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“Move!” Ashkelon yelled as he kicked the prone body in the side. “Ashkelon, take it easy with the temper, will ya?” Camilla chided him, “that man lies there every night dead drunk, and yet you never cease to torment him.” “Well if he’s just get his stinking carcass off of our roadside, I wouldn’t have to.” “He’s probably got some problems,” Jeremiah chipped in, “a guy who hits the bottle like that has obviously got something he wants to forget about.” “Well if he’s going to get smashed enough to pass out, he could at least pick a better spot than this,” Ashkelon gestured at the carriages and pedestrians that passed by, paying little heed to the three students nor the passed-out man. At this hour of the night, they were likely to be headed home. Camilla spoke up. “Ashkelon, this is why you don’t have a girlfriend,” she said as she took Jeremiah’s hand. “With an attitude like yours I’m amazed you even have drinking buddies.” While not anywhere as far gone as the drunkard whom he had just kicked, Ashkelon was not terribly sober either. He opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. Camilla did have a point. “What’s this?” Jeremiah said, releasing Camilla’s hand and bending down. “Jerry, if it’s another picture of a woman’s safehand I swear--,” Camilla let her sentence trail off. Ashkelon chuckled, remembering the last time something like this had happened. Jeremiah stood back up holding a tattered piece of a scarlet cloth. “You don’t see something this vivid around here much. Must have been somebody with--” He stopped, noticing that the cloth was leaving a red stain on his hand. “Oh, crem...” He looked back at the drunkard, but the man’s chest rose and fell as it had before, blissfully unaware of what Jeremiah had just found. He, at least, was not the source of this blood. Camilla pointed at a line of drops that led down the sidewalk a short distance before turning into an alley. Jeremiah followed them, but just before reaching the turn he suddenly turned aside, attempting not to vomit. Ashkelon didn’t need to smell it to realize what had happened. He just stood right where he was and swore loudly. Welcome to MR28! This is a hidden information Roshar game set in Kharbranth. The Everstorm has not yet come, but as Taravangian’s men collect Death Rattles an unknown individual or group has begun to kill off citizens seemingly at random. Here are this game’s ground rules: Ground rules: Rule clarifications: Murder suspects (player list): The game will start on Friday, March 16, at 3:00 MDT Quicklinks
A bell tolled, sending a group of scavenging chickens flapping for cover. The chickens had arrived days ago, drawn by the scent of decay that the city had slowly begun to take on. Fewer and fewer people were going out at night, afraid of what they might find when they were alone. Or what might find them when they were alone. A few people still walked the night streets. Courting couples, rowdy youths, drunkards, and workers too poor or too new to get anything but night shifts still traced their usual paths through the night. But even they seemed on edge. The streets, once a hubbub of nightlife and conversation, now were eerily silent. Trash had begun to accumulate in the alleys as street sweepers hesitated to leave the lit streets. Whatever was taking the lives of men and women was draining the life from Kharbranth, too. Perhaps those who were avoiding the night streets had nothing to fear at all. As random as the killings were--they struck bankers and merchants, prostitutes and nobles without discrimination--it was obvious that whoever was killing was doing every single one for a reason. An indiscriminate killer would have had plenty of easy prey in Kharbranth’s less-reputable districts, but this murderer or murderers did not kill based on opportunity alone. Just last night, a nobleman had been slain by a Shardblade summoned into his back and then his entourage cut down as they fled, all while a drunk slumbered nearby. A few days ago a merchant had been knifed by a masked intruder in her shop that left two witnesses alive. Different targets, different weapons, different plans of action, but the same ruthlessness that marked some to die and others to live. The populace of Kharbranth was suffocating in paranoia. Hounded by fear and driven by distrust, some of the most vocal began advocating for vigilante violence, although the majority resisted. Then, one day at a meeting in the town square, something snapped. The citizens of Kharbranth were finished with standing idly by while something in the darkness chose who was slain and who was spared. Forming into a mob bristling with swords, boards, and sticks, they were determined to make their own choice about who was to die this day... Player List: This cycle will end in 48 hours on Sunday, March 25 at 3:00 p.m. MDT.
MR13: Treachery on the Terris Peaks GMs: Elbereth and Twei History turns and shifts, and a little piece of metal moves just slightly... “Right. You’re qualified, you’re coming. Your bag, please?” The young man froze. “Why do you need my bag?” “Inspection. We need to know if we should provide you with a better bag or if yours is sufficient. Also, extraneous metalminds aren’t allowed. There shouldn’t be a reason for you to have a coppermind, for instance. I’ll be carrying the only one, to record what happens at the Well.” He very reluctantly handed his bag over. “I’m not perfectly packed yet,” he tried. “There’s some stuff that I want to take out...” “Really? I thought you said you were ready to go, right now.” “Well, yes... I mean...” He stopped as she pulled out a metal cylinder. “Don’t open that, please! It’s private.” “Privacy isn’t private when you’re dealing with the protection of the most important man in the world,” commented Tindomë wryly, opening the metal cylinder. It looked to have words printed on it. The young man stayed silent as she read, head hung in defeat. She looked up at him. “‘He must never be allowed to complete his quest’? ‘Alendi was never the Hero of Ages’? ‘Alendi must not reach the Well of Ascension’? This is signed by Kwaan. The traitor!” She threw his backpack back at him. “Get out of my sight. No traitors will be allowed on this mission.” He stared at her with hate. “Very well. But I have friends who are packmen. You can’t stop them all!” He turned and stalked away. “Friends, huh?” she said softly to herself. Unfortunately, Rashek was right. She didn’t have nearly enough packmen yet, and she didn’t even know if she could trust those she’d already accepted. She looked down the long line of hopefuls. Most she could dismiss off the bat, of course. Previous experience as a packman was required, and most of them didn’t even have that. But those who did... She couldn’t turn away a willing hand, even if that hand might turn traitor. She’d just have to try to figure out who was who as fast as possible, and make sure Alendi was protected at all times. Tindomë rubbed her forehead. She’d never thought this was going to be easy, but it wasn’t supposed to involve traitors. She tossed the metal sheet to the ground and beckoned forth the next applicant. Format Factions Conditions and Environmental Phenomena Feruchemy Quick Links: