Long Game 13: Traitors on the Plains

[Paranoid King]

Akirsefatafesrika. Who...? What...? How...? Did he change his name to that without anyone noticing? Did his parents accidentally give him a blasphemous name as a child? Was he named in another land, where nobody cares? Is he a voidbringer? Kazaaak wishes he had half the stealth Akirsefatafesrika has.

[Feligon]

A lone ardent walked down the "street" hardly even glancing up toward the temporary stone shelters.  A black furry face poked it's head out of the ardent's hood.  It looked a lot like Bleep, Plurn's old pet that he left with his aunt.

 

Plurn's face contorted into a nasty form at the thought of her.  What he'd had to do for his work.  Plurn just hoped it would end soon and he could get back home.

[Elithanathile]

Both his parents were athiests, and did it to spite the ardents, but the ardents never noticed. Then he grew up, and ended up converting to Vorinism, much to his parents chagrin.

Edited July 12, 2015 by Bridge Boy

[Araris Valerian]

@Hero: I'm not delusional. Wol just doesn't quite have a handle on spelling. And he is a Reference.

Wol knew that nobody really cared about his family history. But, well, whenever somebody was nearby, asking for advice, he could always think of some ancestor that had already dealt with the exact same (or at least marginally similar) problem. Take that darkeyed cook that had come over the other day for some advice about what meal to fix for his Brightlord's wedding, for example. Wol was completely puzzled as to why the man had put chull dung, of all things, in his soup the next week. Surely Wol's tale of Neolen, his great great grand uncle, was right up any cook's alley. The day old Neolen invented skyeel sausage should have been inspiring to any aspiring chef... Fortunately, my sense of taste is nonexistent; I never would have found out about the chull dung if I hadn't offered to share my soup with that talkative merchant. The things people eat these days...

[Shallan]

 

Happy Birthday Meta!!!

YAYYYYYYY!!!

[Clanky]

Cla will be joining. He is a horneater who believes that all problems should be solved by duelling with a mudbeer drinking contest.

[Shallan]

...is there any other way???

[Araris Valerian]

Wol is known for never having lost a long-windedness duel. Although most people would prefer knives at dawn to listening to him for an entire duel.

[Shallan]

Indeed?!? I highly doubt that in fact just the other day I was telling my brother how I thought that on occasions like this one during which I tend to talk more than normal but then again what really is normal in this case it could even be that the situations during which I am long-winded occur so much that they themselves would be considered normal so to speak but regardless I was saying to him that I believed he often wished I would get to the point of long sentences much like this very one actually in which I have the tendency to drift on and on while using very many relative clauses which may even have uses of the subjunctive in them which would be extremely difficult to translate into Latin which I have been studying at a camp in order to go to Texas which is very hot almost as hot as poorly-air-conditioned apartments in Rome which may even catch fire which certain sticks will not do rather like some people having a point to their sentences which I will not do as you can see from this very long winded sentence which just keeps going on and on like a long hose or rope which could potentially be used for Awakening so in the case that sentences were ropes and all people had infinite breaths one would wish to stay far away from me which people also tend to want to do if they hear that someone had indirectly challenged me to a contest of inbrevity which some people don't like it even fear or even hav a phobia of in which case they would have sesquipedaliophobia and the reader of this sentence which is you now possibly does as well.

[Araris Valerian]

Wol puffed out his chest. A challenger! "Well, see now, my great uncle's twice removed second cousin Trespassers Will, which is short for Trespassers William, was in that exact situation, and he decided to follow the advice of his sister's friend's mother, who said to always follow your heart. See, the essence of having long wind isn't forgetting periods so much as being so important that you have no challenger when it comes to proclaiming the conquests of your family and distant relatives. Now, I'm pretty sure subjunctive is a type of mood, but my friend the Ghost of Long John Cottontail was an expert on grammar and he knows that moods are things like boredom and happiness and such. He wrote a treatise on the subject which has received honors across the Plains, one of which, ironically, came from another of my relatives, Davadan the Enlightened. Davadan could tell you that your words are lacking a point, yet bear insufficient weight to club any listeners into silence. My ancestry, on the other hand, is so full of points that nobody else dares wield it save myself. Now, I wouldn't claim to be an expert on the Awakening business, but my third nephew's wife, Faolin the Breathy, is almost certainly a full fledged scholar of the subject. I read that one day, she read a small excerpt from The Wol Family Tree, and I'll have you know, there was nobody left Awake by the end. Of course, if I had been there then she would have fallen asleep sooner than I, but as my father in-law always says, presence is the key to success. And he learned everything he knew from my..."

