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Far away from Brightlord Dalinar's camp, out on the Shattered Plains, one spot seemed to lose sunlight for a brief moment. Only a moment, before the light came back, along with another figure.

 

Raven looked out along the Plains and sighed. "Colors, this can never be easy, can it? No, I have to actually walk into camp, rather than just appear there."

 

The paper crane sitting on her shoulder coughed. "Raven, careful. We're on Roshar now."

 

"I know that. You did grab the safehand, right?"

 

Ien huffed, his beak opening and shutting without a word. Raven took that as a 'yes,' and opened her case, quickly pulling out what she needed.

 

It wasn't too hard to add in the safehand, as cumbersome as she found it, and it wasn't that hard to lighten her eyes. Name and identity, though, that was harder. "Any suggestions, Ien?"

 

"Ryna?"

 

She glared at him. "Not funny. How about...Rese?"

 

He snorted. "No."

 

"Resha," she decided. "Resha, lighteyed scholar of chickens and other Shin animals, and her..." She dug back through her case and pulled out a book. "And she always has her notebook with her."

 

Ien unfolded and folded, taking on a form closer to human. "Raven..."

 

"Resha," she corrected. "And you almost got caught last time. In the book with you."

 

Ien scowled, but unfolded and floated down into the open book. Resha quickly shut it, and stuffed it back into her case.

 

"Time to make my presence known, meet new people, try and track down Bortholemew, and not get killed. Again. What fun."

 

Second game! I'm excited to play, and looking forward to how both the roles and the longer format plays out.

 

I'm joining as Resha, scholar of Shin animals, secretly a Knight Awkward planning to aid Bortolemew in his quest.

Edited by RavenRadient7
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Decided to make a new, lasting character. I hope the RP isn't too long.

 

Backstory:

The man walked through the crowd, drawing stares from those he passed. It could have been his looks, although it was unlikely. His eyes, skin, and hair were the same brown color as most of the other peasants. He wore the same clothing as the others in the crowd, though slightly less patched and frayed.

Perhaps it was his attitude. Rather than looking despondent, with eyes downcast and a slumped back, he held his head high, striding through the crowd with the expression of a man who knows he has a purpose.

Or perhaps it was the magnificent sword in the sheath on his belt.

All that could be seen of the sword was the hilt, yet that alone would make almost any other person envious. The pommel held a large emerald, and the hilt was carved from fine mahogany, with streaks of gold. The design was marvelous. The one who had made this sword was likely paid a kingly sum for his craftsmanship. The hand of the man rested on the sword, giving no doubt that he considered it his own.

As the man's eyes strayed across the crowd, they lingered on one of the darkeyes. Unlike many others in the crowd, the peasant was caught up in his own thoughts, paying no notice to the man with the sword. So absorbed was the peasant that, heedless of where he was moving, he bumped into the man. Mumbling a quiet apology, the man finally looked up, and his eyes registered surprise before the crowd swept them away. The sword bearer wondered at the fate of this kingdom, so filled with poor and so devoid of happiness. Swept away in his own thoughts, he continued down the street, moving closer to his own goal.


Maliss moved among the peasants. He was unnoticed. He doubted anyone else cared for him, sweeping him aside to watch the man with the sword. That was the way it should be. For Maliss was no peasant, but a thief. One whose skill was great, but whose reputation was almost unknown. It was said that he could tell real gold from fake, merely by touching it. He tried to supress these rumors, but there was no denying that they were true. This was his plan as he moved towards the one with the sword. Surely no one would be foolish enough to walk around unguarded with a real weapon like that. Pretending to be wrapped up in his own thoughts, he bumped shoulders with the man, reaching for the hilt of the sword. Expecting it to be a fake, his fingers brushed . . . air.

Looking up at the man, he was sure his confusion was obvious. Either he was growing clumsier or this man was very adroit at maneuvering. Perhaps the man's skill made up for his lack of subterfuge. Trying a different tactic, he followed behind the man, making a show of pushing through the crowd to meet him.
“Cousin!” He exclaimed with a fake accent. “It has been many years. I did not recognize you at first. We must meet to discuss your travels.”
The man turned towards him. Strangely, not a hint of surprise showed on his face. He grinned broadly. “I did not expect to see you here, my cousin. Come, let us go to an inn. What think you of the Golden Loft?”
Maliss gaped. The Golden Loft was the richest lodging house in the city, perhaps even the entirety of the kingdom. This man expected him to pay hundreds of spheres for his own comfort. Surely he realized that Maliss was not a peasant, or he would never have made such an offer. He almost called off the stunt there, but hesitated.
This sword would mean never sleeping in the street again. It would be sure to cover whatever expenses this man expeced him to pay.
Suddenly another thought struck him. This man was a foreigner. He seemed to have no clue of the rights withheld from darkeyes. There was no way a darkeyes could go to an inn like that and not draw attention. This scam would be easier to pull than he had thought.
Recovering quickly, he proposed a different offer. “I apologize, but I have fallen upon hard times, and have limited funds. Perhaps The Glowing Sphere would fit our purposes better? ”
The man smiled. “That will do.” was all he said.



