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little wilson

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  1. little wilson
    Absolutely.
  2. little wilson
    Time!
  3. little wilson
    Yes and no. If a person role claims in the thread, the write-ups will run off of that role claim. Hence why Creccio appeared as Restares and a Lightweaver and why Orlok appeared as Thaidakar. Both had role claimed. Ada has role claimed as a Diagrammist Cook, so we've been running off of that. Ripple role claimed as a surgeon. Burnt had no role claim, however, so we just played around with hers. I can see how you could get that she's an Edgedancer, but she's also a little crazy (talking dog, much?) and she can't breathe Stormlight. What you read into the write-ups is up to you.
  4. little wilson
    Cycle Ten: Slipping Away After Agrigar’s escape, the surviving Ghostbloods and Sons of Honour gathered and took stock. The renegade cook could not be located, and they didn’t have the numbers to search for him in the many passageways and secrets of Urithiru. As always, their attention eventually slid from the proclaimed Diagrammist to searching for a traitor amongst their own numbers. “He couldn’t have survived such a drop,” Alycia Kavdar said, simply. “Not with bloodstaunch. Not with that rope he was using. Not at that speed. He’d have torn half the skin off his hands, and probably dropped the last few metres.” They’d discovered dried blood on the ground too, before the trail had eventually simply disappeared. “Someone helped him. Took care of his injuries. And no, it wasn’t me.” Deadeye cleared his throat, and waited expectantly. When all eyes turned to him, he spoke up. “I saw Torren in the gardens,” he said. “I don’t know how he got down there, but he did, and he was helping Agrigar bandage his wounds.” Torren glared at him and opened his mouth to retort, but felt a hand grip his shoulder. “Let Deadeye speak,” Ashei instructed, and nodded at Deadeye to continue. “So I was trying to leave discreetly to let the rest of you know--because who would help Agrigar? More Diagrammist scum, that’s who. But then someone else got the drop on me and knocked me out, and that’s when someone found me and took me to the surgeons.” He rubbed at his head, gingerly. “And that’s what I have to say: that we need to get rid of Torren.” “Storms,” Torren muttered. “It wasn’t me,” he said, rolling his eyes. “In case any of you were wondering, I was watching Agrigar, because I figured that given how he was putting his neck on the chopping board, one or two of his friends would be around to pull his hide out of the fire. And sure enough, I saw Cla handing over bloodstaunch to Agrigar, and then later again in the gardens. And why is that, Cla? Why were you helping a known enemy?” Cla made no reply. “But what were you doing for that matter?” Lopen wanted to know. “I don’t like this. Are you calling Deadeye a liar?” “Hardly,” Torren said. “I’m saying that I have a reason for being seen around Agrigar: I’m watching him.” “Is every sixth person in this storming city an assassin?” Lopen demanded, exasperated. There was no answer. Elba shook her head, watching Torren. “I think he lies,” she said, simply. She did not say anything further. They turned to Kael. “I believe you,” he said, at last, after some hesitation. But he was not speaking to Elba, but rather, to Torren. “It’s Cla, then.” “What do you have to say for yourself, Cla?” Sheon Idris wanted to know. When no reply was forthcoming, he shook his head. They all fell on Cla at once, beating him to death with fists and any weapons ready-to-hand. It was, ironically, Torren who struck the finishing blow, slitting his throat with his knife. As the mob carried out their bloody dead, one lone figure walked away, shaking her head. - “I can’t make them see reason,” Ashei said, frustrated, drawing her knees up against her chest. The wolfhound padding along silently by her side turned to face her with canine seriousness. “They’re scared,” Twyne said. “And so they do strange things.” “Do spren do that too?” Ashei asked. She’d always assumed he was a spren, even though Twyne looked and behaved like no spren she’d ever seen. A butterfly drifted across her field of vision, trailing brightly-coloured bubbles and streams of glitter, falling, like incandescent dust. Twyne nodded, solemnly. “Oh, yes,” he said. “Unfortunately, they do.” He was not, however, more forthcoming on the matter. “I hated it,” Ashei admittedly. “Leaving him there like this. But there wasn’t anything I could do for him, and if I’d come back for him, they might’ve gone for me too. They aren’t thinking anymore, Twyne. They’re just letting themselves be led.” She ran a hand through her ragged hair. “They’re reacting and not thinking and there’s nothing I can do about it at all and I’m not sure I even know what to do or who’s behind this.” “It wasn’t right,” Twyne said. “I know,” Ashei burst out. “And it’s tearing at me, Twyne, but I think I know what we have to do.” “If you’re sure…” She got up, paced the corridor. “Yeah, I am,” Ashei said. “I’ve all those letters I’ve copied...I just know that there’s something of use in them, if I could put them all together and make sense of them...but…” She bit her lip. “Stop thinking,” Twyne suggested. “Do something. Go with your gut, even.” He wriggled a few vines in what might’ve been a shrug. “Break into some rooms. Read some more letters. Stop ruminating about this. It’s not like you.” Ashei shrugged. “That’s what you said about this sneaking, spying thing when we first started,” she reminded her spren. “That was before--” An arm wrapped about Ashei’s throat, dragging her backwards, choking her. She fought back; reflexively clawing, struggling to breathe in Stormlight. Except she never could, never did; he’s a figment of your imagination, not a spren, said the voices, because Twyne never helped, but he counseled her, but he was her friend (and he wasn’t real, just a figment, just a hallucination…) Breathing raggedly, she managed to break free of her attacker’s hold, whirling about and landing, cat-like, on the balls of her feet. She produced a knife and turned on her attacker. “I don’t know who you are,” she began, but then realised she did know them. The problem was, there was more than one attacker. She only realised this after a moment of sharp pain, and then she was on the ground, with a knee digging into the base of her spine, the knife driven from her grasp. “I’ve heard,” said a voice into her ear, “That you’re a Surgebinder. But I think the rumours are rather exaggerated, don’t you, my dear? A real Surgebinder would never have been taken down so easily.” “Twyne,” she called out, her voice weak. If she died, would he die too? She never got the chance to ask, never got the chance to find out. - Alycia Kavdar scrabbled for her knife, desperate. “There’s no one else now,” breathed Agrigar Leiken. “Just you and me now, little surgeon.” He grinned at her, tossing his sheathed knife from hand to hand. “Care for some bloodstaunch?” Cla (6) : Sheon Idris, Deadeye, Kael of the Forge, Frank Au Faliu, Torren, Lopen Torren (1) : Elba Cla (Clanky) was lynched! Ashei Ghetti (Burnt Spaghetti) was attacked by the Diagrammists! Alycia Kavdar (RippleGylf) was poisoned! Player List
  5. little wilson
    Time's up!
  6. little wilson
    The cycle ends in an hour. It was extended due to New Year's. I didn't update the countdown because I'm still on mobile.
  7. little wilson
    Due to New Year's, we are extending the cycle for another 24 hours. I'll adjust the countdown tomorrow, when I'm not on mobile and half-asleep. Happy New Year!
  8. little wilson
    I haven't had that happen, but what I have had happen is a thread with a couple new posts in it that I need to read marks itself as read while I'm catching up on another thread in the same forum. This usually happens in the SE subforum when I'm on mobile. There will be new posts in in 2-4 threads, and I'll click on one to read those new posts and when I go back to the subforum page, all threads have been marked as read, even though I know I haven't read them all. It's so weird. And slightly annoying.
  9. little wilson
    Since there have been multiple comments about Illumination working incorrectly, I'm going to clear that up right now. Illumination takes a random action that is affecting a person and redirects it to the person of the Lightweaver's choice. Example: Meta is a Cook and targets Gamma. Kas is a Surgeon and tries to protect Gamma. Maill is a Lightweaver and he uses Illumination on Gamma, redirecting an action from Gamma to Alvron. At the end of the cycle, I will flip a coin to decide if the kill or the protection is illuminated. If the coin comes down with the kill, Meta ends up trying to kill Alvron, and Kas protects Gamma. If the coin comes down with the Surgeon, Kas protects Alv and Meta kills Gamma. If Maill were to target Meta, he would not pull the Cook kill. If no one uses any action on Meta, the Illumination does nothing. The only way that Illumination works is if someone targets the person you're illuminating an action from. Basically, this second scenario is impossible. Carry on.
