Kasimir

Not following this reasoning. Disclaimer that I just took painkillers. Walk me through it? I feel like the set-up almost guarantees both docs are infiltrated due to the alternating kill but it's just as possible she set it up so the kill just stays with the Elims, I suppose. At the risk of being a pain, was just going to suggest people do what the Hoed did in Elantris - screech for dot, screeeeeech for dash, and go full-on Morse Code. IDK, @Devotary of Spontaneity, is that allowed?

Ignore that - I keep thinking of doc level shenanigans and forgetting that we're supposed to be anonymous in them. Likely because half my faction seems to know who each other is already -.- If we weren't anonymous, then the obvious defeater is the faction dimension - that if a player were to keep in mind their wincon, it's a fair approach to be more gung-ho about putting pressure on players in the other faction, but that doesn't really make them any more likely to be Evil, just Cryptic/HS. Either way, it just feels like a bog-standard early cycle interaction to me so I'm not especially alarmed.

Defectors also matter. I don't think we're going to fruitfully find them but don't forget that Defectors appear in one faction and win with the other. Which means that the actual distro can be a bit different from the docs - so I guess I'm agreeing with you. Likely 4/4 spren docs (and let's face it, there are four in my doc so there have to be four in the other, and this is true regardless of which doc you are in) but whether the defectors swap the distro or not is another issue. Again, I don't want to be too hung up on defectors - I do think the Elims will try to play us against each other when the numbers get more dicey but right now, I think it's more fruitful to focus on finding Elims. I feel cycle length disadvantages the Village in this BT (but yes yes, I voted for it anyway) so there's extra incentive to not get off track. Not that I can say very much about it but currrently my views: Mat's opener is an opener. Nothing especially interesting about it to me. I do think TUN is ignoring an obvious defeater here but it's consistent with TUN-thinking and I'm not inclined to read very much into either vote at this point in time, so here we are.

#SelfAwareWolves I feel like there's potentially a confounding element to this game because either Village faction has an incentive to lynch in the other one. We can't overdo this, but remember that it's not just removing the Elims - you have to reach parity with or outnumber the other faction. Am happy to go for a parity victory as I believe Elims benefit from a divided Village, but feel that the presence of Defectors does complicate this. Which is a short way of saying that another explanation is that Mat is gung-ho about lynching within a faction not his own, then I actually checked my faction doc and realised that we're all anonymous here so nevermind, goo goo joob Archer.

Yeah, this one I can confirm. Araris told Archer that he wasn't going to send more PMs as he wanted his vote to count. That's decidedly not the fill condition for Steel and after Archer mentioned it in thread, Araris didn't dispute this. Since Araris claimed the PMs, it basically entailed he had to be FF - that, alongside the fact that if he was a Ferring, he couldn't tap and fill at the same time (though this one is less problematic if you read the rules creatively.) The really wild thing was, Araris himself doesn't qualify for half the medal because he didn't notice the Steel fill condition issue... Neither did Elan, who, to be clear, was a Steelrunner who'd filled... Fifth and I kept going "Someone's got to realise this, right?" And no one did until you, and Araris had sort of claimed more openly by then in the PM... Anyway my own AAR for this will wait until Fifth's thoughts are out, and also I need sleep. Been one hell of a week.

Did you particularly want to die?

Twelve hour cycles work better for me. Kind of short on time these days but if I make a commitment to YOLO this game, it should balance out, right? Signing up as Sirak, a spren who was peacefully enjoying retirement in the archives until he got dragged out to join the negotiations.

Copper was Mat. Araris saved up to do a Tin scan. Which is still an alignment scan, just triggers faster than Copper so is easier to pull off. Made some pretty good metalmind choices, even if Fifth and I were going nuts with how Araris actually stated the wrong fill con for Steel and not a single person noticed or called him out on it (including Araris...) I believe we have half a medal for Alv for being the first player to notice that Araris was a FF.

PAFO

You're welcome.