Meeting at the aforementioned place, each man eyed the other warily. The same thought was on both of their minds. This man is not what he seems. Maliss was the first to break the silence.
“So...Where have your travels in the far east taken you?”
The other raised a hand. “This tavern is infrequently used and safe from eavesdroppers. There is no need to keep up the charade. As such, before I tell you anything about myself, I want to know who you are.”
Maliss was taken aback by this man's bluntness. Giving a predevised story, he explained that he was a purveyor of fine artifacts. Determining that this land held little more to add to his collection, he had locked his shop and prepared to leave to the neighboring country for a few months. On his way, however, he had been drawn by this man's sword. He had taken him aside in hopes of learning more about this fine piece of weaponry.
The man nodded, then asked one more question. “Any why, may I ask, are you dressed as a peasant?”
“This land is dangerous. Crowds are filled with thieves and pickpockets, and as I was carrying some large amount of money, I determined that disguising myself was the best way to avoid being robbed.”
The man nodded, but with an expression that made him seem as though he was considering something. Finally he looked back at Maliss. “As you have told who you are, it is only right that I do the same. My name is Tri Kery, and I am...an explorer.”
The man drew the sword, laying it on the table. Maliss felt his mouth water as he considered the inlaid gems on the blade, the diamond sheen, and the perfect balance it appeared to have. “It is wonderful,” he said. “I have never seen its like before.”

Tri Kery shook his head. “It is not what it appears.” Picking up the sword, he considered it a moment, then suddenly turned and plunged it into the chest of Maliss.
Maliss felt his eyes go wide from shock, but realized that he didn't feel any pain. Moving his hand through the sword, he found that it was an illusion. Still confused, he turned to Kery. “It seems to be an illusion. But you handle it as though it is real.”
The other nodded. “It is a simple image to most. But this sword has declared me its master and, for better or for worse, I am the only one who can feel its weight.”
Maliss groaned inwardly. The man had played him, tricking him into paying for room and board at the in, while leaving Maliss with nothing to steal. Noticing his distress, the other man smiled. “If you are looking for fine artifacts, the sword is not the only one I have.”
Maliss felt his heart lift as the man pulled a small container out of his pocket. Opening it, the man reached for the dagger inside. Suddenly he jerked back, a small cut on his palm. Holding his hand, the man motioned for Maliss to examine it.
Cautiously, for he had seen the ease by which Kery had been cut, maliss reached into the box, pulling out a finely crafted dagger. The hilt was black as ebony, and the blade seemed to be made of the darkest obsidian. Maliss felt pulled to it. He no longer wanted it to sell for a fraction of its worth. He wanted it for his own, regardless of the cost.
Placing it back in the case, Maliss reached for his purse. “How much?” he asked, knowing that he would willingly pay whatever the man named.
“80 emerald broams.”
Maliss snapped back to his senses. That was a ludicrous fee, even for a work of this magnitude. Besides, he didn't have that much money.“Surely you can see that is far too much, even for this.” He said out loud.
Tri Kery smiled. “Your story checks out.” was all he said.
Maliss realized that he didn't need to negotiate. Now that he had a target, he would strike while the man was sleeping.
“I can't deal with your foolery tonight,” said Maliss, putting a hand to his brow. “Perhaps after a nights rest, we can come to an agreement.”
Kery considered it for a moment, then glanced out the window at the setting sun.
“Agreed”, he said, rising from the table.




