Elandera

Rule Clarification: Hidden Transcripts are a one-time use items. I realized that's the only item where it does not state that specifically, which was a GM mistake while creating the rules. We apologize.

You can become insane more than once, though that does not affect the percentages of receiving PMs once you've been insane. I will also say you cannot be insane for two turns in a row.

Alright. After consulting with Snipexe (because I couldn't remember our intent ), this means that you choose two players and if they have a PM with each other, you'll see those messages sent that turn.

The Founder's vote remains in place when they use it. Both of the Governor's votes would be moved if affected by the Founder. Insane lasts for a turn. So if you become insane at the end of the night turn, you're insane for the next day turn. You will be able to resume actions the following night turn. PAFO Game does not end, and the player remains in the game. PAFO

Sounds just beyond the range of understanding echoed through Rowley’s head. The sounds of drums yet unseen, and of which there was no source, permeated the air. Rowley shuddered, dreading the return this familiar place. It was the same as his previous nightmares had been, the ones that had been haunting his sleep since he had arrived in Innsmouth. A twilight sky filled with impossibly colored stars loomed over the cyclopean buildings of an impossible scale that encircled him on all sides. He took a deep breath and readied himself for what was to come. The drums accelerated into a thrum that itself seemed to grow into a vibration of the air. Around Rowley, the shades of the dead grew into in reality. Shades that bore familiar faces. The expedition crew and those who had died since surrounded him. The victims of the cult that was destroying Innsmouth. They pressed in, coming closer and closer as more and more joined their numbers. He felt a hand on his leg, and jerked away, looking down to see the form of a little girl trying to clutch his leg, seemingly as a replacement for a mother who had been lost in the horrific crowd. He crouched down, looking into the girls face, ignoring the throng of shades. It was dark and alien, twisted beyond recognition as that of a little girl. But within the dark swirls that made up her features, a dark reflection of something else dwelt. He shoved the girl away when he realized what it was. Disgust and terror greater than any previously experience filled him. The girl melted into the crowd of shades, becoming nothing but oil in a sea of pitch. Rowley remained frozen even as the shades filled his vantage. In her face, in that girls face, that dark shade, he had seen his own. Rowley stumbled out of bed, struggling to get his hands wrapped around reality. Feeling it slip away, he collapsed onto the ground. He sat there for an indeterminate amount of time, contemplating the meaning of the dream, even as he had done for the previous week. It was still just as meaningless as the first time. The girl was the only thing that made this dream unique from the rest. She’d died recently, Rowley knew, another one of the victims. Absentmindedly he touched the spot on his leg where she had clutched onto him. He felt dust coat his fingers, and looked down to see a chunk of his flesh withered, an imprint in the shape of a small child's hand blackened the flesh of his thigh. He felt bile rise from his stomach and had to choke keep it down. Turning, he reached for his bag, the small room allowing him to reach it without moving far. He had never been more grateful for the poor quality of the inn than when he poured his last remaining silver dust on the wound. He stood up slowly, trying to catch his breath, and avoided looking at the wound on his leg. Rowley pulled on his clothes quickly, grabbed his papers, then stepped out of his room, and carefully traversed the stairs down to the main foyer. The innkeeper nodded in response to Rowley’s arrival, and Rowley smiled in return. It was time to get back to his studies, and begin another day in this miserable fort. Welcome to Day 1 of LG60! All PMs should be sent. If you have not received one, please contact Snipexe and Elandera. Snipexe did the write-up, so if you want to upvote it, find one of his posts. Thanks! Rules https://docs.google.com/document/d/18ZLvYTFUXikgQNHW61AORBkS-gBGC-uUXu6zEvBpMSs/edit?usp=sharing Acitons available to anyone - PMs are open. Be sure to add both GMs to all PMs ***EDIT: Alvron has asked to not be included in player-to-player PM*** - Players can take one action during each Day and Night turn - Two-vote minimum for the lynch - Tied lynches will be decided at random Player List This turn will end Thursday, October 3 at 12 p.m. PST.

