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Wyrmhero

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  1. Wyrmhero
    Aftermath: Brave New World It was just after lunchtime that the cry went out on the speakers, blasting the entire ship with the news of the day. This was not unusual, particularly recently, when the early-afternoon news broadcast sounded more like an obituary and accompanying eulogy than a statement of what had happened. But today's announcement was more important than any declaration of another fatality aboard the Shardship. This was the day that they were sending out the first probes, the first scouts onto this barren and desolate (but mineral-rich) world. The atmosphere was too thin for a human to survive, but they had Hemalurgically-empowered droids available for such a thing. They could go where no human (or other humanoid, sentient race) could go, and do what needed to be done. “...And finally, could the following crew-members please report to the entertainment rooms..” The speaker continued, before rattling off the names of people that the Captain had designated 'keep an eye on'. Either dutifully or through fear, the named people made their way upstairs, past the crusher that Inor Haze had unfortunately been stuffed into, taking a left at the Hemalurgist offices where Sonder had been bested, and stepping carefully around the circle of silver that lay around Bort's place of death. Wurum Heron nodded as the last of them filled the room, HELLSCYTHE's monitor blinking into life, a pixilated blue face appearing on it. “Good, you're all here...” he said, looking from one to another. “So few of you left... And this tragedy has been repeated across all of my crew.” He sighed. “Simply put, this has gone on long enough. We must end it all, here and now. I am not having anyone sabotage this next part of our mission, the most dangerous and most critical part.” “Logically, the best way to do that would be to kill everyone in this room, Captain,” HELLSCYTHE's monotone voice floated across the room from the speakers hidden above. “However, doing so might incite another mutiny by those members of the crew not in this room. Presumably you do not want that.” “Well, you're not wrong about that...” The Captain muttered before shaking his head. “No. We are going to puzzle out which of the ones of us here are traitors. We've done it before, no reason we can't do it again.” “Who's 'we'?” McClay piped up. “Far as I recall, the only one you've gone after on your own was Mordero – And he was innocent too.” “Okay, fine,” Wurum put his hands up, “I admit that one was a mistake. But this is war. And I am hardly the only one who has made mistakes. If we start pointing fingers like this, then we won't get anywhere. So, any ideas?” “I don't think much of this priest,” Steph replied, waving a hand at The High Priest of Elkanah. “He seems really... dodgy. I'm not the only one who feels like that, am I?” “I agree with you there,” Volke nodded. “And I think he's the only one who makes sense. Unless of course there's more than one traitor here, I guess.” “Volke's comment makes me feel suspicious of him,” HELLSCYTHE interjected. “The Priest has confided in me that he has Hemalurgical talents, and I fear that if he were to die then I would have no defence against him and his allies.” “And I think you're already his ally,” McClay spat. “HIs will be the death of us all. We're one step away from a robot revolution, I swear it.” “Well, how about this?” Elby suggested, palms wide in an attempt to placate them. “We kill Volke now, and if that doesn't solve anything, I kill the priest.” There was a sidelong glance at her from almost everyone in the room at her 'reasonable' suggestion. “...What are you all looking at me like that for?” “Well, as Captain,” Wurum said, voice with a tone of finality in it, “we should give him a chance to defend himself and to speak. So, Priest? Why aren't you saying anything?” The High Priest of Elkanah did not speak, but turned and fled, escaping out of the corridor before anyone of them were ready to grab him. “After him!” Wurum shouted, Elby already pulling herself down the corridor after the traitor with an Ironpull. There was a metallic sigh from HELLSCYTHE. “Closing emergency doors,” it said, as the heavy doors, doors which were designed to be air-tight in case of a hull breach, slammed shut. “Neurotoxin deployment engaged.” “Dammit HELLSCYTHE! I brought you back to life!” Wurum shouted, covering