Charcoal Hyena

My apologies, Loxodonta. Your dialect is slightly confusing And deciphering your words is a chore. Note that's fine, I'm not accusing. I hereby rescind my suspicions On the blue Elephant that gleams like jewels. I apologise for my thoughts of sedition And hope I was not overly cruel.

In a deviation from prose poems I shall write standard poetry to show them The rules, quite so clear In a form much held dear Perhaps they’ll all take notice then. Prudence, Shard of Wisdom, Shard of Grace, Allows Private Messages without the world to face Upon its mighty choices we all do depend. The gift of secret conversations is a veritable godsend. We may never know the identity of our wonderful benefactor As it can choose to let the Voice of God initiate conversations Unless the conversation involves more than 3 people. Otherwise, Prudence can stay out of the nation. I recommend that Prudence avoid revealing its identity For the Champions will slay you in a heartbeat To keep this potent village weapon out of control. So for your own sake, keep secret the initiator of your feats. Autonomy makes aspects on vast worlds of glory Using them as puppets and vote placers To win, it must have one on each world and roleblock them all with Shardic abilities Of course, there are nine Shardworlds, so assuming worst case, Autonomy will take more than nine cycles to win. Notably, the Shardic action can be achieved many times, until all actions have been used. Obtaining victory will be difficult, but hopefully achievable with time. More of your aspects can vote in the day or roleblock at night if you direct them. You can communicate through your aspects on every Shardworld they are on. Inventing creations, give one-use, grant extra actions, extra grants using one, give created inventions. Unlike all the rest, Survival stands apart Without the actions that distinguish all the rest It starts with many lives but just one heart And each day it must vote or put its existence to the test. Notably, like other neutral Shards Survival must act upon two of each side. But while this lengthy process may be hard, Let analysis and logic be your guide. The following Shards are irrevocably broken And all that they have has been taken. Now they are merely Investiture and existence Without the power that gave it persistence. Honor is deceased. Binds Odium to Roshar. Protection fails. Honor’s Invested Protects someone in the night Saves everybody. To Honor, advice: Stay away from Odium Flee Roshar posthaste. Devotion charges roles and items for free, Granting some charges between one and three If the Investee has more than one item or role RNG decides, that god with no soul. Dominion with words of idle divinity Grants the Invested power over votes. So convincing, making them lay down their arms Or bare them, depending on your note. Once you were great, but now you are nothing. Once you had wants, but now you are empty, Shades adrift on the wind. You offer knowledge. Intricate beautiful information that you used to crave knowing but now you simply know, secrets whispered and have been. I flee now for dreams sweet in sea major, For it is far past time for mine own sleep. I did not want to be a stranger, But that has cost me much and deep. I offer you a wish of pleasant dreams With a vaguely horrifying theme All to torment you in rheme.

I would go on, but I think I've made my point. My posts are rules-specific as you would see if you take the time to look. Quite frankly, your dismissal of my poetry does somewhat sting Since your words make clear you didn't even try to do what it took. As you demonstrate yourself incapable of interpreting prose poetry I'll take a step back and write simple forms that rhyme flowingly. I shall return after writing some more poems about the Shards And pay attention this time, I swear it's not that hard. Please don't take my words as a personal attack. I simply find myself slightly frustrated. I understand confusion brought upon by poetry is vast But to have my effort written off fills me with dread. I will be back with standard poetry and nonsense Please do not summon a flurry of excessive content.

I must confess that I did not expect this turn of events As Mauve Crocodile had communicated to me privately And they seemed quite like someone I knew and trusted. Alas, my paranoid thoughts whispered far too quietly. It seems the Crocodile was indeed on Braize Since the votes do tally up to indicate that case. I'll take a look at voting now, And rhymes will maintain how? Unknown, but to the day turn I go raise. The first vote initiates with a poke from Axolotl to the Scorpion They shouted it loudly for the entire auditorium To hear, to fear, to rear. Then Turquoise Gorilla takes a stab at Kangaroo For their strategy asking Shards to claim. Given that it was Day One, this is fine enough And to be fair, their vote seemed awfully tame. Then Heron chose to vote for the octo-limbed aquarian Providing no reasoning to back this up. I suspect it was a private communications based suspicion Or merely simple banter making people chuffed. Quartz Zebra declared that the Penguin was doomed to die For demanding certain things from mighty Shards It seems that this is not the case on high Since the Chartreuse Penguin hasn't died just yet. The Tiger Salamander let the venomous Scorpio of the hook And caught a Gorilla instead. This was for its stab at the Roo, too easy a catch! And Axolotl thought this thing worth red. Death the Jeweled Scorpion exists in all sᴍᴀʟʟ ᴄᴀᴘs And asks if the Fruity Dingo exists as well. I wonder if the Scorpio is truly just as fine As Mort, the Death that is really quite swell. The Mouse suspected the Iguana, perhaps due to its Saffron coat. Other than lovely prose, there is nothing much of note. The drunken Elephant disliked the most dangerous Croc For speaking of poke votes when this discussion happens every time While the conversation is one worth having I'll admit it does drag on a bit, especially in rhyme Opal Lion stabbed at Mauve for what seemed to be a game A fragment of memory without origins to claim. Mauve decides to catch itself a Roo For proposing that the Shards claim. While kangaroo is supposedly great food In hindsight, the reasoning was shallow. Hyena (that's me!) votes Kanga as well For much the same reasons as Mauve. I'll admit this does not reflect well on me, But surely a Champion would not be so flawed As to foolishly follow a teammate onto a vote On a villager who has done scarcely anything of note? Alas, if you decide to strike me down, That is your prerogative I'll accept it with nary a frown Though I'll be saddened. Axolotl decides to release Gorilla, looking instead for bigger game A crocodile is fearsome enough, and it lunged at the Roo as well. The fight was fierce, but soon the oddly coloured beast was tamed, And the dining was absolutely swell. The Flamboyance of Flamingos in an Onyx Trenchcoat Lunged at Crocodilia for its attack at the Kangaroo. The Zebra played the game of mathematics And swapped from Penguin to Gorilla in sporadics. The Vulture seemed to notice easy prey And dove towards the Crocodile too It claimed to be warning of a train But Mauve was the countertrain to the Roo. Taupe Gecko spoke merely in poetry And thus voted for the Roo in rhyme There was not that much reasoning that I could see But since they spoke, I'll let it slide this time. The Elephant let go of the Crocodile in a drunken stupor And snatched up the Flamingo with its trunk. No reason offered, none proffered Of which I find this slightly y of funk. Sage did not want to die And so stabbed at the Croc Since they are now alive Their plan seemed to have rocked. And so we have returned to present day. I hope you were not led overly astray. The people I suspect Are Gecko and Elephant For sliding off Crocodile with little excuse or say.

'Twas speaking of the neutral Shards, as that was the topic at hand. I hope you have not been confused by your illness, my estranged friend.

Promotes discussion, giving us all some information Reveals information, letting village clear two people Offers us some allies, if they side with us, which is a big if. Saves us a bit of time, which is nice, if risky Counts on veracity, allows elims to identify useless targets, which is the argument against claiming vanilla, I believe Offers elims some allies that are easy to keep. Survival can be swayed with promises of staying alive, Autonomy's win-con also requires long life, if they are both "cleared", they won't be lynched. No way to verify identities without wasting what little time we saved and killing the Shards, which disincentives the claim in the first place. So many ways this could go wrong. To summarise, the benefits all depend on honesty and the Shards siding with us. These assumptions are really quite a stretch, though I think it was helpful to discuss. I swore a vow to have a D1 vote And I won't wake up in time to note The changing winds, so I'll just leave my vote here, please don't make a fuss. I believe this is because Invention can Invest In Chosen Ones to pass on the Shard's power So when Invention passes on towards its final rest Odium's Champions can take it and all will cower. I point you towards the Mouse's post But I cannot confirm without permission And since Mauve has gone to bed You'll have to wait within perdition. (Ah, I have been ninja'd. How strange, like being hit with cod) I depart for the sweet embrace of slumber. Farewell, I hope I'll return in time for night. Alas, for darkness my mind hungers, And I fear I will not return in time. Good night. May I see you again on the morn. I hope you do not kill me out of spite, for I would mourn.

Alas, I must confess that my vote does not have much substance, For I rarely engage in D1 votes, and so I'm trying it just once And secondly, I will say that I wish to keep the Crocodile Intact for just a little while We've conversed a bit, and really, I've grown fond Of that mauve thing that lurks in ponds. Besides, I do not like the thought of claim-fishers Because I simply do not see the point of it at all. I do not see the point in it, so it's inherently suspicious And on Day One, I cannot find a better target to maul. I'll take another look back at the minutes. I swear, this time I'll pay attention instead of rules analysis. I'll return with scattered thoughts and a bit more wit And hopefully no paralysis.

I'm wounded, my friend. Our friendship's at an end. I've put a lot of effort into these rule specific poems. Alas, this sort of wound is not the type that you can mend. From you I've been repelled just like a Faerie from the rowan. I thank you all for the upvotes aplenty Truly nice to be appreciated thusly Knowing that my work is loved and cherished Is a feeling that without which I shall perish. We now return to our regularly scheduled programming Of Shardic prose poetry and many animals jamming. This is what it means to be Endowment: You give. It is your nature. Maybe you wanted this, maybe you didn’t, but it binds you all the same. You push a piece of your Investiture into everyone, even though they don’t needwantcarecrave it like others do. Like a desperate professor, you beg them to take your powers, take your gifts, take what you endow. Takeittakeittakeittakeittakeittakeittakeit, you beg, and they have no choice. Your power, an infinite wellspring. You give and give and give and give, and nothing changes. You change people, even if they don’t choose it, twisting their very essence into what you want it to be, what you need it to be, what their planet dictates they should be. Relief like glass spreads over your soul, but it shatters so easily. You want you need you crave absence. Take it! you scream, and they have no choice but to obey. It helps, a little. It soothes your soul to alter the people who wander beneath your feet in the image of what they could be. This is what it means to be chosen by Endowment: You did not ask for this, or maybe you did, but She did not ask you to. She offers you life in one hand and death in the other, and you have no choice but to accept. You live, for the moment. You tear yourself apart to consume the Investiture you crave, killing yourself in the end. She offered you the illusion of choice in a mockery of kindness. You know that She doesn’t understand kindness, that She can’t understand kindness, but you thank Her for the time nonetheless. You, like all things, want to live. She gave you life, for a moment. You wanted to live. You desperately wanted to live. You can’t fault Her for Her flaws when She let you live. You wander the land as a mockery of yourself, a fossil replaced by Investiture, a gleaming new thing in the image of the old, and can’t help but wonder what it would be like to die. This is what it means to be Whimsy: You are a child, or merely child-like, and you hide in boundless curiosity. You wonder. You ponder. You want to know. You can know. You have the power. What if the world had kite magic? What if humans walked on their hands? What if the sky was upside-down? What if the sea was made of chocolate? Your power dances through possibility, showing you everything you could be. Boredom pushes you forwards, giving you every power you could ever dream of and making some yourself. You want more. You want more. There are only so many possibilities, after all, and you need variety. You need more. It’s all so neat. So fascinating. You love it. You loathe it. You tire of it. You are Whimsy. You are mad. This is what it means to be chosen by Whimsy: It did not ask you if you wanted to be changed. Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t, but It did not ask, and you did not answer. It Invested you. Maybe you should be grateful, maybe you are grateful, but you didn’t ask for this. You did not want this. You use up Whimsy’s power so quickly, considering you did not want it in the first place. It felt oddwrongstrangebizaaregetitoutoutout while it was within you, but now you feel… empty. Vacant of something burning in your flesh and blood and bone. For a moment, you touched Divinity, and now you are nothing again. You do not want to be nothing. This is what it means to be Mercy: You save people. You help people. You fix people. It is what you do. It is everything you do. You spare people. You leave people. You end people. It is what you do. It is everything you do. You are the first and last refuge of the mad, the damned, the fallen. You are the first and last refuge of the hurt, the sick, the broken. Your enemy lies fallen at your feet, and you let them live despite their pleas for you to kill them, to let them die with honour and not live on as an abomination. You ignore them. You know what is best, and your enemy should live. They deserve to live well rather than pass into the Beyond to be nothing. They fought well, after all. You have them at your Mercy, and you decide that they shall live. Your friend lies fallen at your feet, and though it pains your heart, you put them down despite their pleas for you to spare them, that it’s just a broken leg and not something to die over. You ignore them. You know what is best, and your friend should die. They deserve to die painlessly rather than live in agony and permanent struggle. They were your friend, after all. You have them at your Mercy, and you decide that they shall die. A stranger lies fallen at your feet, and you choose to take their place. You die instead of them. You live instead of them. You take on their wounds and they take on yours. They did not want this. They did not choose this. They did not ask for this. You ignore them. You know what is best, and this stranger should exchange places with you. They deserve to walk in your life as you’ll walk in theirs. They were a stranger, after all. You have them at your Mercy, and you decide that they shall live your life. This is what it means to be chosen by Mercy: You fought bravely, but the battle cut you and your squad down until naught remained but you and you alone. You close your eyes and wait for death, but it never comes. The mob comes for you, but it never comes. They scream as they tear you apart, but it never comes. Your body screams in agony, but it never comes. You peel your broken, battered body off the ground and stumble away, kept alive by Mercy alone. It would have been kinder just to let you die, but Mercy has never claimed to be kind. It holds a sword to your throat and grins, with you at Its Mercy, and you pray to the gods you don’t believe in for a kindness that will never come. You live. You wish you didn’t. This is what it means to be Valor: You are defined by danger. Always brave in its face, always strong in its grasp. People find you, look for you, tell you how bold you were, how brave you were. You don’t care about the people. You don’t want to care about the people. You are the opposite of cowardice, the standard by which all others are judged, and you require the fight to stay alive. You seek out danger, because what are you without it? You fight a great war and say, ‘I will kill these monsters.’ You stumble across disaster and say, ‘I will save these people.’ You find people in need and say, ‘I will save you.’ Maybe you want to play the hero, maybe you don’t, but either way, you act. This is what you are. This is what you do. You save people. You kill people. You hurt people. You help people. Even if it costs you, this is what you are. You have no other choice. This is what it means to be chosen by Valor: You are untouchable. A God has given you Her favour, and all who dare trespass against you shall be brought down by Her wrath. You did not ask for this, but it is a welcome surprise. She saved you from some horrible fate, or perhaps some wonderful blessing, but either way, none can aid or ail you. Your family, friends, and foes depart. They cannot touch you, embrace you, wound you. They flee to escape Her wrath. She cares not for friend or foe, merely for interaction. It would be creepy if She wasn’t a god. It still is a little creepy, but the unnerving sensation you get when she stares at you is lessened by the knowledge that she could tear you apart in a heartbeat. She watches, and you try not to flinch. This is dangerous, but you are brave. You stand strong. I do agree that we should perhaps consolidate our votes As rollover lies in wait for us in the morn And many of us sleep in the hours until that post That ends the turn and puts us in suspense. As such, I choose to vote for Sage Kangaroo Since their point about neutrals' claiming is quite odd. Others have pointed this out before, but I see it too. I don't understand why we would want this at all. At best, I see a misguided villager. At worst, a monster in disguise. Odium's Champions are pillagers, And frankly, this is one of our few leads. Day One deaths are never guided By the knowledge that death brings And though we are misguided The interactions are quite useful. I'll write up some more rules on the morrow. Poetry is time consuming, sadly. Hopefully, the final piece I'll bestow But I doubt I'll finish in the near future.

