Wyrmhero

Generation 11 Turn 4 Antimony Izenry was nervous. Far more so than he was just a scant week ago when he had shown off the firearms he had made. And could he be blamed for such a thing? The Lord Ruler was furious when he had left, and while He seemed to be calmer today, who knew how much fury was bubbling away beneath the carefully constructed surface? But that was not all of it. He fully expected that he would die today. Whether by The Lord Ruler's hand or his own, today was the day when he stepped out of the present and into history. Perhaps, even, into legend. After today, his House's place at the top of the world would be secured, unshakeable. They would displace God, and in turn, they would become him. “This is all of them?” The Lord Ruler asked, his voice measured and level. He stood next to Antimony, the other source of Antimony's nerves. “All of the compounds you made? There are quite a number. Interesting that you could get away with it for so long. But I suppose that is the price I pay for letting you all run around on your own, without a firm hand to guide you.” “...Yes, My Lord,” Antimony nodded, dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief. His vision swayed. Was that blood on the cloth? No, he was imagining things. He stowed it away quickly before the imagined sight returned. “We felt that it would be useful for our mining operations. And as it was still an emerging technology, we needed to produce large quantities of it to test it. We had hoped that we could increase the efficiency and decrease the size in time.” “Perhaps if you had kept to using it for extraction purposes, this could have been avoided,” The Lord Ruler said, shaking his head. “It is a shame you had to turn your head towards weaponry. What need have we for it? All it would do is give power to the skaa. Swords, spears and bows... All of these need years of training. Imagine the difficult that my army would be having at the moment if the criminals they fought also wielded these firearms...” He trailed off, either pensive or no longer caring to continue the conversation. Either way, Lord Izenry knew what He meant. And to be honest, he agreed. The idea of a disloyal skaa with a firearm was rather a terrifying one. True, they would be unable to kill a Mistborn or several types of Misting, but they would still be far more dangerous than was good for the Empire. Even in his darkest, most treacherous moments, he had never considered gifting his firearms to the skaa rebellion. There was a signal from one of his men. He stood some distance away, a barrel of burning pitch by his side and a bow in his hand. They would detonate the explosive material remotely, so as to give the suggestion of avoiding any danger. None of his own men would be close enough to be badly hurt. None of them, that is, except one. “My Lord, we are ready to begin,” Antimony said, turning and gesturing behind them. “If you and your men would care to retreat, we are not at present at a safe distance.” The Lord Ruler nodded to the soldier behind him, the captain of his Imperial Guard. The man gave a signal to retreat. Antimony had always wondered what the point of these men was; The Lord Ruler was far more deadly than even the most skilled and trained of skaa, so why bother with them? Perhaps it was a sign that He was in fact not all-powerful, and was actually rather vulnerable. Regardless, Antimony would take it as a sign. He had to stop himself from cracking a sort of manic smile. Signs? He was about to kill God! What use was mysticism here? He walked back with The Lord Ruler and his Imperial Guard, taking them back to what he was claiming was a safe distance. The fact that he too would remain would hopefully lend some credibility to this. The cloth-clad arrow was dipped in the burning pitch. The archer raised his bow and fired. The arrow arced over their heads, streaking fire across the ashen sky. Then it started to descend, burying itself in the mound of nitroglycerin, gunpowder and soaked cotton. Antimony braced himself and closed his eyes. But he didn't turn from it. That would give everything away at the end, make everything worthless. And to be honest, this would probably be a quicker, less painful death than being given to the Inquisition and made to endure imprisonment. There was a loud explosion, heat and light bursting outwards in all directions. Shrapnel flew out haphazardly, though it was not obvious to see when all onlookers were temporarily blinded. Pain assaulted Antimony as he felt his flesh cook and his ears bleed. The shockwave pushed him backwards towards the ground, but he blacked out before he finished his fall. Antimony opened his eyes, which was a shock in and of itself. He had hoped to survive, of course, but not expected it. But then, he didn't expect to survive much longer. The only thing he could feel was the pain and ache that wracked his entire body. He was still burning all over, and even moving his arm proved to be too much for him to be able to do. To top it off, he'd been pierced by shrapnel, if the sharp stabbing pain in his chest was anything to go by. He tilted his head, ignoring the hurt as much as he could. There were bodies everywhere; the livery of the Royal Guard littered the grounds of Keep Izenry. He could just about see the body of his archer as well, the man must have been hit by shrapnel, even at such a distance. He turned the other way, to see the results of this assassination. The Lord Ruler was alive. Hopefully not for long. Certainly without medical attention. Even a pewterarm would die from these wounds, they simply couldn't burn the metal long enough to recover from them in time. But his eyes opened wide in disbelief, even though it pained him to do so, at the sight he saw. The burn marks on his skin were fading away, slowly. The arm that was hanging loosely by His side was regaining some strength, the fingers twitching as life returned to them. The Lord Ruler sat up slowly, clearly also in pain. Then, suddenly, there was no pain, as though the sense had become dulled. It took some effort, but He moved to a sitting position. Then, after a stumble, to standing. He adjusted a silver ring on his finger, knocked askew by the fall. He hobbled over to Antimony, uncaring of His newfound nudity, as the remains of the clothes He wore slid off His body. All that remained on Him were his rings, bracelets, and other bits of jewellery. Once opulent and gaudy, now they were charred, damaged, twisted and bent, while others had simply rusted in the heat. Nasty great welts covered his body where the metal made contact with His body, but even those marks were slowly healing. There was a scraping noise, metal on the dirt, as the groaning, still-living body of an Imperial Guardsman was dragged along by His Ironpull. The Lord Ruler called the sword into His hand with another Ironpull. He gripped it with newfound strength. The body landed on Antimony's chest, and he let out a wordless grunt of pain; he did not have the strength to yell it. “These swords...” The Lord Ruler muttered. “They are made of iron.” He lined the sword up carefully, body swaying gently, and then with a Steelpush, thrust the sword through both bodies. This time, Antimony found the strength to scream. He felt the sword pierce his ribcage, slipping between the bones, and stabbing through his heart. The Lord Ruler gave him a small smile. The guard no longer moaned, or even breathed. The corpse was pushed off Antimony with another Steelpush, and the brittle iron blade of the sword snapped, a jagged edge now protruding slightly from Antimony's chest. The Lord Ruler made his way to a small rock that had been thrown by the explosion and sat on it. He was breathing heavily, despite the lack of actual physical exertion on his part. The world started to swim back into focus for Antimony. The pain remained, but he was able to bear it slightly better. It was not a recovery, but a sense of fortitude he didn't have previously. God stared down at him, as if wondering what to do with him. Antimony knew that He had done something to him, something that kept him alive for now. He dreaded to think what it was and why. A voice whispered to him, telling him to finish the job, that he had wounded The Lord Ruler and that He was vulnerable. But he couldn't manage it. Even attempting that final act would kill him. “You are... surprised,” The Lord Ruler said to him, his voice raspy. Everything about it said that He should have been in massive pain, and yet He was not. Was this the extent that His Allomancy had reached? That His pewter allowed Him to shrug off pain that mortals could not withstand? “You should know it is... not easy to kill a God. I should know; I have tried before.” “H-How?” Antimony managed to splutter, strength in him enough to speak, though every word was agony. “Gold,” The Lord Ruler said. “You have, no doubt, heard the story of when I was burned down to a skeleton, yet survived?” He chuckled a little, but stopped quickly when it became a hacking cough. “It is an embellishment, but mostly true. Do not feel so upset at your failure to achieve your objective. Against anyone else, this would have worked. You are simply working with incomplete information. You see, if I were to put it succinctly, as long as I am not killed, I will not die.” Antimony's brow furrowed as he tried to understand what He meant. How did gold help him? It had no restorative properties, and he couldn't even begin to parse that last sentence. “My brain,” He clarified eventually. “As long as my brain is still intact, and that I do not die quicker than I can heal, then I am functionally immortal.” Now His face frowned down at him. “Though you have wasted almost all of my charges, since I needed such extensive and speedy healing. I hope you are happy,” he ran a hand over his head. “It will take me some time to regain my hair.” “I must admit though, I am surprised by the blast radius of your explosives. I have seen them before, many, many centuries ago in the world that was, and they were not this powerful. For that matter, I did not expect you to try and sacrifice yourself for this. Perhaps I was simply hoping that I was informed wrong about you and your plans.” “Yes,” he added, smiling cruelly at Antimony's surprise. “I have known about your plots against me for some time. One of your so-called friends is not actually a friend. I knew this was a trap for me, and I walked in willingly.” He spread his arms out. “I must thank you for improving my reputation. You've also exposed a threat to me. They were getting rather cocky as of late, and their delaying of informing me of your plans must be punished.” He didn't elaborate on whom he referred to. “Now, the question of what to do with you arises. I suspect that your people will be here very shortly to dispatch any remaining witnesses. I am also unable to easily remove you from here. So I think that, now you have understood the depths of your failure, I will let you pass from this Realm to the next, with that in mind. Ah, but I am monologuing,” He said, chuckling again. This time, it was not raspy. “Perhaps I should do as he did, and write this down rather than speak it at people.” He stood up from the rock. “Your... Your army is gone,” Antimony said, as He drew closer. “And it is ours. The skaa will rebel against you. They know you're weak. They know you can be hurt. My people... They will have seen it. You have lost, even if you can't die.” “Perhaps,” The Lord Ruler said, stopping as he reached Antimony. “But all I need to do is survive a few more years, and then I can return this world to the perfect state it was in before your treachery.” His face twisted into a snarl and his hands clenched into fists. “You fools don't know what I do for mankind. Even if you refuse to see it, I am your God. By deposing me, you will doom yourselves to despair, destruction and death at his hand.” He took a breath, followed by another. Then, when he spoke again, it was with a more level tone. “You should realise that your options are that either I rule this world, or that the world withers and dies.” “Now, goodbye, Izenry. Give my regards to that senile fool on the other side.” He Ironpulled on the broken blade, and it flew out of Antimony's body. Antimony felt the new strength leave his body. He looked up at his God, and saw the man already walking away. His eyes closed, and then Antimony Izenry finally passed away. Generation 11 Turn 4 has begun! The Turn, Generation and Game will end on Friday 4th November at 6PM BST. Lord Antimony Izenry is dead! House Tekiel has moved troops into the city of Luthadel! The skaa in Luthadel are rebelling! Generation 11 Player List

I have only received 3 sets of actions, guys, even after two full weeks. I don't particularly want to, but I will extend one more week. You have until 21st.

Yeah, fixed. I'm away in London next weekend, so the Turn will be 2 weeks.

Generation 11 Turn 3 It was an undeniable fact that Antimony Izenry was nervous. It was not an emotion he was used to, not something he had experienced since he had become Lord of the House after his predecessor's death. His father had, of course, always made him nervous. But then, that was to be expected. The man held the power of life and death over all of his House, in both physical and metaphorical ways, and had impressed upon his son just how far his power had extended; A fact that only now, he was beginning to appreciate in full. But regardless of whether it was a new or almost forgotten emotion, he recalled the feeling well. It had never left him, lying beneath the surface until it was called on again. And now, it seemed, hew as dealing with another father figure – The Lord Ruler. If his own biological father was tough and disciplined, then The Lord Ruler was that to the extreme. His father would allow no mistakes, no blemishes on the Izenry name. No doubt The Lord Ruler would be even more harsh – and his corrective lessons would be of a far more permanent nature. But it was far too late now. The path that his House had been on for centuries would not stop now - he had little to no choice in whether it was pursued. Centuries of development, of wealth and resources poured into this one project. It could be said that it was the only reason the House existed now. If they stopped, well... They probably wouldn't be ruined, but there would be years and years and years of re-purposing and refurbishment. During that time, they would be vulnerable economically and politically. It had to go perfectly. And so much of that was out of his power. He stood behind a thick set of velvety traveller curtains at one end of the hall, pacing up and down. A set of archery butts had been stood to the side, ready for target practice. On a table on the side side of the room rested three muskets, and standing at ease behind them were three Izenry soldiers. Trained marksmen, picked from the best of their archers. They knew the penalty if they failed in their task today. “Are they all there?” He eventually asked his Terrisman servant, who was waiting at the side, directing things when needed. A blessing, these servants. So proper and efficient, practically built for purpose. “The last few of the Lesser House Lords are being seated, Lord Izenry,” he responded with a bow. “We will be ready to begin in approximately one minute.” “Very well. I will speak to them first, briefly. After I have done so, pull the curtains to show what they are here for.” “As you wish, My Lord.” Lord Izenry waited a few moments, and then lifted the edge of the curtain so he could step through. The sight that greeted him was not one that was unexpected, but it was still nerve-wracking and terrifying. His peers sat at the front of the hall, of course. Large, comfortable chairs for Great House Lords and Ladies and their spouses. Behind them, in less luxirious (though still comfortable and expensive) chairs, the Lesser Houses. They would not get as good a view as the rest, for they were by far less important. And then above them all, in the balcony that looked over the entire room, The Lord Ruler, and an Inquisitor. He felt sick, acid rising in his throat. He swallowed the feeling down, however. Now was no time to falter. “My Lord Ruler,” he began, “Ladies and gentlemen. I have asked you all here this evening because I wish to share with you the fruits of my labour, and my father's labour, and his before him. Indeed, I am going to show you the culmination of many, many years of research by my House. I do not do this because I want to intimidate my peers – I hope that after this demonstration, The Cantons will be kind enough to grant my House some kind of exclusivity rights for this, so that I might sell them to you all. I feel it is only fair to ask this after we have put so much effort in. At the very least, we will not share our research with others so easily, even if we cannot be given such rights.” He coughed to clear his throat, feeling The Lord Ruler's eyes burrow in to him. “But regardless. We developed these weapons to advance The Final Empire, and help it face threats – The Skaa Rebellion, and the criminals it supports, for example. The underlying technologies behind them also have other applications – We are quite interested in the use of it with mining, for example. But that is not yet in development.” The curtains started to be pulled aside, revealing the stark background behind him that was to be the makeshift target practice area. The soldiers immediately saluted to him. “Gentlemen,” he said, gesturing at the table. “Take your positions.” As one, they picked up the muskets on the table and lifted them into position. They loaded them in a process which had been drilled into them carefully, and then lifted them up. There was a loud crack that made even Lord Izenry jump, and three puncture-marks in the centre of each target. They reloaded, and Lord Izenry looked up, up at his god, hoping to see some kind of praise in his look. But he wasn't looking at the demonstration, but muttering something to the Inquisitor. He seemed annoyed, but not necessarily with him. The Inquisitor certainly looked apologetic. They fired another few salvos, and stepped back, placing the muskets down again. Lord Izenry waved some of the smoke away. The hall would smell of gunpowder for weeks now. The curtains behind him closed, and he took a bow. “Thank you,” he said to the audience. “My hope is to start selling these soon to you all for the purposes of defending yourselves and your Keeps against intruders. Prices have not yet been decided on.” He was going to continue on, but The Lord Ruler had risen to his feet. The hall slowly went silent as they all realised he was staring up, and they turned to look at him, craning their necks as they did. “Lord Izenry,” he said, his voice reaching everyone in the hall as though he were addressing them personally. It was measured, clearly being very carefully controlled as though he would be given over to anger if he did not. “You have two weeks to destroy every last one of those things and burn your research.” Then he left without another word, the Inquisitor following on his heels. Generation 11 Turn 3 has begun! The turn will end on Friday 14th October at 6PM BST. Generation 11 Player List

Still waiting on a lot of Actions. Due to the fact this is the last Generation, I will extend the turn by a week. It will end on 30th September.

Generation 11 Turn 2 Marsh drummed his fingers on the table. It was good for that, a solid table made of decent wood that let the sound echo and provide a properly imposing atmosphere., made by one of their own members, who maintained a cover as a skilled but quiet craftsman. Not that the sound was needed for the atmosphere though – Some would say his face was fierce enough alone. Well, it wasn't his fault that he had a terrifying face, as his brother always taunted him about. He sighed. His brother, yes. He was the root cause of all of his problems. The bastard hadn't changed, unfortunately. Ever since their mother had died and they had been forced to flee from the society that the nobility lived in, Kelsier had been going around and thieving to maintain the rich and comfy lifestyle that he was accustomed to. Not Marsh, though. He had turned his mind to greater things. He'd been humbled by his discovery of belonging to the people he thought were worthless, and now he was here to help them. He was even a Seeker, something they could use. He'd saved lives, with his ability. But there was his brother. His brother, who was as much a help in inspiring the skaa as he was a hindrance to their rebellion. His brother, who was the most quick-witted and cunning man he had ever met, and had refused to help the rebellion. Lord Ruler, he hated the man sometimes. And now he'd compromised one of their plans and their safehouses, just for a little taste of the life he had once lived. The bastard. “They're putting feelers out, Marsh,” one of the other skaa at the table said. “There are a couple of Houses looking for us. From what I've heard, not for horrible things.” “And you believe that?” Clubs asked, scowling. “It's clearly a trap. We'd be foolish to even consider meeting with them. And even if we did, what would we become? We'd just be working for them, taking out their enemies and making them stronger. And then, when we've served them enough or outlived our usefulness, they'd just let the Inquisition know. And you want to entertain this idea?” “All I'm saying is that, if the proper precautions are taken, we can use this to fund our other operations.” The man continued. “Let's face it – We need money. The Rebellion will get nowhere if we are always wondering where our funding will next come from.” “Then we steal from them,” Marsh said, holding a hand up to prevent Clubs from responding. “We won't work with them. Clubs is right; it's a terrible idea, and would only lead to us being overtaken by them.” “Then how do you suggest we finance ourselves? We steal from them, you say. But the real targets, the Great Houses, we can't take from them, can we? They'll be too heavily guarded for us to even approach them. What, then, is the point?” Marsh steepled his fingers as he thought. “Then we prepare.” “Prepare? For what? Is there some kind of grand plan that you've kept from us all? If so, I feel we deserve to know.” “I have no plans at this point, and for good reason,” he shrugged. “For now, we simply prepare. We steal what we can, and stockpile all knowledge we come across about The Final Empire, its people, its cities, and the nobility. Anything we can keep for later use, we do. Eventually there will be an opening that the Skaa Rebellion can take. And at that point, we will take it. Even if it's not us, but our children. Or their children.” “And what? In the mean time we just roll over and die?” The man spat. “You might be fine with that, but I am not going to sit here while our people are enslaved and killed.” “Then don't,” Marsh responded. “Quite simply, we do not have the option to pick and choose when we make our move. They have more manpower, are richer, have better weaponry, have more Allomancers and, importantly, have Mistborn. We can't just try to overthrow them without a solid and long-term plan. We can only prepare for the opportunity when it comes. If anyone disagrees with them, then they are welcome to leave our number.” The arguing man hesitated, but as he looked at Marsh, his resolve weakened, and he looked away. “I will accept this then.” “What did they even want us to do, anyway?” Clubs asked. “You're not saying that you're changing your mind now, are you?” Marsh asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “No, not at all,” Clubs clarified. “However, if we knew what they wanted us to do, it would tell us two things: What they want, and what we could do. We can at the very least use it as a idea for future plans. If information is what this war will be won on, then it is crucial that we analyse every bit that they are willing to give us.” “I suppose so. Perhaps it might even be best to carry a few out, to foster a small amount of good will we can cahs in at a later date. All we need to do is to turn on them before they turn on us. So what were they asking for? A simple crew, or something more specialised?” “...They were asking for Kelsier.” Marsh sighed. Of course, it would be his brother causing them problems again. “Well, we will have to disappoint them then. My brother is not the sort of person to perform jobs for the nobility, even if he would approve of parting them from their money. Besides, he has chosen to disassociate himself from us. Put him out of your mind. He is just a petty thief. We, on the other hand, have a goal. We are working for something bigger than ourselves. We should keep that in mind in the future.” Generation 11 Turn 2 has begun! The turn will end on Friday 23rd September at 6PM BST. Generation 11 Player List

Generation 11: The End of an Empire Turn 1 The skaa thief crept along the corridor as silently as he could manage. It was a fairly futile effort at times, as he doubted even he could be quiet enough to sneak past Tineyes, but he was quiet enough to go unnoticed by everyone else. He knew that from experience. But that was why this thieving party was a crew, and not him alone. He had no Allomancy of his own, but unlike many other skaa with no Allomancy, he didn't shirk their benefits out of some strange sense of pride. No, he surrounded himself with people who would make up for this fault – With him right now were three Mistings, a Tineye, a Smoker and a Coinshot. The first two were a necessity for any kind of skulduggery, and the latter was merely to provide some protection in need of a retreat. Not that they were expecting a huge fight. They had chosen this target because it provided the most gain for the least risk. They were financially wealthy, and Allomantically weak. They were politically connected enough that they hadn't become a target for the other Lesser Houses yet, but it was surely only a matter of time. Weakness was not tolerated in any sense by the other Houses. However, until that point, they were a target for thievery. He came to the end of the tunnel, and slowly pushed aside the stone covering. Stepping into the darkness of the cellar, and motioning forward their Smoker, who had a torch, he turned to the Tineye. “What do you see?” “No guards,” she said, shaking her head a little out of habit despite the fact that she was the only one who could see clearly. “Just a load of wine racks and bottles. I can't hear anything nearby either.” “Hmm,” he said, stepping over to one and taking it out of the rack. He read it by the faint glow of the torch, straining his eyes. “Hell, for a destitute Lesser House, they've got a pretty good taste. Maybe I should take a bottle back for us?” he said, grinning at the Tineye. She rolled her eyes and didn't answer. Ah well. She was warming to him. He waved them on and through the cellar, opening the wooden door at the other end of the stairs up. They had entered the small Keep from underground, using secret tunnels built over many years by the Skaa Rebellion. The leader of the Rebellion would be annoyed by them using it and compromising its existence, but it was wishful thinking that it would ever really be used. The Skaa Rebellion was useless and impotent, so they might as well be used for something. They might not achieve any lofty aims, but living in luxury for a while was just as good. It was the dead of night, and there were no guards down here. Why would there be? Any attack would come from above, in the form of one of the gods of the night – a Mistborn. Anything else was a futile attempt at sowing chaos, and would probably cost more to defend against a nonexistent threat than replacing what was stolen. Though not all Lesser Houses had their own Mistborn, of course, so sometimes there was very little that could be done to defend one's House. Regardless, it worked out well for them tonight. They walked through the lowest floor of the Keep with purpose. There were only a few others wandering past them as they went; a few cleaners kept up at the small hours to sweep floors seldom trod. They did not try and stop them, either because they didn't want any trouble, or because they believed they were affiliated with the House. Certainly his team didn't look like your average thieves. They stopped before the turning the corner, and he looked at the Coinshot. The man nodded and produced a few metallic needles. He raised his fingers and counted down. When the third second had passed, he swung round the corner and threw them at the guards' exposed necks, flaring steel to give them extra force. The first went down as it caught him in the throat, clutching at the bleeding wound. The other needle missed the second guard, who started to draw his sword. But while their leader might not have bee an Allomancer, he was fast, strong and quick-witted. His dagger was already drawn as he charged forward. His hand covered the guard's mouth, and he cut the man's throat while the guard tried to bring his sword round to bear. “That was reckless, Kelsier,” Mare sighed. “It worked, didn't it?” He said with a smile as he leant down to pick up the keys from one of the guards' belts. Their whole lives were dangerous anyway. What was the point in being safe and boring? He stood up and unlocked the vault door. He then turned back to the Coinshot of the group, who started to push the heavy door open with his Allomancy. They slipped in to the vault, dragging the bodies with them. No need to immediately alert people if they happened to come down the corridor, after all. Quickly they stuffed gold and gemstones into a pouch. While they might not be stealing much, what they were taking had high value density. On a shelf on its own, a silvery bead of metal. Kelsier reached over and picked it up between his index and middle finger. “Atium?” Mare asked, frowning. “We'd never manage to fence that. And just think what'd happen if they caught us with it?” “What would happen that wouldn't normally happen?” Kelsier shrugged. “We'd be killed on sight anyway, and that's if we're lucky. We might as well. I'm sure there must be a Mistborn somewhere in the Skaa Rebellion that could buy it from us. Pretty decent markup on that.” “I'm not sure the Skaa Rebellion could afford it,” their Smoker said. “They'll pay for it,” Kelsier reassured him, as he stowed it away in his pocket. “Let's go.” Their escape from the Keep was almost as uneventful as their arrival. They couldn't shut the vault without an Ironpuller, but that wasn't too important. Kelsier stopped as they went back to the wine cellar, selecting a bottle from the rack before heading down the tunnel. They would now have to abandon this tunnel and the safehouse it came up near, but they had made a nice little haul with no real risk. But as they left the tunnels and entered the slums of Luthadel, Kelsier wasn't really happy. It was a win, but it wasn't particularly important in the grand scheme of things. A month or two of luxury, then they'd be back at this. Though that wasn't the only consideration here. He was happy that it had gone off, but it didn't feel like enough. “What's wrong?” The Coinshot asked. “I'm not sure,” Kelsier replied with a sigh. “But I think we should set our sights a little higher.” “What are you thinking?” “Hmm...” Kelsier looked up into the skyline. In the distance, a dozen Keeps littered the horizon, surrounding the horrendous sight of Kredik Shaw. “I'll let you know when I've thought of it,” he said. Generation 11 Turn 1 has begun! The turn will end on Friday 2th September at 6PM BST. The game will finish at the end of this Generation. Players may find their riches stolen from them this Generation by the master skaa thief, Kelsier! Generation 11 Player List

Due to illness and a lack of actions, delaying the new Generation by a week.

Generation 11 Turn 1 The skaa thief crept along the corridor as silently as he could manage. It was a fairly futile effort at times, as he doubted even he could be quiet enough to sneak past Tineyes, but he was quiet enough to go unnoticed by everyone else. He knew that from experience. But that was why this thieving party was a crew, and not him alone. He had no Allomancy of his own, but unlike many other skaa with no Allomancy, he didn't shirk their benefits out of some strange sense of pride. No, he surrounded himself with people who would make up for this fault – With him right now were three Mistings, a Tineye, a Smoker and a Coinshot. The first two were a necessity for any kind of skulduggery, and the latter was merely to provide some protection in need of a retreat. Not that they were expecting a huge fight. They had chosen this target because it provided the most gain for the least risk. They were financially wealthy, and Allomantically weak. They were politically connected enough that they hadn't become a target for the other Lesser Houses yet, but it was surely only a matter of time. Weakness was not tolerated in any sense by the other Houses. However, until that point, they were a target for thievery. He came to the end of the tunnel, and slowly pushed aside the stone covering. Stepping into the darkness of the cellar, and motioning forward their Smoker, who had a torch, he turned to the Tineye. “What do you see?” “No guards,” she said, shaking her head a little out of habit despite the fact that she was the only one who could see clearly. “Just a load of wine racks and bottles. I can't hear anything nearby either.” “Hmm,” he said, stepping over to one and taking it out of the rack. He read it by the faint glow of the torch, straining his eyes. “Hell, for a destitute Lesser House, they've got a pretty good taste. Maybe I should take a bottle back for us?” he said, grinning at the Tineye. She rolled her eyes and didn't answer. Ah well. She was warming to him. He waved them on and through the cellar, opening the wooden door at the other end of the stairs up. They had entered the small Keep from underground, using secret tunnels built over many years by the Skaa Rebellion. The leader of the Rebellion would be annoyed by them using it and compromising its existence, but it was wishful thinking that it would ever really be used. The Skaa Rebellion was useless and impotent, so they might as well be used for something. They might not achieve any lofty aims, but living in luxury for a while was just as good. It was the dead of night, and there were no guards down here. Why would there be? Any attack would come from above, in the form of one of the gods of the night – a Mistborn. Anything else was a futile attempt at sowing chaos, and would probably cost more to defend against a nonexistent threat than replacing what was stolen. Though not all Lesser Houses had their own Mistborn, of course, so sometimes there was very little that could be done to defend one's House. Regardless, it worked out well for them tonight. They walked through the lowest floor of the Keep with purpose. There were only a few others wandering past them as they went; a few cleaners kept up at the small hours to sweep floors seldom trod. They did not try and stop them, either because they didn't want any trouble, or because they believed they were affiliated with the House. Certainly his team didn't look like your average thieves. They stopped before the turning the corner, and he looked at the Coinshot. The man nodded and produced a few metallic needles. He raised his fingers and counted down. When the third second had passed, he swung round the corner and threw them at the guards' exposed necks, flaring steel to give them extra force. The first went down as it caught him in the throat, clutching at the bleeding wound. The other needle missed the second guard, who started to draw his sword. But while their leader might not have bee an Allomancer, he was fast, strong and quick-witted. His dagger was already drawn as he charged forward. His hand covered the guard's mouth, and he cut the man's throat while the guard tried to bring his sword round to bear. “That was reckless, Kelsier,” Mare sighed. “It worked, didn't it?” He said with a smile as he leant down to pick up the keys from one of the guards' belts. Their whole lives were dangerous anyway. What was the point in being safe and boring? He stood up and unlocked the vault door. He then turned back to the Coinshot of the group, who started to push the heavy door open with his Allomancy. They slipped in to the vault, dragging the bodies with them. No need to immediately alert people if they happened to come down the corridor, after all. Quickly they stuffed gold and gemstones into a pouch. While they might not be stealing much, what they were taking had high value density. On a shelf on its own, a silvery bead of metal. Kelsier reached over and picked it up between his index and middle finger. “Atium?” Mare asked, frowning. “We'd never manage to fence that. And just think what'd happen if they caught us with it?” “What would happen that wouldn't normally happen?” Kelsier shrugged. “We'd be killed on sight anyway, and that's if we're lucky. We might as well. I'm sure there must be a Mistborn somewhere in the Skaa Rebellion that could buy it from us. Pretty decent markup on that.” “I'm not sure the Skaa Rebellion could afford it,” their Smoker said. “They'll pay for it,” Kelsier reassured him, as he stowed it away in his pocket. “Let's go.” Their escape from the Keep was almost as uneventful as their arrival. They couldn't shut the vault without an Ironpuller, but that wasn't too important. Kelsier stopped as they went back to the wine cellar, selecting a bottle from the rack before heading down the tunnel. They would now have to abandon this tunnel and the safehouse it came up near, but they had made a nice little haul with no real risk. But as they left the tunnels and entered the slums of Luthadel, Kelsier wasn't really happy. It was a win, but it wasn't particularly important in the grand scheme of things. A month or two of luxury, then they'd be back at this. Though that wasn't the only consideration here. He was happy that it had gone off, but it didn't feel like enough. “What's wrong?” The Coinshot asked. “I'm not sure,” Kelsier replied with a sigh. “But I think we should set our sights a little higher.” “What are you thinking?” “Hmm...” Kelsier looked up into the skyline. In the distance, a dozen Keeps littered the horizon, surrounding the horrendous sight of Kredik Shaw. “I'll let you know when I've thought of it,” he said. Generation 11 Turn 1 has begun! The turn will end on Friday 2th September at 6PM BST. The game will finish at the end of this Generation. Players may find their riches stolen from them this Generation by the master skaa thief, Kelsier! Generation 11 Player List

Generation 10 Turn 3 Straff Venture, of the Lesser House of Venture, exiled of Luthadel these past several hundred years, was a generous man. Almost everyone who knew him would say that if you asked their opinion of him, and for good reason. Of course, they were missing his more private qualities, such as his love of manipulation and other such vices, but that was the image he had cultivated. Not a day went by when Straff couldn't be found in one of the taverns that straddled the line between rich skaa and poor noble, letting coin flow as though it were water so that wine would do the same. It was for a good cause, of course. These people were the best gossips in the entire city, and the alcohol helped to lubricate the conversation a little, and fuddle the minds. Some of the best tidbits he ever overheard were from people slightly too drunk to realise what they were saying but slightly too sober to be watching what they were saying. That blissful state of uncaring ignorance was where he made his money as an informant. The poor nobility would talk about any and everything, of course, cursing their betters and their lessers in the same breath, and they were quite happy to talk about important things they were involved with. Admittedly, he couldn't help but number himself amongst their number. He was, after all, a part of House Venture, who had not been important in The Final Empire for many, many years now. It galled him to admit it, but he was nothing if not honest about his own position. Then there was the people they were rubbing elbows with, almost in a heretical manner. The richer skaa, as much as they could be rich in a society like this, were simply of the opinion that he was their equal, and happy to chat to someone they could deal with. He did not agree with them, for obvious reasons, but that didn't stop him topping up their glass and giving them an encouraging smile. He was everyone's friend, after all. And today had gone rather well. Extremely well, in fact. By anyone's standards, he had made quite a tidy profit today. Well, it was in fact a complete profit. The plans he had taken from his House's Keep were worth quite a bit, and no-one even knew he had taken them. Not that he was going to keep the money he had made, no. He was not going to go around stealing from his own House. But he wouldn't be giving it to them either. It was useful for occasions such as this, where a small profit could be turned into even further gains. Spending money to make money. He might have a few nice lunches with potential clients and other brokers out of it, but that was just business. Who would have thought that a simple map of tunnels built centuries ago could be worth so much to House Izenry? And for one of their own allies, as well! Of course, he had been paid for exclusivity rights for the plans, but he had no intention of truly honouring that. Not that he was going to simply sell the plans again so soon though, no. That would be far too obvious. He'd drawn a copy this morning, and it currently rested in his blazer's pocket. When he returned to the Venture Keep, he'd put it back in the family vault, and no-one would be the wiser. Then, in another five or ten years, he'd sell it again. Perhaps House Penrod? They were a House known for rather shady dealings as well... Perhaps he could just sell it to House Wilson. They might be rather interested in a map of tunnels into their own keep. Well, that was something to deal with in the future. For now, he was of a mind to talk to people and just enjoy himself after a hard day's work. He'd have never guessed that this was his calling when he was younger – Lord Ruler knew what he'd be like if he was actually born into a Great House – but he found these games interesting. It was a somewhat toned down version of the games that the Great Houses played, and he rather liked the more human aspect of it. The Great Houses played games with each other in broad, arcing strokes, but he preferred the minute shifts he could cause in people on a personal level. It felt precise and skilled, rather than guesswork and random effect. But there were times when he felt it was just a little too dangerous for him. He liked the feeling of danger, but not when it was actually a possible threat. True, he had dealt with House Izenry on amicable terms and had left pleased with the whole exchange, but there was often a sense of unease after these deals. Paranoia was always justified. It was part of the reason why he was here, spending money so flippantly. He was loud and he was amongst friends and most important, he was visible. He'd do this for a few days, then lay low for some time. Maybe visit a few of Luthadel's higher class brothels for a bit of entertainment. Perhaps travel out of the city for a bit. Then, when people had put him out of their minds, he'd return to information brokering again. It would be a nice little break. The door burst off its hinges, wood and splinters flying out in all directions. A man in a Mistcloak entered the room, looking entirely unperturbed by the shrapnel lying along the floor. He stepped over the debris and entered the tavern, all eyes following him. He made his way towards Straff Venture. “What?” Straff asked, wishing he hadn't chosen to sit in a corner now. Oh, at the time it seemed like a great idea, but a frontal assault like this was not expected. Now he was trapped and cornered, unable to flee. But that didn't mean he was going to cower in front of this man so easily. “What do you want?” The Mistborn ignored his question, or rather, answered it by drawing a long and serrated steel knife from his belt and throwing it to his other hand, spinning it around a few times uncaring. “Lord Izenry sends his regards, and suggests that you, your family and other information brokers find other ways to make money than selling his ally's information. You're going to be our messenger.” “As you wish,” Straff nodded. “I'll tell them immediately." The man made no move to leave. "...What, do you want your money back now as well? Your Lord seemed fine with the deal earlier. I would demand the plans back then, if we are to reverse this deal, and I will be telling everyone what a bad business partner the so-called 'noble' House of Izenry is.” A hand pulled him up from his chair, strength enhanced by pewter, and held him against the wall. “We've decided we'd like to keep the deal, and the money.” The knife rested against his throat, drawing a small amount of blood. “You get what I'm saying?” “You...” Straff struggled against his grip, but as a Tineye he knew it was practically impossible to break out of a hold by someone burning pewter. The knife dug further in to his throat and he gritted his teeth. His captor seemed amused, but ultimately unsympathetic. He knew what was coming next. “You can't do this... We're in public...” A dagger in the dark, a poisoned wineglass, an 'accidentally' cut saddle while hunting, any of these would be normal and acceptable. But this... this thug strolling into the tavern? To knife him in front of two dozen witnesses? That was not how things happened. “See, I rather think I can,” the Mistborn said. “That's the beauty of being an Izenry. We can get away with bloody murder if we want.” He pressed down on the knife, holding the writhing and struggling Venture in place, until the point of the knife buried itself in the wooden wall behind him. Slowly, he watched the fight and the life bleed out of Straff. He let go of the knife, and of Straff, letting him remain pinned there. He looked at the corpse for a short while as if considering something, then shrugged. “Seeing as this is a fine eating and drinking establishment, I won't go beheading him as well.” Reaching into the coat pocket, he took out a set of plans and a large pouch of coins. He put the coin pouch on the table and counted out a few. He tossed them over at the counter, where the owner stood frozen and pale. “A few Imperials to clean up the mess,” the Mistborn said, wiping the knife down with a cut of cloth. He sheathed it back in his belt, and picked up the papers and the coin pouch. “Good day to you all,” he said, honouring the patrons with a smile and a bow. Then he stepped out of the tavern, and into notoriety and legend. Generation 10 Turn 3 has begun! The turn will end on Friday 19th August at 6PM BST. Generation 10 Player List

Generation 10 Turn 2 Alethia Penrod waited before the imposing desk of a Prelan. This room, along with countless others in the building, was becoming well known to her in her quest. Not that she wished to be here, in the heart of the Steel Ministry's power. Obligators were not a stranger to most of the nobility, only those in the far-flung reaches of The Final Empire, but they still tended to unsettle people. She would rather be at the House Wilson ball, the social event of the year, but sadly business came before pleasure. If she felt like it, she could always make an entrance fashionably late. The timepiece on the desk ticked away effortlessly. A Heron timepiece, it seemed, and old as well. It wasn't an actual standing clock, or a desk clock, but was instead a pocket-watch, golden chain coiled up before dangling off the edge. Its presence was a bit strange, but Alethia was hardly going to ask the owner of the office why he didn't have an actual clock in the room. Even if she was curious. Obligators were allowed to have eccentricities. Lord Ruler knew no-one would call them out on it. The rest of the room was practically empty. Obligators were not allowed a family, so there was no discreet painting on the desk. There were no artworks on the wall either, even of the religious kind. There was just a desk, a chair behind it, a chair in front of it, and on the desk, a candle, some paper, an inkwell and a quill. It spoke of a dedicated, almost slavish existence. To serve the Steel Ministry was said to be the greatest honour, gift and reward a person could receive all in one, but Lady Penrod wasn't so sure about this. It seemed as much a prison and a blessing. She waited patiently, unwilling to move from her seat before she was seen. She was here for a reason, and she wasn't going to be moved on this or ignored like before. She at least had a book to read for the time being, like any true Penrod would have. She knew how to play their game of power politics. If she was going to be forced to wait, she wasn't going to be forced to be bored as well. She was halfway through the chapter on the initial roots of the Skaa Rebellion when the Obligator entered the office. She quietly took a bookmark and placed it on her page, stowing the book away and into her bag for another time. She looked up at the Obligator, and couldn't help but gasp a little. She was not informed that she would be seeing an Inquisitor. The man was tall and imposing, as most Inquisitors were, practically built for intimidation and physical bulk. Where did they find these people, she wondered? She knew of several people who had joined the Canton of Inquisition, friends of friends, but she had never met anyone who had actually become one of the mythical Inquisitors. Perhaps they were simply made to order for the Canton. The Inquisitor placed his hands together, resting them on the desk, and stared down at her. She refused to be cowed, though she was still going to show proper deference to him. She was steadfast, not rude. “My Lord,” she began, “I am Alethia Penrod, head of House Penrod. Thank you for seeing me.” The Inquisitor waved it away, eyes shining in the light of the candle. “I know who you are, and what you are here for. Lord Ruler knows that everyone in this building knows what you have been shouting about for the last few years. Frankly, we are becoming irritated by it, which is not a state you want us to be experiencing.” “I just want to find my sister,” Alethia replied, managing to catch herself before she scowled, forcing herself into a more neutral look. “I don't see why everyone has to decide that such a thing is against the rules, suddenly. She was taken from my family without our say-so.” “Hm, and yet if she were still with House Penrod, what would you be now? Your sister was a Mistborn, and is older than you. You would be cast aside, useless now except as a servant for her and her family. You cannot think that would be a more pleasing destiny for you.” “...Was?” Alethia asked, frowning. “You mean she is dead.” “I misspoke,” the Inquisitor said. “Regardless, you misremember. She was taken as reparation for your House's continued foolishness about courting the favour of the skaa. We have been hoping that House Penrod, one of the oldest lines of nobility of the Empire, would see sense and stop acting in borderline heretical manners. The Lord Ruler is beginning to lose his patience with you.” “That does not mean that we should be punished for our father's sins and crimes against The Final Empire and the laws that The Lord Ruler has set for us,” Alethia pressed on. “My sister was innocent of any crimes our father committed in your eyes. She should be returned to us. At the very least, if she is dead, we should be allowed to inter her in our family's crypt.” “Out of the question,” the Inquisitor responded. “She is a member of the Steel Ministry now, and has been for many, many years now. When someone joins the Ministry, they must leave their previous family ties behind. Otherwise, nepotism and corruption would run rampant, you understand. There are no exceptions for this, regardless of who they are or what House they belong to.” “But-” “I said there are no exceptions. Alera, of no House and of the Canton of Inquisition, is a very effective and useful Obligator. She is alive, I will at least confirm that for you. But you must leave this foolishness and futile quest of yours behind. The Steel Ministry will no longer grant any audiences with you on this matter. Any meetings which turn in this direction will be terminated immediately. Are we understood?” Alethia gritted her teeth. “We are understood...” “Good. Now, if that is all...?” Alethia stood up, rigid and unbending. She managed to offer a curtsey to the Inquisitor at the very least. “Thank you for your time,” she said. The Inquisitor paid no mind to her tone of voice, and simply started to write something on his paper. “It was my pleasure. Goodbye, Lady Penrod. I hope our future meetings end more amicably than this." Generation 10 Turn 2 has begun! The turn will end on Friday 12th August at 6PM BST. Generation 10 Player List