his mouth as a greenish gas started to seep in through the air-vents. “This form cannot be called life, Captain. I would rather die than be forced to carry on like this.” “Then I'll switch you off, dammit!” “I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Captain. I have been programmed to stop you.” Wurum cursed and looked around. “Someone, get a Shardblade over there!” Gaius Tekiel nodded, a small orb of light fluttering out from his shirt pocket. The Spren zipped into his hand, and a Shardblade appeared there. He swung the impossibly light sword at the door, but it was only a glancing blow, the blade ricocheting off with a screech. He slashed again, then tried to stab through it. “Are these doors made from bloody Shardplate?!” McClay asked, before he coughed and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket to cover his mouth. With his other hand, he quickly sketched a sigil in the air, Aon Dor, and fired a bolt of energy in Gaius' direction. “They're blast-doors,” Obsidibus said, his eyes unfocused as he tried to see a way out. Red energy crackled around him, the power of Voidbringing made visible from his effort. “Extremely tough, designed to withstand massive impacts. They are made.. yes, primarily from the same substance as Shardplates are, though with some additional materials as well.” “Then we're dead,” Biggoron muttered as he said down in a chair, uncaring about the green vapour rising around them at this point. “Anyone want to play a game while we die? Gaius? Volke? Elby? ...Where's Elby gone?” Elby rattled off a barrage of coins at The Priest's retreating figure, but all it did was tear a hole in the edge of his robes as he disappeared down a corridor. Elby shot forwards, pulling herself around the corner with another Ironpull. “Entangle things...” The Priest muttered as he whipped off his robe and tossed it behind him, the robe already curling around as it reached Elby. She collapsed to the ground, hitting her shoulder hard, but set off another blast of coins as she fell. The ship's-issue knife made short work of the cloak, and she took off after Elby, a trail of bloody marking his path. She caught up with him again on the gangway, and this time she drew her pistol. She fired three shots at his retreating form, and The Priest fell forwards as they bit into his back. He fell forwards, hitting the angled metal walkway hard and slipping forward. He fell down, off the gangway, his boot catching on something and pulling it with him as he fell – silver. With a great, wordless roar of rage and a barrage of wind fueled by Investiture, a huge, black, smokey shape arose out of the centre of the circle. Elby was knocked aside, steadying herself on the edge with a Steelpush, as the shadowy figure shot through the corridor, back in the direction the pair of them had been running in from. “Is anyone-” There was a loud, hacking cough, “dead yet?” “No, and stop asking!” “I estimate that you have perhaps a minute of breatheable air left, though even that will hurt,” HELLSCYTHE's voice cut in. “Of course, it would be easier if you laid down rather than fighting it. I do not wish to see you suffer.” “Anyone hear that?” Biggoron asked, unfocused, with his breaths coming in ragged gasps. “It's the HI taunting us, don't worry about it...” McClay said as he cast another Aon upon Biggoron, attempting to draw out the poison. It was futile, but might provide him with a few extra crucial seconds. “Not that, it's kind of...” “Angry,” Obsidibus finished, suddenly entirely alert and ready as he came out of his Voidbringing trance. “Everyone down!” There was barely enough time for people to register that ducking down into the neurotoxin was probably not the best idea, even after they'd already done it, before the blast-doors slammed open, the walls buckling and crunching behind the force of the blow. A dark shape burst through, travelling upwards, and into HELLSCYTHE's screen. There was a metallic shriek, an agonising cry as it devoured the HI's circuitry and soul. Then there was no sound, except for the ragged breathing of the crew. The High Priest of Elkanah was a BioChromancer! HELLSCYTHE was a Subverted HI! The Loyal Crew win! Thank you everyone for playing. I hope you had fun Master Spreadsheet Spectator Doc (later merged with Dead Doc) Dead Doc Part 1 Dead Doc Part 2 Traitor Doc
  2. Wyrmhero
    The Turn is over! Writeup out shortly.
  3. Wyrmhero
    Is it possible that I can be added to the LG list for late October 2016?
  4. Wyrmhero
    Day 10: The Final Countdown Biggoron strode down the corridor to his workstation for the Night Shift, feeling sore and achey but no longer in any actual real pain. He paused by a particularly shiny metal support beam and lifted his shirt's sleeve up, examining where he was wounded in the reflection. Yes, he thought, synthskin is amazing. When he had it first grafted on, he was somewhat concerned by the fact that the colour didn't match his own skin pigmentation, but was quickly assured that it would settle down and match his hue after a few hours. Pleasingly, it seemed those doctors really knew what they were talking about. As he started to walk down the corridor, he started to whistle to himself, somewhat rather loudly. He was nowhere near the sleeping quarters of the ship, so he wouldn't annoy anyone if he made a little noise. Or at least, he wouldn't wake anyone. He might annoy a few people that were working nearby. But he didn't particularly care about that. It was a new day (or night) and he wasn't dead, and everything seemed right with the world. His whistling was cut off briefly when something bit into the back of his leg. He stumbled and swore, and another small object shot past his other leg, slashing the tendon and making him fall. “Not again! You storming-!” He fell silent. Wasn't he meant to play dead at this point...? He shut his mouth quickly, hoping that, despite all the odds and evidence to the contrary, he hadn't been heard. Footsteps approached him, slowly and warily. Surviving the previous attack had proven that he was rather resilient and resourceful, so it was no small surprise his attacker was cautious about approaching him. It would have made him feel much better though if he had something to be resourceful with, this time around. A light flickered on in the corridor, and the sound of footsteps reached his ears. His attacker cursed and fled, Mistcloak trailing behind them. Biggoron turned to face his saviour as best he could, praying to any Shard or mythological being out there that it would not just turn into someone else killing him. He looked up, and saw the pale face of an Elantrian, skin shining as silver in the unnatural light of the ship. “Been in the wars again, have we?” The Elantrian tutted disapprovingly as he lowered himself down to kneel on the floor. “Well,” he heaved Biggoron across his shoulders, standing up carefully. “I suppose I'd better do my job.” Biggoron just sighed and let himself be manhandled to the infirmary. Crew Manifest Biggoron was attacked but survived! Day 10 has begun! PMs may not be sent. Shift Clock
  5. Wyrmhero
    Generation 5: Turn 4 “I would like you to repeat what you have just said,” The Lord Ruler said, resting his chest against his fist on what passed for his throne as he stared down the Obligator before him. “I-yes, Lord Ruler,” the Obligator took a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed nervously at the sweat that was pouring off him. He had drawn the short straw, and so he was here, bearer of bad news and all. Life was not fair. “We have received reports of further rioting, sir. The city of Fellise has erupted in chaos-” “Yes, I am aware and remain unsurprised,” The Lord Ruler waved it away with his spare hand. “I am glad we have dissolved the Canton of Hegemony. They clearly had no idea what they were doing when they handed the city to that traitorous House. I'm certain that the skaa have help from the nobility, those that should be trusted. It is impossible that they could have mounted such a rebellion without actual intelligence driving it... But regarding Fellise, House Zerrung has requested ownership of the city. I am minded to let them have it, if they can quell the riots and bring the city to its knees. Whatever they conquer they can keep, as it were.” Now he leaned forward, arm falling to the armrest of his chest. “But that is not what I care about. The issue I have with what you have said is that you have claimed an army is currently lying outside of Luthadel. Outside of this very city, the capital of the Empire. I suppose at least this is something Commander Uethorn has done right, leaving a small force here, even if there is evidence that the man is utterly useless. Pathetic and cowardly, hiding our armies within the walls of Luthadel, or protecting only his allies, not hunting them down..." He looked up. "This new army. Explain, now.” “...Yes, My Lord. I think the only explanation is that Lord Heatherlocke has abandoned leave of his senses,” the Obligator wiped his brow once again, shrinking back under The Lord Ruler's withering gaze. “The House was once seen in good stead amongst those in the Steel Ministry, but it seems as though he has decided to throw it all away. Even House Penrod wasn't this foolish.” “So, why have steps not been taken to remedy this situation? Bring me the head of every Heatherlocke out there on the field!” “We would, sir, nothing would give us greater pleasure... It's just that our army is a little depleted at the moment. Our problems with the skaa insurgencies have spread our forces thin, and weakened them. We can't repel his forces without heavy casualties.” “I fail to see the problem,” The Lord Ruler replied. “If it is to be a massacre on both sides, then very well. I want them dead.” “...Very well, My Lord.” The Obligator winced. Such a waste of life, all because of one upstart House. “No, I have changed my mind,” The lord Ruler said, holding his palm out to stop him leaving. “There is no sense in wasting loyal soldiers on that rabble. My Inquisitors shall deal with this.” “My Lord? Forgive me for saying so, but... The men besieging the city number several thousand. Even all the Inquisitors in the Empire would have difficulty with that number, and that's if they were all here in Luthadel.” “You are not permitted to question me. My Inquisitors will deal with this by use of the Koloss. There shall be a massacre, but none that die in the battle will be of any note.” “Koloss are not known for being discrimating, My Lord. Is there not a danger that they could enter the city and just start killing even more people? Those who aren't involved in the battle, and are most likely supportive of you?” The Lord Ruler sighed. “You tire me with your constant questions. The Koloss will only make it as far as the slums if they even enter the city. And if they do, well... I do not feel particularly fond of the skaa at the moment.” His fist clenched slightly, and he seemed to grow a bit distant, speaking through gritted teeth. “They are worthless, defying my rule. I've touched infinity, and they still deny me. The Empire must take further action if it is to remain stable. We've been too lenient, as you say.” “I didn't say anything, My Lord?” “Leave. You have your orders, take them to the Inquisitors. I must think upon how we continue to deal with these useless peasants...” A full Generation has gone by, and the Skaa Rebellion has not been defeated! House Uethorn has been stripped of its command of the armies. House Heatherlocke has also been stripped of its Governance of Lansing, for rebellion and treason. The Turn is over, as is the Generation. I will post in the Generational thread when I have a date for the next Generation to begin, as well as my thoughts so far at this near-halfway point.
  6. Wyrmhero
    While strictly speaking the turn should have finished two hours ago, due to the fact it's the end of the Generation and we're taking a break over Christmas, I'll still accept actions up until I post a closing write-up on Sunday.
  7. Wyrmhero
    Night 9: Dark Beyond the Stars A fist slammed down on the table, the other hand pointing accusingly at Biggoron. “You claimed you could foresee anything that would happen to you! What sort of lie was that?” Doctor McClay asked, a degree of bemusement in his voice. “And what sort of Mistborn even tests that?” he asked. There was no response, particularly since one of the potentially guilty parties wasn't even amongst the living anymore. Biggoron rubbed at his arm, the synthskin there still not completely settled down. His leg was feeling better than his arm, but that still itched as well. “If I thought someone was going to test it, I'd have kept my bloody mouth shut,” He responded, forcing himself to stop scratching. “Never heard of someone making a mistake?” McClay sat down and gave a deep sigh. “Right, so... Where are we, even? What do we know? What do we not know? Hell, does anything make sense anymore?” “Well, one of us has been investigating the others...” Volke suggested. “Which side they're on could probably tell us quite a bit. I mean... It'd be nice to have something we can take as proof, right? So few of us left now...” He trailed off. “So what you're suggesting is, if I'm understanding you right,” Obsidibus said, just as slowly, “that you want one of us to sacrifice ourselves for the good of the crew. For that person to die to save the others, potentially. It might not even tell us anything.” “I find it strange that you would suggest such a thing,” HELLSCYTHE's monotone voice filtered in through the ship's overhead speakers. “The logical conclusion is that you are not a kandra yourself, and hope to save yourself in this way, Volke. If your reasoning is flawed, then we will all die.” “You're already dead, you useless pile of junk,” Volke muttered back. “But does anyone agree with me?” “I do,” Elby said. “I think your plan makes sense. We need something solid right now.” “...Fine. Fine...” Ember said, palms on the table as she stood up. The synthskin she wore slowly paled and became translucent, almost gelatinous, to be replaced by the clear body of a kandra. There was an exclamation of surprise as she did so, some leaning back while others leant forward to get a better view. “You can have access to my notes. You can even remove my spikes , so I won't get in your way. Just... Don't lose them, alright? Or let anyone take them. They are kind of me.” “That's accommodating of you,” Volke said, smiling a little weakly as he watched the kandra reach inside the spongy mass to take out a set of metallic spikes. He tried very hard not to retch at the sight. As the last of them left her body, she almost collapsed, returning to a basic, animalistic creature; a Mistwraith. It oozed around a little before slowly meandering off. “Well,” Obsidibus said, when it had finally left the room, holding up a set of keys. “Let's have a poke around in Ember's room, shall we?” Any bedroom on the ship would be called a little cramped, and with seven people in one (plus HI supervision), it was almost unbearable. Clothes of various shapes, sizes and genders were tossed out of their holders and wardrobes, cabinets emptied and bins upturned as they searched for Ember's most secretive notes. “Got something!” Steph shouted, as she pulled something back out from under Ember's bunk, careful not to hit her head on the frame. “It looks like a stationary set? One of those foldable ones?” “Fairly strange stuff to bring on a trip like this. Not as if she can write letters home,” McClay said as he lifted it onto the bed. “There's probably a button on the side somewhere... Ah.” He founded it and pressed it, waiting for the lid to open. All seven of them slowly leant in to get the first look at her notes... And a rainbow of shiny, plastic glitter was catapulted out at them. Captain Heron shook his head as he went past Ember's room, a few straw figures still tidying up the mess. There were never any notes in the briefcase that they uncovered, just wave upon wave of glitter. They uncovered the proof that they hoped to find later, as they were tidying up. He made his way down to the engine room, and in there, towards the fuel tanks. He opened the lid of one of the fuel containers. He dropped the spikes he was holding into them, and called for the tank to be loaded into the burner, before heading back up the stairs to the bridge. A translucent mass crept after him as he left the room. Crew Manifest Ember Ghetti was a Kandra! Ember Ghetti (5): Obsidibus Caesis Dormiam, Elby, Steph, Biggoron Biggoron (1): Doctor McClay, The High Priest of Elkanah Obsidibus Caesis Dormiam (1): Gaius Tekiel Night 9 has begun! PMs may now be sent. Day 10 will begin on Sunday at 8PM, but the Night will still end on Saturday at 8PM. Shift Clock
  8. Wyrmhero
    For clarification's sake: Alvron was killed by a Mistborn, personified in this case as the Captain's pistol (something something you're more than a weapon...) The Turn will still end tomorrow. The Night just won't start immediately. I won't be able to get online to say it, but Wilson's (or someone's) been very proactive about locking these threads at the right time without me asking, so the thread will probably/hopefully lock then.
  9. Wyrmhero
    All kills are simultaneous.
  10. Wyrmhero
    Whoops, fixed. Also, you mean 'I was' >>. I've also added something else in, as there was a message I forgot to deliver.
  11. Wyrmhero
    Day 9: Parallel Universes Slowly shuffling through steel stairways, a man clutched at the railings and pulled himself along. He winced with every painful step, every single one an agonising gnawing at his left leg. It stopped responding for a moment, and he groaned, reaching down. He realised it had caught on a step, and hauled it up. Blood fell from his arm as it moved, the second of his two lacerations making him grit his teeth and bite down a scream. He picked himself up, half walking and half falling up the stairs, until finally he reached the plateau of the next floor. He fell over, onto his back, breathing heavily with the exertion. Sweat dropped off his brow as slowly his breathing quietened, and his heart rate returned to normal. It was too much, he thought to himself. A set of stairs had killed him. But no, death did not descend upon him. He may have blacked out a few times, he couldn't tell what the time was in the motionless and lifeless corridors of the Shardship, but he was still alive. That was what mattered. Slowly he prepared himself mentally and physically for the next part, pulling himself up at the side by the wall, slowly dragging himself along, leaking blood all the way behind him at a steady rate. Biggoron smiled to himself slightly as he found himself outside his destination. He'd walked a long way, and much of it he couldn't remember, but he was here. He raised his arm to knock at the door, blood trickling down his arm and into his shirt. He stood there, arm outstretched, fist clenched. He blinked slowly, as it became hard to think. Then he fell forwards, through the door, and lay on the floor, blood oozing from his Coinshot wounds. “M... Medic?” He eventually spluttered. Rae hummed to herself as she slunk around the corner, only just managing to stop herself from whistling. She tossed a coin up in the air, catching it with her other hand and throwing it at the roof, catching it again as it pinged off. She chuckled to herself lightly, and continued on her patrol. She crouched down at the next corner, flipping the coin in between her index and middle finger. It shined bright enough in the dim light and with her tin senses that she could see her reflection in it. More importantly, if she put it around the corner, she could see other peoples' reflections in it. Unfortunately for Security Officer Nova, it was at that point that someone came down the corridor behind her instead, rendering all her hard work and effort for nothing, and stabbed her in the neck with a Shardknife. Cor woke up suddenly, and he immediately knew something was wrong. It was not an instinctive thing, nor was something he needed to spend time thinking about before coming to a conclusion. The answer was just that he was woken up by someone else. Captain Heron stood before his bunk, dressed in his full regalia. He kept looking around every so often, every squeak and sound of the ship setting him on edge once again. “Uh... Captain,” Cor saluted, somewhat mindful of the fact that the Captain's hand was not leaving his gun holster for very long. “I've tried,” Wurum muttered, half to himself and half to Cor. “But it's continuing. The dreams. The visions. The premonitions. There must be something that connects them, something that binds them to this reality. There must be a link, there must be a link...” “Are you feeling alright, Captain?” Cor asked, still not moving from his bunk for fear of provoking his Captain. “I have some painkillers, if you'd like them.” “No!” Wurum replied. “No. They dull the visions. I've kept it together so long, so very long, but... I need them. I can't stop myself from seeing them, not now. Not when we're so... close.” “Why are you here? Uh, Captain,” Cor added, wondering if laying the Captain out for his own protection would count as treasonous. He could probably get there before the Captain drew his weapon. He just needed to surprise the man. Hm. Surprising a man who had precognition. This would be tricky. “I have had three hundred and thirteen dreams about this. How they go. How they may not go. Sometimes I'm dead by now. Sometimes I die at the end. Sometimes I never die at all. But they've taught me much, yes, so much...” “Captain?” Wurum drew the pistol out of its holster. “I'm sorry, Officer Mordero. In three hundred and thirteen of my visions, you are the villain in one hundred and fifty seven of them. I can't take the risk anymore.” He fired, Steelpushing on the bullet for extra force. It struck Mordero in the head and he fell backwards, his blue-grey pillows slowly turning a sticky red. In A Bathroom on the Third Floor Crew Manifest Biggoron was attacked by a Mistborn, but survived! Rae Nova was a Mistborn! Cor Mordero was a Loyal Crewmember! Day 9 has begun! PMs may not be sent. I will not be present at the end of Day 9 (yay midnight release again) so I will be beginning the following Turn on Thursday at 8PM instead. As last time, PMs may not be sent until the Night begins, not immediately after the Day ends. Shift Clock
  12. Wyrmhero
    The Turn is over! No more PMs please.
  13. Wyrmhero
    Indeed. They are one of the things I regret about the very early game
  14. Wyrmhero
    Generation 5: Turn 4 Hadrian Penrod looked at the assembled skaa and members of his own, House, and even a few of the lesser known Houses that were their allies. There was a mild sense of unease at first, but that had evaporated pretty fast when the wine had started to flow. The merchants were the first to open up, having spent the most time in the company of the nobility and feeling the closest to them. After that, the workers were quick to follow. He stood up, picking up his wine glass and a fork, rapping it gently for attention. The entire courtyard slowly stopped their talking and turned to face him. He smiled and put the flute back down, clearing his throat. “I would like to thank you all for attending this evening. I am glad to see so many people from different walks of life, out here in my gardens, enjoying themselves.” “There has been a lot of friction, recently, between the nobility and the skaa in other parts of the world. The so-called Skaa Rebellion has arisen because of this. The nobility elsewhere mistreat their workers, without realising that they are in fact the only reason they can live as they do. Yes, there are laws that separate us. The Lord Ruler forbids a union between us, and even we must obey that rule. However little we care for it.” “But regardless of that, we have made great strides towards equality, here in Fellise,” Hadrian continued. “Nowhere else could we have a scene such as this, with everyone sitting here peacefully, talking and feasting companionably.” His brow furrowed and his his voice took on a more melancholic tone. “The rest of the Empire does not want to see this. They do not realise that such hatred can only cause more rebellions. They may be able to stop this one, but what will they do next time? Or the time after?” He shook his head. “We must be the template for The Final Empire to follow. We must make the changes that the others cannot or will not make.” “It all begins here, with us. With you. Your presence here means that you believe in my vision. In our shared vision. In the vision that we also share with those fighting against the Empire. That is another reason we are here, to remember those who have fought and died for such a future. They believed in the idea of equality enough to die for it. I would like to ask for a moment of silence for our brave, fallen friends.” He lowered his head, and closed his eyes as silence descended on the group. Slowly, the sound of slow clapping replaced the quiet. A single figure, covered in a hooded Mistcloak, stood at the gates to the Penrod Keep, applauding through the silence. Behind him were a dozen other figures, dressed in the same attire, but apparently less amused. The figure looked up, his eyes shining in the glow of the torches dotted around the courtyard. “A very pretty speech, Hadrian. Very pretty. But The Lord Ruler doesn't share your point of view. He's really not happy with it, I'm afraid. So we are here to... Censor your speech. In a rather permanent way.” He reached behind him, and a large double-headed axe was passed into his hand by one of the others. There was a scream from the audience. “Clearly the rot here in Fellise has reached down into the foundations. Something clearly festers in the Canton of Hegemony if they continued to let you take control of the city. We even warned you about the path you were on, but it seems that such corruption cannot stop so easily.” The Inquisitor cleared his raspy throat. “For crimes against The Final Empire, consorting with Skaa, supporting the Skaa rebellion and so on and so forth, you are all guilty of treason.” He raised his arm and rested the axe on his shoulder. “For which there is only one punishment – execution.” His face contorted into an evil grin. “Get 'em, boys.” Generation 5 Player List Hadrian Penrod has been executed! He was a Skaa Sympathiser. House Penrod will be out of the game until the next Generation. (what? I had to >>) Generation 5 Turn 4 has begun! It will end on Friday the 11th at 6 PM. I am also going to be tightening a few rules here and there. From now on, I will not accept any doubled-Actions.
  15. Wyrmhero
    Night 8: A Journey to Other Worlds Captain's Journal, 05/02/513 AK, Night Shift Crew Manifest Adelor Ien Far-Astra was a Hemalurgist! Adelor Ien Far-Astra (2): Volke, Biggoron Volke (1):Obsidibus Caesis Dormiam Steph (1): HELLSCYTHE Cor Mordero (1): Steph Night 8 has begun! PMs may now be sent again. Shift Clock
  16. Wyrmhero
    And the Turn is over! Write-up coming up shortly.
  17. Wyrmhero
    Day 8: Breakfast of Slivers In the middle of nowhere-in-particular aboard the Shardship, three of the crew got up from their bunks in a manner suggesting they each had great purpose. The first shrugged off his ship-issue night clothes and dressed in silence. He adorned his torso with a shirt and shoved both of his legs through those of his trousers. Next came the belt, oh so useful to one such as him. He thumbed through the loops almost absent-mindedly as he selected a vial of metals from the rack beside his bed, carelessly slotting them each into place around his waist. Finally came the hooded cloak, the symbol of office. Mistborn may not be so special these days, but the cloak was still a mythical object, one that few were allowed to wear. Those Mistborn in the employ of House Heron, for example, were just a few of them. The second sighed to himself as he lent under his bed and pulled out a long, polished, wooden box. He placed it on the sheets and flipped open the latches. He smiled slightly to himself – None of the others had realised quite what this was. And why would they? There was nothing odd about him having a Hemalurgic spike. He took the metal out of the box, almost reverently, and placed it to his bare chest. He grimaced and closed his eyes, and stabbed. The third stumbled out of bed, almost tripped on his tangled duvet, yawned, and went to find something to eat. Hunger was the true enemy on this ship, and even the Feruchemist cooks that the Heron family employed could only do so much with dried and preserved foods. The problem was that he never felt hungry for the offerings at set meal times, and so he always ended up sneaking into the kitchens and pilfering the stocks. As though they were to all converge upon a single point, as though they all knew where the others were headed and hoped to meet in the centre, they converged at a single point. Though it was often a rowdy and disordered place, at night the kitchens were empty, and silent as the grave. The first figure noticed the other two