Wyrmhero
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Have to admit, I did assume you were going to be the GM, since you posted this thread . It's fine to allow anything, I think, provided the players don't abuse it. I have a lot of fun playing strong classes sub-optimally for flavour reasons... Incidentally, those 'Advanced Classes' are so weird... I think they must have been released since I was playing. I guess they take up the idea of 'Gestalt' characters, which is a D&D variant where each player advances in two classes simultaneously...
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Generation 6: Turn 3 It was a formal gathering, though not like any that Luthadel had seen before. Gone were the popular music and the rich, exotic foods. The wine, of course, remainedm but in place of the dancing music, a soft and slow orchestral tune wafted through the room. There were no plates before them with artistically small portions either. Instead, trays of bite-size snacking foods were laid on the tables next to comfortable chairs, with a large number of serviettes beside them. This was a gathering for the intellectuals of Luthadel. Those here were not just 'somebodies'. They were considered 'somebodies with a mind'. All were, of course, Lesser nobles or higher up the societal food chain. Skaa were not educated in Luthadel. And even those who were educated in other cities were still not allowed to travel, and thus could not join them. House Penrod was not going to invite displeasure in that way so quickly. Piled high beside the chairs were tome after tome. Thick and heavyset, not ones that could be read within the evening. But they were all masterworks that any of the attendants should have read before, if they were to be considered intellectuals of any degree. Several were written by House Penrod themselves; histories and biographies ranging all the way back to the time of The Deepening, when The Lord Ruler saved the world and set them above others. But it was not an old work that they were here to discuss today. Despite championing the meeting as one to discuss any and all works that they had read, there was not a doubt in anyone's mind what they were really here for. But the majority of the attendants were Lesser Nobles; When even a somewhat disgraced House such as House Penrod called, they had no choice but to answer them. “I will admit,” one was saying to Araris himself, “you have written something rather impressive. From my own point of view, it is interesting to see how one deals with The Inquisition and even The Lord Ruler himself – Not that many do, these days, I suppose. At the very least, it will be a useful primer for anyone such as myself hoping to take the stage as a Great House.” “I am sensing that there is a caveat to your praise,” Araris remarked. “Please, Lord Etoro, this is a place for you to speak your mind. If not here, then where, I ask you?” Lord Etoro nodded, and now that he had been given leave to criticise, he continued. “However, I am cautious to admit to having read the thing outside of these walls. The book looks upon your ancestor in a favourable light, and could be considered to criticise The Inquisition – if not The Lord Ruler himself. Are you not concerned by that?” “If there are any criticisms,” Araris said, “then they are ones that the reader already has in their mind. My book is factual, and only merely attempts to dispel some of the myths perpetrated. I would not go so far as to say that The Inquisition was wrong to execute my great-grandfather. I would say, however, that had he explained himself to them before doing so, then perhaps the sorry mess might have been avoided, either by them agreeing with him or him dropping his cause.” “It's still a dangerous line to walk,” Lord Etoro replied. “Was this perhaps another of those things that should have been discussed with them before being carried out? Please tell me that you did. It would be a shame to have to publicly burn and denounce another book because of its author's stupidity.” “And I thought you were afraid to criticise me,” Araris said, amused. His became more serious shortly after. “I have, of course, discussed this with The Steel Ministry. I requested their permission to publish beforehand, and I am pleased to say that they have allowed me.” “Hmm. What did you bribe them with?” Lord Etoro asked. “I cannot think of any mining operations or jewellers that your House owns. Publicly, of course. I am aware you may have less well-known connections.” “What is the one thing that the Steel Ministry needs in order to function?” Araris asked, smirking over the top of his wine glass. “What can even the Inquisition not do without?” “Hmm...” Lord Etoro tapped his chin as he thought. “I suppose it requires a source of willing bodies, people who are happy to work for them and to leave their own family. Understandably, most of their recruits are people from the Lesser Houses, as they have less to lose and more to gain. Did you promise them Aradel, when he is old enough?” “...No, Aradel remains my son, and he shall inherit from me in time as usual. But apart from people, what do they require?” “Metals? The Inquisition cannot survive without metals. They live on Allomancy, it's practically a necessity for what they do. Particularly when chasing down rogue Mistings. Have you heard that there are some on the Skaa Rebellion? They claim to be descended from nobility. The nerve!” “I have heard of these rumours,” Lord Penrod waved them away before reaching over to the table and taking some food. He wiped his hands on his napkin. “I do not know how true they are. We did put plans into place to root out such things. But regardless, you have already pointed out that I do not publicly own any mining operations.” “And you would not admit if you owned any privately,” Lord Etoro completed. “Yes, yes, I see... Then tell me, what is the third thing they require? What did you give them? Surely not just some of your wealth.” “No,” Lord Penrod smiled. “I gave them knowledge, and the means to use such knowledge. You see, the Inquisition doesn't live on people, or metals, or even money. It lives on paper. It is a great bureaucratic giant, only as powerful as it is because it knows so much. While it is true that they could demand access to my family's library instead of the payment arrangement we had in place before, it is much more pleasant to simply give them unfettered access to it.” “I suppose this is true. But ultimately, it results in the same thing,” Lord Etero said with a shrug. “You are merely saving them money.” “Perhaps, but it is a start,” Lord Penrod said. “And it helps them with their work more than coins ever could.” “And so where from here?” Lord Etero raised his glass, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair. “What does House Penrod hope to achieve by becoming close to the Steel Ministry again?” “Lord Etero, you never will break into Luthadel properly if you don't understand this,” Lord Penrod smiled. “It's not about getting anything in return. One should never use it as an excuse to gain leverage over them. My family serves The Steel Ministry because we believe in its cause, not because it is profitable. There's more to life than Wealth, you understand.” “Perhaps to a Great House such as yours, Lord Penrod. My own can barely make ends meet, it has to be said. We need you, but you do not need us. Even after your great-grandfather's treason, you remain a Great House. There is a gap between us that is difficult to bridge.” “Indeed,” Lord Penrod nodded. “My House may not be one of the original nine, but we were there with The Lord Ruler from the beginning. House Penrod exists to serve him, his Empire, and all that he does. We are a House of spiritual fulfilment, one might say, and we are known for it. This the difference between us, Lord Etero. House Penrod and all Lesser Houses” He finished his glass of wine. “We live for more than material wealth. We trade in reputation, not wealth. That is what makes a Great House; reputation.” “Hmm,” Lord Etero nodded. “I shall remember that, My Lord.” Turn 2 has begun! It will end on Friday the 26th at 6 PM GMT. Generation 6 Player List
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I'd be very interested in taking part. My last Pathfinder game ended a few years ago now, sadly (just before my Zen Archer got really awesome), so I'd be more than happy to play another campaign. If it was to be Pathfinder, what would be allowed? From what I recall, the base, core and a few additional classes are all available on the SRD, but I'd like to check - My GM didn't allow Magi, for example, due to potential strength reasons. Alternatively, I'd also be happy to play other systems, as I wouldn't mind branching out. I've played Pathfinder, WH40K and Call of Cthulhu before, so am fairly open system-wise. I think it really just depends on the setting you want to use for it, though they're all fairly manipulable. It just occurs to me that I remember speaking to you about all this stuff to great length before . If you need a hand with Pathfinder-stuff, I can always give some advice as well. Not so much other systems though >>.
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Can a mod please delete or edit Ripple's post? I refer you to the rules of the game (as in, SE in general rather than this game specifically), which state that you are not allowed to copy and paste from PMs.
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Night 4: A Sword in a Gunfight “Operations are proceeding smoothly,” Feis Yolen said, imperious on his metal throne behind the screen. “Day by day, we approach our goal on the horizon. We have crippled their security forces, and we have stolen their eyes. Yesterday, we succeeded in infiltrating the home of a Heron Industries executive. From there, we have obtained security codes and other vital information. Due to the presence of subversives amongst us, I will refrain from naming the executive in question.” There was quiet in the room at his words. No-one wanted to interrupt their employer in the middle of a monologue, particularly such a well-paying employer. However, when it was apparent he was not going to say anything else for the moment, someone decided to speak up. “Smoothly?” Exisa asked. “You call this smoothly?” He asked, gesturing around at the empty chairs. “Oh, it may all be going well from your point of view, from someone behind the scenes, but what about for us? One of us has turned out to be working against us, and four have been killed! Some by people still in this room!” He pointedly did not look at Lopen. Feis Yolen steepled his fingers. “You are correct,” he said, his measured, if gravely, voice a leaden weight on Exisa's protests. “From my point of view, everything is proceeding within expectations. You are all expendable to me; that is why I pay you such exorbitant amounts.” “...We're expendable?” Count Reynaud asked. “Is that what we are to you? I thought we were attempting to remove the yoke of the oppressor, but it sounds to me that all you intend to do is set yourself as a new one.” He gave the impression that he would very much like to spit on the floor to show his distaste at the idea, but his manners and upbringing prevented him from actually carrying it out. “Rest assured, none of my plans will involve you making a sacrifice. I detest such wastage.” Feis said. “Unlike the Survivor that you claim to love and emulate, I do not hide my plans from you. I may not inform you of them all before they become relevant, but you can trust me when I say that you know as much as I do when the plan has been finalised.” He spread his arms out, as if inviting criticism. “In the circumstances we find ourselves in, frankly even that much is dangerous.” “Hah,” Lopen shook his head. “I guess it makes sense.” He looked over at his collegues. “We're Mistrunners, right guys? If we only took missions on that we weren't in danger of dying from, we wouldn't have enough boxings to eat. Grow up and stop blaming him for something we all knew already.” Feis nodded once in response. “Now, if we are beyond this childish protesting, I have sent you the plans for tonight's raid. Read them and decide who shall go along. We have identified a Heron vault. Please, do not allow yourselves to be blinded by greed when entering it. Thus anything obtained from there shall be shared amongst all of you I would be most aggrieved if our task tonight failed because someone saw a particularly shiny gemstone they thought they could hide. I will turn a blind eye to a certain extent within the parameters I have already said, but be sensible and fair about it. You are Mistrunners; I am sure you know when not to push your luck.” The screen went black, another transmission ended unceremoniously. A dozen beeping noises resounded simultaneously, as everyone in the room received a copy of the plans to their phones. “Well... I suppose we had better look at them,” Count Reynaud muttered. “How many do you think there are amongst us?” A particularly pungent man asked. There was a shrug from Dragonsight. “I doubt they would send a single person to infiltrate us. There must be more. It's not as though Heron Industries can't afford more Mistrunners. And it's not as though Mistrunners with low enough scruples to work for them are uncommon.” “Seen many of those in your time?” The man who resembled more of a rotting corpse than a person asked. “A few,” Dragonsight shrugged. “They tend to have lower life expectancies than even we do. At least people like us, honest crooks like us, we only annoy the Megacorps. Mistrunners that work for a Megacorp, they've got nowhere to go. They're still crooks, but they don't fit in with us either. They take more dangerous jobs for lower pay, and eventually...” he snapped a finger. “They die. Simple as that.” “But you have seen some, right?” Exisa asked, looking around nervously. “So what do they look like? I mean, we're at each others throats here. Only a matter of time until its one of us.” His eyes narrowed. “Unless it is one of us...” he looked at them carefully, shifting his gaze from the corner of his eyes between them, his hand twitching. “...Exisa's nervousness aside,” Dragonsight continued, “I'm afraid I really can't help. They are just like us, just with a different boss.” “Ah, I get you,” Exisa nodded as he stood up, slamming his hands on the table. “We need to look for people who aren't like us!” “Well, that's not quite what I-” Exisa was already looking around. “I mean, we're all a bit different, all weird in some way, but I guess we all fit. Though come to think of it, that bastard Niter never really fit, did he?” “I suppose the two claiming to be nobility are the ones that most stick out,” the scented one mused. “Though Araris never claimed to be nobility. He clearly is though, I mean just look at him.” “A noble trying to hide his heritage?” Exisa asked. “That sounds suspicious to me!” He stormed off, over to the table that Araris was sitting at, and climbed onto it via a chair. He cleared his throat, calling all attention to him. “Does anyone else think that this guy,” he wheeled on Araris and pointed at him dramatically, “is a treacherous git? I mean look at him, sipping his wine there! Clearly he's more at home with the high society than with us.” Araris, for his part, looked rather bemused. “I assure you, I have no idea what you're talking about.” “I'm sure you don't!” Exisa said, walking around the table, as Araris hurried to rescue his wine from being kicked off by accident. He drew a pistol from within his coat, though he didn't point it at Araris. “How much are they paying you? Would have to be a lot for someone like you to hang around with us. Hell, are they even paying you? Or was it just a few favours to the family?” Araris got up from his chair. “If you insist on insulting me like this, then I must demand satisfaction. A duel, Exisa. Perhaps when your life is on the line, you will be less brash.” “A duel? Fine, fine!” Exisa shrugged, turning to face him again. “Whatever it takes for you to admit it.” “As the injured party, Araris may choose weapons,” Count Reynaud said, looking over with some interest, and also a little surprise that he himself wasn't the target instead. “This is true,” Araris turned and nodded to Count Reynaud. “Very well. I choose my trusty sword,” he said, drawing it from his side. The soft, silvery metal shone as it reflected the dim light of the room. “It may not be the best for a physical fight, but it will at least prevent any Allomantic interference.” “Fine. I'll choose my gun then,” Exisa said, raising it up at Araris' face, and firing. Count Reynaud slapped a hand to his face in exasperation as Araris hit the ground. "For a start, you're meant to both use the same weapons..." he groaned into his drink. "Savages." Araris was a Mistrunner! Araris (2): IrulelikeSTINK, Clanky Eda (1): Lopen Avis (1): Eda Star Thief (1): Araris Player List Night 4 has begun! PMs may now be sent. The Night will end on Monday at 8PM GMT. Lane has been chosen to select people for the mission! I will need a response for this by 8PM GMT on Sunday.
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The Day is over! The writeup will be posted shortly.
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Pauper is a format in which you are only allowed to use cards that have been printed at Common rarity (or are Basic Lands). It's a bit of a weird format, more focused on the grind than quick games. There's some really weird decks, and 'eggs' (mana fixing artifacts that are often sacrificed afterwards and draw a card) are very often used to fix mana.
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Yeah, I think the real issue with a deck like that is that you're splitting between aggro and control. It might catch some people off-guard sometimes, but all that does is make you end up midrange in a deck not designed to support it. Aggro gets worse and worse the longer the game gets on, as well. I had misunderstood though, I thought it was a Standard deck. Makes more sense now I know it's not. It's good to hear that my suggestion works. Combat tricks are quite fun, I think. My friend has a Gruul deck from both Ravnicas, and I'm never sure if I'm meant to block and get Bloodrushed or not block, take damage and get Bloodthirsted. Entirely different bluff, one you'll always win . BW Warriors is rather strong, particularly with the support they got. To completely throw a curveball: Pauper. Anyone here play/played it? It's mostly what they play where I'm living right now, and I'm thinking of trying either a Tron or a UW/UB Flicker deck. Not sure which I'd rather play, but the key point is that they're rather different to what I'm playing right now.
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Day 4: Unwelcome Help “It's kind of a bit boring without everyone here,” Ripple muttered. “We're only missing four of us. We need some people to actually do the work we're being paid for,” Citona pointed out. “Yeah, but another four are six feet under,” he pointed out. “That makes it less interesting. And it's no fun being the only sober guy either." “What about Dragonsight?” “Oh yeah,” Ripple nodded. Then he frowned. “What is a dragon, anyway?” He got a shrug in response. “Well, whatever.” He licked his lips, his mouth feeling a little dry. “Back in a sec, just gonna grab another drink.” He stood up with his glass and went over to the bar. When he was not served, he poked his head over the counter and looked in both directions. Either their employer's assistant was just being her bothersome self, or she was gone. He put his hand on the counter to give himself more leverage, and almost bashed his chin on the wood as it slipped from under him. “Uh, guys?” he shouted back at them all. “What?” Avis asked, jolting upright at the loud call, looking towards the counter from the table he was slumped over, over the rim of his glass. “What's up?” Ripple picked up the sheet of paper that had been dropped on the bar and had been inadvertently scattered by his hand. “Weird,” he muttered as his eyes traced the page. “What do you guys make of this?” He cleared his throat. “''nails hammer solar muffins ignite create toxic run errand paper fourth change storm dark good bad fight never always goal finish point books less five mini reverse.'” “Sounds like rusting nonsense to me,” Avis replied. “Where'd you get it?” “It was on here,” Ripple gestured at the counter. “Oh, wait, there's something on the back.” He turned it over. “Or the front, I guess.” Unlike the hastily scrawled attempt at poetry on the back, the front side of the sheet made a lot more sense, and was written neatly by a steady and stern hand. “Guess this explains where whatshername's gone.” “So? What does it say?” Citona asked. “Just says she's fed up of this all today, and so she's gone home. And that she's locked away most of the liquor.” He looked over at them. “Oh, and there's a key here too. She wants us to lock up after we've left. Can she even do this? Won't Feis get annoyed at her?” “Apparently she's not one to care about that,” Lopen muttered, standing up. “Well, no rusting way I'm staying here if I have to be this sober. Anyone else want to go to a proper place to get smashed?” “What about locking up?” Ripple asked. Lopen shrugged. “Eh, you can do it. Not like you'll come with us.” “And if I have other plans tonight?” Lopen's eyes narrowed. “Do I have to beat a confession out of you too?” There was a moment when it looked as though something might happen, that the tension might snap and the room devolve into a violent mess, but then Elbe spoke up. “I'll do it. No need to bite his head off.” Lopen looked over at Elbe, and then folded his arms. “Tch. See if I care. See you guys later than, I'm off to get properly drunk.” Room by room, Elbe went around and closed all the windows, turned off all the lights, and locked all the doors. It was soothing, in a way, to be alone in this dark building. Life recently had been so loud, thanks to all the others here. It was a shame that Niter had turned out to be a treacherous bastard, really. His tablet may have been annoying at times, but at least he kept himself to himself and didn't shout across rooms, or anything. She felt as though he had a kindred spirit in him, at least up until a few hours ago. She lowered a set of blinds by the window, obscuring everything in the room from the glow of the pale moon outside. It wouldn't do for passers-by to see any contraband or evidence of their plotting. The maps were still laid out across the table, some stains on them, and a lot of their Mistrunner tools were lying around as well. The tools weren't incriminating on their own, but in this quantity (and with the maps too), questions would be asked. She swept screwdrivers and a box of spikes and other assorted items into a bag, and went behind the bar to hide them. She opened a cupboard and stuffed them in there, careful not to scratch herself on any jagged or loose ends. She stood up, and suddenly there was someone in front of her. She jumped, before feeling a bit silly. There was the counter between her and the guy, and all she'd done was made herself look foolish. Well, it was dark, so hopefully he hadn't been seen her do that. “Everything locked up?” “What? Oh, yeah,” Elbe smiled a bit as her heart started to settle. “Yeah, everything's about done. Just got to lock the door on the way out.” She left the staff area, closing the counter-top behind her. “Good, good.” He suddenly darted forwards in a burst of superhuman, Feruchemical speed. The only warning was the sound of his feet moving, she could hardly see at all in this darkness. With no time to defend herself, his knife was buried in her throat before she could even react. “Yeah,” he said, reaching down with a gloved hand. “Probably shoulda turned the lights off last, eh? Then you'd have noticed that you weren't alone, and my knife, and the metalmind, and everything.” He took the key from her pocket. “Don't worry though, I'll make sure to lock the door behind me.” He tossed it up in the air and caught it with his other hand. “See you tomorrow.” The Mission was Successful! Elbereth was Well-Connected! Player List Day 4 has begun! Please stop your PMing. Yes, that means you. Don't act innocent, I can see you hovering over that button. Do you really want to do this? Good, that's what I thought. The Day will end on Sat at 8PM GMT.
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The Night is over!
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Yeah, please remember that those on the mission should not be posting on the thread.
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The players for the mission have been chosen. Lopen has chosen Araris, Clanky, TheSilverDragon and luckat. I will need to hear back from them before the end of the Night Turn at 8PM on Thursday. I've also edited in a vote I forgot.
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Night 3: The Silent Killer It was a muted evening in the bar, as day turned to night and thoughts once again turned to the their losses. Many of the Mistrunners were lamenting the loss of the DocWashington medical service. All could remember a time or two when they had been patched up in a quiet back alley with no questions asked, or indeed answers given. His Archivists were a gift from Harmony, and now they would have to rely on their own limited medical knowledge; his surgeons had withdrawn from the mission with the death of their leader. Elsewhere in the bar, another group of Mistrunners attempted to avenge the death of Locke Tekiel, and were making good headway there, judging from the number of glasses on the table. Locke Tekiel, brought down in his prime so cruelly. They remembered him well, and drank to his health in the world beyond. In a corner, Niter sat, texting away on his tablet. He had found a comfortable corner in which to hide, and was almost invisible to the rest of the room. The only noise he made was the constant click-clack as his fingers danced across the tactile surface, followed by a whooshing noise as they were dispersed into the aether, bytes of information sent flying through the Cognitive Matrix. “To Locke!” Lopen shouted. “The brother I never 'ad!” “Didn't you say...” Clanky blinked and tried again. “Didn't you say you had like... four dozen brothers? Or something?” “Yeah, well, I liked Locke, which is more than I can say for the rest of them!” Lopen replied, raising his pint again. “To Locke!” he tried again, raising his voice as Niter received a string of messages in response. “The brother I never-” The tablet started ringing, and Niter jumped a little as he tried to find the right buttons. “Sod that blasted thing!” Lopen shouted, slamming his hands on the table as he stood up and rounded on the man. “Rusting thing makes more noise than you do!” Niter looked up at him and then back down at his tablet, and started to type quickly, fear in his eyes. Lopen grabbed the tablet off him. “What the hell's so important on here anyway?” He looked at it, before frowning. “Unrecognised thumbprint? This thing's bloody locked tighter than Heron's purse. Here,” he said, shoving it into Sam Flynn's surprised arms and away from Niter's outstretched hand as he tried to make a grab for it. “You're a tech guy, right? Get into it.” “Uh, I can't,” Sam responded. “Not quickly, anyway. These things have pretty good security on them. I've got my tools with me, but I'm really more of a hobbyist than an actual hacker.” “Well, get to it already!” Lopen's eyes narrowed at him, and Sam had little choice but to disappear, or else face the wrath of the swaying, red-faced man. “And as for you...” He turned back around to Niter, grabbing him around the arms to stop him fleeing. “You're jumpy, ain't ya? You know, I been thinking. It's just someone like you that I think has ta be reporting us all. Quiet and unassuming and all that rust. Got anything to say about