Night Three: Burn the Witch! “So when did you arrive in Frebarind?” Olaf asked. “I’m aware that travel by canal isn’t as fast as it used to be, but you mentioned that events had preceded you quite a bit in Frebarind.” “So they did,” Kais replied, his gaze distant. “I had quite a bit of catching up on the situation to do once I’d arrived. And to my horror, the local Synod there did not have a firm hand on the situation, as much as they’d claimed to. Killing one of their own, nearly attempting to murder another Synod member without having conducted the proper investigations…” he shook his head, as though in sorrow at the utter degeneracy of the world. “I came to Frebarind,” said Kais, “On the third day, and as it was, in an ashfall…” The Synod chamber was quiet. Two more of their members were dead. Everyone in the room had to accept that they’d condemned one of their own to death, and that they’d gone willingly. Worse, another Spiked killer still roamed their streets, perhaps even the Inquisitor Sparky had spoken of before their death. “Have we failed as guardians of Frebarind?” Raven had never heard Landis sound so defeated. From the expressions on their faces, Headband and Half-mask hadn’t either. “We haven’t failed! Not while we’re still alive,” Headband proclaimed. Raven admired the optimism. “We’ve killed two Spiked already,” Half-mask offered. “There can’t be many left.” “We?” Landis remarked bitterly. “We have done nothing. Izzy claimed the reward for killing Stick, and the mob that got Sparky killed was not our design.” “It’s gratifying that the people of Frebarind can successfully navigate a crisis,” Raven said. “That’s what you rallied them to do.” “And how many have died for that decision?” Landis snarled. “Inadeus, Vardenwith, Stann, Eiwlil, even Stick and Sparky are my responsibilities. How did residents in this town come in contact with an Inquisitor?” “You cannot blame yourself for the choices of others,” Half-mask said. “All you can do is commit to doing better in the future. Vardenwith, Stann, and Eiwlil knew the risks when we accepted seats in the Synod. So do I, if it comes to that. Nothing any of us could have done would have saved Inadeus. Stick and Sparky both chose to side with the Inquisition against all of us.” “Did they though?” Headband interjected. “We knew Stick and the Tathingdwen Tautological Society of Tautology were low on funds. The Synod could have helped her before she turned to murder. Sparky claims they met a Steel Inquisitor, and everyone knows you can’t refuse one of them.” “Is that what happened to you?” Half-mask retorted. “Have you been their puppet all along?” “Please!” Landis demanded. “No more infighting. After what we did to Stann, I won’t have us killing each other without absolute surety.” “If we want surety, we should consult with the other villagers,” Raven cut in. “Half-mask and Headband have been fully involved in the proceedings, but you and I have yet to see firsthand how they track down Spiked.” “That is for the best,” Landis agreed. “I will honour our dead by ensuring that the Spiked will never again threaten the safety of our village.” With that, he abruptly stood up and strode out the door. The remaining Synod members had no choice but to follow. Ash fell from the skies. “Dreadful, woeful lamentations!” Faleast cried out, from his usual place in the market square. “Eiwlil was murdered by another accomplice of the Frebarind Finisher! Will the bloodbath never end? Will Frebarind lament in an ocean of blood?” The crowd that had gathered in the market square to listen to Faleast was diminished, as though they had generally lost interest in the course of events following the deaths of Eiwlil and Stann. Perhaps it was Eiwlil’s incessant preaching that had drawn them, with her theatrical commitment to aggressive shaking of her head. Perhaps something had gone out of the settlement—some sort of fire—as Frebarind concluded that it had matters mostly under control. Mostly. After all, Sparky had been killed by Jeral’s hand, and they’d found Stick almost immediately. While the killings had taken Frebarind by shock and by horror, it seemed that given enough bloodshed, you could get acclimated to that, in the same way you eventually learned to tune out X shouting to her dogs at night, or the tap-tap-tap of Artwyn’s walking staff as he passed. “Alright,” Steel said, and he’d at least given up on acting as though the headband really did much to conceal his identity, which was just as well, since it never had, and Landis thought of the absurdity of pretending he didn’t recognise Steel everytime Steel donned the headband—well, at least they could forget about that, now. “Well, I promised Stann that I’d come clean if he died, and he died, so. I’ve been filling my bronzeminds, which is why I’ve been so tired the last couple of nights. But last night, I had a ton of wakefulness to tap, and that’s when Artwyn and I tried to fight off Eiwlil’s attacker.” “Convenient,” Izzy said, her words like the well-placed thrust of a knife. “That you and Artwyn were there, but unable to stop the killings.” “I secured your protection,” Steel said, dumbfounded. “And I’d like to see you do any better.” “Could you recognise him if you saw him?” Eran wanted to know. “Sort of,” said Steel. “Look, I’m not sure I could give you a sketch of what he looked like, but I look at Faleast and I’m pretty dang sure that it’s got to be him.” Silence in the market square. And then, improbably, Jeral laughed. “Faleast? Of all people? You seriously think it was Faleast?” He’d taken to wearing his copperminds openly and they glinted in the last of the light. “Come on, Faleast wouldn’t hurt a fly. You need to stop blaming the messenger for the news he delivers.” “I know what I saw,” Steel said, stubbornly. “...I think,” he added, more quietly, but Eran’d overheard him. “That’s not exactly reassuring,” Eran said, reasonably. “You can’t actually expect us to commit to bringing Faleast to the watch just on your say-so if you’re not even sure you and Artwyn actually fought off Faleast. We have to do these things properly. Faleast