Long Game 6: Daes Dae'Mar, The Great Game

[Gamma Fiend]

The villagers of Drell's Crossing stood motionless, uncertain of what to make of the strange gambler's offer of being healed by somebody who had confessed to being a darkfriend! Most people were uncomfortable in the presence of channeling alone, the power that was responsible for the breaking of the world, let letting a servant of the shadow using the same power on them with impunity. On the other hand, the villagers had elected a madman, male channeler, who had admitted to being affected by the taint of Saidin, and the man who called himself Gambles has constantly reassured everybody that he was in complete control of Khamsi and her use of the One Power.

 

Suddenly, a single, brilliant note rung out in the air, bringing the clamor of noise surrounding Drell's Crossing from the restless groups of shadowspawn poised to strike at any moment to a calm silence. It was a beautiful, deep tenor sound that boosted the morale of the survivors, giving them reassuring confidence that there may actually be a chance to survive. Supernatural mist started rising from the ground and very quickly covered the entire village, shrouding it in a thick blanket.

 

"The grave is no bar to my call!" a golden voice called out, unseen and hidden deep inside the sudden fog. "I can't personally interfere, for I am needed elsewhere. But I have brought help, for Justice will be wrought!" The lonesome, joyous note continued to sound and phantasmal images began to form from deep inside the mist, as ghosts stepped forward, armed and ready to assist their hometown in the fight for vengeance against the forces of evil.

Dead players may each post One post in the thread, where they rush forward and wreak havoc among the shadowspawn! The villagers need all of the help they can get, and it's a great way for players who may have been taken out early to get some later-game participation, as they've been patiently following along with it the entire time! I will of course give them further rules and guidelines they will have to follow!

 

[Shivertongue]

Does "dead players" include me? I'm not a ghost, since Khamsi is still technically alive, but she would like to say some... things to Gambles about her current treatment.

[Gamma Fiend]

Fair enough, Shiv! You get one post as Sooki as well, just to be fair! Although, remember, Gambles still holds your leash!

(Bela and Dellan and dead DFs can still make posts too, if they so wish, they'll just need to contact me first and we'll need to work something out!)
Enjoy everybody!
 

Edited July 16, 2014 by Gamma Fiend

[Alvron]

A figure stood atop a hill overlooking the village.  Cloaked in the deepest black that did not move in the breeze that whipped the smoke from the battlefield.  Wordlessly this figure commanded its forces to attack the village time and time again.

A second figure strolled up to the first, this one clothed in grey.  His cloak streaming out behind him.  Thin tendrils of silvery mist trailing behind.

"You know what I hate most about death?  Its the boredom.  We dead have all of eternity and nothing to do."

The first figure turned sharply, recoiling as it noticed the newcomer.  Its eyeless face showing the shock of being caught unaware.  A hiss coming out of its mouth.

"There was a time, not too long ago, where that gaze of yours would've chilled my blood Fade.  Sadly for you, that time has passed.  Your allies may have struck me down, but in doing so they have made me more powerful than you could possibly imagine." I just had to use that line.  It was too good a chance to pass up. Sorry.
The black-clad figure drew his blade.  Lunging forward it thrust the blade into the others side.  Unfazed by the attack as the blade passed ineffectively through, the talker continued.

"You Myrddraal don't sleep do you?  A shame.  So many thoughts and ideas are born from dreams.  And of nightmares.  You see, while I was dead I had plenty of time to think.  Almost too much time.  Which is how I found myself wandering Tel'aran'rhiod looking for something to occupy my mind."

A fist of Trollocs clambered up the hill, called for wordlessly by the Halfman.  Brandishing a collection of vicious weapons they advanced on the stranger.

"It was while I wandered that I encountered another.  A strange soul who told me how to harness the nightmares of others and how to control them for my own uses."

Just before the Trollocs reached the stranger the air around them warped slightly.

"That man in the village.  The newcomer.  He has such strange nightmares.  Of creatures large and blue in a world of grey."

Suddenly a large group of blue-skinned giants welding heavy swords appeared in front of the Trollocs.  With a beastly roar they charged and butchered the stunned Trollocs before heading off to attack the main force.  One of the giants casually beheading the Fade as it passed.  Chaos rapidly spreading as more giants appeared between the various groups of Trollocs and Myrddraals.

"You know what I hate most about death? It's the boredom."

Sitting down next to the head of the Fade.  Its body still thrashing nearby, trying in vain to kill any who gets near.

"I may only have a couple of hours but I think we can make them memorable.  Unless you have any objections.  No?  Very well.  Lets see how many of your comrades my new friends can kill before we are called back to the dream."

That ended up a little longer than I thought.  But with the aid of some Koloss the village might stand a chance.

[little wilson]

Witless hadn’t always been Witless, but he didn’t like thinking about his life before acquiring the insulting moniker. That was a life filled with training and his mother yelling at him to practice his forms. It was a life filled with the spear--the spear he was holding right now. The spear he used to pierce the neck of a trolloc.

 

He spun away as the trolloc dropped to the ground dead, and he twirled his spear, ready for the next trolloc, but no more came. The hordes were retreating from their latest charge. He hurried the little way to the walls of the village, ignoring the stranger who had decided to help them.

 

Lost in his thoughts, he soon found himself standing in front of his late parents’ home. His home now, technically, even though he never slept there. It seemed he couldn’t even escape his parents’ hold when they died. His mother had been a former Maiden of the Spear, before she’d abandoned them after the Aiel War. She’d made sure to pass her knowledge onto him, despite the fact that he wasn’t a fighter. He’d never been a fighter, but she refused to think she’d birthed a child who couldn’t stand the sight of blood, who couldn’t hold a spear. So she’d trained him out in the woods, every day, until finally he gave up and pretended to be a fool, just like his father. His father had started life with only half a brain and had lost the other half before his thirtieth birthday.

 

Witless had figured mimicking a fool might get him off the hook. And he’d been right….but now he was a little worried he’d played the fool a little too well. He’d played it so well and forgotten his past so cleanly that he couldn’t even remember his own name. It was just Witless now, even though he knew he wasn’t really witless. Still, he couldn’t help wonder how long a person could live a lie before it became the truth. Was he truly witless now? Would he ever be anything else?