that?” “Lopen,” Clanky began, placing an arm on Lopen's to try to get his attention, “he's unable to speak. You just took away his way of speaking.” “Really?” Lopen asked. “Look at him, smug bastard.” Niter frowned, unsure of how he was looking, and tried to reassemble his face into anything other than how it looked at this moment. “Laughing at us, I can see it in his eyes. And how do we know, eh? Probably just puts it on.” He cracked his knuckles as he dragged Niter out of his corner. “My guys have ways of making people like him talk.” Sam sighed as he twisted the screwdriver, trying to drown out the thumps and groans from outside. The rain was helpful at least, it covered up the sound. But he wished it was heavier. It was still too quiet. A few seconds later, and that wish was granted for a brief moment. Lopen closed the door behind him as he entered the bar again, slipping a pair of bloody knuckledusters into his coat pocket. Sam looked up at him as he pried the casing off and pierced a wire inside with a small nail-shaped chip. He started to replace the covering. “Did you kill him?” He asked. “Well, had to,” Lopen nodded. “Bastard as good as admitted it to me, but then wouldn't give up any names!” “He spoke?” Sam asked as he shook the tablet a little, listening to hear if anything was still loose. Pleased that nothing was rattling around, he put it on the table and pressed the power button. The tablet whirred to life. “Well, no,” Lopen admitted. “He really was mute. But he admitted it, I swear.” “Hopefully there'll be something on this that can incriminate him then,” Sam replied, shaking his head. “Not that I'm doubting your word, of course.” Lopen gave a short laugh. “Hmm...” He tapped the screen. “This is taking longer than expected.” “Give it 'ere,” Lopen snatched the tablet off the table, and lifted it up so that he could see. “...What's this? Initiating cadmium defences? 'Time has stopped'? The hell?” “A time-slowing bubble?” Sam asked, perplexed. “Why would it have one of those built into it?” “Slowing? I thought it sped it up?” “Nevermind. I suggest putting it down,” Sam continued, stepping away. “Why?” Lopen asked.”What's the worst it can do?” As he asked that, the world outside started to hurry past, and he was somewhat aware of a large number of people in the bar watching him. He dropped the tablet on the table, and it started to whir again. “Initiating iron de- steel- zinc de- bloody hell, slow down,” he muttered as he read the tablet as various metals flashed past him. A screw shot out of the tablet and pierced his thigh, and he cried out briefly in surprise and pain. But then, a moment later, he was no longer concerned by it. The pain was there, but he wasn't angry about it. No, he was furious suddenly, and reached down to rip the screw out in a moment of rashness. A second after he did that, he realised how stupid a move it might have been without any kind of medical assistance. But after that, he no longer cared again. Then something heavy hit him on the back, and he fell over, bashing his head on the table. The whirring increased again, and the tablet let off a brilliant series of cascading, changing lights. Lopen was somewhat glad he had been knocked over, even with the pain on his head, as seconds later, the tablet exploded, metal flying out in all directions. Time resumed. Sam hauled him up to his feet by his arm. “I will accept that as admittance of guilt,” he said. "Good," Lopen grinned and drained the last of the pint he had left on the table. "Now, let's get onto today's mission." Niter was an Assassin! Niter (4): IrulelikeSTINK, Lopen, Araris, Lucy IrulelikeSTINK (2): Niter, Shallan LUNA (1): Sam Flynn Player List Night 3 has begun! PMs may now be sent again. The Night will end on Thursday at 8PM GMT. Lopen has been selected to choose people for the mission! The deadline for this choice is 8PM GMT on Wednesday (give or take, as I will technically still be working at that time >>).
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The Day is over! Writeup coming soon.
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Since when did 17th Shard become a Twitter feed? >> Assassinations are not unblockable kills. Medical Knowledge users can target themselves and save themselves from it.
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Day 3: A Date with Ironeyes Locke Tekiel left the bar earlier in the Night than the others. The others were pouring over plans and suggestions of how to use the knowledge they gained from the previous days events; the locations of Lone Shard cameras and stations. They needed eyes for this mission, and twenty-odd crews did not have enough between them. So, it was suggested, why not use their enemies' ones while they were at it? It would at least tell them what they thought was valuable enough to protect. But Locke had other plans this evening, ones he hoped would prove less dangerous. Though considering he was meeting up with a friend on what he hoped might progress into some kind of date with her, he was no less nervous. For good reason too; he'd had his eye on her for some time, and did not want to screw it up. Even in the slums outside the Megacities, he was determined to find a diamond in this rough. Their meeting-point was pre-arranged, a quiet little bar not too far away from his current base of operations. It was a good thing too, as the meeting overran, and he was determined not to be late. He was running, even though he knew he'd arrive out of breath. But he couldn't make her wait. That would be the worst thing imaginable, it would completely shatter his chances before they had even begun. The bar was upmarket, and relatively clean. No Mistrunners here, other than himself. It was a good place to start the night off. He entered it with his head held high and looked around to see if she was there. She was not, and so he went over to the counter to purchase something while he waited. She arrived a few minutes after he did, and was apologetic in a way that he found very endearing. He got off his barstool to greet her as nonchalantly as he could, almost knocking the stool over in his eagerness. He asked how she was, made a small joke, and asked what she would like to drink. So far, so good. All according to plan. They found a small table out of the way and started to talk. It didn't take long for him to start to feel nervous, to start to sweat, even though the bar was cold. His head felt light and dizzy, and he struggled to concentrate as he continued to talk to the love of his life. It was kind of amusing, he felt, as he tried to reply to something she had said. She literally left him breathless. ...Thinking about it, perhaps it wasn't her. He keeled sideways off his chair, what was left of his drink falling out of his hand, the glass smashing on the floor. The lights swam in and out of focus. His hand slipped on the remaining alcohol on the floor as he tried to push himself up. His date was panicking over him, which was nice to see. His head lolled around as he tried to muster the strength to do anything. Above the heads of the other patrons, he saw the barkeep give him a cheeky grin and a wave, before disappearing out the back door before anyone could ask him to phone the emergancy services. Locke tried to stand again, but couldn't manage it, his hands slipping and unable to get a grip. 'Maybe I'll just lie here for a while,' he thought, as his vision started to fade. "Yeah," he muttered to himself. 'I'll get up in a minute. That sounds good...' he thought, as he slowly slipped into unconsciousness. 'Just a minute...' One turned into two. Two into ten. Even being loaded into the DocWashington ambulence failed to stir him. Ten turned into an hour. And then, as the poison finally finished working its way through his systems, into eternity. “I don't like this,” Gamic muttered. “It don't sit right with me at all.” “None of us like it,” Rowan responded in a whisper. “But we have a job to do, remember?” “But why do we have a job to do?” Gamic asked, rounding on his partner for this mission, ignoring the hushes he got in response. “Why in the Survivor's name do we have to sit here on this freezing sodding roof and kill one of our own? Mistrunners killing Mistrunners? It just ain't right!” Rowan sighed, continuing to look down his sight at the doorway. “The world isn't right, is it though? If the world was perfect, we wouldn't be on this roof like we are. But we need to eat, and we need money for bribes and Spikes and whatever. The most distasteful jobs are the most lucrative, particularly with the source we've got backing us.” “...I still don't like it,” Gamic muttered, turning back and folding his arms. “You don't say,” Rowan replied. “Sense anything?” “Just a couple of Archivists,” Gamic said, shrugging. “No Tineyes or anything dangerous.” He wasn't looking at the scene, he didn't need to. He was only here to provide support for Rowan, to keep an ear out for Metalborn that could screw this up. “Which I guess makes our job easier. Which I still don't like.” “If you dislike it so much, why not simply quit?” Rowan asked. “I think I've got the right angle here,” he added, mostly to himself. “Simply leave this life, go and get spiked by the bastards and work for them on the level instead.” “Maybe I will,” Gamic replied petulantly, before wincing. “Ah, Hell no. I couldn't do that, that wouldn't be right either. I'd just join a different crew. One more careful about jobs, you know...” he cast around for the word. “Discerning,” Rowan supplied. He then sighed. “I have to admit, I have been feeling a little... annoyed with this as well.” He reached into his belt pouch and took out a bead of metal, which he swallowed. He then took a thin tube out from another section of his belt, and a syringe from his coat, his rifle resting on his shoulder. Zinc and brass in a single tube. “Maybe I'll come with you,” he suggested, as he drew the liquid in the tube into the syringe, and injected it into himself. Immediately he started storing. Later, a Leecher would remove the spike he had just injected from his body entirely, almost rendering it a safe, if temporary, method of using Hemalurgy. “Maybe,” Gamic said, non-committally. “That'd be pretty cool of you, yeah?” He tensed slightly, listening carefully. He straightened out, and Rowan stopped storing. “They moving out?” “Yeah,” Gamic said with a nod. The door below opened in his sight. “Looks like it. Yeah, there's that Miller guy and his-” Rowan burnt the cadmium he swallowed, and started withdrawing from his metalmind of the same metal. He could compound it, by why would he? It already did what he needed it to do. Outside of the bubble, Gamic's words stretched out to infinity, his motions comically slow to him within his fast-time bubble. Rowan meanwhile was already in a position to pull the trigger, his body motionless thanks to his newfound lack of a need to breathe. He waited for a heartbeat, waited for the perfect shot as his injected zinc spike calculated an impossible set of angles and ricochets, and pulled the trigger. The bullet shot out from the rifle and bounced off at an odd angle as it hit the edge of the cadmium bubble. He paid it no mind, already certain of where it would land. He readied his next shot as he watched them react to the strange sound of his gun in slow-motion. Gamic was correct, all of these seemed to be Archivists, the heavy copper on their arms a tell-tale sign of people who had spent a very long time collecting a lot of information. By the time of the third shot, Miller had already been hit in the neck, and was slowly descending towards the ground. The second reached out for him, entirely unaware of the fact that his concern put him straight into the path of the second bullet. Minutes passed for him, though outside barely seconds had progressed. He closed the bubble, and the dozen or so bodies hit the ground, one after the other. “Impressive,” Gamic said, nodding at him. “I guess we go back to base now, yeah?” “...Yes. We let them know the job is done, grab out stuff, and leave.” Gamic nodded. “You're pretty certain now. What changed?” “I've had a lot of time to think...” The Mission was successful! Locke Tekiel was killed! He was a Loyal Mistrunner and had no Specialisation. Miller Washington was Assassinated by an Eliminator! He was a Loyal Mistrunner with Medical Knowledge. Player List Day 3 has begun! No more PMs please. The Day will end on Tuesday at 8PM GMT.
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The Night is over! Write-up coming up shortly.
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Generation 6: Turn 2 The nobility of Luthadel wined and dined at each others' Keeps no matter the occasion. The rare rebellion or two did not stop this, and parties resumed at full swing with barely a thought outside of these walls. Of course, that was not entirely true. Even within this relatively safe environment, plans were being hatched and plots spun into motion from their minds, an endless dance within the court of The Lord Ruler. For example, this entire event was a plot. One of the new, upstart Lesser Houses had managed to eke its way into Luthadel by hook and crook combined, and everyone wanted to be here to see just what they were worth. They examined the decorations for signs of affluence, they brought Seekers within their servants to judge their Allomancy, and above all they judged their reaction to this scruitiny, whether they would break under the pressure, or would truly become one of the Great Houses. Aquariupolus, a seafearing House by all accounts (and rumoured to be descendants of either a piratical, rogue Heron or remnants of treacherous House Heatherlocke), had spared little expense on their first ball, and it was generally judged that it would be a shame if it was their last. A variety of fish, scraped clean of ash and dirt after catching, was offered for the dinner, and the music playing in the background was relatively new to Luthadel's ballrooms, coming from Lansing, a city that was almost ignored these days. And, as a constant background chatter across the room, news was passed between the Houses. Even with the canal systems and roads maintained by the Houses, information was slow to travel, particularly when it was kept hidden or distorted by lies. Information and misinformation passed between the nobles, with such care and skill that it would take a carefully discerning eye to separate the two. There were three words that were on everyone's lips, as they were on many a ball these past years. 'The Skaa Rebellion'. A hundred years ago, it would have been spoken about in hushed tones, to the disbelief of the listener that Skaa could ever do something like that. They were docile, quiet creatures, incapable of raising any sort of resistance, it used to be thought. But not any more, their prolonged assault on civilised society had taught the nobility to take more care when in their company. Now, they were treated with as much caution as their peers, even if they did not demand the same level of respect to go with it. “House Penrod has defected and joined the skaa!” Quáit said in a conspiratorial whisper to the man he was talking to. “We all knew it was only a matter of time...” That man, Araris Penrod, gave him a withering look in return. “...Lord Zerrung,” he began, “I believe I would remember if I had ordered that. I admit that my House has previously... Misjudged the loyalties it displays to the outside world. But our loyalty to the Empire goes right down to our core. We believe in hard, honest work, a meritocracy, and The Lord Ruler and his Empire. The rebellion concerns me as much as it concerns everyone else, I promise you that.” Lord Zerrung rolled his eyes. “Only because if it didn't, your head would be taken off as well. How many of your ancestors have been beheaded again?” Lord Penrod winced. “...Two,” he admitted. “Though one of those was for a misunderstanding, though I can see how the confusion arose and bear no ill will to the Steel Ministry for their mistake,” he added quickly as an Obligator passed them by. Lord Zerrung laughed and reached over for another wine glass. “You're so excitable, aren't you? So aware of them all watching you, waiting to see if you do anything else treacherous. Just waiting for you to slip up as they did.” “They are avoiding associating with me,” Lord Penrod agreed as he took another glass as well. “Probably suspect they'll go down as well if I get killed, though why they think that I have no idea. Though it does raise the question of why you are willing.” “Perhaps I'm just braver than the rest,” Lord Zerrung laughed, before knocking back the rest of his drink. He went to walk off, but instead took a step closer, hand on Lord Penrod's shoulder. “Or perhaps I don't think you're the threat in this room, eh?” He patted him and gave his glass to the bewieldered man, whose eyes were already darting around to see if he could figure out who – if anyone – Lord Zerrung meant. “Good luck proving you're not traitorous scum, eh?” he said as he walked off. “I look forward to seeing how you prove it...” Turn 2 has begun! It will end on Friday the 19th at 6PM GMT. Generation 6 Player List
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Yeah, I missed the retraction. Fixed (thank goodness it wasn't something that changed the results). The Planning Phase is over! The players selected for the mission are: Dragonsight, Clanky, Star Thief and Lucy. The Night Turn will be over at 8PM on Sunday.
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I can confirm a lack of deaths this Day Turn. Write-up posted as well.
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Night 2: Caves of Aluminium In a place hidden away from the world, within a vault of aluminium within a vault of aluminium, the most important men and women in the world often gathered quietly together, deep within the bowels of the earth. There were few security checks in the way; the act of being able to find the place was the first challenge. In the old days of The Final Empire, The Lord Ruler would have probably killed all the architects of the vault to stop the knowledge spreading. These days, things were much more civilised - Their memories were extracted into Copper, and then disposed of. Only they knew of its existence now, though somehow rumours had seeped into the world from who knew were. The second challenge to overcome was sensing the imperfections in the aluminium, a few parts per million, and using that to open the doorway. Aluminium was, of course, Allomantically inert, and could not be affected by Ironpulls and Steelpushes. However, as the Inquisitors of old were able to use the minute levels of metal in the body to see, so too could they manipulate these fine grains to great effect through their use of compounding and duralumin. This was not a task that only they could do, but that was what the HISS system was designed to present. The third challenge, though not strictly necessary, was to pick a time when no-one else was there. They did not gather often, and avoided one another whenever possible. Similarity breeds resentment, it was said, and that was certainly true of these ten. But at the same time, they could not be too hostile to one-another. They weren't enemies per se, more rivals. They were the only ones in the world similar to each other, and that was something to be cherished and respected. Healthy competition and showmanship dominated their interactions, casting aside all lesser mortals in their wake. But regardless, they did not relish spending time in each others' company. Wurum Heron closed the door behind him with an almighty clang, the soft metal reverberating on the soft metal of its frame. The sounds carried up towards the shaft leading to the room, where the shocks would be absorbed and hidden away. He carried a torch, as there was no natural light, and even Tineyes required something to be able to see. He made his way across the cold metal floor slowly, almost reverent. They were not religious people - Ironeyes did not scare them, and they did not follow Harmony's teachings, and thought little of the Silver - but there was something sacred about this place, the source of their powers. In the centre of the room, a great rock jutted through the floor, fractured and broken crystalline patterns splaying out from its core in every direction. From these cracks, something grew that should not grow, a logical impossibility. Metal that lived, one might say. Wurum Heron reached up to a bead and tore it from to fissure, careful not to use any of his powers nearby. The crystals were notoriously sensitive to the presence of Allomancy, and broke easily when put into contact with them. Collecting the metal bead with a pair of tweezers and stowing it away in an aluminium container in his suit pocket, he did the same with another bead, and then another, careful not to take more than his fair share. As he suspected they all must feel, he felt a pull of desire, to simply steal the rest and damage the reproduction cycle, to see if his rivals died out without their boon from the Shards. But, ultimately, he could not do such a thing. It would not be right, he felt, and if he failed they would turn on him within an instant. And so, as he had done every other time after his harvest was complete, Wurum Heron left the room as it had been, and left the atium to flourish once again in the darkness of the underworld. No-one was lynched! IrulelikeSTINK (2): Miller Washington, Avis Alexandrius Venturia (2): Count Banuir Reynaud, Clanky Araris (1): Lopen Clanky (1): Niter Night 2 has begun! The planning phase will end on Saturday at 8PM, and the Night Turn will end on Sunday at 8PM. The players on the mission will be selected by luckat this Turn. If I do not recieve a response via PM from her by 8PM on Saturday, then she will die instead.
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The turn is over! Writeup coming up much, much later today
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Good point, and no. I merely meant that 'no vote' can be changed by someone Well-Connected. To answer Lopen's question, the Eliminators are allowed to talk on their doc when they are on a mission.
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The Turn will end in 25 hours, but that's not what I'm here for . To answer Bridge's question, Shadowrun joke >>. And now, for another question sent in by a player, who wished to remain anonymous. To clarify, the Well-Connected ability can be used on people who don't vote. I am considering a no-vote to be a form of voting in this game for this purpose.
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Day 2: A Knife in the Dark It was six o' clock in the morning, and Heron Industries slowly woke up to the new dawn. Many of the workers had been up for hours already, acting as security or maintenance or performing janitorial duties. But these people were the movers and shakers in the company, those that would put in an extra hour before work in order to try and get ahead of their competitors whenever there was a vacant position higher up. In thousands of homes this morning, the television was turned on, not to be watched but to provide ambient noise over breakfast. A quiet din that was only half-observed. Through osmosis, they would overhear the most important parts of the news, and thus learn about what was going on in the world. At this time every day, these televisions tuned in to Heron News. To Mistrunners, it was known as a corporate mouthpiece, a propoganda machine used to cajole the naïve and turn them on the enemies of the Megacorporations. But to the workers, it was their connection to the world, almost their sole opportunity to hear about other cities, and the other corporations, and more besides. “...Lord Wyatt, A spokesperson for Heron Industries Mining Concern, was willing to speak to us about the alleged incident.” The man who sat at ease on the comfortable sofa on the news show smiled a perfect smile at the audience and the newscaster. He wore a neatly tailored suit, and his tie mimicked the reddish hues that made up the company logo on the wall behind him in the studio. He adjusted his glasses, themselves a relic of a bygone age where eyesight problems were commonplace, in an affable manner. “Heron Industries Mining Concern is pleased to be able to shed some light on this incident,” he began, in a calm and reassuring voice. “At approximately one o' clock this morning, a band of criminals waylaid and attacked a police station. They used explosives to blast a hole into the building, and then murdered several officers at the scene. It was a cowardly attack on people who give their lives to protect others. Heron Industries Mining Concern's thoughts are with the families of the victims, and wish them to know that we will not forget their sacrifices in the name of peace, justice and liberty.” The host nodded along, a picture of understanding and concern. “Do we know what their motives were? And I assume our officers were able to repel their attack and prevent an even worse tragedy?” “Naturally,” the representative smiled. “Our Lone Shard officers are trained to be able to handle a diverse set of threats, and it is only through underhanded tactics that these blights on the world were able to even get as far as they did. As for their motive...” he shrugged a little. “Who can say, with a criminal element such as this? It is probably something they see as revenge for the police's efforts to reduce the crime rate down to the lowest level it has ever been. When crime becomes less profitable for these people, as it has been these past few years, it makes sense that they would lash out like this, like some kind of dumb animal.” “And what about the future? Are our officers equipped to deal with an attack of this nature again?” “We were successful in this instance already,” the representative replied, scowling slightly before covering it up with another winning, manufactured smile. “Our officers repelled the attack and prevented additional civilian casualties in their careless attack. But, recognising the loss they have suffered Heron Industries Mining Concern will be channelling additional funding into the security forces of this city. We will not allow this sort of attack to go unanswered.” “Many of the attackers were of course killed in the attack,” the newsreader said. “In light of that, and that there were no successful live captures, how do the Lone Shards intend to bring those that escaped to justice?” “We made several live captures, but unfortunately they were willing to kill themselves and even one another to prevent us finding anything out from them. However, despite their barbarity, we have several leads that are being perused even as we speak. No stone will be left unturned. These criminals will be persued to the ends of the earth, I can assure you of that.” “Lord Wyatt, thank you for your time.” In a shadowy apartment overlooking the damaged office, Ember watched the television somewhat lazily, occasionally looking out the window to see the commotion. “Revenge?” she muttered, still watching. “What a joke.” It was all spin, of course, and a sad indictment of the world that most people would believe it. As if they'd attack the police for something so petty and pointless as revenge. No, the real prize was in the unfettered access they now had to their computer systems. Their mission had been a complete success, and sure they may have lost some low-ranking members, but nothing they didn't expect. Nothing they couldn't handle. She raised the remote and switched the television off, the only real luminescence vanishing from the room. “I suppose that's Heron propaganda for you,” her partner for this stake-out said with a shrug. “Turn a humiliating defeat into an astounding victory. Get enough people to believe in the lies, and they become true.” “It's horrific.” “Horrifically effective, maybe. Imagine what we could do with a media arm for Mistrunners, instead of a pointless forum online.” His phone rang. “Sorry, got to take this.” “It'd be nice,” Ember admitted as she walked over to the window to look out of it again. Below, the Lone Shard officers attempted to organise themselves as best they could. They'd stopped running around helplessly now, and efforts were being made to clear the rubble. She hadn't expected the explosion to be that big, but she wasn't a part of this mission. She didn't know what specifications were asked for. “Hm? Yeah, we're both here. Okay. Right. See you soon.” He put the phone away and got to his feet. “We leaving?” Ember asked. “No,” the other occupant clarified. “Just me,” he said, as his knife slid between her ribs. The mission was successful! Ember Ghetti was a Mistrunner with no specialisation! Player List Day 2 has begun! It will end on Friday at 8PM. I will not be around at that time, so I'll let you know what's going on with regards to rollover tomorrow.