Fifth Scholar

1. You should know better >:( 2. Is he even a member of the crusade anymore? 3. He is on this website (I think?), just not on this sub. He GMed a TDP game, it was wild, but anyway it sort of fizzled out D: (Sorry Hreo...) Ash Mat - that vote never had teeth anyway, so what was the point of it? I mean, fair on the “died for a reason” thing, but it works if pokes on inactives are treated as a means and not an end, which was probably the Crusade’s fundamental mistake. I like making people who haven’t posted squirm a bit. Step into the light. Sir, I never know better And while I’m on mobile and thus can’t check, I think Hreo’s signature still shows his Crusading loyalties. Good to know he’s still around, though. Time to talk him into AG9

Grischuk blinked in surprise, accepting the proffered hand and shaking it firmly. “I understand very little, but I do understand zis. At very least you are putting in vork to solve zis problem, vich is more zan can be said for others.” He grimaced. “And you are certainly correct zat ve cannot simply go after quiet types forever. Zere vill be reckoning if ve cannot sort ourselves out.” No, I don’t blame you for that at all—in fact, I’d kinda forgotten you had to leave the game in the first place! I remembered it because until a couple of years ago it held the record for shortest LG because of all the murder (obviously excluding 15a). It was a fun concept though and it’d be cool to see you back as a GM eventually My thoughts are that this is probably a bad idea, since it requires not only elim non-interference but also complete Village buy-in, which we’re unlikely to get. Even the flailing poke-voting will probably get us further, since it’ll force people to take some kind of stand rather than just voting on an assigned random target. Hmm. As much as I don’t appreciate being voted on, I don’t really want to kill Conq C1 of his first game back either. Partially agreed that I’m not 100% happy with the interaction, but it could just as easily be “working with a meta from five years ago and an unfamiliar playing field” rather than any malicious intent. We can revisit it if Ash flips evil, but until then I’d chalk it up as NAI, and either way don’t think we should be killing him for it now. Eh. LG41 it got the Elims to bus an initially inactive teammate, so it has some record of effectiveness. I would prefer we vote on other grounds, and abandoning the Crusade after D1 makes sense, but this early in the game there’s no harm in pushing quiet players into speaking.

If @Herowannabe ever rejoins us on this website I will be sure he is informed of your conversion. (Welcome back, @Conquestor! I know you as the LG31 GM, which means you’re older than me, so go easy on us whippersnappers ) Grischuk looked up from his survey of the “archive”—why nobody was allowed to use straightforward terms for things here was anyone’s guess—and turned to face Theo. The man, who seemed to be a sort of leader here, was looking at him with a suspicious eye, and he took his hands off an explanation of spider solitaire (the closest thing to a chess book he’d found) to look him in the face. “Vy do I vant zis man to talk?” he repeated, gesturing at AraRaash. “Because of all fools zat have opened zer mouths, it seems none of zem can give account of vat is going on. I am foreigner here, and seem to care more zan your own people who are actually in charge here. Vy should ve let him get by in silence ven ve know zere are infiltrators? If he vill not listen to von man, perhaps two vill open his lips.” Grischuk rustled the pages of his book uncomfortably, then slammed it back on the shelf, causing a few people around him to jump. “If you have a better idea for who ve should look to suspect, before zey have actually talked, I vood love to hear it.”

It’s quiet again. How are we doing, Ashbringer?

Sasha Grischuk stepped into the library. These Americans truly thought of everything for these public spaces, he mused, the “games” section catching his eye in particular. He wondered if there would be anything on real games, real strategy, but wasn’t holding his breath. This library in particular seemed to hold a lot of mirrors with its books—glass peepholes, stained glass sections with various resolutions so that looking through a set of panels made one dizzy, even giant glass circles on the wall which made him look huge or minuscule as he stepped in front of them. He tapped one of the workers—were they workers?—on the shoulder, wearing a nametag “Smedry.” “Hey you. Vat’s ze deal vit zis place? Is everyvon in America really zis blind? And vere are all ze books on chess?” It’s going to be fun trying to RP without having read Alcatraz. Even less fun to post analysis without reading the rules, though, so I’ll drop this here as my hello and go do that

Welcome back to Joe! I will sign up as Sasha Grischuk, a foreign visitor who wonders why so many people around here have vision problems.

Well. That’s an extra vote. Anyone want to explain it?

Alv’s Gods require my continued non-intervention.

Correct. I have agreements, which supersede my desire to see one of them dead. Mat is barely viable anymore, the Elan lynch has almost no backing besides being an alternative and is doing fine without me, and there is information to be gained either way. If I went with the crowd I would be condemning you. I’m not. I just see no reason to save you either. Sorry if that sounds cold hearted

I thought spending time with family would mean I’d come back to results but I guess the Exe is still going. I’m gonna take the coward’s route out and say that I am indifferent in this particular instance—I have both Mat and Elan on elim radar, would prefer to give Sart a cycle to verify his claims, and have committed to stabbing Araris and he himself would be mad at me if I pulled out the knife even though he probably wants Mat dead. I’ll stick where I am.

You would. I’m saying that a person with two docs is more likely to take it to the thread before either doc out of uncertainty, rather than the player with one doc, which, since it’s all he has, might consult it immediately. How would we feel about a Contribution Crusade shrekking this cycle? Since faction exes are largely contrived reasoning anyway, unless someone has a very good reason they think another player is an infiltrator, I’d be fine killing the inactives or lurkers who aren’t posting as a compromise. There’s a few to pick from but I’ll start with a stab vote for Araris. He’s normally more vocal and I’d like to hear from him.

That’s the thing though; a cult is inherently one maniac convincing everyone else that they’re right about something with no evidence. A conversion-flavour faction with one member tracks harder with this than the Adjuncts, who are a group serving a group of people. They’re more likely to be plural. Similarly, I could see an Edgli figure for her faction being able to convert Returned or something. Of course, most of this speculation is rather baseless, but I do think the factions will mostly stick to their flavour if possible. Hello @Archer, and welcome. Since you’re a pinch-hitter, I’m not gonna vote for you on this, but I am very curious why you are bringing action questions to the thread before your faction—it feels a bit performative and I’m not sure if it’s evil-indicative. I think someone with only one doc would be more likely to take it there. But this is more of a bookmark than anything.

Right, this isn’t what is giving me a headache. It’s basically the fact that the Infiltrators, from your interpretation, need to kill some of the Revolutionaries, but the Revolutionaries don’t need to get rid of Infiltrators to win. Which really means that my statement from earlier is flipped—the Revolutionaries should be fine working with the Elims, but, assuming that the Elims started smaller than the Revolutionaries, they will have to “eat their own” eventually to make sure there’s not an automatic Rev victory when the last Royal falls and the sixth command is unearthed.

Oof. This changes things then >> I guess it’d be fairly easy for the Infils to do an endgame Rev cull to get them to win together. Unfortunate. But wouldn’t one of them still trigger endgame before the other? Maybe I’m misunderstanding >> Amongst their weaponry are such diverse elements as the kill, distro knowledge, Breath theft, ruthless efficiency, and an almost fanatical devotion to the God King.

I think the Revolutionaries and the Infiltrators are less of a permanent alliance than the rules may make them out to be—if the research and Royal-killing conditions are both fulfilled, whoever has more members among the two wins, so they both want to be the “larger” faction at that point. They can only work together for so long before they’ll be forced to reckon with each other. Same, obviously, with the two Royalist factions, who will want to collaborate to protect the Royals and get rid of Infiltrators/Revs, but can’t exactly afford to ignore each other either once the hostile factions start dropping. Faction alliances will likely shift as the game goes on. But yeah, early-game, I doubt the Revs will be after Infil blood too much. If only because of that, I get the idea that the Royalists are probably a bit larger, and that the Infils are a direct threat to most of the secret factions. (Well, they’re a direct threat to everyone because of the kill, but you get my point >>) @Young Bard, I have mentioned this in PMs, but if the Infiltrators are smart and intended to spread out, they’d have distributed all six factions among their (probably three) members’ top two choices, and prioritised the public ones which are likely to be larger. As you’re pointing out, though, this strategy, while being the most effective, is also the most predictable, so it’s probably not wise to say “this is for certain what the Elims did.” It’s also complicated by the possibility of people teaming up on factions and locking the Elims out, or possibly locking multiple Elims in. One of my main fears currently is an Elim faction-hopper, which would not be fun to reckon with >> Agree, @Ashbringer; while 4/4/3/2/2/2 makes the most intuitive sense to me, 4/4/3/3/2/1 is also possible, and just from the sounds of them, the Cult and the Edgli groups seem like they might function with only one starting member, and possibly be conversion or missionary factions a la Jaddeth from LG12/44.

I village read Mat for this comment. If you’d like to talk to me about factions, my PMs are open. My inkling is that people will be willing to reveal general preferences but not specific elements of their ranked list except in extreme circumstances (this is roughly the line I’ll be toeing), and I would generally recommend mushrooming just so that one PM-happy person can’t figure out a rough sketch of the distro from turn one.

Let's go! Signing up as Yallacero, a scholar interested in Awakened constructs who hopes this Manywar thing doesn't interfere too much with his very important research.