is creepy, but it’s a stretch to think he’s with the Frebarind Finisher.” Artwyn shook his head. “Honestly, I’m not even sure it was Faleast. It was too dark for me to be sure, and he wore a hood. Where does Steel’s certainty come from?” “Come on,” Steel snarled. “I fought him off with you, and now you think I had something to do with it?” “I think it was X,” said Eran. “What has X really done around here? She agitates for suspects to be killed, rather than taken to the watch. That’s not the behaviour of a fine, upstanding citizen of Frebarind.” “Vhat,” said X, flatly. “Seize her!” Kais stepped off the canal boat, and grimaced. The journey to Frebarind had taken about as long as expected, but there had been a delay due to the dredging of the canal on the outskirts of Tathingdwen, following a collision between two fully-laden merchant boats. He had the sinking feeling he’d arrived too late, but as he paid the boatman in boxings and looked about him, it seemed he’d only just arrived into the thick of things. A middle-aged lady, four snarling bloodhounds at her heels, was surrounded by a crowd. Where was Landis? What was going on? At the head of the crowd, standing on an overturned crate of fruit, was someone decidedly not Landis, and Kais frowned. What in the name of all things sacred was going on in Frebarind?” “I didn’t do it,” the lady snapped. “Ist obvious! I believe Steel; we should kill Faleast right now.” “Look,” said an old woman, a basket under her arm. “I’ve told you, we have to do these things properly X. We can’t just go around killing people because you want us to do so and have wanted us to do so since the killings started!” “Steel vould know who he fought,” replied X. “And if Faleast has been vorking with the Inquisition from the beginning, then he’s been hiding under our noses all this vhile. Ist too dangerous to be kept alive. Ist that simple.” “He’s said it himself—he isn’t sure.” Steel, or someone that Kais inferred was most likely Steel, shook his head wretchedly. “I think it’s Faleast,” he muttered doggedly. “I guess I could see it being someone else,” an old man said, dubiously. “But I still think Steel’s suspicious. Wouldn’t put it past someone like him to have cut a deal with the Steel Inquisition.” “Please,” interrupted someone, the woman on the overturned crate. “I think it’s easy to resolve. What does the Frebarind Finisher want?” “To kill,” said Kais, quietly. If the Frebarind Finisher was who they were calling the Spiked infiltrators, then they would not be satisfied until they had spikes to return to the Inquisition, and the Synod-in-Frebarind was utterly destroyed. “To take many lives,” said someone else, and Kais’s gaze moved to him. There was something creepy about him, something unsettling about that. He met Kais’s gaze and the corners of his mouth tilted in a smile. “The more, the better they feel. Lamentations!” “Exactly!” crowed the woman on the crate. “The Finisher seeks to finish us off.” She tapped her palm with a sheathed knife. “Now, knowing this, how do we find any surviving accomplices of the Finisher?” “Ve kill Faleast!” X proclaimed. “And then ve kill anyone else who goes around with the killings at night!” “An accomplice of the Finisher,” said the woman on the crate, “wants people to die. Who, in this settlement, has been screaming for people to die all the time?” “Everyone,” said Landis, flatly. Kais saw and began to push his way through the crowd, trying to get to Landis. “X,” said Eran. “She’s been pushing for us to kill suspects rather than taking them in.” “This ist preposterous!” X was shouting. “This ist a disgrace! I merely do vhat none of you have the guts to do!” “I guess we could have fought X,” said an old man, dubiously. He was leaning on his walking stick and had the rough clothing of a tradesman. Probably a carpenter, Kais thought. He wasn’t nearly scorched enough for a blacksmith. “Maybe if she left the hounds at home…” “Therefore,” continued the woman on the crate, calmly, “It’s fairly obvious that X is working for the Frebarind Finisher.” “Vhat,” said X. “I helped you find Sparky! I led the hunt for them in that manor! This is a witch hunt!” “Well,” said the woman on the crate, reasonably, “It wouldn’t be much of a witch hunt if we took into account every single action you say proves your innocence, would it? Now, will someone get the watch?” “So they arrested her in the end?” Olaf asked. He signalled the waiter for a refill. He didn’t drink that heavily, but the wine was good, and it was running late. The noblewoman still had not yet touched her drink. Or had not finished it, and seemed content to sit with it. Olaf resolved to keep an eye on her. “You would think,” sighed Kais, witheringly. “Someone decided she was too dangerous to be kept alive, so they killed her after all. Landis was about as much of a help as a wet dishcloth—said that it was too bad that she died but they couldn’t afford to take risks at this point. Because of course, X was going to waltz out of the watch’s custody, and slaughter an entire settlement while she was under guard.” He shook his head and drained his cup. “I had more respect for Landis than this.” Something, a loose end, struck Olaf. “What happened to the dogs?” “About that…” Kais sighed. X / xinoehp512 was burned as a witch! She was a Village Skimmer! Vote Count: Night Three has begun! It will end in approximately 22.5 hours, on Wednesday 8 June at 10:00 PM EDT (-4:00 UTC). Get those actions in! Thank you to @Fifth Scholar for handling PMs and spreadsheet actions. This write-up was brought to you with help from @Devotary of Spontaneity If you tapped or filled a metalmind, you should be receiving a PM shortly. Please be patient as we send those out. As X has been killed, she leaves behind four bloodhounds who are now bereft of a caretaker. Any player who wishes to adopt the bloodhounds should make a case as to why you deserve to care for wonderful doggos, which will be put to the Synod for a vote. Landis, i.e. the Fifth-Kas-Devo RNG (don’t ask…) will determine the result if there is a tie. Good luck! Player List:

This is your current votecount (hint, it might be a good time to @ your GMs if your vote does not appear in this count!): Oh. That was...easy. No I was just sick and Devo and I were maining the write-ups this time as you do.

One more clarification guys - PMs are by default closed and all PMs are GM-created. This is because the generic 'send PM' action has a limit of two PMs in total per Night, so if PMs are more popular than expected, we have to RNG. (Same goes for the applicable quota for any other type of generic action.) Not to mention that roleblocks exist. Please do not jump the gun and create a PM. We will do it for you after determining if your action is successful or not

This is a pointed reminder to all players that responsibility is on you to make your votes visible and easy to read. We will check through things and we understand when formatting fails happen, but please, for the love of God, if your post screws up and your vote goes into a spoiler box, please just double-post and naked vote or something. Given the use of spoiler boxes to contain filler material, especially coloured reads list, I think this is a reasonable request. I have been asked to confirm the current vote count is correct. I can confirm it.

You may need to refresh. It was edited into the write-up after Mat pointed this out.

I forgot :| Also taking the chance to remind everyone that full metalminds cannot store additional charges. The maximum capacity of a metalmind is based off the cost of the full tap ability.

Night Two: Striking Sparks The Frebarind Finisher was, evidently, not yet finished. “Lamentations!” Faleast cried out, in the streets. “Dreadful lamentations! Two bodies discovered—” “—Praise the Ja!” Eiwlil interjected, punctuating each syllable with a vigorous shake of her head. “—likely victims of the Frebarind Finisher!” “Praise the Ja!” “Death stalks the streets of Frebarind!” “Praise the Ja!” “A hundred boxings to the one who can put an end to the scourge of the Frebarind Finisher!” “Praise the Ja!” “Dreadful, woeful, tragic lamentations!” “Praise the Ja!” Except, Landis thought, the outlook was at once both more dire and hopeful than expected. One of their own, though thankfully not a member of the Synod, had proven to be Spiked. He remembered Stick: peculiarly, both the President and the Treasurer of the Tathingdwen Tautological Society of Tautology were named Stick. No doubt President Stick would be grieved to hear of Treasurer Stick’s passing. Even worse to know that Treasurer Stick had become an informant for the Steel Inquisition, spying on the other Feruchemists. They have so many eyes among us, he thought to himself, dismayed. Worms in the rotten core of an apple. Last night, when the death was reported. He’d willed the other members of the Synod to listen. To understand what this meant. To act. If the Steel Inquisition had suborned a full Feruchemist, they could suborn anyone at all. No one was beyond suspicion. “It doesn’t matter,” another in the Synod had said. Landis knew who the man was, although he wore a mask. Most of the Synod did, these days. They believed the enemy could not see them, could not work out their identities at the meetings. As though they did not all know who their fellow Synod members were, even. “Can we even be truly sure that Stick was working for the Steel Inquisition?” “Those puncture wounds didn’t kill,” said another, who had elected to wear a headband instead of a mask. Landis wasn’t sure why. “They were inflicted before death, and there was very little bleeding around them. She was an agent of the Inquisition.” “But then where are the spikes?” asked a third, apparently confident enough in the anonymity provided by a domino mask. “Spikes do not disappear on their own.” “The answer,” said Landis, having had enough, “Is fairly obvious, isn’t it?” He looked at them, at the men and women of the Synod, hidden beneath their masks and that lone headband, and the others who stood among them, playing their games, burying their heads in the sand, and felt tired and frustrated and irritated. Hadn’t they lost enough? Hadn’t they all lost enough of their number? Ias and Hazen and Pashan and Radur, and the person they’d sent to check up on him had reported that Vardenwith had been killed. Did they know? Landis wondered. It wasn’t the first time he’d considered the Synod had to be compromised, and no doubt Vardenwith was killed for the seat he was filling in. Radur’s seat. “An accomplice,” said Raven. She nodded to him, as she strode into the meeting-place. “Inadeus was killed by a swift toxin of unknown provenance.” “What does that mean?” demanded one of the masked Synod members present. “It means an assassin,” snapped Landis. “It means the Steel Ministry,” Raven said. Calmly. Evenly. “It means that whoever killed Inadeus, that assassin procured a poison that is rare and proscribed enough that I can’t recognise it, which means that person has access and connections.” The room erupted. “But does that mean Steel Inquisition?” one of the Synod asked, who wore no mask. Confident, no doubt, in all gathered there. “How much of poisons do you know, Raven?” “Enough,” Raven replied. “Enough,” Landis said, in the same heartbeat, an echo of hers. “Which of us has an enemy—any enemy—that would pay for our deaths with an assassin, and one who knows and has access to rare poisons?” Silence. “The Steel Inquisition,” said the one wearing the domino mask. “The Steel Inquisition,” Landis agreed, grimly. “Stick was suborned. Stick was working for the Steel Inquisition. But there is another.” “You seem to know much of what transpired with the Frebarind Synod,” Olaf said. “And with Landis.” Kais shrugged. “One does not journey at the speed of thought. It took me time to travel down to Frebarind, time from when the letters were dispatched, and news of Hazen’s death. And then I had to investigate intensively, to assess the situation on the ground, and to understand what had happened