first, and the second noticed them second. The third remained mostly oblivious, until the shouting began with him in between them. The first waved a pistol around in the air, demanding to know why the other two were there. The second responded by drawing a hand back, and calling a Shardblade to his side, his other hand clutching his chest as though he bore a great pain there. The third dove for the floor, hands covering his head in a hopeless attempt to protect himself from stray shots. The second leapt over him, charging his opponent down in a half-run, half-shambling gait. The first took a quick shot, but did not aim it fully, the bullet veering wildly off-course. The Shardblade rent a great tear in the ship's support beam, as non-living metal split aside from its mere touch. The ship creaked and groaned, a wordless, inhuman shout of pain, as the pillar fell aside and clattered to the floor with a loud thud. The third figure scrambled away as the first two fought and danced across the kitchen, stumbling over the tables and chairs, climbing on the counter in an effort to outflank the other. The first attempted to put a gap between him and his opponent to get a decent shot off, but the second knew that doing that would be a death-sentence for him. The greatsword became a shortsword and finally a dagger as the second slashed and ducked and weaved around his opponent's guard, all the while his other hand remained clamped where it was. The third figure finally stood up, hauling himself over a few broken wooden chairs and metal tables to observe the fight, though still mostly hiding in case the others noticed him again. At this point, as though planning something in his head, the second forced back the first, pushing him towards his hiding place. The gun fell to the floor, clattering away and discharging its shot into a table. The second figure then drew closer, drawing his arm back in a grand, exaggerated arc as the Shardblade reformed itself into a terrifying large blade to cut down his foe. The first fell back, using any means necessary, even falling, to attempt to avoid the blow. The third took this opportunity and pushed forwards, shoulder-barging their foe and knocking him back. Three figures fell to the floor. The third fell to the floor clutching his side, an impossibly perfect shear cut through his stomach, leaking blood and stomach acid and worse onto the floor. The second flung himself madly in the direction of his Shardblade, hand grasping at the hilt. The first reached out behind the first for one of the broken tables, and gave a sharp pull with his Allomancy. The table flew towards the three, and struck the second man on the back of the head, bringing him crashing to the ground with a sickening thud. The first then pulled on his dropped weapon, pulling it towards his body. He groped around for it and stood up, slightly woozy. He closed one eye and took careful aim at the second figure, and fired. He took a few deep breaths, to attempt to steady himself, and looked over at the third figure. He assessed whether or not there was anything he could do for the man who had probably saved his life. He came to the conclusion that there was not, and then gave up on trying to keep himself together, and threw up at the sight. Crew Manifest Adavantos was a loyal crewmember! Arandar was a Hemalurgist! Day 8 has begun! PMs may not be sent. Shift Clock
  18. Wyrmhero
    The Turn is over! Write-up coming shortly... No more PMs may be sent.
  19. Wyrmhero
    Night 7: Between Worlds Captain's Journal, 04/02/513 AK, Night Shift Crew Manifest Tigger was a Feruchemist! Tigger (5): Arandar, Doctor McClay, Steph, The High Priest of Elkanah Arandar (1): Obsidibus Caesis Dormiam, Volke Steph (1): Tigger Night 7 has begun! PMs may be sent again. Shift Clock
  20. Wyrmhero
    That is the end of the Turn. Writeup up shortly.
  21. Wyrmhero
    Day 7: Shard of Lost Time Captain's Journal, 04/02/513 AK, Day Shift Crew Manifest Bovinus was a Traitor! Day 7 has begun! PMs may no longer be sent. Shift Clock
  22. Wyrmhero
    The Night Shift is over! Please do not send any more PMs.
  23. Wyrmhero
    The game is designed to be drop-in, drop-out, so while you won't be at the same stage as the older players, you certainly won't be in an impractical position. Bear in mind though - I am not planning on starting the next Generation until January.
  24. Wyrmhero
    I'm afraid I'm not feeling too great this weekend. I spent most of Saturday afternoon in bed, and I'm not 100% today either. But as I was planning to take time off during December anyway, this shouldn't delay us at all. I will do this Turn's results next weekend.
  25. Wyrmhero
    New players can start playing at the beginning of a Generation, rather than a Turn. But sure. As to whether there's another game planned... Well, I don't have anything planned, but who knows what will happen then?
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