Quick Fix Game 11: Cultists in a Snowstorm

[Mailliw73]

Also putting it out there that Elbereth did a ton more work on this than I. She did most of the action tracking once we started helping out, and although I wrote half of the first write up after we took over and helped brainstorm the second, she did most of the writing. It was Elbereth running the show and me helping out her! So hats off to Elbereth!

I second this wholeheartedly. She helped out with the actions a ton.

[Hellscythe]

I knew an evil one lynched me!

[Elbereth]

I second this wholeheartedly. She helped out with the actions a ton.

Aw, guys. I didn't do that much! If Hael hadn't set up everything the first day, I wouldn't have known what to do. I could write, sure, but I write all the time. The hardest part was more keeping everything organized in my head and not forgetting everything (which I did end up doing a couple times over, when I posted Cycle 6). But it was really fun to do, so I'm glad I got to, regardless of how much I actually helped.

[Lightsworn Panda]

Good game all, and my highest complements to the Eliminators, who made it through the game without losing a single member! Kinda like a reverse MR2.

 

What a way to go. Come back from a hiatus, and die of inactivity. 

[Haelbarde]

Aw, guys. I didn't do that much! If Hael hadn't set up everything the first day, I wouldn't have known what to do. I could write, sure, but I write all the time. The hardest part was more keeping everything organized in my head and not forgetting everything (which I did end up doing a couple times over, when I posted Cycle 6). But it was really fun to do, so I'm glad I got to, regardless of how much I actually helped.

It was a team effort! \o/

[Curious Anamaximder]

Awesome game! This was great!

[Kasimir]

"Well, here we are," Asim said, to Katien. The shaggy mountain horse nickered--almost wearily, Asim thought--in response.
 
It had been a long, hard journey to Duladel, through the mountain passes, clogged as snow as they were. At points, he'd almost questioned the sanity of his decision to walk away from that trading outpost. But he'd persevered, nonetheless. There was no turning back: it might've meant death, just as going forward did.
 
So he went forward.
 
He was utterly starving, and Katien's hide was no longer glossy, but matted and he could count the ribs beneath. He figured he wasn't in much better shape either, with snow crusted on the thick furs he wore, and his stomach a constant gnawing pit, but he was still alive, breath issuing forth in white clouds, and that was what mattered.
 
Only the living, after all, could enjoy the moment, staring out at the glittering jewel of Duladel below, and to know he'd made it through the blocked passes alive, no matter how suicidal such a gesture had been.
 
He heard a voice whistle a tune, and reached warily for the knife hidden in an underarm sheath. The last thing he needed was more trouble, for who else would brave a blocked mountain pass?
 
"Hello," said a man. He was tall; dark-haired, with a single pale eye, and carried a travelling bundle tied--incongrously--to his spear, which he slung over a shoulder as though it were a pole. "I didn't expect to see a fellow traveller braving the winter snows to reach Duladel."
 
"Yes," Asim said, falling back into the disguise of a courier, like an set of old, worn clothing. "The passes are simply terrible in winter, aren't they?"
 
"You don't say," the traveller said. "I came across a trading outpost a few days back. I'd give it a wide berth, if you're swinging back through the passes to Arelon."
 
Asim considered it. "Why?" (For a courier would've asked, he thought.) "What news, then?"
 
"Death," said the traveller. "Much death, and slaughter. And sacrifice. Don't go near the outpost if you wish to live. It was cold enough that the decay had slowed, but I could see the shape of bodies in the snow, and from the outpost itself, not a sign of life."
 
"Thank you for the word," Asim said. "And I presume you are also heading down to Duladel?"
 
He was not particularly surprised to find himself talking to thin air. Men, Asim wisely concluded, went a little kayana in the snows. But what remained, even as he picked his way down carefully towards hot food, a warm bed, and all the accompanying comforts of civilisation was the conviction that he had made the right decision to press on.
 
Never get involved in their games, he told himself. It was the first--and most important--of his rules. To do so is to die.
 
