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Quick Fix Game 13: Winter is Coming

Amanuensis

By Amanuensis
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Amanuensis

Amanuensis

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im signing up as Artemis Lannister

 

Gotcha. Also received a PM from a third party asking if LUNA can join, bringing us to 17.

 

 

What are the factions in this game?

 

Can a Red Priest bring themself back?

 

Gold Cloak: If they are attacked, you save them from death, receiving a Fatal Wound in their stead.

Who receives the Fatal Wound, the Gold Cloak or the one they saved?

 

Can the Warg's attack be blocked?

 

Does the Faceless Man choose whose face he wears?

 

The Shadowbinder gets a kill when the person he voted for is the one lynched, correct?

 

The factions are Sworn Brothers, Free Folk and King's Men. They do not have an impact on the game, however; purely RP based, and up to each players discretion.

 

A Red Priest cannot bring themselves back, as the need to be alive to give the Last Kiss. If they die before using their power... well. Oh well.

 

The Gold Cloak will receive the Fatal Wound while the protected player with escape unscathed.

 

The Warg attack can be blocked, yes.

 

Every cycle the Faceless Man must choose the face of the player they wish to imitate and the player they wish to kill.

 

That is correct, the Shadowbinder must vote for the player that is lynched and have an order in to kill someone that same cycle, as the lifeforce needed to animate their shadow is fleeting (won't last until the next moon).

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Amanuensis
Amanuensis

Sign ups will close on Tuesday, February 23rd, at 5PM EST Everyone on Westeros has heard tales of the Long Night; a period of darkness that lasted a generation, when demons emerged from the

Amanuensis
Amanuensis

Chapter 1 will end on Wednesday, February 24th at 5PM EST Chapter One: Let It Be Written For the first time in three years Marcas could not find his thirst. Sullen, the Umber stared at t

Amanuensis
Amanuensis

Chapter 2 will end on Thursday, February 25th at 5PM EST   Chapter Two: As High As Honor The courtyard of Castle Black was alive with the sounds of clashing steel. Ser Tarly and

Mailliw73

Mailliw73

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The factions are Sworn Brothers, Free Folk and King's Men. They do not have an impact on the game, however; purely RP based, and up to each players discretion.

So, who are we fighting against?

 

Edit: I saw the mention of Traitors now. What's their win condition?

Edited by Mailliw73
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Amanuensis

Amanuensis

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Questions:

Can stonemen choose who they spread greyscale to?

Can the people on the wall survive the white walker attack?

Is day and night separate?

Is there a limit for sign ups?

Can one of the dark alley people be the faceless man (for irony).

 

Yes; Stoneman will select one player every cycle they wish to infect.

 

Yes; it will require the success of either the Loyalists or the Traitors. Otherwise, if neither team has won, the lack of coordination will result in absolute slaughter.

 

No; day and night turns are combined into a single 24 hour "Chapter" for this game.

 

There is no maximum limit; however there is only an hour and 15 minutes left until the sign ups are officially closed and the game begins.

 

It's possible, however, role distribution will be randomized via a list randomizer.

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Alvron

Alvron

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Gotcha. Also received a PM from a third party asking if LUNA can join, bringing us to 17.

Wait?  We can sign other people up?  Fantastic.  Sign up Gamma, Meta, Kas, Wes, Joe, Zas, Shivertongue and Aspren.  Don't worry about sending them any game PMs, send them to me and I'll play for them. :P

Edited by Alvron
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Elbereth

Elbereth

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I've finally decided on a playstyle. I'm going to be the newbie again, because why not? See here (starting from the second paragraph) for an explanation of what I'm doing.

My basic traits: A lot of asking questions and clarification. A good deal of logic. I'll be very reluctant to vote on anyone.

I'll talk in PMs if I get them. People I'm PMing will likely be entirely people I consider "experienced and better than SE than me", or people I want to say something specific to.

RP is unlikely to happen.

Basically, a ton of questions. That's about all for this one!

I think my character will be named Elbereth Gilthoniel, if that's all right for the setting. Sorry for taking so long to post it.