We have about 23 hours before sign-ups end. If you're considering joining, please do! The more players this game has, the more interesting it will be!

Brave of you to join me in a spec doc again...

Hmmm. I'm not so good at the RP part . So I'll bring @Snipexe in for this question. He tends to have more interactive RP.

Welcome to SE!

The build of the Soul Forger is something I would change in hindsight. Along with my original plan to have had that role be the elim faction with four accounts came a longer survival ability. The Forger would not have been out of the game until all Marks and the main Forger body were dead. Unfortunately, you had the poor end of some last-minute rule changes. The village activity was also one of my biggest problems this game. You were placed in a very tough position, and the loss of big village players early was absolutely unhelpful. The Striker was taken out super early (before being able to act), as was the village manipulation. The Rememberer, who could have added more blocks/protections/kills was inactive and then dead. Also, personally, I think that if any player no longer feels up to playing for any reason, they should inquire about a pinch hitter. I largely agree with DeTess's statement that Fura pushing to die because of circumstances wasn't in and of itself bad, but I think a pinch hitter is a better way to resolve it than sacrificing yourself. I should have offered a pinch hitter, but as it was my first time GMing, and with no co-GM, I was focused on other things.

All vote manipulation will show the same way. Numbers will reflect actual count, names will appear as they do in-thread. Yes. Definitely.

Oh, for those of you unfamiliar with Shadow Over Innsmouth or HP Lovecraft's writing, here's a link to a version you can read online, or download as an ebook. It's through the University of Adelaide. They also have a lot more of his works, if you're interested in reading before the game. You can submit one in the thread, but if you choose to take this action, your PM vote will override the in-thread vote. If the PM vote fails, both votes will fail. Discover the Hidden is a separate calculation. So it will have the 20% chance, then 10% chance from the standard insanity. That is because the act itself may cause insanity (running into a horror of the night). EDIT: Oops. Forgot I had just posted Sorry mods!

I quite agree with this. Activity can never be guaranteed from anyone. Life happens. We understand. @Furamirionind, you were, by no means, the least active player in the game. Had you been the only lesser-active player, it wouldn't have been an issue. Village would have been around enough to look at all the players more and hopefully glean something from your content. As Sart once told me as an elim, village activity was not my responsibility. Their lack of effort (still love you all, even with lower activity ) is not your fault. There wasn't a ton, compared to your usual contribution, but there was enough there to provide hints.

Alright, for those of you (like me) who just skim the dead doc for references to myself, let me explain a few things. The reason this was blackout? There really wasn't one. At least not with the rules as they turned out to be. The original iteration of this game had the Soul Forger as an eliminator, with a neutral Thief role. The Soul Forger would have had access to four anonymous accounts, and could post from each of them. It would have been a one-person elim team. After some wise advice from the balance committee (Thanks @A Joe in the Bush and @Fifth Scholar), and seeing some of the low player counts at the LG, I decided it would be wise to make it a more standard elim set-up. By then, though, I'd been so excited about it that I'd posted more than once about it being anon/blackout. So blackout it remained. Overall, I'm pretty pleased with how the rules themselves played out. As I said more than once in the spec doc, it was a series of unfortunate events for the village this game, compounded by a lack of activity (I was not quiet about that in the doc, either. Sorry about that. I really do love you all ). A huge congratulations goes out to @DeTess. You did a fantastic job becoming trusted by some key players in the game. @Hemalurgic Headshot and @Furamirionind also played very good games at staying under the radar. Fura, thanks for sticking around, even though you've not had the motivation. Focusing on yourself is definitely more important than a game. Thanks to @Kasimir, for enduring my ramblings in the dead doc. It was good to have you in there, even if it meant a loss for the game. Oh, and congratulations to @Haelbarde. RNG really wanted you to be the Soul Forger. We were all rooting for you in the dead doc . You had good strategy overall, clear up until you trusted the wrong person. Oh, Fura! Art dies with the person who holds it. Sorry I kept PAFOing you on that.