  10. little wilson
    16, by Winter Cloud in LG12. Well, 17, if you want to count the fact that my vote was double. But 16 individual votes. Edit: And time's up!
  11. little wilson
    Cycle Eight: Sympathy for the Devil There was no food that day; or at least, nothing that the gathered Ghostbloods and Sons of Honour felt safe about consuming. After all, hadn’t Agrigar Leiken claimed--to their very faces!--to be one of that secretive group, following the stipulations of the Diagram, whatever that was? And wasn’t he one of the cooks within the kitchens of Urithiru? For all Agrigar Leiken had proposed a game, none of them felt confident enough to trust the uneasy truce that had emerged. And so they stared hungrily at the various concoctions in the dining hall but nibbled sparingly on rations. Those, at least, had nothing to do with the traitorous cook. Restares and Thaidakar had fallen. If there was any direction to be found, they concluded reluctantly that it would have to come from themselves. If they could bring themselves to trust each other. It was the Lopen, of all people, who broke the silence first. “I don’t trust Kael,” he said, around a particularly hard mouthful of dry biscuit. “There’s something fishy about him, I can tell.” Absently, he brushed crumbs off his stack of notes. Spending the past day checking up on the deceased Mace Windu’s movements and contacts around Urithiru had been difficult work, but Lopen was confident that the man had in fact been their rare Bondsmith. Pity he was dead now, Lopen thought. It looked like the only resolution to their current troubles would be unfortunately bloody. “By all means,” replied Kael, glancing steadily at his counterpart from the Ghostbloods. “All things considered, I’m rather interested to hear what you have to say of me, if only so we can put this aside and focus on our common enemy. I’d be glad to prove myself trustworthy.” “I say we go after Agrigar,” Slalassalas said, a hand going to the hilt of the sword that hung by his side. “He promised us information if we let him live, but what of it? Only if his colleagues haven’t tampered with it first? It’s a bad deal; I say he’s not worth it.” “We know something now, though,” Kael said. “We know Malarn wasn’t one of them. That’s helpful. Every bit of information matters.” Ashei was shaking her head. “I can’t believe all of you,” she said, getting up from where she sat. “You’re letting him live? A known Diagrammist? What’s wrong with all of you?” she glared at the various members of the two factions gathered in the dining hall. “You’re sacrificing the chance to keep some of our current brethren alive in order to know who the dead really worked for? How does that make any sense? I say we cut off the deal and kill him now. The longer he lives, the more he’s just going to keep killing.” “I’m fine with getting rid of him,” Kael agreed. “He’s lived for too long.” Alycia Kavdar added her voice to the growing numbers of those who wanted to simply solve the problem of Agrigar Leiken, here and now; as did Sheon Idris. With that, the somewhat-confused mixture of Ghostbloods and Sons of Honour streamed towards the kitchens, where they knew Agrigar Leiken was lurking, waiting for them. They had, indeed, been expected. The doors to the kitchen had been thrown wide open; a kitchen boy was busy scrubbing dishes clean at the sink. Meanwhile, dishes lay spread out on the table: most of them spiced and appealing. There was, in addition, a decent mixture of food meant for members of both genders. Agrigar Leiken leaned casually against the countertop, slicing tubers with an ease that was not lost on the mob that had gathered here. “Brightlords, ladies,” he said, acknowledging their presence with a nod. “As I have informed you--per our deal--Malarn was a Son of Honour. Was there anything else?” “We’re altering the deal,” Ashei said. “Pray we do not alter it further.” Agrigar raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” He glanced at them: at the ragged group gathered in his domain, most of them armed with swords or knives or clubs. “So, this is it, then. I suppose you’re no longer interested in any information I have to offer?” “You offer information,” Slalassalas