Kasimir

Found scratched into the bark of an old tree, at knee-height: [OOC: I cannot believe I have had to explain this but please keep in mind I am delivering game content through RP, which means I have to keep in-character, and Kiean's character description is literally 'Only Sane Korathi.' He is not going to know a lot of things Also, good to play with you again, Sart And I have no good way to deliver this with RP, so: Kasimir/Kiean. I'm sorry, El ]

Found scribbled with a lump of charcoal on an old stone. Dark charcoal strokes cut across what appears to be crude graffiti, but are barely readable, except in fragments: @DrakeMarshall [OOC] You called?

[OOC] I can't remember when Sart first started playing, and my memory isn't that good these days (old man brain, sorry, I still try to bluetext as OOC which tells you all about how forgetful I am) - but we played LG5 together.

Found scribbled hurriedly onto a slip of aging paper: Edited for spacing.

Time is really gonna be an issue, sigh.... I'm gonna aim for 1-2 posts a day, that's it, and will be sticking to my usual RP as a way of encapsulating discussion style, which is going to be a pain, but oh well I don't hold any blame for if my RP gets weird because my friend is still screaming to me over Dark and I'm gone. I'll be playing Kiean, one of the expedition's porters (man's gotta eat, right?), who is quite certain he's the Only Sane Man out here, even as things start to...fall apart around him.

Depends. If you mean RP-centric, then - I tend to encourage RP as a GM, but there are other games which will also be RP heavy. A look at the SE games GM spreadsheet will indicate which ones might be upcoming (from the looks of it, the WoT and KKC game are likely to be heavier in RP - @Elbereth would likely know more.) Burnt and I are at some point scheduled to run an "any action allowed" RP-heavy Very Weird game based off Agatha Christie's Murder on the Orient Express which we are still trying to sort out and have been since last year But we won't be ready to run that anytime before the end of the year, and we're not the highest on the queue list If you mean items-based with RNGesus and rooms - then much less likely. I have some ideas kicking around in my head, but at this point, I am most likely to next run a Midsommar-flavoured more-or-less vanilla game, though that will be after I've had the chance to recover from this one ...Suddenly the near-C2 Red Wedding becomes clear... I'd love to say it was intended but probably a good chunk of it was due to increasing time pressure. I did intend to have the accent fall away more subtly, but I admit I was taking less care towards the end. That being said, I did intentionally seed hints and inconsistencies since early on for the careful reader so the reveal wouldn't come completely out of left field. Unreliable narrator is always a tricky trope to pull off well.

So, a few quick thoughts as per the promised post-mortem: I feel like the item distribution table could have been further optimised, given how RNGesus demanded blood across the course of this game. It would've been better to not need to nullify the results of an entire roll (C2: Lahilt obtained the kill role, and basically everyone except Vapor, Windrunner, and someone else ended up with kill items) - even if that was a pretty obvious break in the game. But I don't feel strongly about this since if you're rolling with RNGesus, then you have to accept clown results if RNGesus feels like trolling you and the players. And nullifying C2 was the fairly obvious call to make. Secret drop rates could have been increased, I think. My stronger feeling is that the kill item balance issue really came down to - as Drake put it - how utterly bloodthirsty RNGesus was. Players were searching in rooms other than the Kitchen - RNGesus just didn't favour them strongly enough to pick up better protection. People did hobo in the Kitchen for a bit, and that was protection central And the Growlery-goers could have hogged role-block items, which could be as swingy. Ultimately, this had the potential to become a RNGesus role madness game, which it kind of ended up being anyway. Nullifying the results of an obviously unbalanced call is okay, but I would not want to be intervening all the time. I think the line is to draw is to do it across the board, by taking an entire re-roll, rather than re-rolling for a single player. I think 4 Eliminators turned out fine for these numbers. I could go as low as 3, in light of the issue with the inactivity filter, and given the number of roles and items floating around. But I think that cuts things a bit close. People were worried about the hammer potential, and I think they could have risked a hammer and won a tad earlier, but Elan and I were counting on the communication issue to hobble a hammer. That being said, not having a doc is definitely a pain for the Eliminators I do think two aspects of the Eliminators needs to be adjusted. First, I've realised that using the inactivity filter as the criterion for a kill doesn't really make sense, since the logical implementation of the rules just means that the kill passes from a filter-killed Eliminator to the next. I would probably lower the definition of an inactive Eliminator to one cycle of inactivity. And in a smaller group (maybe not even then!) I think the Eliminators should meet one requirement - whether it be getting a RNGesus item from a Room, or the death of one particular role - before being allowed to hammer. (Or, I suppose I could go for a random distribution but keep an eye out for a spread of timezones...) Switching off Room-locked targeting is the only decision that makes sense, barring something like Alvron's Burrow Baron game where people can hobo in the corridors, or a secret passage mechanic. It would be nice to make Room-locked targeting work, but ultimately, this was not the game for it. The meta for this game was a bit refreshing - especially with regard to the reasoning processes that went on during the final cycle. Part of it might be because I haven't been in the community for a while. Part of it, IMO, might be because of the active player demographic at the end. It's an interesting scanner gambit to watch in play, though I admit the GM part of me was going, "Hah! You think I would give y'all a scan ability?" Refusing to let items be transferred seems to me to be the correct decision, since I would actually be giving people with Secrets cosmetic role-flavoured abilities. Which, whoops, only Orlok and Araris had. Oh well. This does leave me with difficulty deciding what information to give on the lynch. I am reluctantly fine with revealing all items, demarcating the single-use ones, and, I suppose, asterisking secret items - or marking them out in some way. I was actually willing to clarify about Araris's role if anyone had asked. No one did. A heads-up that roles could be acquired might be helpful for players, past C2. Striker Kalebane, the Terror of GMs, and the Shield of the Lynch did not break this game. I will be forever grateful

Memes are art, thank you

Player Statuses Two Seconds Before Disaster, aka the Wise GM's Fear: Warning: Image beneath spoiler.

Well, good job managing that, especially during your work break, you salvaged the cycle back from where Striker had gone It was a single-handed game-winning move. TBH, I don't recall Orlok actually ever mentioning your PM, and he was not involved in the decision to murder you... which probably just makes it worse, I assume

Thank you for not breaking my game this time I appreciate your mercy

Thanks! You did good this game, to be honest. Was fun to see you interact with the RP. Also, I rechecked my mastersheet: Yep, as I mentioned, at the time of your death at the start of Cycle Five, Burnt was the only other person to not have gotten anything at all through Search. I don't really count the Villagers who died earlier because not all of them sent in Search actions consistently, and everyone else who died with you in end-Cycle Four/start-Cycle Five had found at least one usable item. Which is pretty surprisingly given at least one of them died from inactivity, and so had sent in fewer Search orders than you did o.O

Aftermath: While The Light Lasts So there’s my tale. Of course, I did promise you the truth about the massacre at the Oswin Manor. I promised you a tale that would last at least a candlemark, and the candle is almost doused. Won’t you drink with me, milady, while the light lasts? To Lord Talbot Oswin. I wasn’t lying when I said I’ve had worse employers than your son, my Lady. Worse employers? You know them, my Lady. Your esteemed sister, may Ironeyes take her. They say she’s cast from the mould of Lady Jocasta Heron of Tremredare, who bathed in the blood of her skaa. They would be right. Imagine you’re Johanna Heron, milady. Imagine you’re a ruthless, scheming gixie with a piece of ice for a heart. Imagine that the Heron estates are divided because that fool of a Lord in Elendel decided that the collateral lines weren’t pure enough for his liking, and he gave away the bulk of his estates to an old cantankerous man with no Heron lineage at all. How dare I? Milady, you know Johanna Heron. You grew up with her. Did you really think she would not scheme and plot to take back what she saw as hers? My part in this tangled tale goes back a long way. I was to find a post at your son’s house, and to work there, quietly, for months. I was very good at my job. I have been very good at my job, for years now. You see, nobody expects someone like me to be very clever. As long as I stammer and ask questions and look blank and distressed, people aren’t very suspicious at all. Of course, I really don’t know all that much about flowers. Convenient, that. But Lord Talbot Oswin had no opening at his Bilming manor, and I needed access to the Bilming manor. So I slipped in one night and killed the gardener. It was a little less quiet than was ideal, but I broke his neck. The flowers have grown very well since. And he does keep very detailed notes, enough for me to be able to figure out how to muddle along. To his credit, Lord Oswin saw through me that night. I hadn’t planned on killing him at all. But he saw, and he realised what I was. Or I suppose I should say, who I was. Maybe it was the lighting, that night. Or maybe it was the portrait of your esteemed father, Kyrios Heron, on the wall of his study. Later, I removed the portrait and set fire to it in the back of the garden, and threw the blood-stained work gloves away. No one noticed. He hadn’t seen it before that. Very few people do. Fortunately, I do take very strongly after my father, and that’s enough for most people to write me off as another koloss-blooded lout. That night, I’d planned on lifting the key to the Growlery from his pocket. I’d tried to gain access to the Growlery before, but that lock defeated my attempts to pick it open. There was no help for it. I’d have to steal the key from Lord Talbot Oswin. The party seemed like a good time. By then, I had learned that Lord Oswin was especially wont to be inebriated at parties. And if I was discovered in the Growlery, I could claim that I had found the door open and lay the blame on the guests. The irony is, I don’t think Lord Oswin really knew what he had in there. I don’t think you realised either, milady. Because if you did, I don’t think you’d ever let him keep it among his historical curiosities. It’s the old genealogy, milady. The proper one, before the late Lord Heron decided that the collateral lines were not suited to inherit. Before he threw away his estates and gave the lion’s share to his chosen successor. It’s an old story. But that Lord Heron wasn’t even supposed to inherit the estate at all. The Herons inherit by birth order, though there was that business pre-Catacendre with a sibling ruling himself out of the succession by joining the Steel Ministry. Lady Johanna Heron knew that, of course. She had lawyers and historians tracing the documents, and she realised that something was strange about the sudden transfer of the Lordship to the deceased Aralis Heron. That’s where I came in. As I said, I hadn’t intended to kill Lord Oswin. I’ve done my share of wetwork, but anyone can kill. It’s harder to look into things, to find out what needs doing and to do it. That’s what I’ve been doing for Lady Johanna Heron for a number of years now. But he was going to cry out, and I covered his mouth with my hand and then the wineglass shattered, and… And I suppose I panicked. I slit his throat, there and then. I do regret it. Perhaps I could have tied him up or knocked him out. But done is done. No point crying over spilled wine. I had to kill Phelan and Darrow as well as the Lady El. By then, I knew that Johanna Heron had actually hired people to kill Lord Talbot Oswin. The irony tickled me, I suppose. Lady Johanna has never quite trusted me. If I got the job done, well and good. And if I didn’t, well. She wouldn’t really shed a tear if I got killed, either. Tough love, I suppose. As she always says, she brought me into this world, and she can just make another. I’m not a rightwise son of House Heron, after all. And that makes me utterly expendable. So, the killers. I went around the house, lying low and gathering information. I figured that things would get dicey if the constables came. Couldn’t have that. I liked Phelan. Didn’t want to have to kill him, but needs must. As suspicious as the killers were, they were mostly wary of their fellow guests. So it was I discovered a note with the Heron seal amongst their belongings and then my suspicions were confirmed. I mostly stayed out of their way, and beneath their notice. I did help Lord Holcomb slam the door shut on the sadly-deceased Lord Aralis Heron. I heard him scream and felt the heat from the explosive trap on my skin, as the wood heated up. It didn’t matter to me. I healed fast. And I wasn’t much of a Heron, but it felt just a bit like justice. I broke Lord Aidan Ostlin’s neck. You shouldn’t really trust the one telling you the story, milady. He was enough of a threat that I didn’t think Lady Johanna wanted him alive either. I’m not sure her hired killers quite realised his degree of kinship to the Herons. In any case, they seemed to have taken it in their stride. We had differing assignments, differing objectives. I kept the Growlery key close to my skin and waited. I did not have enough time to ascertain that the genealogy was complete, as after I had opened the door, the Growlery was often teeming with guests. It was difficult, but I had to move quickly when the guests’ attention were elsewhere. Such as when there was a killing. Or when they occupied separate rooms. On that last night, when the killers made their move, I had finally collected the entire genealogy and folded it into a weatherproof folio. I then stole away. My task was done. I wasn’t interested in seeing what else they were up to. I can guess, of course. I know how Lady Johanna Heron thinks, all too well. The killers had come for Lord Talbot Oswin and Lord Aralis Heron. The other murders were...an unfortunate series of events. For one, Lady Priscilla Estvaril had insisted on cordoning off the Manor and keeping the guests present for the constables to investigate the murders. This instinct to preserve the scene was commendable but soon became a liability as the entire manor became a series of overlapping crime scenes. For another, the killers had been getting nervous, and suspecting that others were onto them. They needed to stay alive to enjoy the fruit of their labours, after all. This made them jumpy. And with the other guests investigating and asking questions, trying to discern the killers in their midst... Well. Lady Johanna Heron hadn’t given instructions that the other guests had to live. So they planned to kill their way out, one guest at a time. If there were no witnesses, they had no fear of the incompetent Bilming constabulary coming down on their heads like the wrath of Ironeyes Himself. Because even Lady Johanna Heron couldn’t shield them from that; nor was she likely to. As far as Lady Johanna’s concerned, they got themselves into that mess, they can get themselves out of it. Finally, the servants sent to fetch the constables and the guests who had left were turning up dead. This made them feel all the more trapped—strictly incidental on my part. I needed the uninterrupted time to search the Growlery. I can tell you who they were: Lord Locke Tekiel, a banker from Elendel, who had done some business with your son before. Ah, you know him? Very good. Lord Zachary Holcomb, a notorious socialite and gossip. There’s a lot of depths to that one, I wouldn’t underestimate him. Lady Amber Ghetti—I’ve passed off as an artist before, myself, and it’s surprising just how much incriminating evidence and murder weapons you can stuff into an artist’s bag and get away with it! And then there was the odd one out: the man who called himself Thaill. I really meant what I said: there’s something off about the man’s expressions and his choice of words. It’s like he’s not from here at all...but what would that even really mean? Of course, milady, there’s no point in calling for their heads. That last day, your son’s former lover, Lord Variel Ulring, he fought with Thaill. He actually won, too, and I think he really believed he’d brought Lord Talbot’s killer to justice. Unfortunately for him, he was wrong—and he didn’t look behind him. Lady Ghetti finished him off. They made their move that night. I don’t know how long it took them to prepare. It was clever too, I’ll give them that. Lord Holcomb presented the hapless Borzen Oeszno as the killer. By then, the guests were terrified, and it’s surprisingly easy to coax terrified people into doing terrible things in the name of their safety. So they killed Borzen Oeszno. The most Borzen had done was to wander the manor at night—I often encountered him—waving a cushion about as if it were a dueling cane. But I digress. While the guests rallied against Borzen Oeszno, Lord Holcomb did for the naturalist, Lady Sophia. That wasn’t a pleasant sight, and I’ve seen a number of gruesome murders in my line of work. I’ll spare you the details, milady. At the same time, Lord Variel Ulring had peeled off from the group, and just as Thaill had finished seeing to the former lawman, he caught Thaill—literally bloody-handed. They fought, of course. Lord Variel Ulring gave a good accounting of himself, as I said. Poor Lord must’ve thought he was seeing to justice for Lord Talbot. Then there were two left. Three, if you count Lady Priscilla. I heard the shouts and the screams. I left. I had a genealogy to return to Lady Johanna Heron, after all. And I wasn’t going to stick around to see what happened next. And there you have it. The tale of the massacre at Oswin manor. And the candle has almost burned its way down to a stub. Soon. The constabulary came, of course, and they asked plenty of questions. But most of the servants were dead or had fled. And time and time again, no one asked about the gardener, even as the flowers bloomed. I will be a little sad to leave them without my care. I think that was the main reason the killers weren’t wary of me, of course. I do pride myself on being inconspicuous. Part of the scenery, you might say. Of course, we know why I’m telling you this, milady, and for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. Your sister is ruthless, and you know that, and I know that. I promise it won’t hurt at all. It was in the wine. It will be gentle. It will be like the first fall of night. It will be like sleep. For you, then, death will come as the end. So, I had to rewrite this aftermath about three times, because there nearly was another cycle. It's a long story. Drake and compatriots were a little nearly too overconfident. Striker Kalebane, the Terror of GMs, had struck again. This time, valiantly, as the hero of Cycle Five, by being the only Villager to kill an Eliminator and to deny them a clean sweep As I deleted my pre-written endgame write-up and wrote a Cycle Six writeup instead, another PM came in, this time, from Striker's victim, Lahilt, who decided to send in a kill order. This bounced the cycle back to endgame for the Eliminators, so very well done there And yes, I was screaming internally and re-writing the endgame write-up again, but there you have it. This is the story of how I exceeded my NaNo 25k word goals in a fortnight So the announcement you have been waiting for: The Killers have won! The actual death toll: Borzen Oeszno was a Guest! Further investigation discovered he was in possession of a comfortable stuffed cushion, a dense pre-Catacendre book on skaa rights authored by House Penrod (single-use), and a delicious pastry! Sophia was a Guest! Further investigation discovered she was in possession of poisonous berries (single-use), a written IOU (single-use), a delicious rhubarb pie, and a concentric ring of stones. Lumen was a Guest! Further investigation discovered she was in possession of a discarded pair of bloodied work gloves, two bright blue ribbons, a delicious blueberry pie, and a single bullet (single-use.) Variel Ulring was a Hero! (j/k he's a Guest but you get the point.) Further investigation discovered he was in possession of a honeyed-apple pastry. Thaill was a Killer! Further investigation discovered he was in possession of a battered wooden chopping board (single-use), and a battered cast-iron figurine of a knight wielding an oversized sword with the words REGICIDE etched into the base. Whew. What a cycle. GM comments to follow, but for now: This is the full rule-set I was using, which also contains one of the write-ups that was the casualty of this cycle. This is the master spreadsheet tracking player actions. This is the dead/spec doc. This is the updated doc tracking Room PMs and the Killer PM. Please be warned the PMs are screenshots, so beware if you are on data. Thanks for playing, guys, and I hope you all had fun! Special thanks to @Elandera for checking the full ruleset, and @little wilson for more or less being acting-IM and dealing with my panicked yelling every other cycle, such as when RNGesus decided it was gonna be Oprah with kill items. ("You get a kill! And you get a kill! AND YOU GET A KILL!")

The cycle has ended!

One hour left to rollover!

DWAI. Would say I'm half-joking, half-serious. But I've already planned the meta-plot so one way or another, there's no reason to be changing it right now

Don't mind me, just watching your theorising Carry on with your regularly-scheduled killer identification programme. TFW Drake comes up with a better storyline than what I had planned, sigh...back to the drawing board...

Since you've mentioned you'll be missing for most of C5 and C6, I'd give you the filter exemption anyway I don't believe in punishing people for RL... Have fun, and happy camping!

Cycle Five: The House of Lurking Death Truth between us, I kept looking over my shoulder when I went about my duties. Ain’t right, that so many of the guests kept winding up dead. Makes a cove jumpy, it does. Fen used to say it ain’t paranoia when they’re out to get you. Don’t think he has it quite right. Yeah, maybe I’m being paranoid. But it doesn’t mean there ain’t a killer lurking somewhere in Lord Tal’s house, ready to ice me too. Now don’t that be a cheery thought. Most of the guests were gathering in one of the public rooms or another. Never saw Lord Tal take guests into the Growlery before. ‘Fact, none of us were ever allowed inside. Don’t even think Lady Prissy had ever set foot into the Growlery, before this. See, Lord Tal kept the Growlery locked up tight. Was his private place, Lady Prissy told me. None of us servants ever got to go there, not even to clean. Lord Tal kept it all himself. The Growlery was open, though, the night Lord Tal died. I went there. Keep an eye on the guests and all. There were scratches on the dull brass lock. Think someone might’ve forced the lock. Or tried to. Weren’t no sign of Lord Tal’s key. Lady Prissy said she didn’t know what happened to it. Said there were other things to be worried about. Like the fact there was some cutter in here with us, doing the killings. Like the fact Phelan was dead, and so was the herb lady. The fact we were penned up in here. Just like the killer. Anyway. The guests had begun to gather in groups. Can’t really blame them. Maybe they thought gathering together would keep ‘em safe. Killer can’t be everywhere, can they? Safety in numbers and all that. Everywhere though, they were scared. Whispering, staring at each other suspiciously. Like I said, don’t blame ‘em. I was getting pretty jumpy myself. Fair jumped out of my skin when someone called me. Turned out it was Lady Prissy. Said young Lord Aidan Ostlin hadn’t been seen for days, so could I please go look for him. Guess this needs some explaining. See, young Lord Aidan be Lord Tal’s cousin. Bored young lordling ain’t hard to miss, even at a big party. But he went missing the night Lord Tal disappeared. I seen him in the lounge a while back, but then he was gone again. How does a lordling disappear in a house like this, anyway? The guests were getting restless. I wasn’t there for most of it. ‘Cause if you remember, Lady Prissy had set me to searching for the lordling. I did drop in on some of ‘em in their rooms. I asked the noble lady with the book if she knew anything about the lordling. “I haven’t seen him at all,” she told me, but then she was preoccupied with defending her innocence. Seems like some of the guests thought she was their killer. Don’t seem right to me, though. What sort of killer hides behind a book, anyway? She notices a lot, that lady. Asks a lot of questions. Seems to me she knows more’n she’s letting on. Still, I just can’t see her as a killer. Dunno why they’re wary of her, now. The lawman, she’d said it was the Elendel lord. Something about his manner set her off. Can’t blame her. Those Elendel lords and ladies with their manners like satin and all that polish… And you never know what’s lurking beneath that, s’all I can say. How they smile like knives and look down their noses at you at the same time. ‘Cause we Roughs folk, we ain’t got their quality, if you understand me. And to them Elendel lords and ladies, like that poor dead noble girl, it’s always about their quality and who your mam and pap were, if you get my drift. All the more fools, them. Anyway, the lawman said maybe he was the one doing the killing. Said he was trying to find the killer. Same’s the rest of ‘em. He looked tired. Maybe he’s really trying after all. Wouldn’t hold my breath though. What do lords and ladies know about finding a killer, anyway? I ain’t the sharpest tool in the box, but I reckon it’s foolishness, asking them guests to find the killer. Still, Lady Prissy knows best, I s’pose. I left the guests to it. As I went on in search of the lordling, I heard them fighting about whether it was to be the book lady or the Pathian. I ain’t no Pathian myself, but I reckon it strange. Most of ‘em I know ain’t much for killing. Couldn’t really see the Pathian talkin’ to Harmony and going on about the Faceless Immortals and then cutting throats, as cool as you please. But, what do I know, right? I heard the book lady cry out, as I left. Seems like they’d decided to take her in, after all. I found the lordling, in what used to be Lord Tal’s bedroom. The sheets were clean and crisp. Guess the staff continued to clean the room. Or maybe he’d never slept that night, I don’t know. ‘Course, the sheets weren’t so clean and crisp anymore. ‘Cause there he was, all sprawled out on Lord Tal’s bed. His eyes wide-open and staring. ‘Course he was stone-cold dead. I never seem to find ‘em alive, these days. His neck was oddly disjointed. Someone’d broke it. Takes a strong rusher to do that. Figure it wasn’t likely to be the book lady, after all. She’s sharp, that lady, but ain’t likely to break a cove’s neck just like that. I went and told Lady Prissy. Her lips pressed together just so, in this thin, unhappy line. “Lady Christine is dead,” she said. I stared blankly. “Lady Augusta Christine,” she said. I continued to stare blankly. “The famous noblewoman and writer,” Lady Prissy said. “Murder mysteries.” “Oh,” I said. It wasn’t as if I read. “Oh indeed,” Lady Prissy sighed. “She made an explosive debut,” a small secretive smile, “With Death on the Irongate. It really blew up most of the reading circles in Elendel.” I gathered that the story had something to do with an anarchist and a merchant House and a bomb. “What happened to her?” I asked. “Strangled,” Lady Prissy said, and sighed. “At least it wasn’t another flour-trap.” I winced. I ain’t the biggest fan of Lord Heron, but—Holy First Witness, it was an awful way to go. I never wanted to see another cooked corpse again. ‘Course, I should’ve known, Lady Christine’s death was the least of my problems. Making things worse, someone’d found the Pathian, face down in a corridor, a knife through his ribs. Ain’t the best place to be stabbing a man, but he was dead enough, anyway. Then of course everyone got all riled up again. ‘Till now, death’d come in the rooms. Now, it seemed to lurk everywhere in Lord Tal’s house. Some of ‘em were minded to just leave. Lady Prissy called for calm. Told ‘em about Phelan, which made ‘em all the more nervous. Told ‘em she ain’t trusting the killers not to run away, which didn’t please ‘em neither. Anyway. That ain’t my business, though. I laid the Pathian to rest in the coldroom and closed those staring eyes. I ain’t a follower of Harmony, but Survivor watch us all. Survivor see to it that his killer’s found. Harmony ain’t done him a lick of good now, has he? Lady Augusta Christine was lynched! She was a Guest! Further investigation showed she was in possession of a silver letter-opener labelled CUDDLES, a half-empty bottle of Estvaril whiskey, and a carved ancient thwacking stick with an 'A' worked into the knob. Beral the Pathian was killed! He was a Guest! Further investigation showed he was in possession of an ornamental wood carving depicting the Catacendre, a pamphlet explaining Pathian philosophy, and a small battered leather message tube! (Single-use.) Lord Aiden Ostlin was killed by the inactivity filter! He was a Guest! Further investigation showed he was in possession of a bottle of wine - an Ostlin special! (Single-use.) The state of the votes are as follows: Gears (3): TJ Shade, StrikerEZ, Devotary of Spontaneity Devotary of Spontaneity (3): Gears, Mist, DrakeMarshall Eternum (1): MysticLotus StrikerEZ (1): Lahilt The cycle has begun and will end at 2200hrs, (GMT+8) on 14th July. The next cycle will begin at 2300hrs (GMT+8) on that same day. Please hang in there for room PMs and personal PMs results. This will take a while [=potentially another hour] as I have had less buffer time this cycle thanks to how close the votes were and the potential for last minute changes.