Professor Charles Rowley paged through the reports from his survey teams nervously as his carriage bumped and rattled along the old dirt road. He began to read through them yet again, despite having memorized their contents, hoping perhaps to reassure himself that said papers were, in fact, real. The contents of the document that Rowley clutched was that of a report from a field expedition and shade survey in the northeastern area of the Forests of Hell. The shade distribution had appeared perfectly unremarkable, and while they had discovered several new clearings along their path for waystops, the surveyors had written home of the simple inanities of being away. This, too, was quite ordinary. The archives of the Miskatonic University contained hundreds of letters of a similar theme. What the archives of the University did not contain was what the survey had discovered outside Fort Innsmouth. Rowley flipped to the page detailing the massive increase in shade sightings as the team had approached Innsmouth. The report spoke of seemingly intelligent shades, and a malevolent presence. It was after this final page that the report ended. The team had been discovered a week later, their campsite ravaged. Their bodies were found surrounding a bloody script of arcane rituals and heretical scrawl. The only other papers that he held were the drawings of the horrifying scene. Rowley shivered and felt for his silver pocket watch, only relaxing when he felt it within his grip. Some thought it ironic that a professor of the occult could have so much anxiety around the macabre, but reading about mysteries and actually investigating them were different matters entirely. The carriage jolted to a halt, startling Rowley. He looked out the small window in the vehicle, and caught his first sight of Fort Innsmouth. It was an average sized fort, with the surrounding town built around the bay of the ocean. Fishing vessels dotted the water, with a few bigger trading ships sticking out among the smaller schooners. From a distance, the buildings appeared quite rundown, and the streets seemed to twist at angles not possible for a fort of Innsmouth’s size. Rowley gingerly stepped out of the carriage, shoving the papers in the back of his pocket and then grabbed his trunk from the back. Even as he entered the city proper, he could feel the presence of something darker, a sinister quality in the air. A sign in a nearby building advertised an inn just down the road, and despite its squalid exterior he hesitantly stepped in. The main floor of Shivering Shade was just as grimy as the outside, with very little to remark about other than that of the apparent innkeeper. The man’s face seemed as rough as that of an old boat, with the same number of scars. His body was bent with age, and his hands were covered in the callouses that could only come with a lifetime of working the docks. “What can I do ya for?” The man asked as Rowley walked up the counter. “I simply need a room for a few days.” “I can do that for ya. Just need your name.” “My name? Charles Rowley, err Professor Charles Rowley.” “A professor, eh? What kind of professor are ya to be coming out to Innsmouth.” “I’m a Professor of the Occult at the Miskatonic University, in Fort Arkham.” “Occult, eh, so ya out here to investigate the deaths?” “Of the surveyor team? Yes, how did you know that?” “I said nothing about a surveyor team, Professor, we’ve been having killings of the occult nature for months.” Welcome to LG60: The Shadow Over the Forest of Hell! This is a mash-up between Brandon Sanderson’s Shadows for Silence in the Forest of Hell and H.P. Lovecraft’s The Shadow Over Innsmouth. Snipexe and Elandera will both be GMing. Premise: Strange discoveries have cast a frightful shadow over the people at Fort Innsmouth of Threnody, nestled between the ocean and the Forests of Hell. People at other forts called them crazy for delving into the ocean to mine. Maybe they were mad, but it began only after the expeditions. They found an evil lurking within the depths. An evil that drove men into madness with quiet whispers in the night. An evil that awoke in the hearts of those who saw it an insatiable desire to release their will and serve. An evil that caused men to kill. Rules: https://docs.google.com/document/d/18ZLvYTFUXikgQNHW61AORBkS-gBGC-uUXu6zEvBpMSs/edit?usp=sharing - PMs are open. Be sure to add both GMs to all PMs. We will notify you if the IM should be included as well. - Players can take one action during each Day and Night turn - Two-vote minimum for the lynch - Tied lynches will be decided at random Player List: Quick Links: Rule Clarifications: The game will begin at 12 p.m. PST on Tuesday, October 1st.