 

So I’m tired, and I’m up far too late, so this was mostly just thrown together before the game ends (hopefully). Figured I might as well get the RP down that I’ve had running through my head for a few days now….

 

Also, Trimat. Why did you kill Aonar? I was actually starting to think he might survive a whole game. Poor guy. Even worse, you buried him in manure. That’s pretty crappy. And I’m pretty sure it’s the manure where you buried the panda.

 

….hm. Does that mean Aonar’s going to get infected with the evil of Mashadar now? ...yikes.

[Sir Jerric]

Erik stepped free of the dream, into the mist covered hills that surrounded Drell's Crossing. All around him rode powerful figures, legends mounted, bearing arms that shone with precious metals, armored in gleaming mail and shimmering robes.

He looked down at his own garb. A simple tunic, a thick belt, dark leggings. But the material shone in the spiraling mists, looking like velvets rather than homespun. In his hand, a reaper's scythe, its curved blade glistened almost like a polished diamond.

A horse pulled up before him, and Erik looked up at Hend the Striker, his hammer ready in one dark-skinned hand, his spike held with the reins in the other. Hend smiled. "A fine weapon you've chosen, Erik."

"I'm not . . . I don't understand. How am I a hero?"

Hend laughed. "The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills. You're here with the rest of us, so you might as well join the fight. There'll be time to talk it over later."

A draghkar screamed overhead, slamming to the earth a short distance away. It rose, spreading its arms to begin its crooning song. Hend pulled his horse around to close with the shadowspawn, but even as he did, the scythe drew a glittering arc through the creature's neck and wing.

Hend laughed again, deeper this time. "See there? Told you that was a fine weapon."

Erik shook his head. "I'm just a farmer far from his home fields. Let my wife talk me into taking over her uncle's river freighter. I'm not a fighter."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better about it, there's a whole field of shadowspawn over there that needs reaping. Have at it."

Erik shouldered the scythe and started down the hill. "I'm not stacking the sheaves afterwards, just so you know."

[Aonar]

Had you not mentioned that, I probably never would've thought of it, Wilson. 

 

 

Leas wasn't sure where he was. It looked almost like the yard outside Trimat’s hut, but not quite. Small objects shifted constantly, popping in and out of existence, while figures flickered at the edge of his vision. The whole place had a rather dreamlike quality. Tel’aran’rhiod. The name appeared suddenly, and to his surprise, Leas realized he knew what it was. The World of Dreams, where heroes waited to be spun back into the Pattern.

 

Bah. I’m not exactly a hero. Ambushed and smothered in horse manure, in the middle of a battle. That isn't a hero’s death. That also didn't seem to be the reason he was here, anyway. Something felt wrong. 

 

Alright then. May as well figure out what in the Blight I’m supposed to be doing. Looking around a little more, Leas noticed a thin tendril of pale fog stretching from his ankle to something buried in the manure. Huh. Bending down, he gave the strand a tug.

 

A presence, like some unfathomable darkness entered his mind, all rage and hate and madness. Collapsing to his knees, the world around Leas briefly flickered, becoming more solid, more real.

 

…Light. What in the Dark One’s name was that? Wait. Trimat had buried something here before me, hadn't he? A toy. Something that had belonged to Jain… and then Kaim. Blood and bloody ashes. This was his curse, wasn't it?

 

Whatever it was, it seemed to be what was tying Leas to the World of Dreams. Burn me. If he wanted to get out of here, he was going to have to touch that thing again.

 

Steeling his nerves and feeding his apprehension to the flame in his mind, he reached down and grasped hold of the fog. That strange presence immediately lashed out again, trying to wrest control from Leas.

 

It took all his force of will to remain in the Void, redirecting Mashadar’s hate into the Flame. He staggered from the effort. It crashed again and again at the edges of the Void, but Leas did not break. He still had work to do.

 

***

 

Gradually, awareness of the waking world returned. Leas was still buried face first in manure, but one of his hands was wrapped around something furry. He almost lost control from panic and succumbed to Mashadar before he realized he didn't need to breathe.

 

With excruciating slowness, Leas dug himself out of the manure. Eventually, mostly dead and the dirtiest he'd ever been in his life, he was free. Tucking the panda into his belt and drawing Mayor Twim's sword, he started towards the sounds of battle, silvery mist pooling around his feet.

 

As the grunts and guttural screams of shadowspawn drew nearer, the tendrils of mist began twitching in anticipation. Reaching the treeline, Leas paused a moment. There were dozens, if not hundreds of trollocs, with myrddraal and draghkar reinforcing the ranks. Taking in his first breath since his return, he let out a way cry and charged the trollocs.

 

Despite Mashadar's constant struggle for dominance within his mind, the mist acted like an extension of Leas' own will, striking down any trollocs that attempted to flank him as Twim's Power-wrought blade made short work of the shadowspawn in front. Moving into Boar Rushes Down the Mountain, he struck down a trolloc in front of him, and parried a strike from the one behind it as Mashadar lashed out, felling the beast. A Halfman turned, with a look that Leas assumed must have been surprise on it's eyeless face. It brought it's sword up, impossibly fast, but the mist was faster. The myrddraal stiffened and collapsed without a sound.

 

For a brief moment, the trollocs paused, silently observing their fallen leader. Almost as one, they broke, fleeing from the village. Leas was suddenly overcome with relief, and the Void shattered.

 

Clutching his head with the immediate onslaught, Leas collapsed and everything went black.

 

 

I hope you don't mind me "borrowing" Mashadar for a bit, Kas. I'm certain Leas would be more than happy to be rid of it, however.

Edited July 17, 2014 by AonarFaileas

[Gamma Fiend]

Loving the RP so far! Keep it coming! I have been working on the Final Write-up, but it's been taking a good while (which you're used to), but I'm going to have to postpone it until later today when I wake up! Your GM needs some sleep! (To have some more scary nightmares for dreamwalkers to spy in on, apparently!)

 

So feel free to take advantage of the extra time and get any RP posts you've been wanting to make in! It's the Final Battle, but it doesn't mean we can't have any fun, does it?

[Kasimir]

The first thing that struck him was the stench.

Kaim found himself reflexively calling up the ko’di, using the flame and the void to keep his nausea under control. The stench of evil, of murder. He’d almost forgotten how it felt like. He’d never been able to track again; not since Shadar Logath. He shouldn’t have gone into that city, but the murderer had gone there, and he’d thought of the carnage left in his wake and knew he had to follow.