sneered. “And you give us scraps. We are not fools, Cook. And we do not appreciate being played with.” “Have I lied to you?” Agrigar laughed. The tubers fell away, neatly sliced. He picked up a root, now, and began peeling it. Still calm. Still unaffected. “You don’t seem to understand the nature of our bargain, do you? I wasn’t offering to tell you everything I know. I, in fact, took pity on you: with two of the Veristitalians dead, would you even know if one of your compatriots died? How many of you can swear to me--hand over heart, or upon the Stormfather or any Herald you prefer--that you truly know who the person standing beside you is? Anyone? No takers? Why, I’m disappointed.” “Say your piece,” ground out Sheon Idris. “But quickly.” Agrigar continued to peel the root. Strips of brown fell away before his sharp knife. “Simple. I offered to replace your Veristitalian. As a researcher. My methods are unorthodox, and I have to consult my own colleagues, but I still know more than all of you put together. I offer you only as much information as a Veristitalian would have offered you. No more, no less.” Scrape. “I should note,” he continued lightly, “That this is an extremely generous offer, all the same. I’m a man of Honour, after all.” “Stop talking,” Deadeye said, harshly. “You have no idea what it means to be a Son of Honour, and you are no brother of mine.” “Am I?” “Bah,” Deadeye said. He glared at the rest of the factions gathered in the kitchens. “Parley with him, do whatever you please. I’m done here.” He turned his back on them and strode out, ignoring those who called after him. “Now that we’re done with the unnecessary dramatics,” Agrigar said. “Do we still have a deal? It would, after all, be such a pity if you’d killed me before I could actually help you, by giving you the information I already know...oh, but Lopen thinks you don’t need any of that, doesn’t he?” Lopen gripped his knife, white-knuckled, and said nothing. Agrigar smiled, picked up a slice of root, and chewed on it experimentally. “Needs some cooking,” he told the gathered assembly. “But can be eaten raw. Tell you what, I’ll even make it a two for one offer. How about that?” “We accept,” Sheon Idris said. There was no outcry to gainsay him; only silence. - Later, Alycia Kavdar stumbled upon Seixa in one of the disused side-passages of Urithiru. Several pieces of peeled root had been stuffed roughly down his throat, choking him to death. Yallah (4) : Agrigar Leiken, Sheon Idris, Deadeye, Lopen Agrigar Leiken (4) : Alycia Kavdar, Slalassalas, Kael of the Forge, Ashei Ghetti Walter Kysley (1) : Elba No one was lynched! Seixa (Phattemer) was poisoned! Player List
  12. little wilson
    Time's up!
  13. little wilson
    Cycle closed!
  14. little wilson
    That's not exactly what I meant. Protections are shown in the writeup, and the person attacked and protected is said in the writeup. So you'll know if you attack someone and they're protected. Because it will be in the writeup.
  15. little wilson
    I should be driving to Idaho right now. Despite the overnight snow and low temperatures, the Utah roads are mostly fine. But the Idaho roads are all difficult. In fact, the freeway that's the straightest shot to my destination is closed, due to black ice and high winds. This means that I'd have to take another route, which there is another freeway. But in normal road conditions, that route would add another 1.5 hours to my trip. In winter driving conditions? Heh. Try 2-3. So my 3.5 hour drive (in normal weather) would be 5-6+. Alone. With stress. And black ice. And more stress. So I'm flying instead. Tomorrow morning. Catching the train bright and early so I don't have to drive to the airport on slick roads....I feel lazy. Oh, and we had to cancel our trip to Montana to see my month-old niece. We were going to leave Christmas Day and come back on Sunday. And now we can't. Because of snow. Thank you, weather. Thank you for snowing so much and causing such dangerous driving conditions that I can't see my niece. I appreciate it. My bank account also appreciates the money I just had to spend on a plane ticket to get home due to your "gift." Next year, send that stuff to the plains.