Leidene had visited the infirmary when she’d first arrived to scope it out. Anyone with severe injuries or illness could be so easily put out of their misery with spike, and with sufficient guile nobody would ever know. Sadly, there had not been an opportunity to do anything of the sort then, but she had noted a door in the back marked for employee use only. Trying the door now, she found it swung open readily to reveal a stone staircase heading down under the ground. The air was noticeably cooler even through her cloak as Leidene followed the steps downwards. At the bottom was another door. She put her ear against it to listen and heard two people talking. “I’m familiar with poisons of course, but I haven’t heard of this one.” Something about his voice was familiar, but Leidene couldn’t place it. Not Landis, and she didn’t think it was Steel. Could it be Kais? She listened closer. “I hadn’t either,” came a second voice, unfamiliar. “Its primary ingredient is mercury, which you’d know about. Boiling it to separate the components also produced a colourless, odourless gas that burst into flame when exposed to fire.” So her use of poison had been discovered. Leidene wasn’t quite sure how it worked herself, but she knew it contained mercury. She had to kill that second person and anyone else who knew before word could be spread of a poison that induced heart attacks. With a spike in her right hand and a loaded dart gun in her left, she eased the door open as quietly as she could. Thwack! As soon as she entered the room, the dart gun was slapped out of her hand by a duelling cane. The dart skittered harmlessly across the stone floor as Leidene instinctively lunged forwards and to the left to avoid another blow. There was Kais all right, standing towards the back of the room near a hooded bench. The wielder of the duelling cane was much closer, a woman Leidene had seen in the infirmary when she’d first visited. Judging from all the metalminds she wore, she was a Full Feruchemist, one that had not been in her records and not a foe she could defeat without the element of surprise. Raising her spike, she gestured to Kais. His eyes widened and he nodded. Leidene grinned. She just had to distract her opponent long enough for him to strike. She hurled her first spike, which was easily deflected and lunged forwards with a second, aiming for Raven’s heart. Thwack! Leidene stumbled and nearly fell. That blow had come from her side. Glancing over, she saw that Kais too held a duelling cane, and he’d struck at her instead of Raven. Leidene’s moment of distraction cost her dearly, and with two more swings of the cane, Raven disarmed her and knocked her to the floor. “So it was you,” Kais said, his eyes narrowed. “The one the reports spoke of. The final Spiked.” “Final Spiked?” Leidene said. “No, no, there’s one more. He sent me down here, I had no choice. I can tell you who he is if you let me go.” Raven laughed. “Having second thoughts now that your murder attempt’s failed, Leidene Zerrung? Don’t worry, we caught your Spiked. You can make sure this never happens again.” “Lamentation! Joyous, most excellent lamentation! Woe! Woe! The destroyer is come at last! The Frebarind Finisher (may she live for ever) has reached beyond the grave and struck! The time is upon us! Glorious, bitter tidings! Lamentation!” Steel sighed as the town crier continued to holler. It was bad enough that the Synod was holding a special meeting specifically to execute him at nightfall. But the fact that the man saw a need to trumpet his own demise into the streets revealed a deep zealotry. He would say psychosis, were he feeling judgemental, but who knew what these spikes did to people? Wasn’t this bad enough? Bad enough that they’d brought him, who slept in the streets all day, had a history with the town watch, and was younger than most of the men who surrounded him, to be on the Synod and try to clean up this mess? But Faleast wasn’t about to let the town subside on rumours and quiet mutterings of a Spiked presence. He was going to air every last bit of his death for the world to see. Whether it would diffuse the paranoia, or enhance it, would remain to be seen. He turned to Izzy, who stood beside him. “Why didn’t you just finish him last night? I told you the Synod would turn a blind eye to that. You got Stick, at any rate.” Izzy narrowed her lips. “The Stick thing was a relapse. I should have just brought her to you. Besides, I’m retired. Why would you want a vigilante with no heart in the affair? I might become friends with whomever you want me to murder.” She grinned, unable to keep up the act. “Tell you the truth, I couldn’t find him last night. He slipped out pretty quickly, and even though I found what I thought to be his house, I didn’t want to break in. Plus, he was outside.” He thumbed over at Jeral, who was fingering his cane thoughtfully. “Didn’t know how he’d take it.” Steel guffawed. “Jeral? He ran through Sparky. He’d not have cared a whit.” Izzy shook her head slowly, only acknowledging the remark with a grunt, and sat down to hear the rest of Faleast’s speech. Jeral, who seemed to have overheard the comment, tensed his shoulders and stalked away. Steel, feeling slightly foolish, decided to tap some spare wakefulness and tune in Faleast again. “…the wrath of the Lord Ruler will come down upon you all! Great vengeance! Furious anger! Dreadful times will follow this brief respite. These tidings are certain. I have foreseen them. They will happen. Lament! Plead that the ashmounts fall upon you, that you may hide from the wrath to come!” Steel finally could take no more. “Give it a rest, will you?” Faleast grinned. “The joy of my lamentation cannot be contained!” He jumped up, snatching a dishcloth from the bar which was close at hand, and twirled it in the air. Combined with the sashes and bells on his cloak, which shimmered and twisted, the blur of colour and movement made for an impressive display. “Until the Synod should demand my death, I will always—whoa there!” He stumbled backwards as one of Eran’s bloodhounds jumped into the air, trying to catch a stray piece of fabric with its teeth. “Steady,” Faleast said nervously. But the other dogs heard the commotion, too, and could sense his nervousness. They trotted over and circled him, sniffing, tails wagging, looking for something to tug or pull or play with. The first one leapt again, and Faleast pushed it away; instead of knocking him down, it grabbed a corner of the cloak and began pulling. The second seized the dishcloth in its teeth and yanked, pulling it free and running back to Eran, snorting, with a look of triumphant glee. There was no stopping the other two. They bowled him over, and he cried out in pain as his back felt the impact of several legs of furniture before finally hitting the ground. Faleast gasped for air. Dimly, he heard Eran reprimanding the dogs, who did not seem in the mood to listen. He moved a fallen stool off his leg, and saw with sudden horror that one of the dogs had found the protruding bit of metal there. He scrambled away, but the bloodhound wagged his tail and hung on gamely, thinking it a fun game of tug. Before Faleast could pry his maw off the spike, the dog had yanked it free and again brought it wagging to the old lady in the corner. Blood began pouring from the wound, and Faleast quickly tied the dishcloth over it. He coughed, looking around at the assembled Synod members. “Dreadful…wait, what?” He did not know what had inspired the word to take form in his mouth. He hesitated, beginning to feel woozy with lightheadedness. He tapped weight—perhaps it was just a placebo, but he felt better, anchored to the ground. “I…was that spike…what have I been doing?” he muttered. “Lamentations! What’s been going on?” One of the new Synod men looked down at him. The eyes contained equal parts amusement and suspicion, and he motioned. “Come with me, Skimmer. You have a lot to answer for.” The Synod had been badly depleted by the predations of the Spiked. Four members had been killed before they’d organised the town to hunt down the Frebarind Finisher, and of their six replacements, three more were dead. Increasing the size of the Synod from five to seven had been an emergency measure, but in light of the extraordinary services provided by Jeral, Artwyn, and Izzy, the four surviving Synod members decided to make that expansion permanent. “No,” said Artwyn, flatly, when they told him. He slammed shut the door of his shop. The last thing Artwyn wanted in his old age was to be pulled into the affairs of any sort of clandestine group. Eran blocked him. Of course, thought Artwyn irritably, and Stann was the one who’d said he’d moved unnaturally fast for a man of his age. She said, leaning against the door, “They could use some old, sensible heads. Too many young whippersnappers on the Synod, and we start to hear ridiculous things, like commissioning a steel sculpture of a squid.” Artwyn blinked. “A what?” “Exactly,” said Eran, matter-of-factly. Artwyn sighed. He had the feeling he was going to regret this. “Why don’t you come in,” he said, dryly, “And tell me all about what working with the Synod involves?” “Maybe,” said Jeral. It was something, he supposed. Some sort of new direction, something to carry with him, something to replace that dream of the golden-hilted cane-sword. He rolled the dice, and they came up lucky snake’s eyes, but then again, they always, always did. Never needed luck, when you made your own luck. The more he thought about it, the more the idea appealed to him. “Good,” said Steel, “Just stop trying to kill me, dangit. We’re on the same side, man. Glad you came around in the end.” “Really,” said Izzy. “You know, it’s sweet, but you don’t have to bribe me with a Synod seat just to get me to do your killing for you.” Landis arched an eyebrow. “Didn’t you say you were reformed now?” She grinned. “Psych. Do I get the rank of Keeper then?” “You are on the Synod,” said Landis exasperatedly, “You are not a Keeper. You can’t tap copper, can you?” “This,” Izzy replied, after a moment’s thought, “Is completely fair and not outrageous at all.” “Take your seat, Iz,” Landis sighed. “Just take it.” The newly replenished Synod stood around a restrained Leidene. “Who else is involved with this?” demanded Artwyn. Leidene shook her head. “I, I don’t know anything. Stick was the mastermind, and the rest of us had to keep following her orders after she died.” “Lies!” snapped Jeral. “Sparky mentioned an Inquisitor before he died. What do you know of him?” “Inquisitor? If there was an Inquisitor involved I didn’t know about it. I was just told to clean up the evidence.” “How was killing Inadeus and trying to kill me just cleaning up the evidence?” Raven asked. “I