Late into the night, Maliss rose from his bed. He had not slept, but had spent same time listening to the snores from the adjacent room. He had eventually decided to steal both the sword and dagger. Despite being unable to touch it, there were still ways to sell it for a hefty sum. Finally rising, he snuck over to the door. Withdrawing a small vial of oil from his pocket, he greased the hinges. Soon he moved out into the hallway, pausing at the next room over. Liberally applying the oil, he waited a few moments, then soundlessly moved into the room. The man was asleep on his bed, scabbard leaning against the side. Maliss grinned. He moved over, lifted the scabbard, and belted it around his waist. He moved out the door, ready to retrieve the few belongings he had left by his bedside and escape.
He had only just left the room when he noticed that the sword was gone. The scabbard was still belted around his waist, but the sword was not inside. Glancing back into the room, he noticed the sword still lay by the bed. Crouching, he returned to the bedside, snatching at the sword. His fingers, of course, passed right through it.
Giving up on that approach, he turned to the box the man had shown him earlier. It was deep in the man's pocket, but through stealthy movements, he retrieved it. Moving to return to his room, he paused. The man had said that he could touch the sword because he was its master. Would killing him allow Maliss to become the master of the sword? Although assassination was not often in his line of work, Maliss turned, drawing the dagger from the ornately carved box. He turned, ready to slay Tri Kery.
The man was gone. Where he had lay there rested a note.
Congratulations! I see that you have managed to convince the dagger to like you. I don't know how you did it. I've been trying for months. May you find success in unlocking its powers.
Maliss glanced at the dagger. Powers? He supposed it could bear some magic. Even as he looked at it, he could feel it pulling on him. He could sense indistinct thoughts coming from it. Treachery. Travel. Terror. Transfiguration. “Treachery.” he mused. “it makes a good name for it. Satisfied with the night's events, he returned to his room, fully planning to rest peacefully for the rest of the night. Only a few minutes later, though, he noticed something.
His coin pouch was missing.

 

Eradin is joining. He is a most confusing sort. His eyes have been reported to fluctuate, sometimes light blue, other times a deep brown. He enjoys debates and confusion, and he must be a rich swordsman, because he has a magnificent sword belted to his waist.

Edited by Paranoid King
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The night? :P

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I will be playing (provided Wilson doesn't mind me tapping into her canon) brightness Draela Heb - a scribe who studied under Brightness Kenara before her untimely death in the Alethi Unification War. An acquaintance of Brightness Katara in times past, they have not met since the shortly after the war. Draela has been contracted by the Heatherlocke clan to document the events about to play out, as they believe them to have great significance for the future of Roshar, but do not presently have anyone with the connection necessarily to observe the events first hand. 

Edited by Haelbarde
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If it's not too late to throw down, I will be playing as Efrihm, adopted son of Lord Demitre Valdev, a 7th dahn nobleman serving under Highprince Dalinar. Despite his non-alethi heritage, Efrihm is generally well accepted by his peers. Given that Lord Valdev is sterile, he has raised Efrihm to someday take his place as the head of his House. Efrihm himself is an amiable fellow with the ability to befriend most anyone. He has pale green eyes and is known for his signature half grin.

Edited by Alvom
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I am definitely in for this game.

 

Badhab Eony an ambitious lighteye in Aladar's camp, who is not afraid to switch allegiances when he gets a better deal. And is looking to please Dalinar, who is practically king. 

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I will be signing up for this game. Name and back story coming soon to theatres near you

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i'm joining as Patch.  He doesn't like to share his first name (because it's Flower, and that's not manly enough)

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This is it. If I am ever going to find out the truth it will be here.

 

Klanal looked around from beneath the brim of his large hat, looking for recognition in the eyes of any of the other guests faces. He was relieved but not surprised when he saw none. He had learned the value of discretion back when he had first begun his quest to find the truth. He very nearly got himself killed by asking his questions too loud or in the wrong places. No he was close now, he wouldn't ruin it by being overanxious. He would wait. He would listen carefully. He would finally learn the truth. 

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Owain watched the messenger as he walked away. An invitation from the Blackthorn himself. He was not sure what to think. Of course he had no choice but to attend. And yet, why would he refuse? This was as grand an opportunity as he could have hoped for! Even accounting for the rumors of Dalinar Kholin's supposed weakness of late, he was still the most influential Highprince in all of Alethkar. "If I can make an ally of him, surely I can make a name for myself in no time!" he thought as he quickly began to prepare for the feast.

 

Backstory: Owain is a lighteyes from a small town who came to the Shattered plains to win glory and prestige for himself and his family.

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Mortago gladly went to Dalinar's camp. It was his one chance to strike it big. He wasn't good at collecting the gemhearts that the lords were so desperate to have. However, he knew Dalinar was falling behind in his claims. In fact, it almost seemed as if he was starting to not care about the chasmfiends. Mortago was a diplomat, so if he could persuade Dalinar to make him an ally, his reputation would grow immensely. Otherwise, well, he chose not to think about that.

 

Just letting you know I'm signing up. Will this be the largest game of Elimination yet?

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Cleo sat down next to a random person and began to sharpen her daggers

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Just letting you know I'm signing up. Will this be the largest game of Elimination yet?

LG12 had 31 people, not counting the pinch hitters who stepped in. I think there was one or two games that got bigger though.

Edit: color

Edited by Herowannabe
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LG12 had 31 people, not counting the pinch hitters who stepped in. I think there was one or two games that got bigger though.