  16. little wilson
    Cycle 6: Ghosts, Bleeding In an oft-overlooked corner of Urithiru, two figures met. Despite the heavy cloth hoods they wore to disguise their features, they knew who the other was. After all, both of them made it a habit of knowing secrets. Secrets carefully embedded in the stones of Urithiru; secrets that met the light of day only occasionally: such as now, beneath the Stormlight lanterns. “Restares,” said Thaidakar. “Thaidakar,” replied Restares. The nod of greeting was directed from one old foe to another. It was possible, thought Restares, to dislike the man: and yet to respect how persistent he could be, how utterly cunning. You did not underestimate Thaidakar unless you sought death. He knew, after all, the story behind the tattoo on Thaidakar’s wrist. “What, then?” Restares smiled; an expression utterly hidden by the hood. “You were the one who requested this meeting,” he pointed out. “I, at least, had nothing to do with it.” Thaidakar inclined his head. “That is true,” he said, at last. “Speak, then.” “You know what I have to say.” “You?” That was a shake of Restares’s head. “Don’t tell me that. You were the one who refused to heed calls to step up; to reveal ourselves and those under our command so we could more effectively root out the threat in our midst. Don’t presume to lecture me on how we face a common enemy, Thaidakar. You have to live by your words.” Thaidakar ground his teeth together. “I was wrong,” he said, flatly. “Our followers are being cut down indiscriminately, and no progress has been made. Corpses turn up in Urithiru and I believe that we are being investigated by Highprince Sebarial. You know what the enemy calls themselves.” “They don’t call themselves anything,” Restares countered. “But they make references to a Diagram. They are guided by it. Have you wondered how prescient this Diagram must be, if every single move we have made thus far has been so effectively anticipated?” “No,” Thaidakar said. Blunt. “Our followers are ineffective. Any blame for this rests on their heads.” “And not on ours?” Restares laughed. “Some opinion you have of us, Thaidakar.” “I did not come to bandy words with you,” Thaidakar said, impatiently, dismissing Restares’s words. “I came because we must stand together, or fall. We have reached that point. You know that as well as I do.” Restares nodded. “I do know that,” he said. “And so?” Restares smiled. He said, “Well. Strange that you should ask. The answer is no, Thaidakar. I offered you this chance before, and you rejected it. I’m not about to change my plans just because you come running, deciding you can afford to stoop down and work with me, after all.” Thaidakar said, “A pity.” His voice was crusted with fresh ice. There was a whistling sound; faint, easily missed, except by the trained ear. Thaidakar whirled about, but it was too late; he gurgled, a dart protruding from his throat. There was no sign of the shooter, for it had been a blowpipe--both of them could tell as much. “How?” choked Thaidakar. Restares knelt by his dying foe. “Your followers are ineffective,” he informed Thaidakar. “Any blame for this rests on their heads.” He admired the fletching on the dart. “At least take this as cold comfort: the poison acts quickly.” - Elsewhere in Urithiru, Aleral lay, a pool of blood spreading out slowly from his multiple wounds. He stared--eyelessly--at the ceiling. No one came. Moros (2) : Agrigar Leiken, Kael of the Forge Frank Au Faliu (2) : Aleral, Deadeye Yallah (1) : Yallah Locke Tekiel (Orlok) was poisoned! Aleral (Araris Valerian) was killed by the Diagrammists! Due to the end of this cycle falling on Christmas Day, when I will be on the road for 7 hours, this cycle will end on the 26th. Player List
  17. little wilson
    Time! I'll post the rollover information as soon as I get everything sorted out, and the writeup will be edited in after that. Kas is asleep, and I have to pack so I can leave before the roads get too icy.
  18. little wilson
    I'm betting it's just a warm year for some areas. Others are colder. Last year was a warm year for Utah. Hardly any snow at all (which is strange considering I live next to a lake), but this year is back to normal. From what my mom tells me about Idaho, where I'm from is getting more snow than usual (though other areas in Idaho are normal). They had to close down an interstate last week due to snow and ice. I'm not even sure I'm going to get to my parents' today since I have two passes to cross. So yeah. Doesn't sound like global warming to me. Just sounds like a normal year. Some places are warm, and some are cold. It happens.
  19. little wilson
    Doesn't help you now, but if that ever happens again, any glasses store can and will fix that, probably for free. One of mine popped off during the summer, and the store I took it to fixed it for free. Wasn't where I bought my glasses either. Just future reference. I know that feeling of metal resting against the nose and it's rather unpleasant.