*snores*

[Aonar]

There are a little less than 24 hours left to sign up for the game! So if you're interested. but on the fence about joining, you should make a decision soon. (Or if you've signed up but forgotten to name your character... *cough*Meta*cough* )

Edited July 13, 2015 by Aonar Faileas

[Metacognition]

There are a little less than 24 hours left to sign up for the game! So if you're interested. but on the fence about joining, you should make a decision soon.

 

Or finish coming up with a character... 

Sorry, as Shallan mentioned, it was my birthday yesterday (also, thank you for the birthday wishes! ), so I've been away. I have a concept in mind, just got to do the introduction post!

Edited July 13, 2015 by Metacognition

[twelfthrootoftwo]

Oh what the hey. Torren, darkeyed spearman, grumpy conscript, and spy for Highprince Roion, is in.

[Bort]

Like a cremling, skittering about under a rock, a small tendril appeared. It quickly grew, puffing itself out grandly into the shape of a long, luxurious beard. With a pop, Bortholemew appeared, attached to the beard, staggering backwards. He struggled to remember what had just happened, then with a grimace, it came back to him. Ugh. Death by Shardblade. Never a good way to go.

 

Bortholemew the Blind looked around to see where he was, quickly identifying the Shattered Plains (He had read Wok and WoR). A more in depth observation identified High Prince Thanadal's camp, and frantic activity for something. He muttered something under his breath. He didn't even really need to be audible when talking to his beardspren. This time, he was thanking his spren for remembering where they needed to visit next.

 

They weren't quite in Urithiru, but then travelling by beard wasn't exactly the most accurate way to travel. They were lucky to be at the Shattered Plains.

 

Bortholemew the Blind walked off, heading deeper into the camp, quickly determining when he had arrived by the frenzied activity. The camp was packing up, making ready to move to Urithiru. What a stroke of luck! Or maybe fortune, depending on what she was calling herself these days.

 

A lot of the camp had left already, but Bortholemew the Blind was easily able to attach himself to another group preparing to depart. This time, he swore, he would make it to the city, and find his first clue to the whereabouts of the fabled Shardmarks.

[Emerald101]

Bortholemew the Blind looked around

 

Huh. Interesting.

[Bort]

Emerald, this will help it make sense.

[Emerald101]

I see. Y'know, I kinda wish I had the time/energy to make such interesting RP characters.

[Metacognition]

Etam scouted a head of the slow-moving party. It was his job to make sure that they weren't walking into a trap or a greatshell or anything else. Despite the coming of the Everstorm, the Shattered Plains was still a dangerous place. So Etam used his spear to vault across the chasms and threw himself, solitary into what could very well be certain doom, for the sake of those traveling to Oathgate. 

 

I don't have much time right now, so I'm glad I even got this in! It's a start and I'll try to flesh Etam out more later. 

[A Joe in the Bush]

Sani carefully untied the ribbon from around the stack of papers. She took the one from the top, and unrolled it, revealing her brother's last words once again. She skipped over the irrelevant matters, and just read the ending.

 

We're so close to finding the last spy. We have it narrowed down to a few of the spearmen. Once we get them, Betab willing, we'll be able to finally finish this war, and unite Alethkar under the banner of Gavilar. Then finally, we will have peace. Then, will we be able to live in joy, without fear.

 

He hadn't been able to see the days of peace. Torwel had managed to kill him in his last moments. And now, the fragile peace he had died ensuring was gone. They were no longer battling other Highprinces, but Voidbringers. She still didn't know if Jost's sacrifice had been worthwhile or not. He could have escaped that fire, if she hadn't been caught inside as well. Jost had slain spies, conquered lands and brought Glory to Dalinar and Alethkar. What had she done? Written letters for Dalinar, until her guilt and sorrow drove her to seek out employment in Thanadal's Camp. And then Dalinar had gone on to find Urithiru and defeat an army of Voidbringers.

 

What was her worth, compared to her brother? She should have been the one to die, not Jost. 