He’d come out drenched—utterly soaked—in the stench of evil and that thief-taker’s sense burned out.

First, he used the ko’di, decades of control snapping back in an instant, to shut down his awareness of the other, individual shadowspawn. There was something in particular, and he bent all of his lost skill towards locating it. After all, he thought, it’d left a distinct impression, after all those years.

He smiled.

The Trolloc that strode towards him, spiked club at the ready never knew what hit it. Kaim dodged the swing of the Trolloc’s club—the instincts of life still strong, despite death—and then the hilts of his short sword and sword-breaker appeared in his hands. He closed within striking distance in an eyeblink and cut the shadowspawn’s throat. The Trolloc gurgled—the hot heavy scent of blood freshly-spilled struck him—and Kaim strode past the afflicted shadowspawn, unconcerned, leaving it to die.

He danced past the next Fist, knives flashing. Sword forms could be adapted for a knife-fighter’s reach, and an adjusted Folding the Air paired with Striking the Spark on the sword-breaker met flesh and parted it. Every blow was a step; every step a blow. In the Void, still attuned to the stink driving him onwards, his weapons were tongues of flame, licking outwards.

All else was emptiness. Nothingness. All else burned.

Blood; heavy-iron-stench.

Trollocs bellowed and sagged in his wake. Kaim smiled.

He had work to do.

-

Mashadar’s stench drew him; the rancid stench of evil he’d carried for long enough that he almost forgot how it felt to breathe without it. At some point, the fog changed; the gentle mists that had accompanied the golden cry of the horn and the figures that had charged out of the mists had faded; replaced by the swirling hate and darkness of Mashadar.

Tendrils of Mashadar carressed him; curious, fond, even. Trollocs and even a fallen Halfman littered the ground. Some of them bore the marks of blade-wounds; still bled out onto the mist-enveloped ground. And in the middle of the carnage: smeared with manure, the still form of Leas Fel lay collapsed on the ground. More striking was the panda—as clean as though it’d been washed—grinning, thrust into Leas’s belt. Kaim grimaced as the stench intensified. “There you are,” he said. He bent down and pried the panda free. “Don’t know what bloody mischief you’d have gotten up to, stuck in that man’s belt like that.”

It was a weapon, he told himself. One he’d carried for so long. One he wielded far better than any blade. And for all he’d planned to envelope the village in Mashadar, to drown it in the evil that had destroyed Shadar Logath…he thought of warm nights by the fire, a good pipe in his hand, the taste of sweet Sharan leaf, Bunnt’s apples, Witless laughing and—

The flame wavered and died. He was thrust, spluttering, out of the Void as surely as if someone had dunked cold seawater over him. The stench of evil was everywhere at once, overwhelming him, just as it had that fateful night.

He was older now, though. Perhaps wiser. And very much dead.

He found his pipe, wondered where it’d gotten to and then shrugged. Dead men had other things to worry about. It lit up with a thought, he breathed in the sweet fragrance of that batch of Sharan leaf he’d thought he’d never smoke again.

The smoke from the pipe drifted up lazily through the air as Kaim strode off; mingling with the brooding mists of Mashadar. In a few moments, the thick mists had swallowed up the still, pale, and dirt-smeared body of Leas Fel.

From where Kaim gripped it, the panda swivelled its head to look back, still grinning. Black-button eyes stared at the body Kaim had claimed it from.

Kaim had, for a moment, the strangest feeling he’d forgotten something. He shook it off. He had other worries, for now.

-

The crooning song of the draghkar led him, would’ve beguiled him, if he hadn’t been guided by the whispering evil of Mashadar, concentrated in the panda he bore with him.

Mashadar was everywhere. He thought death had freed him from it, but Kaim knew better now. A seed of it remained in him; too deeply buried to be prised free. He’d touched the evil of Mashadar, and even in death, he couldn’t have remained unchanged.

He hacked his way to the dragkar, felt Mashadar following him, streaming out from the panda he’d tied to his belt with a strip of torn cloth he’d cut from a corpse. “I need the hill,” Kaim said, to the draghkar, its leathery wings unfolded, bat-like and skeletal in the mists. “You’re in the way.”

He stepped and threw, as he’d done on practice fields back when he was a lad, apprenticed to Ishar. The sword-breaker didn’t spin; it embedded itself into the thin membrane of the draghkhar’s wings with a meaty thwack. The draghkar screamed; the sharp note of despair and pain cutting through the crooning of its song, meant to lull the victim to its deadly embrace. Not here. Not today.

Kaim knelt, untying the panda from his belt. From the hill, he had a vantage point, from which he could see the masses of trollocs gathering at various points in the village. So many shadowspawn, he found himself thinking. All for one village.

For the first time, the panda was no longer grinning.

Two-handed, he reversed his grip on the short-sword and drove it down into the panda. Once. Twice.

He heard a thin, tearing scream, of despair, of rage, of hatred—it went on and on, a shrill note that cut through the draghkar’s song, that couldn’t be drowned out—he realised he was curled up on the ground, hands pressed desperately over his ears, but still he heard it, and it seemed to go on forever—

And then—

The world seemed to go still.

Mashadar exploded from the ragged, torn, abused panda, spreading outwards from the hill, ravenous, vengeful, seeking. It ripped through the draghkar, shredding it, muscle from muscle, sinew from sinew, leaving a bloody thrashing mess. And then the hungry mist devoured even that.

Furrows of mist arrowed down the hill, tearing through the massed ranks of Trollocs, withering what it touched and dissolving them into handfuls of scattered dust. The Halfmen writhed, thrashing about in their death agonies where the mists of Mashadar touched them, skin melting away and running where the fog touched it.

The screams, Kaim thought. He’d known shadowspawn could hurt. They’d feared him, when he walked as a living man carrying the Taint of Shadar Logath with him. And now…

The draghkar had gone silent, but its flayed wings twitched, limply. The ruined, tattered panda was dead now; little of the stench remained. Kaim stood up. He thought about claiming his lucky sword-breaker from the dying draghkar, and then shook his head.

He walked away, into the mists of Mashadar, following their passage.

