Long Game 30: Journey Before Destination

[TheMightyLopen he/him]

Shinon finally reached the Highprince. Others were close, but seemed hesitant to approach the man. He was intimidating. However, he wouldn't let this chance slip away. He approached him directly. He bowed, then introduced himself.

"Brightlord, it's an honor to be here. I told you my name when I was accepted as an Initiate, but wasn't able to properly introduce myself. I am Shinon, an archer from Highprince Roion's warcamp." Shinon said

"I see," Dalinar said. "You should be proud. Your Highprince showed bravery when most men would flee. His sacrifice probably saved my life. We'll need more men like him if we're to overcome the days ahead."

"I agree, Brightlord. I hope that I can be as good a man as he." Shinon replied somberly.

"I understand your grief soldier. But now is not the time for such thoughts. This is a party, enjoy yourself!" Dalinar said.

"Of course, Brightlord. I look forward to serving beneath you." Shinon said as he bowed again and walked away to join the crowd and meet the other Initiates. 

[Amanuensis he/him]

Chapter One is now closed. Chapter Two shall begin in 2 hours.

[Amanuensis he/him]

 

More overwhelmed than he was on that very first day, Adolin continued to wander the dark halls of Urithiru for several hours of the night. As of yesterday, the scouts had finished exploring the tower, although they had not yet begun rummaging through all the rooms for artifacts. At least not all of them, Adolin hoped, though he was certain that a few were looting whatever they could find, especially those belonging to Sadeas, Ruthar or Bethab.

 

Well, belonged to Sadeas, he should think. Adolin still found it difficult believing that monster was finally dead, despite being the one who killed him. It wasn’t guilt, exactly, that made it hard for him to accept. Since the Battle of the Tower, Adolin was always worried about what Sadeas had planned for his father next. Not even feeling the man’s body slacken beneath him or watching his Blade coalesce by his side could alleviate that terrible feeling in Adolin’s gut that Sadeas wasn’t through with them quite yet.

 

Truth be told, Adolin didn’t feel guilty for killing the man at all. As he explained to Kaladin the very same night, he knew in his heart that what he done was right. His only regret now was that he still hadn’t found the courage to tell his father what happened. Perhaps if tonight hadn’t been so important for his dad…

 

But no. That was just an excuse, and Adolin knew it. Something else was keeping him from approaching his father, though he wasn’t sure what that might be.

 

How could a man be so confident about his decision, yet so clueless on what he should do next?

 

Is that… a Herald?

 

Adolin recognized the man in the portrait, despite this depiction looking unlike any he had seen before. The Nalan’elin in this picture was still a youth. Not too much younger than Adolin was now, in fact. His skin - save for that pale, hooked crescent that marred his cheek - was dark not from the shadows cast by his hood, but from many long days in the sun. Rather than a stern expression, he wore a look of innocence upon his face, his cheeks round, his smile rounder. He was neither bare chested or wearing a military uniform, like he was always portrayed, the sleeveless robes draped over his shoulders bearing wrinkles and stains that an elder Herald of Justice could never tolerate, not in himself or his subordinates.

 

It had to be a work of fiction. Maybe an artist from the Heraldic Epoch had wondered the type of people the Herald’s would have been, had their world not been ravaged by countless Desolations.

 

“In case you’re curious,” a voice echoed out of the darkness, “I cannot remember those days very well. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t so long ago that I left my home behind. I suppose fled would be a more fitting term, though that might imply that I had committed some kind of sin, which in my many years of life, I can honestly say I’ve never even come close to considering.”

 

Adolin was tense, his heart beating faster and faster in a vain attempt to catch up with his thoughts. As his Shardblade dropped into his flexed hand, his eyes searched the shadows desperately for whoever had found him. The man's calm, emotionless voice was impossible to pinpoint, however, and the shadows did not stir as he spoke.

 

“Tell me, young prince,” the voice continued. “Are you willing to kill a man just to keep your sins a secret?”

 

In his heart, Adolin knew the answer. Not that he would speak it aloud for a stranger.

 

“Who are you?” he asked instead. Rather than answer, the man only laughed. Like his words, it was cold and empty, though it did seem a bit louder in one direction than any other. Spinning, Adolin raised his Blade towards the darkness from whence it came. “Show yourself, coward!”

 

Hands clasped behind his back and a mien so confident he that Adolin's blade might as well have been a stick, Nalan’elin, Herald of Justice, stepped into the lamplight.

 

Although the Herald did not smile, he seemed to be amused by Adolin’s choice in words.

 

“I think we both know which one of us is the true coward, young prince.”

 

Adolin shivered. This had to be a nightmare. Fighting Voidbringers was one thing. The Knights Radiant returning was another. But meeting a Herald… that was just insane, wasn’t it?

 

“You have nothing to fear, young prince. Put away your weapon. I only wish to talk.”

 

Reluctantly Adolin lowered his Blade, though he was not quite ready to dismiss it. For all the Herald’s talk of sin and secrets, there was still a chance he came to bring Adolin to justice, just as Adolin had done to Sadeas.

 

Still not glancing at Adolin’s weapon, Nalan waved a hand, his own Shardblade manifesting. Resting its flat against his shoulder, he rubbed the hilt casually with his thumb. “For my own protection,” he explained, not that he seemed bothered by Adolin’s still-hostile stance.

 

“So?” the Herald asked after a long, awkward moment of silence. “You still haven’t answered me, young prince. Are you willing to kill a man just to keep your sins a secret?”

 

Taking a deep breath, Adolin finally tore his eyes away from the Nalan’s Shardblade. “No,” he answered and nearly said more, but noticing that the Herald was anticipating it, he decided not to say anything just to spite him.