 

She slowly refolded the letter, and put it in her pack. She didn't have much. the basic necessitates, some spheres, and now, her brothers journal. That was one thing she couldn't leave behind. That was really the only thing that drove her to keep living now. She didn't want Jost's sacrifice to be in vain. She would find some way to make him proud of her actions.

 

Remember Jost and Sani? If you don't go reread Midrange Game 4: The Alethi War of Reunification. I've been wanting to play another Roshar game for a long time, so that I could use Sani Joslin. Hopefully I'll actually roleplay this whole game, unlike in the last several games I've played.

[Aonar]

Last chance to sign up! Sign-ups are going to close in about half an hour, to make sure I've got time to finalize everything before the game starts.

 

Edit: And closed. The game will start in about half an hour- I'll probably start sending out the first PMs in about twenty minutes.

Edited July 14, 2015 by Aonar Faileas

[Aonar]

LG13 Day One: A Wayward Son

 

Ableah Edr was a very long way from home. When the Heatherlocke Clan had fled Sel, they had found themselves in the middle of a war. Now that war was over, but separated from his family and in the middle of a wasteland, he suddenly found himself missing the chaos of the Rose Empire. At the very least, he’d managed to obtain a weapon worthy of replacing Discord. Eris couldn’t speak, (a relief, given his old weapon’s propensities) but she was almost as dangerous, and far easier to conceal than his old halberd.  

 

At this particular moment, Ableah was on chull duty. With the last two chulls having somehow driven themselves into a frenzy and fallen into the chasms, they made sure this one was guarded at every possible moment.

 

This was not, unfortunately, the most interesting duty. Starting to pace around the chull in a vain attempt to stave away sleep, he was suddenly hit by the pungent odour of fresh chull dung. Stomach heaving, Ableah staggered back to a safe distance. Nights. Yup. Ableah Edr, wayward scion of Heatherlocke, bearer of Discord and Eris, and the caretaker of perhaps the largest, and most appallingly malodorous crustacean in all creation.  

 

Wiping his mouth, he straightened, grimacing slightly as the old wound in his chest flared with pain, before settling into its usual dull ache. His family had had access to some of the best resealers money could buy, but even they could not save someone so far gone without leaving a few scars.

 

About to return to his post, he paused, feeling something warm trickle down his chest. God Beyond, what…? Touching a hand lightly to his shirt, his fingers came away sticky with blood. The ache intensified as he tried to turn, nearly driving him to his knees as he felt the steel arrowhead grind against his ribs. Beardnuts. Not again…

 

Swaying slightly on his feet, Ableah Edr-Heatherlocke collapsed, never to see his family again.

 

 

“Nice shot, Faialen.”

 

“Thanks,” Ralyt Faialen said, lowering her bow. As a group, they cautiously approached Ableah’s body, visibly relaxing when his Shardblade coalesced and clattered to the ground. One of their number carefully picked it up. The Blade was an oddity, uneven and strangely twisted; it made one slightly uneasy when looked at, as if the mind couldn’t quite comprehend its proper shape.

 

Faialen breathed a sigh of relief. “Exactly as we predicted. Our Interpretation must be on the right track.”

 

Still looking at the sword, one of her companions spoke, their tone approaching awe. “So this is it, then? The knightslayer, the bondbreaker; the sword that will save mankind?”

 

“It matches the descriptions we have available, in both the Alethi histories and the Diagram. ‘The Blade will be held by the Wayward Son, far from home and family. Storied yet unknown, its form will defy description, and its edge will seem to rend the very air.’”

 

“Psalm of the Second Nightstand,” Faialen said, nodding. Always the historian, that one.

 

The one to pick up the Blade gave it a few experimental swings. It let out a high, dissonant keen as it moved through the air, like some creature crying out in pain. They all winced.

 

“Well, that sounds about right, anyways.”

 

“Um, sorry to interrupt all the self-congratulation going on, but what exactly are we supposed to do with the body?” One of her companions asked hesitantly.

 

“Nothing.” Another of Faialen’s co-conspirators flipped through a small notebook. “Stormwall should come through within the hour. The body will just get washed into the chasms.”

 

“Good,” Faialen said, looking towards the still sleeping chull. “Now let’s finish what we came here for, and get going.”