in the days following Hazen’s death, and Landis’s leadership of the Synod. I did not arrive in Frebarind until several days after Inadeus’s death.” “A full Feruchemist suborned…” Olaf said, letting his voice trail off. The thought was horrendous, but Olaf knew as well as any House Lord that loyalty could be bought. Any man could be bought, in the end. The real question was one of price. Kais’s mention of the Synod and their interest in rare metals had brought him here. The Jerzy wine deal was interesting—an opportunity to diversify House Ffnord’s portfolio—but it was the suggestion of the Synod and the hint of knowledge, that the Feruchemists knew more about metals than even Allomancers, that had lured him all the way out to the Terris Dominance, and the Sign of Fire. Every man had his price. This was Olaf’s. “I suspect the spikes are capable of subverting a person’s will,” Kais said. “But I don’t think we can really know for sure. In any case, it seemed the Steel Inquisition was offering Stick a bounty on Feruchemical spikes brought back to their agents. And the Tathingdwen Tautological Society of Tautology had been in the red for some time…” “Ah. That explains it. You followed the boxings.” “As one does.” Olaf wondered, idly, if the bounty on Feruchemical spikes was still active. But he abandoned the thought; the prospect of metallurgical knowledge for the moment was sufficient draw, and while everyone knew the standard proportions for Allomantic metals, still, metallurgists always hoarded their secrets, seeking alloys of interest. And if the Synod had access to metals or alloys he hadn’t yet heard of… No, Olaf thought, the bounty wasn’t particularly enticing. He smiled toothily. “Well, what happened to the spikes?” The noblewoman at the next table over was nursing her drink. She’d been there the whole time since they’d come in, and something about her stuck out to Olaf. Probably nothing. And yet… “The Synod wasn’t able to establish this,” Kais answered. “But it takes a certain sort of person to recognise the spikes for what they are—to infiltrate Frebarind, the Steel Inquisition, we’d later discover, utilised spikes that were less conventional and therefore less recognisable than those employed by the Inquisitors. And of course, this meant they were easier to conceal. And it takes a certain sort of person to recognise the spikes and harvest them, all the same…” Frebarind didn’t know. That fact leaped out at Landis as he watched the crowd gather in the marketplace, Eiwlil shaking her head vigorously as she exhorted the masses to praise the Ja, and as Faleast did his own preaching, crying lamentations and the news of the day. As far as Frebarind knew, the Frebarind Finisher was just a single killer. And last night, the Finisher had struck again, claiming the lives of both Stick and Vardenwith. Unless someone corrected them. Unless someone told them the truth. He was under no illusions as to how they would react. They would be afraid. The Frebarind Finisher had showed that no one was safe; not full Feruchemists. Not the head of the Synod-in-Frebarind himself. No one at all was safe. But that was the point, Landis thought. Sometimes, you had to be cruel to be kind. “A moment,” he said, laying a hand on Faleast’s shoulder. The town crier glanced at him with a sly smile. Many members of the Synod had privately commented they’d found Faleast…unsettling. Not for the first time, Landis could see why. There was something about Faleast’s eyes, something that wasn’t quite right. “Lamentations,” Faleast said, as if it was a greeting, as though he took some secretive joy in the word. “What is it that you need, Landis?” “The Frebarind Finisher is dead,” Landis stated. “And how do you know this?” “Puncture wounds,” Landis said. “But she didn’t die from them.” Faleast’s mind worked quickly, Landis would give him that. “Spikes? Torture?” “Spikes.” “Lamentation,” said Faleast. Landis had the impression the man said the word the way a skaa would have sworn by the Lord Ruler’s name. “And you want them to know this.” “I want them to know they are not safe.” “Lamentations! Dreadful lamentations!” Faleast was shouting the news in the marketplace, punctuated by Eiwlil’s preaching. “Stick was the Frebarind Finisher!” “I knew that,” Izzy Dedyet declared, proudly, as a crowd stopped and milled about, listening to Faleast. “I put out the kill contract myself.” “I…” Jeral said. Izzy’s smile was just a little too bright, reminding him of a sword. His knuckles tightened about the hilt of his cane-sword. It wasn’t the golden-hilted cane-sword though. It was just a regular cane-sword, a gentleman’s fashionable gentlething, that Jeral had taken to carrying through the streets to feel a little safer. Safety, security, and peace. Frebarind had none of that right now. “...I can actually believe that.” “Praise the Ja!” Eiwlil intoned, shaking her head warningly. “The Ja has struck down the Frebarind Finisher! Praise the Ja! If Izzy lies, the Ja will strike her down too! Praise the Ja! Or whoever did the actual deed will silence her for good. Praise the Ja!” “Izzy says she’s reformed,” Steel muttered, after a long, mostly-mumbled diatribe on stab-happy Izzy Dedyet, with the air of a man reliving long-buried trauma. “I’d sooner believe that the Lord Ruler himself has turned Jaist.” “Well,” Izzy said, advancing on Faleast. “Where’s my hundred boxings?” “Claim it from the watch,” Faleast informed her. “I plan to.” “Right,” said Jeral, after a pause. “So I guess we know that Izzy isn’t the Frebarind Finisher. That’s great.” “The Frebarind Finisher ist dead, then!” X exclaimed, nodding approvingly. Her dogs milled about on their leashes. “This ist very good. Ve need to kill even more people!” “What,” said Steel, flatly. “Actually, about that…” Faleast coughed. “Lamentations! Joyful lamentations!” he raised his volume back to an all-out shout, meant to carry across the market square. “Frebarind Finisher had accomplice! No