 

“You’re easier to read than you think,” Nale began. “I know you don’t need me to tell you this, but you were right, killing Sadeas. That man was a monster wearing a man’s flesh. I would have dispensed of him myself if I didn’t have higher priorities to take care of. So, firstly, I want to thank you. You did well.

 

“Of course, giving thanks was not the reason I came here. This might come as a surprise, but occasionally we immortals have business with you regular folk. So there I am, passing orders to my apprentices, when I hear that someone has executed a Highprince, and that it was none of them. Naturally I just had to find out who was responsible. And guess what I found?

 

“A prince’s side knife, so carelessly forgotten in the brain of one Torol Sadeas. Very incriminating evidence, that. I told myself it would be a shame if the wrong person found it. So, being the right person, I freed it from his head, wiped it clean, and now deliver it to its rightful owner, at absolutely no cost.”

 

Half-expecting the Herald to stab him, Adolin gazed warily at Nalan’s hand. Unconcerned by its sharp edge, the immortal held the knife loosely by its blade.

 

Instead of taking it, Adolin just had to know.

 

“Why?”

 

“Why what?” the Herald asked, face as rigid as stone.

 

“Why me?”

 

A flash of something shone in the Herald's eyes and, suddenly, Adolin regretted asking the question.

 

“Because you remind me of myself. Or, rather, the man I used to be,” he said, gaze shifting slightly towards the the portrait hanging upon the wall beside them, before drifting back down at his hand. “Well?”

 

Swallowing hard, Adolin grabbed his side knife, still without dismissing his Blade, and then sheathed it at his waist.

 

“I’ll be watching you, young prince,” Nalan said as he retreated into the shadows, his voice becoming an indistinct echo once again. “Oh, and try not to do anything I wouldn’t. Next time we meet, I’d prefer us to be friends. Not enemies.”

 

Once certain that he was alone, Adolin finally let his Blade dissolve into mist. He no longer felt up to wandering, and so finally decided to retire to his chambers, a lone question ringing in his head while he tried desperately to sleep.

 

What was he?

 

 

Lomot was drunk.

 

But how?

 

The whole night he had only taken from the bowl with the orange wine. Not once did he taste the faintest hint of alcohol, and yet he knew this feeling. Despite years of abstinence, he realized it immediately.

 

Stumbling alone through the dark halls of Urithiru, searching for his assigned quarters, he desperately retraced the events of the night with hopes of finding the answer.

 

Had he set his drink down, only to pick up another’s glass? No. He was sure that wasn’t the case, as each wine had its own unique flavor. And besides. He had a glass to wash down his dinner and another two to quench his thirst while talking to Shallan Davar and several of his fellow Initiates. Not even violet wine could get him so drunk with so little.

 

Maybe someone had slipped something tasteless into his drink? Some kind of drug that could mimic the sensation of being drunk… but to what purpose? That thought alone made him feel sick.

 

Next thing Lomot knew, he was on his knees. His stomach churned and he retched, spewing half-digested chunks of meat, vegetable and bread on the ground between his sprawled hands.

 

Up! Run! a voice told him. You. Must. Run! He already had a migraine, but that buzzing made his head ache even worse.

 

From the shadows, a figure manifested, tall and dressed in a black and silver uniform that wasn’t so different than the ones Dalinar had issued to the Initiates.

 

“Feeling ill?” the man said, his voice ice cold and crystal clear.

 

“Yes,” Lomot groaned, then coughed a few times as his stomach decided to finish emptying itself on the floor. “I think I’m lost. Can you help me find my chamber?” he asked, dry heaved, then added: “Please?”

 

Around! Turn! Run!

 

Storms, how that voice grated his brain.

 

“No. You are well beyond helping, Lomot. Or would you prefer I use your real name?”

 

For the first time, Lomot - no, Tomol - looked up at the man’s face. It was dark, especially beneath his hood, but his skin, particularly the white birthmark on his cheek, was glowing just a little.

 

“Apprentice. Please recite this man’s crimes, for the rest to witness.”

 

“Tomol Sadeas,” a disembodied voice began in an unpracticed tone of officiality, “is guilty of criminal battery, on two counts. First, in the administering of a noxious substance to render his victim incapable of consent, and second, in the intentional infliction of both physical and emotional injury upon his victim.”

 

“Tomol, what say you to these charges?” the Herald of Justice asked airily.

 

“I…” Tomol choked on the words. His bowels roiled for some more food to vomit. “I was wrong," he admitted and then, suddenly, his mind found clarity. "Absolutely and irrevocably, I was wrong. I was young and dumb, influenced by the wrong kind of crowd… but no, those are only excuses, and there are none for what I did. That is why I fled from home. Why I dyed my hair blonde. Why I changed my name. I haven’t even touched alcohol since that day. Surely you can see that? See all of the progress I have made?”

 

Please, the buzzing returned. Run. Please…

 

“Yes. You have come far, indeed. But tell me. What happened to your… victim?”

 

“Eren?” Tomol asked. “I… I don’t know.”

 

“She’s dead,” another disembodied voice answered. “Unable to cope with the trauma, Eren Leiken committed suicide. All because of you, Tomol.”

 

“No…”

 

“Yes. Tomol Sadeas, you were an accomplice to murder,” Nalan’elin steeled his voice as he tightened his gloves, one at a time. He didn’t even seem to notice Tomol’s relentless sobbing. The Initiate could hardly breathe. “Let it be witnessed that I, Nin, have declared this man a sinner in the Eyes of the Almighty. Let Justice be done.”

 

“Let Justice be done,” several disembodied voices said, seemingly all around Tomol, in unison.

 

“Er- en…” the name escaped desperately between a pair of whimpers.

 

I’m so, so sorry.

 

The world burned around him, though strange enough, it started from within.

 

Me. Too.

 

 

GATHERING THEM LIKE THIS. I TOLD YOU IT WAS A MISTAKE.

 

“Who did this?” Dalinar asked. Not to the rumbling thunder of the Stormfather, but to the only man he trusted more than his own children.

 

THE RIGHTEOUS, the Stormfather scoffed.

 

“I don’t know, sir,” Kaladin replied. “But I intend to find out.”

 

Crouched on the floor besides the body of Lomot, surrounded by a pool of blood and vomit, the Squire, Teft, examined the corpse thoughtfully. Oddly enough, he did not seem affected by the gory scene. This man had seen worse things before, Dalinar was certain.

 

“You know what this means, don’t you?” the Squire asked, pointing at Lomot’s burned-out-eyes.

 

“That there’s a rogue Shardbearer in Urithiru who’s not happy about me refounding the Knights Radiant,” Dalinar answered, unhesitant.

 

“Or,” Kaladin interjected, “someone with a spren and a grudge.”

 

“You can’t be serious,” Dalinar said, though Stormblessed’s tone wasn’t anything but.

 

“You know as well as I do, only a living Shardblade can start the lift, and there’s no other way, apart from flying, to reach this floor. It certainly wasn’t any of us,” Kaladin said, referring to Dalinar, Renarin, Shallan and himself, “and that leaves only the Initiates.”

 

“And what about your Squires?” Dalinar asked, prompting Teft to look at him questioningly.

 

“If it was them, I would know it immediately. I can feel them, sir, and the power flowing through me to them. If one of them did something like this, they would be cut off from it for sure. Besides, they have no spren of their own, and hear the screams of the dead just like us."

 

“I know, I know” the Highprince said with a sigh. “I just find it hard to believe that any potential Radiant could do, well… this,” he gestured towards Lomot's remains. “Do you think it’s possible one of them could have reached the Third Ideal already?”

 

“Certainly. From what Shallan’s told me, she could transform her spren into a Shardblade at the age of eleven. Who knows how long these Initiates have been attracting their spren? Though they may act like breathing Stormlight is something new, we cannot rule out the possibility of them pretending.”

 

Dalinar didn’t like this. Not at all. Thinking back, his conversation with Wit did seem a bit off, as if the man knew that something was going to go wrong tonight.

 

He’d have to find Wit again to once again ask what he knew. If he was somehow involved…

 

Dalinar’s conversation with Sigzil seemed even worse now, too.

 

“How does this affect your training regime?”

 

“Well, sir, that depends on you,” Kaladin answered, then held out two hands before him. “The way I see it, we have two choices. One, we delay our plans and invest all of our resources into performing extensive background investigations on the Initiates,” he said as he rose one hand in the air and dropped the other. “This option would probably allow us to find the culprit, or culprits, relatively quick.”

 

“But?”

 

“But, in your very own words, sir: The Everstorm is upon us, and it is worse than we feared. The Voidbringers have returned, and every day we waste not training them is a day that they can wreak havoc throughout Roshar.”

 

“And our other option?”

 

Kaladin swapped hands, raising his left and lowering his right. “We go on as planned, except that we make what happened here known, and ask them to watch each other closely. If an Initiate does something suspicious, they bring it to our attention, and we can decide what to do from there.”

 

“But wouldn’t that destroy any semblance of trust they might have for one another?”

 

“Perhaps. But in my experience with the military, that seldom happens. To put it in perspective, during my initial training in Amaram’s army,” Kaladin paused after uttering the man’s name, trying, and failing, to hide the malice behind it, “my squad leader had discovered stolen food from the camp’s mess in our barracks. Unsure of who had taken it, he set us against each other to find the thief. In the beginning things were tense, but as the days passed and our squad leader deliberately made our training more difficult, the boy responsible gave in and admitted his indiscretion.”

 

“So, you think it could work in this situation, too?”

 

“Well, that was minor theft, while this is murder. I doubt a murderer would come forward as easily, but I’m certain that over time, the pressure would cause them to crack, and the more eyes we have searching for those cracks, the better.”

 

“For what it’s worth,” Teft said, rising from his haunches, “I agree with the Captain. This sort of tactic has torn ordinary squads apart before, but the ones who did manage to succeed always came out better than they would otherwise. And this is a group of almost-Radiants we’re talking about, here.

 

“Besides, myself and the other Squires will be supervising their training as well. While we teach them how to fight and wield their newfound powers, we can watch for anything suspicious as well.”

 

“Very well, then. So we shall proceed according to the schedule?” Dalinar asked, still exasperated by the situation, but satisfied with their decision.

 

“Well… not exactly,” Kaladin replied. “Teft. Fetch the other Squires. I think it’s time we put the fear of the Almighty into our new recruits.”

 

Going stiff, Teft saluted Kaladin with his wrists crossed and shouted “Yes sir!” before running down to where Drehy and Skar had posted for security.

 

 

Urithiru was in chaos.

 

Atop the tower, Kaladin stood, facing eastward as a Highstorm rapidly approached. Despite the rumbling in the distance, he could hear his Squires screaming at the Initiates to wake up, get dressed, and hurry to the roof. Even Rock was helping, though instead of yelling, he preferred to beat on a massive cookpot only a Horneater could lift without Shardplate.

 

By the time each and every one of the Initiates had been rounded up on the roof, the Stormwall was nearly upon them. Exactly twenty two ropes had been firmly knotted to a series of loops that would - hopefully - not be torn loose by the Highstorm when it hit.

 

“You all have about five minutes to brace yourselves!” Kaladin yelled to the Initiates, his wide back facing them, his voice being carried to them by the wind. A few were confused, even more were frightened. At least one had attempted to climb back down the stairs, but the entrance had been sealed off by Teft already. Bound by a Full Lashing, the doorway would not budge. “Four minutes!” Kaladin shouted louder, and at once, every Initiate scrambled for a rope to tie to their waist.

 

“Good luck,” Kaladin told them, smiling, as the Stormwall crashed into the city. They wouldn’t be able to see him, now, but he had just taken flight. The last time he rode a storm like this, he was fighting for his life against the Assassin in White. This time, he aimed to have a little fun.

 

He was a Windrunner, after all, and run the wind he did.

 

When he returned, the Riddens was in full effect. All twenty-two of the remaining Initiates were alive, if not a little worse for wear. Any serious injuries that might have been inflicted would already have healed, thanks to the Stormlight they could all breathe. Unfortunately for them, it couldn’t repair their uniforms, but that was a part of Kaladin’s plan. No better way to instill pride and discipline in a soldier than to make them frequently care for their own equipment.

 

That would have to wait for later, however, for there were more critical problems to address.

 

“Last night, an Initiate died,” Kaladin declared, watching the crowd for reactions. “Or, should I say, an Initiate was murdered, considering his eyes now resemble smoldering coals,” he paused to let that sink in. “Highprince Dalinar is convinced at least one person here was involved. Under normal circumstances, we would cease all training, but as you all know, these are desperate times, and thus we cannot afford to stop for anything. As such, he has given me permission to make your lives a living hell until all those who are responsible are found.

 

“So, take the day off to talk amongst yourselves. And don’t worry, you won’t have to leave this wonderfully frigid rain for a second. In fact, my Squires will be waiting just inside to make sure you have all the time you need to come clean.

“Enjoy, Initiates, and please, try not to get too sick. I’ve got big plans for you all tomorrow. Plans as big as a greatshell, in fact,” Kaladin finished with a laugh before diving off the ledge and falling into the sky above.

 

Edited February 11, 2017 by Amanuensis

[Amanuensis he/him]

CHAPTER TWO

Lomot has been murdered. He was an Honorable Initiate!

 

I finished the write up early so I decided to give ya'll some extra time (if any of you are even awake at this hour). I will have to reply to the GM PMs a little bit later because I have work to do, but given there's no powers involved this game yet, take solace knowing anything you did do was successful. Note that, with Lomot's death, ya'll are free to accuse one another all you want. Since no one is imprisoned, that means you can only vote on who to interrogate for now.

 

If you can't be bothered to read the entire write up, I recommend you read the fourth part, at the very least, as it describes the scene in which your characters will be interacting. Feel free to take some creative liberties with it, if you wish, as I've not given nearly as many details as there should be.

 

I have a feeling I'll be saying that last part a lot. Hah.

 

Also, as a disclaimer. Any events I've portrayed this game so far are purely fan fiction, for the purposes of the game, and have no real life implications beyond the story.

 

INITIATES

 

1. A Joe in the Bush as Jonly

2. Assassin in Burgundy as Araon Darkblade

3. Jondesu as Kintas

4. randuir as Ranatar

5. Hemalurgic_Headshot as Sareth-son-Erneth

6. TheSilverDragon as Rea

7. Ecthelion III as Fifth Nameless

8. Arinian as Arionium

9. JUQ as Hess

10. Quiver as Veriq

11. Shqueeves as Leif

12. Doc12 as Hithon

13. Magestar as Balthazar

14. Arraenae as Ralaani

15. TheMightyLopen as Shinon

16. Drake Marshall as Teresh

17. AliasSheep as Ashetvl

18. The lazy anarchist as Lyna Telavalet

19. Alvron as Naihar

20. DroughtBringer as Petrik

21. Darkness Ascendant as The Phantom Stranger & Hashiv

22. Elbereth as Tintallë Iurnu

 

CASUALTIES

1. Lomot the Honorable Initiate

 

COUNTDOWN

 

Chapter Two will end on Saturday, February 11th, at 0400 EST. Chapter Three will begin 2 hours later.

 

 

Edited February 8, 2017 by Amanuensis

[Darkness Ascendant he/him]

Hashiv decided he liked pie.

[DeTess she/her]

As the fury of the Highstorm passed and the Riddens set in, Ranatar couldn’t supress a grin. For starters, he had been off by only a little over an hour with his prediction of the start of the high-storm, which was decent. However, on a whim, he had also made a basic calculation of the thickness of the stormwall, and if he hadn’t lost count, he’d been almost exactly correct. Ranatar did his best to wipe the grin from his face, admonishing himself that the adrenaline coursing through his body meant that he’d probably miscounted, but he found himself unable to.

Kaladin’s revelation had no trouble wiping the grin of his face and removed any thoughts about predicting highstorms from his mind.

I don't have any real suspicions after the 1st cycle. I have a bad gut-feeling about 1 or 2 players, but given that I am very new, those feelings are probably worth less than a dun chip. I'll look back through cycle 1 to see if there is anything I can find to substantiate those suspicions. 

Amanuensis, what would happen in the case of a draw? And while we're on that question, as exactly 50% of the votes is needed to execute someone, could you execute two people in the same cycle if you can manage to get everyone to participate and split the vote (unlikely to happen as that is)?