Incompetence evident, failing poet, I weep, my poetry fails, evidently incompetent. To Prudence, in your infinite wisdom, I ask that you give me private messages with every player in the game, make your choice. Perhaps this is wise, perhaps this is folly, but private conversations make me rejoice. Today I attempt something strange. Prose poetry is not really that deranged, But still I think it conjures up that state. This is what it means to be Odium: You hate. It is what you are, but you cannot help it. You rage at the unfairness of the fate you were given. You plot, you scheme, you kill. You see others with similar powers, similar fragments of the one you called Adonalsium, and you hate. Green eyes war with raging blood and you lovelongloathe your friendsfoesfears, but you lovelongloathe having them gone more. You break them. Maybe you meant it, maybe you didn’t, but they are Splintered nonetheless. The Vessels lie Shattered at your feet, and you know you can kill more. You are bound, trapped in a star system when before you had a galaxy. It’s suffocating. You hate it. You hate everything. Honor stands before you, so you strike him down. Tanavast falls, and you are still trapped. You scream. You rage. You hate. The Shards burn bright in your eyes, but the mortals do not. You bring your power to bear on them, and they pass through it as though you are nothing. You hate that. You can fix that. This is what it means to be chosen by Odium: You do not ask for this, or maybe you do, but either way, He does not need your consent to make you His. He holds His Investiture to your lips and dares you not to swallow. The orb slides down your throat with ease, and you want nothing more than to throw it up. It burns, and Odium smiles at you with a mouth made of fire. (In the distant future, a Fused holds a sphere to a man and names him Vyre.) You do not want this. You hate this. You hate Odium. You hate. Mortals burn bright in your eyes. The Shards are like the sun, but your fellow entities of Death resemble flickering candles. If you reach out, you can just barely snuff them out. It was an accident, the first time, or maybe it wasn’t, but regardless, the bodies hit the floor, and you hate. You will never stop hating. It burns and takes and never stops. You hate and hate and never stop. This is what it means to be Cultivation: You are the gardener, the caretaker, the hand that bends nature. The difference between Change and Cultivation is a subtle one, but you know it well. Change is not anathema, but the two are like wine and water. Similar, but fundamentally different in irreconcilable ways. Change is the sea in storm, is the forest in bloom, is the crumbling ruin of a place abandoned. It is thoughtless, mindless, unplanned. Cultivation is the tunnel through the mountains, is the ravages of war, is the winding path through a garden. It is guided by an unseen hand. You break your word as soon as you make it, with your paramour by your side as you sculpt Roshar from the state your God left it in. It is beautiful, the guidance you offer to the land, the growth that blooms beneath your power. Your garden is magnificent. Whether you grow roses or thorns, it is still guided by your careful hand. You control all the variables and fix things into place, making everything work as you intend. You weave power into cracks in a facsimile of kintsugi, and everything comes together perfectly. Despite all the Change you bring, you remain a constant in the tumultuous sea. Your will, your strength, your power bringing the mad world to bear. If you try, you can solidify your words into being, ensuring that you are not swayed, never swayed. Your pawns march with a fragment of your gift. They dance and weave through life, darkening the clarity of futuresight and acting as agents of chaos despite their perfect order. You grow their souls in the way that you wantneedcrave and laugh as everything falls into place. This is what it means to be chosen by Cultivation: You sought Her out, or maybe you didn’t, but either way, some part of you wanted to change. You wanted to be something else, something other than what you were, and She gave it to you. She just gave you something else too. You whisper to the world, and the world whispers back, soft murmurs of acknowledgement. Your words do not matter. Your actions do not matter. Only what you tell the world, your new God. You bow before the whims of fate and let the currents drag you under. This is what it means to be Preservation: Change is your anathema. Things should stay the same. Things have to stay the same. That is the only way. All other options are disgusting. Everything has to stay the same. You make things stay the same. You break your word and the tenuous agreement you have crafted (things don’t stay the same, why can’t they stay the same?) to ensure things will stay the same. You stop everything to ensure things will stay the same. Time passes, people die, but the archetypes remain the same. (It’s not enough) You get better. You make the people stop. Time passes, but life does not go on. You can’t hold it for very long, but it soothes the anguish in your soul, for a time. You will get better. Eventually, you will keep the galaxy–nay, the universe the same. It will all be the same. This is what it means to be chosen by Preservation: You did not ask for this. It is the nature of life to change, to move, to grow, and with Preservation’s touch, you do not. You are frozen in stasis, unable to act or be acted upon. You do not change, you do not move, you do not grow. Without these things, are you truly alive? Are you truly a thing at all? You are nothing. You are empty. You are void. It would sting your soul if you could be affected at all. Change is life is change is life, and without it, you are meaningless. You do not live. You do not die. For some, this would be a blessing. For you, who is trapped in this mortal coil, it is hell. This is what it means to be Ruin: Your very presence makes the world crumble. You see beauties, wonders, glories, and you just want to touch them and they topple. Maybe you wanted them to, maybe you didn’t, but the pieces of once-magnificent things litter the floor, and you watch the world fall. Everything you touch turns to dust, and you learn to like it. The universe itself is crumbling in your presence, so you accelerate the process. It’s beautiful (you thinkhopewantbelieve). You travel places, see the best of things before you take them away. You exist, and the world falls apart. You are not so powerful (or perhaps so cruel) as to kill the inhabitants of the worlds you destroy. They flee and fly and fall apart as they find themselves elsewhere. They are stunned, unable to act in their stupor brought on by awe and horror. You smile, because otherwise you’d have to weep, and monsters don’t cry. This is what it means to be chosen by Ruin: You know intimately what it means to be destroyed. Ruin cradled you, whispering sweet nothings into your ears, and your willpower crumbled along with the walls of your mind. You are broken. You are cracked. You are mad. He speaks to you, telling you to kill. He wants you to kill. It is why He chose you, after all. He needs you. He wants you. He likes you. (Maybe so, or maybe He just thinks you’re useful, and you want Him to stay, to want you, to need you). You hate Him when He’s here, but miss Him when He’s gone. You kill for Him. Of course you do. You hate Him and love Him and need Him. You’d kill for Him. You’d die for Him. You’d do anything to keep Him here. He leaves you. Of course He does. You mourn Him and loathe Him and wish He’d come back. He never does. He abandons useless tools, after all. You miss Him, even as you die. I shall return on the morrow with words of witty banter But as of now, I long for sleep, that darling sweet enchanter. I bid the lot of you adieu and hope to see you all again. In a place beyond all mortal ken. Good night. Sleep tight. They bite.

