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Devotary of Spontaneity

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  1. If you ever run a game, you can have any setting you want for it, not just a Sanderson work. Alternatively, you can give your pass away to permit someone else to run a game in a setting of their choice.
  2. If you haven't completed your logbook entry, please do so now. When you're done, please delete all other PMs from your anonymous account. Do not delete the logbook entry.
  3. First post has been edited with spreadsheet, pass winners, and player list. Dead doc is now locked. Not willing to do a writeup other than a quick summary.
  4. You can guess ids. We only have 13/25 votes, but three players have enough of a lead over #4 that we'll end voting at the usual rollover time.
  5. The village won the coinflip, but Beagle survives narratively.
  6. Finale: Fire bloomed on the eastern wall, alcohol-soaked ballistae erupting into pillars of roiling flame as volcanic lightning arced down from the ash-filled skies to strike anything made of metal. Beagle raced through the storm, heedless of their patron’s wrath, yet Samwise found room to hope in their lack of speed. Ruin was not yet enhancing them the way he had for Avil Ejir last year. A mere human physique didn’t stop Beagle from clambering up the mere four meter tall fortifications and slitting the throat of a hapless guard trying to salvage a ballista. “Face me, coward!” Samwise challenged, leaping to the top of the wall in one pewter-enhanced bound. Beagle ignored the provocation, grabbing a hammer that had been left by an unfinished ballista, as well as a pair of steel-tipped javelins from its ammo pile. A second guard tried to intercept them but was ruthlessly cut down by a single jab of a javelin. Samwise didn’t stop to ask questions. They followed Beagle to the join between two sections of fortification, interrupting them after the first swing to hammer a javelin into the crease. Samwise’s first attack shattered that javelin to pieces right before a lightning strike hit the ground less than 10 meters away. Beagle flinched backwards, dropping the hammer to hold their remaining bloodsoaked javelin with two hands. “Now why would you do such a foolish thing as that?” they inquired. “I’d been planning on letting you live, for now.” “Enough words,” Samwise said, already lunging forward with their one remaining knife. “Only physical violence can stop you.” Beagle struck out with their javelin. Samwise intended to take the blow head on and tough it out with pewter, but a flash of lightning illuminated the steel head of the javelin, abruptly reminding them uncomfortably of a spike. Any metal covered in blood carried Ruin, they’d heard. The last-second swerve avoided a piercing, but the steel did slice across their flank, dripping blood onto the stones. As Beagle drew back their javelin, Samwise saw a chance for victory. They dove for Beagle’s legs, arms outstretched, ignoring the bloody scrapes on their own knees that move inflicted. Startled, Beagle tried to dodge, but Samwise was traveling too quickly to jump back, and the fortifications were too narrow to avoid their grasping arms. One arm made contact, wrapping around Beagle’s leg. Rather than attempt to break free, Beagle stayed still and drove their javelin straight into Samwise’s back, letting go just in time for a bolt of lightning to strike the weapon and be channeled down into Samwise’s body. Their vision went white with pain, but their grip never faltered. Ruin’s voice in their head commanded them to die, but they refused. They wrenched their body sideways and both combatants went tumbling off the wall together towards the town side. Four meters felt a lot farther when falling. The lightning strikes ceased as Ruin remained unwilling to kill his last follower, but his voice echoed endlessly in Samwise’s head, telling them that they would be his for the rest of their very short life. Their pewter was burning away at an alarming rate just to stave off death. Beagle thrashed and struggled but only managed to drive the javelin in farther before hitting the ground with a thud and a snap. Beagle saw that Samwise had lapsed into unconsciousness and tried to use the javelin to lever themself up, but their leg had broken where it had been grabbed. Swaying dangerously, they snapped the blade part of the javelin off and used the remaining stick end as a crutch to steady themself. They glared at the wall. The pain from the broken leg wasn’t nearly as loud as Ruin berating them for their failure. “What are you doing? Spike yourself with this wretch’s powers and heal yourself.” “With what pewter? No, we’re done.” They gestured to the wall, where Defense personnel were cordoning off the fires and sweeping the walls for any further sabotage. On the ground, more townsfolk were approaching, preceded by Linaan carrying Sidor in quadrupedal form and Oleinda with Afandor being conveyed by steelpushing. “We’ve lost.” They hobbled around to address the four oncoming threats, ignoring Ruin’s furious invectives. Lightning flashed between the remnants of the falling ash, but the eruption of Ashmount Tyrian was dying down, and so was Ruin’s storm. “Greetings, Councilors of Tyrian Falls. I am Special Operative Beagle, Spiked Smoker, formerly of New Empire Intelligence, requesting new employment. Tyrian Falls won’t be destroyed while I’m stuck here.” [Beagle aids Tyrian Falls under pain of death. Ruin finds out atium is stored in Pits of Hathsin and recruits Koloss army to go get it. New Empire army follows them, as do soldiers from Tyrian Falls. Army scrounged up Kaltyr Alliance intercepts all of them half-way. The Kandra from the Pits of Hathsin show up to fight too, why not. Good luck anyone who tries to make a narrative sequel to this make sense as a mafia-style game.] Pearl Chameleon was attacked, but survived! Oxblood Beagle has been converted! They were a Spiked Smoker. The game has ended, and the Villagers have won, technically! The writeup outcome is almost the same either way. Spreadsheet Pass Winners are @Archer, @Kasimir, and @Faerie Braids Player List:
  7. We haven't received anywhere close to all the votes, but we'll still tell you who won soonish.
  8. Aftermath: Your Last Shot “One last duel!” Samwise declared. “As the undisputed innocent of us three, I shall oversee your fight to the death. The winner can challenge me if they dare.” “How can you say that?” Murph demanded. “Beagle’s case has more holes in it than their body will have once I’m done shooting them.” “Awfully desperate, aren’t you?” Beagle smirked, keeping Samwise between them and Murph’s leveled crossbow. “Always soooo willing to resort to violence. You’ve been killing townsfolk right and left in full view of everyone all this time, then claim it wasn’t your fault they weren’t Spiked. I’m glad to be the one to finally hold you accountable.” “Oh? Is it my fault now that I’ve been forced to defend myself? I regret Elephant, but I had no choice but to kill Bartleby and Endsayer. If you’re talking about Sal, that must have been your fault.” “‘Boo-hoo’ he says, ‘I just had to kill all those townsfolk, those nasty loyal Tyrians forced me into it.’ Not a single Spiked ever condemned you. Sasha even bailed you out on that first day. As for Sal, pathetic. You lead us on a merry chase, wasting irreplaceable lives, only to blame the fake smoker you made up in your head. How much is the New Empire paying you for your siege weaponry? Was it worth betraying everyone you knew?” “Bold of you to mention Sasha after you voted for her to live the day after she was shot for the first time. Samwise and I voted for spiked that day, while you condemned Dragon. Plus, nobody defended me on day four. You think Albatross would’ve just let me die if I was his last teammate? You’re floundering. You have no arguments and you know you have no arguments, so you’re just standing there shedding Mistwraith tears while you accuse me of the very atrocities you committed.” “Yes, yes, quite pretty. Have you been workshopping that speech in the workshop that’s no longer yours? It won’t be enough to convince me. Or Samwise.” Murph shifted to address Samwise. “Well? Aren’t you convinced? Beagle is only attacking me because they can’t counter my arguments.” Samwise considered this. “I don’t know. You don’t seem concerned about your imminent death. The only way to resolve this is a duel. Prove your commitment in single combat.” “Fine!” Murph snapped. “Get out of the way and let me shoot them.” “Uh-uh-uh,” Samwise chided, drawing two identical glass knives. “We’ll make this fair. One knife each, the last one surviving wins. Hand over your crossbow.” “You can take it from my corpse,” Murph snarled, pointing the crossbow directly at Samwise’s head. “Where’s your commitment? Why aren’t you afraid of Beagle? Why are you so willing to defer responsibility? Were you the last Spiked all along?” “Pull that trigger and I won’t be the one to die,” Samwise threatened. “Tsk tsk, not a good look for you,” Beagle added. “Your accusations are getting wilder and wilder. Why don’t you just surrender? You had a good run, but we’ve finally caught you.” “That’s it!” Murph slapped his crossbow into Samwise’s hands and took a knife in trade. “Beagle’s evil, I’m sure of it. Once they’re dead and I’ve saved the town, you’d better thank me. This whole town will finally give me the respect I deserve.” Murph danced on his feet in an attacking stance, waiting impatiently for Samwise to give him the approval to slice Beagle to ribbons. Beagle, in contrast, casually walked up to Samwise and began to slowly retrieve a knife. As Samwise looked away and began to draw breath to announce the duel’s beginning, Beagle quickly dropped the knife, snatched the fully loaded crossbow away, and fired its deadly missile into Murph’s temple. Samwise hopped back, startled, as Murph fell dead to the ground. Before Samwise could react, cries of “Sabotage!” echoed from Tyrian Falls’ eastern wall. Beagle dropped the spent crossbow and sprinted towards the wall. After a few seconds of recalculation, Samwise burned pewter and did the same, hoping to catch up to Beagle before it was too late. Chartreuse Penguin has been killed! They were a Village Smoker. The game is over! The finale will be posted at Friday, January 26th at 6:00 PM PT/ Saturday, January 27th at 2 a.m. GMT / 1 p.m. AEDT. If you have any final thoughts, actions, or RP, get them in now. Player List: Hello everyone! The game is over, and it's voting time! Every year we award three non-Sanderson passes to AG players, and this year will be no different, even though these passes are now given out for free every five games of each type. Please PM us your top three choices in order. The traditional criterion is "best Cosmetic Role adherent", but if you would like to pick based on something else you are free to do so. You can PM us in your GM PM on your anon account or in the PM where you received your login details on your regular account. (Both the original player and pinch-hitter for an account can cast votes if they so desire.) Also, as a reminder to those logging in to their anon account for the first time in a while, please do not authenticate it. We will not be revealing identities yet. That will happen when the votes are done at which point we will post part 2 of the aftermath, post the master spreadsheet , announce pass winners, and make any other announcements . We will also try to put up our post mortems at that point; in the meantime, feel free to talk here on your anon account. Doc Links: Dead Doc Elim Doc
  9. Night 7: Self-Reflection Leo knew he was going to die. Could see it in the eyes of the few remaining suspects who stared at him and his shadow like he was a threat, could hear it in the whispers they no longer kept silent. They talked of his ‘oh-so convenient amnesia’, of his hesitancy to condemn Sasha and Albatross, of the fact that everyone else had a good reputation for helping the village while Leo. just. didn’t. Despite his pleas for reevaluation, every last townsfolk condemned him. So be it. Leo didn’t fear death. He’d already lost thousands of years of life, what did it matter if he lost any chance of recovering it? At least, Leo tried to tell himself that. Standing off to the waterfall that gave Tyrian its name, willing himself to muster the energy to throw himself in and save the town the trouble of killing him, Leo found himself hoping for a flash instead. Surely if he stood here long enough staring at his flickering reflection in the cascading water, he would get one final burst of memories from his old life. Even if it couldn’t tell him anything about the Spiked, surely he could conjure up some clue that his life had meant something. Hours passed, and even with body-manipulation abilities any Kandra would respect, Leo’s arm trembled with the effort of holding his etching pen to his chest. He’d been gone for so long that those who wanted him dead must surely have noticed, must surely have started tracking him down. Perhaps it would be Linaan, who so often split herself into two bodies despite the risks of memory loss. If she ever lost everything, would she become like him? Staring at himself for hours on end, desperate to recover whatever scrap he could? He shook his head. She could never lose everything, not while she had Sidor, and Tyrian Falls, and a Homeland full of other Kandra she wanted to return to as soon as possible. Had he ever had anything like that? His arm twitched, and as the etching pen dug into his heart, the pain was eclipsed by a sudden blast of memory. Flash I am looking at myself in a dark, murky pool, staring down so neither the two Siah holding me down nor the two carefully removing every last etching from my body can’t see the expression on my face. “I truly am sorry, brother”, one of the de-etchers says, my sister. “The Antecedents and the Progenitors fear humans too much.” “We have every right to,” snaps the Antecedent de-etcher. “I myself lived under the Radiants’ tyranny for millennia after the Capitulation, and barely escaped the Scouring when the Radiants fell and the human kingdoms decided they wanted our land and resources all at once.” I remember not saying anything at the time, but now I etch the plea I wish I’d made into my chest frantically, ignoring the rivulets of blood that pour into Tyrian Falls in real time. “I was not wrong. I was not wrong. We can awaken the Singers once more. I’ve been studying their rhythms and I know I can do it. With Honor dead, the Radiants gone, and humanity divided, we can win for the first time. We can free our planet from human rule, human occupation. We can defeat the New Empire-” Wait. That last part isn’t right. I wouldn’t have mentioned Scadrial’s problems. Past and present collide jarringly as my sister clears off the last etchings, leaving only four behind on my back. "Leo" "Tyrian Falls" "Spiked" "History Erased" “There we are, dear brother,” my sister says. “It’s not our time to fight yet. Perhaps here, it could be yours.” The four Siah shove me into the water and I fall into another world, smashing my head against the rocks of the Pits of Hathsin, blocking out all my memories save the ones etched into my skin. Flash How strange. I’ve fully returned to the present, yet I still feel myself being pushed into the water and smashed against the rocks. I take a breath only to feel my lungs fill up with water. I flail for the surface, only to be pushed down again by the townsfolk who have finally found me. After repeated failures, I give up and let my unmoving body get washed far away, perhaps to find answers some other day. Sage Kangaroo has been exed! They were a Villager. Night Seven has begun! The turn will end on Tuesday, January 23rd at 6:00 PM PT/ Wednesday, January 24th at 2 a.m. GMT / 1 p.m. AEDT. Player List: PMs are closed
  10. Day 7: Approaching the Deadlion If Guln noticed he’d lost a minute of time, he didn’t show it. He regaled Sidor with stories of the cutthroat competition between nobles for the privilege of deciding which houses would be encompassed within Luthadel’s walls and thus maintain their Great House status, and the thousands of skaa workers who died as a result every time the walls were rebuilt. The conversation ended when they reached their room. Intelligence agent Tass was standing outside the door, decidedly not suspiciously. “Finally,” she hissed, barely trying to conceal her hostility. “That better be you, Linaan.” Such words would usually not be sufficient to get rid of Guln, but Sidor nudged her sharply, prompting Linaan to switch into a more human version of her default form, keeping only the ears and nose. “Right on time, as always,” she replied. “Tsk,” Tass dismissed her before turning to Sidor. “This briefing is for Intelligence only, but I assume she’d tell you anyway. Come in.” “So thoughtful to invite us into our own room,” Sidor’ remarked, unlocking the door and ushering everyone inside before closing and locking it behind her. “We’ll be heading down for this.” Tass grimaced but said nothing as Linaan lit a torch and pried open the trapdoor under the mattress, leading everyone underground into her ossuary. The central space was merely a five square meter chamber, but embedded in each wall was a closet full of all the animal, human, and crafted bones Linaan had accumulated during her time in Tyrian Falls. “I really hate this place,” Tass muttered. “Way to convince people that you’re not going to kill and eat us.” “The report, please,” insisted Sidor. Tass lifted an eyebrow. “You’re not my boss anymore, but whatever. If you’re not going to check me for spikes first, here we go.” She handed Linaan a steel tablet. “This report came from one of our embedded spies within the New Empire’s army, which, by the way, is still on schedule to arrive here, verified thrice over. Their army has been searching certain settlements for supplies from the Final Empire, and we’ve finally determined what their ultimate goal is. They’re searching for the Lord Ruler’s atium supply, and they’ll stop at nothing to get it.” Linaan Prime headed for Alson’s office. As Tyrian Falls’ official representative to the outside world, Alson would need to be involved in establishing diplomatic relationships with outside entities. On the way, she detected a familiar scent in the air, one of only two remaining people who participated in the hunt for the Spiked without providing any personal information save an alias. Linaan Prime inhaled again. What was Lion doing out late at night when their Soothing powers worked best during the day when lots of other people were around? Linaan Prime diverted from her path and followed Lion into a newly built barracks, shifting her form all the way into a soldiery-looking human. As Linaan Prime entered the barracks, she saw the crowd of new recruits and called-up reserves were having a fierce argument about the futility of fighting the New Empire’s armies. “We have barely four days until the deadline,” a nobleman argued. “What hope do we have of defeating a massive professional army?” “We won’t fight them,” argued an older skaa reserve fighter. “We’ll force them to besiege us. Reinforcements will come.” “Hah! Counting on reinforcements? The so-called Kyrtal Alliance is held together by mere convenience. None of our “allies” will send soldiers to die for us when they can just hide across their river and wait for the New Empire to crush us on their way to Fadrex City. I say we join them now. Better subjects than corpses.” “By that logic, we should give into the Spiked as well.” Afandor crossed his arms, taking a defiant stance as he entered the argument before anyone else could reply. “You speak from a place of privilege most of us won’t experience under this New Empire, so if you want to roll over and accept their reign, get out of these barracks and join the other army. We have neither the time to argue nor the trust to offer a coward.” The nobleman’s face grew red as he squared off with Afandor. “Coward? Sensible, more like. What chance do we have?” Someone else stepped forward. Linaan Prime sensed the slightest shift. A slight relaxing in Afandor’s shoulders. The nobleman taking a slight breath and a small step backwards. Someone was soothing them. Linaan looked to Lion. They were focused on the center of the argument, clearly using their subtle touch to soothe away the harsh emotions—understandably high with the army practically at their doorstep. Not something Linaan Prime approved of, only her centuries of practice in imitating human body language allowed her to relax instead of instinctively lashing out at anyone who attempted to control her, but soothing was arguably necessary when there was so much fear. But Linaan Prime wasn’t the only one to notice, and others were not so forgiving. Lion suddenly gasped. The crowd of soldiers around them burst into motion as soon as Lion collapsed. Linaan Prime pushed forward to find Lion already bleeding out, an obsidian knife lying next to them in a pool of blood. It was too late to save them, but it might not be too late to find their killer. But no one ran. No one pushed away from the crowd. No one stood out. Whoever had stabbed Lion had disappeared through anonymity amongst the new recruits. Opal Lion has been killed! They were a Village Soother. Day Seven has begun! The turn will end on Monday, January 22nd at 6:00 PM PT/ Tuesday, January 23rd at 2 a.m. GMT / 1 p.m. AEDT. Player List: PMs are closed
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