a new leader would be appointed, Olaf knew that a leader of Marne’s caliber did not exist elsewhere in the Synod, and without one, the Synod would drift purposelessly. However, the Terris had been in agreement about one crucial element; Tarin needed to be killed. The orphan had been accused of association with the deceased agents of the Lord Ruler, and enough of the Terris had decided that she warranted removal by Olaf’s assassin. Marne, again shocked, had merely voted present. Olaf voted against the resolution. While he was sympathetic of Marne’s situation, and felt terrible for his friend’s plight, he knew that his assassin should not be used when the Synod was leaderless, and unable to guide themselves to wise decisions. Nevertheless, Olaf had been outvoted again, with the cripple Leidene siding with the younger, ascendant faction that had deposed Marne. So it was that Olaf found himself outside with a purse full of money that was not his, knocking on the door of his Coinshot. He had carefully removed all metal on him, and had filled the purse with paper notes, to minimise the risk of an accidental or careless Steelpush incapacitating or killing him. Trepidatious, Olaf stood on the porch, waiting for his man to emerge. The wind swirled around him, chilling him and shaking the bushes from side to side. Olaf watched the movement of the branches, thinking of warm fires, and therefore did not notice when the front door swung silently outward on oiled hinges, and a cloaked figure in black garb alighted on the steps. Recognising the eye tattooed on Olaf’s ankle, the man did not bother inquiring as to Olaf’s identity, instead moving to take his purse. Raising an eyebrow at the paper currency, the assassin rummaged through the purse, lips mouthing numbers as he counted the sum. When he was done, he whistled softly, appreciative. The Coinshot turned to Olaf with a broad smile on his face. “️️Who?” he asked simply. Olaf answered hesitantly. “Tarin,” he said. “Orphan girl who just moved into Tathingdwen. A...group I’m in thinks she might be a snoop for the Lord Ruler, and we’d rather get her out of the way before we proceed any further.” The half-lie would hopefully placate the man. Olaf would be laughed away if he explained what Hadrian and Marne had done to him in front of his old associates, and so he had learned to keep up pretenses. More importantly, however, he could not compromise the Synod, even if he disagreed with its current direction. Men like this assassin, while they ostensibly served him, would do anything to turn a profit, Olaf knew—he had been among their ranks for the better part of his adulthood. If it meant a few more bills in his pocket, the Coinshot would not hesitate to sell out the Synod to those willing to pay for such information. So Olaf kept a tight lip as the man nodded, a self-satisfied smirk upon his face, and jumped off into the mists after his target. Olaf watched him go, standing on the small veranda in the ash-coated yard. His associate would not fail, though a nagging doubt gnawed at the insides of the conflicted man as he towered over the streets and small buildings, striding towards Marne’s old house, the initial hideout that Olaf had nearly razed. He felt that Tarin was not guilty, that the Synod had adjudicated incorrectly. And to form a different plan, to truly save the Terris, Olaf would need to enlist the aid of his first ally in the Synod, its former leader, if he was to not fail this group that had placed their reliance in him. For the second time that night, even as the unfortunate Tarin was riddled with holes from many coins, Olaf knocked on a door he had not planned to be at, hoping that behind this one lay the answers he sought. Rathmaskal was slaughtered by the Spiked! He was a Village Steel Ferring (Steelrunner)! All credit to Devotary for his death, please go give her upvotes. Cadmium Compounder was attacked, but was protected! Worldhopper from Yolen was assassinated by the Synod! She was a Village Zinc Ferring (Sparker)! Marne was deposed as the leader of the Synod! He was a Moderate Pacifist! Ascendancy over the Synod is now open! As a flavor vote, today you may each cast a vote in purple to elect a new Synod leader, in addition to your regular lynch vote. The person with the most votes gets to lead the Synod. Day 4 has begun! It will end in 48 hours, on Wednesday the 22nd of August at 9 PM EDT. Player List: 1. Rathmaskal as Laksam, an ash sweeper from the Eastern streets Village Steel Ferring 2. Xinoehp512 as Ereheman Tresni, a man with his priorities backwards 3. Steeldancer as Steel, the fastest sculpture of a squid wrought entirely in steel in all of Tathingdwen 4. Randuir as Zihel, a worldhopper looking for his twin brother 5. I think I am here as Itiah VI, a missionary on a mission Village Steel Ferring 6. Bort as Tee Mai, a tailor specialising in offensive clothing 7. Cadmium Compounder as Ethin Hallil, a cadmium Feruchemist and SCUBA diver 8. _Stick_ as Stick, President of the Tathingdwen Tautological Society of Tautology 9. Jondesu as Remart, a man back from vacation armed with vaguely ominous statements 10. Kidpen as HanTor, a lonely Kandra that’s definitely not Spiked, nope Spiked Zinc Ferring 11. Elandera as Era, an old woman who claims to have been alive before the reign of the Lord Ruler Village Pewter Ferring 12. Snipexe as Snip, a fabric cutter in the local quilt shop Village Iron Ferring 13. Worldhopper from Yolen as Tarin, a Sparker with a wonderful, awful idea Village Zinc Ferring 14. Alvron as Izzy Dedyet, who is not dead, feels happy, and thinks she'll go for a walk Village Full Feruchemist 15. Phatterner as Citona Vinid, a seemingly faithful follower of the Lord Ruler 16. Ark1002 as Kardik, a Full Feruchemist 17. Araris Valerian as Valwyn, an honest rug merchant Spiked Pewter Ferring; Rug Merchant 18. Coop772 as Irion, a Full Feruchemist with hidden potential Village Copper Ferring 19. Sart, a stuttering Nameless
  7. Valwyn, esteemed member of the Terris Synod and the most successful and lucrative rug merchant in the land, was most happy with the recent upturn in business. Of all the Spiked, he was the one who had truly settled into the aura of Tathingdwen, with his wares being peddled throughout the city, and his position as an influential, capitalistic aristocrat firmly entrenched. Most especially pleased was he when Marne had called the Synod into the safehouse with the rough wooden flooring, by his own suggestion. A full purse indeed made for a light heart, and Valwyn’s heart was especially light as he strolled down the quiet alleyways of Tathingdwen. His disguise was complete—there was little reason to suspect him, and with a hand on the lever of the Terris economy, and a hand on its political lever—the Synod—he would ensure the victory of the Lord Ruler. As he walked towards his shop, a voice sounded behind him, a fell whisper carried by the night air. “Rug merchant,” came the sibilant hiss. Valwyn whirled around, scanning for the source of the rasping voice. “Did you ask for me?” he said, still looking for the intruder. He did not know who would dare disturb a Synod member on their nighttime walk, but the voice did not seem to harbour good intentions, and he would need to face his stalker. He turned, peering into the murky blackness of the night sky, seeing nothing. The whisper came again, its origin obscured by the shadows facing him. “Rug merchant...” the whisper still came. Valwyn shuddered. “Face me directly!” he challenged, then immediately felt foolish. Of course the man would not face him directly. He was a nighttime killer as well, and a good killer never let their victim respond. He tensed, then tapped Pewter, his adrenaline fueling his enhanced bulk. Stepping forward, he began to prowl in the general direction of the voice, issuing from near his shop. “Rug merchant,” a vehement and insisting voice sounded from beside him, malice dripping from every syllable. Startled, Valwyn whirled, but he could not stop the keen steel blade, wielded by a pink-gloved man, from swinging out of the unnatural shadow and taking off his head. It rolled, coming to a stop beside the door. A man with badly dyed pink leather gloves, from which a black steam rose and blended with the silver mist, stepped into the harsh glare of the streetlight surrounding him. His form radiated pure hatred, and his eyes were consumed by it. Slowly, the man removed his hood, bending down and plucking the object from underneath the forearm of Valwyn. He had known it, and this was mere confirmation. Working on the same Synod did not make one an ally. Grinning with the face of one whose beliefs have been vindicated, a thin Pewter spike was raised slowly into the air, its black silhouette blocking the street lamp. “You can never trust a rug merchant,” Darrel hissed one last time, as his form faded back into the mists and smoke. Izzy Dedyet knew that her fellow Synod members disapproved of her faith in the Gods of Luck and Chance. Though they never condemned her belief for fear of alienating a Full Feruchemist, Izzy’s colleagues had always pointedly ignored any suggestions that involved leaving matters up to chance. Worse, they had banned the sale of animal crackers after that one time a failed sacrifice had caused the fire to consume their meeting place. After weeks of waiting, the merchant from the Western dominance had finally arrived, bringing with him a full crate of animal crackers. A brief use of steel had been sufficient for Izzy to rush out to meet the merchant, then return without anyone noticing her absence. As night fell, Izzy consulted her book. She was planning to kill a Spiked tonight, and intended to call upon the Gods of Luck and Chance to ensure that she made the right decision. Shockingly, the book provided no tips on determining whether a Terris was secretly a servant of the Lord Ruler. It did, however, provide a ritual designed to help its user complete a personal quest. Izzy decided that the utter annihilation of the spiked counted as a worthy mission. Carefully, Izzy took five boxes of crackers out of the crate. Horse, dog, mistwraith, koloss, and skaa. Izzy frowned at that last one, but the book was very specific. A horse guaranteed speed, that Izzy would be able to kill her target before anyone else did. The dog to ensure that her victim would lack loyalty to the Synod. The mistwraith, both a symbol of fear and, along with Mistborn, the unquestioned rulers of the night. The koloss sacrifice would allow her to smash through any defense, though few but another full Feruchemist should be able to challenge her. Finally, the skaa, representing the insignificance of her life in comparison to the good of Tathingdwen. One by one, Izzy placed the five boxes of animal crackers strategically around the ritual pyre. The ritual was complete, and Izzy sat back to hope her hard work would pay off. The Gods of Luck and Chance were subtle, never directly interfering in the lives of mortals, choosing instead to manipulate events beyond the reach of sapient thought. Nevertheless, as the fire began to expand and consume the animal crackers, Izzy remembered that Snip had died for making a quilt that, judging by the poor ferrings innocence, had been intended to frame the man. Yet, there was another shop in Tathingdwen that performed embroidery. Why commission a quilt to frame an innocent without acquiring a rug for the same purpose? Perhaps because the rug maker was evil. It was worth checking out, at any rate. Tapping speed, Izzy made her way to Valwyn’s shop. Izzy arrived at the Pulling the Rug just in time to see a pink gloved man pull a spike out of Valwyn’s corpse. So the Gods of Luck and Chance had been right, after all. While she was here, she supposed she should search the store for any clues, or perhaps Valwyn’s fellow traitors. Tapping pewter, she walked up to the door and ripped it out of its hinges. It was dark inside the Pulling the Rug, but the darkness was no match for tin-enhanced senses. Izzy strode confidently through the empty store, pausing when she heard a noise from the back of the shop. The stone door opened easily, revealing a wooden room with only a large circular stone block for furnishing. The room contained a solitary individual, though only their head and shoulders stuck out from the hole in the floor. Izzy recognized them at once, but didn’t have time to say anything before the figure grinned, set the room alight with a torch they had been holding in their right hand, then disappeared down the hole. Izzy tapped speed again in an attempt to catch up to the Spiked, but she was too slow. The spiked dragged the stone block back over the hole and disappeared underground. Tapping pewter in an attempt to move the block proved ineffective, as the block fit so smoothly there was no place for her to get a grip. She checked the way she’d come in, only to find it similarly shut. By now, the flames had consumed most of the room. The only safe place now was the stone trapdoor, so Izzy stood on it, jumped in the air, and tapped every last bit of weight stored in her ironminds. The floor collapsed underneath her, revealing the extensive cavern the Spiked had evidently excavated underneath Tathingdwen. After a brief moment of surprise, she began to fill her ironminds to cushion her fall, but she still landed far more heavily than a coinshot would have. As she attempted to regain her balance, a blade pierced her from behind. Izzy gasped inaudibly and tapped gold, but the wound failed to close around the oddly colored sword. The next blow took off her head. Alvron was slain by the Spiked! He was a Village Full Feruchemist, and a member of the Synod! Thanks to Devotary for his death scene. Araris Valerian was killed! He was a Spiked Pewter Ferring and Filthy Rug Merchant, and was a member of the Synod! Day 3 has begun! It will end in seventy-two hours, on Sunday the 19th of August, at 9 PM EDT. Player List: 1. Rathmaskal as Laksam, an ash sweeper from the Eastern streets 2. Xinoehp512 as Ereheman Tresni, a man with his priorities backwards 3. Steeldancer as Steel, the fastest sculpture of a squid wrought entirely in steel in all of Tathingdwen 4. Randuir as Zihel, a worldhopper looking for his twin brother 5. I think I am here as Itiah VI, a missionary on a mission Village Steel Ferring 6. Bort as Tee Mai, a tailor specialising in offensive clothing 7. Cadmium Compounder as Ethin Hallil, a cadmium Feruchemist and SCUBA diver 8. _Stick_ as Stick, President of the Tathingdwen Tautological Society of Tautology 9. Jondesu as Remart, a man back from vacation armed with vaguely ominous statements 10. Kidpen as HanTor, a lonely Kandra that’s definitely not Spiked, nope 11. Elandera as Era, an old woman who claims to have been alive before the reign of the Lord Ruler Village Pewter Ferring 12. Snipexe as Snip, a fabric cutter in the local quilt shop Village Iron Ferring 13. Worldhopper from Yolen as Tarin, a Sparker with a wonderful, awful idea 14. Alvron as Izzy Dedyet, who is not dead, feels happy, and thinks she'll go for a walk Village Full Feruchemist 15. Phatterner as Citona Vinid, a seemingly faithful follower of the Lord Ruler 16. Ark1002 as Kardik, a Full Feruchemist 17. Araris Valerian as Valwyn, an honest rug merchant Spiked Pewter Ferring; Rug Merchant 18. Coop772 as Irion, a Full Feruchemist with hidden potential Village Copper Ferring 19. Sart, a stuttering Nameless Also, by the way, @Devotary of Spontaneity needs to post something so everyone can upvote her for all the work she’s put in to this game. She’s been a tremendous help with writeups and sending out PMs and logging actions for the entire game. If she doesn’t post anything soon, please indiscriminately upvote her recent posts.
