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Aftermath: A Desolation Called Peace NOW THE GREAT LORD COMES. NOW THE GREAT LORD COMES. BLOOD FEEDS BLOOD. BLOOD CALLS BLOOD. BLOOD IS, AND BLOOD WAS, AND BLOOD SHALL EVER BE. NOW THE GREAT LORD COMES. —words written in blood on the walls of an inn in the abandoned village of Helgen Locke led, and Wyden followed. It felt good. It felt good to be doing something again, as though he was pushing back, however weakly, against years of forcing himself to keep breathing, years of keeping himself alive, years of guilt at how he’d broken, how he’d survived when the garrison died, when the Trollocs put entire villages to the sword. It felt a little like redemption. If there was even such a thing, for one such as he. Locke ran, and Wyden ran after him, willing both of them to be just a little faster, praying to the Light that they would make it in time, before Lin Mindrigurin did anything, before the mayor did anything to the survivors. They had not acted overtly so far, Wyden thought. His scars itched. Surely this would continue? There was a shadow in the street. Locke drew to a halt. Blood dripping from his sword, still screaming, Edler attacked. More from instinct than anything, Wyden’s sword slipped free from its sheath in Unfolding the Fan, and Reaping the Barley beat aside the onrushing Stones Falling from the Cliff. “Edler!” Wyden shouted. But the Warder had gone battle-mad, and Wyden saw no recognition in his eyes, only a grim focus. Parting the Silk nearly tore into Wyden’s side, and Water Flows Downhill split open his cheek in a welter of blood. Dimly, he remembered Gaidin’s lessons at the garrison. A Warder who lost their Aes Sedai could go battle-mad, Gaidin explained, curtly. Distantly. They lashed out in an attempt to avenge their Aes Sedai. The saner ones knew friend from foe; simply sought to take down as many enemies as they could. Some of them lost the will to live, and became shadows of themselves and eventually wasted away and died. Edler had gone battle-mad. It wasn’t just Warders who broke, Wyden thought. Sometimes, men on the Blightborder did. Sometimes, the world did terrible things to you, or the Shadow did. Sometimes, you broke, and then you could never quite put yourself together again. He met Wind and Rain with the Oak Shakes Its Branches. He didn’t want to hurt Edler. He liked Edler. But Edler was doing his best to kill him, and possibly to kill Locke as well. “Go!” Wyden shouted. “Will you be alright?” Locke asked, and then seemed to realise the folly of his question. “I’ll stop him. Light shelter you, Wyden.” As Locke ran, Wyden turned aside Lightning of Three Prongs with Lizard in the Thornbush. He narrowed his eyes. “Edler,” he tried again. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He threw himself back in time, as Plucking the Low-Hanging Apple grazed his throat, and drew blood. Thank the Light it hadn’t been worse. He saw bodies on the street. Ordinary people, villagers he’d known. Bodies strewn about like fallen leaves. Wyden closed his eyes and sought the flame and the void. But the oneness lay just frustratingly out of his reach. “Apologies,” gasped Locke, as he closed the door of the meeting room behind him. He paused a moment to catch his breath. “I was held up.” Mayor Wilsa glanced at him. “Where were you?” “Gathering evidence,” Locke said. “Asking questions.” He glanced at everyone in the room: Lin Mindrigurin, sitting comfortably in his chair, sword balanced across his knees, Rambler who was glaring daggers at Jóhannsson, and Jóhannsson, who was scowling at Lin. Three people left, thought Locke. He had been so very nearly disastrously late. “Lin’s of the Shadow,” Jóhannsson stated, flatly. “Locke, you have to see this. You were missing for so long, I was looking for you—” “Sorry I’m late,” Locke said. “Really, truly wish I’d been around.” He set his ledger down on the table. “Lin Mindrigurin,” he said. “You hid well. But I know you for what you are, Darkfriend.” Edler and Wyden clashed. Wyden retreated, gave ground. He did not want to do this. He did not want to fight. He did not want to kill Edler. The Warder had been kind to him, when Wyden needed it. Surely that was reason enough for mercy. But Edler kept on pressuring him, flowing from form to form with a lethal grace that Wyden recognised in some of the best swordsmen. He’d only ever wanted a way to be good again, Wyden thought. He’d spent so much of his life running, fleeing what the Shadow had done to him. For some reason, it felt good to be taking a stand, even if that meant fighting Edler here and now. Even if that meant stopping Edler. The streets of Helgen were eerily empty, soaked in blood, and the fog was creeping in again, lending everything an air of unreality. It had been years since he’d picked up the sword, and he was rusty but the muscle memory never truly faded, and the practice bout with Edler that day had helped, if only a little. Still, it was all Wyden could do to keep Edler from killing him. “Edler,” he tried again. He knew what it was like to be on the brink, to have lost everything that mattered, for the Light to have fled from the world. He knew what it was like to be damned. “Edler, snap out of it, man!” Black Pebbles on Snow, angled differently, nearly took out his eye. Blood gushed from the cut above his eye, and Wyden swore, backing off. It was going to be hard, fighting Edler with that obscuring his vision. He only hoped that he’d bought Locke the time he needed. Rambler, Locke, and Jóhannsson. Perhaps they could take Lin or Mayor Wilsa by surprise. He wasn’t sure. And that meant they needed him. “I’m sorry,” Wyden whispered. He didn’t know who he was apologising to. Perhaps it was Edler. Perhaps it was to the bodies in the streets. Perhaps it was to the garrison, or the villages the Trollocs had put to the sword; had massacred and then set ablaze. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He was weeping, even as he fended off Cat on Hot Sand with The Falling Leaf. Edler, in his own way, had given Wyden back his own soul again. But Helgen was Wyden’s home now, and if he weighed Edler against Helgen, it wasn’t even a damned contest at all. Perhaps the man Wyden had once been could have stopped Edler easily. He doubted it. Edler was a good swordsman, and there was always a risk when you weren’t trying to kill the other man, even as he tried very hard to kill you. Light forgive him. The numbness swept back in. It wasn’t the oneness, but it would have to be good enough. Wyden let it. He let it wash over him. The numbness, perhaps, was the way the soul defended itself. The way you dealt with the fact that terrible, terrible things had been done to you, and the fact that you had gone on to do the unforgivable. The way you dealt with the fact that somehow, mysteriously, inexplicably, you had been left to keep breathing. Those years in Helgen, Wyden had lost the oneness, had lost the flame and the void. Had lost the single-minded focus and dedication that was crucial, that elevated the best swordsmen into blademasters. Before the numbness, before that old friend, even that faded away, paled into insignificance. There was only Edler, and what Wyden had to do. Wyden glided forward. Wyden attacked. “Lin,” Rambler scowled. “Don’t know how you talked me into damning Lorum. This ends here.” “I’ve told you,” Jóhannsson snapped. “He’s been trying to turn us on each other all along. That is how he works.” “Jóhannsson is unfortunately correct,” said Locke. “That is how Lin has been operating. I’ve traced his associates, and been asking questions about his movements over the past days.” He frowned. “It wasn’t particularly easy. But a pattern emerged. Just as anyone begins to ask questions about Lin, they disappear. Or he turns them into his allies and has them accuse others for him.” Rambler flushed. “I dug in the meeting records,” continued Locke. “And I found a very curious slip from Lin. He suggested that he’d found Buffy suspicious.” “Buffy was suspicious,” Jóhannsson said. “Yes,” Locke nodded. “Or so you went on record as saying. But—Lin said previously that he believes those instrumental in discovering Stern were of the Light. He also believed that you were no Darkfriend.” “Can a man not change his views, Locke?” Lin drawled. “Perhaps,” Locke said. “But your views change so suddenly, Lin Mindrigurin. One might wonder if they were sincerely held—or adopted whenever convenient, in order to shift opinion the way you wanted it shifted.” The numbness enfolded him. He was only a shadow of what he’d once been. It would have to be good enough. Wyden advanced. Every form was a step, an attempt to reach Edler, an attempt to end the fight. The longer things dragged out, the more he feared for Locke, Rambler, and Jóhannsson. The Grapevine Twines met Dandelion in the Wind. Two Hares Leaping met the Hummingbird Kisses the Honeyrose. Tower of Morning flowed into Single Stone Standing, and parried The Kingfisher Takes a Silverback. He was a shadow of what he’d once been, and Edler made him pay for it in blood as Wyden advanced. But floating in the numbness, it did not matter. Wyden did not fear death. He’d died a long time ago. Kissing the Adder rammed into his side; Wyden twisted just slightly but the sword slid home, and something tore. Falling Embers scythed through Edler, and Wyden felt the resistance as sword met flesh and parted it without stopping. Edler fell, blood gushing from the large slash that Wyden’s blade had rent open. Wyden held on the numbness. The wound was not too bad, he thought. He could still function. There was pain, from where the sword had torn free. It did not matter. He was numb, now. “I’m sorry,” he said aloud, once more. He flicked the blood from his sword, and knelt down to close Edler’s staring eyes. He could hurt, once he was done. “The last embrace of the mother welcome you home.” But he still had one last fight to face. And perhaps then, he would have peace. Rambler