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  1. Tleir was unused to all this … dryness. It wasn’t right for a woman to spend so much time away from the Purelake. The sooner Brightness Drella could be found, the sooner Tleir could find her way home. For now though, it was a life of stony ground, cold weather, and dim light, with the only water coming from those all-too-frequent Highstorms. Such were the sacrifices required for a woman who gotten far too deep into debt. Tleir elected to take a walk during the night. Adolin had almost been killed last night, but surely Brightness Drella wasn’t on any assassin’s hit list. The need to take a break from the hasty Alethi was overwhelming. King Elhokar was insistent that the Ghostbloods be exterminated immediately, but Tleir couldn’t see why this whole situation couldn’t be resolved over a nice bowl of fish stew. Besides, she thought bitterly, Sebarial deserved whatever that Shardbearer had been trying to do. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she took a deep breath and tried to think of happy memories from the Purelake. Tleir was so focused on these recollections, she didn’t notice where she was going until she found herself near the chasm where Hymnyes had died the day before. Someone else was already here, reaching their hand out in what seemed like a friendly gesture. Tleir briefly began to walk towards the obscured figure, but quickly changed her mind when a six foot, wickedly curved blade dropped into that outstretched hand. Three months in these Vun Makak blessed warcamps, and she still refused to wear shoes. There were no lakes to dip her feet in, but there was no way she would cover her feet in such a restrictive manner. This was, at times, inconvenient. Her feet were calloused enough that mere walking wasn’t painful, but running barefoot on the rough stone ground was another story. Running away from the angry Shardbearer, Tleir briefly considered whether it may have been expedient to commission some sort of footwear for special occasions. The rest of her concentration was focused on finding a good place to hide. Risking a quick glance behind her, she saw that the Shardbearer was now far too close. There would be no time to reach a tent before she was caught and killed. There would be only one chance to escape, short of fighting the Shardbearer and inevitably dying. Offering a silent prayer to Nu Ralik, Tleir dove to the ground and rolled, narrowly dodging a horizontal slice. Stumbling to her feet, she raced towards the chasm. Ellarel had survived a fall, so surely she could as well. Perhaps the Shardbearer wouldn’t be willing to follow. When she reached the edge of the cliff, she hesitated for a second too long. One swing of the blade later, and Tleir found herself unable to feel her lower right leg. More hurriedly than she’d done anything else in her life, Tleir allowed herself to tumble into the chasm, attempting to land on her now useless right leg. She plummeted through the air and crashed into the ground right foot first, shattering every dead bone. Despite the pain, she forced herself to crawl a few meters away from the landing site and hide deep in the shadows. Far above, the Shardbearer sighed and dismissed their blade. It wasn’t worth it to continue chasing after their target tonight. Brightness Deeli Dohila simply hated her name. The storming alliteration, and the hair's breadth away it was from rhyming lended itself far too well to nicknames of the most annoying sort. It was so hard to get respect when you would go from reveling in the success of your latest scheme to being referred as Brightness DD by Queen Aesudan herself. She sighed as she walked through the halls of the palace. She still didn’t know why she had been called there. The note seemed to indicate it was from the King, but the messenger had been strangely mute on the topic. He escorted her as she made her way to the location indicated in the missive. Even if there was only the smallest chance it was in reality the King, or one of the Kholins, it would be a mistake to ignore the message. She turned the corner of the hallway, then entered a small room. It was small, dank, seemingly unused. A bizarre location for a meeting with a Brightlady of the Fourth Dahn. She had turned to ask the messenger if she was in the right location, when she found the dagger planted in her side. Her breath caught, the pain unfurling through her body as blood blossomed from the wound. She fell to her knees, desperately praying to the Almighty. Her hands scrambled to patch the wound, to cover the rivers of blood as they spread over the field of orange lace on her side, then fell still. Three sharp knocks came on the door to the bridgeman barracks. Lopen stirred, muttering groggily. “We’re supposed to be day shift. Teft, see what that guy wants?” The door had already been opened by a surprised Sigzil, though, who eyed the newcomer warily. His clothes were not akin to anything he had seen in the Alethi courts, but the basic design was Vorin, albeit in the style of a military uniform similar to Dalinar’s, and not frilled with the lace favoured by so much of lighteyed society. It was underneath a bulky blue jacket, with an odd insignia on its breast, and the hood sporting the same pattern drawn up over the man’s head, casting his face in shadow. There was no sword at his side, though Lopen did note the array of knives hanging around his belt and the equally impressive number mostly hidden, which his clothing betrayed. The visitor inclined his head to the lounging bridgemen. “Hello,” he stated simply. “I am looking for somebody to take me to the Highprince of War. It is an urgent matter, and I have something to deliver to him. As you are his guards, will you escort me to him?” “I assume you’re delivering that hefty package of knives inside your coat to him, gancho?” Lopen called back, his hand resting casually on his spear. “I’m afraid the Highprince will have to wait to receive those another day.” He raised an eyebrow at Teft, who slid over and placed himself between the door and the man, who remained at ease. Lopen found himself annoyed at the insolent posture—he looked more like a haughty street merchant sizing up customers than a man surrounded by highly capable fighters. “What do you want? Who are you?” he repeated. Smiling slightly, the man drew back his hood, revealing a face weathered by the years, yet which retained all its vigour in the discerning eye cast upon the bridgemen each in turn. Sigzil beside him squirmed at the gaze, averting his eyes, but Lopen grit his teeth and looked back into them, burning with frustration, which overrode the other feelings within him. “Your bravery is admirable, if unnecessary,” the newcomer replied easily. “If you must know, it is a letter, and contains nothing more than a missive from another who need not immediately concern you. Its contents, regardless, are not for your ears.” He frowned at the second question. “I am known as Domand, but that is not important. The information I have for Dalinar is important. If you’re quite done with me, will you take me to him? I do not lie in saying that my counsel is urgent.” “Not with that coat on, gancho,” Lopen replied. “Every knife you have stays here, and don’t think we’re dumb enough to mi—” Lopen’s voice cut off as a Shardblade appeared in Domand’s hand. “I do not need such instruments anyway,” he said slowly. “I have this—if I wanted to, I could slaughter him and you. Your loyalty is admirable, but it approaches foolhardiness. Let’s go to Dalinar.” Sart was attacked, but survived! Furamirionind was killed! He was a Noble with a Painrial. Day 3 has begun! It will end in approximately 47 hours, at 9 PM EST on Monday 18 November. Any PM which STINK began is no longer open. All other spanreed PMs may be continually used, though no new ones may be opened this cycle. There will be a lynch today, with no vote minimum to kill. Thanks once again to Devotary and Snip for help with the writeup. Good luck! Player List:
  2. Domand had not come to the Shattered Plains, for once, to stop chaos, but to begin it. It would please neither his inferiors nor himself—which was, of course, why he had to do it. The ASWA was highly selective with its field agents, in the general case, but to the bewilderment of all, an exception had been made for him. An untried initiate, sent to the Shattered Plains to preserve order in a situation which hung on a knife’s edge? Who could count on such a one to uphold the integrity of this crucial mission, in the most probable vortex for a Shardic conflict since the...unfortunate… levelling of Scadrial? Nobody in the Council of Seven expected him to succeed. Darrel’s wisdom had been called into question, and only his invocation of the sole privilege to send out field agents except by unanimous consent of the Council had stifled the staunch opposition of Lerdal and Radler. Funny, how the vote had failed by one member. It always did, when matters were important. Dominion purred, pleased with Darrel’s expansion of authority, but Domand quickly shoved the Shard down and away from his mind. It was a tool. He could not afford to be borne away by the Intent, especially with so much work left to do. The Council was subdued; that was the important part. With Domand safely on Roshar, the real work could now begin. Beginning to count to ten already in his head, he moved through the still night air, weaving towards the bunk of Highprince Sebarial. Shrouded in darkness as he was, he would be hard to spot, and those who saw him should take little notice anyway—it was part of the magic of the cloak, but also partly human nature. Who cares about a nighttime wanderer, when you yourself were one if you were out to notice him? Rounding the last corner and finding himself immersed in pitch blackness, Domand summoned his Shardblade, weaving it experimentally through the air in front of Sebarial’s bunk. It would take all his willpower to take this next step. He hated being obtrusive, hated overt violence, yet certainly did not hate Sebarial. He lifted the Blade, arm trembling slightly as the point was raised, quivering, into the air. God Beyond save us, he thought. And then plunged the Shard through the stone wall. Kay watched with narrowed eyes as a man shrouded in darkness walked past her hiding spot, looking both determined and rushed. A poor combination, that. At least, for whoever the Almighty willed that the man should meet. She chided herself inwardly for attempting to reason out the result of the man’s visit. Nothing is knowable apart from the Almighty and his Heralds, she thought, reciting the first article of the faith of the Devotary she had always been a part of. It was her job to carry out the will of the Almighty and his Heralds—which, incidentally, involved a removal of the king (at this time; who knows what the Almighty may require of you tomorrow?). His embrace of practices such as a hierarchy based on eye colour and the maintenance of ardents who invented Callings and Glories at random had destroyed the kingdom and brought the Almighty’s disapproval. Worse, he sought no guidance from the Almighty or from the Heralds in this troubled time, but rather forged ahead as if not to bother with such “myths.” They would see how mythical they were, if the Almighty did not continually will that their existence be maintained. Heretics these days weren’t just outside the devotaries. Except when they were, like that detestable woman Jasnah Kholin... Her thoughts abruptly snapped back to the walking man, who she had lost track of. Moash would be disappointed in her; how was she supposed to discover who shadowy visitors to highprinces were if she could not even keep track of them for three feet? Kay could not let herself be seen, however, so she crouched further down behind a crem-coated boulder, peering intently at the wall behind which the man had vanished. And screamed as a thin line of light appeared in it, and a hole gradually widened. Sebarial was under attack. And the man she had seen wrapped in shadow was none other than a Shardbearer. Highprince Sebarial, It is with exceeding joy that I write to you, knowing that the dastardly attempt against your life last night was a failure, and that you are in good health, if somewhat shaken (like us all). I do not know who the Shardbearer was or why they had occasion to attack you, but it should rightfully make us all fear for our safety. I understand your concerns that the assassin could have killed you but chose not to, but such conversations are not for the public ear. We will have speech together at the next banquet regarding this. Until then, I will instruct my Cobalt Guard to double their watch against any hint of an attempt against any life in these warcamps. With your aid and vigilance, I am confident we can crush this threat beneath our heels. Elhokar, King of Alethkar My apologies for a shortened writeup; I will hopefully get the chance to fix that tomorrow. Regardless, welcome to LG61: A Radiant Light! The rules are in this doc, and are nicely formatted. If you want immediate formatting-free access, use the spoiler below: Yeah, it’s a lot. I suggest you read over it a few times before the game starts, and send me rule clarifications before the game starts in earnest. Please? It makes me a happier GM. Signups will last a week, and will close Saturday 2 November at 9:00 PM EDT (-5:00 UTC), unless an extension is required. Please sign up if you are able, as the game will be much more fun with a lot of people, as I can do cooler things with item and role distribution. Also, the way the faction system works means that you’re almost guaranteed to be in a doc, and with a team who will help you understand the rules and collaborate with you on them, which always makes SE more fun. (And will probably alleviate some of the stress from looking at that giant ruleset. ) My wonderful co-GMs are @Devotary of Spontaneity and @Snipexe. Don’t be surprised to see them in your PMs, in thread issuing clarifications, etc. And be sure to upvote them both for agreeing to work with me on such a crazy game. Player List: Rule Clarifications and Modifications: Quicklinks:
  3. Highprince Sadeas, I note with mild displeasure the failure of your investigative efforts to expose those threatening the general peace within the camp. The supposedly accidental deaths of the Brightnesses Hymnyes and Kay have the court in such a stir that our decision-making is impaired; while Dalinar’s bridgemen have been able to hold back the Highprinces’ factions from open conflict, it is by no means a continual guarantee, and I am possessed of no doubts that the remaining Ghostbloods are fostering this division, seeking to thrust at the heart of our stability. Redouble your efforts to round up the leaders of this movement, and if necessary put the captive members to the question if persuasion will not loosen their tongues as to who their companions are, and where they are hiding out. Sebarial and Restares want to meet with you; they believe they have leads, and their counsel may be valuable to the continuing uncovering of all plots against the Crown. As always in these times, keep your guard up and your sword close at hand. With my continued thanks for your efforts, Elhokar King of Alethkar Highprince Sebarial had the right idea, Rashor thought as he sat in his private tent sipping auburn wine. Hunting down Ghostbloods was no job for an important lighteyes like himself. Already, he was fifth dahn, and stood to move up a rank when that land deal finally went through. The warcamps were an excellent source of revenue, but the assassination attempt and heightened security had made it very difficult to move people in and out. No matter. Brightlord Devan would eventually cave to Rashor’s extremely generous offer, especially now that the man no longer had access to Soulcast goods. Rashor grinned at the thought as he finished his glass of wine. Reaching beside him to refill his glass, Rashor found that the barrel was empty. Sighing heavily, he looked at the only other barrel in the room, one filled entirely of blue wine. He hadn’t been able to check the contents while liberating it from some noble’s private stores, and destroying wine was a crime even greater than anything the Voidbringers could unleash. He dared not go outside to find more wine, as the other nobles were rampaging throughout the camp, screaming petty accusations against each other. Rashor thought he heard his own name being called once or twice. There was no helping it; he would have to face the wrath of the Voidbringers and drink some of that accursed blue wine. With shaking fingers, he decanted a small measure of wine into the glass. Grimacing, he took a tiny swallow, shuddering at the bitter taste. He was about to get up and steal more wine despite the danger outside when he felt his mouth start to burn. The glass slipped from his fingers and shattered on the ground. By the time the remaining nobles came to check on him, Rashor was dead, evidence of his thievery clearly evident. Mriaze watched the thief die, silently admiring his handiwork. It was ironic, how the man’s dislike for Blue has revealed so very many of his other traits. The Ghostbloods had been watching the man for weeks, and he had to give the man credit. It took skill to steal from a place filled to the brim with soldiers, and Lighteyes. Stealing from the Ghostbloods had been the man’s first mistake. Hiding like a coward had been the man’s last. The death provided satisfaction, though in truth it was little when compared to his frustration with those below him’s incompetence. It had been a simple execution mission, but that thrice stormed women had to take the blow. A different team was being sent in tonight, the failures having been dealt with. They needed results, and death was the best answer to life’s questions. Mraize slipped out of the tent and turned to the lieutenant waiting for him. “Send them in.” Mraize said with a smile. Xinoehp512 was lynched! He was a Thief with a Reverser! Vote Count: Xino (3): Sart, Straw, Fura HH (2): Araris, Aman Sart (2): Coda, Elbereth Straw (1): HH Elbereth (1): Striker Night 2 has begun! It will end in approximately 23 hours on Saturday 16 November at 9 PM EST. Those with spanreeds, once again, may send in orders to use them and then PM freely. Make sure all the GMs are in the PMs. Thanks once again to Devotary and Snip, who did the second and third parts of the writeup, respectively. Good luck! Player List:
  4. Ellarel would not be attending the feast tonight. All those months worked and spheres saved to purchase a havah styled in the latest fashion and an appointment with a hair stylist squandered in a matter of hours by a few suspicious nobles. The medics had not been able to attend her immediately, as they were busy tending the more life-threatening wounds of Kholin soldiers injured during the day’s fighting. Still, Ellarel was a lighteyes, and within a few hours her broken bones had been splint and a bed provided. The attending medic assured her that she would be walking again in a few weeks. That was several weeks too late for Ellarel. Tonight had been her best chance of getting to meet Adolin, but now that opportunity had passed. Perhaps she could apply to be a scribe for the Kholins. They had been willing to take care of her injuries, so at least they knew who she was. She resolved to try once the Ghostbloods were crushed and her broken bones healed. Perhaps the Almighty would smile on her once again. The medics had let her keep the knife she’d used to kill Brightness Hymnyes. The blade was still too bloody to put back in her safepouch, so the weapon lay on the bed next to her unbroken arm. Ellarel replayed the memory of piercing Hymnyes arm in her head, imagining that she would do the same to the cowards who had attacked Highprince Sebarial. She barely even noticed when a young man wearing Kholin blue strode into the tent, escorted by four members of the Cobalt Guard. Adolin paused when he saw that one person receiving medical attention was not a member of the Kholin army, or even the Kholin warcamp. He walked closer to her bed in the corner of the tent. “Where did you sustain your injuries?” he asked. Ellarel jolted upright, making her head swim and sending blinding flashes of pain shooting up her broken arm and leg. She had gotten to meet Adolin Kholin after all! She tried to take in every detail through blurry eyes. His crisply tailored Kholin uniform, newly donned after the day’s battle. His exotic blonde-black hair, the same colour as hers. His piercing blue eyes, looking directly at her. The closest member of the Cobalt Guard, swinging a knife down towards his neck. Ellarel screamed and grabbed the knife with her left hand, pain momentarily forgotten as she leaped out at the traitorous bodyguard. Alarmed, Adolin stepped out of the way, narrowly avoiding the strike from behind. The Ghostblood’s blade kept going, embedding itself deep into Ellarel’s heart. The last thing she saw before being whisked away to Shadesmar was Adolin rushing off to apprehend the assassin. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “I must congratulate you, Darrel,” the smooth voice of Arrdel came to Domand’s ears, his accent refined and perfectly in tune with the strange speech of Roshar—then again, he was a native. “You came here yourself to ensure that a conflagration was stirred up. Well, you certainly succeeded, but this hardly seems to be the work you intended.” He chuckled softly to himself, rubbing his hands together against the chill of the night air. Domand inclined his head gravely as they walked on, a shadow to the casual eye, though inwardly he seethed. What was Arrdel doing away from his tasks in Marabethia? And how did he think he could maintain the paper-thin glass of Alethkar against the repeated hammer blows of the coming Desolation? The stupidity of the Alethi elite could hardly be pinned upon him. “It will have to do, Arrdel,” he spoke aloud. “My subterfuge has united the country, in an odd sort of way, but any unity is better than none, and while they did unite in fear and not fraternity, the former will often produce the latter. You know why I do what I do—Cultivation watches this planet, but indirectly, and a challenge from the Father of Hate may break her in the end. The only way to stop Odium’s attack is deterrence. And for that we need a Unifier, one which I intend to create out of this mess, who can pick up Honour and thrust Odium away from this system, before he causes more harm than he already has.” “Drive him away? Like the Oathpact?” Arrdel retorted. “It is a frail patch on an old wound. Eventually, we will need to let it scar for it to heal at all.” Darrel looked at Arrdel, aghast. One of the ASWA’s most significant triumphs in thousands of years—the Oathpact keeping Odium bound to Braize—was a “frail patch?” “You overstep yourself,” he said flatly. “Honour and Cultivation can and must check Odiun’s growing strength. I care not for how it is done, so long as it is. However, if you believe an immediate war with casualties in the millions will solve Shardic disputes properly, then perhaps you do not belong in this group anymore.” Arrdel’s eyes flashed, but he said nothing more. “Let us hope that you are right, and that the Ghostbloods provide the distraction and the unifying force we need for this, then. For now, I must return to Marabethia. I must say, I have missed you in the field of work lately—it is good to see you getting your hands dirty now, instead of the Council of Seven. Peace be with you and your works.” “And also with you and yours,” Darrel whispered into the cold night, pacing his way back to the stone bunker in his solitary camp. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Elandera was killed! She was a Noble with a Pain Knife! Day 2 has begun, and will end in approximately 47 hours, at 9 PM EST on Friday 15 November. Spanreed PMs begun during the Night may be used at Day; however, new ones may not be created. Also, questions about your items are best asked at a time not equivalent to two minutes from rollover. Thank you for your cooperation. Good luck! Player List:
  5. Kay watched the argument with fascination. Already, all these fancy Bright Lords and Ladies, plus a Purelaker and some sort of hairy cremling, had been unable to reach a decision. Of course, no mortal was capable of truly making a decision. The will of the Almighty had always prevailed. Amidst the frantic shouting on both sides of the argument, Kay heard someone yelling for both Brightness Ellarel and Brightness Hymnyes to accept the judgement of the Almighty. A bit of a hasty sentiment, to be sure. The judgement of the Almighty could not be taken for granted, after all. Still, Kay echoed the call, as did the people around her. Kay saw in their faces that this decision was driven more by bloodlust than respect for the Almighty, but at least the correct choice was being made. It seemed that the remainder of the supposedly noble mob supported the plan to place agency in the hands of another. Each condemned Brightlady was seized by four others, and the two women were carried to the nearest chasm. Kay ran ahead of the others, finding a spot on a nearby permanent bridge from which to witness the fate of those who rejected the Heralds’s teachings. Hymnyes and Ellarel had barely time for a brief yell of surprise before the crazed ardent, with a willing mob of Alethi sympathisers, sent them teetering over the chasm’s edge. Ellarel felt herself grit her teeth; the nothingness underneath her was freeing, but the rapidly approaching ground, which she normally welcomed as a source of stability, seemed a prospect wholly unappealing. Beside her, Brightness Hymnyes screeched, her voice losing its natural melody it so frequently employed to sing hymns to the Almighty in favour of a hoarse squawk which contained all the terror a noblewoman pushed off a cliff should rightfully experience. Ellarel looked down, with alarm seeing the rocky floor of the chasm rushing up at her, and offered up a brief prayer to the Almighty. And perhaps it was heard. Noblewomen met ground with a sickening thud, their outstretched bodies connecting with a freshly killed set of Parshendi corpses. The pain was blinding and all-consuming, yet after minutes of agony slowly subsiding to numbness, both ladies realised the relative softness of the dead parshman soldiers on which they had fallen had spared their lives. Ellarel made an attempt at movement, and found her left arm and leg to be incapable of motion, and her ribcage was set aflame by every shuddering breath she drew. Falling back down, she dragged herself over to the fallen Brightness Hymnyes, who was softly humming “Praise to the Lord, the Almighty,” a familiar Vorin song of praise. Ironically, the fourth verse of the tune popped into her head, and she began to softly sing to the unconscious Hymnyes, adopting a mocking tone. “Praise the Almighty, who prospers your work and defends you; Surely his goodness and honour shall daily attend you. Ponder anew what the Almighty can do, as with his pow’r he befriends you.” The Almighty was prospering her work, Ellarel thought bitterly, gazing at the steep walls of the cavern. They could just as well be a prison. What he seemed to have done was saved her from one death to send her into another, and no amount of pondering would change that reality—it was not a question of if the chasmfiends would find her, but when. She kicked the lethargic Hymnyes, then bit back a stream of curses as pins and needles shot up her bad leg. “Get up,” she said harshly. “We need to get moving.” The only response was a mutter of dissent, and a rustling behind her. Ellarel swerved, and came face to face with a crazed Hymnyes, who had picked up a dagger from the corpse of a fallen Parshendi. Ellarel did not have to do much to dodge—she tried to jump out of the way, but yelped as her legs gave way from under her, sending her sprawling in a heap to the ground. Hymnyes’ wild strike passed clear over her head, and the woman overbalanced, her own injuries showing as her hip and knee buckled, leaving her kneeling next to Ellarel. Breathing hard, the two women held their daggers, Hymnyes’ from the corpse, and Ellarel from a concealed region of her safepouch. Neither was able to crawl an inch closer to her adversary, but they were both within arm’s reach. Ellarel’s training as a scribe had made her fingers fast and agile: in spite of her exhaustion, the piton in her hand flashed, and its sharp edge did its quick work on the Brightlady’s arm. Hymnyes howled, dropping her dagger, frantically attempting to staunch the flow of blood from her arm. Ellarel, for her part, left the dying figure behind her, the vain pleas that Ellarel help prolong her life echoing in her ears as she slowly gathered herself energy and crawled away from the dying wretch behind her. The Almighty, it seemed, had chosen her. Perhaps his goodness did attend her, hidden though it was. Yet she had no way of dragging her exhausted frame back up the cavern. “Help up there?” she called to the sky, scarcely daring to hope for a reply. From high above, a knotted rope ladder dropped to her feet. “The Almighty has given you the victory, blessed one,” the echoing voice of the ardent Kay came back immediately. “Therefore come up, to be fed and cared for. We do not wish you harm any longer.” Mraize grinned at the sight of the woman, the blood dripping over her form as she emerged from the Chasms. It seemed that the Ghostblood’s work was being done for them. He watched from his perch on the roof of a barracks, his spyglass held tightly hands. When he finally confirmed that the woman was indeed Ellarel, he turned to the man standing to his left. He was a messenger from one of the more deeply embedded cells, and was bearing news of the other woman. “Dead?” The man nodded. “Was it them?” “No blade” Mraize nodded. Despite how convenient an early death of their adversary would have been, it would have been far too suspicious for one with knowledge of his sect to die from a mere fall. Mraize’s gaze fell to the horizon, to the Shattered Plains in the distance, and the group returning with Ellarel. “Let them know, tonight the axe hounds are to be let loose.” The man nodded, then retreated. Mraize sighed. He felt it was a tad early to be starting the killing, but the incident had only confirmed how at each other’s throats the nobles were. It would only be in the Ghostbloods’ favor to toss some fuel on the flames, lest they themselves become consumed. Butt Ad Venture was lynched! He was a Noble without any items! Vote Count: Venture (4): Elandera, Rath, Fura, Drake Elandera (4): Venture, Araris, Striker, Sart, El Stink (1): HH El (1): Coda Night 1 has begun, and will end in approximately 23 hours, at 9 PM EST on Wednesday 13 November. PMs are closed, except for Spanreeds. If you are using your Spanreed tonight, submit your order via GM PM before sending any PMs. Keep in mind all PMs must have *all* the GMs in them. Please and thank you Please don’t be last-minute with your actions like with your votes, or I as GM will find some way to drive you as equally insane as the two-seconds-before-rollover submissions make me, and I’m a creative person. Please in the future inform me if you’re going to be sending in anything literally last-minute. Thank you Special thanks to Devotary and Snip for helping with the first and third sections of the writeup, respectively. Collaborative writing is wonderful, and you should spread some upvotes around to them. Good luck! Player List:
  6. Highprince Sebarial, Upon further correspondence with the agents planted in our midst—the Ghostbloods who we have identified—their close-lipped silenced and stiff denials only serve to confirm my suspicion that it was they who tried to assassinate you. The Highprince of Investigation agrees with me, and adds that after our raids in which we were able to capture a Ghostblood spy, the camps have had an undercurrent of activity, and the organisation appears ready to make a counter-strike. It is apparent that some of the men around us will not hesitate to knife us in our sleep, and so the only thing we may do is stab them first. That said, the increased security around your warcamp is impressive, and reassures me that the next strike will not come near you. I can only hope it does not fall on me. Keep up your spirits, and tell your troops to be vigilant for absent or suspicious-looking men these next few days. Our continual cohesion in these times is imperative. Elhokar, King of Alethkar Mraize looked around the small circle of men and women huddled inside the stone-walked tavern. His voice was silky and soft, yet carried an undercurrent of pure rage within its low whisper. “Alright,” he said, fighting to keep his rage down. “Which one of you thought it would be a good idea to go out and cut a hole in a Highprince’s wall? You’re all capable Shardwielders, which is why you have the Shards to begin with, so you know the consequences of doing something like this! You know a stunt like this would attract attention! Why? Why would you expose our entire network?” He swept his gaze from side to side. The members looked startled, as Mraize rarely had trouble keeping control of himself, but not afraid—just as they had been trained. Their eyes stared back into his, and one of them replied. “None of us carved that hole.” “It was in the shape of three diamonds,” Mraize hissed. “How could that not be your doing?” “The same three diamonds which we are never to carve into anything important or permanent or official?” “I…” Maize faltered. “Are you saying we’re being framed for this?” “What else could it be?” another Shardwielder sighed. “We’ve already told you that we’re blameless in this, and you’d perhaps literally chew our heads off if we lied; that’s the only other option. Either the king wants a scapegoat for something he ordered himself, or else a third party wants us both weakened to the point of death.” “This is true,” Mraize conceded. “Which is why it will become essential that we kill the king without delay. He is the head directing Alethkar’s efforts against us, and his death will cut that head off, leaving the body, as large as it may be, to writhe.” Mraize felt his voice grow in power. He had to be right about this. “Your new task is to get yourself into his court, convince your way through or slaughter the other guards, and kill him. We cannot afford to let this drag on any longer, or we will all be found separately and killed. And finally, find that Shardbearer who actually cut the hole. I want his Blade!” Three crashes of mugs slamming against the table in agreement greeted Mraize’s ears, and five seconds later the tavern was deserted, the only sign of previous habitation the faint beer flecks on the table and the hushed, echoing whispers of a conspiracy gone wrong. Day 1 has begun! It will end in about 47 hours at 9 PM EST (-4:00 UTC) on Tuesday 12 November. All role PMs should be sent out! Thank you to Devotary and Snip. A brief reminder that one-on-one PMs are closed, unless you have a Spanreed and use it during the Night turn. There will be a lynch today, with no vote minimum to kill. Ties will result in a random death. The updated rules may be found here. Good luck to all! Player List:
  7. (((write-up to be added))) Butt Ad Venture was killed! They were the Bodyguard. Devotary of Spontaneity was attacked and is now insane. Elbereth has gone insane Player List This turn will end Tuesday, October 15 at 6 p.m. PDT.
  8. Jastes Lekal took one last look at the smouldering ruins of his home. Family gathered around him, he peered between the lightly falling flakes of ash, as the skaa rebels began to plunder the fire-ridden frame which had once been his mansion. He muttered a curse to himself. What had he been thinking? Giving mere skaa any sort of power? Of course it would come to this, in the end. Blame Elend Venture he would for planting the idea, but had he really been so blinded as to allow representative assemblies by the working peoples? Yes, he had, apparently. But he would not be repeating these same mistakes. He intended, indeed, not to make any idealistic commitment such as that ever again. Fingering a brass earring, Lekal turned to the pitiful, scattered regiment of noble-blooded guards and the few skaa who had had the sense to retain their connections to true nobility in the aftermath of the rebellion. He could trust—or he hoped he could trust—these men. Sticking with somebody who lost power tended to mark you as loyal. Facing them, with a soft, insidious voice seeming to whisper in the dark corners of his mind, he spoke. “I have a plan to recover from this blow.” A few eyebrows went up, but the men said nothing, so Lekal continued. The voice in his head seemed to give him the guidance he needed. “We will make a play for the city of Luthadel itself.” That got reactions. Gasps, mutters, groans. He let them pass—indeed, he revelled in them. His plans would shake the world. “I have access to a force larger than any our enemies can muster—a force which will kill without mercy, fight without pain, and conquer for us. It simply must get into the weakened city. I have a special task for a select few of you…” Trapped. That was how Elend Venture felt. Trapped, and abandoned. Dockson reported that Cett had left the city, which should have been welcome news. Clubs’ spies had even heard credible rumours that Straff Venture was finally dead. That should have made Elend caper with glee. But neither, ultimately, mattered as much as the price he had paid. Vin was gone. A final report, given by a somber Ham, was the worst of the three. The Mistborn Zane, one of his father’s lackeys, had kidnapped Vin. Kidnapped her! He would not believe reports which said that Vin had gone willingly, whatever Ham’s insistences. She couldn’t have. Sazed and Tindwyl had tried to calm him on this matter, but it didn’t work. Elend’s mind raced, trying to figure out how to apprehend the pair. He laughed bitterly. Outpace a pair of Mistborn? Better luck trying to clean the ash off a roof with a pebble. He would need something to draw Zane back, a threat he couldn’t ignore. His plan had been the Atium stash, but they were no closer to that then when they’d first begun. Perhaps he would need to send more men looking for it, now that the city was nearly his again. Elend surveyed the map on his desk. If his father was dead, the threat from the north was mostly finished. An alliance with Cett meant the south and east were mostly his, too. There remained only the west, and that was in good hands with Jastes Lekal. His former confidant would likely be overseeing a happy populace, and would be willing to help Elend find Vin. He sighed. Not much of a victory, but a small one. He’d take it. Unfortunately, it brought him no closer to Vin. Suddenly, the hallway door burst open, revealing a huffing Spook. “Wasing the coming of here,” he gasped out, “finding the moving of Uncle, wasing the seeing of army. Big army.” He spread his hands to indicate size. “Ising the marching of here. West.” Elend’s heart clenched. Another army? Cett’s men had nearly wiped out his supporters the first time. He took a deep breath. Perhaps this, however, would be the threat that drew Zane—and therefore Vin—back to him. He smiled wanly. Perhaps Lekal was not overseeing a content skaa populace after all. Even so, he would force himself to meet and counter this threat as well. It would be the least he could do. Welcome to LG55: Disquiet. With the recent demise of Cett’s Infiltrators at the hands of the Unstable Mistborn, Zane, he and Vin have hoped to begin a new life away from the turmoil in Luthadel. However, their joy is short-lived. Another man with aspirations of taking the city, Jastes Lekal, has arrived, this time with a koloss army at his back. To help weaken the city against his force, he too has sent his Subordinates into Luthadel to topple Elend Venture, the man who currently holds the city. Despite their unwillingness, both sides are now in the conflict, for better or worse. The rules of this game may be accessed here. You may also use the spoiler underneath here, but I make no promises as to the quality of the formatting. Rollover will be at 9:00 PM EDT, or UTC -4:00, at least for now (this may change depending upon my schedule). Signups will close on Thursday 16 May, at 9:00 EDT. (That’s about ten days from now, and marks the end of the busy period in my life. ) Player List: Rules Clarifications: Quick Links: Good luck to all.
  9. The watchman shivered, desperately trying to rekindle his campfire. The wood was too cold and damp for his efforts to have any effect, and he groaned in anger. It had been like this for days. He was tired of the cold, tired of the snow, tired of this hard life on the front lines. As if to mock him, he felt a snowflake brush against his cheek. He swore to the Master. A breach in the circle would mean certain disaster. He grabbed his lantern, and grimaced. It was leaking. Spares were hard to come by, so he decided to keep using the shoddy light source, at least for tonight. The watchmen patrolled the perimeter, looking for any breaks. He was almost done, when he realized something odd. He hadn't seen a single Wild Chalkling. Normally there would be at least half a dozen scouts checking for any weak spots, and yet he hadn't seen any. He considered reporting it, when something reached around his throat. He didn't even have a chance to respond before his neck was deftly snapped. As he fell to the ground, his lantern exploded on the ground. Flames quickly followed the trail of oil it had been leaving behind. His killer whirled around, as the flames quickly ran towards the lantern's usual position, the camp's commissary. The cabin erupted into flame, immolating much of the camp's supplies. As the platoon rallied to save what little they could, the Forgotten slipped among them. Soon enough, one of the soldier's would find the poor watchmen's body, and then the killing would start. The camp didn't realize it yet, but most of them wouldn't be surviving the night. Welcome to Mid-Range 34: Death by Lantern Light. This is a re-run of Mid-Range 27, and is set in the Rithmatist universe. I'm your GM, Sart, and @Seventh Saint is our Impartial Moderator. Ruleset: The game will be staring on Thursday, March 28, at 7:00PM Eastern Time. Here's a timer Player List: Quick Links:
  10. The Tower of Nebrask stood tall above the plains, wild chalklings flowing out from its every crevice. It had stood for ages untold, and soon its master plan would be coming to fruition. Elsewhere, the survivors of a traitorous plot were devising a scheme of their own. “Where’s Caccoo Moreau?” asked Aiden. “Dead.” replied Kadal softly. “The Forgotten got to him.” “What are we going to do?” prompted Aiden. “We’ve lost so many already.” “I have a plan.” interrupted Mya. “We’re going to end this war, once and for all.” “I’ve already told you, Mya, it won’t work! We don’t have enough manpower!” yelled Kadal. “That’s where they come in…” Mya explained. Elsewhere, a group of classmates were reminiscing about their time at Armedius Academy. “It’s hard to believe it’s been this long since we’ve gotten together.” remarked Tendin Throk. “Feels like yesterday we were all fighting in the Melee.” added Vao Temer. “I still should have won that.” bitterly replied Joseph. “Matist was nearly down for the count, but then,” “Yeah, yeah, we know.” interjected Pete Gazon. They had all heard the story by this point. “Speaking of Matist, where is he?” asked Slavista. “Schmoozing it up with the bigwigs no doubt.” responded Miffed. “Jeesh, don’t they know that this is important? We’re here to remember those we’ve, we’ve...” Apla trailed off, tears welling up. Elysian put a hand on Apla’s shoulder. “We all miss them.” “Hey, let’s not all be down in the dumps! We’re here to celebrate their lives, not mope around.” complained Drake. Raising his glass, Jeeves proposed a toast. “To our good friends. May we meet again in the Master’s halls.” The remaining alumni responded with a hearty “Here, here!” Elsewhere, in the halls of Central Command, the Forgotten planned their next move. “Status report!” barked Samuel Kessen. “Thing are going according to plan.” replied Wyatt. “Isaac has dropped the hammer on the Fifth brigade, and Cole has subverted supply lines for the Sixth.” “What about our stragglers?” continued Samuel. Tory Farth fielded that question. “Don’t worry about them. Shanice has already gotten several of our operatives to monitor them.” He shook his head. “The fools plan plan to coerce an Armedius Alumni group into joining them, and then mount a desperate attack on the Tower. We’re one step ahead though, and have had Matist convert several of his classmates. With all of our sabouters, there’s no way the offensive succeeds.” “And you’re sure the conversion was successful? We’ve had too many mistakes lately. We can’t afford another.” demanded Samuel. “Of course, they were successful.” Joel replied. “Ronald was a fluke. That man never had his lid screwed on right to begin with. You haven’t had any problems with Jain, have you?” “No, of course not.” Sam broke out in a sinister smile. “How long have we waited for this? Nothing will go wrong. At long last, it is time for our revenge.” The Forgotten’s eyes glowed white. Elsewhere, a giant squid was on a mission. He plodded across the land, one thing on his mind. It was time for it to smash. The Tower was waiting. All the pieces were on the board. And now, after all these years, it was time for the game to end. Welcome to Long Game 57, The Tower of Nebrask. This is the conclusion of the 5 other Rithmatist games in this sub-forum. I'm Sart, your GM. @Ax's Boyfriend is helping me out as a co-GM. This game will be starting on July 8th, at 8:00 PM CDT. Rules: Player List: Quick Links:
  11. Aname Plees: Hey Ford you still around Aname Plees: Mind making me kill myself tonight if I think about killing anybody? XD Ford Prefect: Sure thing, was planning on it. I’ll always take requests to redirect any murderous thoughts you might have : ) Ford Prefect: Btw where did everyone else go Aname Plees: Dunno, maybe they’re asleep Ford Prefect: Hey that’s not a bad idea : P Ford Prefect: What could possibly go wrong with us all sleeping with at least one murderer trying to kill Elend lol Aname Plees: Ikr Aname Plees: Well, I’m to bed. Night Ford Prefect: Night Aname Plees has left the chat Ford Prefect: Fynn I see you lurking there. You can talk now Ford Prefect: There’s nobody around but us lol Ford Prefect: Fynn like seriously Ford Prefect: All the Mistborn are dead now Ford Prefect: are you gonna help Elend or what Ford Prefect: FYNN Fynn Seidel: I have nothing more to say to you. You all tried to kill Vin. You failed. So I’ll fail you until I get evidence you’ll stop working against me. You’ll see no more of me until later. Fynn Seidel has left the chat Ford Prefect: ...okay then lol Ford Prefect: Talk in the morning. Night all Nobody was attacked. Day Eight has begun. This cycle will last the full 48 hours, until 9 PM EDT (-4:00 UTC) on Saturday 8 June. However, in an effort to speed the game along in its final stages, I am implementing the following rules modifications: 1. I have been extremely lenient with my two-cycle inactivity filter. However, it’s too late in the game for people to be MIA—it takes away too much of the discussion that should be prevalent with smaller playercounts. As such, any player who does not post by the end of the Night turn will die. @Lumgol @Furamirionind @Snipexe @Ax's Boyfriend @Hemalurgic Headshot @Straw @Coop772 You have all been notified. Please remain active participants in discussion. And my thanks to Lum and Fura for actually bothering to comment on something last Night. 2. If a majority of living players vote for it, I will shorten any Day turn by 24 hours. As such, this cycle may end at 9 PM EDT on Friday 7 June should the majority of you will it so. Please remember that PMs, as always, are closed at Day. Good luck to all. Player List:
  12. Dockson motioned his men forward, beckoning at them wordlessly to drift up to the deserted rooftop of Keep Lekal. Supposedly, the Mistborn had been using this as their lair the entire time they’d been in the city. Dockson was sceptical, but the fact remained that this Keep was Elend’s best shot at finding Vin. His Hazekillers followed silently, well trained to keep noise to an absolute minimum. He doubted it mattered much to one burning Tin—then again, he could easily check that through other means. Holding up a fist, and giving the Hazekillers time to form up behind him, Dockson peered from behind the parapet. Vin was there, kneeling on the cold stone. She looked to have been crying, and given her emotional speech earlier in the day, Dox could hardly blame her. His heart reached out to the poor skaa girl—she’d been so thoroughly mired in the political muck of Luthadel he feared she may never find her way out. Still, his orders were clear. He raised a hand quickly, and another one was quickly raised in acknowledgement on the other side of the rooftop. A deafening clang was heard, the tremor caused by a set of cymbals made specifically to disorient Tineyes, and as Vin cried out in shock and pain, falling to the floor, Dockson quickly moved his Hazekillers in around her. Shaking her head, she flicked the hair out of her eyes defiantly and stared up at the ring. “I suppose you’ve come to finish what you began earlier, then,” she sighed. “Well, make it quick.” “Quick?” Dockson was taken aback. “Vin, we’re here to bring you home!” “Home where?” she retorted. “Home,” Dockson repeated. “To Elend, to Keep Venture. Where you’ll be safe from this madness. Safe from the political stupidity of this whole rusting city!” He kicked a coin Vin had presumably dropped, watching as it hopskipped over the ramparts and fell to the ground beneath. “This is the first time you can break free from us, when you’re not tied to anyone, aren’t obligated to anyone. Don’t you see, Vin? You, me, we were never meant to be politicians or leaders or anything else other than a crew working towards a goal. Let the nobility, let Elend deal with this madness, with the koloss. You need to rest from this.” “I can’t, Dox,” she sighed. “I’m needed. Everywhere, and I can’t be everywhere. I thought...well, I thought Zane and I...could do something important here. That we could cleanse Luthadel of corruption. But...we missed the point. Dox, there’s a whole conflict outside even this mess...I can’t let up, can’t rest, as you put it.” She looked up, eyes red-rimmed. “The world needs me too much for any of that.” “The world can wait, Vin,” Dox implored. “Please. Come back with me. If you won’t continue with Elend, I don’t care. Just come back. Perhaps the city needs you, but it needs to see you back with us, with Elend, if it wants to preserve hope these coming days.” He paused, looking into her eyes. “Please,” he repeated. Vin wavered. “They have Elend already,” she said. “Let them look to him as their guide. What do they want with me—a rogue, a skaa, a vigilante?” “The Ascendant Warrior?” Dockson cut in. “The woman who slew the Lord Ruler, who saved this city once already? You’re a hero, Vin. But most importantly, you’re missed. The greatest service you can give Luthadel is to come back with us and regain your strength. You’ll accomplish nothing in this state.” He reached out his hand. Vin hesitated, a brief look of indecision etched onto her features, then reached out and grabbed it. “With you, then,” she answered gravely. “And there’ll be no returning this time.” Mailliw73 was lynched! He was Vin! Vin possessed the item: OreSeur. OreSeur: This Kandra allows the user to target one player each Night; the owner learns who their target performed their action on. Passive metals will not show up to this scan. Vote Count: Maill (5): Maill, Lum, Fura, Ark, Straw Night 7 has begun! It will end in about 22-23 hours, on Thursday 6 June at 9 PM EDT (-4:00 UTC). PMs remain open during the Night. Please abide by all restrictions on their use. Good luck! Player List:
  13. Zane was not Mad. The longer he stayed in Luthadel, the more certain he became that God was not a broken part of his head. God noticed people before he did sometimes, and knew things he didn’t. No one else could hear God, but God couldn’t hear his thoughts. God had wanted him to kill everyone he had ever seen, except Vin. Zane hadn’t know who Vin was when he first saw her, and had actually been looking forward to a proper challenge with another Mistborn when his father’s army had marched on Luthadel. But he had seen her, and had waited for the order, either from his father or from God, and neither had said a word about her. That night, Zane had left the camp and explored Luthadel. He looked for as many new people as he could, looked at as many people as possible, and God had told him to kill each one of them without fail. He had asked God about it, and God had stayed silent. God never remarked on Vin. He was scared of her. Zane worked hard to earn her favour. He murdered Cett’s minions, he demonstrated that he cared deeply about the things she cared about, he proved himself stronger in every way than his half brother, and finally she had come with him. He was timid, afraid of driving her away. He knew how others saw him, called him Zane the Mad. He worked hard to appear Sane and normal in all his dealings with her. Everything he did was strictly rational, everything he did was calm and controlled. He was not a savage, though he had been once. He was not insane, though others said otherwise. He was not a monster, though he wasn’t sure if anyone truly was. As the two of them carefully hunted down and killed Lekal’s supporters, he searched through records and lore, looking for anything that could be causing the voice in his head. God discouraged him constantly, but he persevered. With Vin’s help, he continued. And then a new voice spoke in his head, but Vin heard it too. The enemy speaks to those whose soul is pierced by Metal. Vin, do not trust those with spikes. And finally, Zane understood. “Somehow, Kelsier has become what the Skaa say he is, a god of some sort.” Vin was pacing back and forth on the secluded rooftop. “He can speak to those of us who have been hemalurgic spikes, like the inquisitors do.” She brushed the earring she had worn for as long as he had know her. “But he isn’t the only one who knows how.” She hesitated, glancing from him to her hands. “I think my brother Reen can as well. I’ve heard his voice ever since he abandoned me, and I know he died soon afterwards.” Zane rubbed his back, feeling at the thick circle of Steel protruding from his Spine. “Who died to make your Earring?” Vin shrugged. “Reen always told me that it was my sister. He found me covered in blood, my mother had killed her and given me my earring and proclaimed me queen of the world. Yours?” “I don’t know. I’ve always had it, and my father told me to ignore it. They tried to remove it once, and I nearly died. Apparently that it was caused me to Snap.” He didn’t remember it, but also didn’t remember ever not having Allomancy.” I Anointed you my Priest Zane. I knew you would be a powerful servant. He didn’t flinch at the voice. It too had been with him his whole life. And apparently the two were connected. “If we remove our Spikes, the Dead won’t be able to control us. Our Demons won’t be able to talk to us.” Vin nodded, coming to stand before him. You will lose a great deal of your power if you do. I gave you your power to serve me Zane! “I am a free man, and you are not God!” He snarled out to the side. Vin stepped back, her hands reflexively going towards her daggers. He wanted to be free of this. She could save him. This was how, this was how he could be free of God forever. “Vin, please, I need you to remove my Spike. I don’t want to hear the voices.” “We’re being hunted Zane, if we do it now, we could very well be caught without the ability to flee.” Listen to her Zane! Hunt them all down and Kill them first! That is why you were born! “No!” She shrunk down away from herself, “No, Vin, please that wasn’t at you, I, please I’m sorry.” He held out his hands to her. “Please Vin, I can’t stand it anymore, take it out of me.” NO! Zane didn’t react this time, and Vin slowly stepped forward. “Alright. Sit down and take your shirt off.” Don’t do this Zane! Zane turned around, and slowly knelt down. This is a terrible idea, you will die! He grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled it off above his head. Very few people had ever seen his spike, and none had had a positive reaction to it. Your only purpose in life is to Kill Zane, you are not even a man! He felt Vin’s hand brush down his spine, around the spike, and come to a stop. “This will hurt Zane.” You will be less than everyone if you do this! Your powers will be gone! You will be a wretched human again! Vin gripped his spike. He burned Bronze and felt the pewter pulses coming from her. He burned Pewter, and prepared to burn Duraluminum. “I’m ready.” You are Not! “Okay.” Zane gripped the edge of the roof, and felt Vin burn Duralumin. She yanked. NO! Zane screamed. He burned Duralumin and went through all of his pewter in a flash. The pain all left him, but the hole remained, barely healed at all. He fell forward, and Vin was at his side. She pressed something up to his lips, and he felt pewter dust begin to slide down his throat. He desperately burned it up as it reached his stomach, and the pain receded. “Are you there God?” He waited. Vin stared at him anxiously. No voice. He began to laugh, his whole body shaking with pain, and joy. Sobs wracked him as for the first time, he felt whole. He felt the blood spilling from the hole in his body, but Vin began to wrap a bandage around him. He burned Tin. Everything felt so new. Like the end of an Ashfall. Everything was brighter. Vin’s touch was softer. The stone underneath him was more solid. The voices from the floor below were more united. Oh. “Vin, below us.” He looked over his shoulder at her. Her head was cocked, and her beautiful hair streamed to one side. “I hear them. Can you stand?” Zane grabbed her shoulder for support, and tried to pull himself up. His legs gave way, and he fell to the floor. “Urgh, no. I’ll pull myself along.” The door on the far end of the roof slammed open, and 5 figures, clad in leather and holding thick wooden shields and canes strode out onto the roof. Vin cursed, and pointed up and too their left. “There’s an anchor up there. Let’s go.” She shot away, pulling on Iron. Zane burned Iron, found the anchor, and pulled. He barely got half his body off the floor before he collapsed a foot further than he had been. He blinked, and tried again, flaring his Iron. The Hazekillers were running towards him now. “Zane! Come on!” “I can’t Vin!” He flared his Iron harder, and dragged himself all the way to the end of the roof, smashing his barely responding body into the ramparts. Vin landed in front of him, daggers out. “Riot them then. Make them afraid. I’ll take them.” He could hear the tremors in her voice. More Hazekillers and soldiers were still coming out the far door. There were close to 2 dozen already spreading out around the two of them. Zane smiled. It felt good to smile. And it was an entirely new good. It wasn’t the thrill of an upcoming battle, but the joy of a coming end. “No, Vin, leave. Get to Terris. Thank you for everything.” She didn’t look at him. “I won’t abandon you. I’ve been on both sides of that far too often.” He could hear the tears coming. Zane knew that not all his power came from the Spike. He was better than that. Always had been. And Vin was still wearing her metals. He still had Steel. He inhaled, and then burned it, flared it, ignited it all at once, and pushed. She was above him, and before him, at a perfect angle. She yelped once as he flung her airborne, far from him, far from the earth that didn’t deserve her. Far enough away that she wouldn’t be able to die trying to protect him. His smile never faded as the Hazekillers came forward. “Goodbye, Vin,” he whispered, and the ring closed. _Stick_ was lynched! She was Zane the Unstable Mistborn! Vote Count: Stick (5): Lum, Fura, Snip, HH, Ada Elend Venture (2): Ark, Stick Night 6 has begun! It will end in about 22-23 hours on Monday 3 June at 9 PM EDT (-4:00 UTC). PMs remain open during the Night. Please abide by all restrictions on their use. Good luck! Player List:
  14. Era bent, aching at every joint, and knelt at the foot of one of her beloved plants. Water cupped in her hands carefully, she poured it gently onto the brown leaves, watching as they gratefully soaked in the moisture. She scowled. Not only had the Lord Ruler messed up her plants, converting them from green to brown, but now a spirit from the mists themselves had made off with her watering can. This was her solution until a new one could be procured—with Luthadel in the state it was, she suspected it could be a while. No matter. She had outlived old age, attacks from Spiked, the burning of her city. She would survive this as well. Reaching into the bucket at her side again and dousing her hands in the cool water, she felt a light tap on the shoulder. Spinning, she prepared to tap a concealed Pewter metalmind, but the mist spirit simply drew itself away from her, gazing at her curiously. In its hand, it held her silver watering can, and it gazed at Era with a bemused expression on its face. Feeling a surge of relief and joy, Era took the can with trembling hands, then let out a loud whoop of joy, uncharacteristic of her advanced years. Flicking some of the water at the spirit, which recoiled, she set out to the rest of her watering with a renewed vigour and joy. A small miracle, but the first she may have witnessed in decades. Then two figures descended on her deserted field. The first came walking, a long spear in his hand. He was garbed like a soldier, yet oddly carried a variety of small wooden statues at his hip. Their carved faces and forms stared at Era as the rarely seen Doma approached her at a constant speed, in no particular hurry. Era frowned. “Is something wrong, Doma?” “Yes, he answered simply. “My master has ordered your death.” Raising the spear, he slammed it into Era’s chest, and her eyes widened as she hit the dirt row in between her vegetables, tapping Pewter in a desperate attempt to gain the vitality she needed to fight the wound. “Do not...disturb my plantings...” she sputtered as her breath began to leave her. “Had enough...gardens ruined...by callous fools...” Her voice trailed into nothingness as she slowly slipped into unconsciousness, unable to recover from the initial shock of her wound. Doma regarded her for a second, and then gently moved her head off a small lettuce. She had deserved better. Still, orders were orders, and he did not have to like them to execute them. The second figure came flying, a small clip hitting the hardpacked earth as a trailing dark form appeared against the rising sun. Zane. Doma’s heart seethed with rage as the Mistborn descended, and he threw his spear at the flying Mistborn, seeking to impale him. Of all the places for that Mistborn to find him! Suddenly, the Mistborn changed course. Snatching Doma’s spear out of the air and twirling it around, he suddenly Pulled himself toward Doma, spear extended. The two hit the ground, Doma first, Zane’s weight driving his sturdy iron-tipped spear through his heart. As the man gurgled and choked, his life failing him, Zane stood and regarded the neatly planted rows around him, moving Doma’s body, which had fallen in a row of the hardened dirt which Era used as a path, into a more parallel position with the garden. He studied his nemesis’ face for another brief moment, then dropped another coin, soaring back towards the heart of the besieged city. Behind him, a garden stood untouched by the ravages of two conflicts—yet as their blood watered the soil under which they lay, the presence of Era and Doma was already departing that sacred place, leaving for other realms, and the protective hand of the gardener and the calloused hand of the soldier, both shielding and supporting in their own ways, would be gone perhaps forever. Elandera was attacked and killed! She was a Elend’s Loyalist Rioter 1! Rathmaskal was attacked and killed! He was a Subordinate Seeker 2 with an Inserted Hemalurgic Spike! Hemalurgic Spike: While a player holds this item, they may choose to Insert, Remove, or Pass the spike. While the Spike is inserted, the user gains the passive abilities of Thug 2 and Tineye 1, but cannot be Smoked. The extra life from Thug 2 may only be used once. Day 6 has begun! It will end in about 46-47 hours on Sunday 2 June at 9 PM EDT (-4:00 UTC). Please remember that PMs remain closed during the Day. There will be a lynch today, with no vote minimum required to kill. Good luck! Player List:
  15. Now when it was known that Zane had escaped from their grasp once again and pursuit was unavailing, Elend’s Loyalists remained long seated in darkness in the quiet of their rooms; but the Subordinates for the most part returned to their plots and mourned for the lost opportunity. Through the dim alleys of Luthadel mists drifted in from outside the city walls and mantled the storefronts, and the lamps and torches of many men began burning pale against the gloom of the setting sun. Then suddenly Senn Conrad appeared in the city and called on all to come to the courtyard of Keep Venture upon the summit of its highest turret; but the doom of banishment and exile that had been laid on him by Elend was not lifted, and he openly defied the Loyalists. The multitude gathered swiftly, therefore, to hear what he would say; and the turret and all the passages and walls of the Keep were lit with the light of many torches that each one bore in hand. Conrad was a master of words, and his tongue held great power over hearts when he would use it; and that night he made a speech to the Loyalists which they ever remembered. Fierce and fell were his words, and full of frustration and pride; and hearing them the Loyalists were stirred to madness. His wrath and his hate were given the most part to Astick, and yet it was with him and from him that well nigh all the words which issued from his mouth had their ultimate source; but he was distraught from grief from the slaying of his companion, and with anguish from the loss of his quartzite skull. He claimed now the leadership of all the Subordinates now that Zane the Mad was dead, and he scorned the decrees of Elend. “Why, O people of Luthadel,” he cried, “why should we serve the jealous Elend, who cannot keep us nor even his own city safe from the ravages of Mistborn? And though he be now their foe, was not his date and Zane of one kin? Vengeance calls me hence, but even were it otherwise I would not dwell longer in the same land with the kindred of my comrade’s slayer and of the thief of my treasure. Yet I am not the only valiant in this valiant people. And have not all ye lost a friend to this war? And what else have ye not lost, being cooped up in a narrow city between Straff Venture’s horde and an army of koloss?” “Here once was life, which Elend begrudged to Scadrial, but now death levels all. Shall we mourn here deedless for ever, a shadow-folk, mist-haunting, dropping vain arrows on an innumerable horde? Or shall we return to our lives? In Luthadel under the Lord Ruler ran sweet the flow of free commerce through plains unclouded with armies. Wide lands lay about, where a free people might walk. There they lie still, awaiting us who in our folly forsook them. Come away! Let the cowards keep this city and police its laws!” Long he spoke, and ever he urged the Loyalists to follow him and by their own prowess kill Astick and win great valour with the forces of Lekal. Yet recalling their separate callings Astick and Laila his supporter therefore spoke against Conrad, and fierce words awoke, so that wrath came to the edge of swords. Divided into two camps, the Loyalists arose; but though the split had seemingly been even, the influence of a few voices, spoken in underhanded tones in choice words, would prove the deciding factor. Conrad was therefore stripped of his vials of metal, and forced to burn aluminum in preparation for his execution, on the outskirts of the keep, there to throw him down from the sheer walls of the city. And Astick stood by and said nothing; but at the last Conrad cried out: “So you forsake your city and your kin, ill-gotten fiend! Here shall you fail of all your hopes, and here may you yet die the same death as I.” Then they cast Conrad over the walls of the Keep, and so he ended. Devotary of Spontaneity was lynched! She was Count Senn Conrad III! Vote Count:find it now? Devotary (6): Maill, Elandera, HH, Stick, Ada Stick (4): Lum, Fura, Devotary, Rath, Straw Night 5 has begun! It will end in about 22-23 hours on Friday 31 May at 9 PM EDT (-4:00 UTC). You have one more turn to find your items before they’re lost forever to the Hostile Mist Spirit. PMs remain open during the Night. Please continue to abide by all restrictions on their use. Good luck! Player List:
  16. Aname Plees took the stairs 2 at a time, leaving the poor doctor behind in his living room, yelling after her. He said it was the second door on the left. She skidded to a stop before it, just barely avoiding slamming it open. She breathed in, then opened the door quietly. "Oh hey Aname! Here to check up on me?" Aname exhaled loudly, and laughter bubbled up before she quelled it. Of course he was alive, the doctor had said he survived. "Hello Oramen. How are you feeling?" The older gentleman was sitting in a bed, bandaged almost beyond recognition, yet still beaming in the morning light. A long wooden pole had been tied to one arm in order to keep it straight, and it looked like his leg had the same treatment under the blanket. "Definitely been better. But I'm alive! That never happens!" She came all the way into the room and shut the door behind her. She walked over to his bed, hesitated as she realised she didn't want to hurt him on accident, then dragged a rickety chair over. "The Doctor said you walked all the way here from Tin Street?" She glanced at his leg again. It definitely had a pole strapped to it. Oramen nodded sagely. “And a long walk it was, but I couldn't die! I had to keep moving, had to Survive! Something protected me Aname." She settled into her chair backwards, leaning forward onto its backrest and looked him right in the eyes. “Tell me everything.” "So, late last night, we were all at the great inn, the one where Jenny accidently dropped a whole pot of soup on Marley, remember that? Anyway, Era jumped onto a table and said 'Yo dudes, we gotta find the Mistborn, and it's totally Doma, so everyone go kill him' and we all tried to! He had just been standing in the corner, but turns out, he was just a cardboard cutout! I didn't even know we had those yet!" Aname blinked. Cardboard? Yet? "But Era was like 'oh no he got away! Everyone go run around and chase him down, except me, because I'm an old lady!' So I grabbed that old dude Astick and say 'yo dawg, I bet Doma's hiding in the old Canal!' Oh hey, did you know that one of Astick's legs is made of wood? Pretty cool for an old dude. But he said 'no way, if Doma is a mistborn, he'll be high as a kite! We should check out the tallest rooftops in the city!' And I was like 'great idea man,' so we were on top of Keep Hastings. You know where that is right?" Oh, he was looking at her like he was waiting for something. This was difficult to follow. "Uh, how does he walk with a wooden leg?" "I know right? But so on the roof of the Keep, we saw a dude sleeping, and Astick was all like, 'haha found you now Zane! Now we're going to kill you!' But then the figure looked up, and we realized it was Zane, and we remembered, we're just like, an old guy with a wooden leg and a broke nobleman, and how were we gonna defeat a Mistborn? Oh hey, can I Borrow some money to pay the Doctor? I'll pay you back later." Aname nodded, still trying to process what he was saying. Wasn't Keep Hasting on Machmuller street? "Awesome, I owe you one! So Zane is like 'come on guys, I was taking a nap, I was having a great dream where my dad got eaten by dogs, and now I'm gonna kill you for waking me up!' And he grabbed Astick's wooden leg and ripped it off, which is how I learned it was wooden, and then he smacked Astick in the head with it! Knocked him right off the rooftop! He just went up and then down, screaming like he was dying or something! So Zane turns to me, and I'm just praying to someone, whoever, to save me, and then a door bangs open, and a dozen Lekal soldiers pour onto the roof to fight Zane! I'm thanking the Lord Ruler for sending soldiers to save me, but one of them sees me and shoves me off the roof as well! I fall through the mist, perfectly quiet cause I'm brave like that, and smash into a cabbage cart at the base of the keep. I'm laying there, and I can hear Astick right next to me, moaning about how in his day, kids didn't throw their elders off of roofs or whatever. But then we hear a voice, is real spooky, and it says 'Yo dudes, it's not your time to die yet, you gotta go tell everyone that Steeldancer reports that devotary is lying about being Conrad, and that his team believes that Hemalurgic headshot is Zane. Kill HH before you kill Mailliw. I have asked Young Bard if he role claimed, but he has not yet responded.' Then we walked here." "You walked here." Aname raised an eyebrow at him. "Astick was missing a leg, and you guys had both fallen from the roof of a Keep. But you walked here." Oramen nodded. "I think I deserve a Keep named after me, since I found where Zane sleeps ya know?" She nodded and stood, reaching forward to pat him.on the head. "I will go tell Elend to give you a Keep. You just keep resting. Okay? Okay good. Buh bye!" Introducing a New RP Challenge: So I realise that despite getting to do some cool writeups along with Joe (all credit to Joe here, by the way), I’ve not been giving you guys a ton of opportunities to interact with the story. Usually as a GM, I’ll have one character that I develop throughout, or I’ll do a pattern of writeups or something to keep RP coming, but I’ve been more inconsistent this game. So, instead...we’re going to have a little fun with this. I will now be commanding the Hostile Mist Spirit. This cycle, the Mist Spirit has decided to go around and steal a small, personal item from every player. Whenever I have time in this cycle, you will receive a PM that details the item you lost, with a short paragraph of RP along with it. Respond in-thread to the loss, in RP, with any potential plans to regain your item or a long contemplation on how you’re going to accept this loss (or anything else you want to do with it, if it makes sense to your character and to the story). I will give arbitrary points and awards to players who have good RP at the end of the game, up to and including small statues, Emerald Broams, and other assorted odds and ends. Most importantly, though, I just want you all to have fun with this and hopefully liven up the thread a bit more. Straw was attacked, but survived! _Stick_ was attacked, but survived! Day 5 has begun! It will end in about 46-47 hours on Thursday 30 May at 9 PM EDT (-4:00 UTC). There is a lynch today, with no vote minimum required to kill. Please remember that PMs remain closed during the Day. Good luck! Player List:
  17. Era leaned most of her weight on Astick’s bony shoulder as she carefully climbed onto the wooden crate. She settled herself, then accepted her cane as Astick handed it up. “Bless you sir.” Astick grinned a toothless grin and gave a little bow as he backed away. Era grasped the cane tightly before her, and stood ramrod straight. “We’re at an important crossroads here, so you young’uns listen up.” She waited as people began to quiet, elbowing others into paying attention. “Luthadel is beset by enemies, both on the outside and the inside. Lekal’s goons are running around in the Survivor’s mist, killing us left and right, and we have a group of Rogue Mistborn trying to kill them, mostly by killing any of us that even might be taking Lekal’s coin. We all have a few people we suspect have their pockets full, but that’s no longer the issue. We have to find the most dangerous of our enemies first, as they’ll be killing us the sooner. So I’d like to call a vote.” She raised her cane and pointed at three people. “Astick, Doma, and Varuun.” Astick, the nice old man started, and mouthed “but I helped you.” Varuun carefully made his way towards her, then stood with hands clasped, watching attentively. Doma leaned against the wall, making no moves. “I’m fairly certain, given everything we’ve seen since Lekal’s arrival, that one of those three is Zane the Mad. Does anyone disagree?” Amid the low rumbling of assent, Laila, the Noblewoman who had been so outspoken against Elend, stood up on her own table with the help of a servant. Era cursed under her breath. Anyone but her, please, let me die of old age before I hear that pretentiousness again. “I agree that the Mistborn must be hunted. And I would like to direct everyone’s attention to Varuun.” Everyone looked at the man, who looked back stoically. “Everyone has seen Zane the Mad before. He was used as a messenger when our ‘noble King’s Father arrived to assume his place. And yet, none of us can find a man who looks like Zane anymore.” She pointed dramatically at the man again, emphasizing her words. “This man can change his appearance faster than anyone I know. I once saw him duck into an alley, and come out with a different color of skin! He’s a master of disguise! Far more likely to be Zane than Astick!” “Hear hear!” Astick called out, shaking his cane at Varuun. Huh. That was actually somewhat logical, if hard to verify. “Well, I tend to agree. Varuun needs to go.” Snip and Makail both yelled out their agreement. Varuun cocked his head. “Why do you lie to defend Astick so much Laila? Are you so desperate to kill me? Did you not hear the excellent arguments posed by the honorable Era?” He turned and nodded to the old Terriswomen. “Your argument is correct madam. Zane is the greatest threat to everyone in this city, and out. Killing me would only hasten his slaughter of everyone in this building.” Era hesitated as the man’s eyes burned into her. But before she could say anything, Astick spoke up. “Laila is right, you heard her, Varuun is extremely suspicious, and needs to be killed before he kills anymore of us!” Era looked back and forth between the two of them. Varuun nodded his head, directing her gaze to Doma, still leaning against the wall, not intervening whatsoever. She made a snap decision. “It’s Doma. It’s definitely Doma.” Varuun turned to the room at large. “Doma is Zane everyone. Aname, Ford, will you help me restrain him?” Ford looked to Era, who nodded. He stepped up. “I will. We will deal with You and Astick later.” Aname slowly shook her head. “I think it’s Laila, I think she’s Vin. That’s why she dislikes Elend so much, she abandoned him.” Makail stepped up in her place, ignoring her words. “I’ll help.” The three strode purposefully towards Doma, who continued to not move. Ford and Makail both lunged forward, each grabbing an arm, Varuun was a step behind, and grabbed the man’s neck, slamming him backwards into the wall. The two dimensional body fell away, leaving each of them awkwardly holding an appendage. Varuun tilted the papery head of Doma sideways, then looked around the room, mouth agape. “What, what is this?” Ford knelt, and picked up the thin body. “It weighs practically nothing! Was he ever even here?” “Well no one just stand around!” Era’s shout snapped them to attention. “Don’t let him survive! Go out there and find him!” A Divine Image Cruelty has a human heart, And Jealousy a human face. Terror the human form divine, And Secrecy the human dress. I know you checked this Fura The human dress is forgéd iron, The human form a fiery forge, The human face a furnace sealed, The human heart its hungry gorge. —William Blake Rathmaskal was lynched, but survived! Vote Count: Rath (4): Elandera, Fura, Devotary, HH, Ada Devotary (3): Maill, Snip, Stick Maill (1): Lumthanks for vote consistency HH (1): Arkyou too Ark Night 4 has begun! It will end in about 22-23 hours on Tuesday 28 May at 9 PM EDT (-4:00 UTC). PMs remain open at Night. Please abide by all restrictions on them. Good luck! Player List:
  18. “...you let the assassin die.” Senn Conrad’s head swivelled around the basement where Lekal’s men were meeting. Blank stares greeted him for the most part, though a few newer members had slightly widened eyes at the edges from his tone. Good. They should all be quaking in terror for their blunders. He began again. “Do you honestly mean to tell me that you let Elend’s men simply execute the man we specifically hired to dispose of the rogue Mistborn?” His voice rose in intensity and anger. “The one with the best chance of killing the very threat which brought this entire operation down the last time I spearheaded it?” He flared his iron, sending a small deluge of coins and metal figurines hurling at his chest at terminal velocity. Of course, the hard wooden plate on his front easily withstood the objects, and they clattered to the ground in front of him. He picked up a coin, contemplating it for a moment. He then threw it to a surprised crewperson, who made a fumbling catch. “You think I run this operation because of the gold you pay me,” Conrad whispered. “I can get all the gold I wish for. I am part of your group for vengeance against those Mistborn and against the Venture usurper. Let Lekal’s army starve to death and consume itself outside the city! I care not. But I will not allow you all to fail this mission. It is too essential; we are the only ones with the power to neutralise the two great dangers of our time.” The same blank stares greeted him, though the wider eyes were more prevalent now. Conrad grimaced, feeling his anger flare up white-hot within him. Perhaps he would have to do it all himself. “Very well then,” he said. “Expect me back in a few hours.” Burning Iron and Pulling on a heavy metal bar fixed to a ceiling beam, Conrad soared in the air, his practice with Iron making him nearly as effective with movement as a Coinshot or Mistborn. He would seek his own targets tonight. Makail sat slumped over by his intricately constructed, interlocking tower of steel and iron. A true pity that nobody ever came close enough to one of his devious architectural inventions for him to see them work as intended. He supposed that nobody was going to come into the outskirts of Luthadel if they could help it; while high crime rates were a convenient myth, and kept plenty away from Makail’s dwelling, he’d figured that somebody would accost him eventually out of suspicion or treachery. But so far, his peace remained undisturbed. So he drifted back to sleep, not knowing of the two cloaked figures drawing steadily nearer with each dropped coin. Conrad had found the man he was looking for—Cadoxi, apparently a Thug judging by their bulging frame and the callous ease with which they handled their heavy sword. He was appropriate as a bodyguard, Conrad supposed, as he did now, standing protectively over somebody’s sleeping form. Well, it was none of Conrad’s business who the man shielded. It was just his job to kill him. Burning a mere trace of iron, the familiar blue lines cropped up in Conrad’s vision. Most of the metal sources were too heavy to move. It was not the case with the bag of clips Conrad had left directly behind the bodyguard, in a direct line to his current position. He smiled, adjusting his wooden breastplate, then closed his eyes and flared iron. A muted thud was all that announced Cadoxi as he hit the ground, fifteen holes in his torso. Ignoring the muffled cries of the sleeping form, which had just awoken, Conrad laughed as he sprinted away and then took to the air, Pulling on bars of iron to aid his flight. So Steel was the important external physical metal? Nonsense. He would break Luthadel with a rod of solid iron. Zane alighted softly on top of a small stone house, turning off his steel before making a gentle landing on its flattened roof. He looked down at the sleeping form of Makail, a soft smile bathing his face. All too easy, once again. The man expected nothing, and with Vin covering the path of his retreat, it would be a quick and harmless sting. Hopefully this would be another Spider. Flipping a coin between his fingertips, Zane flared his Steel, Pushing it towards the sleeping man. A slight creaking under his feet was all the warning Zane would get as the entire house came crumbling down from underneath his feet. Too shocked for befuddlement, Zane cried out in pain as his body hit the mass of stone bricks and iron bars below; meanwhile, with Zane’s position changed, the coin he shot flew wildly off-course, fading into the misty sky. That had hurt. Zane coughed, and was greeted with a handful of blood. Excellent. What was this contraption he had stumbled into? Seconds ago, it had been a sturdy stone house with metal supports; now, it lay in a heap of rubble. Likely Makail, who was now fled, had somehow designed it to trick Mistborn. Zane groaned. He had to get out of here before Day broke. Burning Steel, being careful to Push only on his coin this time, he shot towards Vin, chants of death circulating in his head as his wracked and injured form took to the skies. Cadmium Compounder was attacked and killed! He was a Elend’s Loyalist Thug 1! Hemalurgic Headshot was attacked, but survived! Day 4 has begun! It will end in 46-47 hours on Monday 27 May at 9 PM EDT (-4:00 UTC). There is a lynch today, with no votes required to kill a player. Please remember that PMs are closed at Day. Good luck! Player List:
  19. Somebody else is preparing a special writeup for Steeldancer’s death, and will likely deserve all the upvotes you can give them once he finishes. By virtue of its high quality, that will take a while, and in the meantime there’s an awful lot of blank space up here, and I don’t want to put “writeup to come.” It’s too simplistic, and does too little honour to a player I’ve known and respected for a year and a half. I am no Elbereth, to give Steel a depiction in language which reveals his inner tendencies and voice, though I wish such skills were mine—perhaps they will be, someday, but certainly to do so now in the span of little over an hour would be immensely difficult and beyond my current capabilities as a writer. However, before this game resumes and we all move on, I’d like to describe, in the ways I know best, the man you just lynched. If they are direct, without connotation, so be it. Steeldancer was my first taste of what SE was like. Really, the game I’m rerunning, LG41, was, but other than Seonid, who extended a welcoming hand and invited me to see what SE was like, Steel was the first to welcome me informally into this strange and bloody corner of the Shard. Despite fighting for his life as Zane in this very game, around cycle 3 when pressure was truly mounting, he carved out the time to send me a PM, though I’d posted once on the Shard total and was doing little other than stalking the Day and Night threads in which the game was occurring. Overcoming my doubts about following and joining SE, Steel’s PM, entitled “I see you lol,” would be a driving factor in my decision to join the AG and step out of the shadows into the broader community. If that was his only contribution to my presence and life on this subforum, that would already be plenty to earn him prominence alongside Seonid as one of the few who started me on the road to being a gentleman killer of SE. But his interactions with me didn’t stop there. AG4/AN1 was my first game, and as many of you know, Steel and I found each other despite the anonymity, quickly teamed up, and crushed the village in almost the minimum number of turns. The only catch is that we were both villagers ourselves. The hilarity of how we deceived ourselves into trusting almost all the Eliminators was not lost on either of us, and despite times when we both thought the other was evil, our misguided alliance only drew us closer together throughout that game. Steel was definitely the first friend I made on the subforum, largely as a result of this initial failure, and the utter destruction we wreaked on our own faction would ironically prove the beginning of a lasting relationship. Time would fail me to speak of our other alliances, which tested and reaffirmed this bond. Betrayal and death in LG42; a firm commitment and kinship in LG49, when we would stand together against hordes of Alethi demanding my blood; AG5, uniting our factions for a common purpose for one brief, shining moment, and when I would advocate for his death and Return. Many smaller moments in the LGs and MRs scattered between, PMs discussing small things, and a constant attempt to reform the original pact of AG4, the mutual trust at whatever cost which made games so interesting. And I’ve not even spoken of when we’ve interacted as GMs—Steel’s joined every one of my games, and I’ve been able to say the same about his (if you count IMing) except for this last MR, which saddens me, but I haven’t read Skyward and will need to finish this game up. I’m grateful to Steel that he’s done that, if only so I can troll him mercilessly (as I’ve done in this game ). He’s always a willing and enthusiastic player, no matter what role or alignment he is, and that’s a joy to see as a GM. It’s therefore somewhat striking, and saddening, that I’m about to lose all this. Certainly, I’m losing a close compatriot in SE, as I’ve detailed extensively above. But I’m also losing a part of the initial touch that brought me into the community; I’m losing a friend with whom I could discuss nearly anything; and I’m losing Steel’s optimistic attitude and constant excitement with the small wonders of the world, which helped bring about our friendship to begin with. These are the indelible aspects of Steel which cannot be adequately replaced, and which I will miss the most when he is off on his mission. To close this, Steel, I simply wish you safety and good fortune on your mission, and look forward to your safe return to us in two years. I thank you for your impact on my life, and doubtless your touch on the lives of others which is similarly profound. With all that said and done... Steeldancer was lynched! He was a Lekal’s Subordinate Assassin and Smoker 1! Vote Count: Steel (9): Maill, Elandera, Fura, Devotary, Rath, CadCom, Stick, Straw, Ark Stick (1): Steel Rath (1): HH Fura (1): Lumgol Night 3 has begun! It will end Saturday 25 May at 9 PM EDT (-4:00 UTC), in about 22-23 hours. PMs are open. Please abide by all restrictions on them. Good luck! Player List:
  20. The wizened, weathered man strolled down the ash-covered street, a slight grimace on his face. Eyes downcast, he did not bother knocking at the burnt-down door of the vacant library. A fine enough place to stay the night, perhaps search for something. It was therefore a surprise when the library door swung open of its own accord, by a man who looked slightly surprised himself by his actions. Jumae was somewhat used to it—he did have the special talent of Rioting, and used it almost subconsciously now. The man, instead of apprehending him, smiled, revealing a set of slightly yellowed and dirt-encrusted teeth, and started to ask about his business. That would not do. Jumae cut in. “Why does everything in this rusting city decay?” The doorkeeper shut his mouth quickly, but it was too late to hide his rotting teeth from everyone else who Jumae now realised was with him. One of those men had shaggy and decrepit hair, which Jumae took quick note of. So it was at that moment when everyone in the Library got confused when everything seemed to lose its decrepit state. Jumae, his eyes nearly closed, held up his cuticle, around which swirled a miniature cloud of dust and decay, going from a small size, then expanding into something considerable, then nearly enveloping his whole hand (side note, watch out for Stink’s small, medium and large Nalthis games coming soon!). “Now all shall be clean, even in this despairing night!” Jumae exclaimed, reminding everyone that although all had seemingly been restored to a new brightness, even in the dark, sound remained the same. Instantly, the room was enveloped in an uproar, the men in the library charging at Jumae. “But I needed that decrepit nature to continue my disguise, and fully deceive my audience!” the doorman cried, swinging a heavy staff at Jumae’s skull. “But my shabby, dirty hair! That took three months without the use of conditioners!” another assailant screamed, dealing a solid punch to Jumae’s jaw. “Hey, who swept this place since the fire?” some poor, deaf heanchman cried out while beating Jumae’s arm, unable to hear Jumae’s points of wisdom. Jumae simply laughed, or cackled if you thought he was evil. This was only the beginning of the lawlessness and terror in this godless city since the death of the Lord Ruler and the failure to recognise Elend. He knew there was much more coming; he could feel it in his fingers and toes, could hear it whispered to him as he slowly lost his grip on life...With a final flourish, Jumae pointed at the Doorman and bellowed out the words that came to him from that voice: “Less RP this time, more Precision: Don’t know if Mailliw is evil, just he always lies about how much he knows/how many pm’s he has. I told Coop and Lum that the other was a Lekal Subordinate to see if one would stay silent and kill the other. Gotta find the Mistborn somehow. I win if either the Mistborn wins with Vin still alive, or if the Village wins, and Zane died before Vin. I know of every possible secret role, but I have no clue which ones are in the game, and I won’t spoil Fifth scholar’s fun by telling you what they are or what they do. Each Night, I can post a 200 word message in the writeup, and a 5 word message in each player’s PM. My Document is the dead doc, so I can pass along messages from the dead. Randuir thinks Mailliw is Evil. I won’t reveal the rest of my abilities, since there are things you guys can do to me. (Please don’t) Also, I give anyone permission to RP Fynn Seidel. He’s a paranoid Worldhopper who really wants to kill the Mistborn and Elend.” Jumae then collapsed, dead, to the ashen floor of the library’s ruins. A faint cry, barely decipherable. Dedne sprang out of his semi-recumbent posture within his chair, eyes darting to the source of the yell. The old library, now just a heap of ashes. Who could be doing anything down there at such an hour of the night? Almost anyone, he reminded himself. You’re still cutting tomorrow’s fabric for your job, who knows what others may do? Dedne glanced around, looking for a weapon to use; from the increasing frequency of the cries—was that laughter?—he would need one. Wiping away a small puddle of drool with a grimace where he had fallen asleep, Dedne grabbed the nearest sharp object: the newly recovered Extra-Large Obsidian Scissors. He felt bad putting the object at risk after it had just been stolen, but he needed something If he was going to catch those Subordinates. Running out the front door, Dedne sprinted towards the library “doors,” pace quickening as he heard Jumae’s voice begin to utter cries seemingly devoid of meaning. He remembered them anyway, or at least tried to, as he rushed to apprehend the murderers. Other citizens were waking up as well by now, some in shock, and some clearly deeming what Jumae was saying to be of the highest importance. Dedne alone rushed towards the intruders, squinting to get a better view of their faces, blocked as they were by the injured form of his friend. He held the scissors aloft, ready to ompale any in his way. Immediately, the group stopped beating on Jumae, who was mortally wounded. Donning hoods quickly and sending the body towards Dedne with a well-timed Steelpush, the group withdrew, some more quickly than others, but all sprinting away. Seeing no choice, Dedne pursued, weaving left and letting the body skid to a halt on the loosely paved road. Through crowded streets full of nobility moving armies around, to the narrower alleys where skaa lurked, the chase continued, but one by one the Subordinates evaded him; they had not woken up mere minutes earlier, and fled with the speed of a hunted hart. Still, one man remained in sight, and was indeed more tired than Dedne himself. Excellent. He would catch one of Conrad’s gang this day. Taking a sharp left where the man had just ducked beyond the corner, Dedne faced a narrow alleyway. Pulling out his scissors again, he looked up; perhaps he had finally trapped the man. The two Mistborn stood in the dark passage, smiling. Dedne tried to duck, but four coins lacerated his chest, dropping him instantly beside the dead Subordinate who had met the same grisly fate. Dedne heard voices, as if from the end of a long tunnel. “Well, Vin, did we get two spiders or just the one?” “One, I think,” Vin replied. “Look—he was pursuing the other, and shows no markings of Lekal’s.” Through a dim mist, Dedne saw the Mistborn bend, muttering something more, but she was too far off to make anything out. Perhaps he would...sleep again. Yes, that sounded wonderful. Dedne’s dead body fell forward into Vin’s arms, a testament to the will of Elend’s men—and of their paucity. STINK was attacked and killed! He was a Elend’s Loyalist Rioter 2! Xinoehp512 was attacked and killed! He was a Elend’s Loyalist Smoker 1! Day 3 has begun! It will end in 46-47 hours, on Friday 24 May at 9 PM EDT. There will be a lynch today, with no vote minimum. Please remember that PMs are closed during the Day. Good luck! check LG24!Jumae Player List:
  21. “Are we sure we want to be putting any trust in the words of a dying kandra, and whispers that we only thought we heard?” Needa held her hands out, as if waiting for the answer. “There’s no literature on the subject of the mist speaking to us, but there is literature on the subject of those under a lot of stress experiencing auditory hallucinations.” “The church of the Survivor teaches us that the Mists were claimed by the Survivor after his Ascension.” Aname stepped forward, gently stroking a silver pin shaped as a spear. “I believe that these voices are true, that the Survivor of Hathsin speaks to us even now, telling us what we must know in order to survive.” There were murmurs of agreement from the crowd. Needa resisted rolling her eyes as the superstition. Her whole life, she had been raised to believe that The Lord Ruler was god. Obviously, he had been lying. He was just a powerful man who took control. Now that he was dead, people were looking for a new god. "You really believe that Kelsier wants you to kill Heer Kilyal, an owl, in order to survive the army of Koloss." There was more hesitation now, but Aname nodded. Needa rubbed her forehead and turned to go. "I'm not going to participate in this tomfoolery. I'm going home." She ignored the gasps of indignation from behind her. She had heard the same whispers they had, and was pretty sure it was imagined, possibly a result of a enemy Rioter inflaming their paranoia and fear. Actually, that was a good theory. She could probably find some evidence of that in the old histories, and show people that they needed to be hunting a rogue Misting, not searching for a new God. She took the steps up to the Library two at a time, sparing no time as she hurried to the histories. She pulled one down from the shelf, skimmed its chapter headings, then grabbed another. Then a treatise on Allomancy. Then a treatise on Inquisitors. Almost two glorious hours of uninterrupted studying later, there was a crash and a woosh from the front door. She dropped her book and ran for the entryway. It was on fire. The front door was down, and fire was consuming the long carpets, tapestries, and furniture. Outside, she could hear a large crowd chanting, “Death to the non-believer! Kelsier died for us, and Survived that death! Kill those who impugn his glorious name!” There were more crashes from deeper in her library, and Needa knew she would not be escaping this. There was nothing else she could do. Senn Conrad III stood out with the jeering mob of Survivorists in the late twilight hours, surrounding the library of Needa Naime. So that was where that skaa girl had been hiding herself all along. Among rows and shelves of books—not the typical hiding place for an inferior peasant. Though was she skaa? The former occupants had been illiterate, and perhaps a much better man, so anything was possible. Conrad dismissed the thoughts from his mind. He had more important things to focus on here. Namely, some inconvenient rumours that Lekal’s men could be traced back to documents in the very building held under seige by the Survivorists. As he stood in thought, one particularly inspired Survivorist leapt to his feet. “We need to break in there and give the heretic that runs this place a taste of the Survivor’s true power!” Some of the mob roared assent. Conrad smiled thinly. A perfect chance to rid Luthadel of its records which might trace him—mobs could be useful like that. Donning his hood, he projected his voice, using a trick he had learned to make it carry just above the hubbub of excited voices. “Burn her out! Take down this symbol of apostasy!” There was a brief pause, and some of the crowd around him took up the chant hesitantly. Conrad bellowed again, clear and loud. “Burn her out! Death to the unbeliever! Death!” The chant was spreading now. Soon, nobody would recall its source. Which was all the better for him. Secrecy of identity was necessary for their mission. And another obstacle to that secrecy had been removed; the mob had already lit torches and begun their work. Taking one last glance into the freshly kindled flames which dotted the roof of the library, and which were starting to consume the building, Conrad stood aside, fading back into the emerging mists. Soon, nothing would stand in his way. Not even that Mistborn. “Is it Kelsier?” Elend looked around the hall, meeting the eyes of each of the Survivors former crewmembers in turn. “I’ve heard lots of myths about the man, but none like this. I know he had that Kandra, OreSeur, impersonate him after his death, but by all accounts, this is something else.” Dockson leaned forward onto his elbows and clasped his hands together. “I’ve know him the longest, and I’m quite certain that if the dead could speak to the living, Kelsier would be the one to figure out how to. But,” he raised his arms and shrugged, “I’m open to other options.” “Well, whatever this mistspirit is, Vin mentioned seeing it before she was taken.” Elend turned around and began to pace, pointedly ignoring the looks the others shot each other. “I believe it is real. If it can actually communicate with the dead, then we need to figure out how to talk to it. There are plenty of secrets that the dead can tell us.” “You’re talking about the Lord Ruler’s Atium stache?” Elend looked back and gave a tight smile. “Breeze’s plan notwithstanding, I’d still like to bribe the armies to go away. It’ll be easier than hunting down all their agents in the city.” Hammond cleared his throat and stood up, “Speaking of, there was another riot today. Ms. Naime was killed. Her library was burned down with her inside. We need to maintain order in the city. I don’t think we can waste time ghost hunting.” “On the contrary my dear Ham,” Breeze pointed, “if it is Kelsier, Vin will obey him. If we get Vin back, she can rally the people behind him, Ascendent Warrior and all, and order and morale will be restored.” “If he deigns to support our noble led government.” said Dockson. “If.” Arraenae was lynched! She was the Librarian! Vote Count: Rae (7): Elandera, Fura, Xino, Devotary, Steel, Rath, CadCom CadCom (2): Coop, HH Maill (1): Lum, Stink Rath (1): Stick Xino (1): Maill Night 2 has begun! It will end in about 22-23 hours, on Wednesday 22 May at 9 PM EDT (-4:00 UTC). PMs are currently open. Please remember all rules regarding the use of PMs; namely, make sure that I am in all of them, that they are only one-on-one, and that you refrain from PMing anybody who is not living and on the player list. Enjoy flooding my inbox again.