  8. A full day had passed and the village was no closer to finding the Spiked. The death of an innocent Synod member had made them cautious; with few ferrings willing to commit and stick to their decisions. After an initial flurry against Zihel was quelled by his appearance, the villagers instead decided to go after the quieter inhabitants. Even if their chosen target was innocent, at least they could avoid a repeat of the previous day’s fiasco. They would not have to face the shame of ripping into the flesh of a man who had strenuously declared his innocence until his last breath. Instead, they went after Snip, a ferring who worked all day in the local embroidery shop. The rumors began to spread again. Perhaps the Spiked among them weren’t pierced with massive pieces of metal like the Inquisitors were. Smaller spikes would help the infiltrators escape detection; smaller spikes like the quilting needles present in abundance at Snip’s place of employment. With no particular leads, a few of the braver ferrings walked over to Reap What You Sew and found Snip finishing up a quilt depicting Irion’s bloody demise. Despite his protestations that he was doing it for an anonymous client, Snip was dragged to the village center, the quilt in tow. Marne and the Synod had gathered up the village by this time, and the accused was led up to a stage, well away from any potential mobs. “We don’t want any preemptive violence this time,” Marne announced. “Snip will be thoroughly checked for spikes, and he is not to be harmed unless any are found. We cannot afford to continue killing our own.” From the midst of the crowd, a lone voice shouted out, “Be sure you search every last part of him. For all we know, he could be tainted by a sewing needle hidden under his metalminds.” “Rest assured,” Marne intoned, “if Snip is spiked we will find out.” He turned to the hapless prisoner and began removing his metalminds. They were iron, he noted, largely in the form of rings, with the large bracers being the obvious exception. Tapping sight, Marne began to examine Snip’s exposed flesh. He frowned as he examined Snip’s earrings. He reached out and grabbed one. Yes, that was indeed made of iron. While Marne didn’t know how the details of how spikes worked, he recognised the earring as a metalmind. “Oh!” said Snip, panicking as he realized what Marne was holding. “That’s not a spike, I just like to keep some of my metalminds attached to me. Wearing iron rings on my fingers makes it hard to sew sometimes. You know how it is.” Instead of responding, Marne ripped out the pair of earrings, then turned to the rest of the Synod. “Do any of you know whether pieces of metal this small could be enough to turn him evil?” Leidene nodded. “I have done some rudimentary study of the Inquisitors, and I have found no reason they couldn’t use an earring as a spike.” Still on the stage, Snip paled and started to run, obviously filling iron to make him light on his feet. The attempt was doomed to failure. A brief burst of steel enhanced speed allowed Marne to catch him, and pewter sufficed to pick him up and drag him back to the stage when Snip tapped iron. The villagers was murmuring now. Surely, only the guilty would run. Even as Marne resumed his attempt to methodically find and remove every last metalmind, the crowd surged towards the stage, intent on performing the same actions in a decidedly quicker, and bloodier, way. They found no spikes except for the ones in the man’s tote bag, but by the time the mob dispersed Snipexe had been pierced more times than an Inquisitor. Olaf resented the Terris congregation. He resented the veiled looks of malice almost every man shot at him as he walked through the streets. He resented the mumbled words and hushed conversations as he passed by, with or without Marne. And he resented that he had nobody but himself to blame for it all. Sighing heavily and hefting Snip’s quilt, letting the fabric pass through his spindly fingers, Olaf contemplated how he might help the Terris, and more accurately Marne, stop the insanity that was running through the congregations. The public trials, reminiscent of witch-hunts, and the constant paranoia would reveal them to the Lord Ruler, regardless of whether or not the Spiked escaped Tathingdwen. Them. Olaf realised he had come to include himself in that “them.” Perhaps it was the work of Marne, who Olaf saw an upstanding and good man in, much like he viewed in Hadrian so long ago. Perhaps it was his lingering guilt, left over from before and tinged with the bitter remembrance, or lack thereof, of his brief time as a Spiked. Or maybe it was the feel of a group that actually had the best interests of its members at its heart. Not his circle of book-hoarders, which had endeavoured to protect a dead age with the vigour and persistence of a sect with lost importance, caring not for the members it used to achieve such a purpose; nor the Luthadel nobility, a careless and cannibalising lot that would rather kill themselves than the evils roaming in their midst. But these Terris seemed to genuinely fear for the destruction of their Synod, and want to protect each one from the tyrannical grasp of the Lord Ruler, even if that protection made him resent the distrust he received. That is what would make Olaf follow Marne in keeping this group alive. The slain man, Snip, was quite ordinary, from what Olaf had been able to find out from the Synod helpers he had been assigned. He had laboured in the quilt shop for most of his life, and had several pieces to his name, even though he was ostensibly just a fabric cutter. Turning over the half-finished quilt, Olaf was surprised at the level of detail the man had achieved with only a day to work. The blood was vivid, the sun was outlined in a garish red, and only Irion’s condemners were missing from the portrait of his death. Looking at it for a minute, Olaf took a sewing needle, turning it over in his hands. His helpers began to fidget, and he sighed again. “I’m not going to stick myself with this and kill all of you. Now, will one of you tell me how this thing works?” He held up the thimble and the grey thread, which dangled off the half-finished outline of a townsperson. One of his helpers stepped forward, a man with pink leather gloves. An odd choice, but at least the man would help. “I can!” he exclaimed, rubbing his hands excitedly. “Here, poke this part through the hole there, and pull it back up. Oops—that ripped it a bit. No big deal, just keep doing that until you have a rhythm, and keep going until you’ve made the outline.” The other helper frowned. “Darrel, I’m...not sure that’s how that works.” Darrel grinned. “Well, at least the man will be sewing plenty of chaos! Plus, I’m sure he’ll get it after a few hundred attempts. Here, man, you should actually wear that thimble.” Olaf accepted the advice with gratitude—his forefinger was already bleeding slightly from the sewing motion. Olaf sighed again. The Synod was on the verge of extinction, and he was spending his time in a quilting shop, finishing a masterpiece with skills he had just learned, aside two helpers who chatted more than assisted him. Yet Olaf felt that what he was doing had fundamental importance. Finishing this quilt was a way, maybe the only way, to make the others realise what they were doing, and for he himself to see the full extent of the situation before him. Only then could he help Marne to stop the violence spreading like poison through the Synod. Snipexe was lynched! He was a Village Iron Ferring (Skimmer)! Thanks again to Devotary for doing his death scene. Please shower her with upvotes. Night 2 has begun! It will end in about 24 hours at 9 PM EDT on Thursday, August 16. [url=https://www.pending.me.uk][/url] Player List: 1. Rathmaskal as Laksam, an ash sweeper from the Eastern streets 2. Xinoehp512 as Ereheman Tresni, a man with his priorities backwards 3. Steeldancer as Steel, the fastest sculpture of a squid wrought entirely in steel in all of Tathingdwen 4. Randuir as Zihel, a worldhopper looking for his twin brother 5. I think I am here as Itiah VI, a missionary on a mission Village Steel Ferring 6. Bort as Tee Mai, a tailor specialising in offensive clothing 7. Cadmium Compounder as Ethin Hallil, a cadmium Feruchemist and SCUBA diver 8. _Stick_ as Stick, President of the Tathingdwen Tautological Society of Tautology 9. Jondesu as Remart, a man back from vacation armed with vaguely ominous statements 10. Kidpen as HanTor, a lonely Kandra that’s definitely not Spiked, nope 11. Elandera as Era, an old woman who claims to have been alive before the reign of the Lord Ruler Village Pewter Ferring 12. Snipexe as Snip, a fabric cutter in the local quilt shop Village Iron Ferring 13. Worldhopper from Yolen as Tarin, a Sparker with a wonderful, awful idea 14. Alvron as Izzy Dedyet, who is not dead, feels happy, and thinks she'll go for a walk 15. Phatterner as Citona Vinid, a seemingly faithful follower of the Lord Ruler 16. Ark1002 as Kardik, a Full Feruchemist 17. Araris Valerian as Valwyn, an honest rug merchant 18. Coop772 as Irion, a Full Feruchemist with hidden potential Village Copper Ferring 19. Sart, a stuttering Nameless
  9. Era stood in the center of her garden watching the sun set, remembering a time when that orb had burned yellow, unobscured by mist and ash. After Irion’s tragic death, she had wanted to calm herself by working in her garden, cultivating the ugly yet life-sustaining brown plants. When she’d been young, her garden had been truly beautiful, an area half the size of the entire village covered in colorful fruits and vivid vegetables. When the Lord Ruler had risen to power and robbed the plants of their color, she continued to work in her garden as though nothing had changed, though the work grew harder with each year. For decades, she had overseen the harvest of vegetables that helped keep the Terris self-sustaining. Now, some saboteur had destroyed her garden. The ash that covered the furrowed dirt wasn’t just the result of the constant precipitation that plagued her existence, it had been joined by the remnants of a fire that had scoured the results of her hard work. The crop was ruined, and it was too late in the season for a replanting. Losing crops was far from an uncommon experience, but Era had never seen her work deliberately destroyed before. No Feruchemist dependent on that food source would do such a thing. Era trusted Marne when he spread the word of intruders, and Irion’s violent murder had been a shock, but only now, gazing numbly at the blaze’s aftermath, did it truly sink in for Era that death had come to Tathingdwen. Sighing heavily, Era began the arduous process of cleaning up the fields. She was no Sentry, capable of staying up all night, but the familiar act of sweeping away ash was relaxing, helping her clear her mind. Tomorrow, she would have to inform the Synod of their upcoming food crisis, but for now she could simply cleanse her garden of the poison brought by the Lord Ruler and his minions. Though age had crept up on her, Era’s senses were still sharp. She heard footsteps behind her and whirled around, instinctively tapped a week’s worth of pewter. The familiar rush of power as muscle was added to her thin frame comforted her as she confronted the intruder. “An impressive display of might,” rasped the figure standing in front of her. “Do you plan to avenge your dearly departed crops?” “Is that an admission of guilt? Were you the one to set this fire?” “It was a mistake to gather everyone together for Irion’s trial earlier today. No guards to watch over the fields, the confusion of the proceedings, a nice warm evening, it was quite simple to sneak away and start a fire without anyone noticing.” Era rushed towards the silhouette, intent on tearing him apart for daring to destroy months of effort, threatening the livelihood of the entire village. Her focused rage blinded her to the surroundings, and she didn’t notice the second Spiked behind her until she saw its blade jutting out through her heart. “Don’t worry about your garden, aged warrior,” the first Spiked whispered as Era died. “I hear dried blood makes for an excellent fertilizer.” The red sun dipped below the horizon, its last rays harshly gleaming off the stiletto embedded within Irion. Subdued and still in shock, most of the Terris people accepted a bewildered Marne’s request to relax inside one of the larger safe houses, where many couches offered rest to the weary. The lucky few who came in first got the couches, falling into a deep slumber, while others crouched on the floor, reading books or shifting around uncomfortably. The rough wooden surface was abrasive enough that many turned to Valwyn, the rug merchant, who made good money selling his softer wares to the exhausted Terris. Slowly, the congregation all fell asleep, the weariness of the day catching up to them, as they strove to forget about Irion’s death, and acknowledge the first killing that had been committed among them. Even Olaf was slumbering, his gaunt frame racked with snoring. One, however, was not asleep. A shadowy figure rose from their rug, slipping around sleeping and dozing figures as they made their way towards the tea cabinet. Marne had retreated into his individual study, so the Feruchemist met no resistance as he opened the cabinet and poured a liquid onto the tea leaves, watching as they slowly absorbed the clear fluid. The poison would kill the next person who woke up to make tea, and the figure had a fairly good idea of who that would be. A slight smirk on their face, the figure