one in Frebarind is safe until this phantom menace is stopped!” “I say we go to Artwyn’s store and ransack it,” Stann said, loudly. “Artwyn dropped by my place for a chat last night, and he said he’d made it to someone else’s home too.” Stann was paging idly through an immaculately-maintained flipbook, as though in boredom. “Old man like him, where’s he get the energy to run about so quickly? I bet you anything he’s lying.” “Lying doesn’t make someone the accomplice of the Frebarind Finisher,” Jeral said, sensibly. Though he certainly thought there was a decently-sized chance that the accomplice of the Frebarind Finisher would lie. “Well, yes,” Stann admitted. “But it’s bloody unnatural.” Artwyn scowled at the clerk. “I exercise,” he snapped. “I use a personal planner to schedule my day, and I hydrate.” “Unnatural isn’t the problem,” Steel interjected. “Evil is. Izzy’s unnatural but that doesn’t mean Izzy works with the Frebarind Finisher. If anything, I’m pretty sure we all agree that getting someone to stab Stick means that Izzy’s got her heart in the right place. …If she has one.” That last bit was said very, very quietly. “Look,” Stann said. “I don’t have much time today to stand around the marketplace and start yelling to and fro until we decide to take matters in our own hands, save ourselves, and go find the Frebarind Finisher—well, the Frebarind Finisher’s accomplice. What about we skip the argument and get to the bit where we show up to ransack Artwyn’s shop with torches and pitchforks?” Sparky was awake and peering out the window when the crowd arrived, though without torches, and in one case, armed with a plain-hilted cane-sword. “I still think this is a mistake,” Jeral grumbled. “We should be looking at someone more suspicious, like Eran. Giving out cookies like that is suspicious.” “Mmmfffm,” said Steel, brushing crumbs off his fingers. “I think,” said Stann, “We should be applying pressure to Artwyn. What are we even doing here?” Eran smiled beatifically, a basket of freshly-baked cookies tucked under an arm. “You don’t think Stick was too quick to distance herself from Sparky?” “Lord Ruler,” Sparky muttered, unable to look away. They felt their knees go weak. It wasn’t torches and pitchforks but having a mob at their door made their heart sink to the pit of their stomach. Stick hadn’t even stood a chance. If they tried, they could make a break for it. They had a back door. “This is the end, isn’t it?” Sparky said aloud, scrubbing furiously at their eyes with the back of their hand. They thought about the others, left alone, left to fend for themselves in this cruel world. Run away, the spikes whispered. Save yourself. But Sparky was rooted to the spot with horror, with fear, with anxiety, and with regret for those they would be leaving behind. “So this is how it ends…” they whispered. “Sparky!” Artwyn called out. He thwacked the door briskly with his staff. “Sparky, we know you’re in there! Come on out now, make it easier on yourself.” Jeral gripped the hilt of his cane-sword, alert, ready for anything. He wondered if the agents of the Steel Inquisition were among them, laughing. “Praise the Ja!” Eiwlil was screaming, shaking her head aggressively at the door as Artwyn thwacked it. He resolved to keep a closer eye on her; Eiwlil was too bloodthirsty for Jeral’s tastes. There was no response. Artwyn, his patience evidently at an end, smashed the door in at the hinges. “He’s too strong for an old man!” Stann complained, as the mob entered Vedel manor. “Lord Ruler, Stann,” Steel said, exasperated. “We need to find Sparky immediately.” “They’re running, or maybe they’re hiding like a rat!” X shouted, and let her hounds loose. “Ve vill find them, won’t ve, my lovelies? Ve vill!” Eventually, they found the room overlooking the porch. “Don’t move,” Sparky said. They levelled the tip of their sword at Jeral, who was in the lead. The hounds were baying now, and the sword in Sparky’s hand trembled. “Come on,” Jeral said, and now he let go of his cane-sword. “Sparky, we can talk about this, I’m sure it’s all a misunderstanding—” “It isn’t a misunderstanding!” Sparky snapped. “You killed Stick and now you’re here to brutally murder me too just because I listened to a great story, a very good story from that Inquisitor and he told me I was doing the right thing and maybe it would matter, and I would matter, and I would make a difference, and I regret everything, not the killing, no, you all had to be stopped, but that you’ve found me and it’s going to end like this and I’m going to leave them all alone. I never really had a chance, did I? I wasn’t going to live!” Jeral blinked at the unexpected diatribe. “Er,” he said, intelligently. “I knew it! You’ve come for me, to hunt me down like an animal!” Sparky’s eyes were wild. “Well, I’m not going to go down without a fight, I’m not helpless, I’m going to make Stick proud!” Sparky lunged. Almost without thought, working on reflex, Jeral drew and turned. He felt the hot sting as Sparky’s sword slashed past him. He heard the hiss of the sword-stroke turn into the meatier sound of sword meeting flesh, watched as Sparky crumpled to the floor, a scarlet line opening from left ear to right collarbone. “It mattered…” Sparky wheezed, and then Sparky was dead. “Please tell me they were spiked,” Jeral said, aloud, as the other inhabitants of Frebarind gaped behind him. “Because if not, I’ve just killed a kid, and I think I’m about to be sick.” JNV / Sparky was struck down with a cane-sword! They were a Spiked Sentry! Vote Count: Night Two has begun! It will end in a little over 23 hours, on Sunday 5 June 2022 at 10:00 PM EDT (-4:00 UTC). Get those actions in! Thank you to @Fifth Scholar for handling PMs and spreadsheet actions. This write-up was brought to you by apparently too much interaction with Wyrm. If you tapped or filled a metalmind, you should be receiving a PM shortly. Please be patient as we send those out. Good luck! Player List:

The Night is over.

Night One: Flickering Luck Night fell with a clamour in Frebarind as Jeral scooped up his weighted dice and let them clatter across the battered wooden table with a vicious smile. Today was his lucky night. He could feel it, could imagine the glint of sunlight off the golden hilt of that cane-sword. An elegant weapon for a more civilised age. One day, he would lay his hands on it. Nevermind the exorbitant price-tag. Nevermind that the maker demanded a king’s ransom for his creation. One day, it would be his. And tonight, the golden-hilted cane-sword felt so close, just barely within his grasp. Luck was with him tonight, as he tasted blood, and raked in the boxings. Of course, a wise man knew it always helped to make your own luck. “Too rich for my blood,” muttered one of his opponents, folding. Triumphantly, Jeral reached over and added the chips to his growing pile. There was an art to using the weighted dice—too much at once, too obvious, and people knew they’d been had, too little, and you inevitably lost, and that put him further and further away from the cane-sword. A hand clamped about his wrist. “What?” Jeral growled. A shadow fell over him. He looked up. The problem with luck was that she was a fickle mistress, wont to grow jealous soon enough. The sweet taste of success faded, the heady buzz in his veins growing flat. “Rules are rules,” said Phelan. “You were told about the dice.” Jeral wasn’t minded to argue, as the bouncer scooped up the weighted dice and tossed them into a pouch of dark cloth. He did protest, when Phelan ruthlessly grabbed the lion’s share of Jeral’s winnings, his fingers moving to protect his precious chips. Phelan fixed him with a gimlet stare, and Jeral subsided. The first rule of gambling: the house always wins. The second rule of gambling in the Laughing Salmon: the house always wins, and Phelan had a nasty throw. It wasn’t worth getting thrown out of the Laughing Salmon. Not tonight. Tonight was going to be a good night. Jeral could feel it. Nevermind the loss of his weighted dice, his lucky dice. “You rusting cheater!” snarled the man who’d just bowed out. He’d lost boxings most of the afternoon through to the evening. On second thoughts, Jeral decided he could find a lucky table somewhere else, roll the dice. Couldn’t buy the golden-hilted cane-sword if he were dead, after all. “Dreadful news! Dreadful lamentable news!” Faleast yelled. One hundred boxings to anyone with information on the Frebarind Finisher. Artwyn shook his head. Folly, that. If the murders or the name wasn’t enough to set the settlement’s rumour mills churning, one hundred boxings was enough to make sure everyone and their wolfhound heard about the Frebarind Finisher, and flooded the watch with rumoured sightings. The best way to make sure absolutely nobody got anything done was to promise to pay them if they coughed up anything about the Frebarind Finisher. Artwyn wasn’t sure about the Finisher, but there was something that wasn’t quite right about Steel, like a piece of timber that seemed sound until you discovered it was rotted away inside. No good for furniture then; no cabinets or chairs out of that sort of wood. Of course, this meant that Faleast was getting swarmed with people who claimed they knew who the Frebarind Finisher was, as though the town crier was the one with the boxings to be paid. Steel’d claimed to know nothing of Feruchemy, which to Artwyn, sounded like a load of sawdust. This was Frebarind, in the Terris Dominance, and practically everyone in the settlement’d come from Tathingdwen or had family there. Maybe it wasn’t the sort of thing you talked about, because only an idiot went on about Feruchemy where the eyes of the Steel Inquisition could see and the ears of the Steel Inquisition could hear, but that just made the old beggar’s abrupt claim to know nothing of Feruchemy sound all the worse. You didn’t want to attract Inquisition attention, so what did that make of the one who didn’t care about doing so? Then there was Inadeus, who seemed far too interested in this business of talking about Feruchemy for Artwyn’s liking. Izzy Dedyet, at least, seemed to have a sensible wariness of Inadeus, volunteering Inadeus as a potential suspect for the Frebarind Finisher, and then walking it back. “Boxing for your thoughts?” It was Landis, the settlement’s antiquarian. Artwyn remembered him; he’d restored a old cabinet for Landis, once. Right now, Landis just looked troubled. Artwyn supposed the killings had everyone on edge. And Hazen had been Landis’s friend, as best as Artwyn could recall. “Hundred boxings is a lot of money,” Artwyn said. “Sure is.” “Every fool within ten leagues of Frebarind is going to claim to have found the Finisher.” “Probably,” said Landis. “Too noisy.” “Sometimes, it’s the only way you flush out a snake,” Landis said. “Beat the brush. Yell. Make enough noise that everyone’s looking.” “You think so?” Artwyn doubted. Too much foolishness for his old bones. Maybe Landis understood though. “I think we do what we must,” Landis said. “Finisher’s vicious. Has to be stopped, one way or another.” Maybe so, Artwyn thought. Maybe so. The first rule of the Tathingdwen Tautological Society of Tautology was the first rule of the Tathingdwen Tautological Society of Tautology. Incidentally, the