didn’t kill Inadeus. I don’t know how he died. Last night, Faleast gave me his weapons and told me to go to the infirmary and kill anyone I could find.” “Must be quite a downgrade for a fancy noblewoman like yourself to take orders from a Terrisman,” noted Eran. Her four bloodhounds woofed in agreement. “I was coerced,” Leidene snapped. “He would have killed me if I refused.” “Ah, so the threat of death can make you do anything?” Izzy said. “In that case, tell us what we want to know.” “You can’t just execute a noblewoman! I’m a citizen of the Final Empire! Only the Steel Ministry has the right to judge me.” “The Steel Ministry’s a long way from here, lady,” Steel broke in. “Someone has to answer for all the deaths, and you’re the only candidate left.” Leidene sneered. “You want answers, street thief? It’s disgraceful that someone like you could be a member of government, but perhaps that’s just to be expected of such a pathetic garbage heap far away from any real civilization.” Raising her voice, she proclaimed to the crowd, “The Inquisition will arrive at dawn two days from next morning. Once here, they’ll burn your precious town to the ground and slaughter all of you who remain, then hunt down anyone who tries to flee. I’m the only one who can save you now. Only a letter written in my hand, using my personal cipher, can forestall your doom. If you want me to write that letter, you’re going to let me go right now and give me a horse to make sure I can deliver it on time.” “To be honest,” Steel said, meditatively, “Faleast did it better. He had more style than this fire and brimstone talk.” “No.” That voice was Landis’s. He said, once again, “No. We know how the Inquisition works. They would never suffer the Synod to live. You promise something that you cannot actually deliver.” Leidene laughed. “Oh I’m not the Inquisition, I just work for them. If you give me, say, a single Spike, I’ll tell them that we couldn’t find any Ferrings.” “And what summons down an Inquisition strike force if not the claim that there is credible evidence of the Synod here?” Landis demanded. “Landis,” said Raven. He looked at her. “I can resolve this issue,” she said, taking out one of the darts she’d collected from Leidene’s unconscious body. Landis nodded in assent. “This blend is one of mine,” Raven continued speaking. I design medicines to help the body heal and grow, but most of my experiments don’t work on the first try. This particular concoction will give you about two weeks, plenty of time for you to deliver the all-clear and return for the antidote.” “Why would you do that?” “Why make this deal? After telling the Inquisition you couldn’t find any evidence of a Synod, you can hardly go back and say we’re here after all. Why give you the antidote? It would be a shame for a noblewoman to die in our little town, wouldn’t you agree?” “And the spike?” “Oh, of course. You can take Faleast’s. He won’t be needing it anymore. You’d know where to place it.” Raven jabbed the dart into Leidene’s arm. “We’ll see you in two weeks.” Wood shavings curled onto the floor of his shop. A candle burned in the workspace, casting wildly-flickering shadows across everything. Late into the night, Artywyn worked. You didn’t whittle, as a carpenter. Not very often. There were better tools to use, ones more fit for the task, whether you were sawing a table, or a pen rest, or making buttons. One spike was done. Artwyn added it to the heap of wooden spikes that lay on the floor of his shop. A pile of sharp, lethal points, the tips sanded down. Wouldn’t do for some fool to kill himself blundering into the settlement’s monument. He wondered about that. A strange mood had stolen over him, a sober need to take an accounting of the dead. His dead among them. Artwyn had never been much for art. Humble things, creating simple tables and chairs, and the occasional fancy noble’s cabinet had been enough for him to get by. And buttons, and buttons, and buttons, because somehow it was the buttons that kept a settlement like Frebarind running, all things considered, even if Artwyn never quite understood how anyone could go through so many buttons. The names were hammered out into copper, written in metal, written for memory and written to last. Artwyn did that himself, too—he’d dabbled, a little. When he was younger. He was not a sentimental man, or at least he didn’t allow himself to indulge. He’d hesitated, for a long moment, over the list of names. But it was an old wound, and this memorial was not for his son. It was for all of them, all the ones who had died in Frebarind. “It seems to me that you’ve left one thing out,” Olaf said, knocking back his wine glass. Most of the Sign of Fire was empty. The inn’s guests had dragged themselves to bed, and the flames in the fireplace were subdued now, mostly embers. “Oh?” “What happened to that last Spiked?” Olaf asked, curiously. The noblewoman at the nearby table pricked up her ears, but continued to toy with her glass. “You’ve mentioned that the Synod-in-Frebarind had blackmailed her into leaving Frebarind alone. Surely she must be planning some form of revenge after how—if you’ll excuse me—the Synod in Frebarind, for all intents and purposes, had at least frustrated her plans, if not outright humiliated her.” “She’s dead,” Kais said, shortly. “She never returned for the antidote. Likely killed by the Inquisition, but I wasn’t about to investigate that—prying too much into the affairs of the Steel Inquisition is a dangerous business, and liable to find you strung up swallowing a hook.” Olaf could not hide the involuntary shiver that crept down his spine. The infamous punishment for those who abused Allomancy. “All’s well that ends well, I suppose,” Olaf temporised. He gazed at the comforting flicker of the firelight, and imagined he could feel the cosy warmth against his skin. “Quite,” said Kais. “Well, then. It’s been a long night, and I trust you’ll have a good journey back to your House. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, and I’ll make the necessary arrangements to have the payment sent to the Ffnord factor in Luthadel. Incidentally, I’d advise staying another night or two.” “Oh?” Kais smiled. “You’ve been kind enough to listen to the tale of Frebarind,” he said. “And I’ve heard that you’ve been around a couple of times yourself, enough to know what to do in this sort of situation. And there’s someone out there—a group, as far as I understand—that has been watching you very closely.” Olaf’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the table. “A trap?” he asked, his voice calm. “How novel.” “No trap,” Kais said. “An evaluation, perhaps.” “How many hats do you wear then, Kais Jerzy?” Olaf asked, his voice soft. “Noble, associate of the Synod, and now an evaluator for—whatever group this is?” Kais shrugged, artlessly. “We play many parts in our lives. You should know this well, Olaf.” He sketched out a word on the table—four letters. When Kais rose and left, Olaf was still frowning over the word, written in dark tea. ASWA. He noticed too late when the noblewoman rose, a spike glinting viciously in her hand, red-washed in the dying firelight, sharp with the promise of fire and blood to come. Frebarind had been foolish to let her go. Whatever poison had been in that dart was easily neutralised by her goldminds, leaving her free to seek revenge. She’d still reported Frebarind free of Feruchemists; setting the Steel Inquisition on the town would be unsatisfying, and all those Feruchemical spikes wasted on Inquisitors. She would avenge her defeat personally once she was strong enough. One ally would be welcome though, and the thought of that traitor Kais being betrayed in turn was too delicious to pass up. Once spiked, Count Olaf had been more than willing to work with her. Nothing could stop them from hunting down the Synod and taking their powers for her own. Faleast (Ashbringer) was a Spiked Skimmer! Leidene has spiked Olaf and fled! Frebarind is free of Spiked, and the village has been saved. Congratulations on your victory. I am tired, so expect a full post-mortem later. Until then, I would like to thank my co-GM, @Kasimir, for pitching in with excellent writing and snark, and of course @Devotary of Spontaneity, our IM, who was equally instrumental to the development of the story. Both contributed large sections to this final writeup. And, of course, I would like to thank all of you for playing, especially the people who took part in the first edition and were crazy enough to give me a second spin with this ruleset. I appreciate y’all and hope to see you again in future games. Doc Links: [url=https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1PEsDd3rO330uqlhD62tTOr1nfV4Xkv4MmTz7fY1ulc4]Master Spreadsheet[/url] [url=https://docs.google.com/document/d/17U2vhQ6fTpcY2h6iAS_GCTPs9Q65Vmijr-q2LSbTF8c]The Synod[/url] [url=https://docs.google.com/document/d/1GDB5MNxBS7DeZ3wGHi8_djV2CU6ZBstXHc5rJm-RFP0]The Sign of Fire (spec doc)[/url] [url=https://docs.google.com/document/d/1URwVqvF8EFeK223injQmFNDAC3S4mL7Q9fY1SJzYj3c]Spiked Doc[/url] Final Player List: 1. Ashbringer as Faleast, a town crier surprisingly enthusiastic about announcing woeful tidings and most bitter lamentation as the destroyer comes upon us Spiked Skimmer 2. The Unknown Novel as ExMach Inadeus, an otherworldly visitor and luck epic who claims power over chromium…at the very least Village Brute 3. Matrim’s Dice as Jeral, a older gentleman who recklessly flouts the local gambling laws in hope of one day buying that gold-hilted cane-sword he covets Village Archivist 4. Steeldancer as Steel, a street beggar with a shadowy past and a desire to one day join the Tathingdwen Tautological Society of Tautology Synod Village Sentry 5. Archer as Stann, a clerk with patchily dyed blue hair and immaculately maintained blue flipbooks Village Sparker; Synod 6. _Stick_ as Stick, Treasurer of the Tathingdwen Tautological Society of Tautology Spiked Full Feruchemist 7. Elandera as Eran, an old woman who misses her twin sister who lives outside Tathingdwen and hopes her garden is doing okay Synod Village Steelrunner 8. StrikerEZ as Vardenwith, a Terris steward in training who is sadly not catching on very well Village Brute; Synod 9. JNV as Venel “Sparky,” a noble kid who occasionally gets too emotional for their own good Spiked Sentry 10. Araris Valerian as Artwyn, a tired old carpenter Village Full Feruchemist 11. xinoehp512 as X the Executioner, a middle-aged lady who yells at her four bloodhounds in a thick accent Village Skimmer 12. Alvron as Izzy Dedyet, who promises she has reformed her ways Village Sparker 13. Illwei as Eiwlil, an avid Jaist missionary who emphasises vigorous head-shaking in her preaching Village Skimmer; Synod

I thought Devo’s break tank was taking the place of the QF this cycle. I’ll pass and let Xino run, though—I doubt I’ll have the changes I want done in time to get a game up in the next day or two.

Game is over! Stay tuned for the aftermath, which will last…however long it needs to. Kas is busy and I am tired. But we hope to have it up as soon as possible. Thank you to everyone for playing!

Day Four: Brief Candle Night fell on a sombre settlement. Eran kindled a light, and set the candle to the lamp, which burned bright and clean. Then, she set about tending to her four new acquisitions. There had been no other alternative, not really. One of the dogs dozed on the floorboards, legs flailing as though it dreamed of rabbits, perhaps, and was giving chase in its sleep. Another two were chasing each other about the kitchen, as though you could get used to anything, Eran supposed, even the death of X. The last lay its head down and whined, softly. Frebarind had executed X, and it had seemed like the right thing to do, the sensible thing, because the agents of the Inquisition were turning out to be canny and dangerous. But X had been innocent, after all. They hadn’t found a single spike on her, only her ironminds. And as much as X’s bloodthirst was terrifying, she’d left behind four forlorn dogs, all of whom needed tending to, and that was something Eran could do. A sense of responsibility, perhaps. She’d had a dog, when she was younger, she and her sister growing up together in the outskirts of Tathingdwen, and something about X’s dogs had drawn out that thread of memory. And she was older now, and Era was far away enough in Tathingdwen, and for all Eran’d thought of paying her a visit, things happened, they always did, and she was old enough and tired enough that the canal trip to Tathingdwen seemed an insurmountable distance. And she was lonely, and she missed Era, and perhaps that was reason enough. If this ended, Eran thought, half-prayer, if this ended, if she was still alive, if she saw through the end of this, she would make the trip down to Tathingdwen after all. No matter how tiring it was. No matter how Tathingdwen felt like a world away. She would visit her sister. And—faint surprise flavouring the thought—she would take the dogs with her. All four of them. Leidene was running out of places to hide. The operation had been a complete failure so far. The Steel Inquisition was expecting results, but she hadn’t managed to collect a single charged spike from any of the many Ferrings in this miserable town. All she’d had to do was collect one Feruchemical power in a Spike, just one to prove that this town was a hotbed of Feruchemists, and the Steel Inquisition would have all the reason they needed to come pouring in, but even that simple task was beyond her grasp. It was time to plan out her next steps. The last time she’d left her quarters was cleaning out the evidence from Stick’s and Sparky’s homes and collecting the spikes from their corpses. With all the townsfolk patrolling the streets day and night, the risk of being seen and recognised as an outsider was far too high. She had to leave now, before the net became inescapable, and tie off any loose ends before then. Anyone caught leaving would be subject to as much scrutiny and suspicion as the new visitor had received. Only the fact that Landis had personally vouched for him had saved him from X’s fate, and quite a few villagers had voiced support for executing both of them. Nobody would be voicing support for her anytime soon, even if she sold out every last Spiked in this town. They were useless colleagues and security risks besides, but perhaps they could still prove useful, as a distraction if nothing else. If there was any possibility that continuing to ally with them would net her a charged Spike, she couldn’t afford to sever ties yet. There was one other thing she could try besides trusting in the skills of the Spiked she’d been assigned to work with. She recognised the newcomer as Kais, a trusted member of House Jerzy. She’d been estranged from her House for years, but Jerzy was a staunch ally and perhaps Kais would be as well. Him being friendly with Landis was a bad sign, but he wouldn’t be the first Steel Inquisition agent to establish a rapport with Terris leadership. If she could get him on her side, they could see how well Landis’s gold stood up to methylmercury before claiming a spike from him. If Kais opposed her then or later, well, two corpses were better than one. Now where to look for Landis and Kais? The Synod chamber was out of the question. His antiquities store was a fine place to start. The only other place that came to mind was the infirmary. Landis had been observed travelling there with Stann in tow, and every member of the Synod had left shortly afterwards. Even if she didn’t find Landis, any of the other Synod members could be used as proof if she managed to slay one. Where to go? Even disguised, being out at night would be hazardous. She could only risk visiting one location. With a heavy cloak obscuring all her features, a pair of uncharged spikes, a poisoned dart loaded with ten more and their vial of poison stored away, and her goldminds as filled as much as they could get, Leiden left the safety of her lodgings, hoping she’d made the right choice. “What the hell was that?” Kais wanted to know. He’d dealt with his share of angry people, but dealing with a crowd in a killing mood was a complication beyond what he had expected when the Synod had first instructed him to ascertain the situation in Frebarind. Landis sighed. “The mood in that square…I’ve not seen anything quite like it in a long time.” Kais had presented his documents to Landis—the ordinary ones, and the ones etched with the marks for authenticity and for authority, meant to indicate that Kais in this situation was moving with the full blessing of the Synod. “They killed her,” Kais said, flatly. “They killed her without arrest, without trial, without any investigation. What I saw in that square…it was a witch burning, Landis.” “Don’t be dramatic,” Landis snapped. “We’ve been dealing with killings for weeks now, and the Spiked were getting bolder.” He ran a frazzled hand through his hair. “Ias, Pashan, Radur, and Hazen were weeks apart, and then days. And then they began killing every night. No one in Frebarind felt safe.” “And do they feel safe now?” “No,” Landis said, dismissively. “But that’s good. Fear is what kept us alive. Fear of the Spiked, of their machinations, of their ability to hide among us, like worms infesting the rotten core of an apple…Fear kept us vigilant. And fear kept us strong. Frebarind has identified two of the Steel Inquisition’s agents now, and is ready to find the last one.” He could have argued. Should have argued, in fact. There was a proper way to do things, and Landis’s methods were harsh, and even if Kais respected the fact they were effective, you had to draw the line somewhere. But those last words. They caught his attention, and drew it, and held it. “The last one?” Kais asked. “What do you mean?” “What else would I mean?” Landis asked, irritably. “We’re closing in on the last Spiked.” “Didn’t you know?” Kais asked, slowly. “I suppose that document was lost, or destroyed—it was enciphered, at least, so it wouldn’t be the end of the world if it was intercepted, but…” “What?” demanded Landis. “What is it?” “There is a fourth,” Kais said. “A noblewoman. We haven’t been able to discover her name, but we have become aware of her presence in the region surrounding Frebarind.” He shook his head. “It isn’t over yet, Landis. In fact, I’m afraid it’s only just begun.” After the mob had died down and X had been…taken away, Artwyn felt the tiredness he had shaken off last night creep back into his bones. He really was too old to be going around solving murders and getting tangled up in the affairs of the youth that ran the Synod nowadays. No Laughing Salmon for him tonight. No checking up on orders, hoping that the Synod would do some of the work to give him a timetable on when he’d be paid his boxings, in the midst of a structural collapse in the fabric of this small Terris village. None of that. He wouldn’t even think about it. It was back to his shop, up to the bedroom on his creaky joints, and then down into his bed. Plan made, he strode along the street. He was in no particular rush that night, so he stored a bit of speed and strength, leaning on his walking-cane as he hobbled back. He saw Eran herding her new acquisitions and smiled slightly, not knowing whether at her or himself. The bloodhounds would have been fun for him thirty years ago. Now? He’d be flatlined if they caught so much as the whiff of a squirrel. Eran would too. She was probably older than he was, if some of her more outlandish claims were to be believed. Still, he was happy for her. Had to be happy for someone, and after watching her for a while with Tin, she showed none of the tell-tale indicators of being Spiked, so Artwyn figured he’d make as much an ally of her as he could. He slowed briefly, wondering if he should talk, then realised she probably had her own hands full. He stomped back to his shop. Some people could rejoice in animal companionship. Others would have to settle for living alone. Artwyn thought he knew what type of person he was. He turned a simple brass key in the lock and let himself in, letting it close behind him with a soft click. In the excitement of the day, he’d left many of his tools sitting out, which he quickly put back in their places, humming to himself as he worked by the light of the dim candle in the corner. Once his benches were cleared, he braced himself to ascend the ladder. Pinching out the candle—no need to leave fire hazards around—he tapped senses and strength, preparing himself mentally. He reached out his hand to grab one side of the ladder, and paused. It had brushed against a finished piece of wood—one he hadn’t gotten out in a long while. It was crammed into the shelving unit next to the stairs, intentionally forgotten, as Artwyn didn’t particularly like the memory. But it had surfaced, so, with reluctance, he withdrew the square box, as he always did when he touched it. It was, of course, a finely carved chess set. His son’s favourite hobby. He’d designed and cut and sanded and finished the board, as well as each of the thirty-two pieces. They were still smooth and glossy. Never really used. But that was what happened when you made gifts which couldn’t be delivered. Would never be delivered. The chessmen sat in their holsters, anticipating a day when they could roam free to be sacrificed and die and win a glorious battle. Artwyn had seen the beauty in it, himself, when he was younger. He’d seen the beauty when he’d introduced the game to his son, even if the younger man thrashed him every time once he turned nine. Now that he’d been reported missing in a war down south? Artwyn could see nothing redeeming in warfare. He’d tried to learn, of course. Tried to understand why a boy raised in the Terris Dominance would want to seek glory and adventure in the feuding rivalries which had their epicentre in Luthadel. But Artwyn hadn’t wanted to be one of those overbearing fathers. He had let his son carve his own path, make his choices and his own way forward. He had let him do what he thought to be right. If that meant being a soldier further south? He would accept it. And it had cost him his life. Sighing, he went to put the set back on the shelf and just store every ounce of wakefulness in him to get to sleep. Work was exhausting. Work, plus the guilt of killing a woman who had likely done nothing at all, plus guilt from having survived his son, was triply exhausting, and it didn’t let you sleep. It was all really quite unfair. But something gave him pause, his thoughts wandering as he stood on the middle rung of the ladder. He couldn’t afford to keep ignoring such messages from the past. Frebarind, his home, had begun to tear itself apart. It was losing precious lives. Sundering families. Perhaps that was what had always bothered Artwyn about the daily proceedings, even when they found Spiked. Of course, it was equally bad the Spiked themselves were robbing Terrisman of their senses, and sometimes their lives. It had to stop. He would never let that happen again to anyone he knew. And he would not let the families, or the town, wallow in despair. He could do something, make something. He jotted a note to himself, then stuck it to the top of the chess set, placing it squarely in the centre of his workbench. He would take his short rest. But tomorrow, the work of consolation began. No one was attacked! Eran (Elandera) has received four bloodhounds, and promises to take extra good care of the doggos. Day Four has begun! It will end in about 46 hours, on Friday 10 June at 10:00 PM EDT (-4:00 UTC). There is an Exe today, with no vote minimum. Once again, if you wish to tap or fill, please PM us sooner rather than later. Two important votes, in addition to the red exe vote: If players wish, I will shorten this Day turn (or any subsequent Day turn) by 24 hours with supermajority agreement (2/3rds or more of players). If you wish the Day turn to be shortened, please make this request known in purple. If today is shortened, it will end at 10:00 PM EDT (-4:00 UTC) tonight, Thursday 9 June. A memorial for the slain of Frebarind is being created. Any design suggestions may be placed in orange and will be taken into consideration. No direct adversarial voting here unless y’all want to. Good luck! Player List: 1. Ashbringer as Faleast, a town crier surprisingly enthusiastic about announcing woeful tidings and most bitter lamentation as the destroyer comes upon us 2. The Unknown Novel as ExMach Inadeus, an otherworldly visitor and luck epic who claims power over chromium…at the very least Village Brute 3. Matrim’s Dice as Jeral, a older gentleman who recklessly flouts the local gambling laws in hope of one day buying that gold-hilted cane-sword he covets 4. Steeldancer as Steel, a street beggar with a shadowy past and a desire to one day join the Tathingdwen Tautological Society of Tautology 5. Archer as Stann, a clerk with patchily dyed blue hair and immaculately maintained blue flipbooks Village Sparker; Synod 6. _Stick_ as Stick, Treasurer of the Tathingdwen Tautological Society of Tautology Spiked Full Feruchemist 7. Elandera as Eran, an old woman who misses her twin sister who lives outside Tathingdwen and hopes her garden is doing okay 8. StrikerEZ as Vardenwith, a Terris steward in training who is sadly not catching on very well Village Brute; Synod 9. JNV as Venel “Sparky,” a noble kid who occasionally gets too emotional for their own good Spiked Sentry 10. Araris Valerian as Artwyn, a tired old carpenter 11. xinoehp512 as X the Executioner, a middle-aged lady who yells at her four bloodhounds in a thick accent Village Skimmer 12. Alvron as Izzy Dedyet, who promises she has reformed her ways 13. Illwei as Eiwlil, an avid Jaist missionary who emphasises vigorous head-shaking in her preaching Village Skimmer; Synod

Dawn take you all, and be stone to you!

Turn is over! Stand by to see who is right…and who is dead.

The former. All actions submitted are considered for the RNG on which kill goes through, and then the 50% chance is applied to the selected killer and his target.

Day Three: Stamped Out Jeral sat in the Laughing Salmon, plain-hilted cane-sword laid out on the table before him. Izzy, flush with her new boxings from the watch, was nursing a wine at the bar. Jeral wasn’t sure he felt like celebrating. Part of him felt cravenly relieved that Sparky had turned out to be Spiked after all. Killing felt—alright, he supposed, if you knew and could accept that the other person had been Spiked and sent from the Steel Ministry to kill in Frebarind. But he’d never killed before. The cane-sword had always been about self-defence, and he’d never found a fight he hadn’t been able to talk his way out of, and thieves usually went to look for easier targets after you’d thwacked them a few times, or cut them up a few times. The feel of his cane-sword cutting through Sparky though, in that last fatal swing… It stuck with him. Lodged in his mind, like a loose fishbone. For the first time in a long while, Phelan hadn’t confiscated his lucky dice. Jeral hadn’t come to the Laughing Salmon to roll the dice, to make his own luck. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t find himself thinking about the golden-hilted cane-sword, or desiring it. He didn’t find himself pressed to save up the boxings for it, and he didn’t even think about how Izzy was so much closer to purchasing the cane-sword than he was. Not that Izzy seemed the type to go for cane-swords, golden-hilted or otherwise. Jeral had never killed before. A single stroke that spanned the moment life crossed over to death, and Jeral decided that if the Lord Ruler was kind, if the forgotten gods of old Terris were kind, he would never again need to draw the cane-sword to kill. Enlisting the inhabitants of Frebarind to root out the agents of the Steel Inquisition had worked wonders. In only two days they’d found the Frebarind Finisher and her accomplice while the Synod hadn’t managed to track down any of the killers in weeks. It was too much to hope they’d found all their agents, Sparky had mentioned doing the will of an Inquisitor and nobody had found the spikes that had been removed from Stick yet. However, Raven decided she was much better at hiding her identity from people who’d want to kill her than identifying people doing the same and turned her attention to her analysis of the poison that killed Inadeus. A search of Stick’s and Sparky’s belongings hadn’t turned up the delivery method, a small needle or dart or knife judging from the puncture wound. In fact, their possessions had been quite sparse. On some level this made sense; Stick had been in dire financial straits and would have sold off what she could live without, and Sparky had been too young to have inherited his family’s wealth. On the other hand, the lack of any kind of spikes or poison or weaponry in either of their lodgings meshed with their being other killers who had cleaned up after them. But that was a problem for the people of Frebarind and later-Raven. For now, the problem was that she only had the trace amounts of poison she’d been able to harvest from Inadeus’s bloodstream. There wasn’t enough for her to run usual tests when encountered unidentified substances, but a small-scale boiling point test would be a good start. Such a wide temperature range for the boiling point suggested an impure solution, but Raven had been agonisingly sure to isolate the poison from any other substances in the bloodstream. Perhaps the poison was inherently impure, a mixture of several different compounds instead of one completely unknown one. If that was the case, she might be able to replicate it. First she’d have to wait for the boiled mixture to condense back into a liquid and then boil it again to separate the mixture into its component parts. She sighed. If only brass Feruchemy could extend to other objects. She’d recovered almost all the poison, having to wait longer than usual since every last drop was valuable, when three of the four other associate Synod members came into her lab. “What is it?” Raven hissed, gesturing to all of them to stay out of the way. “If you’re done here, we have need of that poison,” Headband said. “Of course I’m not done. Do you see how little there is? I’m not going to waste my one sample. What do you need it for anyway? The people of Frebarind are doing just fine without us.” “We all feel it’s for the best if we took care of Synod business personally.” “Took care of… wait. Is that why Stann’s not here? You’re going to kill them? Or are you trying to get me to support a coup against the leader who’s gotten results?” “No, we still support Landis,” Half-mask assured her. “It’s Stann we want to kill. We took a vote and we all agreed,” Half-mask said, and No-mask nodded in assent. “Even Stann came around in the end. “That doesn’t make sense,” Raven argued. “Why would Stann agree to die if he’s working with the Inquisition? Where’s Landis? And why do you want this poison to kill them?” “That’s exactly what Stann wants us to think,” Headband explained. “Pretend they’re on our side and are willing to cooperate just to get us to lower our guard. Landis agrees with us. ‘We cannot allow any threats to remain in our town. Every option must be exhausted.’ He’s making sure Stann doesn’t try to run while we got you.” “We need the poison,” No-mask spoke up, “because Stann is a respected clerk in town. If we’re wrong, we can’t afford to have the Synod be blamed for their death. Any reports of infighting will lead to chaos. By using a method known to be the province of the Spiked, we can blame them for Stann’s death. Of course, if we’re right and Stann is Spiked, then we can claim credit.” “That’s a lot of hedging for someone you're so convinced is working against us,” Raven said. “If you’re that unsure, why are you killing them?” The visible side of Half-mask’s face tightened. “We’ve known Stann for much longer than you have, and a lot longer than we’ve known you. Landis says that even he doesn’t know who you are or where you came from, just that Hazen told him you were a certified Keeper. I keep track of every Full Feruchemist we have, and you don’t fit any of their descriptions.” “Oh, well in that case if you want to be able to pin Stann’s death on the Spiked, I can certainly help. Let me just pick out a spike from my extensive collection and I can stab them to death a few times.” “That’s enough,” Headband shouted. “Raven, you’re not a suspect. But Stann does need to die. We can’t allow for any possibility of the Synod being compromised.” “Fine,” Raven sighed. “Bring them here. I’ll need to do a post-mortem examination anyway, and I need more time to reproduce this poison and ensure a lethal dose. “I’ll remain here to monitor your progress,” Half-mask insisted, as No-mask and Headband left. Half-mask may have suspected her of being involved with the Steel Inquisition, but having a second person to help identify poison components made the process much faster after distillation was complete. By the time Headband and No-mask returned with Landis and Stann, they had managed to separate out a silvery metal with a remarkably low melting point. “Ah, I recognise that,” Landis said. “I’ve made it a point to collect and identify any metals that might be useful for Feruchemy, and that one has no such use and is far too lethal to warrant further testing. I trust that you’ve made enough progress to be able to reproduce this toxin?” “I can’t be sure. We haven’t conclusively identified the other ingredients yet, but I’m confident that with further study -” she broke off as Stann suddenly broke free from Landis’s grasp and charged the lab table. Raven and No-mask instinctively assumed defensive postures, but Stann wasn’t heading for either of them. Instead, they grabbed the vial of mercury and raised it in a toast. “I’m Spiked after all!” they said, and drained the contents. “Joyful lamentations!” Faleast cried out, from his usual place in the market square. It was getting late, and the town crier would soon stop his work and return home. “Praise the Ja!” Eiwlil intoned, shaking her head aggressively. “Joyful lamentations! Noble Venel was the accomplice of the Frebarind Finisher!” “Praise the Ja!” Eiwlil preached. “Praise the Ja, for the Ja led me to Venel! Yesterday, a bird landed on the roof of the Venel manor and I knew it to be a sign from the Ja, who is smiling on Frebarind! Praise the Ja!” “Sometimes, a bird is just a bird,” Artwyn groused. The amount of foolishness in Frebarind today was astounding to the old curmudgeon, and he still wasn’t sure how being in good physical condition meant he was some sort of unnatural liar who was working with the Steel Ministry. “Praise the Ja!” Eiwlil snapped. “The Ja spoke to me through the bird!” “Joyful lamentations!” Faleast called out, one last time. He looked about him, but the market square had begun to empty out. Even the grisly affair of the Frebarind Finisher was not enough to keep the inhabitants of Frebarind filling the square after dusk had begun to fall. He began to gather his things, taking a swig from a copper flask. Artwyn locked up his shop for the night. He glanced about his shop, taking in the half-finished cabinet ordered from a count in Luthadel new to the position of House Lord, the tables and chairs that Phelan had requested. Something about a bar brawl in the Laughing Salmon the last week that had broken a number of Phelan’s chairs. It didn’t matter to Artwyn. Boxings were boxings, and Phelan was a frequent customer. Unlike the intricate joinery of the count’s cabinet, the tables and chairs at the Salmon were of the same design, and sanding the wood was a repetitive and soothing task. Enough for the night, though. Artwyn leaned on his staff. Truth was, he wasn’t as young as he’d used to be, and the shenanigans of the day—the running, breaking down Sparky’s door—had tired him out, even if he wasn’t about to show it. Someone had to keep Stann on their toes, after all. Time was, you could go out in Frebarind without having to be armed. But an old man needed his walking stick, and Artwyn was good at delivering discouraging thwacks to thieves. He figured the same went for any Spiked still in Frebarind. “Praise the Ja!” Eiwlil called out, as regular as clockwork. “The Ja has delivered! Praise the Ja!” The square was emptying out, and Artwyn set across it. He had lodgings above the shop, but it felt like a night to head to the Laughing Salmon, to talk to Phelan about his ordered furniture. He narrowed his eyes at Steel, who sat on an unrolled straw mat, his copper bowl placed before him. People seemed to have been generous today; perhaps they were in a good mood, now that the Frebarind Finisher appeared to have been found, and Jerald’d done for Venel. “Good evening to you,” Steel said. Artwyn nodded to him. Wasn’t sure there was much that needed to be said. A bunch of people in Frebarind were suspicious of Steel. There were whispers that Steel had too many connections to the Frebarind underworld, that if you wanted a hired knife, or a poisoner, or a smuggler, Steel was the one you talked to, and he could set you up with someone else. A thought occurred to him. “Weren’t you trying to join the Tathingdwen Tautological Society of Tautology?” Artwyn asked, slowly. Was that a glint of something sharp in Steel’s sleeve? A knife? “Sort of,” Steel said, scratching at his chin. “See, the thing is, Stick promised me some boxings if I joined. Something about a recruitment drive, she needed more members in Frebarind, or something. Good thing I never showed up for that first meeting, eh? For all I know, she’d’ve kidnapped me and put spikes in me or something.” “Or something,” Artwyn said, softly. “You never went?” “Never had the time to,” Steel said. “What do you think, man? I have my own things to do.” They stared at each other, carpenter to beggar. Stann’d pushed for Artwyn’s store to be ransacked, and now everyone was whispering about how defensive and prickly Steel was. Suspicion was like that, Artwyn thought. It covered everyone like sawdust. A loud cry pierced the night. “Praise the Ja!” Eiwlil shouted. “Eiwlil?” Steel asked. Both of them ran; Steel scooping up his bowl and mat, and Artwyn with surprising speed. He hadn’t thought he had another run left in him, but it turned out that when someone was screaming like that, he did. It was the sort of scream that suggested that something was terribly wrong, the sort of scream that you made if someone was trying to kill you or something awful like that. A dark shape lashed out at Eiwlil, and Artwyn caught the glint of a knife in the flames of the streetlamps. “Praise thJa!” Eiwlil spat out, shaking her head. “The Ja has saved me, praise the Ja!” The dark shape chuckled, and stabbed at Eiwlil again. Artwyn could not make out how badly she had been injured but figured if she still had breath to praise the Ja, then she probably wasn’t too badly off. He struck out with his staff. There was a loud crack, and a cry of pain, and the bloodied knife dropped to the pavingstones of the street, where Steel scooped it up. That glint up his sleeve that Artwyn had seen earlier must have been a knife after all, as it was in his left hand. “Too late,” whispered the attacker, and he smashed a vial on the ground, and then Artwyn was choking, his eyes watering. He could hear Steel coughing, and he could hear wheezing, laboured gasps that might have been Eiwlil struggling to breathe. He couldn’t see through that thick cloud of fumes—what had the attacker done? “Careful,” Steel managed, and then was wracked with coughs again. “Poison?” “Praise…the Ja!” Eiwlil gasped, defiantly. “No,” Steel said, which was good enough for Artwyn. But by the time the fumes from the mixture had cleared, Steel having pulled his shirt over his head and wet it with his waterskin to form some kind of improvised hood and mask, Eiwlil had bled out. Steel closed her staring eyes, his own gaze sombre. “There is another, then,” he said. Artwyn knew what he was talking about. Another Spiked. Yet another Spiked, infesting Frebarind like woodrot. But you had to make a clean end of it, or you’d be dealing with the infestation years out from now. “Looks like it,” said Artwyn. Eiwlil (Illwei) was killed! She was a Synod Village Skimmer! Stann (Archer) was assassinatedby the Synod! He was a Synod Village Sparker! Day Three has begun! It will end in approximately 47 hours, on Tuesday 7 June at 10:00 PM EDT (-4:00 UTC). There is an Exe today, with no vote minimum. Thank you once again to the wonderful @Kasimir and @Devotary of Spontaneity for some truly fantastic writeups. Everyone who enjoys them should go shower both of them with upvotes. Once again, if you wish to fill a metalmind, please contact us before doing something which will violate its fill conditions. Y’all know the drill by now. Good luck! Player List: 1. Ashbringer as Faleast, a town crier surprisingly enthusiastic about announcing woeful tidings and most bitter lamentation as the destroyer comes upon us 2. The Unknown Novel as ExMach Inadeus, an otherworldly visitor and luck epic who claims power over chromium…at the very least Village Brute 3. Matrim’s Dice as Jeral, a older gentleman who recklessly flouts the local gambling laws in hope of one day buying that gold-hilted cane-sword he covets 4. Steeldancer as Steel, a street beggar with a shadowy past and a desire to one day join the Tathingdwen Tautological Society of Tautology 5. Archer as Stann, a clerk with patchily dyed blue hair and immaculately maintained blue flipbooks Village Sparker; Synod 6. _Stick_ as Stick, Treasurer of the Tathingdwen Tautological Society of Tautology Spiked Full Feruchemist 7. Elandera as Eran, an old woman who misses her twin sister who lives outside Tathingdwen and hopes her garden is doing okay 8. StrikerEZ as Vardenwith, a Terris steward in training who is sadly not catching on very well Village Brute; Synod 9. JNV as Venel “Sparky,” a noble kid who occasionally gets too emotional for their own good Spiked Sentry 10. Araris Valerian as Artwyn, a tired old carpenter 11. xinoehp512 as X the Executioner, a middle-aged lady who yells at her four bloodhounds in a thick accent 12. Alvron as Izzy Dedyet, who promises she has reformed her ways 13. Illwei as Eiwlil, an avid Jaist missionary who emphasises vigorous head-shaking in her preaching Village Skimmer; Synod