retreated back into their rug, and fell into sleep with the others. Nighttime tea was not a habit for Izzy Dedyet; she normally frowned upon artificial stimulants, though she occasionally partook of the occasional mug of black tea. However, with her inability to focus on her book, which was getting into the mundane details of what sacrificing different animal crackers did to affect the Gods of Luck and Chance, Izzy decided to prepare herself one of those rare mugs. Boiling the water, and putting in the leaves, Izzy watched idly as the pigments in the leaves bled over into the water, a black colour emanating from the pouch she put in. After the colours stopped swirling, Izzy took a tentative sip of the tea, mindful of its high temperature, and spit it out on the floor in disgust. She had thought the tea was black—looking at the labels, she saw that it was a darker shade of herbal tea. Disgusting. Frustrated with herself for not noticing, and still unable to read her book, she plopped down in her corner with a posture approaching righteous indignation, and was quickly asleep again. Itiah VI knew his purpose—to finally find the old Terris religion. With a book tucked squarely underneath his arm that he regarded as the first clue towards finding the Terris god, the missionary could not afford to idly lie about when a task was to be accomplished. After his harrowing experience yesterday, when he had nearly been taken and killed by the fellow members of his congregation, Itiah knew that he must redouble his studies and efforts. Rubbing his bleary eyelids, which he had allowed to droop, he knew that he was not going to be able to stay awake without help. He begrudged the Sentries in the congregation—they could get a good night’s sleep, and stay up all night the next night, without needing to work for either effect. Itiah found that patently unfair. He was forced to rely on tea to keep him awake. Walking over to the teapot, he saw with a pleasant surprise that someone had left a cup of tea sitting out, barely touched and still warm. Thankful for the ready source of caffeine, which would help him in his studies later, Itiah grabbed the cup and downed it in one gulp. And shortly thereafter, dropped dead to the floor. When the village awoke, they found Era sprawled lifelessly amidst her gardens, her blood watering the scorched fields. Her added bulk had faded, her pewter bracers fitting loosely around her forearms. Itiah too lay slumped, dead underneath the very noses of the congregation, his steel metalminds useless against his cold corpse. Though both bodies were searched thoroughly, no spikes were found on either, and as the new day rose the Synod and its congregation gathered again, intent on finding those responsible. Elandera was slain by the Spiked! She was a Village Pewter Ferring (Brute)! Thanks to Devotary for doing her death scene. Itiah was killed! He was a Village Steel Ferring (Steelrunner)! No PMs were opened. Day 2 has begun. It will end in 48 hours at 9 PM EDT on Wednesday, August 15. [url=https://www.pending.me.uk][/url] Player list: 1. Rathmaskal as Laksam, an ash sweeper from the Eastern streets 2. Xinoehp512 as Ereheman Tresni, a man with his priorities backwards 3. Steeldancer as Steel, the fastest sculpture of a squid wrought entirely in steel in all of Tathingdwen 4. Randuir as Zihel, a worldhopper looking for his twin brother 5. I think I am here as Itiah VI, a missionary on a mission Village Steel Ferring 6. Bort as Tee Mai, a tailor specialising in offensive clothing 7. Cadmium Compounder as Ethin Hallil, a cadmium Feruchemist and SCUBA diver 8. _Stick_ as Stick, President of the Tathingdwen Tautological Society of Tautology 9. Jondesu as Remart, a man back from vacation armed with vaguely ominous statements 10. Kidpen as HanTor, a lonely Kandra that’s definitely not Spiked, nope 11. Elandera as Era, an old woman who claims to have been alive before the reign of the Lord Ruler Village Pewter Ferring 12. Snipexe as Snip, a fabric cutter in the local quilt shop 13. Worldhopper from Yolen as Tarin, a Sparker with a wonderful, awful idea 14. Alvron as Izzy Dedyet, who is not dead, feels happy, and thinks she'll go for a walk 15. Phatterner as Citona Vinid, a seemingly faithful follower of the Lord Ruler 16. Ark1002 as Kardik, a Full Feruchemist 17. Araris Valerian as Valwyn, an honest rug merchant 18. Coop772 as Irion, a Full Feruchemist with hidden potential Village Copper Ferring 19. Sart, a stuttering Nameless
  10. MR30/AN2: Aftermath The Pride of Terris drew nearer to Scadrial each day. And as it approached, its crew drew nearer to death. Liseran’s body did not look natural. V could tell that much. The flesh was barely hanging to the skeleton, and bones poked through, bleached an unnatural white by a film of acid that seemed to linger on its surface. V had heard tales of this creature before. He could scarcely believe it, but his findings led him to only one conclusion, a fell word whispered above the corpse of Liseran, sounding with the finality of a death knell. “Kandra,” V spoke softly. “A Kandra is among us.” The rest of the crew stood in stunned silence. For moments, slow agonizing moments, each stood, rendered impotent by shock. Scorpion finally spoke hesitantly. “A Kandra? Isn’t that the stuff of...”—she swallowed—“not fairytales, but days long past? Why would they still be among us?” “Yeah,” Weasel chimed in. “Besides, why didn’t any of the other corpses look like this before? I’ll give you that this corpse shows the exact signs of a Kandra as we were taught them when we were four, but what about the other corpses we found?” V hesitated. “My only guess is that the Kandra had more time to work in the past. Perhaps making it fight to within an inch of its life made the...transition more difficult. This may have even been its first time switching bodies.” V turned around, looking at Weasel. “Hmm...if there’s only one Kandra among us, it could be you. I know Denesta and Tuatara are fine, because I work with them, and Scorpion feels like he always does. You’re the only possible one left, seemingly.” “Not the only one.” Tuatara’s voice came as a low croak from the other side of the room. She rapped on the metal sheet covering the wall, quickly moving her fingers in a sharp pattern, undetectable to the naked ear, but a sound that came very clearly to V’s head as he burned a small amount of the tin he held. Unthinkingly, he tapped the response, sending it along to Tuatara, a rapid series of beats that he could hear thanks to the same Hemalurgic spike in him. Tuatara looked visibly relieved, but turned to Denesta. “Repeat the same pattern, please.” Denesta, the latest host of a Faceless Immortal, shuddered as she was gradually revealed to the group. She was too slow. Her masters at Heron Industries would be very disappointed in her, if they could watch the small transport hurtling through space, and see the slow progress she was making. It was not her fault. Torture was not an option aboard a ship so small that a scream could be heard by the entire crew in less than a second. She had to rely on observation, then quick work with a knife, to kill and impersonate a person quietly and accurately. The exact techniques she had used to impersonate Liseran and Dingo, and now Denesta. They were imprecise, and left little time to commit a systematic mass slaughter of a crew that outnumbered and in some ways outmatched her. She would have to outwit them. And she was so far, failing. In retrospect, she should have attacked the persuasive speaker, V, first. Too many informants ingratiated themselves with cops and investigators, and she should have been more wary when three “investigation agents” stepped forward “looking to guard the last informant.” Denesta’s small list of records on Tuatara and V indicated that V was truly the last person Heron wanted dead. The explosion on Kasheron Station had killed most of those who saw the incriminating files displaying Heron’s less-than-savory ventures, and with V dead, the last informant who knew the truth would be silenced. Unfortunately, Denesta now had to kill V for all that to occur. And she would have to talk her way out of this for that to happen. It would not be too difficult—she had basic background on Denesta’s personal life, and could imitate the speech patterns fairly well by now, if not perfectly. She prepared to help V accuse Weasel, when Tuatara’s voice reached her ear. “Repeat the same pattern, please.” Denesta panicked, her newly-formed heart racing in her chest. She had been unable to acquire all the details of the tapping pattern Tuatara and V used to communicate, and now it would cost her. Her only chance was to guess at the pattern used. Hoping it was close enough, Denesta tapped a rhythm on the sheet, sending it back to Tuatara. Tuatara’s face deepened into a frown. “That’s isn’t it.” Denesta’s face contorted into a snarl. All her work, to be brought low by a simple pattern of taps that revealed her to the crew. She would have to act quickly. Yanking the dagger out of Liseran’s chest, Denesta lunged towards V, who sprang backwards with a surprised yelp. The dagger cut a gash in his arm, but did little else. As Scorpion rushed to tend V, Tuatara advanced with his baton in front of him, prepared to defend Weasel. Denesta held her dagger in front of her, circling and waiting for Tuatara to make a mistake. “Why do this, Dene-...whoever you are?” Tuatara asked. “You are a Faceless Immortal, Harmony’s own servant and a dignified, noble being to help carry out His work. Why break His codes? Why murder and lie, and use your amazing talents to help a group of corrupt officials and business leaders? Heron is wasting you,” he implored. “Harmony is wasting me!” Denesta bellowed, stung deeply. “Every day I worked for Him I was constrained by an arbitrary code of rules he put in place to control us! Removing one of my spikes was the greatest decision I’ve ever made. I won’t let Harmony control me again.” She smiled, and lunged at Tuatara. V listened to the body that had once been Denesta’s speak. “Removing one of my spikes was the greatest decision I’ve ever made. I won’t let Harmony control me again.” Spikes...why were they important? Some small portion of his brain yelled at him to wake up, that blood loss and drowsiness would overcome him while he held the key to overcoming the monster facing them. He couldn’t do it. He could feel himself slipping... So tired. WAKE UP! The second voice jolted him upright. He looked up. The Kandra was sparring with Tautara, and winning. The wooden baton Tuatara was using was no match for the strong metal knife the Kandra held. The Kandra chopped down with the knife, slicing through baton and finger. Tuatara howled in agony, clutching at his hand to stem the blood loss. Spikes. Spikes were important... Weasel tackled the Kandra, who fell to the ground in surprise. The spike in V’s neck tingled. He knew what to do now. Summoning a final spurt of energy, V pulled the spike from his neck and slammed it into Denesta’s back. Denesta screamed as Harmony took control once again. Seizing a knife, V walked up to the defeated Kandra, whose hand would slowly inch towards one of her spikes...and then be pulled down again. He scooped up Denesta’s knife, then flicked it towards her throat. “If life with Harmony is really so awful,” V said, “would you prefer me to end it for you?” Denesta became fully herself for a moment, eyes shining with hatred even as she nodded her assent. She then closed them one last time, embracing the release of death, and the freedom it brought. Mauve Crocodile was lynched! They were the Faceless Immortal, and the only Eliminator in the game! They were previously an Elendel Bureau of Investigation Agent. All village factions have achieved their win conditions, ending the game. The spec doc really got its win two cycles ago when Vulture was bodysnatched, but we couldn’t give away the Kandra too early Vote Tally: Mauve Crocodile (3): Amethyst Scorpion, Cream Tuatara, Indigo Weasel Indigo Weasel (2): Azure Mouse Feel free to take a look at all the docs from throughout the game. Spectator/Dead Doc Elendel Bureau of Investigations Doc Master Spreadsheet Full Ruleset Other docs will be placed here once I update them to reflect the setting we chose. Final Playerlist 1. Amber Vulture (Elandera)- Refugee 2. Amethyst Scorpion (Stick)- Refugee 3. Azure Mouse (Itiah)- Rioter, Fleeing Informant 4. Charcoal Hyena (Straw)- Fleeing Informant 5. Chartreuse Penguin (Kidpen)- Refugee 6. Coral Swan (STINK)- Refugee 7. Cream Tuatara (Araris Valerian)- Elendel Bureau of Investigations Agent 1 8. Emerald Falcon (Snipexe)- Fleeing Informant 9. Fuchsia Ostrich (Bort)- Original Faceless Immortal 10. Indigo Weasel (Cadmium Compounder)- Refugee 11. Ivory Dragonfly (Drake Marshall)- Refugee 12. Magenta Albatross (The Young Pyromancer)- Refugee 13. Mauve Crocodile (Mr Doctor)- Elendel Bureau of Investigations Agent 2 14. Melon Dingo (Randuir)- Refugee
  11. After an entire day of arguing, the villagers had not been able to reach a decision. The Synod hadn’t stepped in, instead retreating into the shadows and conspiring amongst themselves. Initial accusations had been made against Itiah VI. He was a stranger, a pacifist unwilling to commit to rooting out the spiked. As the sun began to set and the villagers were tired of arguing, a new target emerged. Why had Irion, a newcomer, been allowed to be a member of the Synod? Surely the Spiked had not been hiding amongst them for very long, and a new member rising so quickly to a position of prominence was inherently suspicious. Rumors swirled around the camp that Irion had gained his position based on pure Feruchemical talent, rather than a history of leadership. A powerful recluse, privy to the most well-guarded secrets of the Terris? A logical suspect indeed. They waited impatiently for the man to emerge from the doors of the Synod. Marne gazed around the table, where the darkened forms of the members of the Synod sat around him, their faces shrouded by the shadow of a setting sun. Olaf sat beside him, his skinny form casting a presence at the table, setting everyone on edge. Not that such a thing was necessary—with the official announcement closing down Tathingdwen, panic had spread like wildfire throughout the Synod. After a spurt of initial accusations against Itiah VI, whose family had been long-standing members of the congregation, Marne found it prudent to step in personally. Tensions had slightly cooled, but the underlying currents of paranoia had not been diffused, and members of the congregation were calling for two people. One sat in front of him. Irion was not the most well-liked member of the Synod. Difficult to rival in Feruchemical strength, his power had combined with his shy nature to make him seem reclusive to the other villagers. Now, they called for his head. Marne sympathised with the young one, who had not asked for any of this to come upon him. However, the Synod needed to come to a swift conclusion; the sun had nearly set. Rising, Marne addressed the shadowed forms. “Gentlemen (and ladies) of the Synod, it is my regret that tensions have run high enough that one of our very own number, Irion, is being accused by our congregation. I may have been overly hasty in giving an official denunciation of the Spiked—I seemed only to have fueled the paranoia and resentment underlying the Terris people.” One of the older members of the Synod, Leidene, a cripple, raised her hand for a pause. “It was the correct choice, Marne,” she stated. “Your call to action did not condone violence, and while it has spread, that can hardly be attributed to you.” “Thank you, Leidene,” Marne replied. “However, my point still stands. We must figure out a way to defuse these tensions surrounding you, Irion. This state of affairs cannot continue.” Irion looked up. “I will go to them.” Marne snapped his head up. “What?” Beside him, Olaf raised a solitary eyebrow, but said nothing. Irion pressed on, resolute. “I will go down to them, and talk them out of their madness. If they hear who I really am, and what I can actually do, they may be less inclined to demand my blood.” Olaf raised his head. “I will accompany him, though it be foolish. The boy has a right to try to show his innocence. We will go together, lad.” Flashing one of his rare genuine smiles at the startled Irion, Olaf started towards the door to the congregation, Irion trotting hastily after him. Marne bowed his head in resignation. “So be it,” he whispered. Gathering himself, he turned and addressed the remaining members of the Synod, most of whom looked shocked. “Meeting adjourned.” Only his sense of dignity kept Marne from sprinting towards the door to catch up to Olaf. He was losing his grip on the Synod, and control would need to be maintained if any were to survive the coming days. But first, he would have to see how this fresh disaster ended. Despite the rumblings, the villagers were tired of discussion after so long a day, and only a few joined the call for Irion’s death. By nightfall, no decision could be reached on whether to execute Irion or Itiah VI. The pair were presented before Count Olaf, in the desperate hope that a memory would resurface upon glimpsing a Spiked. The emaciated man merely shrugged helplessly; he did not remember, and no amount of copper could bring back a memory that had been forgotten. The accused pair were brought to the center of the village stripped of their metalminds and bound tightly with rope. “It was never my intention to have any suspects executed,” announced Marne. “As you have been unable to make a conclusive judgement, both accused will be submitted for questioning.” He turned his back to the crowd, intending to have the captives brought to the Synod for interrogation. From somewhere behind him, a voice cried out, “How can we expect the Synod to impartially adjudicate when one of the accused sits in your meetings? Justice must be meted out publicly, or not at all.” Marne whirled around to identify the one who had spoken, but they were lost in the mob of Terris loudly reaffirming the sentiment. “Untie me, and I will submit myself to the village peacefully,” offered Irion. Itiah VI chimed in, giving the same offer. Marne saw that the mob could not be suppressed nonviolently, and reluctantly allowed the two Feruchemists to meet their accusers. Below, a woman with bright blue eyes was muttering, fervently invoking the Gods of Luck and Chance to decide the fates of the accused. Startled, Marne saw a small fire being lit, and pieces of grain being thrown in as offerings. He frowned. Didn’t the Terris know better than to worship anyone but their true god? Meanwhile, the mob gleefully searched the pair for hidden spikes. Nobody saw where the first blow came from, but suddenly Irion was streaming blood. The glint of metal issuing from the wound enraged the mob, and they tore the poor man apart only to find the offending object was a stilleto, not an implanted spike. Horrified by what they had done, the crowd dispersed, leaving Irion dead and Itiah VI lying on the ground, gasping for breath. The Gods of Luck and Chance have condemned Coop772! He was a Village Copper Ferring (Archivist) and a Synod member! Vote Tally: I think I am here. (4) Coop772 (4) Night 1 has begun! It will end in about 24 hours, at 9 PM EDT on Monday, August 13. Many thanks to @Devotary of Spontaneity for helping with the writeup. We actually did it jointly, which was her idea, and was a rather good one (twice the length in half the time). If you appreciated today’s writeup, be sure to send upvotes her way. She’s also been great with handling PMs.
  12. Marne walked towards the cell where the former Spiked ringleader, Olaf, was held. With no former need for a real jail, the cell in which Olaf was kept was simply a locked basement in one of the Synod’s old hideouts. Marne found the arrangements inadequate. Any servant of the Lord Ruler, Spiked or not, former or current, was dangerous. Deadly. And he was about to negotiate with one. Descending the dusty staircase, each wooden board creaking underneath him as he stepped, he nodded to the guards, a Windwhisperer and a Brute, who silently nodded back and stood aside, allowing Marne to pass. Stepping down onto the floor, Marne again nodded at the Feruchemists guarding the stairwell, who stood, tromping up to the top of the staircase. Though the Windwhisperer could tap hearing, Marne found paranoia unnecessary still. Refusing to trust his own men, who he had known and worked with for many years, was indeed a sure sign that the Lord Ruler has finally come—sowing dissension and mistrust amongst the ranks of the Synod. He would not have that; he would trust, until trust proved folly. He would also need to trust the man in front of him. Olaf seemed to fully occupy the spacious wooden basement. His lurking presence, with an air of anticipation as he sat on the edge of his cot, fingers splayed, seemed to extend beyond him and fill the room. It unnerved Marne, but little could be done about that. He would have to work with this man, if he had any hope of catching the Spiked in their midst. “Olaf,” he began. The skinny man across from him raised a bony, long finger, indicating silence, and Marne abruptly shut up. Olaf spoke, thin and raspily. “I don’t know their names,” he said simply. Marne frowned, thrown off. “What?” “Their names,” Olaf repeated. “That’s why you’ve come, isn’t it? You want the names of all the Spiked in my group. That’s not the way this works. I remember nothing from when the spikes are in. Faces, people, even events, it’s all gone.” Marne blinked. “I’m supposed to take you at your word?” Olaf smiled, though it was devoid of humour. “You could torture me, but you’d find the same thing, and I’m completely within your power anyway. I have no reason to lie to you, Marne of the Synod. You can overpower me, and perhaps outsmart me. But I don’t know the names. The spikes, they...do something, to a person. I don’t know how the Lord Ruler does it, but living with those spikes is like having a different person in you, who can’t remember what the other person does. I know I attacked you, and that I removed my spikes, but I can’t tell you much more.” Olaf looked up, a glint in his eye. “I would, however, be happy to help you hunt them. The other Spiked. I have no love for the Lord Ruler, and it seems that helping you is the only way either of us will emerge from this alive.” Marne weighed Olaf’s words. The man may be lying, he thought. But if he is not...his brains will be an important asset, and his unique skills will make him a formidable ally. Besides, who do I want watching him? An assortment of random Ferrings, or myself? Marne looked at Olaf. Trust. He would trust this man, for now. Because trust was one of the few things that remained left to him. “I accept your offer, Count,” he said. “Let us go then, and do what we must to allow us both to come out of this alive.” Reaching out, Marne grasped Olaf’s hand. It was a small step, and might not have been the wisest. But any asset would help now. Now that Spiked were abroad… And trust was needed now, more than anything. Count Olaf has been converted to the Synod! Day 1 has begun! It will end in 48-ish hours, at 9 EDT on Sunday, August 12. Player List: 1. Rathmaskal as Laksam, an ash sweeper from the Eastern streets 2. Xinoehp512 as Ereheman Tresni, a man with his priorities backwards 3. Steeldancer as Steel, the fastest sculpture of a squid wrought entirely in steel in all of Tathingdwen 4. Randuir as Zihel, a worldhopper looking for his twin brother 5. I think I am here as Itiah VI, a missionary on a mission 6. Bort as Tee Mai, a tailor specialising in offensive clothing 7. Cadmium Compounder as Ethin Hallil, a cadmium Feruchemist and SCUBA diver 8. _Stick_ as Stick, President of the Tathingdwen Tautological Society of Tautology 9. Jondesu as Remart, a man back from vacation armed with vaguely ominous statements 10. Kidpen as HanTor, a lonely Kandra that’s definitely not Spiked, nope 11. Elandera as Era, an old woman who claims to have been alive before the reign of the Lord Ruler 12. Snipexe as Snip, a fabric cutter in the local quilt shop 13. Worldhopper from Yolen as Tarin, a Sparker with a wonderful, awful idea 14. Alvron as Izzy Dedyet, who is not dead, feels happy, and thinks she'll go for a walk 15. Phatterner as Citona Vinid, a seemingly faithful follower of the Lord Ruler 16. Ark1002 as Kardik, a Full Feruchemist 17. Araris Valerian as Valwyn, an honest rug merchant 18. Coop772, as Irion, a Full Feruchemist more comfortable around his friends 19. Sart, a stuttering Nameless
  13. Hoid crept through the night, following the map he kept locked inside his head. Yes, he was close now. He reached some marker that was only known to him and took a breath. As he let it out, he entered Shadesmar…. He had been spot on. Before him, in Shadesmar, was what was known as the SEAcropolis. It was never on any of the old maps or the new ones, but if you were in the right place (and only the right place), you could get there. It didn’t seem to matter what world you were on either. It was as if this place existed in all the worlds and none of them at the same time. It was one of the few places where he felt he could relax and just take in the sights; and what sights the SEAcropolis held…. Welcome to the SEAcropolis! For those of you who are not aware, Acropolis literally means “Upper City” in greek. The most famous one being the Acropolis in Athens during the Roman Empire. It was a cultural hub for the city that surrounded it and housed some of the most famous structures in the Roman Empire, like the Parthenon. Now, we have one too. Our Acropolis is for SE-related creations that you guys come up with. There have already been some great things created in games and Docs alike and it’s a shame that they never really get to see the light of day. So here is a place for all of those awesome creations; things like song parodies based on different games, or pieces of art inspired from the games, or short stories based on characters or events from here, or banners that you created for the games, or basically anything that is SE-related that you’ve created. Remember though, this is for SE-related work only! The forum already has a place for other artwork and stories and such. As much as I’m sure everyone would love to see everyone else’s artwork, this is for the niche stuff that is something that only those that play the games would really care about; AKA, our own cultural artifacts, if you will. There is one rule that we need to state here: You are not allowed to post anything you’ve created from an ongoing game until that game is finished. Sorry. Feel free to create as much amazingness as you want, but you’ll have to wait until the game finishes to post it. This way, nothing could accidentally give the game away or be used to confirm yourself or any of a hundred other little possibilities. Other than that, let your imaginations run wild and let’s fill our SEA with the brilliance and creativity that only comes from fending off death on a daily basis!
  14. AG4/AN1: A Fresh Start A mountain stood high above the land that had been a kingdom, surrounded by a thousand fires. Beneath its steady gaze, armies fought relentlessly through the days, ceasing only to take shelter from highstorms. Atop that mountain sat a small town, hosting only a single visible fire in the very centre of the town. “Once, when your parents were but children, there was peace,” an old woman said, making images of happiness and sunshine appear in the flames. “And before that, before even your father’s father’s father’s father lived, there was another war. Another Desolation.” Images of fires in the darkness appeared, first dozens but slowly going out. “War such as the land had never known ravaged the world, and humans died by the tens of thousands. Odium corrupted many more.” All but the last spark had gone out, and it flickered. “But we survived.” The spark flickered again, but it remained. “The Heralds were there to help us, and we survived.” The fire flared and grew, until it filled the entire vision and melded with the fire already there. She smiled at the children. “We’ll survive this one, too. There will be peace again. Now, go on, shoo! Your parents will be wondering where you’ve been.” The children giggled and scattered, but Sherrah stayed and watched the fire. “Peace again,” she murmured to herself, thinking of the campfires that were moving further up the mountain every night. “Someday.” If people were asked to describe Narg, they’d generally say that he was a man - who while unfortunate in life - that just got through life. Not one to interact with people, but also not one to stay in all day. Not one for physical labour, but also not someone who avoids it. Not one for repetitive sentences, but also unable to avoid them. But when pressed for more details about the elusive Narg, most would shrug and just leave with a ‘Narg is Narg, ya know?’. However, we at Roshar Reporting decided to get the full scoop on Narg, so decided to ask Narg about Narg. We’ve edited the boring parts of the interview out, as reporters often do. If anyone would like to have a full transcript involving the incident with the eggs, subscribe today for only 1 mark a month. As well as our feature piece on Narg, we have a story about why Desolations are called Desolations and not Desotructions on Page 4. For the purposes of this interview, Narg will be referred to as Narg and I will be referred to as Mark (also the price of our subscription). Mark: So Narg, it seems like no-one really gets to know you that well, do you even agree with that? Narg: Well I’d always kind of thought that, but I guess now I know it’s true, so thanks for that. Mark: So why did you even think that in the first place? Narg: You think that’s even a question? Don’t answer that. It’s probably because of my name, you know anyone else with the name Narg? Mark: No. Narg: Exactly, doesn’t roll of the tongue now does it? But what makes things even worse is that all the kids think it’s the funniest thing ever, you know how kids are. Leave the house and all I hear is ‘Nargle Nargle, Gives us a Giggle’. That was the first creative thing they did, and let me tell you, these kids are born poets. Mark: Could you give us any more examples? Narg: Well there’s ‘Nargle Nargle, Lives in a Jungle’, then you got ‘Nargle Nargle, Won’t even Struggle’ and don’t forget ‘Nargle Nargle, Forever Single’, Mark: Okay I think that might be enough for now, thanks. So you think that the name Narg is the cause for all your social struggles? Narg: To put it bluntly, yes. Sure there might be other reasons for it, but seriously Narg is just such a stupid name that how can I even do anything with it. But I have found a solution to that problem, which I’m sure you’ll understand eventually. Is that all? Mark: Could you not elaborate on your solution now? Narg: Oh no, you see it only starts in around a week or so. Expect a sudden increase in subscribers, followed by a slow decline in those subscribers. Mark: Thanks? Narg: No problem, now I got things to do so farewell for now. Maybe I’ll even get another interview soon. After that, Narg went to barter for some goods, and you know what? I could hear the songs accompanying him, so I guess he had a point there. Another year of SE, and it doesn’t appear that you’ve had your fill of murdering each other yet… 2017 was a year of a number of changes to SE, beginning with the successful implementation of cosmetic roles in the last AG, and the subsequent return to greater numbers of Sanderson games being played. Later in the year, we saw a changing of the guard of the moderators, saying a sad farewell to Metacognition and Gamma Fiend, with Seonid and myself now joining Wilson and Alv to run this subforum. We’re ending the year (albeit belatedly) on a note of change, too, and are proud to announce that Anonymous Games have been approved. This game, AG4, will be the first Anonymous Game, and further Anonymous Games will be played once each quarter. In order to sign up to run an anonymous game, you must have either GMd 4 games, or have played 15 games. To run an anonymous game, you must be at the top of both the anonymous waitlist, and that of another format. Anonymous Games are not a format of their own, but act as a modifier to games of a differing format. Unfortunately, 2017 also saw changes in our forum that have been less positive, with an increasing tendency towards inactivity. In the spirit of Cosmetic Roles last year, there will be a competition this game for three non-Sanderson game passes, allowing you to run a game not set in one of Sanderson’s works. This year, however, the competition will be based on activity, with a vote amongst players at the end of the game on which players have been the most active, and have done the most to encourage activity. Last year, Meta mentioned we had a secret challenge for three more non-Sanderson game passes. That challenge was also based on activity. We will be awarding those after this game ends as well. And now for the biggest change. To further combat the inactive tendency, we’re rolling out a warning system. At the end of each game, the impartial moderator will ask the GM for a list of the people who went inactive for most of the game. Those who gave the GM a heads-up regarding real life issues won’t have anything to worry about, but people who gave no heads-up will get a warning (this also includes people whose heads-up was just “I don’t feel like playing anymore”). One warning is like a minor slap on the wrist, merely meant to get a player realizing that going inactive without warning isn’t okay. It’s not meant to be a condemnation or make players feel unwanted in the games. Getting two warnings in three games, or three warnings in a six-month period will result in a three month ban from playing. Please, everyone, before you sign up for a game, think about whether you have time to play. If you know something will come up and you’ll only be able to play for so long, don’t sign up. This applies even if the GM would really like a certain number of players. Or if you think you’ll be dead by the time you’d go inactive. If something comes up unexpectedly, that’s understandable. Just let the GM know, and you’ll be fine. Hopefully, with everyone paying attention to their own activity, and perhaps reaching out to include others in the game so everyone is invested (and therefore less likely to go inactive), we can fix this inactivity problem. Housekeeping: AG4/AN1 will begin in 7 days time, at 10pm GMT on the 13th January. Ties will result in an even chance of death between all those tied for the most votes, with a single death occurring. Two votes minimum are required for a lynch. PMs are open until there are no remaining Edgedancers. Group PMs are allowed. Please include Stink and myself in all PMs. The order of actions will be as follows: -Lightweaver -Skybreaker -Windrunner -Dustbringer/Odium’s Sympathisers’ kill Wilson will be the IM for this game. In the first instance, please take any issues to Stink and myself, but if we’re unable to resolve them, or if there’s a conflict of interest, Wilson will step in to facilitate a resolution. Anonymous Accounts: Please sign up by PMing both Stink and myself, with your PM in the format: AG4: [Your Name]. At the start of the game, you will be issued an anonymous account. There are a number of rules associated with the use of an Anonymous Account. Please follow them carefully. Given the potential for abuse of Anonymous Accounts, any rule breaking using the accounts will be dealt with harshly. 1) Do not change the password of the anonymous account you are issued. Wilson, Stink and I will have access to all anonymous accounts for the duration of the game. 2) Do not use the anonymous accounts to PM any non-anonymous account, other than the accounts of the GMs. Please do not use your normal accounts to PM anonymous accounts. 3) Do not tell any other player or individual associated with SE, whether you are playing or not playing the Anonymous Game. Player identities will be revealed after the game, not on the death of their avatar. Players must not reveal their own identity after their death, until the end of the game, including in the dead/spec doc. Players wishing to spectate rather than play should PM Stink and myself for a link to the spectator doc. Questions and rules clarifications should be submitted in your sign up PMs, and will be posted by myself in the signups thread. 4) Do not change anything cosmetic about the accounts, including member title, username, signature, and avatar. Factions: Roles: This thread will be locked. As a reminder, and for those of you who haven’t read the rules (go back and do so), sign ups and spec doc requests must be by PM to Stink and myself, in the format AG4: [Your Name]. Quick Links:
  15. LG41: Night 0: Signups and Rules. Vin dropped through the Mist. She threw out a handful of boxings, steelpushing them downward until they hit the cobblestone street below her, abruptly slowing her fall. She flared tin and scanned the alleyways and windows as she landed, searching for anyone who had attempted to hide after her sudden appearance. No one. The world was quiet here. She fanned her bronze to a flare, seeking out any Allomantic pulses. Still nothing. She prowled down the street until she was satisfied no one was there, then Ironpulled her boxings back to her, and steeljumped away. Fynn Seidel breathed out in relief as the Mistborn jumped away. What manner of ill fortune had brought her here as they were walking through? No one had seen them enter the city, he was sure of that, and the only one to have seen them since had been killed in seconds. One of the other infiltrators gently laid a hand on his back. “Boss, do we continue to the safehouses or find a new route?” Fynn pursed his lips, and mouthed a few things while looking skyward, but shook his head. “We continue. The previous cell already has houses here, and cover stories for us. We just need to reach them. Once we are established in the city, we can work on getting close to the King. Finding a new route could delay us until Cett’s army is already here.” The infiltrators shook off their concealment, and hurried out into the misty night. Roles Factions: Housekeeping: Player List: Steeldancer - A dancer who wears steel toed boots. Straw - Adfus Syponr, A man who beleives in Luck and Chance. Droughtbringer - Fake Joe, a man who tempts the wrath of the Gods. Devotary of Spontaneity - Varun, a man who asks all the right Questions. Asterion137 - Ashimar, a man so quiet, he goes unseen. Seonid - Count Sen Conrad the III, a man unrelated to something or other. Bassookla, Hemalurgic Headshot - Marv, Nothing unusual about him. LivingLegend - Lamar, a parrot who loves Seasonal things. Darkness_ - Jax Sangrin, a man who loves boxes shanerockes - Phillip, the first of his line ShaneyRus - Lyv, who loves short names with rare letters Ornstein - Thorn, a sharp prickly person Nuttallaspren - Norys, a chocolate maker. Araris Valerian - Aralis Penrod, a noble nobleman Sart - Lord Tuy, probably not Hoid Main GM: A Joe in the Bush Co-GM: Maunkos Impartial Moderator: Alvron unhallowed be his name. Quick Links:
  16. General Rules and Etiquette Policy Welcome to Sanderson Elimination! Table of Contents About Sanderson Elimination & Elimination Games General & Fair Play Rules Etiquette Policy SE Lexicon Game Formats GM Formatting Past Games About Sanderson Elimination Sanderson Elimination is the Sanderson-based, forum version of the party game Mafia/Werewolf. The most basic form of the game splits players into two groups: the Village and the Eliminators (also called the Mafia, Werewolves, etc). The Eliminators are mixed into the Villagers and their goal is to kill or outnumber the Villagers. The Villagers are trying to weed out and kill all of the Eliminators. The game is played in turns: Days and Nights. Day turns are when everyone votes on a player to lynch, and the player who accrues the most votes by the end of the day dies. Night turns are when the eliminators choose a player to kill. Often times, there are other roles involved in the game too: a Detective that can investigate a player and discover their alignment/faction, a Doctor who can protect someone, etc. So what’s the Sanderson-based version of this? Well, we take Sanderson settings and build elimination games around those. From little towns in post-Final Empire, to a party trying to cross the Shattered Plains, or a group of people staying at an inn in the Forests of Hell, or any number of other locations. We’ve seen a lot of settings and there are many more available. To get an idea of what games are coming, take a look at the signup list. If you like statistics, the SE Player and Game Stats Spreadsheet contains information about player count of each game, wins and losses, how many games each person has played, how many times each person has been an eliminator, and more. There is a Discord server where a lot of the players talk about off-topic discussions. This server is not endorsed by 17S and the site will not be held accountable for anything that goes on there. The server is owned by A Joe in the Bush, and it follows the rules that he has chosen to put in place. If you'd wish to access it, contact him.
  17. Day 2: Phantom Thief Waern was awoken by a crash in the night. An almighty thunderous smashing, shattering and splintering that reverberated through his ears and made him sit upright in his bed. “Lord Ruler, what was that?” he asked, throwing the duvet off and quickly throwing on a cloak over his nightclothes. Had they come for him? Did the skaa wish to try and face him for the key to escape? Well, he would not face them unprepared. From under his pillow, he grabbed a pair of obsidian daggers, tucking them in the belt, before unlocking his bedroom door and peering out. The corridor was empty, which was as much a relief to him as it was a disappointment. He lit a candle and crept out, following the source of the noise. He stepped carefully and slowly, every footstep on the cold stone ground prickling his skin. He shielded the light of the candle with his hand, every moment he remained hidden potentially crucial. A light shone ahead of him, as someone hooded and cloaked left a room and made to follow down the corridor in front of him. Waern crept down the corridor after them, and was pleased to be rewarded for his caution. As they turned to investigate the other light source in the corridor, he started to walk more briskly. The hooded figure was surprised and stood paralysed, as if unsure what to do. Then they dropped their candle to shroud them in darkness, and ran. Waern grinned and sped up into a run, relishing the pursuit. This was what he was here for, this was his purpose in life, the hunting of the enemies of The Final Empire. All that he could think of was the chase now, the fact that his prey was running before him, and the promotion that was dangling tantalisingly before him. There was a second crash as Waern tripped over a protruding chair leg in the atrium and collided with the wall of furniture. This was followed by a secondary crash as more wood shattered and fell on him, an avalanche of chairs falling down as if to bury him. “Lord Ruler, what the hell is this?!” he yelled, even though it was unlikely anyone would hear him and come to see what was happening. “Uh… sorry sir...” a voice said from under a few chairs. As his candle rolled towards Waern, it faintly illuminated the face of Joe underneath them.. “Obligator,” Waern said, mustering up as much indignation as he could manage in order to hide his embarrassment at the situation, being knocked to the floor and defeated by furniture, “I asked you already; what the hell is this? That racket was you earlier, I assume?” “Well, sir,” Joe said, his mouth rattling off, “seeing as you said no-one was to leave, I thought it would be a good idea to blockade the door as well, so that no-one could even try to pick the lock, sir… Unfortunately, while I was placing the last chair on top, sir, it kind of… Fell on me…” “It kind of fell on you,” Waern repeated, sighing as he shuffled around. Ah, good, there was some give here. He just needed a bit of exertion… Lord Ruler, it was far too early to deal with this. No, it was always too early to deal with this. “Yes, sir,” Joe nodded. “You’re just lucky I’m not stuck here.” He said, heaving himself up and dislodging more chairs. “Though you have stopped me from capturing our likely suspect.” He brushed off some splinters off his coat. “Sorry sir!” Joe said, groaning a little as more of the debris displaced by Waern fell on him. “Uh, sir?” “What?” Waern said, sighing as he picked the candle holder up, and then picked the candle up carefully to place within it. There was no point in running after them now. Whoever it was, they would have disappeared by now. “Can you help me out of here, sir?” Waern made a show of considering it, before walking away. “Sir!” “You can lie there and think about what you’ve cost us,” Waern yelled back. “Maybe someone will be sympathetic enough to free you in the morning.” “Uh… Very good sir!” Waern shook his head and returned to the room that the figure had appeared from. His face fell when he realised what room it was. “No, no!” The heavy metal door remained open, the lock damaged and jammed, displaying all that lay inside the vault. Boxings littered the floor haphazardly in a pile, a fortune tossed aside as though it was worthless. Waern ran inside, scooping up the coins and throwing them aside as he searched for the real prize this room was meant to securely contain. He found it eventually, a small wooden box. The lock was broken on the box too, and he futility tipped it upside down, as though that would make the atium it used to contain magically reappear. The thief had stolen their atium. That meant that either the skaa was just trying to hurt them financially, or they were going to use them as covert bribes. The first was annoying but seemed like a poor end to years of hiding amongst them, but it would certainly get him into trouble if anyone found out outside these walls. The second though was downright dangerous, and could lead to a cull of this outpost if every bead was not fully accounted for. No, there was a third potential use here, he realised, with dawning horror. While it was not common knowledge amongst the general nobility, the Steel Ministry knew a lot more about the allomantic arts than they did, and the Inquisition’s knowledge dwarfed even that. The most threatening possibility of all was that the skaa was a Seer, able to use the most powerful metal to see the future. Even without the use of other metals like a Mistborn, they would be almost impossible to kill, and could easily kill anyone here in a fight. Waern growled and glared at the box, and contemplated throwing it as hard as he could against the wall, just for the cathartic release. Instead, his rage gave way to a sigh of despair, and he let the box fall out of his hands to the ground. He stayed like that for a moment, before rising slowly to his feet. He contemplated calling everyone together to inform them, but dismissed it. There was little that could be done for now. He’d tell everyone else in the morning. Well, it already was the morning. He’d tell everyone else when it wasn’t quite so early, then. For now, he needed to go back to bed. He doubted though that he would get any sleep. Day 2 has begun! It will end at 21:00 BST on Saturday 14th. There is a Tineye alive, so PMs may be continue to be sent. For the new players who are unfamiliar with our/my writeups, I will just take a moment clarify that the presence of Joe in this writeup at the same time as a mysterious figure appearing means nothing for his alignment. These writeups are just a fun bit of story, and never contain any relevant information you need unless noted otherwise. As GM, the only times I will ever confirm the alignment of a player in this game are privately to the player in their PM at the start of the game, and publicly on the player's death. Players Quick Links:
  18. Night 1: Dead Man's Boots “You’re joking,” Nickel said, with a frown. “Have you ever known me to joke?” Waern asked, with a frown. “This is entirely serious business, I assure you.” “We can’t just turn on each other like that!” Gaskon said. “For a start, we’d practically be guessing. How can we just point at someone and magically decide that this person that we’ve known for years is actually secretly someone that has been lying to us all that time? Lying to us well enough that we don’t know that, despite having worked with them closely for so long?” “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice in the matter anymore,” Waern replied, crossing his arms. “No-one’s getting out of here until we find out who it is. I’ve made sure of that. And since this place is locked, and I can promise you that no-one will find the key, there is only one way any of us are getting out – Either this spy kills us all, or we kill them and any of the people here they have subverted… Do I make myself clear?” “We… we will need to think about this, I suppose,” Sony said. “Talk to each other and figure out which of us is the weirdest.” Waern shrugged. “That’s fine by me. As far as I’m concerned, this is your work now for the next however long it takes. And if two dozen of the Empire’s Obligators can’t solve this mystery, then there truly is no hope. I would like to believe that we’re better than this. So, go on.” He waved them away with his hand. “Go discuss. At the very least, consider that the death of those standing beside you offers some interesting opportunities.” “You- You can’t seriously suggest that any of us would put our own advancement over the good of the Empire?” Joe said, mouth dropping open. “That would defy everything we stand for!” “Would it?” Locke asked, folding his arms over his chests and leaning against the wall. “You forget your history, and even your present, Joe. The Final Empire is built on climbing ever higher by treading on the fingers of your peers. It is practically an unspoken tenant of our society - no, our very religion - that the strong rise up and the weak are rightfully crushed below. Why else would The Lord Ruler turn a blind eye or even encourage the infighting within the Great Houses in Luthadel? It helps to strengthen ourselves and the Empire, that's why.” “And yet,” Joe said, clenching and speaking through his teeth, “We are meant to be professionals and to work together. You might think it’s all very well for this little bit of chaos to propel you to greater heights, but what about what comes after? When we all start to see knives at our backs, and we cannot trust that our co-workers aren’t secretly trying to kill us all?” “Simple,” Locke shrugged. “Lose the naivety and idealism. Become pragmatic. Realise that this is a unique situation that does not reflect life as we know it here. For what it’s worth, if anyone does try to kill me for the sake of their own career and fails, there will be no hard feelings. I would do the same in your position.” He grinned, chuckling a little. “Though if you do succeed, I can’t promise I won’t hold a grudge.” “Madness,” Joe muttered, “Absolute bloody madness.” “Agreed,” Gaskon said. “Madness.” “It seems to me,” Edguardo said, “that we should look to those least keen on the idea for our first suspect.” “Wait, what?” Gaskon rounded on him. “Makes sense to me,” Mira nodded. “What would a skaa spy want to do more than delay any action?” “Anyone have a better suggestion?” Waern asked. “I-” Gaskon began. “No? Very well,” Waern said. He pointed at Mira and Edguardo. “You two accused him, so you can help me bundle him into the chamber.” “Wait!” Gaskon tried, before the pair put their hands on his arms and started dragging him away. “I’m not a bloody skaa!” He tried to fight against them, but if there was one thing the Obligators of the Inquisition were trained in, it was how to hold down people and drag them away. “Well, hopefully then your death will point us in the right direction,” Waern said, as he watched Gaskon being pulled away. “If it’s not him, then you all will need to do some thinking,” he added to the rest of the assembled. “I’ll let you know if the questioning brings anything up that you need to know.” And with that, he followed Mira and Edguardo to the torture chamber. Duty called. Gaskon Renaud (Amanuensis) was an Obligator! Gaskon Renaud/Amanuensis (2): Edguardo/Paranoid King, Mira/Frozen Mint Joe/A Joe in the Bush (1): Hadrian/Araris Valerian Rin/doc12 (1): Sart Edguardo/Paranoid King (1): Jaina/little wilson Night 1 has begun! It will end at 21:00 BST on Thursday 12th. There is a Tineye alive, so PMs may be continue to be sent. Players Quick Links:
  19. “Sometimes I wonder if I am the only real thing in a false world.” The voice echoed across a curious landscape. It was an island of sorts, surrounded by swirling mists. The ground was dark, smoky stone—that was how man perceived it, at least. “And other times I wonder if the world is rigid and true and I am what is changing, ever false, ever contradicting.” The speaker looked up at the sky, which was encompassed in a writhing mass of crimson tendrils pierced only by a too-small dot of light. “Identity has always puzzled me. Scholars throughout the æons have searched for a way to define who oneself is. Yet it is just who I am…” The island was covered in short scrubby plants except for a small area around a blazing green fire. A group of spirits stood in the cleared-out space with a cloaked figure at the center beside the fire. When he spoke next, it was with greater intensity. “…who we are. Is Identity how we were created, or how we choose to create ourselves? Do we bear our own souls, or are we ourselves carried along?” The cloaked man threw a pinch of dust in the fire, which flared up, illuminating the faces of the spirits. He looked into each one’s eyes. “Time flows like a river, and the day of proving approaches quickly. When sunset falls, chaos will be upon us. You will need to be prepared.” He took an ornate wooden box out of his pack. It was clearly aged; the wood was bent and covered in holes which emitted a faint glow. He opened the box, revealing rows of small brightly glowing objects, circular or hexagonal in shape and a couple inches in diameter. Each had a unique and intricate pattern carved into its face. “It is time to decide who you will be. Who you will fight for, and who you will fight against.” Above the hooded man, the sky rippled, tendrils casting faint shadows across the stone. One of the spirits stepped forward, reaching into the box and taking a single glowing piece. The others followed. “Who are you, little ones?” Lightning crashed, illuminating the red sky. “You are what the world needs to you to become.” Rules Ah, yes, right, businessy stuff, that’s my cue. [clears throat] Yes, well, my name is Phil! I’m the voice in your head who’s here to do all the businessy stuff related to this quest. Don’t worry about how I’m talking in your head or whose voice I stole or any of that stuff—I’m just a plot device here to repeatedly infodump you. We cool? So, the rules. Er, about that… well, you see, Mr. Hooded Cloak over there says I’m technically not supposed to tell you anything. But I’ve always been one to—shall we say bend the rules a little bit (excuse the pun). I mean, you guys have to have some kind of groundwork to go off of, right? So, to start out with, the game is divided into Day and Night turns which alternate as always. Day turns are 47 hours long with a 1 hour break afterward, and Night turns are 23 hours long, again with a 1 hour break afterward. If you want to be all technical about things, turns will end at 4 AM UTC and the next turn will begin at 5 AM UTC. You can normally take 2 actions each cycle (Day and Night). You can take both during the Day, both during the Night, or one of each, but no more than 2 actions each cycle, and you can’t use the same action more than once in the same cycle unless otherwise stated. If an ability lets you use more than 2 actions per cycle, there is an absolute maximum of 2 actions in the Day and 2 actions in the Night. Clear as mud, eh? Boom, order of actions. You’re welcome. There might be more stuff not on here because Mr. Hooded Cloak is so uptight about everything. You’ll get a notebook to record stuff in too, it’s only a page though so not much of a notebook. It gets shown to everyone once you die. Mr. Hooded Cloak keeps trying to get me to call it a Will but he’s really kind of a morbid guy. Trust me, you don’t want to get to know that git. Speaking of which, there’s a bunch of random stuff he wanted me to tell you. After you die you’ll return here for a couple cycles before “passing on” (see, morbid guy, right?) during which you’ll be “judged for your actions” and you might potentially change your outlook on life. That one’ll be important if you ever get brought back from the dead. He also told me "tie lynches are random" and “scans aren’t infallible” or something weird like that. And, oddly, he also wanted me to make sure to tell you that Wills aren’t carved in metal. I should also talk to you for a couple secs about greed and the universal language: gold. You can get 2 pieces of gold each cycle, one for posting some discussion related to the game and another for posting at least 200 words of in-character text. Here’s a piece of paper that Mr. Hooded Cloak left me listing a few “universal actions” which any of you guys can take: And that’s about it! Good guys win if they kill the bad guys, bad guys win if there are more of them than the good guys. I’ll let you know later on if I forgot to tell you anything. So, with all of this businessy stuff done, I wish you luck and bid you adieu. Have fun storming the castle! [CoGMs are Elenion and Jondesu. IM is Wilson.] Quick Links:
  20. Sign ups are now open for for Mid Range Game #22: My Little Perfidy. This Game in a nutshell My Little Pony in a nutshell Rules Game Basics Factions Pony Types Creating your Pony Character Cosmetic Role Challenge A few Examples: Special Powers Order of Actions: EDIT: Signups will end and the game will begin at: Quick Links:
  21. "Are you sure about this sir?" Tina asked, nervously. "It's our only option. If that part of the Circle breaks..." Samuel paused, grimacing. "No, this is the only way. We need men, and we need men now." "But sir, most of these men were discharged! You'd be sending them to the slaughter." "I know that!" He slammed his fist on his desk. "I know that. But it's the only option we have. Our other soldiers are stretched thin enough as it is. We can't afford to lose any more soldiers, and we can't afford to lose any more ground. The only option we have left is to find more Rithmatists, and those don't drop out of the sky. We need all the help we can get, even if they are a bit unusual." "But sir," "No more objections!" Sam yelled. "I don't like this any more than you do, but this is our only option. I'm sending in the order." He wired the missive through. "You're dismissed colonel." She sighed. "Yes sir." As Tina left the room, Sam let out a rare smile. "The Rithmatists were sure to be slaughtered." he thought to himself. "They would be outnumbered and outgunned as soon as they entered the war zone. His operatives among them would make short work of the remaining survivors. And with that part of the Circle undefended, it would surely break. And once that happened," his eyes began turning a milky white. "The Forgotten would rule." Welcome to Mid-Range 21! This is a rerun of my first game, MR3. Both games are set in the Rithmatist universe. In order to encourage role play, please include in your signup why your character was discharged from the military. Below are the rules. The game will be running on Monday, April 17th. Rollover is at 7 PM Central Time, 1 AM BST, with turns lasting 48 hours. I look forward to GMing you. Let me know if you have any rule clarifications/other questions for me. Quick Links:
  22. QF22: Ghosts in the Night Or: Two-Headed Elimination The Ghostbloods are well-known for being a secretive organisation. It could be said that this secrecy is the only reason they have existed for such a long period of time. They carefully pick and choose their people, evaluating each individually before adding them to their members. They operate in small groups, each only aware of the one they report to and the others in their group. Everything has been done to minimise risk should one of their number be caught. The secrecy the organisation has thrived on has now bled completely through into the very lives of their members. It is said that a half-decent Ghostblood could walk out the door, and suddenly they would be a completely different person. A different face, different hair, all changed within a matter of seconds. It is for this reason that they are known as ghosts, an ethereal presence that many doubt even exists. But through time, they have become complacent, and their hidden nature has started to work against them. Their recruitment methods have become lax, slowly, and they have been infiltrated by their enemies. The Sons of Honour walk amongst their members, their own secrecy preventing them from finding out who they are. The order came down from someone - who, no-one knew - to purge the Ghostbloods of these people. The ghosts are grim, but determined in their task. The Sons of Honour are their enemy, they know this, and if they are left unanswered, they will slowly dismantle the organisation from within. They must be eradicated before that can happen, if the organisation is to have any chance to survive. In the quiet, forgettable town that this division operates in, an unnatural hush has fallen over the night. The normal folk go about uneasy, keenly aware that something is not right but unable to figure out what it is and entirely powerless to stop it. Within the houses, Ghostblood agents make careful plans to deal with the threat from the Sons of Honour, using their skills of subterfuge and skullduggery to fool their neighbours, friends, and even their family. But when every potential threat in the town is two-faced, how can one tell who is a friend, and more importantly, who is a foe? The Rules The variant is the same as a normal set of Elimination, but with one major difference; At the beginning of the game, the GM assigns half the players to be Day Players, and half the players to be Night Players. Players are then paired up, Day/Night, until everyone is in a pair (all pairs will be completely Village or completely Eliminator). In the event of an odd number of players, one player is both Day and Night. Day Players may not post in the main thread unless it is the Day, and vice versa. The pairings between players are hidden, and only the player knows who their partner is. However, all players start the game aware of whether each player is a Day or Night Player. Each player pair shares an Alignment and has the same Role, and they share a Role/Action PM. If a player dies, then the paired player dies with them. Day Players may not talk in PMs unless it is with their pair. Players may talk to their other half via the PM, regardless of whether it is a Day or Night Turn. In the event of one half becoming inactive for a complete Cycle within both thread and PMs, the active half may request to the GM that they take over both Day and Night. This will be stated to happen publicly if it occurs. During the Day, Day Players can discuss in the thread and place votes for another Day Player to lynch. Night Players cannot be voted for. This Turn will last for 48 hours. During the Night, Night Players may target other Night Players with their Action and if PMs are open, talk to other Night Turn players. Day Players cannot be talked to via PM or targeted by Actions. This Turn lasts 24 hours. There are no cross-Turn Actions. It is possible that the game will be Role Madness, but not by any means definite. Rollover will be at 9PM GMT, and the game will begin on Tuesday 14th at 9PM GMT. Roles Assassin - The Assassin's job for the Ghostbloods is to take out anyone who may be a threat. They have the ability to use a Kill Action every Night. Backup - The Backup has been trained in one of the other Roles, but lacks the go-ahead to use his skills. If a player with the Role that the Backup has dies, then a Backup is randomly selected among the eligible Backups to become that Role. The Backup Role cannot be detected until they become that Role. The Backup is aware of their Role. Hired Goon - The Hired Goon's job is to be a target while other Ghostbloods carry out a mission, and is hardened and tough in combat. The Thug's first death is nullified. Messenger - While at least one Messenger is alive, players may send messages to other players within their Turn. Shadow - The Shadow is able to conceal his own nature, and potentially that of another as well. Players targeted by the Shadow's ability cannot have their Day Player, Alignment or Role discovered. Spy - Who said that the Ghostbloods didn't have their own agents amongst the Sons of Honour? Each Night, the Spy may dig up information on a player, confirming whether or not they are a Son of Honour. Stalker - The Stalker is able to stealthy follow a player back home each Night, and is informed the identity that they go by during the Day. Strategist - The Strategist is privy to knowledge that most are not. Each Night, they may use their Action to discover another player's Role in the organisation. Surgeon - The Surgeon's task is to prevent the deaths of the Ghostbloods. They may save a player (excluding themselves) from death each Night. Alas, despite the theme of the game, Kas is buried in work, so I have no co-GM. Anyone want to volunteer? Mission Countdown Quick Links: Player List
  23. GM - AliasSheep Co-GM - Doc12 Smith slunk down the dark corridor, back against the wall, gun held in front of him. He was close now, he knew it. He could feel it in his blood. 15 years he had been tracking them, and now, he was going to find out, once and for all. He peeked around the corner. They were there, talking in hushed tones. “Smith knows.” “He shouldn’t be too hard to handle.” Peter. It was Peter. “Put in the call now.” The call? To whom? “Hello, chief. It’s Smith.” Him? That couldn’t be. What was Peter saying? He was the vole. He stepped out from behind the corner. “What are you talking about Peter?” Peter turned around, and pulled a pistol from his belt. “Smith, what a surprise seeing you here.” Smith’s eyes flicked from Peter to the other man, who was slowly moving up the corridor, his own gun drawn. “Stop moving. Drop your guns.” “Now Smith, why would we ever do that? You see, chief, threatening me, my colleague. He is obviously the traitor.” “No, Peter, you’re the traitor! The vole! I’ve been tracking you for years, I know it’s you.” “See, chief, he’s delusion. Barely functioning. Permission to take him out?” Peter raised his pistol towards Smith and then nodded to the other man. Three guns fired in a loud cacophony and all went black. --- *click* The agency has been infiltrated by Double Agents and it is up to you to work together with your fellow agents to find and eliminate them. Good luck, agent. *click* Rules Miscellaneous Each person starts with two PMs, each containing themself and another player, the links determined by RNG. Cycles are 24 hours long. Game-related is defined as "A post that causes or replies to Discussion and/or Mentions a Game Role.” Thread The main thread is solely for information from the GM which is shared with all players which includes write-ups, and if anyone wants to, RP. This means that there should be no game related talk in the thread. Write-ups Information included in the writeups will be: Who is lynched Who has been removed by the inactivity filter Missives Missives Every cycle, every player can write up to 100 words and submit it to the GM as their missive. The missives are then posted together in the following write-up, anonymously. Roles “Coffee” Roleless. “Contacts” Once per cycle, you can create a new PM between two players, one of which may be yourself, provided they are two different players. The PM will be created at the beginning of the next cycle. “C” Once per cycle, you can redirect someone’s PM to another player of your choosing, provided it isn’t the same player. You must specify both the player whose PM you want to direct and to whom you want the PM to be directed. “The Bureaucrat” Once per cycle, you can cut off one of a person’s PMs for the next cycle. If The Bureaucrat can name the recipient of the PM they want to be cut off, then that PM will be cut off, elsewise it is random. This counts as cutting off the Double Agents’ contact. “The Hacker” Once per cycle, you will have relayed to you all the messages exchanged in one of the PMs of the person you choose for the following cycle. Similarly to the Bureaucrat, if The Hacker can name the recipient they can select them, elsewise it is random. If the Hacker does make a guess, they are not told if they guessed correctly. You will not be told the second member in the PM, and the PM will be selected randomly. Order of Operations Voting Hacking PM removal PM addition Factions Spies The Spies make up the majority of players. Their job is to eliminate all the Double Agents by removing them from the agency. Once per cycle, every agent can cast a vote on who to kick out of the agency. This vote is cast by telling the GM who the agent would like to vote for. Whoever has the most votes, with a minimum of two votes, is sacked (removed from the game). In the case of a tie, the a coin/dice is tossed/rolled to determine who is sacked. Double Agents The Double Agents’ objective is to have at least one PM with all remaining players between them. They achieve this by using their Faction action, which allows them each cycle, to create a new PM between one of their members and another player. The Double Agents all have a doc to discuss in. The Double agents have a second win con, wherein if there are no more players other than Double Agents left in the game, the Double agents win. If at any time no Double Agent has a PM with a non-double Agent, the Double Agents lose the game. Inactivity Filter If an agent is inactive for an entire cycle, they are removed from the game. The two people they had PMs with (or the equivalent after being switched by an N) will gain a PM between them and lose the PMs with the inactive player. To be safe from the inactivity filter, a player must make at least one game related post. Quick Links:
  24. The Curse of the Koloss The Villagers watched in horror as it had done a thousand times before, the village of Tyrian Falls coalesced from the Mist around them. The buildings would change. The seasons would change. Even the people would change. What never changed was the fact that they were trapped in an endless cycle of bloodshed and destruction. As the sun crested the horizon, burning away the last wisps of mist and causing the village to finish solidifying, they could tell that, this time, it was late Fall. The ash falling from the sky was swirled about by the slightly crisp winds. Slowly, the memories of all the deaths and betrayals faded from the villagers’ minds. The only time that they remember that they had slaughtered each other hundreds of times over was when things would reset as they just had. Then, it would all come rushing back to assault them anew. But ignorance is bliss and they never remembered for long. Never long enough to realize what was happening. Never long enough to remember that there were Koloss coming for them. Never long enough to prevent it. Each time, they had to rediscover these things anew, including the fact that there were Spiked amongst them; plotting everyone’s destruction…. Wow. Three years. You guys are insatiable! How many people must you all kill before you’re satisfied? While the rest of the world was lamenting about 2016, I’d say that we all had a pretty awesome year with some amazing games. And it’s all thanks to all of you, our players. Thank you so much for signing up and playing and making these games the best around! Before we get into the rules for the AG this year (and even if you’ve read them from a previous game, you’re going to want to go over them again this time), an announcement of just one of the things that we’ll be changing for the upcoming year*. One thing that we noticed over this last year is that we’ve had a lot of Non-Sanderson related games this past year. We’ve traveled to Westeros, Temerant, Japan, Alera, Kanto, Mars, and Cyrodiil; though there might be others that I missed. This isn’t exactly a bad thing. We like being able to introduce people to new settings and this a great way to do it. But we’d like to focus this upcoming year to getting back to our roots. Games have gotten increasingly complex as well as the number of Non-Sanderson related works. So we’re limiting the number of Non-Sanderson games for the upcoming year to 3-4. This way, we’ll still be able to explore new series and new settings, but we’ll be able to really build the SE lore as well. And we’ve come up with a pretty fun way of deciding which Non-Sanderson games will be run during the next year, if I do say so myself! For those of you who either played LG2 or have read it, you’ll know that there was an addition in that game called Cosmetic Roles. These roles didn’t affect the game, but provided some fun ideas for people to play around with. We’ve expanded on the ones in that game and added them to this AG. Every player will not only need to sign up with a character, but they also either have to pick a cosmetic role from the list below or, pending GM approval, create one of their own. The players that followed their Cosmetic Role the best (chosen by the Mods) will be able to choose which Non-Sanderson related games will be ran in the upcoming year. They don’t have to use it right away. They could hold onto it for a fun game that they see in the Art of Game Creation thread or even run one of their own choosing. And that’s it! If you have any questions, please feel free to ask. On to AG 3! The Curse of the Koloss. *Keep an eye on the Q&A thread for more. We have some ideas we’ll be running by you guys that we think will greatly increase everyone’s enjoyment of these games. Oh no! Koloss have begun advancing on your little town, Tyrian Falls! Since The Lord Ruler died, they seem to be acting with a mind of their own. Unfortunately for you, your town is a way point between Fadrex City and Luthadel. This means you have a stockpile of metals. Perhaps that's why they targeted you in the first place. On the other hand, you have a large collection of metals. So you might be able to hold them off. ….Unless there’s someone (or a conspiracy of someones) out to undermine your defenses. Somehow, before the Koloss arrive, you have to rid your town of these dissenters; those that are Spiked. Until then, you won't be able to mount an effective defense for your town. If you fail, everyone dies, so you better not fail! Factions: Some people within the town have been hiding a few secrets; some of them are Mistings, so you have help in your battle versus the forces of Ruin. Although some of them may be Spiked instead. Why can't anything be easy? Roles: A new addition to the AG, this year everyone will also choose a Cosmetic Role when they create a character for the game. A Cosmetic Role does not affect the mechanics of the game in any way. They are there mainly for RP and entertainment purposes. If you’re not a big roleplaying person, that’s okay. There are ways to do a Cosmetic Role without a lot of RP or even just a couple sentences, so I don’t expect this to be too much of a burden for anyone. You can either choose one from the list we have below or you can create your own, pending GM approval of your Cosmetic Role. Have fun! Cosmetic Roles: We'll be starting on a Night round. This is due to the fact that that was how it was before and I think it will give people a chance to establish some RP before the game actually starts (which always helps make the write ups better, IMO). Also, this should avoid a lot of the typical Day 1 issues of people feeling like they have nothing to go off of on the first day. Order of Actions for the Night will be: -Smoker -Seeker -Lurcher -Coinshot/Kills Days will be 48 hours long and Nights will be 24 hours long. Rollover should be close to 11PM-12AM EST. No hints will be given in the write ups. Allegiance and Roles will be reveal upon death. And we're ready to begin! Sign ups will last a week, so we'll be starting on Jan 9th. Will this be the time that the curse is finally broken? Let's find out! Good luck! Quick Links:
  25. Setting You’ve followed Dalinar and his army to the lost city of Urithiru. With Alethi and other peoples arriving more and more every day, the city is becoming a rather bustling place, which is perfect for an agent such as yourself. What better way to subtly manipulate the decisions--especially with the Desolation nigh at hand? Unfortunately for you, you’re not the only one trying to control what’s going on. You’ve learned that there is another group working against your cause, and there are even rumors of a third group, undermining the other two. The Sons of Honour and the Ghostbloods have never gotten along, and now is no different. However, as people start disappearing from the city, you fear you might have to work together to solve the problem. Some of the disappearances are people you’ve never met and you think they might work for the other side, but others are people you know. Maybe the rumors are true. Maybe someone is trying to remove the other players in this politically manipulative game. Can you find them before they kill you too? Teams There are three teams, spread between two factions. The members of each faction will not be publicly announced in the thread, but you will have an idea of who is on your team (more on that in a bit). Sons of Honour You’re a devout Vorin, and if you could go back to the times of old and bring the Hierocracy back, you would. In fact, you’re convinced that all you need to do is find the Voidbringers, because once they return, the Heralds will be back. And how can anyone deny Vorin dominance when their very gods are saving the people from the Desolation? Ghostbloods You’re a Ghostblood. Fascinated with the Desolations and the Parshendi, you’re not interested in causing another Desolation, and you certainly aren’t interested in another Hierocracy. You’d like nothing better than to stop the Everstorm and the Desolation from taking place, and you hope by being in Urithiru, you can have some effect in keeping it at bay. Diagrammists You believe in the Diagram written by King Taravangian. Devoted to bringing stability to Roshar, you’ve noticed that these two other groups, the Ghostbloods and the Sons of Honour, only seek to destabilize the political structures, making them easier to bend to their will. To stop them, you and a number of other Diagrammists have infiltrated the Ghostblood and Sons of Honour ranks, and you are intent to end their manipulations in Urithiru once and for all. You have one group kill per cycle, but you do not have access to a Google doc to collaborate, and must rely on PM communication. The Roles To further your faction’s cause, members of your factions have abilities that will help you perform your tasks. Roles will be evenly distributed between the factions, and then randomly distributed among faction members (including Diagrammists). Roles are not revealed upon death. Not all members will have a role. Those who have no role are Regulars. Knight Radiants Amazingly, some of you have shown surgebinding potential and are well on your way to becoming Knight Radiants. With causes such as the ones you’re fighting for, you don’t expect to have any Radiants from Orders like the Windrunners, who rely far too much on honour, or the Skybreakers, who are driven by justice, which is something you tend to bend if it suits your purposes. However, not all the Orders are stuffy, and some of them are even pretty useful to your faction. Both factions will have an equal number of Knight Radiants in their ranks. This distribution will be random. Note: there is only one Bondsmith in the game, regardless of how many Radiants are included. Bondsmith - You’re all about uniting people under a common cause, and you believe your faction’s goals are the only way to bring about true unity in these trying times. You have access to the surges of Tension and Adhesion, but you can only use one per cycle. Tension - Each cycle, you can create a PM between any two players (can self target). Send in your request to the GM, who will set it up for you at the end of the cycle (accounting for any redirection and/or other blocking abilities). This PM can continue for as long as both participants are alive. Adhesion - Uniting people is what you do. Nothing brings you more joy than bringing two people together--particularly if those two people used to be enemies. You can choose two people each cycle, and on the following cycle, those two people must ultimately vote identically. The GM will PM the lucky two to tell them of this new, unbreakable (at least for a day) friendship. Edgedancer - You don’t care much for your faction's grand plans, but you figure that if you’re not there, the little details will get overlooked. Plus, you like putting your abilities to good use. You have access to the surges of Friction and Progression, but you can only use one per cycle. Progression - With the power of Regrowth, you like saving things, whether it’s making a nearly dead plant grow or healing an injured person. You can protect any player from one kill attempt each cycle. However, you cannot save yourself. Friction - You’re so fast, you can sneak into someone’s private rooms, read all their messages, and get out before being seen. You can spy on all outgoing PM’s from one player per cycle. The recipient of the messages is not included. Lightweaver - A true artist, you’re less concerned about who wins and more concerned that such an historic time is documented. You’re still choosing to help out your faction, though, because what better way to make sure things stay interesting? You have access to the surges of Illumination and Transformation, but you can only use one per cycle. Illumination - Each cycle, you can redirect one random action from your target to a different target. Transformation - You can change a vote (including no vote) to another player. Elsecaller - Some people might wonder why an Elsecaller, one of the more benevolent orders, is caught up in such schemes, but kindness is all based on perception, right? You believe your faction’s cause is what’s best for everyone, and you’ll do all you can to help people based on that belief. You have access to the surges of Transformation and Transportation, but you can only use one per cycle. Transformation - You can target a dead player, changing their appearance (role) for the following two cycles. Transportation - This action prevents any action from other players that targets you, no matter the action, from affecting you for a whole cycle. Lynches will still kill you. Other Professions Surgeon - You studied medicine in Kharbranth itself, learning at the best hospitals in the world. Your skills are second to none (although there are a few who are equally as good as you are). You can protect any player from one kill attempt per cycle, but you cannot protect yourself. Runner - Trained by one of the fastest messengers alive, you take pride in your speed of delivery. You’re among the fastest in Urithiru, making you a hot commodity. Each cycle, you can create a PM with two players (can self target). Send in your request to the GM, who will set it up for you at the end of the cycle (accounting for any redirection and/or other blocking abilities). This PM can continue for as long as both participants are alive. Artifabrian - Although ardents are the only people allowed to use Soulcasting, it would, to say the very least, be rather naive to expect that rule to be strictly obeyed. As an artifabrian, you have engineered and experimented with a variety of fabrials in order to improve on your designs, some of which push the very boundaries of what is thought possible. Every cycle, you may pick a target. One random action that would affect the target comes to you instead. Ardent - As a member of the ardentia, you are a member of a key group in Alethi society. Being an ardent has its contradictions: while you are free from the customs and constraints governing each gender, your life is not your own; you are considered the property of a lighteyes, and are not permitted to own anything. More importantly, you have exclusive access to knowledge of Soulcasting and fabrials. Using this, you may change a vote (including no vote) to another player (or no one) each cycle. Cook - You learned your impressive culinary skills among the Horneaters, and you can cook a meal like these lowlanders haven’t ever tasted before. You know how to mask the most potent flavors in a dish, and occasionally, you’ve been known to use that skill for less-than-pleasant purposes. You’ve racked up quite the body count with some of your culinary surprises. Each cycle, you can attempt to kill any player. Veristitalian Scholar - For you, the past is never dead; it takes a clever mind to sift through the detritus to reconstruct history objectively--as things truly happened. Where historians seek to paint themselves in the most flattering light, you see yourself as a dispassionate seeker of the truth: for you know that in the past lies the answers to the future. Each cycle, you can research one of the dead to discover role. Explorer - You’ve been recruited by Dalinar to map out Urithiru. Spending your nights in the uninhabited regions of the lost city, you don’t see much other than your maps, and no one sees you either, until you surface in the morning. Every other cycle, you can prevent any and all actions targeting you, including lynches, from affecting you. Assassin - You’re a master assassin, and you have many skills at your disposal. You’re invisible when you want to be, you have a knack for learning the information you need to get into inaccessible places, and you see things others tend to miss. Unfortunately for you, your assassin services aren’t needed as much here in Urithiru, but that doesn’t mean you can’t use your other skills. You can watch a player any cycle, learning the identity of one random player who targeted them (regardless of whether the action succeeded or not) The Positions Every well-established group has a command structure. The Sons of Honour and Ghostbloods are no different. While not every member knows who all the others are, each one knows someone, and a few have even more knowledge. Every cycle, a person in command can make one PM with any member below them in the command chain. This person does not have to be directly below them, and these PMs can be created at any point in the cycle. Positions are assigned randomly, with no distinction between loyal members of the faction and the Diagrammists. Thaidakar (Ghostbloods) and Restares (Sons of Honour) - You are the leader of your group. You know the identity of every member and the position they hold within. Commander - You report directly to your leader. As such, you know his identity. You also know the identities of the people who report to you. This is only a fraction of the members in the group though, as there are multiple Commanders. Captain - Reporting to the Commander, you know his identity but haven’t a clue who the leader is. That’s okay, though. You have enough responsibility as it is. You know the identities of a fraction of the Regular members. Private - You’re just a regular member of the group, but that doesn’t mean you don’t get to have fun. You’re just as important as the others, except that you don’t quite know who’s on your side. You only know the identity of your Captain. Win Conditions Primary Win Condition Sons of Honour and Ghostbloods: Kill the Diagrammists Diagrammists: Kill everyone else. Secondary Win Condition Sons of Honour or Ghostbloods need to kill the other faction’s KRs. The faction with the most KR’s alive if/when all Diagrammists are dead wins. The other loses. If both factions have equal numbers of Radiants alive or all Radiants are dead, they tie and win together. Alternate Win Condition If an equal number of members from all three teams (Sons of Honour, Ghostbloods, Diagrammists) is alive at any point in the game and the Bondsmith is still alive, the remaining players win together, united in one cause by the Bondsmith. Order of Actions Transportation/Exploration Illumination/Artifabrian/Assassin Progression/Surgeon/Tension/Runner/Elsecaller Transformation/Scholar Lightweaver Transformation/Ardent/Friction/Adhesion Kills/Lynch GM Notes GMs: Wilson and STINK Impartial Moderator: Alvron Player Cap This game will have a player cap, to be chosen by the GMs after signups are closed, depending on the how many players sign up. That cap will be somewhere between 20-25 players. However, more players can sign up. We will use an RNG to decide who plays the game out of those who sign up, and those not chosen will go onto the Pinch Hitter list. Inactivity Filter This game will also have an inactivity filter. Any player who does not post, PM (if they can) and submit an action (if they can) in the first two cycles of the game will be replaced by someone on the Pinch Hitter list. After the first two cycles, any player who doesn’t post, PM, or submit an action for two cycles will be killed. Please note that this means you must do all three, if you are able, to be considered active in the first two cycles of the game. After the first two cycles, you only have to do one of the three to be considered active and not killed. If you must go inactive for a short time, please let the GMs and the thread know when you will be going inactive and when you will return. This period of inactivity cannot go beyond three cycles. If it goes beyond two, you will not be killed by the filter (though you could be killed by the lynch or another kill). If you do not return on the date/cycle specified, you will be killed. Rollover Rollovers will be at 12:30 PM MST/7:30 PM GMT. Signups will close at 11:30 AM MST/6:30 PM GMT on Monday, 2 January, so we don't have to worry about rollovers are New Year's Eve or New Year's Day. The game will start an hour later. PMs will go out during that hour. Player List Quick Links