  22. Wol the messenger sighed wearily as he wrote out his Master’s third last will and testament. The dull rumble of the ball turned debate turned lynch mob downstairs was making it hard to concentrate on his master’s voice. Usually when the mobs came for his master, they were quieter about it. Lord Hadrian Penrod paused in his dictation. “How long have you been with me Wol?” “My lord? At least 4 years now sir?” Hadrian nodded. “That sounds right. And how often have you seen this situation play out with me?” Wol smiled softly at their similar train of thoughts. “Absurdly often my lord. I couldn’t count.” “Is there anything I did wrong this time? Anything I should have done differently?” “I don’t think so, my lord. Certainly, this time, they could not have used the excuse that you remain below observation and concealed—indeed, your provocative stance seems to have drawn the ire of this group.” “So what ought I to do?” “Clearly, sir, the solution is to return to your previous strategems once this is said and done.” “And be accused of the same, and killed for it.” Wol grinned. “What else, my lord?” Hadrian grunted. “Nothing, I’d suppose. Very well, Wol. Continue. The desk in my study with the secret compartment shall be left in the hands of my oldest and most trusted advisor, a count in Luthadel by the name of...” On the stairs, the footsteps of Elend’s men grew louder. Hadrian smiled thinly. They came to arrest, not kill. Perhaps, this time, when the crisis blew over, he may not have to go to the trouble of dying anyway. He signalled Wol to cease scribing, perhaps to hide, and rose to his feet. He would face this group, and allow them to do their worst. The door burst open. Everyone quieted as the Subordinate formerly known as Count swept into the room. Some of them looked up eagerly, others suspiciously. They knew him for what he was, an opportunist who had abandoned Elend for Cett, and now served their master. They knew his loyalty was to his purse, and they knew that he could very well be their only chance at success in the city. “Well Count? Where is your ally?” The Count looked at the group, hiding his true thoughts on the matter. “Gone. He didn’t show up to our appointment, so I checked in on his house. He’s gone. The house is unguarded though, so we will be able to take all the weaponry we were going to buy. A net win.” He didn’t speak his worries. Fynn had been one of the few who could go toe to toe with the Mistborn that was now hunting them. What could have happened to him? “Good. Then tonight, we can start killing off Elend’s supporters. Who shall be the first we dispose of? Jastes is on a timetable, here, Count. And so are we. That army must enter the city.” Senn Conrad nodded briefly. A heartless man, but then again, most groups he worked for contained such figures. An edge of grimness entered his voice, though. This group meant business. “A good question, sir. Let us get to work.” Araris Valerian was lynched! He was a Elend’s Loyalist Soother 2! Vote Count: Araris (8): Fura, Bard, Devotary, Steel, Ark, HH, Stick, Straw Bard (4): Elandera, Rae, Rath, CadCom Rae (1): Rand CadCom (1): Adavantos Lumgol (1): Araris Joe (1): Lumgol Steel (1): Maill Night 1 has begun! It will end in approximately 23 hours, on Sunday 19 May at 9:00 PM EDT (-4:00 UTC if you need to calculate). PMs are OPEN, as at least 1 player holding Tineye 1 is alive. Please abide by the following rules when creating PMs: 1) One-on-one PMs only. Please include me in all PMs. 2) PMs are Night only. When the Night ends, so does your PM. 3) You may only PM living players listed on the player list. The updated playerlist is provided below for your convenience.
  23. Greetings everyone, and welcome to Armedius Academy's 35th annual Melee! I'm your host, Tom Middleton. And I'm your co-commentator, Ron Howard. You can smell the scent of chalk dust in the air, eh, Ron? Absolutely, Tom. Armedius's finest Rithmatists will be taking the field shortly. This should be a fight for the ages. Indeed. Each and every one of these students has a shot at the gold. However, there can only be one winner. Ron, would you mind going over the rules for anyone just joining us? Of course Tom. The Rules: This is a free-for-all game, which means there are no teams this game. Your goal is to be the last player standing. In the event of a tie, the player with the most kills wins. This game takes place in two phases: the Preparation phase, and then up to 9 Rounds in the Game phase. Preparation Phase: In the preparation phase, students decide on what strategy to use, and form temporary alliances. This phase will last 48 hours, and begins once the game starts. In this phase, PMs are open. Feel free to contact anyone you like to talk strategy. Please include both myself and the impartial moderator when making these PMs. In addition, you must choose a defense to use in the main event. These will be explained later. Rounds: After the Preparation Phase, Round 1 will start. Each Round lasts 24 hours, and PMs are closed during them. Each round, you can submit one of these three actions: Line of Forbiddance: Defend a player, usually yourself, from one attack Line of Vigor: Attack another player Line of Making: Swarm a player with chalklings. During the next round, they will be unable to take any actions. Defense: During the Preparation Phase, you may choose one of the following Ballintain Defense: You cannot draw Lines of Forbiddance, but your LInes of Vigor deal double damage Matson Defense: Choose a player when you draw this defense. You learn what Defense that player is using. Taylor Defense: You cannot take any actions during Round 1. If you survive the first round, you gain an extra life. Miscellaneous: @Alvron will be our impartial moderator. The game will be starting Tuesday, January 8th at 4 PM Eastern Standard Time. Well put Ron. Let's sit back and watch as the contestants enter the stadium. Player List: Quick Links:
  24. Callor stepped out of the thick woods ringing Fal Dara, his white cloak with the golden sun making a splash against the darkly covered thicket that previously enveloped him. He felt vaguely uncomfortable standing there exposed, in the open between two nexuses of evil. The whitewashed tower, with its shiny exterior that fooled most, but was still full of rot within, was closer than the Dark One’s prison. However, Shayol Ghul seemed to emanate his madness. By means of the Blight spreading surely and slowly over the Blasted Lands and encroaching on the northern kingdoms, the Dark One advanced, and a strong hand was needed to intervene that did not belong to Tar Valon witches. And Callor knew whose hand that would have to be. Smiling at his orders from the Lord Captain Commander, he took to the road fully, prepared for his presence to be announced to the Keep he neared. Let them! Agelmar would be as wet clay in his hands when he saw what the Children could do. A few minutes of warning would change nothing. The Light would shine on and protect those who resisted the Dark One at all times. And Pedron Niall stood for the Light. The guardsman on the walls of Fal Dara Keep blinked. A party had appeared, essentially out of nowhere, on a stretch of clear road empty a second earlier. He frowned, motioning his fellows to hold the gates against the newcomers. Peering closer, he was unsurprised to see an Aes Sedai and a Warder among their number, even if the man looked familiar. The guardsman tried to place him, but the name was slippery on his tongue, and he could not grasp it. Those thoughts were driven from his head by the Aes Sedai, who serenely reached into one of her pouches and showed Agelmar’s sigil, a token of entry. Having little other choice, he let the Warder and his Aes Sedai in, glancing at the others as they passed. Mostly youth, though seemingly an Ogier among them, and an older gleeman. He did not know for what purpose they were there, but the woman had flashed Agelmar’s sign, and as such was to be allowed entry. Curious about the new arrivals, but unable to abandon duty, the guardsman contented himself with watching the north road, and the Blight as it crept slowly closer. Pain. Pain was all Aginor felt, from head to toe. A constant reminder of his failure. A constant reminder that his recklessness had trapped him at the surface of the Wheel for three millennia, while eras came and went. The pain stayed with him for all those millennia, and it did not vanish with his release. Yet despite this pain, Aginor was determined to see that his body would have advantages. He straightened, shrivelled skin screaming in protest from the treatment, and looked towards the Spine of the World. His eyes, at least, were sharp enough to see the mountain range clearly, even as far away as they were, and the dark shapes in that direction coming towards him. Squinting, he made a pretense of studying the mountain ranges. Maybe its formations would be the key to finding what he searched for. Somewhere in there lay the Eye. He just needed to come upon it. Aginor chuckled aloud, loud enough for Balthamel, similarly shrivelled, to raise an inquisitive eyebrow. She did not see what he did. Looking directly at him, moving in his direction with purpose, the shadows materialised: a small contingent of Darkfriends came before him, kneeling. Then Aginor truly smiled. It’s been a month-long drought (or should I say Blight ), but welcome to MR32: The Blight Encroaches! This game, if you didn’t catch it from the RP, is a Wheel of Time game set at the end of The Eye of the World. The Forsaken are trying to destroy, overwhelm, or use the Eye to cut off the fledgling Dragon, al’Thor, from using it against the Great Lord of the Dark. Meanwhile, the Light is frantically defending the Eye against the encroachments of both the Blight and Forsaken, and seek to drive them back and kill them to strike a major blow on behalf of the Light. This game will start at Fal Dara Keep and move back towards the Eye as it continues. My co-GM for this game will be Elandera (@Ookla the Rogue). Our Impartial Moderator is @Alvron. All of the rules for this MR may be found here, in this Google doc. If anyone has any rules questions (and I imagine they do), please do not hesitate to ask. I’ll be saving the first post for a player list and rule clarifications. It is worth noting that the rules are not technically set in stone, as the game balance committee might want me to make tweaks, so until they pass the game, consider this ruleset unfinished. That said, I will try to keep all of you updated on the status of the ruleset until it is confirmed. Actually, I lied about that doc having all the rules. I did not address one set of rules: those pertaining to Ooklas. I am aware that the Ooklas are a wonderful festive way to celebrate Sanderson (having assumed the role of one myself), but they can cause issues regarding identity in SE. I’d hate to have mere confusion about names and identities derail lynch discussion or confuse action orders, and as such am placing the following guidelines for Ookla users: 1. If you changed your name to an Ookla, please place your usual name within your title. 2. If you changed both your name and profile picture, please conclude all your posts with a boldfaced line that states your regular name. Players that only changed their name are not required to do this but are strongly encouraged to, to help out your GMs. (You always have our best interests at heart, right? ) 3. Once the game has begun, do not change your name or profile picture any longer. 4. When voting to lynch on an Ookla, cast your vote in the following format: Regular Name (Ookla Name). For instance: “I vote Fifth Scholar (Ookla the White-Cloaked) for imposing pointless Ookla restrictions.” Also, it might help a lot of people could just generally refer to others by their usual names. 5. Please just call me Fifth. My Ookla name is just for RP. Thank you for cooperating with all of the above, and I’m confident that if everyone tries to adhere to it, we shouldn’t have identity-confusion issues. Signups for this game will close Thursday 6 December 2018, at 10:00 PM EST. (Rollovers in general will be around 10 PM EST.) The countdown site is broken, so do math if you need an exact number. Quick Links:
  25. Well folks, 21 fantastic Rithmatists are entering the arena, but only 1 will emerge as the champion. Tom, the excitement in here is deafening. Can you talk a bit about the strategy that's involved here? It's all about defense Ron. Do you play it safe and risk an imperfect circle, or do you rush into battle, hoping to overwhelm your opponents? It's always a tough decision. And we certainly can't forget about politics. Making alliances is crucial to surviving the early stages. Still, there's nothing preventing sudden betrayals. That just makes it interesting. Indeed. As a reminder, in your role PM, please respond with what defense you would like to draw. For 48 hours, and only for these 48 hours, PMs are open. Make sure to include both myself and Alvron in them. This round lasts 48 hours, and will end on Thursday, January 10, 2018 at 4:00 PM EST. Good luck. Player List: