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Amanuensis

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  1. Amanuensis
    It will not be explicitly said quite yet. The write ups will include characters figuring out how soon until the Others invade, so it will require some reading / debate as the game progresses. You will all receive adequate warning, however
  2. Amanuensis
    Chapter 1 will end on Wednesday, February 24th at 5PM EST Chapter One: Let It Be Written For the first time in three years Marcas could not find his thirst. Sullen, the Umber stared at the mug of ale placed before him, oblivious to the other’s attempts at reeling him into their conversation. His eyes were fixated on the golden-brown liquid and the tiny bubbles that floated to the top, only to pop upon reaching the thick layer of snow-colored froth. The Northerner imagined he was drowning at the bottom of the glass, each of those transient bubbles a symbol of his demise. Today Marcas watched Wyllam Whitehill’s corpse blindly struggle against the ropes that bound him to his funeral pyre, and found that despite never liking the man he did not have the heart to set it aflame. Friend or no, he was still a Sworn Brother, and that meant something, old gods be damned. In the end it was Ser Armen Dayne who started and stoked the fire, for he blamed himself for the man’s death. Marcas was not sure what to make of the man who seemed to speak like any other southron Knight; brash and haughty. His actions told a more honorable story, however. And to think I believed honor had died in the Seven Kingdoms after the Usurper took control. Though Wyllam’s death had taken an unexpected toll on his soul, it was his friend Ollendir Locke whom Marcas truly grieved for. The two had journeyed to the Wall together, escorted by that ugly crow Yoren, unbeknownst of each other's existence until then but fast to become friends. Among their class of recruits, they were the only two whose family’s allegiance was sworn to Lord Stark, which to Northerners meant they were already brothers long before they took the black. It destroyed Marcas knowing that it was his fault his friend was lost forever. If he watched over him more carefully, perhaps the Other would have never dragged him into oblivion… Marcas looked up, feeling the weight of someone’s stare. He could not explain the cause of the sensation but there was no denying it’s usefulness, especially in combat, though he did shudder at the realization that the Other he fought did not trigger his sixth sense. The Umber twisted in his seat until he found a man shrouded in a much-too-large, snow crusted cloak, fastened at his chest with the sigil of house Locke. Ollendir? he wondered anxiously. The shadows draping the man’s face made it too difficult to tell. Still he rose to approach the man, though before he could leave his table someone caught his arm from behind. “What’s good, Marcas?” “Let go, Torval,” the Umber said with more heat than he intended. Calming himself slightly, he added: “There’s someone I need to talk to.” “Okay, okay. But first things first. You gonna finish that?” Torval said, pointing to his beer. “Nope. All yours.” Torval smiled and let go. Marcas left. By then the man in the cloak had disappeared through the front door of the common hall, and so Marcas had no other choice but to run to keep up. “Wait!” he yelled, drawing the looks of many of the hall’s patrons, but to his chagrin not the man he wanted to glance back. The common hall was a mess, filled to the brim with unsworn soldiers and wildlings, delaying Marcas by forcing him to wave around the largest groups and squeezing through the smallest. At least a minute had passed before he reached the frigid night awaiting outside. Plenty of time for the cloaked man to gain some distance, his back a fading shadow in the direction of the Wall. Marcas pursued the man in the cloak all the way to one of the elevators at the base of the Wall, but already the man was inside, wench dragging him up its apex. “Hey!” he yelled. “Come back!” The attempt was fruitless, for the man did not even flinch at the sound of his booming voice. Glancing left and then right, Marcas spotted another elevator half-a-thousand feet away. No time to think he started running. As soon as he reached it he burst inside and began ringing the bell within, signaling for the wench’s operator to start the machine. A sudden tug upward nearly caused Marcas to lose his feet, though he was already grabbing one of the prison-like bars that made up its portcullis. Once at the top he gave the operator a quick thanks and, ensuring his steps were more careful, began running westward. Thankfully he could see the man was at the upper parapet closest to his elevator, overlooking the land beyond the Wall. In seconds he was there, climbing the steps, calling his friends name. “Ollendir?” the man did not turn. “Or is that you, Orr?” he tilted his hooded head sideways. “Where were you this morning? I thought you would have been at the funeral pyre after hearing the news. I… I’m sorry, Orr. It’s my fault that your cousin is gone. I can only imagine how heavy his death weighs on your shoul… Orr?” The cloaked man spun completely, revealing in his hand a Valyrian dagger, it’s pommel a golden lion’s head with ruby eyes that sparkled in the lamplight. He took a step forward, causing Marcas to step back. The Umber reached for his axe, only to remember he had left it in the armory, though he did still have Ollendir’s dragonglass dagger… He bumped into someone from behind; the wench operator, he soon realized. A thick arm coiled itself around his chest and flexed, cords of muscle expanding, digging through his boiled leathers and into his flesh. Footsteps resounded from the west, marking the entrance of a third man, likely a Sworn Brother or Wildling on watch. The cloaked man dropped his hood. “You’re not Orr… nor are you a Locke,” he said, noticing the color of the man’s hair. “Why do you wear their house’s sigil?” The man grinned devilishly. “To lure you to your death, of course.” Maester Lyam was silent; still. With weary eyes he watched as the ink dried upon the freshly stained pages of his journal. Beyond the edges of his peripherals a pair of dying candles flickered, their pale luminescence diminishing with every passing second. Darkness swelled where their life could no longer reach, leaving nothing visible save for his austere expression and the giant, ironwood desk erected before him. A knock at his door raised the man from his stupor. Careful not to burn himself, the man grasped a candle by its base and waved it over the recently inscribed passage to hasten its drying. As soon as the the letters ceased to glitter in the light, he shut its cover, no longer fearing the text becoming obscured, and hid it beneath the false bottom of a locked drawer. “You may enter,” the Maester commanded, voice stern yet more tired than his posture suggested. White light suddenly pervaded his study, banishing the shadows to its furthest corners. At first the Maester had assumed the visitor to be one of his apprentices, but now he heard the faint jingle of a scabbard scraping against chainmail and couldn’t help but wonder. Rising, the Maester asked “And what now would a Ranger require of me at this ungodly hour?” “Maester Lyam, I come bearing grave news. Marcas Umber’s corpse has just been discovered, strung over the side of the wall with a message written in blood. Lord Bolton wishes for you to come immediately. I would explain more, but it’s simply easier if you see for yourself.” Sighing, the Maester turned to the Ranger to find his brow sheathed in sweat. Urgent matters indeed, it seemed. Maester Lyam was but a man half his age the last time a Sworn Brother had been murdered at Castle Black, and the chaos that caused was horrifying, to say the least. He could not even begin to imagine what this would do now, with the Wildlings living among them and the Long Night only a dozen moons away. And chaos there was indeed. Despite the Lord Commander’s efforts to cordon the area, his band of Rangers could not keep the people from gathering around it. The Maester recognized a group of recently initiated Sworn Brothers staring daggers at a squad of King’s men gossiping nearby. Even the refugee Free Folk pushed the boundaries of the Night’s Watch hospitality by coalescing in sight of the scene, adding to the already tense atmosphere. Approaching the naked, swaying corpse, the Maester adjusted a pair of magnifying bifocals atop the bridge of his nose to help him examine the Umber’s wounds. “Two fatal wounds, seven superficial. It seems young Marcas did not go down without a fight. Considering his strength, and the varying thickness of his cuts, it appears that he was attacked by not one but… three warriors. I would suggest you have your men interrogate those working this lift and roving the Wall, Lord Bolton, as it is much too unlikely that he was killed anywhere else but up there. Deson, was it? You seem strong enough. Cut the Umber down and help him to my tower so that I might divine some more information for our Lord Commander.” Lord Commander Reginalt Bolton watched as Deson struggled to carry the corpse back to Maester Lyam’s tower tower. “You heard the man, someone get up top and start asking questions. Now!” “Don’t play dumb!” shouted a youth nearby. “We all know it was one of you bastards! Who else would slay a Sworn Brother, other than a dirty wildling!” A tall Free Woman laughed heavily, hand clenching her side where she had recently been wounded. “Believe me, Crow. If any of us had any part in this we wouldn’t be standing here right now. My clan has better sense than to linger at the scene of a crime.” “Is no wonda you dook da black,” said a shorter man at her side, face disfigured with over a dozen festered scars. “Doo sdupid fo any otha purpose dan cannonfodda,” he laughed. It took the young brother a second to translate the toothless man’s speech, though as soon as he did he answered not with words, but with a shout and by drawing steel, prompting his companions to do the same. “Enough!” Lord Bolton howled. “Are you not men of the Night’s Watch? Where is your discipline! Your honor for the old gods! These Free Folk, they are our guests! So long as they eat our bread and man our stations, no brother is to so much as point a weapon in their direction! Would you threaten the life of another Sworn Brother? No! These men and women, they are our kin now, united by the Long Night! Read the Wall, gentleman. If our situation was not clear, that bloody script spells it out perfectly! “If you want to be of use, put away your weapons and go find me some answers! One of our own was slain in cold blood today! And for what cause? To instigate disorder! To inspire anarchy! Well, guess what? I won’t have it! Sworn Brothers, Free Folk, Soldiers from the South, I promise you, if you bring me evidence of a man’s guilt, I’ll tie him to a pyre and burn him to ash myself! Find me the Turncloaks who did this and you will be handsomely rewarded! And do it fast, for our true enemy still approaches!” At that moment dawn had finally come, the sun’s light casting the Wall into the color of the sky and turning the crimson words scrawled across it into a hideous black. Winter is Coming, it said. And with it, Westeros' End. Whether it was a warning or a promise, Lord Bolton was determined to see summer again. Marcas Umber was murdered by the Turncloaks! Chapter One has begun! GM PMs should arrive very shortly. Please do not post or send a PM to another player until yours is received. The player list can be found in my signature and will consistently be updated. Thank you, and enjoy!
  3. Amanuensis
    Sign Ups are closed! Game begins now!
  4. Amanuensis
    Yes; Stoneman will select one player every cycle they wish to infect. Yes; it will require the success of either the Loyalists or the Traitors. Otherwise, if neither team has won, the lack of coordination will result in absolute slaughter. No; day and night turns are combined into a single 24 hour "Chapter" for this game. There is no maximum limit; however there is only an hour and 15 minutes left until the sign ups are officially closed and the game begins. It's possible, however, role distribution will be randomized via a list randomizer.
  5. Amanuensis
    Typical win condition. Outnumber the villagers (before the Long Night comes).
  6. Amanuensis
    Gotcha. Also received a PM from a third party asking if LUNA can join, bringing us to 17. The factions are Sworn Brothers, Free Folk and King's Men. They do not have an impact on the game, however; purely RP based, and up to each players discretion. A Red Priest cannot bring themselves back, as the need to be alive to give the Last Kiss. If they die before using their power... well. Oh well. The Gold Cloak will receive the Fatal Wound while the protected player with escape unscathed. The Warg attack can be blocked, yes. Every cycle the Faceless Man must choose the face of the player they wish to imitate and the player they wish to kill. That is correct, the Shadowbinder must vote for the player that is lynched and have an order in to kill someone that same cycle, as the lifeforce needed to animate their shadow is fleeting (won't last until the next moon).
  7. Amanuensis
    Can't really argue this since I had a gut reaction to something she did that, in my opinion, "could be seen" as her trying to highlight valuable targets. As for the bit about "experienced players" being killed, technically everyone in this game is an "experienced player." This is no one's first rodeo. We've all participated in these games enough now, and personally I'm not a fan of the mindset that players should be suspicious for simply living. If I was able to be around more often I would have tried to help instigate discussion. That being said, I also don't like this reasoning for finding me suspicious because essentially no one has been enthusiastic about catching eliminators so far. I do think that people are probably depending too much on information gathering roles, or are just generally busy right now for their own disparate reasons. It's hard to defend myself from something like this when I've already given a genuine explanation. So then you're implying that there's only one Hacker and that they're a Traitor. I do not know their identity, but apparently someone other than Stink's Hacker has claimed the role, and Stink's already proved themselves by getting a Traitor by the second cycle. I highly doubt a Traitor would out one of their teammates that early when they knew they would be in no danger of an attack (thus they would not be afraid of the information dying with them). And besides, that logic is flawed because if the Traitors did have a Hacker (while the village did not) they would have no idea that the Loyalists were without, and thus said Hacker would be immediately subject to a scan by both a Data Gatherer and a Hacker if they ever came out, which would trap them. In that scenario I think they would most likely feign having no role to not draw any extra attention to themselves. I would assume that a player with False Trails would either protect the alignment of the most likely player on their team to be scanned or the one with the most important role in order to preserve numbers / get the most out of their powers. Considering all of that, I do not see how it makes sense for the Traitors to have been given a genuine Hacker. That being said, I could see someone lying about it, but even that would have severe repercussions and would end up not being worth it. Besides the first two kills (Burnt and Orlok) all Traitor kills have been on players with roles. Though I do think it's odd they would have used their one time extra kill on a Medical Specialist, it's possible that someone on their team had managed to gain Mail's trust enough to draw his protection away, and knowing that, went in for the kill (if they scanned him N1 and found out his role then sent him a PM N2 claiming, they might have been able to convince him). As for why they might kill Elbereth it's possible that that's because she was the player they scanned last (only living player they knew had a role) and decided that was worth removing (though in her case I think it was because she started PMing inactives to try and get them involved again, and seeing that, the Traitors decided to discourage it by killing her).
  8. Amanuensis
    12 hours until sign ups close and the game begins! If there's anyone still considering joining, now is the time.
  9. Amanuensis
    I don't really understand why luckat being Loyal has any impact on my alignment, especially since once I understood her better my suspicion of her was nullified. There's a pretty good reason I dropped any pursuance of her I had (which was basically non-existent since I never voted for her, only provided my perspective and asked questions). My inactivity does have to do with me being busier than usual. I am going to another country for a while very soon, which requires me to get ahead on all my collaterial work and make a lot of preparations such as submitting for a visa through their embassy and medical screenings. Plus with me running the upcoming QF (which will begin in a little more than 14 hours) I've had to do a bit of pregame preparation, which has taken some priority for me. Anyway, when it comes to games with alignment scanning roles I tend to be slightly more cautious about mislynching players. I would have suggested a scan vote like I did in LG15b but with the False Trails role I wouldn't want to let the Traitors know if our Hacker were about to scan one of theirs who would have been unprotected otherwise. Finally, I don't really understand the logic of the Traitors having a Hacker. I can see Data Gatherer since the last few kills by them have been on players with roles, but Hacker makes little to no sense to me. In LG15b the Kandra could scan alignment and role. In this game Hacker only does alignment. Traitors already have everyone's alignment, so what would be the point? If I had to guess role distribution, it would be Data Gatherer, False Trails and Well-Connected, based on what we have seen so far.
  10. Amanuensis
    I wish there was some genuine reasoning to this. Can't really defend myself if there's no just reasoning for your vote on me. Might as well mention that you've been at the very top of my suspicion list for a few cycles now for your strange inactivity, in addition to your connection to Arraenae. Honestly right now I can't help but wonder if this "social experiment" of yours is just an excuse, while in reality your intent has to fly under the radar after losing one of your teammates. So yeah. Right now, if there's any player I'd vote for, it'd probably be yourself or BB. I'll give you time to respond / hopefully explain your vote on me. The only thing working in your favor is that it doesn't make much sense for an eliminator to accidentally vote for an already dead + proven good player only to change it to someone else for seemingly no reason, as it draws way too much unnecessary attention to you. Maybe that's the point? I don't know. Thoughts, anyone? EDIT Oh, and before I forget. Do you guys mean Data Gatherer? Hacker's the one that scans alignments.
  11. Amanuensis
    Pregame Hot Fixes & Clarifications Cycles will be referred to as Chapters for this game. The Shadowbinder kill is no longer guaranteed. Action immunity granted by a Builder and the protection from a Gold Cloak will now negate the attack. Players with the passive ability Giant-Blooded will now survive accordingly. In order for a Builder's fortification to be effective their target must not leave their chambers, therefore any action their target attempts to make that Chapter will be canceled (votes still count). If a player is inactive (does not post, send a PM or use an action) during a Chapter without just reasoning (explaining to the thread in blue text why they will not be active) they will receive a Fatal Wound at the start of the next cycle. Unlike other Fatal Wounds this one will be announced in the thread. If a player with a Fatal Wound is healed once by an Oldtown Acolyte, they will not die the following cycle, however they will remain in a Wounded status. While Wounded a player will die the next time they receive a Fatal Wound, unless healed a second time (in which case they will be informed that they have been Fully Healed). If a player is healed by multiple Oldtown Acolytes simultaneously they will immediately returned to the Fully Healed status. No need to apologize, we all had to start somewhere!
  12. Amanuensis
    Mates and I found a stick with a mustache in a vase at this fancy hotel we were staying at during a security detail and we all decided to take a picture with it No need to apologize the more the merrier. Did you know that Locke is a House in A Song of Ice and Fire? (Ollendir is a Locke, perhaps you two are related)
  13. Amanuensis
    Um um um.... Storm it. Sign me up as Kados Arkynis.
  14. Amanuensis
    You type that as if joining us is an inconvenience Happy to have you!
  15. Amanuensis

    You should join my QF. You know you want to.

    1. Show previous comments  1 more
    2. Amanuensis

      Amanuensis

      I'd hope not. I don't even want to consider the implications of a male giving birth

    3. STINK

      STINK

      But you just did.

    4. Curious Anamaximder

      Curious Anamaximder

      Happy Birthday!

  16. Amanuensis
    Hah, no. Thanks for the offer though
  17. Amanuensis
    He's definitely up there, along with Elkanah, Kynedath and LUNA. But after it being revealed that Arraenae was a Traitor I wonder if she was trying to get LUNA's attention because they're on the same team.
  18. Amanuensis
    (2) Araris: Stink, Clanky (1) LUNA: Lopen, (1) SilverDragon: Araris At some point last night turn I had discussed with a player whether it was more likely that Arraenae would have interacted with or ignored her teammates in the thread. Off the top of my head there are seven players that directly interacted with Rae: LUNA, Anamax, Kynedath, Bridge Boy, Clanky, STINK and myself. Then there are eight players that did not: Shallan, phattemer, Elkanah, Silver Dragon, luckat, Lopen, Araris and Hellscythe. Ripple is kind of a special case because they interacted only when talking about teetotalers and alcohol, so I'm not entirely sure what category to put her in. Either way, I think I am slightly more suspicious of the second group of players than the first. I have never been evil with Rae so I don't know exactly how she tends to handle things in thread with them. I know she was evil in QF12; Lopen, weren't you evil then with her? Did you notice any tendencies she has when interacting with teammates that might have applied to this game? The other two players on her team then aren't in this game so you're all I really have to ask this. Either way, while I am more suspicious of LUNA than Araris or Silver Dragon, I don't know how I feel about tying the vote. I would definitely like to have more information to work with before deciding. I'd also like to hear how Lopen and Araris feel about the votes that have been placed up until now, as well as everyone else.
  19. Amanuensis
    No you'll be whatever role the random generator gives you xD. Prologue to QF13: Winter is Coming Before the sun had yet mounted the horizon, three Sworn Brothers, two Wildlings and a lone, southron Knight departed Castle Black, heading for the heart of the Haunted Forest. Except for Marcas, Ollendir was not fond of his company this ranging. It was bad enough Lord Commander Bolton selected that lazy sod Wyllam for the mission, but a desert-born nobleman and a couple from beyond the wall? The thought disgusted him so completely he thought he might throw up. To be fair, his curdling stomach could have been the cause of that cursed dish Ser Armen Dayne forced them all to break their fast on. The Knight ate a bowl of curry every meal as if it were the cure to coldness, but as far as Ollendir could tell all it did was singe his tastebuds senseless and melt his bowels molten. For a moment it took all the Sworn Brother’s concentration to hold the subsequent blaze within him. If not for the fact that he was severely outranked - as painful as that was for him to admit - he would demand the column halt so that he may relieve himself. As soon as the blaze passed, Ollendir glanced over at Marcas, whose tense expression suggested he was experiencing the same sensation. Square jaw clenched tight and ordinarily pale skin as red as an apple, the Umber looked as if he were going to explode. As if he could feel the weight of Ollendir’s stare, Marcas turned his head sideways and locked eyes with his friend. At once their bellies both burst with laughter, each glad to see they weren’t the only one suffering, though a new worry, in the form of a hot wetness at their saddle, had blossomed. Embarrassed, Marcas returned his gaze to the path ahead. As always, Ollendir was amazed that Marcas’ destrier could keep up with his own. While Ollendir was tiny and ferretlike, Marcas was more akin to an auroch. Apparently his size was common for those born of his house, whose coat of arms was a roaring giant. Ollendir had heard tales of Marcas’ ancestors mating with giants following the War for the Dawn, though how that was possible he could barely comprehend. Still, looking at his Sworn Brother - who was a full two years his junior yet nearly twice his height - it was hard to believe any other explanation. When his uncle, the Lord of Oldcastle, had first told Ollendir he would be journeying to the Wall to join the Night’s Watch, he thought it a death sentence. In retrospect, it was an opportunity; not to die, but to live. Not once did he imagine he would meet Wargs or battle Wights. To learn the tales his wet nurse told him as a child were not pure fiction was both humbling and frightening, yet now that Ollendir knew the truth he would not have it any other way. Grumkins and snarks, on the other hand, were still nothing more than a myth. No one could vouch for their existence other than old Eldur, who was as crazy as Marcas was strong. Suddenly the air grew colder and Ser Dayne signaled for the column to reduce its speed. A couple hundred feet ahead a solitary cabin stood, solemn and weary. Once this place had been known as Craster’s Keep, but after the owner’s death and the liberation of his daughters it had been made into an outpost for the First Ranger and his best warriors. Two moons ago all contact with them via raven had ceased, instigating the Lord Commander into sending a group to investigate. Originally he was to be the senior man with Marcas his second before the southron Knight insisted he accompany them. Despite his blue blood, the Sword of the Morning seemed alright, though he was too haughty for Ollendir’s taste. Other than the faint whistle of the wind and the moaning cabin the forest was utterly silent. At the edge of the clearing Ser Dayne dismounted his steed and tied its reins around a tree, his companions soon following suit. Ollendir had heard enough recountings of the Others to recognize the signs that heralded their presence. The Dornishman seemed to notice the signs as well, for he did not hesitate to draw his ancestral greatsword from its sheath. Despite the night, the blade was shimmering and white, as if forged from crystallized starlight. Njal, the male Wilding, couldn’t help but hoot at the sight of it. “Preddy sword ya got der, Ser Knigh,” he mumbled through the gap in his front teeth. “Nah da id’ll do ya any good agains da Odders, o’ course.” Wyllam strained not to laugh at the Wildling’s horrid pronunciation, though Ser Dayne did not look the slightest bit amused. “Oh? Are you so certain? I reckon that if Valyrian steel can slay an Other then Dawn should have no trouble managing the same.” This time there was laughter, though it was Hilegra, Njal’s lover and spearwife, not that dumb Whitehill. The Knight responded by tensing his sword arm, but not before Marcas stepped up between them, towering above them both. “Quiet,” he hissed so harsh even Ser Dayne obeyed. Another arctic breeze stirred around them, rustling pine needles and sweeping the snow in the direction of the cabin. Marcas closed his eyes and cupped his hand at his ear, as if it would help him hear something besides the howling wind. Ollendir focused all his effort on listening but all he heard was that moaning from before. It was then he realized the sound wasn’t the creaking of logs, but the whimpering of a man in pain. A sudden urgency to move, to help, then overwhelmed him. If not for his training he would have let it seize control, but instead he moved to Marcas’ side, hand finding the small of his back. “A trap?” Ollendir asked, loud enough to be heard by his companions but soft enough to not be carried by the wind. Marcas nodded, though there was pain apparent in the gloss of his eyes. Trap or not, one of their Brothers was in that cabin, hanging onto life by a single, agonizing thread. “Well?” Wyllam asked. “We just gonna sit here and let him die or do something about it?” Ponce or not, Wyllam still knew what it meant to be a man of the Night’s Watch. Marcas sighed, though it was not him who answered. “I’ll be the breacher,” Ser Dayne said, tone resolute. “If it is a trap, I am the most heavily armored, and therefore the most likely to survive. Let me take the initial blow.” If not for the lingering scent of death Ollendir would have grinned at the offer. “You heard the Ser; Hilegra, Njal, take flanking positions beside the door. Wyllam, roost yourself in branches of one these trees and string your bow. Marcas and I will circle around the cabin to see if we can find a window looking in,” he paused, looking at each member of his party for confirmation. Not one challenged him. “Good. Let’s move.” Ollendir glided across the snow, gaze focused on the farthest corner of the cabin but still wary of any movement in his peripherals. There was none. Besides Marcas and the Knight, whose weight made it impossible for them to not create some kind of noise as they moved, the world was silent as death. A faint whinny came from behind, likely from Wyllam’s horse as he stood on its back to reach the lowest branch of a massive, charcoal-colored tree. Though Ollendir reached the corner first he allowed Marcas to take a knee beside it and stood behind it. Clenching his tricep, the pair swung around, Marcas staying low and close to the wall, Ollendir moving far and standing tall. No enemies waited on the other side though they both caught a glimpse of a frosted window at the cabin’s center. Ollendir fingered the dragonglass daggers at his hips as he moved closer to the window. Slower than before, Marcas followed him, his Valyrian steel war axe held by one arm, hanging across his back. Squinting, Ollendir peered into the cabin, its interior obscured by the ice and the darkness. He breathed hot air on it until the rime began to weep and wiped it away with heel of his hand. The glass shattered, an arm drenched in crimson and draped in black bursting through it, clawing for the nape of Ollendir’s neck. Before it could grab hold and pull him close, Marcas shouted and shrugged his shoulders, using the momentum of his body to send his axe head skyward and the fulcrum of his arm to slam it back down, cleaving the bloody limb from its body. The creature did not so much as wail; neither did Ollendir whimper as he stumbled backwards onto his arse. Meanwhile Ser Dayne crashed through the front door of the cabin, Dawn held before him, filling the foyer with a dim luminescence. Six Wights, eyes as bright and blue as the Wall at noon, stood beyond the portal waiting for him. Behind them he caught the glimpse of a man still living, chained in the center of the room, his hands and feet severed to stumps. The Knight only saw the man for a moment before the first Wight threw itself onto his sword, toppling him to the ground. It took all of Marcas’ weight to dislodge his weapon from the thick lair of permafrost covering the earth. Noticing that the Wight’s arm was writhing in the snow, he stepped forward and, with a grimace, kicked it into the distance. “You alright, Olly?” Marcas asked, turning to his friend, only to find that he was gone and nothing but a dragonglass dagger and trail of flattened snow leading into the treeline remained. Sliding down Dawn’s blade, the Wight’s skin smoked, limbs flailing, until its chest finally met the sword’s hilt and it died. Grinning stupidly, the southron Knight glanced at Njal who just shrugged as two more Wights forced themselves out through the doorway. Howling, Hilegra drove her spear up into the second Wight’s exposed armpit and heaved it over her head, throwing its limp body several feet behind her. Whip now uncoiled, Njal lashed it around the third Wight’s neck and yanked it back, snapping two of its seven cervical vertebrae before it even hit the ground. Axe at the ready and dragonglass dagger held in his off hand, Marcas barreled into the woods with reckless abandon, following the winding trail of displaced snow like it was the King’s Road. Ser Dayne scrambled backward and tugged on his sword until it was free before rising to his feet and readying his stance for the last of the Wights that struggled to get outside at once. Overhead three arrows with obsidian tips sliced the wind and buried themselves into the center of the remaining Wight’s foreheads. Dead center, bulls-eyes each. Amazed, Ser Dayne looked back at Wyllam to give him his thanks. Wyllam yawned, unimpressed. When he opened his eyes the first thing he saw was Ser Dayne’s face contorted into an ugly grimace. Second, he saw something white and blue crouched beside him. Third, a veil of crimson. Last, absolute darkness. The trail stopped in a small clearing. Ollendir was nowhere to be seen. Marcas paced a circle around it, eyeing the twisted branches and snowy canopy for his friend, for where whatever had grabbed him could have gone. The Other jumped from the tree, its glowing, azure eyes warring with the Knight’s pale cerulean stare. Hilegra and Njal moved to join them, though Ser Dayne waved them off, urging them to check on the Sworn Brother in the cabin. With a flick of the wrist, the Dornishman spun his sword at his side, creating a shield of light that remained in the air until eventually fading away. Grinning, the Other swept one arm across the length of its other, ice coalescing into a jagged, razor sharp blade. Marcas dodged right, feeling the aura of coldness radiating from the Other’s weapon before it ever reached him. Crouching low on one leg, the Umber spun left, swinging his Valyrian axe horizontal at the Other’s legs, but by then its body was already a white blur. By the Old Gods, these things are fast, he thought, realizing he could not win this battle by normal means. Resolute, the Sworn Brother dropped his trusty axe and tossed the dragonglass dagger into his strong hand. Ser Dayne and the Other clashed, both unconcerned with blocking the other ones blow, both aiming to inflict a fatal wound. Where the Other’s ice sword touched the Knight’s armor it burned cold and turned brittle, but did not break. Dawn would have found the Other’s heart if it had not bladed it’s body at the last second, forcing Ser Dayne to dig it into his shoulder instead. Seeking an advantage, the Dornishman wrapped his left arm around the Other’s right and brought him close, driving his knee into the demon’s groin. Laughing, the Other headbutted him and threw the Knight back. Dawm freed, Ser Dayne noticed that the Other’s touch, scale-like skin steamed and melted around the hole the sword left behind. This time Marcas did not dodge but spun around to meet the cold flash and the blade that accompanied it. The Other’s weapon collided with his boarish helmet, causing one half of it to shatter like glass on impact. Fearing nothing, the Umber leaped forward, the Other still being dragged by the velocity of its thrust. He hugged the monster to him, dragonglass dagger held at its spine, and fell forward with all his weight, a plume of snow scattering into the air as they landed on the ground together. This time Ser Dayne was more careful and paried the Other’s every attack. Though it pressed the assault, the Knight knew he had the advantage. The demon was too focused on striking the same spot it did before, allowing the Sword of the Morning to maneuver it exactly where he wanted. A step or two more and he would “trip,” allowing the Other to finish the deed. Two steps later and he did indeed trip, though because he anticipated it, he shrimped his body onto its side and scissor kicked the Other’s legs, felling him to his knees then down onto his back. “Ollendir!” Marcas screamed over and over as he searched the snow, ignoring the Other’s corpse lying a few feet behind him. “For Wyllam!” Ser Dayne yelled, memorializing the name of the Sworn Brother who lost his life under the Knight’s watch as he squeezed the Other’s head between his bicep and gorget. Moaning man slung across her back, Hilegra watched Ser Dayne wrestle with the demon on the ground, wanting nothing more than to laugh at sheer audacity of the scene, but the wound she took from the one armed Wight hiding inside the cabin tormenting her too much to allow it. Nearby, Njal picked up the shimmering sword the Dornishman called Dawn. It really is a pretty sword, he thought, words sounding right so long as they stayed in his head. How easy it would be for him to drive it through both the Knight and the Other right then, to lie and say that the man died fighting the demon. The only witness would be Hilegra, his spearwife, whom was guiltier of worse crimes than killing a kneeler. Though the Other seemed to weaken beneath him it was nowhere near death. “Quickly! Hand me my sword!” Ser Dayne demanded of Njal whom he now saw beside him, wielding the blade. The wildling seemed to be considering something. Sensing his end, the Other struggled harder, forcing the Knight to double his efforts to keep him pinned, though his eyes never left the wildling. Njal looked up suddenly, then, noticing someone approaching from the treeline, shrugged. Taking a knee, the wildling slid Dawn into the Other’s chest menacingly slow until eventually its life left it. Sighing, Ser Dayne let go of the corpse and stood, lifting Dawn gently, holding it reverently. “Thank you,” the Knight said, understand that the wildling - no, the Free Man - could have killed him easily then. Njal grinned a toothless grin before stepping up to his spearwife and kissing her on the cheek. Marcas approached her now too to look at the face of the man slung across her back. “The Old Gods be good, First Ranger Cassel still breaths. What of the others?” he asked. “Eight of them, yeah?” Hilegra asked. Marcas nodded. “All dead.” “Wyllam too,” Ser Dayne added. Marcas frowned. “Ollendir… is gone. Nowhere to be found. I think the Others took him.” Ser Dayne stepped beside him and patted his back reassuringly. “We should go before the chill returns. We have the First Ranger, as ordered. Our mission is complete.” The Umber hesitated to agree even though he knew the Knight was right. “Fine. Then let’s saddle up, lady and gents. It’s a long road back to Castle Black.”
  20. Amanuensis
    Yes. Even if he dies C1, if all other players lose, he wins.
  21. Amanuensis
    If a Ranger follows the Faceless Man, they will see him visiting whatever player he takes the face of and not the player they kill. The Faceless Man's win condition is for everyone else to die to the White Walkers (in other words ensure that neither the Loyalists or Traitors win).
  22. Amanuensis
    Might as well start this off since I had a pretty consistent dialogue with the player the Traitors killed this time, so I will start off by outlining everything we discussed. A vast majority of it was miscellaneous discussion regarding what she is up to in school, Bands of Mourning (and how it affects the LG we will be running sometime this year) and a Mistborn elimination game she is working on currently. First thing we talked about regarding this game was that she was suspicious of Clanky and that Rae had asked Elby what she thought about BB in a PM. I explained that Clanky was at the top of my trust list because I had a theory Rae was defending Anamax from Clanky because they were evil together. In regards to BB I said that he's interesting because Rae voted for him D1 for voting for Kyn for RP reasons, which could mean that either Kyn is a Traitor and she was trying to defend him or BB is a Traitor and she was trying to distance herself from him in case one or the other got found out. She said she could see the Anamax being evil and that she felt it was more likely Rae was distancing herself from BB. She also said that a post he made towards the end of N1 was what made her particularly suspicious of him, but could not remember which and would look it up after she finished her Calc homework (she never looked it up =\). Next thing she informed me was that she was going to send a PM to a bunch the inactive players (specifically Elk, Phatt, Ripple, Kynedath and BB) to get them to post and ask a couple questions. She also later included Clanky because she wanted to say something to him. Conversation got off topic again for awhile until she told me she had new-found suspicion of Hellscythe for trying to cast suspicion on Stink to prevent him from being soft confirmed. Her last PM was that HS said he trusted Clanky, which was the exact opposite of her intuition, which made her more suspicious of Hellscythe. Before turn over I replied that I felt similarly suspicious of Hellscythe, mostly because I have seen him on the forums yet not posting, especially after I confronted him on D2 about never posting what ideas he had regarding the mission. So yeah. Thoughts, anyone?
  23. Amanuensis
    No. Because of the Greenseer role, dead players will receive no extra information other than what they share with each other. It has been updated.
  24. Amanuensis
    Yes, if you receive a Fatal Wound or contract Greyscale you will be notified in a PM. It is then up to you to seek help. It will be included in every write up, not necessarily spelled out as "Game ends on Cycle 12" for example, but will be discernible via the daily RP.
  25. Amanuensis
    Just want to let everyone know that I have thoughts on everything that's happened so far but I won't be able to get them written up as fast as I normally would, thanks to work and me now preparing to run the next QF. That being said, Traitors, feel free to attack me tonight. I promise I won't be protected You're the leader this cycle, Lopen, so it's your call. I have no reason to object.
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