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Why was the useless-man-sitting-in-the-corner proclaiming Stick as dead? Maybe she died at some point and forgot about it; that seemed to be happening a lot lately...the forgetting about stuff part, not the dying part, mind you. Stick poked her face with a stick to make sure of her existence, and she found that she was, in fact, alive. She figured she should probably tell everyone that she wasn't dead.

So she started walking towards the man- Joe, he called himself, when her eye caught something. Stick slowly made her way towards it, walking straight into the darkness, oblivious of the tall, think trees that eventually shed her out of view 

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*screeches incoherently*

Matilda the Mad,  deformed old cat lady who lives at the edge of town.

The villagers don't recognize me, kitties. That's reasonable. We've just moved to this village. All the other villages have cast us out because they are backward bumpkins who blame all their misfortunes on childless crones who talk constantly to their invisible cats. But it's all right. I'm sure this will be a great new start for us. I mean, I may be 80 years old and have lived a life of misery, social ostracism and alcoholism, but that's no reason I (and my cats) can't start afresh in an environment free of social hysteria,  small-town spitefulness, gossip, and mass paranoia-

Hey wait, why are the gates being nailed shut?

Why is there a gallows in the village square?

*Matilda grabs a flask out of her filthy robes and starts drinking heavily*

Great, just great. And I'm sh-sh-shuuure no one'sh going to shcapegoat poor little old Matilda for all the bad thingsh that are gonna happen. Because THAT'SH never happened before, right kittiesh? Well, at least I can alwaysh go back to me drunkennessh to get me through theesh dark, dark timesh... plus all my catsh...

*no one sees any cats*

Edited by Madagascar
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I was hoping someone would take up Drunk, but Cat Insanity as well?
You, Ma'am are a hero amongst the broken. :P

May your kittens always have (invisible) wet food and chin crunchies to keep them calm. Adonalsium help us if they're not. :P

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Vomit, having received no response to his letter, decided to write something to put on the billboard:

 

Roommate Wanted!

Requirements:

-Hate of mists and Mistwraiths

-No aversion to vomit

-Gossip lovers preferred 

If interested send a letter to 1134 Hemalurgy Lane

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A puddle o' vomit ish often me only cushion after a long night'sh drinkin'. The catsh are too independent to stand being used as blanketsh, even after all I've done for them, like relocating them to a hellish village plagued by vicioush Shpiked.

2 hours ago, Hemalurgic_Headshot said:

Don't you dare eat Rat!

Don't listen to him kittiesh, you can eat whatever you want.

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The names, Reginald Canuck, and I'm afraid I'm a bit o' a communist kleptomaniac...but before you hands move to your purses! I assure you I'll make an offer before I take, and if you refuse....well then, I'll just leave something of equal value in it's place ;) (unless you don't need it, in which case it's really just a matter of redistribution and perspective I assure you).

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3 minutes ago, Dalinar Kholin said:

The names, Reginald Canuck, and I'm afraid I'm a bit o' a communist kleptomaniac...

Ha! In Communism, I'm a blight upon the whole nation! My uselessness is spread evenly upon the entire populace! 

That's why the Soviet Union imploded...

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34 minutes ago, Dalinar Kholin said:

The names, Reginald Canuck, and I'm afraid I'm a bit o' a communist kleptomaniac...but before you hands move to your purses! I assure you I'll make an offer before I take, and if you refuse....well then, I'll just leave something of equal value in it's place ;) (unless you don't need it, in which case it's really just a matter of redistribution and perspective I assure you).

Remart stomped his peg leg loudly. "Good man, you can swap whatever you like, as long as you leave me something I can eat in trade!" He followed up his declaration with a long swig of his ale and a loud belch.

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Oh nah, don't worry, I'm not moving me handsh to me purse, Canuck. What do I look like to you, shumeone who ishn't a hideoush, pennilessh drunken husk of a lonely old woman? My alcohol and my cats are all I *hic* need, which is good because that is alsho literally all I possess.

*wipes stray droplets of alcohol from face using stray cat*

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Oi! How am I supposed to hold a riveting conversation here with you rabble mucking up the place? Come on ladies, let's go find a new pub.

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10 hours ago, Straw said:

Vomit, having received no response to his letter, decided to write something to put on the billboard:

 

Roommate Wanted!

Requirements:

-Hate of mists and Mistwraiths

-No aversion to vomit

-Gossip lovers preferred 

If interested send a letter to 1134 Hemalurgy Lane

Joseph Busshu.