Edited February 8, 2017 by randuir

[Amanuensis he/him]

1 minute ago, randuir said:

Amanuensis, what would happen in the case of a draw? And while we're on that question, as exactly 50% of the votes is needed to execute someone, could you execute two people in the same cycle if you can manage to get everyone to participate and split the vote (unlikely to happen as it is)?

All draws will result in nothing happening. The Knights Radiant must be decisive.

[Hemalurgic Headshot he/him]

Highstorms have a strange feeling. A very intense feeling. The very air tenses before the storm hits, an invisible orchestra building a dramatic crescendo to the climax. Then the highstorm hits.

The second before, you are standing straight. After, and you are bent backwards. The winds are unearthly, extreme, insane. And yet Sareth stood there, with the rest of the Initiates, braving the storm. The rain was like stone, each drop a pebble hurtled at excessive speeds. Sareth made a goal with himself, to stand completely straight. It was difficult, but there was a degree that one could lean into the wind that would enable him to stand straight.

When Stormblessed, as they called him, returned, Sareth was standing straight. His uniform was in tatters, and he was battered. It was a good thing he had left his cloak in his room.

[Doc12]

 

Hithon couldn’t see the stormwall, that raging, blustering, churning wave of wind-pushed water and debris. He wondered if he should be grateful for that. He felt the storm, the scream of the the sky, the lashing fury of the wind, the first stinging drops of rain. What must it have been like to those who could see? Those who could actually watch it advancing, knowing that they had no shelter or course of escape?

It must have looked like the end of the world.

 

When the storm hit, he died. Over and over again.  He could see nothing, he was tossed - buffeted and cut by a hundred thousand rocks, the winds picking him up as a ragdoll and smashing him against the walls. Thunder rolled so loud his ears failed him. The icy rain fell upon him with the force of a thousand hammers. He was thrown back and forth, yanked into the air, and only held by that piece of rope. He was crushed, frozen and drowned. And the worst part of it all was that he could see nothing. The wind was so loud it nearly drowned out the thunder; howling and moaning, and he could see nothing.

 

When you were robbed of sight, the unfamiliar was a horrible, hateful thing. Moments that needed your instant reaction, split-second decisions. His throat was raw, even though he couldn’t hear himself scream. Every part of him screamed. But worst of all was the screaming from his mind, battering uselessly against the darkness, screaming to see this beast so relentlessly crushing him to pieces. He needed to know it was going to end, for time held no meaning in this hell. He needed to see where he was, see what was cutting him, see what just flew past his ear. He needed to see!!

 

The only thing that kept him conscious, kept him in one piece, kept him sane,  was that light flowing through him. In the darkness of his mind, the light was blessed indeed, the one thing that he could focus on, to cling on to. The light flowed through him in waves, healing his wounds just as another few hundred were laced onto his body. Agony and relief alternated in this never-ending nightmare.

 

After ten eternities, the storm released him. And he fell. He lay as if dead on the cold stone. He was dead. Kaladin’s words came from a place far, far away, swimming circles in his thoughts. Nothing mattered. Nothing.

 

Was it worth it to get up? He had not felt so utterly defeated since his eyes were taken from him. So utterly crushed in spirit. He knew that...he would have to get up. He knew that he would overcome.

 

It just felt impossibly hard at the moment.

 

“Enjoy, Initiates, and please, try not to get too sick. I’ve got big plans for you all tomorrow. Plans as big as a greatshell, in fact,”

 

Thank you. Hithon decided then and there that he was going to get up - if only to kill that smug chull.  

 

[Jondesu he/him]

Kintas had already spent one highstorm in the open on the way to Urithiru, and was sure he'd never wanted to do it again.  At least that time he'd been sheltered under an outcropping of rock, watching boulders and all manner of other items flying past in the stormwall and after, for what seemed like forever.

This time, he watched it approaching while tied to a wall facing the highstorm.  He'd fastened himself tightly into the loop provided to him, knowing it could tear his arm off with it's strength, but also knowing he couldn't risk being flung away, even if it cost him dearly.  He had watched with silent dread even as others around him had screamed, each person there reacting in their own way to what seemed like sure death and impending doom.

Then it had hit.

The first thing he noticed was that it was cold.  Rain was always cold, but this was beyond anything he expected.  He half-thought frost was going to form on his skin.  Then he felt that skin begin to be ripped to shreds by the loose rocks and debris in the stormwall, and decided the cold wasn't as big of a problem.  But then…

Light.

Precious Stormlight had flooded into his veins.  He'd felt the surge of energy from both Breath and Stormlight filling him before, granting him another week of life, but this was different.  Instead of just bringing him back to his full strength, this had added to it.

He felt the storm raging outside, but he also felt it raging inside, stronger than the storm outside.  He felt it pushing through him, his cuts and bruises glowing and then disappearing, the cold suddenly turned into a fiery warmth surging from inside him.  By the time the storm ended, he felt rejuvenated in a way he'd never imagined, though he also didn't really want to repeat the experience in that way.  He suspected his Returned body had tolerated the storm better than some of the others, though as Kaladin said, he was feeling sick despite the storm inside.  He'd been flung about the entire time, and while he couldn't actually get sick, he could get dizzy, and he was feeling those effects now.  He sat on the surface of the roof of Urithiru and looked around him. 