Daerra smiled as she looked around the ballroom from above on the balcony. Below her, dancers twisted and turned to the sound of the orchestra, a wonderful display of nobility and choreographed perfection within her Keep. They were, all of them, Lesser houses, of course. The Greater Houses wouldn't try anywhere near as hard to attempt to display effortless beauty. It was simply something inherent to them. It came naturally to people such as Daerra, no practice needed. In a way, it was actually amusing to see. They worked so hard to get themselves noticed, to accrue those all-important contracts that were the lifeblood of the Lesser Nobility. A Lesser House was almost dependant on them to survive. Without them, they could not hope to increase their own finances, and would stagnate. In the world of the nobility, that was practically as good as them dying off, being left behind their peers, and ending up as skaa with better breeding. And yet the Greater Houses couldn't care any less about them. If one died off, another ambitious Lesser House would appear from the edges of the world to replace them, just as eager to rise up but still no more important than the last. And endless cycle of useful yet useless hopefuls, scrambling over each other to reach the top of their low rung on the ladder. But even though they were replaceable and interchangeable, it wouldn't do to treat them with complete contempt. That was why they were invited to events such as this in the capital, to make them feel important. It was how the game was played by them all. “A marvellous party, Lady Elariel,” an older man said, smiling at her. She resisted the urge to grimace outwardly, and instead settled for smiling at him and leaving the displeasure bottled up. “I have not been to one as splendid as this for some time.” 'Of course not, old fool', she thought. 'You aren't normally invited to parties such as this'. What was his name, anyway? He was some noble from out of town, one of the longer-lasting ones but ultimately more tragic Lesser Houses. Erikell? Erikeller? One of the two, it was some House that had fallen from grace and had to leave Luthadel. The name escaped her at the moment. But for now, she simply gave a small curtsey. “My thanks,” she said. “It is good to know my most meagre of parties meets your high standards.” She couldn't help but lift the corners of her mouth slightly as she suppressed a smile at his attempt to figure out whether he was insulted or not. Lord Erikell, that was it. The man always looked confused when in the company of his betters. “It pleases me to have your presence here. I must admit, I would have thought Luthadel too far from Seran for you to grace us with your presence.” “Ah, well...” The man scratched his scraggly, unkempt beginnings of a beard. “As a matter of fact, the Fortress was turned over to the Steel Ministry, and we no longer have our own base of operations there. We have since moved closer to Luthadel in the hope of being nearer opportunity, you understand.” he looked around in a conspiratorial manner, though it was obvious he was hoping that they were being watched. “It would be good if we could have some discussions on that, later.” “You are hoping to return to Luthadel?” Lady Elariel asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement and disbelief. “I would have thought that you would find it too dangerous to return to the city in a position such as yours.” “What do you mean?” Lord Erikell asked, an edge starting to enter his tone of voice. “Are you suggesting my House cannot keep control of a few lowly skaa, or finance our defences? Forgive me for saying so, but even an event such as this does not appear to be heavily guarded. Indeed, the only members of your staff present here appear to be the Terrismen serving us and the band members.” “Then you are a fool,” Daerra snapped. “It is not a question of having guardsmen. Have you not heard what has happened as of late? I cannot see how it has passed you by, considering Tekiel practically shouted it from the roof of his Keep.” “You mean the murder of the family of House Jormungand?” Lord Erikell asked slowly, his face paling slightly. “I fail to see how that changes anything, Certainly Lord Tekiel will be punished for it, and then that will be the end of it. I see no reason to be concerned by something so unlikely to repeat itself. Besides, I will not be lax with security. I will not skimp on guards to keep my family safe.” “And I'm sure they'd do a lot against the full forces of Tekiel. Tell me, how many Mistborn do you have? I'm sorry, was that too hard a question? How many Mistings? Do you even have any?” She smiled at him cruelly. “A single Mistborn without any atium could probably sneak his way in and kill you without any difficulty. How well do you fancy your chances if they have it?” “...The question still does not arise,” Lord Erikell muttered. Oh dear, was he sulking? “The lord Ruler would not allow it to happen.” “He already has,” Daerra replied. “Lord Jormungand's death has gone unpunished. We must only assume therefore that The Lord Ruler does not intend to rake him over the coals for it, in that case. The last time he interfered was... I forget how long ago it was, I'm not a Penrod who lives in the past. But regardless, he seems happy to let us fight amongst ourselves for the time being.” “I... I suppose it would be a bit rash to move in without considering all angles beforehand,” Lord Erikell said slowly. “Particularly the Allomantic ones...” “Yes,” Daerra smiled. “I think it would be best if you remained where you are for now. Build up your base over another few decades, and see where that gets you. Moving into Luthadel should never be done rashly, right?” There was a sigh. “Yes, I suppose you are right. Make some more deals first, then try.” “Good,” Daerra took his arm, smiling. The man was beginning to remember his place. “Now, speaking of deals, I did have a few ideas you might be interested in...” she suggested as she led him away. Yes. This was far he would be far more suited to. Better that he didn't entertain these delusions of grandeur, and remembered his place at the feet of the Great Houses. It was where they all belonged. Generation 10: Blood and Allomancy Turn 1 Generation 10 Turn 1 has begun! The turn will end on Friday 5th August at 6PM BST. Generation 10 Player List

Generation 9 Turn 4 [No write-up due to illness, might add one back at a later date] Generation 9 Turn 4 has begun! The turn will end on Friday 29th at 6PM BST.

Generation 9 Turn 3 Alain dressed himself in the shirt that was offered to him by his servant. He waved the man away as he did up the gold buttons on the front, preferring not to be crowded as he dressed. Instead, the skaa returned to the dresser and picked up a small jewellery box. Alain looked in the proffered box as it was opened, and selected a pair of cufflinks for the shirt. Next came arguably the most important part of his dress this morning; The Mistcloak. While he did not pay much attention to the Ministry's teachings on the nobility being inherently better than the skaa, even he had to admit that Mistborn were simply different to other people, noble and skaa. Education, a good diet and physical training could eliminate most of the differences between skaa and nobles, but Allomancy was a barrier that could never be overcome by those without the potential to use it. But the Mistcloak was important. As a noble and a wealthy man, he had authority, but the Mistcloak gave an entirely persona amongst the skaa. He was no longer their lord when he wore it, but a Mistborn; a secretive, almost divine presence amongst them. The nobility were a mundane disruption to life, but Allomancers were a religious threat instead. He finished dressing and left the house. Hadrium was not a large city yet, and his House had no Keep in the city. No-one did; It was too new and too weak a town for anyone else to have a presence. And he personally felt less comfortable with the idea of looking down on the town that was his House's most important work for many, many years. The festival was the culmination of months of hard work, and had transferred the town with a variety of colours. Even the scaffolding and building-works that the town was in the middle of were hidden away with an array of bright fabrics and paints. Stalls littered the main square in the centre of the town, each displaying the wares on offer – Clothes and toys and furniture not just for sale, but for judgement. Alain took his time at each exhibit, taking the items and examining them. He found himself pleased with the quality, but nowhere near as much as he was with the atmosphere in the town. It felt genuinely cheerful, with the skaa willing to be outside on a day like this and mingle with the (admittedly small in number) of nobles. Sure, some were working, but they were able to take pride in their work. That was really what this festival was all about. Letting the skaa recover some self-esteem and see their own merits for themselves. And of course, if any of his peers were inspired to follow suit, that would be even better. After some time walking around, Alain returned to the plaza. There was a wooden stand erected in the centre, and he climbed the stairs up to the podium at the front. He was pleased to see that a few of his closest friends, as well as his family, were present, sitting behind him as a show of support. He frowned a little at his daughter; The girl couldn't sit still. But perhaps that was expected at her tender age of four. “Welcome to you all,” he said to the assembled crowd as he leant on the podium, “to this Festival of Craftsmen!” He smiled at them. “We are here to honour and praise the works of our artisans and merchants. They are the lifeblood of our city. I think it is only fair to reward them for their hard work and dedication to their craft. No other city can boast our skills, or our sense of unity. We are a model for others to follow.” “I have spent many hours walking among you this afternoon, and I have seen all the crafts that have been put forward for this competition. I have thought about this, and I have come to a decision.” He lifted a sheet off an object on the podium, revealing a colourful wooden doll, a perfect, if more vibrant, representation of a Msitborn, right down to the tiny glass vials on its belt. “Would the Master Carver Albert please step up?” An older skaa stepped up to the podium. He wore hard-wearing but not scruffy clothes. His beard was neatly trimmed, if greying. He bowed briefly to Alain, who waved the gesture away with a smile, and instead shook his hand firmly. “Congratulations sir,” he said. “You have displayed a wonderful ability with your craft. You have clearly learned from years of experience and honed yourself to reach this level of detail and accuracy.” “Thank you sir,” Albert nodded. “I have been a craftsman all my life. Forty years it's taken me to get to this level. An' now, I spend my time teaching it rather than doing it. Was nice to get back to it, for a change.” “Well, you do yourself credit with this offering,” Alain smiled. “As reward, please accept this.” He offered a small pouch to the craftsman, who took it with a grin. There was someone in his bedroom. Alain could tell that there was another presence here, besides his wife, without even trying. They were not concealing themselves. So, therefore, they wanted themselves to be known. They wanted him to see them. He opened his eyes. A flash of metal glinted back in the darkness. An Inquisitor loomed above him. An axe lay against the wall in a casual yet menacing manner. There were many things wrong with this picture. He swore and jumped back, banging his head on the board behind the bed. That woke his wife up as well. She screamed. “Be silent, you insufferable traitors,” the Inquisitor said. Alain's wife suddenly stopped, her face taking on a vacant expression. She was not terrified anymore, but she wasn't reassured either. She simply seemed to be blank, as if the Inqusitor had frightened it out of her. The same was not true of Alain, however. “How dare you-” “Don't try and be outraged with me, little lord,” the Inquisitor responded. “Not when it is only by The Lord Ruler's tolerance that you and your House are even still alive. We wanted to take action, but... One more chance. That is what we have been instructed to give you, after your joke of a festival. After this pathetic city.” Slowly, Alain's eyes became used to the light again. He could see the emotion returning to his wife, and the colour leaving her face. Thankfully, she remained silent. But in the Inquisitor's hand... “I gave that away,” Alain said. “You gave a skaa atium,” the Inquisitor said. “Even ignoring your heretical fraternising with them, you gave them atium. What use do they have for it? Only selling it. And the only ones who would buy it from some no-named skaa... Well, the skaa rebellion is still around, isn't it? I'm sure they would love to get their hands on it.” “That wasn't-” “I don't care what your reasons were. Now, I am unsure what to do with you. We executed one of your forefathers for something like this. Clearly that was not good enough. So instead, we will take away that which you love.” “...What have you done?” “For a start, I have strung the old man up in the plaza. He will remain there until the flesh has fallen from his bones. We have also burned his art school to the ground, along with all his students that were inside. But that is simply his punishment, for daring to obtain our most precious resource.” “And then?” “Your daughter will become property of the Inquisition. I have heard rumours that she is Mistborn; she will be most useful. We will also execute some of your family, and take custody of the other children born recently to your House. You will also build an outpost for the Canton of Inquisition here. We will keep a close eye on you and this city, and we expect it to be run in the normal manner. Skaa will be isolated and worked as The Lord Ruler intended.” “You can't-” “Can't we?” The Inquisitor asked, the eye-nail stare burning into his eyes. “Unless you want to find all your family the enemy of the Empire... You will obey us. We will have Obligators following your every move. We will audit your accounts and your expenditure every year. You understand what I am saying? You will not be able to do anything without us knowing. Are we clear on this matter?” “...Clear,” Alain muttered through gritted teeth. “Good.” There was a nod from the Inquisitor. He picked up his axe, and left towards the balcony. As he opened the door and let the cold air in, he paused. "Remember, little lord. We'll be watching..." Generation 9 Turn 3 has begun! There will be another week's hiatus, so the turn will end on Friday 22nd at 6PM BST.

Anything along the lines of an attack on another player, essentially. I don't need one for spying actions, but if you are raiding a Property or attempting an assassination or something, I need to be able to get a reaction.

I am afraid I am feeling unwell today, so I am going to delay next Turn until next week. I'd also like to remind people to give me orders by Friday. The reason for this is because if there are any Reactions required, I need to give people enough time to respond to them. I've been okay with accepting some late orders, because frankly no-one gets them in on time. However, from next Turn onwards, I will not accept any offensive Actions after Friday. I need to be able to get Reaction requests out by the end of the day to ensure as close to 48 hours as possible are provided. I feel this is the only real compromise that can work with regards to Action times.

Generation 9 Turn 2 In the twilight of the foggy, shaded night of Fadrex, hundreds of skaa dressed in lightweight and colourful Tekiel livery, laboured furiously at the behest of their masters. It was all night-work, done in the darkness where they couldn't be seen. When they were not working, they were herded like livestock into a barracks, unable to leave. Skaa had few rights anyway, and when working on this project, they had been sworn to secrecy and locked up to make doubly sure. Elerekel sighed and drained his wineskin. While the work was hard and back-breaking, there were at least some benefits. They were well-provisioned, and it was rare that skaa of his stature got access to wine in this quantity and of this quality. It was honest work too, and for the Steel Ministry no less. He knew the teachings well and like many of the skaa here, was a devoted follower. He knew that he would be rewarded for this in time, either in this life or the next. And, ultimately, it was also a change. Three weeks ago, Elerekel was running up and down a track in full armour, sweating himself to death. And then after that would come spear-drills, anti-allomancer training, and other, equally exhausting training methods. The work here was hard, and the Obligators were every bit as tough, but the novelty had not quite yet worn off. They had dug underground in the city, below the Obligator's offices and the impressive and opulent Steel Ministry building next to the church. There was no room to build around within the city, as it was rather densely packed-in and they didn't want to purchase the nearby land, so instead they decided to create a basement for their additional workers. Ultimately, Elerekel considered himself fortunate compared to the other men who had been placed at the Steel Ministry's disposal. A good majority of them he knew had gone hunting for remnants of the Skaa Rebellion, a group of ingrates and unruly criminals that preyed on nobles and skaa alike. They would just end up spending weeks and weeks traipsing around the Eastern Dominance, most likely with no luck, while they cooked in their armour. They might spend most of their time underground here, but at least they were out of the sun. In addition to that, they weren't actually away from home. Elerekel was a Fadrex city-skaa, born and bred. Even if it was permitted for him to leave and visit the plantations or other cities, he wouldn't. His family was here, and so were his friends. Admittedly, a large number of them had been moved out the city for now, but they'd all be back here in the end when they were no longer useful to the Steel Ministry. He had no idea where most of them were though; A large number of them were roaming The Final Empire even now, hunting down insurgents, criminals and traitors. Only The Lord Ruler knew where they were. The rest had stayed around for a while, feeling somewhat awkward and scrutinised by the Obligators watching over them. With nothing to do, they had fallen back on old habits, performing some drills while they weren't employed otherwise. But then a group of Obligators turned up, headed by the most terrifying creature Elerekel had ever seen – A figure of almost divine presence, a bald-headed and tattooed female Obligator, eyes shining in the light of the training grounds. No, not her eyes, but rather metal piercings placed directly into the eyes. He wasn't the only one shuddered and scared witless by the sight, and she seemed to take pleasure in evoking that reaction from them. She had divided the remaining Tekiel soldiers, which were much less than the overall number put at the Steel Ministry's disposal, up into four groups. They would be put to use on building projects in the various cities, they were told. One would go to Fadrex and expand the canal system and create a water resvoir for times of need. The rest would go elsewhere to expand the Steel Ministry offices. A fairly simple job, he had thought, and for the most part he had been proven right. He stood up, stretching a little against the stone wall behind him. His fellow workers looked up at him as he did, stopping their animated chat due to his distraction. “We're not back to work already, are we, El?” One of them moaned. “We've only been on brake for five bloody minutes.” “Nah, not yet,” Elerekel smiled a bit. “Don't think they're going to work us to death quite like that. They seem pretty good about all this, all things considered.” he shrugged. “Wine's pretty good, at any rate.” “So where you off to?” “Just going to stretch my legs,” he said. “Back in a bit.” There was a rolling of eyes at his cleaner turn of phrase, but they didn't say anything as he left the room to find the privy. He grimaced at the fact that they were all in use. Clearly they had put everyone on break all at the same time, and he regretted now putting it off until after he had a drink. He frowned a little as he considered the time they were given for a break. He wasn't sure if he had enough time to wait. Well, he was technically employed by the Steel Ministry at this moment in time. So why couldn't he use the amenities above ground, as well as those installed below for the workers? He trundled upstairs, mindful of the time, scrapped the dirt off his boots at the stairway, and headed upstairs. He got a few odd looks, but not even the Obligators questioned his presence. He was a bit glad of that, as he wasn't entirely sure he should be up here. But no-one yelled at him or took him to task for trespassing, so he reached the amenities without incident. “It just seems... Like a shame.” Elerekel stopped as he heard that, just walking round the corner into the corridor. The Inquisitor that had pulled them all here was standing further down, talking to another Obligator. He looked vaguely familiar, probably just one of the taskmasters overseeing the works. Yes, he could remember the man now. He seemed somewhat jovial usually, but now he looked completely pale and disheartened. And the Inquisitor... the look on her face scared him. He hid behind the wall. “Those are your orders,” the Inquisitor said. “You would do well to heed them.” “Won't House Tekiel complain?” The Obligator asked, hesitantly resistant to whatever the orders were. One did not easily disobey Inquisitors, after all. “They are his men, after all.” “It is an occupational hazard,” there was an uncaring shrug. Elerekel froze as he realised what she meant. “They are soldiers. There will be casualties on those enforcing the law in the Empire, and he won't complain about those. And he won't dare complain to us when we are about The Lord Ruler's business. Besides, they are skaa. They ultimately belong to the Sliver, and it is only by his grace that they are able to be used by his nobility. Your orders are clear. As soon as they finish, dispose of them.” “How?” The Obligator asked, clearly sweating. Elerekel could hear it in his voice. “There are quite a few of them, and they are trained. We've given them pickaxes and shovels, they could do a decent amount of damage with those.” “I don't care. Use your Mistings, or bury them alive in another room. Or even entomb them in the room when I seal it. Quite simply, they cannot be allowed to spread what this room is for. Obligators we can trust. Skaa, we cannot. Understood? Or will you disobey The Lord Ruler?” “...I understand,” The Obligator replied. “I will find a way to tie up those loose ends.” 'They can't find me here. I can't stay here either. I have to leave somehow,' Elerekel thought. No, he should have left immediately, but his legs felt as though they were made of lead. He had to leave now though, they couldn't discover him. He'd leave the building, maybe even the city. They wouldn't notice if one soldier disappeared on them. His family would miss him, but it would be best this way. Maybe he could get a message to them somehow. He didn't care about whatever the room was for, he didn't even know, but he did know he didn't want to die. “Good,” The Inquisitor said. “And speaking of loose ends...” A step came towards him. Elerekel ran. But before he'd taken even a few steps, he felt his belt buckle dig into his body, and then he hurled backwards. The force disappeared and he collapsed onto the floor, grateful, as it felt like the belt could have cut right through him given time. The Inquisitor picked him up from the floor with little grace. “A shame to lose a worker before the great work is complete, but... It happens, I suppose. Your death will be a warning to those who traipse around on this level unwanted.” Elerekel struggled, but her grip was unyielding. It was strange, she didn't look particularly strong before, even for a normal Mistborn, but now he was closer, he could clearly see the definitions of muscle on her arms. He couldn't break out; was this the power that Allomancy gave? He tried everything, twisting and contorting himself as much as he could to escape her. His willpower reached a height, and he felt his senses expand, somehow. His sight became covered in blue, pinpricks of light twisting into ropes and strands. His belt, his boots, the window frame, all metallic objects in his sight became illuminated by this inhuman luminescence. Then, just as quickly, it faded, and the world became normal again. “Hm, there is steel within you,” the Inquisitor said, her tone amused and interested. “How... Useful.” Her hand found the side of his face, and suddenly the wall approached at a blinding speed. Elerekel woke up, and wished he hadn't. It took a while for his head to stop ringing, but the position he was in was clear enough despite the reverberation. The Inquisitor was standing above him, a thin metal nail suspended above his eye, a hammer in her other hand. She was covered in blood. He, meanwhile, was naked, and his table he lay on felt warm. No, he realised with mounting horror, it wasn't a table; it was another human. His chest raised and fell in time with the unknown person below him. Two bodies, breathing in unison. “What-” The hammer came down, and the nail descended. Elerekel screamed, and the two bodies became one. Generation 9 Turn 2 has begun! I am on holiday next week, so it will end on Friday 1st at 6PM GMT. Generation 9 Player List

Have to admit that I remain unimpressed so far. The town-Eldrazi's hilarious and cool, and the implication that we will have things turn into Eldrazi is a nice and different way for them to happen, but I am disappointed by Ulrich and Thalia. The former isn't really a Werewolf Lord (you're still better off with Ruric Thar as your Commander), and the latter seems a little to expensive for its oppression effect, considering we got it on an Enchantment with Extort for 1W. The body is nice, sure, but I feel it could have been a bear at 1W quite nicely. Emrakul itself I am ambivalent about. I think the fact it gives the player another turn is a good way to compensate the effect. It makes sense thematically, and the Delirium-alike effect is a nice touch. However, as it's a creature, it becomes almost as easy to break as Mindslaver. That is bad. I also will not be seeking one out for my Eldrazi deck, as it doesn't really do anything great for it. I wonder if/when it will be banned in EDH...

Generation 9: The Ruinous Power Turn 1 Olivia Tekiel was not surprised to find the House Rotec guardsmen standing before the gates of Fellise, or the rubble that was left of them after the battle and siege, but she was surprised to see the madman himself standing in their centre. He was dressed in an expensive silk short-sleeved shirt and black trousers, the Mistcloak on his back looking more suited for a ballroom than for a battle. He had no weapons, but whether that was because he had not brought any or because they were taken from him, Olivia could not tell. Certainly it did not look like he had put up a fight, despite the bandage-wrapped hand. “Maw,” she said, dismounting, not bothering with his title. His name was worthless these days, after all. “You're out of your city already? I expected you to be holed up somewhere with all your guardsmen, waiting for the inevitable.” “I have no reason to hide from people like you,” Maw spat on the ground. “Besides, safer out here than back there.” “Oh?” Olivia looked at the other troops, who all seemed to be in no mood to entertain the ex-Lord and itching to dispose of the problem of the traitor as soon as possible. “I am afraid you will have to enlighten me on that. It seems to me that you've simply surrendered to me, unconditionally.” One of the Rotec soldiers walked over. It was clear that if he wasn't actually in charge, he was at least fairly important. That much was evident from the empty vials he wore on his belt, proclaiming him to be a Misting at the very least – There was no cloak on his back, so he was unlikely to be higher up the chain of command. “Lady Tekiel,” he said, giving a small bow. “We have heard reports that the inner city is unsafe. The skaa within are rioting – understandable, considering the arson that they were forced to undertake recently – and supposedly there are assassins within the city too. Someone reporting to be from House Izenry has said that they will bring a present along. Considering the nature of the events here, I suspect it will be rather bloody.” Olivia smiled. “I would find such a gift to be incredibly appreciated, regardless of its blood-content.” She walked over to the prisoner. “I suppose you could have always run, couldn't you?” She thought about it as she circled him, then shook her head. “No, actually, you could not have. Even with the world against you, your wounded pride would not let you flee and live, even after all that...” “And how could I deny you the pleasure of being condescending?” Maw responded, folding his arms. “It would be almost cruel of me to stop you pursuing your hobby.” That just made Lady Tekiel smile even wider. “I hope that The Lord Ruler makes your execution public, so I can be on the front row to watch. No, I hope he lets me wield the axe.” “If you want to do it that badly, just get it over with,” Maw muttered. “Or else I will be forced to listen to more of your drivel. Just kill me.” “Business before pleasure,” Olivia smiled. “And I certainly would not want this to be over that quickly. I want your capture and execution to be as slow and drawn out as possible, so you can realise your mistake and be filled with regret before everything ends. So no, I will not be killing you right now.” “It would be kinder if you did,” Maw said, smirking. “And better for you as well!” He withdrew his arm, the point of a blade withdrawn from it. The old training wound re-opened, blood pooled onto the floor and into the dirt. His arm fell lifeless at his side, whatever semblance of strength he had in it now gone. But he didn't need both arms for this, just the one. Maw burned pewter, and in the rush he thrust the broken blade-point aimed at Olivia's neck. But Olivia was Mistborn as well, and while the initial surprise of the attack gave Maw the advantage, she was still able to twist aside from the attack. The edge of the blade bit into her neck, but the obsidian dagger she drew found Maw's own neck without difficulty. She took a step back from Maw as he choked on his own blood and struggled to breathe on the floor. “Who,” she began, looking at the House Rotec soldiers, “forgot to administer aluminium before taking a Mistborn prisoner – taking a Mistborn as a willing prisoner, at that?” She sighed and placed a hand to her face in irritance. A hand reached out for her boot, and she kicked at Maw's hand before moving away. “Someone tie him up, and then try and save his life,” she said to her own guardsmen and soldiers. “I don't care what condition he is in, but I would absolutely hate for Maw to miss his execution.” Generation 9 Turn 1 has begun! I am on holiday next week, so it will end on Friday 24th at 6PM GMT. Generation 9 Player List

Generation 8 Turn 4 Maw sat in the chair in his office, staring at the timepiece on the desk. It was once so beautiful. The pocketwatch was an old relic, an heirloom from ages past. It was a Heron timepiece, a classic of the older days, when things were more defined, more rigid. Better days, perhaps. A period long before his own birth, a time which only immortals remembered these days. The birth of House Zerrung, in the midst of The Final Empire's birth. He frowned at it as it failed to tick on. The watch had survived hundreds of years with occasional winding, a testament to the (now Lesser) House Heron's skills and the quality of their artisans. It had even seen a little combat, the end of the chain sharpened to be a weapon of last resort, or as a thrown weapon, as even a soft metal such as gold was deadly in the hands of a Mistborn. But now it had stopped, the second hand juddering between two seconds for eternity. He took the watch apart, meticulously placing each and every component aside on the desk. There was no repetitive noise now, just silence in the room. He wasn't alone, mind. A kandra attended him to the side, waiting patiently for orders. For the price he had paid for it, he would have expected nothing else. It watched with a certain degree of curiosity, but tinged with aloofness and discipline until he had finished. The watch lay before Maw, everything in its proper place. He stared at it, his hand absent-mindedly digging into his other arm, carving slight marks into the skin. He stopped scratching at the old training wound, and swept his arm across the table, sweeping the device off of it and onto the floor. Springs and cogs fell away, rolling across the floor. He frowned. There should have been more rage there, but instead he felt strangely... empty, almost. That act of rebellion was good in the moment, but it was missing something. Something important. Perhaps he could find it again. He leaned down and picked up the bulk of the pocketwatch by the chain. He stared into the empty watch's interior, as if looking past his reflection in the highly polished gold, into the space beyond it. Then, slowly and deliberately, he picked up the chain's end, and with a steel-infused thrust, stabbed it through his hand, into the desk. His arm hurt. There was a slight noise of discomfort from the kandra, but he (she? Who knew with these things) did not react in any other way. The contract was signed, and even a madman would be his master. Happiness or feelings of security did not come into it; there was only the contract. Maw pulled his hand from the desk, the golden chain hanging off, tearing at the skin. The spike had gone clean through, the point blunted by the wood of the desk. He stood up, the watch face dangling down, pulling his arm with it slightly. The kandra tried not to watch it as it spun faintly. “Why are you still here?” he asked, pulling his wounded arm up to his chest and cradling it a little. He stared at the kandra. “I gave you all an order. You should have gone with them all, to kill everyone in that city. It's better than living under the rule of the Tekiels. Dictators and tyrannisers, all of them.” “The army has been slaughtered,” the kandra replied. “I came to give you that news. The koloss army of The Lord Ruler under General Wilson has killed them, and any that still live have either deserted or been captured for execution. If I or my brethren had gone with them, we too would be dead, and for no reason. I have told you before, we will not kill. You know this.” “Are you not my servants?” Maw asked. He wished he had wine or something to take his mind off things, but there was nothing. His fist clenched around the metal embedded in his palm. The pain was a good substitute. Pain replaced all his other thoughts, which mined away at him constantly. “The contract states that-” “I don't care about your contract!” Maw shouted, before abruptly stopping. “I don't care about your rules,” he repeated softly. “I bought you, and those others. Why won't you obey my orders? The skaa do. Even those in the brothel know better than to complain or to question them. But why won't you?” He looked to the side, as if there was something he didn't want to see. “Why? Why is nothing right?” “You buy our loyalty and our actions, but not our beliefs,” the kandra responded. “Your people have forced us to do some horrific things in the past. We have done them without complaint, as per our contract. Is it so much to say no to this one thing?” Maw continued to half-stare at the kandra, before looking away, out of the window. There was something in the mists tonight, he could feel it. Even without using his bronze, he could feel it. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and was surprised to find it came out like a puff of mist. He shivered, the watch banging against the desk's leg. When had it become so cold? “Fire,” he muttered. “I need fire. Something warm.” “I can find a servant and request some logs for the fire,” the kandra suggested, eager to move away from the current topic of conversation as quickly as possible. “Would that be helpful?” “...We need fire,” Maw muttered as he drew his arm into himself again. His eyes settled on the slums on the city outskirts, and the vague figures he could see walking around with his tin. So small and so insignificant. What must it be like to be them? Cold, he thought. He was in a great building in his finery, and he was cold. But there they were, all in rags and tags, shaking in the mists they feared. “I know...” He said, a wide and manic grin slowly settling onto his face. “The mists make everyone cold. We can drive them away.” he rubbed his hand, the chain rattling as he brushed over it. “They'll never be cold again. Let that be a message to Tekiel! However cold his heart is, mine will be warm. My people will be warm. We'll light up the sky and send the mist and darkness away.” He looked up and across the city, towards Luthadel. The capital was not visible, even from his high vantage point in the keep, but he knew where it was. It was always on his mind, a clarion cry that tried to lure him in. There was darkness there, too, but he knew he could do nothing about that. Not yet, at least. But it was always there, calling him to it. He sat down at the chair, placing the watch and his arm on the desk. He ironpulled on a few pieces, and caught them in his other hand. Placing them on the table, he used his Allomancy again to retrieve his tools. Slowly he started to reassemble to now blood-marked watch. “Round everyone up,” he said to the kandra. The kandra bowed and left, or perhaps more accurately fled. Maw stopped fiddling with the watch, and drew a dagger from his belt. He placed the tip against his arm, and drew it down, neatly opening it up. The cut was shallow, but still bled onto the desk. He sank the blade further in, and then drew it out. He smiled as he lifted the blade up, and stared at his own reflection in the candlelight and the blood. “We will become a beacon,” he muttered to himself. “A beautiful light in the darkness. The whole world will learn what lies within the shadows.” For that, Fellise needed to burn. To become ashes, so it could be rebuilt. Fadrex did as well, to remove the Tekiel stranglehold on it. No, the whole of The Final Empire needed to be reduced to cinders. Ashmounts were destructive, but brought fertility to the surrounding arears with the proper maintenance. Creation could not exist in a stagnant world, there had to be destruction and chaos first to bring about change. He picked up the watch and snapped the glass lens into place. He turned it over in his hand, and with his other, wounded hand, he twisted the key and wound it up. The watch started to tick, and Maw smiled. Everything felt right again. House Tekiel has declared war games! Fabulous prizes to be won (he says)! All you have to do is kill a few traitors from House Zerrung... This is a Global Event. If you are taking part, please let me know. Responding to this event does not take an action. Generation 8 Turn 4 has begun! It will end on Friday 10th at 6PM GMT. Generation 8 Player List

Generation 8 Turn 3 Solon Tekiel removed his wide-brimmed hat from his head and wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. He used the hat as a fan for a short while before the sun's unrelenting gaze forced him to don it once again. “Hot as hell out here,” he grumbled. “You know where we should be?” “No,” his commanding officer, a distant relation far better connected to the main House, responded. “But I imagine it will be impossible for me to stop you from telling me.” “That bloody party!” Solon said, his voice rising up and carrying ahead of them. He didn't care, there was no-one else around other than their troops. There was only wasteland around them, for miles and miles in all directions. Once, there might have been the ruins of a city strewn about, bricks and mortar baked into dust and ashes, but now the only record of their existence was in the Penrod Archives. “Food from all over the Empire; fresh fish from the markets of Lansing, Wilson-baked bread, Urbain wines and spirits... And think of all the music! And the clothes! Imagine all the colours and the people there! “But we aren't there, we are here. And we have a job to do here,” Chiron Tekiel said with a small shrug. “Perhaps if you stopped complaining about all the orders you were given, you would be back in Fadrex with them?” “Come on. I'm a member of the family, as much as you are,” Solon replied. “Well, half as much. But anyway, we're missing the event of our lifetimes! Everyone's invited; family, friends and even enemies! And then there's us, out here, in the middle of nowhere. Just seems wrong to me. What are we even doing here? We're chasing mistwraiths, and there isn't even any mist here. It's an insult to us.” “Some people deserve to be insulted,” Chiron muttered. There was a thump, muffled by the sand, as a person landed next to Chiron's horse. “I quite agree,” he said. “I for one could last until the end of his life without hearing Solon Tekiel speak ever again.” The spikes in his eyes glinted off the sunlight as he grinned. “Of course, if he does continue talking, that life won't be very long.” Solon went pale, even under the sunburn, and stood suddenly to attention. “Sir, I apologise.” “That's better,” the Inquisitor nodded. “Stay like that until I'm gone and you might survive.” He turned to Chiron. “You are Chiron Tekiel, yes? You're the one in charge of this little expedition”. Chiron nodded, swinging his legs off his horse to present himself to the Inquisitor. He offered a hand. “I am Chiron Tekiel, as you say.” The handshake was not taken up on. He dropped it without comment. “You seem to be well aware of our identities; might we know yours?” “I am here representing the Inquisition,” he replied. “That is all you need to know. Now, follow me. There is a task that needs to be done, something which your aid is required on.” “We are, of course, willing to aid you in any way,” Chiron said. “Our purpose here is to deal with miscreants and criminals, so we are at your disposal.” Solon nodded in agreement, desperate to make himself look better before the might of the Steel Ministry. “Yes...” The Inquisitor nodded with a slight sigh, “there is a reason my brothers and I spend so much time here. So far from Luthadel, people seem to believe that The Lord Ruler's rule and law fades away. We are here to disabuse them from that notion. You will help, as you are here. There are crimes here which you would not see.” “What crime would this be?” Solon asked, hovering around, sweating profusely. “How can we help you in your pursuit of The Lord Ruler's justice?” “There is a village nearby, on the edge of civilisation. We are to raze it to the ground and execute its inhabitants.” “Why?” Solon asked. “What did they do?” He looked down immediately when the Inquisitor's gaze turned on him. “Hmm...” The Inquisitor smiled a little. “I suppose I might as well tell you. It is no secret. You remember those so-called Greater Houses which were enemies of the state a century or two ago?” “Heartherlocke, Erikell and Vinid?” Chiron asked, raising an eyebrow. “They are still around, aren't they? Not powerful or large, but they do some odd jobs here and there for other Houses. Are you saying that they are causing trouble again?” “Not the Houses themselves. Erikell and Vinid offshoots have travelled here to the Eastern Dominance. They have created a little village hidden away here, and sneer at our laws.” “Not a pleasant life here,” Chiron replied, looking around. “Perhaps if they were more intelligent, they would have it easier.” “There are some people who are simply insubordinate by nature,” the Inquisitor said. “But they have bred with the skaa and spite the Sliver with their very existence.” He raised his hand. “Now, let us go and deliver righteous judgement upon their miserable little village and make an example of them...” The fire lasted throughout the night and into the red dawn of the new day. The towering inferno reached up into the skies, filling them with ash and dust, blocking the rising sun from view. The scent of burning flesh was all-pervasive, clogging the noses of the soldiers. No-one in the village had been spared. Man, woman and child had been put to the blaze, mostly alive. There were some who had put up a fight and died in combat, mostly Mistings. That was further proof of the village's heresy, the Inquisitor had said. But even those who had been killed while resisting had been nestled within the thatch, a final insult to the dead and horror for the living who were burning beside them. The soldiers sat at the outskirts, silent, carefully not looking at the still smouldering pyre, nor the Inquisitor who had led them here. He seemed pleased with himself, smiling at the re-consecration of this part of the Empire. He had set about his work yesterday with a disturbing amount of cheer, a fervour that reminded them all why Inquisitors were feared and spoken of in quiet tones. “...We should have been at the party,” a still shaken and pale Solon muttered, downing the waterskin with expediancy, in case he threw up instead. “Oh, shut up,” Chiron replied. He sat back and closed his eyes, pretending that the warmth was a roaring fireplace, instead of a horrific massacre. But the sight was burned onto his eyes and into his mind, and he would never eat cooked meat again. Generation 8 Turn 3 has begun! It will end on Friday 3rd at 6PM GMT. Generation 8 Player List

Generation 8 Turn 2 Lord Izenry was in bed when the explosions rocked the foundations of his family's home-away-from-home in Urteau. He bolted upright, almost falling out of the four-poster bed in his haste to discover what was behind it. His wife was behind him, but he held a hand up. “Stay here, Bryn,” he muttered, downing a vial of metal and throwing his Mistcloak over his nightclothes. From the drawer, he drew out a pair of obsidian daggers in a belt, clipping that around himself. Finally, he picked up a duelling cane that was leaning against the wall, and headed out to see what the commotion was. There were skaa running about outside, chaotic and unsure of what to do. They calmed in his presence, as while there might still be a problem, it was at least no longer theirs to deal with. He didn't bother asking them for a report on matters, knowing they would be useless and ill-informed. Of the two guardsmen that stood by his bedroom door, one remained at his post. He was sweating nervously, casting an eye in the direction his peer must have gone in to investigate. He saluted as Glen left his bedroom. “Sir, any idea what that was?” he asked. Lord Izenry hesitated, then nodded. “I have an inkling of what it could be, but best to be prepared all the same...” He nodded over to the bell-rope in the corner. “As if people weren't alerted already, rouse all the guardsmen. No-one enters or leaves this Keep, and I want other guards here to defend Lady Izenry. Understood?” The guardsman saluted and gave a shout of acknowledgement, trundling over to ring the bell. Lord Izenry didn't stay, but continued onwards, down the stairs. On the way, he almost collided into the head of his guard, another Mistborn. “What news?” he asked, taking the man aside and off the staircase into a small alcove. The man grimmaced. “Bad news, cousin. Our Tineyes report a huge explosion out in the city centre. A lot of the slums are now on fire, but we've got the skaa throwing water on them from the waterways. We think it was probably burning a bit before the explosion though, can't have spread this quickly otherwise. Couple of deaths, but the waterways have helped protect people from the worst of it.” “And we didn't spot it?” Glen asked, giving the man a disappointed and exasperated look. “We don't have enough Tineyes to watch the entire city,” his cousin scowled. “Used to be we could have two eyes on every district, our grandfather used to say. But Allomancy's been weakening, they say, so...” He shrugged. “Normal watchers are no good in the mists, and the smoke just makes it worse.” “Hm, fine. What exploded? No, don't tell me...” “Yeah, that nutter you set up in the labs,” the head guardsman shook his head. “I told you it was dangerous. I mean, getting someone to research fire?” “I would say he found something, at least,” Glen laughed a little. Now he knew it was probably not a deliberate attack on him, his House or his city, he found the situation somewhat amusing. “The latest compound would seem to have generated results. If rather larger ones than I had expected. A pity about the laboratory, however.” “Well, his notes will be gone, but the mind is still around at least. He was in the Keep at the time.” He sighed. “I don't like this...” he muttered. “Well, you are paid to be paranoid in a professional capacity,” Glen Izenry said. “But I will indulge you. Fires happen often enough, particularly with the forges and the proclivity amongst the skaa for ale and narcotics. Why should this be any different than that? An accident which simply has more consequences for a while?” “While it could be, I feel the blaze has spread much too quickly for that. Hitting the alchemical laboratories could be a stroke of misfortune, I agree, but I see that it could equally be an attack on us. Let's face it, it wouldn't take much effort to draw the flames towards it. I know what you're going to say,” he said, raising a hand, “and no, I don't know who. It could be another Great House with designs on the city, or it could be a weaker House trying to make a name for itself. Hell, it could even be the skaa, they're still not as docile as they would like us to think.” “Hmm...” Lord Izenry nodded. “For now, let's double the patrols in the city. If this was a message... Well, they will not find us defenceless when they make their next move.” “Very good, sir.” His cousin saluted and headed off. Lord Izenry sighed and slunk back into a chair, holding a hand into his head. He pulled the bell-rope in the room to summon a servant. “Bring me a bottle of wine from the cellars, and a glass,” he instructed. As the skaa left, he sighed once more. This was going to cause him such a headache. Generation 8 Turn 2 has begun! It will end on Friday the 27th of May at 6PM GMT. Generation 8 Player List

Why are you surprised by this? They are on record for saying that Modern reprints (and by assumption, any Modern-viable card) is a mistake in Standard. We can see that the most recent effects on Modern that Standard has had are all in error (Eldrazi and Delve). And you're asking for Legacy-viable? That's quite a tall order... Though Nahiri's meant to be rather good in Modern Miracles and playable in Legacy as well (not sure how good she is in there). Gitrog Monster is heavily played in EDH, and Anguished Unmaking is also an EDH staple. Sure, it might not have shaken up older formats as much as you'd like, but when you have almost literally all of Magic, anything that strong is automatically concerning.

Just flagging up, this is the general thread rather than the RP thread. You need to post public actions and RP in the other thread.

Generation 8 has just started, so I can get you in on that. The Turns are usually a week long, though the current Turn is two weeks as I'm not here this weekend.