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Amanuensis

Amanuensis

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Chapter 1 will end on Wednesday, February 24th at 5PM EST

cya_1456351200.png


Chapter One: Let It Be Written

For the first time in three years Marcas could not find his thirst.

Sullen, the Umber stared at the mug of ale placed before him, oblivious to the other’s attempts at reeling him into their conversation. His eyes were fixated on the golden-brown liquid and the tiny bubbles that floated to the top, only to pop upon reaching the thick layer of snow-colored froth. The Northerner imagined he was drowning at the bottom of the glass, each of those transient bubbles a symbol of his demise.

Today Marcas watched Wyllam Whitehill’s corpse blindly struggle against the ropes that bound him to his funeral pyre, and found that despite never liking the man he did not have the heart to set it aflame. Friend or no, he was still a Sworn Brother, and that meant something, old gods be damned.

In the end it was Ser Armen Dayne who started and stoked the fire, for he blamed himself for the man’s death. Marcas was not sure what to make of the man who seemed to speak like any other southron Knight; brash and haughty. His actions told a more honorable story, however. And to think I believed honor had died in the Seven Kingdoms after the Usurper took control.

Though Wyllam’s death had taken an unexpected toll on his soul, it was his friend Ollendir Locke whom Marcas truly grieved for. The two had journeyed to the Wall together, escorted by that ugly crow Yoren, unbeknownst of each other's existence until then but fast to become friends. Among their class of recruits, they were the only two whose family’s allegiance was sworn to Lord Stark, which to Northerners meant they were already brothers long before they took the black.

It destroyed Marcas knowing that it was his fault his friend was lost forever. If he watched over him more carefully, perhaps the Other would have never dragged him into oblivion…

Marcas looked up, feeling the weight of someone’s stare. He could not explain the cause of the sensation but there was no denying it’s usefulness, especially in combat, though he did shudder at the realization that the Other he fought did not trigger his sixth sense. The Umber twisted in his seat until he found a man shrouded in a much-too-large, snow crusted cloak, fastened at his chest with the sigil of house Locke.

Ollendir? he wondered anxiously. The shadows draping the man’s face made it too difficult to tell. Still he rose to approach the man, though before he could leave his table someone caught his arm from behind.

“What’s good, Marcas?”

“Let go, Torval,” the Umber said with more heat than he intended. Calming himself slightly, he added: “There’s someone I need to talk to.”

“Okay, okay. But first things first. You gonna finish that?” Torval said, pointing to his beer.

“Nope. All yours.”

Torval smiled and let go. Marcas left.

By then the man in the cloak had disappeared through the front door of the common hall, and so Marcas had no other choice but to run to keep up. “Wait!” he yelled, drawing the looks of many of the hall’s patrons, but to his chagrin not the man he wanted to glance back.

The common hall was a mess, filled to the brim with unsworn soldiers and wildlings, delaying Marcas by forcing him to wave around the largest groups and squeezing through the smallest. At least a minute had passed before he reached the frigid night awaiting outside. Plenty of time for the cloaked man to gain some distance, his back a fading shadow in the direction of the Wall.

Marcas pursued the man in the cloak all the way to one of the elevators at the base of the Wall, but already the man was inside, wench dragging him up its apex. “Hey!” he yelled. “Come back!” The attempt was fruitless, for the man did not even flinch at the sound of his booming voice.

Glancing left and then right, Marcas spotted another elevator half-a-thousand feet away. No time to think he started running.

As soon as he reached it he burst inside and began ringing the bell within, signaling for the wench’s operator to start the machine. A sudden tug upward nearly caused Marcas to lose his feet, though he was already grabbing one of the prison-like bars that made up its portcullis.

Once at the top he gave the operator a quick thanks and, ensuring his steps were more careful, began running westward. Thankfully he could see the man was at the upper parapet closest to his elevator, overlooking the land beyond the Wall. In seconds he was there, climbing the steps, calling his friends name.

“Ollendir?” the man did not turn. “Or is that you, Orr?” he tilted his hooded head sideways. “Where were you this morning? I thought you would have been at the funeral pyre after hearing the news. I… I’m sorry, Orr. It’s my fault that your cousin is gone. I can only imagine how heavy his death weighs on your shoul… Orr?”