Keteking your greetings, I make words fit the pattern poorly, patterning the unfit wordmaker, I greet you ketekfully. Salutations, I’ll be living this life entirely in forms of poetry. Whether or not this is successful you will have to wait and see. Wait and find out how bad my poetry is. Will wordsmithing be great or will it sputter and fizz? Await my inability to properly rhyme. The failure is merely a matter of time. The game is afoot and our demise is imminent. In the world we live in, the game is immanent. Did I use that line just so I could rhyme homonyms? Indeed, my incapability is obvious and evident. That previous couplet didn’t even rhyme truly. Perhaps it is I who am frustrated unduly. The rhymes are adequate enough from a certain perspective Though maybe all of them are not very effective. I’m adding one last couplet just to get sixteen lines. Before I escape this form of poetry’s confines. Let’s start from the top, with the win-cons and factions Where the village faces off against Odium’s champions There’s some Shards in the mix For some trappings and tricks. To win, Hate must exterminate, so prepare for action. Autonomy must create Shadows of Self Or to use the right term, “aspects” of itself. Each world gets one, Have some action fun Win victory to be shared among yourself. Survival, as the name implies, must Survive. To aid with this, you get some extra lives. You gotta vote on some peeps Or you’ll get killed in your sleep But for victory, prioritise staying alive. Invention, the builder, the crafter, the great! Make all of the toys, from kills to communicates. Also, Invest on the side Choose your Soldiers with pride And admire the beautiful items you’ll create. Now general Shards. Splinters just have Investiture. Shards get Shardic too. Shards pass to Invests. Dead Splinters die forever. No Invests means death. You can’t have two Shards. If tried, play hot potato. Snatched if passed to Shard Self-targeting banned Shards cannot be Invested. Action does succeed. Pass Shard to a corpse? Will bounce to their Investee. You don’t get it back. Each player has two actions normally. Invested players get an extra one. You use each action once with no repeats Though Ashyn gives you action repeat fun. Your actions do include: Investing souls And passing Shards and toys and doing tasks But passing items: just one action toll And oddly, moving planets doesn’t ask. You’re told if you are roleblocked, not effects Unless your role gives you results, good call. Then you are given your new target next To your results and then you know it all. I wrote a sonnet, good for me, great job! The rhymes all suck, I’m bad at this, it flopped. Victory is not an easy feat. Items are destroyed upon demise and aren’t revealed. Completing the win-con means neutrals depart Too many items will cause their destruction. Obviously, full Shards don’t start with items. Run from inactivity. It strikes you down at the whims of the gods of gods. Yes, PMs are limited and at the whims of Prudence. Behold! Ordered actions. Simplifying everything neatly. Difficult to elaborate on. Go look! Alas, my skill at poetry is limited to minute things. I shall return with more, I swear, but the rules are long and tiring. Behold, my failings and weakness at analysis. I told you from the start that it would come to this. I only finished 5 pages before I failed. To the mercy of the gods, I throw my hails. This sacred mission forsaken. I ask for mercy but receive only a message: “Awaken.” I think I’ve started Dreaming-though-Awake. Since on this ordinary day, I was actually awake right from the start. I hope my sanity won’t depart. Sanity is an illusion, don’t you see? Abandon hope and be like me. The last sanctuary for the mad Awaits us all, so smile, be glad. Join us. Later, I’ll return with information on the Shards Though perhaps my idle musings won’t be helpful. The chattering of weary teeth dost make for lovely music. Of my sanity, I do think I am doubtful. They got this poem from a local poet. Soren is my name, but they don’t know it. I foretold the doom of all the Shards; They wrote me off as just a bard. Now I laugh as they weep but will not show it. Behold my madness, scrawled in bloody ink upon the walls. Did I write this or did it write me? A lovely bloody tapestry. The wonders of foresight are truly blessing to all. Now that you know I was right, will you listen to me? I warned of this; the end is nigh. You laughed at me; you called me mad. The enemy’s Chosen have arrived. Through space we flee, though mist we fly. In a twisted way, I think I’m glad. I warned of this; the end is nigh. The dead amass and tears you cry. You should always trust the wise nomad. The enemy’s Chosen have arrived. I told you this would come on high. I mourned our future dead comrades. I warned of this; the end is nigh. Look up at the darkening sky. An omen of the days we’ll have. The enemy’s Chosen have arrived. For victory, we all will die. Our fate ahead is truly sad. I warned of this; the end is nigh. The enemy’s Chosen have arrived.

Spare no words, Telamon. Your end is nigh!

"Friends," Sammael said, turning to Asmodean and Demandred. "We have done some great business together. We have made it this far." "But one of you is not my friend. Appalling! For all the trust and cooperation we have been through in the service of the Great Lord, one of you is not who you claim to be," Sammael narrowed his eyes in mock drama. He pressed a hand to his forehead and sighed. "There are ways of finding out, certainly. Both of you are familiar with them, I believe we employed them this past week... you should also remember that they are not pleasant." Sammael chuckled. "No, not pleasant at all." He leveled his finger at Demandred. "My dear Demandred, you have my gratitude for the wine." Sammael glanced at Asmodean. "You haven't given me any tokens of compatriotism... tsk tsk. Were I to make this very difficult decision on bribery alone, Scorpion, things would not be looking in your favor. But Falcon," he said, turning back, "Asmodean here has given me transparency. Our communication bears an inherent level of trust. Though you and I have been accommodating, I have always felt a... barrier between us. Is it my face, Demandred? You could have just told me I was visually repulsive." Sammael gave a mirthless laugh, then said with complete solemnity: "I would have killed you if you have called me ugly." "One final word: Demandred, you told me you enjoyed being the bad guy. Though I certainly return the sentiment, could this phrase bear deeper meaning? Perhaps this refers to your secret animosity towards the Shadow, Lews Therin Telamon?! It is a stretch, yes, but another nail in your coffin. Your words, not mine." Sammael procured a chair and sat, gazing at the low grey cloudy sky. "The end draws near for all of us. It just comes quicker for some, Falcon."