second rule of the Tathingdwen Tautological Society of Tautology was also the second rule of the Tathingdwen Tautological Society of Tautology. The good thing, Stick thought, was that Inadeus was either innocent or guilty, which entailed that Inadeus was either innocent or guilty. And because Inadeus was either innocent or guilty, if being guilty implied that Inadeus was Spiked, or at least, a tool of the Steel Inquisition, then not being a tool of the Steel Inquisition entailed that Inadeus wasn’t Spiked. This was a very useful proposition to know on the supposition that one could in fact establish if Inadeus was working for the Steel Inquisition. The fact that establishing if Inadeus was working for the Steel Inquisition was a matter of mere triviality, and not the proper concern of the Treasurer of the Tathingdwen Tautological Society of Tautology. The fact that the inference from the existence and the ghastly activities of the Frebarind Finisher to the handiwork of the Steel Inquisition was potentially troubled was not something that particularly bothered Stick. Stick had come from Tathingdwen, where they whispered in the right circles of the Synod, of the last keepers of old Terris, the ones who still remembered the ancient knowledge and kept the faith, and unbroken promise from generation to generation. The fist of the Steel Inquisition had always fallen the hardest in Tathingdwen, and Stick would not have the deeds of the Frebarind Finisher past them. It took a great deal to cross the Steel Inquisition. But being Terris and knowing something of Feruchemy always lowered that threshold. And then there was Landis. Landis, who kept ancient records and curiosities. Landis who insisted that the killings were done by the Steel Inquisition. Landis seemed to know what he was talking about, which was good enough for Stick to conclude that Landis seemed to know what he was talking about. Only a fool would thereby conclude that Landis knew what he was talking about. But Landis was persuasive. Which meant here they were, confronted with the problem of how to ascertain if someone did in fact work for the Steel Inquisition. Or, for that matter, if one of five someones did. “I say ve kill them all!” X cried out. No one in Frebarind knew if X had another name; all quietly agreed that X was most likely a nickname for ‘Executioner.’ Certainly, X was being about as bloodthirsty as expected. “The Lord Ruler can sort out the rest!” She jabbed her finger at Vardenwith. “Especially him!” “I think you mean arrest,” Vardenwith said. He wrung his hands, nervously. “You did mean arrest, didn’t you?” “Look at Faleast,” Artwyn was saying. “I understand a little bloodthirstiness in a man, but just between you and me, he’s taking too much delight in shouting about the deaths. Wouldn’t surprise me if he was trying to gauge reactions to his own killings.” For a moment, Inadeus thought that they were going for Vardenwith. Or maybe Faleast after all. After all, luck was with him. But as Jeral had discovered earlier that day, luck was a fickle mistress. As the crowd—very nearly a mob—argued and fought over what was to be done with most-definitely-the-set-of-people-containing-the-Frebarind-Finisher and who was going to get paid and how they were going to split the hundred boxing reward, no one noticed Inadeus clutching at his chest, breath coming out in wheezing gasps. By the time Eran noticed that Inadeus had slumped to the ground, it was too late. Inadeus’s heart had given out. No one at all noticed the poisoned dart, so small it was barely visible, sticking out of his arm. Nor did they notice a noblewoman in the crowd scowl to have missed his heart. Someone, somewhere, or several someones had rolled the dice, and his luck had turned. “THE FREBARIND FINISHER IS DEAD!” Eiwlil cried out, shaking her head aggressively at the sight. “Praise the Ja!” ExMach Inadeus (The Unknown Novel) has run short on luck! He was a Village Brute! Vote Count: Night One has begun! It will end in approximately 23 hours, at 10:00 PM EDT (-4:00 UTC) on Thursday 2 June. Get those actions in beforehand! If you tapped or filled a metalmind, you should be receiving a PM shortly. Please be patient as we send those out. Good luck! Player List:

And the Day is done, no need to change your minds another fifty times, thank you >>

I have heard your cries. The rules are >>>>HERE<<<<; The final exam is at 1000hrs SGT tomorrow. No mercy. No extensions. Only death.

Clarification: You can send in a fill order, and then change your mind and rescind it later on. Violating your fill condition is in fact a de facto cancellation of the fill order. You cannot send in a fill order, cancel it, violate your fill conditions, and then send in a fill order again. P.S. Just for clarity's sake, if at any point I ever issue a clarification that conflicts with or is countermanded by Fifth, Fifth's ruling should be taken to hold over my own.

One minute in which to abruptly sign up for this game as Landis Khan and force Fifth to tear his hair out and redo everything :eyes: Should I :eyes: Some kels want to watch the world burn.

Have to back out, so if not Steel, has to be Ash. Currently getting blood drawn as it seems I might have contracted dengue fever, so won't be in shape to run anything immediately.