The cloaked man spun completely, revealing in his hand a Valyrian dagger, it’s pommel a golden lion’s head with ruby eyes that sparkled in the lamplight. He took a step forward, causing Marcas to step back. The Umber reached for his axe, only to remember he had left it in the armory, though he did still have Ollendir’s dragonglass dagger…

He bumped into someone from behind; the wench operator, he soon realized. A thick arm coiled itself around his chest and flexed, cords of muscle expanding, digging through his boiled leathers and into his flesh. Footsteps resounded from the west, marking the entrance of a third man, likely a Sworn Brother or Wildling on watch.

The cloaked man dropped his hood. “You’re not Orr… nor are you a Locke,” he said, noticing the color of the man’s hair. “Why do you wear their house’s sigil?”

The man grinned devilishly.

“To lure you to your death, of course.”
 

Maester Lyam was silent; still.

With weary eyes he watched as the ink dried upon the freshly stained pages of his journal. Beyond the edges of his peripherals a pair of dying candles flickered, their pale luminescence diminishing with every passing second. Darkness swelled where their life could no longer reach, leaving nothing visible save for his austere expression and the giant, ironwood desk erected before him.

A knock at his door raised the man from his stupor. Careful not to burn himself, the man grasped a candle by its base and waved it over the recently inscribed passage to hasten its drying. As soon as the the letters ceased to glitter in the light, he shut its cover, no longer fearing the text becoming obscured, and hid it beneath the false bottom of a locked drawer.

“You may enter,” the Maester commanded, voice stern yet more tired than his posture suggested. White light suddenly pervaded his study, banishing the shadows to its furthest corners. At first the Maester had assumed the visitor to be one of his apprentices, but now he heard the faint jingle of a scabbard scraping against chainmail and couldn’t help but wonder.

Rising, the Maester asked “And what now would a Ranger require of me at this ungodly hour?”

“Maester Lyam, I come bearing grave news. Marcas Umber’s corpse has just been discovered, strung over the side of the wall with a message written in blood. Lord Bolton wishes for you to come immediately. I would explain more, but it’s simply easier if you see for yourself.”

Sighing, the Maester turned to the Ranger to find his brow sheathed in sweat. Urgent matters indeed, it seemed. Maester Lyam was but a man half his age the last time a Sworn Brother had been murdered at Castle Black, and the chaos that caused was horrifying, to say the least. He could not even begin to imagine what this would do now, with the Wildlings living among them and the Long Night only a dozen moons away.
 

And chaos there was indeed.

Despite the Lord Commander’s efforts to cordon the area, his band of Rangers could not keep the people from gathering around it. The Maester recognized a group of recently initiated Sworn Brothers staring daggers at a squad of King’s men gossiping nearby. Even the refugee Free Folk pushed the boundaries of the Night’s Watch hospitality by coalescing in sight of the scene, adding to the already tense atmosphere.

Approaching the naked, swaying corpse, the Maester adjusted a pair of magnifying bifocals atop the bridge of his nose to help him examine the Umber’s wounds. “Two fatal wounds, seven superficial. It seems young Marcas did not go down without a fight. Considering his strength, and the varying thickness of his cuts, it appears that he was attacked by not one but… three warriors. I would suggest you have your men interrogate those working this lift and roving the Wall, Lord Bolton, as it is much too unlikely that he was killed anywhere else but up there. Deson, was it? You seem strong enough. Cut the Umber down and help him to my tower so that I might divine some more information for our Lord Commander.”

Lord Commander Reginalt Bolton watched as Deson struggled to carry the corpse back to Maester Lyam’s tower tower. “You heard the man, someone get up top and start asking questions. Now!”

“Don’t play dumb!” shouted a youth nearby. “We all know it was one of you bastards! Who else would slay a Sworn Brother, other than a dirty wildling!”

A tall Free Woman laughed heavily, hand clenching her side where she had recently been wounded. “Believe me, Crow. If any of us had any part in this we wouldn’t be standing here right now. My clan has better sense than to linger at the scene of a crime.”