When Kaladin revealed the murder, he was shocked again, perhaps more so than when the stormwall hit. A murder, here?  With Radiants and initiates all around?  He supposed he shouldn't be as surprised as he was, but surely Honor himself wouldn't have granted powers to those who were undeserving, who would murder.  Perhaps it was justified, or perhaps… Odium was here as well, and while Kintas didn't specifically fear him as an immediate threat, he knew full well that the Shard had murdered multiple other gods, on several other worlds.  It was a mercy to the rest of the Cosmere that he'd been trapped here for millennia.  Now, though, Kintas was here, in Odium's domain, and Honor was dead, though parts of him (many parts, but small ones) lived on.  He didn't know what Cultivation was up to, but in his teachings before, Hoid had mentioned that he wanted to see the "old girl", and implied that she was still alive and kicking, holding off Odium for now.  In his usual cryptic way, that was, so Kintas wasn't sure exactly what that meant.  He knew enough about the Shards to not count her out, though, so he hoped he still had one powerful living ally, albeit one who wouldn't care about his existence personally.

He made up his mind to keep his attention focused on the other initiates as best as he could.  Perhaps visiting Ranatar and taking him up on the offer to learn about the Stormwardens would be a good start.

---

Okay, so there's very little to go on of course, with just a ton of RP (love seeing it all, and Aman, yours is brilliant as always!), but I do like the strategies proposed yesterday, less because I'm particularly convinced by any, but because we've got a few different good approaches that different players can take, hopefully suiting their own strengths.  I'm not going to reveal exactly what Kintas is doing, but I do want to explain how I'm going to handle RP vs discussion.

Kintas is of course planning and watching, and if anything is said in his own thoughts, it will be truthful.  Anything he says out loud to another player, however, is just what Kintas is saying, and he might be hiding the truth.  The same goes for PMs, I don't promise complete honesty (mostly for my own protection), but I also won't lie just to lie.  There will be a good purpose.  I'll also just declare now that I'm among the Honorable, though of course no one has any reason to believe that now, but I hope if you examine my playstyle that while I'll have more RP here than some games, I'll be playing like I have when I'm village.

Also, I'm more than happy to RP with others, like I have with Ranatar, and I'll provide some of your character's dialog if you permit, so just let me know.

[phattemer]

I'm not playing, but I just want to say these write-ups are amazing.

[Amanuensis he/him]

21 minutes ago, phattemer said:

I'm not playing, but I just want to say these write-ups are amazing.

Thank you very much, sir

[Hemalurgic Headshot he/him]

"Plans as big as a greatshell, in fact."

Kaladin's parting words. Sareth could only wonder what sort of extreme regimen the Radiant had planned for the Initiates. Or perhaps, for the murder.

Murder, one of the most grievous sins to the Truth. Unlike other terrible sins, this one does not have anything to do with lies or deceit. This is a category entirely different, for the robbing of another's life. To take another human being, who was once living and doing the same things every other human does, and take his or her life away from them and crush it, is abominable. Inexplicable. Unpardonable. It hurt Sareth's soul to think about it.

And yet, the night before, someone had committed such an act. The gaudy noble, Lomot, had been killed, murdered. On a personal note, Sareth had no feelings towards Lomot, good or bad. However, he had died, and should be mourned. Everyone deserves that respect when they die. Sareth gazed into the sky, wherever Kaladin might be now. This... exercise has disrupted the natural sequence of mourning. He looked around at the other Initiates, spread out on the rooftop, in their tattered clothes and dirty faces. Some uniforms had ripped more than slightly. Much more than slightly. Many looked tired, so Sareth took the time to meditate before someone decided to break the ice. 

[Hemalurgic Headshot he/him]

Hmmm. It has been five hours since I have posted, and no one else has posted anything. I guess I'll start doing things.

An old farmer's proverb goes like this: a day without work is a day wasted. Sareth had heard this saying for years during his childhood, but once he grew old enough to question it, he found that it was false. There are other productive ways to spend a day than just work. In addition, work is a vague term. So, Sareth dismissed this old phrase as just a piece of outdated wisdom. However, age brings new wisdom. In a way, that old proverb is correct. Work is essential in a day, no matter if you spend sunrise to sunset in the fields or simply move a piece of furniture. But in another sense, the phrase is a call to action. And Sareth will not waste this day.

His eye scanned the Initiates. He was not inclined to kill any of them, for surely the culprit, when found, would be executed. However, a systematic approach through each Initiate would effectively locate the murderer, if nothing rash is done by any of the more passionate Initiates. Oh, how completely terrible this could end if someone jumps to the wrong conclusions...

There. The young one, Rea. He seems like a good place to start. Sareth walked towards him.

[Elbereth she/her]

Tintallë was woken by a banging on her door, shortly followed by someone barging in and yelling. "Wake up, get up!" 

She groaned, but reluctantly started moving. When the man reached for her to get her out more quickly, though, she scrambled enough that she fell off the bed and gave herself a nice bruise. She glared at the man come to wake her. "What."

"Be on the roof in two minutes in your uniform," he responded sharply, and left (not bothering to close the door behind him) to go bang on the next door.

Tintallë frowned, but dressed as quickly as she could and ran up to the roof. It wouldn't do to make a bad impression her first day, after all. 

When she found out what they were to do, however, she paled. A face pale as ice, blue like the water around it... She shook, barely able to tie the rope around herself, trying to forget the memories. She turned away from the storm that was approaching, closing her eyes and trying to ignore the world, stomach twisting tighter and tighter. 

Then a crash and water, everywhere, surrounding her, drowning her, tossing her about like a piece of driftwood. Tintallë panicked, thrashing about and clinging to the ground when she could find it, though she wasn't even sure which way was down. Breathe. She inhaled by mistake, and her lungs filled with water. She couldn't- she wouldn't- "No!" 

She coughed, and the first wave of the storm passed. Breathe. There was space between the water, now, air to replace the water in her lugs. Tintallë managed a single deep breath, then had it knocked out of her as a gust of wind tossed her forward and smashed her into the ground. Her head cracked against the ground, and stars filled her vision. 