And Asim had every intention of living.
 
Congrats to the Eliminators! Meta, I do believe you've put the fear of you into a bunch of other people now

[Elithanathile]

All I'm saying is that I called Meallin being evil. Called it.

 

Congrats to the eliminators, and many thanks to the GM's who stepped in on this!

[Madagascar]

I was just a spectator but this was fun to spectate. I already play this somewhere else so I doubt I'd have time to sign up here too, but I always like watching the games here quite a lot. Good job, players and GMs!

[Alvron]

It was raining.  A soft drizzle, one still holding the lingering chill of the recently passed winter, that made the torches splutter and turning the stones leading up to the broad gate black and shiny.  A small group approached the city all wrapped in heavy travelers cloaks.  Behind them rode a lone traveler.  A big man, one of lean muscle and ropy tendon rather than flesh.  His hair limp and slick from the rain while his eyes alert as they scanned the surroundings looking for threats.  He rode with the gait of one more used to his own feet rather than the one of a regular rider.

An unshaven guard in a rust-spotted breastplate wearing a deep maroon cloak negligently hanging from one shoulder stood beneath a crude shelter that barely kept the rain at bay.  He was swaying on his feet as he checked the passing travelers for the requisite papers.

When it came to Ratel’s turn he leaned over and handed the guard a small pouch that clinked instead of his papers.  “I’m just passing through friend.”
“Right, right.  Everything seems to be in order.” The guard said as he made the pouch disappear in a way that would make any street thief envious.  “Enjoy your stay good sir.”

The district near the gate was poor with littered streets and shabbily constructed two storied buildings packed tightly against one another.  Crudely painted signs creaked on rusty hooks identified this or that tightly shut shops.  The lights shining out of windows with noisy bawling coming from within showing the few who remained on the streets the way to the taverns.

Ratel let his mind drift back to the events that happened just a few weeks ago as he passed through a quiet square where all the shops were closed and few were about.

It had been a busy couple of months spent tracking down his quarry but once he had it was a simple ritual to create a snowstorm that closed the passes while he and a few select friends had dealt with any unfortunate people trapped in the wayside inn before going after his target.  But now, finally, he had what he was sent for.  The heart of the Unkillable One.  Even after having his heart carved from his body Merad had refused to die.  They ended up just burying Merad in a deep snow drift that shouldn’t thaw until spring was well underway.  Kaloo and Locke left soon after, as the snow had melted, taking along their newest members, Meallin and Borter, as apprentices while he had performed a ritual that would ensure that none could follow their tracks before heading off himself.

Once he was past the square, the streets were dark and empty, the torches having been doused by the rain and not relit.  The inn that was his destination was backed onto a foul smelling alley littered with rotting food and waste.  The walls high and thick, more so than what one would expect at a normal Inn, but then this Inn was anything but normal.  It’s gate made from stout wooden planks ribbed with bands of steel. 

Approaching the gate, Ratel awkwardly leaned back in his saddle and kicked the planks.  There was a strange rhythm to the kicks.  He waited.  Then the gate creaked open and a hooded head poked out.  Ratel pushed aside his cloak revealing the pendant he was wearing.  The hooded figure withdrew and shortly after the gate swung open just enough to admit Ratel.  The traveler rode into the rain darkened courtyard and managed to dismount without falling on his rump for a change.

“Cursied beast!” He swore as the horse, purposely Ratel was sure, stepped on his foot as he removed his saddlebags.
A groom with straw through his hair walked up.  “I’ll take good care of your mount.”
“You can eat the storming creature for all I care.”  Ratel shouted as he limped away, crossing the rain slick cobblestones and entered the Inn.

Once inside he hung up his rain soddened cloak on one of the unoccupied pegs and headed into the Inns taproom.  Banners hung on the walls, each one from a land or kingdom unknown to most who lived on Sel.  Aons glowed between the banners instead of the customary torches casting an even light throughout the room.  That’s new.  Ratel thought.  Aren’t they normally white?  Each Aon was of the same design but all had a slight red tinge to the lines that made them work.  Layers upon layers of dust stained the few windows making it difficult to see out, or in for that matter, while the place smelled of stale ale and vomit.