A small figure lurked in the shadows, observing the masquerade with interest. Not interest for the dancing and political positioning. No. He was looking for someone. Someone to kill. The MaiPon forger had one goal, and one goal alone. Destroy the Rose Empire, once and for all. He’d heard rumors of an imbalance in power, and knew it was time to strike. If only he could remove those in power and those vying for it. No one else would be strong enough to take control. Glory was getting too close, though. They were on the cusp of seizing the empire, and his window would be closed. The masquerade, though, made it nearly impossible for him to find the right targets. It’s why he lurked, waiting for the right moment. --- It’s time. Daasu edged his way through the thinning crowd. One person stood out among them. One person whom Daasu knew was leading the rebellion. The mouse. Daasu’s red eyes, veiled by the swan costume, kept focused on the person who stood in the middle of the crowd. Several people were accusing her of being a traitor, but no one was acting. This was not a time for talking. Daasu approached the group, knife concealed in his hand. “I’m not the one you all seem to be hunting,” said the mouse. She pointed toward a figure standing by the food table. “That man, there. The albatross. He’s done nothing to help us find the culprit.” A few people began to nod in agreement. Daasu glared at the woman. How did no one else see it? She was manipulating them. Gritting his teeth against doubt, Daasu stumbled forward, knife concealed in one hand and a glass poised in the other. He crashed into the woman’s side, pretending to catch himself on her arm. The glass shattered and the knife slid smoothly through the fur and fabric, into skin. The mouse cursed, shoving Daasu away and lifting a hand to her now bleeding arm. “I’m sorry,” he said, feigning subservience. “You’re too drunk, man. Go home.” Daasu nodded and bowed, leaving quickly with the blood he needed. --- The mouse pulled her hand away from her arm to find a lot more blood than he’d expected from a simple broken glass. She cursed again as she watched the drunken swan retreat. She’d need to get this seen to before carrying out the rest of her plans. With a heavy sigh, she waved for servants to join her at the edge of the room. “How can we help you,” one said with a bow. “Just get me a bandage for now. I have more important things to do than this.” They complied, and within minutes had her arm bandaged and costume roughly sewn back together. It wasn’t beautiful, but it would function. The mouse stood and made her way toward the falcon. “Would you mind joining me? I’d like to discuss some matters with you.” He looked up at her, picked up a few strange items from the table next to him, and followed. “Are you enjoying yourself this evening?” she asked kindly. “Not entirely. It feels strange to still be holding a masquerade even after the emperor died. Shouldn’t we all be in mourning?” “We can enter mourning when this is done. For now, we honor his wishes to continue the festival.” The falcon nodded. She was leading him through the hallways behind the hall, usually used only by the servants ferrying food to and from the parties. “Are you concerned about me? I know you’ve had your doubts.” “Not as much as others. The albatross does seem rather strange, though. Maybe he’s the murderer?” The mouse smiled. It was the response she’d desired, but she still couldn’t trust him. She looked forward in the hall, finally finding what she’d needed. An open doorway with a lock. “The albatross is my concern as well. They’ve seemed content to let us remove ourselves.” The doorway was only a few steps away. Keep him distracted. “I think we should remove him today.” “I agree. However-” The mouse didn’t let him finish. She shoved the falcon through the doorway, slamming it shut behind him. With all her weight and strength, she kept the door pressed closed as she fumbled for the key. Something hit her in the side - her cut arm - and she recoiled with a cry of pain. She turned and found a skeletal looming over her. Behind the skeletal was a pale figure with red eyes. Daasu. The cursed bloodsealer. “How dare you,” she screamed. “You dare attack an