  20. little wilson
    It's 34 degrees F right now, it's supposed to snow today, and my allergies are acting up. Now, it should be noted that I'm not allergic to most environmentals (dust, mold, etc). I'm allergic to grass and tree pollens. It's the middle of winter. Those are supposed to be dead. I should not be having to take Zyrtec in the middle of winter to soothe my allergies. This is not okay. This is not right. I am not pleased. It's 3 days to Christmas and I've got hay fever. The universe hates me.
  21. little wilson
    Cycle Five: Spoiled Broth It was the stench that first tipped Krippe off. He’d once been postmaster in Highprince Roion’s warcamp, overseeing the various runners and messengers, making sure that the transactions of information flowed and proceeded exactly as they were supposed to: seamlessly and punctually. Despite Roion’s untimely death, Krippe had managed to find himself made one of the several postmaster in Urithiru, and had set about memorising the layout of his assigned sector with grim determination. During his morning and evening rounds, Krippe had come to ascertain certain facts. First, no one had seen Kholak Bagar in days. For all the man had been assigned a set of quarters in Urithiru, no one seemed to have seen hide nor hair of the man; nor had anyone even been able to confirm that Bagar had even moved to Urithiru in the first place. It happened; resettling the Alethi warcamps into Urithiru was a logistical nightmare, and he’d been asked to deliver letters to people who weren’t even in Urithiru, on occasion. And it wasn’t unknown for a Highprince’s soldiers or camp followers to decide they were better off on the Shattered Plains or making a run for it than heading down to Urithiru. Or perhaps Bagar belonged to one of the hold-outs. There were so many possibilities, and each time Krippe stared at the post accumulating underneath Bagar’s door, he felt a faint prickle of curiosity. Second, in the past few days, he’d begun to detect a certain stink. At first, he wasn’t certain about where it had originated from, but as time went on, he was increasingly sure that it had come from Bagar’s room. Which wasn’t good. Third, life as one of Urithiru’s postmasters, nominally under the pay of the new Highprince Roion, was singularly boring and unexciting. He kicked in the door. All right, technically, he’d bludgeoned it repeatedly with a mace, but Krippe told himself that he’d tell everyone else that he’d kicked the door down. He sounded more formidable that way. He stepped over the pile of accumulating unread mail and continued on it. Almost immediately, the stench threatened to overpower him. With his stomach doing somersaults and his gorge rising, Krippe made his way carefully into the room. Everything was untouched, he noticed. Bagar lived sparsely and had few keepsakes; some of his belongings had yet to be unpacked. Dust had settled everywhere. No one, as far as Krippe could see, had entered the room, before he had. Before, Krippe thought, the killer had. He took one more step, but he’d already known what he was going to see, before he’d actually seen it. The eyeless corpse of Kholak Bagar grinned at him, blue-tinged lips peeled back in a grimace. Worms wriggled in its eye-sockets. Screw that, Krippe thought. He was vaguely aware that someone was retching; that he was kneeling on the ground, and finally, that he was the one losing his breakfast. - Had someone else stumbled upon Kholak’s body, the matter might have been handled with a greater measure of discretion. As it was, a pale and sweating Krippe stumbled into the dining hall and announced, to the entire world, as it was, that he had discovered Kholak Bagar’s body in his own room and that Kholak’s eyes, true to form, had been gouged out. “Krippe and Arran Faenel did it,” John Doe declared immediately, in a voice that was meant to carry. “And what evidence do you have for that?” Elba wanted to know. “Do sit down,” she told John. “The rest of us are eating, here.” “I have my reasons,” John Doe said, with a mysterious smile. “I’ve been running messages throughout Urithiru, remember?” The others weren’t so convinced. “It’d be just like one of those killers,” someone else muttered. “Accusing without evidence, and trying to turn us against them so we’d do your dirty work for you. We didn’t fall off the chouta cart yesterday, Doe!” “Well, as I’m sure we can all agree,” Elba said, “The recent spate of murders is highly unsettling. But