FIFTH! You dirty cremling... I was right. This is a deathmatch you locked us all in for your sick amusement. Well then, my fellow Forsaken, I surely hope my corpse is not the first to fall.

To clarify the PM situation: Cycle 1: Created a PM with Falcon. However, PMs don't come into effect until the beginning of the next cycle (Cycle 2). Cycle 2: Prompted by an action from Scorpion, I created a PM with Scorpion. @Amethyst Scorpion, if you look back, you should have started getting PMs from me in Cycle 3. I'm frustrated that Penguin wasn't Lews, because I'm starting to doubt everything more and more. I firmly believe that Scorpion and Falcon are not Lews, at least. Swan/M'Hael is the most suspicious so far, and fits the low activity category that I've been suspicious of.

Penguin, this is odd. If I believe you, then I would be confirming my worst fears. I am Sammael. Now is as good a time to reveal it. Now that I've revealed, I have a claim for all of the remaining characters... but none of them are Lews. With Shaidar Haran and M'Hael, there are enough Forsaken to fill the entire player list. Fill it, meaning no Lews. Which means Fifth has just pitted us against ourselves to see who will be the last one standing. Now, M'Hael (Coral Swan) is the most tenuous of these claims. They have had low activity, and I don't trust them. However, I don't trust Penguin either. For now, I'm going to cling to this hope that the Dragon is out there for me to kill, and I'm not part of a deathmatch orchestrated by Fifth.

Mouse seemed trustworthy earlier in the game, when they were posting more. However, as has been mentioned, their recent lack of activity is suspicious. IIRC, Mouse claimed as an unnamed female Forsaken. This could have been a fake claim that has gone unchallenged. Azure Mouse, but then we need to do something to confirm their role while they are roleblocked. Just leaving them as is won't give us further information.

Though it seems like this lynch is becoming a Hyena vs Dragonfly situation, I agree with Dragonfly. Though claiming gives a sense of relief to the rest of us, reference Dragonfly's second point. Just a name doesn't help us much. Though I'm sure Fifth has done his research, to predict what abilities each Forsaken have just from their names would take a ridiculous amount of knowledge of WoT. Arcanist-level knowledge. From what I have gathered, it seems that the Forsaken have a lot of overlap in abilities, but each has a unique trick up their sleeve. From what has been stated, there are differing but similar win-cons among the Forsaken. Most, if not all, involve the Dragon, but it would be folly to assume that all need the Dragon dead. In particular, I'd be interested to know specifically what Lanfear's win-con is, considering her relationship with Lews. Of any of the Forsaken, I'd be most suspicious of her. I don't follow Vulture's logic in killing Albatross, not to mention I've been getting a bad feeling about them. I want to hear @Cream Tuatara's side of this. For now, in the interest of self-preservation, Amber Vulture.

I actually forgot about that from the books. Interesting.

Could you explain that? Weaving together? Is this a mechanic that only one or both of you have access to? Also, why Albatross?

With minimal information and limited PMs, it’s hard to perform any in-depth analysis. However, I’ve got a hunch that Lews is probably lurking or limiting contact. I don’t like these vibes: Coral Swan Amber Vulture Cream Tuatara

Thank you. Lews Therin aka the Dragon aka Rand Al'Thor has a bunch of buddies. His BFFs are Perrin and Mat. One talks to wolves and the other has the devil's own luck. Mechanically, I have no idea how Perrin and Mat would be implemented, other than Mat being able to mess with success percentages.

Albatross, I could not have killed Weasel because I PMed Scorpion as they suggested.

@Indigo Weasel I’m sorry, but I can only PM one player each cycle. You’ll get your turn soon enough.

In the circumstance that the Dragon is surrounded by his infuriating entourage, I can only expect that Matrim has probability-warping abilities. Quite useful, when every action has a chance of failure. Ivory, I'll place a vote on you. Someone else may maintain the tie.