Fifth Scholar

Cycle closed! Writeup will be up in a little while.

Looks like the cycle’s over! Writeup to come in about an hour.

Valwyn, esteemed member of the Terris Synod and the most successful and lucrative rug merchant in the land, was most happy with the recent upturn in business. Of all the Spiked, he was the one who had truly settled into the aura of Tathingdwen, with his wares being peddled throughout the city, and his position as an influential, capitalistic aristocrat firmly entrenched. Most especially pleased was he when Marne had called the Synod into the safehouse with the rough wooden flooring, by his own suggestion. A full purse indeed made for a light heart, and Valwyn’s heart was especially light as he strolled down the quiet alleyways of Tathingdwen. His disguise was complete—there was little reason to suspect him, and with a hand on the lever of the Terris economy, and a hand on its political lever—the Synod—he would ensure the victory of the Lord Ruler. As he walked towards his shop, a voice sounded behind him, a fell whisper carried by the night air. “Rug merchant,” came the sibilant hiss. Valwyn whirled around, scanning for the source of the rasping voice. “Did you ask for me?” he said, still looking for the intruder. He did not know who would dare disturb a Synod member on their nighttime walk, but the voice did not seem to harbour good intentions, and he would need to face his stalker. He turned, peering into the murky blackness of the night sky, seeing nothing. The whisper came again, its origin obscured by the shadows facing him. “Rug merchant...” the whisper still came. Valwyn shuddered. “Face me directly!” he challenged, then immediately felt foolish. Of course the man would not face him directly. He was a nighttime killer as well, and a good killer never let their victim respond. He tensed, then tapped Pewter, his adrenaline fueling his enhanced bulk. Stepping forward, he began to prowl in the general direction of the voice, issuing from near his shop. “Rug merchant,” a vehement and insisting voice sounded from beside him, malice dripping from every syllable. Startled, Valwyn whirled, but he could not stop the keen steel blade, wielded by a pink-gloved man, from swinging out of the unnatural shadow and taking off his head. It rolled, coming to a stop beside the door. A man with badly dyed pink leather gloves, from which a black steam rose and blended with the silver mist, stepped into the harsh glare of the streetlight surrounding him. His form radiated pure hatred, and his eyes were consumed by it. Slowly, the man removed his hood, bending down and plucking the object from underneath the forearm of Valwyn. He had known it, and this was mere confirmation. Working on the same Synod did not make one an ally. Grinning with the face of one whose beliefs have been vindicated, a thin Pewter spike was raised slowly into the air, its black silhouette blocking the street lamp. “You can never trust a rug merchant,” Darrel hissed one last time, as his form faded back into the mists and smoke. Izzy Dedyet knew that her fellow Synod members disapproved of her faith in the Gods of Luck and Chance. Though they never condemned her belief for fear of alienating a Full Feruchemist, Izzy’s colleagues had always pointedly ignored any suggestions that involved leaving matters up to chance. Worse, they had banned the sale of animal crackers after that one time a failed sacrifice had caused the fire to consume their meeting place. After weeks of waiting, the merchant from the Western dominance had finally arrived, bringing with him a full crate of animal crackers. A brief use of steel had been sufficient for Izzy to rush out to meet the merchant, then return without anyone noticing her absence. As night fell, Izzy consulted her book. She was planning to kill a Spiked tonight, and intended to call upon the Gods of Luck and Chance to ensure that she made the right decision. Shockingly, the book provided no tips on determining whether a Terris was secretly a servant of the Lord Ruler. It did, however, provide a ritual designed to help its user complete a personal quest. Izzy decided that the utter annihilation of the spiked counted as a worthy mission. Carefully, Izzy took five boxes of crackers out of the crate. Horse, dog, mistwraith, koloss, and skaa. Izzy frowned at that last one, but the book was very specific. A horse guaranteed speed, that Izzy would be able to kill her target before anyone else did. The dog to ensure that her victim would lack loyalty to the Synod. The mistwraith, both a symbol of fear and, along with Mistborn, the unquestioned rulers of the night. The koloss sacrifice would allow her to smash through any defense, though few but another full Feruchemist should be able to challenge her. Finally, the skaa, representing the insignificance of her life in comparison to the good of Tathingdwen. One by one, Izzy placed the five boxes of animal crackers strategically around the ritual pyre. The ritual was complete, and Izzy sat back to hope her hard work would pay off. The Gods of Luck and Chance were subtle, never directly interfering in the lives of mortals, choosing instead to manipulate events beyond the reach of sapient thought. Nevertheless, as the fire began to expand and consume the animal crackers, Izzy remembered that Snip had died for making a quilt that, judging by the poor ferrings innocence, had been intended to frame the man. Yet, there was another shop in Tathingdwen that performed embroidery. Why commission a quilt to frame an innocent without acquiring a rug for the same purpose? Perhaps because the rug maker was evil. It was worth checking out, at any rate. Tapping speed, Izzy made her way to Valwyn’s shop. Izzy arrived at the Pulling the Rug just in time to see a pink gloved man pull a spike out of Valwyn’s corpse. So the Gods of Luck and Chance had been right, after all. While she was here, she supposed she should search the store for any clues, or perhaps Valwyn’s fellow traitors. Tapping pewter, she walked up to the door and ripped it out of its hinges. It was dark inside the Pulling the Rug, but the darkness was no match for tin-enhanced senses. Izzy strode confidently through the empty store, pausing when she heard a noise from the back of the shop. The stone door opened easily, revealing a wooden room with only a large circular stone block for furnishing. The room contained a solitary individual, though only their head and shoulders stuck out from the hole in the floor. Izzy recognized them at once, but didn’t have time to say anything before the figure grinned, set the room alight with a torch they had been holding in their right hand, then disappeared down the hole. Izzy tapped speed again in an attempt to catch up to the Spiked, but she was too slow. The spiked dragged the stone block back over the hole and disappeared underground. Tapping pewter in an attempt to move the block proved ineffective, as the block fit so smoothly there was no place for her to get a grip. She checked the way she’d come in, only to find it similarly shut. By now, the flames had consumed most of the room. The only safe place now was the stone trapdoor, so Izzy stood on it, jumped in the air, and tapped every last bit of weight stored in her ironminds. The floor collapsed underneath her, revealing the extensive cavern the Spiked had evidently excavated underneath Tathingdwen. After a brief moment of surprise, she began to fill her ironminds to cushion her fall, but she still landed far more heavily than a coinshot would have. As she attempted to regain her balance, a blade pierced her from behind. Izzy gasped inaudibly and tapped gold, but the wound failed to close around the oddly colored sword. The next blow took off her head. Alvron was slain by the Spiked! He was a Village Full Feruchemist, and a member of the Synod! Thanks to Devotary for his death scene. Araris Valerian was killed! He was a Spiked Pewter Ferring and Filthy Rug Merchant, and was a member of the Synod! Day 3 has begun! It will end in seventy-two hours, on Sunday the 19th of August, at 9 PM EDT. Player List: 1. Rathmaskal as Laksam, an ash sweeper from the Eastern streets 2. Xinoehp512 as Ereheman Tresni, a man with his priorities backwards 3. Steeldancer as Steel, the fastest sculpture of a squid wrought entirely in steel in all of Tathingdwen 4. Randuir as Zihel, a worldhopper looking for his twin brother 5. I think I am here as Itiah VI, a missionary on a mission Village Steel Ferring 6. Bort as Tee Mai, a tailor specialising in offensive clothing 7. Cadmium Compounder as Ethin Hallil, a cadmium Feruchemist and SCUBA diver 8. _Stick_ as Stick, President of the Tathingdwen Tautological Society of Tautology 9. Jondesu as Remart, a man back from vacation armed with vaguely ominous statements 10. Kidpen as HanTor, a lonely Kandra that’s definitely not Spiked, nope 11. Elandera as Era, an old woman who claims to have been alive before the reign of the Lord Ruler Village Pewter Ferring 12. Snipexe as Snip, a fabric cutter in the local quilt shop Village Iron Ferring 13. Worldhopper from Yolen as Tarin, a Sparker with a wonderful, awful idea 14. Alvron as Izzy Dedyet, who is not dead, feels happy, and thinks she'll go for a walk Village Full Feruchemist 15. Phatterner as Citona Vinid, a seemingly faithful follower of the Lord Ruler 16. Ark1002 as Kardik, a Full Feruchemist 17. Araris Valerian as Valwyn, an honest rug merchant Spiked Pewter Ferring; Rug Merchant 18. Coop772 as Irion, a Full Feruchemist with hidden potential Village Copper Ferring 19. Sart, a stuttering Nameless Also, by the way, @Devotary of Spontaneity needs to post something so everyone can upvote her for all the work she’s put in to this game. She’s been a tremendous help with writeups and sending out PMs and logging actions for the entire game. If she doesn’t post anything soon, please indiscriminately upvote her recent posts.

This cycle is closed.

You are correct, of course. Rollover could have gone much better had I remembered to add a vote count. So here it is: Snipexe (4) phattemer (2) Xinoehp512 (1) Kidpen (1) Worldhopper from Yolen (1)

A full day had passed and the village was no closer to finding the Spiked. The death of an innocent Synod member had made them cautious; with few ferrings willing to commit and stick to their decisions. After an initial flurry against Zihel was quelled by his appearance, the villagers instead decided to go after the quieter inhabitants. Even if their chosen target was innocent, at least they could avoid a repeat of the previous day’s fiasco. They would not have to face the shame of ripping into the flesh of a man who had strenuously declared his innocence until his last breath. Instead, they went after Snip, a ferring who worked all day in the local embroidery shop. The rumors began to spread again. Perhaps the Spiked among them weren’t pierced with massive pieces of metal like the Inquisitors were. Smaller spikes would help the infiltrators escape detection; smaller spikes like the quilting needles present in abundance at Snip’s place of employment. With no particular leads, a few of the braver ferrings walked over to Reap What You Sew and found Snip finishing up a quilt depicting Irion’s bloody demise. Despite his protestations that he was doing it for an anonymous client, Snip was dragged to the village center, the quilt in tow. Marne and the Synod had gathered up the village by this time, and the accused was led up to a stage, well away from any potential mobs. “We don’t want any preemptive violence this time,” Marne announced. “Snip will be thoroughly checked for spikes, and he is not to be harmed unless any are found. We cannot afford to continue killing our own.” From the midst of the crowd, a lone voice shouted out, “Be sure you search every last part of him. For all we know, he could be tainted by a sewing needle hidden under his metalminds.” “Rest assured,” Marne intoned, “if Snip is spiked we will find out.” He turned to the hapless prisoner and began removing his metalminds. They were iron, he noted, largely in the form of rings, with the large bracers being the obvious exception. Tapping sight, Marne began to examine Snip’s exposed flesh. He frowned as he examined Snip’s earrings. He reached out and grabbed one. Yes, that was indeed made of iron. While Marne didn’t know how the details of how spikes worked, he recognised the earring as a metalmind. “Oh!” said Snip, panicking as he realized what Marne was holding. “That’s not a spike, I just like to keep some of my metalminds attached to me. Wearing iron rings on my fingers makes it hard to sew sometimes. You know how it is.” Instead of responding, Marne ripped out the pair of earrings, then turned to the rest of the Synod. “Do any of you know whether pieces of metal this small could be enough to turn him evil?” Leidene nodded. “I have done some rudimentary study of the Inquisitors, and I have found no reason they couldn’t use an earring as a spike.” Still on the stage, Snip paled and started to run, obviously filling iron to make him light on his feet. The attempt was doomed to failure. A brief burst of steel enhanced speed allowed Marne to catch him, and pewter sufficed to pick him up and drag him back to the stage when Snip tapped iron. The villagers was murmuring now. Surely, only the guilty would run. Even as Marne resumed his attempt to methodically find and remove every last metalmind, the crowd surged towards the stage, intent on performing the same actions in a decidedly quicker, and bloodier, way. They found no spikes except for the ones in the man’s tote bag, but by the time the mob dispersed Snipexe had been pierced more times than an Inquisitor. Olaf resented the Terris congregation. He resented the veiled looks of malice almost every man shot at him as he walked through the streets. He resented the mumbled words and hushed conversations as he passed by, with or without Marne. And he resented that he had nobody but himself to blame for it all. Sighing heavily and hefting Snip’s quilt, letting the fabric pass through his spindly fingers, Olaf contemplated how he might help the Terris, and more accurately Marne, stop the insanity that was running through the congregations. The public trials, reminiscent of witch-hunts, and the constant paranoia would reveal them to the Lord Ruler, regardless of whether or not the Spiked escaped Tathingdwen. Them. Olaf realised he had come to include himself in that “them.” Perhaps it was the work of Marne, who Olaf saw an upstanding and good man in, much like he viewed in Hadrian so long ago. Perhaps it was his lingering guilt, left over from before and tinged with the bitter remembrance, or lack thereof, of his brief time as a Spiked. Or maybe it was the feel of a group that actually had the best interests of its members at its heart. Not his circle of book-hoarders, which had endeavoured to protect a dead age with the vigour and persistence of a sect with lost importance, caring not for the members it used to achieve such a purpose; nor the Luthadel nobility, a careless and cannibalising lot that would rather kill themselves than the evils roaming in their midst. But these Terris seemed to genuinely fear for the destruction of their Synod, and want to protect each one from the tyrannical grasp of the Lord Ruler, even if that protection made him resent the distrust he received. That is what would make Olaf follow Marne in keeping this group alive. The slain man, Snip, was quite ordinary, from what Olaf had been able to find out from the Synod helpers he had been assigned. He had laboured in the quilt shop for most of his life, and had several pieces to his name, even though he was ostensibly just a fabric cutter. Turning over the half-finished quilt, Olaf was surprised at the level of detail the man had achieved with only a day to work. The blood was vivid, the sun was outlined in a garish red, and only Irion’s condemners were missing from the portrait of his death. Looking at it for a minute, Olaf took a sewing needle, turning it over in his hands. His helpers began to fidget, and he sighed again. “I’m not going to stick myself with this and kill all of you. Now, will one of you tell me how this thing works?” He held up the thimble and the grey thread, which dangled off the half-finished outline of a townsperson. One of his helpers stepped forward, a man with pink leather gloves. An odd choice, but at least the man would help. “I can!” he exclaimed, rubbing his hands excitedly. “Here, poke this part through the hole there, and pull it back up. Oops—that ripped it a bit. No big deal, just keep doing that until you have a rhythm, and keep going until you’ve made the outline.” The other helper frowned. “Darrel, I’m...not sure that’s how that works.” Darrel grinned. “Well, at least the man will be sewing plenty of chaos! Plus, I’m sure he’ll get it after a few hundred attempts. Here, man, you should actually wear that thimble.” Olaf accepted the advice with gratitude—his forefinger was already bleeding slightly from the sewing motion. Olaf sighed again. The Synod was on the verge of extinction, and he was spending his time in a quilting shop, finishing a masterpiece with skills he had just learned, aside two helpers who chatted more than assisted him. Yet Olaf felt that what he was doing had fundamental importance. Finishing this quilt was a way, maybe the only way, to make the others realise what they were doing, and for he himself to see the full extent of the situation before him. Only then could he help Marne to stop the violence spreading like poison through the Synod. Snipexe was lynched! He was a Village Iron Ferring (Skimmer)! Thanks again to Devotary for doing his death scene. Please shower her with upvotes. Night 2 has begun! It will end in about 24 hours at 9 PM EDT on Thursday, August 16. [url=https://www.pending.me.uk][/url] Player List: 1. Rathmaskal as Laksam, an ash sweeper from the Eastern streets 2. Xinoehp512 as Ereheman Tresni, a man with his priorities backwards 3. Steeldancer as Steel, the fastest sculpture of a squid wrought entirely in steel in all of Tathingdwen 4. Randuir as Zihel, a worldhopper looking for his twin brother 5. I think I am here as Itiah VI, a missionary on a mission Village Steel Ferring 6. Bort as Tee Mai, a tailor specialising in offensive clothing 7. Cadmium Compounder as Ethin Hallil, a cadmium Feruchemist and SCUBA diver 8. _Stick_ as Stick, President of the Tathingdwen Tautological Society of Tautology 9. Jondesu as Remart, a man back from vacation armed with vaguely ominous statements 10. Kidpen as HanTor, a lonely Kandra that’s definitely not Spiked, nope 11. Elandera as Era, an old woman who claims to have been alive before the reign of the Lord Ruler Village Pewter Ferring 12. Snipexe as Snip, a fabric cutter in the local quilt shop Village Iron Ferring 13. Worldhopper from Yolen as Tarin, a Sparker with a wonderful, awful idea 14. Alvron as Izzy Dedyet, who is not dead, feels happy, and thinks she'll go for a walk 15. Phatterner as Citona Vinid, a seemingly faithful follower of the Lord Ruler 16. Ark1002 as Kardik, a Full Feruchemist 17. Araris Valerian as Valwyn, an honest rug merchant 18. Coop772 as Irion, a Full Feruchemist with hidden potential Village Copper Ferring 19. Sart, a stuttering Nameless

Cycle is now closed!

Era stood in the center of her garden watching the sun set, remembering a time when that orb had burned yellow, unobscured by mist and ash. After Irion’s tragic death, she had wanted to calm herself by working in her garden, cultivating the ugly yet life-sustaining brown plants. When she’d been young, her garden had been truly beautiful, an area half the size of the entire village covered in colorful fruits and vivid vegetables. When the Lord Ruler had risen to power and robbed the plants of their color, she continued to work in her garden as though nothing had changed, though the work grew harder with each year. For decades, she had overseen the harvest of vegetables that helped keep the Terris self-sustaining. Now, some saboteur had destroyed her garden. The ash that covered the furrowed dirt wasn’t just the result of the constant precipitation that plagued her existence, it had been joined by the remnants of a fire that had scoured the results of her hard work. The crop was ruined, and it was too late in the season for a replanting. Losing crops was far from an uncommon experience, but Era had never seen her work deliberately destroyed before. No Feruchemist dependent on that food source would do such a thing. Era trusted Marne when he spread the word of intruders, and Irion’s violent murder had been a shock, but only now, gazing numbly at the blaze’s aftermath, did it truly sink in for Era that death had come to Tathingdwen. Sighing heavily, Era began the arduous process of cleaning up the fields. She was no Sentry, capable of staying up all night, but the familiar act of sweeping away ash was relaxing, helping her clear her mind. Tomorrow, she would have to inform the Synod of their upcoming food crisis, but for now she could simply cleanse her garden of the poison brought by the Lord Ruler and his minions. Though age had crept up on her, Era’s senses were still sharp. She heard footsteps behind her and whirled around, instinctively tapped a week’s worth of pewter. The familiar rush of power as muscle was added to her thin frame comforted her as she confronted the intruder. “An impressive display of might,” rasped the figure standing in front of her. “Do you plan to avenge your dearly departed crops?” “Is that an admission of guilt? Were you the one to set this fire?” “It was a mistake to gather everyone together for Irion’s trial earlier today. No guards to watch over the fields, the confusion of the proceedings, a nice warm evening, it was quite simple to sneak away and start a fire without anyone noticing.” Era rushed towards the silhouette, intent on tearing him apart for daring to destroy months of effort, threatening the livelihood of the entire village. Her focused rage blinded her to the surroundings, and she didn’t notice the second Spiked behind her until she saw its blade jutting out through her heart. “Don’t worry about your garden, aged warrior,” the first Spiked whispered as Era died. “I hear dried blood makes for an excellent fertilizer.” The red sun dipped below the horizon, its last rays harshly gleaming off the stiletto embedded within Irion. Subdued and still in shock, most of the Terris people accepted a bewildered Marne’s request to relax inside one of the larger safe houses, where many couches offered rest to the weary. The lucky few who came in first got the couches, falling into a deep slumber, while others crouched on the floor, reading books or shifting around uncomfortably. The rough wooden surface was abrasive enough that many turned to Valwyn, the rug merchant, who made good money selling his softer wares to the exhausted Terris. Slowly, the congregation all fell asleep, the weariness of the day catching up to them, as they strove to forget about Irion’s death, and acknowledge the first killing that had been committed among them. Even Olaf was slumbering, his gaunt frame racked with snoring. One, however, was not asleep. A shadowy figure rose from their rug, slipping around sleeping and dozing figures as they made their way towards the tea cabinet. Marne had retreated into his individual study, so the Feruchemist met no resistance as he opened the cabinet and poured a liquid onto the tea leaves, watching as they slowly absorbed the clear fluid. The poison would kill the next person who woke up to make tea, and the figure had a fairly good idea of who that would be. A slight smirk on their face, the figure retreated back into their rug, and fell into sleep with the others. Nighttime tea was not a habit for Izzy Dedyet; she normally frowned upon artificial stimulants, though she occasionally partook of the occasional mug of black tea. However, with her inability to focus on her book, which was getting into the mundane details of what sacrificing different animal crackers did to affect the Gods of Luck and Chance, Izzy decided to prepare herself one of those rare mugs. Boiling the water, and putting in the leaves, Izzy watched idly as the pigments in the leaves bled over into the water, a black colour emanating from the pouch she put in. After the colours stopped swirling, Izzy took a tentative sip of the tea, mindful of its high temperature, and spit it out on the floor in disgust. She had thought the tea was black—looking at the labels, she saw that it was a darker shade of herbal tea. Disgusting. Frustrated with herself for not noticing, and still unable to read her book, she plopped down in her corner with a posture approaching righteous indignation, and was quickly asleep again. Itiah VI knew his purpose—to finally find the old Terris religion. With a book tucked squarely underneath his arm that he regarded as the first clue towards finding the Terris god, the missionary could not afford to idly lie about when a task was to be accomplished. After his harrowing experience yesterday, when he had nearly been taken and killed by the fellow members of his congregation, Itiah knew that he must redouble his studies and efforts. Rubbing his bleary eyelids, which he had allowed to droop, he knew that he was not going to be able to stay awake without help. He begrudged the Sentries in the congregation—they could get a good night’s sleep, and stay up all night the next night, without needing to work for either effect. Itiah found that patently unfair. He was forced to rely on tea to keep him awake. Walking over to the teapot, he saw with a pleasant surprise that someone had left a cup of tea sitting out, barely touched and still warm. Thankful for the ready source of caffeine, which would help him in his studies later, Itiah grabbed the cup and downed it in one gulp. And shortly thereafter, dropped dead to the floor. When the village awoke, they found Era sprawled lifelessly amidst her gardens, her blood watering the scorched fields. Her added bulk had faded, her pewter bracers fitting loosely around her forearms. Itiah too lay slumped, dead underneath the very noses of the congregation, his steel metalminds useless against his cold corpse. Though both bodies were searched thoroughly, no spikes were found on either, and as the new day rose the Synod and its congregation gathered again, intent on finding those responsible. Elandera was slain by the Spiked! She was a Village Pewter Ferring (Brute)! Thanks to Devotary for doing her death scene. Itiah was killed! He was a Village Steel Ferring (Steelrunner)! No PMs were opened. Day 2 has begun. It will end in 48 hours at 9 PM EDT on Wednesday, August 15. [url=https://www.pending.me.uk][/url] Player list: 1. Rathmaskal as Laksam, an ash sweeper from the Eastern streets 2. Xinoehp512 as Ereheman Tresni, a man with his priorities backwards 3. Steeldancer as Steel, the fastest sculpture of a squid wrought entirely in steel in all of Tathingdwen 4. Randuir as Zihel, a worldhopper looking for his twin brother 5. I think I am here as Itiah VI, a missionary on a mission Village Steel Ferring 6. Bort as Tee Mai, a tailor specialising in offensive clothing 7. Cadmium Compounder as Ethin Hallil, a cadmium Feruchemist and SCUBA diver 8. _Stick_ as Stick, President of the Tathingdwen Tautological Society of Tautology 9. Jondesu as Remart, a man back from vacation armed with vaguely ominous statements 10. Kidpen as HanTor, a lonely Kandra that’s definitely not Spiked, nope 11. Elandera as Era, an old woman who claims to have been alive before the reign of the Lord Ruler Village Pewter Ferring 12. Snipexe as Snip, a fabric cutter in the local quilt shop 13. Worldhopper from Yolen as Tarin, a Sparker with a wonderful, awful idea 14. Alvron as Izzy Dedyet, who is not dead, feels happy, and thinks she'll go for a walk 15. Phatterner as Citona Vinid, a seemingly faithful follower of the Lord Ruler 16. Ark1002 as Kardik, a Full Feruchemist 17. Araris Valerian as Valwyn, an honest rug merchant 18. Coop772 as Irion, a Full Feruchemist with hidden potential Village Copper Ferring 19. Sart, a stuttering Nameless

Cycle is closed!

Hmm. From my understanding, docs are harder for other people on the Shard to track; you can see when someone is in PMs, while it’s impossible to tell when somebody’s browsing a doc. In addition, docs allow for more free-flow, nonlinear conversations, allow people in the doc to quickly find those conversations, and don’t limit the response time in the way that PMs do. They can also be edited offline in a pinch, making them another good tool for reaching out to others on the team. This also makes docs useful for other groups of payers that aren’t necessarily Elims, such as factions like the EBI in MR30. Finally, I’d suppose that custom has a lot to do with it—there’s a very longstanding history of docs in SE, and it’d be very hard to break from that after so long.

About three and a half hours left in the cycle. Please send in any orders within that timeframe. I’d also like to give advance warning that Day 3, which begins Thursday night at 9 PM EDT, will be extended to seventy-two hours, to account for the fact that I will not be around for most of Friday and Saturday, and will instead be at my sister’s wedding (and the rehearsal dinner for that wedding). I hope this does not inconvenience anybody, and that you make use of the full seventy-two hours instead of all voting in the last ten minutes of the cycle.

After an entire day of arguing, the villagers had not been able to reach a decision. The Synod hadn’t stepped in, instead retreating into the shadows and conspiring amongst themselves. Initial accusations had been made against Itiah VI. He was a stranger, a pacifist unwilling to commit to rooting out the spiked. As the sun began to set and the villagers were tired of arguing, a new target emerged. Why had Irion, a newcomer, been allowed to be a member of the Synod? Surely the Spiked had not been hiding amongst them for very long, and a new member rising so quickly to a position of prominence was inherently suspicious. Rumors swirled around the camp that Irion had gained his position based on pure Feruchemical talent, rather than a history of leadership. A powerful recluse, privy to the most well-guarded secrets of the Terris? A logical suspect indeed. They waited impatiently for the man to emerge from the doors of the Synod. Marne gazed around the table, where the darkened forms of the members of the Synod sat around him, their faces shrouded by the shadow of a setting sun. Olaf sat beside him, his skinny form casting a presence at the table, setting everyone on edge. Not that such a thing was necessary—with the official announcement closing down Tathingdwen, panic had spread like wildfire throughout the Synod. After a spurt of initial accusations against Itiah VI, whose family had been long-standing members of the congregation, Marne found it prudent to step in personally. Tensions had slightly cooled, but the underlying currents of paranoia had not been diffused, and members of the congregation were calling for two people. One sat in front of him. Irion was not the most well-liked member of the Synod. Difficult to rival in Feruchemical strength, his power had combined with his shy nature to make him seem reclusive to the other villagers. Now, they called for his head. Marne sympathised with the young one, who had not asked for any of this to come upon him. However, the Synod needed to come to a swift conclusion; the sun had nearly set. Rising, Marne addressed the shadowed forms. “Gentlemen (and ladies) of the Synod, it is my regret that tensions have run high enough that one of our very own number, Irion, is being accused by our congregation. I may have been overly hasty in giving an official denunciation of the Spiked—I seemed only to have fueled the paranoia and resentment underlying the Terris people.” One of the older members of the Synod, Leidene, a cripple, raised her hand for a pause. “It was the correct choice, Marne,” she stated. “Your call to action did not condone violence, and while it has spread, that can hardly be attributed to you.” “Thank you, Leidene,” Marne replied. “However, my point still stands. We must figure out a way to defuse these tensions surrounding you, Irion. This state of affairs cannot continue.” Irion looked up. “I will go to them.” Marne snapped his head up. “What?” Beside him, Olaf raised a solitary eyebrow, but said nothing. Irion pressed on, resolute. “I will go down to them, and talk them out of their madness. If they hear who I really am, and what I can actually do, they may be less inclined to demand my blood.” Olaf raised his head. “I will accompany him, though it be foolish. The boy has a right to try to show his innocence. We will go together, lad.” Flashing one of his rare genuine smiles at the startled Irion, Olaf started towards the door to the congregation, Irion trotting hastily after him. Marne bowed his head in resignation. “So be it,” he whispered. Gathering himself, he turned and addressed the remaining members of the Synod, most of whom looked shocked. “Meeting adjourned.” Only his sense of dignity kept Marne from sprinting towards the door to catch up to Olaf. He was losing his grip on the Synod, and control would need to be maintained if any were to survive the coming days. But first, he would have to see how this fresh disaster ended. Despite the rumblings, the villagers were tired of discussion after so long a day, and only a few joined the call for Irion’s death. By nightfall, no decision could be reached on whether to execute Irion or Itiah VI. The pair were presented before Count Olaf, in the desperate hope that a memory would resurface upon glimpsing a Spiked. The emaciated man merely shrugged helplessly; he did not remember, and no amount of copper could bring back a memory that had been forgotten. The accused pair were brought to the center of the village stripped of their metalminds and bound tightly with rope. “It was never my intention to have any suspects executed,” announced Marne. “As you have been unable to make a conclusive judgement, both accused will be submitted for questioning.” He turned his back to the crowd, intending to have the captives brought to the Synod for interrogation. From somewhere behind him, a voice cried out, “How can we expect the Synod to impartially adjudicate when one of the accused sits in your meetings? Justice must be meted out publicly, or not at all.” Marne whirled around to identify the one who had spoken, but they were lost in the mob of Terris loudly reaffirming the sentiment. “Untie me, and I will submit myself to the village peacefully,” offered Irion. Itiah VI chimed in, giving the same offer. Marne saw that the mob could not be suppressed nonviolently, and reluctantly allowed the two Feruchemists to meet their accusers. Below, a woman with bright blue eyes was muttering, fervently invoking the Gods of Luck and Chance to decide the fates of the accused. Startled, Marne saw a small fire being lit, and pieces of grain being thrown in as offerings. He frowned. Didn’t the Terris know better than to worship anyone but their true god? Meanwhile, the mob gleefully searched the pair for hidden spikes. Nobody saw where the first blow came from, but suddenly Irion was streaming blood. The glint of metal issuing from the wound enraged the mob, and they tore the poor man apart only to find the offending object was a stilleto, not an implanted spike. Horrified by what they had done, the crowd dispersed, leaving Irion dead and Itiah VI lying on the ground, gasping for breath. The Gods of Luck and Chance have condemned Coop772! He was a Village Copper Ferring (Archivist) and a Synod member! Vote Tally: I think I am here. (4) Coop772 (4) Night 1 has begun! It will end in about 24 hours, at 9 PM EDT on Monday, August 13. Many thanks to @Devotary of Spontaneity for helping with the writeup. We actually did it jointly, which was her idea, and was a rather good one (twice the length in half the time). If you appreciated today’s writeup, be sure to send upvotes her way. She’s also been great with handling PMs.

Day turn closed! Night will be up in about an hour.

@Araris Valerian That was poorly phrased. I meant that a certain number of each order would go through, based on which order it was, but that the orders that went through would be randomised. I’ll correct the misplaced modifier, and I apologise for any confusion it’s caused.

Back with a full set of rules clarifications. They have been paraphrased, condensed, and spread out as necessary, to obscure the identity of the original questioner. For the purposes of Pewter, Bronze and Tin Ferrings, does “acting” at Night include posting in-thread? What about Steel? How broad is its prohibition on posting? No, it does not. No metalmind restricts your ability to post in-thread, other than Copper, which simply disallows quoting/linking previous posts. Steel Ferrings, while filling, may talk as much as they please in-thread; they simply may not use docs or PMs. Does an Iron Ferring require a vote on them to negate, in order to fill their metalmind? No, it does not. Similarly, a Steel Ferring may fill even when they are not in any PMs or docs. Are there secret roles, rules, alignments, or abilities? PAFO. Does Olaf have an in-game effect? What about Marne or Leidene? These are, as stated earlier, older characters of mine and Devotary’s, and have no in-game effect other than being fun to use in writeups. Can a Copper Ferring quote from PMs while filling, or use them? Nobody should be quoting anything from a PM, GM or otherwise. Copper Ferrings may still use PMs while filling, and paraphrase them the same way they can paraphrase a post in-thread. Does my role restrict what I can RP as? Definitely not. Feel free to RP however you wish, with whatever abilities you wish your character to have. You are not constrained by your official role when RPing, and might not want to reveal that to the thread anyway. Do Steel Ferring PMs continue after the Ferring’s death? Yes, they do. What’s the policy for fill conditions—will you forgive initial slip-ups? How hard-line of a stance will be taken against those who violate them? I’m going to be enforcing a fairly hard line, as the point is to impose a restriction that somewhat reveals you and/or limits you, while at the same time giving later access to powerful effects, and an allowed slip somewhat ruins both of the effects. That said, I will try to remind people when they fill, and answer any questions aired about their role, so they fully understand what is expected of them when they fill. Issues have mostly been prevented by the clause that asks you to fill metalminds before you post something that could block your filling, and then once people fill they understand and apply the restriction. If you have further questions about your metalmind fill (or tap) conditions, do not hesitate to ask. The fill conditions for Zinc, Tin, and Copper negate and/or randomly redirect a Feruchemist’s vote. Do they still have to vote for their metalmind to fill and gain the Feruchemical charge? Yes. In order for the metalmind fill conditions to be satisfied, the Ferrings in question must vote so their votes can be modified accordingly.

Marne walked towards the cell where the former Spiked ringleader, Olaf, was held. With no former need for a real jail, the cell in which Olaf was kept was simply a locked basement in one of the Synod’s old hideouts. Marne found the arrangements inadequate. Any servant of the Lord Ruler, Spiked or not, former or current, was dangerous. Deadly. And he was about to negotiate with one. Descending the dusty staircase, each wooden board creaking underneath him as he stepped, he nodded to the guards, a Windwhisperer and a Brute, who silently nodded back and stood aside, allowing Marne to pass. Stepping down onto the floor, Marne again nodded at the Feruchemists guarding the stairwell, who stood, tromping up to the top of the staircase. Though the Windwhisperer could tap hearing, Marne found paranoia unnecessary still. Refusing to trust his own men, who he had known and worked with for many years, was indeed a sure sign that the Lord Ruler has finally come—sowing dissension and mistrust amongst the ranks of the Synod. He would not have that; he would trust, until trust proved folly. He would also need to trust the man in front of him. Olaf seemed to fully occupy the spacious wooden basement. His lurking presence, with an air of anticipation as he sat on the edge of his cot, fingers splayed, seemed to extend beyond him and fill the room. It unnerved Marne, but little could be done about that. He would have to work with this man, if he had any hope of catching the Spiked in their midst. “Olaf,” he began. The skinny man across from him raised a bony, long finger, indicating silence, and Marne abruptly shut up. Olaf spoke, thin and raspily. “I don’t know their names,” he said simply. Marne frowned, thrown off. “What?” “Their names,” Olaf repeated. “That’s why you’ve come, isn’t it? You want the names of all the Spiked in my group. That’s not the way this works. I remember nothing from when the spikes are in. Faces, people, even events, it’s all gone.” Marne blinked. “I’m supposed to take you at your word?” Olaf smiled, though it was devoid of humour. “You could torture me, but you’d find the same thing, and I’m completely within your power anyway. I have no reason to lie to you, Marne of the Synod. You can overpower me, and perhaps outsmart me. But I don’t know the names. The spikes, they...do something, to a person. I don’t know how the Lord Ruler does it, but living with those spikes is like having a different person in you, who can’t remember what the other person does. I know I attacked you, and that I removed my spikes, but I can’t tell you much more.” Olaf looked up, a glint in his eye. “I would, however, be happy to help you hunt them. The other Spiked. I have no love for the Lord Ruler, and it seems that helping you is the only way either of us will emerge from this alive.” Marne weighed Olaf’s words. The man may be lying, he thought. But if he is not...his brains will be an important asset, and his unique skills will make him a formidable ally. Besides, who do I want watching him? An assortment of random Ferrings, or myself? Marne looked at Olaf. Trust. He would trust this man, for now. Because trust was one of the few things that remained left to him. “I accept your offer, Count,” he said. “Let us go then, and do what we must to allow us both to come out of this alive.” Reaching out, Marne grasped Olaf’s hand. It was a small step, and might not have been the wisest. But any asset would help now. Now that Spiked were abroad… And trust was needed now, more than anything. Count Olaf has been converted to the Synod! Day 1 has begun! It will end in 48-ish hours, at 9 EDT on Sunday, August 12. Player List: 1. Rathmaskal as Laksam, an ash sweeper from the Eastern streets 2. Xinoehp512 as Ereheman Tresni, a man with his priorities backwards 3. Steeldancer as Steel, the fastest sculpture of a squid wrought entirely in steel in all of Tathingdwen 4. Randuir as Zihel, a worldhopper looking for his twin brother 5. I think I am here as Itiah VI, a missionary on a mission 6. Bort as Tee Mai, a tailor specialising in offensive clothing 7. Cadmium Compounder as Ethin Hallil, a cadmium Feruchemist and SCUBA diver 8. _Stick_ as Stick, President of the Tathingdwen Tautological Society of Tautology 9. Jondesu as Remart, a man back from vacation armed with vaguely ominous statements 10. Kidpen as HanTor, a lonely Kandra that’s definitely not Spiked, nope 11. Elandera as Era, an old woman who claims to have been alive before the reign of the Lord Ruler 12. Snipexe as Snip, a fabric cutter in the local quilt shop 13. Worldhopper from Yolen as Tarin, a Sparker with a wonderful, awful idea 14. Alvron as Izzy Dedyet, who is not dead, feels happy, and thinks she'll go for a walk 15. Phatterner as Citona Vinid, a seemingly faithful follower of the Lord Ruler 16. Ark1002 as Kardik, a Full Feruchemist 17. Araris Valerian as Valwyn, an honest rug merchant 18. Coop772, as Irion, a Full Feruchemist more comfortable around his friends 19. Sart, a stuttering Nameless

And signups...are...closed! Expect to recieve role PMs from Devotary soon. I will have the new thread up within the hour, but please do not post until you have received your role PM. Good luck to all!

I’ll leave about thirty minutes for anyone else that wants to join last-minute, but then I’ll close signups and hopefully get this show on the road. Thanks to Coop and Araris for joining.

Welcome back to SE! It’ll be a pleasure having you in the game, even if all I know of you is what I’ve gotten from gleaning old games. @Worldhopper From Yolen @Ark1002 Welcome to SE! With the game slated to start in about 48 hours, I’d like to thank everybody who’s signed up so far. That said, the minimum number of people I’d be comfortable running this game at is 19, maybe 18 if I cut some of the stuff I wanted to do. Therefore, if anyone is on the fence about joining, or simply reluctant to hop in for the first time (I’ve seen some new people looking at the SE thread), I’d encourage you to join. Should I not get the requisite 3 or so players within the next 48 hours, I’ll extend signups by three days at a time until I have the numbers I need to run this. Thanks to everyone who’s already joined, and I hope to get this game running in two days’ time.

You provided enough background that I didn’t really need to add much. You signed up as “Era” so you’ve clearly been around for long enough to remember the previous one. And thank you. The intro is actually loaded with too many references (Marne was my character from MR29, and Olaf was the ascendant leader of House Ffnord in LG42). Devotary has kindly given me permission to use one of her former characters in the writeups, so you better catch all the Spiked, because the fates of all my living characters that aren’t currently Shardholders are in your hands, as well as one of Devotary’s characters. Oops. Not quite as complex as the original (which was also broken, in many ways) but there are definitely still webs of potential interactions. If you have any rules questions, please do not hesitate to ask.

Reserved for player list and rules clarifications. Player List (If you don’t describe your character, I’ll make a description for you ): 1. Rathmaskal as Laksam, an ash sweeper from the Eastern streets 2. Xinoehp512 as Ereheman Tresni, a man with his priorities backwards 3. Steeldancer as Steel, the fastest sculpture of a squid wrought entirely in steel in all of Tathingdwen 4. Randuir as Zihel, a worldhopper looking for his twin brother 5. I think I am here as Itiah VI, a missionary on a mission 6. Bort as Tee Mai, a tailor specialising in offensive clothing 7. Cadmium Compounder as Ethin Hallil, a cadmium Feruchemist and SCUBA diver 8. _Stick_ as Stick, President of the Tathingdwen Tautological Society of Tautology 9. Jondesu as Remart, a man back from vacation armed with vaguely ominous statements 10. Kidpen as HanTor, a lonely Kandra that’s definitely not Spiked, nope 11. Elandera as Era, an old woman who claims to have been alive before the reign of the Lord Ruler 12. Snipexe as Snip, a fabric cutter in the local quilt shop 13. Worldhopper from Yolen as Tarin, a Sparker with a wonderful, awful idea 14. Alvron as Izzy Dedyet, who is not dead, feels happy, and thinks she'll go for a walk 15. Phatterner as Citona Vinid, a seemingly faithful follower of the Lord Ruler 16. Ark1002 as Kardik, a Full Feruchemist 17. Araris Valerian as Valwyn, an honest rug merchant 18. Coop772, a Nameless 19. Sart, a Nameless Rules Clarifications: Do Tin Ferrings require a newly created PM to take an action, or does the continuation of an existing PM count? The continuation of an existing PM will suffice. Will players be informed if their night action was successful? Yes, they will. If at least one person submits a night action, say the kill, is a generic night kill guaranteed to occur? Providing that player is not roleblocked, yes. Is there a difference between “your vote is negated” and “you cannot vote” as metalmind fill conditions? Yes. The first requires the Feruchemist filling the metalmind to vote, although their vote will not count; the second prohibits the Feruchemist from colouring anyone’s name in red, at all.

Night fell on Tathingdwen, a still moonlight broken by falling flakes of ash the only lighting available to the shrouded, mist-covered city. The city, and the secret sect that lived within it: the Terris Synod, a solitary beacon of hope. Marne, the highest-ranking member of that Synod, paced in his office, discontent. Swirling rumours, which he had little power or desire to refute, were being whispered around the hideout. Rumours of Steel Inquisitors, Spiked servants of the Lord Ruler, that had supposedly infiltrated the last bastion of Feruchemy left on Scadrial. Marne found them near unbelievable, but who was he to dismiss the evidence of his Windwhisperers that had seen and heard otherwise? The Synod would be foolish to ignore the members they swore to protect, particularly when they warned of impending danger. However, paranoia was not yet necessary, especially when accusations were so weighty, and evidence was so scarce. The implications of a corrupted Synod were not lost on Marne. At best, it meant that one of his friends, who he had known all his life, was covertly plotting his downfall, At worst…at worst, the Lord Ruler would find and exterminate the last free, living Feruchemists. Neither option was particularly appealing to Marne, and he chose not to believe them—for now. But perhaps further evidence would be worth examining. At last choosing a direction, Marne walked over to his desk, plopping down in the high oak chair with a sigh. Taking out a simple sheet of paper and a pen, he tapped into his tinmind, allowing him to focus on the paper in the dim lighting, and began to write. My fellow Feruchemists, Concerns have been raised about supposed infiltrators and spies within our midst by several members of our congregation. While there may be no cause for immediate concern, as evidence presented so far is inconclusive… Count Olaf, an esteemed member of the Luthadel nobility and newly ascended leader of House Ffnord, prowled through the quiet streets of Tathingdwen. Small steel spikes pricked him in a dozen concealed places, the aftermath of an audience with the Lord Ruler himself. That audience had nearly destroyed his sanity, and had ended with him being given a task; to take a small group and investigate Tathingdwen, finding and infiltrating any groups of Feruchemists found. Then, he was to either kill them all himself, or report back to the Lord Ruler, who would send his Inquisitors to do the same. Finding the Terris Synod had been no easy task. The group was naturally secretive, and suspicious of newcomers. However, one by one, all the spiked in his group had managed to enter the community of Feruchemists there. He alone remained rejected by the society. There was no way for all his spikes to go unnoticed by the vigilant wardens that guarded the Synod’s network of tunnels and safe houses, and his discovery within the society would endanger those already concealed within the Terris ranks. However, feeding the fires of paranoia that existed within the Synod was always a good idea. Not only because feeding fires, even metaphorical, was a good thing in Olaf’s view—though that was certainly part of it—but because Olaf would have the chance to kill Marne, the leader of the Synod who retained skepticism about the presence of Spiked, which would cause enough general mayhem to keep the Synod impotent until he, Olaf, could report back to the Lord Ruler and instruct him to ravage the hideout. Readying a brand, the tip of which was covered in dry tar and pitch, Olaf approached what he believed to be, from the limited directions his associates had been able to slip to him, the study of Marne. The building was nondescript; two stories of solid oak, it had likely been built shortly after the city became a major trading point as a tavern or small storefront. Now it housed the last ruler of the Synod. Striking a match, Olaf ignited the end of the brand, watching it burst alight in a flurry of sparks. He grinned, breathing in once more the fragrance of smoke, and kicked at the nearest ground-floor window with his boot. The metal-reinforced studs on the heel easily shattered the thin glass, creating a sizeable hole through which Olaf threw the burning torch. As the house began to be consumed by flames, Olaf waited by the door, ready for his quarry to come fleeing. Marne put the finishing touches to his letter to the Synod, signing it with a flourish that was just slightly more extravagant than was perhaps necessary. Satisfied with his argument, which would hopefully help stop the paranoid rumours from spreading without solid evidence, he walked towards the staircase leading down to the ground floor, where his main desk was situated. Marne frowned. A faint scent of burning wood drifted up to him, followed by a wisp of black smoke. Panic rose in him immediately, followed by grim determination. Tapping some of his zincmind to clear his thoughts, Marne advanced cautiously down the stairs, careful not to breathe in the smoke too deeply. Peering down the staircase, he saw that the front window had been broken with what appeared to be a foot, judging by the boot-shaped imprint in the glass, and that a brand had been thrown into his writing desk. He felt another flare of panic rise within him. The desk contained older, yet important documents, and they were slowly being consumed by flames. Shoving down his innate revulsion at the sight of fire, Marne forced himself to tear his eyes away from the burning desk. Escape was his priority, even if it meant sacrificing some his papers to fire. Whoever had found him out would need to be neutralised. Tapping speed and strength, Marne rushed towards the door, slamming his shoulder into it and bringing the sturdy wooden structure down. Failing to regain his balance after his mad rush, he collapsed on top of the door. Storing weight, Marne drew himself up and turned around towards his burning house, scanning the street behind it for an intruder. It didn’t take long to find the culprit. A tall, skinny man stood framed in the blaze of the wooden house. Marne could pick out few distinctive features, other than the man’s single eyebrow and tattooed ankle, but from the brand in his hand, as well as the metalminds that were visible as bulges in his clothing, Marne knew he was facing a dedicated Full Feruchemist. Preparing himself to engage in his first real conflict, Marne slowly advanced on the intruder. His knowledge of Feruchemy was extensive. He now just had to use it. Olaf smiled as he witnessed the panicked rush of Marne out of the burning house. Knowing that the Feruchemist was likely a dangerous foe, and that the blaze of the wooden house would soon attract bystanders to intervene, Olaf would need every advantage he could get. A distracted opponent was a welcome one. Preparing to tap his steel, Olaf angled himself towards the oncoming Synod member, ready to face him; his first real challenge. And felt an overwhelming nausea take him, dropping him to his knees. It happened occasionally. Too often, really. Olaf cursed the conscience that remained in him, the vestiges of a code he had held before he came before the Lord Ruler, back when he had been only a minor nobleman, and had joined with Hadrian Heatherlocke to survive the small house war that had swept Luthadel up just two years past. He often would think of Hadrian when his conscience took him, as it did now. What Hadrian would think of him, what Hadrian would have him do. Olaf would often wonder, in moments like these, which was the real him; the hired killer and arsonist who aided the Lord Ruler, or the sceptical nobleman who worked with Hadrian to stop his machinations. Were the spikes the cause of this agony? Lord Ruler, he could be numb at times. Had he even thought about what he had been doing, these past weeks? The Feruchemist was advancing towards him, wary but determined. Olaf looked up at him. His nausea was subsiding. It would be so easy to feign defeat, and then, when Marne least expected it, to— No. Something deep within Olaf, even deeper than the introspection based on the bouts of nausea and thoughts of Hadrian, rebelled. Olaf moved quickly, not giving himself time to reconsider, not letting his insanity grip him again. Reaching under his robes, he pulled one steel spike out of his arm. Another followed, and then others from all over his body, the tips caked in dried blood. He continued until a dozen spikes lay on the ground before him. Bleeding in a dozen places, registering the look of shock on the Synod leader’s face, and finally free from the murderous thoughts at last, Olaf stripped himself of his metalminds as well. He looked up at Marne. “I’m sorry. It was the spikes after all,” he mumbled, and then passed out from blood loss. Marne stood in the burnt remains of his house. Based on the testimony of Olaf, it seemed that the rumours circulating about the hideout did have credence, after all. Storing weight in his ironmind to ensure that the stairs didn’t give way beneath him, Marne ascended to the second floor. His letter to the Synod still lay on his writing desk, remarkably untouched. Marne looked at it with a sad smile; it mattered not whether the letter was burnt or whole—it needed to be rewritten either way. Walking over to his desk, he began scribing a new letter to present tomorrow. My fellow Feruchemists, Concerns have been raised about supposed infiltrators and spies within our midst by several members of our congregation. There is cause for immediate concern, as having apprehended one of these infiltrators myself last evening, I can confirm that the presence of Spiked among us is a real and present threat... Welcome to Long Game 48: The Terris Synod. This game is set in the city of Tathingdwen during the reign of the Lord Ruler, and involves the last free remaining Feruchemists and Terrismen attempting to hide from several Spiked servants of the Lord Ruler within their midst. With Olaf’s testimony revealing the presence of Spiked among the villagers, the Synod has declared Tathingdwen closed, and will not let any in or out until all the Spiked are killed...or they themselves have been destroyed. It is now up to each of you to ensure that the last free Feruchemists survive until the fall of the Lord Ruler. The basic rules of the game may be accessed here. Should clarifications be necessary (and I imagine they will), I will add them to this post or a subsequent one as well as the doc. My co-GM for this game will be@Devotary of Spontaneity. Signups will last until next Friday the 10th of August, unless an extension proves necessary. Rollover for this game will occur around 9 PM EDT. Here is the countdown clock to the end of signups: Quick Links:

That was an interesting game, even if I didn’t make it that far. Congrats to the Elims, especially since they were all new. Doing everything in RP was interesting, but I think I’ll have to do it again- this game didn’t really count, as I only lasted one cycle. Regardless, it was enjoyable, and thank you to Jondesu for running this despite his excessive trolling manoeuvres. (So much poison...why?)

MR30/AN2: Aftermath The Pride of Terris drew nearer to Scadrial each day. And as it approached, its crew drew nearer to death. Liseran’s body did not look natural. V could tell that much. The flesh was barely hanging to the skeleton, and bones poked through, bleached an unnatural white by a film of acid that seemed to linger on its surface. V had heard tales of this creature before. He could scarcely believe it, but his findings led him to only one conclusion, a fell word whispered above the corpse of Liseran, sounding with the finality of a death knell. “Kandra,” V spoke softly. “A Kandra is among us.” The rest of the crew stood in stunned silence. For moments, slow agonizing moments, each stood, rendered impotent by shock. Scorpion finally spoke hesitantly. “A Kandra? Isn’t that the stuff of...”—she swallowed—“not fairytales, but days long past? Why would they still be among us?” “Yeah,” Weasel chimed in. “Besides, why didn’t any of the other corpses look like this before? I’ll give you that this corpse shows the exact signs of a Kandra as we were taught them when we were four, but what about the other corpses we found?” V hesitated. “My only guess is that the Kandra had more time to work in the past. Perhaps making it fight to within an inch of its life made the...transition more difficult. This may have even been its first time switching bodies.” V turned around, looking at Weasel. “Hmm...if there’s only one Kandra among us, it could be you. I know Denesta and Tuatara are fine, because I work with them, and Scorpion feels like he always does. You’re the only possible one left, seemingly.” “Not the only one.” Tuatara’s voice came as a low croak from the other side of the room. She rapped on the metal sheet covering the wall, quickly moving her fingers in a sharp pattern, undetectable to the naked ear, but a sound that came very clearly to V’s head as he burned a small amount of the tin he held. Unthinkingly, he tapped the response, sending it along to Tuatara, a rapid series of beats that he could hear thanks to the same Hemalurgic spike in him. Tuatara looked visibly relieved, but turned to Denesta. “Repeat the same pattern, please.” Denesta, the latest host of a Faceless Immortal, shuddered as she was gradually revealed to the group. She was too slow. Her masters at Heron Industries would be very disappointed in her, if they could watch the small transport hurtling through space, and see the slow progress she was making. It was not her fault. Torture was not an option aboard a ship so small that a scream could be heard by the entire crew in less than a second. She had to rely on observation, then quick work with a knife, to kill and impersonate a person quietly and accurately. The exact techniques she had used to impersonate Liseran and Dingo, and now Denesta. They were imprecise, and left little time to commit a systematic mass slaughter of a crew that outnumbered and in some ways outmatched her. She would have to outwit them. And she was so far, failing. In retrospect, she should have attacked the persuasive speaker, V, first. Too many informants ingratiated themselves with cops and investigators, and she should have been more wary when three “investigation agents” stepped forward “looking to guard the last informant.” Denesta’s small list of records on Tuatara and V indicated that V was truly the last person Heron wanted dead. The explosion on Kasheron Station had killed most of those who saw the incriminating files displaying Heron’s less-than-savory ventures, and with V dead, the last informant who knew the truth would be silenced. Unfortunately, Denesta now had to kill V for all that to occur. And she would have to talk her way out of this for that to happen. It would not be too difficult—she had basic background on Denesta’s personal life, and could imitate the speech patterns fairly well by now, if not perfectly. She prepared to help V accuse Weasel, when Tuatara’s voice reached her ear. “Repeat the same pattern, please.” Denesta panicked, her newly-formed heart racing in her chest. She had been unable to acquire all the details of the tapping pattern Tuatara and V used to communicate, and now it would cost her. Her only chance was to guess at the pattern used. Hoping it was close enough, Denesta tapped a rhythm on the sheet, sending it back to Tuatara. Tuatara’s face deepened into a frown. “That’s isn’t it.” Denesta’s face contorted into a snarl. All her work, to be brought low by a simple pattern of taps that revealed her to the crew. She would have to act quickly. Yanking the dagger out of Liseran’s chest, Denesta lunged towards V, who sprang backwards with a surprised yelp. The dagger cut a gash in his arm, but did little else. As Scorpion rushed to tend V, Tuatara advanced with his baton in front of him, prepared to defend Weasel. Denesta held her dagger in front of her, circling and waiting for Tuatara to make a mistake. “Why do this, Dene-...whoever you are?” Tuatara asked. “You are a Faceless Immortal, Harmony’s own servant and a dignified, noble being to help carry out His work. Why break His codes? Why murder and lie, and use your amazing talents to help a group of corrupt officials and business leaders? Heron is wasting you,” he implored. “Harmony is wasting me!” Denesta bellowed, stung deeply. “Every day I worked for Him I was constrained by an arbitrary code of rules he put in place to control us! Removing one of my spikes was the greatest decision I’ve ever made. I won’t let Harmony control me again.” She smiled, and lunged at Tuatara. V listened to the body that had once been Denesta’s speak. “Removing one of my spikes was the greatest decision I’ve ever made. I won’t let Harmony control me again.” Spikes...why were they important? Some small portion of his brain yelled at him to wake up, that blood loss and drowsiness would overcome him while he held the key to overcoming the monster facing them. He couldn’t do it. He could feel himself slipping... So tired. WAKE UP! The second voice jolted him upright. He looked up. The Kandra was sparring with Tautara, and winning. The wooden baton Tuatara was using was no match for the strong metal knife the Kandra held. The Kandra chopped down with the knife, slicing through baton and finger. Tuatara howled in agony, clutching at his hand to stem the blood loss. Spikes. Spikes were important... Weasel tackled the Kandra, who fell to the ground in surprise. The spike in V’s neck tingled. He knew what to do now. Summoning a final spurt of energy, V pulled the spike from his neck and slammed it into Denesta’s back. Denesta screamed as Harmony took control once again. Seizing a knife, V walked up to the defeated Kandra, whose hand would slowly inch towards one of her spikes...and then be pulled down again. He scooped up Denesta’s knife, then flicked it towards her throat. “If life with Harmony is really so awful,” V said, “would you prefer me to end it for you?” Denesta became fully herself for a moment, eyes shining with hatred even as she nodded her assent. She then closed them one last time, embracing the release of death, and the freedom it brought. Mauve Crocodile was lynched! They were the Faceless Immortal, and the only Eliminator in the game! They were previously an Elendel Bureau of Investigation Agent. All village factions have achieved their win conditions, ending the game. The spec doc really got its win two cycles ago when Vulture was bodysnatched, but we couldn’t give away the Kandra too early Vote Tally: Mauve Crocodile (3): Amethyst Scorpion, Cream Tuatara, Indigo Weasel Indigo Weasel (2): Azure Mouse Feel free to take a look at all the docs from throughout the game. Spectator/Dead Doc Elendel Bureau of Investigations Doc Master Spreadsheet Full Ruleset Other docs will be placed here once I update them to reflect the setting we chose. Final Playerlist 1. Amber Vulture (Elandera)- Refugee 2. Amethyst Scorpion (Stick)- Refugee 3. Azure Mouse (Itiah)- Rioter, Fleeing Informant 4. Charcoal Hyena (Straw)- Fleeing Informant 5. Chartreuse Penguin (Kidpen)- Refugee 6. Coral Swan (STINK)- Refugee 7. Cream Tuatara (Araris Valerian)- Elendel Bureau of Investigations Agent 1 8. Emerald Falcon (Snipexe)- Fleeing Informant 9. Fuchsia Ostrich (Bort)- Original Faceless Immortal 10. Indigo Weasel (Cadmium Compounder)- Refugee 11. Ivory Dragonfly (Drake Marshall)- Refugee 12. Magenta Albatross (The Young Pyromancer)- Refugee 13. Mauve Crocodile (Mr Doctor)- Elendel Bureau of Investigations Agent 2 14. Melon Dingo (Randuir)- Refugee

I congratulate all of you on an excellently played game. Aftermath post should appear in 3-12 hours, depending on whether or not I can get the writeup done before church. Please sign out of any anonymous accounts you may still have access to and don’t post with them anymore—the passwords will be changed by Seonid when he awakens.