The cycle is closed! Please stay tuned in an hour for the next cycle!

You have slightly above forty minutes before the cycle ends.

My spec doc is shared via a link in PMs. I can add you to the PM, if you want: we generally don't ask for emails here except for those one or two games (MR1 and MR7 coming to mind...) but fair warning: the spec doc for my game is deader than a Triton moon, though I do have a few dead players inside!

Sure, why not. Death functions the same way as it does in a standard SE game, yes.

Ah, sorry, it's not participation after death, Lord Silberfarben wanted to do his own death write-up but just sent it in so I put it in this cycle's write-up instead. Items have been edited as I forgot to list what El had.

Cycle Four: The Blue Geranium ‘Course, you might be wondering what’s taking the coppers in Bilming so long. And what we were to do about so many corpses. ‘Cause, there were more deaths. Many, many more deaths, before we get to the end. There was a coldroom. Cook usually stores and cures the meats there. Had one of ‘em cleared out, just so we could move the bodies in there. By now, the blood had dried. Lord Tal lay cold and still. Less said about the condition of Lord Heron’s body, the better. Being right there when an explosion goes off ain’t pretty. And that’s all I’m gonna say about it. And the murder lord—Lord Nahr Silberfarben, someone said his name was—he was mostly okay. Worse ways to go than strangulation, I s’pose. Laid them to rest for the moment in the coldroom. Tried not to feel the hairs on my skin all standing. It’s dark there, and quiet, and sometimes… I’m sorry. I’m a superstitious fool, I am. Feels like old Ironeyes is in that same room, watching. Sets my teeth on edge. ‘Specially when it’s just so quiet. Quiet as a tomb, even. But anyway. We were on the coppers, weren’t we? Lady Prissy sent me to check on the servant we’d sent to fetch the coppers. Weren’t all that far. Didn’t get so far as the railway station when I found him there, lying still in the ditch. Pretty obviously dead. The—well, they’d gotten to him. Shouldn’t say more. Ain’t fit for hearing at all. Wasn’t shot, not that I could see. Stabbed right in the back and left there. Hope it was quick enough. Poor cove. Wasn’t worth dying for at all. I felt a chill, though, when I stood up. Wasn’t any good, was it? Felt like I was being watched. Didn’t have much on me except a small knife. If the killer came for me here and now, I’d be seeing old Ironeyes myself. Survivor be thanked, none of that happened. I was gonna go fetch the coppers myself. But then I stumbled upon her. And then it completely slipped my mind. The herb lady. The one who smiled and asked after the garden—not the one with the questions. Not the one with the stories about dangerous animals and plants. This one was quiet. Like a shadow. Always watching. Gathering some of the plants. Asked me a bit about them. As if I’d know. Told you I ain’t one for plants. She had a blue flower in her hands. Pretty flower. Don’t think I’ve seen it in the garden. But she was dead, too. I remember her. One of the guests. Knifed as well. Ain’t that great. “Oh, rust,” I said. Aloud. Survivor watch me. I wasn’t about to stick around. Was beginning to feel like I was in trouble, too. Doesn’t take a genius, does it? Herb lady leaves, she’s dead. Phelan leaves, he’s dead. Third time’s the charm, they say. Well, I didn’t want to be third. So I made a run for it. You would’ve, too. Didn’t bring back the body. I wasn’t about to go around carrying a corpse. You wouldn’t, either. Makes my skin crawl. Moving ‘em in the house was one thing. Without the