arbiter?” “Yes.” The skeletal struck forward again, swinging a club toward her head. She ducked away, but still felt the wind from the club. She backed away, panicking. The skeletal advanced. It’s menacing grin chilled her to the bone. It struck again. She could not move fast enough. I --- “That’s enough,” Daasu commanded. The skeletal stopped, standing above the motionless body. His only command was to disable the woman, not kill her. A breathless falcon emerged from the room. His eyes grew wide as he looked at the skeletal and down at the fallen woman. The skeletal turned to him, but did not move. The falcon grasped something in his hand and hurled it toward the bones. The object - a small statue of a fish - crashed into Daasu’s creation. The heavy object shattered the skeletal’s skull, and the whole construct collapsed into a heap of bone and armor. Daasu ran before he could be the next victim of a crazed falcon. He took a deep breath as he exited into open air. The loss of one of his creations would be nothing in the end. Not if it meant saving the Empire. A force struck him in the side and a searing pain erupted. He looked down to find a crossbow bolt lodged between his ribs. Another one struck, just a few inches above. Daasu looked to where the bolts came from and saw a pale mask in the shadows. Another bolt struck and he fell. The pale mask appeared above him, stark against the black sky. “You cannot stop us now, bloodsealer.” --- The forger kept an eye on the mouse and falcon as they left the room. Were they conspiring together? A consensus had been reached, and albatross had been dragged away. Another member of Heritage, taken to be slaughtered at the will of a paranoid aristocracy. It had to end. The forger - clad that night as a tuatara - decided to find the falcon and mouse. Stepping quietly into a darkened hallway, he pulled out a small box. A box he would never leave behind, and never lose. His soul was in that box. His hand passed over the Grand. The vote had already been made. It hesitated over the Urchin. Maybe he should hide another night. Survive just one more time. No. The time to strike is now. He grasped the Warrior stamp, and placed it on his skin. It sank in after a moment’s resistance, and he turned it, sealing the stamp for now. Years of training in the art of ChayShan flooded his mind. It was not time to hid, nor time to manipulate. It was time to kill. The forger stepped out of the shadowed hallway, muscles suddenly more tense, more responsive. Soon, he came across the scene he’d not quite expected. The mouse, unconcious or dead on the floor. A pile of bones - he recoiled with a hiss. A bloodsealer. Standing above them was the falcon. “So you are one of them,” the forger said. “What? One of the Glory? No!” The protests seemed forced. With a lithe grace only accessible to the forger as the Warrior, he stepped forward. The falcon reached down, picking up a small statue. He held it up menacingly. “Don’t come any closer.” His words meant nothing. The forger advanced. With a grunt, the falcon hurled the statue forward, but the forger easily dodged, closing the distance between them. Sweeping his leg low, he kicked the falcon’s legs from under him. He fell with a thump and groan of pain. There was no time to waste. The forger pounced, striking vital organs and breaking bones. Within moments, the falcon was nothing but a motionless heap on the floor. The mouse stirred beside him. She’s not dead? She lifted a hand to her head, then looked around at the scene. A deep laugh burst from her, echoing with a haunting air in the stone hallway. Magenta Albatross was lynched! They were a member of the Heritage Faction. Coral Swan was killed! They were a Bloodsealer for the Heritage Faction. Emerald Falcon was killed! They were a member of the Heritage Faction. The Glory Faction has won! Congratulations! Vote Count: Azure Mouse (1) - Cream Tuatara Magenta Albatross (3) - Azure Mouse, Emerald Falcon, Melon Dingo Player Count Docs: Dead/Spec Doc Glory Faction Doc GM Spreadsheet Rules Remember to log out of your anonymous accounts. If you want copies of any PMs, best to save them now before the IMs go through and purge. Thanks again everyone for playing! I'll post thoughts later.