Screams of Rage and Hatred filled Jack's mind, and he gasped and fell to his knees in the ash. He clutched at his ears, trying to block out the Roar. Nothing else. Another Past Life, this one angrier and more murderous than most. Desperately, with his eyes squeezed shut in pain, Jack reached up to the wall, slapped down the notice, and begin to tear it to shreds. With each tear, the Screams quieted. When he held a pile of fine white shaving in his hand, they were finally gone. 

He breathed in, and breathed out, and carefully opened his eyes. It was darker out now. How long had he been kneeling here, clutching his ears like a madman? Too long. He got to his feet, still shaking from the memory of a past life. So much anger. How had Joseph survived feeling that?  And useless too. Usually when Jack remembered a past life, he at least learned something from it. a Strategy, a tactic, a secure weapons stash. This time, He just learned that he had once been angry beyond mortal ken.

He pocketed the paper fragments, and hurried away from the site, careful to avoid any other Roommate Notices.

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Though the screams of anguish and rage had ceased to echo through the alleys, I can still hear them. The tiny shreds of paper had blown away on a breeze and the man was long gone. I turn to Rat.

"What's with all of these crazy people? One that speaks to voices in his head, a creepy old drunkard that talks to fake cats, a madman with a hatred of paper, a girl with a fascination of spikes... when were the days when I could just be useless!" I fling my arms up in desperation. Rat squeaks. I wave my finger at him.

"Don't you go crazy on me too!" Rat scurries into a hole in the wall. I sigh. I wish I could hide in a hole too...

But wait! There, that semblance of sound, coming from....

THE PUB!!!!

"Fine, Rat. You can stay in your hole, while I go and have some fun!" 

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Hey there, Useless Joe! Finally escape that mob of miscreants? Sit yourself down and grab yourself a drink.

So I heard you mention the Soviet Union? Tell us a story!  I'm sure <4  names, redacted> would love to hear one.

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1 hour ago, Hemalurgic_Headshot said:

a creepy old drunkard that talks to fake cats

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Creepy? *sob* That hurtsh my feelingsh sho bad, I mean, that makesh me sho mad, I'm going to retreat from human shociety and live with my ONE HUNNERD PERSHENT REAL CATSH and talk about how mean everyone is to old cronesh like me.

And alsho figure out what to brew for more alcohol becaush I'm going through my old supply of fermented mush pretty fast what with all thish Shpike related shtress. I hope I don't have to sacrifice one of the catsh again.

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17 hours ago, Madagascar said:

*screeches incoherently*

Matilda the Mad,  deformed old cat lady who lives at the edge of town.

The villagers don't recognize me, kitties. That's reasonable. We've just moved to this village. All the other villages have cast us out because they are backward bumpkins who blame all their misfortunes on childless crones who talk constantly to their invisible cats. But it's all right. I'm sure this will be a great new start for us. I mean, I may be 80 years old and have lived a life of misery, social ostracism and alcoholism, but that's no reason I (and my cats) can't start afresh in an environment free of social hysteria,  small-town spitefulness, gossip, and mass paranoia-

Hey wait, why are the gates being nailed shut?

Why is there a gallows in the village square?

*Matilda grabs a flask out of her filthy robes and starts drinking heavily*

Great, just great. And I'm sh-sh-shuuure no one'sh going to shcapegoat poor little old Matilda for all the bad thingsh that are gonna happen. Because THAT'SH never happened before, right kittiesh? Well, at least I can alwaysh go back to me drunkennessh to get me through theesh dark, dark timesh... plus all my catsh...

*no one sees any cats*

Welcome! I know you've been spectating here for a little while - I'm excited to actually play one of these with you!

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21 minutes ago, Madagascar said:

 

Creepy? *sob* That hurtsh my feelingsh sho bad, I mean, that makesh me sho mad, I'm going to retreat from human shociety and live with my ONE HUNNERD PERSHENT REAL CATSH and talk about how mean everyone is to old cronesh like me.

And alsho figure out what to brew for more alcohol becaush I'm going through my old supply of fermented mush pretty fast what with all thish Shpike related shtress. I hope I don't have to sacrifice one of the catsh again.

Are you drunk or Sean Connery, Madagascar? :P

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Pregame warning: I'm still trying out that new Playstyle. You can expect me to react more quickly and strongly to accusations, and be more aggressive with suspicions.

I'm also going to mostly separate RP and gameplay. Nicki is Nicki. Rae is Rae. (The important distinction is that Nicki's suspicions are not my suspicions. Also, Nicki is slightly loopy.)