More than a few of the tables were in use.  A couple were serving as a beds for some drunken patrons.  Another had several standing around it where the sound of dice and coins could barely be heard over the laughter.  While one of the booths held a couple of people.  One had a bird of some kind on his shoulder and was talking to the other who had the tell tale silvery skin of being an Elantrian.  The Elantrian’s hair however wasn’t just the silver that most of his kind were, instead it was streaked with red and black strands.

Sitting at an empty table, Ratel ordered some wine and a plate of bread and cheese but before his order arrived two others joined him after breaking away from the dice game.  One was missing his ring finger while the other was rubbing some kind of plant between his fingers giving of sparks and smoke.

“You’re late.” smoke-fingers spoke.
“There were delays but the job is done.”
“You bring it?” nine-fingers asked eagerly.
“Of course.”

Unstrapping one of  his saddlebags Ratel withdrew a cloth-covered object.  It seemed to pulse at regular intervals.

“One step closer brothers.” nine-fingers said as he picked up the bundle.

“One step closer.” the other two agreed.

Edited November 14, 2016 by Alvron

[Metacognition]

A shadow fell over the door to the outpost. There was a eerie sense of deja vu, as this was basically how it had all began for the shadow. He half expected that he would open the door and all of the dead that had piled up over that fateful week would be there, alive and well; ready to start the massacre over again. 

 

They weren't though. Merad, as he called himself in this form, scanned the room from where he stood in the doorway. Everything was still in its place; as if Meallin had just stepped out for a moment and would be back any second. At least, that was how it would look to anyone else's eyes. To Merad's, he could still see the walls plastered in blood, his blood, as they tried again and again to finish him off. He had spent hours under their ritualistic care, though it felt like months. 

 

It had been a long time since someone had tried to kill him with ritualistic magics. So long in fact that he couldn't remember the last time; and he had an exquisite memory. It wouldn't have worked anyways. His own magic was far stronger than anything the Jeskri Cult welded. 

 

As was evident in the fact that he was here, walking around, with a huge hole in his chest, still packed full of snow from where they had buried him. A quick glance at the fire pit and a roaring fire flashed to life. 

Merad approached the flames and the warmth. As he stood there with snow and ice melting off of him, he considered where he would go from here. He knew that Ratel was more than just an ordinary Cultist. That was obvious in the fact that he had taken his heart. He would need to get that back. It wouldn't do to have that kind of power just running loose in the world. Not only that, but he would be at a disadvantage until he did get it back. He wouldn't have a heartbeat until then and that could key people off to his otherworldly nature. 

The air around Merad shimmered and the ruined and malnourished body of the cannibal was replaced with a new whole and hale body. This new one was tall and fit; with long legs and strong muscles. It was a runner's body. 

"Merad" figured that he'd be doing quite a bit of running here soon; in an attempt to get back what was stolen from him. 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Let the games begin, Alv!

So even with all the problems that occurred this game, with things like people being busy and so very little organization wound up happening, I still think this game was a blast. As I've said before, we've had some great games in the past and to see them being brought back is a treat, IMO. Thanks so much to Maill for doing this! 

A begrudging congrats to the Cultists. But no really, you guys obviously kept us all guessing all the way up to the end. Heck, my last little gambit at the end, I wound up including two of you in that plan! I'll be keeping an eye on you in the future!
 

Now, as always, if anyone would like to try your hand at running a game, please get a hold of Gamma, Wilson or myself. Not only will we get you added to the list, but I'm sure we'd be more than willing to help out in any way we can as well!

 

You can also ask questions and get some hints and feedback from everyone over here in our Art of Game Creation thread as well. With all the games that we've run so far, we have plenty of experienced GMs that can help you refine any game you're thinking about!

 

Thanks again to everyone that played and we look forward to seeing you in future games!