Breathe. Her vision cleared, suddenly, and life filled her. The bruise from falling out of her bed faded, as did the pain in her head. Stormlight danced about her. 

That was the worst of it. Once she'd regained her clearheadedness, all she had to do was lay down, breathe, and try not to wince too much when the wind lifted her and slammed her to the ground again. 

She hadn't drowned. She wasn't dead. She would be okay. 

If anyone wants her to fall onto them or vice versa, I'd be open to that - past time for her to come into contact with someone, I think.

[TheMightyLopen he/him]

17 hours ago, randuir said:

As the fury of the Highstorm passed and the Riddens set in, Ranatar couldn’t supress a grin. For starters, he had been off by only a little over an hour with his prediction of the start of the high-storm, which was decent. However, on a whim, he had also made a basic calculation of the thickness of the stormwall, and if he hadn’t lost count, he’d been almost exactly correct. Ranatar did his best to wipe the grin from his face, admonishing himself that the adrenaline coursing through his body meant that he’d probably miscounted, but he found himself unable to.

Kaladin’s revelation had no trouble wiping the grin of his face and removed any thoughts about predicting highstorms from his mind.

I don't have any real suspicions after the 1st cycle. I have a bad gut-feeling about 1 or 2 players, but given that I am very new, those feelings are probably worth less than a dun chip. I'll look back through cycle 1 to see if there is anything I can find to substantiate those suspicions. 

Amanuensis, what would happen in the case of a draw? And while we're on that question, as exactly 50% of the votes is needed to execute someone, could you execute two people in the same cycle if you can manage to get everyone to participate and split the vote (unlikely to happen as that is)?

I'd love to hear those gut feelings. Even if they're wrong, it could help get the lynch discussion started!

Myself, I'm not really sure of anyone. I've got a couple players who I think could be village(specifically, I marked down Jondesu, randuir, HH, Doc, and Drought, but those are very hesitant reads), but no one who's really stuck out to me as evil, which makes it hard to put down a vote. I did go over all of Cycle 1 and note down how much Honor I think each player got, and I'm of the opinion that most of the Unjust would attempt to get as much Honor as fast as they can, but since we don't know if they're all even going to try for a Spren, that might be a faulty assumption.

I'll go ahead and ask that Balthazar(Mage) be brought forward for interrogation. There was just something about him earlier that rubbed me the wrong way.

[Ecthelion III he/him]

WARNING: MAJOR WORDS OF RADIANCE SPOILERS IN THE WRITE-UP

[Arraenae]

Ralaanar was walking outside when he noticed a group of people shuffling outside. They all did something strange around their waists, as if fiddling with a belt.

Ralaanar pulled out a sheet of paper to sketch the scene. They all wore the uniform of the new Knights Radiants, each with a cape of vibrant Kholin blue. Some of them seemed to be banging against the wall, for some reason.

A gentle rain began falling. Ralaanar tried to ignore the droplets that fell on his paper, then gave up. He packed the sketch away, into a waterproof bag.

“What are they doing?” Ralaanar asked.

“Dunno,” Rissa replied. “A highstorm’s coming. I know a place you can hide.”

“Alright,” Ralaanar said. He took another look at the Initiates. Why were they still outside in this rain? Shouldn’t they be going back inside? The rain became heavier. The gentle pitter-patter of water against the ground crescendoed into a roar.

“Wait,” Ralaanar said. “Did they get locked out? In the rain?” He hefted his bag and started walking towards the group of Initiates.

“Ralaanar, turn around!” Rissa said. “There’s an overhang where you can hide from the storm!”

“Um, right,” he said.“I have a key. Took it from one of the Squires. I think I can get in.” He pulled it out so he could show it to Rissa.

He walked towards the building, trying to go as fast as he can. His dress wouldn’t let him run, so he pulled it up and sprinted for the building.

“What are you doing?” Rissa screeched. “The door’s locked. That’s why they’re all stuck outside. Turn around! Turn around!”

“I can open the door for them,” Ralaanar shouted back. “Then I’ll get inside.”

Ralaanar almost reached the door when a gust of wind knocked him over. He pulled himself up and kept running for the door. Finally, he reached it. He shoved the key in the lock and turned it. The door didn’t open. Ralaanar threw himself against the door, but it still stayed stubbornly closed. Around him, the Initiates screamed, cried, and yelled. He turned his head and saw them being tossed by the storm. One of them, an old man, seemed to have gone into hysterics.

Suddenly, the wind blew on Ralaanar from the side. He grabbed onto the doorknob, but was wrenched away. Rain pelted him like little stones. Ralaanar shrieked and tried to grab onto something, anything. His hands found something. A rope? Moments later, he smacked into a body. He tried to apologize, but terror ate away at his ability to speak.

“You’re not going to survive!” Rissa yelled. “Storms, you have to say the Words!”

Ralaanar opened his mouth. Water filled it and he spat it out. He blinked furiously. Rissa floated in front of his face.

“The Words, Ralaanar!” Rissa repeated. “Say them!”

Ralaanar’s stolen cloak flapped in the wind. Then it opened, and flew away in a flash of blue.

“Life before death,” he shouted. “Uh, strength before weakness! Journey before destination!”

Ralaanar breathed in. At that moment, battered, bruised, and probably bleeding, he felt more alive than at any other point in his life.

Then he was pulled away from the wall and slammed into another body.

---

El, there you go.  One moment of bodily contact, delivered.