This turn has ended. Has the game? Stay tuned

Nope . I just missed it in my spreadsheet. (I'm too tired for this )

Oh, no. That was a mistake in my copying process. I'll fix it now. Thanks for finding it!

Delicate wings spread behind her back, moving gently forward and back as she stepped into the feast hall. Candlelight danced off the thin, translucent wiring that gave the wings its structure. It made her ivory dress glow with a soft light, and caught the eye of more than one masquerader. The dragonfly allowed herself to grin, knowing it would be mostly covered by the golden filigree mask. It was exactly the reaction she’d hoped when she’d begun designing the costume. In a time of threat, one did not run. Stand tall and face whatever comes. I’m here. Now come and get me. The dragonfly flitted from conversation to conversation through the night. She watched closely to those she greeted. Nervous eyes glance around, suspicious of the unknown people behind the masks. Despite the doubt that edged its way into her mind, she kept her face serene and eyes confidently on whoever was speaking. As the hours passed, she noticed more eyes glancing in her direction. More people whispering fervently as she left their circles. “Do you think she’s one of them?” “No one else would dare be so bold.” “She has to be sending a message for the Glory faction. They think they’re close to finally taking control of the empire.” No matter. She would not be cowed. Nor would her accusers. The questions grew, and more eyes watched her. More people dispersed as she approached. Soon, she stood alone, a pillar of fire in the center of the hall as the light played off her costume. The dragonfly did not flinch as the strikers came for her. She did not look down, or look away. She locked eyes with everyone who dared accuse her of treachery. You will know soon. Hopefully before the empire falls. --- The emperor watched sadly as the dragonfly was escorted from the hall. Another person whom he thought he could trust taken away to their death. He could only hope they were the real threat. It must be done. For the Rose Empire. The words were little comfort as he scanned the rest of the thinning crowd. His power was waning. Footsteps and shifting fabric warned him of someone stepping up beside him. Careful to avoid hitting the person with the crocodile jaws, he stepped back and turned. A man in black robes and a porcelain white mask stood before him, hands clasped behind his back as he looked out over the gathering. “Do you think all this is wise?” His quiet voice was muffled by the mask. The emperor held back a glare for man audacious enough to question him. He did not appreciate the criticism, but knew it would do no good to reveal himself. “If nothing else, it gives the people hope as they see their leaders dwindle.” “When was the last time you spent time with the people outside these halls, emperor?” That gave him pause. Recovering quickly, he leveled a glare at the stranger. Criticism was one thing. This? This was sheer stupidity. “The people love that we bring joy into their lives.” “They’d rather have food on their tables. No matter. They will have a better emperor soon.” “You dare threaten me?” The emperor felt his anger rise. He bared his teeth, feeling as though he were the crocodile he portrayed. “We have you backed against a wall,” said the man in a calm voice. He turned slowly to face the emperor finally. “Either get out of the way or be crushed.” “I will not–” The man stepped forward, closing the gap between them before the emperor could react. “Then you will die.” A thin rod of metal pierced through the tough skin of his costume and into his heart. Prongs on either side of the blade followed, hitting his lungs. The emperor tried to cry out, but could not force enough air out to do anything more than whisper and gasp. The stranger held him for a second, driving the sai upward still. Pain shot through the emperor’s body as he collapsed, held upright only by the prongs. “Die knowing you could not stop us.” Ivory Dragonfly was lynched! They were a member of the Heritage Faction Mauve Crocodile was killed! They were the Emperor. Vote Count: Coral Swan (2) - Cream Tuatara, Mauve Crocodile, Melon Dingo Emerald Falcon (1) - Ivory Dragonfly Ivory Dragonfly (2) - Azure Mouse, Magenta Albatross Mauve Crocodile (1) - Emerald Falcon Player Count Revealed Rules and Roles Reminder: Rules for Anonymous Accounts: Rule Reminder: PMs are open No vote minimum Tied lynches will be decided at random and one person will be lynched This cycle will close Thursday, September 19th at 11 a.m. PST

Turn is over. New one will be posted shortly.

One hour left to submit any votes or actions!

The fiftieth sun was setting behind a bank of clouds, casting a deep scarlet light across the sky. It was a glorious evening. Vostrath strode confidently toward the feast hall for yet another night of masquerade. They’d been pleasantly surprised at the emperor’s insistence at continuing the festival, even with so many dead. It made his job so much easier. The porcelain mask was still heavy, but it was becoming familiar. He lifted it to his face as he came close enough to encounter other costumed attendants. His goal was something different. They’d discovered finding the emperor would be difficult. He was too skilled at blending to be found so easily. Tonight, it didn’t matter who died, so long as they were Heritage. Remain hidden. Unnoticed. Scanning the crowd entering the feast hall, Vostrath looked for those who stood apart. Those who seemed hesitant. His eyes fell on the perfect candidate. A hyena, who’s costumed fur was a deep black. The red light from the dying sun reflected hauntingly on the course fibers. Perfect. The hyena watched everyone nervously, eyes darting back and forth behind their mask. Vostrath stepped into the shadow of the building, listening. It seemed to be a one-person conversation. “Why is no one stopping the killing? I can’t do anything about it. Why am I still here?” muttered the hyena. They took a deep breath. “No one will even know.” They turned to leave, stepping away from the entrance of the hall. Toward their death. Vostrath stepped back, waiting patiently for the hyena to turn the corner. He pulled a dagger from a sheath on his forearm --- The hyena took one step back, then another. Too many people were dying at these feasts. Unwilling to speak ill of the emperor’s decisions, they’d kept their protests quiet. He kept their movements small and slow as he turned his back to the hall doors. Don’t draw attention. Just leave. It was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He could return to the Heritage feasts once the culprit was found. The hyena lifted the mask from his face as he stepped around the corner of the building, into the shadow. The movement blinded him for a brief moment. Long enough to be surprised by a pale, masked figure lurking. Watching. He stepped back quickly, dropping the hyena mask to the ground. It bounced and rolled backward, into the dying light. It wasn’t fast enough. Pain erupted across his throat. Acting on instinct alone, he lifted his hand to his throat, only to feel warm, wet blood. He stumbled backward, gasping for air. Nothing filled his lungs. His legs lost any sense of strength, his feet any sense of coordination. He collapsed, staring up at the blood red sky. “For Glory.” --- Vostrath looked at his latest victim. The black fur - still reflecting light from the setting sun - became slick with blood as he fell to the cobblestones. It was a vision in fading red as darkness fell. --- Penguin. It wasn’t his choice to be a penguin, but it was fun. It was a silly outfit, which suited him just fine for the masquerade. Unfortunately, it didn’t fit the current mood of the festival, which seemed to be more a funeral than celebration. “It must be stopped.” Nearly everyone who spoke echoed the same sentiment. None of them, however, seemed to have a direction. “How can they kill the captain of the guard right here, in the middle of all this? Surely, someone saw something.” Moments passed before someone spoke, making the penguin shift uncomfortably. Silence was never a good thing. “I think I saw him there.” The penguin looked up to see someone dressed as a falcon pointing a feathered finger in his direction. “Me?” The penguin shook his head. “What do I have to do with this?” The falcon answered more boldly. “I think the captain was going to arrest him. Then she just happened to end up dead. It had to be him.” Lavishly dressed people fell quiet as the accusation echoed through the chamber. The penguin looked around, looking at the people standing idly as Strikers approached menacingly. “Will no one listen? Will no one act? Will you all stand idly by as we continue to be hunted?” A few shifted their feet nervously, but still no one spoke. The Strikers closed in on their prey. The penguin stood resplendent, despite the ridiculousness of his costume, as he was taken away. A simple death might call people to action. If not, they may lose everything. One Striker raised a sword. The penguin looked into his eyes, face remaining stoic. The sword began to descend. A scream pierced the silence from outside the halls. Hard metal cut through the costume and into his skin. Darkness clouded his vision as he heard a cry that someone else had been found dead. Too late to save him. Too late for us all. Chartreuse Penguin was lynched! They were a member of the Heritage Faction Charcoal Hyena was killed! They were a member of the Heritage Faction Vote Count: Chartreuse Penguin (2) - Emerald Falcon, Melon Dingo Emerald Falcon (1) - Chartreuse Penguin, Mauve Crocodile Mauve Crocodile (1) - Cream Tuatara Player Count Revealed Rules and Roles Reminder: Rules for Anonymous Accounts: Rule Reminder: PMs are open No vote minimum Tied lynches will be decided at random and one person will be lynched This cycle will close Tuesday, September 17th at 11 a.m. PST

This cycle is over. The new one will be posted shortly.

There's a little more than an hour left in this turn. Get your votes and actions in before it's too late.