Sorry, Aonar, following some instructions left for Good Guy Fain  Also, I'm more than happy to leave some of Mashadar with Leas. It's in my job description after all

[Lightsworn Panda]

Huh!? The dead can come back and do RP? Great! I'm in!

 

Jain sat quietly on a small hill overlooking the town smoking his pipe. Or what was left of it. The town folk were a stubborn and resilient bunch,and that was worthy of credit. They did lynch him though. 

 

Jain smiled ruefully. He was dead now. Or at least, his physical form was. In his dying throes, he had projected his consciousness and mind entirely into Tel'aran'rhiod - using his powers as a Dreamwalker - the world of dreams that was just parallel to the real world. Sadly, that could only temporarily prolong his cognitive existence. Already, he could feel himself slipping away, being absorbed by the very world he now existed in. Sighing, Jain got up. His time was limited, and he had a task to complete.

 

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Jain strolled through the streets of the town. Occasionally, a flash of something would pop out of the mist around him. The Tel'aran'rhiod was funny like that. Physical interaction between the two realms was a fickle thing, and only the most determined of minds could intentionally transcend the barrier. Occasionally, however, someone would accidentally pass, if only for a heart beat. Around him, flashes of Trollocs, locked in a life and death struggle with the villagers, would appear. Mydraal would pop up, breaking necks and slipping daggers into unprotected parts. Draghkar appeared and disappeared, their song blessedly absent.

 

Stopping at a the top of a hill, Jain looked around. A massacre had occurred here. One involving the Mashadar. He looked down. A toy panda, fully intact, lay on the blood-soaked dirt, smiling back at him. While only Dreamwalkers, Aes Sedai and a select few could access the Unseen World, some powerful ter'angreals could. Or, in this case, a sa'angreal. The panda's smile seemed to enlarge a little, and the Mashadar began to leak from the toy. The mist formed into hands, grasping for the closest target - Jain. Smiling back, Jain caught one of the mist hands. While usually incorporeal, the mist became solid to his touch.

 

Jain grinned. An insane grin, filled with mad delight.

 

"No, my faithful companion," giggled Jain. "You can't consume me yet. Let us continue our travels."

 

The Mashadar mist suddenly exploded around the toy and Jain, visible now both in the World of Dreams and the Physical world. By the time the mist dispersed, nothing was left of the two.

 

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A few leagues away, atop an inconspicuous and ordinary hillock, a wall of unnatural mist rose up and left with surprising speed. A amn with a traveler's cloak and bag walked down the hillock, whistling a merry tune. Perched on the top of his bag was a smiling toy panda.

 

Hope I haven't broken any rules.   

[Renegade]

"Bah," Gade frowned.  "You know what I love about being dead?  Watching the living be endlessly entertaining with their perpetual escapades.  So, if you don't mind, I'm just going to sit back and watch how this plays out.  I apologize for any inconvenience this causes."

 

Suddenly, a group of blue, 10-foot tall beasts charged past him, heading for a group of advancing Trollocs.

 

"Wait... Koloss?" Gade pondered aloud.  "Well, I guess we're not bothering going canon anymore, so it must be time to... UNLEASH THE CELLAR!"

 

Gade suddenly dashed through Drell’s Crossing, ignoring the weary villagers that he ran past, who were fighting for their lives, and had been for many, many hours.  Eventually, he reached it.  The Spruce Thicket.  The cover for the Cellar, the force of destruction itself.  Which… apparently had a large waffle sign protruding out of it.  Well, no matter.  Gade busted open the wooden door, and ran to the back of the inn, where there was a discrete set of rickety stairs.  Gade vaulted down the stairs, and found himself in the cellar.  No, no, not the Cellar, but must a regular old cellar.  However, the entrance to the Cellar would be somewhere in the room.

 

Gade shifted a stack of wooden crates, and found the entrance to the Cellar – a tiny mouse hole in the bottom of the wall, covered by a tiny metal door.  Gade frantically searched his pockets until he found the key to the Cellar.  He inserted the key into the mouse hole, and turned it.

 

Wisps of pure darkness floated up from the mouse hole, an infinitely dark shade of black.  I’M FREE! a voice boomed, shaking the inn to its core.  THE CELLAR REIGNS!!!  Gade had released the force of destruction on the world.  He had only a few hours to do what he wanted before resealing the Cellar.  Gade breathed in the wisps of darkness.  And became Awesome.

 

Gade zipped up the stairs impossibly fast, slammed out the Spruce Thicket’s door, and returned to the battle.  “Alright, ye trolls.  You’ve had your fun, but now… you’re dead.”

 

Darkness streamed off of Gade, coalescing to form a giant hand in front of him.  The hand blocked the advancing Trollocs, and backhanded them with a super-powerful slap, knocking them out cold.  The hand formed a fist, and smashed down on some of the other Trollocs, flattening them.  Then, the hand disappeared, puffing into more wisps of darkness, which Gade inhaled again.

 

“I’m going to need some backup,” Gade muttered, realizing that the Trollocs were beginning to surround him.  “Well, best to have the element of surprise here.  RELEASE THE KRAKEN!!!”

 

The darkness coalesced into a gigantic kraken, which appeared directly over a large group of Trollocs, thumping down on the solid ground and squashing several of them flat.  The kraken, trapped on land, flopped around for several seconds before going still.

 

“Well, that failed rather horribly,” Gade sighed, looking at the fallen kraken.  “But if there’s one thing I know, it’s that I can learn from my mistakes.  RELEASE THE LOCH NESS MONSTER!!!  …No, wait!”

 

Too late, the darkness coalesced into a gigantic loch ness monster, which appeared directly over a large group of Trollocs, thumping down on the solid ground and squashing several of them flat.  Nessie, trapped on land, flopped around for several seconds before going still.

 

“You know what, that shouldn’t even count.  That was… an accident.  Uh, yes.  Obviously.  So, um… let’s see… RELEASE THE GIANT FRUIT BAT!!!”

 

The darkness coalesced into a gigantic fruit bat, which immediately dove for a nearby cart full of melons.

 

“Oh, come on now!  This is just getting embarrassing.  How about killer bunnies, then?”

 

The darkness coalesced to form several dozen small, furry, bloodthirsty rabbits.  Each of them lunged towards the Trollocs, moving impossibly fast, and shredded the Trollocs to bits.

 

Gade’s eyes widened.  “That is terrifying,” he whispered, watching row upon row of Trolloc get annihilated by the killer bunnies.  They were practically unstoppable.  “Alright, let’s make sure these Trollocs stay dead.”  The darkness swirled around Gade, until it formed a perfect sphere around him.

 

Gade rushed towards a large group of Trollocs, and the ball of darkness around him cut cleanly through them, causing the Trollocs to vaporize into mist.  At the center of the Trolloc horde, Gade summoned the darkness towards him, and made it coalesce into a pair of giant swords.

 

The Trollocs approached, and Gade struck, moving lightning-fast and slicing them to bits with his duel-wield swords.  Trolloc upon Trolloc fell down, cut in half by the enormous black swords.

 

MWAHAHA!!! a deep voice boomed, emanating from the Cellar.  The Cellar was going to be released to destroy the world soon if Gade didn’t hurry up.  “Fine,” sighed Gade, “time for my vanishing act.”

 

Gade summoned all of the darkness that was available to him into the palms of his hands.  His hands seemed to radiate darkness, distorting the air itself.  As a number of Trollocs moved towards him, each in a line, Gade extended his hands.  Black lightning shot out, vaporizing everything in its path.  Dozens upon dozens of Trollocs disappeared without a trace.

 

“Alright, I think I’ve been Awesome enough for today,” Gade said, smiling.  He summoned the dark tendrils of dark darkness, and breathed them in again, rushing back towards the Spruce Thicket to put the darkness back in the Cellar.

 

If you're wondering why "Cellar" has been capitalized in several of the write-ups... this is why.  Just something we thought of in the Dead doc.  The Cellar is basically an infinitely-dark alternative universe where there are gigantic beasts of myths and legends, and other dark and scary things.

Edited July 17, 2014 by Renegade

[little wilson]

Holy crap, Khas. Thank you so much. Like, seriously. I can't say that enough. When Aonar recovered it, I was horribly worried that it would find its way to me, but you've fixed that right up. 

 

Mailliw sent me an email, saying that he isn't able to access the site, but he wanted to participate in the battle, so here's his RP:

 

 

Malai had been taught the ways of sniffing out criminals. Her gut most certainly was not a Darkfriend, but on the other hand, pointed her towards darkfriends, even the Forsaken. In this time of need, she, as an incorporeal spirit, would aid her town however she could. 

She had learned in Tel'aran'rhiod. Learned things beyond her imagination. Learned of places called "Jer-many" and how they were the best at a sport called "sockerr". She had seen things mystical and things ordinary. 

One thing she had seen would be of extraordinary advantage to the villagers in this battle. A sword that had killed a King. A sword that could cut the spirit itself. A sword wielded by an assassin in armor. A sword used for destruction would now be used for good. Using her willpower, she manifested her spirit near the gathering of the remaining villagers. 

"Douza, Newan, Witless. Today we fight. Today we will be victorious. We did not root out the darkfriends for aught. Not to die hopeless, slaughtered by beasts. This day we fight! The dead fight among you as well. Fear not!" With those words, Malai summoned the Shardblade and it formed out of mist in her hands. It had killed kings and been wielded by kings. A dirt salesman had killed the assassin who held it. Its history was rich with details and irony. Today, it would be used on a world not of its forging for the first time. It would kill beasts, not humans. 

Whistling for her horse, Malai charged into the horde of trollocs. They would fear her. Her beloved steed, Arod, galloped for her. Malai jumped onto his bare back and galloped into the midst of trollocs. Swinging the Blade, she severed limbs at the spirit and they hung limply. She hewed sprit necks and the beasts fell, dead, with no sign of injury. Malai would not let these beasts kill her friends.

 

[twelfthrootoftwo]

Douza swung in a wide arc, and as he'd hoped, the trolloc in front of him flinched and drew back. The one to his side saw the opening, though, and lunged forward. His chainmail turned the sword, but he was forced back a few steps. That put him in reach of the third, chest crushed but not quite dead, who caught his ankle and sent him sprawling.

He scrambled away , barely avoiding a skull-crushing blow from the first trolloc. That gave him enough room to get to his feet. But the creature was between him and his hammer. It grinned, dropping the crude wooden club, and picking up the beautiful hammer. His father's hammer.

Douza turned and ran.

He shouldn't have come alone. He should have stuck with Witless and Newan, or followed Rishi as soon as she'd run off. Not go after her now, when the shadowspawn had moved in to block his path. What was he thinking?

He caught sight of Witless and Newan ahead. Newan's bat-horse - a raken - had been hit, and couldn't fly, so now Witless was holding the attackers at bay while Newan, perched on a crumbling wall, rained down arrows. Douza glanced behind. The two trollocs were following, but slowly, unused to the hammer's weight. He had time. Scrambling onto the debris of a building - he'd lost track of where he was - he glanced around. Lots of rubble, but he couldn't throw for anything. He needed - 

There. A rafter, splintered at one end, but still good and long. He yanked it free, and dashed to help Witless. Rishi would have to wait.

Suddenly a soft light bathed the street, and the villagers and shadowspawn hesitated, looking to the source. It was a glowing, humanlike figure. There were trollocs aplenty, faceless men in black armour, and even strange flying creatures, but none of them had glowed. What was this new enemy?

"Douza, Newan, Witless. Today we fight. Today we - " He recognised Malai's voice. The shadowspawn weren't enough; now they were fighting the dead too? He swung his rafter at the ghost, as hard as he could.

The wood passed straight through, which threw him off balance. When he looked up again, the ghost - oblivious to his attack - had a sword. He swallowed and backed away, holding the rafter before him.

But the ghost swung at the trollocs. They fell, twitching, but seemingly unharmed. A ghostly horse appeared, and Malai leaped onto its back, charging into the massed shadowspawn. The creatures died wherever she turned her sword.

If the dead were here - and fighting - perhaps they had a chance after all. Douza whooped, and charged the two trollocs with his hammer. They were suddenly looking afraid.

[Gamma Fiend]

Tarmon Gai'don

 

 

After a quiet and restless afternoon, Witless, Newan, Douza, and Rishi all gathered and waited for what they knew would be the final, large push from the forces of shadow that would eventually overwhelm them. They had managed to hold the shadowspawn at bay the night before, with the help of the stranger Gambles and his coercion over the collared gleewoman, but none of them even bothered to pray to the Light for salvation anymore, for they knew they were all as good as doomed. But Drell's Crossing was their home, and they'd be damned if they went down without a fight! The shadow may eventually overrun them and the Blight claim their lands, but they would fight tooth and nail for every inch of ground lost. For evil had come to destroy their village within, and they had triumphed.

 

All of the misfortune and brutality that had plagued the town – the murder, the suspicions, the deception and the betrayals – it had all taken it's toll on the survivors, and a deep, heavy darkness now lay over them, it's unseen, crushing weight driving them forward in their relentless quest for vengeance.

 

They could no longer tolerate the presence of the openly confessed darkfriend, Trimat, as he blatantly mocked and taunted his victims. Despite there being no signs of tampering with his manacles, and the blacksmith's reassurances that he couldn't possibly have escaped the night before, deep in their heart they had known that the manure salesman was somehow responsible for Leas Fel's gruesome death the night before. Well before the sun began to set in the sky, a silent and grinning Trimat was being led to the gallows.

 

“Any last words?” spat Witless as he secured the noose around the darkfriend's neck.

 

Trimat began to laugh, his mirth taking on a manic, hysterical tone, and he opened his mouth to gloat even more, when his laughter was suddenly cut by a lone, piercing noise. A single golden note, it's beautiful, haunting sound raising above everything else and drowning out all other noise. It was the sad, lamenting sound of mourning. It was the joyous, inspiring song of triumph. As the note faded, the villagers looked to the sky, feeling hope rise up within them for once, as a thin layer of mist began to rise from the ground, slowly enshrouding the entire village in it'd dense fogs, protecting and hiding the villagers.

 

***

 

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Trimat slid a hidden knife from his sleeves down into his hand, and with a quick slash, had freed himself from bondage and had ran off into the mists, followed by the shouts of frustration from the villagers. Chuckling to himself, he ran headlong through the thickening mists, not being able to see more than a span or two in front of him, wondering if this was the work of the Great Lord or not, despite the feeling in his gut that this was something different somehow. All he knew is that he needed to get into the safety of the ranks of the shadowspawn somewhere ahead of him, as he cleared the perimeter of Drell's Crossing as he trampled over the pile of ash that used to be the town's defenses.

 

He scrambled up the top of a nearby hill, trying to remember the layout surrounding the village, gauging how much further he would have to run, as all visibility was rendered useless with the thick wall of mist that had enveloped everything. He heard a few more shouts below and the clang and clamor of battle, laughing to himself some more as he imagined the foolish villagers chasing out after him and blindly running into a band of trollocs. He paused to catch his breath, turning away from the din of battle behind him. He was ready to move when he heard a rustling sound behind him, and spun quickly around, using his instincts to know where to toss his knives as he let them fly and dipped his hands down slide more knives down but instead stopped short, stunned and motionless at the horrendous sight in front of his eyes.

 

His knives had indeed flown true, and would have killed any person who was standing behind him. But instead of a human, or even a trolloc, standing on the hill top with him was a monstrously gigantic beast, it's skin luminous and ethereal, opaque and insubstantial, and standing almost twice as tall as him and wielding a freakishly huge sword that was larger than him as well. It's dark blue skin was tight and compressed, as it looked like a bag of flesh that was stretched out over a skeleton way too large for it, so around the eyes and joints of the body, the skin was ripped and hanging loose, exposing the bright red raw flesh underneath, as blood oozed freely from the open tears. From the ground wherever it stepped, and flowing and dancing around the incorpreal monster were the strange mists that had suddenly covered the world.

 

Feeling dread rising up within him, and knowing this monster in front of him to be something even worse than shadowspawn, Trimat let out a blood-curling scream as the phantasmal beast let out a roar and charged forward, swinging it's massive sword and splitting the darkfriend in half as the blade thumped all the way down into the ground. More of the same creatures topped the hill a moment later and and after letting out savage yells of triumph, they moved on from the hilltop, seeking more prey.

 

***

 

Witless charged forward, leaving his old characteristics of being a fool behind, as memories of childhood lessons and old instincts took control of him. He was of ancient blood, hardened and conditioned like steel in a forge by the Three-Fold land. Even if he couldn't remember his Aiel name, he would not forget who he was and where he came from. Wearing his cadin'sor proudly, he ran straight towards the ranks of trollocs, fearlessly inspired by the beautiful sound of the horn that had rang out and filled him with the courage to charge.

“Life is a Dream!” He yelled out cheerily, rattling his shield and whooping with joy as he noticed the gathering mists, thickening with each stride he took and obscuring all vision almost immediately. He heard shouts from ahead of him as large, inhuman silhouettes reared up in front up him in the mists, and without thinking, Witless thrust his spear forward with both hands feeling the blade bite into flesh, and with a yank and a twist, he passed the spear over his head in an arcing circle and brought it back around at full force, taking the trollocs head off with with the swing. He kicked the headless body into two other trollocs standing behind it, catching them off guard, and leapt to the side, dodging the slash of a sword from behind, and lashed out his his dagger he pulled free from his belt with the other hand, slitting the beasts throat in a spray of blood.

 

A screech from above his head drew his attention, and a dragkhar swooped down from the fog-filled skies, it's shrill cry drowning out the noise of battle, it's echoes reverberating throughout his head. The leathery-skinned flying monster landed on the ground with it's stumped, clawed legs, spreading it's thin, bat-like wings as the enchanting song of the dragkhar took hold over Wtiless, making him lower his weapons and be drawn forward, blissfully unaware of the gore and brutality all around him. He raised his arms, ready to embrace the source of the mesmerizing and let everything go, when a silvery, luminous figure rode by in a rush of vapor. It looked like the form of a human wielding some strange, glowing sword, and with a swing of it's weapon, the blade passed right through the dragkhar's neck, doing no visible damage and leaving no wound, but Witless saw the winged-beast's black horrible eyes flash briefly and dim from their darkened, absolute black to a burnt-out gray colour.

 

Was that Malai!? He thought in surprise, watching the radiant spectre ride deeper into the mists, leaving only a hazy, vaporous trail and a pocket of light in it's wake. A glimpse of movement out of his peripheral vision snapped him out of his daze, and he turned, raising his knife, just in time to see the blur of a falling mass as a trolloc was dropped onto another with a splattering thud, and a screeching noise from the air above of Witless let him know that Newan had apparently got his raken healed, somehow.