 

[Elbereth she/her]

Tintallë's going to have a busy night, given I've had a request in PM as well...

There was a lull in the rain for a moment, and Tintallë lifted her head to inhale another breath of Stormlight and try to see how her fellow Initiates were coping. She was coping, now, though the rain was absolutely freezing and the memory of the wall of water still panicked her slightly. She tried not to think about that. She couldn't afford to, right now. 

Then the storm increased again, and the moment of peace vanished. The wind lifted her, carried her upwards a few feet, and crashed her back down... right on top of someone else, her hand catching on their neck.

Tintallë didn't feel the storm anymore. She was sucked into the images: drawings, surrounding her, pieces of paper flying about covered with images of life in pencil and charcoal and paint. The centrepiece was the girl who had been introduced as Ralaani, though that didn't quite seem true. Not here, where there could be no falsehood. 

He - he? she wondered briefly - stood proud in the center, clutching a pen in one hand and a sketchbook in the other. He was beautiful, in this light, a proud artist inspiring the world. 

More papers fluttered through Tintallë's vision - an axehound frolicking in crem; the boy this time dressed as a girl, one tear trickling down his face; some sort of spren; a sword that hurt to look at. As the images receeded, she saw one more image: a downy owl with sharp talons, looking out at the viewer. 

Then it was gone. Tintallë fell away, gasping, and grateful for the storm that meant she didn't have to try not to faint in front of everyone's eyes. 

She sighed, and lay back down, away from anyone else who might try to touch her, and hoped it would be over soon. 

[Darkness Ascendant he/him]

Hashiv assumed noone else liked pie. He didn't know why he was thinking in this simple way, it was like a wave of melancholy had washed over him. He just went with the floowww.

He had had a moment of clarity when  the strange man Lomot had died, something was wrong, he could feel it. And the Phantom Stranger hadn't yet returned!

[Ecthelion III he/him]

Now we return to the subject at hand. Soulbinding itself is a highly intricate art. There are eight Internal or Light powers, and eight corresponding External or Dark powers. The powers are also divided up into four main groups: Physical, Mental, Temporal, and Enhancement. Each of these groups contains two Light powers and their two corresponding Dark powers.

The Fifth Nameless stood and faced the stormwall. He surveyed the faces of the other Initiates. Though a couple stood like pillars of stone, most shifted nervously, and that was being generous. Others were outright panicking. But not Fifth; at least, provided his link didn't die. Then he'd be in trouble.

But as the storm approached, thoughts of panic and death fled his mind altogether. Here he was, about to face the most frightening phenomenon in all of Roshar. Head on.

And by the Heralds, he was going to have fun doing it.

-

When Stormblessed, as they called him, returned, Fifth was standing straight. His uniform was in tatters, and he was battered. It was a good thing he had left his hooded cloak in his room. As he removed the rope which he was somehow still attached to, he looked around at the others. Apart from himself, he only counted twenty. Where was the last...?

Ah. There. He spotted the Lady Tintallë lying down some distance away from the others. She looked pale, and not just because of the ordeal with the storm. Despite this, her natural beauty was undeniable.

No. You can't afford to get attached to anyone. It will only cause you problems in fulfilling your duty.

Still, Fifth hoped he could catch her in a hallway sometime. It would be nice to have some conversation with someone apart from the other half of himself. Especially a beautiful lady.

[Amanuensis he/him]

I have finally got around to the GM PMs. If I missed you, please send me a message there. Thanks.

[Darkness Ascendant he/him]

So, anyone got any info in PMs or anything? Or willing to share any suspicion?

I'm suspicious of @Assassin in Burgundy, who was asking a tonne of questions last round, and hasn't posted at all this round

[Hemalurgic Headshot he/him]

I think that we need to establish a general timeline for RP. The highstorm has ended, correct? So now RP should effect events after the highstorm. Players making their first post can write on the highstorm, but then focus on the current events. This is simply to make RP more understandable.

[DeTess she/her]

I've gone through the first cycle again to take another look at my suspicions, as well as the other candidates for interrogation suggested here. I initially had some suspicions of TheMightyLopen, though the gut-feeling I had didn't reassert itself when I read through his posts again, and I couldn't find anything particularly incriminating. The same goes for mage.

I find it rather odd that Assassin is being called out for asking questions. Is there some rule about only being allowed to ask questions in the thread itself that I'm not aware of? You don't appear particularly suspicious in the rest of your posts, so apart from calling assassin out on in my opinion rather shaky grounds, I don't have any real reason to vote for you.

9 hours ago, TheMightyLopen said:

 I did go over all of Cycle 1 and note down how much Honor I think each player got, and I'm of the opinion that most of the Unjust would attempt to get as much Honor as fast as they can, but since we don't know if they're all even going to try for a Spren, that might be a faulty assumption.

I agree that the elims would try to get as much honor as possible, but so would all vilagers, so just having a lot of honor should not be enough to found a suspicion. Of course, if there is someone with a lot of honor who has been confirmed to not have a spren, that might become a basis for suspicion, especially if it is couple with some other suspicious behavior. 

I know this is a rather ambling post, but I haven't really got much to go on right now.

One final thing, even if we don't have any particular suspicions about someone at the end of this cycle, we will have to make sure the interrogation we've chosen has enough votes to stick, otherwise it will be too easy for a couple of elims to sneak in and switch the lynch to someone of their choosing without getting too much attention. Or alternatively, we could leave the vote open for last minute switches in an effort to try and draw out the elims, though that is unlikely to work unless the vote was on an elim to start with (as in AG3, where there was a tied vote on an elim mistborn and a villager at the start of the game which got manipulated into the elims favor).