“Is no wonda you dook da black,” said a shorter man at her side, face disfigured with over a dozen festered scars. “Doo sdupid fo any otha purpose dan cannonfodda,” he laughed.

It took the young brother a second to translate the toothless man’s speech, though as soon as he did he answered not with words, but with a shout and by drawing steel, prompting his companions to do the same.

“Enough!” Lord Bolton howled. “Are you not men of the Night’s Watch? Where is your discipline! Your honor for the old gods! These Free Folk, they are our guests! So long as they eat our bread and man our stations, no brother is to so much as point a weapon in their direction! Would you threaten the life of another Sworn Brother? No! These men and women, they are our kin now, united by the Long Night! Read the Wall, gentleman. If our situation was not clear, that bloody script spells it out perfectly!

“If you want to be of use, put away your weapons and go find me some answers! One of our own was slain in cold blood today! And for what cause? To instigate disorder! To inspire anarchy! Well, guess what? I won’t have it! Sworn Brothers, Free Folk, Soldiers from the South, I promise you, if you bring me evidence of a man’s guilt, I’ll tie him to a pyre and burn him to ash myself! Find me the Turncloaks who did this and you will be handsomely rewarded! And do it fast, for our true enemy still approaches!”
At that moment dawn had finally come, the sun’s light casting the Wall into the color of the sky and turning the crimson words scrawled across it into a hideous black.

Winter is Coming, it said. And with it, Westeros' End.

Whether it was a warning or a promise, Lord Bolton was determined to see summer again.
 

Marcas Umber was murdered by the Turncloaks!

Chapter One has begun! GM PMs should arrive very shortly. Please do not post or send a PM to another player until yours is received. The player list can be found in my signature and will consistently be updated. Thank you, and enjoy!

Edited by Alvron
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Straw

Straw

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plan of action:

Rangers follow the player that got the second most amount of votes last cycle

Stone men and shadow binders kills are put up to a secondary vote.

giant blooded players just try too survive.

Old town acolytes heal players.

Gold cloak protection will not be used on players that at that time have votes on them.

Stewards find the roles of the most experienced players.

Wargs just try to survive.

Red priests only revive after the 3rd cycle.

Builders fortify the rooms of anyone they feel like.

1 goldcloak + 1 oldtown acolyte = good

Edited by ThatTinyStrawMan
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Amanuensis

Amanuensis

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It will not be explicitly said quite yet. The write ups will include characters figuring out how soon until the Others invade, so it will require some reading / debate as the game progresses. You will all receive adequate warning, however

Edited by Adavantos
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Straw

Straw

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Would it be beneficial to us for an old town acolyte to claim in thread so that players can PM them when they need to? Builders could then protect them from kills and we would have a source of healing known.

Do you mean goldcloaks because builders also stop them from performing actions.

Edited by ThatTinyStrawMan
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Amanuensis

Amanuensis

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Do you mean goldcloaks because builders also stop them from performing actions.

 

I am always pleased to see when new players edit old posts instead of double posting, however, for future reference please ensure that you leave the original content of your post in tact and add on your additional thoughts beneath it, preferably after the word "Edit:" Thank you very much :]

Edited by Adavantos
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Elbereth

Elbereth

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I want to make sure Jerle, Sart, and Anamaximder all show up.

Wait, can you do that? Adavantos, who is his vote on right now?

Would it be beneficial to us for an old town acolyte to claim in thread so that players can PM them when they need to? Builders could then protect them from kills and we would have a source of healing known.

But then wouldn't eliminators just PM for protection and make the Acolyte useless? (If you mean Goldcloaks instead of builders, that is.)

EDIT: If you didn't see, I put my playstyle in the signup thread.

Edited by Elbereth
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Mailliw73

Mailliw73

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Wait, can you do that? Adavantos, who is his vote on right now?

But then wouldn't eliminators just PM for protection and make the Acolyte useless? (If you mean Goldcloaks instead of builders, that is.)

EDIT: If you didn't see, I put my playstyle in the signup thread.

(Shhh, I just want to scare them. :P) I think my vote is likely on Jerle until I green them out. So now it should be on Sart. I want to make sure they come and read the thread. 

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