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5 hours ago, Metacognition said:

Are you drunk or Sean Connery, Madagascar? :P

 

What's the difference?

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6 hours ago, Metacognition said:

Are you drunk or Sean Connery, Madagascar? :P

I'm jusht here for five minutesh and already the ack-you-shay... ackyoushash.... finger-pointing shtarts! Can't an old crone like me jusht retire to my one-room shack full of alcohol and cats in peashe? I'm jusht Drunk Matilda and I ain't shpiked or Shean Connery, and I certainly didn't cause ol' Farmer McGee's dairy cows to go sour after they trampled me favorite catsh.

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can you take the coversation elsewhere please ? 

you are dragging dirt all over my carpet 

sweeping the carpet

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9 hours ago, Elenion said:

Hey there, Useless Joe! Finally escape that mob of miscreants? Sit yourself down and grab yourself a drink.

So I heard you mention the Soviet Union? Tell us a story!  I'm sure <4  names, redacted> would love to hear one.

Attempts to swing legs up onto table, all swaggering, but instead falls backward in may chair.

"Well, if you insist, there was once a time, back when I was just beginning to be useless, that I decided to be a farmer. The glory of it had filled my mind! Sowing seed, harvesting grain, long hours in the sun, it would be... exhilarating!

"So I went to the seed depot and bought myself three bags of seed and went out into the wilderness. I mean, if no one is living on it, then why can't I? So I set about plowing. During this time I broke seventeen fingers of my ten, splintered my shin, accidentally broke a hole through to the center of the earth (but I filled it in, don't worry), and caused an earthquake on another planet. After the long day's work, I sat down on my porch (which was a random boulder I found) and began to sip my iced lemonade (a cup of water with bits of ash swirling around in it). The next day, I would sow.

"So the morrow came. I woke early and ripped open those bags of seeds and  began to scatter their contents. it was fine, the first ten minutes or so, but then a wind picked up, and my attempt to plant turned into a seed blizzard! I quickly sought shelter beneath my porch from the stinging seeds and hid there for a few hours. I actually fell asleep down there, but that doesn't matter. When I came out, all of my hard work was gone. My fields had literally been sown with salt.

"So I gave up. I threw down my plow and walked all the way back to Tyrian Falls. And that's when I tried to be a farmer."

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That's... quite the story you've got there, comrade. I spent some time up in the USSR, myself, but I had to leave the country when an ex-girlfriend of mine took political office. Now that I think about it, I don't know how she was appointed. Terrible sense of humor. Well, apparently she still held a grudge, although it had been a full week. But with the help of my girlfriend at the time, her sister, her cousin, her other cousin, and Magestar's wife (unmarried at the time, mind you), I got myself out of the country.

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This game looks like a good one. Am I correct in supposing that there is still one day left for signups?

 

 

Ash fell from the sky.

Felix wished it hadn't come to this. Dead before he ever reached Fadrex. But no. Felix would survive. Kelsier himself promised that they would be protected. And what are a bunch of Koloss to the Survivor, if he can overcome death itself?

Felix walked along the road, doing his best not to draw attention to himself. In the midst of a host of terrible creatures he presumed were Koloss... Felix wasn't eager to tempt fate.

 

He believed there would be a way out... And yet, the closest town nearly a week's journey away. And if he was spotted...

Maybe there is no way out of this. Sometimes you have to be ready to make sacrifices.

 

And yet. Would he give up? To do so would be to acquiesce to that obligator's authority over Fadrex. To do so would be to fail the Survivor.

There had to be a way. The Koloss hadn't noticed Felix yet, even though their campfires shone ominously through the mists on all sides. if he was lucky, he might still escape.

 

Felix scanned the horizon. Nothingness, ash, mist, and... What? The mists condensed in the distance... A solid shape on the horizon. A town.

It made no sense. How could a town... The closest town is days away according to the maps. And how did he not see it earlier? It was almost like the town had just materialized... From nothing.

No, not nothing. From the mists.

 

Then he understood. Felix should never have doubted. The Survivor had claimed the mists were his. Today they provided him sanctuary. A town. Salvation itself.

 

He approached the town's squat outer wall, making a quick mental prayer of thanks to Kelsier. He didn't understand. For now, he didn't care.

He stood at the town's entry gate. Fixed to the lintel was a warped board that read Tyrian Falls.

For some reason, a chill ran up Felix' spine.

 

 

 

Survivor Priest sounds like it would be interesting, if the role I was asking for wasn't sufficiently obvious.

Edited by Drake Marshall
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