 

Total game numbers sits thusly:

 

First place (31 players): LG11, LG12

Second place (30 players): LG4, LG10

Third place (29 players): LG2, MR5

 

If we only count MR, the numbers are thus:

First place (29 players): MR5

Second place (28 players): MR8 (currently)

Third place (27 players): MR1, MR7

 

And just because, the biggest QF was QF8 at 22 players.

 

Hm. Now I want to add a new tab to my spreadsheet where I track game totals for both total players and survivors in all games and in each format.....Must go read up on functions again. (I've said it once and I'll say it again: I think I have a minor addiction to spreadsheets....But it's only minor. I promise. :ph34r:)

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May we start a PM with a particular player and keep it open for the entire game, provided we don't talk in it during the Night or per the GM's instructions?

I just would rather not create a lot of PMs every Day, and I can only imagine that it would be easier on the GM.

Edited by Kipper
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May we start a PM with a particular player and keep it open for the entire game, provided we don't talk in it during the Night or per the GM's instructions?

 

I just would rather not create a lot of PMs every Day, and I can only imagine that it would be easier on the GM.

 

Yeah, that's fine. (And yes, I'd rather not deal with thousands of PMs by the end of the game. :P)

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Cleo hadn't drawn her whet stone across her blade a half dozen times before she began regretting her choice of tables to sit at.

"... And on the 72nd floorboard, 3rd stanza, it said 'upon the winds up high the Sprens of wind shall never die' which we thought meant that our mission was certain to be a success, so we set out with gusto to complete our task and prevent the next desolation." Brightlord Wannan was saying, "But of course we were wrong! Far from having success, our whole expedition died! The warcamp found us out and killed us one by one."

"If they killed your whole team," Cleo grumbled skeptically, "Then how did you end up being the only survivor?"

"That's just it! I didn't! I was the first of us to go! Some bloke dropped out of the sky and burned a hole straight through my chest. Stormin' rude, if you ask me. To add insult to injury they just dumped my corpse in a chasm without a proper funeral or even so much as burning a prayer for me. Now, I don't know if it was the hole through my chest or the lightning strike in the chasm that sent me back in time to now... Or maybe it was the chasmfiend that ate my corpse... But regardless, after that I-"

"Ahem." Wannan was interrupted by a young servant girl. "Brightlord?"

"Yes?" He said, turning to the girl. Cleo took the opportunity to snatch up her knives and run before Wannan could continue his mad ramblings.

"I've been sent to tell you that your wife has delivered the baby," the young woman said. "It's a girl. Both mother and daughter are in good health. You are now permitted to join them in the medica tent."

"Aha! That's wonderful!" Wannan said, glory spren popping in a little cloud around his head as he rushed off to see his new daughter.


Today my wonderful wife gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Just wanted to share with you all. :)

Edit: typos

Edit2: so if my ability to post is sporadic over the next few weeks, you know why. Thought I'd mention it now before the game starts and people start to wonder if I'm laying low as part of a strategy to stay hidden or not.

Edited by Herowannabe
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Today my wonderful wife gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Just wanted to share with you all. :)

Congratulations! Hope everything goes well, and that your daughter has a great and heath-full life!

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Merilee sighed. The dreaded day had finally come. Today, she would be forced to socialize. Was there anything more tiresome? Standing around for hours on end simply bored her. Why talk to people when she could be home, studying ancient texts? It was stupid.

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Less than 9 hours left until sign-ups are over!  The game will begin shortly afterwards. :)

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Brightlord Mallan finished up his affairs for the day before Highprince Kholin's feast. Feasts these days weren't as rare as they had been when Mallanhad first taken his father's place. Out on the Plains, they happened whenever someone had captured a particularly large gemheart and wanted to boast about it.

He hoped there'd be some of that strange Shin bird again. The one time he'd tasted it had been at the King's banquet that he had been invited to for being particularly instrumental in helping Highprince Aladar capture a large gemheart. It was white meat with no hard shell and it had been delicious. He couldn't remember what it was called: Fish-kin? Something like that. Mallan's memory was fading these days as he slipped out of his middle age. After his wife had died the year before, it had gotten even worse. Some days, he forgot his scribe's name.

Today, though, Mallan's memory was in good shape he had only forgotten to comb his hair and one of the lesser scribe'a names. He remembered it now though: Bethar. And there she was! He walked past her on his way towards the feast and waved, greeting her. She wrinkled her brow when he called her name but smiled anyways. He wondered what was wrong. Had she smelled something? Wasn't her hair blonder this morning? Strange. Mallan ignored it and smiled as he left the camp.

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One hour left until sign-ups are over!

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The sign-ups are now closed.  The game shall begin shortly (once the Night 1 thread is up), and I will then start sending out your role PMs afterwards.

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