 

A few small nods were exchanged, and Faialen distributed some chull-shell whistles from her pack. She blew a soft note. No sound reached her ears, but the chull’s antennae perked into alertness. Holding up her hand for the others to wait, she continued to blow softly as the beast stirred awake. It slowly rose to its feet, and Faialen gave the signal.

 

As one, the others blew their whistles. Something prickled at the edge of Faialen’s awareness, a chord, loud, harsh and dissonant, just beyond the range of her hearing. She could feel a headache coming on.

 

For the chull, however, it seemed to be much worse. The crustacean shivered, rocking back and forth on its eight legs before letting out a scream, shrill and undulating. It stumbled forwards, only to be repulsed by the wall of sound, antennae twitching madly. They pressed closer, forcing the beast to shrink back against the edge of the plateau.

 

One of its clawed feet slipped off the precipice, and everything went wrong.

 

Regaining its balance, the crustacean’s feathery antennae laid back flat against its head, and charged with surprising speed. Faialen, directly in its path, didn’t stand a chance.

 

The other Diagramists looked on in horror as she was trampled and dragged beneath the beast as it plunged into the depths. A terrible sound of tearing carapace and cracking bone announced its arrival on the chasm floor.

 

“…Storms,” the shardbearer said, echoing the unspoken thoughts of their fellows. “What’re we supposed to do now?”

 

One piped up nervously, offering suggestions. “We collect the body? It’s not as if we can just leave Faialen there. They’ll know for sure they’re being sabotaged, then.”

 

While the shardbearer and the historian began to offer their assent, the one with the notebook interjected. “There is no time,” they said, inclining their head towards the horizon. “The Highstorm will be here within minutes. We will just have to trust it to obscure the evidence.”

 

 

The storm was thorough in its work. Almost perfect. Only a single piece of evidence remained.

 

When morning came, and the first brave refugees found it in the chasm, they knew exactly where Ableah and Ralyt had gone, and that there was no way in Damnation they would ever be coming back.

 

You see, all that remained to tell of the night’s events was a small piece of shell, caught up between a few rocks on the chasm floor.

 

A piece of shell, which, as it happened, seemed to look a bit like a whistle.

 

And this whistle, as any Alethi worth their spheres could tell you, could serve only one purpose.

 

 

Ableah Edr-Heatherlocke was a Refugee Shardbearer!

 

Ralyt Faialen was a Diagramist!

 

LG13 has begun! You have 48 hours to discuss the lynch and get in your actions. As there was a Highstorm, all Knights Radiant now have two charges of stormlight. Good luck!

 

(PMs should all be sent out within the next five-ten minutes. If you don't receive one soon, let me know.)

 

All PMs should theoretically have been sent out now. (Also, I apparently can't spell. )

Edited July 14, 2015 by Aonar Faileas

[A Joe in the Bush]

Sani frowned as she walked through the camp. Everywhere she looked, people were reading some sort of letter. Even the men were. No one seemed to think this strange. She idly wondered what the letters were, as she hadn't received one herself.

 

So yeah, no PM for me yet.

 

​EDIT: PM received. Thanks.

Edited July 14, 2015 by The Only Joe

[leiftinspace]

Nasssty stormses! They Ruins it!

[Zas678]

Sign me up for the spec doc! I'll be gone partway through, so yeah.

[Herowannabe]

Wannan deftly climbed down the chasm wall- no, deftly wasn't the right word- he recklessly climbed down the chasm wall. He hadn't waited for a rope to be fetched, and the crowd at the top of the chasm watched on with horror, certain that he would slip on the damp storm-smoothed rocks and fall to his death at any moment.

He climbed about halfway down before pausing, prying something from the rocks, the scampering back up the cliff wall. The crowd gasped and cried out when his footing gave out and he slipped. He fell about 10 feet before catching ahold of a tuft of grass that had emerged from its shell to drink up the fresh rainwater. Wanna just chuckled, then finished climbing the rest of the way to the top.

He was surprised by the angry and shocked reception he got from the others. "I already told ya," he said with a grin. "Ain't nothing that can kill me, I'm stormin' invincible. Besides, we got more important things to worry about." He tossed the shell-whistle to one of the others. "Looks like someone has been givin' our chulls a little encouragement to jump to their deaths."