How can he bloody see through all of this fog! Witless thought it wonder, as he snatched back up his spear and charged forward into the heat of the battle once.

 

***

 

Newan flew through the sky, feeling at home and wholly complete on the back of his raken. His mission for being one of the Hailene – the Forerunners – was to scout and learn of the common people in this strange land, to observe and learn how maleable and easy to subjugate they would be. He had to admit he had been surprised at the hardness and tenacity of these people who weren't even of the Blood, or what had passed for it in these lands. Despite his initial troubles with grasping the realities of the shadowspawn terrorizing this remote, isolated village, Newan knew, for the honor of the Empress and the Crystal Throne, he could not leave until the forces of shadow had been defeated.

 

He swooped down on the back of his raken, scooping up yet another trolloc, using the quick time down near the ground to take another shot with his bow, as his arrow flew true and took the beast through the neck, looking over the battlefield to see where else he might be needed. He saw Witless standing alone, shaking his head and recovering from some sort of distraction, but Newan saw with horror as the Mayor was being ambushed from behind, and with a light yank of the leash and a nudge of his heel, the raken took glided in the direction of the fool and dipped down, dropping the body of the trolloc from it's talons as the body landed on the other trolloc with a splat.

 

Back in his homeland of Seanchan, the continent on the other side of the Aryth Ocean, to become a morat'raken, one had to undergo extensive, severe training to make sure they could perform in the best and worst of all conditions, including dense and impenetrable fogs. As a scout, his ability to navigate in such extreme weathers, under any amount of stress, was absolutely vital for those who he had to answer too. Although Newan had a deep feeling that this fog was slightly different than the magical mists summoned by damane.

 

Shaking his head to dispel his mind from any more distracting thoughts, he looked back down to survey the battle scene, and looked down to a large group of shadows moving beneath him in the fog below, and taking out a handful of heavy, solid lumps of metal he had asked the blacksmith to make up for him, he took out his slingshot and took aim at the silhouettes beneath him, letting loose even more devastation from the air above the battlefield, as they heavy lumps smashed into the skulls of the beasts below with loud, audible cracks as skulls were crushed by the impact. Looking around, Newan began to scout more targets, keeping an eye out for any shadows of flying dragkhar as well. As a morat'raken, the sky belonged to him, not these foul winged shadowspawn. He let out a whoop, and dived right back into the battle.

 

***

 

Rishi ran forward with reckless abandon, leaving her fears and inhibitions behind. There was the small voice in the back of her mind that would always be constantly worried about her little brothers, left huddling alone and terrified, locked in the Cellar back at the Waffle House, but she knew that in order for them to be truly safe, she had to fight without any restraint, not allowing her worries to override her. She knew deep down she wasn't a fighter. Light, she was a bar maid! But she had watched as all of the other villagers had bravely stepped up time and time again, never backing down or letting their limitations stop them. She tightened her grip on the daggers in each of her hands, wondering once again on why Khamsi had ever bothered to teach her how to properly handle knives, and where and how to conceal and then to toss them with accuracy. She knew it had to have been some for some sort of dark purposes, but she was currently grateful for the lessons. Shadows reared up in the mists in front of her, and with a yell, Rishi let her knives flying, hearing the inhuman roar of pain as the figures dropped down and out of sight, and she paused, letting two more knives slide down into her hands, knowing she had to make each throw count, as she did have a limited number of knives, after all.

 

She saw as a group of trollocs rushed up the hilltop she was standing on, but she heard a whoop from the air above, and with a few loud cracking sounds, she saw the trollocs heads and limbs jerk forward, and they fell down to the ground lifeless, with huge, dents and gaping holes in their skulls. She silently thanked Newan, and rushed forward, still feeling invigoration from the beautiful sound of the Horn that blew earlier, that had seemingly summoned the mysterious fog that had encompassed the whole town and surrounding area.

 

She stopped short as three more trollocs burst forth from the wall of mist in front of her, and with two quick reflective tosses, her daggers flew through the air, one taking a trolloc in the neck and dropping, the other hitting another in the shoulder, causing them to drop their heavy spiked club. She went to reach behind her for another knife, when she saw a glowing image strike past her, as a few glowing, ethereal wolves rushed past her and tackled the trollocs in front of her, their ghostly jaws tearing into the trollocs and ripping out their throats. One trolloc stumbled and tried to run away, eyes wide and making wild, terrified shouts in it's unnatural, guttural tongue, and Rishi ran forward and jammed her knife in the back of it's skull, twisting it with a satisfying crunch.

A vaporous image appeared in front of her in the form of Senna, incorporeal and formed of silver mists, wearing ragged and mismatched furs and animal skins, but her golden, glowing eyes remained the same.

 

“I have sent a few wolves to protect your kin. Tonight, we hunt.” The spectral Senna said as Rishi scooped down and grabbed her knives back from the lifeless trolloc corpses, and a small pack of ghost wolves gathered around her and let out a haunting howl. Grinning, Rishi let out a yell herself, giving her best battle cry, as her and the pack charged towards the ranks of the terrified trollocs, tripping over each other as they tried to turn around and run away from the sudden onslaught.

 

***

 

Douza, no longer feeling like an apprentice in any sort of regard strode through the wake of battle, watching the fantastic clouds of mists as they would seemingly come to life and strike out at the ranks of shadowspawn with long tendrils of fog, searing right through the skin of the trollocs and Myyrdrall wherever it touched, causing the flesh to wither away rapidly and dissolve right down to the creatures' bones. Douza was too amazed and grateful that him nor any of the other villagers were being attacked by the mists to be worried about what it was and meant, exactly, so he just accepted the help and used it to his advantage. He would charge through the ranks of the trollocs, smashing into them and throwing them off balance before they could raise their weapons, then with a powerful swing, he would bring his massive hammer around and smash in into the trolloc's body, just like when he would work the forge and pound out the red hot metal into shape. Removing the slag. That's all he was doing.

