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little wilson

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  1. little wilson
    The cycle is over!
  2. little wilson
    We're working on a different schedule. The next game will be the Anniversary Game, and it will start signups either today or tomorrow (probably). The next QF will start after MR10 is over.
  3. little wilson
    You mean to tell me this isn't a given? I clearly haven't been doing my job right....
  4. little wilson
    All attempts on people who can be attacked. This excludes Explorers who are exploring and Elsecallers using Transportation since the killer cannot find them.
  5. little wilson
    Cycle Three: The Jedi Sleepeth Mace Windu waited, on the highest level of the tower. The fabrial lift had saved him the need to climb the hundred steps to the very top, beneath the open skies. He wondered if it had been worth it. Perhaps he needed the time, alone with his own thoughts. Eventually, he saw the other. The hooded figure made his way to the top of the tower, taking his own time, negotiating the steps that Mace had eschewed. “You’re late,” Mace stated. “Things to do,” the figure said, calmly. “Feeding an entire city isn’t an easy task, you know, especially when most of them are soldiers. If there’s anything soldiers hate, it’s having food that tastes like a chull crapped in them. And then the next thing you know, you’re out of a job.” Mace waited. “And that’s not to mention our supply issues. Someone keeps going through our stores and putting the food elsewhere. If we don’t get the issues with the supplies fixed, people in Urithiru are going to have a very hungry time, the next few months.” The cook shook his head. “Well, then. What did you want?” “Information,” Mace said. “You work in the kitchens. You hear everything.” The cook laughed. “That’s what everyone says. ‘You work in the kitchens. You hear everything.’ If I had a broam for every time someone said that, I wouldn’t need a job here, you know?” “Is it untrue?” The cook considered that. “Depends,” he said, at last. “On?” The cook smiled. “Who you’re working for.” Mace said, “You think I’d tell you?” “Why not?” The cook shrugged. “It’s the nature of an exchange: you tell me something I want to know, and I tell you something you want to know. You think I’d tell just anybody what I overhear? We all have superiors, you know? Besides, I hear no one’s seen you around much in Urithiru.” “It’s a big city.” “Oh, it is,” the cook said. “But remember: I see everybody. And I haven’t seen you, much.” Mace put a hand to his sword-hilt. “Is this how it’s going to be?” The cook said, deadpan, “Sorry. Next time, I’ll remember to bring flowers and a box of candy.” Mace drew his sword. The strange metal gleamed a dark purple in the sunlight. He lunged, the sword arcing up to behead the cook. The cook dodged, whipping out a large cleaver, and stepping in to parry the blow. “You know,” the cook said. “If you really want to kill a man, don’t let him prepare you a meal first.” Mace’s vision blurred, and the blade in his hand wavered. The cook moved, pressing him back with a series of skillful slashes, and for all Mace knew that he should have the advantage with his sword, his brain seemed to be incapable of communicating the correct action to his hands and legs. The day’s meal. He remembered: a strange aftertaste in the wine. He staggered, suddenly, losing his balance. Somehow, he’d wandered or been pushed back to the edge of the tower. Behind him, the drop gaped. The cleaver buried itself in his throat. Mace Windu fell. - His father, or so Baheal knew, had an Awakened halberd: a weapon that was dangerous even in the right hands, and that trolled its wielder mercilessly. On Roshar, however, he’d be so lucky as to even get his hands on a Shardblade. Instead, he carefully palmed Silence and peered around the corner. The dagger was not Awakened, but Baheal had named it anyway, probably because he was a persistent optimist. He’d needed a weapon, in any case. The faction struggles in Urithiru were getting pretty dangerous, and Baheal was slightly surprised that the Blackthorn appeared to be doing nothing at all about the corpses turning up with astounding regularity. Or perhaps he had something else on his mind. Though what that something else was, Baheal couldn’t quite be sure. “Boo,” said the figure on the other side of the corner. “You!” Baheal managed, just before he heard a whisper of motion originating from behind him and glanced down to see a Shardblade erupt, point-first, from his chest. “Oh, that’s right,” said the figure. “You’ll have to forgive my colleague. This Shardblade thing’s still very new, and as you can tell, putting the Blade right through the base of the victim’s spine takes some work. You understand, don’t you? We’re doing this for the greater good.” Baheal couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. “He’s dead anyway,” came another voice. “Take the eyes,” the figure said. “We want them being unsure whether it’s a Shardblade or a regular weapon. Last thing we need is a search of all the Shardbearers in Urithiru.” He felt the point of a dagger being inserted into the socket of his left eye. Baheal would’ve screamed, if he could, but then, someone snapped his neck and he fell, mercifully, into death. Silence fell; from his slackening fingers. - Agrigar Leiken opened his eyes. “Don’t try to speak,” said someone unfamiliar. He tried to turn his head, and managed to do so, tracking the speaker. He felt...strangely weak. Still, he ignored the surgeon’s advice. “What...happened?” His throat felt as though someone seared it with red-hot coals. “Someone,” the light-eyed surgeon said, dryly, “Really wants you dead. Congratulations. You survived ashroot poisoning, and there’s few who can say that. You’ve got a remarkable constitution, at the very least. Unlike the other victim.” “Who?” croaked Agrigar. “Hellscythe,” the surgeon said, and made a face. “With a name like that, I’m surprised they even let him into Urithiru. Sounds more like an assassin’s usename than a soldier, but then, I’m a surgeon, what would I know about who gets let into Urithiru?” “What--” “Stop talking,” said the surgeon irritably. “And drink this.” He passed Agrigar a cup of warm soup. “Slowly.” Agrigar tried to sit up, struggled, and finally, the surgeon helped him up and propped him against the pillows. “What...in?” “It’s a nourishing soup from the kitchens,” the surgeon said. “And I’ve added some herbs to counteract the lingering effects of ashroot, or you’d be feeling much worse.” “Hellscythe?” “Why do you care?” the surgeon wanted to know. “Ah, forget it. He was dosed with nerverot. He got into a fight--which was very, very clever on the part of whoever wanted him dead. Nerverot works fast the moment the victim goes into a rage; he started attacking everyone he saw. Of course, nerverot kills slowly, so he would’ve been dead, anyhow, but that attracted a mob who decided he was too far gone and had to be put down. And so he was. As I said, you’re very lucky: whoever poisoned you ‘only’ went for ashroot, if being poisoned by ashroot can ever be considered a trivial thing.” “Thanks,” Agrigar croaked, and carefully began drinking his soup. Hellscythe (5) : Seixa, Agrigar Leiken, Gold Frank, Cla, Zas Maximilianos Sebarial (4) : Aleral, Krippe, Hellscythe, Deadeye Slalassalas (3) : Malarn, Arran Faenel, Moros Locke Tekiel (1) : Bort Bort (1) : Starri Hellscythe was poisoned and then lynched! Agrigar Leiken (Adavantos) was poisoned and saved! Baheal Edr (Haelbarde) was killed by the Diagrammists! Mace Windu was poisoned! Player List
  6. little wilson
    Cycle's over!
  7. little wilson
    10 minutes left! Also, there won't be a writeup immediately after the rollover. I'm at work, and need to actually work and Kas has school/job stuff early in the morning, so he's asleep. I'll get the results posted and PMs sent out and we'll edit the writeup in later, when both of us have time to work on it.
  8. little wilson
    The coin takes precedence, of course. (by which I mean, the RNG will choose)
  9. little wilson
    The Endowment WoB is right here.
  10. little wilson
    Role-distribution was done purely based on RNG. I let randomness decide everything. Did I always take the first roll? No. There were some things that I rolled multiple times on, because of whatever reason. Point is, everything from who is on the Diagrammist team to what they have and what ranks they have and who holds them was all random. Yes, I had an idea of what I wanted, but I did not handpick a single thing anywhere in the distribution. EDIT: GM question, If someone is protected and then double tapped will that be shown in the write-up? Yes? Depends on if we're showing that scene or not. It would be acknowledged that the person was double-tapped for sure.
  11. little wilson
    Yes You can start the PM, but just make sure Kas and I are in the PM. The only PMs we need to start are the ones that actually count as actions, since those are the ones that can be blocked and/or redirected. These can only be spied on.
  12. little wilson
    Rule Change: Due to some minor balance issues, I've talked to Meta and Kas, and we're changing something with the positions/rank system. All ranks other than regular can start one PM with one person in their direct chain of command. This PM will continue until either dies, and if the lower rank dies first, the higher cannot start one with another person in their chain, so choose wisely. What this means: Thaidakar/Restares can start a PM with anyone in their group. Commanders can start a PM with any Captain or Regular in their chain of command. Captains can start a PM with a Regular. These PMs are not able to be redirected by an Artifabrian, but they can be spied on with Friction. You do not have to wait until the end of the cycle to begin these PMs, but remember to include me and Kas in them. Also remember you can only start one.
  13. little wilson
    Well, to be fair, the game was lost when the Traitors started with 6 against 26. While that percentage might not seem terrible, against not only 3 Hemalurgists (so it'll take longer for the HI to subvert) but also 2 Mistborns, 3 Feruchemists, 2 Elantrians, and two Voidbringers? Yeah, the Traitors started the game with a 75% chance of losing and that increased to 95% the second the Forger died.
  14. little wilson
    So....apparently when I went through the thread yesterday to update the votes for what happened, I somehow missed Kipper's vote. With that counting, Sart should've died to the lynch. I've talked to Meta and he and I have decided that since it's still early in the cycle and Sart's only posted once, we're going to go through with the lynch. Kas and I will adjust the writeup accordingly. And the votes. Apparently there was a typo on the spreadsheet so Starry wasn't showing as having a vote even though she did. The only vote manipulation was on Elbereth. Sorry!
  15. little wilson
    Point of order to help with the vote tally discrepancies: any retraction counted last cycle. If you placed a vote, retracted it later, but didn't retract it from the first post, I still counted the second vote. The reason for this is because the request to retract from the first post was made a while after the start of the cycle, and a rule like that should be in place from the beginning of the cycle. Hence, from now on, only the first red name will count.
  16. little wilson
    A tied vote will result in no death. Also, the minimum votes for a lynch is 2.
  17. little wilson
    If an explorer or an Elsecaller using Transportation is attacked, it will not show in the writeup, since it technically didn't happen. The killer could not find their target.
  18. little wilson
    Post updated with the vote tally. Also, I've updated the very first post of the game--as in the sign up post--with the link to the first writeup. I will continue doing this throughout the game, so you can find your quicklinks there.
  19. little wilson
    Cycle 2: Cremlings In A Highstorm If there was one thing Arina knew, it was that timing was everything. You didn’t make it, as a reporter, until you found the big scoop: the one no one else had thought to cover, the one thing so impressive that even her superiors would have to acknowledge her worth as a reporter then. And finding the big scoop was half the problem: beating the competition (if there was any) to it was the other half. She’d heard of something particularly juicy: the Blackthorn being summoned off to a clandestine meeting, and a mysterious corpse being discovered in Urithiru. Her task, now, was to quietly get to the bottom of this. She could just see the report in the next day’s broadsheets: ‘BODY FOUND IN URITHIRU--BLACKTHORN COVER-UP?’ Cover-ups and scandals, of course, sold well. But she wanted to be meticulous about it. That was the other difficulty. How did you thoroughly research something that the Blackthorn and his aides insisted had never happened? Her source insisted that he’d spoken strictly off the record; that he couldn’t give her any access to the corpse or to the existing notes than he’d already had. Probably a surgeon, she thought. A slightly strange profession for a lighteyes, but by no means impossible. Certainly, he handled his eating utensils with the deft precision of a man who regularly cut arrows out of men and lanced wounds for a living. Being darkeyes, Arina knew, was a bit of an impediment, where these things were concerned. She had to tread a careful line between inquisitiveness and overstepping the boundaries of politeness. She was, after all, talking to a lighteyes. Even if he was a surgeon. Even if neither of them were in the military, which meant that the norms that applied were social, rather than those of rank. “Well,” Arina said, with a disarming smile. “Surely someone who’s trained as many years in your craft as you must’ve been asked to comment on the state of the corpse?” He raised an eyebrow. “Fishing,” he informed her. “It is my task,” Arina admitted. Her informant carefully set down his utensils for a moment and regarded her. “I’m paid for my discretion,” he said. “Not for babbling about my Highprince’s affairs.” “You did tell me about the corpse in the first place,” Arina pointed out. “Why do so, if discretion is your first concern?” He didn’t answer, not immediately. “I think,” Arina pressed, leaning forward, her lips curving in a triumphant smile, “You’re not as concerned about silence as you think. There’s something else, isn’t there?” The surgeon drew a deep breath. He said, “Three things.” “What?” “First,” he held up a finger and folded it back as he spoke. “You’re wrong about how concerned I am with silence.” “Oh?” For some reason, it had suddenly become difficult to breathe. “Second,” he said, ignoring her comment. “You’re wrong about why I approached you. And third,” he held up his third finger, “You should know that dried blackbane leaves are often rendered into powder. There is a faint bitter aftertaste; easily detectable by those trained to notice such poisons. Of course, when ingested with Herdazian spices…” He nodded to her half-eaten plate of food. “...it becomes considerably more deadly. The paralysis, I’m told, should be setting in right about...oh, now.” He smiled, faintly. “It should be quick, if that’s any consolation.” “...W...hy?” Arina managed to choke out. The surgeon shook his head, tiredly. “That’s the first and second thing you got wrong. If it’s any consolation, I consider killing to be a waste, and a corruption of my art, but unfortunately, we must all do things we consider distasteful to survive. Goodbye, Arina.” He picked up his utensils again, and continued with his meal, those frost-pale eyes studying her intently. They were the last thing she saw as black spots--as black as as dried leaves, she had to imagine--encroached over her vision, and finally… Nothing at all. Malarn supposed he would’ve died if it hadn’t been for a passing sentry--a one-eyed Brightlord carrying, of all things, a spear, and whistling a jaunty tune. And all he had done was to head down to the kitchens to beg a meal off the cooks. He’d gotten that, too, after certain amount of disgruntled muttering about how he was introducing rancid odours into their kitchen. That, he didn’t understand at all. He sniffed at himself again and sighed. “It’s the fragrance of a man, storm it,” he muttered, as he gave up and began prodding at the stew. It certainly smelled mouthwateringly good, but some of the pieces of meat were--as expected--tough as boot-leather and could probably be used as shields to fend off the Parshendi. Except, they weren’t quite fighting the Parshendi now, or so the word went. Malarn wasn’t really sure. He didn’t move in those rarefied circles; the affairs of Highprinces were, as far as he knew, none of his concern. The spices, at least, made the entire dish edible, and before he knew it, he was scraping the bottom of the bowl. That was about the point at which he began to feel a pleasant sort of numbness creep over him. It was the sort of lassitude of stepping into a warm bath (not that Malarn took very many baths; they did terrible things to his manly fragrance) at the end of a gruelling day. It was like his mind had gone sluggish all of a sudden, as thick as honey, for he hadn’t even realised that he was slowly keeling over until someone was bending over him. “And, here’s the riddle of the day,” the man muttered; his features were badly marred by burn scars, although these had faded with the passage of time. Malarn wondered if he was hallucinating things. “A man who stinks--or a stink who is a man?” Malarn tried to answer, but for some reason, his tongue felt strangely swollen and clumsy in his mouth. The man tsked and set down something on the ground with an audible clack. “Now, that won’t do,” he said. “I imagine you’ve got things to do, stars to see, and all of that, eh?” Malarn blinked. That was right before he was hauled up, with surprising strength, and the man stuck two fingers down his throat. Malarn gagged, fought, and ingloriously puked his guts out. The man sighed and shook his head. “Sometimes,” he said, “It pays not to get involved. Sometimes, you just end up knee-deep in manure. Or, as the situation may be, in someone else’s vomit. Try to stay away from poisoned food in future, hmm? Redspine isn’t the most pleasant of ways to go; take it from someone who knows. Carpe diem, appreciate life, stop to enjoy the rain--or, as I would suggest in your case, the benefits of a warm bath. Which, as I see you’re more or less going to live, I’m about to do so myself.” Malarn croaked, “Thank you?” The man tsked. “Can’t stay,” he said. “Places to be. I’m sure you’ll understand. Eventually. Or perhaps, not at all.” There was a side of Highprince Sebarial that the other Highprinces--that others, for that matter--seldom saw. But that was the way of life, Kaddar thought. Pressure revealed things: force a man to crack, and you saw new aspects of them you’d never have known before. It was under pressure that you knew what a man was made of, how he thought, how he reacted. It was then you sorted those who’d defend a brother to their dying breath, and those who’d stab their brothers in the back without a second thought, if enough hinged on it. The plump, usually obnoxious Highprince, was no longer smiling. “Fortunate for Maximilianos that you ‘happened’ upon him,” Sebarial said, at long last. Kaddar offered a faint, almost-bow. “I, of course, live to serve,” he said, with a smile that was more a flash of teeth. “And I have been known to be a master of appropriate timing. In fact, if someone hadn’t been so inappropriate as to have vomited on me…” Sebarial threw back his head and laughed, if briefly. “Well,” he said. “I see your sense of humour hasn’t changed, at least.” “It’s a skill, Brightlord,” Kaddar said. “I pride myself on stubbornly resisting all attempts to change. It’s a valuable lesson I learned from a stone.” “And who won?” “I wouldn’t dare to say,” Kaddar replied. “The stone might be offended.” “Damnation, Kaddar,” Sebarial said, abruptly changing the topic. “They tried to kill my nephew. Whoever they are.” Kaddar raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t aware you were fond of him. And this is Alethkar, Brightlord. This is Alethkar, squashed into one miserable stone city. And you wonder why it is that a man can’t get up to take a piss in the middle of the night without stumbling on someone murdering someone else--or at least trying to?” “I’m not,” Sebarial admitted, “But Palona is.” Kaddar nodded wisely. “Ah,” he said. “I see.” “Still,” Sebarial said, “All that joyful stabbing and murdering and plotting is spilling over in this miserable stone city. I’ve had some of my spies listening and three of them died to bring me this information.” He looked at Kaddar. “I could use someone with your particular set of talents.” Kaddar thought about it. “Actually,” he said, slowly. “I’m just passing through Urithiru. I wasn’t planning on getting involved in politics…” “Bah!” Sebarial waved off his response. “Don’t tell me you actually believe that, you inveterate meddler.” Kaddar shrugged. “Maybe I’ve mended my ways,” he said, piously. “I’m quite the reformed character now, didn’t you know?” “And inconsistent,” Sebarial replied. “Considering you just told me you’re too stubborn to change.” Kaddar acknowledged the point with a faint smile. “So I did,” he said. “Well, then I’m inconsistent as well. It’s another of my charms.” “I’m sure,” Sebarial said. “So, since you’re not interested, I presume you won’t want to hear anything about what my spies have uncovered…” Kaddar hesitated. “Well,” he said, “Maybe I was too hasty…it happens, of course, particularly when one gets rather impatient and overly-fixated on particular goals...” Sebarial beamed. “I thought you would see things my way,” he said. “Tell me, have you heard of the Sons of Honour?” “I need you to spy on the Ghostbloods for me.” Wilson stared at Sebarial. “If this has anything to do with the attack on your nephew, I’m leaving. Thanks for the invite; it was nice to see Urithiru finally, but I have more important things to do than to protect your own family, Sebarial.” “Now, now, Wilson. Is that any way to treat an old friend?” She raised an eyebrow. “You got the old part right. Jury’s out on the friend part. If it’s not about your nephew, what is it about?” “It’s about my nephew, but it’s more than just him. I couldn’t care less if the boy got himself murdered tomorrow--don’t tell Palona that--but there’s a greater scheme at work here. The Diagram.” Wilson nodded. “And you want me to help how?” “You have connections to the Ghostbloods.” She stared at him. “...How do you know about that?” Sebarial smiled. “Don’t worry; you won’t be alone. I’ve got someone else here to help you out, and I’m sure you two will get along like two cremlings in a Highstorm.” “That expression tells me nothing, but fine. I’ll do it.” “Wonderful. I’ll leave you to do what you do best, then.” Malarn (Mailliw37) was poisoned but saved! Arina (Arraenae) was poisoned! Maximilianos Sebarial (Venture Mistborn) was attacked by the Diagrammists and saved! Edurams (Sart) was lynched! Edurams (3): Krippe, Malarn, Slalassalas John Doe (2): Locke Tekiel, Elba Agrigar Leiken (2): Moros, Edurams Malarn (2): Aleral, Alycia Kavdar Inor Haze (2): Arina, Cla Hellscythe (1): Seixa Slalassalas (1): Agrigar Leiken Maximilianos Sebarial (1): Sheon Idris Starri (1) : Hellscythe REMINDERS: As for now, Explorers can be killed by the lynch, even if they're exploring. Please remember retract your votes from your original post if you want to place a new one. We will only count the first red name. Player List:
  20. little wilson
    The cycle is now over! Writeup pending!
  21. little wilson
    The Elsecaller chooses.Can an Assassin track themselves? Yes. >> Don't ask how this works flavor-wise. You are an assassin having a severe out-of-body experience. Can an Assassin track the dead? No.
  22. little wilson
    The rule change for the Explorer in regards to the lynches killing them will go into effect next cycle. For this cycle alone, if an explorer has the most votes and they are exploring, they will not be lynched.
  23. little wilson
    This is for the Nalthis game, right? Because I've got you on the list for that one. I can't guarantee that you'll be up in late Oct 2016, but if you're not, you can always see if the GMs ahead of you will pass in lieu of you, since that's themed.
  24. little wilson
    Not that I'm aware of. I usually just cut the part that I don't want in one quote box and then create a new quote box and paste the cut bit in there. The new quote box won't have the perma-link to the original quote, but the first quote will. If you really want the perma-link, you could also just c/p the full quote multiple times and delete the parts that you don't want from each quote box.
  25. little wilson
    No. If this was the only game going, that wouldn't be a problem, but it's not. LG15 is going right now, and once that's over, there will be the AG. Possibly another game starting before this game is over. The reason we merge threads is to keep the forum from getting cluttered, and adding 5-10 extra threads for the sole purpose of being able to navigate within one game better, when you can easily change the links in the sig once the thread is merged? Sorry, but no. The forum navigation is more important.
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