coldroom, dead soon becomes dead and stinking worse than unwashed socks. They were both outside, though. Which meant they weren’t my problem. Came back to another altercation. I told Lady Prissy about the bodies. She sighed. Didn’t look at all surprised though. Wonder why. She said she’d send another runner. Truth between us, I was pretty relieved it ain’t me. Don’t get me wrong. As much as Bilming’s coppers ain’t much to write about, I reckon they’re some small comfort. ‘Specially with a killer on the loose. I wasn’t feeling particularly brave, see? I got back and the guests were arguing among themselves. Lady Prissy said to not tell them about Phelan. Said they’d only worry more. I figure she knows what she’s doing. The guests had started to argue about which of ‘em did for Lord Heron and Lord Silberfarben and Lord Tal. Some of ‘em figured the lord running around the house waving a cushion was to blame. Dunno ‘bout that. Seems pretty harmless to me, if...strange. Something about how the cushion lord had reason to fear Lord Heron. Seems to me as if everyone does. Lord Heron is—was pretty powerful. Connections in Elendel and the old region that used to be Tremredare. Pity none of that power saved him. In the end, they figured it weren’t him. For the moment, anyway. They went after the lass instead. Strange choice, in my eyes. She ain’t the sort to ice a cove up close, if you know what I mean. Far too sensitive to blood. Can’t see her setting that trap for Lord Heron, neither. They seized her, but she fought. Fought like a wildcat, that one. Maybe ‘cause she remembered what happened to Lord Silberfarben. Maybe she just panicked. She scratched one of ‘em good. But in the struggle, well. Not really sure what happened, myself. But then she was gone. Just like that. In the middle of all that chaos. Someone’d done for her. Maybe they were gagging her too tightly. Ain’t supposed to cover the nose, too. Lass needs to breathe, doesn’t she? Needed, I suppose. All done for, now. Had to lug her to the coldroom again. Ain’t right, that. Wasn’t she that deserved to die now, was it? World’s built on these small injustices. Paved by ‘em. Survivor knows. Was in the coldroom when I found him there. One of the guests. He’d stuffed his pockets full of tarts and apples and sandwiches and dried meats and Survivor knows what else. Worse than a squirrel’s hoard, that. But then he was dead. Thought at first he’d frozen to death. But coldroom’s not that cold, see? If we didn’t find the killers soon, we’d be drowning in rotting corpses. Ain’t that a pleasant thought. Rather have ‘em in the custody of the constables and buried, fast as we can. Then I saw it. Not frozen. He was stabbed. Hadn’t died there, though. He’d died elsewhere. Then he’d been brought to the coldroom and sat up. Wasn’t any blood, after all. I left ‘em there. Laid the blue flower down. Wasn’t lugging the herb lady’s corpse back. Figured this was something. There was a note sticking out of Lord Silberfarben’s pocket. I hesitated, then filched it. Curiosity, I s’pose. Raw curiosity. Then I went to tell Lady Prissy. Survivor knows, she wasn’t gonna be thrilled at all. scrawled at the bottom, almost illegible because of the splattered blood, reads: Vapor was lynched! She was a Guest! El was killed by the inactivity filter! She was a Guest! Further investigation discovered she was in possession of a strange scrubby herb with sharp, blade-like leaves. Sian Rohung was killed! He was a Guest! The cycle has begun and will end at 2200hrs (GMT +8) on 12th July. (Room PMs will be up shortly. Sorry for the delay! All credit to @Lord_Silberfarben for his death addendum.)