 

He ducked underneath the swing of a poleax and jabbed his hammer forward, driving the metal head into the gut of the trolloc, and brought his hammer around behind the beast, clipping it's legs out from underneath as as he raised his boot up and stomped it down on the creature's head as hard as he could. He felt the splat as the skull gave underneath the pressure, and hefting his hammer, he looked around to find new targets. He saw three more trollocs who rushed forward as he raised his hammer up and spun it around, catching one in the ribs and knocking it into the other. He side stepped the slash of an axe and brought his weapon back around, knocking the darkened bladed axe out of the trollocs hand before he smashed into the beast with his shoulder, knocking it backwards and sprawling onto the ground as it tripped on the other shadowspawn on the ground underneath behind him. With a few swings of his hammer, all three trollocs were permanently incapacitated, and he raised his shoulder up, resting it on his shoulder.

 

He saw a few approaching figures, just clouded shadows in the mists, but in the shape of human silhouettes, but also with the glowing patch of light that indicated the presence of one of the dead villagers, somehow come back to life in ghost form, to fight for the villagers in their darkest time of need. The area around Douza began to clear of the fog as more pockets of light appeared and the tiny circle the blacksmith was standing in was illuminated from the silvery glow more and more. Somebody stepped out of the wall of mist, with thin little strings of the fog twisting off of them as they walked forward. It was Witless, still holding his spear and buckler. A screeching sound rang from above, and Newan swooped down on his raken, as he deftly maneuvered it to a graceful landing. A lone howl rang out, and Risihi came rushing forward, accompanied by a pack of ghostly silver wolves and a group of the rest of the dead villagers. Jain, Gade, Malai, Grimlar, Waes, Joel, Nath, and more!

 

“Let's end this!” The villagers all cried out in unison, as they rushed forward with what they knew was the last charge. With the help of the Dead on their side, they knew there was no way they could lose. The Light had blessed them, and with it's grace, the village of Drell's Crossing, and it's surviving inhabitants would triumph over the Shadow, once and for all.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Trimat was the Last Darkfriend! And he was a Viewer! (I know I kind of ignored that aspect for the death, but in my defense, just look at that battle!)

 

Trimat(+1) (6) - Rishi, Newan, Douza, Witless(+1)

Phew, I really could have gone on and on with that battle, and other things or a Gambles POV. But I believe this deserves to be a Villager Victory! I had a bunch of other plans and things I was going to add in in here, but this really went on for long enough, I believe!  I'll post the Docs and Spreadsheet and other End-Game stuff later when I have some time to organize them! I hope you all enjoyed playing! Well done, everybody!

Edited July 19, 2014 by Gamma Fiend

[Lightsworn Panda]

Great game, everyone. Great GMing too, Gamma. 

 

What in harmony's name was a KOLOSS doing there!? 

[twelfthrootoftwo]

 

a screeching noise from the air above of Witless let him know that Newan had apparently got his raken healed, somehow. 

 

Sorry! XD Weakening Pattern, or KhamsiSooki's magic?

Edited July 18, 2014 by twelfthrootoftwo

[+Quitecontrary]

Great game and very nice writeup, Gamma! I can't believe I survived my first elimination game!

[Ashiok]

I told y'all that I was a viewer, I never said village. I did some viewing. Kaim night 1, leas night 2, and everybody I viewed was a vanilla...

I didn't lie about anything other than order the first day, but then shiv made me start to look suspicious... Grr shiv!

[Binnut]

Great game guys!

 

I do find it funny that you correctly identified me to be a DF from entirely incorrect assumptions. =P

 

(OK,You probably had other things on me, but all the things you told everyone about me was wrong.)

[Sart]

Great game everyone. It was fun spectating this crazy ride.

[little wilson]

Binnut, I'd thought you were a DF from the second you re-contacted me. When you said Khas had been slandering me, all I could think was that that didn't sound like something Khas would do. Especially the thing about the dead doc from the previous game. I also kept thinking that if Khas was trying to get you to think I was Fain, why would you break all contact with me? Communication with a person is one of the best ways to figure out if they're lying. And then contacting me immediately after he died just felt like you were trying to reconnect with the council, since your "in" there was dead.

 

All-in-all, that was a great game. Team Evil played it very well (and totally in a way that I never want  to face again).

 

And Ash, I'm glad Shiv got you looking suspicious. If he hadn't, I'm not sure we would've won this game. You had me thoroughly convinced of your innocence, with that uber-paranoia PM. Trusting you is yet another mistake I will not be making again.

[Kasimir]

Great game, and I'm kind of glad I died on Night Two. I've been asking this repeatedly in the dead doc: does this make me an honorary villager? Can I be appointed an honorary villager? Because y'know, I never got around to actively sabotaging the village. I was being Mr Helpful Villager all the way until my untimely death

 

Which was just as well as the Shadar Logath doc is full of my personal moments of panic (which Gamma had to deal with; poor GM!) with regard to how to angle for a Corrupted win >> Also, panic. A lot of panic. Did I mention the panic?

 

I'm both amused and half-annoyed that Mashadar was getting around after my death. It's making me a hipster--lugging around Mashadar before it became mainstream. And I don't like this hipster business

[Ashiok]

Nah Wilson, that game was yours the second you decided to kill dellan. If I had told y'all that leas was Vanilla BEFORE you and Rishi mentioned it, we might have won, but there was no way at that point for me to lie about viewings and kill people w/o getting killed... It was fun though...

[Aonar]

Good game, everybody. That was very well played on the Darkfriend's end. We ended up spending a lot of time confusing ourselves over what you were doing.

 

It's weird how utterly incorrect assumptions have a habit of pointing in the right direction.  Dellan we would've found anyway, as we had some evidence for him that wasn't wrong, but if we'd known for sure that Ash was a Viewer, it probably would've been a while before we found Binnut.

 

I'm looking forward to seeing the DF Doc, largely for the code-breaking. That was storming impressive, Shiv.

[Binnut]

Wilson, yes I know you suspected me for other reasons , Shiv told me that you were suspicious of me for a long time. The thing is, Kas actually did talk about that you had described the tactic that Fain used in the dead doc... I'm not .really sure what "slandering" mean, but I read it as something negative, if that is it, then I am sorry. It was not my intention to do anything else than relay what he said about "your" tactic, and nothing else. (I had motivations for doing so yes, but still).

 

I understand that why you read what you did from when I contacted you, but that was not my motivation. I'm new at this, and was more scared of giving info to Fain by talking to a suspect than wanting to gain more info. I would probably have done the same if I was a villager. I have to get better on that point. =/