Aonar
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Night Eight: No Sympathy [Write-up to be edited in.] Akirsefatafesrika (Bridge Boy) has been lynched! He was a Diagramist Elsecaller Squire (Transformation)! You have 24 hours to get your actions in, unless an extension is called.
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The Day is over! Results up soon, and the write-up will likely come tomorrow.
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Maill and I have a short collab that is done (I think?), and just waiting on Maill to get back to be posted. It could probably be covered via flashback pretty easily though, if people don't want to wait. (Either way is fine by me.) Also, on a different note; if Salem is actually going to have a plot now, I might have to find a place for Nightterror. Just to add that extra little bit of chaos.
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It'd definitely be a very volatile combination. Deathwish is the sort of person that Frostfire would absolutely despise. (I'd actually about suggesting this one myself. Frostfire/Ozy could have been interesting, but he's currently without a writer, and Deathwish might be better, anyways.) Depends what you define as murder... I hear extreme hyper/hypothermia can be pretty nasty, and that doesn't strike me as the sort of thing that would get reflected....
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Day Eight: For What It's Worth Findilti Findilt sat on a rock, contemplating the end of all things. The entire camp had gone crazy; it grew confused and hectic if someone even attempted to say anything. Given the circumstances, he thought it best to remain silent. As he sat, Findiliti noticed a long shadow looming over him. Glancing back, he saw a fellow refugee, or at least he hoped that it was a fellow refugee. "Here, have a seat." The silhouette nodded and obliged, settling comfortably down next to him on the rock. They nodded to Findilti. "So, you're not dealing with the hysteria so well? You've hardly said a thing." "It's all just so... overwhelming. Do you know of a way to get off this plateau? I can't stand it, and I think I am going insane. Sometimes I think I am not a Knight Radiant anymore. I don't know why." The figure tensed, sensing dangerous territory ahead. "Friend, you aren't a Knight. You need help. And, to put it frankly, you're not going insane, you are insane." Findilti was somewhat shocked. This person suggested that he wasn't a Radiant? He... he couldn't remember if someone had done that. Why couldn't he? "I may be insane, but at least I am not a thief like some of the people here. I would go back, but I no longer have a tent to go back to. Some filthy crem-covered Aimian stole it! Now everyone laughs at me for it; behind and in front of my back!" "Hey, calm down. I'm not laughing. It's not a joke." "I know it's not, but they make it one!" Trailing off, Findilti suddenly noted the glow of the figure in the growing darkness. Were they also a Radiant? Dangerous, even if they were only a Squire. The form seemed to smile sadly. "It is getting late. Too late for you, I am afraid, my poor, unfortunate, friend." At this last moment, Findilti made up his mind. Whether he was insane or not didn’t matter. This person obviously meant to kill him and if being a Knight Radiant would let him survive, then that is what he would be. "You seem to not know a lot about Willshapers, my friend. Have you ever seen one of us in our glory?" Stretching out a hand, Findilti prepared to kill his attacker, but they were mirroring his movement more quickly- as the hand rose up and the darkness grew bright before his eyes, it seemed to Findilti that he could hear a chasmfiend call as he drifted off into the night, death, and the sky. Em C Palah almost felt right at home on the Shattered Plains. His home in Sesemalex Dar was built into the sides of troughs similar to the crevices dividing each of the plates here. They were protected from the Highstorms by outcroppings at the lip of each trough to keep the storm waters from washing them all away, but other than that, things felt fairly familiar to Em. So it shouldn’t have surprised anyone that Em C was an incredibly adept climber. He may have been a simple potter to everyone here, but he grew up living on effectively the side of a cliff and if you didn’t learn to climb, you likely weren’t going to survive all the crazy antics that children get up to. That was how Em C found himself in a tiny indent, some 20 feet down a shear wall off of the plain the camp had rested on for the night. There was very little chance that anyone would be able to follow him down the cliffside. Only an experienced climber would know what footholds would maintain their weight and which would crumble the second you put your weight on them. It had not been even an easy climb for Em, so he felt reasonably safe. That was the point of him risking his neck to reach the little ledge. If no one else would be able to get to him, then those filthy Diagramists couldn’t kill him and if there were two things that personified the Emuli people, it was that they were very good climbers and they legitimately did not know how to quit. Em C would ride out the night on this little ledge and climb back up and join the camp in the morning. At that point, he help root out the rest of the Diagramists and help see everyone to safety. With little else to do and still exhilarated from the climb down, Em tried to calm himself in his work. The crem here wasn’t up to par with anything that he would consider actually making anything with to sell, but it held its form well enough and there was something very soothing in being able to shape and create something beautiful from what other people would just call “mud.” An hour passed and Em was starting to feel the exhaustion of the last few days starting to set in when a small shower of dirt rained down upon his ledge. Em lept to his feet, suddenly on high alert and peered into the blackness above him. Nothing moved. Em stood completely still, stretching his senses, trying to pick out even the smallest sign that someone was aware of his hiding spot. After a few minutes, he gave up. The puff of dirt had been small. It had likely been blown over the side of the plain by the wind or something like that. He finally laid down and went to sleep. ------- Moments after Em C started snoring, a figure finally let out a breath it had been holding for quite awhile and jumped down the rest of the way to Em’s ledge. The figure landed with barely a sound and Em didn’t even stir. The figure pulled a knife from a sheath on its back and knelt down next to the sleeping potter. “You cannot run from the Diagram,” it whispered before driving the knife through Em’s back and into his heart. With the deed done, the figure stood back up and prepared to attempt the climb back up when another small shower of dirt fell from above. But when the figure looked up, it thought it saw a silhouette of someone duck back from the top of the ledge. The figure waited to hear the sounds of alarm from the camp, but none came. Once the figure left the crevice, there were no sound there at all. Only the silence of the grave. Em C. Palah (Emerald) has died! He was a Refugee! Findilti Findilt (Idolevy) has died! He was a Refugee Willshaper! You have 46-ish hours to decide on a lynch, unless an extension is called.
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Not exactly. "Attacked but survived," is the wording when an attack is successfully defended against. That would not be the wording if an attack was prevented from occurring. And on that note, gah. I started trying to teach myself a couple new songs on guitar around nine, figured I spend a half-hour on that, then put a write-up together... now, three hours later, I just realized that it's midnight, and I haven't even started the write-up. >> Give me a minute, and the results will be up, at least.
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Night Seven: Big "Strong" Man After the highstorm had passed, the remaining survivors gathered in their makeshift camp. Despite the fact that nobody had died during the night, the ferocity of the recent highstorm seemed to trickle into their moods this morning. “Adamir’s been pretty quiet recently,” Kip noted. “I wonder what he could be up to…” As the others glanced around in a futile attempt to locate Adamir, Wol spoke up. “Personally, I’d like to know what’s up with Madon. I think his ‘crem collecting’ business is just a cover for something else.” Madon blinked, setting a piece of yellowish-tan (with a hint of red) crem on the ground. “Great, here we go again…” he muttered to himself. “The crem I collect is one hundred percent certified crem,” he challenged. “If you think it’s a cover for something, why don’t you go check for yourself?” Several of the others chuckled, prompting Wol to direct a harsh glare towards Madon. However, the old ardent then looked away, apparently too stunned to form a response. “Personally, though,” Madon continued, “I’d like to know what Adamir’s up to as well. I know I’ve seen him around recently.” “Ah, but that’s the thing,” Em C. Palah spoke up, raising an eyebrow. “Whereas Adamir has been visible in this camp the past day or so, Plurn Burn has not. Perhaps he went off to another plateau to reconvene with his foul compatriots.” “Strong words from a potter,” Madon said, reconsidering. “I think that he might be onto something…” With some additional prodding from Cla and Sani, several of the survivors agreed to go after Plurn Burn… as soon as they could find him. “Where is that fool now?” Sani grumbled. “It’s not like he could’ve gone far; we’re in the middle of the Shattered Plains!” “Ha!” Cla laughed in a booming Horneater voice. “Maybe he was carried off in the highstorm!” “Actually, with the highstorm last night, Plurn has to be somewhere on this plateau,” Sani said. “Either that, or he left before the highstorm, and is back at the warcamps by now.” “Or at the bottom of a chasm, dead,” Cla smiled. “Good chasmfiend bait, he’d be.” Madon rolled his eyes. “Well, wherever he…” the crem collector stopped as he heard a long moan. The group followed the sound to a boulder covering a crevice in the rock. “Hm,” Cla said, walking up to the boulder and easily dislodging it from its resting place with his hand. The group gasped, discovering that the boulder was hollow, and had a resident. “Ah!” Plurn Burn sprang up from the crevice. “Did I scare you?” Sani sighed. “Alright, what have you been doing in there?” “Waiting to scare you guys!” Plurn Burn laughed. “Were you not just listening?” “I don’t think so,” Em C. frowned. “You wouldn’t have waited an entire day under that rock just to scare us for a sad attempt at a joke.” “Wow, you’re a rude one,” Plurn Burn said, poking a finger at Em C. And, you’re right. I… erm, got stuck under there.” “Ha!” Cla chuckled, pointing at the hollowed-out boulder. “Stuck under that measly rock! What a big, strong man you are!” “Yeah?” Plurn Burn folded his arms. “Well…” “Enough of this!” Madon shouted. “The crem will be cold by the time we kill him if we keep up with this.” “I, ah, kill me?” Plurn chuckled nervously. “That’s… not very amusing.” “Maybe,” Madon responded, “but it’ll have to do. Let’s get him!” “Never!” Plurn shouted, immediately racing off from his assailants, following the circumference of the plateau. “You can’t stop me! Bwahaha!” “Really?” Sani groaned, chasing after the crazed man. “You’re stuck here! You can’t just delay us forever!” “Oh, but I can!” Plurn grinned, turning towards their camp. He leapt over a small tent, causing it to tumble down and angering the sleepy man inside. Before long, a sizeable mob was chasing after Plurn, though none of them seemed to be able to catch the storming man. Even worse, the fool continuously hurled insults at them as they ran in pursuit. “Your mother’s a Chasmfiend!” Plurn Burn shouted at Dow, who was sitting innocently to the side, as he flew past. Dow wasn’t sure what to think, but he couldn’t let such an insult go, so he jumped up and then the mob chasing Plurn was one man stronger. Eventually, the mob realized that they’d need to trap Plurn in order to stop him, so they gradually formed a semicircle around him to force Plurn to the edge of the plateau. At this point, however, Plurn was at full speed and there was no stopping him. He charged straight towards Akirsefatafesrika and, before the poor man could react, knocked him straight into the ground. Plurn chuckled. “Might as well call me an Edgedancer, ‘cause I’m just too slick!” The mob groaned, both from Plurn’s joke and from the fact that he’d escaped their semicircle. “Maybe we should just stop,” Justin puffed. “I mean, he’s got to run out of energy eventually, right?” Several of the other men and women, nodded between gasps for air. However, this was not the case, as Plurn continued running until it was sunset, still hurling an endless supply of insults at the annoyed refugees. “I honestly don’t even know how we’re going to stop this guy,” Eo pouted. Suddenly, they all heard a shout of “freedom!” and turned to watch Plurn attempt to jump across the chasm to another plateau. He almost made it, too. Votes: Plurn Burn (4): Sani, Madon, Em C., Cla Adamir (3): Justin, Seixa, Kip Madon (2): Wol, Plurn Burn (As it was technically after rollover, Feligon's vote was not changed.) Plurn Burn (Feligon) has been lynched! He was a Refugee. You have roughly 24 hours to get your actions in, unless an extension is called.
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The day is (or rather was) over (as of 20 minutes ago)! Results coming soon. Write-up will probably take a little (lot) longer.
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Lord Cifan Izenry sat at his desk, looking over the family accounts with a critical eye. By the Lord Ruler. Mother really did make a mess of things. Their current poverty wasn't all her fault, of course, but with the organization of the Cantons, it was clear that much of what she had set in motion would never come to fruition, and that was going to make things tight, for a while. He stood and began to pace around his spartan study, thinking. There weren't really a lot of options. He could sell off some of the House's many properties, but that wouldn't actually make them any more money in the long run. There was always the possibility of renting out the Izenry forces, but that held far too little revenue for the time and paperwork required. Petitioning the new-formed Cantons seemed the only possible course, but with the import placed on them by the Lord Ruler, his small contribution was liable to be lost among the bribes and donations of the other, more financially secure Houses. Of course, Mother did spend quite a lot of time with the people of Urteau... If they would be amenable to the Stewardship of any one House, I would imagine Izenry would be one of the first to come to mind... A hesitant knock interrupted his musings. The door opened slightly, and Helen poked her head around the edge. "Cifan? What are you still doing up? You said you were going to sleep hours ago." "I've been trying to think." "Sleep deprivation is great for that, I hear." Cifan sighed. "There's unfortunately little time for sleep. If something doesn't change, House Izenry will go destitute. So I'm trying to think of something." "I see. And pacing incessantly helps? I could hear you from the parlor." Her husband didn't bother gracing that with a reply, instead returning to his pacing. "Oh, don't be so glum, Cifan. I'm sure if you stay awake long enough, you'll come up with something. Whether it's a good something, well..." Lord Izenry stopped. "And what have you been doing, Helen? At least I've been trying." "I'll have you know, I just spent the lest two hours meeting with representatives from that damned Canton of Resource, trying to keep them from stealing our canals out from under us. I was doing that so you wouldn't have to, and could catch up on you sleep." Cifan sighed, seeming to deflate slightly. "I know. There's just so much that needs to be done, and nowhere near enough time to do it. I knew running the House was going to be difficult, but... I just don't think I'll ever quite be able to manage it." Helen stepped forwards and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Things are going to work out. We just need to give them time. Now, we both need to get some sleep." "And you," she said, taking him by the hand and pulling him gently towards the door, "need to learn to lighten up a little. Well, more like a lot." Public Action:
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Yeah, you can have the Day Extended. Any turn can be extended, if somebody asks. It's just that nobody's been asking. The Day will now last for 24 more hours, and end on Sunday. On that note, I'm back. Many thanks to Meta, Hero, and Macen, and everyone who helped look after things while I was away. (Seriously people, go find a couple of their posts and upvote them, if you can. ) It'll still be a little bit before I'm properly caught up and back in the swing of things, so I'll still going to be relying on them a little, but I am back.
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Unfortunately, I'm going to be away the last couple days of this turn, and the first couple of the next, so I have to get my actions in now, and don't have time to RP. :/ Who: Lady Maerys Izenry What: Hiring skilled tradespeople and buying better equipment for my Blacksmith. Where: Luthadel, I think? When: This is my second action. Why: To increase the efficiency of my Blacksmiths, and make more Wealth in the long-term.
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Day Five: What You Need Furtive whispers drifted through the air, still humid from yesterday's storm. "Is everything in place?" "To my knowledge, yes." "Remember, this has to succeed. This target is the primary obstacle to a Diagram's fulfillment. If he doesn't die tonight, things will get very difficult." "We have employed contingencies, you know." "The're not enough. We need this to end, before things get out of hand." The two figures quieted, watching their target fade into view. They looked somewhat disoriented, confused and trying to figure out where exactly they were. The figures shared a quick glance, before walking off in opposite directions, each knowing what needed to be done. As one was quickly lost from view, the other circled behind their prey, stalking them back to their tent. The shardbearer waited just outside the tent, waiting for all noise to cease. When enough time had passed that their target could be assumed to be sleeping, they raised the Blade, preparing to cleave the structure in two, and hopefully it's occupant with it. As the Shardblade fell, the fabric of the tent suddenly flared with light, and the Blade, sharp enough to cut stone without resistance, skidded off with a metallic clang. Throughout the camp, silence was replaced by the stirrings of wakefulness. Storms. Blade dissolving into mist, the sharbearer fled, melting into the night. Elsewhere in the camp, a sentry jumped to attention at the sound of crashing metal. They sighed. All I wanted was one peaceful night. One. Sprinting for the source of the sound, they found themselves oddly invigorated, even as glowing wisps of stormlight escaped with their breath. Someone was attacked, but survived! Squires were created! You've got roughly 45 hours to decide on a lynch. A couple things: 1. The write-up for Day Four is now finished, so that can be locked and merged. Night Four not so much. 2. I am most likely going to have to be away for five-six days starting Friday afternoon, so there's two options. Either A: You guys can have a week-long Day Turn, or B: I can provide the Dead with the Spreadsheet and PM access, so they can keep things going while I'm away, as they have graciously offered to do. Either is fine by me, but due to the uncertain nature of me being away, I'm finding myself without a lot of time to let you guys come to a decision. So I'll probably have to go with the majority of responses received by about 10:00 in the morning.
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And the Night is (finally) over. The write-up (an actual one this time!) should be up within the hour. (The write-up for the last night should be up within that time as well.) Hopefully things should start getting caught up soon.
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...I was about to apologize for for lateness and post the write-up, but a second extension has been called for. Use the extra time wisely. (No, I won't grant a third one. Don't worry about people extending this game indefinitely through extensions. )
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No. I thought about including exceptions to the rule, but decided we didn't have enough info from the books to bother. (And it would've been a pain to balance around.) So all KR can make the same number of Squires. I won't, however, confirm what number this is. Yeah, I'm getting around to that. It's about 2/3rds done, at the moment. If you like though, I can give you the bare bones, so you guys don't have to wait any longer: Wannan was killed with Division augmented by Gravitation, Alvonoha was killed by Diagramists, and Kazaaak was killed by Division. Also: An Extension has been requested. As such, the Night will now end on Wednesday.
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Night Four: The Long Arm of the Law The Ronzo sat on a large pillar-like boulder, eating his chouta. Much to Ronzo’s surprise, the camp chefs had no idea what chouta was, let alone how to make it. So he had given them several lessons over the past few days. The chefs had resisted every step of the way- the amateurs- whining about things like “sanitation” and “edibility.” Eventually he had just given up and made it himself. Good thing, too, the stuff they had wanted to put in it wouldn’t have made very good chouta. As he sat and ate, he watched the crowd gathering. He was no fool- not like his storming useless cousin- he could see a highstorm brewing alright. The whispered conversations. The sidewards glances in his direction. The distrustful looks on their faces. Not to mention that Ace had blathered to the whole camp about how The Ronzo was a diagramist. Storming inconvenient that. Eventually, the crowd grew large enough and brave enough to approach him, Kip Sturm at their lead. “Ronzo, the jig is up, the news is out, we finally found you,” Kip said authoritatively, “By order of Brightlord Thranadall, we hereby-” “Hold up a minute, Goncho.” The Ronzo called down cheerily. “Er, what?” “Hold up, I’m not done eating my chouta.” “Huh? We don’t care about that!” Kip said angrily, “We know what you are, and we’re here-” “I know, I know, you’re here to arrest and lynch me. I ain’t an idiot. But the least you could do is let me finish eating. You wouldn’t want to go to the gallows on an empty stomach, would you?” Kip blinked and stared blankly. The rest of the crowd did much the same. “Well, neither do I. So just hold your chulls, I’ll be down in a minute. If you're that eager to lunch someone, might I suggest Citrona? She probably deserves it. And I noticed that she already finished her lunch.” The Ronzo continued eating contentedly while the lynch mob muttered and grumbled to themselves. After a minute Kip called out, “This is foolishness. Madon, Adamir, climb up there and get him.” The next several minutes consisted of Madon and Adamir and several other crowd members trying unsuccessfully to climb up the smooth, crem-coated surface of the rock pillar. The Ronzo just continued eating his chouta, watching his windspren spin lazily by. Eventually, the group grew frustrated enough that they sent for a ladder, but it didn't matter. By that point The Ronzo swallowed his last bite, then stood up atop the boulder. "Don't bother, Gonchos," he called down, "I'm finished eating. Now we can get on with business." With that he knelt down and places one hand on the rock, and inhaled deeply, drawing in the stormlight from the few spheres in his pocket. Stormlight filled him, and he began to glow. He lashed the boulder at a downward angle once, twice, three times, and then with a loud CRACK the rock lurched beneath him, "falling" sideways towards the mob. People cried out and dove out of the way as the rock- with The Ronzo still perched atop it- skidded across the ground, leaving a deep furrow in its wake. A few seconds later the rock skidded to a halt near the center of the mob. The Ronzo knew he didn't have very long- he hadn't had many spheres on him- so when the rock stopped he immediately threw Stormlight to the sides like paint, sticking those nearby to the ground. Then with what little Stormlight he had left he lashed himself sideways. He shot off just over the heads of the gawking crowd, angling towards the camp tents. "Get him!" Kip shouted, his own foot adhered to the ground with glowing Stormlight. "Dead or alive, I don't care, just get him!" “Ha! Top that, Cousin!” Ronzo thought as he flew through the air. The Ronzo's Stormlight ran out a few seconds later and he tumbled to the ground, rolling several times before coming to rest in a puddle. He scrambled to his feet and looked back to see the mob hot on his heels. He took off at a dash, weaving between tents until his own tent came into view. Inside he had enough spheres stored to keep him glowing for a good hour or two. He threw open the tent flap and nearly collided with someone just inside the tent. The Ronzo cursed, skidding to a stop. Ace stood there defiantly, blocking the entrance. "I figured you'd return here, Gonzo, sooner or later." Ace said, brandishing his tiny hammer like a sword. "This is the end." The Ronzo glanced around him, looking for an escape, but the crowd had caught up with him and was quickly forming a circle. If only he had Stormlight! But his spheres were in the tent, too far away to draw upon. He looked back to Ace just in time to see the hammer fall. EDIT (Meta): Special thanks to Herowannabe for doing an amazing job with the write up! He deserves our gratitude for going above and beyond as a player. The Ronzo was lynched! He was a Diagramist Windrunner! Votes: The Ronzo (10): Kip, Madon, Adamir, Eradin, Wol, Cla, Plurn, Jain, Em, Torren Citrona (1): The Ronzo You've got roughly eighteen hours to get your actions in, assuming you don't call for an extension. Once again, I'm very sorry with how late things are.
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Storm it. The results will be up in a minute or two, although unfortunately you'll have to go temporarily without a write-up again. It's six in the morning here, and I have not yet gotten any sleep, (was not expecting to be away from a computer for anywhere near this long) so thankfully this lynch looks pretty clear-cut. On that note, would the mods please avoid locking this thread until tomorrow? I've got a write-up mostly written, but I'm in no shape to finish it right now. (I'm really sorry, guys. I'll try to get write-ups and everything in with a tad more punctuality, from here on out.)
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Day Four: Patterns in the Storm Wannan set about preparing for sleep. He’d briefly considered running, but there was no real point. Even he couldn’t outrun a Highstorm, and it’s not as if any of the refugees could actually kill him. A sudden crash sounded outside his tent. That doesn’t mean they won’t try, though. He leapt outside immediately, hoping to avoid any pre-emptive attempts at ending his life by just destroying the tent. This, apparently, had been just what his attacker was expecting. He was knocked to the ground mere feet from the tent’s door, by a figure wreathed in wisps of stormlight. The figure raised a hand, stormlight gathering there until it was almost too bright to look at. “Do you have anything to say in your defence, Wannan, as a Diagramist, and an accomplice in the murders of Etam and Botholomew?” “Yes, in fact I do: You’re forgetting something.” The figure tilted their head slightly in confusion. “Explain yourself. The process of law must be followed, but I will not abide any trickery.” “I’m immortal, remember?” Wannan inhaled deeply, and exploded with light. A bare instant later, he had removed the friction from his body, and was sliding away across the plateau. Wannan had found that the Surge of Abrasion had made a nice counterpart to his immortality. That Smeagol fellow was more than a little strange, but he did have his uses. His escape, however, was short-lived. The figure from before surged into view, keeping pace a few feet above him. “I am sorry, Wannan. But justice must be served.” Storms. The figure reached down, stormlight dripping from their hand, where the fabric of Wannan’s began to crack and char. Hah. Like he thinks that’ll stop me? The figure dropped a little lower and touched Wannan’s chest. His body flared with stormlight, which seemed to trace a pattern of white-hot fractures across his skin. A mere moment later, Wannan was nothing but a faintly smoking patch of rock on the plateau. On the other side of the plateau, someone sat alone, their feet dangling over the chasms. A small cat sat in their lap, purring softly. Footsteps crunched in the distance, and the purr turned to a low growl, completely unsuited to the feline’s size. “Shh.” The robed figure gently rubbed the cat’s ears, and the growl faded away, although it didn’t resume purring. The footsteps had stopped. Alvonoha spoke, without bothering to turn. “Don’t be shy. Come have a seat.” Silence. “Just so you know, you should probably work on your concealment skills. It’s hard to assassinate anyone when everyone within a hundred yards can hear you.” Slowly, the footsteps started up again, and a cloaked and hooded figure sat beside him, warped shardblade at their side, still wet with condensation. “I don’t really want to do this, you know.” “I’d imagine you don’t.” Alvonoha seemed perfectly at ease, despite his situation. “They say it’s necessary. Taking some lives to preserve all the rest.” “And who choses which lives are to be taken?” “Not who. What.” Alvonoha nodded, seeming to understand. “Ah. I see. And you would trust this thing? Even to decide life and death?” “It has been right so far.” “I would imagine it has,” he sighed. “You choose perhaps one of the only times to kill me when I might be vulnerable. I don’t believe that can be mere coincidence. Are you certain, however, that it is right? My spren has told me some of the terrible things to come. And from the sound of it, I am to help combat them. And yet you have been told that I, and those like me, must die.” “I cannot claim to understand everything.” “Nor can I. I would ask, however, that after my death you seriously consider the implications of your line of work.” Confusion touched the shardbearer’s voice. “You’re not going to try to avoid your fate?” “Why should I? Damnation and I have several mutual acquaintances. It’s about time we met personally.” Alvonoha carefully picked up the cat, and set it aside, before shifting himself a little further over the edge. “I wouldn’t mind if you could find someone to take care of the cat, though.” The Blade rose, and Alvonoha closed his eyes, darkness greeting him like an old friend. The Blade fell, curls of dark smoke rising through the air. Alvonoha’s body tipped slowly over, into the chasms. A quiet sound could be heard, indistinct against the rising winds, of a small black cat, mewling inconsolably. For Kazaaak, any night with a Highstorm was a good one. If you were careful enough, and quick enough, you could steal a lord’s ransom of spheres, in the short minutes before the Stormwall struck. If you weren’t… well, that didn’t bear thinking about. Kazaaak was the best. He was never too slow, and never careless. One basket stood out to him in particular. It was filled to the top with dun spheres, and was the perfect distance from his tent. Far enough away to make it seem improbably that he did it, while close enough that he should just be able to make it before the storm came. He crept quietly towards his target, on the lookout for any refugees either brave or stupid enough to still be out and about. “Just what do you think you’re doing, thief?” A voice growled from somewhere in the dark. Kazaaak froze, turning slowly. “Who’s there?” “I knew you would choose tonight, thief. You always follow the same pattern. Stealing more stormlight for your traitorous friends, I presume?” “Look, buddy, I have no clue what you’re talking about.” “It doesn’t matter.” Cloth rustled behind Kazaaak, as his antagonist revealed themselves. “I know what you have done, and for it, you will burn.” Kazaaak turned, only to see a large figure reaching towards him, glowing with stormlight. Oh Stormfather- An instant of pain was followed by the stormwall’s roar, as Kazaaak was left naught but ash in the stormwinds. As dawn came, and the refugees stumbled outside their tents, a few woke to a strange sight: Their spheres, left just outside their tents, were still dun. Wannan (Herowannabe) was killed! He was a Diagramist Edgedancer Squire (Abrasion). Alvonoha (Alvron) was killed! He was a Refugee Stoneward. Kazaaak (Paranoid King) was killed! He was a Refugee. Squires were created! As there was a Highstorm, all Radiants have an additional two charges of Stormlight, and Squires have one. You have roughly 48 hours to decide on a lynch. Good luck.
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It's coming. Sorry. (On that note, could this turn be left unlocked for a little while, so I can put the finishing touches on that and edit it in? Assuming I don't start puking again, that is. :/) The Night is over, and I'll get the results up momentarily. However, I've been very sick for the last hour or so, and still don't feel amazing, so the write up might take it's time in coming.
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An Extension has been called! You now have 24 more hours to discuss the game, and get your actions in.
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Speaking of public actions... I forgot about this. I may or may not edit some RP in. Depends on whether an extension ends up being called in LG13. Who: Maerys Izenry, in her capacity as House Lady. What: Investing in the improvement of tools and techniques used by my miners and glassmakers. When: This is my first action. Where: I think Luthadel? The mine might be in Tathingdwen. I can't remember. Why: To improve the efficiency of my properties, and make a good chunk more money long-term.
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Night Three: Spitting into the Stormwinds This day, it seemed, was destined to be one of excitement. The refugees were done with sitting around and letting themselves be picked off. They were going to see someone pay, by the Almighty. They started with Ace. An obvious choice, one would think. And insane man with a hammer? At the very least, a liability to keep around, at worst, brilliant cover for a traitor. Some, however, preferred to pursue other targets. Kazaak, the thief, who’s skills would be of great use to the traitors. Smeagol, the strange… creature that had joined up early in the expedition. No one was quite sure who or what he was, and given his constant strange muttering, no one dared ask. Ace, however, seemed to hold the most suspicion in the group’s minds. As the day drew to a close, the Refugees gathered around him, looking to each other in askance. No one exactly wanted to take part in what was coming. Kazaak, spoke up eventually. “Storm it. Aren’t at least some of you supposed to be soldiers? This is your sort of work. You should get to it.” A moment passed. Then another. Akir stepped forwards reluctantly, shifting his grip on his spear. “Wait.” Ace slowly turned away from the gathered refugees. Speaking more softly, he said, “I believe it’s time for you to come out now, Phyllis.” The hammer he held evaporated into curls of stormlight, revealing a shifting mass of black lines sitting on his palm, forming a repeating triangular pattern that warped and twisted in a way that hurt the eye. “Fellow refugees, meet Phyllis, my spren.” Akir blinked rapidly, trying to process what he’s heard. “…Phyllis? Doesn’t look much like a Phyllis to me.” An irritated hum emanated from the spren. “I suggested Fractal.” “Enough,” Ace said, glaring equally at the soldier and his spren. “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I am a Knight Radiant. Using the powers Phyllis grants me, I have looked into the hearts of two of our companions, and learned that they are not to be trusted. Wannan and Ronzo. Come forward.” The two refugees refused, remaining at the back of the crowd. Slowly, the refugees reorganized themselves, now centred upon the traitors. Finding the spotlight upon him, Ronzo made his piece, and leveled his stolen spear towards Smeagol, who was apparently yet another Radiant. Outed, the man changed, standing tall and straight backed, glowing faintly with wisps of stormlight. Although still emaciated and dressed in naught but rags, Smeagol somehow managed to cut a noble figure; no one now would mistake him for anything save one of the Knights of old. “If that’s how you want it to be, Ronzo, then Precious and I would be happy to oblige. I fear your life will be the one ending on a bad pun, however.” Stealing a spear from Akir, Smeagol leapt towards the Ronzo, moving with the preternatural grace and strength afforded by stormlight. The Herdazian stayed absolutely still until the last possible moment, sidestepping the man’s lunge, and striking out at Smeagol with a sudden ferocity. The haft of his spear connected with the Radiant’s fingers, shattering the bones and forcing the weapon out of his hands. Smeagol stumbled back in surprise; even though the wound was already healing, it hurt like Damnation and had been completely unexpected. Wasting no time, Ronzo whirled his spear around, opening Smeagol’s throat and plunging the weapon through his heart in two quick motions; never allowing even the barest instant for the Radiant to attempt to use his powers or flee. The Herdazian looked into the awed and terrified faces of the refugees. “You don’t mess with the Ronzo.” He said simply, spitting into the gathering winds. After that display, everyone found that they agreed. Smeagol (leiftinspace) was lynched! He was a Refugee Edgedancer! Votes: Macen (3) : Araris, Paranoid King, BB Paranoid (3) : Hero, Leiftinspace, Eramit Leift (5) : Emerald, Orlok, Clanky, Feligon, Phatt, Ren Hero (4): Maill, Macen, Twei, Alv Sorry guys. It's been a very long day, and in interests of preserving my sanity, I'm going to have to finish the write up tomorrow. (I've already taking one unintentional nap, and if I keep trying to finish this tonight, I'd call it a fifty-fifty on whether or not I'll actually succeed.)
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And the Day is over! That was a touch more interesting than the last few days, anyways. Write-up coming soon. (Ish. That was a lot of last minute voting. )
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A bit of a clarification here: I just realized my wording on Illumination was terribly unclear. Sorry. That power was one of the last adjustments I made, and clearly I didn't make myself understood properly. A little background: I've been trying to differentiate full and half cycles (Days/Nights) by referring to a Day/Night as a turn, and two consecutive turns as a cycle. It's just a little simpler for me. As such, Illumination can be used during either the Day or the Night, and PMs created this way will remain in place for one Day and one Night. Hopefully that makes sense to everyone. Please return to you regularly scheduled lynching. (Two hours left to decide on the lynch, just so you're aware.)
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Minor GM Announcement: I just found out I'll be without internet access from about six today, until sometime in the evening tomorrow, so this turn will have to be extended by 24 hours. Please return to your (now rescheduled) lynching.