John, you’re not helping matters like this, with wild, unfounded accusations. The last thing we need is panic here.” “He’s suspicious,” Sheon Idris stated. The man folded arms tight with corded muscle. He had the bearing of a warrior, or a leader. It was hard to say which, with Sheon. “I say he did it. It’s easy to pin the blame on someone else, and he’s not even doing it well.” He stood up. Bort snorted. “It’s ten broams to a beardnut that he did it,” he said. “The man’s got something out for the two of them. It’s as plain as Stormlight. Maybe he’s been reading their messages; maybe they’ve got something on the killers and he wants to stop them. There’s only one way to be sure.” The mob advanced on John Doe, reaching for belt-knives and swords and anything ready to hand. For some reason, John Doe stood fast, refusing to run. “I’m a runner,” he agreed. “And I’m not the killers.” He seemed to look at each of them in the eye, as they approached him. “I’m sorry if you think I am. But my reasons are my own.” He was pelted with a series of improvised missiles, including a variety of beardnuts, and severely beaten up before someone took pity on him and ended his life with a swift slash across his throat. - In the ensuing chaos, no one noticed the boy making his way across the dining hall, carefully looking at seating places. As one of the servers in Urithiru, he had a good memory for faces, and he’d been quick to memorise who was seated where. Ordinarily, Fenar wouldn’t have bothered with a task like this. But they were paying him good money to bring the men in question a special order from the chef, and the way he saw it, the kitchens were going to be docking his pay for the ruined broth anyway. He badly needed the chance to make some money on the side. Expertly, he wove his way through the crowd, balancing the tray of special desserts and sweetmeats on his non-dominant hand. He knew better than to pilfer one, though. Cook’d beat him, and he knew what happened to men who ate the specials. Citona Vinid was easy enough; she had a distinctive way of sitting, and a face that stood out in a crowd. He left the tempting dessert on her plate and moved on. For Krippe, he feigned the unobstrusive server. “Wine, sir?” Krippe looked at it and shook his head. “You look like you could use it, sir,” Fenar said. “Cook made it special with spices to steady your stomach. Said you looked like someone’d walked over your grave.” “That’s what I feel like,” Krippe muttered. “Stormfather, I never want to see something like that again. His body was a right mess.” Another task done; Fenar gracefully extricated himself, and headed back towards the tables. The last customer was the most difficult. For some reason, Fenar could’ve sworn that they’d always chosen a place towards the far end of the hall. And yet he’d seen them early on, sitting where Malarn customarily was. He shrugged. He wasn’t being paid to question the seating choices of people, Fenar thought, philosophically. He was just the hands and legs and eyes, as it were. He deposited the final sweetmeat on the last plate, and left the dining hall, moving at a brisk pace. Maybe he’d find out that Cook’d managed to work some culinary miracle and salvage the ruined broth. Then he wouldn’t have to be paying for his inattentiveness out of his wages, and he’d get to keep the bonus from this assignment too. All in all, it’d been a good evening, Fenar thought. A very good evening indeed. John Doe (5) : Aleral, Krippe, Sheon Idris, Bort, Elba Frank Au Faliu (3) : Agrigar Leiken, Malarn, Torren Krippe (1) : John Doe Cla (1) : Lopen John Doe (irulelikeSTINK) was lynched! Malarn (Mailliw73) was poisoned! Shallan was poisoned! Krippe (Kipper) was poisoned! Kholak Bagar (Honey Badger) was killed by the Diagrammists! Player List
  22. little wilson
    Time's up!
  23. little wilson
    They cannot. The only people who can target the dead are the Elsecallers, Lightweavers, and Scholars. (Lightweavers can Illuminate an action from a dead person to a living person and therefore the Elsecaller/Scholar would not succeed with their action if they targeted that dead person).
  24. little wilson
    I loved it. Absolutely loved it. Major spoilers:
  25. little wilson
    We can get you on the list, but you'll have to talk to the people above you on the list to see if you can go at that time. Some of them have been waiting for 6 months to a year to GM their game.
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