stood up, drawing his knife. “Enough,” he spat. “He’s a Darkfriend. He mocks us with his presence. We should take him, now.” “I’m not the one you should be worried about, Rambler,” Lin Mindrigurin said, calmly. Sword still balanced on his knee, still smiling serenely. As though he was too damnably clever. As though he knew something that Rambler did not. “What do you mean?” Rambler demanded, warily. There was a gurgle. Rambler turned. Jóhannsson toppled to the ground like a sack of grain at the harvest, blood pouring from his throat. Locke stood there, a dagger gleaming wet with blood in his hand. “A Darkfriend?” Locke asked. “I think you’ve misplaced one in your count.” “Why?” Rambler wanted to know. He glanced about him, searching for a way out. Lin’s sword flashed free of its scabbard, and then he was on his knees, blood spilling out from his stomach. Locke shrugged. “Because the Great Lord demanded it,” he said. As though it was reason enough. “Light damn you,” Rambler spat. “Light damn you all, I trusted you, Light…Light…” But there was no Light here in Helgen, not now, not in this room. Instead, there was only Shadow. Kaim was there. Wyden staggered through the streets. He was losing blood at an alarming rate. And he was so very tired. Kaim regarded him, frowning. The fog, as it had on that first meeting, seemed to curl about him, seemed to embrace him. Kaim was wrong. Always had been. Maybe Wyden was wrong too. Maybe… He realised he was on the ground, bloodied fingers reaching out. “Why?” Wyden asked. It seemed to take a great effort. “Because the past never escapes us,” Kaim said, hunkering down. His eyes met Wyden’s. “Because no matter how you run, the wrongs you do…you have to pay up one day, to balance the scales.” “Did…Did I?” Was it enough, Wyden wanted to ask. Did I do enough? Would he ever be clean? “I think,” Kaim said, not unkindly, “All you have to do is want the Light, Wyden. And even if you can’t see the Light, all you have to do is to remember it was there, and that it will be there again one day.” “Can’t…remember…” “I told you I was here hunting a fugitive,” Kaim said. “Someone who had deserted, and betrayed an entire garrison.” Wyden managed a nod. “Go in peace, Wyden,” Kaim said. “As far as I’m concerned, that man is not the man before me right now.” He wanted that to be true. Wanted that so badly. He was in his room in the Tree again, looking out of the window, the morning sunlight on his face. He opened the shutters, and leaned out, reaching for it. Wanting it. The Light was there, then, and it was always and ever only Light. TJ/Jóhannsson was executed! He was a Village Elder! Matrim's Dice/Rambler was killed! He was a Villager! The Darkfriends have won! Congratulations to @Araris Valerian, @Bort, @Amanuensis, and @Orlok Tsubodai! (Araris seems to have insane luck with RNGesus, FYI. The Sacred Coin went his way without me needing to do a second cointoss for the 1v1.) All write-ups have been posted/edited in. I now may die in peace. Praise the Light. Docs, mastersheet, and player list to follow in second post. Please do not post until I have reserved it. Thank you.

QF12: The Time of Reckoning there's You live in California. Or you used to. Nowadays it's called Persepolis, named by the Epic who's ruled here since Calamity rose. All things considered, he isn't the worst. Public infrastructure is mostly gone, sure, but killing is frowned upon. A few months later, you woke up with powers yourself. You've pleased Perseus, and have made your way into his service. Perseus has need of all of you, but you would do well to remember: you are replaceable. Every day, Perseus chooses the worst among you, those who have contributed the least, and kills them. Personally. Every day there is a reminder that no one is untouchable. Even Epics. Even you. always You come from somewhere else. You've seen what the Epics do. And you've sworn to execute any who break the law. By a strange coincidence, that is almost all of them. For what they have done, for what they do, for what they will do, there will be a reckoning. And you are bringing it. another Alignments role Roles If you don't contribute in Perseus' Court, you don't live. Any player who does not post in the thread, the GM PM, or another PM in 2 full cycles will be killed by him mercilessly. Notes: The only means of PMs is Telepathy. No other PMs are allowed. The write-up will include all kill attempts. Only dead players will be named in the write-up. There may be hints in write-ups, but it is not a good idea to read too much into wording. The number of Telepathy PMs will change depending on how many people sign up. It will be edited into the rules once the game starts. Order of Actions: 1. Perseus' Kill 2. Passive Powers 3. Transmogrification 4. Illusions 5. Votes Counted and Lynch 6. Forcefields 7. Matter Disruption and Reckoner Kill 8. Invisibililty Quick Links:

The Everstorm has come. Heralds and Voidbringers alike are returning. The Vengeance Pact has broken, shattered like the Plains themselves. Some Highprinces flee, returning to their princedoms, trying to prepare as best they can. Others rally to Dalinar’s call, fighting their way across the near impassable Plains to the Oathgate, and Urithiru. Your small group once belonged to Highprince Thanadal’s camp, but now you are searching desperately for the Oathgate, hoping against hope that you arrive before you succumb to the elements. Bound together by adversity, you would like to believe you can trust each other. Not all is as it seems, however. Trouble has been drawn to your expedition like rotspren to a wound. Bridges collapse, chulls die; your progress has been hindered left and right. And it’s beginning to seem as if it might not all be coincidence… Factions: Roles: Mechanics: Welcome to LG13! Sign-ups are starting now, and will end on July 13th, at 11:00 PM CDT. (This will also be the regular roll-over time.) Check back to this post fairly often; I'll try to keep an up-to-date player list, as well as rule clarifications and links to various write-ups. If anything comes up, or you've got any questions about the Fair Play Rules, (which you should probably go give a read, if you haven't already) the impartial mod for this game will be Little Wilson. Feel free to ask any questions you might have, and if you're interested in being part of the Spec Doc, just send me a PM. Player List: Sani (The Only Joe) - Lighteyes who once scribed for Dalinar Kholin. Justin (Peng the Just) - Former slave. Sheon Idris (Seonid) - Selish Worldhopper. Ableah Edr (Haelbarde) - Woefully without description. Another Selish Worldhopper, of a clan of Selish Worldhoppers. Etam (Metacognition) - Scout. Madon (Mailliw73) - Crem collector. Bartholomew the Blind (Bort) - midget barbomancer/Worldhopper. The Roszo (Renegade) - Herdazian who is determined to be more impressive than his glowing cousin. Adamir (Adamir) - Darkeyes who is convinced he's from another world. Seixa (phattemer) - Yet another Selish Worldhopper,* and once (pseudo-)Priest of Shu-Korath. Kip Sturm (Kipper) - Smart Alec Woefully without description. Ace (Macen) - Delusional man with a tiny hammer, believes that he's a Brightlord and a Radiant. Jain (Lightsworn Panda) - A panda. In a desolate wasteland. (Maybe he's Thanadal's exotic Shin pet?) Em C. Palah (Emerald101) - Emuli potter. (Needs Ace's hammer.) Citrona Vinid (Shallan) - Scadrian-Elantiran Worldhopper and noble who will not be questioned. Wannan (Herowannabe) - Darkeyed soldier. Alive, and assumed to be immortal, seeing how he isn't dead. Eradin (eramit) - Best darkeyed spearman in Thandal's army. Wol (Araris Valerian) - Old ardent who might know how to spell his own name. Findilti Findilt (idolevy) - Delusional man who thinks he's a Knight Radiant. Orlok (OrlokTsobodai) - Woefully without description. Plurn Burn (Feligon) - Engineer who is woefully ignorant of fabrials. Dow (dowanx) - Woefully without description. Eo (Spooky Eowyn) - Apparently Thaylen with fake eyebrows. May or may not be a Selish Worldhopper. Akirsefatafesrika (Bridge Boy) - Blasphemous pretend soldier. Smeagol (leiftinspace) - Obsessive midget Universehopper. Kazaaakplethkilik (Paranoid King) - Supposedly famous thief and Worldhopper. Alvonoha (Alvron) - Ardent, and owner of a strange cat. Catquisitor!?! Cla (Clanky) - Horneater who loves drinking contests. Torren (twelthrootoftwo) - Recalcitrant conscript, and spy for Roion. *Don't ask why there are so many Selish Worldhoppers, despite the danger involved in traversing the Selish and Rosharan Cognitive Realms. It's complicated. F.A.Q.s: 1. Why does Progression come last in the Order of Actions? Progression comes last in the Order of Actions because you are not meant to be able to use it to protect yourself, and I don't want people working around that. Additionally, as Progression is a healing power, it makes logical sense for it to occur after the kill has been made, so there is something to heal. 2. Will Division and the Eliminator Kill be distinguishable in the write-up? Are people saved by Progression revealed in the write-up? Yes they will. However, in the case of Progression, it is only made known that someone was saved from a kill, not who was saved. This holds true for players saved by Abrasion and Tension. (Progression will be distinguishable from kills blocked by Abrasion or Tension, though.) 3. Which actions will players be informed of if they are targeted by them? They will be informed of Division, the Diagramist Kill, Progression (if it saves them from a kill), Illumination, Transportation (if it successfully redirects an action) and Adhesion (if it successfully blocks an action, although this will be indistinguishable from action failure for other reasons). 4. Does someone with Transformation have to specify whether they are looking for a player's Alignment or Role? Yes, you will have to specify which you're looking for. If someone forgets to specify, I'll flip a coin to see which they get. Quick Links: