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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